Anime Mundi: From Bad To Mangaverse

Issue #30, “Anime Mundi, Part V”

MONDAY 10 JUNE 2002, 3:58 p.m. Pacific Time

LOCATION UNKNOWN:

“Can’t you speed this thing up?” Max asks Jason, gesturing at the moving sidewalk carrying the group back out of Downtown. Jason sighs and takes the laptop back, typing in some codes. The sidewalk speeds up.

“Is there any way you can deactivate the mines in the cage?” Vic asks.

“No, but I can call up a map of the cage and point out what’s where,” Jason replies. “Eric and Howard built the minefield, and that $#%^&*’s way too random for me to deal with.” More keystrokes and the map appears onscreen; Jason hands his laptop back over to Max.

“Is this to scale?”

“One inch equals twenty feet.”

Francois gazes around, musing aloud: “Where did you get the cityscape? Did you and Eric make this yourselves?”

“No,” says Jason, “I ripped it off from an anime called Armitage. Cool, innit?”

“Hey, it’s all in good fun ‘til you get a cease and desist,” Vic chortles. “You do the 3-D?”

“Nah, Morii must’ve made it 3-D, because we never put in that much effort.”

“And how is it our powers don’t exactly work the same way?” Oscar asks.

“Oh, what way?” Jason, puzzled, looks back at each of his teammates.

“Oh, I can’t build up my cryo-carapace,” says Dani, “Oscar’s a blue and purple leopard, Francois’ hair looks like a veal marchand flambé, Vic has a thunder-fist…”

“Oh, that.”

“Oh, that. Care to explain?”

“Oh, I just re-wrote your powers is all.”

“Re-wrote our powers?” snarks Vic. “Energon God Mode, indeed.”

“Well, you guys know what my folks do for a living, right? They research how superpowers work.”

“Well, that’s your story and you’re sticking to it,” snaps Vic, “but continue.”

“I just thought about what I’d do if I had powers like yours is all,” Jason says.

“We were born with our powers,” Francois snorts, “we didn’t buy them on e-Bay or roll them up on a chart in the back of a gamebook.”

“Yeah, but Jack chose his powers somehow,” Jason responds. “He willed himself into becoming a living, breathing D&D character. Imagine what you could do if you had his powers over darkness—and could think outside the box!”

“But, Jason,” Francois snaps, “this is real life, not some cartoon or video game!”

Jason falls over, springs back up, looks left, looks right, then looks right at Francois: “You want to run that by me again?” Francois throws his hands up and goes back to watching buildings cruise past.

THURSDAY 27 June 2002

Assembly Chambers, Ravensgate City Hall

U.S. House Infrastructure Protection Subcommittee:

The mayor takes the podium, adjusting the string of pearls around her neck. She tugs her blue jacket and white blouse straight before placing her hand on the Bible.

“Do you,” drones the clerk, “solemnly swear, under penalty of perjury, that the statement you give is truthful to the best of your knowledge, so help you God?”

“I do.”

“Please state your full name for the record.”

“Salome Ana Renee Isabella al-Amarja Throckmorton-d’Aubaine.”

“Miss d’Aubaine,” Rep. David Gavriel (D-Ore.) intones, “how long have you been the Mayor of Metropolitan Ravensgate and Greater Nehalem County?”

“Since August 29, 2000. The Metropolitan Assembly appointed me to complete my late uncle’s term.”

“And in your tenure as mayor, what have been the major issues?”

“Public safety and accountability,” the mayor responds, looking at each Congressman and camera as she speaks. “As an international port city, we are deeply concerned about terrorism and the narcotics trade. As public citizens, we seek a responsible, accountable and law-abiding constabulary and government.”

“Then why would you oversee the loss of eleven hundred police jobs?” wonders the subcommittee chairman, George Taxmeier (R-Ill.).

