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Thomas sat alone in the room, it was small - the air was hot and moist. That was however mostly his fault due to the fact he had all the doors and windows locked and he hadn't left the single room space in little over a week.

There wasn't much of a way to describe it, it was as if he had a "hole" in his soul, and it had been there for quite some time.

Thomas P. Rogers - (former) Faculty member of the Scythian FTL Intstitute, alone in the miniature apartment. Lights off and moist air, in front of four screens and in his underwear. He had often wondered what the hell had happened for him to reach this low. Yet again he couldn't come up with any answers.

What little he could remember was flashing lights. Black hair. Multiple chest wounds and being ordered that under no circumstances was he to make any attempt to contact any member of the Trattorian civilization, or enter their space. Ever.

His questions where met with excuses such as "Confidentiality clauses" and "short term amnesia due to blunt force trauma" and he was told that he should continue with his own work - there where any number of practical experiments that could use his efforts within the institute alone, or failing that AntimatterScythia was hiring on confortable rates of pay.

Hell, his former boss told him he could take off as much paid leave as he wanted to get over the last few months of recovery.

In the end, it was that option he took.

He sold his former many bedroomed abode and moved pretty much everything he could afford not to part with into a single room apartment, the type where the bathroom and toilet where a single 2 metre square box with a sliding door and the kitchen was the same size but with even more crammed into it. The main living space was filled with three computers and a matress in between the three and the over head "bed" space was now home to no less than six miniature supercomputers with their own resident Virtual Intelligences.

He never knew why he made that expense, something simply told him that he "had too"

Rogers now lived exclusively in his underwear - only showering when he absolutely needed too and doing little else.

Food and drink would be delivered to his door in the form of takeout meals every day and everything else was . . . useless.

14 months passed like this. To the point where even his Scythian Office of Naval Intelligence "Handler" sent to over see his every move grew increasingly bored and frustrated with what was rapidly becoming a dead-end assignment.

It was one of these days, when Rogers woke up after mid-day. Again.

He looked over to his screens. Again.

And then he saw a message.

That was new.

It would be very rare indeed that anyone actually bothered to contact him, so he motioned to open the message.

Inside it was a series of message links from an eons old research partnet from the United Systems Alliance, Clegaine Slams (.Phd) but it rapidly turned out to be spam. There was but one thing that kept his attention, on the bottom of the message.

"Unhappy being a NEET? Need to feel Joy again? LAMBDA STUDIOS NEWEST SERIES! EON TENNIS TREEVANGELLION! TREES! ROBOTS! LOVE! TERROR! CONGRADULATIONS!"

The flashing image moved through a half dozen still images and clips in a blistering succession.

Rogers had never seen anything like it in his life, the visuals - the wording. Something struck a sudden chord. He motioned his arm over to the image and clicked.

There was no going back now ~Senpai~

God damn it Scythe, you beat me to the punch. Let it be known that I first coined the awful term "teeaboo".

I will be interested in seeing what strange places this tale goes (for those who don't remember, the main character here is the Scythian professor from Colette's Valentines Day Special).

So, the world ended after 26 episodes, 3 movies - a half down bad "Fan-dubs" and enough merchandise to drown an entire Scythian colony world.

That Second season arc where they fell into some kind of alternate universe filled with clones of the inhabitants of another universe was a bit weird, that and everyone being turned into tang and then trees? And the Eva's from the real world where now somehow oversized people filled with other people who where gods of imaginary people from another universe?

Rogers head hurt.

He had not slept through the entire ordeal - his senses where being bombarded with images and sound. He had spend well over half of his life in increasing levels of education and somehow he still felt dumb watching this, not because the "Anime" itself was dumb, but because he was having an increasingly hard time keeping up with the plot, and the characters - and the fact the series regular changed or outright ignored both real and imagined laws of physics at the same time.

He saw and pondered for a moment - his room apartment dark - the smell of cold fast food filled the air, mingling with various caffinated and tafinatted drinks.

He rose to his feet, abandoned the last vestigates of his clothing and walked to the shower nude. He spent at least a solid hour under the hot water simply repeating the events of the series in his head over and over again until his skin was red raw from the heat.

