The four motored their way out and away from Gort Shocko's New Carnival, the nuke bikes thrumming along the roadway going into the mountains. Riding up ahead, the tan-skinned and wild-haired Cloaked Man continued to lead—his casual clothing flapping with the speed's breeze, his cape flapping more so. Van was immediately behind, almost flawlessly matching The Cloaked Man's riding speed: electronic-minded precision. Both doppelgangers rode at the back, left Alia and right Alia. Everyone's hair flapping and fluttering with the speed.
At this point in the over-long journey, the original party members had their own ideals and dreams to think about, hopes and expectations in the City of Slow Dreams. Especially, this was a riding truth for the real-brained party members. They shared a deeper love of the goal than gynoids like Van could share—because real brains made for dreaming.
But they all wanted to be there. Thoughts went to the place they approached. That was enough to occupy their minds while riding on this mountain road.
Those party members were so preoccupied with preconceived ideals about the City that they did not notice minute changes around them. Maybe, it was something about how sunlight seemed slightly duller—though morning was turning into afternoon. Or, it could have been in how the air was a touch thinner. Changes.
The biggest change was in the air currents-changes sometimes so drastic that The Cloaked Man's cape sometimes flapped a bit harder to the left. Flapped because of something coming in the breeze. Had The Cloaked Man been thinking of something other than his new life plans, he would have certainly acted and cared.
But he did not care. Maybe, he did have an idea of what passed. Given his sensitivity to ambiance, the breeze, he could have detected the encroaching trouble. Could have. Should have. But he did not. No, The Cloaked Man was primarily preoccupied with what to do in the City.
But, some other things did notice their environment—things. Small things, objects, embedded in the sides of the mountain roadway. The objects resembled round-topped tent-spikes, also installed like tent spikes as they were driven into the hardy mountain dirt and hard-scrabble.
But these "spikes" had senses. The roadside spikes had slivers of metal on the sides for electronic ears to hear what passed along the road; their pinhead-sized electronic eyes were out to see minute changes in the winds. With those senses, these spikes detected a party of four—with one especially troubling member. That party member had an unacceptable electrical signature. Indeed, even after being unmaintained for so many decades after the War, enough of these roadside pikes worked to detect The Cloaked Man and his party.
Unacceptable signature detected. In their basic electronic language, the spikes transmitted that message along in redundancy. Unacceptable signature detected. Unacceptable signature detected. Unacceptable signature detected. Though some of the roadside spikes were too circuit-damaged to transmit. Those spikes were bypassed.
And within several seconds of the static-troubled electronic messaging, enough of the signal came through to reach the final and massive-bodied destination. Receiving that simple electronic message, the processors, mobility systems, and tensor-reinforced autorepair systems powered up after a decades-long rest. Unacceptable signature… detected: Moving to counter.
In the meanwhile, the riding party of four was so distracted that they did not notice the attack until after it happened. Their minds somewhat in the breeze, them riding along and on the way to very likely happiness, the party was just fine until the blast. Actually, the blast was a very short-spaced series of blasts—four explosions so close together that they seemed like one. But the effects were horribly the same for all four.
The party members' nuke bikes were knocked backward as the riders themselves were steadily flung forward. And then they smashed and flopped along the road like big tossed toys: synth-flesh and metal bodies. Flopping and flipping the roadway for a frightfully long time.
Eventually, The Cloaked Man eventually came to his senses. What in tarnation? he thought, eyes looking up at the vast and slow blue sky above. Ah, such a big pretty sky. So deep and vast-blue. Oh, he could lie here all darned day, time to just watch all the dream clouds go by. Then some jerk had to interrupt his reverie with a girlie scream. Van's girlie scream. She screamed as realistically as she looked and behaved.
"Dang it," he mumble-spoke, slowly standing. Brushing off embedded road grit from his slacks and tee shirt. Flapping his cape to do the same. "Why can't you people just let me live?"
He then saw three other party members a bit further along the mountain road, those three standing side by side—Van just now recovering her composure. And then he saw what they were confronting now, the thing that made for Van's scream. Then he screamed. "Dang nabbit, what in tarnation is that?"
That something—the thing that ultimately received the unacceptable signature detected signal–was now moving to counter. That something was massive, the width and mass of a small truck. Now, that thing clomped its way twenty yards from the crash-scrambled party of four, each footfall making for troubling sounds. Sounds like a demonic hybrid between a construction machine and a mountain troll. It looked like an MBD, only scarier.
Though that thing had the general shape of a Military Battle Droid-a massive suit of armor-the thing that stood in the road now was bigger and more broad-shouldered. Much more broad. Now, that something was ready to play. In its own clear and graveled voice, the oversized and over-powered MBD spoke. "Unacceptable signature source identified: Darkened individual." And then the four had the second biggest fight they would ever have as a party.
Battle! The Cloaked Man moved into position, to the far left of his fellow three party members: both Alias in the middle now, with Van on the far right of the big thing: big thing. Before them was an ever-so-oversized MBD. Even from twenty-five yards away, The Cloaked Man could feel machine heat coming from that thing. And his own synthetic skin was not even too sensitive to heat.
The party had some experience in fighting MBDs, but that particular electromechanical troll was the wrong color—red. And the wrong size—too big. The party members stood there as the thing's two pole-thick arms waved-then the boxed ends of the arms opened up. Out of its right came a solid magnesium fist; out of its left came the stubby end of a cannon.
Targeting… The MBDs simple electronic thought-processors targeted The Cloaked Man. There was a blast of florescent blue. And it made daylight flash brighter for a sliver of a second.
Then The Cloaked Man was airborne from the shot, felt the road smack him in the back when he smash-landed. Dang it all, he thought, struggling to get himself up to a kneeling position—then staggering the ten yards back to his party. As he walked, he tugged at the hot wire mesh that had been fired into his tee-shirted chest—that wire mesh beginning to smoke and stick.
In response, both Alias changed their attacking positions, flanking the oversized demon of a fighting machine. One Alia went to the left; the other Alia went to the right: two elf-sized cyborgs confronting a troll of a machine three times their size. Then, right Alia took a strong step forward, her machine-quick fists cl-clunking twice—impacting the MBD's armor. Left Alia kicked high, her right bootlet denting the leg armor of the MBD.
Just a small dent. Still a significant dent that weakened the leg armor; heat radiated from that crack in the metal troll-beast. Interference with targeting, went the oversized MBD's mind.
