So, I've just read this fiction called 'Average Joe in Bullet Hell' (You might want to read that first) apparently written by a certain high breed of a sasquatch. Most likely by using a special order keyboard.

It's a semi-self insert staring the idealized version of the author, named Ryan Randa. When I read this fic, I often wonder aloud, 'how come I can relate to this Ryan guy so well?'. Then he declares himself a 'shameless gamer' and a wave of self-realization hit me like a Great White.

So yeah, since me and this Ryan guy share some basic personalities, I thought maybe I can do similar thing using the sasquatch's (Sasquatches? How many sasquatches would you need to write a fanfic?) head-canon (Hope the sasquatches doesn't mind, sasquatch assassin are hard to dealt with.), but with my own 'touch'. I'm not expecting it to be as good as the original, mainly because I barely speak English, but hey, sod it. This is just for fun. Like playing an RPG.

PS: This author always wants to be an Italian that grown up in England, have a little sister, and most likely in need of a professional mental aid.

PSS: This author is also a self-centered, arrogant, narcissistic A-hole. His self-projection is most likely involves something that's improbable, impossible, or downright ridiculous.

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Chapter 1: A bus to Gensokyo.

"Ahahahahahaha!"

As people have said, laughter is what gives the world its colors.

Or was it diversity?

Meh, doesn't really care.

Because I'm gonna die! Nyahahahahahaha!

Booom!

"Brother!" shouts my little sister, panicking in the co-pilot seat. "I think we've just lost the second engine!"

"Good!" I said, all the while struggling to read the tiny text on the book on my lap. It's hard, because the very thing that I'm sitting on might very well goes asplode at any moment.

"What do you mean good!? And you should have read that friggin manual while we're on the ground!"

"Well, we are only halfway obliterated! I'd say that the odds are good!"

The plane gives a loud tremor, and another boom. There goes the third engine.

"Well, alright! Slightly more than halfway to being completely obliterated! Close enough! The odds are still in our favor!"

Dammit, plane! Stop rumbling so that I don't have to raise my voice!

"The odds to what?! Going splat on the Atlantic Ocean?!"

"Do you have to be so negative?"

"Snatch!" that's my nickname, by the way. "We are about two thousand feet above sea level and rapidly descending! Are you off your meds again?"

"Come on, Karen. You know I've never took those meds in the first place. And don't call me Snatch!"

"Ha!" laughs my sister sarcastically. "Then, Mr. Bander, do you still think conning an A380 from a Qatar oil sheik is a good idea?"

By the way, me and my sister here are con-artists.

Well, no. we are actually just weapon dealers, but that doesn't sounds as glorious.

"I'm still reconsidering, maybe I should have taken the oil well instead." I reminiscing, while still trying to arm-wrestle the control stick into submission. "And don't call me Bander!"

"Then what should I call you, oh my piece-of-shit excuse of a brother?!" lashes Karen. Her short blond hair is ruffled, her blazer is a mess, and I think something just snapped.

"Well, princess, you could try to start calling me Mr. Aquila!"

"That's our father's name!"

Man, what a butthurt of a sister!

"Ai! Whatever! Just call me whatever you want!"

"Very well, Runt!"

Ow, come on. I might be short for my age, but 'Runt'? Really?

Bah! I don't care anymore. You see, I am actually the perfect example of how parents trying to give their child a cool name could backfire spectacularly.

Hello there! My name is Bandersnatch Aquila, nice to meet you! You know how many atomic wedgies I've received in middle school because of that name? Fucking forty two! And yes! I counted!

"Why brother, why? Why can't you just stay sane for the fifteen minutes you need to hire a professional pilot?"

"Well, since it's hard to trick an airbus out of border, I thought that I might as well take it for a virgin flight."

"Without reading the manual?"

"I admit that I might have taken a serious case of misjudgment after my third glass of cheap brandy, but…"

"You're drunk!?"

"I am…what, do you mean right now? Or then?"

