Operation: Flaming Fanblade Pt. V

“Alright, men.” Commander Jack Taggart spoke sternly over his suit’s comlink, “You all know what our mission is, and now it’s time we carried it out.”

“Are you sure about this, Commander?” One of the men spoke, “I mean, perhaps there are other ways of…”

“The other ways have failed, Private!” Taggart snapped before the man could finish his sentence, “There’s only one way to move the President’s cold, icy heart on this one. Follow me, boys!”

Taggart led his squad quickly towards the front lawn of the White House, where President Stan and the General were surveying the non-violent protest from inside the Oval Office

“Wait, are those the Xtacles?” President Stan wondered, “I don’t know why they felt like painting their suits green, but it’s about time they…wait, what are they doing?”

“Well sir,” The General looked at the same monitor Stan was watching, “they appear to be planting new trees on the White House lawn.”

“I can see that! Why aren’t they dispersing the crowd with disproportionate violence already?”

“Well sir, as you requested, the Xtacles went on a mission to attack the headquarters of the Earth First interest group in DC, but I’m not sure what happened after that. Maybe they didn’t feel like shooting unarmed civilians.”

“Are you kidding me, General? These are the Xtacles we’re talking about!”

“Maybe someone at the headquarters persuaded the Xtacles’ commander to join their side?”

“My God, if those evil hippies have that kind of power, we’re doomed!”

“Sir, it’s really just a bill that would promote the use of alternative energy sources in the country. In fact, it might–”

“Dammit, General! Get a hold of yourself!” President Stan grabbed his advisor by the collar, “We haven’t lost yet! If we stick together, we can get through this mess! Computer, get me a line to the Xcalibur!”

“Uh, sir?” The General tapped Stan on the shoulder, “We don’t have a voice-activated computer installed in this office yet.”

“Fine!” Stan pushed a button on his desk, “You, at the other end! Whatever your name is, get me a line to the Xcalibur! I need to find out what happened!”

_________________

A short moment later, aboard the Xcalibur

“Hello, can I help you?” A.L.E.X. asked the onscreen image of President Stan

“Quickly, holographic woman,” Stan gasped, “are there any Xtacles still alive?”

“Well, we don’t have any confirmed dead, at least not since a few days ago during Operation: Clam Bake.”

“Who’s running the ship?”

“I am.”

“You? A hologram? Where are the humans?”

“The only human currently on active duty is absorbed in his fantasy world for the time being and possibly has delusions of power. So tell me what’s going on.”

“Oh, fine. It’s not like I’m being surrounded by enemies and all the heroes willing to help us out are dead or missing in action. Take a look at this footage.” The face of President Stan switched to a view of the White House lawn, where Commander Taggart appeared to be furiously digging up the soil and planting trees with several other members of the active-duty Xtacles. “Do you see the problem here?”

“Well, I will admit it’s uncharacteristic of them to care about the environment that much, if that’s what you mean.” A.L.E.X. was briefly relieved at confirming that the Xtacles weren’t somehow dead, but the green-painted suits puzzled her.

“Those hippies did something to the Xtacles, and if you don’t figure it out soon, they might shame me into signing an environmentally-friendly bill that’s already passing through Congress as we speak!”

“Mr. President, how is that a problem?”

“Oh sure, it’ll start out with a small thing like encouraging people to build electricity-generating windmills. But the next time, those hippies will demand I sign off on things like improving national health care, or not bombing a small country because their leader owes me $20 from an online poker game!”

“What?”

“Um…I meant to say their leader harbored terrorists who were planning to destroy America!” After an awkward pause, President Stan continued, “And besides, if those Xtacles are using their high-tech armor suits to plant trees, how long do you think it will be before the hippies try to use those for their own malicious purposes?”

“Well, I suppose you have a point.”

“Of course I do. I’m the President of America! Get those damn Xtacles, and those kids, off my lawn! I can stall them for 24 hours, but if you can’t think of a solution before then, I will be forced to take extreme measures!” Stan appeared to be taking a swig of alcohol from a metallic flask, and then he said, “Good luck,” before signing off.

A.L.E.X. downloaded an emotional AI update from the internet, and then visibly sighed before trying to get Bigsby on the ship’s intercom. “Joseph? We have a mission!”

“Who is this…Joseph you speak of? I…am…AWESOMER X!” Joesph jumped through the open doorway into the bridge area, wearing a papercraft Awesome X mask. “Sorry, I couldn’t find any colored pencils for the mask, but you get the idea.”

“Joe…”

Bigsby cleared his throat. “It’s ‘Awesomer X’ now. Like Awesome X, but twice as strong and ten times more popular with the ladies!”

A.L.E.X. scoffed, “Fine. Awesomer X?”

“Yes?”

“We’re going to have to find Chase and the other Xtacles who went to Japan. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Something’s happened to the rest of the team, and we’re going to have to rescue them.”

“Woohoo! Finally, a chance to be a hero! Full speed ahead, A.L.E.X.! We’ve got to save our colleagues being held by the Japanese menace!”

“Yes, sir.” A.L.E.X. set the autopilot of the Xcalibur to go full speed towards Japan.

_____________

Meanwhile, somewhere in Japan…

The three ponytailed businessmen quietly opened the door of the darkened warehouse.

“Bill, are you sure you had to be so harsh to that guard?”

“Phil, all I did was give him literature about our group?”

“But he can’t even understand English!”

“So, I’ll fire up Google’s Translator later! The important thing is, we’re here to locate that special briefcase to convince President Stan of the righteousness of our cause. Will, are you sure this is the right place?”

“Hey,” Will replied, looking at his PDA, “the guy said he’d meet us here.”

“What was his name?”

The three ponytailed businessmen squinted as several lights in the warehouse were suddenly turned on. They found themselves standing in the middle of a modestly-sized underground fighting ring, with spectators of all kinds surrounding them. A voice from above the ring cut through the ambient noise and laughed at them. “Welcome, to the newest chapter of less-than-legal fighting rings owned by myself, Torpedo Vegas!” A heavy-set, babyfaced man, flanked by a pair of beautiful women, slowly descended on a platform, “You see, all three of you apparently wanted the magic briefcase, so I decided that hey, if life handed me lemon seeds, why not plant a lemon bush in the ground and sell lemonade at high prices?”

The ponytailed businessmen stared blankly at Torpedo Vegas.

