MDF Episode 1: Welcome to Megatokyo!! (RP)

9:43 AM, Travelers' Inn: Room 59

Everything was quiet in the apartment registered to one "Hayashi Satomi." The room was clean and tidy throughout, and the only noises to be heard were the muffled sounds of Megatokyo through the apartment's curtain-blocked window and the refrigerator quietly humming to itself as it kept a supply of fresh food chilled and preserved. A phone on the night stand silently existed without a ring, and a digital clock faithfully counted the minutes and hours of the day without any audible ticking. At first glance, the apartment might look vacated; there were no personal belongings to be seen anywhere in the room... but then there was the slowly rising and falling lump under the sheets of the bed, from which a human forearm lazily hung over the side.

It was roughly 9:45 AM when the phone began to ring. Probably thinking it was an alarm clock, the dangling hand slowly reached up and began haphazardly slapping the ringing contraption until it hit the answering machine button. The lump shifted in confusion when the phone responded by shifting from ringing to talking. A feminine voice chimed in an awkward but overall cheerful greeting. "Hi, this is Satomi." A 19-year-old girl's face with a light orange bedhead of hair emerged from the lump of sheets, her eyes nearly squinted shut with lingering sleep. "N-no... I'm Satomi...," she corrected the phone with a mumble. "This machine will tell me what you said even if I'm not there to hear you right away, so just let me know what you need," it continued, ignoring her. "Huh? ...Oh, that thing..." "Bye!" the machine finished. "I thought it was supposed to say that to somebody else...?" Satomi asked, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

Suddenly, the phone emitted a long, low beep, at which she flinched and almost fell out of the bed. A male voice then started speaking. "Miss Satomi, you are needed at the Megatokyo Defense Force HQ. Please report to the lobby as soon as possible." Satomi's eyes opened wide. "O-oh, no... somebody must be hurt! S-sorry, I'll be right there!" The voice didn't respond, and the low hum of the telephone cut off without any indication that Satomi had been heard. Regardless, she hastily got dressed and headed to work.

“Apprehension, unease, a disturbed calm. And yet, determination, bravery, and an air of assuredness. Today is unlike the rest.”

The white-robed man has his back to me, just like our previous meetings. Thanks to the blinding blue sigil, I discern him sitting proudly on the thin, levitating, jet-black platform. The circuit-shaped lights on the floor rhythmically pulse a less loud shade of blue at slow, calming intervals.

To each side of his seat are vast shelves and expanses of jet-black hardcover books. The books range from small volumes about 50 pages long to thousand-page long epics that look impossible to actually bookbind in real life. This wasn’t how his place was decorated before—I distinctly remember a lot more floating platforms and reality-defying eye candy. Guess today’s library day or something.

That said, this meeting has begun just like our previous encounters. The man does not face me. The man is in the exact same pose and robe. The sigil still blinds me. Is he actually trying to destroy his vision? It’s almost as if we’re staring into the sun.

Would that I could turn around, but I can’t, so I just close my eyelids in a futile attempt to reduce the sigil’s obnoxious brightness. Unfortunately, the image has been seared into my retinas—two parallel lines, vertically oriented, glaringly bright at the bottom but fading into the jet-black color dominating this room as you look further and further up.

“The day you committed to memory the rifle’s maximum range of ten ‘kilometers’. Scaling the adjacent residences in the midst of nightfall and an unparalleled storm. Rapid inhalation, exhalation, cracking your knuckles right before you engaged the three in personal combat. Your memories, a reminder to yourself to expect the unexpected, to prepare for that which cannot be prepared.”

His thunderous baritone voice stops, leaving only the subtle but booming, almost visceral, reverb in its absence. For a seemingly small room such as this, the acoustics are impressive. My classical records would sound amazing in here. While the reverb clears, I wait. His abrupt silence is not a signal for me to talk. He’s just biding his time until there is an aural peace once more. He wants the words to sink in.

“You are to embark on a journey. But it is not of the physical kind. It is a journey into a phase of life, one in which unprecedented fascinations, turmoils, blisses, sorrows, fancies, trepidations, concords, factions await. A new loop in your mortal coil.”

A pause, longer than the ones before. It’s my cue to talk.

“Accurate as always.”

Even though the room is relatively small, the volume of my voice pales in comparison to his. I’m not exactly sure what he’s doing to amplify his speech.

“The mind is void of lies. What the mind takes in is truth; it is the heart and soul that decide to corrupt the truth. I am bound, tuned to your mind; therefore I can never glean lies from you.”

“That’s how you’d describe the brain?”

“In a didactic light. It is a lesson I think you would do well to remember. No journey is pure. Every journey has its deceptions, duplicities, chicaneries, bluffs, frauds. The heart and soul are easily swayed, and every deceiver will appeal to these. But no one can fool the mind.”

“How have you learned this?”

A pause, as if he was contemplating how to respond.

“That I shall save for the time we meet again.”

Suddenly blue lines fade in at the walls, pulsating brighter and brighter. They are enlarged versions of the minimalist circuit symbols adorning the floor.

