Cursory Contraptions
Let the boys play.
Chapter FORTY-TWO
Metastability
We just split the world apart!
The argument: The Lads try to repair their ship.
He stood; this aloof, mythical figure, on the bridge of his mothership, among the instruments that hummed along contentedly in time. His calmness and the sharpness of his uniform might draw one to the conclusion that he was an Admiral of some sort. One would be correct in making that judgement, though it was far from the entire truth.
He wore a sharp, well trimmed beard and a mustache that extended beyond his lips. His gelled hair sat snug under a wide brimmed cap. His uniform fit well, and his black shoes reflected the world above them. They snapped impressively whenever he took a forceful, assured step. He clasped his hands behind his back and kept his gaze squarely forward, peering into the dark, star-speckled space beyond.
A door behind him swished open. He didn't turn.
–Douglas? Why are you here by yourself? Actually, it doesn't matter. I wanted to talk to you about-
–I know what you want, Chump, said Douglas.
Chumpchange: scientist extraordinaire. He'd been working, in conjunction with the rest of the fleet's scientists, on a new weapon, one he claimed would fundamentally revolutionize warfare.
–Well… what's your answer? Chumpchange asked.
–I was given clear instructions, said Douglas, still peering at the expanse of space. I was told to position my ship here and protect the rest of the fleet while they repair. I wasn't told anything about testing new weapons.
–So that means the decision rests with you.
–I suppose that's one way of interpreting it.
–Look… you don't understand. This weapon will change everything. Let us test it out here, before we fight the Terrans again. If you want to protect LadMan, this weapon will only make that easier.
Oxie, Healthy Man, Dead Dude, and Jmar led the massive contingent of engineers that worked feverishly to repair the colossal space-battleship SLS 1337. The pride of the Sad Lad's space-fleet, she had suffered heavily in a recent battle with the Terrans. Now she was anchored off the prairie-planet X0225 while her engineers battled the clock to get her in fighting shape. If the Terrans arrived before she was ready, the Sad Lads would be able to muster only Douglas' light cruiser, the SLS Dig Dug, and two small corvettes.
While the engineers labored, the Grand Admiral of the Fleet had taken several officers and gone on a "scouting mission" to the nearby planet. There was no reason for this, tactically or strategically speaking, they were just bored, and didn't feel like lounging around their busted ship while the engineers worked.
–This planet is fucking gay, Lad. Like… is the whole thing one giant prairie? The whole planet? It's not like games can't do biomes. Why even have planets at all, if this is what they're going to be like? And I don't think the planet's name is right, either. Does X0225 make sense for a planet? Is that really how they designate planets?
–It was your repeated implorations that spurred this expedition, said Woman.
Woman held a blaster in one hand. His other hand was busy trying to swat away the bugs that swarmed his face. The Lads trekked through head-high grass infested with the little buzzing creatures. But nobody else seemed to be having this problem. Woman peered at Erectio, in the body of a little girl. He'd ripped the midriff off his officer's uniform and lost his officer's cap. His long hair fell messily about his face. He seemed unbothered by the bugs. Ty, too, leading the expedition, seemed unperturbed. He grasped a laser rifle in both hands as he pushed through the grass, occasionally trying to peer above it to see what lay in the distance. Woman suspected it was just more grass. Phatphuck and Pbbbbbbb&j, both behind him, also seemed unbothered by the bugs. And Dan, while he complained mightily, didn't complain about bugs. If he was getting swarmed, they'd all know it. So… what the heck?
–If we don't find anything, we get the ship to beam us back, said LadMan. This isn't costing us anything.
–I know that, said Dan. I just don't understand why this planet is so fucking lame?
Ty pushed aside a particularly thick clump of grass and suddenly emerged into a massive clearing. The other Sad Lads followed until they'd all escaped the grass. Woman, thanking God, felt some relief from the bugs.
A village spread before them, nestled in this clearing. Well-hidden, but also easy to ambush, if one should choose. Not that the Lads could do that now, as no less than half of the village had stopped their activity and stared at them. The villagers looked human enough, though they had orange fur and tall, cat-like ears. They wore complex, brown clothes seemingly fashioned from the tall, tan grass. Their houses were long and squat, fashioned out of skinny wooden logs, sticks, mud, and grass. They were arranged in groups, roughly four per, surrounding big, communal fire pits.
–A bunch of furries, said Erectio, peering at the villagers. Let's beam back up, I'm not sure about these deviants.
–That's rich, coming from you, said Phatphuck.
–How'd they build those houses? Dan demanded. There's no wood on this planet!
–There is presumably wood somewhere, Daniel, said Woman.
–Hold on, hold on, came a cry from within the village.
The Lads watched as a little creature with gray fur and drooping ears emerged and made her way towards them. She used a gnarled cane to walk, and wore a long, colorful poncho.
–Ma, there's a weird fucking cat outside, whispered Pbbbbbbb&j. Erectio tried to stifle his laughter.
–I am the Village Matriarch, the creature said. May I ask who I have the privilege of addressing?
–We're the Sad Lads, said LadMan.
The Matriarch led the Sad Lads into the village's center. The Lads realized that, much like star systems orbit a much bigger body, all the four-house units surrounded a massive, central firepit. More of a bonfire, really, with huge, thick logs stacked several meters high. It was, at the moment, unlit.
–Welcome to our village, the Matriarch said. We are pleased to have visitors from beyond the sky. Please, you must stay for our evening meal. When the Shining One sets we light our fires and fill our bellies.
–What do you eat? LadMan asked.
–All the wealth of the prairie, said the Matriarch.
–Which is what? Dan demanded. There isn't any fucking food out there.
–Chill, dog, said Erectio.
–Lad, I think they're going to eat us, Dan whispered.
The Matriarch's drooping ears twitched.
–We would never! she exclaimed. You are our guests. We would never allow harm to come to any that we've accepted into our village as guests.
–Dan, you need to chill with the racism, said Pbbbbbbb&j.
–It's not racist, they're not a race, said Dan. We've been over this, they're a different species-
–Not every culture we meet is bristling with cannibals, said Woman.
–But they aren't cannibals! We're not the same species.
–Yes, but it reads like they're cannibals. While I wouldn't expect you to grasp the nuance-
The Lads descended into argument. The Matriarch, flabbergasted, tried to calm them down. Then, Erectio shouted,
–Yo, check that sweet tech!
The Lads followed his finger. On a handsomely built stone altar lay a mostly intact piece of tech. The Lads rushed forward to inspect it.
–Ah, I see you've noticed our Star Sign, said the Matriarch. This wondrous object was sent to us from beyond the sky.
–It's a quantum computer, said Dan, running his fingers over its smooth metal casing. An attachment for a fire-control system, I think. I bet this would boost our ship's accuracy by a good bit.
–Yes, that's our village's pride and joy, the Matriarch said. Feel free to admire it all you want. The prairie's bounty is all ours to share-
–I knew this trip would be worthwhile, Dan whispered to LadMan. You blast the cat-lady and I'll radio for the ship to beam us back up.
The Matriarch's drooping ears twitched.
–I want you to try and explain it to me.
–It's a waste of time… I really don't think you'd understand-
–I'm not firing something I don't understand from this ship. So you either try to explain it or content yourself with not firing it.
–It's perfectly safe-
–Just explain it, please.
–Fine, fine. Okay. Let me… where to start? Well, we've named it the… Bubble Nucleation Bomb. But don't be alarmed!
–I'm not alarmed. I don't know what that means. What does it do?
–Well… put simply… it… really, try not to be alarmed…
Dan blasted two villagers but got a spear in his gut that killed him. Erectio, unarmed, rushed around until a villager caught him and slit his throat. Pbbbbbbb&j tried to loudly negotiate and was spared. The villagers threw him to the ground and began binding his arms. LadMan, Woman, and Phatphuck retreated into a nearby house and tried to hold out. Ty stayed outside and killed four but was soon overwhelmed.
The Lads inside the house held out for a bit longer but soon the villagers burst in. They killed Phatphuck then captured LadMan and Woman and dragged them outside.
–Damn it, Dan! LadMan shouted as they dragged him to the center of the village. Woman tried to break free, but the villagers jabbed his legs with spears and he went down. They threw LadMan onto the bonfire. The carefully stacked wood came crashing down around him, trapping him.
–Now we have to get all the way back here from spawn in those crappy little spawn ships, LadMan whined as the villagers set the bonfire alight.
Assuming the Universe exists in a false vacuum, (metastable) state, a spontaneous (or created) instance of bubble nucleation (via instanton effects) would catalyze at causality-speed the fundamental restructuring of the Universe as it moved from its local-low to its true-low. It goes without saying that no life would survive this event.
So how the fuck do you use this as a weapon? Chump, taking advantage of pure video-game buffoonery, managed to re-constitute a "Pocket Universe" machine to create a pocket universe effectively overlayed on their own. The idea being that the game would regard the area overlayed (a sphere 10 AU in diameter) as a separate universe, and, therefore, the vacuum decay would not extend beyond it. Since the pocket universe was only overlayed, and not separate, you could technically travel into it, though Chump would really recommend that you didn't.
Of course, when Chump tested it (having lied through his teeth to Douglas to get permission to do so) the Bubble Nucleation Bomb worked perfectly, while the pocket universe overlay didn't work at all. Before anybody knew it'd happened, they'd all been swept away in the vast reality-restructuring. Maybe it was for the best. Metastable beings tend to have a tough time with things.
Chapter FORTY-THREE
Post-abiogenesis
The argument: Rousseau didn't account for any of this.
You know what's a real kick in the balls? Deadeye Development never removed the logout button. They just moved it. Stuck it dead center in the TOS.
Naw, I'm just joshing. Wouldn't that be hilarious, though? What a way for reality to be. It does seem like the sort of pseudo-nonsensical shit that modernity, whatever that is, would produce. Do we produce modernity or does modernity produce us? Both. On and on, forever and ever. Copies of copies of copies of-
One couldn't be blamed for thinking that the world has spun out of control. It'd been heading that way for a hundred years. The Huns stomping through Belgium, the Americans splitting the world in two, the Soviets setting everything on fire. In the early 21st century the inner-city Detroit dudes started demanding more than a half-buck per hour. Congress considered it. But it didn't matter, because shortly after the Chinese (flying unmarked F-35s, oddly enough) blew Detroit to pieces. The worst attack on American soil since the last worst attack on American soil. A new era. Invading Eritrea seemed the only reasonable option. The Far East airfield, under the provisional command of the Yin Yanks, tried to assert their autonomy and had to be shown their seats. American-made cackling on every continent. Can sand glow in the dark?
Why wouldn't you rewind 10,000 years? Go back to the basics and try again? The industrial revolution destroyed the planet. But the agricultural one destroyed the species. Is it hypocritical to live out your anarcho-primitivist fantasies in full-dive VR? Probably, but whoever cared about being a hypocrite? It's the only way to fulfill your soul amidst the acceleration. And make no mistake, things are accelerating. Cosmic expansion, your perception of time as you age, the world itself. Teeming with humans. A huge system. A planet-sized brain drinking itself to death in its frenzy to feel. Maybe we'll move to Mars? Giving Deborah's dear another liver didn't save him.
It's understandable that one would grow sick living on a pile of skulls. Vac, when he was young and not yet an asshole, attended church with his family. Most Sundays his father would dress him up and drag him to the nearby megachurch. People from all over flocked to the complex, stuffing themselves into the padded pews, craning their necks to see the pastor, up on the stage, shouting into a mic. The ironed pants, stiff collars, and combed hair. Dress up for God. Jesus didn't die for your sins so you could walk around looking like a hobo.
