The Minutemen ~ Rex tremendæ maiestatis

Kumamoto Kūtoshi is a middle-sized, VII class aero city. Better minds classify the city as riding over a blimp, an entirely vacuum bulb that, accompanied by the mighty 1B kilowatt thrust of its 16 engines, stays in low earth orbit. It is not entirely unlike, or actually quite similar to, the former Kumato, since people tend to rebuild and stick to what they feel attached to, ever after the Great Fuckup of 2012. The major difference between the two is that if you attempt to walk off the edge and into nearby prefectures, you will likely bump your head onto the dome of the city, and suffer at best a $1700 fine for vandalism and at worse an ambulance ride to the hospital.

Yuutenji Nyamu's grandma was clutching her granddaughter as if she was being sucked away by a gitantic vacuum cleaner and she is the one static object in the current. 

Nyamu thought she had said all there can be worded for the galaxy's crying out loud.

"I'll only be gone for a year, and I'll be cyber-dialing you all the time. Bukkodan is totally safe, even safer than here. Plus, the pay will cover the rent, and then we'll split the rest five ways. If we want, we can even move to Chiyoda Kūtoshi. I'll be back before you know it."

Blah, blah, blah, Nyamu thought. It goes on forever. Not like that I am boarding the Titanic or anything.

"Wait, Bukkodan? What? You're going where? Buck-a-don? Oh, dear, I can't hear a thing! Are you going to the moon? And socks—did you say socks? Don't forget them! And... what's this about rent? Oh goodness, I can't make heads or tails of this, but I'm sure you'll be just fine. Just don't be gone too long! And what was that about a Chihuahua? I'm sure they'll take care of you, whatever it is... I hope you remember to take your chicken... or cheese... whatever it was!"

Exclaimed her grandma, who was now clutching her so tightly they risk of melting together and becoming a single entity. Nyamu was not sure if she was being hugged or being held hostage.

"And I will be on the TV and all these billboards, and you will see me everywhere. You will be so proud of me."

Nyamu's grandma hugged her instead. To claim before you act is the worst of all crimes, she thought. But she did not say it out loud. She was just trying to depart in time.

If they fucked up - she thought. If they fucked up, the loan will be split between the five, and next thing she knows would be a rapid swooping to the ground and no more Kumamoto Kūtoshi until she pays off the debt - which is insanely impossible in a place where the debt only builds up indefinitely.

Grandma released her grip.

The one walkway tile beneath her lit up and began to vibrate. Nyamu's younger sister bounced out behind mom who is standing behind grandma. They had all practiced letting go a million times and it was still too hard. No more words, just shedding tears and frantically wiping them away.

As the walkway tile picked up speed ushering her towards the airfield, her sister shouted, "Don't forget to call me! And don't forget to bring me back a souvenir!"

People just keep shrinking and shrinking, Nyamu thought. She waved back, and the walkway turned a corner and she was gone. All the houses and bridges and trees and people and cars and clouds moved away, as she was on the highway to heaven or hell (though, of course, that was a subject of perspective, religious beliefs, and whether you were a pessimistic nanny or an optimistic one).

But she did not took the Railway as she proclaimed. Near the airfield, she spotted the purly while P1Y "Ginga" that was waiting for the passengers to board before the ground crew found out that it was not a cargo flight as it has claimed to be for tax evasion purposes. Frankly, the "Ginga" was so old that it would value negative money and a miracle to be still flying in the first place. Hence the void of pilots or flight attendants, and only an computer strapped to the cockpit that was programmed to fly the plane to Bukkodan, justified.

The "Ginga" was a glaring anomaly. It didn't belong among the sleek machines lining the airfield, and its location - hidden on a nearby highway - was even more absurd. It wasn't a real cargo flight; it couldn't be. The whole thing reeked of a scam. Nyamu could almost hear the ominous music in her head, like she was about to hear Obi-Wan's famous line from Star Wars: "I have a bad feeling about this." And she hadn't even boarded yet.

The "Ginga" had clearly been modified—its wings had been hacked into rotating thrusters, but the modifications looked like a last-minute job. In fact, it had the same careless, cobbled-together vibe as the Serenity, but with less charm and all the dangerous hallmarks of someone who had no business trying to make a flying machine.

So she left the sliding tile of pavement that was generous to carry her so far. It blinked unconvincingly and wobbled away, as if it was trying to hide its shame. Not your fault, Nyamu thought. You are just a tile.