“Alright, it lost something in Japanese. Anyways, I have decided to let you have the briefcase, on the one condition that you fight each other to the death for it!” Torpedo pointed to the briefcase that appeared to magically descend on its own. “Here is the briefcase, which has been held up with an invisible nylon thread. In this ring, I will drop a ladder and a knife. The first one of you to assemble the ladder to reach the briefcase and use the knife to free it can keep it for yourself!”

Somewhere in the crowd, Mr. Ford held up some betting slips, “Hey, y’all! I say that whiny guy in the back’s gonna win this one! Any takers? $10 says he wins! $10!” He started collecting bets from the spectators who understood English.

“Now, let the fight begin!” Torpedo rang out a gong, signalling a couple workers to drop the ladder and the knife from the rafters into the ring. Phil, Bill, and Will all tried to figure out how to escape their situation, and wondering if they could really bring themselves to kill their friends.

A few seconds later, the decision was made for them, as the falling ladder smashed Bill’s head to the ground, and the falling knife landed blade-side down into the back of Will’s neck. The spectators gasped in shock, then booed at the abrupt end of the fight.

“Hey folks,” Mr. Ford spoke sternly, “Ain’t my fault those two didn’t wanna fight. You lost a bet, now accept it like a man.” The crowd continued to boo as Mr. Ford slipped out.

Meanwhile, Phil took the ladder and the knife from the corpses of his now-dead friends. “Sleep well, sweet princes.” He cried out, “For with this briefcase, I shall avenge your deaths! I will make our dream come true!”

What is Phil’s dream? And will it come true? Find out…soon, I guess.

Operation: Flaming Fanblade Pt. IV

The young man called Chase slowly woke up expecting to see little more than the familiar surroundings of his bed on the Xcalibur, but instead found himself lying on a beach. He slowly picked himself up, and tried to shake some of the sand out of his suit, but found it difficult, so he simply pushed the release valve on his chestplate and watched as the two halves of his Xtacle torso fell on either side of him. He thought he heard the voice of a man muttering some curse at him, then something about getting a drink, but he could not  see. At least now he could get the sand out of his body.

“Chase-sannnnn…” A soft, womanly voice called out to him, “Chase-sannnnnn…”

Chase looked around, but could not see who the voice belonged to.

“Are you the legendary warrior, sent forth from far off lands to destroy the evil giants?”

Chase still couldn’t find the source of the voice, but just replied to the wind, “Ummmm, yeah? I guess I am?”

“That is wonderful news, Chase-san!” A beautiful, petite Japanese woman appeared behind him, clad in a loose red dress. “I knew that you would be the chosen one! It is said that the hero would carry a clear horn and a brave heart into battle with him!”

“Clear horn? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You will find out in due time, Chase-san! Now go, the trial of the wind awaits you!”

“Okay, but first…do you think you can do a little favor for me?”

_____________

“Chase? Are you okay? Chase?” The helmeted Xtacle was about to try performing CPR when Chase unceremoniously grabbed the Xtacle and started making out with the helmet, only to realize a few seconds later that it wasn’t the face of the beautiful Japanese woman from before.

“UGH! What the hell, man?”

“Thank God you’re alive. I thought that flaming windmill almost got you!”

“Hey, I don’t interrupt your wet dreams with real, life-threatening situations, do I?”

“Chase?”

Chase pointed an accusatory finger at the helmeted Xtacle and said, “You are like my least favorite Xtacle! Just go and find your damn roommate, I’m going back to the Xcalibur myself.”

“Chase?”

“Stop talking to me, dammit!”

The helmeted Xtacle was about to warn him about his lack of fuel when Chase fired up his rocket boots. Instead, he just dismissively threw up his hands and walked in the opposite direction. After a few more minutes, Chase suddenly felt the rocket boots start to taper down.

“Huh, maybe I should’ve asked him where we are.” Chase thought out loud before the rocket boosters shut off from lack of fuel.

Meanwhile, inside a Tokyo office building…

<Folks, we have a problem.> One man spoke in Japanese, <those damn gaijin managed to figure out a way to travel to Japan for relatively low money. Now they are at our doorstep.>

<Oh no! How could this fate have befallen us?> A second Japanese man asked, <All we wanted to do was give the American audiences what they wanted! Is it our fault that their networks were afraid of publishing our glorious material?>

<I think I understand the problem here.> A Japanese woman spoke up.

<Quiet, Keiko Tsundere! You’re a woman! How could your tiny brain possibly understand the intricacies of the Japanese cartoon industry?>

<For your information, I’m the head of your character design department!>

<Get out Tsundere, there are men conducting Serious Business in this room.>

Keiko stomped over to the desk and smashed her fist down hard upon its surface, <Do you think I enjoyed drawing all those…those hentai pictures of Nookie-chan? There’s a reason that your shows are being pirated in the United States instead of bought: because no so-called otaku gaijin would be caught dead with our product on the street!>

<Well then, Tsundere, what do you suggest?>

<We need something that the American youth will eat up and spend money on. Something with bulky men with big guns and swords in  robot suits! They love those!>

<Are you crazy? Such a design would never work!>

Keiko sighed, <Well, at the very least it would serve to get rid of those gaijin protesting outside our building.>

<But how can we get someone in a bulky robot suit out there to drive these gaijin away in such a short time?>

Just as Keiko Tsundere was about to answer, Chase suddenly appeared in the window, quickly falling down to the street in his Xtacle armor sans helmet. Finally, he crashed down to the street, his fall broken by the bodies of several protestors clustered outside the office building.

<I think I have our answer,> Keiko said as she smiled evilly.

At first, the protestors were horrified by the sudden appearance of the strange armored man with what appeared to be a piece of glass stuck in the top of his head, but then they slowly inched closer and started trying to ask questions. However, Chase had slipped back off to dreamland.

_____________

“Chase-san! I thought I had lost you!”

Chase’s spirits perked up. The hot Japanese girl had returned!

“Now Chase-san, you must undergo the first step of your training!” The woman began to step on his bare back, expertly massaging it with her own bare feet. “Do you think yourself ready to undertake the task set before you?”

“Hey babe, if it means spending some more time with you, I’d jump naked through a ring of fire while strapped to a Filipino midget.”

“I am so glad to hear that, Chase-san!”

“Hey, why do you keep saying Chase-san? You know my name’s Chase, right?”

“I know, it’s just…I find you so damn irresistable.”

“Hey, I didn’t say to stop.”

“My apologies, but it appears that your time may come sooner than you think. You are a hero trapped between two worlds, yet while you are a hero within one, you will be thrust into another. I am sure you will do fine.”