The hard lights blared down. The elderly, overweight audience shifted in their seats. Coughs echoed through the hall. A huge screen, the sort you'd see at a sporting event, hung behind the stage, behind the pastor. His face held in close up. Some expert cameraman had him wherever he went. Projected before them in high definition, his splotched makeup melting under the harsh lights, droplets of sweat rolling down his face, bits of spit getting stuck in his beard when he yelled. His face was impossibly red, as if everything he said required Herculean effort. He held a microphone in one hand and waved a little Bible around in the other. He never opened it. This buck-hunting nimrod knew nothing.
–He's in the flowers. The grass. The wind. The clouds rolling across the sky. He's the Sun. The light is His grace.
Where'd she get these folksy ideas? Who taught Jean theology? Nobody. She'd picked up some of it at Mass and extrapolated the rest.
The thunder. The sky. The rain. The keys. The pixels. The bytes. The strings. Sight and sound and touch and smell and-
You can't go back. You can only go forward. But the primordial need not exist only in the world behind you.
Things were dangerous for the prehistoric human. Vac and his boys, trekking through the vast, white cold, had fought off a smilodon, members of a rival tribe, and two direwolves. Scream King had narrowly avoided being trampled by a mastodon, and Soren had almost died when he ate a poisonous berry. He sat vomited for half an hour while Vac sat over him, rubbing his back. Finally, having located a suitable cave, the boys set for settling in. Lying Ted gathered firewood, Scream set traps, Soren worked to repair their stick n stone tools, and Vac tried to clean out the cave enough to make it livable.
The boys wore a collection of heavy furs and carried clubs, stone axes, or poorly fashioned bows. Ted carried the group's prized possession, a rudimentary bow drill.
–Those fucking natives think they're such hot shit, Soren mumbled as he fashioned arrows. Vac, you know what we should do, right? We gotta go to their village and take it over. No more of this hunting and trapping bullshit. We take their food, their houses, and live there. That's the thing to do.
–I don't know, said Vac from the cave. I don't think we'd win that fight. How many of them are there?
–Yeah, but they're retards. We could lead them out one by one and pick them off. Take out the men. Then go in and drive away the women and children.
–I swear, dog, you gotta listen to yourself, said Ted, sauntering up the mouth of the cave and dumping a pile of firewood in front of Soren.
–What? You got a better idea?
–Yeah, how about we carve out our own place? Why do we gotta slaughter a bunch of locals?
–Geez, you and Vac kinda turned into pussies, Soren muttered.
–How's the cave looking? Ted asked Vac.
–It's fine, said Vac, stepping out of the darkness.
The light hit him. He blinked while his eyes struggled to adjust.
–It'll take us a bit to get it comfortable. But it's not bad. And it's empty. No animals or anything.
Something crunched a stick. Vac, Ted, and Soren whipped around, staring into the snowy forest beyond. Soren grabbed a stone axe and held it above his head, ready to throw it. Ted took an obsidian dagger from his vine-belt. Vac stood unarmed, peering.
Two boys, wearing deerskin coats and holding spears. They were crouched, motionless, staring straight at Vac. They realized they'd been spotted. One of them slowly stood up. The second followed.
–Why you guys sneaking around there? Soren called.
–Checking out the noise, said Bobby.
He and Di took several slow, deliberate steps towards the cave.
–You sure you weren't trying to ambush us? asked Soren.
–We didn't realize it was y'all. We was just checking things out.
Soren followed them with his eyes. His axe was still raised above his head. Ted no longer stood in battle-stance, but still clenched his obsidian dagger. A shriek sounded out behind Bobby and Di. Scream King, screaming per standard procedure, rushed at the two brothers, swinging around a wooden club. Bobby and Di swung around to fend him off, but before Scream got them Vac tackled him. Hit him hard from the side, knocking him off his feet. The two rolled in the snow.
–Dude, what the fuck? Scream demanded, struggling to sit up.
He'd lost his club. He frantically felt around for it.
–Chill. Everyone chill! Vac said.
He turned to Bobby and Di. The brothers still held their spears, but hadn't moved. Ted and Soren, back at the cave, held fast as well.
–Can we be friends? Vac asked. Is that possible?
Ted slowly stuck his dagger back in his belt. Soren, with a huff, lowered his axe. Bobby and Di nodded and lowered their spears. Vac turned to Scream. The boy had found his club. He was on his knees, in a position to jump up and continue his charge. Vac held his hot eyes.
–We're all friends, Scream, he said. You our friend too?
Scream sighed. He let his club fall to the ground.
–Hey Bobby?
–What you need, Dem?
–I'm tryna go check the traps with Vac.
–You… with Vac?
–Yeah… he… he cool. We was talking about PvP in Lukia. He was trying to get some tips. Is it… cool if I go with him for a bit?
Bobby looked into the forest. The tall, leafless trees reaching into the sky. The soft snow. The scattered sound of whatever creature could etch out a living in that desolate time and place. All of history stretched before them.
–Yeah, sure Dem, go ahead.
Chapter FORTY-FOUR
A Part to Play Upon It
I tried to hold you back, but you were stronger
Oh yeah
And now it seems my only chance is giving up the fight
And how could I ever refuse
I feel like I win when I lose…
The argument: Will the Trojans hold against the British onslaught?
Napoleon marched into Russia with the greatest fighting force the world has ever known. By the time he left, that force had been annihilated. A little later, at Leipzig, Napoleon was decisively crushed by a colossal coalition army. He was exiled to Elba, a small island in the Mediterranean, and Louis XVIII, noted fatass and brother of the headless corpse of Louis XVI, came into Paris via carriage as the ruler of the restored French monarchy. But his rule wouldn't last long, for Napoleon had returned.
With France seemingly back behind the Little Corporal, a British force under Wellington moved to meet him. Wellington, a veteran of the Peninsula War, knew Napoleon's reputation and respected him. He hoped to hold Napoleon until his Prussian allies arrived under the command of Blucher, another veteran of many battles, among them Leipzig. Wellington sensed that the fate of Napoleon would be decided in this upcoming clash. To be the man who dealt Bonaparte the final, decisive blow… tantalizing, gentlemen.
Field of babel. Hector devrait aller à gauche. Il devrait prendre le contrôle de la ferme devant ces arbres. Il devrait le tenir indépendamment du coût.
Andromache struggled to decipher the babel-field at the best of times. Now, late in the day, with Napoleon's reign coming to a bloody end, she found herself totally bewildered. Ney had foolishly charged the canons. Not only had he failed to destroy them, he'd found his force decimated by Wellington's well-made squares. Now the Old Guard, the finest fighting men Europe had, was on the verge of breaking. Yet Hector still held that fucking farmhouse. Despite the British all around him, outnumbering him ten to one. Despite the Prussians closing in. Despite, despite, despite. Hector held the farmhouse. Hector ne se rend pas. Il meurt.
Live, for the love of God. You don't have to die for this. Not every obstacle needs to be overcome with human life. At the slightest hint of adversary Hector would throw his life on the line, as if begging the world to take it. Some kind of strange suicidal ideation. What could explain this drive to die? Perpetually sacrificing his life to save hers. Did she only live cause he died? What a sick state of affairs. If you're so hellbent on dying… Je sui Français et je resterai Français.
Hector too had fought a hundred battles for France. Andromache and he had been at Arcole, Bassano, Abukir, Embabeh, Marengo, Caldiero, Ulm, Austerlitz, Jena-Auerstedt, Eylau, Friedland, Wagram, Smolensk, Borodino, Berezina, and Leipzig. Now, at Waterloo, he was going to throw his life away. For what?
La bataille est perdue. Battre en retraite!
Andromache ordered her regiments to advance. Go. Go! She didn't care what Wellington or Blucher were doing. She didn't care what Napoleon was doing. Go forward and get to that farmhouse.
It's a pincer, Andy. The British control the field. You can still retreat. Hector cannot. He can surrender, though. Wellington is tired of the blood. He'll let Hector live. But we all know that Hector won't surrender. He'll hold the farmhouse till the last. And when he and all his men are dead the British boots step into it and… what? What will the point have been? Of holding that fucking farmhouse?
The world whirls around Andromache. The cannons sound in the distance. Muskets pop. Men shout as they're shot down. Maybe a million years from now Hector won't sacrifice his life for nothing. Marching out to fight Achilles. Marching out to die. Again and again. Achilles drives his weapon through Hector's throat on repeat.
The farmhouse burns in the distance. Hector is almost certainly still in it. The world whirls. His honor is a disease infecting his mind. Andromache's whole body burns with anger. Her mind displays static. It's a force of nature. An infuriating force of nature. Burning. Dying. On…
Chapter FORTY-FIVE
Electric Brains
Before we’re through with them, the Japanese language will be spoken only in hell.
The argument: The Americans seek to check Japanese expansion.
June 4th, 1942. A sunny day on the open sea. In Europe, the British had weathered the worst of the German bombing. With the entry of the United States into the war, Churchill could feel his country's fortunes shifting. And Hitler, across the Channel, suffered mightily with the failure of Operation Barbarossa the previous summer. Unable to crack the Soviets and march his soldiers into Moscow, his massive offensive had stalled and now threatened to devolve into a war of attrition his Germany lacked the resources to fight. Now, for the summer of 1942, Hitler planned a two-pronged offensive against the Soviets dubbed Fall Blau. These two prongs, Operation Edelweiss and Operation Fischreiher, would nearly succeed, but the Soviets would hold. A crushing German defeat at Stalingrad the following winter would spell the end of Hitler's ambitions in Russia. Three years later, pushed all the way back to Berlin, Hitler would put a bullet into his brain.
On the other side of the world, the Empire of Japan, now a de facto military dictatorship, had made the boneheaded decision to get caught up in China and start a war with the world's two largest navies, all at the same time. After several months of surprising success, Japan might have been justified in thinking their audacity had paid off. They'd sunk several American battleships at Pearl Harbor, captured Hong Kong and Singapore from the British, seized Wake and the Philippines, and taken most of the southern Pacific islands from the Dutch, British, etc. They wrecked Darwin, hit Ceylon, and sunk the Repulse and Prince of Wales, a British survivor of the Bismarck debacle. The ill-fated ABDA, an early Allied attempt at a unified command, had met its end with the Japanese victory at the Battle of the Java Sea, during which the Japanese sank two enemy light cruisers, three enemy destroyers, and killed two-thousand enemy sailors, all while losing no ships of their own and only three dozen men. The remnants of ABDA would limp away only to undergo another defeat at the Battle of Sunda Strait.
The Allies could boast only minor victories. A daring air raid on Tokyo and the (debatable) victory in the Coral Sea. In early May, the US had beaten back a Japanese invasion force headed for Port Moresby. Though they suffered the loss of Lexington, the Americans managed to render both Shokaku and Zuikaku unable to participate in the upcoming battle developing near Midway, a tiny atoll in the central Pacific. It is here that our drama unfolds. As a Japanese force steams ever closer, an American force gathers to contest them…
Striker's immediate dilemma: sortie, si o no? He knew the Americans had five planes on the actual atoll. Two PBY "Catalina" seaplanes, two B-17s, and one TBF Avenger. Midway also boasted AA and coastal defenses that he'd have to deal with if he wanted to secure the atoll, one of his major operational objectives. He wasn't worried about the B-17s, high altitude bombing posed no threat to his ships, and while the Catalinas could be used for scouting, he wasn't very worried about them, either. The Avenger did worry him, though. An exceptional plane piloted by an even more exceptional pilot: LCDR Womansrights, known to his friends as "Woman." The eccentric, theatrical pilot could render his flattop out of commission with a single, well shot fish. Of course, a single plane didn't stand great odds, but what if Striker was otherwise engaged with the Lads' carrier-based aircraft when Woman emerged from the distance, shooting in from the opposite direction?
