Grim Puncher: Chapter 2/3

"Sensei, I'm home!" Genos called, pushing the door shut with his foot. He could hear the TV blaring from the living room.

"…And in other news, the restless spirits of the victims of last Tuesday's fatal bridge collapse assembled at City Hall this morning to protest recent cuts to infrastructure spending. According to reports—"

"Sensei!" Genos called again. The TV clicked off.

"Welcome back!" Saitama said, popping around the corner and into the entrance way. "Did you find any—whoa, whoa, what happened to you?"

"Zombies. I ran into a pack of them a few blocks from the store."

Saitama made a face and raised his hand to the vicinity of his own eyebrow. "You've got a—"

Genos reached up and found a human tooth embedded in his artificial skin just below his artificial hairline. It was cracked, yellowing, faintly bloody, and more than a little disgusting. "Their instincts are remarkable," he commented. "Some of my fans still think I'm a full robot, but I haven't met a zombie yet that doesn't go straight for my brain."

"Remarkable is not the word I would use," Saitama muttered as Genos squeezed past him into the kitchen. Genos set the grocery bags on the counter and tossed the gross tooth into the trash. When he turned around, he found Saitama fishing a package of dried squid out of one of the bags.

"I must apologize, Sensei. I did speak with the manager, but she said the meat department will remain closed until they can exorcise the spectral cattle haunting the freezer. If you'd like, this afternoon I can try the store by the—"

"No, no this is fine," Saitama said, heading back towards the main room, the expression on his face saying this is not fine. "We can just have noodles for dinner again."

"Sensei," Genos began. "You know you could always—"

Saitama turned around so quickly there was an actual sonic boom. "No! And for the last time, no!"

"But Sensei, I think the world is ending. For real this time. Again."

"Then bring that thing to the Hero Association. They're the ones who like dealing with apocalyptic problems. Let them figure it out." Saitama flopped down in front of the TV and turned it back on. He absolutely did not look at the long, void-black cloak hanging on the coat hook by the door. Genos had washed it since Saitama had disintegrated its previous owner, and it seemed smaller, now. Human sized.

"I did bring it to the Association last week, remember? None of the other heroes or analysts or agents could even see it. And it reappeared back here afterwards, even though I left it in their vault. It's chosen you, Sensei."

"Hmph."

Saitama began flipping through channels, his shoulders tight with unhappiness. On one channel, a historian was interviewing an old-timey inventor via Ouija board. The next featured a brightly-colored puppet explaining to a smaller one why the grown-ups were so full of big feelings now that her grandma had Returned. The third channel had more news, this time an alert about a group of revenants marauding through the financial district. Revenants, Genos had gathered, were much like zombies, only more motivated and with a better understanding of doorknobs.

"Look," said Saitama, still resolutely facing the screen. "I'm not the right person to take up the mantle of Death, no matter what that edgy burlap sack says, okay? There's gotta be some mistake. I'm just some guy who's a hero for fun. That's it."

Genos sighed. On one hand, he wanted to respect Sensei's wishes. Sensei was so strong and amazing and already did so much for the world. On the other hand, the very end of death itself would make Genos's mission to destroy the mad cyborg that had murdered Genos's family, um, problematic.

Also, Genos was pretty certain the cloak hadn't made a mistake in choosing a successor. If there was one being in the world that most (benevolently) embodied the cessation of existence, it was his master.

Genos believed, truly, that Sensei would do the right thing and accept his cosmic destiny. Eventually. Reluctantly. But eventually. So, surely the universe wouldn't mind if Genos gave his master a little nudge towards his ultimate purpose?

"Sensei, have you ever—"

"Still not listening," Saitama said.

"—considered the advantages it could bring?" Genos continued, bulldozing ahead. "You'd be famous, for one. Everyone would know about you."

"Yeah, and every kid's going to cry when they first learn about me after their pet goldfish goes belly-up. Hard pass."

"And it would be so convenient. Death is omnipresent, after all. You could go wherever, whenever you wanted. You'd never have to take the trains during rush hour!"

Saitama rolled over to stare at Genos incredulously. "Yeah, that would be nice, but what about the whole Death is restless and inevitable thing? Does that sound like a fun, easy job to you? If you—"

"Everyone would want to fight you," Genos blurted.

"What?"

"Few people actually want to die, right? So, if you were in charge of deciding who gets to pass beyond the veil, and you were public enough about it, you'd have opponents lining up to challenge you. Strong ones."

"Huh," Saitama said. "Never thought of that."

"Think of it, Sensei—you wouldn't have to wander the streets looking for a worthy enemy anymore. Warriors from across the galaxy, from across the cosmos, would line up to battle you for a chance at immortality. Surely one of them would could give you a fight worth your while."

Saitama's gaze had gone a bit distant. "People showing up to fight me at weird hours would be annoying," he mumbled. "Maybe I could hold an annual tournament or something? On top of a mountain, like in a video game? I could be the final boss."

"I promise to help organize the catering, Sensei. And be in charge of chair rentals. Big events always need chairs."

Saitama stood and retrieved their late visitor's cloak (as black as oblivion, as dark as a lightless eternity) from its hook.

"Well, I can always take this off again, eh, Genos? If I change my mind."

"I doubt the powers-that-be could make you do anything you don't want to do, Sensei." Genos hoped his master, who deserved all the fame and respect his elevation would bring, would be happy in his new role. He also hoped, due to the presence of the invisible, undead bacteria that were swarming over every surface in their apartment and which were currently completely immune to hand sanitizer, that his master would be able to restore the balance of the universe soon.

Saitama shuffled off to the bathroom, and when he emerged, he was wearing his hero outfit with Death's mantle thrown over the top like a bathrobe. "Well, how do I look?" he asked, his arms held out wide. He did a little twirl.

"Utterly inexorable," Genos said. "Should I fetch your predecessor's scythe? I think it's in the broom closet behind the mop."

"Nah, don't bother. These have always been good enough for me." He raised his red-gloved fists, and when he clenched them tight, reality trembled.

"Actually, Genos, could you do me a favor? You're much better at sewing and stuff like that than I am."

"Of course, Sensei."

"Could you turn this thing into a lining for my normal suit instead? An all-black outfit at my age just seems so tacky."