He then got dressed for the first time in a week, and cleared away the mess of his abode, making the bed and packing away the remnants of packaging and food before he opened the curtains for the first time in a month.

He was on some gods-unholy numbered floor of one of the many Scythian Arcology towers of the capitol - high enough to be just under the cloud layer. He stood for a moment and then smiled to himself as he related himself to Gundoo - the glasses wearing arsehole who stood and just watched stuff from high places for over half the series before he was then eaten alive by his own wife?mother?clone?time-travelling alter-ego?

He re-made his bed and threw the sheets in the wash, before taking a fresh pack that had never been opened out of their plastic wrappings and re-making his floor/mattress. He then picked up the various keyboards and computer controls and set them back onto the desk before then sitting on the chair he had been using as a desk.

Satisfied at his days work he then accessed his six resident virtual intelligence to work assembling every scrap of information they could about the series he had just finished watching, official ee-sites, bad fanfiction, enough pr0n to fill half the galaxy - and he finally set them to work finding a place where he could try and talk to the fellow fans about the series and learn if there was any more of these glorious . . . Animes . . . out there.

-----

Several floors down his Handler was still stuck on episode 17. God-damn that was a mind-fuck? Didn't he know that was his own sister?

-----

Minutes later, Rogers computer popped up with a notification from his VI announcing that it had found a place with a 97.5% chance of finding fellow fans that met his criteria.

His finger hovered over the link for just second before he clicked it.

4chins.borg

What hath god wrought?

Anonymous 12/18/16(Sun)18:36:40 No.1638925454fffrrrr555445567987654-ayylmao-98808/g
File: 136354853476356753567356693786894576t84568954768975637777938765948765985746956398457675659836769867659237.gif (12 KB, 250x242)


The fuck are you even talking about mang? I'll have you fucking know that I munged your fucking wifu from the afterlife - I sprayed her undead shit and ass barf from my dick onto your mothers face! And she liked it! she wanted me to do it to her!

That's how shit your opinion is you fucking shitgoat faggotronic-monogloid. I'll have an ultramaroon scrintch you in the ASS for coyrighted infringementing your level of shit.

- - -

Rogers put the keyboard down. This place had felt like home. There was a board for everything on this place - it ran through the enormous interlinking of every races forms of internet, extranet, cyberspace, inter-VR-networks, Hyperworks, Comm Relays and FTL comm systems. It was as fractured and dispersed as it was utterly anonymous.

Through here he has encountered gaming, technical knowledge and vast amounts of pr0n.

He had learned new languages more commonly spoken than half of the verbal languages in the galaxy.

He had encountered news about the wars and happenings of the grater galaxy and most of all - found two things perfect for him.

A place where he could go both off and on planet relevant to his new love of animu. A place in the USA and a place on Scythia where the creators of the animus he loved would often visit, and the localized center for regional conventions in the USA.

Both he intended soon to visit.

The other perfect thing for him?

How to insult the shit out of other people.

- - -

Several floors down his Handler was fuming after hitting refresh on his own connection and reading the reply to his last comment about his opinion about his Shinji, He had to take active notes about his cases and make sure everything was documented in a manner that was all-inclusive. So when his handler got involved on 4chins as well, it soon became something worthy of making this a job that had become, his love and fury - he had uncomfortably transitioned another forty pounds onto him from unhealthy snack foods - watched animus at the same time as his case and ended up on the same forums, the same boards and often the same threads.

He stormed into the kitchen for another Mountain Stew and downed himself into a caffinated haze before he threw the can into the "pile" in one side of the small apartments kitchenete.

He returned to his obviously superior G-model Tzanbook before opening the reply link and preparing a scathed reply about how the poster that was his case was such a hyperkniggered fuckthruster with all the cranial capacity of a cheap bitch.

Little did either of them realize how far they had fallen down the rabbit hole.

Colette wrote:Let it be known that I first coined the awful term "teeaboo".

Liar. That term has existed for years.

Good update btw. I hope to purchase a Tzanbook sometime.

The G-model Tzanbook is obviously superior ... obviously.