Pull up your seats, and make yourselves comfortable. Pour yourself a drink, get something to munch, put the children to bed, and be sure to wear clean underwear. It's that time of the year again.
Welcome back to Boardspace.
Yes, that rapidly-growing virtual manifestation of the humble Internet message board, born from random servers all over the world, the transmissions of sattelites above the clouds, and the minds of the very people who come here every day, be it for casual conversation or important announcements, or the occasional need to prove one's superiority over one's fellow carbon-based lifeforms.
Not that that's always a bad thing. There's people out there who do deserve a whack to the head to keep them in line, but when the question of who is expected to deliver that whack arises, one would be hard put to find an answer.
Whose place is it to address the misbehavior of a total stranger? Do things like rank and position really matter in such a case, or is it the civil right of everyone to stand together in such cases? Or should one simply subscribe to the philosophy of 'let he who is without sin cast the first stone'?
Well?
***
Here, is the shining city of TransFans.
Well, more like the shiny reflective Ivory Tower in the middle of the mostly white buildings of TransFans, at any rate. It's always useful to get these things out in the open early on.
It has been rumored on occasion that the Admin Forum is a massive realm only accessible through a portal somewhere in the uppermost level of the Ivory Tower. It has been suggested by one, that there is no Admin Forum - that the moment the work day begins, the Ivory Tower's topmost office facilitates the functions of the Admin Forum, hence eliminating for the need for an Admin Forum.
He has since been banned.
Our story begins on a day much like every other as Best First, the incumbent admin of TransFans, steps through the green marble threshold of the Ivory Tower office, followed by his command staff, Computron, IronHide, Pretender Bumblebee, Papa Snarl, and Weirdwolf, with his personal troll Monzo safely encased in his helmet. Best First leads them to the boardroom, where six chairs (and a feed bowl for Rebis) await them, and all six take their seats.
"I have called you all here to address the point I'd just brought up," Best First began, "the need for all TransFans to undergo training for impending troll attacks. But I think you know as well as I the real reason for this..."
Computron shot a look at Weirdwolf, who simply shrugged. If there was another reason, he hadn't been briefied on it.
"We cannot rely on Aaron Hong every time this happens," said Besty at last. "He's already had his turn risking his life for his society - he's a family man now, his job now is to bring up his five children, and I will not take that from him by risking his life like this."
"Plus you don't trust him walking around with a weapon slung at his belt," Computron added.
"Will you quit it about that?!" Besty snapped. "All right, I admit - we've been attempting peace talks with the TF Archive for a while now, and you all know how Aaron acts up around Brendocon."
"Brend has that effect on everyone," said Snarlos.
"You're the one who keeps making Brend out as the bad guy," said IronHide.
"Not that I'd like to see you making out within my lifetime, thank you," Pretender Bumblebee added.
Best First had to raise a hand to his forehead, to hide the bulging veins.
"Fine," he said at last. "So it's as much our fault as his. Well and good. Fortunately Aaron may have given us the right idea this time, with the implementation of military training over all of TransFans... what kind of preparations are we making for this?"
"I've been extending the city limits to create training areas," said IronHide. Best First nodded at this.
"The old warehouse district is being renovated into a military complex," said Computron.
"Good idea, bloody eyesores," Best First droned.
"I've drawn up a chart indicating all the ranks we'll get from the military structure," said Pretender Bumblebee, as he extended his right hand while tapping his TransFans badge with his left - causing an Excel Spreadsheet attachment to manifest in his open palm.
"All right!" said BF, livening up at the news. "Do I make General?"
"...in Omega Supreme's absence you only get as far as three-star General," said Bumblebee, noting the current look in IH and Compy's eyes. "The thing is we'll all get stars, that's the fun bit... except for Papa Snarl, you've made Regimental Sergeant Major, Master Warrant Officer."
"YES!!" went Snarlos as he leaped off his seat and pumped his fist in the air - then realised that it wasn't as big a rank as it sounded at first.
"Is Aaron getting a part in this?" asked Computron. "And Smooth and EmVee - MachanikalAnimal might be coming back one of these days, too..."
"Is Rebis allowed to pull rank?" asked IronHide, knowing just how the Insolent Dog would react to such an arrangement.
"And Impactor Returns," Snarlos added. "He'll want a part in this sure enough."
Bumblebee looked again at his spreadsheet... and for the first time, his eyes betrayed his personal satisfaction at what he saw.
"You guys are going to love this."
***
"Oh, for bloody crying out LOUD!!!"
Impactor Returns couldn't believe it, as he stared through the intricate furnishings around him and into blank space. After all his years on the Board - all the posts he made - his role in the great discarded alt-ID war on top of that - he'd been assigned to the very unique and distinctive role of Toiler Cleaner.
He flung down one of his plungers and sighed.
Of course, every role in the military was a vital one - you had Sheba as Head Cook, Hound as Quartermaster, and even Karl Lynch, the Voice God himself, had made Communications Officer. All flashy names for menial tasks, as per procedure.
But even so... dammit... Toilet Cleaner.
Impactor Returns pulled out his toilet brush and looked about with trepidation at his impending task - he was in one of the refurbished buildings, with eight rows of water closets just for starters, and there was not only the usual muck from some very incontinent renovation workers, but plaster and trodden mud and even the odd lefover bolt to go through.
Well flush all that, thought Impactor Returns to himself as he adjusted the length of the toilet brush handle to an inexplicable three feet long. I'll show 'em. I'll be the genius of Toilet Cleaners. I'll be the Michael Buble of the bubbly. It's not like this is the first time I've been stuck here against my will.
Yeah, that was that other time...
(To the tune of 'Just Lose It' by Eminem)
OK... OK...
Guess who's back
Back again
Impy's back
It's the end
Now every log on to the messageboard
to the messageboard, to the messageboard
Now every log on to the messageboard
And now stop... Impactor time
Hello moderators, please don't rush
Guess who's back with a toilet brush
And I don't mean brush as in avoiding
any lawsuit trouble or illegal things
'Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!' Good God,
Impy's got a suntanned chiseled bod
How else can I possibly get me a nod
I've done near everything but be a Mod
Now that's not a dig at Best First,
washed his chest first, got me hair all wet first
I get a little constipated somedays
I get particularly frustrated washing bidets
If you see me, don't stay to talk
Stand up, flush the bowl and just walk
to the toilet door and move on - like T.P.
stuck on your shoe, trailing along till you hit the street
Nobody's gonna know who did it
They get mad if I don't admit it
*spplllrrrtt* Oops, my vinyl just jumped
And everyone just heard you take a dump
My bogs gonna make you dance
Here's your chance, yeah girl shake that ass
Whoops, I mean woman - woman woman woman
Women always ruin my world
I guess you blew it 'Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!'
All blew it 'Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!'
We're failing 'Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!'
And wailing 'Oi!' And railing 'Oi!'
It's TransFans, and we're all fans
Look at Best First lounging on the grandstand
I might make Mod then, I don't know just when
Maybe someday he'll understand
I'm always posting, talking about something
More than ten thousand posts and always counting
I don't know when it'll be, all I know is
when I'm a Mod, Obfleur will wanna 'touch my body'
Excuse me Annie, I don't mean to sound like a git
But my fingers hurt from posting just a bit
Could you get your little husband to kick my ass
Maybe shoot me, or cut my head off, yeah
Would you like to do it in the butt?
'Man, you musta got the wrong slut'
Snarl?! 'Oi! Oi!' Dear God, oh why? I'm being punished, aren't I?!
My bogs gonna make you dance
Here's your chance, yeah girl shake that ass
Whoops, I mean woman - woman woman woman
Women always ruin my world
I guess you blew it 'Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!'
All blew it 'Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!'
We're failing 'Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!'
Emailing 'Oi!' eBay-ling 'Oi!'
Excuse me, Compy or Weirdwolf
I got banned and I don't know what happened
They said I was up till 4 am,
posting on the Board, going 'Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!'
I was drinking, I don't know what happened
All I know is this much, Leatherneck drinks more
They said 'quit it, get some sleep and
in the morning we'll get Ob to 'touch my body'
Now this is the part where the Board winds down
Nobody's posting, tumbleweeds go round
Everything looks like Seibertron now
I'll lock the toilet, everybody wet yourselves
Kick back with the afterburn, look, Impactor Returns
I'm not just a man, I'm a TransFan
Compy Besty PB Snarly Weirdy IH
I got too many posts to quote this time
MV Dylan tell me TransFans! 'What?' TransFans!
Drop your pants, pucker up and dance fans! 'What?'