Chase felt the woman squat on his back, and then suddenly leap up into the air. Chase turned around and found himself facing another hot Japanese woman, except she was totally ignoring his hotness and was speaking to…

Chase blinked his eyes. He was in a city, and the woman was speaking in broken English to a bunch of nerds. Chase looked down at himself to find that he was actually still in his Xtacles-issue battle armor, sans helmet. The woman wasn’t exactly as hot as the other one he had been having dreams about, but she still had nice tits in his opinion, and his opinion was the only one that mattered.

_______________

At the outside of the ring of protestors, two helmeted Xtacles watched as Keiko Tsundere, the head character designer of Nage Hentai Nookie-chan, was holding up Chase Fontaine as the hero of some brand new series. The various nerds who hadn’t been crushed underneath Chase’s armor applauded the announcement.

“What?” The helmeted Xtacle called Newman shouted, “I’ve been a fan of Tsundere’s work since before I joined the Xtacles! How come he gets all the fame? He doesn’t know the first thing about anime!”

“Newman, let’s just go home.” The other helmeted Xtacle said, “The Commander’s going to chew out all our asses if you stay here longer.”

“But we don’t have any spare fuel for our rocket boots!” Newman protested, “How are we going to get home?”

“Well, maybe Mr. Ford knows some…hey, where is Mr. Ford anyways?”

Where is Mr. Ford? And what does this have to do with the rest of the story? Find out…next time!

Operation: Flaming Fanblade Pt. III

Aboard the Xcalibur:

A.L.E.X., the avatar representing the Xcalibur’s state-of-the-art computer, had just recieved an emergency call from President Stan’s office. She immediately informed Commander Taggart that President Stan was contacting the ship. Taggart asked A.L.E.X.

“Unfortunately, you Xtacles are the only heroes available right now, and I–I mean, we need them more than ever.”

“Just tell us what evil needs to be destroyed, Mr. President. We’ll crush them no matter what the cost.”

President Stan perked up, and A.L.E.X. could swear that he was smiling through the videofeed, “That’s just the kind of bloodthirsty attitude I need! Get as many of your men as you can, I have an important mission for you.” Stan pushed a button somewhere on the communications console in his office, and the video feed switched to a scene of environmental protestors and hippies chanting slogans and holding up signs just outside the fence around the White House.

“My…God…” Taggart said, “Those lunatics are going to overthrow the President in a bloody coup if we don’t save him!”

“Uh, Jack?” A.L.E.X. protested, “Those aren’t terrorists, those are just a group of young eco-conscious 20-somethings with too much time on their hands.”

“Look at those signs, A.L.E.X. A lot of them say ‘Earth First,’ obviously the name of a new terrorist group if I ever saw one…which I have!”

“Jack, Earth First is the name of an environmental lobbying group. They have an office in Washington, and they don’t do much more than call up Congressmen to beg for support for environmental legislation.”

“So, a bunch of rebellious terrorists are threatening Congress, and using the cover of an environmental group to overthrow the President in a bloody coup? Clever, but not clever enough for us!” Turning back to the image of the President, Taggart assured him, “Don’t worry, Mr. President. We’re going to save you from these terrorists!”

“Godspeed, Xtacles!” President Stan signed off.

“A.L.E.X., upload the coordinates of their headquarters to my helmet visor.” Taggart snapped his Xtacle command helmet into place, “I’m going to assemble the men. If we cut off the head of the snake, the rest of the body should be good eating.”

“Jack,” A.L.E.X. protested, “first of all, you’re mixing your metaphors. And second, you’re making a big mistake! Don’t you see the President is just using you?”

“A.L.E.X., less talking, more uploading!”

A.L.E.X. couldn’t sigh, so she let her avatar do the sighing for her before she obeyed the Commander and uploaded the coordinates of the Earth First environmental group’s main office in Washington, DC.

Taggart tapped into the ship’s PA system. “All Xtacles! Report to the flight deck, except for Bigsby! He’s staying behind to watch the ship while we’re gone.”

“Aw,” Joseph Bigsby swung around in his swively pilot’s seat and turned to face Taggart, “Jack, why do I have to stick around?”

“Because someone’s gotta keep us informed of the situation on the ground.” Taggart paused. “From the air.” Taggart paused again. “In case something bad happens.” Taggart paused a third time. “Oh c’mon, Bigsby! Don’t give me that look!”

“But sir!”

“If ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ were candy and nuts, I’d have a delicious bowl of trail mix. But they aren’t, and I don’t, so that’s why I’m even more pissed off at you now for saying that.”

“But…”

“Just keep your eye on the damn ship while we’re gone!” With those words, Taggart activated his rocket boots and prepared to head out with the other active-duty Xtacles.

When Bigsby was confident that Taggart left the ship, he asked the female avatar of A.L.E.X., “Why does the Commander have to pick on me like that? He keeps treating me like I’m just a little boy!”

“Well,” A.L.E.X. responded, “He does that to all the rookies. I’m sure he’ll warm up to you eventually.”

“A.L.E.X., put the ship on autopilot, I’m going to go through a training protocol.”

“Training protocol?” the avatar cocked an eyebrow, “The holodeck room is still under–”

As she spoke, Bigsby started pointing his guns at random places at the ship, then made fake laser sounds with his mouth.

“Oh, why do I even bother?” A.L.E.X. wondered to itself, before diverting most of its power to making sure the Xtacles and the Xcalibur stayed alive.

Somewhere in Washington, DC…

“Alright boys,” Taggart shouted over the noise of the wind rushing past his suit, “I’m only going to say this once, so listen good: Terrorists are trying to overthrow the President, and A.L.E.X. found out that they even threatened various members of Congress with very angry E-Mails!” The Xtacles all gasped audibly over the comlink, “Now we’re seeing their plan put into action. There’s too many of them to take out by ourselves, so we’re hitting the ringleaders in this office building. We go in, take ’em out, and then the President’s Secret Service will handle the rest! Am I clear?”

The Xtacles all gave their affirmation.

“Good. We’re approaching the building now. Make sure to hit ’em hard!”

In the offices of “Earth First!” Group

“Okay kids,” the lady said, “We’re so glad you could make it today to our sing-along session. What do we want to do?”

“Save the Earth!” The children shouted in unison, or at least the ones who c0uld talk. The ones who hadn’t yet learned how to speak said something more like, “ge geh gaaaa!”

“Alright kids, while all the grownups are out there fighting for a better environment, we can have fun in here, can’t we?”

