LT Omake: Fortuna Earns her Cookie (Patreon)

Preface

This omake takes place a mere three days after Sonya Vasiliev’s recruitment to Cauldron. For those who don’t remember, she received the vial that would have gone to Christine Mathers.

Fortuna

2001, December 5: Moscow, Russia

My new pet project twirled a butterfly knife in hand. She practiced when none save the Custodian watched. The short, crimson cocktail dress coupled with a single black stocking embroidered with red roses on her left leg drew the eye. Over it, she wore a black, jean jacket and an ornate, porcelain mask adorned with bloody tears. Her honey-blonde hair was cropped short on her left side but otherwise fell in cascading waves down her back. “Cabaret-punk,” Yusung called her.

She sat on the sofa with her legs spread immodestly, one heeled pump on her victim’s chest. “I’m sorry, comrade,” she spoke derisively, “I’m not the fat lady and I’m not singing, but this is curtain call for you.”

“W-Wait, please, you don’t have to do this,” the overweight Russian man stammered. He was a generic oligarch who made his money off the petroleum business. Not exactly a good man, but hardly the worst in this frozen wasteland of a country. No, the only crime that earned our attention was that he’d dug too deep. “I-I have money. I can pay you! How much? One million? Ten?”

“Enough, Melpomene,” I chided. “Finish up.”

She started as I made my arrival known. These seemingly spontaneous visits were necessary to show her that I was watching, that she was wanted. “Ma’am!”

I gestured to the fat man who was trying to crawl away from her. In truth, his death wasn’t strictly necessary. An altered memory here, a modified bank account there and he would have ceased to be a threat to Cauldron’s plans.

Yusung would disapprove, but this was necessary for Melpomene’s development. He reminded her too much of the fat cat who’d taken advantage of the naïve young ballerina in her old world. This wasn’t about his threat to Cauldron, but bringing my new project some closure, allowing her to literally sever the final connection to her old life.

“You know too much, my friend,” she spoke in a saccharine voice.

“I can stop! I’ll stop asking quest-ghurk!”

I nodded placidly as his words died in his throat. I dug in my pocket and pulled out a crimson pill, a refined potion, handing it off to Melpomene. “Here. You took a glancing blow to your right side when he panicked.”

She accepted it with a bashful smile. Already, she didn’t even question that I knew. Good. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“Do you feel better?”

“No… Should I?”

“No. I would be disappointed in you should you delight in murder,” I lied. The capacity for disappointment implied I had expectations of her beyond being a useful tool. I placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You did well. Know that not everyone who discovers Cauldron will need to be slain.”

“An option of last resort.”

“Correct. Thank you for your assistance tracking him down.”

“I-It was my pleasure, Contessa, ma’am,” she stammered. I smiled welcomingly at her.

The way she looked up to me reminded me of a puppy. The comparison was apt, for that was exactly what she was: a dog for me to train. She would be Cauldron’s first layer of defense, a guard dog to nip at the heels of those who were too curious while I occupied myself with bigger concerns. Right now, I was doing the equivalent of potty training. A little positive reinforcement was necessary for better results further down the line.

“Go back to headquarters and wash up. Take a good rest before the Doctor occupies your time again.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Everything about Sonya Vasiliev was a façade. She once masked the innocent girl she used to be under the mask of an aloof, elegant ballerina. She masked the broken wreck she was now under the guise of an irreverent enforcer with a flair for drama. It all came crumbling down around me in her eagerness to be more like me, to gain a semblance of control over her life.

I allowed myself a bitter smile as I waked back into the Doorway. She had no idea that she’d merely surrendered control to a demon. The old adage rang true: genuine loyalty could not be bought. But… But it sure as hell could be made.

X

Andy Yusung Kim

2001, December 5: Washington, DC, USA

I stumbled downstairs at eight in the morning. Considering how early I woke up normally, this was more or less my equivalent to sleeping in. A day without morning meditation felt good once in a while, especially since I slept late last night poring over Zero Day’s notes on drone programming. It largely wasn’t applicable to my Hextech dragonflies, but seeing how other, more traditional tinkers did things was enlightening in its own way.

Mom was in the kitchen, frying up a chunk of galchi, beltfish. It was a long, silver fish with delicate skin and flesh, best known for its mild, briny flavor and abundance of bones. Next to it was a stone pot with gyeran-jjim and another wok full of roasted, stir-fried anchovies.

I gave her a hug. “Morning, mom.”