"Brother! You're drunk! I can see it! Even with that silly thing in your face!"

"I am mostly sober right now, and for your information, this is called an 'Aviator Sunglasses'!"I took the dark oval object with thin steel frame off from my face, and put it inside the breast pocket of my Hugo Boss suit. "But I guess it doesn't make me a better pilot, huh?"

My sister ignores me as she frantically checks on the now half-functional instrument panel with her now teary electric blue eyes.

Now that I think about it, my sister looks like Hitler's wet dream.

Excuse me while I commit mental suicide.

"500 feet! The ocean is literally just in an arm reach!"

"500 feet arm reach? Are you talking about Godzilla?!"

"Arrgh! Can't you just read the mood!"

Meh.

"What the heck did we hit anyway? What could makes the first engine just malfunction like that? We were at 30.000 feet! Outside of any known international flight-path! All I saw was a brisk of purple, and then the engine exploded!"

"I'm pretty sure I saw a young blond lady carrying a parasol. And I think that she did wearing a purple dress…"

"At 30.000 feet?"

"Maybe I really should took that medi-"

My words are cut short as we splash splat into the ocean.

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A/N: I usually use the metric system, not this 'feet' thing. And I hate math in general, so…what is the average cruise altitude of an A380?

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Oi.

Okay note to self, naming your very first jumbo jet 'Icarus' is not a good idea. My next long-haul airplane would be called something in the line of "The Totally not Exploding" or some such.

Now, for the standard protocol. The first two important things to do after your not-so-voluntary landing is usually to gather two kinds of very vital piece of intelligence, simply called the AYSYHBET P and the W FAI.

They are short for "Are You Sure You Haven't Been Exploded to Tiny Pieces" and "Were da Fuk Am I".

Check my head, still intact. My depth perspective is okay, means none of my eyes got busted. And somehow my fedora is still attached to my skull. Good.

And yes, I'm wearing a fedora. No, I'm not trying to copy Al Capone. I pay taxes. (Laundered money, but hey.)

My aviator sunglasses are still in my breast pocket. In the inside pocket of my jacket there is a kilogram worth of plastic explosive leftover from a deal in Somalia. And in my shirt pocket there is the timed detonator for said plastic explosive.

Tied around my wrist, there's my IPod, it's that cute little model that doubles as a wristwatch. The earbuds is in one of my side pocket.

Hidden below my jacket there are two separate pistol holsters on my right and left sides, carrying one AMT Longslide and one AMT Hardballer, each filled with seven rounds of the standard 45 ACP.

The two back pockets of my slacks each are carrying two 7-rounds magazine.

So that's about 42 shots. Enough to kill anyone.

Why do I have the feeling that I've just make a fool out of myself?

Anyway, yes, I'm sure I haven't been exploded into tiny pieces, thank you very much.

Now, on to the 'W FAI' category.

Standing on my feet, I found myself staring at a lake of considerable size, sparkling beautifully under the morning sun. The thin mist that covers the entire lake gives it even more radiance.

Man, if I cut out some of these trees, I can make one heck of an apartment complex. But alas, it appears that someone has beaten me to it, for I spy with my eyes a large red mansion on the opposite side of the lake.

Maybe it's belongs to the landlord of this area. Now, common sense would dictates for me to immediately go to said mansion and try to buy out this land for a reasonable price.

Alas, it could not be, for conscience reared his ugly head and demanded I search out for my little sister first.

Ah, yes, conscience. Never like that guy. He usually absent, but when he does present, I usually will do something stupid.

Ever once that my own conscience robbed me of a very profitable business agreement on the coastline of Africa, all Just because he doesn't want to see a camp full of refugees being obliterated.

Well, I got to kill one 'evil' warlord and managed to lure most of the others into one massive clusterfuck of a civil-war, thus raising the selling rate of my post WW2 surplus M1 Carbines. So it's a win-win situation, I guess.