“Corrupt officers are a liability to public safety,” she snaps. “It’s been established that terrorists traffic in illegal narcotics to fund their operations. Therefore, any officer who sells his badge to look the other way or to protect drug dealers is committing treason, in my humble opinion. Secondly, the citizens of Ravensgate need a police force that’s looking out for them, not watching each other for signs of corruption—or for the next big score. Third, the Bureau of Public Safety was a bloated monster dominated by a racketeer-influenced and corrupt organization, the Ravensgate Police Guild. It broke the law by striking, and later committing acts of armed insurrection. Finally, I see our current Bureau as an un-distracted, lean, mean crime-fighting machine.”

“Ms. d’Aubaine,” says Gavriel, “why are you defending Superintendent Philip Snow? Isn’t he a political rival of yours?”

“As they say, politics makes strange bedfellows,” Salome says with a hint of a smirk crossing her face. “The outright lawlessness of April 1 rendered our political differences irrelevant. We’re public servants first, candidates for office second.”

“Ms. d’Aubaine, Ravensgate’s crime rate is skyrocketing,” says Rep. Hellman Jessup (D-Ore.). “Don’t you need more police?”

“Mr. Jessup, Police Guild members committed at least thirty percent of the last seven quarters’ reported crimes. If I need more police, it’s to arrest the ex-cops still at large.”

MONDAY 10 JUNE 2002, 4:01 p.m. Pacific Time

Somewhere Under The Journal MediaCorp Building:

Joshua turns to The Ghost of Nikko Wylde and asks, “Do you have a name?”

Nikko, she says.

“Nikko Wylde?”

Yes. How did you hear of me?

“I overheard a conversation about you. How did you—?”

Link them, she gestures to Energon and Pyro and Jeopardy, with their friends in the tanks? I don’t know, except to say that I have some manner of telepathy. At least that’s what the voices tell me.

“Voices?”

The chorus of the wandering dead, Nikko replies. Like me, they died before their time and have yet to relinquish their hold upon this world.

“I’ll have to ask you more about that later. What I wanted to know was, how did you—?”

Become a ghost? I was murdered in the line of duty, and it still is unsolved.

“We owe you a debt of gratitude,” says Joshua. “Perhaps we can help you.”

That is one reason I sought out Oscar. He seems accustomed to mystical phenomena, and he appears receptive.

“Do you know who murdered you?”

Yes, Nikko replies. It was the same people who just killed Detective Bill Durden. A Checkerhead safe house blew up an hour ago.

“You know about the safe house explosion?”

I was near there, Nikko replies. Rurik Kirilenko may have done the deed this time, but he was just hired muscle for the Police Guild alumni.

“How do you know about Kirilenko?”

I saw him fire the rocket. Most Gang Unit and SCU know him as a rising player in the Russian mob. The men who subcontracted the hit think they can’t be touched—and, in my case, I can’t touch ‘em.

“Why do they think they can’t be touched?”

Because they’re cops—and they’re trusted by Phil Snow’s psycho errand boy.

MONDAY 10 JUNE 2002, 4:05 p.m. Pacific Time

LOCATION UNKNOWN:

Max snaps shut Energon’s laptop. Vic asks him, “Are you ready?” as the PA announcer’s introductions resonate through the tunnel.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Max says as he cracks his neck and deposits the laptop in a locker. “I’ve figured the shortest approach vectors to the weapons caches. We should be fully equipped within ten seconds.”

The crowd roars as the PA announcer’s LET’S GET RRRREEADDDYYY TO RRRRRRRRRUUUUUUMMMMMMMMMMMBBBLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLE!!!!! reverberates throughout the arena.

The seven members of The Foundry bound up the ramp and into the cage, the entry tunnel doors slamming shut behind them.

Max immediately roars off to the ever-shifting ridge, moving faster than an Indy car. The sudden rise and collapse of the ridge does not faze him; he sidesteps or leaps over any shifting terrain. Within seconds, Velocity-X is back from the ridge with a long, cigar-shaped plasma rifle resembling something out of The Fifth Element and hands Namor—‘Porter—a large power-drill-shaped pistol. Francois—Fire Prince Pyro—grabs the rifle as Velocity-X darts back onto the ridge, grabs a first-aid kit, and deposits it at Vic’s—Zazen Raja’s--feet. After another pass, Dani has an odd-shaped vest made of bendable circuit boards.

