The Coming Storm -Now with 100% LESS Kenji...
Posted: Mon Mar 01, 2010 11:45 pm
Here's a silly little short fic.
No prize for figuring out who the mysterious caller on the phone is.
Fun fact: Batrachotoxin is found in poison dart frogs and can induce cardiac arrhythmia. Iwanako used 1/4 of what is considered a lethal dose for a 150 lb human. Still, anyone who can take that straight to the heart must be Conan-the-Barbarian tough. Wikipedia is the awesome.
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A lone figure slouched into her lounge chair and looked out the window. The air was still and heavy. Dense clouds hid the moon and the stars. The room was pitch black but the lights of the school buildings and the nearby town shone through the window onto the woman's face.
Nights like this helped make the long struggle seem worthwhile. The coming rain will wash the filth from the grounds of Yamaku High School like she was going to sweep the filth away from the world. For thousands of years, the world has been tainted by those who only know how to kill and fuck. The only good that ever came out of men were the seeds that fathered girls. Man-kind was slowly killing the world with his wars, his pollution, his stupidity, and his hate for everything good and wholesome. By Goddess, she was going to do something about it.
The occasional crash of distant lightning sporadically lit up the room, revealing a sparsely furnished room, dominated by a large central table with a well worn but current geopolitical map of the world covering much of the surface. Marker pieces from board games such as Chess, Risk, and Battleship marked various locations on the map. Although the true significance of the pieces and their placement was a closely guarded secret, an outsider could make a pretty good guess as to what some of it meant. Naturally, a white queen was firmly planted on Japan, placed roughly where Yamaku High School was. She gets up to pick up a black pawn, placed it over some distant town, and slid it over to the white queen piece. With a flick of her finger, she knocked the pawn over onto it's side, dead.
The woman moved over to a large bulletin board on one of the walls. The school portrait photos of several dozen of the most significant students in the school were pinned to the board, with color-coded lines of yarn crisscrossing between them, signifying relationships and attitudes between individual students. Using this board, she could plan her machinations when it came to school politics. A rumor here, an instigated fist fight there, and she could easily turn a red string of love into a black string of hate. Scattered along the floor below the relationship board were students, most of them male, who have outlived their usefulness. Inconvenient students at Yamaku are easy enough to eliminate. Many kids set foot on campus already frail or deeply disturbed. Nobody thinks twice if appears that a student succumbs to a lifelong illness or take the easy way out to escape their pain. Even without assistance, it happens. It's unfortunate, but it's a sad fact of life.
A flashing red light pulses in the corner, synchronized with a monotone beeping. The lone woman sipped from a teacup before picking up the red phone. It was a smooth blend, handpicked from minefields in Southern Uzbekistan. Very pricey stuff indeed but unmatched when it comes to reanimating an atrophied larynx. Nonetheless, the tea goes down like boulders down a bathtub drain. She murmurs as she tries to force her voice back into use. The caller will just have to wait until a conversation was physically possible.
"What is it?" she asks in a coarse, gravelly voice followed by a phlegm dislodging cough.
"It is done." A young girl's voice chirps through the earpiece.
"Only now? It's been over two months since we've heard from you. I was going to send for another."
"My apologies, Mein Führer. As per orders I maintained radio silence until the subject's fate was been unambiguously determined. I shadowed him for several weeks before ceasing surveillance."
"And? Is he still alive?"
"Yes. But only just. He is expected to become fully functional eventually, but he is now a lifelong slave to life-preserving medication."
"You almost killed him? He should have been merely crippled. You must have made a mistake."
"Negative. I used twenty-five micrograms of batrachotoxin-R diluted in saline and injected directly to the cardiac muscles via syringe, just as ordered. I did not miss, nor did the target feel a thing."
"Hm, then it seems that we should lower the recommended dosage for further use." The lone woman's voice had nearly returned to normal.
"Preliminary work has begun towards transporting him to your location, Mein Führer. I wired a more detailed report to the Deputy Commissar's desk. Heart Breaker, out."
After the caller hung up, the Führer punched a button on the phone's speed dial and summoned the Deputy Commissar.
Within moments, Misha burst through the door and kowtowed in front of Shizune.
"Mein Führer, Heart Breaker's report is accurate. A Mr. and Mrs. Nakai have inquired with the school's admissions office requesting paperwork so that they may transfer their son here."
"Did they forward a medical record to the nursing office?"
"Yes. Aside from his heart injury, he is perfectly healthy. There are no unusual illnesses known within his family."
"And his intelligence?"
"His school transcripts indicate that he would probably excel in studies here if properly motivated."
"Good. We need him to sire useful daughters for the Revolution. I'm tired of having to weed out all the imbeciles and weaklings we have been getting."
"Do you think he would cooperate with us?"
"Only if we can get to him before that loose cannon Satou does. I trust that you will help me ensure that none of that happens."
"Yes, I will not fail you. And another thing, Sir."
"What is it?"
"It's good to hear your voice again. It's... beautiful."
Always a sucker for a compliment, the leader knelt down and kissed her subordinate. This was cause for celebration. Soon, another acceptable set of genes will walk into her trap, where his physical condition and mental fitness will be tested and judged for worthiness.
If a decoding of his genes indicate no flaws, his material will be added to the laboratory's database, where his traits will be randomly distributed throughout the manufacture of synthetic male reproductive cells. Here, he can be watched, analyzed, and paved into a stepping stone for the long march towards a world with no men.
