Nikita, Again

Holding four jobs at once probably isn't the smartest decision I've made, but it's interesting to see the parallels and differences between them. With some careful analysis, I could discern the driving forces behind my fellow blue-collars. I'm starting to get good at identifying the dedicated folk, the college part-timer, the dead end desperates, and the straight up dead ends. I've seen some of the latter two on that list, and while it bugs me a little bit, I can't do anything in my power to help them. C'est la vie, as one workmate put it?

Well, none of that matters right now. It's dark, I'm headed home now and I'm already close as I've crossed under the freeway that separates the dignified side of this town and the, uh...less dignified side. Even under the moonless evening, I notice that the graffiti seems to grow with every step I take. So do the abandoned homes. So do the drifters. So does the stench of spilled cheap beer and blood. So does the presence of white dog turds.

My real job sometimes requires working conditions in the form of utter torture for most people. I don't really mind, though.

My "home" soon comes into view, bathed in the light of aged street lamps. It's the remains of a triple-decker that will probably reach its centenarian years sometime in the following months. The outer structure looks like it's sagging on its foundation, much like a soufflé messing up in hyper slow-motion. The surrounding unkempt vegetation has taken a liking to the sidewalk and faded periwinkle walls as the very leaves seem to claw at the chance of retaking the land. Some of the ivies have even begun crawling through the gaps in the boards on the third storey windows.  The byproduct of an unreported car crash sits on the lawn, completing the "get out" look.

I walk up onto the partially collapsed porch, reaching for the door when I notice noises inside that aren't supposed to be. I hear the sharp clang of metal hitting metal, followed by what's unmistakably tape being rolled out, then something like electrical discharge. I open the door cautiously and enter.

I am greeted by the familiar and tired view of a staircase and doorless frames on either side of me. I head to the right, despite the sounds emanating from upstairs. While I do not explore this would-be crack den often, I do know that this living room was supposed to have a broken CRT TV perched on that rack.

A thief? In this hellhole? I thought upper management made it so that no outsider would ever bother with this place. Mental gears click into place as I realize that means one of my colleagues decided to pay me a visit. Ignoring the worst case scenario and the fact that there are now drilling sounds coming from above, I investigate the ground floor further.

The kitchen, if it could even be called that, also seems to have been pilfered of some items. The already dead stove has been disassembled, some of the old silverware has been taken and the electric mixer that's usually perched on the wooden counter is gone. Some of the piles of trash looks sifted through, but I wouldn't have noticed if I didn't scrutinize as hard as I did.

Should I look further? It's clear that my visitor has some business with me. I really shouldn't get this worked up because they stopped over to take some items whose value would total up to five pant pairs worth of pocket lint.

At that moment, I hear a faint "-uu~".

My tolerance for the situation disintegrates, just like that.

The next moment, I'm storming up the failing steps, skipping two at a time. The discolored and torn wallpaper passes me as a blur. Within a few seconds, I'm facing the door producing the noises. The room in question neighbors mine. Without any hesitation, I open the door with moderate force.

"Listen here, you begonia-tinted fu-"

Someone turns around, and all I could do is stare into eyes of red wine. They are so noticeable despite peeking through stupidly thick goggles. Those eyes are projecting an brand of purity that couldn't be emulated by that puchuu-happy prick. They belong to a very young looking girl. She dons the lower half of a yellow jumpsuit, upper half sporting a striped tank top. The little girl is looming next to a tall pile of junk, obviously all taken from the building. I can even make out the CRT in there.

"I'm sorry, who...are you?" I speak up. I haven't the foggiest clue of who this could be.

Her face twists and her goggles pull up as she growls. She's growling at me like she's a stray. I feel something shatter at my feet, followed by an intense itching sensation in my legs. Wait. Was that a jar of ants? Did that crazed girl just throw a jar of damn ants at me?

I had little time to ponder more before I had to avoid three frantically flying helicopter-like trinkets made of AA batteries, some toothpicks and knives. I ducked afterwards because of the pair of clothing irons linked together by cables sailing towards my face.