She dons the vest, disappearing as she closes its clasps. All that can be seen is a vague rippling effect, much to the visible dismay of the teen-aged Namor and Jason.

One of the tunnel access portals opens up, and Red Doug is upon ‘Porter in a flash.

WEDNESDAY 19 JUNE 2002, 12:15 p.m. Pacific Time

RAVENSGATE CITY HALL:

Jason Garsea enters the men’s room on the 27^th Floor, approaches a urinal and unzips. At that moment, Agent Marcoli steps up to the adjacent urinal.

“You feel the pressing need to call this meeting?” Marcoli cracks, looking at the wall.

“Huh?”

“Old joke,” Marcoli says. He affixes a thumb-sized blinking black box to the nearest pipe: “I have a job for you. You up for it?”

Jason guardedly zips back up without replying, so Marcoli continues: “I need you to burn to disk all your surveillance files, 24-hour deadline.”

“But, I—.”

“I’m serious. We have some grave issues—poor word choice, I know—after last week’s disaster, and I think those sound files might help us out.”

“How did you know—?”

“Joshua encouraged you, kept me in the loop, and, frankly, kiddo, a dozen pairs of ears sorting through those files are better than one.”

“Isn’t this illegal?”

“This is Ravensgate, kiddo, grow up. Legality is a very fluid and elusive concept around here, sort of like Bill Clinton's definition of ‘is’.”

“Yeah, but—.”

“Yeah, but I, uh, discovered some old open-ended bench warrants given to our Public Corruption Unit. Why do you think I’m not bothered by you and your friends’ cockroach breeding?” Marcoli turns to face Jason and, before he removes the black box, adds, “What, you were born in a barn? Flush, dammit!”

MONDAY 10 JUNE 2002, 4:07 p.m. Pacific Time

LOCATION UNKNOWN:

The team pounces on Red Doug, driving him to the ground next to the unconscious ‘Porter, as Dani and Max take to the tunnel. Oscar, in blue and purple leopard form, follows.

Emerging from the tunnel, Max and Oscar pounce upon Jack The Prince of Darkness. Jack is staggered but deftly slides out from under the feline form of Jeopardy The Leopard Prince. Bullets and a plasma blast cross Max’s path from the plateau; Max looks up to see B.O.B. and “Sports Doctor Patria” at the plateau’s edge.

Max makes three high-speed circuits of the cage before running up the sheer cliff-side at B.O.B. A perfect sphere of ice appears out of thin air, driving into the Sports Doctor’s midsection at freight-train speed; it shatters on Morii’s flak vest but throws her up against the side of a pillbox.

“Get Morii!!” Dani yells. Oscar and Max need not be reminded of her potential mental powers; Oscar makes it to the plateau in three leaps.

Before the Sports Doctor can recover, Max has grabbed her sniper rifle and delivered a solid kick to her midsection. Oscar pile-drives B.O.B. into the top of the plateau, leaving him laying limp on the ground before diving into Sports Doctor Patria—and off the plateau.

Jack takes a swipe at Dani with expanding tendrils of darkness, but she’s nowhere near where he thinks she is. From off to his left, she nails him squarely with a searing blast of frost as Oscar and the “Sports Doctor” strike the ground with a loud sickening thud. Jack screams and swipes again, this time striking an unseen frost shield—painfully, but not for Dani. She decides to return the favor of the earlier fight and include jagged shards of ice with her next frost blast.

Then Jack decides to even the odds by turning out the lights—until another thud, accompanied by a painful grunt.

When the lights come back on, the frozen form of Jack The Prince of Darkness is pinned to the ground. Oscar, finding Dani’s frost blast has made Jack more tangible, digs in with his claws and rends. Darkness bleeds out from the ice and claw marks as Jack expires with a gurgle and a splash of liquid darkness.

