Ah My Goddess Fan Fiction / Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction / Sailor Moon Fan Fiction ❯ Pangea ❯ Guess Who's Coming As Dinner...? ( Chapter 6 )

A Tale of Two Wallets

 

(An Altered Destiny)

 

Pangea

 

(The Land That Time Forgot)

 

Written by Jim Robert Bader

 

Proofread by Shiva Barnwell

 

 

“[Terrible sorry to give you a bit of a fright like that, old chum,]” T'shalkri apologized while offering some confections off of a ceramic tray to his somewhat uneasy houseguests, “[I know it must have been a frightful start we gave you, but no harm done and no bad feelings exchanged and all that sort of rot.]”

 

“[Thank you,]” Ryoga said as he accepted one of the large candied roaches he had been offered, reckoning it a grave insult not to accept one, “[I guess the fault was with me for jumping to the wrong conclusions, but I thought…well…no offense, but…]”

 

“[You thought that we were going to attack and eat you?]” Zhandor concluded for him, “[Quite understandable if you've never been around our sort before, but regardless of what you may or may not have heard about our species, we never eat visitors unless it's on an empty stomach.]”

 

Minako did not answer that directly, finding it more than a bit awkward to be sitting down on the floor of a strange house built entirely of stone by the creatures whom she and Ryoga were visiting as guests. Staring around the room at the dozen or so bipedal reptiles with their curiously sleek bodies and brightly colored scaly hides—no two exactly alike, and more ostrich-like than human—was an entirely disconcerting experience, even given how nice these raptors had behaved around her and Ryoga-kun so far. With their three-clawed hands that had prehensile thumb-like appendages they could manipulate tools and were remarkably sophisticated and highly cultured, reminding her of nothing so much as one of those stuffy English gentry country clubs that her Ambassador father had used to drag her to on social occasions. Just looking at their elongated faces and rows of extremely sharp teeth was enough to make her feel the utter unreality of their apparent situation, being accorded the hospitality of celebrities rather than winding up as a pile of bones in some strange tar pit. Even now she found it difficult to conceive that there was a whole village of such creature going about their daily affairs right outside the door to this common meeting-hall styled building.

 

“[More tea, Aino-san?]” one of the Raptors holding up a pot proffered, poising the lip over the cup that was in her hand, causing her to blink and gaze up warily in his direction.

 

“[Um…thank you, not right now,]” Minako responded, glad that the creatures could at least communicate with them in English, a common language understood by both parties.

 

“[And the pickings have been quite good of late,]” T'shalkri concluded as he offered his tray to Minako, “[Plenty of game on this island, and we have a vegetable garden out in back that provides us with enough to survive the season. Do try one, they are delicious.]”

 

“[Ah…thanks, but I'm trying to cut back,]” Minako apologized, only to have her stomach betray her by growling rebelliously at that particular moment.

 

The raptors seemed to find great amusement in the blonde's discomfort, then one of the Crèche spoke up with a friendly, “[If you're afraid of eating bugs then we could get you something else that might be more to your liking, but you really should consider roaches now and then. They're mostly protein and are extremely nutritious, regardless of their rather lowly appearance.]”

 

“[Thank you, you are too kind,]” Ryoga sincerely responded, crunching down on his roach since he was used to eating worse things in his travels, “[I gotta say, I am surprised that you speak such perfect English…]”

 

“[Not at all surprising, once you consider that we were taught by an Englishman to speak the language,]” Zhandor explained, “[I'm afraid our Japanese is a bit rusty, though, so we're going to have to wing it.]”

 

“[Ah…an Englishman?]” Minako asked, glad that the subject of conversation was no longer on food since she was not completely reassured that these toothy monsters were going to refrain from eating her at any moment.

 

“[Professor Challenger was his name,]” T'shalkri explained, “[Came to us over a century ago leading an expedition in search of this island. Of course back then we were a fairly uncivilized lot living a primitive existence that was comparable to your stone aged cultures. Our ancestors did not understand who and what they were and simply took them for another strange tribe of ape-like beasts come to raid our village, and so we dealt with them rather savagely, I'm afraid, just as we had done for countless generations to the Trogs who sometimes raid us.]”

 

“[Trogs?]” Ryoga asked by way of clarification.

 

“[Short for Troglodyte, old bean,]” Zhandor explained, “[What you might call a Neanderthal, although they are closer to the original Erectus model than those hairy brutes who used to populate your northern climates.]”

 

“[A tribe of ape-men who were and are even less civilized than we were in those days,]” T'shalkri seemed to reminisce, “[My granddad always thought we should have wiped the lot of them out, only we couldn't cross the barrier to reach their village, which is all to the better I suppose, much though we might wish we had a barrier of our own that kept them out of our territories.]”

