I was woken up early, but, to be honest, I had been completely expecting that. What I didn't realise was that my pleasant slumber would be interrupted by extremely loud early morning radio.
"SO KEITH", the radio blared, "WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THE NEW TAX ON CHARITY DONATIONS?"
The radio continued to shout in at its ear piercing volume as I rose to my feet, disorientated. As Keith elaborated his views on "DARVINIAN NATIONAL DELECTION", I realised that the sound was coming from the side room. Or, as a notice now said on it, "The Secret Questioning, Reasoning And Answers Room". I tried to open the door, and found it to be unlocked. On the other hand, it was virtually impossible to open, and as I did the radio became even louder.
Inside, of course, was Marion, looking happily at a radio she had hooked up to what was apparently a set of amplifiers designed for use in stadium situations only. She had finally put on some clothes, although, from the look of them, she was trying to save as much cloth as possible. When she saw me, she waved, and yelled:
"Morning, Fred!" She was forced shout louder, as it was clear that the talk show host's impassioned argument that charities could reverse the important principles of Darvin's laws was out-blaring her. She gave up, and turned off the radio. An earsplitting whine immediately erupted from the speakers. Marion, apparently immune to the brain scrambling effects, began to talk again. "I was just testing out this new sleep deprivation system. I think it works pretty well! Sorry if I disturbed you slightly."
I gasped. "'Disturbed me slightly'?! I'd be surprised if there's a single person still in their bed on the entire street!"
She looked puzzled, and raised one hand to her chin thoughtfully. "Strange, that", she said, "I was sure I soundproofed the room first..." I looked towards the door I had entered by, and saw the reason why it had been so difficult to open: it had a rotten, flea ridden matress nailed to the inside of it.
"Marion", I began, "A single decaying mattress is not going to block out all sound escaping from an extremely loud speaker. Also, this is the homeless shelter, remember? The walls are paper thin and generally have more plaster than brickwork."
"Oh..." she said, looking dejected. "Really? So I just broadcast conservative propaganda to the entire neighbourhood?"
Hmm, I thought. While that was true, being woken up by a show played at that volume would most likely put you off those views forever. On the other hand, best not to have a repeat experience. "I think we need more work on the soundproofing side of things. Oh well, back to bed, I guess." I turned to leave.
"No!" she stated suddenly, and while she didn't do it loudly, the command was so firm and so final that I instinctively spun round to face her immediately. "Now that you're up, it's time for me to show you the work I've got planned for you and Raymond!" Without waiting for a response or a question, she dashed out of the room, pausing only to look thoughtfully at the decaying mattress.
I walked through after her, and found her already talking to Raymond, who was paying rapt attention and was looking more than a little scared. While Marion was, by all measures, looking happy and friendly, you could see the colour draining out of Raymonds face, and his knuckles whitening against the decaying armchair he had chosen to sit in. I approached and was about to tap her on the back, but I thought better of it and coughed politely. When this elicited no response I coughed impolitely, and then finally said, loudly, "Excuse me!". She turned around, looking slightly startled.
"Yes? What do you want?"
"A word, please? In private?" Hmm, I was already beginning to sound like a minor character from a film noir. Maybe insanity is contagious. She reluctantly agreed, and we moved back into the "interrogation" room, or the "TSQRAR" as Marion now insisted on calling it.
"What's your problem? I was telling him todays brief!" Briefs. Huh. Activists don't need briefs. But I decided that rather than accidentally going off on another tangent and failing to make an important point, I would hit the point home immediately.
"Well, I think that Raymond may have been a little..." I tried to think of a polite way of saying it, gave up, and continued "Traumatised by your actions yesterday."
She looked shocked. "But I made him see liberal reason! This room isn't called the TSQRAR for nothing!" Actually, I feel I should clarify here. Marion has, indeed, been pronouncing "TSQRAR" whenever referring to the room. I think she may have seen some old movies about revolutionary communists and decided that Russian sounding words added depth and flavour to her speech. Of course, you don't normally include "And" in an acronym, and the "T" is clearly unneeded, but those was the least of my problems at that point.