It was unlikely that LadMan had located him or his carriers yet. He could, conceivably, get a sortie off to hit the atoll and retrieve said sortie before LadMan ever found him. But…
No, just too risky. He'd have to accept that Woman was at large. Focus his attention on sinking the greatest risk to his fleet, the American carrier, the Yorktown-class USS Sad Lad.
The Sad Lads had located Striker's fleet. In fact, they started the mission with rough intelligence telling them where he was. A good deal to their southwest. But from the moment the mission started this intelligence was becoming obsolete. They knew where Striker spawned, but he was certainly moving. Furthermore, he could easily split his fleet. The Sad Lads worried primarily about Striker's carrier, the Soryu-class On Fleek. The flattop held ten A6M's, which almost all the American fighter pilots, flying Wildcats, bemoaned as OP. In addition, it had five Kates and five Vals, squarely outnumbering the three SBDs and three TBDs the Americans had on their own carrier. It wasn't hard to see who stood a greater chance of getting a hit on an enemy carrier.
Admiral LadMan, aboard Sad Lad (his flagship) also had to worry about the three Japanese destroyers (the Kagero-class Hiroshima, the Fubuki-class Nagasaki, and the Shiratsuyu-class Jip Jap) and the extremely irritating Kadai-type Urban II sub, commanded by Captain DeusVult1099, Commander Richard_Lionshart, and LCDR Cycler. The Urban II would almost certainly play things aggressively, regardless of whatever Striker ordered them to do, so LadMan felt certain that it could appear near his carrier and fire a torpedo at any moment. He ordered Commander Erectio, his first officer, to calculate the time that Deus would take to get from his spawn position (again, known to the Lads) to the Sad Lad assuming he audaciously spent all but the last twenty miles surfaced.
–Okay… said Erectio, rifling through his books and charts. That submarine goes… ugh… twenty and a half knots on the surface… then… eight knots submerged… wait, what the fuck is a knot?
–Holy shit, said Vice Admiral Dan_the_Dan, commander of the airborne units and, therefore, also on the Sad Lad's bridge.
–What, am I supposed to know what a knot is? Is it, like, a mile?
–It's a measure of speed, said Captain Tyrannisoris_Sex, Sad Lad's skipper.
–Okay… but what speed?
The American command had to spend valuable time teaching Erectio that a knot was roughly 1.85 kilometers per hour. Then they had to explain that one kilometer per hour was roughly .62 miles per hour. Erectio set off to calculate Urban II's approach, but nobody felt confident that, with all those conversions floating around in his head, he'd get the math right.
Overshadowing the threat of both On Fleek and Urban II was the Japanese battleship, the fearsome Yamato-class Yamasashi. On board Yamasashi_wasRear Admiral Dingo Dave, the commander of the Japanese big-gun boys. He'd arranged his surface fighting ships into a strike force, consisting of the _Yamasashi (Captain Jupit), and the three destroyers, Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and Jip Jap, captained by JoseJefe, Quixotisha, and Sheryl23, respectively. The Yamasashi boasted nine 18.1 in. guns. They could hurdle shells 26 miles. She was extremely armored but could still steam at 27 knots. The American battleship, the North Carolina-class Cosmic Bomb, was much smaller and had only 16 in guns. It could heave shells 23 miles.
LadMan was terrified of a direct encounter with the Japanese battlewagon. Even if all his surface fighting ships got her alone, they'd certainly lose. In addition to Cosmic Bomb (commanded by Captain Pfo, with Rear Admiral Phatphuck, commander of the American surface fighting ships, also on board), LadMan had his three destroyers, the Porter-class Vibe (Captain Pbbbbbbb&j), the Sims-class Uss (Captain Douglas), and the Gridley-class Sita (Captain Slick). However, he'd deployed these ships in an anti-sub formation around his carrier. It was foolish to throw them against the Japanese surface ships. They'd be better used guarding against Urban II and throwing up AA in the event that Striker's planes found them.
So LadMan's only real offensive capability rested with his carrier-based bombers, his one Avenger, and his single submarine, the USS Corbon Bleu, run by the deadly duo of Captain BobbyBamBam and Commander Diamond_Dick. His chief advantage, at this stage, was that he knew roughly where Striker was.
–Deus is coming towards us, LadMan said to Dan and Ty. I'm positive. He'll sacrifice his sub if it means hitting us with a torpedo.
–He can't get us if we keep moving, said Dan. We can outrun him if he's submerged. If he wants to surface, let him, our destroyers will blow him in two.
–I don't want him lurking around at all, said LadMan. What if he finds Rufus?
Rufus, Captain of the Medusa-type USS Boat, the American repair ship, hung back to the Lads' east. He and Commander Jil, his first officer, had no protection to speak of, the Sad Lads' having calculated that their warships were too badly needed at the front.
–Who cares if Rufus gets sunk? said Dan. We don't need a repair ship if we never get hit.
–Technically true, muttered Lt. Lord Baker, S_ad Lad_'s helmsman.
–Whatever, said LadMan. Striker and his carrier… that's our top priority. We take him out, the Yamasashi is a sitting duck.
–Unless Yamasashi steams straight towards us and gets within range, said Ty. Then we become the sitting ducks.
–Well… don't let that happen, said Dan.
–God Dan, you've got some high level strats, said Lord Baker.
LadMan put Cosmic Bomb far in front of Sad Lad. Her job was to keep any "enemy surface ships" away from the carrier. Everyone knew what enemy surface ship LadMan was afraid of. Then he set his destroyers on anti-submarine duty. He sent Corbon Bleu to the south. Bobby was to do everything in his power to inflict whatever damage he could. Particularly against On Fleek or Yamasashi.
Finally, LadMan sent up his planes. He doubted Striker would locate him so early in the battle, but, nevertheless, he wanted to put up CAP. He ordered Erectio to do so. A few minutes later Erectio came to him with a dilemma.
–Nobody wants to, he said.
–What do you mean?
–Nobody wants to run CAP. They say CAP is boring. They want to go with the bombers to the enemy fleet.
–What are you talking about? We haven't sent any bombers yet.
–Yeah, but they're afraid that when we do, they won't get to go if they're stuck flying CAP.
–Are you serious? I don't care what they want to do, I'm the Admiral. Dan, you're in charge of the air. Go get somebody to fly CAP.
Dan stormed off, determined. Ten minutes later, he came back, face puffy and red, the veins on his forehead nearly bursting.
–Those fucking redneck faggots aren't taking off from this ship, he shouted. They think they can do whatever the fuck they want. Get somebody to push their planes into the ocean. I'm serious, Lad, I'm so sick of this bullshit-
LadMan eventually gleaned that Dan had gone into the pilot's ready-room and asked for volunteers to fly CAP. Only Jean_dark raised her hand. Wanting at least three, he then ordered the Tennessee twins, ENS BysonBeb and ENS surfincharlie, the impetuous aces, to join her. They refused, telling Dan that CAP was "gay," and that if it was so important, he should fly it himself. They, apparently, had independent plans. Harsh words were exchanged, eventually resulting in Dan storming back to the bridge, all in a fluster.
As Dan explained this, Erectio noticed some activity on the flight deck. LadMan and Dan peered out to see, quite without permission, two Wildcats taking off. Both planes sported ample insignia, and were easily identifiable as belonging to Beb and Charles.
Dan watched, his eyes nearly exploding out of their sockets, as the planes climbed into the air.
–Who spotted those… how did… who…
–Shoot them down! he finally shouted. Erectio, get all our AA to shoot them out of the sky. Or… send fighters after them. Do something.
It took some time to calm Dan down. Before they'd been able, Dan had rushed to the radio and ordered all the AA the Americans had to fire at the two Wildcats. Luckily, everybody knew to ignore Dan's orders when he shouted them and interspersed them with racial slurs, and so nobody shot. Shortly after, LadMan got on the radio and told everyone to disregard the previous order.
LadMan wanted to at least radio Beb and Charles and ask them where they were going, but Dan wouldn't have it. So Lad decided to write them off. So, with two planes less than before, they got back to work. They sent Jean_dark and, with some prodding, x86 up in their Wildcats to fly CAP. This left them with six wildcats for whatever strike they were cooking up. LadMan placed LCDR Kitty_the_Kat (who was also peeved with the twins for flying off) in charge of this force. She had, supporting her, Lt. DDOXer, ENS Ricardio, and three other Wildcats.
LadMan also radioed Midway. The head of the atoll's defensives, Brigadier General Healthy Man, got on. He proposed sending his two PBYs to scout the general area in which Striker was still believed to be. He'd also put his two B-17s in air and send them in that direction. Once the PBYs found Striker, the B-17s could engage. He didn't expect that they'd get any hits, but he thought it useful to keep Striker occupied. LadMan agreed and gave Healthy Man the go-head to begin.
LCDR EmperorBonaparte assumed command of the two Catalinas, while LCDR Mufferson assumed command of the B-17s. She had SN Shooketh as co-pilot in her bomber, while the other bomber, a cocky but operationally ineffective plane, was piloted by Lt. Vac_Efron, with SN Lying_Ted as his co-pilot, SN ScreamKing as his bombardier, and SN Soren_Kierkegaard as the tail gunner. This B-17, nicknamed the Flying Fatass, had a crew that was confident they would not only hit an enemy ship, but sink it.
Not satisfied with what he had in the air, LadMan ordered a single SBD Dauntless to go on a scouting/bombing mission. The little plane, piloted by LCDR Lunarkid (with SN Mr. Clean as his gunner) wobbled uncertainly into the air then began to climb, heading towards the presumed position of the enemy fleet.
Striker had also put planes in the air. Two Nakajima E8N's had launched from Yamasashi on a scouting mission. Under the control of Lt. Andykey and Lt. Hector, the two seaplanes flew to the northeast, searching for the American fleet, particularly its carrier. Dingo Dave tried to get them to split up and, therefore, cover more ground, but they refused. Striker also sent a Val, piloted by the annoying Lt. Coke, into the air to scout to the southeast. Striker secretly hoped that Coke would get splashed.
Despite all these planes in the air, the first action of the battle took place underwater. As LadMan had predicted, Deus had ordered Urban II full-steam ahead. Despite Cycler's pleading, he kept the sub surfaced in order to increase his speed. He intended to visually spot the enemy fleet, then crash-dive "before those pussies could respond." No matter how many depth charges the Lads dropped on him, he'd avoid them. Then, once they thought they were safe, he'd get into position and sink something big.
Deus' plan had multiple flaws. It almost certainly wouldn't have worked. At any rate, he never got a chance to try. While steaming merrily ahead, well to the south of the American fleet (Deus had badly misguessed their position, he thought they would be just west of Midway) the boat broke into a panic upon a torpedo literally flying right by them. Had they been a bit to the right, they would have steamed straight into it.
Deus, figuring he was under attack from a destroyer (and shocked a destroyer had spotted him before he'd spotted it) ordered a crash dive. In fact, he'd been somehow spotted by the USS Corbon Bleu. Bobby cursed his near miss, radioed the relevant info to Sad Lad, then set off to take Deus down. What followed was one of the dumbest battles in naval history. Two submarines, each pissed at the other, trying to maneuver into a position to torpedo the other. Both submerged. Such a thing only happened once, in the real. But neither Bobby nor Deus could claim the expertise of Jimmy Launders, nor could they claim the conditions that'd led to that British boy torpedoing U-864. So both boys wildly maneuvered, desperately firing off torpedos and trying to track their opponent.
–They're fighting? Eachother? LadMan asked, incredulous.