Long posts, short posts, drunk posts, funny posts
Pic posts, link posts, I'm posting more posts
Everyone log on down at TransFans
It's your chance fans, do a little dance fans
No reason, it's the season just post
'Oi! Oi! Oi!' just like you're sneezin'
My bogs gonna make you dance
Here's your chance, yeah girl shake that ass
Whoops, I mean woman - woman woman woman
Women always ruin my world
I guess you blew it 'Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!'
All blew it 'Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!'
We're failing 'Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!'
Stop sailing 'Oi!' Get bailing 'Oi!'
touch my body
touch your body
and then we touch his body
I mean just you touch his body
***
transfans2.net
presents
An Aaron Hong Fanfic
TRANSFANS:
BUNCH OF BUGGERS
TransFans: Bunch of Buggers
Moderators:Best First, spiderfrommars, IronHide
-
Aaron Hong
- Me king!
- Posts:1269
- Joined:Fri Jan 11, 2002 12:00 am
- ::No pity for fools
- Location:...No let ME fold the map GAAH
-
Optimus Prime Rib
- Over Pompous Autobot Commander
- Posts:2215
- Joined:Mon Apr 19, 2004 11:00 pm
- Location:College Station, TX
- Contact:
-
Aaron Hong
- Me king!
- Posts:1269
- Joined:Fri Jan 11, 2002 12:00 am
- ::No pity for fools
- Location:...No let ME fold the map GAAH
-
Aaron Hong
- Me king!
- Posts:1269
- Joined:Fri Jan 11, 2002 12:00 am
- ::No pity for fools
- Location:...No let ME fold the map GAAH
We return from our detour to Spoiler City to your irregularly scheduled fanfic update.
***
There was a wave of change passing through TransFans.
Scanning your badge at the entrance was normal for most Boards, but things had gone up a few levels here. Newbies registering had to go through a row of scanning gantries, then be thoroughly searched, and even sniffed out by Rebis the Insolent dog just to be certain.
Regular TransFans had something extra to go through, as Metal Vendetta would soon find out - he was directed by Besty's newly-employed security staff, Orion Pax (despite his seriously non-regulation haricut) with an odd white armband that MV didn't get a good look at.
"What's all this about?" he asked. "The Tower finally recognises the martial law it's imposed on these people all this time?"
"Didn't you get the memo?" Orion Pax asked back. "Best First is finally implementing a military structure in the Board. Everyone's getting ranked and filed, and training for any impending Board threat at all. Looky here, I got me a new job too."
Orion Pax took a step back and showed off his brand new (albeit rather makeshift-looking) armband, and MV got a better look at it.
"M... P?"
"As in Military Police, bub," said O-Pax proudly.
"This looks like you made it from cotton," EmVee remarked.
"Well... they haven't secured the uniform maker yet, but we managed to scare these up from the suppliers," O-Pax explained.
"You wrote the MP in with a bloody marker!" EmVee snapped.
"...And a ruler and protractor," O-Pax added eventually. "It's harder than it looks..."
"I'm not listening to a black-marker MP! Get me somebody who can make decisions around here!" EmVee demanded.
An echoing snap-bark broke up the impending argument, as Rebis himself stepped in to intervene. Rebis was known for that effect he had on people, able to look a full-grown man in the eye despite being three feet tall, strongarming any unwary newbies without needing hands or fingers. Having twice as many teeth as humans did helped too.
"...umm, it's okay, Rebis," said MV nervously, "I mean if you'd rather I save this for some other time I can do that, I mean it's all right..."
Rebis nudged his head to the left, and EmVee followed his gaze, to the Ivory Tower's front door.
***
The Ivory Tower atrium was abuzz with activity - more desks had been set up here, all for the express purpose of preparing TransFans for what was to come. One could of course take a closer look and guess at what was going on, but it always helps at times like this to see things through the eyes of the individual.
The individual in this case being Tired Tracks, longtime Transfan and trusted Board member. He belonged to the in-betweener subset of TransFans - not a newbie, but not as senior as EmVee back there. It sounded dubious at first, but the fact was that over a thousand TransFans shared his peculiar status, making them the real majority.
Tired Tracks hadn't realised it yet, but this would matter diddly squat in a military hierarchy.
"Yo," said Tracks' best friend and partner in crime Laser Rod Optimus Prime. "They're letting us through to the head of the queue, whatever they're going to do to us, it'll be both at once. C'mon."
"Cool," Tracks replied, following LROP to the desk - where saysadie, prominent TransFan by dint of being one of the few females, operated a desktop computer, looking up for a second to see them come in.
"Ah, there you are," she remarked. "OK, I'll be taking your TransFan badges now."
Tired Tracks looked back at her in shock.
"It'll be all right," said LROP. "It's an important part of the military infrastructure - look, just do it, it's too hard to explain this way. Ready?" He pulled out his TransFan badge, and waited for TT to (reluctantly) take out his own badge, and hand it over to saysadie.
"No more Tech Spec card powers," Tracks lamented.
"All for the best, I assure you," said saysadie, as she inserted both badges into her PC chassis through specially molded slots, then watched as TT and LROP's data appeared on the screen.
"Very nice," she remarked, as sounds of grinding metal came out of the chassis. "Post counts and dates of registration check out..."
"What are you talking about? You know who we are!" said Tracks.
"Tracks," said LROP, carefully nudging TT, "first of all, they need to verify our status with the database before doing anything, and secondly, we've never actually addressed her before this anyways, so it's safe to say she doesn't know who we are."
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Tracks replied. "Must be a girl thing."
saysadie cleared her throat in that well-known I-can-still-hear-you fashion, and LROP and TT shut up.
"This is what it comes down to, folks," she said as she pulled two items out of a hidden drawer in the chassis - Tired Tracks and Laser Rod Optimus Prime got a bit of a surprise as they heard the clinking of metal, when saysadie produced the newly-milled metallic items that Dylan Nagel's defthanded programming skill had helped create.
"...You made us dogtags?" said TT at last.
"These will replace TransFan badges as your official IDs until this all blows over," said saysadie, as LROP put his around his neck right away, while Tired Tracks took some time to examine his.
"...I'm a Private?"
"Further rank assignments will have to wait till your abilities are evaluated," said someone from behind the duo - they weren't as surprised this time, because there was only one person in the world who spoke in tones you could wear to bed.
"Professor Smooth," said Laser Rod.
"DUDE!" yelled Tired Tracks, who reached a hand out to shake Smooth's hand - and missed.
"Always a pleasure, Tracks - but sorry," said Smooth, pulling his dog tags out of his collar. "Our ranks are given based on our current records, and being here for so long, well..."
LROP and TT peered into Smooth's dog tags carefully.
"...You're a colonel."
"We can't even hang out in the same bar anymore. Sorry," said the Professor. "Plus there's the issue of legal age that you kids gotta go through," he added, rubbing Tired Tracks' head casually. "I'm sure you'll understand..."
"Of course we do," said LROP, with an arm around Tracks' shoulder. "I mean you just filled Dylan's daily apology quota just like that, it's obviously important... I think we gotta check our accomodations now. See you around, sir."
Laser Rod Optimus Prime saluted with his free hand and left with Tired Tracks, while Smooth just stood there and watched.
There was a reason for all this, of course, and he knew as well as the mods, and possibly Best First himself, that sacrifices had to be made, in the name of peace. The price of freedom was a little more than vigilance, and the problem with that kind of equation was that nobody was qualified to do the math on it.
He didn't even have the heart to say that LROP had saluted with the wrong hand.
***
Smooth had not been that far wrong about the discrimination taking place. He'd been quietly led to the back, with many of the more prominent Transfans (albeit they were led by Rebis, but what the hell, really) where the officer commissions were being handed out. Admittedly folks like Stuart Denyer, Dylan, Ikijigoku and Metal Vendetta did warrant an officer classification in view of their services to the Board, but Smooth learned a long time ago that anything handed to you was only worth the effort you put into raising your hand and taking it.
The far end of the counters, back in the atrium, had been reserved for the real newbies - the ones on the opposite end of the spectrum, who'd been misled by ad campaigns proclaiming only forty days of service a year and uniforms provided (especially when IronHide was still arguing over the uniform suppliers over just what shade of olive green he wanted on them.)
"...and you are?" said Sergeant Hoistkeeper, when he'd finished taking in the entirety of the huge newbie standing in front of him. He looked as if half of his bones were transplanted from a bull, his arms were bigger than most people's legs, and he'd even taken the time to get a regulation crewcut first.
"My handle is Optimus Prime, SARGE!" said the manmountain.