"Well, yes..." I said, deciding not to mention the fact that I was the one who had averted his imminent descent into insanity and got him to join the group, "But I think he may still have some... residual fear left over from the, um, session. Can't you just tell the brief to me and let me explain it to him?"
She agreed. Well, at least that saved Raymond a few flashbacks. But on the other hand, I did not like what I was now hearing. I didn't like it at all, in fact. The plan involved silly costumes, downtown and scaring people.
"Let me get this straight" I said, having already said words to very similar effects at least 3 times before, "You want me and Raymond to dress up in these suits, go downtown and scare people?"
"Yes!" she said, her enthusiam undimished. I was beginning to think she must have an infinite supply on tap.
"I thought we were liberal activists, not..." I thought through the various derogatory terms I could use - losers, weirdos, crazies, cosplayers - but eventually settled, lamely, on "halloween junkies!"
"Now Fred" she said, chidingly, "Physical theatre is an important medium. We can get out our message about nuclear power far more easily when we dress up as mutants! People don't want boring, samey drivel!" Two things struck me about this. Firstly, this apparently meant she had plans for more, similar "protests", and secondly that the "we" almost certainly didn't apply to her personally.
"What are you doing today, then?"
"I will be carefully researching public opinion to find out what matters in the public consciousness most, and how we can influence the issues."
"What, you mean on the computer that has suddenly appeared in the other room?"
"Yes!"
"The one which looks mysteriously like the one at my house?"
"Yes!"
"Even down to the stickers, CDs and collection of video games?"
"Yes! Look, where I got it isn't important. What is important is that I Will research and find out what needs to be done!"
So, that was it. Me and Raymond would go out in ridiculous suits, suits that looked nothing like real mutants, while Marion would laze around inside on the computer which she stole from my house. I asked what had become of the sweatshop workers, and she replied that they were hard at work completing their clothes, and that she had woken them up early and "incentivised" them to work hard. Since the LS was flat broke, I was left to imagine what this "incentive" could be. Oh wait, and one more thing:
"Fred, we need a slogan. Badly."
"So, what can I do about it? I'm a programmer, not an advertising specialist!"
"Simple. Just ask as many people as you can what they think our slogan should be. We should, eventually, get something good."
I walked out of the door, got Raymond and told him to follow me while I explained the "plan". I paused only to observe the sign now on the main room, reading "The Glourious And Empowered Room Of The Liberal Revolution". I just hoped she wouldn't insist on pronouncing it "TGAEROFLR".
As me and Raymond walked downtown in our suits (Marion had insisted that we go wearing them rather than changing, since "It will have more effect this way", I decided to have a chat with Raymond. It seemed he was fine with his new role in the squad, and there were apparently no friends, family or acquantences who would miss his dissapearance. He also made it clear that he was about to leave his work, so they wouldn't notice his abscence either. I considered this for a moment, shrugged, and asked him what he thought of The Agenda of the Liberal Squad. His replies showed that he was just as optimistic as Marion about our ability to achieve our goals, but he (luckily) lacked her insane drive and determination, and seemed quite meek. Phew, at least I wouldn't have him bossing me around.
Since the actual nuclear power plant was too far to walk to, we decided instead to protest outside the fire station instead. We shouted about how nuclear energy could warp bodies (although, to be honest, not like the way our costumes were. Mutations don't cause you to grow three extra arm or make your blood look like it was bought in a cut price joke shop) and how it was evil, getting a lot of very strange looks. Some people, did, however, show a bit of an interest, and we made sure to tell them that "We need a slogan!". Unfortunately, none of them had any good ideas.
Then, all of a sudden, a tall man in a suit approached us. Actually, "Tall" doesn't really justify it. He had at least a foot and a half on both me and Raymond. There was something else amiss too - we could see his muscles bulging and rippling away under his poorly fitting shirt and sleeves. To be honest, it didn't look healthy - more like a twisted mass of flesh than a toned piece of muscle.
