1 Ad Infinitum

Blood. There wasn't any blood. No grime covering him, his hands washed clean, and bursts of heat radiating from the distance. These were his first memories, in a place far, far away from where he came from. He felt absolutely weightless at the moment, but something was holding him in place- rattling and pulling him along as his mind slowly adapts to its newfound condition. Perhaps he had been walking for hours, perhaps he had only been walking for a few seconds; he didn't have any memory of how he got here, and that was dangerous. He wasn't one to forget something like that.

His first assumption, of course, was that he had been drugged. There wasn't any other way to get him in a situation he wouldn't immediately recognize. However, that thought only lasted a fraction of a second. He had a process. If he was somewhere he didn't recognize, he would go to high alert before attempting to gather more information but, this time, that wasn't what he did. He clearly was well aware that things hadn't been okay for a while now. It was within expectations to be somewhere he didn't recognize, plus he was already chained, making the effort pointless. Going to high alert would only allow an observer to tell he had a process. He couldn't let them know even the slightest bit of information.

Still, he had a certain responsibility to gather information ingrained in him, so he opened his eyes to observe his surroundings. Before him was a person's back, which his chains connected to. Likewise, another person's back was in front of that person, and their chains to that person, ad infinitum. It was truly exaggerated, as he definitely had no fellows in his prison, let alone millions. The only explanation was that he was really, really high on whatever he was given. There were no worldly powers capable of such a thing. If he was so high, he couldn't be sure any information wasn't already leaked but he could find out.

("Rin, assess security violations.") He thinks to himself, or more properly put, commands through his mind.

[No security violations, Master.

One Outlier: No projections calculated current situation.

One Critical Notice: All Host Systems Red. Master, all systems indicate your death.]

One hell of a drug, he supposes. Projections are an analysis of danger situations. People paying too much attention to him, following him all data is kept, and anything that preludes negative situations especially paid attention to. As a result, he was neigh impossible to catch off guard. This also meant there were absolutely no indicators that would lead to this situation. At the lowest level, this meant that when the chains were put on him, he had no sense, had no mind, or the chains had always been there.

Unfortunately, he could feel the chains, but even Rin couldn't feel his heart beat. He couldn't think of any possibilities besides death. ("They finally fucked up, huh, my dearest Rin?")

[Nobody is as reliable as Master, after all!]

A cheerful voice, filled with adoration responds to him. Rin was his own little creation, and a lifelong dream on his part. Of course, the fact she existed was a secret he didn't share. The only method to update her was through her, so he had no qualms about trusting her. Even if found, she would remain reliable and obedient.

As he indulges in the sweetness of his virtual assistant, a long period of time passes. Being dead, he didn't require anything, and there was no real method to keep track of time. But eventually, an end to the line appeared, and eventually, he reached the front. Before him was a cave, filled with a holy light he regarded as no better than pitch blackness. The person before him had stepped in, and, after doing so, the chains felt loose, as if the person was freed. A few moments pass, before they grow taught again, pulling him in. It's obvious he encountered whatever was controlling the speed of the line, but, as he steps into the light, the chains vanish leaving him alone in a white room. Though without much definition, he could clearly tell the room wasn't very large. Before him, high up on a throne, was what he might call an old man. The man's beard stretched to the ground, and his form was mostly encased in a white robe. Whoever he was, he seemed to enjoy a holy charade.

He thinks to speak, but, as the words are on the tip of his tongue, he realizes something. Speaking requires language. What language does this being speak? What did this being know? How powerful was something that could handle the dead? The simplest method to determine that answer, was to assume the position of power. Whoever spoke first definitely was at a disadvantage.

Perhaps the being felt the power play, as he seemed to frown with discontent. The being holds up his hand, a large, black book appearing in it. Slowly, the being looks through the book, before frowning further. It seemed like a few moments passed, before the being seemed to give in and speak "It's considered polite to introduce yourself," the being spoke in fluent English. He, being himself, expressed a bit of confusion, as if he didn't understand what the being said. The being likewise looked confused, before seeming enlightened. "Se considera educado presentarte."

This presented him with a lot of information immediately. There was no further purpose in the charade. "Apologies, God," a monotone voice, with perfect pronunciation that refuses to reveal the hint of an accent.

The being seems a less annoyed at the contact, his expression brightening- before it immediately darkens. He didn't have to ask why. "God" wanted to know why he didn't respond the first time, but, it didn't seem like it wanted to lower himself to ask. After a few moments of silence, the being sighs. "It's good you can recognize your mistake. Now, please, your name?" the being asks.

"My maternal unit instructed me not to give information to strangers," he informs. Unlike before, a tinge of regret fills his voice.

"Didn't you just call me by name a few seconds ago? Can you really call me a stranger?" asks the being. "Surely you know about Gods. I know everything about you. Can we just have some courtesy here? You wouldn't want to go to the basement, would you?" the being asks, hinting at a nice flaming if he didn't comply.

He had to admit, the being made a great case. "I was also informed not to go in strangers' basements, to watch out for strangers in cloaks, and not to accept candy," he kindly informs the being.

The being looks frustrated and insulted for a moment, before responding with a deep annoyance in his tone. "Just tell me who the fuck you are, kid, I'm just trying to do my job."

"Didn't you say you knew everything?" he replies sarcastically.

