968: FZero LX: Enter the Eagles of Faith – One ShotPosted: February 18, 2015
Welcome back, patrons, to another one-shot! This week I thought I’d tackle yet another source that we really haven’t seen much of (aside from its tenuous inclusion in Smash Brothers and thus Twenty Warriors). That source is F-Zero.
For those not familiar, F-Zero is a series of futuristic racing games released by Nintendo. The first was for the SNES back in 1990. The franchise was completed and retired in 2004 with the Japan-only release of F-Zero: Climax. The series as a whole has been rather light on any kind of story-telling, but there are nuggets of information and story available on the series mostly in the form of companion material, in-game character biographies, and a moderately sized Anime reboot of the series released in 2003.
Not that much of that will matter here.
FZero LX is a… well, you know what, I won’t spoil it for you. All I’ll say is that you should take a quick moment to look up and read the name of the author. Just take a quick gander.
Done looking? Good, let’s start with the summary!
This is the first chapter of the book.
What the hell is that supposed to be!? That’s not a summary! That’s not even an insipid conversational address to the audience! That’s… what the hell is that!?
Though, I suppose it is accurate. This fic is only a chapter long, written over 2 years ago, by an author who has only posted this one thing. So, odd as it may be, it is certainly very accurate. Provided that you don’t look too deeply into the existence of this supposed “book.”
A New Legendary Racing Team
Quick hint to all aspiring authors out there. If the first introduction of your original team in a body of writing is telling the audience that they are legendary, then your story is probably going to suck. Just saying.
The engines of the monster-sized F-Zero racing machines began to roar like lions.
Um, author, you may want to refresh yourself on both the F-Zero universe and the meaning of “monster-sized.” An F-zero racer isn’t much bigger than a full-sized luxury sedan, and many of them are pretty spindly.
The crowds are cheering insanely loud for the F-Zero pilots.
Wait, there is more than one crowd? How does that work? I suppose there are ways to make that happen, but I’d need to actually be shown something to believe it.
This is the year 2165. A brand new F-Zero Grand Prix is about to unfold…
Huh. Author, you do know that the very first F-Zero Grand Prix was held in 2560, right?
Even if you take a look at the Anime Reboot of the franchise, the first race was still held in 2201.
Research is your friend.
“Welcome to the 2165 F-Zero Grand Prix!” The emcee shouted. “The opening event of the Legends Tour will begin shortly after the pilots arrive at the starting grid.”
Holy crap, the author used emcee correctly!
The 48 pilots who qualified to compete in the race are taking two test laps.
No numerals in the narrative!
“In this race, there are a few groups, the Eagles of Faith, us in the Galaxy Police, the United Nerd Clans, and the pirates.” Jody Summer said.
There are four groups in a race designed to be a cultural melting pot for the various galactic races. I hope I don’t need to point out why that’s stupid.
Jody is the commander of the Galaxy Police’s “Mobile Task Force”.
I bet she also “races” in the “Grand Prix.”
This is actually an important bit of information because the Mobile Task Force places this canon as that of the anime, rather than the games. Still, this takes place 35 years BEFORE the anime (and before the first F-Zero Grand Prix). Jody won’t be born for another 10 years at this point in the timeline.
She drives the No. 02 White Cat and is one of the best racers in the entire galaxy.
It’s important to be told this. Because showing is hard.
“Well, this looks like that I am going to win this race, Commander Summer.” Jeremiah Rice said.
And there it is. The author doesn’t even bother to hide the fact that his new character is an author insertion. Actually, I will say that this unabashed honesty is kinda refreshing. At least he isn’t trying to fool anyone that this fic is anything other than masturbatory wish-fulfillment.
A shame he seems to be going with the standard self-aggrandizing jackass package for his SI.
Jeremiah is the rookie pilot of the No. 31 Fighting Irishman. His story will be told later on.
Narrative, you’re doing it wrongest.
“Not this time, Jeremiah.” Bruce McConnery replied. “This fisherman is going to reel in the win today!”
This is another original character. I’m guessing he’s based on a friend who is overfond of fishing.
Bruce is the avid fisherman that drives the No. 32 Centennial Lunker. He is part of Jeremiah Rice’s Eagles of Faith racing team.
How the hell does a rookie have a racing team!? Author, that’s not how rookies work! He’d be lucky to be in the race at all, let alone having a team of his own.
The machines have finally arrived at the starting grid to begin the race.
Gah! Tense, man, TENSE!
“Okay, let’s wait for the signal…” the emcee announced.
Why does he think he needs to tell the racers to wait for the signal? Is this daycare racing?
Tensions are running high on the pilots. They are absolutely anxious to begin the battle for supremacy.
Meanwhile, interest is running low in the readers. They are absolutely bored with not being shown anything.
The light turns red. The crowd counts down for the green light. Ten seconds later, the light turns green. All of the pilots hit the accelerator and the race is on! The machines zipped through the starting gate and out onto the track.
Even after having seen Sidehackers, I find this a breathtakingly boring racing sequence.
