//------------------------------// // Wonder And Might, Horror And Fright: For Sale, Cheap! // Story: The Legend, Rebuilt // by Caldoric //------------------------------// With an imploding wash of green light, Ian rematerialized, almost immediately slumping against what he was pretty sure was a lamppost. He let out a shuddering sigh and clutched his bruised side, his armored back scraped against the metal pole as he allowed himself to slowly descend into a sitting position. Once he'd taken a moment to readjust his mask, the Toa of Space looked around. He definitely did not recognize his location from personal experience. He appeared to have shown up on the kind of abandoned side-street one would find in the average city slums back on Earth. If asked to give his first impression as to where on Earth it was, however, he would've been hard-pressed to say. Something about the general architecture around him (and the harsh, sulphurous-yellow light from the streetlamp above) made Ian almost want to say it was far East-Asian, probably Japanese, save for the fact that what few words he could see were in English. It was also raining. "Where the hell am I now?" Ian idly wondered aloud, then succumbed to a minor bout of coughing. As he ran a hand over his mouth, beneath the mask, he felt a small spattering of warmth smear against his fingers, and when he pulled them back to look, he found his digits adorned with silvery-red 'blood.' "Shit..." was all Ian said to that. Looking up, he saw a bit of blue, flickering light coming from under a closed door just across the street. Figuring that it was probably someone's TV, Ian decided he'd get up and try knocking on the door. Easier said than done, though, seeing that his entire body felt like one big bruise. Yes, even the mechanical bits. He would've even sworn that his mask ached, but that would've sounded stupid. Not that there was anyone else nearby to care. And, speaking of Masks... Ian leaned his head back against the pole as, with a bit of concentration, his mask began glowing, and then seemed to melt and reform into another, familiar shape: the Mask of Regeneration. Using its powers, he was able to fix the better part of his armor, and other inorganic parts of his body. It was a patch job, to be sure, but at least he was able to breathe a bit easier, and the headache had faded once he'd pulled a bit of stone shrapnel from between two plates on the back of his head. Ian got up, slowly and unsteadily, leaning against the lamppost for support, then paused. "Dammit," he cursed under his breath, "why'd I have to go and piss off what amounts to a physical god like that? Not to mention, I missed the opportunity for a perfect one-liner. 'Sebaste and co. send their regards...' Yeah, that would've been brilliant. Suicidal, admittedly, but still brilliant." He looked both ways up and down the street before he crossed. As he did, he idly noticed a bit of graffiti on a nearby wall, and faintly recognized it as having come from the second instalment of the "watchdogs" game series. It's amazing how popular that got after Trump took office... he thought. Wait a sec, if that's here, then that means... more humans are around! Great! Maybe I'm even back on Earth! With that, he found himself standing before the curtain-backed, mostly-glass door of the storefront, his eye drawn to four symbols hung on a sign at about chest-height on a human: a triangle, a circle, an "X," and a square. They seemed familiar to him, though he couldn't remember why, and they definitely seemed out of place amongst the various posters and flyers and such that were plastered up and down the alley and all over the darkened window to the left of the door. Ian knocked, politely, and waited a few seconds. There was the sound of something shuffling around inside, and whatever was casting the blue light beneath the door shifted locations. "Come on in... it's unlocked..." Said whoever was inside. Ian did his best to shake off what rain he could in the small shelter the doorway provided before opening the door. As it creaked open, allowing him to duck under the lintel, (he was slightly more than seven feet tall, being a Toa,) he was treated to the sight of a man of mid-to-far Eastern descent, who was about 5'6" and standing behind a counter of sorts. Behind the man were a couple of nice shelves, made of a beautiful dark-brown wood and bearing several interesting items. The person himself was holding open what seemed to be a ledger or large tome on the counter with his left hand, and idly toying with a radiant sphere of blue, gas-like energy in the other. The latter subject, which seemed to be the source of the flickering light Ian had seen under the door, seemed to hold more of the man's attention than the tome, as he appeared to be regarding this strange creation rather fondly, smiling gently as it slowly turned above his uplifted hand. In fact, in Ian's opinion, the man looked not too dissimilar to the character in Iron Man III that had been "hired" to portray the "Mandarin" for Extremis' various schemes. The man snapped the fingers of his