”And when’s that?”

The lights are reaching highly uncomfortable intensities. Even the sigil is getting more blindingly resplendent. As if it weren’t bright enough already.

I can hear a slight exhalation of air from the nose, as if the man broke into a smile.

“Time will tell.”

At this point I’m no longer able to discern anything, period. Everything is just pure white. Everything is dead silent. Everything feels like nothing—and I know because my hands have been in my pockets the entire time. There is no smell and no taste.

Guess it’s time to wake up.

---

“…we are now departing from Shinjuku Station. Please keep all hands and feet clear of the doors. Thank you, and have a nice day.”

A jingle as the doors shut and the mag-lev train steadily floats forward, followed by that catchy advertisement. “Nice days, pleasant days, we hope to see you at Junes today!”

Whispers everywhere.

“Dude, you CANNOT believe what Satoru-san got for his birthday yesterday.”
“Don’t tell me he has Starlyte Sagas too! Crap, so I’m the only one who doesn’t have it?...”

“These bags are soooo heavy, Jun-chan! Why can’t we just wear our outfits now?!”
“Do people NOT care when you’re wearing that costume in America? Because you’d get a crowd of fanboys following you if you wore that dress.”
“…w-well…”

Lazily opening my eyes, I check my phone. 9:58 AM, it says. The train’s already jammed pack this early. Not surprised, but I’m glad I got up and on the train when I did, or else I wouldn’t have a seat. Helps that the elderly aren’t usually up this early either. As the phone moves on to my chill hop set mix, I close my eyes again and turn up the volume before I put it away.

The white-robed man talked to me again in my dreams. Another inexplicable feature of this gun, the man, and the world they’re both from. I don’t know how he gets the power to establish a conversation with me in my sleep, especially if he’s locked up in that room all day—or, more accurately, that module at the core of the rifle. I don’t know why he wants to talk. I don’t even know his name. He can call himself an observer all he wants, but he has to have an agenda if he keeps so much to himself. As for what he’s capable of accomplishing? He has a cozy place in a gun, for crying out loud. What can’t he do from there?

All I know for sure is that this is his rifle. And now I wield it.

As if it knew I was thinking about it, the cube in my backpack shifts.

I cross my arms, eyes still closed. I’m still a couple of stops away from the station that leads to the headquarters. A good time to reflect on the fact that here I am, en route to a meeting at the Megatokyo Defense Force Headquarters. Judging by the documents I’ve been forwarded, my virtual reality training and live-fire exercise tests make me extremely qualified to handle a case involving a canine creature murdering several officers in the Financial District. Kind of helps that I inherited my mother’s combat proficiency, too. The people who think there’s some sort of inherent combat ability present in our genes might be on to something.

Not that I’m anyone important. I’m just voluntary officer Minabe Shinji, third-year and rookie cop who carries an exotic sniper rifle in his unassuming backpack, taking a completely ordinary train to work. The only thing that’s extremely remarkable about me is that Mother has a high place in the special defense forces. That, and maybe the fact that I command an exotic and foreign piece of military hardware from a civilization far superior to ours. But that’s about it.

I sigh. White Robe’s right: I am nervous, as much as I’d hate to admit it. Dealing with coworkers is different from dealing with classmates. Depending on who I’m assigned to work with, I may actually end up being a hindrance. That’s definitely a calming thought.

And that’s not even mentioning the work I’m doing. This line of work doesn’t care about finding derivatives or understanding pronunciation or learning the culture of some ancient kingdom. Instead, we beat the crap out of hardened criminals, stamping down on any future terror plans, maybe even kill them if need be. One wrong strategy, one misheard order, one mistimed trigger pull, and the innocent, or lawbringers, or both die. A different form of stressful.

But before my thoughts start getting into dark territory, the next track on my chill hop mixtape plays. It’s calming and introspective, verging slightly on mournful, but with a subtle undertone of victory. It’s easily my favorite of all the songs in the setlist because I had sifted through the producer’s blog and learned she had made it as she battled stage 4 lung cancer. Living in pain from the chemotherapy and nanomachine treatments, in fear of the diagnoses being worse, and in the disconcerting knowledge that she could die any minute, she posted this song thinking it was her last. She wanted to remind her followers that it was still possible to keep your head up and do your best in the face of seemingly impossible trials. You can imagine we all took that message to heart when doctors discovered she had won against her cancer.

I sigh again, but this time it’s a sigh of peace instead of nervousness. Today might be a long day. And I don’t have any idea what the future holds. But today could be far worse. These dejecting thoughts can’t inspire me. If I do the best I can in the briefing, I can relax and let tomorrow sort itself out.

Besides, police work probably beats studying for college entrance exams anyways.

Croshiba jumps back. "Ah, jeez, what are those?!" He snarls a little, then looks up at the cat girl. "Whhhaaaaat are you here for?" He'd heard vaguely about this girl. Something about her tracking abilities. Don't we have enough detectives? We need more men of action. Men like me. He glazed over, grinning for a moment.