 

“[I don't understand,]” Minako said, “[What barrier? Whose territory?]”

 

“[Quite all right,]” a Raptor named Dhanold answered, “[We could hardly expect you to understand. After all, your airship crashed only a few short hours ago and you've been separated from the rest of your people. Not exactly like you checked in with the local tour guides and got a full debriefing on the rules concerning life here on Pangea Island.]”

 

“[It's quite simple, really,]” T'shalkri turned his massive head to gaze out of the window of his stone house as he studied the village of his people, the Velari, “[The island is larger than you might imagine from merely viewing it at a distance, and it has been divided into three different zones that are each representative of a different zoological climate.]” He turned around and went over to a wall and pulled down on a tab, revealing an unrolled parchment that had a colorful map drawn in full detail, showcasing said island, “[On this side of the island we reptilians are the dominant life form with raptors standing rather near the top of the food chain, while farther down towards the northern end of the island you find the giganthropedian variety of monster, not just lizards but insects and other sorts who have been enlarged to truly cyclopean dimensions.”

 

“[And then there is Trog country, on the western end of the Island,]” Zhandor noted rather tersely, “[The wildlife there more represents the mammalian life forms that once roamed abundantly throughout much of the world during what you term as the Ice Age era. The Trogs thrive there the same way we do here in the Reptile zone.]”

 

“[But crossing the barrier from our realm into theirs is—shall we say—greatly problematic,]” T'shalkri resumed with a sobering expression---or at least more sobering that a seven foot lizard with a massive snout and two barbed hooks on his feet might be.

 

“[Why is that?]” Ryoga wondered.

 

“[No one knows for certain,]” Dhanold answered, “[Though Professor Challenger believed that some sort of barrier system had been erected by an ancient culture to keep our three sectors partitioned off so that we reptiles could not cross into the mammalian zone, or the monsters stray into our realm.]”

 

“[For which we can all be frightfully gratified,]” T'shalkri sagely nodded, “[A low-level sub-harmonic frequency that can be detected only by lizards and not humans is quite unpleasant for us and tends to make us wish to shy away from those other two zones, but mammals are unaffected by it, even though we believe there is a counter harmonic on our side that they can hear and we cannot that has the same effect on most creatures. Trogs and Humans, it seems, are impervious to both sub-harmonics…]”

 

“[Why is that?]” Minako asked as she studied the half-dozen reptilian faces that were turned in her direction, making her altogether aware that the flimsy outfit she was wearing was the only thing that was preventing her from looking like a tasty rabbit.

 

“[No ear canals on us for one thing,]” Dhanold answered, “[We detect sound and motion through a slightly different process than what you humans use with those ears that frame the sides of your face. In a way we can hear things that are beyond the range of even canine hearing, just as we vocalize human speech by mimicking it via certain resonating chambers in our nasal passages, which is quite easy to do when you've had as much practice at it as we've had.]”

 

Ryoga seemed to accept this at face value though even he was a bit overwhelmed at the thought of an entire village populated by these terrifying creatures despite the fact that they seemed otherwise quite decent. Polite to a fault and surprisingly well cultured with books and scrolls and a written language all their own that even he found difficult to translate with his natural gift for strange dialects. The creatures were perfectly designed killing machines whose bodies were sleek and as agile as great cats, yet they preferred a sedentary life that balanced their savage instincts with the requirements of any city that he had ever visited in his travels which included laws and customs that allowed for their mutual coexistence with other life forms. If anything they seemed even more civilized in their habits than most people of his acquaintance.

 

Well, almost, as was illustrated when Minako once again broached the point by asking them about Professor Challenger, to which Zhandor replied, “[Ah yes…an amazing fellow, quite extraordinary even among his fellow humans. He taught us to read and write in seven different human languages and helped to show us how to create irrigation and farming. Much of the technology that we enjoy today we owe to him as our benefactor.]”

 

“[So what happened to him?]” Ryoga asked.

 

“[We ate him,]” one of the lower ranking raptors replied, to which his comrades broke out into a series of guffaws and chuckles as he added the line, “[Just kidding.]”

 

“[Really, Vhinzent,]” T'shalkri drolly chided, “[The truth is that our ancestors attacked and slaughtered the other members of Challenger's party and did indeed consume their remains…which, after all, is what we did back then during our uncivilized beginnings. But we found that we could not do the same to him…]”

 

“[Why not?]” Minako was surprised her voice was as steady as it was even as she asked this.

 

“[Because he is an Immortal and is quite indestructible,]” T'shalkri answered, “[Our claws could not penetrate his hide, nor could our teeth rend the flesh from his body. My great-granddad broke several good teeth in the effort, so I know where I am going with this. Our elders were puzzled at finding a human who was so unusually resilient, so they held him captive for a number of years and debated endlessly over what they should do about him, and in that time he slowly worked to gain our trust and learn our language.]”

