[FFML] [fic][&update][Utena] Prologue to: Revolutionary Goon Utena: Adolescent Goonpocalypse

[Jared Waddell]

Update: I am working on the next episode of TGE (which this story is kind
of a sequel to), but it's slow going expect maybe it posted in parts to
the list. So, I'm alive, I'm glad to see the FFML back, and... on the
with story!

p.s. Please C&C!

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		       Revolutionary Goon Utena:

			Adolescent Goonpocalypse

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				 - by -

			    The Three Goons


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DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything related to, about, in regards to, or
of, Shojou Kakumei Utena in manga, television, or movie form. Still love
it though. This is fanfiction, no rights are conferred, inferred,
deferred, racked, stacked, stamped, authorized or tenderized. Want to
know more about the source material? Look it up! And lastly (all
together now), please don't sue me!

NOTICE: This story takes place within a continuity known as 'The Goons
Saga.' The Saga chronicles the adventures of a trio of fanfic authors
caught in various anime universes, which they travel through one at a
time (and one at a story), either in search of home, or just to have a
good time. Some of these stories are dark, some are light, some are
juuust right; and all of them have one thing in common: the funny. For
background, see Three Goons in Eva (a.k.a. Goonvangelion), or just hit
up the web page:

http://www.geocities.com/rick_spiff/tge.html

ADDENDUM: This is where I promise that I will, I WILL, update the damn
page, provide an explanation behind such cryptic titlings as "The Goons
Saga" "The Original Trilogy" "The New Trilogy" "The End of the Saga"
"The Vengeance of the Fist" "Goonvangelion" and other such utter
nonsense. I will, damn it!

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			       Prologue:

				  Past


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Jared Waddell was surprised.

Times were few when Jared found himself in this state. The taste of
confusion that smeared his thoughts, the sense of the brain realigning
itself to a new reality, was old and familiar. Surprised should have
been a way of life for the Goon, but surprise--like virtually everything
else in the universe--is relative. What might give lesser men heart
attacks barely phased him. He'd been through enough surprise that he was
now mostly safe from it. Immunized. Protected. Experience had become his
Aegis.

None the less...

His eyes lay tight on a smooth steel form, ignoring the white smoke
oozing from its tip. The smoke curled and danced in the still air,
belying none of the violence that had trespassed here, in this silent,
sacred ground. Looking down the steel slide of his pistol, Jared's eyes
noted, and watched, three figures that lay upon white stone steps some
forty feet away. The figures wore flowing white uniforms of military
cut, absconded by medals, that were a dark red seeping to black where
the cloth met the stone. Blood did not seep across the stone, the
pristine white surface all but repulsed the gore, hold it at bay.

Surprise, not shock. He had seen dead bodies before. Plenty of dead
bodies. He was over that surprise. The foundations of his life rested on
many deaths, and death was no longer even a surprise.

The gun in his hand was warm.

He had shot many people too. And killed them in various other ways. His
hands were finely crafted instruments of vengeance, of "convincing," and
"persuading." His mind was a brilliant tactical computer, honed and
refined to the point that he could tell exactly what the body
temperatures of three deceased would be in thirty minutes, an hour, two
hours. He knew that it would only take him 0.92 seconds to cover the
distance between him and the bodies if he had to do it fast. He knew how
many bullets he had left.

He knew the situation inside and out, and yet, there was surprise.

No surprise because the men were dead, or because he had killed them,
but surprise because he'd done it twice. He recognized these three, knew
them well. Had killed them cold blood years ago. More than a year before
the incident, and what, twenty years relative time? They _were_ dead in
the deadest sense of the word. Buried after brief, heart-wrenching
funerals. Family vowing to find who had done them out. Insurance
policies paid out.

Nothing but bones and worms.

And yet, he'd just fought them, and killed them, again.

Tittering schoolgirls that turned into sports cars, cloaked
gravity-defying castles, and a giant robot made of brass gears, playing
cards, and human teeth but belched steam and rocket-propelled grenades
while quoting scripture at ear-drum shatter volume had nothing on this.

The dead did not come back to life.

Shaking his head, he tucked the gun, and ran up the steps. He passed the
bodies, forcing his brain to shelve the surprise, wrap it in a nice
soothing layer of denial so he could get back to it later.

Past the steps was a garden that stretched impossibly far into the
distance. It covered more area than the entire school campus. Never mind
the thing was in the air, a platform floating in the sky, untethered to
the ground.

He pushed onward, through rose bushes that rose nearly to his shoulders,
his vision choked out by a sea of crimson and pink.

Surprise would get him killed here, but apart from violence, it was all
he'd seen since arrival.

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That's it for now. See you in the next email.

Later,
Rick "can't type at full speed due to hand injury" Spiff


       
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