The clatter of metal and the whir of mechanical tools filled the vast chamber, a cavernous space piled high with scrap and threaded through with pieces of rare, valuable materials.
At the center of it all, a lone man adjusted the newly installed components of his mechanical suit. The armor had long been abandoned—left to gather dust after it was nearly destroyed during a brief but catastrophic encounter with a Lord Ravager. He had survived by the narrowest margin, barely escaping the absurd white hole the Emanator had unleashed.
Finishing the final calibration, he let out an excited hum—then stopped.
"Now you're set to go."
He pulled the goggles from his eyes and grinned, running a fond hand along the suit before lifting the energy core from a nearby table and slotting it into the armor's chest.
In response, the suit's eyes flared to life. One by one, its systems followed, awakening as the core synchronized and locked into place.
[Sir, someone is calling you right now.]
The Ai that has an refined voice of an elegant English Gentleman echoed through the room, accompanied by a subtle vibration. The man groaned in annoyance and clapped his hands once.
"I already told you to cancel everything while I'm busy, Walter."
[Yes, I would have done so, sir, but the one calling appears to be quite important.]
"And who exactly is this important person?" he asked, putting his hand on his pockets.
Before Walter could answer, a hologram flickered into existence behind him—a woman with flat chest wearing an enormous witch's hat. Glancing over his shoulder, the man deadpanned at the look she was giving him.
"Still quite difficult to reach for a simple chat, Osmond," the hologram said, folding her arms. Her striking face remained beautiful even in its complete lack of emotion.
"And you're still as nosy as ever, Herta," Osmond replied. He dropped onto a nearby couch, thoroughly unimpressed by her sudden appearance.
Herta smirked and lifted a hand to adjust her hair with practiced arrogance.
"Your words goes in one ear and out the other, so don't bother," she scoffed—then her expression turned serious at once. "Anyway, I'm not here for a pointless argument."
"What, you finally called to tell me I'm handsome? I appreciate it, but you're not my type."
"As if. Besides, can an obsessive tech maniac like you even feel that kind of lust to other women that is not named Ruan Mei?"
"…Fair enough, I suppose."
With the banter exhausted, Herta moved straight to the real reason for the call.
"Truthfully speaking, I've had a plan in mind for a very long time—one I'm finally going to set into motion."
She snapped her fingers, the sharp sound cutting cleanly through the air.
"A plan that requires help. Specifically from people like you, Screwy, and that little hermit wife of yours," Her gaze lingered on him.
That immediately caught Osmond's attention. Herta's ego was absolutely unbeatable when it comes to her research; if she was asking for assistance, then whatever she had in mind had to be absurdly ambitious—perhaps even ridiculous. And yet, coming from her, it was almost guaranteed to be possible.
That said, absurdity was already a part of his life—especially with a lover who spent her days conducting dangerously unhinged experiments in her lab. She had even created an immortal lizard once, back in the day.
"I wouldn't even be surprised if Mei managed to revive a dead Emanator because one of her experiments went oopsy," Osmond thought to himself.
Stepping off the rail, Osmond returned his attention to Herta as she began to explain. As he listened to the details of the so-called plan, he simply settled onto the couch, not interrupting her even once.
The concept that left her lips genuinely caught Osmond's interest—an occurrence so rare it usually required either one of his beloved mechs to act weirdly.
Simulated Universe.
An artificial universe designed with a singular purpose: to research one of the most mysterious entities in the entire cosmos—the Aeons.
When she finished explaining, she simply watched him, waiting to see whether he would agree to help. Of course, if he did, there would have to be some form of compensation.
"So," Herta asked, as one of her dolls handed her a cup of tea, "what do you think?"
"What do I think?" Osmond closed his eyes briefly, considering. When he opened them again, a grin spread across his face before he even realized it.
"I'm in."
"Oh?" Herta arched a brow. "I knew you would agree—but not this quickly. I expected you to at least pretend to think it over."
"There's no way I'd pass up the chance to help in building something like that," Osmond said, laughing freely, the sound rich with unrestrained excitement.
Herta regarded him with a dry, knowing look, her expression barely shifting.
Then she let out a soft, almost fond sigh.
"Now that you're in, the five of us are ready to begin progressing," Herta said with a faint smile, her fingers dancing across the holographic keyboard hovering beside her right hand.
A notification chimed on Osmond's dummy computer. He glanced at the screen.
It was a schedule—an official face-to-face meeting between the collaborators behind the upcoming creation of the Stimulated Universe.
"Don't be late," Herta added, a confident smug curve tugging at her lips before the call abruptly ended.
Silence lingered after she left.
"Quite bossy, for a woman asking for my cooperation," Osmond muttered, clicking his tongue in mild irritation.
He let out a short snort before rising from the couch. Grabbing a purple apple from the table, he took a sharp bite. The crisp flesh snapped between his teeth as he chewed, finishing it down to the core before tossing the remains aside.
Before he could even catch a break, another alert chimed from Walter—someone was calling again.
Osmond exhaled sharply and massaged his forehead. "Just answer it," he muttered, letting his AI handle the connection.
