SUBURBAN SENSHI WINTER SPECIAL: "THE RISING TIDE" (Episode 12a) By Dr. Xadium (drxadium@DEATHTOSPAMgate.net) (Started 10/22/02 - Happy Birthday Minako-chan!) Naoko Takeuchi is hereby thanked for her involuntary contribution to this fanfic. TEAM SUBURBAN SENSHI would like to congratulate Kaioh Michiru, aka SAILOR NEPTUNE for bringing home the title of "co-Nanbaawan no Senshi" in the 2002 Senshi'ichi Budoukai via her actions in this story! PREVIEW Kaioh Michiru didn't just wake up one morning and decide that she needed to conquer the planet... oh wait-- actually she did! For your amusement, the sordid tale of her first foray into the realm of global dictatorship, on Suburban Senshi's first ever WINTER SPECIAL!! PRELUDE The midnight sea raged, a terrible black surf smashing and pounding upon itself in a ceaseless spasm of roiling fury under the pitiless gaze of an unfathomable moonlit sky. Kaioh Michiru tossed and turned in her small bed, sheets tightening around her as she rolled into ever more uncomfortable positions, her mind awash in nightmare images. "Why can't I get respect from ANY of you?!" she cried. "YOU saved NOTHING," said a laughing voice. "You never even FOUGHT Beryl, and Sailor Saturn + Sailor Moon saved the world from MY PLAN. Where were YOU? Oh YES. You were TIED up, yelling "Don't be fooled, Sailor Moon! SAILOR MOON, oh, Sailor Moon, save us! WAH! Wah! HELP us! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" FLASH: Sailor Moon standing up to Mistress Nine all by herself while Sailor Neptune stood helpless, pinned by fossilized prehensile hair. "Ten'ou, she's got all the personality of a wooden stump," said another voice darkly. "Outside of painting, playing the fiddle and swimming, Kaioh's just a trophy for your left arm!" FLASH: Haruka, flirting with Tsukino Usagi and Aino Minako. The first voice laughed. "The most you've done is kill SMALL FRY and contribute power like a BATTERY. A big, blue-haired BATTERY." FLASH: Sailor Moon calling out for energy, powering up and becoming Neo- Queen Serenity, standing tall above the world with the light of the moon behind her as haggard and forgotten Sailor Neptune poured forth her energy, powering the cosmic lightshow. FLASH: Michiru was swimming; racing. Ahead of her in a tattered pink swimsuit, Tsukino Usagi munched on Mochi as she swam, managing somehow to always stay ahead of Michiru. Always ignoring her flaws, Usagi's friends pushed her forward, changing her from an clumsy clutz into a sleek, beautiful princess. Looking behind herself, Michiru only saw Haruka, too busy ogling some of the slower swimmers to actually bother pushing her. Tsukino Usagi, the most imperfect person on Earth, was again leagues ahead of Kaioh Michiru, the living embodiment of personal perfection... The laughing food-stuffed face of Neo-Queen Serenity mocked Michiru from the finish line. Michiru tried transforming, but found her power drained by her "leader" while everyone laughed from the sidelines. Intolerable! Unacceptable! Why should that *idiot* get all the respect, love, and power? Why should SHE end up ruling Earth? No! Michiru screamed, bubbles rishing to the surface of the water. She would not be relegated to some obscure spot behind the throne whilst Tsukino Usagi took, nay, was HANDED, the world as her personal plaything! If anyone deserved to rule, it was *Kaioh Michiru*! It was her birthright as a well-bred, schooled, mannered member of the social elite! It was her *destiny*! Michiru burst into conciousness, wrapped in a cocoon of bedsheets, that last thought ringing in her mind like a lingering echo from some terrible dark gong. Michiru chuckled insanely, rolling with the madness. Finally, she would ascend to her perfect destiny. Finally, she would... rule the world! ...as soon as she disentagled herself from the sheets and picked herself off the floor, where she had fallen after her bout of insane chuckling. ACT I: FIENDISH PLOT, REVEALED!! Michiru stood in the center of her hotel room, arms crossed. The corner of her mouth turned upwards in a wry smile as her guest arrived. "I'm so glad you accepted my invitation, Motoki," Michiru's words were light and airy, but backed with steely resolve. Motoki nodded. "On the phone you said you'd decided to 'take over the world'?" His face was incredulous. "Correct." Michiru's smug expression was unchanged. "So you called *me* for help?" Michiru turned around, eyes twinkling. "Oh? Did I give you the impression I wanted assistance? Sorry if I misled you." Motoki shuffled uncomfortably. "Well umm... why did you call me?" "Why," Michiru said matter-of-factly, laughing lightly, "to bear witness to my ascendancy, of course. You will no doubt appreciate the fact that *I* will undo the legacy of Sailor Moon." "Will I," Motoki said in a bored tone. After he'd become close drinking buddies with Haruka he'd learned about the secrets of the Sailor Senshi, but he honestly didn't care about inter-senshi politics. Michiru sighed. "Oh, just try to play along, will you? This part was orginally written for Jedite, but apparently it's against the rules to have a Dark General in the story so you'll just have to fill in."