Well, except for the said warlord that I've personally shot myself. Just for your information, shooting a hollow point projectile to someone's head at point blank often results in a two week worth of effort cleaning brain matters out of your Armani suit. (It's not like I can bring it to a Laundromat.)

But it appears that I don't have to worry that much about my conscience, since my sister is actually just being unconscious a few meters besides me.

From the movement of her (barely-there) chest, I can see that she is still breathing, but maybe I should check for internal injuries.

I manage to take exactly two and a half steps towards her before my foot stumbles into something that sends me careening into the second most epic faceplant of the day.

From the taste of the dirt, I can tell that this is indeed a fine and fertile land.

I raise my face out of the earth, and see the culprit for my embarrassing failure of walking like a dignified human being. It was a long steel briefcase. A very familiar, long steel briefcase.

Weird. I thought I left that back in Monteriggioni?

I start to move in order to check if the content of that briefcase really is, in fact, the first thing that I've ever received from my late father, but before my fingers can reach the lock, a voice ringed from my right side.

"It must has a strong emotional connection for it to follows you all the way here."

Well, I killed my father with it, making it my first weapon for my first murder. That, combined with a beautiful sense of irony, I think saying that it has "strong emotional connection" won't be too far off.

Wait, who's talking?

A few meters across me, there is a blond woman in an extravagant purple dress.

I can see that her face would be pretty, if it wasn't covered in soot.

I can see that her dress would looks expensive and regal, if it wasn't torn in places.

I can see, that her long blond hair is well groomed, even under all that ashes.

I can see that, even with the various burn marks, that her skin is smooth like a piece of porcelain.

Her yellow eyes (wait, what?) would be so dazzling, if it wasn't too busy being all red and swollen.

Overall, this seemingly middle-aged woman gives the aura of a member of nobility who has been recently shoved through an active jet engine.

Wait…

"Excuse me if I'm being rude here lady, but who are you?"

I stand straight on my feet, trying to look as gentleman-like as possible.

"My, to ask such question after what you did to me?" She snarks at me with the tone of a sulking child, unsuited for her age.

Um…what exactly did I do to you? Not anything too socially shunned, I hope.

"Well, I guess this is partially my fault. I forgot to never take a leisure flight at the cruise altitude of commercial airliner. But hey." She shrugged. "It's not like I have an altimeter in my head. Anyway, this is mostly your fault. The only reason I can't see a jumbo jet going for me is because you fly it like a dive bomber. Someone's going to need to teach you how to fly, boy, pronto!"

I'm intrigued to scream 'what the flicks are you talking about', but the lady already starts to speak again.

Well, actually, it's sounds more like sulking than talking.

"Aw…even Hinezumi threads can't stand being inside an active jet engine for more than few minutes." She said, examining her torn clothes.

"Anyway…" her eyes darted into mine, and then to the body of my still unconscious sister. "It seems that in my somewhat less than perfect attempt of getting out, I've accidentally drag you both here."

"And where exactly is 'here'?" I asked, but she has completely ignored me at this point.

The woman gives a shrug, then say:

"Eh, I was planning to go around the outside world a little bit more for a suitable candidate, but since you both are already here, I guess I can make a few adjustments."

She walks toward me, until we are face to face.

Damn, she's tall.

"What's your name, boya?"

"May I have yours first, if it's possible?"

"Hmph! Fine. It's Yakumo Yukari. Or, if we're going by your rule, Yukari Yakumo, of the Yakumos."

I see. The surname and first name are reversed, just like in Japan.

On totally unrelated note, it's wreckingly hard to sell firearms in Japan.

"My name is Aquila Bandersnatch. Of the Aquilas."

Damn, I feel silly already, saying my own name.

I offer my right hand, she took it, while the other hand busily covering her mouth, obviously trying to hide a smirk, or worse, holding in a full out laughter.

"Uh…ku!...righ…um…mister…ge! Aquila, I will meet you again after… hehe…"

Yup, definitely holding a full out laughter.

