*Don't own anything connected to digimon. Made this because I thought it would be interesting to try and put a serious spin on how a world would react to the events after 02. I am not even close to being knowledgeable about Japanese culture, so all you who are will have to bear with me. Meh. Haven't written much in ages. Constrictive Critisim is welcome.*
The young blond, stuck between full manhood and teenager, is lost in thought. He sits, beside a blue striped companion and another young man with an odd insect looking creature, in front of a battery of lights glaring down upon them and the stage they sit on. Beyond that, a crowd of people sit on bleachers, with more strange creatures. Across a desk sits an older man, graying and serious. Also behind the desk, yet another strange creature, although the lack of comment from anyone robs the word "strange" of any meaning. Several cameras film the whole scene.
The young blond scarcely pays any of this attention. In the past 10 months, he has been through this too many times for a TV taping and all its trappings to be anything more than, well, business as usual. So he thinks.
I need to take a break from this. Rest, get away from it, whatever. The other young man, shorter, with neat brown hair, is talking animatedly to the host, who nods seriously in agreement. The insect occasionally chips in, which in turn elicits a response from the amphibian looking creature beside the old man.
"…but, the shock to the global system has likely put it beyond repair", the host says.
"You assume that the global hegemony was a good thing to begin with. I'm sure Matt here agrees that just because it was stable and what we were used to…"
The blond named Matt nods, only half listening, his train of thought redirected.
Right. A serious news show. None of the adventure recounting and soul searching, like Oprah. None of the relationship or style gossip that a few other shows had been about. What is this one about? Right. Current global situation almost a year after D-Day. Matt has already forgotten the name of the host, not out of disrespect, exactly. Just another host. He racks his brains. He should know this one, he is Japanese after all. Well respected journalist. Had done some famous reporting in the seventies and eighties. Matt remembers that the man has had this show for many years now.
I used to think these shows were so dull, now I'm the main guest with Nakashima Hiroyuki. What the hell happened? Wait. That's his name.
The young man beside him is still talking. The insect creature beside him interjects. Everyone laughs. Matt chuckles as well, although not at the joke.
Of all of us, who would have suspect Izzy would be flying the highest? Joe is the only one I would have predicted to shy away more, and sure enough he did. Guess when you act like some sort of mission coordinator for the second bunch you gain a reputation for being serious and intelligent…which he is. Matt smiles to himself. Sora had warned him that in situations like this, Izzy would take over. Matt doesn't mind. Izzy does it out of enthusiasm and genuine knowledge, not any desire to hog the spotlight.
It therefore comes as no surprise when Nakashima asks Matt specifically a question in order to somehow include him in the discussion.
"Yamoto, you and Gabumon have been working towards essentially trying to get people to calm down and view the changes rationally. While the reactions have mostly been much better then anyone could have hoped for, there have still been some issues, specifically with…"
…hard-line religious groups, and in some despotic nations.Matt has heard this many times before, and begins to launch into his standard answer. He and Gabumon have been through it enough, it might as well have been rehearsed. Matt zones out even as he speaks. Several minutes later, and Matt and Izzy's segment draws to a close. Matt is thankful. Definitely taking a break after this.
"After the break, I will speak with Finnish Brigadier General Jarmo Rask and Korean Colonel Ho Jun Kim on the almost complete reduction of Pakistan and Indias nuclear arsenals…"
Wrap up, wrap up, wrap up…The host finally finishes, the crowd applauses, Matt and Izzy stand, bow and shake Nakashima's hand.
"It was truly an honour, speaking to all of you". Matt is still surprised at the respect they receive from older and (ostensibly) more accomplished people. Izzy, Matt, Gabumon and the insect creature, Tentomon, thank the host and his companion, Betamon. They leave, and step out into the Tokyo night air into a back street.
"Well that went very well!" Izzy is enthusiastic and energized. Matt shrugs non-committally. He doesn't really care either way. He wants to get back to "The Mansion". It is late, almost eleven at night.
"I just have to make a call, Izzy, give me a second". Matt takes out his cell phone, and dials. After a minute, the ringing doesn't stop. Where is she?
"Not answering?" Gabumon looks up. "Perhaps she stayed the night there, I wouldn't worry."
"Yeah…yeah, you're right." Well, repairing the digital world isn't an easy task…almost a year later, still so much to be done…she's always putting others ahead of her...what the hell am I doing?
"Well, as long as you aren't returning to the arms of your beloved, how about a late supper? I'm not tired, just hungry". Izzy is grinning, trying to needle Matt.
"Come on, Matt, there's a quiet, out of the way place we know, it will be even more quiet at this hour. I'll deal with the hordes of female admirers. It wouldn't kill you. Besides, I'm starving." Tentomon gets into the act.
Matt sighs and looks up into the air. The bright lights of the city block out any stars. They stand on a side street, only a few people and Digimon walk past, not paying heed to the four figures by a back studio exit. I've got to snap out of this. Fine. I might even enjoy myself.
"Alright guys, let's go. You think we can get the meal for free? Or has the glamour worn off already?"
"It's worked before there, but we've likely used it up by now" Izzy laughs. Matt allows himself a genuine grin. The four figures step out of the side street and onto a busy main street, bustling with energy, even this late, perhaps because it is this late. Safe.
Over ten thousand kilometers away, in a dingy bar in Mogadishu, a man walks in. The bartender, watching a football match on an old, beaten up analog TV, looks up. His eyes widen. The man, stocky, but otherwise unremarkable, nods slightly. The bartender points to a man sitting in a corner table, alone, looking drunk. The late afternoon sun reflects off a dingy glass in his hand. The man is disheveled and black, standing out among the other denizens of the bar, who are Somalis.
The visitor walks up to the man, and sits down across from him. The others in the bar are more focused on the football match. Someone gives a shout at a play. The drunk looking man slides an envelope under the table. The visitor grabs it and puts it into his pocket. Without another look he gets up and leaves the bar. Outside, the sinking sun gives a yellow cast to the garbage strewn dirt street. The visitor reads the letter quickly, smiles, and walks away.