left hand, and the glowing sphere collapsed into nonexistence with a piff! as he turned his smiling gaze upon Ian, seemingly about to say something. The smile quickly faltered, however, as a look of startled recognition took its place and the words died on his lips. "You..." He muttered, before raising his voice to more audible levels. The man's words carried an accent that was strange and unfamiliar to Ian's ears, but it seemed fitting somehow. "You...! You're not supposed to be here! How did you find this place?" With that, he snapped his fingers at something on the other side of the door from Ian. The injured Toa, for his part, stepped around the door, closing it as he attempted to see what was going on. All he saw was a revolving panel in the wall, bearing an extended coatrack on the side that was swiftly being concealed from the room at large. There had been a number of outfits or costumes on the various hooks, though the two that caught his eye were: a heavily-used medieval-style cloak, with many pockets bearing untold wares, and... A very realistic Slenderman outfit. The panel finished its rotation, leaving the wall looking as innocent as any wall could, and completely devoid of a coatrack. Ian looked back at the man behind the counter, raising an eyebrow. "Ok... that was interesting..." he said. "Where am I? I mean, I'm pretty sure that this isn't Earth, since we don't have magic there. Also, no offense, but even though you seem to recognize me, I don't remember you." The man inhaled deeply and opened his mouth, his face a mask of anger, only to pause momentarily. "Of course you wouldn't remember me, I'm a man of many faces. But that doesn't answer my question of how you found your way to my... humble abode." Ian sighed, then winced and clutched a hand to his abdomen. "Y-yeah, I really don't know. I was supposed to be on my way back to... well, to the place I've basically been strong-armed into protecting, after nearly getting pancaked. It's complicated, and I'm not sure how much your civilization knows about trans-dimensional--" "I know everything about trans-dimensional travel, and Multiverse Theory." The shopkeeper interjected. "After all, I was the one who thought it would be mutually beneficial for you and that specific pair of worlds to be... introduced, shall we say?" The Toa blinked at the shorter being for a moment, then seemed to make up his mind. "But then... You know who The Merchant is? The guy that I saw dressed in the Slender... man..." His head snapped to the right again, looking at the revolving wall panel as something in his mind went click. "...Costume. He's here somewhere, isn't he? The Merchant?" He asked, looking back at the presumed salesman, who merely facepalmed in response. "Ugh. You're a bit dense, aren't you?" The man behind the counter asked, rhetorically, as he slid his hand down his face. "I'm actually starting to think you may not have been the best choice..." "In my defense, I did just barely survive getting bitch-slapped into the ground at mach-'fuck' by a Void Dweller a few minutes ago, so I probably have a concussion..." "Touché," the man replied with a sigh, "though that does bring up the fact that you tried to convince said Void Dweller to try and come after myself not a moment afterwards. I'm glad he refused the idea, because I hate having to kill previous customers. Gives me a bad-- or, well, worse,-- reputation than I already seem to have amongst you 'Displaced,' as you call yourselves." "Wait... You're the-- ohhhhhhh, shit..." "Yes, 'Oh shit' indeed." Said The Merchant, his presence suddenly oppressive to the much taller Toa. "Try to get anyone to kill me again, and I might just put out a recall on every item and power you acquired at that convention, then dump you in the most unpleasant location that I can think of in either of your two worlds. Naked." Ian was about to hopefully suggest Artakha, the Matoran equivalent of "Heaven on Earth," but then thought better of it: it could be a dangerous place, if the island's ruler wanted it to be. "Good man." The Merchant stated. "Now, about your particular situation..." "I honestly have no idea how I got here." Ian reaffirmed, holding his hands up placatingly. "I was supposed to be sent straight back, as far as I know." "Yes, quite..." Replied The Merchant, tilting his head back and giving the ceiling a "what am I going to do with this one?" look. "Sooo... You're the Merchant, yes?" Ian asked, drawing a look from the Merchant, which threatened to become an angry glare. "I mean, not just 'hey, it's the dude that sells people one-way tickets to Equestria,' or 'oh, it's the shady guy from that one Resident Evil game.' No, it's more than that. I'm talking, like... merchant with a capital 'M', top-of-the-line, best of the best, better than all other merchants, end-all/be-all, THE Merchant. The guy whose stock makes all other vendors look tame in comparison, y'know? So, what I'm wondering is... when you're not at conventions, what do you do? What do you sell?" The Merchant cocked his head slightly to the side, giving the taller figure a strange look. "You're trying to flatter me: trying, and failing. But you do have an interesting question there. If there's one thing about myself that might be considered a flaw, it's that I appreciate curious minds like yours." With that, the Merchant turned to a door set into the wall behind him, giving Ian a look and jerking his head towards it as he did. "So... 