Dave woke up depressed. It had been three days since he . . . no, he pushed that thought from his mind. He wasn't going to wake up thinking about it again. It was time for him to wake up happy for once. I'm not going to think about her, he thought. I'm not going to focus on that anymore. I've had more than enough pain. He sat up and yawned. The faint aroma of scented candles still lingered. How long had it been since she had lit a candle in here? A Week? Three days? How long? Dave shook his head. I've got to stop this, he thought. I'm so sick of waking up like this. I've got to move on. He cursed inwardly as he felt tears begin to well up in his eyes. He started to blink rapidly. I am not going to cry now. His breathing grew faster, more shallow. Suddenly the faint scent of bloodberry drifted past his nostrils. She did love that scent. She always did. A name, one he'd been trying to hide from all morning, forced its way to the front of his thoughts. Rachel. That was it. The tears flowed fast and hard. His body was wracked by one powerful sob after another. Anger, rage, sorrow . . . these and other emotions fought for control in his body. His world shattered, as it did every morning since Evan had shot the girl . . . no, the woman he loved. Bitter anger slapped him hard. Sure, he could admit that he loved her now. That was all she wanted to hear from him in life, and he could only admit it after she was dead. Dave threw his head back. "I don't want to feel this way!" he screamed, his hands clenching up in fists. He fell back onto his bed and buried his face in his pillow. * * * * * Duct Tape and Velcro Productions present FAQing Hostile SubCultural Mutant Otaku versus the Mundanes Chapter 25 Written by Clint Milton FAQing Hostile created by Stefan "Twoflower" Gagne * * * * * "Pika?" Dave looked up to see Phreakachu standing near his bed. The mouse Pokemon looked as concerned as a drugged-up mouse can. He patted Dave's shoulder tenderly. "How do I do it?" Dave asked. "How do I go on with my life? How do I kill this pain? How do I feel good again?" Phreakachu looked away slightly. Dave put his face back in his pillow. "Pika. Pi Pikachu," Phreakachu said, tapping Dave on his shoulder. Dave looked up to see a joint being held in the Pokemon's hand. "For . . . for me?" "Pikachu." "But I've never . . . done that before." "Piiiiiiiiiiii. Pi pika chupika." "You mean it will stop the pain?" "Pika." That was all Dave needed. He took the joint and lit it. Placing it in his trembling lips, he took a drag and held it. As he breathed out, the numbness began to overtake him. "Feel better now?" Phreakachu asked. Dave blinked. Did he just hear the mouse speak? "Did you just talk to me?" Dave blurted out. "Well, yeah." "But I can understand you. Perfectly." "And there's a good reason for that. You're stoned." Dave blinked. "That explains the purple rhino behind you." "'Sup?" The rhino asked in a deep voice. "Yeah, he shows up every so often. Mostly only first-timers see him, though. Well, finish your joint then come out. You still have things to do, after all." "Right." "By the way, you never did answer my question. Do you feel better now?" Dave thought about it for a moment. It didn't hurt as bad. In fact, he felt like laughing a little. "Yeah," he said, chuckling, "yeah I do." Phreakachu smiled, and left the room. Dave took another drag on the joint. A thick fog overtook his mind, making it impossible to think about anything except that joint in his fingers. * * * * * "That's odd," Vixen stated. "Wh4t 1s?" B1ff asked. "Dave hasn't made an appearance yet." "G1v3 h1m s0m3 t1m3, s1s. H3's st1ll 1n m0urn1ng." "That may be so, but we still have jobs to do. He can't hide in his room just because he can't get over some dead Goth." "Th4t's h4rsh, s1s. Y0u kn0w th4t w4s h3r r00m." "And?" "D1dn't y0u s33 1t? Th3y l0v3d 34ch 0th3r. Th3y just d1dn't kn0w h0w t0 3xpr3ss 1t." This made Vixen pause. Dave had loved Rachel? How could she have missed that? Both were under her command, and yet she hadn't picked up on anything. Yet B1ff had not only picked up on it, he was being sympathetic about it. Wait a minute . . . "How come you know so much about Dave and Rachel's relationship?" "0h, c0m3 0n, s1s. D0n't t3ll