Not To Be Dramatic, I'd Rather Go Back To Homicide

1. Stalagmite

☆☆Note☆☆
Only reason I'm posting day after the Prologue is to get this puppy rolling. When I've caught published chapters up to drafted then updates will be slower

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I'm not sure when things got so bad. When everyone started looking at me like I was someone to admire, not something to be feared. I'm not sure when I was put on this pedestal. But I do know...

    "I h-h-hAte thIs."

Everyone in the room went silent and looked to me. The previously bustling servants and aids now going stiff and tip toeing around my seat. A seat, may I add, that is so overdone and pompous that I first considered it a decoration or a symbol for something.

It was comfortable but too... loud. Some sleek ore was used for the base, it had a slight blue hue to it but reflected a yellow colour in the artificial light. The back of the chair pointed dangerously outwards, veins of neon pulsed through its frame and up into the ceiling. The entire thing glowed and glimmered. It was fit for royalty. It was too much.

    "What was that Error?" Ink, my... co-worker, asked.

A few years ago, they were at my throat trying to demolish me. I was no better, I hated Ink with everything I had. Things were dark and the Multiverse was nothing but cruel and disgusting in my eyes. Things were never fine only terrible... I could never get any sleep.

But now here we are, side by side, figuratively and literally. Sitting in outrageously over the top chairs, sometimes giving an audience to a handful of Universe travellers to keep a sort of 'peace' in this Multiverse.

It was an ideal daytime job for anyone but me. You get to sit in a chair and advise people all day, tell them what to do, what not to do, how to keep the redesigned rules of the Multiverse.

The rules cover things from travel laws to internal interactions and the different cultural aspects of each Universe. It's pretty in depth and helps most monsters prevent a possible outburst. But updating and regulating those laws and practices was so boring. Sure, you get experience, but I've got enough EXP to power two thirds of the Multiverse.

Which is why I hate this.

I sigh and adjust my position a little straighter, back leaned right up into the surprisingly warm stone.

    "I-I-Ink, dO yOU mIs-ss hOw thIngs UsEd tO bE?" They were still gazing at me with curiosity. It unnerves me how interested he is in the macabre and psychologically damaging, but he doesn't take it beyond interest. So, this question obviously hit him.

    "How things used to be, huh? Well,"

Ink crossed their left leg over their right, then uncrossed both, swaying their head back and forth. Then Ink leaned over their chair's armrest towards me. Not close enough to touch, but enough to be in my direct vision. And in my personal space, all in my personal space. Ink does this a lot... but I can't really do much. They're such an ass. I pull my hand away from Ink's elbows that have been firmly plonked on my armrest. Ink leaned in further, a playful smirk across their skull,

    "are you trying to tell me you'd like to go back to the constant fear of a Multiversal collapse?"