The Once and Future Weeb

"Perhaps most striking about Nabocchan's work is a clear inability to write more than two characters" –Wikipedia, probably

– ♥, Nabocchan

                In the olden days we were called to glory in droves, streaming out of dusty hovels and into legend. Today we’ve moved into modular suburban homes and modular urban offices, the swift dispatch of a sword replaced with the cold steel of hospital cadaver carriers.

                The beacon of justice has been obscured by humankind’s manic efforts to construct a gleaming cage, but it still shines for the devout. It was in service of that exalted ideal that I found myself in an overgrown driveway at three in the morning in full battle attire.

                My greaves creaked as I crept up to the window. No lights were on inside; my nemesis must have foreseen my arrival and prepared a trap—nary a villain would trust himself to slumber after insulting a hand of righteousness.

                But, nay. He had committed a far more despicable sin, one whose insolence shall forever stain my memory. He had insulted a fair maiden, the one I was sworn to protect. O recollection, cruel harpy! His foul speech haunts me even now: “shit waifu”. This irredeemable cockalorum, this ambulatory excrement, dared to turn unkind speech on my peerless Asuka. And for that, the cur must pay.

                F4D3D247, prepare yourself for appropriate retribution. The skies shall split open and from the heavens shall pour my blistering wrath, and your only harvest will be flame. And then your quotidian ritual will pale in comparison to my searing rage, and you shall know what it truly means to blaze.

                I squeezed the charm I had secured to the pommel of my blade for support. Comfort streamed from the tiny statuette of Asuka: my aim was true and my skill unmatched. With a new resolve, I pulled the broadsword from its sheath and held it up, over all the world. It glinted in the moonlight, a shimmering ladder to the celestial plane. The time had come.

                With a grunt of satisfaction I replaced the blade in its sheath—it would be of use later, but the first phase of any plan must be to foil the enemy’s preparations. To this end, I took up a piece of gravel and threw it at the window.

                I had thrown the first pebble, but F4D3D247 had thrown the first stone. War had come to his own abode now, and he had nowhere to run.

                The devious rogue offered no response. I searched around for more imposing ammunition and found it in a brick garden path. I grabbed one paver and hoisted it at the same space, but my gauntlet proved ill-suited to the task and the volley instead slammed into the home’s siding. This time my siege roused the fiend to action; a light came on in a window to my left.

                With an effective course of action determined, I smacked another brick into the wall. Someone called out from inside, and I could see lights flash on as my query made his way to the front door, a moth drawn to flame.

                Soon enough, I heard the door open with a click and a lone figure emerged, cloaked by night and casting a cone of light on the darkened lawn. At this moment a terrible thought struck me: this brigand may be willing to ensnare even law enforcement in his malevolent schemes. I would have to move quickly.

                As the light moved closer, I was forced into quick action. I unsheathed my sword a second time and charged the near window. It shattered before my ardent blow, and I leapt inside with my aggressor running after. My plates of armor clashed as I rolled onto the floor, and I felt a dent through my treasured cuirass. No matter, it was a sacrifice I was willing to make.

                Looking up, I found myself in an utterly disappointing bedroom. There were no icons of this scoundrel’s lesser objects of devotion, no infernal mechanisms in sight. Merely a few videogames, a computer and a Playstation. Clearly I was fighting a boy, and not a man.

                Still, mercy would be a sin of self-indulgence when charged with the task of purging such an abominable rival. I held my sword high and shouted into the night.

                “Faded Two Four Seven, your numericode has failed to perplex me. I have delved the depths of your Facebook profile—under the same Uniform Resource Identifier, no less!—for your location and I have come for revenge! Take responsibility for your remarks, and face me!”

                But no answer came. The night was deaf to my call for honorable settlement.

                I sat on the floor, unsure of exactly what to do next. For lack of a better option, I unbuckled my gauntlets and began to play one of his games. A distant siren wailed in pursuit of some ill-starred soul.

                I never saw the police arrive, but I heard them. They shut off my game, seized my broadsword and hauled me out to the yard. And then I saw him, peering past the corner of his house, a coward to the last—a gangly college student, looking more scared than intoxicated. But nonetheless, unmistakably F4D3D247. Our eyes met, and I knew that I still could achieve—had to achieve—the goal of my mission.

                With valorous strength I threw off an officer and ran. Their warnings deflected off me as uselessly as their bullets would; few dream they would face an opponent in full steel. The vile F4D3D247 stood, paralyzed, as he came face-to-face with the visage of reprisal. The voices of the police escalated, but I could no longer hear their words. Only one thing mattered.
I looked F4D3D247 in the eye and delivered my devastating counterattack:
                “No, you.”