It then struck out with both arms. Both struck, both Alias were sent sprawling on their backs—stunned. And the MBD was still targeting The Cloaked Man. Damage cipher override: Targeting darkened individual, thought the too-big machine monster. It had another electronic visual lock on The Cloaked Man again—the caped and darkened individual—who was now approaching again.
Targeted The Cloaked Man, but not before Van moved forward to give the MBD a random hit. She quick-stepped forward and struck with a high kick—hitting the left arm of the MBD. Consequently, the cannon-arm that shot electrostatic mesh.
"Step aside, folks. Yourselves out of the way," said the madman with the static-capacitor cape, finally getting the wire mesh off of himself. "The Cloaked Man has to go to work."
With the MBD's vast cannon moving to aim at his chest, the madman brought up the left end of his cape. And the road-turned battlefield lit up with bright flashes: field effect static burst. Several lightning-charged seconds of that bright electrical firing on the MBD. The Cloaked Man expended all his cape's stored charge in attacking that overly huge MBD.
Blasted and taking damage, the MBD swayed ever so slightly, its mobility compromised. Damage cipher override. It stopped swaying and bent its hydraulic knees, then targeted The Cloaked Man. Targeting malfunction…. There was another bright blue flash: a miscalibrated shot as Van's attack had skewed the MBD's cannon targeting mechanisms.
But the shot hit The Cloaked Man anyway, smacking him into a horrible half-spin from the shot. Heated gray smoke billowed when he fell to his knees—facing away from the MBD. Heck… He found he could not quite stand again, and the left side his chest felt as if being burned with Hell-fire: shoulder smoking with hot wire-mesh stuck to it. He began pulling at the mesh, but not before setting his cape to charging.
Still in battle, Van was lucky to not have been hit at all so far. Because the MBD did not register her as a threat, even after she struck the fighting machine's electrostatic mesh cannon. Maybe that was because she did not quite fit the profile of a fighting machine herself: a robot in the shape of a casually dressed, pretty teenage girl.
She sidestepped, moving to attack again. Eyes angry, she struck the thing's cannon again—further damaging the targeting mechanism. Combined with the damage done by The Cloaked Man, the MBD now had new troubles. Sparks came from the MBD's cannon and cooling vents, and the body quaked with troubles coming from damaged energy systems. Then the thing's "hands" closed up to conceal the weapons, and the entire structure stopped moving—smoke curling up from vents in its shoulders.
They won! By now, The Cloaked Man managed to stagger-walk close by. His own shoulder still smoking a bit, he looked on at the MBD. Then… "What the heck? This is cheating!" he shouted.
They won? No, this was not victory. The MBD was still active: smoke and all. That thing's massive body must have more than one energy system, because it began to stand on its thick machine pole legs. It approached The Cloaked Man, then swung its right pole-arm at him.
He tried to sway backward and avoid the blow, but that only altered the way he fell from the glancing blow. A glancing blow from something with a construction machine's strength is still a very strong blow. Recovering, The Cloaked Man did manage to get to his knees again, but sparkles of intense pain clouded his perceptions, unconsciousness approaching.
"That's beyond my tolerance!" he shouted, his eyes moving left and right, trying to look through the haze of pain. And then he managed to see the form of the massive metal monster. It was not a hard thing to see: twelve feet tall metal troll with gray smoke pouring from its boulder-thick shoulders.
Cape just beginning to crackle, The Cloaked Man brought up both hands. Florescent blue lightning lashed between his hands. The MBD took the electrical bursts in the chest—fresh billows of smoke pouring from a new hole. Yet, it still stood.
Some sounds began to come from it, too. Frightful machine sounds. It brought up its arms in turn, both hand-cases opening up again. Its weaponry had changed. This time, it had two cannons. Both cannons fired at once.
And the scene around The Cloaked Man flashed with blue light, hot heat and gray smoke. When the smoke was clear enough to see through, The Cloaked Man was on his back. Some smoke came from his abdomen and chest. And he then snapped to his feet, a look crossing between pain and madness. Face obscured by the smoke coming up from his chest. He balled his fists, random streaks of electricity "I'm going to deconstruct you into forever!"
Feet dragging a bit, he stepped onward and toward the MBD. Everyone seemed to stop, everyone and everything. The Cloaked Man brought up his cape, then let loose another barrage of field-effect lightning.
After attacking, he brought down his cape and nearly fell over from damage and weakness. Though the MBD staggered from that attack, it still held its aim—began to charge up for another shot.
Left Alia, positioned by the roadside, moved into action again-dashed into action by running with her body leaned forward, metal bootlets pattering along the asphalt. As she came closer, she outstretched her arms—things held in her hands. Things with sharpened ends, things that emitted electronic chitters only heard by the MBD.
She leapt, a flying blur. Fists-first, she struck the MBD in the chest. A missile the size of a small being. And with fists and implements buried in the MBD's chest, she stuck there.
There was an awful explosion. The explosion seemed to take over the entire day, filling the scene with heat and light that became white-hot. A blast that put everything in a vast white glare that blanked out all. Then everything seemed to fade into peaceful and quiet darkness…
Van's "brain" was merely electronics and several crystals; her brain was not as vulnerable to the sheer blast. But physically, she was temporarily disabled. As she lie there, autorepair systems continued their work. She lie there, not being able to move. Not able to open her eyes. This was Van being trapped in her own body.
And then, part of her own mind was closed off as processor resources went to undoing the impact damage to her insides.
She felt as if she were being punished by Steve all over again. As if the big brutal pseudo-man had his remote, was using it to induce pain inside her. That was a way to think about this: She would try to relax and not let fear overtake her.
Still later, she was still paralyzed as autorepair systems continued work. Would yet more time pass? Would her brain finally shut down as so she could pass into the peace and silence of eternity? Van knew that she didn't have a soul, a real spirit, any life force. If she "died," there would be no afterlife for her—no afterlife for robots. Van's thinking processes would cease, and that would be the end.
No more blows to her body from people that hate her. No more fighting for her party. No more; no more anything. She was perfectly content to lie here and wait for whatever her body's autorepair systems did.
"Wake up, already!" More of Van's thought processors freed up again for her conscious mind to use. "If I have to ask—a specifically certain way—for your waking task, then you too will flip into a state out of your mind." Van opened her eyes; she felt able again. She quickly brought herself to her feet, stood and looked around. There was still a twinge in her middle; some freshly autorepaired systems inside her were just recalibrating. And she did not want The Cloaked Man to rant too much.