"I'm sorry, but that name is taken," said Hoistkeeper, while thinking Here's a guy after Leatherneck's heart... "You have the option of customising your name with numbers of your own volition."
It took a few seconds for Hoistkeeper to notice the silence, and he chanced a glance upwards - and balked at the current glazed-over expression on the newbie's face.
"You need to change your name," said Hoistkeeper. The newbie blinked once, as his brain began to accomodate the shorter, more comfortable words.
"Optimus... Prime... umm..."
Despite what it looked like, the newbie came to a decision rather quickly.
"...prime... rib... Rib! All right then. I am Optimus Prime Rib."
"...very well," said Hoistkeeper as he started typing into his PC. The grinding of metal started up, an irritating sound that made Hoistkeeper wince, but for some reason did not faze Optimus Prime Rib one bit.
When it subsided, Hoistkeeper reached inside and brought out Optimus Prime Rib's dog tags.
"You will be required to take an oath, as all recruits will," Hoistkeeper explained. "One month of physical training and evaluations before the actual military training begins, which will last for..."
Hoistkeeper stopped for a second, and checked the expression on Optimus Prime Rib's face.
"Just wait over there," he said eventually, and the newbie did just that.
"Well, what do you think?" said Hoistkeeper to Powermaster Optimus Prime at the next desk. "Are we boned or not?"
"Some of these folks show some actual promise," PMOP replied. "This one called Aux already has a qualification in emergency alt-ID fabrication - if he holds out in combat, he'd fill our desparate need for medical operatives..."
"Perchance is this the conscription area of the TransFans military?"
It took a significantly longer time for Hoistkeeper and PMOP to get a good look at this next newbie, as he had taken the trouble of entering the Ivory Tower atrium on horseback. He and it were covered in shiny aluminum armor, which didn't look like any ancient civilisation the TransFans could recall right away - in fact the styling seemed fairly modern.
"Poetic Knight is the name," said the knight in way of introduction, "and I look forward to administering my services in the defence of this fine establishment..."
"...excuse me? Hello? I'm down here..."
PMOP decided to leave Hoistkeeper with his lot, and return to whoever that was calling for him - and got a shock as an angular PVC mask stared back at him.
"Sorry about that," said the newbie as he removed his mask, revealing a pale freckled face topped with messy blond hair. "I am Predabot, and..."
"Oh good, an original name," said PMOP as he started typing.
"My interests are Lego Bionicle, and the Beast Wars series," Predabot added.
"Technical expertise, knowlege of contemporary history," PMOP droned on as he typed. It was not clear if he'd actually heard what Predabot said, but if he didn't, he was trying his darndest not to show it. "We still have to evaluate your skills first, so you'll be a recruit like all these other folks..."
"I'm fine with that," said Predabot.
Not in a week you won't, PMOP tried not to say. "Right, gimme a few seconds..."
Meanwhile, Hoistkeeper had just done a double take at his current newbie. He was dressed in black, which on its own was not really all that unique, but he had white cuffs and collars billowing around his neck and wrists, and his hair, blonde with black streaks, was styled into two points that extended backwards from above his ears. Chiseled features and piercing eyes completed the CLAMP-styled picture.
"Name," said Hoistkeeper like he always did.
"I am the pillar in a sea of chaos," the newbie began. "I stand proud and alone in my solidarity."
"...yes, go on," said Hoistkeeper, while his fingers typed something completely different.
"I am... Ishin no Ookami."
***
There was a wave of change passing through TransFans.
Scanning your badge at the entrance was normal for most Boards, but things had gone up a few levels here. Newbies registering had to go through a row of scanning gantries, then be thoroughly searched, and even sniffed out by Rebis the Insolent dog just to be certain.
Regular TransFans had something extra to go through, as Metal Vendetta would soon find out - he was directed by Besty's newly-employed security staff, Orion Pax (despite his seriously non-regulation haricut) with an odd white armband that MV didn't get a good look at.
"What's all this about?" he asked. "The Tower finally recognises the martial law it's imposed on these people all this time?"
"Didn't you get the memo?" Orion Pax asked back. "Best First is finally implementing a military structure in the Board. Everyone's getting ranked and filed, and training for any impending Board threat at all. Looky here, I got me a new job too."
Orion Pax took a step back and showed off his brand new (albeit rather makeshift-looking) armband, and MV got a better look at it.
"M... P?"
"As in Military Police, bub," said O-Pax proudly.
"This looks like you made it from cotton," EmVee remarked.
"Well... they haven't secured the uniform maker yet, but we managed to scare these up from the suppliers," O-Pax explained.
"You wrote the MP in with a bloody marker!" EmVee snapped.
"...And a ruler and protractor," O-Pax added eventually. "It's harder than it looks..."
"I'm not listening to a black-marker MP! Get me somebody who can make decisions around here!" EmVee demanded.
An echoing snap-bark broke up the impending argument, as Rebis himself stepped in to intervene. Rebis was known for that effect he had on people, able to look a full-grown man in the eye despite being three feet tall, strongarming any unwary newbies without needing hands or fingers. Having twice as many teeth as humans did helped too.
"...umm, it's okay, Rebis," said MV nervously, "I mean if you'd rather I save this for some other time I can do that, I mean it's all right..."
Rebis nudged his head to the left, and EmVee followed his gaze, to the Ivory Tower's front door.
***
The Ivory Tower atrium was abuzz with activity - more desks had been set up here, all for the express purpose of preparing TransFans for what was to come. One could of course take a closer look and guess at what was going on, but it always helps at times like this to see things through the eyes of the individual.
The individual in this case being Tired Tracks, longtime Transfan and trusted Board member. He belonged to the in-betweener subset of TransFans - not a newbie, but not as senior as EmVee back there. It sounded dubious at first, but the fact was that over a thousand TransFans shared his peculiar status, making them the real majority.
Tired Tracks hadn't realised it yet, but this would matter diddly squat in a military hierarchy.
"Yo," said Tracks' best friend and partner in crime Laser Rod Optimus Prime. "They're letting us through to the head of the queue, whatever they're going to do to us, it'll be both at once. C'mon."
"Cool," Tracks replied, following LROP to the desk - where saysadie, prominent TransFan by dint of being one of the few females, operated a desktop computer, looking up for a second to see them come in.
"Ah, there you are," she remarked. "OK, I'll be taking your TransFan badges now."
Tired Tracks looked back at her in shock.
"It'll be all right," said LROP. "It's an important part of the military infrastructure - look, just do it, it's too hard to explain this way. Ready?" He pulled out his TransFan badge, and waited for TT to (reluctantly) take out his own badge, and hand it over to saysadie.
"No more Tech Spec card powers," Tracks lamented.
"All for the best, I assure you," said saysadie, as she inserted both badges into her PC chassis through specially molded slots, then watched as TT and LROP's data appeared on the screen.
"Very nice," she remarked, as sounds of grinding metal came out of the chassis. "Post counts and dates of registration check out..."
"What are you talking about? You know who we are!" said Tracks.
"Tracks," said LROP, carefully nudging TT, "first of all, they need to verify our status with the database before doing anything, and secondly, we've never actually addressed her before this anyways, so it's safe to say she doesn't know who we are."
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Tracks replied. "Must be a girl thing."
saysadie cleared her throat in that well-known I-can-still-hear-you fashion, and LROP and TT shut up.
"This is what it comes down to, folks," she said as she pulled two items out of a hidden drawer in the chassis - Tired Tracks and Laser Rod Optimus Prime got a bit of a surprise as they heard the clinking of metal, when saysadie produced the newly-milled metallic items that Dylan Nagel's defthanded programming skill had helped create.
"...You made us dogtags?" said TT at last.
"These will replace TransFan badges as your official IDs until this all blows over," said saysadie, as LROP put his around his neck right away, while Tired Tracks took some time to examine his.
"...I'm a Private?"
"Further rank assignments will have to wait till your abilities are evaluated," said someone from behind the duo - they weren't as surprised this time, because there was only one person in the world who spoke in tones you could wear to bed.
"Professor Smooth," said Laser Rod.
"DUDE!" yelled Tired Tracks, who reached a hand out to shake Smooth's hand - and missed.
"Always a pleasure, Tracks - but sorry," said Smooth, pulling his dog tags out of his collar. "Our ranks are given based on our current records, and being here for so long, well..."
LROP and TT peered into Smooth's dog tags carefully.
"...You're a colonel."