'What do I sell?' you ask?" The Merchant asked rhetorically, opening the door. As he and his 'guest' entered the high-ceilinged room beyond, several harsh blueish-white overhead lights snapped on, one by one, illuminating the space below and revealing it to be populated with glass-sided display cases, each containing several items. Ian recognized some of them from recent pop culture back home, (and not-so-recent, given the pockmarked, carbon-scored Packer's helmet and its matching raygun,) but most of them remained a mystery. It was hard to pin down exactly how much stuff was around, because the sheer quantity and diversity was sending his ADHD into overdrive. "What I sell... is glorious pandemonium. A glimmer of Oblivion." The Merchant continued as he gestured idly towards something mounted on the far left wall, then turned to the right-hand corner nearest the door and began climbing the wooden spiral staircase to the second floor. The mounted object seemed, to the Toa, like it was a cross between some alien space-gun thingy and a robotic head. As he glanced at it, he saw two red lights flicker to life on one side of a silvery orb near the "face" of... whatever it was, and said orb swiveled slightly to track his progress across the room. "Mastery over Time and Space," the Merchant stated, prompting Ian to hurry along and catch up with him. As the displaced human reached the top of the staircase, he saw his host gesture at what seemed to be an old card-filing cabinet, like the kind you'd find in a pre-internet library. Several of the drawers were partially open, revealing some sort of enticing golden light spilling from their depths. "Instant immortality," commented the Merchant, and the drawers all snapped closed, rattling an elaborately-colored, faintly glowing glass ball that was set on top of the wooden construct, and nearly dislodging a nearby coppery sphere that seemed to have been carved with a similar level of intricacy. In fact, Ian could've sworn he recognized the latter object. "Hey, is this... the map from Treasure Planet?" He asked, carefully picking it up. As he did, he noticed a nearby typewriter, which began typing all on its own, though it appeared to be out of ink. On a whim, he typed "Hello?" on the keyboard, and was surprised to find that, this time, there was ink on the letterheads. But only for a moment, as the typewriter began typing a short message on its own again, once more without ink. "I'd rather you not touch that," the Merchant suggested, turning from the railing he was leaning on, "it's connected to an old friend of mine, though I'm sure you can guess who he might be. But yes, that orb in your hands is the very same map made by Captain Flint." "Cool," Ian replied, looking excitedly at the alien treasure map. He nearly dropped it when he returned his gaze to the Merchant, though. Or, rather, at what was behind him, floating gently in midair in the alcove beyond the railing he'd been leaning on. Slack-jawed, Ian crossed the few meters separating himself and the railing, still holding the map. Behind the railing, hovering above a drop into endless space and spinning oh-so-slowly, was what looked like the distant cousin of Star Wars' iconic X-Wing. A very distant cousin, at that. "Th-that's... that's one of those fighter thingies from Battlestar Galactica...!" Ian said in amazement. "I went and saw one of these things at an exhibit they had at the Science Fiction Museum back in Seattle one year... I remember that the supposed 'Cylon scanner' that they had set up was broken that day; kept going off every five seconds..." He trailed off at the memory, staring at the slightly grungy starfighter as the Merchant hummed in understanding behind him. "As a matter of fact, the 'fighter thingy' has a name: it's called a Viper Mark II, and it's from the 2004 reboot series." The Merchant said. "And it's not the only one-man fighter I possess. Though, before we possibly continue, I'd like you to put that map back. I'd rather you not break it." "Is it... available for purchase, perchance?" Ian asked, perking up suddenly. "And d'you have a Wraith dart, or a Puddlejumper? Or even an F-302?" The Merchant was momentarily taken aback, raising an eyebrow at the Toa's question. "It... might be available, but it depends. As for your other questions: yes, I have some of each of them." Ian very nearly squee'd at the thought. The Merchant, for his part, merely rolled his eyes, then turned and walked down a hallway to the left of the railing, gestured to the void beneath the Viper, and began speaking again. "As I was saying: I sell a peek at the abyss," he began, with his 'guest' soon hurrying to catch up. A moment later, Ian found him opening a door that led off their