After the woman who claims to be 'Yukari of the Yakumos' managed to collect herself from the fact that my mother apparently hates me, she finally managed to finish her sentence.

"Right, Mister Aquila. I will meet you both again later, after a change of clothes."

I want to quip with the standard "yeah, you look like shit" comeback, but then something indescribable happened.

Let me see how far I can describe it with my novice English skill.

She lifted her index finger up in the air, and then she brought it down, like opening a zipper. And then a gap in reality is formed.

It's some sort like a portal, a door floating in air. But unlike a portal, this gap doesn't seem to lead to anywhere. Instead it's filled with…thing.

Thing….I don't know…I want to say 'eyes' but…whatever inside that hole is something that isn't meant to be described.

Yukari proceed to walk inside this 'gap', the 'eyes' move away to accommodate her presence.

I want to say something, oh, believe me I want to say something, a lot of things. But I'm afraid that if I open my mouth now, all that comes out would be 'what. The. Fuck.' And that would be rude in front of a lady, no?

"By the way, Mister Aquila?" says Yukari, I can only see her head through her gap.

"I'm afraid to say that your phone is at the bottom of the ocean."

Right, because the most important thing in my mind right now is my IPhone 5.

And then she's gone. I am left alone with my steel briefcase and an unconscious little sister.

But again, maybe it's a good thing that she's unconscious.

"Ow…"

Ah, it seems like she's finally sobering up.

She sat up, frantically looking left and right, until her eyes land upon me in which she then gives a relieved sight. Then she stands up, and dusts off some of the earth that has been stuck to her slacks. (my sister isn't the kind of woman who'd wear skirt, which is understandable given our line of profession.)

"Good morning, princess. You don't happen to carry some of my medicine around, do you?"

"Well, no, brother, but I do have some anxiety suppressant."

"Give it to me."

She throws a small plastic jar from her pocket, I catch it and retrieve a small white tablet from it. I don't need water, so I just proceed to swallowing it.

And then I take another one.

And then another.

And another.

One more, and I good to go.

"Wow, and I thought that thing isn't addictive."

"It wasn't." I said as I close the lid and throw the jar back to her. "I just really need it."

"Where are we?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"When I said 'I don't know', that means I don't know."

I kneeled on top of my briefcase, and put in the date of my first pet (it's a cat) birthday on the lock mechanism. It opens with a loud click.

"Hey, is that…"

"Yup." I claimed excitedly as I opened the briefcase. "It's Bianca."

"I thought you've left it back at the villa?"

"I did. But it's here now. Maybe Bianca just can't stand being far away from me."

My sister shrugged. "You know, I'm kind of creeped out on the fact that you named your weapon."

"Hey, I was only fourteen when I first received this thing, and Bianca is the only weapon that I've ever named."

Bianca is, by the way, a sniper rifle. Tosca green, 1230 mm, 7 kilogram worth of 338. Lapua Magnum deathspitter with bolt action mechanism and effective range of over fifteen hundred yards.

Her kind is known to all Counter Strike players as "Those motherfucking derp-cannons", the rest of the world known them as Accuracy International, Arctic Warfare Magnum.

Or simply AWM, for short.

Besides the currently unloaded Bianca, there are two detachable box magazines, containing 10 cartridges in total. There's also a bipod attachment.

Satisfied, I closed the briefcase again, and scramble the lock.

"Now what?" asks my sister.

"Well, you see that mansion across the lake?" I pointed at the scarlet mansion I've spotted before. "We can get some help, I guess."

"Then what are we waiting for? Come on, I'm hungry, maybe they have some food. You do have your wallet, right?"

"Right here in my side pocket. Now let's just hope that they accept USD."

And with that, we are on our way. It took us about 15 minutes of light jog to circle around the lake before we are finally greeted by a massive brick wall with only one double door gate made of crafted steel bar.

In front of that gate, stands a young girl with hair an interesting shade of red, clad in what I can only assume as green traditional Chinese outfit. Her eyes are closed.

"Is she sleeping?"

