Hikaru Blog

Hikaru's Full Metal Panic

"Don't get much better than this, choomba."

Trace Lani Keifer alpha Kelvy BackChannel

Log Entry: June 12, 203X

Sometimes I'm too busy for my own good. Case in point: yesterday, I was on an all-night op that was about as exciting as krill cakes topped with SCOP. Bland, man, real bland. They tell you, "This is it, this is when it gets really hairy, so keep your senses wired and your ass covered." So you do, and when the hammer falls, it's just some ganger in a back alley mugging a bum who's drowning in a puddle of his own puke. You move in to clean up, and it's more like babysitting than perimeter security. You don't even pop the weapons on your strider for that caca?you just step on the opposition. Claws out, of course.

After that, it'd be time for most folks to clock out and head home for a hot meal, a couple of winks, and maybe a piece of tail. Not me. I was amped out on Cheshire Cat, so I rolled out to Dimitri's to help him figure out why his dactyl has a limp. The left leg servos were seriously out of whack, and I can only assume that Dimitri ate it big time in one of those mechatitions he's so fond of running in. We got it working, without so much as a "please" or "thank you" from my fine Latvian amigo. Yeh. Wait till he finds out what I did to the right leg servos...

By then, I'm feeling itchy on the insides of my wrists, which is a sure sign the Cat is wearing off, and I'm gonna need some serious stimulation if I'm going to keep my date with Tami at the Totentanz. Wierd, though?there must've been something else cut in with the Cat, 'cause I had some strange aural hallucinations. Down by Dimitri's, near the drainage pool leading out of his block, I could've sworn I heard frogs. Yeah, like. Hasn't been a frog in thirty years, neh. I'm gonna need to talk to Gatsby and find out why in St. Gibson's Name he's adulterating my shit.

It doesn't matter so much, though: I got on the road and I didn't hear so much as a croak from my imaginary frog friends all the way to the Totentanz. Hooked up with my new choomba, this bigass Reefer I met last week. Yeh. And Tami was there, looking hot enough to get the blood flowing again. A couple cans of Smash later, I'm ready to get down and show her my trick. She might think she's special, but when you get right down to it, Tami, she's just like any other input: paper doll pretty, cardboard cut-outs looking for a real man to bring them to life. And I give 'em what they want. Sure enough. Yeh. Sure enough that.


		Hikaru's Full Metal Panic "Don't get much better than this, choomba."
		Trace Lani Keifer alpha Kelvy BackChannel

		Log Entry: June 12, 203X Sometimes I'm too busy for my own good. Case in point: yesterday, I was on an all-night op that was about as exciting as krill cakes topped with SCOP. Bland, man, real bland. They tell you, "This is it, this is when it gets really hairy, so keep your senses wired and your ass covered." So you do, and when the hammer falls, it's just some ganger in a back alley mugging a bum who's drowning in a puddle of his own puke. You move in to clean up, and it's more like babysitting than perimeter security. You don't even pop the weapons on your strider for that caca?you just step on the opposition. Claws out, of course. After that, it'd be time for most folks to clock out and head home for a hot meal, a couple of winks, and maybe a piece of tail. Not me. I was amped out on Cheshire Cat, so I rolled out to Dimitri's to help him figure out why his dactyl has a limp. The left leg servos were seriously out of whack, and I can only assume that Dimitri ate it big time in one of those mechatitions he's so fond of running in. We got it working, without so much as a "please" or "thank you" from my fine Latvian amigo. Yeh. Wait till he finds out what I did to the right leg servos... By then, I'm feeling itchy on the insides of my wrists, which is a sure sign the Cat is wearing off, and I'm gonna need some serious stimulation if I'm going to keep my date with Tami at the Totentanz. Wierd, though?there must've been something else cut in with the Cat, 'cause I had some strange aural hallucinations. Down by Dimitri's, near the drainage pool leading out of his block, I could've sworn I heard frogs. Yeah, like. Hasn't been a frog in thirty years, neh. I'm gonna need to talk to Gatsby and find out why in St. Gibson's Name he's adulterating my shit. It doesn't matter so much, though: I got on the road and I didn't hear so much as a croak from my imaginary frog friends all the way to the Totentanz. Hooked up with my new choomba, this bigass Reefer I met last week. Yeh. And Tami was there, looking hot enough to get the blood flowing again. A couple cans of Smash later, I'm ready to get down and show her my trick. She might think she's special, but when you get right down to it, Tami, she's just like any other input: paper doll pretty, cardboard cut-outs looking for a real man to bring them to life. And I give 'em what they want. Sure enough. Yeh. Sure enough that.