REIGN OF THE DAIKAIJU
Hello all. A Writer's Block as big as Joe Don Baker has settled on my brain, which is why my DBZ and Spidey fics haven't been updated in so long, though my Reformers stories over at www.fictionpress.net still get updated. Because of this block, I'm trying something new: writing a Godzilla story. Hopefully it'll help break the block.
As to which movies have taken place in this story, only two have: the original film, and Godzilla 1985 (which actually took place in 1984).
I hope you enjoy...and even if you don't, please review.
---
Jonathan Cooper (the third, though he rarely bothered to add the Roman numerals to the end of his name) was in a happy mood. And this was a rare thing.
He was too cynical for his age (which he always gave as "thirty-something" whenever asked), thanks no doubt to his experiences as a reporter. In one story after another, he'd been dragged all through the seedy side of human nature, until he'd gotten to automatically suspect the worst of people and look for their hidden darkness; practically everyone had some. He'd realized he was probably too bitter for it to be healthy.
So his being happy was rare. But happy he was, because he was currently doing one of the few things that still brought joy to his heart--exposing phonies and con-men for what they were, and stopping people from being swindled.
He pushed open the splintering wooden door of his office, and settled down in his chair that was definitely overdue for an oiling. Before he could even unlock the drawer that contained his notes on the current swindlers he was eagerly trying to bust open, he saw a note on his desk.
"Jonathan--See me. Greg."
***
Jonathan opened the slightly less splintered door of the owner of the SANTA FE STATEMENT, Gregory Garreau. "You wanted to see me, boss?"
"Ah, Jonathan. Come in." Gregory Garreau was approaching the end of his forties, if he hadn't passed them already. His hair was speckled with gray and his stomach showed evidence of a few too many evening beers. He also frequently forgot to shave, giving him a permanent five o'clock shadow. Combined with the light of dawn filtering in through the blinds, it gave him the appearance of a sinister mob boss planning new evils at his desk, which was utterly at odds with his real personality.
Gregory gestured at a chair, but Jonathan remained standing, as he usually did; the vinyl on that particular chair had a way of sticking to his pants. "Whatcha need?"
"I wanted to let you know that I'm taking you off the Church of Kaiju case."
In an instant, the reporter was leaning over the paper-covered desk, his face contorted. "WHAT?! But I'm about to crush Kagaku! About to reveal him for the swindling FRAUD he is!"
"Calm down, boy, calm down!" When he had gotten his breath back, the boss continued. "It's only temporary. I need you to cover another story, then when it's over you can get right back on Kagaku, I promise."
Jonathan sighed, blowing his hair. "Fine, fine. What story?"
"The anniversaries of Godzilla's attacks."
That perked the younger man's interest. He'd almost forgotten. It was 2004; 50 years ago, the great and terrible reptilian beast called Godzilla had first appeared to shock the world and devastate Tokyo. 20 years ago, he'd reappeared and once again left his mark on the capital of Japan, before finally being lured to and trapped in the volcanic Mount Mihara.
"But why me, boss? Why not someone else?"
"Because, sad to say, you're the closest we have to an expert on Japan, which is where you'll be going."
"But...but my story...it could wither and die while I'm there..."
Gregory chuckled. "No it won't, boy. I'll keep after it for you, I won't let it slip away. I'll keep trailing Kagaku for you."
Jonathan gave up. "OK. When do I go?" In response, Gregory simply picked up one of the items on his desk and handed it to him. It was an airplane ticket, marked for tomorrow afternoon. "Tomorrow?!"
"Yep. That's why I'm giving you the day off to get ready. Enjoy the Land of the Rising Sun." He made a brief motion with his hands, as if to shoo him out of his office, and smiled. The reporter left, slamming the door behind him. "Such a temper on that boy."
***
As he drove his cramped Volvo through the mostly empty streets of Santa Fe at dawn, Jonathan reflected on the odd situation he was in. Ten years ago, he never would have been able to go to Japan; he'd been limited to New Mexico and, if he really stretched, Arizona. He'd been less bitter in those days, and Gregory hadn't had as much gray in his hair. The SANTA FE STATEMENT was just your typical city paper.
Until Gregory had hit the lottery for twenty million dollars. That had certainly changed things somewhat.
Suddenly the reporter found himself chasing stories all around the country as the paper's scope expanded, even asking questions once or twice at White House press conferences. He'd gained an odd status that was a mixture of well-known and obscure, if that wasn't some kind of paradox, and he found it helpful that he could take advantage of either status at will.
And now Japan...well, it fit, he mused as he drove. The case he was--HAD BEEN working on involved Japan as well. A Japanese man calling himself Bishop Kagaku had formed what he called the Church of Kaiju. The members of this cult believed that the gods were giant monsters much like Godzilla, and that soon the apocalypse would happen, the gods would come to Earth, and all humanity would die. But in the afterlife, believers would be given "god-bodies" and become peers of the gods.
Oddly enough, Kagaku claimed that Godzilla himself was NOT a god, but rather a warning sent by the gods that mankind should not meddle in certain oddities. Or, Jonathan considered, perhaps it wasn't so odd; you wouldn't want to claim as a god a creature that was currently trapped in a volcano.
Bishop Kagaku himself was an oddly charismatic man from what he'd heard, but to him he just seemed like a 21st century of Jim Jones. He just hoped that this wouldn't end up as bad.
"Rest in peace, Jim Ryan," he muttered as he pulled into the driveway of his modest house. He unlocked the door, patted his cat Clive on the head, and went to his room. He supposed he should get to packing.
But he always WAS a fast packer.
So instead he put his pajamas on, climbed into bed, and went back to sleep.
