Chapter Two: What is It?
-Space Command, The Pentagon--Washington, D.C.-
The commanding officer led his superior down the hall to the main command room. The superior is six-feet-two, muscles bulging from underneath his Shadowlaw...er, I mean blue Air Force uniform, complete with medals over his chest. A black cape was draped over his shoulders. Tucked in the crook of his arm, was his cap. Rather than the U.S. Air Force insignia on the cap, there was the symbol of a winged skull instead. There is no doubt that this man is the dreaded warlord himself, General M. Bison. At the two writers' request, he has toned down the Psycho Power, aloowing his eyes to change from solid white to brown.
From Christie's office, Christie Redfield and The Head of the Crooked Party is watching the events unfold.
Christie: I'm curious. How did you managed to get Bison to play the good guy in this story?
Headcrook: (shrugs) I promised him a match against Geese Howard the next time I write another Street Fighter fanfic.
Christie: Clever.
"Who else knows about this?" Bison asked, running a hand through his neatly combed hair.
"S.E.T.I. in New Mexico identified a signal, but they're even more confused than we are," the commanding officer, who turned out to be the Dhadowlaw japanese doll Satsuki replied. She pulls out a card and slides it through the lock and the doors fly open. He leads Bison to a table, where another officer--also female, with long brown hair tied into a tight bun--waits for them, holding a transparency of a large vague object in her hands.
Juli shows Bison the transparency. "We estimate it has a diameter of over five hundred and fifty kilometers and a mass roughly one-fourth the size of our moon," she reported.
Bison looked at the transparency. "What the hell is it? A meteor?"
Juli shook her head. "No, General. Definitely not."
"And how do you know that?"
Juli gulped, knowing that her boss was not going to like the answer. "Well, General, it's slowing down."
Bison looked up. "It's doing WHAT?"
"It's slowing down, sir."
Bison looked at the commanding officer for a moment. Then he picked up a nearby phone. "Get me the Secretary of Defense...Then wake him up!"
-The White House-
Laying in the bed, President William F. Guile was reading through a stack of papers, mumbling to himself. He was dressed in a tanktop and a pair of pajama pants. his hair hung limply down, reminding someone of Paul Phoneix with his hair down. Then the phone on the nightstand began to ring. He places the papers aside and picks up the cordless phone. "Hello?"
"Hi. It's me."
The commando-turned-president's usual cold expression turned warm when he realises who it is. "Hi, Julia. What time is it in L.A.?"
Across the country, Julia Guile was pacing in her hotel suite, dressed in simply a bathrobe. "It's three in the morning. I know I didn't wake you."
"As a matter of fact, you just did."
Julia sighed. She knew Guile all to well. "Liar."
Guile sat up in the bed. "I have a confession to make. I'm sleeping next to a beautiful young blonde."
Julia shook her head. She knew that he was talking about their eleven-year old daughter, Amy. "Did you let her stay up all night watching TV again?"
"Of course not. You're coming back after the luncheon, right?"
"Yes, William."
Amy stirs, then wakes up. "Mom?"
Guile hands her the phone. "Here's your mother."
Amy sits up in the bed and takes the phone from her father. While she is talking to her mother, Amy grabs the remote control and turns the TV on. Right now, there is a McLaughlin-type news discussion program. The picture quality is snowy, static ridden. They were talking about President Guile.
"President Guile's approval ratings has slipped below 40 percent," one man said. "Even his crime bill failed to pass."
"Leadership as a pilot in the Gulf War has no relationship to political leadership," another man said.
"Daddy let me watch 'Letterman,'" Amy snitched to her mother.
Guile slipped on a bathrobe and walked to the bedroom door. "Traitor," he said before walking out of the room.
Upon closing the door, the female commentator says, "They elected a warrior and they got a wimp."
After brushing his teeth, and combing his hair, Guile walks down the hallway, heading for the dining room, the newspaper in his hand. As he passes one of the Secret Service agents, he bids him good morning and hands him the sports section of the paper. Also present was his communications director. We see that Guile's communications director is the Chinese martial artist Chun Li Xiang. Rather than her usual chesogam fighting dress and boots, she is dressed in a conservative business suit and her hair is tied into a single braid. In her hand, was another newspaper.
Guile yawned. "You're up awfully early this morning, Chun Li."
Chun Li followed Guile to the breakfast table and took a seat across from him. "They're not attacking your policies, William. They're attacking your age." She began to read from the newspaper she had in her hand. "Addressing Congress, Guile seems less like the President and more like the orphan child Oliver asking, 'Please sir, I'd like some more.'"
"Humph," Guile grunted. "Clever." He raised the glass of orange juice to his lips and takes a sip.
Chun Li set the paper down."I'm not laughing," she replied. "Age was really never an issue when you stuck to your guns. You were thought as young and idealistic. Now the message is lost. Too much compromise and politics."
"Isn't it amazing how fast everyone can turn against you?" Guile remarked dryly.
Realizing that she might be irritating her boss, Chun Li decided to change the subject. "On the bright side, you've been voted 'one of the ten sexiest men of the year.' by GQ."
Guile grinned. "Well, at least we're making some progress."
Chun Li sighed. An aide appeared holding a cordless phone. "Excuse me, Mr. President. It's the Secretary of Defense."
Guile takes the phone. "Hello." His once cheery mood slowly changed to that of surprise and disbelief. "Can...you say that again?"
Somewhere in outer space, an old Russian satelite smashes into something huge. Big freaking deal.
