Anime Mundi: From Bad To Mangaverse |
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| [The Foundry]
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Issue #29, “Anime Mundi, Part IV” MONDAY 10 JUNE 2002, 3:32 p.m. Pacific Time Somewhere Under The Journal MediaCorp Building: Agent Cazaril secures the sensory-deprivation helmet on Dr. Patria Morii and checks the power-arrestor cuffs binding her hands behind her. He then gestures to Halitosis, who leads her out of the laboratory as Agent Marcoli enters. “Report.” “Four of The Foundry in advanced medical tanks, vitals weak. Another tank contains Emil Kergillian, or a clone,” says Cazaril. “Clone.” “The four kids are in a VR loop, we’re trying to ascertain how to extract them with minimal physical or mental damage.” “What about the static-electric discharges?” “She stopped them,” Cazaril gestures over at The Ghost of Nikko Wylde, “when she released Monkeywrench from a magnetic contraption that was in that corner. The device was destroyed in the process.” Duster-clad agents dressed in tones similar to Cazaril’s carry off the unconscious forms of Monkeywrench and the Cleaners. Gesturing to them, Marcoli says, “When you’re ready, they’ll strip this place and take the equipment to Area 51. I’ll be outside if you need me, keeping the locals at bay.” As Marcoli walks out, Energon stirs. Nikko, Pyro, Jeopardy and Brother Knight surround his autosurgeon. Energon opens his eyes, lifts his head, and barks, “What the hell happened? What is everyone staring at?” “What do you know about VR sims?” asks Pyro. “About what?” Jeopardy takes his turn: “Does the phrase Energon03 ring a bell?” “No, why?” “That’s the name of the computer program Morii was running.” Nikko interjects, Do the words “Anime Mundi” mean anything to you? “Aw, $#%*,” Energon’s head thumps back down onto the table. “You’re kidding me, right?” Cazaril snaps, “No, we’re not. I, for one, have no sense of humor. What is the significance of the program!?!” It’s the VR program in which your companions are trapped, says Nikko. “I designed it,” Energon mumbles. “You what?” snaps Jeopardy.
WEDNESDAY 26 June 2002 Assembly Chambers, Ravensgate City Hall U.S. House Infrastructure Protection Subcommittee: Representative David Gavriel (D, Oregon) runs one hand through his expensively-coiffed brown hair as he examines some notes. Straightening his red power tie, Gavriel sets down the pad of legal paper and, as cameras train on him, calls out, “The subcommittee wishes to recall SAIC Antonio Marcoli.” As Marcoli steps to the podium, Gavriel adds, “You are still under oath, Mr. Marcoli.” I know that, you showboating jackass, Marcoli thinks as he rests his hands on the podium. “Mr. Marcoli, you made mention of a cyberpathic metahuman being behind this attack. We concede you your points regarding national security and your agency’s reluctance to identify the suspect. However, this subcommittee would like to know if this metahuman was an agent of a terror group or was a cell leader.” “Agent, Mr. Gavriel.” “Why is it that this terrorist was not neutralized and is not being prosecuted?” “Both will happen, in secret. The intelligence this suspect can offer, however, is time-sensitive.” “You aren’t as loquacious as your last appearance before this subcommittee, are you?” “No.” “The report your office sent to the FBI Director,” Gavriel thumbs through his notes, “mentions the suspect used unconscious members of The Foundry—.” “That report is classified, Mr. Gavriel. You will hand it over to—.” “It’s OK, Mr. Marcoli,” interjects Rep. George Taxmeier (R, Illinois). “I asked that your Director de-classify portions for our proceedings. Our copy is so blacked-out, you’d think it came from Prince William Sound. You may proceed, Mr. Gavriel.” “Is it true that this metahuman boosted its own powers using unconscious members of The Foundry and how was he, she or it able to do so?” “Without risking the classified parts of my report, I’ll say only that the metahuman in question used the minds around it as one would use certain conductive household items to supplement a radio antenna.” “Mr. Chairman?” Gavriel turns to Taxmeier. “Can we please get a more specific answer from our witness?” “No,” says Taxmeier. “Let’s err on the side of caution—and national security.” “Thank you, Mr. Chairman,” says Marcoli. “Don’t thank me just yet, you’re still in the hot seat. Mr. Gavriel?” “Mr. Marcoli, it has been more than two weeks since the incident and we’ve only seen three of The Foundry’s seven known members. Those members we have seen, were in the presence of Brother Knight and Halitosis from Team Hyperion. How many of The Foundry survived the attack?”