At the ridge line, the enemy—First Citizen d’Aubaine, The Sum of All Fields and Cleaner #2—exchanges weapons fire with the rest of The Foundry. Gouts of bluish flame lick out at the enemy from various locations in midair as Vic provides cover fire for Jason. The energy rifle fire of Cleaner #2 sends Vic end over end past Jason, but he is able to roll out of it.

Noticing that The Sum of all Fields and Jason seem to be in a rematch of the tunnel fight from out in the real world, Oscar leads Max and Dani back down the tunnel. They emerge behind Energon, Oscar pausing to reassume human shape and grab the odd-looking pistol that lay at ‘Porter’s side.

Max cranks off three rounds at Cleaner #2 but, as in the real world, her bikini’s probability field deflects them away. Dani drives an ice ram into The Sum of All Fields, denting its chrome carapace. Vic scorches First Citizen d’Aubaine with a plasma bolt, but the cyborg refuses to drop.

Oscar fires his pistol at Cleaner #2. A stream of needles find their mark—from behind and in front. She is staggered, nearly dropping her rifle.

The Sum of All Fields drives Jason thirty feet backward with a pulsar volley. Jason, shaken, is slow to get back up.

When he regains his feet, he utters just two words: “#$%* it.”

A massive electromagnetic pulse shoots forth from Jason in all directions, causing plasma rifles and needlers to discharge uncontrollably. The minefield in the ridge detonates, Cleaner #2’s probability field drops, First Citizen d’Aubaine’s cybernetic body shorts out in a cascading shower of blue and purple sparks, half the arena lights explode, the bricks on the ridge stop, Dani becomes visible, and The Sum of All Fields shudders. A heartbeat later, white-hot plasma discharges from its body, sending its head and hands flying before it falls to the ground as a burned-out chrome shell. Cleaner #2, a hundred needles in her torso, exhales once and collapses.

MONDAY 10 JUNE 2002, 4:06 p.m. Pacific Time

Somewhere Under The Journal MediaCorp Building:

Agent Cazaril jumps back, striking his head on the back wall of the empty tank, as a massive cascade of magnetics and electricity washes over the laboratory. The headset goes blank with a pop and a fizz, and he throws it off his head and into the opposite corner of the tank.

“What the hell was that!?!” he snaps.

“Energon just EMP’ed,” replies a startled Joshua.

At that moment, one of the autosurgeons springs to life. Its arms begin to entwine around Jeopardy, and one plunges a needle into his left arm. Oscar snaps awake, morphs into an elongated expanse of flesh with a head at one end, and snaps back into human shape on the floor. Grabbing his arm, he echoes Cazaril: “What the hell is going on?”

Your friend Energon fired an electromagnetic pulse, replies Nikko, but he forgot he was only facing illusory opponents.

Bink, seated at one of the monitor stations, beings furiously typing.

“Bink, what the hell are you doing?” Willy snaps.

“I’m trying to keep us alive!” he snaps back. “I’m getting hundreds of error messages! This program is failing!”

Oscar yells out to Nikko, “Get me back into the program!! NOW!!”

MONDAY 10 JUNE 2002, 4:08 p.m. Pacific Time

LOCATION UNKNOWN:

Oscar re-enters the scenario as The Empress Mayor, The Sloemnander, Cleaner #1 and eight mecha-troopers approach The Foundry. Jason immediately puts on First Citizen d’Aubaine’s power gauntlet.

“You have finished in the top eight,” says The Empress Mayor, “but in order to survive, you must defeat us.”

“That’s not in the tournament rules,” Dani snaps.

“It is now. I can change the rules if I want to.”

“So can I,” says Dani, as Max rushes forth and nails The Solemnander with a circle kick. Dani gestures and drives her cartoon cousin to the ground in a localized gravitywell.

Jason magnetically grabs The Empress Mayor’s power gauntlet. It gracefully floats onto his left hand, and he orders the mecha-troopers to attack each other.

Vic, Namor, Francois and Oscar spring into action, and The Foundry makes short work of their new opponents. But their victory is short-lived.