“Okay, start!” Jeremiah Rice declared.
Uh, they already did. Maybe you should just go before you fall irrecoverably behind.
“This race is mine!” Meghann Wann shouted. “Let’s go!”
Meghann is one of the members of the Eagles of Faith. She pilots the No. 00 Faith Eagle.
Another original character, goody. I can see that naming isn’t going to be a strong suit of these eagle people.
Back to the race, another F-Zero racing machine, the No. 15 Big Fang, hit Jeremiah’s machine. The pilot of the machine is a genetically engineered dinosaur by the name of Bio Rex. Bio Rex taunts Jeremiah.
FOR THE LOVE OF CRAP, JEREMY! Show me something!
Also, yes, Bio Rex is indeed a canon character.
“What the heck?” Jeremiah Rice said. “You want a piece of me, eh? Well, here’s the whole thing!”
Dude, you don’t say that to a dinosaur. They WILL take you up on that offe-
*Taco turns slowly to find Crunchy only a few inches away, staring intently*
Jeremiah hits the No. 15 Big Fang and sends Bio Rex into the guardrail, forcing him out of the race.
Wha? Why would a little bump-draft like that force Rex out of the game? You can be slammed into one of those rails at full speed and still limp away with a win. Well, depending on the difficulty setting, anyway. As long as your racer hasn’t exploded, you’re still in the race.
“That will teach you not to be so cocky!” Jeremiah Rice shouted. “Ha! I haven’t raced since 2015!”
Speaking of being a cocky ass-basket. Jeremy, here’s a pot, he’d like to talk to you.
It really does lack Horatio’s elegance.
Now it is time to turn back the clocks 150 years in the year 2015.
Narrator, you can stuff your conversational tone. Just like you can stuff those numerals.
Jeremiah Rice and his friends were part of a great racing team competing in the Formula One World Grand Prix.
*Jermie explodes into a vortex of smarmy stupidity*
GAK! It’s the Stu event horizon! Everyone, get to the shelters!
If you are wondering who all part of the Eagles of Faith is, well here they are.
Well, you listed a bunch of them so far, so not really. Don’t really care either, as they seem to be a pretty generic Team Stu/Sue blob.
Jeremiah Rice is the captain of the team, with his friends Bruce McConnery and Meghann Wann as the junior captains.
Wow, its the very characters that were already poorly introduced. What novelty. This is on the same freaking page as the other introductions, too. See, the previous introductions are still on the screen! *points*
Pacing is just that thing that other authors do, isn’t it, Jerm?
The chaplain of the team is Gary Osborne, one of the pastors from the White Horse Christian Center in West Lafayette, Indiana.
So, we now know Jer’s hometome.
Can you please give us a reason to care, Jeremy? That’s all I ask.
Chris “Cairos Maximillion” Maxwell, Amanda Fletcher, the Bates brothers Ethan Madison and Zachary Xavier, Kelsey Smith, Jesse “Tiger” Kiger, Aaron “Ninja” Mullen, and Lacy Eads make up the rest of the racing crew as racers.
We now have a pretty coherent, and unimportant, list of all Jerry’s real life friends and family.
You do know that racing teams don’t work like that, right? At most there would be 2 or 3 racers on the team supported by at least ten times as many crewmen, who are also team members. Where is the mention of your robust and talented support crew?
Oh, they’re not important, right? Jackass.
In the final lap of their last Formula One race in New York, Jeremiah Rice crossed the finish line to secure the victory in the F-1 World Grand Prix. In victory lane, he is greeted by his fellow teammates.
“The 2015 Formula One Grand Prix championship race victory now belongs to Jeremiah Rice!” the female emcee shouted.
This is like the movie Rocky. If it had been about racing. And if he’d won the championship race within the first five minutes of the movie and then spent the next hour and a half telling us about how awesome he is.
Also, while Grand Prix of America does indeed run THROUGH New York, it’s considered to be located in New Jersey, because that’s where it starts and finishes. Further, that is not the World Grand Prix. Because there ISN’T a World Grand Prix! F-1 Grand Prix are invariably hosted at a national level. The only “World Grand Prix” for racing is a group of video games. Unless, of course, we’re talking about darts. There is indeed a World Grand Prix of darts.
The victory trumpets sounded all over the race track and the American flag along with the Eagles of Faith’s battle flags were hoisted up in the air.
Why the fuck does a racing team have BATTLE flags!? Man, this Jermy guy is giving me flashbacks to the OTHER asshat of a similar name.
It only gets better, America’s national anthem, The Star-Spangled Banner was playing.
Why is that better? The national anthem is okay as a short, four stanza poem, but as music it tends to be pretty flat; owing mostly to the brevity of composition. Not a lot you can do with a thirty second blurb of music. I think I’d rather have them be rocking a mariachi band or something.
After the race, Jeremiah was sitting in his cruiser with his friends, Bruce McConnery, Meghann Wann, and Jesse Kiger.
Hangin’ with the character blob.
