Sandman Enters...
Compiled by Kei/Carnage from alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo-archive
To give you an example of how a thread can be compiled into a short
story. Here enters Sandman..
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From: justicar@cdp-ltd.demon.co.uk (Tony Johnston)
Subject: Enter Sandman
Date: I dunno. September '95 some time.
The rain outside was heavy, and the disturbance of pressure when the
door opened sent a near tsunami into the bar.
The tall, thin figure in the doorway was silhouetted against the neons
from outside. A halo of rainfall surrounded him, pounding at his
duster.
Ratz looked over. No recognition showed in his eyes.
The man entered, let the door swing shut behind him. A grateful quiet
fell upon the room as the wind found its gateway blocked. He walked to
the bar, never once taking his eyes off Ratz.
Ratz returned the gaze. Ankle-length duster, battered and worn. Big
floppy black leather hat, outback style. Black jeans, a t-shirt that
read, in luminous green, EXIT. Clean shaven - sort of - and with eyes
like burning coals, two fiery pits of hell (Nikon S2-11's). Ratz
couldn't see any sidearms, but he just knew the guy was packing.
"Hi, Ratz."
"Do I fucking know you?" Whirr-click. A metal fist on the end of the
arm.
"I'm looking for Godeater."
"Well, he's in a lot these days. Shouldn't have to wait long."
"JD coke. Thanks."
Ratz turned away to make the drink. The stranger turned to survey the
bar. While he wasn't looking, Ratz signalled to Godeater, settled at
the end of the bar reading a mono greenscreen someone was showing him on
a notebook. Godeater looked up. Ratz nodded at the stranger. Godeater
shook his head, shrugged, examined the stranger.
Ratz placed the drink on the bar. The stranger turned round, picked it
up, tossed Ratz some change.
"Thanks, Ratz." He started to walk straight towards Godeater.
The third man closed the notebook and stood back as the stranger
approached. Hand on trigger.
"Can I help you?" asked Godeater.
"I'm the Sandman." Just like that, with a capital S.
"Well, shit. I was wondering when you'd show your face."
Sandman tossed half the whisky back. "Just want to make my peace, man.
Second Hiway Girl piece - much better. Less irrelevance. I hate
irrelevance."
"Er, thanks."
Sandman sat down, next to Godeater. The third man still stood behind
Godeater. "Although I remember you condemning violence in POET 2.
Strange, considering Hiway Girl's content." He turned to the third man.
"You nightshade?"
"Yeah. How'd you know." Suspicious.
"I read everything. Good post on that screen there." Gestured to the
notebook.
"Any previous that might have been before my time?" Turned to Ratz.
"Whatever these two want."
Nightshade settled into the seat on the other side of Godeater as Ratz
brought the drinks over.
"Maybe."
"Good." Sandman smiled for the first time.
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From: justicar@cdp-ltd.demon.co.uk (Tony Johnston)
Subject: Enter Sandman
Date: I dunno. September '95 some time.
In article <schellj-1209952015440001@port-049.dial.net.nyu.edu>,
schellj@is2.nyu.edu (God Eater) wrote:
>God Eater winced as the man off the net assumed a position beside
him...He had started to get a little annoyed at all these new entries,
this person waltzes in, says something very solemnly witty and menacing
to Ratz and quietly lays claim to the title of bad ass motherfucker of
the universe... All these fucking guns just itching to go off...None of
this was very cool at all, everybody so fucking uptight taking
themselves to be the fourth horseman of the apocalypse...This place had
gone to shit...Too many tough guys sauntering around...Except for him
and Joe Ordinary...shit, he might just have to start a little place of
his own, members only kind of place, good writing and talk and no tough
guys allowed. He already had a name.
With an unearthly suddenness, the door flung open. A blur - blue neon,
here a fleck of green - whipped around the bar. Godeater could hear the
cock of hammers from around the room. He winced again.