“Yeaaaa!” the kids shouted, except for the youngest ones who just squealed happily.

The older woman took out a guitar and started strumming, “Now kids, don’t be afraid to sing along with me!” After a minute of strumming, she began singing, “For everything, turn, turn, turn…there is a season, turn, turn, turn…and a time, for every purpose, under heaven…”

She was so lost in her song that she didn’t notice the Xtacles smashing up the office outside, finding it mostly empty except for some computer equipment that had the audacity to be in the sights of their laser pistols. However, two of the Xtacles entered the room with guns drawn, where the woman was still singing and playing her guitar.

A short while later, aboard the Xcalibur…

“Joe!” A.L.E.X. tried to get Bigsby’s attention by using his first name, but to little avail, “Joe, there’s a problem!”

“Shhh, not now!” Bigsby hissed, still stuck in his fantasy world, “I’m trying to save the captured princess from the evil Space Dragon of Disnar-4! Pewpewpew!” He continued with his game.

“Joe, the Xtacles aren’t responding! I can’t get anyone on the comlink! Jack and his whole team have just stopped reporting in, and Chase’s team disappeared from the grid!”

“Wow, are you saying…”

“Yes Joe,” A.L.E.X. suddenly turned solemn, “it seems we’re the only ones left.”

“What?” Bigsby stopped his play-acting for a moment, “You mean I’m the only Xtacle left alive?”

“Hey,”  A.L.E.X. protested, “Let’s not jump to any conclusions…”

“Woohoo! I’m the only Xtacle left alive! In your face, Commander Jackass Taggbutt! Now who’s the superhero?”

“Joe, we can’t confirm if he’s dead or simply…”

“See you later, A.L.E.X., I’m going to go take a dump on his bed!” Bigsby ran off the bridge to do exactly that, while A.L.E.X. tried to piece together what happened. Chase’s suit linkup reported something about a flaming windmill before simply vanishing, but it seemed as if the attack team in DC had voluntarily switched off their comlinks. But why?

Why would the Xtacles switch off their comlinks? And what happened to Chase and his friends? Coming soon!

Operation: Flaming Fanblade Pt. II

Aboard the Xcalibur…

The Xtacles’ Commander, Jack Taggart, paced around the room in his high-tech armor suit, pausing every few seconds to give stern looks at the assembled crew.

“Ladies and gentlemen…” he began.

“Um, no offense, but are there even any ladies on this team?” Joseph Bigsby, the young pilot of the Xcalibur, meekly asked. “I mean, after our brief designation as the Decepticles, I don’t think we–”

Taggart grabbed him by the suit’s collar and held him up in the air with one hand, “Bigsby, if you speak out of turn one more time, I will hit you so hard your future grandchildren will feel it.”

“Really?” Taggart proceed to punch him. Bigsby grimaced from the punch, but something felt off about it. “Huh, that didn’t seem to hurt me too badly compared to your usual abuse.”

“Just sit down and shut up.” Taggart dropped Bigsby back in his chair, “As I was saying…we’re facing a bit of a problem here. Thanks to the leadership of our beloved leader Awesome X, we haven’t had very many threats to deal with.”

“Triumphant boosh!” One of the helmeted Xtacles boasted.

“Normally, I would agree, except this means that we’ve had to fight our own battles. Let me refer you to mission XT-1064, when we had to blow up the FarGate before the Donkey King could invade the Earth. Despite our best efforts, some of the Donkeys slipped through. Now, we had one simple task: blow up the Fargate and kill every non-Xtacle there.”

“Oh, was that the mission where we turned the Fargate into a petting zoo for extraterrestrial animals?”

“Yes, yes it was. And it definitely helped raise money for some desperately-needed armor wax. However, when the Super Yeti from the fourth dimension started invading our world through the Fargate instead of the Donkeys, what did we do wrong?”

“Uh…try to salvage the petting zoo?”

“Yeah, that’s when we should have just blown up the cavern and blocked the Fargate for good. So remember, what’s the lesson we can take from this story?”

Bigsby raised his hand.

“Put your hand down, Bigsby.” Bigsby slowly lowered his hand while Taggart concluded the lesson, “The lesson is, when the primary objective is to kill everything, then making peace with the enemy to raise money is not and should not be an option. Am I cle–hey,” Taggart glanced at an empty seat in the back of the briefing room, “what happened to Newman? I thought I told all active-duty Xtacles to attend this meeting!”

“Newman just up and left.” Another helmeted Xtacle spoke up, “Something about a Japanese cartoon he really liked. I’m not too sure why. Wasn’t much more than some blue-haired kid with glasses who went around a magical school, ignoring all the girls who were lavishing him with attention while he fought monsters with his friends.” The Xtacle paused as he noticed everyone in the room staring at him. “Uh, or so I’ve heard.”

“What’s that? It sounds like you’ve volunteered to go locate him.”

“Ohhhh…”

“Don’t ohhhh me, Private. It’s your fault for not bringing your roommate to this meeting.”

The doors to the back of the room opened while the Xtacle known as Chase Fontaine quickly ran through them, breathing heavily. In between gasps, he finally spoke, “Guys, I came here as fast I could…”

“Chase, because you don’t seem to think my meetings are important enough to attend, you can help the Private there find his cartoon-loving AWOLer.”

“What’s an A-wohler, sir?”

“It’s what I’m going to do to your face if you two don’t leave this instant.”

“Ohhhh…sad boosh.” Chase sulked, and then walked out of the room, with the helmeted Xtacle following behind him.

Meanwhile, back at the White House…

“Mr. President, sir!” One of President Stan’s aides shouted, “We’ve got a Code Green on our hands, sir!”

The President spit out his coffee. “Ugh, this coffee is horrible!” He proceeded to throw the partially-full coffee mug at the offending aide’s head, who swiftly dodged it. “A Code Green, are you serious?”

“Deadly serious, sir! They’re marching non-violently outside the White House right now! If we don’t hurry soon, they might inconvenience traffic and convince Congress to pass that resolution you vetoed at the UN.”

“My God,” Stan said, putting emphatic pauses between each word. “I’ve had enough of these Earth-firsters thinking they can walk all over the capital! It’s time we hit them where they live!”

“Sir,” the General at Stan’s side interjected, “you realize that these people aren’t actually harming anyone? I mean, the Earth First organization is composed of young 20-somethings with enough time and money on their hands to–”

“I don’t want excuses, General! I want a solution to these unclean hippies! Now get me Mecha Constable!”