–That's what Bobby said, said Ty. He's engaged an enemy submarine. Unless you think he mistook an enemy warship for Urban II.
–That's not possible, snorted Dan, missing the sarcasm. Even Bobby isn't that dumb.
–Well, that gets Deus off our back for a while, said LadMan. Who knows, maybe Bobby will sink Deus and free up our destroyers a little?
Emperor Bonaparte had radioed a troubling report. He'd spotted, from his Catalina, _Yamasashi_and three Japanese destroyers, well to the east of their previous positions, and steaming a cool 25 knots in that same direction.
–Have they spotted you? Dan asked.
–Unknown, replied Bonaparte. They've put up no AA, but I don't know if that's because they don't see me or because they know I'm out of their range.
–Get within their range and see if they shoot at you, said Dan.
–Okay, stop, stop, said LadMan, taking control of the radio. Bonaparte, have you spotted the enemy flattop?
–Negative.
–Keep searching for her.
–Wilco.
This put LadMan in a delicate position. He had the option of sending his carrier-planes to attack these Japanese ships. But what if someone spotted On Fleek while this attack was ongoing? If spotted early enough, he could redirect the attack, but if his planes had already attacked Yamasashi, he'd have to get them back to his carrier, land them, and reload them before he could have them attack the enemy carrier. He partially suspected that Striker had sent these ships east as a trap, in an attempt to draw out LadMan's planes. Maybe this was even a ploy to help Striker locate LadMan's carrier? Besides, Yamasashi was not steaming straight towards him (he was to her northeast) but instead straight towards Midway itself. This made her much less threatening. LadMan consulted with his commanders.
–Send a strike against her, advised Pfo over the radio. We can't afford to be fainthearted here, Lad. There is no guarantee that we find On Fleek. But we have Yamasashi in our sights. We should sink her while we can.
–Pfo's just saying that because he's scared to fight her in his battleship, Dan said.
–She has 30,000 tons on me, said Pfo. LadMan, if she gets through, we're all dead.
–I actually concur with Dan, said Ty. The enemy carrier should remain our top priority. Don't commit our offensive power to attack a battleship that was probably put there as a trap.
–What's your opinion, Phatphuck? LadMan asked over the radio.
–I'm with Pfo. This might be our best chance to take out the Yamasashi.
–Damn it, said Dan. This is ridiculous. We're going to waste all our planes going after a meme-ship that is miles from being relevant in the year of our Lord 1943.
–42, said Ty.
–42.
–It's your call, LadMan, said Phatphuck. Just keep us up to date on what you intend to do.
The two Catalinas still couldn't find Striker's carrier. LadMan decided to send the two B-17s, since they were already in the air, to bomb Yamasashi. This didn't satisfy Pfo, who argued that it was akin to sending nothing. After further consideration, LadMan decided to augment the strike with Woman in his Avenger. From the strip on Midway, Woman eagerly took off. He got on the radio and boasted to Erectio.
–The world watches, eh, young Erectio? Prepare to see the great one-man airshow, Woman himself, as he destroys the biggest battlewagon anybody has ever put to sea. A single plane, a single man, a single torpedo, will send this steel behemoth to the bottom!
–Just go, Woman, God, said Dan.
LadMan radioed Bobby and got back a curt response. He was still in combat, and was still determined to destroy Deus.
A few minutes later came a new development. Two seaplanes appeared on the horizon, flying high up. Andykey and Hector in the Daves launched from Yamasashi. Dan ordered his two-person CAP to shoot them down. Jean and x86 managed to chase them off, but couldn't shoot either down, though they did manage to hit Hector several times, leaving his seaplane smoking. Seething, Dan ordered them back to the carrier to refuel and rearm.
Now that Striker knew the location of the Sad Lad, the situation changed again. Both Dan and Lad were convinced that Striker was already sending an airstrike towards their carrier. Dan therefore hurried along the refueling of Jean and x86. He launched them, then launched all his other Wildcats.
–Stay high up, ordered Dan. We have to stop Striker's airstrike. He's probably going to send Zeros with his bombers. Don't try to outclimb them or dogfight them. You-
–We know, Dan, we know, said Kitty over her radio.
Then the debate shifted. What to do with the two dive bombers and three torpedo bombers still on Sad Lad? The last thing anyone wanted was Sad Lad to sink with those valuable planes still onboard. However, putting them in the air opened them to other perils. For one, the Zeros. Also, the Americans still hadn't located the exact position of Striker's carrier. Despite all the pre-mission intel the Americans got, they were now at an intel disadvantage. Dan declared the mission bullshit and unbalanced.
While he festered, LadMan got his battleship and three destroyers in position to serve as AA against Striker's expected strike. He then ordered Dan to get the rest of his carrier-planes in the air. If they couldn't locate the enemy carrier soon, LadMan would send them against Yamasashi. Worst case scenario (Sad Lad sinking) he could still land all his planes on Midway. If they sunk Yamasashi but lost Sad Lad, Cosmic Bomb, which would become the biggest gunship on the block, would carry on with atoll-based air support.
While LadMan and Dan anxiously awaited Striker's expected planes, the two B-17s arrived overtop Yamasashi and her three little destroyers. Arranged in a triangle around her, the little ships looked like children escorting their oversized mother. At their altitude, the warships' AA proved useless. It was expected, of course, that the B-17 bombs would prove similarly useless.
Nevertheless, Mufferson and Shooketh took their plane in for a run against Yamasashi. Their bombardier did his best, but they missed way wide. Disgruntled, Mufferson began arranging their return to Midway. But not everyone had gotten their word in. The Flying Fatass, which Mufferson had all but written off and therefore neglected to even communicate with, had taken its sweet time setting up a run. The big bomber was riddled from takeoff with arguing amongst its crew. Most of their disagreements were only peripherally relevant to naval warfare at all. At any rate, they managed to get a run in against the Japanese battleship. Their bombardier, Scream King, almost forgot to adjust for the fact that the enemy was moving, and their first run was ruined. Failing to even drop any bombs, they came around for a second attempt, while their sister B-17 was already well on her way back to Midway.
Jose Jefe, Quixotisha, and Sheryl23 watched the way-up bomber with something akin to amusement. The competent Mufferson had missed way wide, they couldn't imagine these morons would hit even the same ocean as Yamasashi. On the second run, having adjusted for his foes' movement, Scream King managed to drop something. And the Japanese destroyer skippers were right, he didn't get close to hitting the Yamasashi. Unfortunately for Jose Jefe, the Japanese force was maintaining decent dispersion, which meant that he wasn't close to Yamasashi. One of the B-17 bombs crashed straight through the top of his little destroyer, ripping apart decks until it hit the ship's magazine. The warship literally blew in half, sending a pillar of flames a thousand feet into the air. The other destroyer captains watched in anger and awe. Dingo Dave, on Yamasashi, hesitantly picked his radio handset.
–Ugh… Striker… we lost Hiroshima.
–What? Say again?
–The Hiroshima just exploded.
–What got her? Enemy dive bombers? Why did they target her and not you?
–No… it was… an enemy B-17.
–A B-17? A B-17 killed a destroyer?
–Yeah.
–What? Why?
Meanwhile, way up at altitude, the boys were arguing.
–You hit the wrong freaking ship, you dingus, Vac shouted.
–At least I hit something, shouted Scream King. That bitch Mufferson didn't get anything.
–Pure luck, unbelievable, said Ted.
–Radio LadMan. You tell him we got an enemy ship, said Scream King. Make sure he knows I'm the one who hit it, not Mufferson.
–You missed so bad you hit another ship. You're proud of that?
–Missed? I didn't miss. I was aiming at that destroyer the whole time. Make sure everyone knows that.
Lunar and Clean, in their Dauntless, had also been up to some nonsense. They'd somehow skirted the entire enemy fleet. Way to the west, near no enemy ships to speak of, they decided they'd gone too far. They turned around, heading via a slightly more northerly route back towards Sad Lad when, still well to the west of almost everybody else, they spotted a ship's wake. At first thinking they'd found the elusive On Fleek, the duo soon realized they'd come upon the enemy support ship, the Akashi-type Tsushima. Bored and figuring they wouldn't get anything else, Lunar and Clean dove for a strike.
The Tsushima had sixteen various AA guns, and she put up fire with all of them. Unfortunately, AA gunning was hard, and Striker hadn't put his best players on Tsushima. Nobody hit nothing. Lunar and Clean released their bomb low, and scored a hit on the ship's stern. It produced a mighty explosion, though appeared to do little real damage. Lunar and Clean came around for another go and dropped their other bomb, but got nothing more than a near miss, again near the stern. Finally, frustrated, they did a strafing run and withdrew.
While Lunar and Clean figured they'd hardly damaged the ship, they'd actually jammed Tsushima's rudder. Thus, she was stuck at a sharp turn and, as a result, could do little more than steam around in a large circle. While this was a decent result, Lunar and Clean kicked themselves when, not five minutes later, they spotted On Fleek steaming northward, with a CAP of only three Zeros. Her empty deck, in addition to her meagre CAP, suggested to Lunar and Clean that she'd already launched a hefty strike package. They radioed the report. They considered trying to strafe her tower with little ammo they had left in their guns, but decided against it. When a Zero spotted them and began climbing to engage, they withdrew.
LadMan was ecstatic to learn of On Fleek's position. This information more than evened the odds. He immediately ordered all his carrier-based strike birds, already in the air, to redirect towards the enemy carrier. He kept Kitty, Ricardio, and Shane back in their Wildcats, and sent the other three Wildcats to escort the bombers. With both carriers located, and strikes en route to each, the battle had begun in earnest.
Both Bobby and Deus had run out torpedos. Nobody had scored a single hit. Now each sub surfaced several miles from the other. The Corbon Bleu used its 3 inch deck gun to lob shots at Urban II, while Urban II responded with shots from its own 4.7 inch gun. Both Bobby and Deus were fairly competent at submarine warfare, but neither could control surface guns for shit, and so very few of the dozens of shots they exchanged hit directly. A near-miss on Bobby inflicted minor damage on his sub, while a near-miss on Urban II started several fires that threatened to consume the boat. Deus' crew managed to put them out, but minutes later another near-miss inflicted serious damage on the boat's brow.
It looked like Deus was close to losing the battle when Bobby's big gun ran out of ammunition. After a brief consultation with Di, Bobby ordered his sub to dive.
Deus fumed as he watched his foe go under. He assumed Bobby was withdrawing while he, Deus, sat ignobly smoking at the water's top. Deus raged around for a bit until Cycler managed to calm him down. Then Deus set to repairing his ship enough to limp back to Tsushima for repairs and resupply.
Little did Deus know, but Tsushima was about to be at the bottom of the Pacific. After Lunar and Clean dove on her, she'd radioed her status to Striker. Striker told her to stop sailing around in a circle like a headless chicken. She was to stop, then try to unfuck her rudder. Worst case, she'd become an immobile repair facility. Unfortunately, a small fire had somehow gone unnoticed. The fire spread and by the time the damage control teams got to it it'd grown into a major threat. They battled it valiantly, but the fire spread until it hit the ship's ammo stores and the ship blew up. The captain ordered all hands to abandon ship, but only half her sailors got off alive. Furthermore, the captain had failed to inform Striker of this new situation, so the Japanese Admiral assumed he still had an intact repair ship to his west.
So Deus radioed that he was wounded and heading back for repairs. Striker, at that moment, had bigger fish to fry, but radioed Deus confirmation and good luck. Then, like a terrible sea monster, the Corbon Bleu rose out of the water not ten meters from Urban II. Before Deus could react, Corbon Bleu's hatch flew open and a dozen boys scampered out. Seconds later, the Urban II was being splattered with 7.62 and assorted small arms. Deus could see, atop the enemy sub, Bobby and Di, firing at his sub with hip-held Thompsons.