Who I could only assume as some type of newfangled feral magical girl began to throw all sorts of other improvised weaponry out of her deceptively small pockets. The assault of various stapled together household items continued until I retreated outside and hastily shut the door. After shaking off the ants, I head into my room.

The old mounted clock that greets me at the door reads around two-thirty.

There lies the comforting smell of herb smoke, a familiar mattress, and my vinyl and book collections. The room itself is in a relatively better state than the rest of the building, but I guess it isn't hard to make it so. Oddly enough, none of the things in my room seem to have been touched.

A sickening voice calls to my right. Oh, damn it.

"It's about time you got here, puchuu~ I take it you met Niki? She's a real bundle of fun, puchuu~"

My right hand momentarily curls into a fist as I turn to face saccharine incarnate. It sits relaxed on the nightstand. This is the one thing I needed the least today.

"Puchuuuuu~" Its innocent face graces me with a split-second look of malevolence. "Eythie, you know you owe me a fa~vor. Take care of the girl for me." The mass of pink gestures to the wall separating us and Ms. Hoarder.

"Why? Do you have your hands full with what's-her-face already?"

"She's dead, puchuu. Got ran over by what Niki used to be. Also, this one's not formally contracted with me, puchuuu~"

What she used to be...

I shoot it a glance. "What's with you picking up just anyone out there and turning them into magical girls? Why can't you do your job the least intrusive way?"

It responds with a twirl. "Because this is the most ~fun~ way, puchuuu~! Plus, it looked like he was gonna throw himself away, anyhow."

I can feel the throbbing pulse of my veins and arteries. I am burning a fuckload before I turn in tonight, if I could even get a chance to sleep.

"I'm busy and also happen to be a proud, productive member of society too, not like you~." It mercilessly resumes. "And why are you complaining, puchuu~? You seem rather lonely here and she'll even clean up this dump for you. She's obedient enough that she didn't barge in here and take your precious paraphernalia after I told her this room was yours, puchuuu~"

I hear something collapsing from the other room, accompanied by a frustrated groan and a dry thump as the already strained wall I've been staring at earns a new crack.

"Well, I don't have anymore time to waste here. Just know I leave Niki to you because I know you'll take good care of her, puchuu~" The creature finally turns to leave.

I feel the need to retort. "Hey, I haven't even done this in awhile. I'm keeping four part-time jobs right now!"

"Hush, puchuu~. You and I both know that this is more important. By the way, I decided to wipe her mind this time around. That should make it easier for you...or not. Until next time, puchuuuuuuu~"

The pink little bastard whimsically squeezes between the boarding on the window, leaving me to be serenaded by the sultry tones of heavy construction and the occasional bout of vocalized anger. Sitting on the bed, I consider smoking a bit, but this girl is now in my care. I can't let first impressions ruin things before they even start.

Or in this case, I can't let second impressions make it so that she fashions a fucking rocking chair out of my bones.

Time drags its feet slowly as I wonder about the new resident. She seems far removed from the magical girls I've been entrusted to before. They were mostly lively, and even the shy ones have had a degree of optimism that I just didn't see in her eyes.

They were deep red. Hollow, yet focused. Those were eyes that signified a being with only a single function. The few movements I saw her make when tinkering with that pile were so fluid. It was a sharp contrast to the disturbed and frantic self that she showed when she was pulling all sorts of shit out of her pocket dimension.

Both actions carried an air of passion, much like a mother protecting her child.

"How am I supposed to deal with this?" I ask the room for help with a self-derisive laugh. The walls here are surprisingly good at offering advice, but I would have to be high off my mind for it to work.

Caught in introspection, I failed to notice the door creak open. My thoughts weren't deep enough to ignore the gentle tugging on my sleeve, though.

The voice is like liquid glass. Her speech comes slow and small. "Are you...Eythie?"

I turn my head gradually to face her and I see vermilion again. They seem different, they feel more "normal" somehow. Before anything else, I respond while scratching my head.

"It's Eythor, but I guess that's fine too."

"Oh."

I examine her further. The cosmos must have been feeling a little paedophilic tonight, as nothing could hide the fact that she looks like she belongs in no more than third grade. Her pale blond hair is a bit long, the bangs just barely reaching her eyes. I also notice her small black hairclip in the shape of two gears.