“Sorry sir, he’s currently challenging the Russian President to a game of chess, and I don’t think he’ll be done anytime soon…”

Somewhere in Russia…

“Bah! Stupid American robot!” The Russian President Stanislaw kicked over the chess board, spilling the pieces to the floor, “I’m not going to lose to you! Set up the board and play another game!” Mecha Constable prepared to leave, but then found himself facing ten different men holding rifles in his face. “Play another game or I will order them to shoot! I will show you my true mastery of chess!”

If he had been programmed to sigh, Mecha Constable would’ve done so by now. Instead, his competitiveness algorithm compelled him to set up the board and continue beating Stanislaw at his own game.

Back at the White House…

“How about the Future Champions?” Stan asked.

“Well, they accidentally time-warped too far to escape the past, and ended up back in the future instead.”

Stan sniffed the air, “Oh no, that hippie stench is starting to permeate this very room! We have to act quickly! Are the Xtacles available?”

“They seem to be open.”

“Ohhhh…” Stan opened a drawer somewhere on his Oval Office desk, and pulled out a flask. After taking a long sip, he ordered the General. “Fine. Get me a line to the Xcalibur! It’s time to deal with these hippies once and for all!”

Later, somewhere over the  Pacific Ocean…

“Y’all better be payin’ for the gas in this thing.” Mr. Ford grumbled as he drove his hovercar towards Japan, “Can’t believe I’m spending my weekend off takin your shiny red asses to some place I can’t even pronounce!”

“Dude, it’s Japan!” Chase shouted from the passsengers’ seat, “Trust me, there are probably some smokin’ hot chicks there, not knowing that the Chase is On!”

“I wonder if there will be any girls like Tsukina over there,” The helmeted Xtacle wistfully wondered from the backseat.

“Wha’? Mr. Ford looked back at the Xtacle, “Why you hookin’ up with some zookeeper?”

“No, her name is Tsukina, from Nage…”

“Dude,” Chase also looked back at the helmeted Xtacle, “If her name is Zookeeper, she’s probably got like, some crazy issues.”

“I remember the last time I tried hookin’ up with a zookeeper,” Mr. Ford said, also looking at the same Xtacle, “She was missin’ three teeth, and she had a crazy love of arm-wrestling. But she was also a vegetarian. We just didn’t click together, know what I mean?”

“Umm, guys?” The Xtacle pointed to the front  of the hovercar.

“Don’t interrupt me, son. Now as I was sayin’, if you got your heart set on datin’ a zookeeper just remember this: she’s probably a vegetarian.”

“Guys?”

“Or a dude.” Chase interrupted.

“Guys?”

“What, what is your problem, man?” Chase suddenly got angry, “We’re just trying to give you some advice on…” The helmeted Xtacle suddenly broke through the rear passenger-side door and flew away with his rocket boots.

Mr. Ford suddenly looked to the spot where the Xtacle was pointing. “Aw hell no,” Mr. Ford complained, “We’re about to crash into a damn flaming windmill!”

“Really? Cool!” Chase had a brief double-take, and then asked Mr. Ford, “Are we gonna die?”

“Not until that zookeeper-lover pays me for the door he broke!” Mr. Ford activated Chase’s rocket boots and held on for dear life.

“Wait, I don’t have my helmet…” Chase flew head-first, straight through the window of the passenger’s side door as the car ran straight into the flaming windmill and exploded.

“My God,” Mr. Ford asked as Chase sped away from the scene with him, “what the hell did those bastards want with my car?”

Who are “those bastards?” And what did they want with Mr. Ford’s car? Find out, next time…

The Xtacles in Operation: Flaming Fanblade

[ed. note: fanfiction again. May the lord have mercy on my soul.]

“Gawd!” The fat, silhouetted figure banged on his desk as he read the news from ten different blogs on five different screens. All of them seemed to point towards a horrible crisis. “Gawd!” He banged on his desk again. “How could they do this? How could the worthless American network cancel Nage Hentai Nookie-chan after just two episodes? I can’t believe this! I totally would’ve watched that show on TV if my mom’s cable box carried that network!”

It had been bad enough when the lovely elf he had met online after playing through months of Worc-Raft had dumped his avatar for some talking cow. It was even worse when the Animu-suku-san forum moderators had banned him for his non-stop trolling. But now his favorite cartoon would no longer be shown in the US! He’d have to subsist on illegally-subtitled downloads of each episode of Nage Hentai Nookie-Chan instead!

That was it! He was going to start an online petition to get his show back! When he brought the full force of the fanbase to flood the Japanese company’s E-Mail box, they would be so ashamed they would beg for a US release of the full series. Maybe they would even do an episode based on a script he wrote! The fat, silhouetted figure chugged a Red Bull as he began to type up the message. As his Cheeto-stained fingers flew across the keyboard, composing what he believed to be the greatest protest E-Mail ever, a giant flaming fanblade dropped from the sky, puncturing the split-level house and slicing the silhouetted figure through the head. He would never be able to type another E-mail again as the flaming fanblade burned down the house around him.

The police would later determine that nothing of value was lost in that fire.

Meanwhile, at the United Nations…

“…and once this body votes upon this critical piece of legislation, we will have told our children that the problem of global warming will be one step closer to being solved, 20 or 30 years down the road! We will have replaced our old fossil fuels with renewable energy sources, like solar power, nuclear power, and most importantly wind power…”

President Stan felt a sharp elbow jab him from the right as the black general cleared his throat. “Mr. President, c’mon! You’re supposed to be paying attention!”

“Oh, why do I have to come to these meetings? Everyone knows we’re just going to set a lot of goals that won’t get done.”

“Mr. President, you are here representing the United States because your ambassador had some personal business to attend to. Something about a Japanese cartoon he really liked.”

“And?”

The general paused, disappointed yet unsurprised by Stan’s reaction. “Well, he put a lot of time into pushing this resolution through the general assembly, and it’s…”

“Oh hold on a second,” Stan tapped the side of his face, “I’m getting a call through my bluetooth.”

“Wait a minute, I didn’t know you had one of those Bluetooth headsets?”

“Headset? I just got a wireless communicator surgically implanted in my tooth, see that blue coloring? That’s science at work!”

“That’s…” the general grimaced, “that’s kinda gross sir.”

“Oh shut up, I’m trying to make a call!”

The UN Secretary-General began to take a vote from each member in the General Assembly. As he did so, President Stan was lost in his own conversation.