MONDAY 10 JUNE 2002, 3:34 p.m. Pacific Time Somewhere Under The Journal MediaCorp Building: “Yes, I designed it,” Energon mutters. “WHY!?!?!” thunders Jeopardy. “It was just a video game, not a VR. Nightshade and Arachnoid,” Energon says, using the code names for Eric Butler and Howard Hodgson, “helped me start it. We never finished it. How the hell did Morii get ahold of it?” “Good question,” says Brother Knight. “Tell us about the video game.” “It’s a PC game like DOA or Bloodrayne or Halo. You’re a metahuman competing in a cage-match tournament. It’d be cool as a VR.” “Yeah, right,” says BK. “How sophisticated is this game?” “The way we designed it? I dunno, about as sophisticated as DOA or Panzer Dragoon Orta, I guess. I mean, it’s not designed to be easy. Well, unless…” “Unless what?” says Pyro. “Unless you have the cheat codes.” The Ghost of Nikko Wylde walks through one of the unoccupied tanks, a look of concern on her face: These tanks are rigged with some type of trap. I don’t know if it’s an explosive, or if it’s something else intended to harm just the occupant of the tank. “If the traps are electronic, I can just EMP them and we can pull everyone out,” says Energon. It’s not that simple, Nikko replies. EMP’ing a trap might set it off. Plus, she points toward Emil Kergillian’s tank, his brain is being used to help run the VR. They’ve already been through one very disturbing encounter, and they could use the cheat codes. At that point, Nikko concentrates with all her will and links up the minds of Energon, Jeopardy and Pyro with those of their unconscious companions.
MONDAY 10 JUNE 2002, 3:35 p.m. Pacific Time LOCATION UNKNOWN: Danielle Devereaux sits bolt upright, gagging, still expecting to cough up blood. After a pause, she finds she’s able to breathe air with little difficulty, and she feels no pain or even discomfort. Not even from the power-arrestor cuffs on her wrists, or the icy-cold steel table on which she is resting. Looking down, she finds she’s wearing that same ridiculous costume: white-trimmed blue shift, blue and white thigh-high boots, full-length white gloves, etc. Looking around, she finds she’s sitting on a cartoon version of one of those steel tables in Morii’s lab. Only it’s not Morii’s lab. It appears to be a cubicle in a hospital ER somewhere, judging by the equipment surrounding her on three sides. Workers in medical garb enter the cubicle and start putting equipment into cabinet drawers. One bows to her and says, “Ice Princess, there are two guards in the hall. They will escort you back to the Kumite.” Not only do his lip movements not match his words, but also his lab coat is marked soylente verde. A few other medical personnel wear lab coats marked red dragon bistro. Dani tries not to think about this too much. “The Empress Mayor wishes to see you,” says a powered-armor guard. “Where are my friends?” “The Empress Mayor wishes to see you,” says the other powered-armor guard. “I’d like to see my friends.” “After the Empress Mayor speaks with you.” “Fine.” The guards approach and take Dani by each arm. They guide her down the hallway and out onto a moving walkway. It passes through a detailed and garish futuristic cartoon cityscape before stopping near the arena at the Throckmorton Ravensgate OtakuCorp building. Guards wave them through the lobby, and they take the express security elevator to a suite marked with only a purple and gold button. Dani counts the number of floors that pass by—200—on the way up. If it weren’t for the mood the cage match put her in, she’d marvel at the level of detail in the animation. But she’s way too tense. She has yet to learn her friends’ fate, and all the tin men will say is, “After the Empress Mayor speaks with you.” The elevator car stops and its doors open out into an opulent suite. Inlaid gold leaf dragons chase each other around the purple marble walls, blue streamers intertwined with gold chains hold crystalline lanterns aloft above two rows of semicircular balconies and a row of gold-and-red marble pillars. The rows of balconies look outward at the windows and an outdoor garden. And the rectangular Olympic-length bath in the middle of it all: Don’t insult my intelligence, Dani sighs inwardly as she spies the bathing form of “Empress Mayor Salome,” the anime caricature of her cousin, being scrubbed by three serving girls. “Please enter,” says one of the guards. “The Empress Mayor wishes to speak to you.” With an outward sigh, Dani walks over to the pool’s edge. Conveniently enough, steam vapors obscure the view of all but her cousin’s face. “Come on in, the water’s fine. We have much business to discuss. I can give you amnesty, you know, if you cooperate with the authorities.” Dani just stands there in stony silence, an eyebrow cocked. “I don’t understand you,” the Empress Mayor sighs, her lip movements out of sync with the audio track. “You have so much going for you, and you mingle with plebeians. Why, with your brains, you could be in high-tech. You could be a network server!” Dani shakes her head, pivots on one heel, and walks back to the elevator. She turns to one of the guards: “OK, she spoke at me. Now can I go see my friends?”