m3 y0u d1dn't kn0w. 1t w4s 0bv10us. W3ll, 0bv10us 3n0ugh t0 s0m30n3 wh0 kn3w wh4t t0 l00k f0r. B3sid3s, ch1cks r34lly g0 f0r th0s3 s3ns1t1v3 l1n3s." Vixen glared at him. "I was going to comment on how you're growing up, but after that line . . ." About that time the door opened and Dave stumbled out. Vixen glared at him. Dave just giggled. His eyes were really red, she noticed, but that was probably due to him crying a lot. "Good morning, folks," Dave breathed out. Vixen turned away. "Well," Vixen spat, "now that everyone's here, we can get down to business. Our next black Box is further west, but there's a problem. To get there we have to pass through Protie land." B1ff's head fell forward and he banged his fist against the console. "M4n!" he shouted. "N0t th3 Pr0t13s! T3ll m3 w3 d0n't h4v3 t0 g0 thr0ugh th4t!" "Sorry, but Sherman and I have discussed it. Apparently, they've expanded their territory. There's no other way." "The Proties?" Dave asked, his words slurring slightly. "They really exist? I mean, the Pop Rocks had legends about them, but I had no idea a Tribe that . . . bizarre could actually exist." "Well, they do. And they're far worse than anything you've heard. Sherman!" "Yes, Miss Hiroshima?" the tank replied. "Bring up all the information we have on the Proties." "Regrettably, we don't have that much information. The Proties, or Acties, are a Tribe dedicated to the power of the protest. They protest everything and are devoted to their causes. Fortunately for the rest of the world, they can't seem to agree on anything. From gun control to animal rights, there are Proties on both sides of the issues. This makes them one of the most dangerous Tribes around: to themselves as well as to others. No other information is available." Dave whistled. "Yup, that's about what the Pop Rocks said." "In any case," Vixen put in, "we'd better get moving. I want to get this over with as soon as possible." * * * * * "Oh beautiful, for space is skies, for Amber waves at grain . . ." Two men in black suits were seated around a small table sipping coffee. "So," the first man started. "Agent Typecast, how goes the Otaku Agenda?" "Well, Director," Agent Typecast replied, "the Otaku we're tracking are about to enter the Protie Territory. Whatever happens there, it won't be pretty." "I see. What do you recommend to be the best course of action?" "Wait and see what happens. If they survive the Proties, they'll be that much easier to track. Plus, we have a few sleepers in there." "I approve." "Thank you Director." "Is that the end of your report?" "Not really, sir. One of our Agents has reported in about another group tracking the Otaku. He didn't give us any more information about them, only that they exist." "Interesting. This bears looking into. Keep me updated." "Yes sir." "Is that all?" "Yes sir." "Then finish your coffee and you're dismissed." "Yes sir." Both men went back to drinking their coffee. * * * * * Sherman and Otaku started at the sides of the road, which were littered with bodies. Small groups of people were either stacking the bodies in deep trenches or going through their belongings looking for something worth taking. "L00ks l1k3 w3 m1ss3d h4ppy h0ur," B1ff mused sarcastically. Sherman came to a sudden stop in front of a wall of people waving signs and assault weapons. "Looks can be deceiving," Vixen replied. "Look alive, folks. We'll probably be safe. Most of them appear to be Gun Control Proties." Dave looked up. His eyes were no longer bloodshot. "Well, one of us ought to go up and say hello." "Thanks for volunteering, newbie." Dave sighed. "Guess I should have seen that coming." He opened the hatch and poked his head up. He then ducked quickly, narrowly avoiding the hail of gunfire. "I thought you said they were Pro-Gun Control!" "Looks like they have great control over their guns." "Oh, ha ha!" "Attention!" came a voice from outside. "You are trespassing on Protestor Territory. Identify yourself and which cause you represent." "We're Otaku," Vixen called out, "and we represent anime." There was a pause. "That's it?" Vixen blinked. "What's it?" "That's your cause? That's what you're willing to die for? That's what you base your life on?" "Well, yes." Vixen and the others