Man, I have no idea if anyone else remembers this show. Remembers the great writing of the first season and its slow and tragic march towards becoming a shitty Buffy knock off. But what struck me the hardest about it was looking back, the show got a lot of things about day to day usage of tech right. The way our society began to evolve and the argument about individual destiny that seems to govern us all.
That vein, I humbly present the first chapter of the first fanfic I've written in a deace? More?
It's probably awful, the spelling is probably a war crime, I owe you an apology for that in advance. If you can, enjoy it, if not I apologize!
Chapter One: Francisco de Bobadilla
Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes –
Virgil
December 24th, 2040
New York City.
Parade duty, Detective William “Billy” Boone thought to himself. Combat Veteran (then again so were three quarters of the cops on payroll), “Hero of the SI war” (Indo-Asian Theatre of the third world war). Trained in counter terrorism, criminal profiling, and a survivor of the “Siege of Beijing and the best damn detective in the NYPD but here he was, on parade duty. At least, that’s what he thought it was when the Protection Agency called Chief Pierce and asked (Re: demanded), Detective Boone take over security duty for the anniversary parade slash “grand speech”. It had to be parade duty, who the hell would try and assassinate one of them? In the ten years since they’d ended the Third World War with their arrival, they’d all but been deified.
Ten years, had it really been that long? Boone felt old (which was odd, given companion tech had been able produce a whole generation of centenarians who were hitting the gym like they were twenty somethings), but then again maybe that was the true downside to surviving a calamitous war? Society changed so much that forty-seven (which was supposedly the new twenty) felt like eighty-seven? The baby boom certainly did make him feel old, he’d gone from a man who dabbled in anti-natalist nonsense in his adolescence to having four sons with a woman ten years his junior. But then again, a war that causes the death of two billion people has a nasty habit of snapping one out of youthful arrogance. Above him, an immense holographic projection with the odd, baby green and purple infinity symbol of Doors International manifested a tall, gaunt man in his seventies who began to speak about the wonders of the Doors data sheet. A plastic monstrosity that was paper thin and slowly replacing tablets (Funny, he remembered before the war how tablets were supposed to be replaced with holotabs). Boone used one at work, it was basically a supercomputer you could roll up and swat at your dogs’ nose with. It was also adaptive when it came to viruses and trojans and it made the cyber division of law enforcement seethe as the damn things had the unfortunate side effect of making electronic surveillance a nightmare.
Old, old enough to remember the financial collapse of 07, old enough to remember his daddy’s church shuttering because the Coal plants were shut down and some dismissive loudmouthed politician who claimed to speak for “his community” told them all to learn to code. He didn’t say that, but he may as well have. Old enough to remember the, “secular cultist” nonsense and madness masquerading as social progress (And to have taken part in it), old enough to remember the consequences of such sanctimony and old enough to have been there and seen it.
It all changed when they came.
Which brought him back to the present, walking from one police plaza, hot dog happily in hand. Towards an elevated area raised a few dozen feet from the parking lot attached to a stairwell which looked like it had been “grown” out of the asphalt (It probably was). The new helipad for the rapid response units and, for the three purple and blue vehicles which rested seemingly floating an inch or so off the smooth plastic-steel alloy of the pad’s floor, those things were amazing. Affectionately called “grubs” since they sort of looked like a cross between a common house fly and larva, they were the shuttles used by the brass to get around city, to city, continent to continent for conferences or inter-continental law enforcement “operations”. Which was City Hall speak for “Our best Detective’s slum it in rat motels in another country while we get shitfaced in gentlemen’s clubs and look at us mystified when we tell them they’re jackals” the more things changed. Damn bug ships, Boone once said he’d rather row across the ocean like that little activist spaz claimed she’d done rather then get up in something that raped the laws of physics as a means of conveyance. Naturally, the third one was for him and Detective William Boone did his best not to eat his hot dog for a second time at the thought... Ahead of him, two uniformed Cops in their fifties were laughing and talking, Williams and Profacci “big and bigger” as they were called in the office. Who loomed like human zeppelins in front of him and were probably on their fifth lunch? Boone shook his head, five years ago Profacci was on the verge of liver failure due to his enormous weight. He’d been arthritic and suffered serious damage to his knees, had been riding a desk too. The technology they “gave” mankind, not only reversed his liver damage but ensured he now possessed the arteries, heart and cartilage of a man in the prime of his youth. So naturally Profacci lost just enough weight to qualify for street duty again and Williams soon followed.