 

“[That's why we have a statue dedicated to him in the middle of our village square,]” Zhandor nodded towards the entrance to the stone residence, “[The human who taught us the error of our ways and helped to lead us to the light of civilization. He showed us that it was wrong for us to kill and eat other sentient beings…at least without being provoked to self-defense, that is, though we do make exceptions when the Trogs attack us.]”

 

“[You mean you guys are cannibals?]” Minako all but squeaked, her worst suspicions confirmed as she already could imagine them placing her on their menu.

 

“[Oh no,]” Dhanold replied, “[Cannibalism would only apply if we were eating our own kind. It's anthropophagy for us to dine on humans.]”

 

“[And gynophagy for us to select the female half of your species,]” another Raptor helpfully added.

 

“[Yes, but humans really are not especially tasty creatures when contrasted with Stegosaurus meat and other such delicacies,]” T'shalkri noted, “[Tastes a little too much like Archaeopteryx meat for my liking.]”

 

“[Really?]” Zhandor asked, “[I always thought it tasted like beef myself.]”

 

“[And here I was going to suggest Pterodactyl,]” Dhanold quipped with some amusement.

 

“[Wait, I don't understand,]” Ryoga said, “[Immortal? You mean…he could not be killed at all? How is that possible?]”

 

“[Afraid I don't really know the answer to that one, old sport,]” T'shalkri replied, “[Metaphysics is hardly my specialty, but I believe the term he used to describe himself was Guardian of the Elements and Master of all Science. Well, eventually some people who worked for him finally caught up with us and he went back to your world to continue as he had before, but we have never forgotten all that he did for us and in his memory welcome stray humans such as you to our village with open claw, just so long as you are mindful to observe the rules while you stay here.]”

 

“[So…you don't really attack humans unless they're hostile,]” Ryoga said, as much to reassure Minako as to summarize what the Raptor leader had been explaining.

 

“[Good heavens no,]” T'shalkri replied, “[Do harm to fellow sentient creatures? It would hardly be cricket, and we're far too evolved for that sort of misbehavior.]”

 

“[Right,]” Minako agreed with a dubious expression, “[So, these days you're just a fun loving, benevolent bunch of intelligent lizards…]”

 

“[My dear, we are reptiles, not lizards,]” Dhanold corrected, “[We may lack fur but we are entirely warm-blooded, and though we do lay eggs when we mate we take great pride in our clan's close knit family associations. My clutch-mates and I correspond regularly on holidays and Tuesdays, and we bury our young with great ceremony and fondness for their memories…although it is true in the old days all we did was leave them to the elements, which is far more ecologically efficient.]”

 

“[Okay…sorry,]” Minako winced, “[Didn't mean to ruffle any…um…scales.]”

 

“[Quite all right, we understand how it is,]” T'shalkri amended, “[Mammals with no experience of the Velari clan can hardly be expected to alter the preconceptions of a lifetime in only a few minutes, to which we can hold that lamentable film that a few of us starred in a while back as a publicity stunt, a vain attempt at establishing some outer-island contacts.]”

 

“[Publicity stunt?]” Ryoga asked.

 

“[Fellow by the curious name of Spielberg found out about us and made contacts through our agent to have a few of us contracted to work in one of his movies,]” Zhandor explained with matter-of-fact terseness, “[We've a few thespian-inclined individuals who were willing to do method acting, and as they were able to pass it off as special effects employing computers, it was a great opportunity for us to learn a bit about how the outside world has been progressing.]”

 

“[Yes, but at least that Spielberg fellow was the genuine article…not at all like the Trog chief, who is a bit of a basket case, a few cards short of a full deck,]” Dhanold noted.

 

“[They have a chief?]” Ryoga asked.

 

“[Yes, but he prefers to call himself The Director,]” Vhinzent replied with a curling of reptilian lips, “[A very unpleasant fellow, and totally deranged. Since he came from the outside and took over the village the Trogs have behaved supremely beastly.]”

 

“[Yes indeed, he is quite the character,]” T'shalkri noted rather sagely, “[Almost seems to think that he is more some kind of a god than humble flesh and blood…even comes from your home country, I believe, as did his original troop of followers and actors.]”

 

“[Actors?]” Minako blinked.

 

“[Who is this guy?]” Ryoga asked, “[Does he have a name?]”

 

“[Of course he does, old boy,]” Zhandor replied, “[Most specimens of your species tend to use names for their handles.]”

 

“[So what is this guy called if he's from the home islands?]” Minako wondered.