Sandman pulled an unfeasibly large caliber handgun out of his duster
pocket, levelled it in the direction of the blur. A deafening whine
began, a tornado forming in the centre of the bar. Sandman let several
shots fly at the tornado. The ricochets damn nearly hit Ratz. Starting
to panic, Sandman pulled a doublebarrel out of his coat, cocked it, let
loose.
Nothing.
The tornado slowed, the blur started to congeal. Godeater squinted in
recognition...
"ELITIST MAN!" he shouted. The figure now standing in the centre of the
bar wore blue neon tights and top with a greenscreen sash across his
chest. He nodded in Godeater's direction, then turned to Sandman.
"Sandman, AKA Justicar, AKA Tony Johnston - I find you guilty of
innumerable crimes against fiction writing and the cyberpunk genre as a
whole! The sentence is...DEATH!"
Sandman began to protest, on his knees. "No...No...Please, Elitist
Man!"
But EM was having none of it. He picked Sandman up by his collar and
flung him against the bar. "We'll see how tough you really are..." he
began pounding Sandman's face, pounding and blood flowing and bruises
and broken bones and blood and blood...
Godeater woke with a start to find Sandman watching him from across the
table.
"Ease up, G," the tall man said, "gonna give yourself an ulcer at this
rate." He chuckled, downed another JD&C. "The use of violence in my
fiction is kept strictly to relevance - apart from senseless,
meaningless random acts of violence, which last time I looked out my
window, were very much a part of real life as we know it.
"The jaded attitude you have toward something you obviously used to
participate in is very common in genre readers - call it the CP
backlash, if you will.
"In 1990, nothing could have been cooler than lots of wetware, enough
SKIPS to hold the Encyclopeadia Britannica, and BIG, BIG guns. Now, in
1995, times have changed - much as Alan Moore revolutionized comix with
naturalistic (and realistic) tales of everyday people with problems, as
Tarantino has done in the cinema with his hitmen who argue about whether
pigs are filthy, so too has CP changed, for the better in my opinion.
"The opening up to allcomers of any genre is to be welcomed, surely -
before the cookery programme boom in the 80s, chefs were an elitist,
closely guarded bunch. Now top chefs are celebrities - are they any
less respected for it? No! Probably MORE respected, by MORE people, as
people are curious and eager to learn.
"There is room in CP for all styles of storytelling - Snow Crash isn't
really an SF story at all, it just uses the setting to facilitate the
telling of the plot, and a damned good one it is, too. Jeff Noon hardly
uses technology at all, but the attitude is there. Even His Most Holy
Mr Gibson isn't that interested in the tech itself...but then some, as
Walter Jon Williams, are, and he too is as valid as you or I. There is
space for all of us.
"Not all of my fiction is CP, certainly not all is violent. Some of it
is akin to poetry, and song lyrics of mine tend to reflect tragedy
rather than violence. Nevertheless, CP and violence are useful literary
vehicles, and we shouldn't deny ourselves their use. Do you now scorn
books you read as a child that you enjoyed? Does the very idea of
someone actually enjoying Die Hard 3 make your blood boil? Perhaps.
But there is no fault in enjoying a 'ripping yarn' even though the plot
may have holes in it the size of the moon.
"Think on this. Farewell."
And with that, Sandman rose and left, tossing Ratz more change.
Godeater watched him leave with visible distaste.
"Smartass."
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From: Tranquility
Subject: Re: Enter Sandman
Date: Wed, 13 Sep 1995 14:34:19 -0400
Vic pulled his shades down, peering over the tops.
"I think I know this guy from somewhere..." he said.
"I TOLD you this was gonna get good," said Jetta.
"Hey!" snapped Vic, putting a finger to his lips. "Shut up. We're
next."
"Dammit, I feel cheated," muttered Jetta.
"Uh-oh," said Vic.
"Rationalization," Jetta observed. "I didn't think it was gonna get
THIS nasty."