No prize for figuring out who the mysterious caller on the phone is.
Fun fact: Batrachotoxin is found in poison dart frogs and can induce cardiac arrhythmia. Iwanako used 1/4 of what is considered a lethal dose for a 150 lb human. Still, anyone who can take that straight to the heart must be Conan-the-Barbarian tough. Wikipedia is the awesome.
********************************************************************************
A lone figure slouched into her lounge chair and looked out the window. The air was still and heavy. Dense clouds hid the moon and the stars. The room was pitch black but the lights of the school buildings and the nearby town shone through the window onto the woman's face.
Nights like this helped make the long struggle seem worthwhile. The coming rain will wash the filth from the grounds of Yamaku High School like she was going to sweep the filth away from the world. For thousands of years, the world has been tainted by those who only know how to kill and fuck. The only good that ever came out of men were the seeds that fathered girls. Man-kind was slowly killing the world with his wars, his pollution, his stupidity, and his hate for everything good and wholesome. By Goddess, she was going to do something about it.
The occasional crash of distant lightning sporadically lit up the room, revealing a sparsely furnished room, dominated by a large central table with a well worn but current geopolitical map of the world covering much of the surface. Marker pieces from board games such as Chess, Risk, and Battleship marked various locations on the map. Although the true significance of the pieces and their placement was a closely guarded secret, an outsider could make a pretty good guess as to what some of it meant. Naturally, a white queen was firmly planted on Japan, placed roughly where Yamaku High School was. She gets up to pick up a black pawn, placed it over some distant town, and slid it over to the white queen piece. With a flick of her finger, she knocked the pawn over onto it's side, dead.
The woman moved over to a large bulletin board on one of the walls. The school portrait photos of several dozen of the most significant students in the school were pinned to the board, with color-coded lines of yarn crisscrossing between them, signifying relationships and attitudes between individual students. Using this board, she could plan her machinations when it came to school politics. A rumor here, an instigated fist fight there, and she could easily turn a red string of love into a black string of hate. Scattered along the floor below the relationship board were students, most of them male, who have outlived their usefulness. Inconvenient students at Yamaku are easy enough to eliminate. Many kids set foot on campus already frail or deeply disturbed. Nobody thinks twice if appears that a student succumbs to a lifelong illness or take the easy way out to escape their pain. Even without assistance, it happens. It's unfortunate, but it's a sad fact of life.
A flashing red light pulses in the corner, synchronized with a monotone beeping. The lone woman sipped from a teacup before picking up the red phone. It was a smooth blend, handpicked from minefields in Southern Uzbekistan. Very pricey stuff indeed but unmatched when it comes to reanimating an atrophied larynx. Nonetheless, the tea goes down like boulders down a bathtub drain. She murmurs as she tries to force her voice back into use. The caller will just have to wait until a conversation was physically possible.
"What is it?" she asks in a coarse, gravelly voice followed by a phlegm dislodging cough.
"It is done." A young girl's voice chirps through the earpiece.
"Only now? It's been over two months since we've heard from you. I was going to send for another."
"My apologies, Mein Führer. As per orders I maintained radio silence until the subject's fate was been unambiguously determined. I shadowed him for several weeks before ceasing surveillance."
"And? Is he still alive?"
"Yes. But only just. He is expected to become fully functional eventually, but he is now a lifelong slave to life-preserving medication."
"You almost killed him? He should have been merely crippled. You must have made a mistake."
"Negative. I used twenty-five micrograms of batrachotoxin-R diluted in saline and injected directly to the cardiac muscles via syringe, just as ordered. I did not miss, nor did the target feel a thing."
"Hm, then it seems that we should lower the recommended dosage for further use." The lone woman's voice had nearly returned to normal.
"Preliminary work has begun towards transporting him to your location, Mein Führer. I wired a more detailed report to the Deputy Commissar's desk. Heart Breaker, out."
After the caller hung up, the Führer punched a button on the phone's speed dial and summoned the Deputy Commissar.
Within moments, Misha burst through the door and kowtowed in front of Shizune.
"Mein Führer, Heart Breaker's report is accurate. A Mr. and Mrs. Nakai have inquired with the school's admissions office requesting paperwork so that they may transfer their son here."
"Did they forward a medical record to the nursing office?"
"Yes. Aside from his heart injury, he is perfectly healthy. There are no unusual illnesses known within his family."
"And his intelligence?"
"His school transcripts indicate that he would probably excel in studies here if properly motivated."
"Good. We need him to sire useful daughters for the Revolution. I'm tired of having to weed out all the imbeciles and weaklings we have been getting."
"Do you think he would cooperate with us?"
"Only if we can get to him before that loose cannon Satou does. I trust that you will help me ensure that none of that happens."
"Yes, I will not fail you. And another thing, Sir."
"What is it?"
"It's good to hear your voice again. It's... beautiful."
Always a sucker for a compliment, the leader knelt down and kissed her subordinate. This was cause for celebration. Soon, another acceptable set of genes will walk into her trap, where his physical condition and mental fitness will be tested and judged for worthiness.
If a decoding of his genes indicate no flaws, his material will be added to the laboratory's database, where his traits will be randomly distributed throughout the manufacture of synthetic male reproductive cells. Here, he can be watched, analyzed, and paved into a stepping stone for the long march towards a world with no men.
Poor girl.