 

“[I believe he's somewhat famous where you come from,]” T'shalkri replied, “[They call him Akuma Zesutoru…]”

 

 

Nabiki's Journal Continues:

 

It's a really strange thing about being knocked unconscious…one minute the lights go out, then slowly you start to come to in stages. At first you have this really odd sensation that you're floating in mid-air, then you start to become conscious that you're swinging from side to side and can't move your arms or your feet, and gradually you open your eyes and discover that you're suspended from a pole that's being carried through a forest like in one of those old jungle movies with your hands and feet tied to a pole on which you are carried. Then consciousness slips away from you again and you're out for what seems like a few minutes before you start to come back to yourself with a throbbing in your temples and a sense that you're no longer in Kansai.

 

The first thing I became aware about was the fact that I was far less comfortable than if I had been in my bedroom or laying on a futon. Took several seconds before I could place that odd sensation of laying across a crisscrossing of bamboo-like poles, and then I had the impression of a cage all around me, and then I finally manage to pry my eyes awake and discover that I really AM in a cage, that it's made of bamboo poles bound together with vines and stuff, and that it's just large enough for me to sit up inside the thing as I push myself partially erect and adjust my eyes to the dim light of my surroundings.

 

The second impression that I got as I looked beyond the framework of my prison was that I was not alone and I was definitely in serious trouble.

 

Because all around me I saw tribespeople, brown-skinned natives in primitive garb like something out of a documentary, but much more savage looking than you'd expect from your everyday Pacific islander. These guys were the real deal, only cruder, nastier, and definitely more unsavory than anything you might view in a magazine. They also represented not one but three distinctive branches of the human species.

 

There were at least a couple of hundred of them that I could see from my position, all of them wearing crude skins and woven grass skirts or other types of homemade articles of clothing that left more exposed to full view than concealed from normal viewing, and there were other features like bones and claws and shells that added to that rustic barbaric feeling. They had spears and other weapons on display, but my surprise was greatly magnified by the incongruous sight of what looked to be semi-automatic rifles mingled among the rest of their hardware. That didn't jibe with my first belief that I'd fallen into the clutches of a prehistoric group of headhunters but—then again, as Lotion would say—first impressions can be deceiving if you don't open yourself up to perceiving things with your higher senses.

 

Of course, if I had used my intuition to fathom out just what sort of trouble I was in I would have shit a brick on the spot, but that's only in retrospect that I see now how badly fucked I was, and without either of my two heroic fiancées near enough to effect my rescue.

 

The next thing I realized was that the setting that we were in was straight out of a movie backlot, complete with forbidden temple setting that looked like some ancient civilization had left its mark and vanished. The place was vine-covered and mossy with great age, yet also decorated with more recent marks of habitation such as blazing torches and poles upon which human skulls were mounted and ornaments of flowers garlands at the base of every setting. The savages were all gathered like stage extras about this place as though waiting for someone to cue them into position. The light from those torches set against the darkness of the jungle gave the place an appropriately foreboding light that made me feel even more trapped and out of my element than ever. All that was missing was for somebody to be beating a rhythm on some jungle drums while natives danced the watusi, and that was shortly to come as matters further progressed, though at that particular moment all I heard was an ominous silence all around me.

 

Then somebody spoke and I all but jumped out of my skin, whirling around in my cage to see a man standing near to my position, a bearded guy wearing a faded Hawaiian shirt and baggy Bermuda shorts with an honest-to-kami camera dangling from around his neck, making him look even more like a tourist.

 

“Oh good, you're awake,” he said in perfect Japanese, albeit heavily accented by the drift of being away from home for a very long time, “I was afraid the boys got a little too rough with you back there, but you can hardly blame them for being so enthusiastic. It's been a while since anything like you has been found on this island.”

 

“Like me?” I asked uneasily, “Who are you?”

 

“Oh dear, that is a question, isn't it?” he touched his face as though it had been a while since anyone had asked for his identity, “I suppose you could call me…Yamaru…yes, I believe that's what my name used to be, though around here everyone just calls me Snapshot, or just Snap for short.”

 

“Snap?” I asked, not getting the reference.

 

“On account of the fact that I used to be a photo-journalist,” he explained, “I take pictures for a documentary company…or at least I did until I came here to work upon the Direkuto…the Director. Yes, I was part of an entire troupe who journeyed here so very long ago…a lifetime ago, several lifetimes in fact. I think I was very good at my profession, but these days all I do is follow the Director around to chronicle his genius.”

 

“Director?” I repeated back at him, already suspecting that this guy was a fractured player in need of being sent back to the shop. Just the way he talked showed what a strain it was for him to remain even semi-coherent, and that doesn't even begin to describe the unnerving way in which he was eyeing me while we talked, like he was seeing me as something more than a pretty girl in a cage, and it was not long before I found out what he was actually thinking.

