CORE Interlude: The Good Life

CORE Interlude: The Good Life

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Commissioned by Chaosbrain

Wordcount: 1000

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[X] The Good Life: Long ago, you ate rats and garbage. Now, look at you. You’re a success. You have fine drink, good food, and a nice bed. And instead of turning to crime, you’re doing it for the good of humanity. You have a gift from God. A gift that turns monsters to the side of humans. Of course, you can only use it a few times a year, but you spend the rest of the year living in comfort and luxury. Not bad for the discarded son of a prostitute, eh?

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Isn’t it a laugh and a half that my whore of a mother threw away her chance to live a life beyond her imagining? I ain’t the sort to hold a grudge, but who can’t chuckle at a little, poetic irony? Years and years spent being a prostitute for the higher class, hoping to get picked up by some rich bloke, and even having daughters to entice the most depraved of the lot… and throwing away the one kid who actually a lick of potential beyond bending over!

The proverbial golden goose practically comes out between your legs, then you decide to chuck him to the side, because he can’t entice some old, liver-spotted bloke like a girl can. You spend your entire life ridding yourself of any compunctions, morals, and beliefs about doing anything not selfish… and get fucked over because you didn’t have a modicum of sense to keep your own kid. 

It’s a real gut slayer of notion, so much so that only an idiot wouldn’t chuckle at the thought.

The joke’s good enough to check on every few weeks from the very height of luxury.

And, by the height of luxury, I meant the very height of luxury. 

Caviar, champagne, and wonderful, beautiful women who giggle and aren’t ashamed about their jobs. Why wouldn’t they be? Just like the first two, they’re of the highest quality and paid for exorbitantly. Every little shake of their hips, either in jeweled rungs or swathes of silk, earn them more in a day than most do in a year. And, after years of seeing women debase themselves, I enjoy the art more than I do the flesh. They dance and they serve, as I look on to be enthused and entertained, but I hardly ask for more… and when I do, I’m not ashamed in the slightest to be easily pleased. 

It’s not in shit, underground basement made to look decent either, like all the underground, high-class whorehouses the rich use. 

I live in an entire valley, in a tower filled with all sorts of gadgets and gizmos the world over, and plenty of room to play. If I wanted to, a trip abroad with one of my lovelies is a phone call away. Some high-class, high-brow haute cuisine from the latest and greatest chef? I could call one of them in to cook for me for every meal without an issue. Power is money, therefore I had plenty of money to spare, and without an inkling of regret either, since it was all for a good cause too.

Monsters existed, with entire empires hidden in the shadows even, and I was beating them back with one of their leaders at a time. Their little nations fell apart with just little old me following a few instructions from some blokes who’ve fighting hard their entire lives. It’s not much of a job, just listening and enjoying myself, while making sure I didn’t grow fat and ugly while it happened… but ain’t that the best sort of job to have in the first place?

Morally correct.

No thoughts required.

Luxury dropped onto your lap.

And dear, ol’ mum could’ve had a piece of it if she just didn’t leave me on the side of the street to die of hunger or taken in by a bunch of bastards. It’s a real shame. Even now, she’s up to her fifth surgery trying to look young, and even dabbling in a few dark rituals, but in the end she’ll get put down by the powers that be. I suppose I could save her, but even if she’s my mum, what kind of half-decent human being helps out someone who bathes in the blood of virgins to stay alive in this day and age? I mean, even getting bricked up in your own home’s a mite touch too light of a punishment for that now. 

In fact, it might be a bit much to just keep her under surveillance instead letting her get fucked over like the monster she is. 

But if that call was mine to make, it wasn’t going to get ringed in. 

Maybe it’s because I’m a coward, or even because some fucked up portion of me wanted to see her struggle while I got mine, but I knew that I wouldn’t call in the clean up crew on my mother, even with everything she did.

I suppose that I’m a little fucked in the head just like her. 

Still, I wasn’t fucked in the head enough to be entirely like her though. 

So, I’ll enjoy my new life, my new job, and my new works just fine. It’s more than a little depraved, crazed, and filled to the brim with excess, but what’s a man to do? I ain’t particularly gifted in any other way. My power’s all pointed towards waiting and seeing, while it charges up to take over another Monster’s mind. Looking for targets, ferreting them out, and making them available for a little touch-and-go with a metaphorical brain pan wasn’t my job. My job’s to sit tight, wait, and seize control of whomever and whatever’s against the interests of humanity.

Ain’t nothing wrong with enjoying myself while I’m at it, especially when I’m doing good work for a good reason. 

The world isn’t going fix itself. Monsters are everywhere. They need to go, but humanity’s sorely outmatched. The longer I live, the more I’m willing to fight, and the more rest I get means the more Mosnters are taken out and added to humanity’s numbers. A little debauchery and greed goes a long way to getting a man happy and well rested, so ain’t it a fact that my excesses aren’t just getting me off, but helping out in the long run?

The sooner I’m able to nab another monster the better, so there’s no hard feelings about a bloke enjoying himself, yeah?

What’s the point of a life spent fighting and killing nonstop, especially when you can just lay back, relax and let loose to great effect at the right time?

I’ll tell ya.

Nothing. 

Nada.

Zilch.