* *One of the Budokai Rules... yes, we could have put Jed back in for the AFSM version, but it's all part of the plan now, baybee... all part of da plan... "Swell," Motoki muttered. Just another filler role. The story of his life. "Anyway", Michiru said, "I have studied Dark Kingdom history. It has given me vital data with which to complete my plans. Specifically, I know exactly what *not* to do." Motoki sighed, uncaring. Michiru smiled beatifically, producing a small whiteboard covered with strange symbols. "Observe. I have encoded my scheme in the universal language." "Lemme guess. Mathematical Equations." Motoki sighed. "*Music", Michiru said indignantly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The harmony of the spheres will accompany me as I achieve apotheosis." "Whatever." Michiru sweatdropped. "Erm.. Observe my genius plan! Since Usagi- tachi are now in the future, there is no Ginzushou. The only threats to my conquest are Hotaru and Haruka. I--" Motoki sighed. "So you're gonna kill--" Michiru adopted a befuddled expression for a moment, which seamlessly shifted into an elegant diplay of restrained malice. "--Of course not. That would be too crass, too unrefined, a brutish act possessing no subtlety or grace. Conquest should be a thing of exquisitely timed brilliance, the soft progression of a musical movement, flowing seamlessly from one note to the next." Motoki sighed. "Geez, Kaioh-san, you sound like a theme-obsessed villain from Batman. Should I call you 'Violina' or perhaps 'Lady Orchestro'"? Michiru frowned slightly. "Hmph. When I conquer the world it will be in my *own* name. Although... a violin *will* be involved." Bored senseless, for a few minutes Motoki said nothing. Finally he lifelessly muttered "so what's your plan." Michiru chuckled. "First, all operations will be done overseas. This will prevent 'do-gooders' such as Kamen Rider or Great Saiyaman from interfering." Motoki's heart stopped. THIS got his attention. "Wha--? Are you NUTS?! Everyone *knows* you *have* to conquer Japan first! It's the *center* of the *universe*! Y-you just can't do it any other way!" Michiru laughed daintily. "Oh? Interested now, aren't you? It's so impolite, yes? Attempting world conquest via a nation *other* than Japan!" Motoki went pale. "*Impolite*? It's-- It's unethical and *immoral*! It violates all laws of anime villainy!" A dark cloud momentarily fell over Michiru's features. "Unfortunately, ethics and morals must be sacrificed." She looked up into the sky, eyes brimming with tears. "But I mustn't be afraid to make sacrifices for the good of the world." Michiru smiled, reveling in the tortured angst that was enveloping her. She hadn't had a chance to display true conflicted angst in years. It made her feel so much more... dimensional a character. "With my grace and sensitivity, I will harmonize the people of the world and bring them into the light of high culture." Motoki sweatdropped. Michiru ignored the display of incredulity. "All takeover operations will occur during these hours." She held up a chart. Motoki frowned. "Isn't that when Haruka-kun is busy getting drunk watching American pro wrestling via satellite? She makes me turn it on at the Fruit Parlor." Michiru nodded and grinned slyly. "No one knows her habits better than I. She'll be too busy with her bread and circuses to actually pay attention to the nagging of her vastly inferior intuition. And since I'm not there, she'll force Hotaru to watch alongside her. Hotaru will inevitably observe that wrestling is fake--" "--Not fake," Motoki interrupted reflexively. "*Fixed.