could hear conversation going on outside, but couldn't hear the exact words. "To each his -- or her -- own, I suppose. Well, you'll have to wait here." "We don't have that much time." "We have to form an Anti-Anime division before you can go any further." "A . . . what?" Vixen could feel her left eyebrow twitch. "Look, there are two sides to every issue. Somewhere in between lies the truth. Before you can be allowed into our land any further, we have to make sure someone's bringing forth the other side to your cause." "But that makes no sense." "Quite the opposite, actually. It makes perfect sense. You see, we believe in a balance of power. If you are allowed into our land without an opposite, you'll upset the balance. You wouldn't want to do that, would you?" "Well, no. But . . ." "Good! Kindly relinquish some of your anime and we'll set up a viewing area for people to find what's wrong with it." "You'll WHAT!?!" "How else are we going to create the Anti-Anime Division?" "You won't find one, but feel free to look." She opened the hatch and passed out a few DVD's. "Thank you. This won't take but a few minutes. Please be patient." * * * * * " . . . SO THEN THE GUY SAYS `YOU THINK THAT'S BAD? I WASTED THREE HOURS CHASING THE AMBULANCE!'" The black robed figures laughed at their Lord's joke. No matter how bad it was, they knew that to not laugh was to risk becoming an Extra. One of the newly robed figures turned to the high priest. "Just our luck he'd find a site of old lawyer jokes," he whispered. "Patience, my son," the high priest responded, "he's bound to run out of jokes sometime." "OH, HERE'S A GOOD ONE!" Many a groan was stifled. "A BLIND RABBIT AND A BLIND SNAKE MEET ON THE ROAD . . ." * * * * * Vixen, B1ff, and the rest looked up as they heard a knock on the side of the tank. Vixen opened the hatch and looked out. "Thank you for waiting," an older looking man said sweetly. "We're done now. You can enter." He returned the disks to her. Vixen shut the hatch as the older man walked off. "We're in," she told the group. "Sherman, start it up. Let's get out of here as soon as possible." "Yes, Miss Hiroshima." The tank shifted into gear and tore off down the road. On either side of them, the Otaku could see people lining up and holding signs saying how bad anime is for people. Vixen couldn't believe how many people were there. "Did they actually watch the anime I handed out?" she asked. "Apparently so," Dave said, pointing to the "Sailor Moon is Bad For Little Girls" sign. Vixen sighed. "It never fails. Why do they always pick that one to show first?" "Pika," Phreakachu put in. "H3's r1ght," B1ff added, "1t c0uld b3 w0rs3. Th3y c0uld h4v3 st4rt3d w1th 3v4ng3l10n. Th4t 0n3 1s 4 b1t c0nfus1ng, 3sp3c14lly r1ght 4t th3 3nd." "Let's just ignore them," Dave suggested. The others nodded and the tank continued on. * * * * * "The Otaku are nearing the city proper, sir," one of the Proties said. "Excellent, make sure they're welcomed," the Coordinator replied. "It's been so long since we've had guests. Have supplies ready, along with the usual protest signs. We want to make them feel comfortable." "At once, sir." The attendant left and set about preparing supplies for the Otaku. The Coordinator turned to the window. "There's nothing like a good cause," he mused. "If these Otaku feel that what they watch is worth dying for, than they've found a good cause. I may not see the logic in it, but I will support their right to feel that way. Wouldn't you agree, Wendell?" Wendell, a young boy with long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, looked up. "I don't know, dad," Wendell replied, "can animation really be worth dying for?" "Why don't you ask them when they come in?" "All right, I will." * * * * * Sherman stopped in front of a rather nice looking building. The hatch opened and the Otaku climbed out. Wendell was there to greet them. "Greetings, Otaku," Wendell said. "Welcome to Protest Central. These supplies are for you." He gestured at the boxes. "You don't need to worry about bartering, these are gifts of the Coordinator." Vixen played with her collar. "We, uh, thank you for your gifts," she replied. Man, she thought, I really hate this diplomatic stuff. Wendell narrowed his