So, seems the Vagrant was bluffing. I kinda figured it was; it’s proven to be good at that. When I read the last message, of course I got scared; it’s pretty damn easy to get scared of something like this. So naturally, I got the gun, slowly entered the room provided to me by Mr. A, then entered and looked under the bed, but not before poking underneath with a broom just to make sure (I wasn’t leaving my face exposed to a possible attack).
As you may have guessed, nothing was there. Sighing in relief, I crept back to the desk. Cerberus hadn’t made any noise since growling at the phone, so it seemed like I was in the clear. And yeah, I checked on him; the Vagrant hadn’t been inside or hurt him. I’ve noticed a couple of commenters express concern about the little guy. He was pretty touched when I told him about that. Three-headed hellhound or not, he’s pretty adorable when he’s flattered.
Anyway, after I had ejected the round from the gun and put it away safely, I closed up the shop for the night (or what passes for night here) and decided to turn in.
The next day, I opened up the shop and went about my day as usual. At around ten in the morning, a masked and cloaked man casually placed several boxes and bags at the door before walking away into the mist that surrounds the shop. I nodded at him in thanks just before he left, then brought the groceries in. That was Mr. A’s delivery man. Yeah, just because I live in a different dimension and peddle otherworldly goods doesn’t mean I don’t get hungry. Mr. A always makes sure that the Emporium’s kitchen was fully stocked with whatever they wanted or needed so long as the shopkeeper didn’t overeat or neglect their duties. Not only that, but he also includes plenty of spare ammunition for the gun I keep under the desk, the properties of which I should really get around to explaining at some point.
A new customer walked–or rather, “skittered”–in at what passes for 2:00 PM here, this one being of a race known as the Pr’mAtria. The best way I can describe them is a creature composed of “organic machinery”, crawling on the ground like a spider or lizard towards the counter. The Pr’mAtrian raised their round head to greet me using strange beeps and what sounded like dial-up. I was able to translate their request as being, We wish/want/like to make purchase/acquisition/exchange of/for artifact/relic/thing stolen/pilfered from we/our people/tribe/race/species. (These folks have trouble with directly communicating with human languages, so the translations tend to come out with multiple related words, hence the slashes. This trend may reappear in future entries for other beings with little grasp of human language.)
After getting a holographic image of what the artifact looked like, I went into the warehouse and took a box with squirming, squealing machine-creature inside. How this was an artifact is beyond me. Anyway, I rang them up, gave them the price for the artifact, and after taking a moment to process the amount, they paid, thanked me (in their own way), and began to exit. Before leaving, though, they told me something pretty worrisome.
There were gashes on the outside of the shop, and they recommended that I make repairs as soon as possible. Stepping outside afterward–taking the gun, of course–I saw that there were indeed marks on the side of the building. They spelled out the word: “TOLD YOU.”
I knew the culprit. Who else could it be but the Vagrant? I was about to re-enter the shop when I saw the customer. Except there was something wrong with them. They were twitching wildly, giving strange beeps and squeals. As if that wasn’t bad enough, they quickly stood on two legs and faced me. I drew the pistol and aimed at the Pr’mAtrian. The surface of its head began to warp and twist, looking like some kind of grinning mask. An all-too-familiar chuckle came from it as black slime oozed from its body. Then the machine’s “face” opened up, and it dropped the “artifact” inside, making a show of chewing it.
The Pr’mAtrian screeched mechanically in what I could only assume to be pain. Its flashing, glowing eye fixed on me as it began “speaking” in labored, stuttering beeps: Terminate/Kill/Release us… It/Aberration wants/hates you/individual… Wants/Likes to use/make/control us… Another pained screech like metal scraping metal came from it, becoming steadily louder and more agonized.
With reluctance, I pulled the trigger, once, twice, three times. Sparks flew from the machine, along with several fluids used for bio-components, and the black slime on the Vagrant’s body. Now, I want to say, for the record, I have had to use the gun against especially unruly patrons, and a few stubborn suits who stormed the shop wielding their own weapons. This was different, though. This was a customer I had finished selling to just a little while ago. I had been talking to them. And now, here they were, lying on the ground, dead. What’s more, they told me to kill them. I looked up at the writing on the side of the shop, then back at the body. I wouldn’t say I felt like crying, but I did feel a profound sense of regret and sympathy for this poor creature.
Then I saw the mocking grin its face had been twisted into, and my grief turned to anger. I had to steel myself from further desecrating the Pr’mAtrian’s corpse with more gunfire. Luckily, fear took control of me before I could make such a rash decision. The Pr’mAtrian had seen the Vagrant’s defacement. They had told me about it. Had the Vagrant taken control of the machine before or after the vandalism? Maybe it could read minds, too, because I heard a static-filled chuckle coming from the corpse. That confirmed my suspicions. The damn monster had been inside the shop. It hadn’t harmed me, but it had forced me to euthanize an innocent, and it had proven to me that it could get in.
However, none of these realizations were what sent me running back into the Emporium and frantically calling Mr. A, struggling to explain through panicked breaths. What caused this was the slow, deliberate motion of its arm as it drew three words in the ground.
“Not long now.”