*". "--which is just what Haruka will say, leading to an intense argument over the philosophical underpinnings of Professional Wrestling--" "--keeping them *both* so occupied they won't notice what you're doing. Clever. Then what?" Michiru chuckled, producing her violin, an aged Stradivarius. "This will allow me to accomplish my goal effortlessly. I shall conquer my first nation in a matter of *minutes*." Motoki sighed. "What, are you going to use it to send subliminal messages, brainwashing your audience or something?" Michiru looked at him blankly, her expression screaming "how did you--?" Motoki laughed. "That's like the oldest trick in the book! Geez!" Michiru scowled. "Enough. We must go to France and begin operations." Motoki smirked. "Going for the global equivalent of a sucker punch, I see." Michiru ignored him. "I play a concert at Olympia Hall tomorrow. To the airport!" OLYMPIA HALL, BACKSTAGE DRESSING ROOM AREA- THE NEXT NIGHT "Ahh!" Michiru said delightedly, "France. Cultural center of the world, its history rich in philosophy and the arts. It is only fitting that I, Kaioh Michiru, most cultured of the Senshi, should make this the seat of my global empire. This is the most prestigious venue in the country, where the rich and powerful come to amuse themselves. Tonight, I will seize their minds, then all of France!" Transforming in a flash*, *Triple Entrende! I thank you. Sailor Neptune stood before Motoki, who regarded her quizzically, asking "*Sailor Neptune* is going to go onstage and perform a musical lobotomy on the French elite?" Neptune smirked. "Using my vast personal fortune to bribe the world's top scientists, I learned the exact sound frequency neccessary to set up a resonance in the human brain, making it open to subliminal control." Motoki sweatdropped. "You're no Sailor Mercury. Do you even know what half that technobabble means?" Neptune's face went blank. "I know enough to make the plan work. The frequency was extremely hard to obtain--" "2.8 - 10 MHz, HF band," Motoki intoned lifelessly. Neptune sweatdropped. "How did--" Motoki sighed. "Hotaru-chan keeps coming to the fruit parlor with Haruka- san and spouting off these conpiracy theories. Those are the mind control frequencies of the HAARP array." Neptune scowled. "Anyway, time to get to work." She slowly began removing the aquamarine skirt of her sailor fuku. Motoki sweatdropped. "Umm... what are you doing?" Neptune barked "Where do you think you're looking! Avert your eyes!" As Motoki closed his eyes, he heard the sound of clothes rustling along with Neptune's reply. "No human, not even one as gifted as myself, can play a violin with enough skill or precision to generate the proper harmonic tones. But coupling my genius playing skill with the heightened senses and precise physical control of a Sailor Senshi, I can. So I will change out of this fuku and back into a dress, and no one will be the wiser--" Motoki sighed. "Ever thought of just using a prerecorded *tape*?" "Oh dear." "What?" Motoki asked, eyes still closed. "Look," Neptune said. Motoki opened his eyes slowly, unsure of what would meet his gaze. He gasped. "That's not what the hentai doujins described at all..." Sailor Neptune scowled as she stood in the center of the room. Sure, the skirt, cape, bows, shoes, gloves, choker and tiara of her fuku had come off easily enough, but what was left was hardly some insubstantial lingerie. Rather, it was a one-piece, nigh indestructable, trunk-covering white leotard-- more specifically, a one-piece,nigh indestructable trunk-covering white leotard *with no zipper*. Neptune looked at Motoki askance. "What was that about Doujinshi?" Motoki shrugged. "What? You've never read 'SAILOR SPECIAL HAPPY MOON PARTY?'I learned everything about the Senshi from that book. And I do mean...*everything*." Neptune turned red for a moment. "Where would you get such prurient material?!" Motoki chuckled. "Haruka-kun." Neptune groaned. "Typical. At any rate, I need to remove this so I can change into my dress." Motoki shrugged. "I bet Haruka-kun wishes she was here for this particular 'challenge'. Umm... I don't see any seams or anything. Maybe you could use one of your 'sailor' attacks to blast it off?" "That would destroy half the concert hall in the process." Motoki shrugged. "Well then just--" A FEW MINUTES LATER "This is humiliating," "Michiru" said, looking herself over in the mirror. Her dress was pulled over the remnants of her Sailor fuku, giving her a distinctly puffy appearance. Motoki laughed. "As Jedite-san might say, 'You look like Tsukino Usagi after a late night encounter with a fully-stocked refrigerator Youma'." "Silence." Michiru pouted, making her way onstage, ignoring guffaws from hecklers who oh-so-politely suggested that she had