Suddenly, the police scanner announced that there is an escaped criminal by the name of Zoda on the loose.
Oh, you better not be going where I think you-
“Zoda escaped, eh?” Jeremiah Rice said. “People, let’s go get the man!”
Oh for fuck’s sake. May as well make him the lead guitar of Faythe Eegals while you’re at it, Jerime.
Can you please keep your penis out of the fic!? There are some of us who don’t appreciate having to watch your literary wank-fest.
“Roger that.” Zach Bates said.
GAH! Don’t sneak up on me, Zach. Gonna give me a heart attack appearing in the scene like that!
“Yes sir!” Ethan Bates and Kelsey Smith said.
GAH! Okay, I’m going to have to have a word with the SDQF after this fic. If it’s going to barf characters all over the scene, at least it could give a few sentences warning.
“Ten-four, Jeremiah!” Chris Maxwell and Amanda Fletcher said.
Oh gods, the character blob is growing by the second. Somebody turn off the quantum drive, it’s seeding the flux!
“My ninja skills will bring him down!” Aaron Mullen said.
How many characters are going to get barfed out of this thing!?
Okay, to save everyone having to read that, the SQDF barfs up the entire Fat Eagle crew.
They all have their little catch phrases and stuff, which only serves to highlight how totally blank and uninteresting this whole character blob really is. Literally all we know about them is that they think they’re witty by saying their inane variation of “okay, let’s go.”
I’m guessing this whole scene was supposed to be happening over the radio, but since we were never shown JerJer using one, I’m going to imagine all twelve of them crammed into Jelly’s “cruiser.” Since we aren’t shown anything about the cruiser, I’m arbitrarily assigning him a PT Cruiser. With painted-on wood paneling.
Jeremiah and his comrades turned on their vehicle’s engines to prepare for the chase on Zoda.
Man, there you are, minding your own business, when out of the blue BAM, the jerk squad has a car chase scene all over you.
They sped up to him as soon as they found him.
That’s it? He escapes from… wherever and they just find him. Just like that.
*Shakes the fic*
WHY ARE YOU SO UNINTERESTING!?
Jeremiah’s vehicle and Zoda’s vehicle are just three seconds apart from each other.
So, like they’re parked about ten feet away from each other or something? That’s about as much action as we’re getting here, Jer.
AND TENSE, MAN! THINK OF THE TENSE!
This guy is going down, Jeremiah Rice thought.
Duh, that’s literally Zoda’s only purpose in the fic. Well, either that or he’s going to MAGICAL PLOT so that Jermy here can go to the future.
Zoda fired bullets at the hinge of the door of the getaway car that he used to escape. The door was loosened and was sent flying.
Zoda, Zoda, Zoda. How many times do I have to tell you that you shoot at the OTHER car, not your own? This is token villain 101 stuff here, buddy.
“Look out, Jeremiah!” Bruce McConnery shouted.
For that tree?
Jeremiah Rice looked to see that the door is about to hit the windshield of his vehicle.
Jermy, we know what your last name is. STOP. FUCKING. TYPING. IT!
Also, want to explain the physics of how a door, knocked sidways off a car, can somehow end up flying at the windshield of a car parked ten feet away? Even if the cars were in a heated chase, knocking the door off the side will have the tendency to fall outward and away from the cars.
Maybe you should actually run through a scene a few times in your head and ponder the plausibility of it before you sit down to type it. Just a thought.
The car is spinning out of control.
Just like your tense.
Finally, the car hit the side of the road.
Uhh, you do know that, in most cases, the side of the road is flat, right? You’ve seen roads, right? It’s very hard to hit the side of it without actually dropping the car at it.
Shocked at the fact the car was hit, there was a horrific freak of nature accident involving the all vehicles from the Eagles of Faith team.
And they all died. The E-
So, we’ve either got the good ol’ “death causes dimensional translocation” cliche, or the “heroes resurrected out of their own time” cliche. Not sure I’m really happy with either of those possibilities.
It was a huge pileup of vehicles
Swenia! Request babysitting!
*DRD Agents scatter in a panic*
After Jiwe found his way into the Specs and Co armory during the DRD’s last babysitting attempt, they’ve been a tad reluctant to watch the little guy.
So, that was the end of that story.
And there you have it. Thanks for reading, next we-
But, but the fic said-
One hundred fifty years have passed now.
Whoever resurrected these little pukes has a lot to answer for.
The galaxy is now ruled by the government of the Galactic Space Federation.
I know what you’re thinking, but this is actually the canon name. Nintendo has always been all about the generic names when dealing with galactic empires. Granted, since F-Zero a racing game, it doesn’t need that kind of depth, so it’s fair enough. For reference, in Metroid the government is called “The Galactic Federation.” There’s a lot of people who assume that the F-Zero universe is the same as the Metroid one. The dates don’t really line up well on their own, but with tweaking, they actually fit together without too many problems.
Technology has made a significant advance in transportation.