She saw The Cloaked Man, impatient and making those out-loud demand. He was kneeling off the side of the road, his caped back to Van. Over there, he was kneeling in front of Alia—who was still down. "Van, please get your synthetic self over here. By the roadside. I know you're up. And help me look on at Alia—whichever Alia this is," he said.
Van complied, moving with her left hand on her bare abdomen. Bare? Just then, she realized that she was naked. The blast must have blasted away her clothes, leaving her body bare. Autorepair systems worked on bodies, not on anything worn over.
"What's the hold-up? Alia needs... Never mind. She's waking up. Too late." The Cloaked Man stood up and turned to Van. He reached into his left pocket, cape crackling, and pulled out a long piece of beige. "Here, I apported some slacks for you." He handed that to Van. Then, there was more static crackling from his cape, and he pulled a long piece of white from his left pocket: a new blouse. ""And I apported a blouse, too. Want a bra and panties, too? Not that I'm a fan of female underthingies, but maybe you... Hey!"
Van threw the clothes down onto the mountain's rocky roadside ground, also throwing aside modesty as she moved to kneel by Alia—who blinked up at the sky. Alia was still in a shell-shock daze. Not quite fully conscious.
But The Cloaked Man was conscious of naked Van. All over, Van's lithe and smooth bare body was the color of pure cream. All that covered Van's smooth-pale back was her curtain of raven-dark hair. Why was The Cloaked Man noticing this now?
The Cloaked Man shook his head, then asked, "Van, which Alia are we stuck with now: The one from the carnival, or the real original party member?" His eyes went to the wonderful swell of her hips. "And would you please wear something?"
Alia sat up just then, hugging Van around the shoulders: metal child body to youthful synthetic body. Van hugged back. The Cloaked Man turned on the scene, overcome by the emotional mush of the moment.
Alia released Van, stood a step back from the kneeling gynoid. "I yet live on as myself," she said. " What of my other self? The other gained at the carnival settlement?"
"She's gone on," said The Cloaked Man, behind Van. He looked toward the road where the overpowered MBD exploded—there was now just a crater there. Sincerely, he said, "That Alia is in the breeze, really. And so is that MBD." An overpowered MBD, just as The Cloaked Man's own synthetic replacement body had over-powered energy systems.
"Now, let's move on," said The Cloaked Man. "We're going to recover our nuke bikes from back along the road. They were only hit with electrostatic mesh—nothing too damaging. Things should be just dandy.
"After that, we start up and keep moving. If any of us go down from any more random encounters, then..." He wanted to say, Then the rest of us keep going. Instead,
"Then, the rest of us stay behind. And fight until the danger our ourselves are beaten." He took steps away from Alia and Van. "Let's move! And Van, clothe yourself."
Van did. Alia looked at The Cloaked Man, sadness in her huge dark eyes. "What…? Oh, I get it. About the other Alia…"
They first found the nuke bikes, which were scattered and on their sides from being crash-tossed. But as The Cloaked Man said, the nuke bikes were just dandy. Nuke bikes are extremely tough, tougher than the cyborgs or humanoid robots that ride them.
Getting Alia's meaning, The Cloaked Man did something with the other Alia's nuke bike. He brought it over to the explosion crater, put it at the side of the road and laid it on its side--at the roadside of the crater where its rider died. And the three party members rode onward.
They sped on, moving yet farther through the mountain road. The Cloaked Man still dared to ride ahead. Alia and Van had tried convincing him to ride back with them, but he insisted on leading. He founded this traveling party; he was going to lead it to the end—come Hell or high water. With the mountain air becoming ever-so-thinner, with the roadway becoming slightly rockier, he dared to speed. Speed being heated by annoyance at obstacles coming up at last moments in getting to the City.
Yes, oh heck yes, thought The Cloaked Man with passing minutes—with the passing miles on their nuke bikes. That pulling whim, the whim that led them thus far, was becoming immense. It was a sensation that was all over the road ahead--feelings only he felt in approaching.
He outstretched his right thumb—the ancient thumbs-up gesture. Looking from the back, the cape flapping so much, it seemed as if the arm extended from that cape. Or did the cape just seem bigger?
Then, the mountain road flattened as the mountain surfaces at the sides of the road seemed to rise up. Actually, the riders descended into an artificial ravine cut into the mountain—cut to make way for the road and travelers. The ravine was reinforced by neat metal plating set in places. And then they were through the ravine and on the other side of the mountain range. A vast valley before them on the other side.
The Cloaked Man held up his right hand—a gesture to slow down. He himself slowed down—as did his party members. This because they were nearing the end of the roadway, the roadway that led them to here.
Moving again, this time slowly, the three motored beyond the ravine road and onto the two-way intersection that overlooked a valley within this mountain range—a valley surrounded by the mountains. Down there, spread out, was a suburb of homes and buildings among trees and grass.
None of the squalor of Brunswick, or the rural bareness of the Woodsies' village. None of the shallow sparkling architecture of Fusion City. And, to the full satisfaction of The Cloaked Man, there were no stupid stripes on houses or big carnival tents.
No, just a suburb down there. The Cloaked Man dismounted from his nuke bike and stood by the roadside bluff overlooking that normal-looking and tree-smattered suburb. He stood out and looked out over it: sunlight streaming high in the sky at a one o'clock position, shining down on the beautifully neat buildings and onto the green. A very faint foggy valley mist pervaded the scene, made it seem slightly vague—like in a dream.
He took in a breath, turned to his party members. Arms outstretched, cape flapping, he said, "That place is what you think it is! The City of Slow Dreams!" Then he was on his bike again, to speed off. Alia and Van enthusiastically followed on their own vehicles. The City of Slow Dreams—where the Old Days live on…
The road down from the mountain gently curved to the left and down. Going down was miles more relaxing and wonderful than going up. Likely so, because of there being relaxing green around the road. More roadside vegetation as the three rode deeper down and into this gentle land in the valley.
The Cloaked Man alone felt most of the emotional impact. Yessiree, this was the place. There was so much brightness and wonder that pervaded the land here. Riding along an entrance road, a person could see the buildings and houses up ahead and in the area: neat structures that were well-kept.
There were people walking along outside. Just ordinary people: not downtrodden and overworked Brunswick citizens, not the over-jacked flashy beautiful Fusion City people. Not scrub-rough Woodsies. And not clowns. Those people of Fusion City all looked human, humans dressed in Old-style clothes.
Humans, they were all humans. They were coming from school or from jobs. Or, just walking for simple recreation. And this was all significant, especially...