indulged in one too many croissant. Staring into the crowd, Michiru felt the cold hand of destiny upon her shoulder. With this performance of "The Devil's Trill", she would enslave the hearts and minds of the audience, and bring forth her new Army of the Cultural Revolution! She began to play. Within moments the audience was semi-concious. Michiru laughed politely as they stared ahead blankly, awaiting orders. Raising her arms triumphantly, she held up her violin, commanding, "Arise, my people!" Compliantly, the people rose. Motoki stared at the spectacle for a moment and then began laughing hysterically. "What?" Michiru asked acidly. "*This* is your mighty army?" "What of it?" Motoki pointed to the sea of overweight, aged rich French cultural elite. "They're all fat weaklings! You couldn't conquer the *corner store* with them! They'd be out of breath before they took the *pastry* aisle! They'd need chauffeurs to get them to the front lines! Did it *ever* occur to you that perhaps more *blue-class* slaves might be a better choice for an army? You know, people who *work* for a living?" Michiru shook her head vigorously. "They're so nasty, grimy and uncultured! They'd *never* come to my concerts! And anyway, I wouldn't want them in my Army of the Cultural Revolution!" She scowled. "We blue-bloods *shall* take France! Teleport us to the President's office!" Motoki sweatdropped. "Umm, I can't do that. I'm not Jedite." Michiru scowled. "Blasted Recasts!" She sighed. "Fine then... call some cabs." OFFICE OF THE FRENCH PRESIDENT Jacques Chirac, settling in for an evening meal, paused as he saw a blue- haired woman and a blond-haired man appear in his office, flanked by what appeared to be a sea of old fat people. "And just who are vous?" he asked slowly. Michiru smiled smugly. "The Army of the Cultural--" "Army?" Chirac threw up his arms. "France surrenders." Motoki sweatdropped. "Just... like that?" Chirac shrugged. "Force of habit." Michiru smiled and rubbed her hands together. "Excellent. From this day forth I shall be known as Empress Kaioh Michiru I-- the Sea Queen." Chirac nodded, but under his breath muttered, "Heh. Gloat. Soon, ve vill form ze mighty resistance in le South, based in a small cafe owned by a short cowardly man with one glass eye. Then ve vill overthrow zis blue- haired witch." Michiru cocked her head to one side. "Oh? What was that, Mr. President?" "Heh," Chirac said nervously. "Ahh, please accept our undying fealty. Croissant, O Sea Queen?" Motoki laughed. "Oh geez! I liked the Batman names better! I mean, c'mon... 'Sea Queen'?" Michiru's left eye twiched. "Oh Jacques," Michiru said sweetly, "may I have some wine from your well-stocked walk-in freezer?" "But of course, my Empress," Chirac said, walking over to the freezer and opening it. "Motoki!" Michiru snapped. As the laughing youg man turned to face her, she shoved him into the freezer. "DEEP SUBMERGE!" Motoki suddenly found himself meeting the comedic fate that had been originally reserved for Jedite. Michiru kicked the door shut as Motoki began to scream pathetically, finally resorting to knocking on the door, each knock weaker than the last. Finally, there was silence. Michiru shrugged. "Sorry, Motoki-kun, but my need for a character foil has ended." SEVEN DAYS LATER "I don't understand, Jacques," Michiru said, ensconsced in her crystal throne set in the center of the main lobby at the Louvre. "I've been ruler of your nation for seven days, and no one has threatened reprisal, or even *enquired* about my future dictatorial aspirations. What's going on?" President Chirac sighed. "Well, Empress, you zee the problem is zat while *ve* en France know vous are our majestic sovereign, *no von else* does." Michiru scowled and looked down at Chirac with vengeful anger in her eyes. "Whyever not?! Haven't you been broadcasting pictures of my glorious victory all over state television?!" Chirac blanched. "But of Course. Unfortunately, CNN will not cover it." He turned on a television. "Az vous can zee, zey are too busy ogling ze American girl 'Britney Spears'. Zey seem entranced by her jiggly movements and provocative dancing." A small drop of blood escaped his nose. "Until ze Americans cover it, it iz like the coup, she never happened." Michiru stepped off her throne in anger. "I conquer France in a DAY and no one NOTICES?! I will NOT be THWARTED by the AMERICAN MEDIA OBSESSION with Britney's... with Britney! It is CLEAR that in order to get the world to acknowledge my GLORY, I shall have to