"We can't even hang out in the same bar anymore. Sorry," said the Professor. "Plus there's the issue of legal age that you kids gotta go through," he added, rubbing Tired Tracks' head casually. "I'm sure you'll understand..."
"Of course we do," said LROP, with an arm around Tracks' shoulder. "I mean you just filled Dylan's daily apology quota just like that, it's obviously important... I think we gotta check our accomodations now. See you around, sir."
Laser Rod Optimus Prime saluted with his free hand and left with Tired Tracks, while Smooth just stood there and watched.
There was a reason for all this, of course, and he knew as well as the mods, and possibly Best First himself, that sacrifices had to be made, in the name of peace. The price of freedom was a little more than vigilance, and the problem with that kind of equation was that nobody was qualified to do the math on it.
He didn't even have the heart to say that LROP had saluted with the wrong hand.
***
Smooth had not been that far wrong about the discrimination taking place. He'd been quietly led to the back, with many of the more prominent Transfans (albeit they were led by Rebis, but what the hell, really) where the officer commissions were being handed out. Admittedly folks like Stuart Denyer, Dylan, Ikijigoku and Metal Vendetta did warrant an officer classification in view of their services to the Board, but Smooth learned a long time ago that anything handed to you was only worth the effort you put into raising your hand and taking it.
The far end of the counters, back in the atrium, had been reserved for the real newbies - the ones on the opposite end of the spectrum, who'd been misled by ad campaigns proclaiming only forty days of service a year and uniforms provided (especially when IronHide was still arguing over the uniform suppliers over just what shade of olive green he wanted on them.)
"...and you are?" said Sergeant Hoistkeeper, when he'd finished taking in the entirety of the huge newbie standing in front of him. He looked as if half of his bones were transplanted from a bull, his arms were bigger than most people's legs, and he'd even taken the time to get a regulation crewcut first.
"My handle is Optimus Prime, SARGE!" said the manmountain.
"I'm sorry, but that name is taken," said Hoistkeeper, while thinking Here's a guy after Leatherneck's heart... "You have the option of customising your name with numbers of your own volition."
It took a few seconds for Hoistkeeper to notice the silence, and he chanced a glance upwards - and balked at the current glazed-over expression on the newbie's face.
"You need to change your name," said Hoistkeeper. The newbie blinked once, as his brain began to accomodate the shorter, more comfortable words.
"Optimus... Prime... umm..."
Despite what it looked like, the newbie came to a decision rather quickly.
"...prime... rib... Rib! All right then. I am Optimus Prime Rib."
"...very well," said Hoistkeeper as he started typing into his PC. The grinding of metal started up, an irritating sound that made Hoistkeeper wince, but for some reason did not faze Optimus Prime Rib one bit.
When it subsided, Hoistkeeper reached inside and brought out Optimus Prime Rib's dog tags.
"You will be required to take an oath, as all recruits will," Hoistkeeper explained. "One month of physical training and evaluations before the actual military training begins, which will last for..."
Hoistkeeper stopped for a second, and checked the expression on Optimus Prime Rib's face.
"Just wait over there," he said eventually, and the newbie did just that.
"Well, what do you think?" said Hoistkeeper to Powermaster Optimus Prime at the next desk. "Are we boned or not?"
"Some of these folks show some actual promise," PMOP replied. "This one called Aux already has a qualification in emergency alt-ID fabrication - if he holds out in combat, he'd fill our desparate need for medical operatives..."
"Perchance is this the conscription area of the TransFans military?"
It took a significantly longer time for Hoistkeeper and PMOP to get a good look at this next newbie, as he had taken the trouble of entering the Ivory Tower atrium on horseback. He and it were covered in shiny aluminum armor, which didn't look like any ancient civilisation the TransFans could recall right away - in fact the styling seemed fairly modern.
"Poetic Knight is the name," said the knight in way of introduction, "and I look forward to administering my services in the defence of this fine establishment..."
"...excuse me? Hello? I'm down here..."
PMOP decided to leave Hoistkeeper with his lot, and return to whoever that was calling for him - and got a shock as an angular PVC mask stared back at him.
"Sorry about that," said the newbie as he removed his mask, revealing a pale freckled face topped with messy blond hair. "I am Predabot, and..."
"Oh good, an original name," said PMOP as he started typing.
"My interests are Lego Bionicle, and the Beast Wars series," Predabot added.
"Technical expertise, knowlege of contemporary history," PMOP droned on as he typed. It was not clear if he'd actually heard what Predabot said, but if he didn't, he was trying his darndest not to show it. "We still have to evaluate your skills first, so you'll be a recruit like all these other folks..."
"I'm fine with that," said Predabot.
Not in a week you won't, PMOP tried not to say. "Right, gimme a few seconds..."
Meanwhile, Hoistkeeper had just done a double take at his current newbie. He was dressed in black, which on its own was not really all that unique, but he had white cuffs and collars billowing around his neck and wrists, and his hair, blonde with black streaks, was styled into two points that extended backwards from above his ears. Chiseled features and piercing eyes completed the CLAMP-styled picture.
"Name," said Hoistkeeper like he always did.
"I am the pillar in a sea of chaos," the newbie began. "I stand proud and alone in my solidarity."
"...yes, go on," said Hoistkeeper, while his fingers typed something completely different.
"I am... Ishin no Ookami."
Last edited by Aaron Hong on Fri Dec 03, 2004 2:21 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Optimus Prime Rib
- Over Pompous Autobot Commander
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Aaron Hong wrote:"I am the pillar in a sea of chaos," the newbie began. "I stand proud and alone in my solidarity."
"...yes, go on," said Hoistkeeper, while his fingers typed something completely different.
"I am... Ishin no Ookami.[/i[]"
I didn't know this was going to be a horror story.
Top notch stuff, Aaron.
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Predabot
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I'M IN IT! 
Now I must read it! 
Dang Aaron..all that text in that kind of formating...
EDIT: Read it. OMG!! Aaron you bastard! Except for the messy hair, you mutated all of my looks!
(HAHAHHAHAHAA! No-one knows what I look like! And it will continue to be so, until I get the chance to ripp off Besters his bag and punch him in the gut to settle our differences!)
I demand Blacksword to only be one of the privates too! He's too young for anything else. 
Now I must read it! Dang Aaron..all that text in that kind of formating...EDIT: Read it. OMG!! Aaron you bastard! Except for the messy hair, you mutated all of my looks!
(HAHAHHAHAHAA! No-one knows what I look like! And it will continue to be so, until I get the chance to ripp off Besters his bag and punch him in the gut to settle our differences!) I demand Blacksword to only be one of the privates too! He's too young for anything else. -
Optimus Prime Rib
- Over Pompous Autobot Commander
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Aaron Hong
- Me king!
- Posts:1269
- Joined:Fri Jan 11, 2002 12:00 am
- ::No pity for fools
- Location:...No let ME fold the map GAAH
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Aaron Hong
- Me king!
- Posts:1269
- Joined:Fri Jan 11, 2002 12:00 am
- ::No pity for fools
- Location:...No let ME fold the map GAAH
Predabot followed the signs on the walls to the Ivory Tower auditorium, all the while swinging his brand new dog tags in one hand. The corridors in this part of the tower were much narrower, meaning he had to slow to a halt whenever Optimus Prime Rib had to navigate a corner, but that was nothng compared to the mere sight of Poetic Knight taking his mount at slow trot through the corridors.
A door with brass handles opened to the auditorium, with ten rows of seats in two tiers and a plasma screen covering half the front wall. There was no seating arrangement for Predabot to follow, so he made his way to the front row out of habit, and found a seat in the middle.
The first thing he noticed was a slim-built Asian next to him, his hair styled into several windswept points, wearing a red shirt with yellow sleeves and blue pants. He raised a cardboard box in one hand, catching Predabot completely by surprise.
"Pocky stick?" he asked.
"Eh?" Predabot replied, and his new friend demonstrated by tipping the box into his hand - out slid a few slender biscuit sticks, coated in chocolate while leaving the first inch bare.
"Quickly now, I don't think they allow eating in here," said Predabot's new friend, and they both picked two Pocky sticks for themselves, and started munching. "I'm Gekigengar."
"Predabot," said Predabot in reply, and the two crossed sticks in an impromptu greeting. "You a newbie too?"
"Technically no," Gekigengar began. "Been here a small while, but it turns out us web artists don't have the skills they require, so it's the full program for me. We're guaranteed to make Private First Class at the end though, even if we do muck up the training."
"That's not fair at all," Predabot lamented.
"I don't think you understand what's going down here," said Gekigengar, pulling out his trusty web art stylus and drawing up something quick. "Now here's your generic rank structure - recruit, then private, then lance corporal..."