Hello all. A Writer's Block as big as Joe Don Baker has settled on my brain, which is why my DBZ and Spidey fics haven't been updated in so long, though my Reformers stories over at www.fictionpress.net still get updated. Because of this block, I'm trying something new: writing a Godzilla story. Hopefully it'll help break the block.
As to which movies have taken place in this story, only two have: the original film, and Godzilla 1985 (which actually took place in 1984).
I hope you enjoy...and even if you don't, please review.
---
Jonathan Cooper (the third, though he rarely bothered to add the Roman numerals to the end of his name) was in a happy mood. And this was a rare thing.
He was too cynical for his age (which he always gave as "thirty-something" whenever asked), thanks no doubt to his experiences as a reporter. In one story after another, he'd been dragged all through the seedy side of human nature, until he'd gotten to automatically suspect the worst of people and look for their hidden darkness; practically everyone had some. He'd realized he was probably too bitter for it to be healthy.
So his being happy was rare. But happy he was, because he was currently doing one of the few things that still brought joy to his heart--exposing phonies and con-men for what they were, and stopping people from being swindled.
He pushed open the splintering wooden door of his office, and settled down in his chair that was definitely overdue for an oiling. Before he could even unlock the drawer that contained his notes on the current swindlers he was eagerly trying to bust open, he saw a note on his desk.
"Jonathan--See me. Greg."
***
Jonathan opened the slightly less splintered door of the owner of the SANTA FE STATEMENT, Gregory Garreau. "You wanted to see me, boss?"
"Ah, Jonathan. Come in." Gregory Garreau was approaching the end of his forties, if he hadn't passed them already. His hair was speckled with gray and his stomach showed evidence of a few too many evening beers. He also frequently forgot to shave, giving him a permanent five o'clock shadow. Combined with the light of dawn filtering in through the blinds, it gave him the appearance of a sinister mob boss planning new evils at his desk, which was utterly at odds with his real personality.
Gregory gestured at a chair, but Jonathan remained standing, as he usually did; the vinyl on that particular chair had a way of sticking to his pants. "Whatcha need?"
"I wanted to let you know that I'm taking you off the Church of Kaiju case."
In an instant, the reporter was leaning over the paper-covered desk, his face contorted. "WHAT?! But I'm about to crush Kagaku! About to reveal him for the swindling FRAUD he is!"
"Calm down, boy, calm down!" When he had gotten his breath back, the boss continued. "It's only temporary. I need you to cover another story, then when it's over you can get right back on Kagaku, I promise."
Jonathan sighed, blowing his hair. "Fine, fine. What story?"
"The anniversaries of Godzilla's attacks."
That perked the younger man's interest. He'd almost forgotten. It was 2004; 50 years ago, the great and terrible reptilian beast called Godzilla had first appeared to shock the world and devastate Tokyo. 20 years ago, he'd reappeared and once again left his mark on the capital of Japan, before finally being lured to and trapped in the volcanic Mount Mihara.
"But why me, boss? Why not someone else?"
"Because, sad to say, you're the closest we have to an expert on Japan, which is where you'll be going."
"But...but my story...it could wither and die while I'm there..."
Gregory chuckled. "No it won't, boy. I'll keep after it for you, I won't let it slip away. I'll keep trailing Kagaku for you."
Jonathan gave up. "OK. When do I go?" In response, Gregory simply picked up one of the items on his desk and handed it to him. It was an airplane ticket, marked for tomorrow afternoon. "Tomorrow?!"
"Yep. That's why I'm giving you the day off to get ready. Enjoy the Land of the Rising Sun." He made a brief motion with his hands, as if to shoo him out of his office, and smiled. The reporter left, slamming the door behind him. "Such a temper on that boy."
***
As he drove his cramped Volvo through the mostly empty streets of Santa Fe at dawn, Jonathan reflected on the odd situation he was in. Ten years ago, he never would have been able to go to Japan; he'd been limited to New Mexico and, if he really stretched, Arizona. He'd been less bitter in those days, and Gregory hadn't had as much gray in his hair. The SANTA FE STATEMENT was just your typical city paper.
Until Gregory had hit the lottery for twenty million dollars. That had certainly changed things somewhat.
Suddenly the reporter found himself chasing stories all around the country as the paper's scope expanded, even asking questions once or twice at White House press conferences. He'd gained an odd status that was a mixture of well-known and obscure, if that wasn't some kind of paradox, and he found it helpful that he could take advantage of either status at will.
And now Japan...well, it fit, he mused as he drove. The case he was--HAD BEEN working on involved Japan as well. A Japanese man calling himself Bishop Kagaku had formed what he called the Church of Kaiju. The members of this cult believed that the gods were giant monsters much like Godzilla, and that soon the apocalypse would happen, the gods would come to Earth, and all humanity would die. But in the afterlife, believers would be given "god-bodies" and become peers of the gods.
Oddly enough, Kagaku claimed that Godzilla himself was NOT a god, but rather a warning sent by the gods that mankind should not meddle in certain oddities. Or, Jonathan considered, perhaps it wasn't so odd; you wouldn't want to claim as a god a creature that was currently trapped in a volcano.
Bishop Kagaku himself was an oddly charismatic man from what he'd heard, but to him he just seemed like a 21st century of Jim Jones. He just hoped that this wouldn't end up as bad.
"Rest in peace, Jim Ryan," he muttered as he pulled into the driveway of his modest house. He unlocked the door, patted his cat Clive on the head, and went to his room. He supposed he should get to packing.
But he always WAS a fast packer.
So instead he put his pajamas on, climbed into bed, and went back to sleep.