One would hope so. That’s one-hundred-fifty freaking years worth of advancement. Compared to now, that’s the difference between horse-drawn carriages and cars that can drive themselves.
“Reviving a team of racers to save the galaxy?” John Tanaka said. “That seems troublesome…”
Not to mention a huge waste of resources. Let’s all remember, they were taken out by a fucking CAR DOOR! You don’t bring back a dozen idiots killed by a guy shooting the door off his car. That’s something even a freshman at the police academy could have avoided.
At least when XCOM resurrected Joan of Arc, they could have at least used her as a symbol to rally behind (they didn’t, but they could have). There was at least a nugget of untapped plausibility in that case. What do they have here? Twelve morons that somehow win an F1 Grand Prix but still can’t dodge a door in the road.
John Tanaka plays a couple of roles in the story.
Primarily, that of John Tanaka. But he also plays John Tanaka.
BECAUSE HE’S JOHN TANAKA!
What is this “couple of roles” crap? You do realize that prose is an important part of writing, yes?
Not only he is one of the F-Zero pilots in the Galaxy Police “Mobile Task Force”, he is the director for the unit. Also, he is one of the mechanics for the Federation’s Defense Ministry.
“Hello, Jody.” Dr. Robert Stewart greeted.
Where the hell are we!? Can we get just a little setting other than “teh futrue!”?
Also, Hi, Dr. Stewart.
“Hello, Doctor.” Jody replied. “So, can you help him?”
Great, more pronoun hell.
“Hm? Well, as you can see, the damage on the young man is pretty significant.
Not to mention being dead for 150 years has to put a pretty big crimp on the whole reanimation process.
However, with my surgical expertise, I don’t see why I can’t help him and his friends.”
Dude, it’s been 150 years. What, exactly, are you going to perform surgery on!?
“I have a bad feeling about this.” John Tanaka said.
We all do. You’re bringing a jackass-Stu back from the dead. That never ends well.
“Would you prefer taking his place in cold sleep?” Dr. Stewart asked.
Dr. Stewart, would you kindly go fuck yourself, please? The proper response to “I don’t want to bring a dead person back to life” is not “Well maybe I should kill you instead.” That’s psychotic.
Seriously, talk about flying wide of the mark. Dr. Stewart is certainly ego-centric, but he’s not a sociopath who goes around threatening the lives of anyone who doesn’t go along with his plans. At worst, he’s an insufferable ladies man.
“No, no, I’ll pass on that.”
Grow a spine, Tanaka. Dr. Stewart is many things, but intimidating is not one of them.
It took seven painstaking hours of hard work to bring to life the members of the Eagles of Faith.
That’s it? Just seven hours? There are routine medical procedures that last longer than that! It should have taken several weeks, if not months, for EACH member.
Jeremiah Rice is in the room with Dr. Stewart and Jody Summer. He is in medical garb, still not aware of his surroundings.
Or which tense he should be using.
“Jeremiah, can you hear us?” Jody Summer asked.
“Yeah, I can hear you.” Jeremiah Rice replied.
“I’m Jody, the leader of the Mobile Task Force of the Galaxy Police. Starting today, you will be working with me and for me.”
“We resurrected you and brought you to the future. What? Why didn’t we use people who were already familiar with this time period, well…
“I understand, Miss Jody.”
No, you fucking don’t. I don’t care who you are, if you wake up in a futuristic looking hospital room with a lady claiming to be part of the galaxy police, you’re going to ask a few questions. And probably have a freak out.
“I’m Dr. Stewart, one of the Task Force members.” Dr. Stewart said. “This is your uniform: a navy blue jacket, a green undershirt, a green jersey with the number 31 on it, a Irish National tartan kilt, crew cut socks, and a pair of black sneakers.”
For fuck’s sake, he’s not even wearing it and we’re already getting clothing porn!
Also, that’s about as gaudy and horrible an outfit as I could imagine. Are you trying to make him look like a complete idiot. If you are: HE DOESN’T NEED ANY HELP LOOKING STUPID!
And could you give him maybe a few days to settle in before dropping in with his new uniform? He’s only been undead for a few hours, give the jerk a little time to acclimate.
“All right, thank you.” Jeremiah Rice replied.
Jeremiah changed from the medical garb into his new F-Zero uniform.
Honestly, I’d have gone with the clown uniform. At least then the whole thing would have matched.
“Very good, Jeremiah,” Jody Summer commented on Jeremiah Rice’s uniform. “It certainly makes you proud to be Irish, eh?”
And the Irish ashamed to have been genetically involved in his existence.
Also, protip for you Germy: nobody fucking cares that you are proud of your genetic ties to Ireland. Least of all the Irish.
“Yeah, thanks.” Jeremiah Rice replied. “Where are my friends?”
“I don’t know. But, feel free to walk around the headquarters if you want.”
“All right, then.”
So he just gets to wander around within a few hours of being resurrected. No psychological tests, no monitoring, no questions about his past and whether he’s suited to do the task they bring him back for. Nope, just go wander around for a while.