current hallway. The now-open doorway revealed yet another hall, the walls covered in many weapon-laden pegboards. Off to one side, there was some sort of flaming, short-handled warhammer floating above a table, whilst further down the hall there was a Keyblade from Kingdom Hearts. Hanging next to it were the Elucidator and the Dark Repulsor from SAO, along with some razor-swords from Attack on Titan and a bigass Buster Sword. On the opposite wall, there was a selection of "blades" that might've made any Power Randers fan happy, though there was something off about them. There were also other melee weapons, most of which were unfamiliar to the Toa, in addition to countless guns and such. There was also a door partway along the hall, which was slightly ajar. There was a noticeable growling coming from it, as if some monster hid within the adjacent room. There was also a faint "Zuuuuul..." if one listened closely. "A catalogue of quests..." the Merchant said absently, gesturing to the hall in general as he bustled over to the door, then closed and locked it. "And the occasional nightmare." He then turned to his visitor, pocketing the door's key and giving him an expectant look. Ian, for his part, had found some that he definitively recognized: a small, "S"-shaped, snake-like device, which gave a few beeps and sprang to life with the touch of a button on its side. "Cool, a Zat gun." He said, pretending to fire it off down the hall with a childish smile. "Pew, pew...!" "Yes, that's a Zat'nik'tel, please be careful with it." The Merchant cautioned the taller figure. "I'd prefer it if you didn't actually fire that in here, because it can and will fry any electronics it hits. Remember; you break it, you buy it." "Oh, believe me, I'd be more than willing to buy it. And the map." Ian smiled at his host, who merely sighed and resumed walking. Moments later, they passed through the door at the far end of the hall, which opened onto an enclosed space behind a suspiciously familiar spiral staircase... Hang on, Ian thought to himself, looking about at the room beyond the stairs, this looks like... yeah, it is! Damn, trust someone like the Merchant to have a home that refuses to conform to standard fourth-dimensional Euclidian geometry... "What I sell," the Merchant declared, in a tone that suggested some sort of finality, "is Life, and Death, itself." Standing in the middle of the first room that Ian had been shown, his host spread his arms wide, gesturing at just about everything in the vicinity. Off in the opposite corner of the room, Ian noticed a tan robotic suit moved to following the Merchant's movements. If he remembered correctly, which he probably wasn't, that suit was from Titanfall or something similar. As Ian's attention was drawn by whatever the thing was, the Merchant stepped towards a nearby display case and began rifling through a drawer. He pulled out several items, including what Ian recognized to be a Ghost from the Unity franchise, which was set to hang in midair momentarily. At last, the Merchant seemed to find what he was looking for: a knife with three holes spread somewhat equidistantly along its length. The Merchant began idly contact juggling with it in one hand, as he put everything back with the other hand. "Thus, the real question is: what are you looking for?" He then spun the blade on his fingers and launched it towards another corner of the room. Whilst in midair, it caught fire, and then became embedded blade-first in a hitherto unseen door, right above another occurance of the four symbols from the front door. "That door will take you back to the universe you were summoned from, once our business here is done." The Merchant said, leaving the still-burning blade in the door. "Um, the knife's still burning..." "It's fine; I designed this place to be almost completely fireproof." Came the reply, the Merchant waving his hand dismissively at the perceived danger as he leaned against a nearby display case. "So, you wished to purchase the map and the Zat'nik'tel, yes?" "Wh-- ah, yeah, I did." Ian confirmed, beginning to pat himself down as he searched for his wallet. "I was also considering the possibility of getting one of those ships I mentioned... but I can't seem to find my wallet. Damn..." "Have you tried the Sylladex I gave you? Or the pickets on your hips?" The Merchant asked, his voice deadpan as he raised his eyebrow. "Oh, yeah... stupid me. Just a sec... yeah, here it is!" Ian said triumphantly, pulling out the battered wallet he'd had on him at the convention. He suddenly realized just how long ago that felt, despite it having been merely two days prior. "I'm not sure why you're pulling it out, though," the Merchant commented, smirking ever-so-slightly, "I still have your information from when I sold you the last batch of 'souvenirs,' if you'll remember. You'll be charged as soon as you walk out that door." That's a scary idea... I wonder if I have enough to pay for everything, The Toa thought to himself as he put his wallet away again. What he said, though, was: "Ok... how much for the map, the Zat, and... the