"You missed private first class," said Predabot.
"And for good reason," Geki explained. "At every level you have the option of moving on to a higher subset of ranks, like non-commissioned officer to full officer. Now, at some point they will decide that these few guys have not actally committed any misdemeanours, but through some problem or other haven't chalked up the skills the next level requires, despite having more than enough experience to make up for it. Or they simply don't want the responsibility that comes with a command position. That is why a Private can wind up as Private First Class instead of Lance Corporal."
"That's sad," Predabot remarked.
"This isn't the only case," Geki added. "A staff sergeant who opts for a full officer commission can make 2nd Lieutenant, but if not, there's the option of Warrant Officer, because you can't stay in the service and be the same rank for more than twenty years, you see what I mean?"
Predabot nodded at last.
"OK, quickly, hide the stash, someone's coming," said Geki, just as everyone around them went into a controlled panic, hunting for seats as the door backstage slid open.
In stepped a tall, slim-built man with the kind of appearance where only his eyes indicated his real age. His narrowish head with its pointed features was topped in chin-length black hair, and to round it off he'd already gotten his own dress uniform - its sleeves were rolled above the elbows, and the shirt hem and pantlegs were strangely flared for some reason, but the ranks epaulettes looked legit enough.
"Senior Warrant Officer," said Gekigengar as he identified the rank insignia correctly.
"Good morning, new TransFans," said the senior warrant officer in a concise British accent, as everyone went quiet. "I am C&C officer Karl Lynch, and I will be leading you in your swearing in to service. It's not as simple as it sounds, mind you - I will bring up the Oath on this screen here, but I will mention a few important points to you before we actually begin."
WIth these words, Karl Lynch brought out his standard-issue officers' palmtop and tapped on the screen a few times, then looked behind himself as the Oath, that relatively short passage that took a whole month of all-nighters and much binge-drinking to come up with, was displayed for the first time on the eight-foot-tall plasma screen, as a bulleted passage in a neat Times New Roman font.
"First of all," Karl began, "if simply looking at it as it is intimidates you in any way, I suggest you step out now. I don't want anyone to go through this and then find that he can't live up to these words later on. If this was a mandatory outfit like you have in Taiwan or Singapore, I wouldn't mention this, because it would be redundant and I would be required by law to respect any other commitments you have - but this is a voluntary message board and you signed on knowing full well what was entailed. Anyone who looks down on you for backing out simply doesn't understand what you would be in for, and they are the poorer for it. That's all you need to know."
Karl stopped to scan the seated newbies - and caught sight of a raised hand.
"And you are?"
"Ishin no Ookami," said the strange one from the enlistment counters earlier. "You give us too little credit, sir - anyone who's gotten this far into the outfit should already have full knowlege of all the implications of the military. Ours is a society built on surviving one war after another - we just deal with it in different ways. Even making entertainment out of the devastation of war, in some cases."
"Your point being?" Karl asked.
"They say the military is a career that commands respect," said Ishin no Ookami. "And respect only works both ways, sir. As I said earlier - you give us too little credit."
Karl spent one second too long staring back at Ishin. He's one to watch out for, I'll give him that, thought Karl to himself, just not for the right reasons...
"Fine and good," said Karl. "Gentlemen, your new friend Ishin no Ookami thinks you're all ready to take the Oath as it is. Everyone, stand up and - you over there, you might want to get off the horse first - stand up and raise your right hand."
And you forgot another thing about the military, Ishy, thought Karl. We also know when to make an example of someone.
"You'll notice that it starts with 'We' instead of 'I', because we're taking steps against anyone trying to play silly buggers by going 'I, your name' or whatever else word for word - although that might have more to do with the test audience than anything," said Karl, who stopped to clear his throat. "All right then..."
We, the members of the TransFans Discussion Board, having registered with sound mind and body, do solemnly and sincerely pledge;
To uphold and defend the ideals of the internet mesage board, of free speech, fair debate, and mutual respect of person and opinion;
To practice diligence and vigilance in peacetime and thus preparing our bodies and minds that we may better fulfill the first part;
To respect our superiors and obey orders, unless they conflict with the First and Second Laws;
To never give out our passwords if requested through email;
And to remember, above all else, to act always in the preservation of fellow members of the Board, unless in conflict with the first and third parts.
"Very good," said Karl, when it was over. "If you will all file out through the left exit, your NCOs will lead you out the back, to the transports that will take you to the bunks. Umm... pip-pip and all that, then."
Well, that went well, thought Karl to himself, as the new recruits filed out of the auditorium. I wonder which bugger came up with that stupid Follow The Bouncing Smiley program though...
A door with brass handles opened to the auditorium, with ten rows of seats in two tiers and a plasma screen covering half the front wall. There was no seating arrangement for Predabot to follow, so he made his way to the front row out of habit, and found a seat in the middle.
The first thing he noticed was a slim-built Asian next to him, his hair styled into several windswept points, wearing a red shirt with yellow sleeves and blue pants. He raised a cardboard box in one hand, catching Predabot completely by surprise.
"Pocky stick?" he asked.
"Eh?" Predabot replied, and his new friend demonstrated by tipping the box into his hand - out slid a few slender biscuit sticks, coated in chocolate while leaving the first inch bare.
"Quickly now, I don't think they allow eating in here," said Predabot's new friend, and they both picked two Pocky sticks for themselves, and started munching. "I'm Gekigengar."
"Predabot," said Predabot in reply, and the two crossed sticks in an impromptu greeting. "You a newbie too?"
"Technically no," Gekigengar began. "Been here a small while, but it turns out us web artists don't have the skills they require, so it's the full program for me. We're guaranteed to make Private First Class at the end though, even if we do muck up the training."
"That's not fair at all," Predabot lamented.
"I don't think you understand what's going down here," said Gekigengar, pulling out his trusty web art stylus and drawing up something quick. "Now here's your generic rank structure - recruit, then private, then lance corporal..."
"You missed private first class," said Predabot.
"And for good reason," Geki explained. "At every level you have the option of moving on to a higher subset of ranks, like non-commissioned officer to full officer. Now, at some point they will decide that these few guys have not actally committed any misdemeanours, but through some problem or other haven't chalked up the skills the next level requires, despite having more than enough experience to make up for it. Or they simply don't want the responsibility that comes with a command position. That is why a Private can wind up as Private First Class instead of Lance Corporal."
"That's sad," Predabot remarked.
"This isn't the only case," Geki added. "A staff sergeant who opts for a full officer commission can make 2nd Lieutenant, but if not, there's the option of Warrant Officer, because you can't stay in the service and be the same rank for more than twenty years, you see what I mean?"
Predabot nodded at last.
"OK, quickly, hide the stash, someone's coming," said Geki, just as everyone around them went into a controlled panic, hunting for seats as the door backstage slid open.
In stepped a tall, slim-built man with the kind of appearance where only his eyes indicated his real age. His narrowish head with its pointed features was topped in chin-length black hair, and to round it off he'd already gotten his own dress uniform - its sleeves were rolled above the elbows, and the shirt hem and pantlegs were strangely flared for some reason, but the ranks epaulettes looked legit enough.
"Senior Warrant Officer," said Gekigengar as he identified the rank insignia correctly.
"Good morning, new TransFans," said the senior warrant officer in a concise British accent, as everyone went quiet. "I am C&C officer Karl Lynch, and I will be leading you in your swearing in to service. It's not as simple as it sounds, mind you - I will bring up the Oath on this screen here, but I will mention a few important points to you before we actually begin."
WIth these words, Karl Lynch brought out his standard-issue officers' palmtop and tapped on the screen a few times, then looked behind himself as the Oath, that relatively short passage that took a whole month of all-nighters and much binge-drinking to come up with, was displayed for the first time on the eight-foot-tall plasma screen, as a bulleted passage in a neat Times New Roman font.
"First of all," Karl began, "if simply looking at it as it is intimidates you in any way, I suggest you step out now. I don't want anyone to go through this and then find that he can't live up to these words later on. If this was a mandatory outfit like you have in Taiwan or Singapore, I wouldn't mention this, because it would be redundant and I would be required by law to respect any other commitments you have - but this is a voluntary message board and you signed on knowing full well what was entailed. Anyone who looks down on you for backing out simply doesn't understand what you would be in for, and they are the poorer for it. That's all you need to know."
Karl stopped to scan the seated newbies - and caught sight of a raised hand.
"And you are?"
