Note: read “Couldn’t Have Said It Sweater” first.
As I park my car outside a typical suburban bungalow, I eye the sign by the gate leading to a surprisingly large garden.
Fluffy Auschwitz
Not As Bad As It Sounds, Honestly!
(It’s a long story.)
It’s been a day since my chat with Korkea at the School, and another day closer to Jaws’ deadline.
I gave it some thought, and decided to talk to Doomguy Dave after all. He knows what I’m going through right now, even if the circumstances aren’t exactly the same.
I look at Electra, riding shotgun in her carrier.
“Here we are. Whaddya think, partner?”
“It wook nice.”
“Nicer than the name implies, at any rate.”
As I get out of my car, I get a better look at the garden.
There’s a number of luxury pens, each one home to a happy fluffy couple, most of which have foals, or are about to have foals soon.
The pens even have indoor areas. I’m assuming that they’re a FauCorp product, because FauCorp is the hugboxiest company in the business of making crap for fluffies and their owners.
Slayer, a pink and orange unicorn stallion with red eyes, is flying above the pens on big red bat wings, doing loop-de-loops to entertain the other fluffies.
I recognise him from Doomguy Dave’s YouTube videos. Of the ones I’ve seen, my favorite is the one with Slayer skullfucking a vampire.
In the back, there’s a greenhouse, and I think you can guess what’s being grown in there.
I can actually smell the weed from here. Is this where Korkea gets his weed?
And there’s a few customers and employees, or possibly volunteers, but my attention is drawn to the three men with ChaotiX badges on their shirts.
I can see Doomguy Dave feeding the fluffies, he looks a bit like that Dan guy from Dan Vs., a black man with a fade and a Lakers shirt who must be Andre talking to a customer, and a guy with long black hair who…
Wait a minute, I know him!
That’s James Oldman! He’s a damn legend in the abuser community!
He loved killing fluffies so much that the electric chair couldn’t stop him from doing it!
He broke out of Hell to keep killing!
And of course, fluffies didn’t keep him satisfied forever, which is why he went to the chair.
He shot his college up. And then, after he went to prison, he killed a few people during a riot, including a couple of guards.
In hindsight, he wasn’t really someone to be admired.
So if he’s supposed to be a dead, school-shooting demon…
What’s he doing here?
Since when is he so buff?
And has his hair always been so… so clean?
scratch scratch
I quickly help Electra out of the car, so I can investigate.
As we enter the garden, James notices me staring at him, and sighs, apparently knowing what I’m about to ask.
“This shit again? Really? I thought everyone knew by now.”
“Knew what?”
“That I’m not that James Oldman. I’m from another timeline. Hi, nice to meet you. I’ve been living here for a couple of years now.”
“You’re from another timeline?”
“That is what I literally just said, yeah. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound harsh, but I had this conversation a lot when I first moved to this timeline, and I got sick of it after the tenth time. I had to get a T-shirt made to speed it up, and I don’t have that shirt on me right now, so, to get it out of the way: unlike the James you know, I’m not a fluffy abuser, I’m not a school shooter, and I’m definitely not a demon. Not even a half-demon like Dave over there. I’m actually a demon hunter, y’know. Registered with the Association and everything.”
“So you moved here from another timeline? Can anyone do that? I’m… I’m asking for a friend.”
“There were… special circumstances, I don’t wanna talk about it. I’m just lucky that Cal’s on such good terms with the One Man Army.”
“The who in the what?”
Dave walks over.
“They’re basically multiversal police, and their jurisdiction covers all timelines that fluffies exist in. I know why you’re here. Cal said you’d be coming.”
“Wait, wait, wait. With a name like that…”
“Yes, the O.M.A. is comprised of versions of Cal. Our Cal’s not in the O.M.A., but as James said, he’s on good terms with them.”
So there’s an entire organization of multiverse cops, all of whom are versions of Korkea.
Welp, I wasn’t planning to become a multiversal criminal before, and I’m sure as shit not becoming one now.