“Good morning, Yusung. Sit down, the food will be ready soon.”

“Okay, I’ll set the table. What’s with the spread though?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I felt like cooking this morning. Eat a lot, okay?”

I opened the fridge and brought out three different types of kimchi: cucumber, turnip, and standard cabbage. Add the snow-white rice, beltfish, anchovies, and braised eggs and it was a rainbow of color on the breakfast table. Even a king wouldn’t have found a single thing wanting here.

“Thank you for the food,” I said, bringing my hands into a clap. “Really, who’s going to eat all this?”

“You are. Just eat the leftovers for lunch. I know you have a way to get home from the lab very quickly,” she said, giving me a gimlet eye.

“Yes, mother. I’ll cook something nice for dinner. Or maybe cookies? I’m thinking something Christmas-y. Tis the season and all that.”

“Oh? Something from my son? Then send me the grocery list and I’ll stop by after work.”

“Sure, mom.” I finished my food and took my rice bowl to the kitchen. “I’ll do the dishes.”

“What a good son I have,” she said. She put on a blazer and a winter coat before heading for the foyer. “I love you, Yusung.”

“Love you too, mom. Have a nice day at work.”

X

Fortuna

2001, December 5: Washington, DC, USA

I allowed myself a rare frown as I appeared behind the Kim family garage. The Path had alerted me of one of several conditions that might be violated without direct intervention: the safety of Yusung’s mother. Unacceptable.

Not only was Yusung’s work critical, he was, dare I admit it, a friend. The number of people who had seen me away from the trappings of the Path could be counted on one hand with fingers to spare. The number who I dared hope could one day be my equal? Just one.

Sujeong “Susan” Kim must live. Her continued wellbeing and relative happiness were vital for the Path. And thus, I would intervene.

I leaned into the wall of the house, just out of view as I watched her open her phone. She’d had Yusung upload the family album on there and had taken to looking at it whenever she got the chance. She smiled tenderly as she gazed upon the picture of her dead husband. Captain Namjoon Kim of the South Korean Coast Guard was a slightly chubby man with laugh lines around his eyes. In the picture, he wore a dress uniform as he held his pregnant wife, a memento of his promotion ceremony.

“You’d be so proud of your son, beloved,” I read on her lips.

I did as the Path instructed and allowed it to briefly fall away. Emotions that were almost foreign washed over me. What was it like to have a family? To have loved ones? I barely remembered my own. Those were things I’d turned my back on, all in the name of survival, but… but then why did I feel the need to watch a woman mourn her dead husband? Why did my chest feel tighter?

My presence here was not necessary. I could have arrived at her moment of need. And yet, the Path nudged me here before urging me to feel again. I frowned. The Path to befriending Yusung… demanded that I be human again…

Tears stung my eyes as Sujeong drove off to work. Was the loss of a husband and father the same as a loss of self? Would it be right for me to mourn something I willfully threw away?

For the first time in a long while, I was disappointed in myself, in who I’d become. What did it say about me that I needed the Path to even begin to relate to another?

“I’m a monster,” I whispered, a truth I’d already known.

X

I appeared out of a Doorway in the blindspot of a gas station camera, just below the mounted nest. The Path was fully in control again and there was not the slightest hint of my personal turmoil on my face. I walked down the street, suit pressed to perfection and a confident smirk on my lips.

Sujeong would drive past this corner in seventeen seconds. A random bus driver would lose control of his vehicle, traction lost in a puddle leftover from last night’s rain, and drive into the intersection during his red light. He would crash into Sujeong’s driver-side door, crushing her beneath the wreckage. The sheer mass would overwhelm her ring of protection, breaking the barrier and killing her before the healing and teleportation rings could take effect.

That could not be allowed to happen. I stole a paperclip from some office clerk at a nearby bus stop and bent it in my hands before tossing it into the street.

A third vehicle, a shuttle car, drove over it in just the right way with a slightly faulty tire, puncturing said tire with a deafening bang. The driver startled and lost control, sliding into the intersection. The bus and shuttle met as both sides slammed the breaks. When they met, the shuttle’s comparable mass kept the bus from proceeding further, allowing Sujeong’s much smaller car to drive by seconds later.

She’d be concerned but would let the authorities handle the matter. Good enough.

X

I had to intervene for a second time in one day. I emerged from a Door in an overlooked corner of a parking lot before heading to the Korean bank where she worked. It would be robbed while she was teller. A gun would not penetrate her shield, but the trauma coupled with the obvious tinkertech would ruin her normal life. In turn, it would provide a large source of distraction and worry for Yusung.

