GetBackers Fan Fiction ❯ Moments ❯ On a Grand Scale of Infinity ( Chapter 1 )

Genre: Parody/Romance

Rating: PG-13

Summary: (Ban/Natsumi) AU. He hated her with a passion. She loved his music with a passion to rival his. And the world was about to self-destruct with the force of a supernova.

Alternate Summary: The music was haunting. It was evocative. And it was coming from him.

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Disclaimer: Ban looks funny with his shirt ripped apart. I like it.

Warning: The author of this fanfic is insane.

A.N.: Hiya! Yup, yup, I'm embarking on another story, in order to further my path to shaming the fanfiction world. Heee.

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O n e

It was a Sunday. More specifically, the seventh day of the week of the seventh day of the month of the seventh month of the year.

Not that has any significance whatsoever.

On this singular summer day, the sun was dead. Or perhaps not dead, exactly. Maybe just taking a vacation to the closest nebula. You never know these things. Stars are such flighty, hot balls of gas.

Anyway, let us pretend that the sun was dead. Truly and irrevocably so.

Not that that has any importance either.

There was a bee. The bee lived in a hive. The hive was situated quite high up on a maple tree. The maple tree was dead.

Alas, overcome with grief at losing such a close, intimate friend, the bee died, as well.

And the hive was taken over by a hoard of homeless wasps, who, in the past, had found it rather difficult to get hold of a hive of their own, as there was a shortage of housing in the general wasp community.

One bee in particular had even decided to form a commission, so that the issue of a lack in shelter could be further explored and, hopefully, resolved. It published an astoundingly perceptive report, which no other wasp actually read.

The wasps got settled very nicely in their new home.

Approximately five hundred ninety-eight decimal three two six six metres away, there was a shiny, silver coin lying just so on the asphalt ground.

It was very shiny. Almost to an extreme. Blinding, really.

Not far, a brownish-black squirrel fell from a naked sakura tree, its furry, little brain so entranced, so completely mesmerized by the captivating, polished coin.

It landed with a kersplat on its furry, little brain. Which thereupon turned to neutron pudding, but not before one tiny paw stretched forward to desperately grasp the small, metallic object.

Out of nowhere at all, a yak suddenly fell from the sky. Only to land right on top of the squirrel and the coin.

Crunch. Crack. Rumble.

That last sound was of the earth. The ground shook, the yak's sides jiggled, and the dead maple tree about five hundred ninety-eight decimal three two six six metres away toppled over, carelessly destroying the wasps' hive with it.

And nothing in the world was quite the same afterward.

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T w o

Fizzz.

Natsumi loved the sound that a soda can made, when opened after being shaken delicately. It was a very nice, pleasant noise. One that made the insides of her ears go pop in a very satisfying manner.

Today, on the seventh day of the month of the seventh day of the year, Natsumi was remarkably happy.

It was not just because she had gotten a promotion at work the past Friday. Or the fact that she was turning twenty-three in just two more days. No. It was rather because, during the night, her pet turtle had given birth to a whole clan of teeny-tiny baby turtles.

They also happened to enjoy the sound of a soft drink can being opened.

So, after running short on soda cans that afternoon, Natsumi decided to run to the grocery store down the street to purchase a few more packs.

It was a rather chilly day, despite it being the seventh month of the year. Since, quite unbeknownst to Natsumi and the rest of the human population (with the exception of the guy who always sat at the exact same park bench every day of the year, whose ranting nobody ever bothered to pay much attention to), the sun had died.

Sadly, its obituary had only been crudely scratched into the oak finishing of an obscure corner of the decrepit bench.

She shrugged into her heavy, winter coat, strapped on wool mittens and a scarf, and stepped into a pair of tall, pink boots with fluffy pompoms.

Natsumi had cold feet.

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T h r e e

Aargh.

This very same day, the seventh day of the week of the seventh day of the month of the seventh day of the year, Ban was furious.

It wasn't merely his customary 'you ate my pizza, you!' kind of angry. Or even his 'touch me one more time, Ginji, and I'll rip out your spleen' sort of anger.

No.

This Rage (note the capitalization of the first letter, made bold and underlined) went beyond parameters defined by the human mind, defying everything you've ever heard, read about or seen throughout your entire existence, with or without the influence of alcohol, hallucinogens, kitchen cleaning detergents, etc.

One word.

Really scary.

Okay. So maybe that was two words.

The point is that Ban was enraged. His eyes burned with anger. His clenched fists burned with anger. And his hair...well, that was just on fire.

Except, nobody really knew why he was in such a state. It was something so completely shrouded in mystery that to ponder this formidable question, one would need to quite literally blow out one's brain and fill the skull with hydrogen peroxide.

Indeed, this enigma was filed under the same category by the Organization of Philosophers With No Lives as 'Why doesn't milk taste like chicken?', and 'If milk tasted like chicken, would the digestive system fold itself inside out and implode?', as well as 'If a divine being exists, then why in God's name don't they sell giant Pocky in sports equipment stores?'.

Anyway, the sun was dead. But Ban didn't particularly care. Or at least he wouldn't have if he had been aware of its demise. Not that anyone even reads the expiration dates of stars.

Now, let's pretend that he was, after all, conscious of how the sun fell victim to a hit and run accident while on vacation, involving a tractor, an apple core, and a mutated baboon on an intergalactic highway express route. And that he was even bothered by it, albeit barely at all.

So, because the world was coming to an end, he decided to play the violin, one last time.

It was something from whence he derived particular satisfaction and pleasure.

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To be continued...

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A. N.: Did you notice? Did you, did you?! This is the very first story, in which I underlined a word!