Woman arrived very belatedly at Yamasashi and her (now two) destroyers. Dingo Dave watched incredulously as a single torpedo-bomber dodged all the AA fire he could throw at it. Woman got so low his torpedo nearly touched the water. He flew straight at the Yamasashi. He'd managed to maneuver so that the battlewagon was in front of him and the Jip Jap was behind him, meaning neither ship could fire at him for fear of hitting the other. Only Nagasaki put up AA, rather ineffectively.
Woman released his torpedo at nearly point-blank range (no more than 200 meters out). Right before he smashed into the ship (Dingo Dave thought he was going to) he pulled up and started climbing away, flak bursting in his wake. Then, Yamasashi shuddered as a huge explosion lifted her front half out of the water. Dingo and Jupit were thrown around on the bridge like popcorn in a microwave. The whole ship seemed to groan as she settled back into the water.
–How'd we let one plane get us? Jupit asked angrily as he came to his feet.
–Get a damage report, ordered Dingo. We aren't losing this ship before we've fired a shot.
–Dingo, he's coming back around!
Woman was. Instead of climbing away and withdrawing, he'd turned and was diving back at the battleship. Dingo realized the Lad had been hit. His plane was smoking. He was going to crash into them.
–Hard to port! Dingo screamed.
Woman shot just over the tippy top of the battleship's superstructure. Dingo and Jupit could hear his burning engine's roar. Woman sighed as he wrestled with his flightstick. Shouldn't have pulled up so much. He resigned himself to smacking into the water when he realized that Jip Jap was right in his path. If he could pull up just a little, urge his plane on a little further…
Sheryl23 watched powerless from her bridge as Woman's Avenger smashed right into her. She and all her bridge officers were killed immediately. Most of Jip Jap's superstructure was wrecked. Without anyone to steer her, she came to a slow stop. She spat smoke into the air.
Dingo couldn't believe it. It'd taken two B-17s and a single Avenger to cripple his strike force. The Hiroshima sunk with all hands. The Yamasashi hit by a torpedo. The Jip Jap comfortably afloat but basically braindead. Only Nagasaki, under Quixotisha, was unharmed. Quixotisha, for her part, assuming Jip Jap lost, pulled up beside her to begin taking on survivors.
This was when the Japanese luck started to turn. First, Quixotisha got word from the surviving Jip Jap crew that their ship was wounded, not dead. She had suffered, but was still very much able to fight. Then Dingo Dave received a damage report in regards to Yamasashi. She'd taken on water, and was listing a few degrees but, with careful counter-flooding, could keep on keeping on. Dingo would eventually get her steaming at a respectable 25 knots.
The Japanese also caught a break far to the south. Deus and Bobby, their battle renewed, had duked it out in a bizarre game of cat-and-mouse, with each sub trying to surface in order to fire on the other while not getting fired on themselves. During this fracas, Corbon Bleu suffered a serious wound which left her unable to submerge. Deus used this advantage to run circles around her, but still couldn't deliver a decisive blow. Finally, angered that the entire mission had devolved into a meme-fest, Deus had Urban II assume ram position. Cycler protested, but Deus wouldn't relent. So it was that Urban II crashed right into Corbon Bleu, sinking the latter and badly damaging the former.
Bobby, Di, and several others made it out of their sub before it went under, and treaded atop the water, within shouting distance of the now surfaced Urban II. The crew of the surfaced sub climbed out of their hatch and stood shouting profanities at Bobby and Di, which the Lads threw right back. The Crusaders claimed victory, but it was a pyrrhic one at best. While, yes, the Corbon Bleu was heading towards the sea-floor, Urban II was crippled and smoking, technically afloat but basically unable to move. Neither sub would further impact the battle, and everyone knew it. Deus, in a rare display of respect for his foe, came out to stand on top of the sub and shot the Lads a salute.
–Not bad, Bobby, he shouted. Looks like this one's up to those pussies in the air to decide.
Bobby, still treading, managed a salute of his own. Deus turned and descended back into his sub, leaving his men to rip Bobby and Di apart with their Type 100s.
Four of the five planes that'd left Midway returned. The two Catalinas and the two B-17s. The Flying Fatass, now convinced that they alone held the key to winning the battle, urged the crew to refuel and rearm them and get them back in the air. Nobody on the atoll believed them when they insisted that they'd sunk an enemy destroyer.
With the On Fleek finally found, LadMan had ordered the B-17s, once they were ready, to head out and bomb her. One Catalina was ordered to head to On Fleek and shadow her, while the second was ordered to do the same for Yamasashi.
But the real players in the battle were already arriving at their respective targets. The Striker-sent battle birds were closing in on Sad Lad, while the American strike package had passed the halfway mark to On Fleek.
Striker's strike: five Vals (Coke's had somehow joined up with them), five Kates, and seven Zeros. Coke took the Vals high and far to the northwest, while LCDR Squares took his Kates to the southwest. The seven Zeros split, three (lead by LCDR Charlemagne) went with the Vals, and two (lead by Lt. Explorer) went with the Kates. The final two, piloted by MistyRogers and Shout9753, shot straight at the Wildcats circling the Sad Lad.
An air battle erupted. Kitty, Ricardio, and Shane kept a tight, disciplined formation, executing a modified Thach Weave against Misty and Shout. The two ladies had zero chance, they both went down in smoke a few minutes later. Unfortunately for the Americans, by committing three Wildcats to contest two Zeros, they only had two Wildcats left to deal with the other two groups. Jean shot towards the Val group, while x86 went towards the Kates. In order to maintain their formation, Kitty, Ricardio, and Shane had to travel as one. So they had to choose which Japanese group to go after. Whichever one they didn't choose would be contested by a single American fighter.
–Go after the Kates, Jean said over her radio. I'll keep the Vals busy until you can come help me.
Kitty, Shane, and Ricardio did. Meanwhile, on Sad Lad's bridge, Dan cursed those "hillbilly twins" for depriving him of two valuable fighters.
x86 struggled to stay atop the two Zeros escorting the Kates. Explorer and his wingman knew that if they could get her in a dogfight, they could win. The Zero, a fine plane, boasted a maneuverability far superior to the Wildcat's. x86 had to rely on her heavier armor and better diving to boom and zoom her way to victory. Luckily for her, Shane, Kitty, and Ricardio were hot on her tail to reinforce her.
But that left Jean alone. Alone to face five Vals and three Zeros, one of which was piloted by Charlemagne, one of the best. Nevertheless, she dove right into the fray, spitting pain. She caught one Val in the tail. The poor plane's tail ripped off and the plane began tumbling away in a flurry of smoke. As she shot by, Coke could make out the insignia she'd painted on her plane: Jhesus Maria, accompanied by a red cross.
–Jean! That's Jean! he cried, turning his head to watch her speed away. Jean… agh… why couldn't we be on the same side?!
Charlegmagne shot after her. Coke watched as his 20 millimeter cannons lit her up. She never even got a chance to react. Her plane simply exploded. Coke sighed.
Kitty, Ricardio, Shane, and x86 ate up the Kates and their two escorting Zeros. Both enemy Zeros were sent spinning towards the drink, and three of the Kates as well. The remaining Kates, fearing they'd all be killed before any of them could get a torpedo off, got low and took two exceedingly long range shots before turning to withdraw. The Sad Lad easily avoided their torpedos. Unfortunately, the Vals had free reign. None of the Wildcats could get to them in time, and one by one the four surviving Vals dove at the Sad Lad. Three bombs slammed through Sad Lad's decks and exploded deep within her. Huge fires broke out, set to spread rapidly.
LadMan, from the bridge, tried to coordinate a damage control effort while Dan stomped back and forth, cursing his useless aviators.
–Can't even protect their own fucking carrier. Absolute bullshit. It's those retarded twins, I swear to God…
The Vals and the two remaining Zeros withdrew while Sad Lad burned far below them. The Wildcats gave chase, but lacked ammo, and had to retire. They radioed to ask if they should land on Sad Lad, and Dan started ripping into them. LadMan had to push him off the radio. He ordered all planes to regard Midway as their new base.
He looked sadly at his burning ship. He told Ty to order everyone off.
–Somebody get Slick to come pick us up, I'm moving my flag, LadMan said.
Lunar and Clean had somehow managed to fly right over Yamasashi, Nagasaki, and the still sailing Jip Jap, without having realized it. By the time the duo looked down and realized that they were only a few thousand feet above a veritable mini-armada, it was too late. Dingo, not trusting his eyes, took a while to ID Lunar and Clean as hostile. He simply refused to believe any plane could be so brazen. It had to be friendly. Eventually he was convinced that the big star on the side meant it was not, and his AA lit the poor thing up.
Lunar and Clean actually managed to stay in the air, but they were leaking fuel and badly battered, so when they came over Cosmic Bomb, Vibe, and Uss, the American surface ships to the west of the burning Sad Lad (Sita had already gone to pick up the Sad Lad's survivors) they elected to bail. They managed a surprisingly smooth sea-landing near Cosmic Bomb, and before long they'd been picked up and stood next to Captain Pfo on the bridge.
–Sad Lad is on fire, from what I understand, said Pfo. Looks like it might come to us and the Yamasashi dueling it out.
–Yamasashi took a hit, said Oxie, Cosmic Bomb's helmswoman.
–Not enough, said Phatphuck. We'll have to hope we have good air cover when we fight her. Thank God for Midway, without her we'd be truly done for.
–Do you two want some tea? Pfo asked.
–Tea? said Lunar.
–Sure. Doughy!
SN Doughy, tea boy, emerged.
–Lunar and Clean have had a rough time. Get them some tea, would you?
–Sure thing, Captain Pfo, said Doughy, saluting.
–And some for me, please, Pfo added.
The four Vals and two Zeros had every reason to be happy as they flew back to On Fleek. They'd knocked the enemy carrier out of the fight, while their own carrier sailed safely. At least, that's what they thought.
The situation at the Japanese carrier had developed thusly. The American carrier planes arrived and tried to take it out. The three Wildcats flying escort were quickly destroyed, in addition to all three Devastators (a truly trash plane). The two remaining SBDs got their bombs off, but scored no hits (one scored a near miss that took out an AA gun). So that attack was a failure, and the two survivors disengaged and retired.
Striker received reports that Sad Lad was on fire. He took stock. The Americans had a spattering of planes, and their three surface ships. Assuming Striker massed his own planes, and got Yamasashi to take out Cosmic Bomb, he should have no trouble mopping up and winning the battle.
But Striker hadn't considered one ridiculous thing. This game, for reasons not quite known, didn't give any of the sailors on carriers small arms. Sailors on subs, destroyers, and battleships could get pistols and submachine guns (not that they hardly did any good) from an anemic on-ship armory, and aviators could elect to spawn with pistols and a few mags. Whether the lack of small arms among the carrier-crews was a purposeful omission by the developers or an accidental oversight, nobody was sure. Nobody much cared, cause it never came up as an issue. Admirals on a carrier bridge simply have no reason to carry small arms. That is, until two decked out Wildcats appear, seemingly out of nowhere, annihilate your three-Zero CAP, then land them-fucking-selves on your goddamn flight deck.