-Space Command, The Pentagon--Washington, D.C.-
The commanding officer led his superior down the hall to the main command room. The superior is six-feet-two, muscles bulging from underneath his Shadowlaw...er, I mean blue Air Force uniform, complete with medals over his chest. A black cape was draped over his shoulders. Tucked in the crook of his arm, was his cap. Rather than the U.S. Air Force insignia on the cap, there was the symbol of a winged skull instead. There is no doubt that this man is the dreaded warlord himself, General M. Bison. At the two writers' request, he has toned down the Psycho Power, aloowing his eyes to change from solid white to brown.
From Christie's office, Christie Redfield and The Head of the Crooked Party is watching the events unfold.
Christie: I'm curious. How did you managed to get Bison to play the good guy in this story?
Headcrook: (shrugs) I promised him a match against Geese Howard the next time I write another Street Fighter fanfic.
Christie: Clever.
"Who else knows about this?" Bison asked, running a hand through his neatly combed hair.
"S.E.T.I. in New Mexico identified a signal, but they're even more confused than we are," the commanding officer, who turned out to be the Dhadowlaw japanese doll Satsuki replied. She pulls out a card and slides it through the lock and the doors fly open. He leads Bison to a table, where another officer--also female, with long brown hair tied into a tight bun--waits for them, holding a transparency of a large vague object in her hands.
Juli shows Bison the transparency. "We estimate it has a diameter of over five hundred and fifty kilometers and a mass roughly one-fourth the size of our moon," she reported.
Bison looked at the transparency. "What the hell is it? A meteor?"
Juli shook her head. "No, General. Definitely not."
"And how do you know that?"
Juli gulped, knowing that her boss was not going to like the answer. "Well, General, it's slowing down."
Bison looked up. "It's doing WHAT?"
"It's slowing down, sir."
Bison looked at the commanding officer for a moment. Then he picked up a nearby phone. "Get me the Secretary of Defense...Then wake him up!"
-The White House-
Laying in the bed, President William F. Guile was reading through a stack of papers, mumbling to himself. He was dressed in a tanktop and a pair of pajama pants. his hair hung limply down, reminding someone of Paul Phoneix with his hair down. Then the phone on the nightstand began to ring. He places the papers aside and picks up the cordless phone. "Hello?"
"Hi. It's me."
The commando-turned-president's usual cold expression turned warm when he realises who it is. "Hi, Julia. What time is it in L.A.?"
Across the country, Julia Guile was pacing in her hotel suite, dressed in simply a bathrobe. "It's three in the morning. I know I didn't wake you."
"As a matter of fact, you just did."
Julia sighed. She knew Guile all to well. "Liar."
Guile sat up in the bed. "I have a confession to make. I'm sleeping next to a beautiful young blonde."
Julia shook her head. She knew that he was talking about their eleven-year old daughter, Amy. "Did you let her stay up all night watching TV again?"
"Of course not. You're coming back after the luncheon, right?"
"Yes, William."
Amy stirs, then wakes up. "Mom?"
Guile hands her the phone. "Here's your mother."
Amy sits up in the bed and takes the phone from her father. While she is talking to her mother, Amy grabs the remote control and turns the TV on. Right now, there is a McLaughlin-type news discussion program. The picture quality is snowy, static ridden. They were talking about President Guile.
"President Guile's approval ratings has slipped below 40 percent," one man said. "Even his crime bill failed to pass."
"Leadership as a pilot in the Gulf War has no relationship to political leadership," another man said.
"Daddy let me watch 'Letterman,'" Amy snitched to her mother.
Guile slipped on a bathrobe and walked to the bedroom door. "Traitor," he said before walking out of the room.
Upon closing the door, the female commentator says, "They elected a warrior and they got a wimp."
After brushing his teeth, and combing his hair, Guile walks down the hallway, heading for the dining room, the newspaper in his hand. As he passes one of the Secret Service agents, he bids him good morning and hands him the sports section of the paper. Also present was his communications director. We see that Guile's communications director is the Chinese martial artist Chun Li Xiang. Rather than her usual chesogam fighting dress and boots, she is dressed in a conservative business suit and her hair is tied into a single braid. In her hand, was another newspaper.
Guile yawned. "You're up awfully early this morning, Chun Li."
Chun Li followed Guile to the breakfast table and took a seat across from him. "They're not attacking your policies, William. They're attacking your age." She began to read from the newspaper she had in her hand. "Addressing Congress, Guile seems less like the President and more like the orphan child Oliver asking, 'Please sir, I'd like some more.'"
"Humph," Guile grunted. "Clever." He raised the glass of orange juice to his lips and takes a sip.
Chun Li set the paper down."I'm not laughing," she replied. "Age was really never an issue when you stuck to your guns. You were thought as young and idealistic. Now the message is lost. Too much compromise and politics."
"Isn't it amazing how fast everyone can turn against you?" Guile remarked dryly.
Realizing that she might be irritating her boss, Chun Li decided to change the subject. "On the bright side, you've been voted 'one of the ten sexiest men of the year.' by GQ."
Guile grinned. "Well, at least we're making some progress."
Chun Li sighed. An aide appeared holding a cordless phone. "Excuse me, Mr. President. It's the Secretary of Defense."
Guile takes the phone. "Hello." His once cheery mood slowly changed to that of surprise and disbelief. "Can...you say that again?"
Somewhere in outer space, an old Russian satelite smashes into something huge. Big freaking deal.