And why the hell doesn’t Jody know where the others are!? This is her fucking program! If she’s going to budget the money for this kind of crazy project, she damn well would have kept tabs on everything. Heck, she would probably have inserted tracking devices into their spinal columns just so she wouldn’t lose track of them.
This is a trollfic, right? Something this stupid can’t be a real fic attempt, can it?
Jeremiah Rice walked through the corridors of the building until he enters into the observation platform.
For gods’ sake, man! TENSE!
What is this place? Jeremiah thought.
Observation platform. It’s right there, see? *Points*
“I see that you wondering what that was about, Jeremiah.” Jody Summer said.
GAH! That’s it, SQDF, I’m taking away your television privileges until you can stop doing that.
“Is this New York City?” Jeremiah Rice replied.
“This is used to be New York. Now, the city is named Mutant City or Mute City for short.”
That’s actually canon to the anime, so roll with it.
“Wow, the world has changed…Has one hundred fifty years really passed?”
“You can say that.” Dr. Stewart said. “This is the year 2165.”
Why are you so uninteresting!? Why!? Moldy dish rags have more personality!
“Forgot to set your alarm to wake up, dude?” Jack Levin joked. “I’m Jack Levin, pilot of the No. 14 Astro Robin. You must be one of the racers from 150 years back, eh?”
Man, Gerimy, you’re going loose and fast with the name drops, aren’t you? Jack Levin is another canon character. He’s part of the Mobile Task Force in the anime.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.” Jeremiah Rice replied.
“I left my personality back in 2015. Which is pretty fortunate for everyone here.”
“Jack, would you mind showing our young friend around the headquarters?” Dr. Stewart asked.
“What? Why do I have to be the welcome wagon?” Jack Levin asked.
Good question. The better question is whether a dude just brought back from the dead should be wandering around a secure building.
“Because you are popular perhaps,” Jeremiah Rice joked. “However, I need to get going.”
The fuck for? What are you going to do? You’re displaced by 150 years! You don’t know anyone, you don’t own anything, and you lack all the skills necessary to procure even the basics of survival. The people who brought you back have you dead to rights, Jemmy.
“What do you need to do, Jeremiah?” Jody Summer asked.
ANSWER THE LADY, JERK!
“I got to go find my friends, Commander.” he replied.
Which she said you might find if you wandered around. It’s mind-bendingly stupid that she said it, but that’s what she said. Jack over there will facilitate more useful, possibly even targeted wandering that would probably speed everything up. You know, you could even ask him a question like, “Do you know the most likely place to find a group of idiots displaced 150 years into the future?” Jack’s a bright guy, he’d probably be able to figure it out for you.
With that, Jeremiah Rice ran out of the room on a search for his friends. Somehow, he found his way into the garage. He sees a garage full of F-Zero machines.
If you aren’t going to secure your police facility with key cards, retinal scans, and guards, can you at least lock a few doors or something!?
“At long last, it is done!” Dr. Clash declared.
Hey Dr. Clash, welcome to the characterization dismemberment. We apologize in advance for the gross mischaracterization you’re about to get.
“What is done?” Jeremiah Rice asked.
AHA! A thing!
The machine that Jeremiah Rice was looking at was his own car. Apparently, the machine was modified to compete in an F-Zero Grand Prix race.
So, not only did his twisted wreck somehow survive 150 years without being scrapped for metal, but it was turned into an F-Zero racer.
Yeah, this thing totally isn’t a masturbatory fic. Nope, not at all.
Luckily I don’t think it’s long enough to start in on the obvious shipping with Jody. But we all know that’s where this thing would have headed. First opportunity that presented itself, she’d be a damsel in distress just there to be saved and then be a penis topper.
“That must be some awesome work.” Jeremiah Rice complimented to Clash.
Wow, what a side-handed comment. Jeremy, you do very well with what limited intelligence you have.
“You like it, eh?” Dr. Clash asked.
“Yes, may I see the key to the vehicle?”
What Clash should say: “Hell no! You were dead less than eight hours ago! And even if you weren’t, I wouldn’t let you inside one of these things until you’ve at least had the basics of piloting one!”
What he actually says:
“Yeah, you may Jeremiah.”
Forget the idiotplex, this thing’s plot is an idiotplex raised to an idiotplex.
Dr. Clash handed the ignition key to Jeremiah Rice. Jeremiah Rice started up the machine. The machine was roaring like a lion.
Dude, you used that smile twice in the same chapter. Find a new one, bro.
“Well, what do you think?” Dr. Clash asked.
“What are the stats on this machine?” Jeremiah Rice asked.
Why would you ask that? It’s a vehicle 150 years more advanced than anything you’ve ever seen. A machine which hovers with an anti-gravity drive and is propelled with a plasma turbine engine. What in the twelve hells makes you think you could even begin to comprehend the statistics that Clash would have on this vehicle?
“Well, the weight of the machine is 1587 kilograms, which makes the machine gives raw power and speed.
