The Emperor in my Head: A /pol/itically incorrect (fan) fiction
by Anonzo Glory
Hello and welcome to what you'll soon find is no ordinary fan-fiction. No, what you are about to read is a tale of revolution, romance, action, drama, comedy, as well as the absolute worst horrors humanity has to offer. Oh, and anime becomes real.
That's right, this story does not take place in any fictional world, but here on Earth, a few years into the future. After President Trump is finally taken down by his enemies, the extreme political left explodes in power and popularity, and as radical progressives begin realizing their plans the United States finds itself heading toward a period of complete civil breakdown.
Normally a tale such as this does not belong on a fan fiction website, however as you'll soon see a method is devised to bring anime to life, one that does not use such unimaginative tropes as 'coming out of the TV' or even 'interdimensional portals.' These characters, drawn from many different fictional backgrounds, play a key role in the story and feature very prominently starting from the moment they are first introduced. These characters first begin appearing in chapter 9, and of course spoiler alerts will be given where appropriate. That said, I crafted the story in such a way that even if the reader is unfamiliar with the character or their background, they will have no difficulty following the plot or understanding the events taking place.
All other real-world characters are fictional as well, with only a tiny handful of real-world people mentioned as part of background fluff (mostly just Trump).
Be forewarned that this is indeed a /pol/itically incorrect tale, and does contain content many will likely find offensive, however rest assured that I did not write this for the express purpose of upsetting others. There is a method to my madness, so to speak, and I urge the reader to approach the subject matter with an open mind and open heart.
In addition, this work does contain a handful of graphic sex scenes and violence. It should go without saying that I don't actually condone any acts of bigotry, racism, or violence whatsoever, but just in case there's any confusion: THIS IS ONLY FICTION! THE AUTHOR DOES NOT SUPPORT OR CONDONE ANY OF THE ACTS DEPICTED WITHIN THIS STORY!
And of course, feedback and critiques are welcome. I have no problem going back and making corrections or adjustments so if you see a mistake or something that needs improvement, please let me know.
Enjoy the story!
Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: '/pol/
was right again.'
-anonymous
PROLOGUE
The Germans were out there. Captain Harper could feel it.
After twenty-seven missions flying B-17s over the heart of the Nazi war machine, the grizzled Captain had started developing a sixth sense for these things. And they weren't always out there any more, not these days. Round-the-clock bombing raids had taken their toll, and with each successive mission, Harper noticed fewer and fewer German fighters taking to the skies, to the point that sometimes there were none at all.
But they were definitely out there today. And something else... something else was wrong. Really wrong. A sense of profound unease suddenly overcame Captain Harper, but he stoically remained still, his rapidly beating heart completely muffled by the omnipresent drone of his B-17 Flying Fortress, the Queen Betty. Harper glanced askew at his Co-Pilot, a kid everyone called Duffy, but the young man was absentmindedly staring out the window, hand on chin.
And of course, that's when it happened. The large aircraft shuddered as explosive shells tore through its midsection, shredding the fuselage and instantly annihilating both waist gunners. Grimacing, Harper grabbed on to the plane's controls, holding tight, doing his best to steady the bucking plane. Almost... he urged the plane to stabilize, lest the intense vibrations shake the bomber apart. Almost got it...
The next round of shells ripped through the left wing, instantly exploding the fuel tanks and taking both engines with it. The broken wing smoked as pieces fell away, resulting in the heavy bomber entering a slow, perpetual, and very much irreversible death spiral. He looked over at Duffy, but the kid was unconscious, the red smear on the window providing all the explanation needed.
This is it, Harper thought, closing his eyes. I'll be with the Lord soon, and he better be damn ready with a fifth of Jack and a deck of cards. The inertia of the death spiral soon became too great to bail out of, and all Harper could do was hold on until the plane either exploded in midair or disintegrated on impact with the grassy plains below.
As it turned out, it was the former. But just before meeting his end, Harper caught a glimpse of the enemy that had cut their lives short. That plane... incredible... it was a wide, almost spade-shape... flying wing?
The Gotha Go. 229 pilot smirked in satisfaction as another of the countless American bombers burst into flames. He adjusted his velocity, then carefully angled himself, setting up for the next attack. The whine of the jet turbines combined with the percussive blasts of the four twenty-millimeter cannons he fired into another bomber, its explosion marking the crescendo of this deadly orchestra.