conquer the most pervasive culture in the world!" "Jacques," Michiru said darkly. "I'm off to conquer America. Don't get any ideas about forming a rump government while I'm gone." Chirac blanched. "Who told vous I was thinking about rumps?!" He drooled at the TV. "You're going to challenge *her*, aren't vous?" "If it comes to that," Michiru said flatly. "What of it?" "Could vous get me her autograph?" Michiru sweatdropped. ACT II: OPERATION-- AMERICAN BACON AMERICA Once in the USA, Michiru decided to make use of a strange phenomenon Hotaru had told her about once-- one that would allow her to get to anyone in America-- even the President himself. HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA "Excuse me," Michiru said sweetly, pulling out her violin, "Are you the famous actor, Kevin Bacon?" Bacon smiled. "Why yes, yes I am. Say, aren't you Miss Kaioh Michiru? I'm a huge fan of classical, and I--" Michiru chuckled and began to play. "Excellent. Take me to meet Laura Dern, who starred alongside you in the independent film 'Novocaine'." GENERIC MOVIE SET "Laura Dern?" "Yes?" "I want to meet one of your former co-stars. He was in 'The Last Party' with you. His name is--" HOME OF GEORGE W. BUSH, FORMER PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES* *As seen on the Simpsons. Michiru looked around the entrance to the ex-president's ranch. Security guards were strangely absent. Something felt wrong. Her intuition was acting up. "Well, if it isn't wannabe dictator Kaioh Michiru. We meet at last." Michiru spun around, only to see the shadowy silhouette of George Bush Sr. standing before her, his figure overwhelmed by the sun. "You were... expecting me?" Bush chuckled. "Don't be surprised. I'm Mr. CIA, donchyaknow? Me and my boys in Skull and Bones have been planning a world takeover fer more years than you've been alive. Heh." The blood drained out of Michiru's face. "I-Impossible! You mean Hotaru, her conspiracy theories, they were *right*?" Bush whipped out a dollar bill and pointed to a symbol on its back. "See this pyramid with the eye on top? It's a sign fer whatchyacall tha Illuminati. *I* call it a 'wholly owned subsidary' of the New World Order." Michiru looked at him quizzically. "Those wrestlers on the TV that Haruka goes mad for?" Agitated, Bush replied, "Not them!" "Aww man," said a squeaky voice from behind him. "I thought they were part of the group! That's why I joined up!" "Shut up, Dan!" Bush snapped. The Ex-President chuckled. "Look missy, the only person who's gonna take over the world is right here." He pointed to himself, eyes narrowing. "And now that you know, you haveta die." He stepped into the shadows. "Boys... take 'er out." As numerous men in black suits ran forward, Michiru waved her arms, summoning a legion of lazy, fat French super-elite who lumbered into the yard, charging the black ops agents in slow motion as dramatic opera music played in the background. "FACE THE MIGHTY ARMY OF EMPRESS MICHIRU, RULER OF FRANCE!" Michiru yelled, making her escape as the slow motion slaughter began. Bullets ripping tear flaccid cellulite; Agents in black smother, crushed by effete obesity; tragic, idiotic, annihilation. ELSEWHERE. LATER. Michiru sighed. "That was close. Those secret societies are certainly well entrenched. I cannot start from the top... I'll have to build an army of American mind slaves to cement my power base here. I have to get on the popular media." TV SCREEN TUNED TO YOUR LOCAL PBS STATION "We're so glad to have famed violinist Kaioh Michiru in the studio today. See her beautiful violin? Send in your pledges for donations now, or she won't stop playing and let you get back to the show you were watching on this supposedly commercial-free station. Ever." Michiru chuckled. "Yes, everyone, pledge--" (She began to play) "--your loyalty... to ME! Come to this station and ASSEMBLE, my MIGHTY PBS ARMY!" Inwardly, Michiru laughed triumphantly. Soon she would have a legion of highly intelligent, culturally immersed mindslaves! LATER, OUTSIDE. Michiru sweatdropped as she observed her new "army". "Uh lurnd reeding on da TB," said a fat, single-toothed bald man. "I have every episode of NOVA, Nature and Doctor Who on tape," snorted a stereotypical pasty-faced nerd. "Elmo funny," burbled a small baby in desparate need of a diaper change. "You're *all* the people who watch PBS?" Michiru asked, mystified. "Such a wonderful cultural resource and no one uses it? What do Americans consider musical entertainment?" Nerdboy