The orc twitched. "You're being put on the new assignment?" He seethed underneath a false visage of simple confusion.

After a flight of stairs and escalators and a three minute walk to the left of the station exit, I reach the colossal headquarters building. Putting my headphones in the pocket with my phone, I search for the least packed entrance—which happens to be door 8—and step foot inside after a three-minute wait.

The interior—or at least, the ground floor—is just as I remember it. Spacious. Designed with a focus on function over form, with a heavy emphasis on the massive metal beams that help the building stand even when it’s bombarded by bombs or giant falling mechs or destructive magic of the highest caliber. Filled to the brim with enforcers, citizens, reporters, and the occasional cute intern.

A security guard pulls me aside. He’s decked out in extremely heavy-duty armor, with ammo pouches and grenades everywhere; I wouldn’t be surprised if he could brush off a tank shell. He takes his right hand off the foregrip of his automatic shotgun and pulls out a scanner tablet from his right back pocket. A blue light emits from the back of the scanner and begins running up and down my body.

“ID please. Empty your pockets, hand over your backpack,” he gruffly demands, the helmet speakers adding a robotic and sinister effect to his already rough voice.

I pull off my backpack, simultaneously putting my phone and headphones in a bin on the conveyer next to me. I hand the backpack to another pair of guards, who open it up to reveal some harnesses, my laptop, and the exotic black cube. They motion over to the guy checking me—I take it he’s in charge—and give him a confused look. As he turns to face me, I have my ID in my right hand.

“It’s a sniper rifle,” I tell them.

The guard takes his left hand off of the shotgun. He grabs my ID and swipes it in his scanner’s card reader. The see-through screen lights up with information.

“He’s got clearance. Code 19-4C: exotic and/or unusual equipment,” the guard responds. The other two zip the bag back up and hand it to me, just as the conveyor dumps my other gear into a tray. I was putting on the pack and slip the phone and headphone case into my pants when it occurred to me that I didn’t actually know where I was supposed to be going. Oh well. Guess it’s a good enough excuse to find that brunette who looks to be my age at the receptionist desks.

“Third floor. If you take Elevator 1, take a left and head straight down and the lieutenant’s office is there.”

The guard read my mind. Crap. Guess that’s not happening today.

“Thanks,” I respond, and nod towards him and the other guards before squeezing my way through the crowds and making for Elevator 1. Next time, Miss Brunette. Next time…

---

When the doors open, I step out and take a look around as the rest of the people on the elevator head off elsewhere. Yep, haven’t been here before; this floor looks like it’s just offices, though, so I guess it makes sense that I’ve never needed to visit here.

In front of me is an interactive map listing all of the offices on this floor. Like the guard says, my stop is to my left, so I do as the guard says, briskly walking down the corridor. Don’t really want to show up late on my first day of work.

The first thing that meets my eyes is a huge green dude. Imposing is more like it—even taller and buffer (if that were possible) than the guard I met earlier, and I think that guy was at least 2 meters tall. He stands tall and proud, has long red dreadlocks, and massive husks. Has to be an orc. I doubt this guy’s the lieutenant, but I’m not going to cut him any respect regardless.

His expression is one of surprise, his head tilted downwards. I shift my eyes down to see what he’s—

That’s… not a middle schooler… is it? I’m looking at a smiling girl with her head craned back to look back at the orc. She’s about half the orc’s height, with long brushed hair and a uniform. Her hands are behind her back—

Wait. She has a tail—a blonde tail that’s calmly waving back and forth. And that’s no regular uniform. It’s a university outfit.

Don’t tell me a lolita nekojin is really working on this case? Don’t get me wrong, she’s cute. From where I’m standing, she’s got soft facial features and an elegant neck. And some pretty fluffy shoes—

…those aren’t shoes. Those are pets. They look like foxes, actually. And they know their owner well, since all of them are wagging their tails in tandem.

Back to the point: what’s a lolita nekojin doing here? I know the lieutenant was telling me to expect teammates, and I understand having an orc lead or assist in the case. But a nekojin? What, is she our tracker? Can she put up a fight? I’ve heard of girls her size wielding miniguns with ease from some of the guys who frequent the VR facilities, but… those lolitas were easy to tell apart from the rest, what with their slightly more muscular builds and all. So what the heck can this girl do?

I snap out of my train of thought and realize I’m standing right in front of them. Guess I was walking a little too briskly. I pull my hands out of my pockets and give the two a bow.

“Nice to meet you both. You guys here to see the lieutenant too?” I ask nonchalantly.

If these two are going to be my teammates, and if the lieutenant isn’t here yet, might as well make some small talk…

Ah, crap. I forgot to gear up. Hope none of them think I’m an intern.

Croshiba looked at the new addition to the team. Where is HQ getting all these middle schoolers?! He cleared his throat. "Konichiwa," he said gruffly, bowing just enough to be polite. "My name is Croshiba Takimurak. And you are...?"