"Ishin no Ookami," said the strange one from the enlistment counters earlier. "You give us too little credit, sir - anyone who's gotten this far into the outfit should already have full knowlege of all the implications of the military. Ours is a society built on surviving one war after another - we just deal with it in different ways. Even making entertainment out of the devastation of war, in some cases."
"Your point being?" Karl asked.
"They say the military is a career that commands respect," said Ishin no Ookami. "And respect only works both ways, sir. As I said earlier - you give us too little credit."
Karl spent one second too long staring back at Ishin. He's one to watch out for, I'll give him that, thought Karl to himself, just not for the right reasons...
"Fine and good," said Karl. "Gentlemen, your new friend Ishin no Ookami thinks you're all ready to take the Oath as it is. Everyone, stand up and - you over there, you might want to get off the horse first - stand up and raise your right hand."
And you forgot another thing about the military, Ishy, thought Karl. We also know when to make an example of someone.
"You'll notice that it starts with 'We' instead of 'I', because we're taking steps against anyone trying to play silly buggers by going 'I, your name' or whatever else word for word - although that might have more to do with the test audience than anything," said Karl, who stopped to clear his throat. "All right then..."
We, the members of the TransFans Discussion Board, having registered with sound mind and body, do solemnly and sincerely pledge;
To uphold and defend the ideals of the internet mesage board, of free speech, fair debate, and mutual respect of person and opinion;
To practice diligence and vigilance in peacetime and thus preparing our bodies and minds that we may better fulfill the first part;
To respect our superiors and obey orders, unless they conflict with the First and Second Laws;
To never give out our passwords if requested through email;
And to remember, above all else, to act always in the preservation of fellow members of the Board, unless in conflict with the first and third parts.
"Very good," said Karl, when it was over. "If you will all file out through the left exit, your NCOs will lead you out the back, to the transports that will take you to the bunks. Umm... pip-pip and all that, then."
Well, that went well, thought Karl to himself, as the new recruits filed out of the auditorium. I wonder which bugger came up with that stupid Follow The Bouncing Smiley program though...
Last edited by Aaron Hong on Mon Dec 06, 2004 9:41 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Aaron Hong
- Me king!
- Posts:1269
- Joined:Fri Jan 11, 2002 12:00 am
- ::No pity for fools
- Location:...No let ME fold the map GAAH
As the new TransFans appeared in the Ivory Tower compound, walking and grouping randomly, someone was watching them from a window somewhere in the Ivory Tower spire. Someone always has to watch the recruits before they actually get down to business, it's a fairly effective gauge of what kind of a chance your Board stands when the next troll attack starts up.
Best First and Computron were in the Ivory Tower office, standing behind one of the massive windows, which was conveniently multi-coated (the optician had a special rate at the time) to show a mirror reflection on the outside, while cutting down solar glare on the inside. They'd gotten their dress uniforms as well, and just as Pretender Bumblebee mentioned, both men wore three stars on each of their epaulettes.
"Well, what do you think?" asked Computron.
"Kids nowadays are begging for a bloody good whipping," Best First remarked. "And it stands to us, Computron, to be the discipline masters that society needs, and have them grilled into shape..."
"You do realise that these 'kids' are destined to be the first to be wiped out if it really came to war," said Computron. "The system favors experience above skill and talent, Besty, and it'll be the Board regulars who'll pull through in a real conflict..."
"Why do you think I have some of your Board regulars among them?" Best First asked. "They'll spread some positive influence among the ranks, raise the quality of our base troops by a bit."
Computron paused for a bit, concentrating his gaze on a certain someone in the crowd below.
"You do realise that the opposite could happen as well," he said. "That Ishin character's got a real problem with authority."
"Bit like a certain underaged alcoholic moderator in the old days, eh?" Best First remarked. "Let's hope the other kids have the volition to see him for what he is. We might not be that close to the mark ourselves, you know."
"I guess he deserves a chance," said Computron. "So we'll let him make Corporal then?"
"On an evaluatory basis, mind you," Besty replied.
They spent a few more seconds looking out that window.
"Besty," said Computron eventually, "I know it's been a while since you've had to, and I have no doubt that you have to, given the heightened need for security, but..."
"Yes, Computron?"
"...is the box on your head really necessary?"
Best First and Computron were in the Ivory Tower office, standing behind one of the massive windows, which was conveniently multi-coated (the optician had a special rate at the time) to show a mirror reflection on the outside, while cutting down solar glare on the inside. They'd gotten their dress uniforms as well, and just as Pretender Bumblebee mentioned, both men wore three stars on each of their epaulettes.
"Well, what do you think?" asked Computron.
"Kids nowadays are begging for a bloody good whipping," Best First remarked. "And it stands to us, Computron, to be the discipline masters that society needs, and have them grilled into shape..."
"You do realise that these 'kids' are destined to be the first to be wiped out if it really came to war," said Computron. "The system favors experience above skill and talent, Besty, and it'll be the Board regulars who'll pull through in a real conflict..."
"Why do you think I have some of your Board regulars among them?" Best First asked. "They'll spread some positive influence among the ranks, raise the quality of our base troops by a bit."
Computron paused for a bit, concentrating his gaze on a certain someone in the crowd below.
"You do realise that the opposite could happen as well," he said. "That Ishin character's got a real problem with authority."
"Bit like a certain underaged alcoholic moderator in the old days, eh?" Best First remarked. "Let's hope the other kids have the volition to see him for what he is. We might not be that close to the mark ourselves, you know."
"I guess he deserves a chance," said Computron. "So we'll let him make Corporal then?"
"On an evaluatory basis, mind you," Besty replied.
They spent a few more seconds looking out that window.
"Besty," said Computron eventually, "I know it's been a while since you've had to, and I have no doubt that you have to, given the heightened need for security, but..."
"Yes, Computron?"
"...is the box on your head really necessary?"
-
HoistKeeper 2.0
- Fit only for the Smelting pool
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- ::Renegade Commander
- Location:England
- Contact:
Heh, nice one Aaron. I don't know where you get it all from (Especially as i'm pretty much a ghost to these parts nowadays 
)
I don't know where you get it all from (Especially as i'm pretty much a ghost to these parts nowadays )
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Metal Vendetta
- Big Honking Planet Eater
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HoistKeeper 2.0
- Fit only for the Smelting pool
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I did, but at the time of making it was a little rushed, not one of my best. I've done better.. 
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Aaron Hong
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*has visions of R Lee Ermey in The Frighteners*
***
As the new TransFan recruits were amassed at the base of the Ivory Tower, Tired Tracks and Laser Rod Optimus Prime took some time to study their new dog tags more closely. They'd heard before that real soldiers don't get the dog tags till much later, although those stories were somewhat overshadowed by the theories behind having two tags with identical name, rank and IP address milled into them.
"Look at this," said Tired Tracks, showing the back of one tag. "There's a tiny LCD display in here, what's A COY PL 1 mean?"
"Means A Company, Platoon 1."
Tired Tracks looked up in shock at the strangely gruff voice, but all he saw was LROP staring back at him, and slowly shrugging his shoulders.
"Over here, soldier."
Tracks and LROP turned around slowly, and saw one of the more familiar faces on the Board - a face that always had some kind of camouflage facepaint on it. The current pattern had an interesting sinewave design to it. He even had a field uniform on, with a nice Desert Storm design, except that the normally black and brown specks were two shades of green.
"You're a..." LROP stopped as he tried to identify the ranks.
"Staff Sergeant Leatherneck," the painted one replied. "Congratulations. You two are gonna be with me."
"Thanks," said LROP in forced cheery tones as he and TT shook hands with Leatherneck.
"You mean you're A Company too?" TT asked.
"Yeah," Leatherneck replied. "Well technically, the company designations won't really be in effect till after the first three months. Before that, you guys will all be training together in one big lot. As non-commissioned officer I have a different set of lessons to go to, so we won't see much of each other except maybe at mealtime. But hey, better to know who we'll be rolling in the mud with early on, ain't that right?"
Tired Tracks wasn't sure what to think about that, but covered up with a nervous laugh... then stopped as the Tower gates slid open, and the first of five or so trucks started rolling in. TT and LROP had never seen anything like that on the Board or in the TF toy catalogs - these were big-wheeled army-green affairs, with their flatbeds covered in tall bars and a canvas shelter.
The trucks lined up and stopped, their tailboards swinging open to reveal what LROP had been suspecting - two rows of seats lined up on both sides of the flatbed, providing some efficient but rather uncomfortable-looking passenger space.
"You two get the second truck," said Leatherneck. "See you later."