Again and again, the pilot swooped and dove, the sinister shape of his aircraft a herald of death for all who opposed the Fatherland. Alas, even death's heralds have their limits, and within minutes all four cannons had run dry. As kamikaze attacks were something only their Eastern Allies enjoyed, he knew it was time to head back to the hidden Luftwaffe base nestled in the forests of Central Germany. Conscious of his limited quantity of fuel, the pilot skillfully avoided several American fighter patrols, and landed safely to the roaring cheers of his all-too-few compatriots.
The pilot's best friend, Hans, ran up as soon as the plane had come to a stop, and brazenly leapt onto the flying wing. Before he had time to react, Hans had opened the canopy, and shouted into the pilot's face: "Come on man, this is bullshit. Let me play Tie Fighter!"
"Aw, what? Just one more mission. I've almost earned the Grand Cross!" Having successfully completed the mission, Kyle exited and checked the status of his campaign. So far so good. The next batch of Messerchmitt Me. 262 jet fighters were ready for deployment. Now, the question was, where to put them...
"Dude, you've been playing that game all damn day. It's my turn." A scowling Jeremy had his arms spread wide, "Plus, isn't it old? The graphics don't look that good."
"Yeah, but it's fun. I found it used at Babbage's last week for only ten bucks!" Kyle recalled the moment he'd spotted the game, titled Secret Weapons of the Luftwaffe. It featured all the weird and wonderful secret aircraft designs the Third Reich began developing as a last desperate countermeasure against the relentless Allied air assault. Only some designs had actually seen service, but still... it looked interesting, so he'd bought it. The only downside was his dad; Kyle had nearly lost it when his father used the title of the game as a setup for an obnoxious joke regarding waffles.
"Well then can I play that? If I can't play Tie Fighter can I at least play that?" His cousin's tall, lanky form paced back and forth in the perpetual impatience of youth, but Kyle knew on some level that if the situation were reversed, he'd be doing the same thing.
"Sure. Here's the instructions," Kyle handed him a thick booklet that looked more like a miniature phonebook.
"Man, I ain't reading this! Just show me how to play." Kyle was hoping to stall his cousin long enough to squeeze in another mission, but it didn't look like that was going to pan out.
"It's not just instructions, though! There's all kinds of cool facts and stories and things like that." Come on, just one more mission!
Jeremy rolled his eyes and reluctantly flipped through the book, as if looking for an example to prove his younger cousin wrong. After a few minutes of page turning, he suddenly, and unexpectedly laughed.
"Yeah, real neat stories. Here's one about a guy who..." he looked at the text again, "...earned a medal of honor for dousing the flames that had erupted on his aircraft by urinating on them."
"So what? He saved his crew. Who cares how he did it?"
"You know, I think I saw a statue dedicated to this guy on the way over here," Jeremy said.
Kyle spun around."Really?!"
"Yeah... oh wait, no. That was a pissing cupid. My bad." Jeremy smirked while Kyle shook his head. Jeremy flipped through the booklet a bit more, but found nothing else to riff on.
"Man, screw this," he finally said, throwing the booklet down, "I'm gonna go see what our dads are up to." With that, he left the room.
Finally, Kyle thought. Now, let's get this mission starte-"
"Kyle Kyle Kyle!" Jeremy ran back into the room," dude you gotta see this!"
"See what?" Kyle knew his cousin's tricks. Kyle would get up, and Jeremy would deftly swoop in, claiming the seat for himself, and Kyle would be relegated to observer status for the remainder of the evening.
"There's lights dude! Freaking lights! Up in the sky, like... a triangle of lights!" Jeremy was a good actor. He had Kyle almost convinced.
"I'm not buying it," the younger cousin finally said.
"Jeremy, Kyle, get out here!" Kyle's dad yelled, "You kids gotta see this!"
Kyle immediately turned, wide eyed, and followed Jeremy as he dashed out of the room, all thoughts of German fighter jets forgotten.
Kyle ran through the living room of their suburban Phoenix home, stopping briefly to cast a glance at the fat CRT television, currently tuned to a broadcast showing a nighttime sky, with a bent line of fuzzy lights seemingly hanging, suspended in the darkness.