Entering from the tail of the plane, what greeted her wasn't just the interior of a bomber retrofitted to drop passengers with a fear of their savings, a high sense of financial insecurity, or a death wish. No, there was also a knucklehead already sitting there, a bass strapped to her side like a rifle zapper.

"Yo", said Yahata Umiri, who dressed herself as if she was in her late 20s.

"Yo", Nyamu replied, who dressed herself as if she was also in her late 20s.

"Let's get this over with", Umiri said, and Nyamu nodded. The context - whether the late 20s or the flight - was not clear, but it did not matter. The two of them were in the same boat, and they both knew it.

The "Ginga" began to taxi towards the runway. Nyamu's heart was pounding. To be live on TV and broadcast to the galaxy, including Earth—from the ground to the skies, and to the various inhabited planets where the only people left were desperately devoid of money, a sense of fashion, overly nerdy, or just plain bored, to the point they would endure pure empty terrains outside their windows. For various reasons, they would be watching her, and they need the music in one way or another.

With a loud roar, the "Ginga" took off. Umiri was reassuring herself that she would never take such a flight again if she actually wanted to live through her late 20s. The flight was shaking like a roller coaster, but even a roller coaster would be safer and more fun than this.

Nyamu caught sight of Umiri strapping a parachute to herself and followed suit. There was no better option, anyway, since the entertainment system was so wobbly it felt like Tsurumaki Kokoro was doing a tap dance.

And only then did she realize that Umiri was also on the Si Mujica LIVE thingy.

Meanwhile, the "Ginga" left the projected dome that somehow convincing people who have a bad sense of space and time that this is Kumamoto Kūtoshi, and entered air that is not density-enhanced. It shuddered as if it was caught in the act, but then resumed as if it was totally chill about it. 

"Wait, you're also in the Si Mujica LIVE thingy?" Nyamu asked.

"Yo," Umiri replied.

"It would be my pleasure to work with you," Nyamu said, reaching out her hand like the professional OuTuber she was. This was somewhat difficult due to the constant vibration of the seats, as if they were—if not already—falling apart.

Umiri took her hand and shook it. "Likewise," she said.

"Wow, they really have some budget cuts on this flight, huh?" Nyamu said, trying to make small talk. "Look at Kokoro's blue face! This is how they managed to avoid IP sues, boy? By coloring the idols blue?"

Umiri chuckled and almost puked for the plane's sudden drop. "I guess so," she said.

"O, pay better attention people!" The blue-faced Kokoro said, and the plane dropped again. "This is not a mechanical failure that in no way undermines the safety of this flight. And STRAP THE FUCKING PARACHUTES ON!"

They looked at each other and shrugged. 

"So anyway where you meet this Sakiko girl?" Umiri asked.

"Ah, Sakiko," Nyamu said. "Over the cybernet. She's a real genius, you know. She's the one who got us into this mess. Now we either make it big or we die trying or die trying not to die."

Nyamu flexed her right hand. The usual hologram did not appear - what a place to be. Instead she projected a Togawa Sakiko from her plastic-looking glasses, and she hovered and rotated in space between them like a nervous punctuation mark.

Umiri kept her thought to herself for one reason or another. Nyamu shurgged and replaced the hologram with Sakiko's keyboard performance. The music then has to be knocked up a few notches to overrun the plane's engine, to such a extent that the blue face of Kokoro was now looking purple.

"Decent," Umiri said. "But she was a Togawa, ain't she? Why in a need for a grab of cash all of a sudden?"

Nyamu had no idea. "Maybe she is just helping out a friend in need." 

Umiri, who had seen Sakiko and was in fact a former school classmate of her in college, was sporting a inconvencingly convinced look. "Right," she said. 

"And your name?" Said Umiri.

"Yuutenji Nyamu," she said. "But you can call me Nyamu."

"Wait, THE Nyamu? Naymu the OuTuber?" Umiri was taken a back. "Can you tell me how to wear make up to not look like to be in my late 20s when I still have several years to go?"

"Check out the channel," Nyamu said cheerfully. "I have a video on that."

And she could not resist the urge no more.

"Now you look a lot like your mom," Nyamu said before launching into a fit of giggles.

Umiri looked like she might would like to have some time with her guitar by using it to strike someone between the eyes.

Nyamu, still grinning, raised an eyebrow as she noticed Umiri's growing frustration. "Uh-oh," she said, trying to rein in her laughter but failing miserably. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Set up the GoFindMe page," Umiri said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I think I just found my new favorite punching bag."