And then there’s that other Korkea that our Korkea mentioned, the one who wears a mask, and is exactly as bad as I think Korkea is.
One of him was enough. One of him was too many.
I wonder if any other versions of me are playing this game.
scratch scratch
And now I’m wondering if there’s a separate version of Chaos in each timeline, or just one Chaos across every timeline.
Honestly, this multiverse stuff is way above my head. I remember when I thought that there was only one timeline.
I’ve heard about some kind of multiversal bar called the Inn Between Worlds, but I haven’t been there yet. Apparently, all kinds of colorful characters from across the multiverse go there.
If Chaos will let me go there, it could be a good time for me.
Dave looks me in the eye.
“How about we take this conversation inside? Andre, you don’t mind, do you?”
“Naw, nigga, you got a key.”
“Thanks. Slayer, get your fluffy butt down here!”
As Slayer lands, his wings vanishing, me and Electra look at the bungalow.
“So you don’t live here?”
“Am stwange tu see such a smaww housie wif such a big gawden.”
And as the four of us head inside, Dave explains.
“I used to live here. Then I got back together with Sandra, and we’d already had one kid out of wedlock, so when I pulled a me again, we had to move into a bigger place. I sold the bungalow to Andre, and we became official business partners. He dropped in a lot to keep an eye on the sto… fluffies while I was out getting more.”
While he unlocks the front door, I grin amusedly at him.
“Korkea said that you used to be an abuser.”
“Oh yeah. Let’s sit down first, before we get really started.”
Dave opens the door, showing us to the living room, and we sit down, both of us putting our fluffies on the couch, me occasionally petting Electra, and by now, you know why.
There’s a framed, signed poster of Magic Johnson above the couch. Andre must be a fan of the guy.
And there’s a photo of what appears to be the Harlem Globetrotters. Hold on, Andre is in that picture!
“So Andre’s a Globetrotter too?”
“Yup. He wanted to go into the NBA, but then he crossed Threshold X, and with his powers, it just wouldn’t be fair. The Globetrotters, on the other hand, were begging him to join once they saw what he can do. We’ve got a basketball court at the School, and as Cal says, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen a bunch of guys with superpowers playing basketball. Or a bunch of fluffies with superpowers playing huggy tag.”
“Mistah Andwe haf wubbuw powahs, wite? Ewectwa haf huwd abowt dat.”
“That’s right, Electra. Haven’t you seen their games, buddy? Andre getting slam dunked always gets a few laughs.”
I shake my head.
“I’m not really a basketball kinda guy. I was a baseball lover, but now I can’t watch a ballgame without remembering that shitshow at Oracle Park. How about we just get back to the reason I’m here?”
Dave shrugs.
“Alright, then. I’d offer you guys drinks, but they aren’t my drinks to give away, and Andre’s bitched at me about that before. So yeah, I used to be an abuser. It all started when a feral herd broke into my greenhouse, and I discovered that fluffy shit makes for an amazing fertilizer. So I trapped the herd, and started breeding them to harvest their shit, and then I realized that I could make some extra money on the side by selling any excess foals. Back then, what I was doing wasn’t actually illegal.”
Slayer nods.
“Dat wuz Swayew owd hewd, an back den, Swayew wuz cawwed Wetawd.”
“Slayer’s old herd has been moved to Blueberry’s Forest. These days, we’ve got breeding fluffies from FauCorp’s breeding facilities. The Faucheuse family has helped me a lot, because Pierre saw potential in me.”
I can’t help but laugh a little at Slayer’s expense.
“Your name was Retard? Jeez, that’s rough.”
Dave blushes.
“I even branded it on his side. I’m not proud of it.”
“So what made you change?”
“In a nutshell? Cal, and getting some sip.”
“Getting… some sip.”
“Look, you know why people call me Doomguy Dave, don’t you? You’ve seen the news footage of what me and Slayer were doing during the Demonic Invasion, haven’t you?”