Nuke bike engines went quiet. All three party members had to stop and look around, looking along the sidewalk they parked near. Some passers-by actually waved at them. Friendly smiles, even. Newcomers were interesting to those people, especially since newcomers almost never made it into here.
"Hey," said The Cloaked Man. "Let's go get ourselves some darned good coffee! If this is the City, then the coffee ought to be the darned best ever." He looked back at the other two party members, smirking. "And compounding the excuse to get the best darned coffee, we need excuse to talk to the townspeople. Now let's go; I got an indication that a diner should be nearby."
Riding onward into the City, the three party members actually saw a diner at every fourth street corner. The Cloaked Man himself mentally shrugged at this, just picked a diner by whim. At this particular diner, there was a small parking lot at the side, some round-bodied and plain-colored automobiles outside. Red's was the name—a smallish red-brick diner with glass up front to see the well-lit insides.
Something was wrong just then. There was a flickering change in The Cloaked Man's demeanor. With that came a different sort of feeling that emanated from the caped madman.
The Cloaked Man put his right hand on the heavy door handle, and then Alia put her solid hand on his synth-flesh on—stopping him. "Wa-hey! What's up with you? Can't a Cloaked Man walk into a diner without being harassed by a little blonde cyborg elf? Want a smorgasborg of oatmeal or something, something or other? I'll pay, especially on the first day of conquest of the City of Slow Dreams… Whoops! I mean our first day of being citizens."
Alia jerked back her hand, her immense eyes quite concerned. "What term used, Cloaked Man? Sincerely, I hope the words were not as heard. Conquest, that very word." While saying that, Alia had moved herself slightly closer to Van's side.
The Cloaked Man looked up and down the tree-lined suburban street just outside this diner, big blue sky overhead. Then, looking down at the elfin blonde cyborg, he said, "I didn't say conquest. I said the first day of being guests of the City of Slow Dreams." He regarded Van. "Tell her, please? Why in tarnation would I want to conquer and rule Slow Dreams? It's not as if I planned this from the start. Not like I used you all along to follow my dream vision of rulership. Like…"
He suddenly swiveled his head away from the two females by his side. He looked inside the diner; a youngish pretty waitress in white waved from in there. Wa-hey, that's excuse enough to break away from this conversation. Can't have his party dipping out on him…
"Never mind this, gals. Let's go meet the townspeople. I'm sure we can tell 'em our story and be accepted." He opened the door and went in.
Red's was very much like any diner anywhere in the lands nowadays. Its dining area made up the majority of the interior space, people inside. There were tables along the right side, some ordinary townspeople talking and eating. The left part of the inside was dominated by a high long-counter—stools there for people who wanted to eat quickly Behind that counter was the cook's area—a gray-haired small woman at work while younger taller women did serving. Odd, the gray hair seemed the only feature of age on her.
The Cloaked Man sauntered up to a stool, leaned forward on the counter with his elbows propping him. A big stupid smile stretching across his lips. He turned himself around on the stool, looked back at his two party members by the front entrance, a look on his face that said, Are you two coming?
Alia and Van, quite close together, approached the smiling, cape-sporting madman. They sat on the tall gray-cushioned stools to his right. Their eyes flickered to him, then at the gray-haired small woman who cooked over there, behind this counter. That small outfitted-and-aproned woman looked left, away from the grill. Smiling and saying to the three, "You must be new in town!" She then turned down the grill and moved over to the counter—coming closer and wiping small smooth hands on her apron. "Welcome, welcome!"
Other people's heads turned. The men and women along the right-side tables looked over at those three newcomers on stools. And those townspeople at the tables were suddenly very interested: Hey, newcomers are here! Travelers in from the plains!
All three travelers pivoted around on their stools, facing out toward the group of people that built. Small crowd of people: seven regulars, plus the two waitresses and the cook. This was a nice little audience to listen to those travelers.
There was that one in the cape, biggest and most flamboyant young man. He was dressed normally: wore slacks and tee shirt, black shoes to go with it. His dark curly hair was a bit wild, though. So was the cape… Was that static electricity crackling?
The second tallest was a teenage girl—wearing a nice-fitting blouse and slacks over her thinnish body. A pretty face to go with her pretty figure. Dark hair and slightly slanting dark eyes over her exotically high cheekbones—odd, but pretty. Pale, smooth skin. Maybe, her skin was a bit too smooth and perfect, if you looked at her too long. She smiled.
But the darling of that group was the little one. Oh, she looked the most interesting. Four feet tall, she was, with a small round head topped with the palest silk-blonde hair. Her hair was combed straight back and behind her pointed ears—her other facial features just as sharp, except for her eyes. Big beautiful dark eyes that seemed to drink in light. From the neck down, her slender body was metal. Was she…?
An elfin cyborg, metal-type! Elves were thought generally wiped out from the War! That, and all metal-type cyborgs were thought eliminated. That made the smallest one of that party the most precious. That she was so pert and pretty also helped add to her appeal. But one knows that it's not nice to crowd elves, though; history books said that elves were sensitive and delicate people—real-bodied or cyborg.
"Howdy-do, people!" said the big one, smiling a weird kind of smile. "Reckon you people are probably leaning to curiosity about us. And I reckon you want to hear, right here, on why the heck we're here." He leaned forward on his stool, hands on knees for balance. "Want to listen?"
Well, he sounded friendly enough. People should gather around, listen to the man here. And maybe that little darling elfin cyborg will talk, too.
"Well now… We're not going to talk about Judy. In fact, we're not going to talk about Judy at all! We're gonna keep…" The elfin cyborg was looking at him; he noticed. What, were those lines borrowed from an ancient movie? "Harumph! Never mind that. Let me move in on what we're about.
"I'm The Cloaked Man," he said, his left thumb to his chest. He then jerked the thumb left, indicating someone else. "In order of tallness… The dark-haired one here is Van—Japanese gynoid girl-thing. And that elfin cyborg is Alia. Ain't she cute? We've temporarily been travelers. People wanting to move in on you.
"I first went to Brunswick, see. A big tired city pretty far from here—in the south. Went there and tried to live a decent sort of life. I made some money as free-thinking sort of person, made myself a few invincibly useful devices because of random ideas that came into my head.
"Then I had a sort of dream-vision, you know? It was this sort of deep and
slow-misted dream where I was at a game table. I was just sitting there, and a gynoid—a girl that's really a robot inside—dealt me a hand of three cards: a card with an elfin cyborg, another card with the gynoid on it, and a third card with a weird shadowy outline.