"I don't know, princess, but if she is sleeping, well, then she posses some skill! Standing-sleeping is hard, you know? I barely managed to sleep while sitting."

"I don't know if 'laziness' would count as 'skill'."

"It is! In fact, achieving greatness with minimal efforts is a very hard skill to master!"

"Bah, keep telling yourself that, brother."

I was about to retort with a witty comeback when suddenly there's an annoying buzzing noise.

Bee.

The blasted thing flew straight off for my face, as if asking 'please sock me'.

So I catched it, and then crush it inside my fist.

Cruuunch!

Eww. Bug juice.

"For someone that usually just lazing around, you sure took the extra effort just to get rid of a bug."

"What can I say? I hate bugs. Got a tissue?"

"No, but maybe this girl does."

Well, yes maybe I should ask her…

Now that I examine her a little closer, I realize something odd about this Chinese girl.

What is she doing here? Is she the gate guard? If that so, isn't it quite odd? She looks like a frail girl, can't be older than seventeen, with a face more suited to be a supermodel than a guard. Besides, if she's a guard, where is her weapon? I might be as short as napoleon, but I bet I can still beat her with a single punch.

There, it's that feeling again. I feel like once more have just make a fool out of myself. Why is that?

"Excuse me, missy?" I called. No response. Is she really sleeping? "Hello?" stills no response. But I have no choice. It does seem like the only way inside the compound would be to go through this girl. Hmm… maybe I can give her a light knock on the head? Nothing major, just like knocking a door.

Knock! Hello! Anyone there!?

"Eiiyee!" Her eyes snapped open and she leapt to her feet with a startled shriek. Maybe I hit her too hard? My, how ungentlemanly of-

*CHOKE*

-ME! Jehosophat, I couldn't breathe! For being a bit dainty looking, she had the grip of a trash compactor! On my throat, no less!

"Have you no honor? Striking someone when she's resting her eyes, for shame!" Again, despite appearance, her voice had a nicely commanding edge to it. Maybe being a guard was appropriate for her.

"Hey! Let go of my brother!"

So this is how it feels to be on the noose? Then remind me to never enter the Middle East ever again until they have forgotten what I did to their economy.

Fortunately, years upon years of experience dealing in harsh business environment has granted me ability of speaking clearly, even when being choked to death.

"Excuse me misss… there was…ugh…" come on you rusty ol' brain! Think of a lie! You always been good at that!

"Bee!" shouts my sister.

"What?" she is still choking me, by the way.

"There was a bee that landed on you, my brother hate bugs, you see."

Nice save sister. I quickly raise my palm. With the poor corpse of a crushed bee still smothered all over.

"Ah." And then she finally let go off me. I think I've never appreciated breathable oxygen more in all my life like I do now, not even from that time with the Somalian pirates.

"My mistake." Muttered the young girl sheepishly, before clearing her throat and reassuming an imposing position. "A-Anyway! What business do you have with the lady of the mansion?"

"Well, at first, I think I would want to begin wi-"

"Is there some manner of incident?"

"Well, technically, our plane-"

"Have you come looking for work?"

"I do have some sort of business pro-"

"Aha! You must intend to cause trouble to the mistress! Such a suspicious looking person…well, I won't have it!" She declared a little too proudly, fists at her hips.

Again, for such a pretty face, said face is also pretty…punch-able right now.

"I-no, can you just please calm down for a moment? Then we can start talking like a reasonable human being."

I once again feel like I've just make a fool out of myself, for some reason.

Anyway, it doesn't seem like I can drive a proper bargain with this girl. And I usually have enough persuasion power to make a bull do a headstand. Does it mean that this girl's skull is thicker than a bull?

I wipe off the remains of the bee corpse on my trouser, and then opened my mouth to see if can start the bargain anew.