He pulls his T-shirt sleeve up, showing the tattoo of Doomguy on his bicep. It’s the sprite from the old games.
I know what he’s talking about. I have seen that footage.
“You were blowing demons away with a shotgun and scatting At Doom’s Gate, and Slayer was blowing his load inside a demon fluffy, yeah.”
“They were coming for Sandy and Young Dave. I just saw red. By the time we were done, Slayer and I were both covered in demon blood, and some of it got in our mouths. Drinking the blood of a demon is the first step of the transformation into a demon, you see.”
“I’m probably going to regret asking this, but what’s the next step?”
Dave smiles, just as humorlessly as Korkea did.
“Enduring the tortures of Hell for eons. Well, some take to demonhood faster than others. Bad James was done in a week.”
“Yikes. I guess he was always a demon on the inside.”
Slayer nods.
“But we nu haf gon fwu dat tow-tuwe.”
“And we’re still alive. As is Rob, who trained us when our demonic powers became apparent, and François, who became a half-demon rather late in life. As long as a demon has a shred of humanity in them, they’re still a half-demon, and can still assume their mortal form. Otherwise, they’ve gotta steal bodies to play human, and most bodies can’t withstand possession by a demon for long.”
Electra raises an eyebrow.
“Su whewe du mistah Caw come intu dis, mistah Dave?”
Dave smiles warmly this time.
“Well, as you might know, we’ve got history. We go way back. Me, Cal, Seth and Andre have been hanging out since preschool, and I was the asshole of the group. They kept me around because they figured it was better to have me inside pissing out than outside pissing in. Of course, back then, I thought everyone else were the assholes. When Cal got powers, and he became a hero, it… inspired me to become a hero too. Especially after seeing what happened to Bad Chris and James. I wanted to prove that being demonic didn’t make me bad, that I didn’t have to be an asshole.”
“An Swayew wuz awn da same pagie.”
Suddenly, Dave and Slayer turn into demons. Dave’s skin turns blood red, as does Slayer’s fluff, his mane and tail turning black, their eyes burning, their teeth becoming sharp, big furled bat wings appearing on their backs, little horns growing on their heads.
Slayer already had a horn, so now he’s got three.
“We’re still exactly the same on the inside like this, you know. And we can change back without any hassle.”
“Hold on. Didn’t you say you had kids? Are they half-demons? Er, quarter-demons?”
“Nope, Young Dave and Little Cal are both pure human, and Young Dave was conceived BEFORE I got some sip. And Slayer’s sired a lot of foals, none of THEM inherited it either. Demon powers can’t be passed down to your children, but you’d have to ask Des, François or Rob for a full explanation. Rob is Judy’s father, and he didn’t pass his demon powers down to HER. He DID teach her magic, though. Rob and François are both wizards too.”
“Demon wizards! Lovely!”
Slayer cracks a grin.
“Yu eba huwd of Yah-nos? He wuz a vam-piyah, AN a wizz-uwd, AN a hawf-dee-mun.”
…Actually, a vampire demon doesn’t sound that implausible.
Vampires drink blood, and you become a demon by drinking demon blood…
I’m just surprised there aren’t more vampire half-demons.
I kinda thought that vampires were demons, but it turns out that they’re not.
Dave and Slayer revert to their normal forms.
“Anyway, now you know how and why I turned things around. Fluffy Auschwitz’s name wasn’t always ironic. I’d stomp fluffies to death for asking for more food, or for talking back to me, or just because there were too many of them and feeding all of 'em cut into my profits. I treated them like… like walking manure producers. Then I saw with my own two eyes what would become of me if I didn’t start making some changes. I knew one of those demons I blew away. I never liked Gary. He was worse than me by far, but before I found out that he died, I never thought he was as bad as Bad James. You know Bad James left Gary to die? They went fluffy hunting, Gary’s gun backfired, and Bad James stole his wallet and left him to bleed out.”
You know, I feel like Bad James and Jaws would be the best of friends, if they’d ever had an opportunity to meet.