 

“The Director,” he emphasized the word as though he were describing the Emperor or a kami, “The genius whom we all followed here in order to make his vision into a reality. He will appear before us shortly after he has consulted his muse and struggled deep within himself to find…his divinely inspired vision…”

 

“Uh, yeah, whatever,” I said, “So he's a mystical type, huh?”

 

“You misunderstand,” he said as though I were a small child who didn't “get it,” “He is the one who brings it all together, the general who struggled mightily against mediocrity and oppression, the maestro of cinematic glory, the one and only…Akuma Zesutoru.”

 

I blinked at the reverent way in which he said that name, but my first reaction was, “No way!” even as I said aloud, “Akuma Zesutoru?”

 

“None other but,” Snap said with serene aplomb, like a religious convert describing a channeling experience, “And none other less. Akuma Zesutoru, the greatest craftsman of movie making wonders who has ever graced the threshold of Tojo studios, the living legend of celluloid perfection, to whom even the best minds of the West and East pale to insignificance besides. Akuma, the Director, the one who can lead armies of grips, stage hands, performers and artists into battle against the debased and unworthy standards of the industry. The man who single-handedly revolutionized the way in which to tell a story on film, the one who…”

 

“He's dead,” I pointed out.

 

“Dead?” Snap seemed a bit disoriented upon hearing this, but quickly rallied himself to say, “No…you are mistaken, he lives, just as he always rises to triumph over adversity. What to him are the Shogun's army of loyal crewmen who yet follow his lead and seek to help him to bring about his vision for the future.”

 

“Yeah, whatever,” I said, “But as far as the world out there knows, he died in a plane crash and took several key players with him, no doubt snatched up to join the other girls in an afterlife that's not being peopled with the likes of him and the rest of his performers.”

 

“You're wrong,” he said with perfect sincerely and a contented expression, “He lives…lives to craft his dream every day, the glorious inspiration that drew us all to this accursed island almost ten long years ago when we were all so young and naïve about our grand adventure…”

 

“Wait a minute, slow down!” I urged him, “Akuma Zesutoru? I mean…he's a genius, yes, but…he can't still be alive! I mean…ten years? Are you telling me you've been here for ten long years on this damned island?”

 

“Ten years,” his voice actually trembled as he spoke this, then he frowned and added, “Or was it twenty? So hard to keep track of the time…how long has it been? Five days, five lifetimes or five separate incarnations…?”

 

I struggled to make sense of what this guy was ranting on about, but Snap had clearly snapped somewhere during the long years that he had spent there on Dinosaur Island, even as I did some mental math then came up with a more accurate total then said, “Twelve years…that's how long it's been since the world last heard of Akuma Zesutoru.”

 

“Twelve years?” he ran fingers through his hair and beard as though to chew that over, “That long? Oh my…where does the time go? Twelve years since we debarked on our quest to find the perfect location...twelve years since we entered hell and found our way to this remotely ancient site. Yes...it has been a while, hasn't it? But then again, that's how long it has taken the Director to find his inspiration and make good on his promise to give the world the perfect Lost World adventure.”

 

“Ah…how's that again?” already dreading that I would shortly know the answer.

 

I might as well cut to the chase here and let you in on what found out by interrogating that nutjob with the camera while crouched in a tiger's cage feeling sympathy for the tiger. In case you think I'm lying or exaggerating, yeah, I really do mean Akuma Zesutoru, the director of many a Tojo-studios produced movie classic such as “Blood on Snow,” “The Cherry Orchard,” “White on Powder,” and my all time favorite, “Heaven's Tora.” Some called him the Alfred Hitchcock of Japan, or some other guy who could produce movies of great taste and cinematic vision. What Ranma might call a “weepy girl's flick” is what that man could transform into a work of moving art that can reduce you to tears while uplifting the spirit.

 

Or, at least, that was the Akuma Zesutoru that I knew from my video collection, a certified mastermind of enchanted theater glory. But twelve years back he had made an announcement to the world that he was going to embark on the ultimate project to produce the perfect movie. He then vanished from the scene as completely as that American pilot, Emelia Earheart, and no more was ever heard of him again, leaving a mystery behind for which there was much gossip and speculation. Only now I learned the horrible truth behind his disappearance and what had become of him during the years of his absence.

 

Again I'd like to caution you that my intentions in writing this are not to talk trash about the man or to ruin his reputation. This really did happen to me, I'm not making it up, and he really did go completely and totally crazy, so insanely out to lunch that he was doing lunch at my expense, only that part was at least an hour or so further ahead in my (seemingly limited) future.