“…wait, he did what?” Unfortunately, Stan leaned too close to the microphone and began broadcasting his entire conversation to the General Assembly, “You tell that son of a bitch that if he pulls that stunt again, I’m going to call my friend Vito and have him give that bastard the Vito Special!” As the translators translated the President’s speech for each delegate to hear, every single delegate in the chamber offered a collective gasp. Except the ones who could understand English, for they had collectively gasped a few seconds earlier. Stan continued his conversation, deaf to the budding protests of the delegates. “Well, I don’t care what you think! I am not afraid to Vito that bastard straight into the ground this instant! In fact, I’m going to do that right now! I’m going to Vito him so hard, he’ll be feeling it from every orifice!”

The Secretary-General looked sad as he stepped up to the podium and delivered the news, “The United States hereby uses its veto power to destroy the resolution. Ah well.” He then proceeded to take a lighter out of his pocket and burned the resolution on the podium before finishing the meeting. “Not like we do anything useful here anyway. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a Swiss bank account and a Ugandan trophy wife back home.”

Later, in a cafe somewhere in town…

In a cafe somewhere, news of the President’s Veto in the UN had reached the ears of some shady businessmen with ponytails.

“Curses!” One shady businessman grunted, “That President Stan is smarter than we give him credit for, he saw through our resolution to give us all the profits from the wind farms all over the world!”

“What will we do now?” The second businessman cried, “If we don’t raise money from another wind farm somewhere, those Japanese guys are going to turn our office into a sushi supply warehouse!”

“Phil, that is incredibly racist.”

“Sorry, Will.”

The third ponytailed businessman gave Phil a comforting pat, “Look, we’re going to have to face facts: we’ve exhausted almost all of our options, so we’re going to have to pull out the one option I’d hope we’d never have to choose.”

Phil gasped. “Bill! You can’t possibly mean…”

“Yes, I do.” Bill replied sternly as he opened a briefcase and put it on the table. “We’re going to have to call in our favors and get a new briefcase. I mean seriously, this thing’s older than my dead grandpa.”

“But where can we find a briefcase that’s awesome enough to convince President Stan to let us build more wind farms around the world?”

“Well, that leads me to the next part of my plan…”

What plan could Bill have in mind? Tune in…next time!

Welcome to Gehenna: Awake in a Hospital Bed

Hola, Marta.

Marta opened her eyes slowly. She felt very weak, her body refusing to move except for subtle movements. All she knew was that there was a white fluorescent lamp above her, and someone talking in Spanish elsewhere in the room.

No te preocupes, la rigidez pasará en breve. The man spoke again, telling her not to worry, and that the stiff feeling would pass quickly.

Why was she here? Marta could remember different events, but she couldn’t quite piece them together, or their significance, or even how they led to her lying in this hospital bed. Her thoughts were interrupted by the strangely-dressed gentlemen standing up and walking over to her bedside. The man continued to speak in Spanish, but his lips moved differently, as if she was watching an American movie dubbed in Spanish.

_________

“Listen, I know this all seems very strange, so I’ll give you the short version for now.” The man cleared his throat and looked right into Marta’s eyes, “My name is Victor, and it seems that whatever you’ve done in your past life has qualified you to become a candidate for the POE Division.”

“POE Division? Past life?” Marta muttered, the feeling slowly returning to her legs, “What do you mean?”

“Protection/Oversight/Enforcement. We’re pretty much the lawmen and women around the land of Gehenna, protecting the populace. Part of our penance for whatever wrongs we’ve done in the past.”

“My past…my past…you keep talking about my past.” Marta subconsciously rubbed her forehead with her right hand, “What about the present? What is this place? How did I get here? Why am I here?”

“Well, what’s the last thing you remember?” The man said.

Marta shut her eyes, willing the images forth again. She saw a fierce battle, a battle with guns, explosions, and something about a People’s Revolution. She saw herself holding a gun, crawling through underbrush. Then more images flooded her: the face of a young boy, the bloodied corpse of a soldier with a fatal gash across his throat. So much fear and rage from her comrades…she assumed they were comrades, anyway.

“Anything come to mind?” The man asked again.

“I see people of different color in my memories. How come you are so different? How do you know my language?”

“It’s a curious little function of this place. From my point of view, you speak perfect English, though your mouth seems to be moving to a different rythum. Ah, I suppose we can figure that out later though.” The man paused for a moment and walked to the door. Marta thought he was going to leave, but then he returned a few seconds later with a small pile of clothes. “Oh, where are my manners? I completely forgot to mention my name.” As he put the clothes on the bed, the man continued, “You can call me Victor. I’m going to wait outside the room now. Feel free to put on these clothes and meet me outside when you’re ready.”

Welcome to Gehenna

Somewhere in Columbia, a woman named Marta was chewing furiously on a stick of mint-flavored gum. Even though she was on the verge of quitting smoking for good, she really wanted a cigarette.

Por orden del Presidente, se le ordenó abandonar sus armas y rendirse! Someone with a loudspeaker outside was broadcasting a warning to her comrades, Esta es su última advertencia!

Marta knew this day would come, she just didn’t want it to come so soon. The corporations had succeeded in reclaiming control of the government from the people, and now they were arming the rightist paramilitaries with the weapons to destroy what was left of FARC. The same people who had killed her father for trying to organize the workers were now largely part of el Presidente’s official army.

FARC used to be worth something, until they had slowly been sapped of their will, thinking that they could somehow change the government through passive resistance. How could they possibly change the government when it was controlled by an entity that respected no boundries, laws or even people? This was a time for action, not words.

Gunfire erupted somewhere outside the bunker, her comrades were shouting, screaming curses and firing back at their oppressors. Those bastards were serious, but so was Marta as she waited, firing off one last message to her son before checking the safety on her rifle. She had to fight on, for the sake of her son, her dead father, and her country. When the military stormed in, she would go down fighting, AK-47 in one hand and a grenade in the other.

As the military blew down the door to the bunker, she began to fire from her position. She hoped that God would forgive her for this. As she felt bullets piercing the cheap, worthless body armor the rebels had acquired, she continued praying to her God for repentance before a bullet struck her through the head, and she ceased to dwell among the living.

______________

A man in a stylish Victorian-era suit bobbed and weaved through the corridors of the sterile, white building, dodging all sorts of angels, healers, and lesser demons along the way. In one hand he clutched an umbrella that held a large sentimental value to him. In the other was a sticky note with a name and a room number scrawled in a formal cursive penmanship, just as he liked.

