Subaru plays a horror game the only way she knows how: Loud and Angry

hololive's Subaru Oozora plays Night Security.

Original stream:    • 【＃生スバル】夜間警備するしゅばああああああああああああああああああああああああああ...  

‪@OozoraSubaru‬




Officer Oozora had thought landing a gig as a nighttime security guard would’ve been the biggest obstacle to her infiltration of HoloX Secret Society. As it turned out, the interview consisted of only two questions: Do you have a pulse? Do you know how to close a door? After demonstrating both feats to the satisfaction of the hiring manager—a self-proclaimed graduate of Harvard Kindergarten who was mostly horns and delusions of grandeur—she was handed a Value Village plastic bag filled with what appeared to be discounted pieces of disparate Halloween costumes. Supposedly, when adorned all at once, the pieces would compose the outfit of a security guard. That, or a sexy swamp werewolf ballerina straight out of the Cthulhu Mythos.

“Now, I’m not gonna lie,” said the hiring manager as Officer Oozora studied the contents of the bag, “‘pitiful’ is the word best used to describe the starting pay for your position. We’re talking philosophy graduate level here. What was it Descartes said? ‘I work, therefore I get to eat’? Well, forget that. You’re lucky if you can afford to breathe based on what we’re gonna pay you. I’m just letting you know so everything's above board. Here at HoloX, we’re all about transparency.” She gave Officer Oozora a long look. “Don’t wanna give the authorities reason to come rooting around like hogs sniffing for truffles. If the pigs want their precious fungi, they can go wallow in places of less repute. Wink, wink.”

Unfortunately, Officer Oozora was too busy being mortified by the fishnet stockings, velvet masquerade mask, and pink tutu that she was going to have to wear during her first shift to pick up on what the hiring manager was putting down.

“Any questions?”

Officer Oozora looked up. “Is the outfit negotiable?”

The hiring manager gave her a blank look, then threw back her head and cackled at the ceiling. She wiped a tear from her eye and said, “Good one.”

That night, Officer Oozora roamed the halls of HoloX Secret Society like something out of Junji Ito's favourite shoujo manga. She was equal parts fur and fish scales. The tutu accented her combat boots nicely, and the same could’ve been said of her handle-bar mustache and bald cap. She had fake tentacles spilling out of places only the horniest of pirates could’ve dreamt of. And as for a weapon, she had a rubber chicken strapped to her hip in place of a gun.

If anyone from the precinct were to see her in such a get-up, she would have to call that vacuum dealer about the Hoover Max Extract® 60 Pressure Pro™. New Mexico wouldn’t be such a bad place to start over, she mused. Nothing bad ever happens there.

She walked past a vending machine, one with a glass front, and stopped mid step. It was at this moment the pieces started falling into place.

“Wait a minute,” she whispered to her reflection in the glass. It stared back at her like something from a Dr. Seuss book for Cannibal Corpse enjoyers. “Truffles.” She scratched her chin. “People use pigs to hunt for truffles. Pigs are animals. Humans are also animals.” Her face lit up like a flashbulb then darkened again. “But I’m a duck.” Her brow furrowed then smoothed out. “But ducks are also animals!” She was getting somewhere. The wheels were turning, the gears were meshing. It felt like she was doing a scratch ticket and all the numbers she had hoped to see were being revealed. “Ducks have bills. ‘Bills’ is another word for cash. Johnny Cash made a cover of Hurt. It really hurt my feelings when my mom forgot my birthday when I was eleven years old. My birthday is July, 2nd.”

Officer Oozora’s eyes snapped to the button that read ‘J02’. Frantically, she inserted some change into the vending machine and pushed the button. A red package flopped over and landed with a thud at the bottom of the machine. Pushing past the plastic flap, Officer Oozora reached in and felt something lukewarm and mushy. She pulled it out.

Bacon, extra lean.

Behind her, someone began to golf clap.

“Looks like this little piggy solved the mystery.”

Officer Oozora spun around just in time to see the hiring manager step into the light of the vending machine. “You knew,” she said under her breath. “You knew I was a cop.”

“Yes.”

“You made me wear this awful outfit to humiliate me.”

“Spot on.”

“You planted this bacon in the vending machine!”

“Nothing gets by you, huh, Sherlock?”

“You haven’t won.”

“Oh, haven’t I?” The hiring manager lifted up her phone. The face of Lt. Shishiron, live from the precinct, immediately burst into a leonine grin.

Echoes of her guffawing followed Officer Oozora for months, even after her move to New Mexico.




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