 

The thing is Akuma wanted to create a movie alright, a fantasy adaptation of that much-lauded work by the American author Edgar Rice Burroughs, a story about a “Lost World” populated by dinosaurs and ape-like humans, allegedly based upon the notes of some fictional explorer who called himself Professor Challenger, only Akuma became obsessed with the idea that the story was for real and reflected the actual events that took place on an island hidden somewhere in the middle of the Pacific.

 

Somehow Akuma found out about the location of Pangea and was convinced that going there was the only way of achieving his genius. Being a notorious perfectionist and obsessive type by nature he wanted to have real dinosaurs in his movie, not the fake ones that looked like guys in rubber monster suits, since this was in the day before CGI technology could give us lifelike monsters (as opposed to that documentary and newsreel footage taken by a few brave souls during some of Gojira's many visits to our fair home islands).

 

Anyway, he got the financial backing and assembled an army of technicians and actors and landed on this island with the overwhelming force of an army storming the beaches of Normandy. Several hundred men and women followed Akuma into the wilderness and were never heard from again, including world-renowned actors Pai Takura and Kozuma Yotaki.

 

According to “Snap” things started to go wrong on the set almost from the very beginning, such as their first encounters with predators like the T-Rex, which drove the survivors into this area that was populated by a peace loving tribe of primitive humans, whereupon Akuma worked his charisma to win them over. Before long he had become their chief, and then he ordered these natives to become stagehands and extras, mingling his cast with these tribesmen until there was hardly any difference in the mixture.

 

From there he managed to transform life for these people into one long waking nightmare, constantly seeking the right lighting and set location before ordering his performers to play out his fantasies and join in the spell he wove to shape his creative vision. Kilometers of film were shot and processed with some footage shipped back towards the states by means of the working plane that yet was maintained on the eastern beach area, and gradually word of Akuma's costly struggle for achievement of his “ultimate masterpiece” began to filter back towards the studios, as did the awesome price tag of having to keep him supplied with all the resources he continually demanded. Akuma's demands became more and more unreasonable until finally the money men at the home Tojo offices decided to cut their losses by sending out the word that they were yanking financial backing for the project.

 

The news that they had yanked the plug on his greatest ambition was the final straw that caused Akuma to snap completely, so instead of meekly obeying their wishes he had the agents delivering the message put to gruesome death then ordered his people to destroy the plane and cut their ties back to the home islands. An expedition that later was dispatched to find them was driven away in a hail of gunfire and spear tossing, and after that the studio decided that it was too great of an embarrassment to let word about what had happen get out to the world at large, so they concocted the plane crash story and burned all records of the Pangea experience to protect themselves from future liability and financial losses.

 

Cut off from civilization, Akuma was no longer bound by the restraints of civilized conduct and at last he could follow his Muse to the horror that would become his movie project, and so great was the force of his personality that no one on the set dared to oppose him as he filmed one scene after another, or set everything up to film then changed his mind and did something else at random. Twelve long years of this had driven everyone mad, including the villagers, who were now worshipping Akuma as a living god and carrying out his slightest whim as though it were a heavenly commandment.

 

Which brings us to my plight, being stuck in that damned cage while feeling my nape hairs stand on end as Snap revealed one hideous, nightmarish story right after the other, of Akuma's rages and ranting episodes where he would order people to be killed in a gruesome manner just to add to the drama of a scene, and to heck with the fake blood when he could spill some real corpuscles! I could hardly believe my ears when I heard it described how Pai Takura had lived out her own VERY REAL death scene, submitting to the Director's demands for total cinematic realism by letting herself be boiled alive in a stew pot and then served to the crew to help relieve a meat shortage created by his own actions.

 

Yeah, that's right, cannibalism. One of the greatest lady stars of our time submitted herself to the ordeal of being cooked alive like a pot full of noodles, and all because the director was keeping the villagers so busy on his set that they had little time to hunt wild game and grow their crops. Pai apparently came up with the idea herself, and since the alternative was starving to death she offered no protest while allowing the gourmet chefs among the natives prepare her for a feast that would be her last ultimate performance. This set a trend among the natives, who had often resorted to cannibalism only as a last resort during times of famine and crisis. Other women on the set were soon to be claimed as meat to feed their hungry tribesmen, then men began to follow suit after drawing lots to see who would die for the sake of the others and all other social restraints on personal behavior gradually fell away until there was no fundamental difference left to distinguish the so-called “civilized” crew from the uncivilized tribespeople.

 

Akuma finally relented to allow the tribe to plant their crops and engage in routine hunting only when this feasting on human flesh threatened to create a serious shortage of talent to star within his movie, and so it went that every now and then a female or male would be sacrificed to appease the gods that had beset Akuma with his demonic madness.