He enjoyed a good afternoon constitutional every now and then to stretch out his legs and keep his joints limber. Even so, it would take him five whole minutes to reach his destination in this so-called Hospital, not to mention the various undesirables who kept clogging up the hallways or the angels who were there to do their own business. He was supposed to be a special agent from the Protection/Oversight/Enforcement Division, and they couldn’t give him a hovering stand like his boss had, or at least clear the hallways a little in advance of his arrival? It didn’t seem right, but then few things were right about this land anyway.

Nonetheless, the man learned long ago that such mundane tasks would become part of his repentance, so he took them all in stride. After a few more minutes of walking, he finally reached the correct room. He then walked inside and sat by a chair placed at the opposite end of the Hospital bed. On the bed lay a tan-skinned woman wearing a loose sheet.

The man composed himself appropriately, glanced at the note to remember her name, then spoke in a calm tone.

“Hello, Marta.”

Hounds of War

[How did this blog start becoming the repository for my failed/unused RP ideas?]

__________

The Revelation tossed the spent cigarette on the ground near the fence and crushed it under the heel of his right shoe, grinding it into ash. He did not want to come here. After the botched mission back in Hokkaido, he wanted to slam Double-Em’s stoic face into the nearest wall until his eyes popped out. The man had promised him that Fritz would be safe, that he would be raised to have a good life, a life outside of the endless battles that The Revelation himself had fought for decades now: first as the Soviet counterpart to the US’s own super-soldier, and now as a hired gun for the US Army under Double-Em’s FOXHOUND team.

But not only did he spot his own son on the battlefield, Fritz had shot him twice with an old American revolver, and then made off with a possible nuclear device shortly afterwards, a device that he was sent to retrieve. What possible use could Fritz have for it? How did he even arrive in Japan? That was one of the many things The Revelation wanted–no, needed to know. The only reason that he didn’t strangle the life out of Double-Em in front of the crewmen aiming guns at him on the main deck of the USS George Washington.

“Glad you could make it, father.” The Revelation turned around to see the face of his son smiling back at him, then winced in pain briefly. “Have they been treating you well? I see your leg has healed rather quickly, considering–well, I’m sure you know already.”

The Revelation opened his mouth, as if to say something. There were so many questions he wanted to ask his son, but he just couldn’t pick one.

“I have been treated well by the Americans, father.” Fritz decided to pre-emptively answer one of his father’s questions, “For several years, they fed and sheltered me, let me run around their schools and their parks. I think they wanted to separate me from you, so that even if the time did come when we would meet, then I would be attached to their lifestyle.”

“Tell me this,” The Revelation finally spoke, “Am I speaking to my son? Or am I speaking to a soldier?”

“Both…and neither. I hardly think of myself as a soldier, though I was personally trained by the best soldier the US has to offer, a lifelike Captain America, if you will.”

“The Master?” Fritz nodded, “What has he done to you?”

“What has he done, you ask? He has taught me much about this world, as I have said before.” Fritz suddenly chuckled. “In fact, I think he anticipated this meeting. He asked me to deliver a message of his own to you and the rest of your merry men…the ones that are still alive anyway.”

The Revelation tried to think of a way he could knock his son out, drag him into the car and take him back to the safehouse, but continued to listen to his son anyways. The meeting spot was intentionally chosen to be in a public place, and in one of the busiest cities in the world where parking was scarce and witnesses would be plentiful. “What message does he have?”

“The revolution is coming.”

“Revolution?”

“A revolution to free the soldiers of this nation from the strings this government holds them by, a revolution to reshape the world now held by a series of despots and kleptocrats into one where only the fittest and the brightest survive.”

[to be continued?]

Melkor: Deleted Scene

[Ed. Note: Yet another thing to throw on the pile of missed opportunities…]

The students sat in the lecture hall, waiting for about five minutes now. The room was almost full, as word had gotten around that the professor was going to be handing out a test today. Otherwise, it would be a miracle if 30 students appeared in this boring-yet-necessary class.

 

Something seemed odd: The professor hadn’t shown up early like he usually did, and the Associate Instructors all seemed to be missing as well. Some of the students just took out their Walkmans and started listening to their music, others chatted with friends, scratched initials on the backs of chairs or scribbled down drawings in their notebooks.

 

Some of the students looked to the front of the lecture hall as the doors near the podium swung open, but then returned to their boredom when they saw just another kid coming through them. A bit uncommon, perhaps, but not out of the ordinary.

 

But then the young man spoke, “Ladies and gentlemen?” No one bothered to listen. “Excuse me?” A few more heads turned, but then went back to their previous activity. The young-man then raised a one-handed axe with rusted blood coating the blade, and slammed the blade’s edge into the podium with an audible thunk!

 

“Take out your fucking Walkmans, get your heads out of your asses, and listen.” The young man shouted, “I only need a few minutes of your time, then you can go around getting high, getting drunk, or whatever it is you people do at college that doesn’t involve paying attention in class. You might know me as AJ, or you might just think of me as ‘some guy’, but seeing as the professor and his professional suck-ups are a bit tied up, you can listen to me for a few minutes.”

 

Some students finally looked up in interest at AJ, but half the class still seemed bored or was listening to music through their earphones. AJ knew the ring would help alter their perceptions of his words, but he would still have to do the bulk of the work himself if he was going to succeed in gaining new followers from this class.

 

Walking into the rows of seats, he quietly walked up to one student listening to a mixtape on his walkman. In less than three seconds, AJ ripped out the headphones, swiped the tape player, and used the cord from the headphones to yank the student’s head towards him. AJ immediately had him pegged down as a stoner, considering the boy had sagging eyelids and he could smell the weed on his breath.

 

“Hey man, what the fuck you doin—“AJ didn’t let him finish that sentence as he yanked the headphones off and tossed them down the stairs

 

“Let me ask you a question,” AJ called out to the whole auditorium, “how many of you actually give a fuck about this class? Raise your hands.” Most of the students’ hands shot up. “Okay, now how many of you think the information in this class is relevant to your future career?” Several hands came down, but about half the class still had their hands up. AJ walked up the row, watching for someone to storm out of the room and call for help. Surprisingly, no one did, at least not yet. “How many of you are taking student loans just to have the privilege of coming into this class and getting bored out of your fucking minds?”

 

“Dude, get to the fucking point already!”