"This guy's not pulling any punches," said Vic. He glanced at the
Ghost. "It usually doesn't come to this here. Usually it's just a
straight-up, honest-to-God bloodbath with plenty of people getting blown
to hell. Why the hell hasn't Ratz gotten some decent security in here?"
"You oughta ask him if he's hiring," said Jetta. She watched the
ongoing confrontation. "If this gets any worse, I'm outta here."
"Oh, this is REALLY getting nasty now," said Jetta. She started digging
through her pockets for money. "I'd say it's about time we started
moving."
"You know, that's a valid point," said Vic, his eyes glazed and far
away. Jetta swore and grabbed him by the collar, shaking him violently.
"SNAP OUT OF IT!" she shouted. "WAKE UP!"
He blinked. "Whoa. What the hell happened?"
"It's REALLY time to go now," she said. She slapped a wad of bills on
the countertop, not even bothering to count them. They were in a hurry.
"Just walk," whispered Jetta. "Right out the door. Look straight
ahead. Don't try to stare anyone down, huh? I don't want to be next."
"Couldn't you change your style?" asked the Ghost.
"Fuck no. Keep walking."
"Quick!" she said. "They might not notice us!"
"We're safe," said Vic. "They didn't see us."
"Thank GOD," said Jetta, breathing a sigh of relief. "Damn, that was a
close one."
"They might come looking," he warned.
"Let's duck our heads for a while again," she said. "I am REALLY not in
the mood for that sort of thing right now."
"So what now?" he asked.
"Dunno," she said, shrugging. "Guess we could always walk out
somewhere, shoot some people, and tell someone about it."
He raised his eyebrow. "Actually, I'm getting a little bored of that."
"Yeah. Me too. I was kidding." Suddenly, struck by inspiration, she
snapped her fingers. "I know! I know what we can do!"
"What?" he asked.
"That plot thing!" she shouted. "Remember how we were always looking
for one?"
"Yeah. Found one?"
"I know where one is!" she said. "Maybe we can find it!"
"I'm game," he said, shrugging.
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From: schellj@is2.nyu.edu (God Eater)
Subject: Re: Enter Sandman
Date: Fri, 15 Sep 1995 03:04:55 -0500
God Eater stared around in bewiderment. His life had been getting
progressively wierder for the past few days, he figured this was a bit
of a climactic moment. He wasn't sure who or what he addressed these
days so he aimed this one at a relatively smoke and stench free patch of
thin air approximately located three feet above his table.
"In the past months, I have matured a lot. I have not forgotten my
initial entrance here at the chatsubo, my tough guy antics with flaming
mugs and solemn pronouncements. But now things have changed. Many of
my would be detractors comment without understanding the nature of this
boy's mind. I am sixteen years old and my life is an ongoing
revolution. Everyday's attitude is a relentless purging of yesterdays,
my opinions change more often than the weather and in far more drastic
ways.
Everything I say or produce will be outdated and rejected by the end of
the week. I am constantly evolving and progressing as time whips past
it drags me along at it's breakneck pace. All I can do about this state
of affairs is to try not to make any claims or statements so drastic as
I am full well aware that I will be tearing them down in disgust come
next thursday. In general I speak freely and openly and call it as I
see it. You lot have a number of choices in how you can deal with me,
Violent and powerful disgust/hatred, bemused detcachment, get on the
bandwagon and the most popular just live with it, because as often as I
change one thing always remains the same. I will change again. The
best and most highly recommended approach, in my opinion, is dont take
me or yourself too seriously, fuck it, relax. It's just turned three o
clock back here in Real life and I'm tired. this has been a broadcast
of the GE personal revolution broadcast system, stay tuned for further
updates. Theres always more."
GE flops forward onto the table, skull whacking against the table with a
dull thonk. He lies as a discarded marionette at a childs birthday
party, on to better things.
God Eater
various home grown curios from the tangled recesses of God Eaters mind.
end
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