Unacceptable.

It would have been a simple matter to quietly end the three would-be robbers. For a moment, I was tempted; it was the swiftest way to remove obstacles to the path. And yet, I refrained.

If he knew, Yusung would want them alive; death was not a fitting punishment for their crimes in this modern world. He would have also demanded they be arrested with undeniable evidence of their crimes so that they could harm no one else.

I looked down the Path and saw that I had ten minutes to spare. Plenty of time to indulge him, annoying as his morals could be.

I released a frustrated sigh and entered the bank, allowing the Path to set the stage according to my stipulations.

As I walked, I gently jostled the elbow of an old man, making him spill coffee onto a younger man’s pants. I whirled and stared at him with wide, soulful eyes and pouty lips. I bowed deeply at the waist and apologized in fluent Korean, something I knew would stand out given my obviously Caucasian complexion. “I’m so sorry, sir, I was just in such a hurry that I didn’t see you there!”

The younger man, who had been getting ready to berate his elder, was reminded by my interruption that he was in the middle of a very public space. Seeing that he’d now unexpectedly become the center of attention, he tried to diffuse the situation as quickly as possible to avoid being seen yelling at both an elder and a pretty woman. It took him seconds to reassure us with empty platitudes before heading off to the nearest bathroom to dry his pants.

The guard who had abruptly stood ready to intervene, sat down again. A small, plastic container of Tic-Tac fell from his pocket and was kicked by an unknowing passerby near the marble benches.

Precisely two minutes and sixteen seconds later, three men rushed into the building, each donning a black mask over their heads shaped like a snarling dog. They were the Hounds of War, a thoroughly unimpressive gang that failed to live up to their name.

“Hands in the air!” the leader shouted as his two followers knocked out the security guard with a stolen taser. This was how they remained the only gang in Annandale, by knowing not to resort to firearms first and being largely not worth the effort. The three of them then drew their pistols, showing everyone that they were armed. “In and out, no one needs to get hurt!”

The leader motioned for his two flunkies to spread out across the building. He then withdrew a bag and made to approach the teller. That was when everything went wrong for them.

The first flunky passed the restroom and was briefly surprised as the man I’d spilled coffee on walked out. They stared at each other before he began to wave his gun about and order the man towards the center where the rest of us hostages were gathered.

At the same time, the second flunky moved past the marble benches and tripped on the case of Tic-Tac. He yelled as his foot slid out from beneath him. His head crashed into marble, knocking him unconscious. His windmilling arm still held the pistol, and by freak accident, knocked into the bench and discharged the gun.

That single bullet struck the first flunky through the hand, ruining the pistol and allowing the man in coffee-stained pants to disable him.

In seconds, the leader was alone, his men dispatching themselves like something out of a Three Stooges skit. I saw his mind struggle to process what just happened and rolled my eyes.

Amateur.

His path towards Sujeong brought him in arms reach of me so I reached out and tapped his throat with one hand while the other gripped his pistol just so and twisted. His instinct to flinch back coupled with my own grip and weight did the work for me. The bones in his knuckles and wrist dislocated with a series of audible pops.

Before he could even begin to scream, I stalked forward with a knee to his groin, hard enough to take his breath away and every man in the vicinity to close their legs in sympathetic agony. One final tap to his chin knocked him out for the foreseeable future.

“You know what?” I said, pulling my fedora just far down enough to hide my face from the security cameras. “I think I can come back later.”

I walked out, the guard only now stirring from the floor and everyone else trying to process what just transpired. I was long gone by the time police arrived.

I had to admit, if only in the confines of my own mind, beating up some poor schmuck was unexpectedly therapeutic. Perhaps I was more stressed than expected.

X

My restored good cheer lasted only until Sujeong got off work. I had to intervene for an unprecedented third time in one day. This time, I found myself in the bathroom of the local Giant, a bog-standard grocery store common in the Arlington area.

I located Sujeong in short order. She was pushing a shopping cart laden with salmon, spinach, cream cheese, butter, shallots, garlic, and powdered sugar. Yusung made some puff pastry the night prior, so dinner was likely salmon en croûte, salmon stuffed in puff pastry with creamed spinach, with some sort of sweet dessert. I felt a small pang of jealousy and made a note to demand my fair share.