"I wish to-"

"At any rate, it doesn't matter. Lady Remilia isn't taking any visitors at the moment, especially a funny-looking human. Now, please leave at once." She placed her fists on her hips and tapped her foot impatiently. Oh come on, you said please, but your tone is seriously making me want to shoot you with a nuke. What an irritating piece of gate guard you are. And what do you mean 'human'?

I'm just about to speak my mind (in a more polite manner, of course) when my sister beat me to it.

"What do you mean 'human'!" She asked, echoing my thoughts moments before. "How rude can you be? I've half a mind to go in there anyway and tell this 'Remilia' how rude her China-girl gate guard is being!" shouted my dear little sister, folding her arms over her chest in a very pompous manner.

There is a sudden silence. She stares in shock. This eerie silence, from my experience dealing with many business discussions going awry, is the sign to go skedaddle.

My fear is then confirmed as her shocked expression immediately turned into murderous rage.

"W-WHAT…did you call me?" She spoke in a harsh whisper. Hmm? Are her eyes glowing? Nice. I think I've just stumble into a whole new level of trouble.

"You said…Ch-China?" Her voice raised. Huh, they sure take racism seriously here. And are that fangs?

As the British says; Oi, bollocks.

"Princess?"

"Yes brother?"

"You might want to-"

"HOW DARE YOU!"

Whoa, Cockblasted. The girl suddenly launched a fierce roundhouse that I barely managed to jumped back to avoid, and accidentally takes out a chunk of the nearby brick wall.

In the immortal words of George S. Patton; HOLY FLAMING POPE SHIT!

"Who told you that name! Is it Kirisame!? Did the ice fairy put you up to this!?" She raised her first and swung downward at me, missing and creating a massive crack in the ground at the same time. My, my. She didn't even break a nail! "Tell me now!"

Dash! My little sister valorously turns heel and scram. Traitor.

Well, I don't know what that was all about, but I think this is a good timing for me to commence a single well executed maneuver of rapid tactical repositioning.

Or, in layman's term; ZOINKS! Like, run for it, Scoob!

And with that random yet oddly fitting train of thought, I secure my grip on my steel briefcase in one hand, secure my fedora with the other, and sped off in a manner worthy of all Benny Hill remix that has and will ever be created. Tally ho!

That is when the Chinese girl took off into the air and start giving an aerial chase.

In the immortal words of Walter Elias Disney; what a dirty pile of rat crap!

My sister, being a tomboy, and wearing a low-ankle boots, quickly left me behind with my poor dress shoed feet to fend off for ourselves.

Right behind me (well, a little bit up), the frail looking Chinese girl is shouting unfamiliar names of whom me and my sister might be an accomplish of.

"Okay, lady!" again, I thanked my years of experience of outrunning border patrols for my ability to speak clearly even when being chased by superior fire power. "First, we know of no Kirisame, nor of any Ice Fairy, and while we might have about a dozen of vengeful ghosts haunting us 24/7 due to our past deeds, I can assure you that none of them are named 'Yuyuko' or 'Youmu', and what the flaming dung is a 'Tengu'!?"

I don't know how long I've been running, but we've reached the spot from where we've started, at the other side of the lake. I check my IPod watch. Hmm, apparently, fifteen minutes of light jog is equal to two minutes of running haphazardly while being chased by flying Chinese terminator. Go figure.

"Don't lie to meeeee~!" She shouts, not as angry as before but still pretty peeved. "All the humans who can fight seem to know each other!"

"And for fuck's sake, mate! What makes you think I'm any good at fighting?" seriously, I'm a merchant! Well, albeit a particularly handsome one, with more firepower than Venezuela. But still, when it comes to any actual fighting, I usually just hire mercenaries.

"Why else would you have that sword?" she growls, which I ignore as I follow my sister inside the forest that surround the lake. What sword? I ask, but when I check my hip, my question is quickly answered. Tucked inside my belt, there is a French rapier, about the perfect length of somebody of my stature. Where did that come from?

This thing a fucking deadweight!

I quickly remove the rapier from my belt, unsheathed it, and throw it backward in hope that it might hit the Chinese girl in the heart. No such luck.