"Thanks!" said Tracks as he grabbed his duffel bag and started moving, with LROP close behind, and some other A Company recruits following them onto the truck - there was a bit of a delay as TT shoved his duffel onto the truck.
"How come none of us have that much luggage?" asked LROP.
"Maybe I'm just better at planning these things - thanks," said Tracks, as another recruit game him a hand up the truck.
"And I guess it's got nothing to do with that distinct coffee smell coming out of that duffel bag of yours, Tired Tracks?"
"...possibly," said Tired Tracks, glancing about himself. He hadn't noticed it yet, but for all the crowding and bustling around the Tower when the recruits all came out, there was surprisingly very few people in each truck.
"Not bad, eh? We can lounge on the seats the whole way," someone commented, grabbing Tired Tracks' attention in a way he was just getting used to.
"...Shaxper! All right, man!"
"It's like the gang's all here, eh?" Shaxper replied, as he shook hands with TT and LROP. "Not all here though - I hear Smooth got himself a cushy little position with the brass."
"And we haven't seen Aaron all day," added LROP.
"Aaron's kids are starting school soon, he's probably got his hands full," said Tired Tracks. "Maybe he won't even be a part of this..."
A shudder ran through the truck, and everyone braced themselves, as the transmission switched gears - the truck was approaching city limits, where the road became a gravel path that went right through what looked like miles of wasteland. Thanks to some really bad planning, the barracks were only accessible by taking this road outside of city limits, going through an unformatted sector of the Board, where Here Be Lurkers and other nasty stuff, which anyone bored enough could look at through velcro'ed flaps in the canvas.
After about two miles of barren land, the trucks navigated a dirt path into a petrified forest - branches scraping the truck canvases created a beautifully sonorous din, which when combined with the bumpy road, knocked out any plans for a nap on the way.
Tired Tracks had lost track of time when the road suddenly levelled out, and not without reason - the trucks were currently plying the bank of teh river l33t. He decided right then that he was bored enough, and looked out...
...it was a pretty desolate part of the river, with the far bank somehow having degenerated into a Florida-worthy swamp. Why does the look of it give me a bad feeling all of a sudden? Tracks wondered to himself...
...and nearly fell over as the truck switched transmission again, taking a hard left onto a massive bridge that went across the river - the trees here had thinned a little, and one could just see the barracks far beyond.
***
Most massive organisations, like the military, have sometimes been likened to the image of a swan swimming in the water. Beautiful and graceful above the surface, but kicking like mad below as if its life depended on it.
And likewise, preparations at the new barracks of TransFans looked similarly inclined towards hell, handbaskets optional.
The moderators had thought that lumping all the 'extra' operatives, like cooks, clerks and drivers into one Logistics department, would make organising tasks easier - but it wasn't that simple. And the fact that there really weren't that many people left over to fill these roles did not help one bit.
So it was that Sheba, non-commissioned officer and Head Chef, was barking orders in five directions at once, as the stoves roared and pressure cookers hummed, ready to feed an army.
"You two man the ovens! I'll handle this!" she yelled, sending two of her people off as she leaned over the row of massive stew pots, while pinching something out of a jar the size of a fist, and carefully sprinkling its contents a pinch at a time into every pot. She found a ladle and started stirring.
"Those ravenous buggers better learn to appreciate this, or I'm taking dessert off the menu..."
She stopped at the third pot as something caused the ladle to jam... then twisted a few times to free it, before looking around discreetly so she could bring whatever it was out without anyone noticing.
It turned out to be a hairball six inches wide.
Dammit, she growled as she dumped the mess onto a fresh plate and slipped it back under the counter. I told them I wasn't right for this job.
***
As the new TransFan recruits were amassed at the base of the Ivory Tower, Tired Tracks and Laser Rod Optimus Prime took some time to study their new dog tags more closely. They'd heard before that real soldiers don't get the dog tags till much later, although those stories were somewhat overshadowed by the theories behind having two tags with identical name, rank and IP address milled into them.
"Look at this," said Tired Tracks, showing the back of one tag. "There's a tiny LCD display in here, what's A COY PL 1 mean?"
"Means A Company, Platoon 1."
Tired Tracks looked up in shock at the strangely gruff voice, but all he saw was LROP staring back at him, and slowly shrugging his shoulders.
"Over here, soldier."
Tracks and LROP turned around slowly, and saw one of the more familiar faces on the Board - a face that always had some kind of camouflage facepaint on it. The current pattern had an interesting sinewave design to it. He even had a field uniform on, with a nice Desert Storm design, except that the normally black and brown specks were two shades of green.
"You're a..." LROP stopped as he tried to identify the ranks.
"Staff Sergeant Leatherneck," the painted one replied. "Congratulations. You two are gonna be with me."
"Thanks," said LROP in forced cheery tones as he and TT shook hands with Leatherneck.
"You mean you're A Company too?" TT asked.
"Yeah," Leatherneck replied. "Well technically, the company designations won't really be in effect till after the first three months. Before that, you guys will all be training together in one big lot. As non-commissioned officer I have a different set of lessons to go to, so we won't see much of each other except maybe at mealtime. But hey, better to know who we'll be rolling in the mud with early on, ain't that right?"
Tired Tracks wasn't sure what to think about that, but covered up with a nervous laugh... then stopped as the Tower gates slid open, and the first of five or so trucks started rolling in. TT and LROP had never seen anything like that on the Board or in the TF toy catalogs - these were big-wheeled army-green affairs, with their flatbeds covered in tall bars and a canvas shelter.
The trucks lined up and stopped, their tailboards swinging open to reveal what LROP had been suspecting - two rows of seats lined up on both sides of the flatbed, providing some efficient but rather uncomfortable-looking passenger space.
"You two get the second truck," said Leatherneck. "See you later."
"Thanks!" said Tracks as he grabbed his duffel bag and started moving, with LROP close behind, and some other A Company recruits following them onto the truck - there was a bit of a delay as TT shoved his duffel onto the truck.
"How come none of us have that much luggage?" asked LROP.
"Maybe I'm just better at planning these things - thanks," said Tracks, as another recruit game him a hand up the truck.
"And I guess it's got nothing to do with that distinct coffee smell coming out of that duffel bag of yours, Tired Tracks?"
"...possibly," said Tired Tracks, glancing about himself. He hadn't noticed it yet, but for all the crowding and bustling around the Tower when the recruits all came out, there was surprisingly very few people in each truck.
"Not bad, eh? We can lounge on the seats the whole way," someone commented, grabbing Tired Tracks' attention in a way he was just getting used to.
"...Shaxper! All right, man!"
"It's like the gang's all here, eh?" Shaxper replied, as he shook hands with TT and LROP. "Not all here though - I hear Smooth got himself a cushy little position with the brass."
"And we haven't seen Aaron all day," added LROP.
"Aaron's kids are starting school soon, he's probably got his hands full," said Tired Tracks. "Maybe he won't even be a part of this..."
A shudder ran through the truck, and everyone braced themselves, as the transmission switched gears - the truck was approaching city limits, where the road became a gravel path that went right through what looked like miles of wasteland. Thanks to some really bad planning, the barracks were only accessible by taking this road outside of city limits, going through an unformatted sector of the Board, where Here Be Lurkers and other nasty stuff, which anyone bored enough could look at through velcro'ed flaps in the canvas.
After about two miles of barren land, the trucks navigated a dirt path into a petrified forest - branches scraping the truck canvases created a beautifully sonorous din, which when combined with the bumpy road, knocked out any plans for a nap on the way.
Tired Tracks had lost track of time when the road suddenly levelled out, and not without reason - the trucks were currently plying the bank of teh river l33t. He decided right then that he was bored enough, and looked out...
...it was a pretty desolate part of the river, with the far bank somehow having degenerated into a Florida-worthy swamp. Why does the look of it give me a bad feeling all of a sudden? Tracks wondered to himself...
...and nearly fell over as the truck switched transmission again, taking a hard left onto a massive bridge that went across the river - the trees here had thinned a little, and one could just see the barracks far beyond.
***
Most massive organisations, like the military, have sometimes been likened to the image of a swan swimming in the water. Beautiful and graceful above the surface, but kicking like mad below as if its life depended on it.
And likewise, preparations at the new barracks of TransFans looked similarly inclined towards hell, handbaskets optional.
The moderators had thought that lumping all the 'extra' operatives, like cooks, clerks and drivers into one Logistics department, would make organising tasks easier - but it wasn't that simple. And the fact that there really weren't that many people left over to fill these roles did not help one bit.