"I had a real indication that the card was supposed to be me. And with all the sense dreams give you—which ain't much—I knew that I had to find those characters and move on to the City of Slow Dreams." He put his left hand on Van's left shoulder. "We are now here. Here we now are. Hear that we are here, just like the dream said we would be…" Curious eyes looked on. "Yeah, that'll be all I want to say out loud—for now. Alia, Van, you two want to any speak-saying?"
Van shook her head, conscious of all the human people looking at her. Humans. The gynoid always had deference to human beings. That deference now leading to shyness before all that stood around her. They stared at her, looking into her—looking beyond her pretty exterior and seeing the crystal-matrix processors that held her mind. A hard blink. "N-no… No, I don't want to…say anything." She took sudden interest at the floor. Feeling all of those human eyes still looking into her.
Alia, on Van's left and furthers from The Cloaked Man, looked from townsperson to townsperson—looking into eyes with her dark ones to meet their stares. "If I say anything," she began, "it would pertain somewhat to the journey taken. A dream-and-vision journey, one guided by emotion. Such is truth in twin ways.
"One way, emotion guided us here. Whim and desire making for pulling across the land. En route, The Cloaked Man told of how whim and feeling made for direction. Direction given, we came.
"Emotion posed as morale, the other way. We passed through random dangers and over the land to come here. Development of some troubles, inevitability. But through troubles, we came to this place.
"This place, this beautiful place, is what some travelers of Brunswick spoke often about. So beautiful; so beautiful. I deeply believe it shall be beautiful to exist here." She looked into eyes of townspeople. "I so want it to be beautiful to live here. Just to be among you peaceful people—a life of fitting cooperation."
The Cloaked Man grimaced. He snappingly stood up and away from his stool. A grimacing look of disgust and annoyance. "Alia, you peace-ridden freak! What the Hell? That has to be so damned corny." He pointed with his left, pointed at Alia. "You are a little freaky metal-bodied elf-girl, too weird." He pointed at Van. "You are even more oppy, you oppy sort of fake girl. All opped up. And I guess you'll have to check your history data on what that means." He began pointing at the townspeople in this diner. "You are corny. And you. And you. You, you, and you, too. You, you, and don't forget to remember you." A breeze blew in here; people suddenly became filled with fright.
The inside of this diner…changed. Changed intangibly, like the way Coach's viewing office changed when The Cloaked Man did something to the local fabric of reality. Though this diner was lit inside with florescent lighting from within and lighting from the outside window, some light was actually being drained. Intangible dimness, like a kind of cold mist, make the room seem shadow tinged.
And outside, the wind began to really blow. It ble-e-ew along the quiet streets. Blew and howled across houses and across building-tops. The wind blowing over all the land: a troubling breeze…
"Aah, hah, hah, hah, ha-a-a-h! Aah, hah, hah…" laughed The Cloaked Man. And the immense laughter exploded in here. An actual explosion of pressure.
The window-front cracked, then burst outward, sending glass spraying into the sidewalk and made the humans' ears bleed. Many fell to the floor in shock. Some began crawling and weeping. All humans with wet warm blood sliding down the sides of their necks. "Aah, hah, hah, hah, hah… Aah, hah, hah…"
In the darkening diner, The Cloaked Man turned to Alia and Van, and he stopped laughing… His red cape flapped strongly. "Hey there, party people!" he also shouted in the troubled diner, shouted above the wind and in the gloom. "Let's go take over the City's Town Hall! This is a city of almost all humans, and the few cyborgs of this place are weak! No one can stop the party that our party will start. No-fucking-body!"
Though wind whipped at their hair, Alia and Van met The Cloaked Man's laid-back confidence look—stared back hardened looks of their own. Alia dropped down from her stool, stood her full four feet. Van brought her feet down to the ground, legs and body moving with deliberation. Both were just three yards from the caped madman, no one bent by the wind, even when standing.
Alia raised her right hand, metal finger pointing, her hair whipped to the side by the fierce breeze in here. Shouting louder than the wind, "You betrayer! Traitorous and darkened! You are to be stopped by those once your allies!"
Van closed her hands into fists. Her smooth face bent in anger. Shouting above the fast-moving breeze. "I bet that was your plan all along, wasn't it? You wanted to come here and take over a town of your own! Like that guy Coach!" Van then took a step closer to Alia, the gynoid's steps slightly unsteady in the fierce air currents.
The Cloaked Man put his hands to his chest. "Hey-y-y, I'm the traitor? What the heck? You two are turning traitor at me! I founded our party. I set the orders. It's my party. Now…" He gestured at the door. "Let's go boogie up to Town Hall and kick some human ass."
"I say no to that! And you are to be stopped!" shouted the elfin cyborg. "Stopping you must be done. Must be done; will be done!" She gave a look to the human-sized gynoid—who nodded. Then Alia looked back at the taller Cloaked Man. "Done by the both of us…"
"Okey-dokey! You want some of me?" shouted The Cloaked Man, pointing at the elfin cyborg and the gynoid by using both hands. "Okay, you got it! Aah, hah, hah, hah! I'll kick your skinny synthetic ass, Van. Then I'll kick your elfin titanium ass, Alia. Aah, hah, hah…
"Let's take this outside!" The Cloaked Man brought his cape before himself, there was a stronger blast of wind, and then…the wind stopped. Light went back to normal, though the ruined diner—nor its customers—would be "normal" again. That madman was gone.
Alia moved to the left of the diner, where some humans had fainted from the shock and noise, the blood from their ears still dripping. More conscious than ever of her hands being metal and machine-strong, she ever-so-carefully tried to gently touch their backs and abdomens—depending on how they fell—to determine if they breathed, lived. Trying to help…
No, several of them were dead. The rest were probably dying because of whatever The Cloaked Man did to this room's environment. These were the humans who tried to escape the diner. That odd, light-draining radiation and wind of his, it was something that sickened and killed people. And that something of his would do more as The Cloaked Man did more.
"Yo! Cyber-bitch duo!" came The Cloaked Man's shout. Van saw him out there, in the middle of the daylit street before the diner. Saw him through the broken window, him waving both tanned sinewy arms. "I'm out here!" But now, though, his arms seemed thicker, his chest stronger. The Cloaked Man seemed stronger, even seen from this distance.
Alia stood up and took steps away from the fallen humans in here. Their bodies were growing colder as they were all dead from The Cloaked Man's distortion of the local environment. Vengeance is the ultimate prize of now, thought the elfin cyborg. Her eyes darkened. Yes, the vampiric hunger for vengeance clutched her soul.