No it doesn’t! Weight has nothing to do with power and speed! Sure, more weight could mean that there’s more engine and thus more power and speed, but that’s not what you said, Clash! Pyramids weigh quite a bit but you aren’t seeing many of those winning the Monza.
I think you would be a great pilot in the Grand Prix.”
Which he says knowing nothing about you or your capacity to pilot this thing.
Also, is that it? By stats you give him how much it weighs? You are a disgrace as an engineer, Clash. You should be able to make this punk’s head spin with technical details and engineering terms until he wets himself and flees from the building.
“I need to go find my friends, Dr. Clash.”
“I see. Well, good luck Jeremiah.”
More bland action meanders across the screen. Because who needs tension, pacing, and setting, right?
Jeremiah Rice shifts gears to reverse to back out. The sirens were sounding. Jack Levin rushed to the garage.
“Jeremiah!” Jack Levin shouted. “Your driver’s license had expired 150 years ago!”
Thank you Jack! It’s about damn time somebody reigns this idiot in! Doesn’t even have enough sense to be concerned with the deeper ramifications of being resurrected.
However, Jeremiah Rice was gone before Jack Levin could ever reach him.
We’re supposed to hate this character, right? Because he’s a fucking awful character. You can’t have expected anyone to identify with or like this character, right? It’s not possible that an author can be so blind as to what a turdly little self-indulgent ass-pile his protagonist is.
“He’s a goner…” Jack Levin said.
If only, Jack, if only.
Jeremiah Rice is in for one huge culture shock.
Not to mention the temporal shock from all the friggen’ tense changes!
The machine is going at 850 kilometers per hour. The tunnel was long and winding, full of twists and turns.
What tunnel? Where did that tunnel come from? Why is he in a tunnel? Why is he going 850 KPH in a tunnel without having scouted it first!?
*Shakes the fic*
WHAT IS GOING ON!?
The machine was on auto-pilot mode until the machine reached at the end of the tunnel.
Oh, well that explains the speed. As to where the tunnel came from, we may never know.
Then, the gate opened up and the machine zipped out of there.
“There” being the tunnel. Which is in the place. Because tunnel.
Jeremiah Rice looked around while he was driving, seeing what was changed in 150 years.
Author, stahp. We get it. We understand that you really, really like the fact that he has a first and last name. We understand; it is likely a bit of a novelty where you come from. Now will you kindly knock it the fuck off!?
Ah, there’s Brooklyn Bridge, Jeremiah thought.
Where!? All I’m seeing is a blank sea of white. Though the void is pretty in the lack of sunlight this morning.
He made the turn onto where Brooklyn Bridge is. There he sees a group of people just standing there.
“Hanging out and not doing anything” is pretty much the unofficial tagline of this fic.
“Hey friends!” Jeremiah Rice said.
*Facepalm* *Headdesk* *Bodywall*
Of course, he just randomly finds them standing around doing sod all on the Brooklyn Bridge. You know what? Sure, why the fuck not!? If this thing is going to be total nonsense anyway, may as well go with that!
Meghann Wann and the other turned their heads to see him. And sure enough, they’re alive too.
“Hey!” she replied. “Good to see you!”
“I notice that you have a new F-Zero machine, buddy.” Gary Osborne said to Jeremiah Rice.
“Yeah, but I don’t know what to name the machine.” Jeremiah Rice replied.
And that’s it. That’s all they have to say to each other. “Hey, we’re in the future! Now get a load of my ride! Let’s call it something stupid!”
“Well, I notice that you have a gold shamrock on your green machine.” Chris Maxwell said.
I apologize to everyone who is genuinely Irish for this scene. Not all Americans think your country revolves around shamrocks, leprechauns, and the color green.
A depressing number of us do, but not all of us.
“Also, you like Notre Dame’s college football team.” Zach Bates said.
Liked. You’re 150 years in the future, it’s unlikely that football is a thing anymore.
“Well, I am going to call my racer the Fighting Irishman.” Jeremiah Rice said.
Yay! The author managed to eventually, almost begrudgingly, establish something that is both unimportant and ALREADY. FUCKING. KNOWN! We already knew what the racer was called. So maybe, instead of this insipid conversion, you could have used that word padding to actually describe something!
In fact, describe anything! Anything at all! Hell, clothing porn is better than this vast sea of misty emptiness these voice boxes are floating in! The only thing that was described thus far was Germy’s horrendous outfit and the colors of his blobular vaguemobile! That’s it! We don’t know what anything else looks like! Nothing! We don’t even know the general shape of this F-Zero racer that everyone is having their group orgasm all over! All we know about it is the color, and that it looks like Jerry’s old car, which also was never described.
That’s it! Until we actually get a description, I’m picturing this racer as a giant gold and green dildo with shamrock-shaped ribs all over it.
“Cool name, man!” Jesse Kiger said.
Yeah… no. He named it after his favorite sports team based on the colors that were already there. I don’t think his single brain-cell even had to warm up for that one.