She is wearing a simple, cute outfit this time around. She must not be transformed now. It comprises of a white button-up blouse with black trim, plaid monochrome skirt, with her dainty legs ending in fittingly small black boots and short socks.

"Ummm..." She throws me a quizzical glance. I avert my gaze and give her some time to mull over whatever is on her mind.

"My name is...Nikita. I'm not sure why, but I think that's my name."

She continues, blushing a bit. "I-I'm sorry for acting up back there. I just..." She appears to have kept her past adult rationality somehow. Either that, or she's the very kind but timid type.

The guilt's probably gnawing at her poor heart. C'mon, go calm her down.

"It's okay. I'm sure you had your reasons."

She doesn't seem entirely convinced by my attempts at assurance, but at least she looks relieved. "It's just that I can't help but be really into making things. I get so focused on my work that I might snap if someone were to disturb me." She says, fiddling with the sleeves tied at her waist.

"A-and when I get something done, I just feel so gratified! The more ambitious the project, the...better it feels."

She could have meant it a little less suggestive, had her face not been red like a damn tomato the entire time she spoke.

She fidgets around in place a little more. "That's not weird, r-right?"

"No, not at all." I manage to pull one of the stoniest poker faces I've made in a long while. All she does in response is stare. Fuck me, this is awkward.

The pools of wine light up in the slightest degree after a minute. "Well...I'm done with my work on a project for now. W-wanna see?" She's trying her hardest to keep her composure, asking me this.

"Sure." I reply warmly. "Do you mind telling me what it is?" My imagination swims with the memory of the industrial refuse monolith she had in that room and the various tiny contraptions she threw at me.

"It would be a lot more fun if you saw for yourself." She says, in a slightly sing-song tone. She offers me her hand, which I hold as she pulls me out of bed.

Should I be worried? I saw the makings of a peculiar grin when she said that. We walk up back to the entrance of the barren room, infinite possibilities about what could lie on the other side rush through my head.

The door creaks open, and I immediately notice the large junk pile has been transformed into a...slightly smaller junk pile sitting on a coffee table? I look at it closer, and I begin to realize that it is a giant gun. Despite essentially being a screwed-together hodgepodge of trash and my next to nil knowledge of physics, I could sense its potential to take in and focus magical energy. It's honestly an impressive piece of work.

I've worked with magical girls of all kinds for a good number of years now and I know their whole "oversized weapon tee-hee~" quirk is a rather widespread phenomenon, but never before have I had a girl jury-rig a whole load of busted appliances and electronics into the visage of a weapon.

"Well, Eythie? Isn't it beautiful~?" Her face is beaming with pride. She couldn't bother to hide the million dollar smile any longer.

"It's charming, in a way. Completely impressive in another."

"You're wondering if it works, aren't ya? It works off the idea of..."

She then launches into a lengthy elaboration of the weapon's inner workings and functions. She speaks of this with the splendor of someone who is truly invested in their craft. It's pretty obvious that this is what she pours her love into. It's her entire being, and listening to her like this makes it feel like I'm peering into her very soul. I guess multidimensional stoner vagrant isn't enough for me; I'm now a spiritual voyeur as well.

While I'm glad I could extrapolate that from her speech, most of the actual content went over my head.

"...so it's sort of like a railgun, in that sense. I haven't tested it yet, because doing it here could easily level the entire building." Smiling, she concludes her explanation. Little does she know that I have the power to trick people into thinking I'm listening to them intently. Or so I like to tell myself.

She and I spend a few more minutes admiring this intimidating feat of scrap-born engineering. At some point, I see her right eye visibly twitch. As if a switch flipped inside her, she begins to slowly walk toward the weapon almost twice her size.

I call out to her. "Hey Nikita. I thought you said you weren't go-"

Her voice is hard and frigid now, cutting through my words. "I have a peace ray. Do as I say."

Bolts of electricity escape out of her petite body after saying that. The light bends to her very form as her outfit warps into one that belongs to a seriously easygoing mechanic, the clothes she wore on our first meeting.