Dart, I guess?" "About $950," answered the Merchant. Ian sucked in a breath through what passed for his teeth in response. "Well... I could probably do that. And if I were to get the Puddle Jumper as well?" "Seventeen hundred, flat." The Merchant supplied, and Ian winced. "I'm pretty sure that'll clean you out, too." "Yep. Yep, that'll about do it. Not like I need or can even use Earth currency anywhere anymore, but still..." Ian rubbed the back of his head, and took a slow, deep breath. At long last, he spoke again. "Yeah, it's a deal, I guess," he said, extending his hand towards the Merchant, who merely smirked. "Alright," came the reply, and they shook hands. A moment later, the Merchant reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a small keychain bearing two exotic-looking key fobs. The first was a sort of zig-zag shape, made almost entirely out of what seemed to be a clear plastic. Through its outer shell, one could easily see a strange circuit board that perfectly matched the shape of the mini remote. It had three buttons arranged somewhat vertically along its length, each one labelled in an unfamiliar pixelated script. The second device was, by contrast, entirely organic in origin, looking like a small diseased scale from an unknown reptile. It had a purplish-maroon color that was so dark, it was nearly grey, and bore several blisters on its upper surface. The two largest were an unpleasant pus-like color, whilst the other, much smaller ones were more of a sickly green hue. Around the two large blisters were a few painted designs, presumedly in the Wraith dialect from Stargate Atlantis. It had been a while since he'd last watched the show, after all... The Merchant tossed the keychain to his guest, who almost dropped them in surprise. "The top buttons on each of those will activate or deactivate the cloak on their respective ships, and the second buttons will open and close the vehicle's primary access point." "And the third button?" Ian asked, holding up the relevant remote. "That locks the door, like on a car." The Merchant stated, simply. "Make sure not to lose those, however: I won't be giving you new ones if you do." "Noted..." Ian replied, chewing what passed for his lips. "So, is that it? Should I just... go now?" The Merchant nodded and crossed his arms. "Indeed. All you need to do is walk through that door, and you'll be sent on your merry way." "Back to the version of Equestria that I was summoned from, you mean?" "Yes, that's basically what I said." The Merchant supplied, less-than-helpfully. "It'll take you where you need to be." Ian gave him a suspicious look. "I find your sudden lack of specificity disturbing... what aren't you telling me?" "The knowing will come. Besides, knowledge is something that's best appreciated when it's hard-earned." The Merchant shrugged and grinned. "So, live a little! After all, when Wisdom and Valor fail us..." Ian's shoulders slumped. "...All that remains is Faith." "And...?" "And... Faith can overcome all." Ian conceded, shoulders slumping as he completed the mantra. "Attaboy! Now, get going, whilst the going's still good." The Merchant encouraged. And, with that, Ian gave a somewhat polite little nod in his direction, then turned and made his way over to the door with the flaming dagger still embedded in its unmarred surface. When he opened it, however, it swung out into an infinite source of pale blue light, which was almost blindingly bright. "I swear," he said, squinting and shading his eyes with a hand, "if this drops me in the land of the Teletubbies, or somehow turns me into a girl, I'mma fuckin' murder-ise somebody. A lot of somebodies." And thus, without further ado, he stepped through the doorway and vanished into the light. A few seconds passed, in which time the door closed and the flaming blade extinguished itself, before the sound of a typewriter was heard typing by itself from upstairs. Tik tik-tik-tik tik, tik tik tik DING! "Yeah, that was him." The Merchant sighed, reluctantly, seemingly speaking to no-one and nothing. "Sorry he got involved earlier." Tikkita takkita takkita tik, tak-tak-tik-takkata DING! "Of course he will! Everyone I send through is a problem, in some way or another." The Merchant replied sharply, glaring in the general direction of the typewriter. "And they mostly resolve themselves with a bit of guidance. This one'll be a bit of a challenge, to be sure, but it should work itself out." Tak-tak-tak, tikkita-tikkita tak-tak-tik-- "Yes, I know you're the self-proclaimed 'perfect host,' I've heard that line umpteen times before. And you know what? I don't care. I played my part perfectly: I'm the perfect salesman! I have whatever someone wants or needs, whenever they want or need it, and at a price they're capable of, and usually amicable about, paying. The important part is that the transaction occurs, and the merchandise is given its new ownership promptly." The Merchant sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, let's just get back to running that thing again, shall we? We were so close before he came barging in..."