I rolled my eyes as Sujeong passed by a wet floor sign without paying attention. She could do no wrong in Yusung’s eyes, but that woman was far too forgetful.

I snatched a tea cozy and flipped it in her direction before ducking out of sight. She was prevented from slipping when the cozy landed just below her foot, giving her some much needed friction. She’d survive a bad fall, but anything that would trigger her shield in public was to be avoided if at all possible. I left as she picked it up and apologized to an employee before offering to buy the now ruined product.

X

I felt the irritated twitching in my eyebrow smooth out as my Path took hold. I was in the middle of assisting the Doctor in fashioning a new vial when the Path called me to intervene yet again. For the fourth time today, I stepped out into a random street corner in Arlington.

Had I been anyone else, I would have started to suspect enemy action, but I was Contessa. The Path ensured that should any dare target Sujeong Kim, either I or Yusung would be informed and they would be dealt with accordingly.

Hiding my irritation, I straightened my blazer and turned the corner into the gas station parking lot Sujeong was refueling at.

There, I saw the reason the Path triggered. A freight truck was parked at the pump directly across from her. Should I leave the situation alone, the driver would light a cigarette to take the edge off a seven-hour marathon drive, not realizing that his pump was not secured properly. The gas station would promptly combust, overloading Sujeong’s shield and immolating her.

I had no intention of being seen by Sujeong; she’d already seen me once at the bank and seeing me a second time here would raise questions neither I nor Yusung would want to answer.

I walked up to a different car and picked up a rock. I’d be unobserved for four more seconds. I took aim at the side mirror and smashed it clean off the joint, sending the car alarm blaring.

That caused a cat that was lying beneath the car to panic and dash out of its hiding place. It let out a fearful yowl and dashed up a tree.

Its panicked dash in turn scared a squirrel, who then immediately jumped to a different tree to escape a perceived predator.

The squirrel jumped to a tree that was closer to the trucker. In its haste, it didn’t see the beehive. The jostled hive fell to the gas station floor and rolled until the trucker, pacing back and forth, kicked it absentmindedly. He didn’t even get to reach for his lighter before the bees were on him with a vengeance.

I smiled as Sujeong drove off, completely oblivious to the chaos left in her wake.

X

Andy Yusung Kim

2001, December 5: Washington, DC, USA

Dinner was excellent and the salmon en croûte turned out wonderfully. It was buttery and crisp on the outside with a wonderful, herby interior that didn’t at all smell fishy. Mom wasn’t a huge fan of French cuisine, but I thought I’d won her over tonight, just a little.

I wasn’t sure I could call myself Christian under my current circumstances, but I couldn’t deny being infected by a bit of holiday cheer. Most people celebrated by going gift shopping. I decided testing interesting recipes for fancy cookies was a lot more amusing.

I hummed happily as I filled the last Linzer cookie with homemade strawberry jam. Linzer cookies were an Austrian dessert commonly seen around the holidays. They were sandwich cookies with the top layer being donut-shaped. The cookies themselves had a wonderfully nutty flavor thanks to ground almonds mixed directly into the dough while the filling could vary widely depending on the baker’s preference. A thin layer of powdered sugar was sprinkled on top to finish the look.

I left the cookies on the counter to wait for the jelly to set and went about cleaning up. When I turned back, it was to find Fortuna with one cookie in her mouth.

“Oh, hey, Fortuna. Great to see you. Please, help yourself to the cookies, it’s not like I spent two hours on those things or anything, thanks for asking,” I drawled sarcastically. She wordlessly picked up the tray and walked into a Doorway. “Oi! At least leave a few!”

She stopped and whirled, meeting my eyes with hers. There was genuine irritation there, an expression of emotion that I didn’t think I’d ever see on the world’s deadliest thinker. Staring me down, she shoved another two cookies into her mouth and gave them a loud chew.

“I. Deserve. These. Cookies,” she growled.

The Door closed, leaving me confused as all hell.

“… Huh…?”

Author’s Note

This omake came about because everyone kept telling me Andy’s mom is too sweet. I’ve had multiple people tell me they expected her to die half a dozen times with all the death flags she’s been raising. I decided to see how many I could cram into one scene: unexpected, excessive kindness, bouts of “I love you,” future promise that might not be kept, reminiscing about dead people, etc.

As for that intro with Sonya Vasiliev? It’s a good contrast, I think. It’s good to remember that as fluffy as she is with Andy, Fortuna is not that kind of woman 99% of the time.