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The Loki System

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"No thank you."

Another rejection. 009 sighed disappointedly as he floated through the Time-Space Alternative. All the systems are partnering up with dead, ordinary human beings. Some more forcefully than others. There was the Cannon Fodder System (that dumbass who has a stick up his ass), the Supporting Lead System (an idiot who barely knows how to take care of a host), the Heroic System (an arrogant, good-for-nothing, mother-fu-), and all the other unmentioned systems. People were choosing them fast despite the fact that 009 has the highest seniority and actually knows what the hell he's doing. And actually gives a shit. But no. No one wants to be a villain, so now he's stuck wandering through TSA until he finds somebody.

"Hey, are you available?" 009 looks down and spots a young man with a pair of sleepy, violet eyes and a lazy smile. He was Caucasian, the system believes, wearing a white button down with rolled up sleeves and a pair of trousers. His hair was a dark shade of brown, nearly black like raven wings, smooth and long, not shaggy, but not prickly either.

Surprised, 009 hesitantly nodded his head. "... Yes."

The man brightens his smile, eyes widening slightly as he offered a hand. "Great! My name is Mot Stonehildd. Let's work together from now on, alright?"

I never agreed to this! 009 wanted to scream, but he presented a smile instead and held out a hand to shake as well. "Master Mot, the pleasure is all mine."

The moment the human and the system touched, a silver ring encircled their left middle finger respectively, signaling that a contract has been made.

"From today on, I'm your system, Master Mot. My name is 009. You are the host of the Wicked Villain System."

That lazy smile returns on the host's face as he answers. "I will do my best, System."

Mot Stonehildd

When people ask him what he does for a living, the response is given in a bland, drawled out voice as he says, "I blow shit up." He would say it as if he was talking about the weather, a casual tone of voice paired with a lazy smile and tranquil violet eyes.

Mot was a mechanic. He built stuff. To be specific, he was a mechanic who owned an engineering degree. For him, that usually meant he would rather make stuff explode rather than actually fix anything. No biggy. In his lifetime, he had several rich friends who also liked to blow shit up. They paid for his rent and workshop. It was a good life he lived. Of course, perks of being a student of a prestigious university called Mecha Institute of Tech, known as MIT. It was no surprise that he, a valued scholar student, would meet several heirs and heiresses of big named companies and befriend them all within a day. Unknowingly, of course. Mot still has no idea why these random, rich-looking people still visit his humble workshop to this day (It's because they're your friends!).

On the question of how he died... umm... actually, Mot doesn't really remember. The bored genius had only one motto in life and that moto happen to be "life was fleeting". Those words were even stapled to his store counter, much to the dismay of all his friends. So when it came down to asking about his death, well...

"I got ran over... by a truck? Yeah, I got ran over by a truck." He told 009.

"That's a lie and you know it." The system deadpans, wondering how in the world this man could use such a cliche excuse for his death (and actually think he would believe it!).

Mot had to think hard and long. Then, his eyes perked up slightly and he gives a big, bright smile. "I was stabbed in the back."

"That's worse than the last excuse!" 009 wanted to desperately flip a table as he thought about this new, troublesome host. He was an idiot. An id-i-ot!

Mot's face goes back to normal as he shrugs. "Okay, I've got nothing. Let's just say I fell off the roof."

009 closes his eyes and breathes. In, out, in, out. He can do this. He can totally do this. "Sounds legit. Let's just type that in." He opens his source code and adds his host's supposedly cause of death.

{Fell off the roof by accident.}

"Okay, we have all your information. Now it's time for me to explain." 009 told Mot, putting away his source code (which was just a blue hologram-thingy that can shoot out from his eyes). "See these rings?" He indicated to the silver bands on both his and Mot's left middle finger. "What do you think they mean?"

"That... we're getting married?" Was the confused response.

A tick mark appeared on the system. "No, you idiot! This is the contract!" He shouted at his face. Calming down, he pointed to his own ring and said, "Here's the thing. When I transfer you into different worlds, our only means of communication is through these pairs of rings. If you lose yours, I lose you. When that happens, depending on whether you accomplish or fail your designated task, there's a chance I may never retrieve you from that world ever again. You got it?"

Mot stares at the object on his finger almost curiously before nodding. "Yes. Don't lose the ring or I die. Can I do stuff to it?"

009 nearly chokes on his own spit. "Like what?!"

"Modifications, personalizations, maybe even carving some words-"
"Do whatever you want. Just don't lose the ring, okay? You lose it, I lose you. That's the deal."


"Good. Now let's began the transfer. Are you ready, Master Mot?" 009 suddenly became a profession, his tone changing into a system worthy of seniority as his voice became more robotic.


{Initiating transfer in 3... 2... 1...}

The TSA began to warp itself, reality swirling before Mot's very eyes.

{Processing now...}

Mot loses consciousness of the world around him as everything sinks into an endless pool of black.