Bogosorter and The Shover in...
Gir--Er, Guards of the AO
The First Real Story in Awhile
by Douglas "AFFA MU" G--Er, Elisa "Autumnleaves" Fadri
Extra! Extra! The Guards of Rubi-Ka!
So there I was at reclaim, like, drinking a cup of Carioso Menthol Coffee. Talk about false advertising. The menthol flavor barely lasts 20 seconds.
I blame the guards, man. Not about the coffee... that's, like, Omni-Ads. I blame the guards for reclaim. Not the reclaim booth, man. That's Omni-Med. I blame the guards for being at reclaim. I mean, it was me at reclaim, not the guards. I mean, I blame the guards for sending me to reclaim. Yeah, man. That's it.
See, I got these new symbiants. They're groovy, man. I can jump, like, two feet in the air, man. And I can almost figure out how to make my own aggression trimmers. But, see, this Clan terrorist, like, ran behind me when the guards were firing at him. How was I supposed to know the symbiant had a damage shield? That's the real crime. Those symbiants should come with warning labels, man. That's the real crime.
The thing is, the guards attacked me, man. I'm a responsible Omni-Tek citizen, man. I'm rich. I'm Solitus. I don't have long hair. There aren't any Grateful Cyborg stickers on my Kodiak... They can't treat me like that, man.
It wasn't the first time The Shover and I had trouble with the guards. Check it out. The very first day I got to Rubi-Ka, I mistook a cleaning bot in Omni-Trade for The Shover. Hey, they look alot alike, man. Anyone could make that mistake. Any, like, pharmaceuticals I may or may not have taken had absolutely nothing to do with it. So, like, I tried to order the cleaning bot around. It got violent, man. I ran to the nearest guard, but he just stood there. Stood there and watched me die, man. That's the real crime. Some guard living off my tax credits, man. Never lifted a finger to help me. That's the real crime.
I was going to get to the bottom of this, man. No one pushes The Shover around.
"Come on, Shover," I said. "We're going to have a, like, conversation with those guards."
"You're the boss, Dad."
"Quis custodiet ipsos custodes, man," I said. "Which means, like, 'who feeds quiche to the custodians?' We're going to feed these guards some really rancid quiche, man."
"Right behind you, Dad," said The Shover. "Unless I get lost. You know how I am with directions. Or obstacles taller than three centimeters."