Jason looks up and gasps. Entire sections of skyline and sky are vanishing; half the arena is gone. Replacing them is a bright blue screen pattern.

He extends the power gauntlets to the sky and tries in vain to bring back the stars and buildings. The Big Blue Screen of Death will not abate.

“Um, guys,” he says in a quavering voice, “I think this is bad.”

The cage disappears out from under The Foundry. They begin choking, unable to breathe.

MONDAY 10 JUNE 2002, 4:10 p.m. Pacific Time

Somewhere Under The Journal MediaCorp Building:

Bink Wittgenstein stares at the monitor; which is solid blue: “We’ve lost the program.”

Oscar looks up at the tanks and sees Dani, Max and Namor struggling inside the blue liquid, flailing about and attempting to breathe. Jason springs into action, unleashing a repulsor blast at Namor’s tank. It explodes open in a shower of glass and brackish blue liquid. Oscar sprouts claws and cuts open Dani’s tank in a sweeping figure-eight motion. Agent Cazaril vaults out of the empty tank and opens up Max’s and Vic’s with two blasts from his BFG.

Joshua almost elbows Oscar aside as he throws a thermal blanket around Dani and yanks his niece out of her tank. Various Lumieres assist with the others, all four of the tank subjects being deposited atop an autosurgeon table.

“Nikko, link us up!! NOW!!” yells Joshua. “We need to get them breathing air!! Some of them may have injuries that make resuscitation difficult!!”

Dani, Max and Namor choke and convulse on their tables, their hands and feet clawing up uncontrollably as they spasm. Nikko looks to each of the Lumieres and reports, They have plasma and electrical wounds, but the blunt-force trauma injuries are minor. Tabula Rasa is unaffected by the liquid; somehow, his mask is a filter. Whatever this stuff is, it’s coating everyone else’s lungs. We’ll have to trust the autosurgeons to work, or it’ll be too late.

“Yeah, if they work,” snorts Joshua.

“Now or never, Joshua,” snaps Bink.

“Let’s do it.”

THURSDAY 27 June 2002

Assembly Chambers, Ravensgate City Hall

U.S. House Infrastructure Protection Subcommittee:

“Mr. d’Aubaine,” says Taxmeier, “welcome back. You are still under oath. You mentioned you had received a call from a former employee at about 2:30pm, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ravensgate Bureau of Public Safety records show that they arrived at 2:36 with their Rapid Armed Intervention and Street Crimes Units. Your security personnel refused them entry. Why?”

“As I said before, I had reason to believe this was an act of retribution, and I wanted to muster enough security forces to both assist the Checkerheads and observe their actions.”

“Checkerheads?”

“Checkerheads. That is the nickname they acquired in the 1920s. When they were founded, the standard uniform was thrown together from spare band and military dress uniforms and the namesake cabbie’s hat.”

“I see,” says Taxmeier. “Now, how useful can this security be if they’re observing the cops? I mean, the cops haven’t worked with your security forces, and they’d be wary of them, perhaps distracted?”

“Mr. Chairman,” d’Aubaine sighs, “I do not see your point. I live in a city where we have a police force with its own political agenda, and it would benefit their leader if they could find something dirty on the mayor’s father. That’s how politics work in this town, and, sadly, that’s how it’s always worked.”

“The ‘Checkerheads’ took only fifteen minutes to get a search warrant, acting upon The Foundry’s discovery of a criminal enterprise in the Old Underground beneath your building. Given what transpired soon after COMETPRO arrived—at the urging of the Bureau of Public Safety, I might add—I’d say The Foundry had good reason to ask for police assistance, and the cops had good reason to ask for Federal assistance. That is my point, Mr. d’Aubaine.”

“Mr. Chairman,” Jessup snaps, “you are badgering the witness and acting upon possibly falsified sound files being disseminated on the Internet.”

“Mr. Jessup, I am acting upon factual information from police and FBI logs, plus the security logs of the Journal MediaCorp Building. I am attempting to see Mr. d’Aubaine’s reasoning for attacking The Foundry after their sacrifice.”

TO BE CONTINUED