 

“You want me to get to the point?” AJ snarled. He suddenly lept up into the air and started running along the backs of chairs until he reached the opposite aisle where the heckler sat, gaping in awe. “I’m offering you the chance to make something of yourselves.” AJ swiped a piece of notebook paper from the heckler and began tearing and folding it as he continued, “I’m talking break out of this fascist educational system that tries to bend you, shape you, rip you apart until you’re nothing…” AJ tossed away the scraps of paper, “…nothing but a damn wage slave, one who will do the most meaningless tasks for the smallest pittance or faintest praise because he’s either too afraid to face up to his rich parents, or too afraid of drowning in debt from the student loan system.”

 

AJ walked back downstairs to the podium, swiping a pack of smokes from another student’s shirt pocket. It would take him another minute to realize they were even missing.

 

“However, I’ve found a way out of this system, a way to find true freedom from this government, this school, this warped system of values that governs our society. What I found costs absolutely nothing in terms of money.” AJ showed his ring to the crowd, and let its power amplify the weight of his own words, “We are building an army, a religion, hell…a new movement near this very city! It does not care whether you are reach or poor, smart or stupid, black or white…all we require is your strength for the coming war.”

 

“War?” A girl with long brown hair and glasses asked near the front row, “There’s going to be a war?”

 

“I won’t lie to you, there is going to be a war very, very soon. A war to finally break free of all these forces that seek to keep us down, a war to shatter the very foundations of this system, and drive out the fascist oppressors before us! Yes, there will be a war, but I ask this of you…” AJ took the one-handed ax out of the podium and held it over his head. “Will you be the hand holding the handle that cuts down the chains that bond you to this awful system? Or will you side with the ones putting their necks under the blade, gleefully waiting for the moment the ax will come down and end their miserable existence on this Earth? The choice, my friends, is yours to make.”

 

The assembled students in the lecture hall started talking to each other, clearly roused by the speech. AJ finished, “Spread this word as far and wide as you can. If you wish to join me in this coming battle, meet me by the entrance to Spencer’s Butte by sundown tonight. I hope you will make the right choice, and convince your friends to do the same.” AJ decided to take a bow for some reason, and then he left the lecture hall and the astonished students still deciding what to do. The ring had certainly done its job.

 

As he lit up one of the cigarettes he had swiped from a student, he suddenly felt a rush of adrenaline and overall exciting thoughts. This must’ve been what Jesus or Mohammed must’ve felt like, or maybe Moses when he led the Hebrews across the Red Sea. With this ring, he could do anything!

P-T-X: Whacking Stick Day

Being a recent transplant into Drama City, one of the things I heard whispered around the alleyways and water coolers of the city, let alone this very building, was an event known as “Whacking Stick Day.” If you ask a normal resident, chances are they won’t tell you what happened, or if they do, you realize that most of them are just telling you what they read from some blog post.

I needed to get at the source of what happened, so I went into a place where few DC^2 residents bother to go, unless they feel like taking the risk of looking up pornography on the Internet before getting busted by the Decency Police of St. Mary. Apparently, no one ever told them about all the legal and illegal spyware that infests those public terminals, but I’m getting off track here—I searched through the various stacks of books in the Drama City Public Library before I found a fat guy who referred to himself only as “The Oracle.” The Oracle wouldn’t divulge many details about his identity, except to say that he used to be an analyst for the NSA, but he had a good memory, and had lived in Drama City long enough to tell me what happened during the tragedy of Whacking Stick Day.

 

It started out when the Pipefitters Union Local 042 decided to protest outside the office of Mayor Augustus DeLay for better wages and American-made piping, carrying various lengths of lead and metallic piping with them in protest. The AARP was also going to protest Mayor DeLay’s firing of all the old, ugly people from the city offices and replacing them with younger, prettier people. Most of the seniors protesting that day carried walking sticks to show their anger. At one end of the street the office sat on, a toy company was giving away free hard-plastic bats and foam balls to kids so they could get rid of their product before any federal investigators realized they had accidentally used toxic chemicals to produce their toys. At the other end of the street, several Irish residents of DC^2 were planning to celebrate their heritage by giving out free wooden shillelaghs to anyone who looked or sounded Irish.

 

These groups drifted to the same street at the exact same time, each with their own brand of stick. Maybe it was fate, or maybe the Mayor had planned this all along. No one even knows who started the fight, but the seniors from AARP thought the union was being too loud, the pipefitters thought the Irish would steal their jobs, the Irishmen running the heritage festival were mad at all the “other” people who had shown up, and the young people who were grabbing the toys thought the older folks were “real creepy.”

 

Based on all the evidence The Oracle combed together, he saw this as the most likely scenario: Someone, though “who” is still unclear, took a plastic bat and threw it at the back of a senior’s head, who then fell forward and slobbered all over the pipefitter’s shirt, who ran into the Irish festival looking for something to wash out the drool, and was then whacked in the face by a man wielding a shillelagh. Then all four factions just meshed with each other in a huge battle royale, whacking each other with plastic bats and metallic pipes and walking canes and wooden shillelaghs. Even a small troupe of anarchists and members of the ANSWER coalition soon jumped in, as they were really just pushing their own pet issues and had nothing better to do. Finally, the DCPD Impression Squad came in with their cattle prods and night sticks and started whacking anyone they thought was protesting. If anyone shouted “Don’t taze me bro!” they would get shocked three times by a cattle prod just to shut them up.

 

A few hundred people were arrested that day, including a few innocent European tourists who had the nerve to walk out of a restaurant located near a police cruiser. The officers stationed at the outer perimeter proceeded to wail on them with their own nightsticks and cattle prods, then cuffed them and threw them in the back of their van for “resisting arrest” and “appearing to have terroristic intentions.” Two of those tourists arrested were later revealed to be Canadian, but because the Prime Minister of Canada had surrendered his country’s sovereignty to President Roxanne Xobad during a drunken card game, they were treated just like any other criminal in the UAA’s justice system: the richer ones could afford to have a lawyer present, to view the evidence and testimony against them, to call up witnesses on their own behalf, and to have a trial by jury if they so desired. The poorer ones went through “Justice Express”, where a medical droid would inject the offender with a truth serum, then the judge would ask the offender a few questions and render a verdict and sentence on the spot based on his interpretation of the answers.

 

In the end, the poor protestors of legal age were sent to jail for a couple years, the younglings were asked to do community service, and the rich folk managed to run out the clock with endless appeals and petitions until the prosecutors got bored and dropped the case. The European tourists, after undergoing a little “freedom-tickling” to make sure they were not terrorists, were later released. They were given a plane ticket to their home nation and a note with the words “Oops! Our bad!” written and signed by Mayor DeLay, rolled up in a gift bag next to a DC^2 snow globe.