FAQing Hostile Subcultural Mutant Otaku Versus the Mundanes Concept from the mad mind of Twoflower Chapter Eleven by Tempest Across the dry dust-filled landscape, a lone tank rumbled across the baked desert. "Dust, dust and more dust," griped Dave as he stared at the rapidly moving and expectably dust-cloud filled view from a window. Or rather, porthole for small weapons. "You could've stayed behind, you know," snapped Vixen Hiroshima, as she continued to clean the rifle. "Damn Ear blood, it's always hard to clean off the equipment." She was in a particularly foul mood. It had been two days of travel, and she hadn't killed anything yet. "Th4tz b3c0z 0f 4ll th3 sug4r 1n th3ir blo0d, s1s." B1ff stretched out in his ergonomically comfortable chair, salvaged from a village of SeaQuest worshippers. "Kam1... I luuuuv th1s cha1r," he crooned. "I wouldn't have stayed behind for all the chi in Ranma," Dave muttered to himself, still staring outside. Vixen pretended not to hear, but inwardly she grinned. Apparently the spine transplant was taking nicely. This kid might just make otaku yet."Any luck on that message..." She could barely bring herself to mention the name. "... the Jinruigakusha left in Sherman's memory banks?" B1ff shook his head. "N3g 0n th4t s1s. I'v3 tr13d 4ll kn0wn Ot4kul4nD 3ncrypti0ns on it. 1t w0n't cr4k 0p3n." Vixen sighed. "Try accessing it again." Biff shrugged and said, "You h34rd th3 b0ss, Sh3rm4n." Sherman's metallic voice echoed. "Unable to access file, Miss Hiroshima. Encryption will end in thirty-four hours, twenty minutes, forty-six point eight nine two one four seconds. Sore wa himitsu desu. End error message. Miss Hiroshima, may I suggest we wait for the time lock on the file to expire? My processors are tiring of repeatedly slamming into this virtual wall." Dave swiveled in his seat. "Sherman, I thought computers didn't get tired?" "We do. Try processing fifty-million floating point operations in the span of thity nanoseconds, constantly." Vixen pursed her lips and exhaled. "In other words, we're going to New York with no idea what to do when we get there. At least the map says this area is largely uninhabited." -=-=-=-=-= Uninhabited yes. Unmonitored, well, that's a different thing entirely. High above tracks made by the tank as it crawled across the landscape, a wide angle zoom camera whirred into action. "Can you see 'em Rick?" the red haired woman asked the cameraman beside her? They were lying facedown on a small hill, following the tank as it rumbled on the ground below them. She was dressed in a desert camo uniform, genuine US Army grade, ripped off a dead serviceman. The man next to her wore a threadbare t-shirt, and equally worn jeans, with a cameraman's jacket bulging with lenses and spare batteries. Well, one pocket anyway. "Almost... get your spiel ready, I'm telling base we're ready to transmit. Oh boy, this'll be our Pulitzer!" -=-=-=-=-= "Sir, Team Twenty-Seven reports have contact with the Otakuland tank that crossed into our territory." "Bring it up on monitor fifteen. That's Donner, right? Patch me through. And use the GOOD audio channel this time, make sure we can hear each other this time." This voice was nasal and high pitched. The young technician rapidly complied with the order. "Audio feed is through sir." "Donner? Can you hear me?" said [Kzzt... "Not so loud boss, the high frequencies hurt."] "Quit complaining. How's Rick?" ["I'm still alive here." "Oh hush, me reporter, you camera-dude."] "Enough bickering. Ready over there?" ["Whenever you are."] "Okay, graphics and video, mark!" The tech punched several buttons on his console, or more exactly, smashed his fist down on them. "Bringing up graphics... ready on fifteen in three... two...." He pointed at his boss and threw a switch. His boss straightened as a bank of brute lights came on, illuminating the set and tattered backdrop of an ancient pre-war cityscape. He turned on the creaking swivel chair, and faced the lone camera in the studio, its dim red light flickering wildly. He cleared his throat. "And now in breaking news, an update on the Otakuland tank now travelling across our landspace. Here are live pictures from the field, and our correspondent Donner Caradan...." -=-=-=-=-= Rachel had locked herself in her room. Or more correctly, Dave's room which he was letting her use. Dave. Every time she thought of him, she could feel her Goth training going to pieces. Each time she looked at his earnest face, she could feel the undertow of passion for anime permeating his very thought. And it was infectious. Despite her training to recognize and subsume emotion, she couldn't help but be slightly swayed by the force of his passion. Actually, slightly was hardly the term. It took all her willpower to stay outwardly callous when he was around. Still. She was a Goth. It was all she ever believed in. She took a deep breath, and lit one of the bloodberry candles. The odor always soothed her nerves. She began to clear her mind... maybe this time she'd get the Aura of Apathy right. -=-=-=-=-=-= B1ff clicked away on a terminal, still playing one of the H games he had saved away. He just hoped this one didn't end in a corrupt file error like most of the other games. "000h ye4h, b4by! Hump4la, hump4la... " he said, clicking away yet another item of clothing on the virtual girl on the screen. He grinned as another menu appeared on the lower left corner of the screen. Of course, it was all in Japanese, and he couldn't understand a word, so he went with the usual way all H gamers got through the game. "Eenie, meenie, minie... (click). Huh?" Instead of the expected new animation, the screen went black. And stayed black. B1ff blinked a couple of times, and then scrabbled for the keyboard, trying all the keys. "Cr4sh 1t! N0t 4gain!" he swore as he dumped the kernel and reset the system. "5h3rman, can't y0u m4ke th3s3 th1ngs w0rk pr0p3rly?" "Not possible, B1ff. The code on these things are usually too far gone. If you could find a higher integrity copy, the possibility of working better would double." B1ff sighed. He swiveled away from the screen and glanced out the window, where a flash of light on a distant hill caught his eye. He may have been a computer dude, but one who grew up surrounded by nasty people who want to blow your head off given half a chance. He quickly slapped the intercom button on the wall of the tank. "5i5, b3tt3r g3t r34dy t0 rumbl3. 