pointed at a TV in the window of an electronics store. A Christina Aguilera music video was playing on MTV. Michiru's eyes went wide. "*That*'s music? I thought it was a three minute long commercial for comfort women..." She shrugged. "Oh well. I suppose if I want to reach the masses, I'll have to get on this 'MTV'". "We will accompany you, mistress Michiru!" Nerdboy snorted excitedly. Michiru sweatdropped. "No thanks." VIACOM CORPORATE HQ, MTV DIVISION "So," said a generic smooth-voiced twentysomething yuppie in a sharkskin suit, "Michiru Kaioh... why do you want to be on *our* network?" Michiru smiled elegantly. "I wish to bring the beauty and splendor of classical music to the public." The yuppie stared at her for two full minutes, uncomprehending. Michiru sighed. "I want to numb the minds of the public, turning them into unthinking, easily manipulated zombies who will accept any message I send, no matter how banal." The ends of the yuppie's mouth instantly curled up in a predatory grin. "Now that's what we want to hear at MTV." He shook Michiru's hand. LATER Standing in front of a decayed gothic facade, Michiru began to play her violin for the MTV cameras. Less than ten bars into her hypnotic message, a screeching cacophony of blaring electronica deafened her. Spinning around to see the source of the noise, she spied a strange andogynous figure with a pale face, shockingly red lipstick and satanic clothing prancing around on stage with a ludicrously oversized electric guitar. "YOUMA!" she exclaimed. "You won't stop MY plans for world domination!" Instantly, Michiru lashed out with a DEEP SUMBERGE attack, which blasted the "youma" (otherwise known as Marylin Manson) and half the soundstage to bits. The yuppie executive, who had watched all this from behind the cameras, leapt onstage and stared wildly at Michiru, who cursed herself for breaking cover. "Whoa..." the executive said in shock. "That ROCKED! Can you like, do that AGAIN?! But this time blow away someone like... Eminem? He's defied us and used more than his fifteen minutes of fame." Michiru chuckled. "That foul mouthed fool Haruka listens to? I'd vaporize him even if wasn't in exchange for national television exposure." SEVERAL HOURS, ONE DEAD RAPPER AND A NATIONAL TELECAST LATER Michiru stepped out of the MTV offices, and froze in shock as she saw no one waiting for her on the street. Had her hypnotic message failed? "What's going on?" Michiru asked the yuppie, who had just exited the building. "Where are my followers? What went wrong?" The yuppie rubbed his hands together with glee. "Went wrong? You were *perfect*! You made the viewers' minds so open that all our advertising went *straight into their brains*. Look! Everyone bought our merchandise!" Michiru looked around her and saw hoards of teenyboppers weearing "Celebrity Deathmatch", "Beavis and Butthead" and "The Osbournes" T-Shirts, caps and shoelaces. "WHAT IS THIS?!" she asked indignantly. "I did NOT come here to help YOU conquer the world!" The yuppie laughed darkly. "Yet another musician's dreams of world domination ruined by MTV... MUAHAHAHAHAHA!" Michiru gracefully and elegantly stomped off in anger. "Blast," she muttered under her breath. "I need another network, preferably one run by underachieving, low-IQ cultureless morons with delusions of grandeur." She dimly noted an ad on the side of a bus for "WHEN POSTMEN ATTACK II: POSTAGE DUE." "Of course," she said triumphantly, nodding to herself. FOX HEADQUARTERS "So you want to be on American Idol II?" asked a smarmy fellow named Simon, sitting behind a cheap folding table that was covered with a shoddy plastic tablecloth. Michiru, who was standing across the room, nodded. "Hmph," Simon said, scrutinizing her appearance. "So tell me, miss Michiru, what are your abilities? I assume you have some and are not merely attempting to get by with your... impressive talent*?" *Thank you DiC! Michiru blanched. "I happen to be a world-class painter and master violinist." Simon shrugged. "So what? This is FOX. You'd have to paint by slapping pigment on a fashion model while mudwrestling and play the fiddle to the tune of some obscene limerick via creative use of a bodily orafice." Michiru went pale. "I can sing..." She began to sing her image song.