Chat, My Friend is a Literal God. What Do I Do?

Rippa and Buttons were doing their weekly ‘with Buttons’ stream. Today, they had been watching a video explaining a recent crypto rug pull involving a famous influencer.

About a third of the way into the video, Buttons commented, “It’s good that I’m rich so I don’t get tempted to do this kinda thing.”

“Yeah, kid, you are filthy rich,” said Rippa.

“Yeah. Miss Pendrake still has my forty dollars— wait, she says we are down to eleven dollars and fifty-nine cents. What’s a cent?”

“It’s—”

“Ah! The Coins, right? Cent! Hundred, yes? So a hundred cents is a dollar?”

“Yeah,” Rippa nodded. “I’m surprised you still haven’t spent it all?”

“Miss Pendrake has been using that plastic thing lately. Wait, let me ask Goggles—”

Rippa heard running footsteps fading away. And then running footsteps returning.

“OK, Goggles says if we share drinks, it’ll still be enough for one hot dog each for you and Miss Pendrake and me. I’m rich!”

Rippa burst out laughing. “Bruh, you have no idea how rich you are, do you?” But then, she got curious. “Buttons, why do you even have a bank account? Goggles can just spawn anything you need.”

“Hang on—”

Once again, running footsteps. The prosthetic foot made a different sound from the other, and the alternating pat-tuk-pat-tuk had a rhythmic feel to it.

“Buttons says you have some questions?” Goggles’ voice came through the Discord voice chat.

Rippa’s chat welcomed their resident supernatural butler.

‘Goggles!’

‘Hi, Goggles!’

“Yeah, Goggles. Why does Buttons have a bank account? And also, how exactly does Miss Pendrake have a credit card?”

“Ah, that…” Goggles sounded nonchalant. “Because I do not agree with theft.”

“Theft?”

“Netflix, Disney Plus, YouTube Premium, Crunchyroll, all those subscriptions, and the Play Store and Steam… Buttons does need some kind of payment method.”

“Ah~,” Rippa realized what he meant. “You think if you just magicked your way with those services, that’d be stealing?”

“Exactly.”

“What about Miss Pendrake? How did she get a credit card?” Rippa was probing the technicalities. “Don’t they usually ask for some ID or something?”

“She has a passport, if that counts.”

“A passport?”

“Yes. On paper, she is a UK citizen.”

Rippa pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Of course.’

“What about me?” Buttons could be heard asking.

“Ah, erm… let us not disclose your legal citizenship on air.”

“Why not?”

Rippa, too, was curious. “Yeah, Goggles, why?”

“Well, given what Buttons did in Congress, it could lead to some… diplomatic complications.”

“What Buttons did… as if you weren’t there.”

“Ahem. I am only a butler.”

Rippa laughed again. “Goggles. Unbelievable. You really are something.”

“Thank you, thank you. I do my best.”

***

“She does really exist,” reported the Secretary of State, Goodman. He slid a copy of Miss Pendrake’s passport across the President’s desk, careful not to knock down the Sameko Saba acrylic stand.

President Dodson picked it up and examined the passport copy. He read the name aloud. “Violet Pendrake—”

“It’s genuine,” Goodman continued. “The Brits are pulling their hair out, apparently.”

“Nineteen?” Dodson noted. “She doesn’t look nineteen.”

Talbot, the DNI, butted in. “For legal reasons, all characters are over the age of consent.”

Everyone in the room gave her a puzzled look, but she did not elaborate. However, one Secret Service agent in the corner quietly nodded.

Goodman produced another sheet. “And this is the rest of her personal information. They say this is blasphemy.”

“How so?” asked the President, studying the sheet.

Goodman leaned across and tapped on the address field. “Setting the name aside, her place of residence is… apparently, the passport application should have been rejected because the address is clearly—”

“Tintagel?” Dodson read the address aloud. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s some old castle ruin.” Goodman then moved on with his report. “Now with her name, address, and date of birth, they are digging further.”

“She’s got a credit card, apparently,” Dodson remarked.

“Yes, Mr. President. That’s where the Brits are starting.” Goodman then turned to Talbot. “We’ve shared the information with your agencies, too.”

“Thanks. We’ll soon know if she’s got any footprint in America, too.”

“Well,” Dodson leaned back in his chair. “Keep me informed.”

“Oh, by the way, Mr. President,” Goodman cleared his throat. “The Brits say the Neuro twins really are AI.”

“Damn!” the chief of staff, Mr. Ciceron, cursed under his breath. He took out a five-dollar bill from his wallet and gave it to the President. “I really thought there were some actors behind them.”

***

The Director of National Intelligence wasn’t happy that the initial communication with the Brits had been handled by the State Department. It should have been between the CIA and MI6, Talbot thought, but since the President had ordered that the CIA be sidelined on all things related to Goggles and Buttons, and the matter was regarding a passport, the diplomatic channel was indeed the appropriate route. Well, now that things were in motion, at least both the FBI and the DHS would talk to their counterparts in the UK directly, which was good.

Since retrieving Rippin’ Rippa’s real identity was proving to be impossible, the Pendrake file gave the FBI and the DHS a new avenue of approach. For now, they started knocking on banks’ doors.

Additionally, the FBI was happy that now Miss Pendrake had a UK passport. That gave a huge boost to their case against the idiots who had filmed the kid and the bodyguard in the water park changing room. Armed with an actual victim, whom the UK government officially recognized as a legitimate person, the DOJ was also now reevaluating the mob violence incident.

‘Pendrake… what a name,’ Talbot thought.

Other agencies were also moving. Immigration was checking if there were any records of visa applications and entry into the country.

Somewhere, either in the US or the UK, something would come up. Names. Addresses. Something to work with.

‘But then what?’

Since the stunt in Congress, over the past months, both the kid and the butler hadn’t really done anything that would fall under the category of national security interest. Apart from popping up willy-nilly all over the world, which might tickle some “muh border control!” people, the child was… just there.

But every time Buttons appeared somewhere, and with every little comment she made on her friend’s stream, society grew apart. Cohesion was eroding. Forgotten topics that had been buried deep would resurface and spark loud clashes. Every Joe and their grandma would make wild claims, competing for the spotlight, and then lash out against all who disagreed.

But the kid was just there. She really didn’t do anything.

‘It’s as if she’s a mirror,’ Talbot mused. She shook her head. The White House people were seasoned enough to recognize this growing phenomenon. But how would they address this politically? Tell the voters, “You guys are all ugly?” No way. Well, that was all for politicians to worry about. Not her job.

Talbot looked at her monitor screen.

Among the four known, named figures, Goggles, Buttons, Rippin’ Rippa, and Pendrake, surprisingly, it was the last girl who was the most transparent and, more importantly, the most documented. All the information had already been there in public for over twenty years. It was just… the sources were rather unorthodox.

‘Really?’ Talbot stared at her screen again. ‘Fandom Wiki, really?’