"I think you're being very offensive" he said, slowly and carefully, enunciating each syllable, "Mutants are not monsters. Many mutants can be productive and useful members of society." The penny dropped. Of course, this man was a mutant - hadn't they been all over the news a while ago? Mutants found in areas around power stations, and, what was more, there seemed to be a surprisingly linear scale of "mutation".
"Well", began Raymond, "We're here to protest about the dangers of nuclear power. Who might you be?"
"I" said the enormous man in front of us "Am Tyrone Little. Two years ago I was diagnosed with HMD." I nodded. I had read about Hideous Mutation Disorder in the newspapers. However, they always seemed to play down the role that nuclear power plants had in these cases, and generally floated alternative theories, such as them being caused by "Excess sun", "Too many video games" and, memorably, "Gay marriage".
"So you're an actual mutant?" said Raymond incredulously. "What is it like?"
"It's ok, most of the time" said Tyrone, still concentrating strongly on his speech, and careful not to allow any slips. "But there are some things... that are bad. My mental functions are, how should I say, rather impaired. It requires great effort to speak clearly, and I lost my old job as a painter due to the loss of coordination."
"That sounds terrible," I said, "What do you do now?"
"I got a new job as a pack mule at building sites" he said, apparently without any hint of irony. "As I say, mutants can be useful members of society. It's only the really mutated ones you got to look out for..." He tailed off. I had, indeed, heard about the more deadly mutants. The newspaper I had read before my "conversion" had dubbed them "Spawn of satan" and had said they were God's punishment for... various things, actually, varied from week to week. Anyway, they were seriously dangerous. A PBNC had caused havoc just 2 months before, and claimed 30 lives in a killing spree.
"Well" said Raymond, looking thoughtful, "There's nothing specific about mutant rights in The Agenda. But if you join, we can lobby for rights for all minority groups, and help prevent others from becoming mutated."
Tyrone smiled. "That sounds great! How do I find out more?"
Since neither I or Tyrone had any control over the running of the Squad, we decided to take it straight back to Marion. She was a bit annoyed at our early return, but on seeing the huge man we had brought back with us, she looked deep in thought. Finally she said:
"He looks like he could be useful. What class?" Both I and Raymond gasped. It was extremely rude to ask a mutant their exact class. As openers go, it was about on par with "What length?" or "What convictions?". Tyrone, however, didn't seem offended.
"RSIM. Rather Strong, Impaired Mind." This was interesting. It wasn't very high on the scale, but it certainly wasn't trivial. "I have shown signs of slipping into Reduced Brain categories, but I don't seem to be degrading any more."
Marion took a look at the huge muscles on him. "Strong?" she asked. There was only really going to be one answer, and Tyrone decided to give it by lifting the chair she was sitting on (with her still in it) above his head, without any sign of strange.
"Strong enough?" said Tyrone.
"Yes", said Marion, grinning, "I think we could certainly find a use for you here. You can be our Commissar for Rights of the Radioactively Challenged."
"Wait, you're giving out titles now?" I said. This was odd. Also, she didn't seem to understand what a Commissar was, but she had already decided that Russian sounding words were ideal for her purposes.
"Yes, of course. I've even got sashes to go with them!"
Yes, sashes. Red fabric sashes with our titles written on them. I'm not sure why she thought it was a good idea, but it seemed like a bad idea to question her logic. Raymond's belt read "The High Officer of Theft and Anti-Theft" while mine read "Minister of Boring but Entirely Necessary Tasks". In case you're wondering how these titles fitted on mayoral style sashes, they didn't. They were written in far too small handwriting across two lines. Marion's, on the other hand, was much more clear: "Super Squad Ruler". Weird. Marion seemed to have a habit of getting things technically accurate but just sounding a bit... off.
As Marion began to detail new plans and prepared to make a new sash for Tyrone, I decided to busy myself with continuing with the tiny amount of "research" that Marion had done (most amazing fact found so far: apparently, the public "do not like violent crime". Wow). I would need a moment of calm before the storm broke loose...
To be continued.
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Topic: The Fires of Revolution - A Liberal Crime Squad Story - Part 15 (Read 17113 times)