 

The irony of it was that the crew had long ago run out of film and no longer could import any from the outside world, yet still Akuma drove his stage crew to behave as though they were still working to capture his vision. Akuma was obsessed with the idea that he was on the verge of finally realizing his ultimate scene and thus completing his movie, but all he needed was the right sort of cast to help him carry it off and the pool of female candidates had gotten mighty slim over the years with the surviving women either getting pregnant and bearing offspring (the lucky ones…I think) or being claimed by the local wildlife. Even the tribesmen had suffered great losses among their own ranks of marriageable females, so the clan was in danger of becoming extinct within the next generation, and all because of one man's mindless fanaticism.

 

Which brought the point home to me as Snap gave me a hungry look and announced that I had been elected to be the latest in a long line of candidates to help the Director get over the creative hurdle that was preventing him from completing his movie. The scene that I would be needed for was a simple one that required no acting experience and yet was guaranteed to feature me in a starring role with top billing and full credits. The only problem was that it would be a one-time only deal with no thought of me signing any long-term contracts.

 

To put it mildly, I thought the whole idea was only slightly less insane than bungee jumping off the Tokyo Tower in the middle of a monsoon. In other words I reacted with as much calm and composure as you would expect under the situation.

 

“KUSO!” I yelled, or words to that effect, “You've got to be kidding me!” (Well, okay, what I actually said was a lot less printable, and it took me a full minute to say it as I had some pretty colorful descriptions to go with this, added to some interjections far too impolite for a lady. If Kasumi had heard me then and there she would have washed my mouth out with soap, let alone wonder just where I would have come up with such a vocabulary since Japanese is notoriously deficient of Western-style curse words. Or, then again, maybe Kasumi would have sympathized considering what prospects were facing me at that general minute.)

 

Snap seemed to understand my plight and even sympathized with my protests but nonetheless nodded his head and said, “Yes, yes, they all say that, but in the end you can't escape your fate or go against the will of the Director. His command is law here, and if he requires you to perform in this role then you have no choice but to obey him…and believe me, disobedience to his will is not to be contemplated.”

 

“The hell you say!” (okay, again I'm cleaning it up for the record), “You just want to have your way with me and…and do that stuff you just described, but I won't do it! I'm a Japanese citizen, I pay my taxes! I'm a human being, not an animal…YOU CAN'T DO THIS!”

 

“Can do this,” he said, “Will do this, and I really am sorry about the inconvenience.”

 

“INCONVENIENCE???” I all but spat at the guy, “You freaks are going to eat me, and you call that an INCONVENIENCE?”

 

“Yes,” he answered calmly, “But don't worry, you won't suffer very much. The chef knows what he is doing and he's had a lot of practice at this sort of thing, and you'd be amazed at just how good he is at preparing you for the role that you will be playing.”

 

“Oh swell, that just sounds so peachy!” I sarcastically responded, “I feel sooo much better knowing that! Now I'm supposed to go along with this and let you idiots have your way with me? No thank you!”

 

That was when the jungle drums started beating and the natives started beating their spears against the ground, their but-ends creating a staccato noise that sounded like bones being rattled together, and as I turned my eyes to see what the commotion was all about the Director himself put in his long-awaited appearance.

 

To say the least I was both appalled and in awe of what I was seeing.

 

He was enormously fat, of course…that much is hardly surprising given what I'd just heard about his dietary habits, but he moved with grace and energy that belied his years and he was dressed pretty much as you would imagine a Chief would be with an ornate costume that had beads and pearls and shells adorning his neck, an enormous loin cloth covering the area just above his thighs while fat legs bulging with muscle driving him forward in a stride that carried his enormous bulk with ease across the stony path between us, and flanking him were a number of tough-looking warriors who had blood-red markings about their painted faces and wrists, signifying that they were some sort of official honor guard trailing after their self-anointed “Caesar.”

 

There were young children scattering flower petals in his path as their chieftain headed towards me, little urchins no older than ten or twelve years of age at the most, more naked than clothed and some of them quite noticeably female. Akuma himself came to a halt just a few meters away from me and took the time to study my cage with a critical expression. I made contact with his eyes, which were bright with the intensity of a driven madman, and yes, he really did have a powerful aura of charisma about him that even I could feel and react to as he looked me over critically then nodded in approval at my direction.

 

“She will do,” he spoke crisply, “Yes…she will be my new Pai Takura, and she will complete her scene and help me bring my quest to its ultimate conclusion. Have her readied and marinated, we start filming when the sun is directly overhead, which means she ought to be ready just in time for our supper.”

 

“Now wait a minute…!” I started to protest when Akuma gave me a sharp look that froze my vocal chords as though I'd been hit in a pressure point. I realized instantly that one does not interrupt the great Akuma when he is crafting a scene, and even strong men would bend to his will as he had the drive to overwhelm the toughest of egos.