That is, if they didn’t start racing to backstab each other.
And I don’t think Jaws would like that other James.
“Goddamn. Bad James sounds like he deserves a lengthy tour through all nine circles of Hell.”
“Actually, there’s ten circles of Hell now. They had to build a whole new circle of Hell just for fluffy abusers.”
“Dat am how manee of da bas-tuwds gu Down Dewe.”
“And Bad Chris and James are super dead now. Nice Chris and James dealt with them.”
“There’s a Nice Chris too?”
“From another another timeline, and he and his version of Amy came here under similar circumstances as Nice James did.”
“Okay, how many timelines are there in total?”
Dave shrugs again.
“More than any of us can count, dude.”
“Don’t say dude, you sound like Korkea when you say that.”
“I get it, you’re not the first person to think he’s an asshole. But he’s really not a bad person. He’s not perfect, he’s not pure, but who is?”
“I see people kissing his ass wherever I go, it’s exhausting, and I don’t want to become just another ass-kisser. But I’m here because he said you’d be able to help me. I assume he told you what I’m planning?”
“Oh yeah. I know your story. Frankly, I think it would be best to just get it over with. Rip the band-aid off. You can’t hide your past forever.”
“Even though people will hate me forever?”
“People know my story, and they don’t hate me. My past isn’t a secret, it’s all in To Hell And Back: The Dave Weissman Story. I could easily arrange a free copy for you, if you’re interested.”
“But you’re a badass superhero with demon powers, and I’m… this. If people find out who Ugly Sweater Guy really is…”
“Better for them to learn the truth from you, right? It’ll look better than if you tried to hide the truth, and someone else unmasked you.”
…
Do they know?
Does the ChaotiX know about Jaws?
I didn’t tell Korkea about Jaws, but now I’m pretty sure that Korkea can read minds.
Jaws doesn’t want me to tell the ChaotiX about him, and I didn’t tell them.
If Jaws hears that Korkea learned about him by reading my mind, though…
The asshole won’t go “Oh, well played, such a charmingly clever loophole!”
After all, I still went to the School, I still talked to Korkea, and I should have known that he can read minds.
Jaws will consider it a betrayal either way.
Meanwhile, at Dr. Pierre Faucheuse’s School for Gifted Individuals, in Calvin’s office, Calvin meets with Victor.
“So, how was your trip to Detroit?”
Victor holds up a thick folder.
“Fruitful. Here’s everything I was able to learn about the asshole who calls himself Jaws. Got his real name, his address, his criminal history, and a lot about his past with Ugly Sweater Guy.”
As he puts the folder on the desk, Calvin picks it up and leafs through it.
There’s a photo of a mugshot.
“Yup, that’s the face I saw in Ugly Sweater Guy’s memories, alright. A face not even a mother could love. Do you know where that asshole is now?”
“Not exactly. One of Jaws’ friends told me he left Detroit a few weeks ago. He was headed this way. And he didn’t tell anyone why he was leaving town, but you’ll find my notes with my theories in there too.”
“I don’t need to read 'em. Jaws is here for our sweater-wearing friend.”
“That’s the most likely reason for an asshole like that to come here. And I know that he was near Blueberry’s Forest, too. Tommy bumped into Ugly Sweater Guy outside the motel, the guy was shaken up pretty bad, and in hindsight, it’s easy to see why.”
“Jaws is blackmailing him. Putting a price tag on his silence, knowing that our sweater-wearing friend won’t feel like he can afford to refuse. He can’t afford to pay, either. Not without doing something horrible to Electra. So Jaws thinks he’ll win no matter what.”
“Yeah, I guessed the same thing. It’s a pretty shitty blackmailing attempt, too. Do you want me to go… well, go me on Jaws?”
A rainbow-colored gel pen in Calvin’s pen holder speaks up in a cheerful, flamboyant voice.
“Actually, dear Victor, I’m going to have to ask you not to do your thing to Jaws.”
