All Together Now

Artik tilted his head each way, muttering, "Well. There you go."

"Are they dead yet?" Old Cyril grunted.

Cyril gasped, "It makes sense now! 42!"

Makoto looked at old Cyril. "Are who dead?"

Artik "skree"ed and briefly considered making that an attack. He burst out into laughter.

"Yourself and the unfaithful one?" Old Cyril rubbed his nose.

Cyril was marveling over 42. "Thanks Douglas Adams!"

Makoto shrugged. "Me is alive. She isn't."

Artik was still choking.

Old Cyril waved his cane irritatedly, "Well leave and go kill him."

Makoto shrugged. "Did that already. I'm giving him a chance to get stronger."

Artik turned purple. Which was weird for him. Since he was so damn orange.

Old Cyril sighed, "Go find the local brothel, his future self should be there. Go get 'em tiger."

"What?"

Artik needed to breathe. Fat chance, the universe aaid.

Old Cyril sighed. "Go to the brothel. Kill your alternate self. Come back. Get your reward."

Cyril shoveled oxygen into Artik's mouth.

Makoto smiled. "Actually he is still locked up. Here Ill go get him." Makoto teleported away then came back with his alternate self.

Artik choked on the probably proverbial shovel.

Old Cyril made a face, "No don't kill him here, I don't want viscera laying about."

Cyril wondered why exactly he wanted his son dead.

Alternate Makoto yawned. "Sup dad."

Artik couldn't help but understand the parallel.

"Get on with it." Old Cyril gestured impatiently.

Alternate Makoto walked out the door.

Makoto watched him go. "Why do you want him dead?"

Artik did Artik things.

Gardening, Pokéfarming, children, beatboxing.

"Because that's not Makoto!" Old Cyril was seething with anger.

Cyril squinted in confusion. Not really. No eyes.

Artik decided it was time. "Guys. Look, err..." he swallowed, "Listen, I... think it's time to go home."

"What?" Makoto wasn't leaving. He wanted to see where this went.