1 th1nk w3'v3 g0t c0mpany." -=-=-=-=-=-= "And we're clear. Great job sir." The young technician pulled off the headphones, as his boss removed the lapel mike from his faded blazer. The lights automatically shut off as the camera light quit its flickering. His boss rubbed the back of his neck and blinked several times to get used to the sudden dimness of the studio. He returned his voice to it's normal nasal pitch, after being forced at artificially low timbre for better broadcast quality and eloquence. "Yeah. I wonder, what the heck is so important about those otakees. His assistant shrugged. "Beats me boss. Surprised me as all heck when the home office said to watch out for that tank. They had the whole description down pa... What the?" He stared at the earplug as loud sounds began emanating from it. He put it in his ear, and his eyes widened in surprise. "Trouble boss. Better get back in the saddle, I think we've got some more breaking news. And it don't sound too good for our heroes." -=-=-=-=-=- Toby glanced at the rain outside his office. It always rained here. That was a problem. The pay was good, and his addiction for net contact was sated by working here. Heck, he would have worked for free as long as it meant having a twenty-four hour free connection. He just didn't count on ending up home soaked this often. A far cry from his old home in the islands of California, where heat waves made up the usual weather forecast. He had been loyal to the Master. Even as a child, he had kept away from AOL and NeoKibo systems. He had even turned his parents into loyal drones... by giving them free copies of whatever the Master produced. But he didn't count on having to prove himself to the Master. Already, he was a marked man, and he knew he was being watched. He didn't relish becoming an Extra. He didn't like the idea of having your tongue cut off for asking a question too well either. The back of his neck prickled. Someone was there. He turned around rapidly. An Extra was standing in the doorway, gesturing wildly to the broken-down television screen. Toby blinked a couple of times, grabbed the remote from where it served as a paperweight for various internal memoranda and instructions to shred, and activated the television. The set took five whole seconds to warm up, and the image it formed was grainy and occaisonally gave way to snowy static. The audio wasn't too good either, but it could be understood. The image was that of a large tank, the caption beneath it reading "Breaking News - Tank Invasion". And Toby knew exactly what that was. He grabbed the cel phone on his desk and punched in a number. "I've got a fix on the ones the Master wants watched." In the background, an Extra was texting on a cellphone. -=-=-=-=-=-= ["This is Wall Mikers, and you are seeing live images from the field. The Otaku tank has just opened fire on our correspondents who are now fleeing the area. It is not known if there are any casualties yet..."] [Flash of light. Static. Test pattern.] ["I believe we have just lost our cameraman. We will return after making technical adjustments."] -=-=-=-=-=-= Vixen warily looked around the hill, checking for more spies. "Damn. I should have remembered about Senners in this area." Dave was covering Vixen from atop Sherman. "The wha?" he asked. "Senners. News-hounds. And occaisonal freelancer spies." Vixen sprayed a tumbleweed that moved a little too much. No blood burst from it, disappointing her. "They wouldn't be too much of a problem, if it weren't for the fact we don't want to be seen." She glanced around again. "Who knows who was watching the news reports." "You mean a tank passing through would make news for them?" She skewered him with a glance. "What else do you think makes news around here?". She slung her rifle and set the safety on. "Come on. It's time to see what that cameraman had on him." Dave went slightly green. "Ugh. Do we have too?" "You don't see me looking forward to it do you?" "Point." He sighed. "Let's get it over with." -=-=-=-=-=-= B1ff sighed as he dumped the core and flushed the memory of his alloted portion of Sherman's resources. Again. Another one of his precious H-games had hung. And he had gotten this last girl down to her underwear too. He absentmindedly grabbed a conevenient disc from the pile next to him. "K5m1-sama, PLEASE let this one work." he prayed, not using his trademark alphanumerics. The screen stayed blank and black. No startup logo. No ominous hum. Just the clickity-click of data being read into the memory. B1ff waited. And waited. And waited a further 45 seconds. He threw his hands up into the air in frustration. "4rgh! N3v3r m1nd... I n33d a dr1nk." He stood from the chair and stomped frustratedly out of the room. The screen on the other hand, kept running and text appeared as B1ff left dejected. [Welcome Otaku.] [Copying files for Contingency Plan: Impact Four.] [Authorization code: Jinruigakusha-Alpha-Mu-Gamma-Five-Seven-Two.] [Initializing...] -=-=-=-=-=-= To be continued. Notes: Argh! Oh well, I didn't get to all the plot points I wanted covered, but this isn't so bad in my not so humble opinion. Thanks to Mark Poa for assisting and Isawa Noshinto for the inspiration. Too bad I had sudden exams sidetrack me. I think I want to ride this merry-go-round again. Oh, and the Senners were meant to be expendable. ^_^ Tempest 2/17/00 GMT-8