The holographic display flickered to life.
"Oh—it's you." His tone shifted, edged with mild surprise.
"My apologies for any inconvenience my abrupt call may have caused you," came the refined, measured voice. It carried a distinguished cadence—though it belonged not to a human, but to a mechanical being.
Unlike his reaction to Herta, Osmond let out a warm, genuine laugh.
"Don't mind it, my old friend," he said calmly. "And I've told you before—you should come by once in a while, Screwllum. You're always welcome at my place. Just… don't bring Herta without warning me."
"Are the two of you still engaged in that peculiar feud between you, Osmond?" Screwllum asked evenly.
Osmond began walking, the mechanical projection gliding alongside him as he gestured dismissively.
"Damn right," he replied. "She called just a minute before you did. Like always, that smirk of hers gets on my nerves."
Still speaking with Screwllum along the way, Osmond stepped into the elevator and pressed the button leading to the lowest floor of his workshop. The doors slid shut with a muted hiss, and the cabin began its slow descent.
"Oh yeah, about the Stimulated Universe Herta is working on—" Osmond shifted the topic, glancing at Screwllum. "I haven't asked yet, but what exactly would I be doing there if you're already joining? I assume you're taking care of the calculation frameworks"
"Simple," Screwllum replied. "Your skill when it comes to creating a safe energy source is unmatched. And this simulation needs a stable one—something that can handle even the heaviest loads this project will generate."
Osmond nodded slowly. "I mean… yeah, now that you mention it. Running a super high-state-count simulation that replicates the Universe like this one is going to demand a ridiculous amount of cumulative power."
"Exactly," Screwllum said. "Your work in producing something with a volumetric energy density will be critical for a project of this scale."
"And on top of that," Osmond added, leaning back thoughtfully, "the capability needs to be robust enough to keep the Stimulated Universe running online for a long time."
"Man… this project of hers, inviting me into it… it's got me itching to start building,"
Osmond thought to himself, a spark of excitement lighting his eyes.
Just as he was lost in the idea, Screwllum called out to him, breaking his train of thought.
"Question: Do you intend to continue your plan of developing an Anti-Emanator suit?" Screwllum asked, his mechanical voice steady as ever.
At that, Osmond leaned back against the cold metal wall of the elevator, exhaling through his nose.
"Yeah, I do," he admitted. "But that thing's starting to wear me out."
Designing the armor itself was the easy part. He could forge frames, reinforce plating, and recalibrate in his sleep. The hardest part was acquiring the right components for the weapon he intended to mount onto it—something powerful enough to stand against an Emanator without turning himself into a human paste.
"As you already know, I refuse to be helpless again if I ever run into Zephyro like last time." Osmond cracked his knuckles, though his expression dimmed almost immediately, the memory of devastation resurfacing—the sheer destructive authority of arguably the strongest Emanator of Nanook.
The elevator chimed softly as it reached the lowest floor. The doors slid open.
Instantly, a wave of metallic noise crashed over them—tools whirring, steel clanking, welding torches hissing, bolts being hammered into place.
And right in the middle of the mess getting made were small, cylindrical, bright yellow beings in blue overalls scurried across the workshop floor. Some had a single large brown eye behind a silver goggle; others had two. They babbled excitedly in their signature nonsense language while hauling oversized tools, tightening bolts far too big for them, and occasionally tripping over each other in dramatic fashion.
One zipped past riding a toolbox like a scooter. Another was upside down inside an engine compartment, legs kicking wildly.
Osmond stepped forward, veins practically popping.
"MINIONS!!! ATTENTION!!!"
The entire floor screeched to a halt.
A wrench clattered to the ground.
Every goggle turned toward him at once.
"Big Boss!!!" one of the Minions shouted, pointing enthusiastically at Osmond.
"YEAHHHHHH!" The rest joined in, all of them shouting in perfect unison like ecstatic children ripping open Christmas presents.
Osmond groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he watched the Minion bounding toward him.
"Kevin, how's it going?" he asked, trying to keep his tone calm.
"Ka am bido pelo ka am noth," Kevin chattered, flailing his little arms.
"Huh? Are you kidding me?" Osmond replied, exasperated.
"No, no, no, Big Boss! Ka am macki, ba tis non mi din taxpia!" Kevin squeaked, spinning in a circle as if that somehow explained everything.
Screwllum stood to the side, alternating his gaze between Kevin and Osmond. Despite the rapid-fire gibberish, he understood immediately what Kevin was saying—and even managed to scold the little troublemaker.
To this day, Screwllum still considered Osmond the most intriguing individual he had ever encountered.
Despite being exceptionally smart without ever belonging to the Genius Society, Osmond carried an endless string of quirks, eccentricities, and unexpectedly amusing incidents that colored his life. Every encounter with him promised something bizarre.
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Author's Note:
These are sort of episodic stories that don't follow a main plot—just something I wrote back then. I thought, why not try turning them into some short stories?
I'll return to posting my Mato Seihei fanfic tomorrow, as I still have a lot of studying to do.