Nyamu held her hands up in mock surrender to a Umiri shifting in her bench while strapped in tightly, her grin only widening. "Alright, alright, you win," she said between giggles. "But I'm just saying, your mom must be super proud of you. Look at you - looking all tough and cool and skibidi like you just stepped out of a rock concert."

"I should have taken the train," Umiri muttered under her breath, which is quite right considering the in-flight announcement by the IP infringement Kokoro.

"O, pay better attention people!" The blue-faced Kokoro shouted, and the plane dropped again. "This is not totally a mechanical failure that in no subtle way undermines the safety of this flight. And STRAP THE FUCKING PARACHUTES ON!"

They both have their parachutes on.

"Anyway, why we don't just break from the band and jam together after the first show is over? Sakiko has a keen eye for talent, and I think we can make it big if we stick together. Without this kind of overly risking, I mean."

"Sounds good to me," Umiri said. "But I am not leaving the band."

The Sakiko image is now replaced with a huge stack of band logos that is arranged like the list of sponsors on a sport plane back before the Great Fuckup. They bobbed around to nudge at Umiri's chin. "It wouldn't hurt to be in yet another band, would it?" Nyamu said.

"O, pay better attention people!" The blue-faced Kokoro said, and the plane dropped again. "We are almost in orbit and will rendezvous with the Bukkodan by flying over it and dropping you off. And STRAP THE FUCKING PARACHUTES ON!"

They looked at each other and shrugged. Whatever.

"Oh come on! We can definitely make it big even if there is just the two of us!" Nyamu said. "A band with 2 authentic members and not synthetic ones? That's a hit already!"

Umiri tried something that might have been offensive to Nyamu, but luckily, the plane decided to break into pieces precisely at that point and spared them both the hassle of a mid-air fistfight or the nerve-wracking wait before parachuting down to the ground.

Once the debris was cleared, the parachutes deployed automatically, and they gently descended toward the airfield of Bukkodan, gliding through its artificial atmosphere like a pair of Iseri Ninas from the anime opening — but much safer, thanks to the parachutes. Meanwhile, the SpaceOppZapper 30000s at Bukkodan were too busy zapping away the falling wreckage of the "Ginga" to notice the two band members making a grand, graceful, and, of course, unpaid (and thus illegal) entrance.

Now, it might be the time that we take our eyes away from the falling two, as the debris might lodge in the eye of the reader if you are not careful. Instead, we could turn these keen eyes to the emitted hologram, which is now showing Weakipedia entries instead of the Kokoro hologram for the computer catching on fire or breaking into 7 interconnected pieces.

Weakipedia - The Great Fuckup

httqs://en.weakipedia.org/wiki/The_Great_Fuckup

The Great Fuckup is the greatest historical moment in human history. It was epic because every person fucked up at the same time. The synchronized bad decisions sent a wave of financial despair, the collapse of buildings, sudden discoveries of spouses cheating and wasting their money, large sums of cash withdrawn from bank accounts to fund an internet game that was catching fire for some reason, urban animals that ate away all the pipes and wires near the engine leaving the cars to retire themselves in the driveway, and many more. In short, the land was so filled with misery that it would look silly, poor, or both to live there.

Since then, the Cybernet - a high-speed knock-off of the internet - has allowed the rapid transmission of 3D videos, sensory experiences like sound, touch, and smell, human minds, realistic memories, dreams, aspirations that never quite work no matter how hard you try and have made their half way to the bin called memes, personal scandals, and even bad news, all of which can be wooshed away in the blink of an eye. The downside, however, is that a brain-rot culture, fueled by skibidi videos, has transformed the masses into punks. So much so that every user of the Cybernet is now seen as a punk. But due to the Cybernet's overwhelming popularity, this phenomenon may actually point to the essence of humanity itself, which, in its this way, makes everyone a punk. And thus, the cyberpunk age was born.

...

Weakipedia - The Great Flyup

httqs://en.weakipedia.org/wiki/The_Great_Flyup

The Great Flyup is the best reminder of what humanity is capable of under extreme pressure of shame and despair. In 4 years, the moon was transformed into a booming city where at least 7 brawmarts were set up, where customers used low gravity fistfights to settle who gets the best discount. In 10 years, the solar system was filled with laughter and credit card scams brought forth by mankind. In 20 years, the galaxy bowed its head to humanity. The only place that took the heavy blow was the ground, where the residents constantly regretted not reading A Clockwork Orange to realize that the ground would be messed up if all of humanity was considering, if not already, moving somewhere else.

...