* *bootleg now available from Son May! Simon shuddered. "Those high notes... I do hope you have other skills besides being a human dog whistle." Michiru contemplated showing him her "SUBMARINE REFLECTION" skill. Simon looked her over again. "Well, you are a decent looking woman, and this *is* FOX, so perhaps if you played your violin on stage while wearing a thong and doing this--" Simon leapt out from behind the table and began to gyrate provactively, like Michael Jackson on speed. Michiru felt ready to faint. Then he did another, even worse maneuver. "--I know this second bit doesn't look very impressive, because I'm a man and lack the neccessary equipment-- but if *you* were to do it--" Michiru shook with rage. "You expect KAIOH MICHIRU to go out on stage scantily clad, gyrating and and... and... *jiggling* whilst playing the violin? Kaioh Michiru DOES NOT JIGGLE!" Simon frowned. "Those with morals and self-respect have no place on reality TV! Out!" Michiru wrinkled her nose and walked out in a huff. Outside, she spied a blonde girl walking towards her. Remembering the drool on Prome Minister Chirac's face, she hit upon the perfect idea. If she couldn't get onstage, maybe she could co-opt someone else who could. "Oh, Britney?" she called out melodiously. The blonde jiggled over. "Yeah, old lady?" Michiru scowled for a microsecond. "My name is Kaioh Michiru--" Britney nodded excitedly, popping her gum. "Oh, that fiddle lady! My uncle watched you on satellite once. Then he like, died." Michiru was taken aback. "I-- I'm sorry..." Britney shrugged. "That was like seven weeks later though. So like, whaddya want?" Michiru chuckled. "Just listen to this tune... it's a little complicated, but..." She lifted her bow up to the violin... "Complicated?" Britney muttered, suddenly going blank, looking at Michiru with a vapid expression, drool leaking from her mouth. Michiru facefaulted. "Impossible... I didn't think anyone was *that* air- headed." She snapped her fingers in front of Britney, who did not react. A FEW MINUTES LATER, LIVE FOX BROADCAST ANNOUNCER: "And now, FOX presents 'Swimsuit Pop Orchestra 2002!' Britney Spears will get on stage wearing nothing but these two rubber bands and playing the violin while jumping on a trampoline!" Michiru looked on from backstage, rubbing her hands together. "Finally, my prerecorded message will go out as an overdub for the violin, and when it does, the people of AMERICA will be MINE... and after them, the WORLD!" She chuckled and did her best to suppress an Esmerodo-style laugh. Suddenly, the lights went out. Michiru heard the sounds of a struggle, and barely made out the silhouette of Britney Spears being tied up and carried off by a group of men. "What the--" Michiru asked in shock. Suddenly, the lights came up, and Michiru found herself face to face with... "Ex-President Bush!" Michiru said defensively. "What are you doing here?!" Bush chuckled. "Sorry missy." He pointed to a small tattoo of a Pyramid with an eye on top which was on Britney's... on Britney. "Britney's Illuminati property. She's *our* little tool for manipulatin' the masses." Michiru scowled. "You can't defeat the Rand Corporation," Bush said with a chuckle as an army of CIA men in black suits came out of nowhere and began to advance towards Michiru. Michiru smirked. "Oh? We're on live TV. You wouldn't do anything to me." "The folks at home aren't paying attention to us," Bush said, pointing to Britney, jiggling at the command of her Trilateral Commission overlords. Michiru scowled. As the CIA men approached, she knew she had but one chance... SUBMARINE REFLECTION!!! As Britney dissolved in a tidal wave of supercharged water, Michiru squeezed her eyes shut and began her detransformation sequence, halting in the middle. As the crowd got an eyeful, she donned two rubber bands, picked up her violin and... ...began to jiggle. Within moments, a roaring thong... err, throng of viewers mobbed the stage at Michiru's command, swamping the CIA men and taking complete control of the studio. All over the world, the masses fell to their knees, entranced by the sight of their jiggly new overlord. But Michiru did not revel in the glory of victory. Blushing furiously and feeling thoroughly debased, Michiru skulked offstage, dropping her transformation altogether. If *this* was the kind of thing she'd have to do to rule the world... ...she'd rather keep the peace. FADE OUT ZINGER: "Kaioh Michiru DOES NOT JIGGLE!" PREVIEW OF NEXT EPISODE: Well, if Dr. Xadium can surivive his study schedule and get off his lazy [BLEEP] we may yet have a Time Traveling Christmas Special. And yes, Season III is still being planned. See a sick preview of what is to come here: http://projects.xadiumproductions.ath.cx/poster2.jpg