But seriously, where the sod that thing came from? And I have a gun for fuck sake! Why would I need a sword?

Wait…

I have a gun!

And with that, the ground behind me exploded, without giving me a chance to pull out anything from under my tight, buttoned up jacket.

In communist china, little girl beats YOU!

"Throwing away your weapon! Have you no honor left as a warrior!?"

Note to self: in case of lightning fast flying kung-fu master, always keep at least one pre-cocked gun under your shirt, and always wear an unbuttoned trench coat or long coat for easy concealment and retrieval.

Anyway, that just now gives me enough motivation to triple my speed and catch up with my sister.

"Hello, princess!" I shout as we running side by side.

"Is that girl flying?!"

"Apparently so! It just like back at Sydney with the Australian border patrol!"

"You and I remember Sydney very differently!"

"Well, doesn't matter! Flying Chinese girl and an attack helicopter don't really have that much of a difference!"

"What the fuck are you talking about!?"

"We split up! Whoever get chased by that little death machine shall not bear grudge against the other!"

And so, we start running to the opposite direction of each other.

And of course, by the blessing of the patron saint of irony, I ended up being chased instead.

Okayokayokay! I got it, lady! Racism and stereotyping is bad! Can you stop trying to kill me? No? Shit! Gah, Cockblasted! she's still getting closer! This has to end soon, my legs already feel like bacon at this point. I have to look for a clear path…ah, this forest is too thick! Why can't you just gave me a machete, whoever you are!? Instead of a useless sword!

Swooosh.

Hmm? Wait…

What's that up ahead? They look like a group of flying…Sutras? Amulets? Ofuda? Aw, time like this is when I really want to have Wikipedia implanted in my brain. Oh, they are flying this way. Pretty quickly, too.

"Oi, you! Duck those, already!" A feminine voice rings out.

I don't really understand, but at this point, my brain already shrugged and says "Fuck it". Commence the might of Saturday Night Fever!

Switching my weight to my back and bending my knees, I begin to execute a beautiful double-knee slide worthy of any world champion limbo dancer, while the cards fly past me and into my assailant's face. They explode in a multitude of colors upon contact, and seems to do hefty damage to guard-girl, who covers her face in pain.

Okay, quick quiz! Blinded eyes + velocity + flight + thick forest = ?

*CRRRRR-ACK!*

The answer is, of course! An epic faceplant against an unfortunate tree! Such a beautiful sight that makes me tempted to reach for my IPod and play the theme for "George of the Jungle" at max volume!

Anyway, I'm now again, for the third time today, looking face to face with a pretty lady. But hey! This time the lady in question is not in possession of a trans-dimensional eye-beast nor any glowing eyes and fangs! Well, of course, she's also floating a good one meter over the ground, but with all the things I got through today, I consider that an A-okay! She's dressed in a traditional-looking garb with a red and white motif bearing detached sleeves that doesn't cover her armpits. She's holding a Gohei and overall looks like some sort of Miko. Tough I don't really remember, but do all shrine maidens wear big red ribbon the size of Mount Fuji? (By the way, attending tea ceremony with the head of the Yakuza does wonder for one's knowledge of Japanese culture. That, and running prostitution ring. An abnormal number of Japanese young men have a weirdly specific fetish for "Armpit Miko". And I though the Germans were crazy.)

This lady is, again, looks younger than me, a frail looking brunette. But experience dictates that this girl most likely could kill me with no effort. So, let's be polite, shall we?

"Hello there, lady."

"Are you going to ever get up or what?"She asks me in monotone.

Eh? Oh, right. I haven't recovered from my previous awesome slide.

She lowers a hand to help me up, which I graciously take. She hefts me up pretty easily, considering the size difference…which somewhat confirms my fear that this girl could probably bench-press Chuck Norris to the moon.

"You alright? Did she damage you too much?"

"Bah! I have better time outrunning French parkour drug smugglers!"

The girl stares at me in confusion.