Suddenly, Chaos is sitting on the desk in jester form, holding the gel pen.
“Dearest Cal, would you mind terribly if I handled the scoundrel?”
Calvin smirks.
“Can we know what you’re planning with him?”
“Right now? Absolutely nothing. But you know me, I’m flexible, and I may have something planned for him in the near future, so I’d like him to remain alive, unharmed, and mistakingly believing that he’s safe for the time being. I want to see what our friend in the hideous sweater is going to do. If he comes to you again, asking for a favor, would you oblige him?”
“Depends on the favor he asks for. You think he’s gonna ask us to deal with Jaws for him?”
“Mmm, no. He’s still a bit too prideful for that. But there are ways you could help him that he would find more acceptable.”
Calvin smiles slyly at Chaos.
“I think I see what you’re getting at. Well, if he asks for that, he’ll get it.”
Victor grins.
“You could persuade him to take that consultant job by–”
“Refusing to help him if he doesn’t? Nah, we don’t play it like that. But who knows, maybe helping him with no strings attached will nudge him in the right direction. Let’s just see how this plays out first, Vic.”
Chaos nods, idly doodling a rainbow beard and mustache on the photo of Jaws’ mugshot.
“Our sweater-clad friend is nearing a turning point. I fear that our game may be coming to an end soon.”
“Really? So soon?”
“Mmm, yes, but it’s an experience he will never forget. And I may have more plans for him in the future. But you know how uncertain the future is, Cal. You’re right, we need to see how this situation unfolds first.”
Then Chaos chuckles sinisterly, now drawing devil horns on the mugshot.
“And who knows? Perhaps I’ll be playing a game with someone else later.”
“Chaos, do you know where Jaws is now?”
“Yes, I do. But if I tell you where he is, Victor here may be unable to resist the urge to make him… disappear.”
Victor laughs.
“I can’t lie, Ugly Sweater Guy is lucky that I didn’t make him disappear.”
Meanwhile, in a roadside motel not far from the city, a brown Subaru Tribeca parks in the parking lot.
Jaws gets out, retrieving his suitcases from the trunk, and strolling into the lobby.
It’s not the filthiest motel he’s been to so far. Even the one near Blueberry’s Forest wasn’t the filthiest.
By a strange coincidence, one of the other motels he’s been staying at since he left Detroit happened to be the last one the Gurus stayed at, before their sudden disappearance from this timeline.
That was the filthiest motel.
The surly man behind the counter looks at Jaws over his newspaper, grunting four words at him.
“You need a room?”
Jaws reads the headline on the front page.
THE DEMONIC INVASION: A RETROSPECTIVE
Five-Year Anniversary Draws Closer
There’s a photo of Calvin clutching Umbra, halfway down their fall from Faucheuse Tower’s roof.
Then Jaws nods.
“Just for one night, buddy. And I’ll be paying in cash.”
“Whatever, pay up and get outta the way. You’re blocking the door, and I’m keeping an eye out for the asshole who keeps keying my car.”
So Jaws pays, gets his key, and heads up to his room for the night.
Once he’s in his room, he kicks back on the bed, not bothering to unpack, and he grabs the remote, turning the TV on.
He sees a documentary about Calvin, with footage from the finals of the Intergalactic Tournament, the start of the fight.
“You wanna know what the source of my power is? You wanna know where my golden flames come from? FROM MY VERY HEART AND SOUL!!!”
And as the Calvin on the TV wreathes himself in golden flames, Jaws rolls his eyes.
“Well, isn’t that just…”
He pretends to vomit over the side of the bed, before he changes the channel.
“Let’s see if there’s something good on TV without that son of a bitch in it.”
click
“It seems today, that all you s–”
click
“No.”
“I’ll be there for y–”
click
“No.”
“Do you like Huey Lewis and the News?”
“Now we’re talking, I love this movie!”
For a second, Jaws is sure that he hears a cheerful, flamboyant voice sniggering, from the direction of the lightbulb.
“…Meh, must’ve been my imagination.”