Striker was astonished, watching as his entire flattop was neutralized by two crazed American rednecks. He could do nothing while Beb and Charles, from the flight deck, spat lead into the bridge. The bullets banged off the thick metal. Gui, the ship's captain, had shut the door to the bridge, ensuring that Beb and Charles couldn't get inside, but them being on the flight deck rendered the carrier all but inoperable. Would he be reduced to ordering his own planes to strafe his flight deck in an absurd attempt to get the two boys off? Japanese airpower in the Pacific had been neutralized by two boneheaded boys on his deck, grinning massively as they shot at anybody who dared to peek out. They knew what they were doing. They knew that the developers would patch this exploit shortly, probably that night, as every Japanese player would furiously report it the moment the battle ended. Knew that the devs would give carriers armories, and probably patch the absurd skid and hook method by which they'd landed on the unwilling carrier in the first place. But at the moment, they were determined to enjoy it.
The Battle of Midway came to a predictable close. After Slick shuttled LadMan over to Cosmic Bomb, he took stock of his resources. The two B-17s had made another run at the Japanese, but scored no hits. The Catalina shadowing On Fleek reported that, while the American attack had done no damage, she appeared to be "bugged." She had two Wildcats on her deck, and thus her own planes refused to land on her, but instead made panicked maneuvers near her until they ran out of fuel and plunged into the sea. Meanwhile the ship herself steamed straight towards Jip Jap, which had turned away from Yamasashi for the purpose of… picking up Striker? The Americans weren't really sure. Either way, the Japanese had practically no planes left, which rendered On Fleek useless even if the Japanese got it unbugged.
So LadMan ordered a final, decisive push towards Yamasashi with all three American destroyers, the Cosmic Bomb, and all the American planes they could muster from Midway. The Japanese battleship opened the battle, straddling Cosmic Bomb with several salvos before the Americans could get in range. Once within range, Cosmic Bomb turned to unleash her full broadside on her foe. While she did so, the American destroyers tried to outflank Yamasashi and get off torpedoes. All while American aviators pounded her from overhead.
Quixotisha, in Nagasaki,struck first blood. While Pbbbbbbb&j in Vibe had been attempting to line up a torpedo shot, the lone Japanese destroyer managed to pepper her with her 12.7 centimeter guns. Pbbbbbbb&j lost control of his ship and began taking on water.
Then Yamasashi, tired of the American pests, turned her guns on the destroyers. She fired several salvos at Douglas in Uss. Three shells hit, and ripped her apart.
–Sorry Lad, sorry Dan, Douglas said over the radio. Gotta abandon.
Then Yamasashi got a nasty hit on the Cosmic Bomb herself. Not mortal, but it did knock out one of her turrets. Shortly after, an American plane strafed Nagasaki's bridge, wounding Quixotisha. An American dive bomber followed with a crippling hit to her brow. The Nagasaki made smoke and moved to withdraw.
Thus, Yamasashi was alone. In a sense, she always was. An American bomb ripped through her top deck. Several hits from Cosmic Bomb knocked out two of her three turrets. Then a torpedo from Slick's Sita smashed into her. Everything the Americans had they threw at her until she was nothing more than a floating heap of scrap. The once-proud super-warship reduced to nothing more than metal and fire and oil that seeped into the sea, coating it black.
The Sita recovered three survivors from the wreckage. Among them, Dingo Dave and Jupit, confused and annoyed. Shortly after, Vibe was declared lost, and Pbbbbbbb&j ordered abandon ship. So Sita moved to recover those survivors too.
The Nagasaki successfully withdrew, but Quixotisha died of her wounds while it did so. The Jip Jap made it to On Fleek. It used its assorted deck guns to blow the two Tennessee boys off the flight deck. But with no planes left, the carrier was as good as useless. Striker ordered a full withdrawal so he wouldn't suffer the embarrassment of getting his whole fleet wiped.
So the Americans managed to repel the Japanese invasion after all. The fate of the Pacific War had been decided. At least, until the relevant parties held a re-match (with the carrier exploit patched) a week later.
Chapter FORTY-SIX
The Dungeons of Lukia… At Night
Night! Night! Night!
The argument: The Lads awake to find themselves embroiled in a war.
LadMan lived in a crowded, dirty apartment in the middle of the city. He shared the place with four other boys he barely spoke to. He'd lived there ever since he and his girlfriend separated on the mutual understanding that they hated each other.
The apartment was not dirty by the standards of those who lived there. They weren't about to get dragged on a hoarding documentary or get their apartment kitty taken away from them on charges of neglect. But the apartment was gross. Clothes littered LadMan's floor. Empty cups and bowls sat reeking atop his faux-wood furniture. His few wall decorations displayed no coherent taste beyond a vague interest in video games and an awareness of Star Wars. His ripped bikini-Leia poster was tacked tilted above his bed. His bed itself was a stained mattress on a boxspring on the floor. He had a cardboard box he used as an end table.
The apartment's common area wasn't better. Two ratty couches facing a television nobody used. Somebody had half-hooked a PS2 to the television but, remembering that they lacked controllers, never bothered completing the connection. They had a big Belushi poster on one wall, and a Pulp Fiction poster on the other. Crumbs filled the cracks in between their couch cushions. Something was always spilt on the hardwood floor. The fridge was a mess of expired food, empty condiment containers, and takeaway boxes. Somebody had a twelver of Busch hidden in the back. Dirty dishes filled the sink. The boys would wait until all the dishes from the drawers were used up. Then, when they needed a dish, they'd take a single plate from the sink, wash it, use it, and set it back. This would go for months until somebody's mother came by to visit and insisted on cleaning the whole sink's worth. Then the cycle would repeat.
In LadMan's room: the only things he cared about. His huge desk and what sat on and near it. His computer tower, his multiple monitors, his thousand-dollar desk chair, his full-dive headset. He'd sold his half-dive rig some time ago to help fund his Fangetting. In the chair, leaning back, wearing a bulky headset: the lad himself. In gym shorts and a tattered T-shirt. Short, curly black hair. Freckles. A small nose. A patchy beard. Motionless.
–He's got one of those giant setups. You know, the full body ones. The suit, the treadmill, all the… like, face stuff. It's so weird to watch him jump around in it. He looks like… he looks like he's in a sci-fi movie, controlling a giant robot. You know what I'm talking about? When the pilot is in the cockpit of the robot, and the robot does whatever the pilot does. And the pilot is… suspended, I guess, with wires and stuff.
–I've seen those online. Aren't they super loud?
–God, yes. It's extremely annoying, actually. The wires and the treadmill. And that's not all. He's in this… like, clan or something, and he's constantly talking to them. But being in that setup must fuck with your sense of volume, because he's basically yelling. Like, all the time. He's not a loud person normally. It's just when he uses that setup.
–It's that loud?
–It's insane. I tell him to quiet down, and he always says he will, but nothing ever changes. It would be one thing if this was just during the day, but it's, like, all night too.
–Jesus.
–Yeah. I have to leave him. I can't deal with it anymore. It sucks, though. He does pay for a lot of stuff.
LadMan logged at 2 AM. Had to work the next day. Had to get to bed. Most of the Sad Lads had also logged. Woman claimed he had to finish a report and hopped off early, around 7. Erectio left for dinner a half-hour later. He claimed he would be back but never returned. Fell asleep, in all likelihood. Di's mom started lighting him up around 9. He left and did not return. Phatphuck and Ty left at 10, both claiming they had business. Pfo followed at 10:30. Slick and Aditi went at 12. Douglas, tired, left at 12:30. By the time LadMan logged off, only a few Lads remained online. Ted and Soren, off doing their own thing. x86 grinding solo. And Dan, whining cause LadMan was leaving.
–I have to go to work. It's late. Lukia will be here tomorrow.
–Fine, whatever, said Dan. I guess I'll just grind by myself. Not like I'm going to grind with Ted.
LadMan logged. He stripped off his clothes. He lumbered to the bathroom and quickly brushed his teeth. He set an alarm on his phone and threw it on the floor, far enough so that his sleeping-self couldn't grab it and hit snooze. He collapsed into his bed. Felt himself floating in that vague, pre-sleep place in which memory and awareness begin to fail.
He awoke suddenly to his phone lighting up. No Sun streamed through his windows. Even with his foggy, just-awake conception of time, he could tell he hadn't slept long enough. He crawled across his floor and grabbed his phone. A call.
–Hello? he muttered.
–Lad, it's an emergency! We're in a war. A full on war. You gotta come help us.
–Doughy? What time is it?
–I don't know. Four, I think. But it's an emergency. This other guild is trying to destroy us. Pfo says they might if we don't do something fast.
–Pfo is on?
–Everyone is on. You gotta get here, Lad, we need you.
The English knight brought his mace down hard on LadMan's helmet. His head rang. He tried to step back but lost his footing and fell to his knees. His hammer was slipping out of his hand. His shield was half busted. Something burned in his shins.
The English knight awkwardly advanced. One more strike from his mace and LadMan would surely cease to be. It would suck to die this late in the battle. LadMan had slain five Englishmen and captured another. If he survived the battle, he'd get that sweet survivor's multiplier. So close he could taste it. But now he was doomed to taste nothing but cold steel and sticky blood.
LadMan tried to roll to his side. He slipped in the mud. Only made it about a meter. He struggled to sit up. The English knight had turned around. A French soldier, some idiot with no armor and no weapons save a huge halberd, was charging. The soldier held the halberd in both hands. He pointed its sharp tip forward, right at the English knight. He rushed across the mud, shouting obscenities.
The English knight fumbled with his shield but before he could raise it the halberd had rammed into his chest, piercing straight through his chest plate and into his skin. The French soldier lost hold of his halberd and slid through the mud, eventually coming to rest on his stomach.
–Dammit, fucking mud map, the French soldier said. This map is so retarded.
Their English adversary was having a worse time of things. He'd gotten the halberd out of his chest but now his chest was spewing blood. Comically, like a cheap slasher flick's homegrown effect. The blood shot out and coated the mud. The English knight turned to try and at least finish off LadMan, but before he could he fell over, dead.
–Thanks, man, said LadMan to the French soldier.
–Sick of those English, he responded, standing up and trying to wipe the mud off his jerkin and hoes. His wiping made it worse.
–You know what the issue with this map is? he continued. The English spawn where there isn't that much mud. But we have to cross all this mud to attack them. It's super retarded, actually. Really unbalanced. The developers have to fix this kind of thing or this game is going to die. I'm telling you.
–Uh, I guess, said LadMan. I don't know… I really like this game.
–Yeah, it's pretty sick, I guess. But also broken. Hey, you wanna stick together for the rest of the battle?
–Sure, why not? I'm Absolute_LadMan. People call me Absolute.
–That's gay. I'm gonna call you LadMan.
–Uh… okay.
–I'm Dan_the_Dan. Hey, how'd you get that armor? That better not be the pre-order bonus. I swear, I've been grinding this game forever, and all I can get is this dumb halberd.
–We're the 1337 Lads! Dan shouted at the astonished French archer before them.
Dan, with a dinged up chestplate and a huge halberd; LadMan, with armor, shield, and a hammer; and Douglas, riding a donkey, carrying a splintered lance.
–You all are a guild? said the archer, Phatphuck by name.
–Technically, said Douglas. At least, these two registered us five battles ago. I've been a member for four.
–We need people, said LadMan. Especially an archer. How about it?
–Yeah, all right.
LadMan entered the Sad Lads' leader chat, an exclusive channel for himself, Dan, and Douglas. Dan and Douglas were already there.
–What's going on? groggy LadMan asked. Why is a guild war breaking out at four in the morning?
–Look, Lad, said Dan. I was grinding, and this loser was trying to flex on me. If anything, he started it. It really wasn't my fault. It didn't have to escalate, but he went whining to his guild leader about me.
–What was this guy's name?
–I dunno. Dingus Dave. Something stupid like that.
–He's a member of FLEEK, said Douglas. We haven't seen them before, but Pfo has been looking into them and he says they aren't a joke.