So it was that Sheba, non-commissioned officer and Head Chef, was barking orders in five directions at once, as the stoves roared and pressure cookers hummed, ready to feed an army.
"You two man the ovens! I'll handle this!" she yelled, sending two of her people off as she leaned over the row of massive stew pots, while pinching something out of a jar the size of a fist, and carefully sprinkling its contents a pinch at a time into every pot. She found a ladle and started stirring.
"Those ravenous buggers better learn to appreciate this, or I'm taking dessert off the menu..."
She stopped at the third pot as something caused the ladle to jam... then twisted a few times to free it, before looking around discreetly so she could bring whatever it was out without anyone noticing.
It turned out to be a hairball six inches wide.
Dammit, she growled as she dumped the mess onto a fresh plate and slipped it back under the counter. I told them I wasn't right for this job.
-
Aaron Hong
- Me king!
- Posts:1269
- Joined:Fri Jan 11, 2002 12:00 am
- ::No pity for fools
- Location:...No let ME fold the map GAAH
I won't say anything at this point but I will ask you this - how do you feel personally about Howitzers?Redstreak wrote:Hehe...Sheba's a non-com-poop.
Tho mayhap I shouldn't say that, I don't know what I am yet...
***
After a walk across the parking lot and a shaky trip in one of those elevators with wooden doors you have to pull manually, A Company finally reached their bunks.
'Bunks' wasn't nearly long enough a word to describe what they were currently gawking at, though - the barracks had been disused warehouses, meaning that each room was a whopping thirty feet wide. Stairs along the adjacent walls led to offices that had been modified into what was presumably the sergeants' quarters, and two rows of beds (no double-deckers like some of the recruits were expecting) complete with steel cupboards and end tables took up the whole floor. There was even a couple of tables with chairs neatly stacked and a broom stand in the corner, while the warehouse's massive electrical wall fans and fluorescent ceiling lights had been left intact. Completing the picture was an uneven but thorough paint job, or possibly whitewash, that covered every wall but failed to reach the ceiling, leaving the bare metal beams exposed.
Tired Tracks couldn't help it - he dumped his duffel at the doorway, raised his arms and took a deep breath. This resulted in him choking on the whitewash fumes, while creating a human traffic jam behind his duffel bag, complete with people falling over it.
"Sorry about that, guys," said LROP as he pushed the duffel aside and helped some of the recruits to their feet. "Can someone get the windows and the fans already?"
He did a double take as one unusually enthusiastic recruit did just that - skipping over to the switchbox and flipping anything that could be flipped, causing the lights as well as the fans to go on and off intermittently as the age-old theory of trial and error was put into practice in a way that it hadn't really been intended.
"Check this out," said another recruit, pulling on a chain that opened the gigantic steel shutters way above their heads. As if to remind the recruits of their place, these shutters were thick and wide enough to take people's heads off, creaking and groaning as if that very intent had been imbued into their design.
"Homey," said Tracks, as he noted this.
"Hey thanks dude, we really need those fans to be on now," said LROP. "You registered today, right?"
"Yeah - hi, I'm Predabot," said the newbie, as they shook hands. "I heard a lot about this place, and I..."
"All right, people, look alive," said Leatherneck, as he slid down the railing of one row of stairs. "Just dump your stuff anywhere. We're late for lunch as it is."
"He's right, people, c'mon!" yelled LROP, taking his luggage in one hand and passing it to Predabot. "Here's the deal - you take all our stuff and dump it between those tables over there, we'll sort 'em out afterwards. Let's move it, TransFans!"
Predabot had no time to argue as one bag after another were dumped roughly into his arms - haversacks and sports bags of all sorts, culminating in Tired Track's infamous Java-laden duffel bag, which proved to be the proverbial straw that broke the proverbial camel's back as Predabot collapsed under the weight.
***
Leatherneck had been right after all - the cookhouse was roaring and bustling with activity by the time A Company got there. Fortunately they had a couple of TransFans who'd already made sergeant among them, like Leatherneck and bobaprime, to help direct them through the pulsating human traffic.
"Yeah, this looks like the sort of place warehouse workers eat," said LROP. "What did they keep in here anyway?"
"Compy's beer stash," Tired Tracks quipped. "Okay, which way now..."
"TRACKS! ROD! YOU CAME!"
Tired Tracks and Laser Rod Optimus Prime realised, in one bone-crunching instant, that they really should have checked the TransFans nominal roll more thoroughly, particularly the vocations column, as First Warrant Officer Sheba approached them horizontally at NASCAR-speed and speared them both to the floor.
"You guys are gonna love what we've got on the menu today," said Sheba. "So where are you sitting - smoking, non-smoking," she shot a look at Tired Tracks, "or decaf?"
"We're with A Company now," said LROP, "don't we have our own row or something?"
"Oh yeah," Sheba replied, "right that way..."
So it's true about non-newbie TransFans being mixed in with us, thought Predabot to himself, as he saw how Sheba fawned over TT and LROP with every inch of her opulent measurements. Do they actually allow that...?
"Doesn't make ethical sense, does it?" said a voice behind Predabot. He turned around, of course.
"...hey, I know you, from the swearing in," said Predabot.
"You heard me say something. That's not the same as knowing me. So I'll give you some help there," said the pointy-haired stranger. "Ishin no Ookami, nice to meet you."
"Hi, I'm Predabot," Pred replied, and prepared to shake Ishin's hand, but...
"Come over here, you have to take these things first," said Ishin, taking Predabot by the arm and pulling him towards a large steel rack, which carried what looked like numerous steel trays. Taking a tray revealed something Predabot was sort of expecting - five large, neat concaves, a circle framed by four squarish shapes, had been beaten into the metal.
"Hey cool, I had a plate like this when I was six," said Predabot. "It was plastic, though, with these little pictures you can see when you're done eating, and little messages like 'Carrots improve your eyesight', 'Fruits contain vitamins', and 'Vegetables help you...'"
"Let's not hold up the line now," said Ishin, pulling Predabot again as they approached the food counters. Sheba hadn't had the time to handpick all her kitchen staff, so they had to assign her some trolls to clean the dishes while normal TransFans formed the frontline.
The frontline that currently consisted of Third Sergeant Nebbie, who'd created a bit of a stir when she first signed on, because of the very skills that landed her her current job - she was a genius of Southern cuisine, making her one of Sheba's fiercest rivals by challenging the superiority of her own Canadian cooking. It said a lot about the mods that they'd put both ladies in the same department just for kicks.
"GRITS? What's that mean?" asked Predabot, noticing a patch on Nebbie's sleeve.
"It'll be on the menu tonight, sugar," she replied with a wink, while ladling something lumpy into Pred's tray.
"What were you saying a while ago, again?" Pred asked Ishin, who'd stopped to receive the lumpy stuff.
"I'm talking about the way the real military operates," said Ishin, as they walked. "In a mandatory conscripton, you'll wind up getting all sorts in the service, like C-students and hoodlums, you know what I'm saying?"
"There are mandatory militaries?" Predabot remarked. "You mean some people HAVE to be soldiers?"
Ishin nodded, and elbowed Predabot towards the next counter. "What people don't realise is that just as the lowlife winds up in the service, their betters get dragged into it as well. I'm talking about the sons of senators and politicians."
Predabot took in all this - and was distracted as a hunk of ham went kathunk into his tray. "So... what happens then?"
"That's the problem right there - thank you," said Ishin, as he got hammed as well. "The brass can't just go and say which of these kids are the important ones, or rather the ones they want to keep alive - hang on, you'll want some of this too."
"Thanks," said Predabot, as Ishin placed his tray under a gravy draught and pulled the handle.
"So, what they do is - say when," said Ishin, helping Predabot with the draught handle, "what they do is give special treatment to the entire platoon. They get more canteen breaks, less all-nighters, and on Saturdays they don't have to stick around for lunch before booking out." Two steaming buns were added to their trays. "All because of one or two of these 'white horses'."
"White horses?"
"It started out as a codename but stuck after a while," Ishin explained - they were getting celery plonked into their plates at their current stop. "The moral of the story is, I wouldn't worry so much about people getting special treatment," he added as they stopped at the fruit stand, "because chances are they'll make things simple and give all of you a break. Later."
Ishin had gotten disappearing into the crowd down to a fine art, as Predabot found out for himself. Unfortunately he wouldn't learn why exactly Ishin would need a skill like that.
Not until it was too late.
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Galvatron91
- Fit only for the Smelting pool
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Optimus Prime Rib
- Over Pompous Autobot Commander
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