“Thank you, guys! Now, let’s go have a look around the city.”
And remember, no descriptions! Everyone strap onto my tickler and let’s hum on out of here!
“Good plan, my friend.” Gary Osborne said.
They have last names, WE. GET. IT! Nao STAHP!
“Leaving so soon, people?” Jack Levin sarcastically said to Jeremiah Rice.
The hell did Jack come from!? Was he hiding in the battery compartment? SQDF, you’ve got some ‘splanin’ to do.
“Yes. Why?” Jeremiah Rice replied.
“I want to show you around Mute City. Consider this a welcoming ceremony for you guys.”
“That sounds awesome.” Jesse Kiger said.
That’s it? No remonstrations for stealing the racer and driving it without a license? No reclaiming the assessets your division spent all the time and money developing? Nothing? Just going to show them around the city, eh?
You’re a moron, Jack. You were the only likable character for about fifteen minutes, but now the ultimate idiot plot has consumed you.
So, the entire Eagles of Faith crew followed Jack Levin to a local dance club.
Speaking of Eagles of Faith, hows that crisis of spirituality thing going? You know, the one where science couldn’t possibly resurrect you because your souls being in God’s (or gods’) hands would prevent the full reanimation. But since they have resurrected you, it’s more likely that you don’t have souls and are actually just electrolytic bags of meat.
Yeah, it’s probably best you don’t put too much thought into your faith.
Once they arrive, Jeremiah Rice follows Jack inside the club. There were a lot of people hanging out there.
Fine, sure, why not. Instead of the far more interesting soul searching and acclimation to being outside their own time, let’s just take them clubbing.
Where is that damn suspension of belief helmet!? I was happier reading this kind of dreck with that thing on.
Soon enough, there a handful of young, college-aged ladies approached Jack Levin.
“Relax, ladies! There’s plenty of Jack Levin to go around” Jack Levin said. “Any autographs, anyone?”
Fair enough, Jack is painted as a ladies man in the anime. He’s got a lot of good qualities, too, but I’m betting this fic doesn’t go much further than that one, flanderiazed quality.
While Jack was talking, three ladies snuck out of the crowd to meet Jeremiah Rice. They were trying to get an autograph from him, thinking that he was one of the F-Zero pilots.
“Hey look, a random guy! Let’s get his autograph!”
“Jack, I am out of here!” Jeremiah Rice shouted to Jack Levin.
With that, he bolted out of the dance club.
“Wow, he has a great deal of potential there.” Jack Levin said to himself.
No. He doesn’t. Remember, that F-1 Grand Prix champion was killed by a car door in the road.
Jeremiah Rice was about to climb in his machine until Jack Levin stopped him.
GAH! Stop teleporting around like that, Jack! It’s getting creepy as hell.
“You could handle a lot more fans than that, Jeremiah.” Jack Levin said.
“Yeah, but this is too much, Jack.” Jeremiah Rice replied.
So, he finds himself 150 years in the future driving a vehicle that levitates with anti-gravity, but having fans is where he draws the line?
Jemmy, you can cram that fake humility up your ass.
“Jeremiah Rice, I challenge you and the Eagles of Faith to a race!”
“That’s right! I want to test your driving skills as a team.”
If Jack was dealing with anyone OTHER than a team of black-hole Stus, that would be a dick move. You don’t challenge a group of people who just got resurrected from the dead and displaced 150 years out of their own time. You just don’t! You give them a few weeks to get over the fact that everyone they knew is long dead. You give them a few weeks to make sure they don’t have relapses. You give them a few weeks to make sure that there weren’t any side effects of being revived! You don’t tell them to climb into a 3-ton racing machine and punch it!
However, since it’s a Team Stu, not only will Jack be impressed with their performance, they show him up. A veteran of the racing circuit will lose to a bunch of people who hadn’t even seen an F-Zero racer until a few hours ago.
“All right, then! Your butt is mine, Jack! People of the Eagles of Faith, let’s head to the practice course!”
Uhh, Jerm, that uh… doesn’t mean what you think it means.
“That’s the spirit!”
As soon as they arrive to the practice course, they warm up by doing two warm up laps.
*The DRD Alarm stays conspicuously silent*
I guess that means the Ninja will have to babysit this weekend.
*A panicked flurry of moment thuds along the ducts in retreat.*
“I already have the books picked out that we’re going to read, and I have this new set of flash cards that I think will be perfect! They have cute baby animals and they match the letters! I also made some play dough out of the leftover pterodactyl fat we weren’t sure what to do with!”
GAH! Everyone, stop abusing the SDQF! It’s freaking me out!
“Pilots, the race will begin as soon as we hit the start/finish line.” Jack Levin said to everybody, via team radio.
Thank the gods, somebody was finally described as using a radio. Only took 95% of the way through the fic to finally do that.
“You got it, Jack!” Jeremiah Rice replied.
“Be careful, Jeremiah.” Gary Osborne said. “Who knows what will happen…”
“You may be right, Pastor…”
So, nothing from the Pastor on the whole soul thing either? Shame, he must not really know the material that well.