Weakipedia - The Great Syrup

httqs://en.weakipedia.org/wiki/The_Great_Syrup

The Great Syrup is a kind of Syrup that managed to sell 93,431 bottles in one single day. It comes in 6 flavors: Pinewood, Maple, Strawberry, Honey, Chocolate, and Vanilla. It is said that the syrup is the best symbolism for this age of humanity, as it is sticky, sweet, and hard to get rid of. (This information is funded by the Great Syrup Corporation, which is a subsidiary of the Tsurumaki Group.)

The airfield is a endless rolling parking space, filled with glamorous space shuttles fully capable of sailing through all the occupied planets of the galaxy. All these people has rode around the aero interstates to take a look at the spectacle that is Bukkodan - or formally known as the "Michelle Amusement Park", or "Hello, Happy World" as the initial name of the space station. However, due to the mess above, the airfield is so disturbed that shuttles are lining themselves up to take off. It might just be dumb luck for them, that they landed askew and did not get caught in all the traffic - they had the parachutes caught on some building antennae and got the chance to dangle 1 feet above the grand entrance of Bukkodan.

Umiri was the first to untangle herself from the parachute, from where she hoisted Naymu by the waist for her to disentangle herself. "You okay?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.

"Yeah, I'm good," Nyamu replied, brushing off the dust from her clothes. "I might just caught a plane sickness." She looked up just to witness the spectacle that only the floor of the "Ginga" was broken and the plane was doing a cunning dance, evading all the zapping lazer and got away with it.

They both decided to abandon the parachutes and head inside Bukkodan for a conbination of safety and legal reasons. 

People say the Michelle Amusement Park is the happiest place in the galaxy. People say the Hello, Happy World is the happiest place in the galaxy. People haven't been to Bukkodan, but they assume the same, which is probably the reason a large amount of funds have piled unnecessarily at the Tsurumaki mansion named "pre-paid tickets for Bukkodan" which was accepted faster than you can say "oh hell wait a minute".

The space station is unnervingly white and clean. It feels so sleek that there is not anyway to tell where does the walls end and the ceiling begin. Nyamu looked down just in time to see a new 2020s styled skirt, a contemporary-looking hat, flying by, and away from the two of them. "Hey, wait!" Nyamu shouted, but the hat was already out of reach.

From the large, friendly letters suddenly spooking them from the wall, they "should change into 2020s fashion to blend in with the ideal of happiness of the Bukkodan but you are close enough and this is just for punks dressed up as punks so WELCOME AND HAVE A JOLLY TIME MY HONORED GUESTS!!!!!"

"Well, that was creepy," Umiri said, her voice barely above a whisper.

And the walls came apart to reveal a lift, where Nyamu and Umiri made their way inside without a word. The lift doors closed, and the lift began to move.

It was, too, immaculately clean and white. From the doors they face came the voice and the video of the CEO of the renowned Tsurumaki Group, Tsurumaki Kokoro. 

"I am Tsurumaki Kokoro, and I am here to ask you a question.

Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow?

No, says the man in the Mars colony, 'It belongs to the poor.'

No, says the man in the Neptune Confederation, 'It belongs to God.'

No, says the punks of Earth, 'It belongs to everyone.'

I rejected those answers. Instead, I chose something different.

I chose the impossible.

I chose... Bukkodan."

The Kokoro on screen smiled. 

"A city where the artists would not fear the hitori syndrome.

Where the musicians would not be bound by petty limits in cash.

Where the great works would not be constrained by the small.

And with the sweat of your brow, Bukkodan can become your city as well."

Umiri and Nyamu looked at each other, their expressions a mix of confusion and intrigue. Then Nyamu freaked out. "What the hell was that?" she exclaimed, her voice echoing in the lift. 

"Is all this in the contract?" Umiri asked, her voice steady despite the bizarre turn of events.

"I don't know!" Nyamu shouted, her hands flying up in exasperation. "I didn't look, the print was so small!"

Then the Kokoro in the video looked at them, making Nyamu jump and Umiri pause in her mid-jump, and pulled back to the ground by the force of gravity.

Nyamu was trembling when she turned around and said, "Do you know when Chekov's gun does not fire?"

"Uh, when it is rainy outside?" Umiri guessed, her voice laced with sarcasm.

So they such ignored the Kokoro video until the lift halted and opened - to reveal that they somehow ended up in a service door and out-looking to the old railway station Ojiekimae of Kita City, Tokyo 114-0002, Japan.

ETA to Mujica's first Bukkodan LIVE: 72 hours, 13 minutes, and 57 seconds.