MONDAY 10 JUNE 2002, 3:37 p.m. Pacific Time Somewhere Under The Journal MediaCorp Building: Marcoli’s voice crackles in Cazaril’s earpiece: “I’ve allowed in medics. They’re from The Foundry’s support staff, ETA one minute.” “Copy that,” says Cazaril. “Trap mechanism is a detonation device of some type, deadman switch unlikely. Still trying to locate where all the wires lead.” “OK, I’ll keep Brother Knight and Halitosis up here for crowd control. Need a hand down there?” “I could use a tactical vid headset so I can get some pointers from Ordnance.” “Proceed with caution.” “As always.” The Ghost of Nikko Wylde follows the wiring into a bank of computers, disappearing into the near wall. Cazaril uses a penlight to trace the path of the wires on the other side of the tank wall, but he does not see any recognizable markings on the wires. He has no idea if they are metallic or fiber-optic. Nikko emerges from the wall, shaking her head: I can’t trace the wires and keep up the communal link at the same time. I know the wires lead somewhere over there—she points to a bank of computers near Morii’s control room—but I keep losing them in the jumble of cables. “Are the wires metallic or optical fiber?” They are metallic “Well, that’s partially good news. Any way to drain a tank and get inside it?” Yes. The subroutine is set only for the occupied tanks. I can drain one for maintenance. “Do that,” says Cazaril as a group of masked medics in white hazmat suits enters the laboratory. Cazaril notices that two are middle-aged men and a third is a woman apparently close to Marcoli’s age. The rest could be identical quadruplets. One of the medics, a regally thin man, hands Cazaril a headband with a clear eyepiece and a small camera attached: “Agent Marcoli said this might assist you with the bomb.” “If that is a bomb,” Cazaril replies. “We’re still trying to ascertain.” The woman examines the autosurgeon tables, upon which Energon and Jeopardy are resting: “What is this, anyway?” “I believe it’s called an autosurgeon,” Cazaril replies. “You put someone on it, they get treated for injuries. An explosion in the tunnel really messed up Energon, but he’s fine now.” “Then why is he zoned out like this?” the thin man queries. “And what about Jeopardy?” They and Pyro are sharing the VR experience with their comrades, Nikko replies. The thin man does a double-take and begins walking in a circle around her. Morii put them in a VR and they need some help getting out.
MONDAY 10 JUNE 2002, 3:40 p.m. Pacific Time LOCATION UNKNOWN: Danielle and the two guards turn a corner in Cellblock Zed. The first thing she sees is Jeopardy The Leopard Prince standing in the hallway, next to a cartoon character with flaming aqua hair and something vaguely resembling Energon. Her blood runs cold and she begins to struggle with the power-arrestor cuffs. “It’s OK, Dani,” says Vic, a sentiment which is echoed nearly simultaneously by Max’s, Namor’s and Jason’s voices. “You need help, so we entered the game,” says Pyro. “How can you help?” Dani snaps. “We just got—.” “Chill,” says Jason/Energon. “In this ridiculous outfit, that’s all I can do!” “No, just chill. Relax,” says Jason. He turns to the guards, adjusting his Ray-Bans enough that some electromagnetic energy leaks out: “Release her cuffs, let these guys out. They are dinner guests of the Defending Champion!!” Dani tries in vain to burst out of her cuffs: “That’s what I was afraid of!!” “No, Dani, I’m getting us out of here,” Jason says, stepping back and putting his hands out in a neutral position. “I’ll explain everything when we get to my pad.” The snarky cellblock guard snaps: “Okely-dokely, Mr. Smarty-Poop, but have ‘em back by nine. They’ve got matches tomorrow.”