The Eagles of Faith passed the starting gate after Jack Levin. Jeremiah is about 2 seconds behind him. Jeremiah Rice and Zach Bates decide to team up on Jack Levin.
Much tense. So action.
“Pull that lever on the right side of you, Jeremiah.” Zach Bates said to Jeremiah Rice.
“OK. Let’s see what this does.” Jeremiah Rice replied
Pulling random levers in your futuristic space racer just to see what happens is always a good idea.
He pulls the lever on the right side of the cockpit. Suddenly, the machine thrusts up ahead of Jack Levin.
*Checks the lever*
“Pull for plot.” Ahh, should have guessed.
“What was that?” Jack Levin said in shock.
Jack, I know you’re stupid in this fic, but how do you not recognize a turbo boost? It’s a godsdamned core mechanic of the whole franchise!
After about seven seconds, the Fighting Irishman was losing control when it attempted to make a sharp right turn.
I’m too badfic savvy to even hope that he wrecks and dies. At best, this is a shallow and inept play for tension in a fic that, by design, has none.
It was spinning out of control, hit the guardrail, flipped over a couple of times, and landed and skidded on the track.
Well, at least he kinda mildly crashed while doing something stupid. I guess that’s a little better than winning outright.
“Jeremiah!” Meghann Wann shouted.
Jack Levin hurried to the wreckage site to see if Jeremiah Rice is all right. He punches in a code on the machine to open the cockpit of the Fighting Irishman. Gary Osborne and the rest of the Eagles of Faith also hurried to see if Jeremiah’s okay.
Oh. Ah. Will our hero be all right. This is so tense. I am very worried.
“Are you all right?” Zach Bates asked.
“Yeah, I am okay.” Jeremiah Rice replied.
Crisis averted. Much relief.
“Dude, you gave us quite a scare there.” Kelsey Smith said.
Yeah, do you know how much that racer costs!?
“You better get that machine fixed, man!” Jack Levin said sarcastically and walked away.
Jack, don’t try to sarcasm, you don’t really get it.
“Darn it all!” Jeremiah Rice shouted. He pounded his fist on the dashboard and sobbed.
Wow, now he’s an unlikable assbat AND a crybaby. Dude, you lost a race because you, once again, did something stupid, suck it up and move on.
“It’s all right, Jeremiah.” Gary Osborne said. “It is just only our first race.”
In the tribe of the two-names, Gary Osborne is the one who speaks sense.
While the conversation was still going on, Jody Summer was seeing that the Eagles of Faith were racing against Jack Levin.
What conversation? You actually have to have people conversing to get to reference such a thing.
Back at the garage, Jeremiah Rice and his friends were working on their machines.
Which is a bad fucking idea since none of them have any basis of knowledge to be doing that.
Unless they’re cleaning the machines. Pretty sure they could manage that without breaking one. Probably.
Suddenly, the sirens were blaring.
“What was that?” Jeremiah Rice said.
“Probably, there is a criminal on the loose.” Chris Maxwell said.
Really? That’s it? Man, they need to tune down the sensitivity of that thing.
“We better see what’s up, huh?” Amanda Fletcher said.
Yeah, I’m sure the professionals could use some out-of-time meatheads blundering in and screwing everything up.
In the lounge, Jody Summer was briefing the Mobile Task Force on a breakout in progress.
Show. Me. Things!
“Where’s Jeremiah Rice?” Jody Summer asked.
Yeah, we need the center of the universe to come in and do everything for us. After we’re done, maybe we suck him off if he’ll let us.
“I guess I shown Jeremiah what’s up and he ran away. He’s useless to us.”
Trust me, he’s far more of a liability if he’s actually here. Which he should be in three, two, one-
“I beg to differ!” Jeremiah Rice said boldly. “This time, I drive the Fighting Irishman. From this day forth, the Eagles of Faith is now a part of the F-Zero Mobile Task Force of the Federation’s Galaxy Police.”
What an egotistical fucknugget. Go fuck yourself and your entitled elite task force wannabe demands. Go sit in the sick bay and have the AI monitoring unit shove a probe up your ass. At least then you’ll be keeping the probe warm.
“I see. Everyone move out!” Jody Summer declared.
And, of course, Jody puts up with it. One more sentence people, and then we’re done with the pile.
So, that was the story of how Jeremiah Rice and his friends joined the Galaxy Police. Now the adventure begins!
Luckily,the fic ends here. So this adventure was exactly like the basic interest factor of this fic: nonexistent.
Man, that was easily the worst one-shot I’ve ever had to suffer through for the Library. In one short chapter this author managed to achieve one of the more unlikable Gary Stu’s I’ve had to deal with. Sure, he was no Buster, but he easily topped the likes of Falcon and Marcus.
Anyway, join me next week as I start in on my big project. I think you’ll be pleasantly delighted in the initiative the author took in using a non-standard story format.
Until then, stay frosty patrons!