Chương 572: Chapter Fifty-Four - Burned/Scarred/Butch, Scary, and Notorious

"As with most careers, the modern journalist has their own codified look. Journo fashion is usually marked by plate carriers and bulletproof vests, often in bright, faction-neutral colours. Occasionally a journo will be wearing a flak helmet as well, oftentimes with several electronic upgrades attached to it to allow them to capture the world around them in high fidelity. The modern microphone, with sound dampening, vocal-tuned pick ups, and at-range-listening is another must-have for any fashionable journalist."

--Fashion Careers, 2049

"You good?" I muttered once I was right next to Gros Baton. The kid nodded once, his face set and serious, brows drawn into a scowl.

"J'pense que ça va. Mais ces journalistes-là n'arrêtent pas de me harceler." I think I'm alright. These journalists won't stop hounding me, though. He gestured to the journalists who were kind of crowding us in. I was pretty sure I could beat a path to my bike with no problem. I only saw a few guns in the lot. Plenty more body-armour though. Plate-carriers were the order of the day, and a few of them had army-style helmets repainted with the logo of their stations on the sides.

Not all, mind, a lot of them were trying to look friendly and personable, all corpo-smiles and artificially friendly faces. There were two ways out of here, I figured. That mostly came from the limited experience I had seeing celebrities and samurai dealing with the media, so it was all third or fourth hand experience. Still, I'd seen some meme-able fuckups and knew what not to do. Don't insult the journos... unless I was really hot, funny, or popular. Don't repeat 'no comment' endlessly, it only pisses them off...

unless I was hot about it, or funny, or popular. Don't get too defensive, don't ramble, and don't assume the mic is off. Unless I could be hot or funny with it. Fuck, being hot, funny, and popular was one hell of a leg up, but I wasn't any of those three so I'd have to be sensible. So, two solutions. Drag Gros Baton out of here as quick as I could, fast enough not to piss this lot off, or... the other solution.

"Alright, you fucks," I said before waving them down. Somehow that actually shut some of them up.

"You get one question per network." They all started at once.

"Oi! Shut the fuck up!" I snapped. Wait, was that insulting? Fuck me I wasn't good at following my own advice, was I?

"One per network. I'll know if you're being a dick about it. Don't test me. You! Yeah, you, the gormless guy with the baldspot. Yeah, I can see it, question, now." Screw it, I was gonna handle this bunch like I would unruly kids and I'd hope for the best.

"Uh, Kai Voss, for Apoca-Lips," he said before pointing a small microphone my way.

"Uh, can you let us know about your relationship with the samurai next to you?"

"Gros Baton?" I asked.

"He's nice enough." I shrugged with a shoulder.

"Next. You, with the blue and yellow hair." Dude had a logo with the same colours on his chest.

"Ridge Byte with the Flossing Network, can you tell us about your dental routine?" I blinked.

"I don't brush and I sure as shit don't floss. Teeth are luxury bones and I'm rich as fuck. You, the hot one with the rainbows. Also, you single?" The girl blushed prettily.

"Ah, hello, Violet Shade, from PRSM, the LBGT-QWERTY Tech network... I'm not single?"

"Yeah, I'm not either," I admitted.

"Thank you?" she tried.

"S-speaking of relationships, miss, what's your current status and if I may, what's your stance on two-spirit, lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, questioning, intersex, asexual plus issues?"

"I'm very not single and happy about it, and I don't care who or what people fuck as long as it's not with me," I said. I pointed to the next guy.

"Avery Covert, Top Secret News," he said.

"What are the samurai around here doing? Initially, there was a push to protect this area, but for the last two days, sightings have decreased substantially, and there's clear signs of some sort of cover-up." I paused for a moment. Dude was getting to the heart of it, wasn't he? Lie? Dismiss it? I shrugged and did as I would with the kittens.

"You're right," I said.