"Look, this is just a part time job, man. It works great, normally, because I can instantly recognize anyone. I'm great with faces- especially ones I've never seen before. But you. YOU. You don't have a face! Who doesn't have a face? Nobody! No body, nothing! Your soul should be you, shouldn't it?Isn't that just common sense? Can you please not make my job so difficult? Might you have some consideration for others?" the being goes through a range of emotions, and even explains the situation. He seemed a bit impatient, even.

Paying some attention to himself for the first time, he's just a floating, white...thing. He supposes it's about what someone would imagine a soul to be- essentially just a wisp, though not quite as flashy as what he had imagined one would look like. He's not surprised someone couldn't relate a white sphere to an identity. He also hadn't realize he had control over his form. A normal person would definitely look like they did in life. It was natural to assume your appearance was as it was. But some people didn't accept their real appearance. For example, a recent amputee would likely subconsciously reject that fact; allowing them to have full body in their soul form. Regardless, it would be a form they possessed at one period of time, and it should presumably be recognized.

Not everyone was like that, though. His desire not to reveal any information to his captors was an absolute feeling that stemmed to his very soul as such, nothing was revealed. Though this was just conjecture on his part, he felt it was absolutely probable. Since English was the most popular language, he wasn't surprised the first guess was one he understood. The second, the second most popular language: Spanish. The moment the second guess was made, he understood the "god" could second guess himself, and therefore was not all knowing.

Normally, someone would just introduce themselves when they believed the other party knew anyway. But he already knew the other party wasn't all knowing, didn't know who he was, and therefore couldn't truly threaten him.

"I'd like to speak to your manager," he replies blandly.

A frustrated expression appears on the beings face, but he disappears without bothering further. A few moments later, a younger man appears, wearing silver framed glasses, with short brown hair. Similar to the last one, the figure has a cloak, and unlike the last one, the hood is down.

"God?" he asks, in a hopeful tone.

The figure looks at him for a moment, and frowns, before raising his hand. A black book like the one the old man had appears, and after a moment the being looks more confounded. A moment later, the figure reads.

"Prol Helman

Government Worker

Programmer

Killed twenty six million, five hundred thirty two thousand, six hundred twenty nine innocent people.

Saved at least a billion lives.

Net karma...undetermined." he concludes.

As the man finishes speaking, Prol removes his figurative mask. The white sphere becomes a towering 6'3" figure, a toned body as hard as a rock, and a mature face. His body seems to be at the peak of youthfulness, full of health, but his age could be anywhere from his twenties to his late thirties. His hazel eyes focus on the God, containing a hint of amusement as his gruff voice spills out into the air. "At least you know a thing or two."

"You sure waste a lot of time," complains the new "God". "Undetermined Karma due to present calculations. In order to stop a world war, you set off all the warheads in the country called North Korea. This removed the threat of war, preventing a nuclear war followed by the mentioned world war. Obviously, preventing death is a plus to karma, while causing creates negative karma. Such a large, complicated situation is a bother to process," he complains.

"What's complicated? I saved more than I killed, didn't I?" Prol asks blandly, seeming uninterested in the matter.

"Well, normally, maybe. If you accidentally killed innocents, it's one thing. But you intentionally killed all of those innocents. You knew they were innocent when you detonated the warheads. However, you not only saved those present, but also their future generations drastically altering the timeline, which requires new calculations… Well, I'll deal with it later," says the God dismissively.

"That sounds a bit like an excuse," Prol says flatly, his eyes going a bit cold. If he knew anything about what happens after death, 'deal with it later' wasn't in the list. How would one even do that? How could he reincarnate without first determining karma? How could be be punished or rewarded? What would that even mean?

"Of course not. I'll get to you juust as soon as the calculations on your Karma finish definitively," the careless manager declares, before snapping his fingers. With that, the God disappears, the throne disappears, the room disappears everything disappears, really. He frowns at that, before looking around. He was...nowhere. In infinite darkness, with nothing to do, observe, or enjoy. ("Rin, what can we learn?"

[It doesn't appear we are presently anywhere. If anything, we're inside of Master's soul. It seems we were moved from where we were, to nowhere. Presumably some sort of holding mechanism within the projected boundaries of space and time under the assumption that's where we were previously.]

("Mm. But, if we're inside my soul, then how come I can still clearly observe myself- which we've determined is my soul body?") He doesn't feel he needs an answer, but it instead sounds more like he's testing his sweet little creation.

[ Calculating… Isn't it because everything within Master's soul is however he wants it?]

("You sure are fast when it comes to trivial things like that. Why didn't you stop us from getting in this situation if you're so smart?") he teases.

[I'm sorry, Master. I did tell Master that there would likely be a lot of trouble after revealing your full capabilities, but more defined calculations would have been more convincing to the immovable wall of Master's stubbornness.]

He chuckles to himself in the darkness, and after a moment of willing it, a bed appears before him, allowing him some respite from floating in nothingness. ("Still, this is relatively harsh. A lesser man would go insane if left here for long; or just indulge in pleasure endlessly. I wonder if that's part of the test.")

[A test? Possible. However, I haven't yet determined the difference between something freely determines like Master's form and something absolute with power like the entities that placed Master here.]

("Isn't it obviously Magic?") Prol replies while smirking to himself.

[Inconclusive. Please don't be impatient, my beloved creator.]

Shrugging to himself, Prol lays back on the massive bed. He seems to sink into it, experiencing the ultimate comfort for a short while as he determines the best course of action which might just be resting his soul for a short time.