Introduction: The bet and the terms
I still say you cheated, Odor.
Look, Death certified the result, brother. Quit trying to weasel out of it!
But weaseling out of things is what separates us from the animals! ... Except the weasel.
Author's note: Yes, I shamelessly stole the previous line from a popular television show. This kind of thing will happen a lot, so strap in and feel the Gs!
Postscript to author's note: The last bit of the previous note is also stolen.
Rob is going to be back soon, he'll tell us how the new bet is supposed to work. It isn't like my tab was all THAT much.
Chaos gaped in awe of his brother's ignorance. The cost was so large that they had to invent an entirely new counting system just to come up with it! I've heard at least one dictionary include it as an alternate definition for infinity.
Yes, but we've been around for billions of years, which means compound interest is in your favor. You ended up paying $1.75.
But it's my money!
Death strolled into Rob's Bar of Alcohol Imbibing and
Disembowelment Relative Safety From Horrible Death to see his brothers arguing.
Are you two still going on about the bet?
He's going on about the bet. I'm trying to start a new tab, but Rob is in the back developing his plans for the new bet.
Why do you drink so much? You're a PELF! You can't even get drunk!
How do you know I can't? Just because I've had nearly an infinity of drinks doesn't mean I can't. Maybe I just have a really high tolerance for alcohol.
He has a point, Chaos.
Chaos grumbled in the corner. Finally, Rob -- better known as Robo-Bartender 1000 -- returned.
GREETINGS, FR -- "Excuse me. Greetings, Friends. I have returned with the terms of the new bet. Are your hearing apparati properly activated?"
All three PELFs nodded.
"It is satisfactory. First, we must determine the stakes. Do you have any data to provide?"
We could do the same bet again.
That's boring. You're boring!
What do you recommend, brother?
How about we fight to the death? Whoever loses the bet dies!
You can't die, idiot.
Quit spoiling my fun, Death!
Quit being a petulant child, Chaos!
"I have a suggestion. You are aware that I possess a Reality Bomb. I would give it to the winner."
There was silence. You know what? I kind of hate reality, so I'd be good with that.
Could it be turned to another purpose?
"I do not know. This may be a possible scenario."
I could live with that.
I will serve as witness.
"Excellent. Here are the terms. Every five years, either Chaos or Order will alternately inhabit my circuity. You may specify any instructions during the period that you like, within reason. You will be transferred to a new grouping of humans after each five year period."
Can I use the reality bomb?
"Here are the official rules; you may peruse them."
A thought occurs. Suppose I am assigned the letter 'C'. If Chaos gets 'China', what's to stop him from running the country into the ground on purpose?
Originally Posted by The Rules
"Nothing. You are, of course, free to do the same in the alternate scenario."
How do these points work, metal jerk? Hah! I rhymed!
"It is very simple. I have laid them out here."
"Have you queries?"
Originally Posted by The Points
Let's do it, chief!
"I will program my replacement. Before we leave, the following letters have been assigned to each of you.
For Chaos: P, Y, L, N, and F.
For Order: G, D, J, C, and Z.
Our first human-grouping, which is assigned to Chaos, is Venezula, the owner of San Felipe.