She hoists the machine up with her two tiny arms. "It doesn't seem like you were listening well enough the last time. For courtesy's sake, I'll say it again:"

"It's formal name is the Magic Aided Teleforce Apparatus."

Electricity crackles from her body, the bright arcs converge onto the car battery part of the gun. The various parts of it that are lights and screens begin to flicker on. A fan mounted on it starts to whirr to life. Some sort of music player in the machine activates, to which I hear organs that sing ballads of rapture. She punches the weaponized junkyard which causes the music to die down. This, in turn, causes her goggles to fall onto the bridge of her nose.

She raises her goggles back up. "Whoopsie~ I should probably get that sorted out, ehehehehe..."

It would be adorable if she wasn't on the verge of obliterating my home, even if it is nothing of worth.

She waves the impossibly large cannon around as if she were dancing. If I was really seeing her soul back when she was on her passionate tirade, then I have no idea what to call this side of her. I walk up to her, slow enough so she doesn't notice.

"It likes being called the MATA~" Her grin turns twisted, and her growing cackle accompanies the sounds being produced by the sparking and charging of one big fucking gun.

I should probably do something about this, yeah.

Now at arm's reach, I try to settle her down. "Okay, Nikita. You've shown off enough, now please set the MATA down."

"But why would I do tha~t?" She leans away from me while sticking her tongue out. "This is just too much fun!"

I'd like to reason with her a little more, but that death ray looks poised to do its death ray things at any moment now.

"Okay. Last warning. Put the gun down." I can feel my face grow stern as I say this.

"No! I have so much work to do, so many tests to field. I might as well die if I don't do this!" She clumsily swings the thing, missing my head by a good distance. The threatening hum of the MATA charging up and her downright evil laughter has worn my patience thin.

She loves this damn scrap heap too much. I tackle her while she's slightly out of balance. Of course, I fail to realize that what I did might make her accidentally discharge the gun. All of that energy has to go somewhere.

Well, shit.

I can't really see it, being on top of Niki and facing the floor and all, but I'm fairly certain it's all going skyward. The sound of it firing is unnervingly quiet, but the light is overwhelming. It's like the very air itself is charged with incandescence.

The longest moment draws to a close as the room is now enveloped by near full darkness. Nikita sets the MATA down after we sit up on the floor. I notice that there's a peace sign painted on the weapon's supposed "barrel". I suppress the weak urge to chuckle spitefully.

My eyes meet hers. The raspberry-hued things are dilating in its need to pick up more light. More than that, they contain a maelstrom of emotions. Her outfit's back to the casual black and white, signalling that she's only a young girl now.

Looking up, I see the faint glow of stars. It made a slightly smaller hole than I thought, but it's still something I'll have to take time fixing. I sigh. Not at her, but at startling fact that this veritable ruin is still standing, or at the least, how the floor we were on actually held.

"It looked so beautiful..." She says, almost a whisper. Her face is one on the throes of both ecstasy and despair. The latter is winning.

We exchange stares yet again. Her expression slowly begins to falter.

"I...I'm so sorry." She chokes and sputters, she's getting ready to cry her heart out. Okay, then. Time to see if I've still got it.

"Hey, hey. C'mere."

She obviously needs a hug, so I provide. Her small figure clings to me as if I was the only plank floating in a vast ocean. She lets out her sorrows on my shoulder while I rub her back.

"It's okay, this place wasn't all that pretty to begin with."

"N-no, not that..."

"Then please, tell me of your worries."

"I-it's just that I don't remember anything anymore." I piece her words together, broken up by sobs. "I don't have a-anything left but this talent and need to make, but all my creations can do is hurt..."

"That's not entirely true. You get to live with me now, for starters. You have me."

I can feel her tense up in surprise. It seems she was a little too caught up in her melancholy and momentarily forgot who she was hugging.

I go on to erase her doubts. "Also, you don't always have to work on your, uh, peace ray. I think you could make some really useful things out of what most people would think nothing of. You possess the talent to give purpose to what's been forsaken, you just need a little direction and encouragement. I would be more than happy to give that to you."