"Ah, sorry, I might be a little bit impolite…"

"What my stupid brother trying to say is…?" said my sister, who has come out from nowhere. "…Is that he's grateful for the save."

"So, Karen, is this your brother?"

"Yes, he is."

"He doesn't look that impressive."

"Yes, he is."

Ouch, come on. That stings.

"So, um…you two know each other?"

"We've just met, brother."

"She almost fell through a cliff. You as an older brother should take a better care for your own sister."

"It's okay, lady Hakurei, I can take care of myself."

"Cut it off with the 'lady'. Just call me Reimu." Demands Reimu, sounds a little bit irritated.

"Ah…right. Um, so I guess…thank you for the save?" I offer my hand to be shaken which she just glances at curiously, as if this was a totally foreign concept.

Okay, let's try different approach.

I put one fist on my chest, and one fist behind my back, and then bow in a European style curtsy.

The 'Reimu' girl stares at me for a bit before realizing what I'm trying to do, then she bends her back in Japanese style bow, with both of her arms pulled straight.

Eh, close enough.

"Now that I think about it, your apparel is a bit unusual, isn't it?" oh? You've just realized that now? Certainly a man and woman wearing the latest design of Violet Tsirblou is not a common sight in this kind of place.

"You wouldn't happen to be from the Outside World, would you?"

"Excuse me, what?" asks my sister, unable to follow the conversation.

Outside world? Hmm, the eye-lady did mention something about 'outside world' and 'suitable candidate'.

"Does this have anything to do with middle-aged blond woman with freaky portal beast?" I ask, with all the subtlety of a death metal band, causing my sister to once again gives me that 'what' look.

I can see Reimu's body tensed up, and I swear I can hear a voice inside my mind shouting 'I'm not that old!'. I might require another visit to my psychiatrist.

"Did she wear a purple dress?"

"Excuse me?"

"Answer the question."

"I…yes, she did." Albeit a torn up one, which for some unexplainable reason I have the feeling that I'm the one responsible for it.

"Yukari." She mumbles loud enough for me to hear. She turns back to me and my sister.

"Right. I get this now, but it looks like you guys is coming with me for the moment."

"Wait, isn't that a little bit sudden?"

"Well, maybe, princess, but would you prefer to stay here with that china-girl?"

I point at the gate-guard, who seems to be getting up.

"No, brother."

"So we have an agreement." Said Reimu, grabbing both me and my sister hand. "Let's go, then." She held us by her side, and then a giant yin-yang orb magically appears on my side.

"What the…CRIPES!"

But before I have a chance to check what material the orb are made of, my shoulder is yanked hard, and we're off to the open sky.

"BLOODY BLOOMERS OF MARY! Can't you people just summon a Fighting Falcon out of thin air or something?!" You know what? With all the things they are capable of so far, I won't be surprised if they can actually conjure an F-16 out of nowhere.

"I don't have a falcon, but I've once own a turtle."

What the flaming flicks are you talking about?

"By the way, we haven't been properly introduced. I'm Reimu, of the Hakurei shrine, that is."

"Bandersnatch of the Aquilas."

"What?"

"That's my name. I'm Bandersnatch. Nice too meetcha."

"That's…an Interesting name."

"I know." I sighed. "I get that a lot."

-End of Chapter 1-

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Okay, just to make it clear. Anyone screaming 'Plagiarism!' doesn't need to worry since I'm doing this just because I'm bored, and not planning on continuing. Well, except maybe if you guys want me to, or I've once again trapped in a place with less connection than a dead turtle.

Anyway, already from the beginning you can see how Bandersnatch is different from Randa (damn this fanfic writer tendency to make Awesome McOolname for their OC!). While Ryan Randa got dragged into Gensokyo against his will, Bandersnatch get there by (accidentally) socking Yukari in the face all the way back into Gensokyo with metric tons worth of (stolen) flying metal at mach 0.8.

And before you asks, yes, it's that kind of fanfic.