Chapter Text
“I don’t think I should be here, really.”
Sampo is on board the Astral Express, trying to avoid acknowledging the barely constrained fury the little bunny stared at him with. Hopefully he would eventually find out why the Bunny hated him so much, if only so he could pay off whatever debt he’d saddled them with. But at the end of the day, they weren’t friends, so it didn’t matter that much.
“No shit.” Seele glares at him, doubtless, his past help to Wildfire having escaped her mind. Well, it’s not like he disagrees, but still! Can’t he get some acknowledgement, “But you were there. And everyone else is busy. Deal.”
“Wha- well what about Asta! She’s right there! Or- or maybe Pom-Pom? Big strong rabbit.. boy… thing to keep your back safe?” He points, emphasizing his sentences constantly with jabs in their direction.
March gives him a similar look to Seele, hands on her hips, “Asta could barely make enough time to help us at all. And Pom-Pom is…. Well I’m not sure why Pom-Pom can’t come, really, but they can’t!”
“Pom-Pom is the conductor. Of course Pom-Pom can’t come!” Pom-Pom explains in what Sampo could tell they though was genuinely helpful, “Besides. Pom-Pom is a bit excited to pull the lever that sends Sampo into uncharted territory.”
“Alright.” Asta said, “It was pretty trivial to get into their system. I’ve logged you all as ‘vigilantes’.” Sampo opened his mouth to comment but she level him with a stern glare, “Shut. Anything else wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny. To them, you guys are vague witness testimonies and blurry photos.”
Pom-Pom climbed up a tiny step stool to reach the transport desk, and, after flicking a few switches and levers, smiled exclusively at Stelle, “Pom-Pom wishes you luck, Trailblazer!”
“Wa-wait!” Sampo yelps, “Don’t I get any luc-” He’s not a trailblazer! This can’t be ethical!
Pom-Pom pulled a final, larger lever, and Sampo fell backwards into the Astral Sea, momentarily weightlessness gripped him in the familiar sensation of the most common form of ship transport.
When he was material again, he found himself in a monkey cage.
Well. Not a Zoo kind of monkey cage. There was a long ovular table which sat before a podium, and beside him was a watercooler.
Fine. Fine. Sampo Koski was nothing if not resourceful. He could work with this. Step one: Distract them.
He reached to the side, grabbing one of the styrofoam cups and slowly filled it with cold water. Bringing it up to his mouth, downed the whole thing in one long gulp. Sampo breathed his contentment and eyed his stunned crowd, “What? It’s laundry day.”
Barked orders ushered the suited politicians from the room, leaving armored guards and-
And-
Noone.
Is what Sampo imagined they were thinking. Nobody called him a master escape artist, true. But that was just because he rarely had to escape in the first place. Never getting caught had its benefits and so did a large collection of wigs.
Quick change experience helped too.
Step two: Get away.
Stella- nah, too close to Stelle - Ada Grayburn, upcoming specialist in criminal psychology with a minor in city infrastructure escaped with the rest of her fellow monkeys. She was too rough and tumble to scream, but not so much so as to feel ashamed for running. She had been invited to sit in on the meeting by- Sampo opened one of the three wallets he’d picked so far - by Isamu Daiku who had - he flicked his wind out, smiling at the scream and crack he heard behind him - tragically tripped on the way out. And most importantly, she was very busy, and had a meeting to attend in three hours that just couldn’t possibly be canceled, officer, it’s too important!
Sampo had to hold in his laughter, this was all too funny! He could already feel the satisfaction of tricking some poor soon to be fired guard.
Ada Grayburn ran round the corner and, passed by a small group of men in tights.
She laughed. She couldn’t keep it in anymore, looking at them. Spandex suits and lots of color. They approached her, asking what was wrong and when she saw the mans crotch guard move under the tight fabric she only laughed harder.
Minutes passed before she could speak again, “Sorry sir, I believe I’m simply in shock.”
The hero nodded, understanding. Shock affected people differently, and ushered a tired looking paramedic over to ask for a shock blanket. It was actually quite comfy for Ada.
Ada Grayburn smiled. Everything's coming up jokers.
The evacuation went swiftly. They questioned everyone briefly, going over the story dozens of times for any stray detail, only to find that noone had noticed anything off. When it was her turn, Ada Grayburn, upstanding citizen that she is, became so distraught with poor Isamu Daiku who tripped on the way and oh god, officer you have to see if he’s okay!
But most importantly, noone raised a fuss when she said she had to leave early.
Scurrying through the alleys of a truly massive city, Ada Grayburn gathered her wits about her in the dark overcast of towering buildings. She breathes out a sigh, ready to exit business mode.
“Aren’t you an odd one.” She heard behind her. Turning, she saw a tall, white haired man in a purple business suit, “Care to put a name to your face?” He said, reaching into his pocket to pull out a cigarette.
“Please!” She yelled, “I don’t want any trouble.”
The man snorted, placing the cigarette in his lips, “Don’t think you can fool me,” He brought up a lighter, flicking it on and lighting the cigarette. A belch of smoke puffed from his lips, “I’ve been in this business longer than you’ve been alive.”
“I don’t want to die, please! I just want to go home.”
“A bit of a test for you, if you don’t mind.” He reached up, snapping his fingers, “Kill her.”
Dozens of goons slipped out from the shadows. Ada Grayburn may not have noticed them, but Sampo Koski was no pushover. Their presence had been clear as day.
It didn’t take long. Ada had reached into her bag, scrambling for the mace, and Sampo had pulled out the Windthorn dagger. Sampo wasn’t what he’d call a killer, but he didn’t find himself too regretful of the bodies behind him, “A test?” He said, no longer keen on pretend, “Business is business, but I think that really scares me.”
“Call me Giran.” The old man said, tossing Sampo a wad of bills, “I just like to know what I’m paying for. Consider that reparations for your grievances. Emotional damages,” he chuckled wryly, taking a drag of his cigarette, “But you’re right” Giran grabs a phone from his pocket, pressing a few buttons, “Test ain’t over yet.”
Sampo sighs. This isn’t what he signed up for. Can’t he just take a nap or something?
From around the edge of the alley, two cars, blinking white lights and sharp noises. Police cars.
Giran gives him another grin, “What are you waiting for? They’re here for you.”
Sampo, not one to wait for much teasing if he can help it, gets his legs working quickly down the road.
“Meet me at the Dougza Park later!” Giran called with a laugh.