She clenched her machine-hard fists, her emotional state so deepened that her electromechanical body's energy systems reacted. Heat came from within the small cyborg, a heat of anger larger than herself. A quick turn, a flash of her pale hair, and she was at the door. Van followed Alia to this final battle.
The Cloaked Man stood on the street, his arms crossed across his slightly more muscular chest. His slacks less slack now; his legs were thicker. Now, the once sinewy build was a medium build.
The rugged face of his smirked, and there was a breeze. That caused the cape to flared and flap out from his tee-shirted back like a bigger red banner of war—bigger cape, too. Indeed, that as certainly a stronger being than the one who managed the party.
Now, the two other party members stood down the street, fifteen yards away, stood against him. "You guys are, like, so dead!" he shouted along this suburban street. A light breeze punctuating his remark. "I'll have to put you both in the breeze!" Still standing strong, the two said nothing. The Cloaked Man raised his fists, which seemed bigger—knuckles somehow callous-scarred. "En guarde!" And the largest battle of the party—the final battle—began.
The Cloaked Man made the first preliminary moves. He knelt on his left knee, slacks and tee shirt straining across his awful new musculature. His more-volumous cape flapped, crackled with building static electrical energy. And he eyed Van with intense hatred. Seconds passed, and his cape's electrical potential began building—crackling sounds of intense energy.
Alia threw herself forward in a quick dash—leaning forward and running with her right fist cocked. She came at The Cloaked Man. In the final three yards' distance toward him, Alia slid-scraped along the street on her titanium bootlets—as if skating without wheels. At the end of the powered slide, she struck. Two machine-quick punches against the kneeling Cloaked Man's chest. She did a low-flying and low-powered backward leap to return to her original position, while The Cloaked Man fell backward.
He stopped his backward fall with both hands down and back. "You make me so mad!" he rumbled, voice dangerous. A grunt, and he was on his feet again. And his cape still crackled.
As did now his fists. He took a single stride, was then airborne in a low-flying leap—suddenly very close. He lashed his right fist down on Alia, and she struck the ground. Before Van could immediately counter, The Cloaked Man did as Alia did earlier—a backward leap to get away and back to his original position. But his leap was slightly slower—more graceful. As if he temporarily defied laws of normalcy and gravity.
Alia raised herself to a kneeling position, her left hand at the center of her slim metal chest—weakened. And it was somewhat harder to breathe. But she had to breathe… When The Cloaked Man smirked, Van moved: a girl-colored blur of speed that moved and struck The Cloaked Man in his abdomen. Van then ran back to be by Alia, who was now on her feet again.
"I'm gonna mess you two up so bad!" shouted The Cloaked Man, holding his left side—but still standing. His cape crackled as if on fire. "I'll make it as so even archeologists won't even recognize what's left of you!" Before Alia or Van could move again, he brought forth his cape with his left hand, his right hand with knuckles pointing in their general direction. And the day seemed to explode.
The asphalt around Alia and Van was pock-marked with black blots from where The Cloaked Man's field-effect spray of lightning overshot their targets. Alia and Van, themselves were on their backs.
Alia snapped to stand again—perhaps a bit too quickly. Her brain felt odd, and she felt slightly tired. Controlling her body as so not to stagger, she refused to show weakness to The Cloaked Man.
Van struggled to stand, only managed to get into a kneeling position. She looked at Alia, the elfin cyborg standing to her right With a static-troubled whisper-voice, Van spoke last words to her friend. "Please stop him…"
Then, the gynoid fell face-forward—no longer able to fight, her body grotesquely sprawled on the street, night-dark hair blanketing her back and face. And so, the gynoid was defeated.
"Two bitches minus one bitch equals one bitch!" shouted the moderately muscular Cloaked Man, slapping his left knee. "Ye-e-e-e-haw! Ain't that a bitchy bitch of a stupid sinking situation you're in! A real knee-slapper." He grinned at her. "Time to put you to bed—with permanence."
Alia ran forward again, armored bootlets pattering along the asphalt. She skid-stopped before The Cloaked Man, skidding as before. This time, she slid as so the spray of sparks went up from her feet and toward The Cloaked Man. That temporarily distracted him, making him squint against the sparks.
She attacked: A left-right punch combination at his midsection, then a kick. Alia's attacks sent The Cloaked Man staggering. With that madman stagger-distracted, Alia side-dashed to be at the curb—trying to get a new fighting angle.
"Trying to move in on me, eh?" he said, recovering his balance. The instant he did, the muscled madman with the cape dashed at Alia—now by the curb.
Then his left fist arced downward, exploding with sparks—smacking Alia down hard. Gasping and grounded, Alia quickly stood again—nervously and shakingly staggered away. Stagger-ran to be by her fallen friend. And there the elfin cyborg knelt with hands to her now-cracked titanium chest. Her large eyes larger with worry, she looked at The Cloaked Man.
As she knelt and looked on at the traitor, three drops sprinkled the street. Then more drops from Alia. Dark red drops of Alia's own blood. For the first time in almost a century, the elfin cyborg bled. She began to feel light-headed, her body's blood supply steadily dripping from the crack between the slight feminine shapes on her chest.
"Heh, heh, heh, heh…" The Cloaked Man chuckled, and he began walking toward where Van lay broken and Alia knelt in critical injury. "Heh, heh, heh, heh…" She tried to stand up, but found it hard to control her body. The Cloaked Man's cape flapped behind him as his thick-soled black shoes stepped…stepped. And Alia had to kneel again, just to keep from falling over. The Cloaked Man was finally here. Then he bent over and gripped her metal neck. Using her neck as a handle, he hefted her—her metal bootlets five feet from the ground.
With Van broken and Alia too weak to fight anymore, the battle was over. The party of three was finally broken, disbanded by defeat. Defeated by mutual betrayal. Now, she was being gripped by the neck, about to die.
The madman's left thumb was over the metal-ringed tube that was Alia's windpipe. Even more so now, the elfin cyborg in his grip looked pitifully small. She weakly struggled with his grip, also struggled to keep her eyes open, as her blood supply leaked from her chest.
"Remember this, Alia?" he asked, teeth clenched as he gripped Alia's neck. "Huh, do you? Do you, huh?" Her eyelids nearly closed, so he gave her a jerk to try and keep her awake and alive enough to hear him out. Grip on her neck tightening a bit, crimping her throat, he said, "This was the way things were until that jacked-up jackass of an explosion—probably from the prisoner—blew everything up. Remember Alia? Remember?" He shook her twice. "Of course you don't remember. Your memory has been long-fucked by your auto-stasis.
