May, 2000.
Somewhere in southern Honshu.
“I… AM THE NIIGHTRIDER!…HEE HEE HEE!”
A fierce gun-battle raged around a heavily fortified village, which was under attack by raiders, some of them driving cars and motorcycles. The raiders themselves varied in appearance, some of them fairly normal in appearance with tattered uniforms, while other raiders looked like they had come from the set of Mad Max movies.
“I’M A FUEL-INJECTED SUICIDE MACHINE!”
Standing on the makeshift parapet among other armed men and women, was one Ichitaka Seto, his clothes worn and dirty. At the moment, he was reloading his M-16, courtesy of the JSDF (or what was left of it these days). One would be hard pressed to imagine that he had once been an awkward high school student.
“I AM THE ROCKER, I’M A ROLLER, I’M THE OOOOUTTA CONTROLLER! I’M THE NIGHTRIDER BABY!” the loudspeakers blared from one of the vehicles going around the stockade a little further away.
“There goes that fuckin’ Nightrider, doesn’t he ever get tired?” asked one of the armed men firing towards the raiders.
“Nope, that’s why he’s there all the time,” answered a woman reloading an ancient Nambu pistol. “Psychological warfare, doncha know.”
“Don’t I know it. Hell, the guy’s such a big collective pain on the ass that the Colonel’s promised double rations for a week for the one who blows him away,” said the man.
“Where’s Koshinae? If they break through, we could use his martial arts skills.”
“He’s in the infirmary again, going through another sick spell, sir.”
“Grrr, damned radiation sickness.”
“THE TOECUTTER, HE KNOWS MY NAME! I… AM THE NIIGHTRIDER!!”
“If only his car wasn’t so quick,” complained another man. “Otherwise, I could bag him.”
“In your dreams, hotshot. Ya couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn,” retorted the woman, aiming and firing her pistol. A raider with a Mohawk haircut went down.
The Nightrider was nearing Ichitaka’s position again.
“I AM THE CHOSEN ONE!”
He cocked his rifle, taking careful aim.
“THE MIGHTY HAND OF VENGEANCE, SENT DOWN TO STRIKE DOWN THE UNROADWORTHY, HEE HEE HAA HAA!”
He fired. The shot missed.
I’M HOTTER THAN A ROLLIN’ DYE!”
Instead, it hit the driver of another car which had come in front of the line of fire. Said driver slumped down on his seat, while his gas-mask wearing companion desperately tried to gain control of the wheel. The armed men on the backseat were screaming their heads off, for the car was careening straight towards the Nightrider’s car.
“STEP RIGHT UP, CHUM, AND WATCH THE KID…EEEEAAAAAAHHHH!!!!”
KA-BOOOOM!!
The two cars went up in a magnificent inferno.
“Ya see that?! Who did that, who did that?!”
“Woohoo! No more ‘I AM THE NIGHTRIDER’ crap!”
“What the fuck! Who did that, who blew the fucker?”
“Uh, I think it was Seto over there,” said a teenager wearing a baseball cap.
“What? Seto, you did that? That was magnificent! You’ll get double rations for sure!”
“Uh, I really didn’t plan that,” said Ichitaka, just as dumbfounded as everyone else.
“Look, the raiders, they’re pulling back! They’re retreating!”
Indeed the raiders were withdrawing, apparently disturbed by the loss of the Nightrider in addition to the losses they had already suffered.
In the midst of the cheers, Ichitaka could only think of his wife Iori and their baby girl. Those double rations will sure come in handy, they need all the food they can get. And Jun too…
He once again thought back to the day when the world had ended…
****
November 28th, 1997.
Russian Typhoon-class SSBN K-158 Petropavlosk, somewhere under the Sea of Okhotsk.
“Captain, we’ve received new emergency orders. Code 66 Delta!”
After a long pause, the Captain turned to a man on his left, who was reading the printed out orders.
“Executive Officer?” the Captain asked for confirmation. The XO nodded to him, sweat gathering on his forehead. The Captain then took up the COM link
“This is the Captain! We have received orders from the President! Our orders are to attack the primary targets of the People’s Republic of China, Japan and the United States of America! This will be a nuclear attack. This is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill!”
Throughout the vast vessel gasps were uttered and faces went white and rigid with alarm. The crewmen knew all too well the gravity of their orders. They had hoped to never receive them, yet they had waited with a mounting sense of doom these past several days.
“Repeat, Code 66 Delta! It’s an order to attack China, Japan and the U.S.!!”
“… Roger! We… we will prepare to fire! Over and out!!”
“What do you think, is this a retaliatory strike or a pre-emptive one?” the XO asked from the Captain.
“Who cares, it could be anything. All I know is that those Pentagon and Kremlin bastards have damned us,” replied the Captain angrily. “The Rodina may be all gone.” This ship was named after the original Petropavlosk, sunk over 90 years ago by a Japanese mine off Port Arthur in the Russo-Japanese War, with the loss of most of its crew, including Adm. Makarov himself, the only man who could have defeated Togo, The Captain thought to himself as the alarm klaxon began to bleat its merciless tune and orders were being shouted to and fro in preparation for the launching of the ship’s nuclear armament. How ironic that after all these years it will be avenged by its namesake, a ship whose capacity for dealing death to the enemy would make the original look like a peashooter! Yet I’d much rather have lived in those times, when ships duelled with guns instead of…this! He finished his thoughts with a shudder.