 

“What is it you want from me this time, Pai?” he asked, startling me as I felt his sudden shift of mental gears, as though in his mind I had just been transformed into some other person, “More Perrier for your trailer? A bigger mirror, a better manicurist? I've no time to indulge your childish whims. Be ready to recite your lines and I have you on my set as soon as it is made ready.”

 

“But—!” I tried again, only to find myself once more confronted by the intensity of his eyes and expression.

 

“You will do it right this time,” he informed me, “No more takes, no more ad-libbing, no more excuses. You've done this often enough that you ought to know your part by now, so let's do away with the nonsense and get down to the fulfillment of my life's ambition.”

 

I blinked my eyes then tried to steady my nerves to withstand his demented ranting, trying to think of something that I could say that would convince him that I was not Pai Takura…only to have the very strong sense that such a revelation would be bad for my health…very bad indeed, so bad that I dropped the idea on the spot as a waste of effort.

 

Instead I swallowed thickly and asked, “What do you want me to do…oh great Director?”

 

“That's more like it,” he smiled, “You really are the best for this, and I've always admired you for your total dedication to your profession. Now…I must think how this will go down. There should be music and chanting, and the boys should do a warrior's dance to appease the spirits of their ancestors. Yes…and the witchdoctor should pronounce his blessings on the feast before things really get started, and the women must have her ready before she is cooked. So many things to plan for and make just right…we must get those mirrors angled for the right mood lighting, and the prop department had best make ready the choice ingredients…the flavor must be just right this time, and everything else shall be to absolute perfection!”

 

Yeah, he really was that out of it, totally lost in a world of his own making and completely unable to appreciate the fact that I did not want any part of his nightmare. Oh sure, it's a great honor and all that Akuma Zesutoru thought I was worthy of starring in one of his movies, and under different circumstances I would have been flattered and all that, but come on! I've heard of suffering for your art before, but this was completely ridiculous and insane in the extreme! It's an honor I gladly would have declined if given the choice, but the option to refuse was definitely not open to my selection.

 

I started to rattle the bars of my bamboo cage in order to test how firmly I was trapped inside this demented scenario, but my strength was no where near that of either Shampoo's or Ranma's and the vines holding the cage door shut were stronger than you might imagine. It was looking mighty grim for yours truly and already I could see the natives off to one side transporting an enormous black kettle to a lower cooking area set in the middle of the temple courtyard, and guys were using clay pots to slowly fill it with water while other guys laid down sticks and kindling at the base of the pot with the clear intent of heating things up once I got added to contents.

 

In acute frustration I yelled out of my cage, “You let me out of here or you guys are gonna be real sorry!”

 

“That's good,” Akuma clapped his hands, “Very good indeed, you're playing the part to perfection, but save it for when the film crew gets started capturing this for posterity. Now people, everyone knows their part, so get down to it and we'll have a feast to remember to celebrate my glorious triumph!”

 

Realizing that I was good and royally screwed this time I again cried out, “You can't do this to me! I…I've got too much to live for!”

 

“That's what the other actresses said when they took their turns, you know,” Snap informed me with a sad smile that belied his hungry expression, “All of them had something else to live for, but that's the beauty of when they sacrifice their all for the sake of the Director and his vision. Of course, if the studios had been less unreasonable it might not have worked out this way…oh dear…I'm having trouble remembering again just why they decided to abandon us…I know that there had to be a reason…”

 

“Oh sure!” I snapped once again, “It's because you're all a bunch of useless morons!”

 

Snap snapped his fingers and cried, “That's it! That was their reason!”

 

Akuma turned to a group of extremely fat women who were approaching my cage and said, “Get her cleaned up and ready…we start filming in an hour, and don't forget the make-up.”

 

These women—four of them, to be precise—were among the last females left in their tribe, but all of them gave me identical looks that as much as declared that I was not a human being to them but just a wild animal that they were supposed to get ready for cooking in that stew pot. For all it mattered I was just their next meal, food that talked and walked on two legs and of no other significance but what they intended to do to me in order to feed the appetite of the three-hundred-plus set extras who were licking their lips in my direction. I suddenly knew that trying to resist them would be a HUGE mistake as they were stronger than they looked and could likely wrestle me into a pretzel if I gave them any back talk.

 

It's days like this that I wish I were a martial artist like Ranma, or even Shampoo, who could have knocked these people silly and escaped into the woods before they had time to organized a counter-strike against her. But without my two protectors I was left to my own means and was facing a rather unpleasant death at the hands of a savage party of deranged lunatics who saw me as nothing more than a source of protean. It's days like this that I'm almost glad I never took up cooking, like Kasumi.

 

Of course, being the one whose goose is about to be cooked puts a whole different spin upon the matter, and if you doubt me then you try going through what I did on the way to becoming a pot full of human sukiyaki…

 

 

Continued

 

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