“Ey! Billy boy!” Williams called, laughter in his voice. “You’re really gonna ride in that thing?” “Fastest way to get to Liberty Island.” Boone muttered, doing his best to sound like he wasn’t being asked to commit suicide by jumping in a living, bug monster that zoomed across the stars. “Ah, they ain’t so bad” Profacci said with a shit eating grin “I rode in one once, it was really smooth, like driving an antique Caddy, one of those DeVille models” “Bullshit Profacci” Boone muttered. “As if you could fit in either” all three men laughed and Profacci slapped Boone on the shoulder “Boys I think he’s turning white! That’s quite a feat given ya look like Wesley Snipes”
He did, Boone realized, which was amusing because his father was a sharecroppers son by a Cherokee-Irish mother even though his paternal grandfather came from freedmen stock and Boone’s own mom (and most of his sisters for that matter) looked like she belonged in a sword and sandal drama about the Roman conquest of Britain even though they were Haitian. He also realized; he was probably turning as white as his mom because he felt like he wanted to throw himself off the Chrysler building rather than jump aboard one of those damn things. “I heard they move seventy percent the speed of light” Boone griped “Its bad enough driving around with my wife in her Porsche” Boone, hated, hated speed. “Speaking of that, Rose got clocked doing 101 in that thing upstate, a new record”
Offff ccouuurrsseee…Boone thought.
“You big wuss! The damn things can’t go that fast, it’s impossible we’d get turned into soup” Williams lectured, as if he’d been piloting those flying maggots since he’d learned to walk. “Besides, wouldn’t the atmosphere catch on fire or something?”
“Yes, it totally can reach those speeds and no, it wouldn’t do either of those things because of the negation fields around my handsome boy!” The sing-song voice took the three men off guard and both turned towards a tall woman with pale skin and the blackest pair of eyes Big and Bigger had ever seen. She wore an old-world war one style bomber jacket over the black and silver uniforms of the Protection agency officers and a badge signifying her current Rank (and below it, her former Air Force Rank). Her dark black hair was in a ponytail and it trailed down to her rear, it had some streaks of charcoal gray, the only thing that really defined her age. “Major?” Boone asked, surprised to see the woman not only alive but looking about the same as the last time he’d seen her some twelve years ago. Lily Marquette, the first female fighter pilot to make “ace in a day” and a double ace at that, during her first combat mission in the war. “Captain now” she grinned “oh? They demoted you” she laughed “more like a promotion really. Captains in their military are like Generals in ours. Well, the closest thing they have to a Captain any way” she explained giving the Detective a hug “Been awhile Preacher”
“Preacher?!” Profacci asked with an amused smile. “It’s what I called him during the war. See Bill here, he rescued me from behind enemy lines when a transport I was in got shot down” her eyes sparkled with mischief when Boone muttered the oft repeated “shoulda let her fly the thing”. “Boone here’s a preacher’s son and apparently he flirted with not liking god for awhile and then found ‘em again during the war” “He didn’t?” “Preached to me the whole time his unit marched me back? Yeah, he did but it was sweet. It kept us inspired, especially when it came too messing with him” Both of the cops howled with laughter as Captain Marquette led Boone away towards the stairs. “Don’t worry, we won’t go above two hundred miles an hour I promise” she whispered causing the man’s eyes to go wide.
That vein, I humbly present the first chapter of the first fanfic I've written in a deace? More?
It's probably awful, the spelling is probably a war crime, I owe you an apology for that in advance. If you can, enjoy it, if not I apologize!
Chapter One: Francisco de Bobadilla
Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes –
Virgil
December 24th, 2040
New York City.
Parade duty, Detective William “Billy” Boone thought to himself. Combat Veteran (then again so were three quarters of the cops on payroll), “Hero of the SI war” (Indo-Asian Theatre of the third world war). Trained in counter terrorism, criminal profiling, and a survivor of the “Siege of Beijing and the best damn detective in the NYPD but here he was, on parade duty. At least, that’s what he thought it was when the Protection Agency called Chief Pierce and asked (Re: demanded), Detective Boone take over security duty for the anniversary parade slash “grand speech”. It had to be parade duty, who the hell would try and assassinate one of them? In the ten years since they’d ended the Third World War with their arrival, they’d all but been deified.
Ten years, had it really been that long? Boone felt old (which was odd, given companion tech had been able produce a whole generation of centenarians who were hitting the gym like they were twenty somethings), but then again maybe that was the true downside to surviving a calamitous war? Society changed so much that forty-seven (which was supposedly the new twenty) felt like eighty-seven? The baby boom certainly did make him feel old, he’d gone from a man who dabbled in anti-natalist nonsense in his adolescence to having four sons with a woman ten years his junior. But then again, a war that causes the death of two billion people has a nasty habit of snapping one out of youthful arrogance. Above him, an immense holographic projection with the odd, baby green and purple infinity symbol of Doors International manifested a tall, gaunt man in his seventies who began to speak about the wonders of the Doors data sheet. A plastic monstrosity that was paper thin and slowly replacing tablets (Funny, he remembered before the war how tablets were supposed to be replaced with holotabs). Boone used one at work, it was basically a supercomputer you could roll up and swat at your dogs’ nose with. It was also adaptive when it came to viruses and trojans and it made the cyber division of law enforcement seethe as the damn things had the unfortunate side effect of making electronic surveillance a nightmare.
Old, old enough to remember the financial collapse of 07, old enough to remember his daddy’s church shuttering because the Coal plants were shut down and some dismissive loudmouthed politician who claimed to speak for “his community” told them all to learn to code. He didn’t say that, but he may as well have. Old enough to remember the, “secular cultist” nonsense and madness masquerading as social progress (And to have taken part in it), old enough to remember the consequences of such sanctimony and old enough to have been there and seen it.