"Woah..." Kyle was dumbfounded.
"Kyle, get out here!" Jeremy beckoned his younger cousin with a sweep of his arm, and Kyle followed him through the open sliding glass door, onto the cement back patio. Their parents were all outside, Kyle's dad swearing as he hastily tried to set up a telescope. The rest were all gazing skyward, brown bottles in hand.
"See? Look, over there!" Jeremy's long, lanky arm pointed South, and sure enough, on the horizon, a line of lights, just like on the TV.
"What are those?" Kyle asked.
"Aliens, duh." Jeremy said.
"There's no such thing, the TV said they're probably flares." Jeremy's mom, a pudgy middle-aged woman with a deep tan, waved her flabby arms dismissively.
"Now, honey, we don't know that for sure." Jeremy's dad had his hand above his eyes, as if to block out the non-existent sunlight so he might see better.
It didn't matter. Soon, the answer would be revealed, and the truth would rock the world. Aliens! It just might be. Or a secret government project? Maybe even the Russians? Kyle's twelve-year-old mind spun with the possibilities.
Later that night, once the lights had disappeared, and no new answers were forthcoming from the television, Kyle and Jeremy had gone to bed, but neither of them could sleep.
"So what if they're not friendly?" Kyle said, "how do you think we'll be able to fight back?" His mind was still firmly of the opinion that the lights were alien spacecraft.
"I dunno, if nukes don't work I'm not sure what else we could do." Jeremy rolled over in his sleeping bag, propping up his chin with both hands.
"How long do you think until the news tells us what it was?"
"Man, who knows... They might lie, or just never say anything."
"Oh come on, they can't do that. Too many people saw it."
"Like the Kennedy assassination? We're still waiting to hear what went down back then, and that was like thirty-five years ago." Jeremy, being four years older than Kyle, was wiser in the ways of the world, something the younger cousin was always impressed by. "Though from what I've read, it was probably a CIA hit."
"And you still wanna join up with them?" Kyle asked, incredulous.
"Hell yeah! I'd also join the NSA. If the X-Files were real I would say I'd join the FBI, but it isn't so... nah." Jeremy had flopped back down. Kyle's cousin had always liked spy movies, and wanted to be one as long as he could remember. The possible existence of aliens hidden in secret government bases was merely a bonus.
"If you get in, make sure you tell me if you find out about the aliens, okay? I swear it'll just stay between us." Kyle spoke with utter sincerity.
"Uh... I think they shoot you if you spill the beans, but I'll see what I can do," Jeremy said.
A long pause followed. In the darkness, the only noise that could be heard was the rustling of Jeremy's sleeping bag as he fidgeted around, trying and failing to get comfortable.
"So what do you think the future's gonna be more like? Star Wars or Star Trek?" Kyle finally said, after thinking of a question his older cousin wouldn't scoff at.
"Star Trek, definitely," Jeremy said without hesitation.
"Why's that?"
"Because the force is just magic, and Star Trek doesn't have that. Plus it just seems... I dunno, more believable somehow. Earth is united, everyone's flying around in starships... I think better technology is the answer to a lot of the world's problems."
"Yeah... with advanced enough tech, we can do anything we want. Go anywhere we want. Be anything we want. Build anything we want." Kyle said, his tone growing more grandiose with every proposal.
"Come on, not anything." Jeremy retorted, "even with super-advanced tech there's always limits."
"So then you just come up with better tech. Problem solved." Kyle shrugged. "And in the future, I mean like, really far into the future, I think we'll be like gods."
"Like Q from Star Trek?"
"Exactly!" Kyle jumped up.
"Only if there isn't Armageddon when the year 2000 rolls around." Jeremy said, his voice becoming ominous to try and scare his cousin, "I hear it's a real possibility."
But Kyle was wise to his cousin's tactics. "I think we'll make it through just fine," he said.
"I hope so, man. I hope so," Jeremy yawned, "Now let's hit the sack. Tomorrow I wanna show you that Dragonball Z video I rented. Japanese anime is the shit."
Long after Jeremy had finally passed out, Kyle lay in his bed, still wide awake. He stared up into the darkness, his imagination soaring with all the possibilities and potential the future would hold. He might have only been twelve, but he knew, in his heart, that the world was going to be an incredible place when he grew up.
He just knew it.