lavanya_six | In Which I Totally Don't Write 'Gundum 00' Fanfic, Nuh-Uh (Reply)

The facility was located deep underneath a solid granite mountain. Dug out of the rock itself over three centuries past, it had served as a strategic headquarters for the United States of America during that nation's twilight years, back before the unification of the world's power blocs into three distinct entities. In the center of this facility, there was a simple wood-paneled conference room. Totally isolated from the outside world, the conference room was perhaps the one secure place in the world where political officials and spooky overlords of the military-industrial complex could meet without worrying about being overheard.

"...so in conclusion," said the spectacled nerdish analyst, "it is no longer economically feasible to wage war. Therefore, it is the recommendation of our think tank that we demilitarize our economy within the next fiscal year."

"So we give into the terrorists' demands?" the head of DuPont-Time Warner asked.

"Yes. Though we go public with it as 'embracing reorientation in a new post-nationalistic era'. The boys and girls down in PR are already cooking up some catchy slogans for the ad campaign."

"Can't we just build a bigger robot to fight these Gundams?"

"We've tried, sir. Their purity of spirit is simply too great to defeat by force of arms."

"Damn it," said the mustached political leader, banging his fist on the antique oak table. "There must be SOME alternative. I'll take anything! Anything's better than giving into these spunky teenagers and their vaguely androgynous leadership!"

The conference room fell silent. The elderly political leader looked around the table. Then, hesitantly, a hand rose.

"Yes?"

"Me?"

"Yes! You!" He paused. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Jamie, sir."

"What department are you from?"

"Coffee, sir."

"Coffee?"

Jamie held up his tray. A group of steaming coffee mugs was arranged on it. "I'm a temp, sir. I serve the coffee, sir."

"...fine. Since none of my military, business, or scientific advisors have solved this world-wide crisis, I might as well as ask the temp for advice! What's your idea, son?"

"Well... I was just wondering... uh..."

"Out with it."

"...why don't we just nuke them?"

Silence.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, son."

"Why don't we just nuke them, sir?"

"'Nuke'?"

"Use a thermonuclear weapon against them, sir. These Gundam are just giant robots, right? They don't have any special defenses against nukes. They're just big damn hunks of metal."

Everyone around the table laughed. "Son," said the political leader, "I don't think you understand. Didn't you hear? These spunky brats have purity of spirit!"

"Uhh... sir," said Jamie, "I'm pretty sure purity of spirit won't protect you from having a nuke blow up in your face."

The political leader looked to his scientific advisor. "Well?"

"I... I don't know. We've never tested for nuclear attacks on Gundams in any of our simulations."

"Why the hell not?!"

"Because, sir, nukes are evil weapons."

There was a chorus of agreements from around the conference table. "Well, Jamie, there you have it -- nukes are evil."

"But, sir... how is a nuke evil but teenagers piloting mobile, reusable weapons of mass destruction aren't? I mean, they're fucking terrorists -- pardon my language, sir -- and who the fuck elected them?! I know I'm just a temp, but do any of you really want to live in a world where our lives are dictated by a bunch of spiky-haired kids whose idea of a coherent foreign policy is what comes up in Google when you type in the word 'peace'*?"

Again, the conference room fell silent. Then, from the back, someone from HR stood up and began to clap slowly. She was joined, one-by-one, by others, until there was a veritable avalanche of applauses and cheers.

"I like your spunk, son! What the hell -- let's nuke 'em 'til they glow! YEEE-HAAAAA!!"

The isolated military base, located in the middle of a barren desert, erupted into flames as the noble Gundams descended upon it. These mighty robots, piloted by teenagers that represented the next iteration of human revolution -- and thus were morally superior to lesser versions of humanity -- targeted and destroyed all the wicked bombs and planes and barracks filled with sleeping soldiers.

"Wooo! Pacifism!" cried one lass, turning her invincible Gundam's weapons on a group of fleeing soldiers, reducing them to ruddy pulp. "Woooo! Alright!"

"Yay!" said another Gundam pilot. "Yay, pacif--

And then there was light.

The twenty megaton nuclear fireball reached high into the sky, capping off with a picturesque mushroom cloud. The image of this fireball was transmitted to a secret facility, where a certain political leader and an office temp contemplated the results of their plan.

"Well, son, your idea was unorthodox, but it worked." He turned to a military officer sitting at a telegraph station. "Spread the word! Tell them how to bring those son of bitches down!"

"Thank you, sir," Jamie said. "Can I put you down on my CV as a reference?"

"You betcha. Now, who do I have to murder around here to get a decent cup of coffee?!"

"Yes, sir! Right away, sir!" Jamie scrambled away.

The political leader sighed in contentment, watching as another group of can-do teenagers, this time in South America, were annihilated in a wave of radioactive fire. "Nukes," he mused to himself, "why didn't I think of that?"

*Jamie's line about 'a coherent foreign policy...' is from a Dead Ringers skit featuring Tony Blair. The clip featuring Blair saying this line is, sadly, no longer on YouTube.