eyes on Dave. "You," he stated, pointing at Dave, "you're not like them." "No," Dave said, "I was born a Pop Rock." "And yet you travel with Otaku?" "Well, yeah." "Will you talk with me while the others load the supplies? I'd like to know more about your condition." Dave glanced over at Vixen, who just nodded. "Sure thing." Dave and Wendell walked off as the rest loaded the supplies. Once they were out of site of Sherman, Wendell turned and faced Dave. "You interest me, Dave," Wendell stated. "Why would a Pop Rock travel with a group of Otaku?" "Because," Dave replied, "I identify better with them than I do back home." "Be honest, do you really fit in with these people?" "Better than I did back home." "And so this was the better option." "Yeah." "And you fit in." "Well, no. But . . ." "Yes? Do go on." "It's nothing." Wendell nodded his head. "Are you willing to die for what they believe?" Dave paused. Am I? he thought. Do I feel that strongly about anime? "Yes. I am. Anime means everything to me now. The life of a Pop Rock didn't appeal to me." "There is a way to have both, you know." "Impossible. The Pop Rock way of life is very restrictive. There's no way it could work." "Didn't the Japanese have Pop music?" "Yes, the did. It used to be called J-Pop." "Couldn't you start a Pop Rock Tribe that focuses on J-Pop?" "Not by myself." "Just a thought." "Suppl13s 4r3 l04d3d, D4v3," B1ff called out, "V1x3n s4ys t0 g3t 1t 1n g34r." "Right!" Dave called back. He turned to face Wendell. "I've got to go now." "Before you go," Wendell replied, "remember this: No matter what, you've got to be true to yourself. Find out what matters most to you and stick to that. Don't let people turn you from your cause." "Uh yeah . . . sure. I really have to be going now." Dave backed slowly away before turning and walking slowly toward the tank. "What was all that about?" Vixen asked. "I don't really know," Dave replied. "It's hard to explain." Vixen shrugged. "Whatever. Get in the tank. We're out of here." Dave blinked. When she said "whatever" she sounded just like . . . He shook his head and got in the tank. Vixen followed him. "We ready?" She called out. "Yes, Miss Hiroshima," Sherman said, starting the engines. Soon the tank was on its way. * * * * * Dave was back in his room, trying not to remember Rachel. Her face floated around in his mind. He could close his eyes and see it as clearly as if she was standing in front of him. He could feel the tears well up again. "Damn it," he said, "I'm not going to cry again." There was a knock at the door. "Come in." The door opened and Phreakachu walked in. "Pika?" Phreakachu asked, looking up at him. "Huh? Oh, I'm all right I guess. To be honest, I've been better." "Pika." The little yellow mouse held out a joint. Dave stared at it. It had helped before, and he was hurting now. It sure couldn't hurt any worse than the pain he was feeling now. With trembling fingers, he took the joint from Phreakachu and started to smoke it. The numbness set in again, and all was once again right with the world. Dave sighed and relaxed. "How's that?" Phreakachu asked. "Better. Much better." "Good. Well, I'll be leaving now. Take care, Dave. Maybe I'll share a drink with you later." "That would be good." Dave took another drag on the joint. "Catch you later, Phreakachu." "Later, Dave." Phreakachu waved and left the room. Dave lay back on his bed and savored his joint. In no time at all, the pain he was feeling was long gone. * * * * * Author's note: Well, there you go. FAQing Hostile number 25 is done at last. Enjoy. I hope I didn't offend people with my Protestors. I tried not to. As far as their beliefs go, I do feel that way. If you don't have something worth dying for in your life, then life isn't really worth living. Don't worry, folks, I won't soapbox about this issue. I've said my fill. Thanks to the following people: The FAQing Hostile Mailing List (for kicking me into gear), my usual cast of supporters (for just being there), my own little list of problems that bore other people to hear about (for helping build character), and of course my family (for giving me this nice lineage that includes good writers). I think that covers everyone. Well, catch you all . . . later.