The XO started to pray, holding his crucifix. “…But of that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels in Heaven, nor the Son…”
“…Our Father who art in Heaven!”
“NUMBER ONE, FIRE!!”
The missile left the vessel, broke through the water and shot off to the sky, towards the south.
****
Four minutes later.
Downtown Tokyo.
The skyline of Tokyo gleamed magnificently in the afternoon sun. Its skyscrapers were the testament of its wealth and technological advancement. It seemed that those buildings would stand for a thousand years more. There was no way of telling if the streets down below were teeming with people going about their daily business, or people in the grip of a monstrous panic.
Then four white missile streams appeared over the sky, heading downwards. 2 seconds later, it all disappeared in a brilliant flash, like a million suns exploding.
****
Deep underground.
Three human shapes were running through the half-lit corridor, its lights flickering on and off. A deep rumbling sound was heard from above, and plaster came falling down from the ceiling.
“Oh god, was that, was that what I think it was…?” asked Iori Yoshizuki with a gasp.
“No! It ain’t over till it’s over, we still have time!” Ichitaka responded fiercely, holding Iori’s hand as he kept running, pulling her with him.
“He’s right, we still have a few minutes before the fallout will start to settle! The shelter isn’t far now,” said Jun Koshinae, Ichitaka’s long-haired friend and classmate, running ahead of them. Despite his gentle and effeminate appearance, he was in truth a powerful martial artist, one who had knocked out a whole gang of thugs just a month earlier when they had set up Iori with a fake photo shoot in Babel Tower, intending to rape her. Ichitaka had also played a part in the fight, arriving just in time to knock out a former senior of their high school who had earlier been kicked out of their school along with others for attempting to peep on Iori and other girls under the cover of a fake photo shoot. Indeed, the ex-senior, named Samejima, had planned the whole Babel Tower mess.
Initially Ichitaka had thought that Jun was a rival for Iori’s affections, but it turned out that he loved Mr. Hanazono, their home room teacher. Ichitaka had discreetly kept this info to himself, knowing the consequences for Jun if word should ever leak. Though from the looks of things, it seemed it wouldn’t matter any more. It was a miracle they had even made it underground in time.
“KYAA!”
Lying in front of them were the bodies of two people, a policeman and his wife or girlfriend. Both of them had died of gunshot wounds to the head, with the cop still holding the smoking gun in his right hand.
“Never mind them, they’re beyond our help now! Just a little further,” shouted Jun as they ran past the corpses. Rounding the corner, they came to the doorway of the civil defence shelter. And stopped dead on their tracks.
It was clear that the shelter was already overcrowded. The inhabitants consisted mostly of women and children, with the children greatly outnumbering the women. Some of the women wore nurse’s uniforms, tending to the few men in the shelter who had been injured in the prior conventional bombings of Tokyo by the Russian Air Force. And the blast doors were already slowly closing.
“I’m sorry, but there’s no more room. We are already at overcapacity here. If all of you come in, there won’t be enough food and water for everybody.”
“One of us will have to remain behind,” Jun said.
“…”
“…”
“I get it. Jun, take Iori with you into the shelter. Don’t worry about me. I’ll manage somehow, I’ll just go to the next shelter,” said Ichitaka, knowing he was bullshitting about the “next shelter”.
“Wha- Ichitaka, NO!” “What are you talking about, Seto?” asked Jun, his face a blank slate.
“You heard me. You’re the strong one. You saved Iori once before. You can protect her and Itsuki and Teratani and Nami and the others, if they made it. I’m just a screw-up,” responded Ichitaka. “Go now.”
“No, you go.” Saying that, Jun shoved Iori and Ichitaka into the shelter through the closing doors with great force, causing Ichitaka to fall on his rear. He was immediately back on his feet. “Jun, NO!! Come back, you can still make it!” he cried, with the people in the shelter holding him back. Jun stood where he was.
“No, this is for the best. Take care of him, Iori. You two are more alike than you realise. Farewell… everyone.” And then the blast doors closed.
“JUUUUUN!!!” Ichitaka screamed, pounding vainly on the blast doors.
“KOSHINAE-KUN!!” Iori shouted in horror.
The doors stayed shut. Outside, Jun turned around, lifted his hands to a horizontal position and put his back on the doors, as if guarding them. A sad, yet contented look covered his face.
White flakes started floating down towards him from a hole in the ceiling.
****
Two weeks later.
Darkness filled the corridor, covered in dust and particles of debris. An all clear -klaxon went on.
As the noise continued, the civil defence shelter doors opened up, the sensors within having detected a safe reduction in the radiation levels. Standing at the forefront of the group were Ichitaka and Iori.
“Jun…” they both exclaimed, seeing the crumpled figure lying face downwards in front of the door. He was unmoving.
“Jun!” Ichitaka was by his side. To his surprise, the boy in front of him wasn’t a corpse that had been dead for days, but a living, breathing human being.
As the light grew stronger Ichitaka, Iori and the women and children behind them gasped when they saw the changes the radiation had wrought on Jun Koshinae, age 17. Where he once had greyish brown hair, it was now white as snow. His face looked like it had aged 20 years, and his whole bearing was that of one who was ill.
“Uuungh…” Jun voiced.
“Jun-kun!” Iori exclaimed, her voice a mixture of shock and relief.
“…Hi Ichitaka, Iori-san, everyone. Heh, don’t worry, It’d take more to get me than this,” he assured them with a weak voice.
"Cough, Cough!"
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(Posted Fri, 12 Oct 2007 02:13)
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