WEDNESDAY 26 June 2002 Assembly Chambers, Ravensgate City Hall U.S. House Infrastructure Protection Subcommittee: The clerk drones out, “Please state your full name for the record.” “Philip Michael Snow.” Phil Snow stands tall at the podium in his dress blues. The uniform vaguely resembles the Marine Corps dress uniform—except for the checkered cap, which has deviated little in design from the taxi driver’s cap appropriated at the 1923 founding of the Ravensgate Bureau of Police. Snow’s cap bill features gold-leaf trim, and the banded collar sports three gold stars. “Mr. Snow,” Gavriel perks, “you have served as the Superintendent of Public Safety for Ravensgate and Greater Nehalem County, Oregon, since January of 2000, is that correct?” “Yes.” “Now, how did you become the Superintendent of Public Safety?” “I served as interim superintendent after the resignation of Roland Levkas. From January 2000 until August 2000, Mayor Nehemiah Throckmorton sought a permanent replacement. Then he died and his successor, Salome Throckmorton-d’Aubaine, retained me.” “And you chose to run against her 15 months later?” “That is correct. I saw a need for experienced leadership at that time.” “You mentioned a need for experienced leadership, Superintendent. The Bureau recently downsized by one-third. You replaced many seasoned lieutenants and captains with detectives who have served less than ten years in police work, and some of your sergeants are still in their twenties. Is it conceivable that lesser-experienced supervisors and watch commanders might make errors in tactical judgment, miss a major detail here and there?” “Experienced leaders can, too, especially if they’ve put their badges up for sale. That’s why the mayor and I forced the downsizing.” “You downsized in a time of war? You sacrificed experienced officers for green ones, and you—.” “I had to let go a few hundred bad apples, and I stand behind the commanders I’ve picked. They don’t sell their badges, they—.” “No, they just blow off people’s kneecaps for fun.” “That’s out of line, Gavriel, and you know it! We are overseen by the Sinclair Commission and the FBI, and the incident you’ve mentioned was justifiable force to stop a rogue cop who had killed three brother and sister officers!! In fact, he pointed one of the murder weapons at the arresting officer!!” “Well, that aside, Mr. Snow, is it conceivable your officers, with their current level of—ahem—experience, may have overlooked key clues that could have averted the ambush of June 10th?”
MONDAY 10 JUNE 2002, 3:45 p.m. Pacific Time LOCATION UNKNOWN: The elevator is in the same tower as The Empress Mayor’s. Energon’s suite is on the 187th Floor. Energon (Jason), Fire Prince Pyro (Francois), Ice Princess Frisson (Dani), Zazen Raja (Vic), Velocity X (Max), ‘Porter (Namor) and Jeopardy The Leopard Prince (Oscar) pile out of the crowded elevator car. They find themselves in a suite that is a mirror image of The Empress Mayor’s. Instead of a bathing pool in the center, it’s a swimming pool. Dozens of bathing beauties jump in and out of the pool, including two that resemble Cleaner #1 and Cleaner #2. To everyone’s right, the wet bar is open for business, and Korn is blaring from the stereo. “What the hell is this racket?!” Max winces, to which Jason enthusiastically replies, “It’s Kittie and Korn doing ‘This Town!’” “Song’s older than you are!” shouts Vic, which takes Jason off-guard. “The Go-Gos did it 20 years ago, only better!” “HEY!! TURN IT DOWN!! Much better. Thanks,” says Francois. “So, Jason, how is it you know all about this place?” Dani snaps, looking disdainfully at the girls in the pool. “I designed the program,” says Jason. Dani explodes: “You did what?!” “I said roughly the same thing,” interjects Oscar. “This was a project for Max’s spring-term Advanced Programming class,” says Jason. “Howard and Eric and I got caught up in other things, and we got an Incomplete.” Dani gets nose-to-nose with Jason: “How did Morii get ahold of it?” “I don’t know,” Jason says, stepping back and putting his hands out in a neutral position. Again. “Now, I programmed a laptop with cheat codes into this game. Fan out, it’s gotta be here somewhere.”