"But my brain wasn't! I remember it all. I remember how you brought up some Geneva crap when I was interrogating that prisoner. Geneva, that ancient lore about treating prisoners of war with respect and all that. Say you remember, Alia!" His thumb tightened, windpipe closing. "What's my name, girl?"
Now, Alia felt the peace of darkness closing in. She was scared before; scared and hurt. That was fright because everything seemed to be very steeped in trouble. But now that she knew that she and her friend were lost, she did not worry anymore. Now, Alia just wanted to sleep for a very long time. Not wake up again… But bleeding to death took such a long time for a cyborg.
The thumb on her throat closed yet further. Her end would be hastened when her air was cut off. Was being cut off now. Just before darkness and peace closed over her, she managed to speak. "I give you thank…Elio." And then her eyes closed.
The Cloaked Man—Elio—smiled at the dying elfin cyborg. "Oh yeah! Say it! My name is Elio!" he shouted into her peaceful face, shaking her by the neck—her body limply and grotesquely swaying. "My fake name—The Cloaked Man—was a freakingly obvious cover. Damned double-decked dumb-head, didn't you get it?"
He was now just talking to a titanium-bodied corpse: Alia was dead. The blood supply within her body was now a puddle of deep rich red on the asphalt at his feet. Dead.
"Wait a dog-gone minute…" he exclaimed aloud. Thank me?" he shouted. "Thank…me?" He shook the small body—body inert as a metal doll. That was what it was just now: a blonde-haired metal doll the size of a little girl. The elf-girl brain within it dead and cooling. "Thank ME?" He lifted the limp metal form, his cape crackling. A horrible whoosh as he slammed the little metal form so hard that there were cracks in the street where it struck.
Now, Alia's diminutive body was beside Van's. Both bodies with limbs sprawled, both face-down and with hair splayed. The Cloaked Man regarded them both, smirking at them. Thinking on them.
Those two put up a pretty damned good fight. Not as good as damned good coffee, but a pretty decent fight anyway. And they would have been his left and right hands of rulership, too. It would have been so cool: Alia serving as his light-and-nimble personal messenger to the townspeople, his right hand; Van as his personal enforcer. Like oatmeal and darned good coffee.
Not that he needed help, or oatmeal. But darned good coffee is always nice. Thinking so, The Cloaked Man turned, his left foot pivoting. In his mind, he had vague ideas about oatmeal and damned good coffee. Hmm… Damned good coffee… Where in tarnation could I get some? Coffee… Coffee… Oatmeal and brain grits, gore galore! Heh, heh, heh…
But, The Cloaked Man—revealed to be Elio—did not at all get far when he felt something not quite right. He was a block away from the ruined diner and the scene of the corpses when he stopped walking. Just stood there like a stupid fool while things happened behind his back.
There was a blast of wind, and the sky began to crackle with lightning. And then the wind blasted across the mountains that surrounded this little city. The wind, it then blasted across the scene and whipped The Cloaked Man's cape. Yet, he did not turn around—even as the light of day was being darkened by clouds.
Something happened to the broken robot-girl as well. There was a hidden reserve of nanobots within Van's chest—and that supply of nanobots made most of Van's body melt into a little pool of raw material. The microfusion battery in the puddle flared, and the puddle became a ball of controlled energy. Still, The Cloaked Man did not turn around.
The ball of ghostly energy, what had once been Van, had floated up—settled onto the metal-bodied elf's body. Then, the body was surrounded in energy. Lightning crackled and snapped. Krr-krack-boom! Bolts of lightning shot down from the sky, hitting the ball of energy and what was inside. And The Cloaked Man still refused to turn around.
If he did turn around, he would have seen the final result. He would have seen the ball of energy lift up and reveal a petite, dark-haired and metal-bodied being with a different face. A fully repaired cyborg-girl. Very dark hair, even darker eyes. And her metal body looked more feminine. The ball of energy hovered over her head. It came down and shrunk, squeezed itself. The reformed being opened her right hand, and the ball of compressed energy closed—forming a suddenly cool blade. More exactly, the Damascus Blade of millennia ago.
"Cloaked Man!" shouted the reformed female cyborg, shouting down the street. Because down the street, The Cloaked Man still stood. She shouted, "You have killed again! For that, I bring your end!" She saw The Cloaked Man turn around—a big smile on his face.
"Why, Gally! Didn't I have done kill you dead? Then again, you done killed me and my girlfriend! Damn, I tried coming back as a human, tried coming back as a robot, and now I come back as a synthetic-bodied cyborg. Damn it, can't a demon like me just get on with darkening this stupid dirt ball of a planety?" Then he leapt and stood five yards in front of the reincarnated cyborg. He raised his fists, and the battle started—a battle beneath a cloud-boiling sky of lightning and chaos.
So the battle for The City of Slow Dreams began yet again. The Cloaked Man stood with his fists up and clenched. The newly revealed Gally stood with her Damascus blade in her right hand—a blade not seen for millennia. The Cloaked Man: a warrior not of this reality. Gally, a warrior not of this time.
The Cloaked Man snatched at his cape, holding onto a corner and bringing it up like a shield. "Yargh… Argh!" he shouted. Lightning flickered out from the material. And the bright bolts of unholy lightning pattered and jolted into Gally's chest. Gally staggered, taking the blows to her petite metal form.
But she stood strong. She righted herself, then did a small leap backward. Using the strength of her electromechanical legs and back, she snapped forward again, and she slashed. Slashed so quickly that the blade seemed like an arc of pure light as she flew past. She landed, stood again.
The Cloaked Man frowned. He looked down at his chest. It looked fine—until a splash of dark blood gushed from the cut over his currently synthetic heart. The cut was not into his heart. Damn it, he thought, if this body dies, I'm gonna have a Hell of a time getting back from the Other Side.
He turned, his cape swirling. Dark, night-colored artificial blood poured down the left side of his chest, and his left arm was no longer working. "You freaky little thing! Don't you know what I did to get back into reality?" He said that, then he extended his right arm toward Gally. A bolt of lightning shot down from the sky, knocking Gally backward.
She stood again, her short-cut dark hair standing slightly out with the static charge from the lightning blast. "It cost you yet another incarnation, Cloaked Man," said Gally. She ran forward with her blade raised, ran forward just as The Cloaked Man used his cape to shield himself—lightning flaring up madly…
Gally was forced to stop with the onslaught of lightning blasts…. She stopped, knelt as all of that fierce lightning from The Cloaked Man pattered into her body. So much lightning shattered against Gally that even the asphalt was heating. The air was becoming oven-hot. Everything seemed to be in a strobe lighting… Then The Cloaked Man stopped.