"There's some shit going on, and I can't tell you about it because we're doing a big cover up of the whole situation. I wish I could tell you, but I really don't want to and you're just gonna have to live with that. If it helps any, we're saving the world, probably." A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. I pointed to the next chump.

"Wendy Gale, Canada-Wide Weather, what are your opinions on modern climate change?"

"I'm a Canadian girl who's only seen snow in movies and TV, but it always looks like it'd be a pain in the ass to handle, so I really don't care," I said.

"You, with the army getup."

"Charlie Foxtrot from MNN," the man said. He was standing tall and serious, looking like a posterboy for the army.

"You've been working with the armed forces for some time now around this area, what do you have to say about your experiences so far?"

"It's been good," I said.

"Lots of professional sorts. Shout out to Major Tinwhistle, Lieutenants Moreau and Juno, and the Brigadier General. They're real accommodating and don't fuck around, which is really something I can appreciate. I've discovered that I really love artillery too." He nodded seriously, but seemed happy with the answer. I pointed to some hippy-looking chick next to him.

"Holly Woods, Nature and Entertainment. Why did you set a lake on fire?"

"Shit was fucked," I said.

"The lake was some corpo's chemical dumping ground for super pesticides that cause super cancer or something. They didn't work because the aliens thrived in that shit, so Gomorrah did as she does and now the lake's on fire." I raised a hand.

"Myalis, can you send her an infodump on the fuckers?" Consider it sent... because it is. Holly seemed happy enough with that judging by her winning smile.

"You," I said, pointing to the next guy. We were... maybe halfway though, but I wasn't going to stand around here all day, not when I could see more media-types rushing over.

"Word, Buzz, of Politycon. Are you planning to murder any more politicians?"

"Only if they don't keep to their lane," I said.

"You?"

"Penelope Scope, The New Montreal Celebrity Investigators. We've noticed that you have a few cat-like body enhancements and have recently set up a charity-like program offering people low-priced prosthetics. Are cat ears going to become available as well? Maybe tails and claws?"

"I wasn't planning on offering anything like that," I said.

"Would people even want that? No, don't... don't answer that. You, with the fancy tech hair." I pointed to a chick with a fro made of green and blue tech hair.

"Wanda Lust of the Globe Travellers News Association, have you considered roaming outside of the New Montreal area?"

"Uh, not really, but I have been making friends in other countries lately, so who knows? Maybe I'll fly over to say hi one of these days? I'm sure shit's worse in some places than it is here and they might need a hand." I pointed to one last guy. He seemed smartly dressed, more of a classic journo than the rest. He nodded in thanks and adjusted a pair of aug-glasses.

"Benjamin Lebeau from CNMN. My... peers here have brought up a number of questions, but I really wanted to know where you stand with regards to improving New Montreal. You shot the mayor, causing a great deal of political turmoil in a time where such is unwelcome, but you've also visibly put a lot of effort into the reconstruction and repair of the New Montreal sewer system."

"Uh, sorry, Ben, but where's the question?" I asked.

"Forgive me. The question is; what are your policies and do you aim to improve the city, if so, how?" he said. I had to take a moment to unpack that, but no more than a moment. To these kinds of jackals, a long pause would only give them fuel to call me slow-witted and stupid. At least, it would be enough for the kittens.

"Right," I said to fill the air a little.

"Look, I'm from New Montreal. Born there... more or less raised there. It's home, and it's never not been shit. The air stinks, the people are cunts and it's a giant festering shithole. I don't think I can change that. I'm just one girl, samurai or no. But I've got some friends, like this little brat here, and others, and we're willing to claw and shoot and fuck shit up to keep the city going. I guess that's my policy. I'll fix what I see as broken enough to bother fixing.

Don't expect me to turn the place into a utopia, if you want that you'll need to do your share too."

"Thank you," Benjamin said.

"Yeah. Okay, that's enough, we need to get back to work. Talking to you bunch won't get the aliens any more dead. Yeah yeah, I don't care, move it. Move it! For fuck's sake."