–What's the situation now?
–They're gathering for an attack. They already wiped out Vac and his friends. Vac got online then told us we were a bunch of pussies for waiting to attack. Then he, Ted, Soren, and Scream got wiped. So I guess the joke is on them. We're talking to Bobby about getting Di online. Supposedly he's in trouble with his mom. But he's our best fighter.
–We have to take them down, Lad, said Dan. These guys are so cocky. Honestly, it's infuriating. They just have the advantage right now because they got their people online faster. You shouldn't be allowed to declare a guild war during certain times. It's a serious problem with Lukia. I've been saying it for-
The computer-kids would never fundamentally change. LadMan laughed.
Chapter FORTY-SEVEN
At the Borders of the Night
She bore too the Gorgons who dwell near renowned Okeanos
at the borders of the night beside the clear-toned Hesperides,
Stheno, Euryale and Medusa who suffered grievously.
The argument: You saved the wrong Andy, idiot.
Things are going too fast. I can't tell what's happening. Can we slow down? No. Gotta go speed. Andy gonna crash inna us, you know? But from our perspective it won't likely matter. Fittin run'd the band. Clean gaumed up, Lunar likkered. Adishe unwoked, Pfo afeared lil peckerwood, haint a haut a tote in he's head.
This was supposed to be about marusa. What? Why? Something went way wrong. Everything is getting squished together.
The Mahishasura, the big demon in Lukia, first got beat when four boys and a girl strode into his chamber and blew his head right off his big dumb body. They did so cause two members of the party found a way to stack crits on the monster. Their DPS ripped him a new one and the party advanced into the next room.
The first to do so. Uncharted terrority. Columbus of a new age. Do we need another Columbus? The world dreaming of itself. Do- do you know what you're missing?
Keep on track. The noise will rip us apart, but not yet. Get through. The Itty Bitty Critty Committee, almost universally referred to as the Crit Committee, advanced into the next room of Lukia's hottest new dungeon. A boss-raid, the Devs called it. Featuring a new boss in each room. Advancement prohibited until the previous boss lay slain. Lain. You ever watch that show?
Nobody had beaten the Mahishasura yet. Nobody knew what came next. Until the Crit Committee stepped through the doors and Beb, before he could do his leaping rogue shit, turned into solid stone and fell to the ground. He shattered.
–What the fuck? shouted Ricardio.
The rest of the party averted their eyes before their new foe, a giant woman with snakes for hair, could flash her eyes at them.
–Don't look at her, said Kitty.
–Obviously, said Ricardio. But how do we fight her if we can't look at her?
One of her snakes shot at them and grabbed Charles. The poor priest, caught unaware, was ripped in two before he could react.
–Move, we have to move! cried Kitty.
–That's obvious too, said Ricardio.
He sprinted to the side. But, not daring to look towards the monster, he couldn't predict her snakes' next attacks. A head could shoot out at any moment and rip him up.
–Wait, I know this! Shane was shouting. I know how to beat her. I read a book about this!
Ricardio looked to Shane. He'd taken his shiny shield and turned it so it faced the monster. Then, watching her moves in his shield's reflection, he advanced. A snake shot at him but, aware, he got his sword up and slashed its head off.
–Hey, that's pretty smart, thought Ricardio as another snake grabbed him and tore him apart.
Ricardo whisked away. Thrown into the unknown. Along with so many lost lads. Will he be able to pull himself out of the depths of his own mind? Will his shattered psyche consume him? Depends entirely on what he's flying towards. He'll get out. He's got good friends.
Chapter FORTY-EIGHT
All The Angels on the Wire
She shoots but never misses
Stares down passin’ trafic
Go carefully, carefully
Oh, airstream driver…
The argument: Patty submits his story for Mr. Chester's consideration.
–Do you think I can publish this?
–It's the truth, sir.
–Patty… Patrick. You're a good kid. I like you. You're not a very good journalist. That's why you write what I tell you to write. I wanted a piece on Franky Fisher. A story about him. Not all this… whatever this is. His people negotiated final edit. They aren't going to approve this. It doesn't make him look good. At least… the parts I can understand don't.
–Do you remember Angie?
–Angie? That broad that used to write here?
–You fired her.
–Sure. I fire a lot of people who aren't good at their jobs.
–She was great.
–Patty, I don't need this right now. I'm going to give you one more chance at this story because I want you to be able to eat. Go fix it. Make it about Franky. A puff piece. You understand? So… puff him up.
–There's been enough puffing around here.
–Huh?
–Angie wrote the truth about Dalton. You fired her because-
–Nobody knows the truth about Dalton, dammit. That girl was just another deluded broad with a degree who read too much Nancy Drew.
–Convenient for you, when one of this rag's biggest financial contributors is-
–What happened to you, Patty? You leave for a week and you come back half-crazed. Are you the same person? Dalton doesn't have anything to do with Franky Fisher. Why do you spend half of your profile talking about Dalton?
–Of course they have something to do with each other.
–Jesus Christ, Patty, can't you see that you've been subsumed? Get out of my office. You have one chance to fix your story. What you've brought me isn't getting published.
–It's already been published.
–Excuse me?
–Everyone will know the truth about Franky Fisher.
–The truth? For God's sake, Patty, we don't even know what Franky Fisher is famous for! We don't know what Franky Fisher does!
–Haven't you heard, Chester? He gets lost in the woods.
Patty left the office. Left as Chester angrily puffed. Puff. Puff. Puffing into eternity.
Chapter FORTY-NINE
J1149
The argument: Icarus still exists in our eyes. And in our hearts.
–Happy birthday, Dough, said Pfo, beaming at the boy before him.
Doughy, in his brand new sweater, sat at the head of the wooden table. Slick had baked a big birthday cake and stuck it before him. On it Brostein had stuck eighteen wax candles. Shook had set them alight.
–Really, thanks so much for remembering, Pfo, said Doughy. And this new sweater really is great. It's so warm.
–Makes you look like a real academic.
–Just wish Oxie could've come…
–She really wanted to. She'll see you soon. She thinks she's close to a breakthrough.
–And I got something special for you too.
–God, what'd you bring?
–Come on, Pfo, be nice. I'm glad Captain Kidd came.
–Admiral Kidd. Remember, I'm an admiral now.
Kidd, ever since he and Gloria came across and subsequently seized a derelict torpedo boat, had been styling himself such. Pfo disputed the title, since the torpedo boat, the CKS Laura (after Kidd's mother, apparently), was less seaworthy than her sister. Nevertheless…
–You're a man now, said Kidd, producing a half-empty bottle of rum. That means you need to have a man's drink. This is my best bottle. Been saving it for a real special occasion.
–Wasn't that the bottle you brought to our wedding? Slick asked.
–It definitely was, said Brostein.
–That was also a real special occasion, said Kidd.
–That you also weren't technically invited to, muttered Pfo.
–Have a swig, have a swig, said Kidd, passing the bottle to Doughy.
Doughy glanced around for a glass.
–No, straight from the bottle. Like a real sailor.
Doughy shrugged and did so. He spewed rum all over Slick's nice cake.
–Dammit, Kidd, what's in that? said Pfo.
–Just rum, said Kidd.
–What proof is it?
–Proof?
–Yo, Pfo! came a call from outside.
Pbbbbbbb&j peeked his fishy head inside.
–Got a problem out here, he said.
–What is it?
–Lunar and Clean are outside. Dan too. Vac and Jean are trying to keep things chill, but it's getting testy.
–Good Lord. Okay, I'm coming. Message Bobby. We might need him. Doughy, give me a second, okay? I'll be right back. Stay here.
Pfo slipped outside, followed by Slick. It had rained. The village center was muddy. Outside the stone church stood Vac and Jean. In front of them, at the edge of the village, dirty and armed: Lunar and Clean. Behind Vac and Jean: Dan, staring Lunar down.
–Calm down. Everyone calm down, said Pfo as he approached the scene.
–Pfo! Dan shouted. I thought those fucking murderers weren't allowed near the village! You told me that they couldn't come here!
–Calm down, Dan. Just calm down. This doesn't need to become a fight. Lunar! Clean! Can I help you with something?
Pfo and Slick came to stand before the duo. They had weapons drawn, but held them low. They were dirty and disheveled, but looked healthy, alive. Exuding life.
–What do you want? Pfo asked. You know you can't come around here without upsetting Dan.
–We wouldn't have to if one of you would friend us, muttered Clean.
Pfo and Slick ignored her remark.
–What do you want? Slick said. Pfo and I are in the middle of something, and you're interfering.
–We wanted you to know that we killed Skquib, said Lunar.
–You… really?
–Yep, he's dead, and most of his Meria are too. They shouldn't bother anyone anymore.
–Well… thank you for that, said Pfo. If it's true… we appreciate it. Where are the twins? Did they help?
–They're arguing about Skquib's loot. Shane's trying to stop them from killing each other.
–Okay… well, thank you again. Skquib was a monster. Nobody will miss him.
–We never wanted anything other than peace, said Clean. That's still true.
–Should have thought about that before you shot LadMan, said Slick.
–He should have thought about it before he shot Kat, said Lunar.
–Go. Get out of here before we lose control of Dan, said Pfo.
–Always quick with a remark, said Clean.
They left.
There's a particular ditch on Callisto, about a kilometer from the center of Asgard, that allows one to glitch out of the world. There are multiple ways to do this, but the best way is to use the side-jump method to clip through the leftmost section of the ditch. You can easily judge where to position yourself to start the jump by locking the camera behind you (while at the bottom of the ditch) and then running straight left as far as you can. If you hit the ditch wall and keep going until you can't move anymore, you'll be in the right spot. The geometry of the ditch guarantees this. Once you're in this spot you can begin the side-jump method to clip out. Position yourself so that you're looking due north (towards Callisto's north pole) then lock the camera. Make sure your menu is set to be about 5 feet from the ground (you can figure this out using your height). Perform a leftward side-jump. Just as you are about to connect with the ditch's wall, open your menu. Then exit. If you performed the glitch successfully, you'll find that you've glitched out of the world. Keep in mind that this is frame-perfect. The menu has to open the frame before you hit the ditch's wall, so you probably have to start a bit early. The glitch relies on the menu's collision to interfere with the wall and force you through. If you screw up (and you almost certainly will) then you will simply be back where you were. Reposition and try again.
Once you get out you're in a position to start the speed glitch. The superflight allows you to gain as much speed as you want. To perform it, cast your Super Speed spell. The spell is bugged so that it increases your speed (the buff stacks on itself) each time you move forward in a new direction. You can rapidly move back and forth to multiply the buff exponentially. Since it's multiplying exponentially, you don't need to do it that many times. While you can perform this glitch in the normal world, the buffs resets every time your character hits any non-flat geometry. Simply put, you need to have a huge, completely flat area to perform this at all. This is why you must glitch out of the world to get it to work. Once you have the speed you want you want to aim towards J1149 (Icarus). Even though you're out of the world, you'll still act like you're inside it in regards to almost everything (except that, for the purpose of the speed glitch, you'll act like you're on a completely flat surface). Icarus is in Leo, with a RA of 11h 49m 35.59s and a dec of 22° 23′ 47.4″ (this doesn't need to be converted). The star doesn't exist, but that doesn't matter. Your view, even as you travel, will hold at the ditch in Callisto, so you'll have no problem going towards it.
Normally, the way to reenter the world is to jump. Jumping both cancels the speed buff and forces you back into the world, usually on the solid ground closest to where you were. Going at insane speeds makes it basically impossible to reenter the world with any degree of precision. Luckily, in this case it doesn't matter. Once you get close to where Icarus was you'll be forced back into the world without jumping. A cutscene on Spogmay (the fourth moon of Kaldar) will force you into the world. The cut scene is short and once it's finished you'll find yourself outside the hospital.