MONDAY 10 JUNE 2002, 3:51 p.m. Pacific Time Somewhere Under The Journal MediaCorp Building: Cazaril examines some wires from the inside of an empty tank. The visor over his eyes records for agents above, and it also displays text information those same agents transmit. Following one text message, he cuts a blue wire. Joshua and Willy flip switches and key in different sequences of numbers at a console next to the hangar doors in the floor. Eventually the doors open, revealing a dark underground stream—and the approaching Mistrunner. Should their craft really be here? says Nikko to Cazaril. The device still is active. “Orders from above,” says Cazaril. “They need to evacuate their wounded.” In the Mistrunner, one of the copies of Lumiere guides the craft upward through a rift in the concrete, toward the open hangar doors. At the communications station behind the pilot’s seat lay Energon’s laptop, bearing DragonBall-Z and Yu-Gi-Oh stickers, and his MP3 player, still jacked into the radio monitor. The voices of the mayor and her father in an intercepted cell-phone conversation, and a parallel conversation involving two cops, drift through the cabin.
MONDAY 10 JUNE 2002, 3:52 p.m. Pacific Time LOCATION UNKNOWN: The seven members of The Foundry crowd around the laptop on the bar. Energon snaps, “Give me some room!” He boots up, and the laptop displays the following screen:
“Costume options?” Dani asks, eyebrow cocked. “This isn’t what I think it is, is it?” “It’s OK, Dani,” says Jason, “we never finished that part of the program. Clothing Optional was one setting we didn’t have time to include, but we did make secondary costumes for some people.” Jason’s fingers play across the cartoonish keyboard, and, when he hits Enter, there is a loud pop! and Dani yells out at the sudden costume change. “Wow, it works,” says Namor. Dani glowers. “Yeah, but can you reset the game?” Dani snaps. “We just got—.” “You got slaughtered because someone set the Difficulty Level to Bambi Versus Godzilla,” says Jason. “Opponents have about ten levels on you, plus at least two or three layers of Heightened Attack.” “Levels? Heightened Attack?” “Game terminology,” says Jason. He flicks his fingers over the keyboard some more: “I see they also had the Telegraph Punches option enabled—anyone yell out maneuvers or anything?—I’ll turn that off. Oh, wow, they had the Jack Thinks Outside The Box option enabled, too. That must’ve been rough.” Dani leans over Jason and hisses: “Yes, it was!! Thank you for being so sympathetic!! Now, can you change the scenario?!” “Uh, yeah, sorry,” Jason says, “I’ll just enable the Kobayashi Maru Mode.” “Isn’t that usually bad?” asks Vic, to which Jason replies, “Only on Star Trek. In Anime Mundi, it’s Energon God Mode. I can put us in the Top Sixteen, which would force a final cage match for the Elite Eight.” “Make it so,” says Vic, prompting Max and Oscar to look askance at his Mohawk-topped but otherwise bald pate. “OK, who do we want to face in the cage match?” says Jason. “Well,” says Oscar, “The Sum of All Fields is vulnerable to EMP blasts.” “So are the probability field generators in the Cleaners’ bikinis,” says Vic. “’First Citizen d’Aubaine,’” says Max. “He’s half cyborg.” “OK, we have spots for d’Aubaine, The Sum of All Fields and at least one of the Cleaners,” says Jason. “B.O.B. hits hard, but he has a glass jaw. Red Doug is tough, but we’re faster. And Jack isn’t a factor when he’s not thinking outside the box—just like real life.” “Hey, what about ‘Sports Doctor Patria’?” says Namor. “Good idea,” replies Jason. “We defeat her, we just might beat the program.” “Then we’ll have to drop somebody,” says Dani. “Pick one of the Cleaners.” “Your wish is my command, Ice Princess,” says Jason, his fingers flying once more. Then, a dramatic bloop! sound: “Oh, $#%^. This could be evil.”
“Oh, come on,” says Namor. “It’s Windows-based. How evil can it be?” “Let’s find out,” says Jason, clicking on the Run & Hide button. “Aw, #$@%#.” “Sure looks like a Kobayashi Maru to me,” opines Vic, adding: “Did the program changes take hold?” “How should I know?!” snaps Jason, to which Vic snaps back, “Well, for starters, Mr. Smarty-Poop, you wrote the program!!” “Well, it didn’t say the changes weren’t accepted,” Jason mumbles. “Great,” hisses Vic. “Saddle up, everyone!”
TO BE CONTINUED |