Heavily breathing, with smoke coming from his mouth, he spoke to the cyborg that now knelt before him. "There you go, damned angel! I got you go-o-o-od! In your face!" Then Gally looked up.
Her eyes were a pure blaze of white. The wind began to fiercely blow, blowing her dark hair—wind buffeting her body. She spoke, and her voice seemed to come from all around. "This is your end, Cloaked Man! I insist!" Then, Gally gave the final attack.
She stood, and all of that stored electrical charge—stored unholy lightning from The Cloaked Man's attacks—charged Gally's body. She raised her Damascus blade to the sky, lightning struck it several times. When she slashed down, the entire scene became covered in white light and heavenly warmth…
When the light faded, Gally's blade was in The Cloaked Man's belly. The Cloaked Man's face held a frown, then the face split down the middle. The split traveled downward and down to Gally's blade. Apparently, Gally had cut The Cloaked Man from head to gut. So she pulled back her blade.
The Cloaked Man's half-divided body sank to knees, making awful burbling sounds as blood went down and everywhere. Then the body fell belly-down, the divided cape covering. The body blackened, charred. Another wind came, and blew off parts of the blackened mound—which had turned to dark dust before being blown into the breeze.
Gally gently closed her eyes. Her right hand unclenched, and the blade dropped. But, there was no sound of it hitting the street; it disappeared before it hit the ground. And then Gally's face was gone, back to the elfin face of Alia. There was a song in the breeze as Alia fell backward, and her body faded from reality. But, just before Alia's body faded, there was a smile on the lips.
The humans and synthetic-bodied beings of this city—the City of Slow Dreams—would probably never know what changes would have come to their lives had an angel not come. Instead, they came out of homes and buildings, out of pubs and libraries, came out of everywhere. The people looked up at the sky, the clouds slowly going over this gentle place surrounded by mountains. All of the land was covered with a slow blue sky…
--END OF PART I---
(Note: Scroll down for a note from the author…)
--Author's Afterword to CITY OF SLOW DREAMS—
_____I suppose there are plenty of people out there who are going to
hate me
for saying this, but this has to be said anyway... Firstly, there is
more
than one way to write a fanfiction: straight from the original stories
(novels, movies, etcetera) or with creative embellishments. A writer
could
take most all the details of the original stories and make an EXACT
fanfiction
based EXACTLY on the original works. OR, a writer could take some liberties
and make fanfiction "based on" the original stories. Do you hate me
yet?
_____Now, fortunately or unfortunately, I have taken the secondary
route:
Clearly, the online novel CITY OF SLOW DREAMS is not a "straight up"
and
"exact" fanfiction of Yukito Kishiro's wonderful GUNNM/BATTLE ANGEL
manga
series. With the previous online novels I did for GUNNM/BATTLE ANGEL
and
SMALL WONDER, I wanted to add and change details. I wanted to do so
much in
writing them, but there were constraints. I did not want to deviate
TOO FAR
from the original series. However, some of the crazy stuff this amateur
novelist wanted to do in CROSSOVER and THE DARKENING had to come out.
So, I
took the more loose approach to writing the third novel of the CROSSOVER
series.
_____Before people break out the M-16 assault rifles and the katanas
to wipe
me out, please (Oh, please!) note that I'm not the only one who does
this sort
of thing. When professional writers' novels are made into movies or
video
games (PARASITE EVE, anyone?), the script-writers or programmers take
liberties with plotlines, characters, etcetera. When stories go from
one format to another, sometimes things are changed; sometimes things
are
just changed for the format's sake. In short, things are mutated. Hey,
it's
for the sake of art...
_____Let me put examples on the desk. Of particular note, note the
differences between the first book of the GUNNM series and the OAV
made from
it. Also, note the differences between the video game series SUPER
MARIO
BROS. and the American fantasy movie made from it (also titled SUPER
MARIO
BROS.) during the late 1900s--BIG differences. At least, when some
of GUNNM made
the transition from manga to OAV, it was recognizable; about the only
similarities
between the game SUPER MARIO BROS and the movie SUPER MARIO BROS. were
the
titles and the character profiles. Though the makers of the movie SUPER
MARIO
BROS. absolutely mutated the settings, characters and ideas when they
made
it into a movie, the movie was entertaining. In making CITY OF SLOW
DREAMS,
I just wanted the work to be entertaining--even if I did mutate the
themes,
motifs, etcera from GUNNM.
_____How much mutation are we talking here? Well, I set CITY OF SLOW
DREAMS
some centuries AFTER the manga. (Yes, the War happened with the civilization
made after the anti-Salem revolution: War is an inevitability of the
human condition.) And the protagonist character Alia is a mix between
Gally/Alita,
a background character from RECORD OF LODOSS WAR, and a character from
my
own home-made science fiction novels. Further, there are plenty of
elements I
tossed in from an unpublished series of American sci-fi novels. Where
else
did TCM and Thunderhorse come from? They're not from SMALL WONDER,
not from
GUNNM/BATTLE ANGEL! Yes, yes... There was plenty of mutation between
Kishiro's works and the third fanfiction novel I made from that source.
_____Before I leave you to torture and try to kill my alter-ego, let
me finish off
with this: IT'S FOR FUN! I am an amateur novelist--perhaps to go professional
in five years or so--because writing novels is FUN. And, reading novels
should be for entertainment. Especially, I write fanfiction practice
novels
(like the online ones) because writing them is fun--especially when
there are
plenty of TWIN PEAKS songs to listen to. If people read fanfiction
novels
just to have an excuse to beat up amateur writers, then that is not
fun. If
people are forced to write fanfiction based EXACTLY on what is from
the
original stories, then that could be less fun. I mutated and made CITY
OF
SLOW DREAMS for entertainment purposes only--not for accuracy. Now,
I'm
working on a little something else--for a different type of series
altogether. Should be done with it some time early next year. I'll
see you
folks later, hopefully. Or see you in the breeze.
_____Just maybe, there are some curious folks who would want to read
Part II.
So, for the curious, if you really want to see Part II, visit
my website:
http://eliotbauers.tripod.com
. But, be warned it reads more
LODOSS WAR than GUNNM…!) Just scroll down; the chapters should
be
there. If not, you know how to contact this joker... And
remember, it is all
for entertainment...
--Elliot Bowers