Congratulations, you just traveled an insane distance very easily. There are other variations of this glitch (using other cutscenes, mostly), that can allow you to travel even farther. The farthest I've been able to travel is 413 Gpc. Though that got close to crashing the sim.
Nobody expected Fanget to have cutscenes. Indeed, it only had four. Probably developed earlier on (when the Devs assumed they'd make more) and never deleted. One cutscene occurred when a player got near the Akashic Library. The player would lose control of their body for five or so seconds while their avatar looked up in awe at the building. Then they'd get control back. Pointless. Stupid. But it did two important things. First, it cancelled the health drain, enabling one to easily survive. Second, it forced the player out of her Super Speed and back into the world…
Ripped out of re reality. What reality is this? A reality in which a middle aged black woman in a nurse's uniform is right up in your face, screaming at you.
–Demarion Shemar Jackson! I… I'm having trouble believing this right now. Is y'all really gonna let Rashael go on my nice rug?! Y'all better have a fine explanation for why playing y'all's video games is more important than taking that poor dog out. Just one thing to do all day. I work all day and you just got one thing. If you don't clean it up right now, oh boy, I swear-
Chapter FIFTY
The Unfacts
Thus the unfacts, did we possess them, are too imprecisely few to warrant our certitude, the evidencegivers by legpoll too untrustworthily irreperible where his adjugers are seemingly freak threes but his judicandees plainly minus twos.
The argument: Someone finds Franky.
Franky Fisher, though he'd forgotten most of what he'd read regarding the Luddites, was still lost in the woods.
To Belton, who came downstairs as the news people restated the story, this meant very little. To his brother, a couch-stain kid, glued to the tube when not glued to his games; and his brother's girlfriend, sitting beside him, it seemed to mean a lot.
–You see this? Shane asked.
Belton passed through the family room, heading to the kitchen to look, with drooping eyes, for a clean glass to fill with water.
–Did anyone run the dishwasher last night? Belton asked.
–They saying Franky Fisher ran into the woods, Shane called back.
–That's not… the dishwasher. Did anybody run the dishwasher?
–Oh, we were going to, said Kat. I'm sorry Belton, we musta forgot.
–It's fine, said Belton.
–Where's Nanako? asked Kat.
–She went home. Left early this morning. Had some important business to attend to. An appointment.
Shane and Kat, as they watched the television-news, gorged on a ludicrous breakfast spread sitting on several TV-dinner trays before them. Coffee cake, cinnamon rolls, bear claws, crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, biscuits with gravy, sausage links, hash browns, oatmeal, quiches, scones, toast with raspberry jam, and apple fritters. To drink they had orange juice, whole milk, strawberry smoothies, black coffee, and horchata.
Belton took an apple from the fridge. He poured himself a tall glass of water. He went to the family room to sit. The news people, pasty faced and beaming, continued regurgitating Franky.
–Why'd he run into the woods? asked Belton, struggling to remember who Franky Fisher was.
–Girlfriend dumped him, said Shane.
–The news acts like that's the only reason, said Kat. There has to be something else going on.
–Hopefully they find him, said Shane.
–They will, said Kat. People like that don't stay lost for long.
The news people moved on to talk about the jet fights over China. Shane, bored of the war, turned to Belton.
–You finish that book?
–Naw, said Belton. It's too long. Too difficult. I'm gonna try something easier.
–Wow, must be impossible if you can't get through it, said Shane.
Belton took a big bite from the apple. Felt the juices fill his mouth. Why did Franky run woodward? Belton, at one point, might've understood. Franky lost confidence that the world contained happiness and not just however many millions miserable in their own minds. Impotent and raw, he sucked down too much burnt-black air, grew altogether too tired, came to feel little save his own senselessness. Then, in characteristically depressed dude fashion, he ran into the woods and got lost.
Poor Franky, Belton thought. He wasn't going to find what he was looking for, way out in the woods.
Or way out anywhere. The digital encroaches. The byte-birds screech. The sky turns pink and purple, like a huge bruise, black, burnt black, burnt black from the huff puff puffing and blow it all maybe in the future we'll be able to see clearly what was happening but you can't while you live Andromeda approaches and the Moon shines and the Sun smiles and yes, it bares its crooked tangle of teeth but no, it doesn't mean harm. It's all it knows how to do. There's nothing so bad in the Sun-soaked expanse as long as you… what?
Franky? Franky, can you remember anything? Anything bout Rachel or Hadaly or Olympia or Sulla or Alita? Anything about the bomb that fries your brain or the napalm that melts your skin? Anything about you stumbling drunk down the stairs? Anything at all about anything?
They're going to get you, Franky. But who, what, when, where, why? They're always going to get you. At the high seas the fat Sun smiles and, just when you cling to something stable, it all collapses around you. A hand reaches for you. You can do a lot with other people. A hand grabs you. Who's hand? Does it matter? Yes, Franky, yes. It matters a great deal.
Back to civilization. Back to the absurd Americanism. Back to the miracle pills. Back to the crazy construction that still, to this day, can't figure out what it is you're famous for. Lunita shines clean white cross the dim-dumb night pfo the foreseeable future cause even the sad Sun dan't kill the byte-sized boys fast enough to stop the oxieall from setting in and stretching it out near enough infinity to stop it from mattering that we won't make it. Pass the oxie coords, so we can conclude.
It differs for every person. Belton would've entered the squat stone building through the narthex while a spotted grey-man smiled and handed him a pamphlet. He would've trance-danced down the aisles, up to the altar, where, in place of the Big Book: a blank tome on which a quill rested. Write down your question, Belton, and the book will answer. Did you get your book, after all this time? Can you come clean and get your book? No, cause in the final moments eternity slams into you.
Imagine the severe psychological trauma of persisting for a thousand years in an artificial space then being thrust suddenly into a reality that was once real but now no longer resembles anything you've ever known. You speak, think, act, like a cheap Victorian dandy. A thousand years of life have filled your brain to the brim. You're fractured and fucked. Way too much information. The human brain can't take it. Good thing Lunita's won't have to.
Where has Clean gone? She left years ago. No two people can persist together forever. Alone, though… you have no choice.
Oxiana stared up at the building before her. In the swirling snow and low visibility the mosque seemed a mirage. Something that would, when she got closer, disappear into the haze. But as she approached it stayed put. Inside. Quiet and warm, totally unlike the outside's swirling storm. She removed her shoes and set them on the shelf. Sat on a wooden bench and washed her feet. Into the musalla. Mosaics on every wall. But no mihrab. She didn't understand. Stars covered the dome above. The roof built from space itself, expanding infinitely outward.
As she walked the space shifted. Mosque, mostly, but like a composite of every mosque that had ever or could ever exist. Then, as she approached the center of the hall, she saw the lecture halls, the office hours, the white boards. She really did enjoy studying space.
Holograms shimmered in and out. Glitched, in all likelihood. Even in the omniverse's brain the quantum fuckulations persist. The holograms displayed Fanget-flashes on repeat: LBJ blowing up, LadMan shooting Kitty, Lunar kissing Clean, Frederick slaying Sparrow, Andy slaying Frederick, the Sad Lads strutting down the street. Her own memory-moments: huddled in Merse, interviewing at SNAFU, sketching for Pfo…
The holograms were sposed to be time stamped. But the stamps were stumped. Every image was dated within half a minute of each other. A minute from the moment the patch hit, trapping every player in-game at that time inside the game until either they completed the vague, all but impossible challenge or until time in the real caught up sufficiently to cause some worried mother to rip off her boy's headset cause he let his dog shit on her nice carpet and, really, he had just one thing to do…
What actually happened. Three hours after launch they got ripped out with minds full of false memories of merrymaking but soon found they couldn't relaunch the game. Somebody better pay…
The experiment is over. Dalton has fled. What results did he get? Where is he? All the Grays are after him, all the Grays and Rhiners and whiners and…
Into the Great American Mazhunt the world descends and in the context of such a cosmic conflict a couple of byte-boys being poked and prodded just seems unimportant…
In the center of the hall, on a flat stand, a blank tablet. So many generations out of date. Oxiana stared at it. Her brain bounced in her skull. The Preserved Tablet, in the midst of the Akashic Library. Qdar thar. But blank.
It knows everything. All ah the stuff. No temporal tethers on God. Oxiana's mind melted. A soupy, psychedelic goo pouring out of her ears, washing over her shoulders, spilling on the floor. Lights the spectrum over flashed in her eyes. Her ears rang with deafening adhan, so loud it burst her ears. But still she could hear it, crystal clear, as if soft headphones had been lowered over her ears and the clearest non-photons-
Something smelled like steel. Wrent steel. You can't produce steel the same now cause the Americans irradiated the universe. Get whacked. Whack. Man is not supposed to see what is written in the Preserved Tablet. Allah measured out man but not because he makes man but because he knows what makes man.
Just one question, Oxie. The rest left unreadable. A question about anything. Any one thing. Don't try to dupe omniscience. But you will be dealt with fairly.
Anything? You can't mean anything? Anything in the game, right?
No.
But-
Omni science. Omni: all. Scire: to know. To know all. Omni science. The all-powerful, all-knowing need not demonstrate his power to produce understanding of it. He only need flick a finger to convince the kids that he's right bout everything. But then… what do you ask?
How big is the whole universe? Does it extend beyond what we can observe? Is it homogenous into infinity? Is the total energy of the universe really zero? Is inflation self-sustaining and ongoing? Is inflation even correct? Why is there more matter than antimatter? What is dark matter? What is dark energy? What is time? What the fuck is up with the cosmological constant? Big Freeze, Big Rip, Big Crunch, or Big Bounce? Why the axis of evil do what it do? What shape is the universe? How did life originate on Earth? How did consciousness arise? What is consciousness, really? What happens when you die? Does other life exist in our galaxy? Our observable universe? Why is gravity so weak? Does P equal NP? What does Joyce's dot represent? What is Franky famous for?
Would any of this help her get out of the game? Who is Oxiana Spogmay Kaldar? What is going to happen to her? But did she want to know that?
This is lame. Rah rah. Stuck in a that's stuck in a that's stuck in a. You mean to tell me that everyone who dies in this shit enters a state fundamentally the same as sleep? Is there any reason left to not kill yourself? If everyone does, the rest of time will slip by unperceived. Might as well not exist. The universe stretches bitterly into darkness.
Rip Ox. Ripped off. Can't tell nobody else. No way to return. Rip. Into blackness, unstirred for the duration of the long wait.
Logically: solid. But the Moon won't die so easily. Keep on keeping on and on and on. A thousand years. A long millenium. Everything, everyone: gone. The illusion of happiness shattered. The skin all ripped away. Muscle and bone and tendons and fluids pooling on the ground. Ripped up. Upwards. Hopefully. Prolly not. At least out? But after your mind was battered to the brink? Oxie could return to her college, maybe. Kitty and Ricardio could go back to being kids. But Shane, fused with the tube, practically radiating the screen's warm, toxic wisdom; Clean, cleaned out but thrust back; Lunar, sitting up in the sky, alone for an eternity, shining down the best he can. How can we imagine that they'll be okay?
The game wins as long as you play it. After that…
Franky Fisher did not play Fanget Online.
He hadn't played Lukia either.
He was fundamentally unconnected with the Deadeye debacle.
But a world in which reality is shattered proved complicated and confusing and in a brain-dead attempt to return to a simpler time he rushed into the woods.
The paramedics tied him down and carried him back.
Thus,
As expected, everything:
Ur fucked.
Re