Let's Go

Mr. Easter tensed, a minute, almost unnoticeable tense. "Well you see, my dear October 8th Sans-" that sniveling tradesman shoved another of his henchmen forward to absorb the metal blade, "-honestly, that title's far too tedious for the likes of this conversation, may I refer to you Mr. 8?"

"No," October 8th bluntly stated. It was insulting, a mockery aimed at a seasoned killer. Blood poured out of the aide's throat, drowning October 8th's arm with a familiar brownish-red. He summoned forth a ball of hate, a scoff of displeasure at the magical energy merely disintegrating another henchman.

"Right, Mr. 8," the entrepreneur continued, suit unscathed despite the casualties inflicted on his men. "I will cut to the chase, as I myself am not exactly a fan of extended casualties. Mr. 8, I wish to hire you into my company."

October 8th paused. What?

oOoOoOoOo

October 8th Sans sees a copy of an original, someone forever cursed to be a mere copy for laughs and amusement. Mr. Easter sees an unstoppable force perfect for his company. Maybe, two wrongs do make a right... or a bigger wrong.