Sniffling, she pulls away to look at me. "R-really? You would do that...for me?" I see ruby mixed with hope.

"I certainly would. I'm not cruel enough to pull your leg after saying all that." I reach out to ruffle her hair, then she pulls me into another embrace.

We stay like that for a few good minutes. Soon enough, she calms down fully and parts from me. She starts to shuffle around, looking desperate to articulate something.

"Eyth, I, uhh..." Another nickname. I'll let this one slide because it doesn't sound too bad.

"You're welcome, Niki." I answer for her as I shoot a grin.

"Yeah." There's that blush again. It's starting to get infectious.

Standing up, I look to the hole in the roof. The sky is a navy blue, telling me that the sun will rise soon. Offering my hand, I help the girl up.

"Follow me, I'm going to explain the ground rules to you."

We leave the room and the MATA behind as we head to my room. She gives the place a quick inspection, before suddenly entering a coughing fit.

She speaks up before I could. "I'm fine. Your space is...interesting. Smells a little weird, though." She gives the bed an experimental prod before taking a seat on it.

I guess it's time for some formalities. "I probably should have told you about my services earlier. Better late than never, I suppose."

"You can live with me as you wish. I'm capable of providing you with food and shelter, and I'll even be your acting guardian if you want to attend school. I also have connections to people of all sorts, and I am obliged to use them to your benefit. Just know that I'm a wanderer, and I'll probably move residences every few years. Don't worry, this place is probably the twentieth worst I've had to live in so far out of hundreds, so chances are I'll get a better home next time."

I pause, making her raise an eyebrow. "This used to be the twenty-first, before you blew a hole into the roof."

"T-that was also your fault, you know!" She says with a fake frown.

"I know, I know. I'm just kidding." I hope that lightened the mood a little so my next words don't sting as much.

"I am also insisting you stay because your memories have been erased."

She takes a moment to process this information and nods understandingly.

"Is there anything I have to do?"

"Not really. Most magical girls are compulsed to do their job. Some of them have created organizations of varying sizes to streamline the process. The thing is, you seem like an entirely different case on your own."

"I'm sorry, what about their jobs? The little pink guy didn't explain it all too well."

Puchuu is an asshole. That is all.

"Right, of course the pink thing didn't brief you. I guess I get to give you a lecture this time..."

Which I do. I speak mostly out of obligation; divulge only what I have said to all other magical girls before this one, nothing more. The world lurks with all sorts of abominations, and the magical girls are the ones who instinctually defend the world from those threats. I also speak a short section on monster girls. Nikita listens on with genuine interest.

"...and that's pretty much the gist of it. I advise you to find a magical girl group to run with, because your unique tendencies and talents are best used with a focus in mind."

"Okay then. How do I do that, exactly?"

"I'll help you with that, naturally. I'll ask my contacts around the area for any groups with openings. In the meanwhile, you can do what you please. Feel free to make stuff out of other stuff, so long as it's not from this room or needed to keep this place standing."

"Got it, thank you. Say, which room do I stay in?" Oh, right. For all the effort I put into "ground rules" I forgot about that.

"Any room excluding the following should be fine: mine, the ground floor rooms and the floorless one on the second level."

"Thanks again. I think I'll stay in the holed roof room and go somewhere downstairs for my work cause it gets a little loud..." I don't think that'll help much, considering I heard her piecing things together up here from the front door.

"Why sleep in that room?"

"I feel like I should owe up in a way." This girl is too nice for her own good, but I comment no further.

She stretches a bit, then almost jumps off the bed. "I...feel like I need to make a thing. See you in a bit, Eyth." Walking off, she takes the time to turn around and wave goodbye to me.

The door closes, and I'm left in solitude once more. The clock now reads around five-twenty-five.

I crash right onto the bed and it squeals in protest. Puchuu might be a colossal scumbag, but Nikita's rather interesting. Just who did she used to be?

I don't mind that she's made some work for me. Even with my jobs, I'm sure I can manage. The one thing I'm having difficulty with at the moment is figuring out what I should do right now.

"I know, I'll go ask the walls."