It all changed when they came.
Which brought him back to the present, walking from one police plaza, hot dog happily in hand. Towards an elevated area raised a few dozen feet from the parking lot attached to a stairwell which looked like it had been “grown” out of the asphalt (It probably was). The new helipad for the rapid response units and, for the three purple and blue vehicles which rested seemingly floating an inch or so off the smooth plastic-steel alloy of the pad’s floor, those things were amazing. Affectionately called “grubs” since they sort of looked like a cross between a common house fly and larva, they were the shuttles used by the brass to get around city, to city, continent to continent for conferences or inter-continental law enforcement “operations”. Which was City Hall speak for “Our best Detective’s slum it in rat motels in another country while we get shitfaced in gentlemen’s clubs and look at us mystified when we tell them they’re jackals” the more things changed. Damn bug ships, Boone once said he’d rather row across the ocean like that little activist spaz claimed she’d done rather then get up in something that raped the laws of physics as a means of conveyance. Naturally, the third one was for him and Detective William Boone did his best not to eat his hot dog for a second time at the thought... Ahead of him, two uniformed Cops in their fifties were laughing and talking, Williams and Profacci “big and bigger” as they were called in the office. Who loomed like human zeppelins in front of him and were probably on their fifth lunch? Boone shook his head, five years ago Profacci was on the verge of liver failure due to his enormous weight. He’d been arthritic and suffered serious damage to his knees, had been riding a desk too. The technology they “gave” mankind, not only reversed his liver damage but ensured he now possessed the arteries, heart and cartilage of a man in the prime of his youth. So naturally Profacci lost just enough weight to qualify for street duty again and Williams soon followed.
“Ey! Billy boy!” Williams called, laughter in his voice. “You’re really gonna ride in that thing?” “Fastest way to get to Liberty Island.” Boone muttered, doing his best to sound like he wasn’t being asked to commit suicide by jumping in a living, bug monster that zoomed across the stars. “Ah, they ain’t so bad” Profacci said with a shit eating grin “I rode in one once, it was really smooth, like driving an antique Caddy, one of those DeVille models” “Bullshit Profacci” Boone muttered. “As if you could fit in either” all three men laughed and Profacci slapped Boone on the shoulder “Boys I think he’s turning white! That’s quite a feat given ya look like Wesley Snipes”
He did, Boone realized, which was amusing because his father was a sharecroppers son by a Cherokee-Irish mother even though his paternal grandfather came from freedmen stock and Boone’s own mom (and most of his sisters for that matter) looked like she belonged in a sword and sandal drama about the Roman conquest of Britain even though they were Haitian. He also realized; he was probably turning as white as his mom because he felt like he wanted to throw himself off the Chrysler building rather than jump aboard one of those damn things. “I heard they move seventy percent the speed of light” Boone griped “Its bad enough driving around with my wife in her Porsche” Boone, hated, hated speed. “Speaking of that, Rose got clocked doing 101 in that thing upstate, a new record”
Offff ccouuurrsseee…Boone thought.
“You big wuss! The damn things can’t go that fast, it’s impossible we’d get turned into soup” Williams lectured, as if he’d been piloting those flying maggots since he’d learned to walk. “Besides, wouldn’t the atmosphere catch on fire or something?”
“Yes, it totally can reach those speeds and no, it wouldn’t do either of those things because of the negation fields around my handsome boy!” The sing-song voice took the three men off guard and both turned towards a tall woman with pale skin and the blackest pair of eyes Big and Bigger had ever seen. She wore an old-world war one style bomber jacket over the black and silver uniforms of the Protection agency officers and a badge signifying her current Rank (and below it, her former Air Force Rank). Her dark black hair was in a ponytail and it trailed down to her rear, it had some streaks of charcoal gray, the only thing that really defined her age. “Major?” Boone asked, surprised to see the woman not only alive but looking about the same as the last time he’d seen her some twelve years ago. Lily Marquette, the first female fighter pilot to make “ace in a day” and a double ace at that, during her first combat mission in the war. “Captain now” she grinned “oh? They demoted you” she laughed “more like a promotion really. Captains in their military are like Generals in ours. Well, the closest thing they have to a Captain any way” she explained giving the Detective a hug “Been awhile Preacher”
“Preacher?!” Profacci asked with an amused smile. “It’s what I called him during the war. See Bill here, he rescued me from behind enemy lines when a transport I was in got shot down” her eyes sparkled with mischief when Boone muttered the oft repeated “shoulda let her fly the thing”. “Boone here’s a preacher’s son and apparently he flirted with not liking god for awhile and then found ‘em again during the war” “He didn’t?” “Preached to me the whole time his unit marched me back? Yeah, he did but it was sweet. It kept us inspired, especially when it came too messing with him” Both of the cops howled with laughter as Captain Marquette led Boone away towards the stairs. “Don’t worry, we won’t go above two hundred miles an hour I promise” she whispered causing the man’s eyes to go wide.
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