I need a life

If you would consider the local weather patterns, today was a perfectly normal day. Scattered flurries cover the area with a light dusting of snow. If you would consider the Georgian/Julian calendars, today was a normal day. A normal Monday with nothing special going about it, no holiday, observance, or any event of note. If you would consider this date in human history, nothing important, not even a person's birthday, was noted by historians.

Of course, all of that does not content me one iota. I suppose you can call me a narcissist. Not a very good one, mind you. With all my hours going towards zany schemes and saving the world, I find that I have very little time to look at myself. Granted, with all my free time at this moment I ironically can think about the things that not thinking brought me into this situation.

Hell, I'm no narcissist. I don't obsess over myself. Suspiciously, now I realize that my life is much duller out of school then in it. Am I really that uninteresting? Clearly not. With several shadowy organizations and their equally mysterious opponents taking a unhealthy interest in my actions with her, I think I can safely ignore that possibility.

Is the human ability to self-doubt beneficial, in light of several factors? Undoubtedly it is good for actions that require much thought, like politics and art. However, for processes that don't require higher thinking, like the components of physical sports and other fast actions, does it provide any benefit? Science says that the time for a nerve stimuli to reach the brain and to induce a reaction can be measured in milliseconds. Would a second of self-doubt be lethal in those situation?

Never mind that. I'm neither the one for introspection or one to ignore my own doubts. I'm just... me. Which would go a long way to explaining why on this normal night that I'm about to die.

(Break)

In medias res is a way to get into the action quickly, with relevant plot details explained in passing, in a exciting manner. For actual people, in these situations of terror and regret all of the decisions that lead to this moment swirl around their minds. For me, I'm no exception.

But in order to increase the suspense, I'm going to neglect telling you the circumstances of my visit in order to explain exactly where I am. The roof I am sitting on is made of solid sheet metal, and is slightly warm, which my ass can appreciate. The reason I am sitting here is to evade the detection of the sentry about 40 meters to my right. When in times of peril the best thing is to consider all of the factors in the equation.

I need to wait for the guard to get inattentive, and quickly (This school uniform is not the best camouflage or warmth ) in order to acquire the item I was sent to retrieve. The ridiculousness of the situation was apparent, even before I came to the base.

The air force base in Okinawa even during the post-war period was not heavily guarded. Even the worst case scenario of my discovery will result in me running as quickly as possible. That's right. That's my escape plan. Her insanity is only outmatched by her overconfidence in herself and her subordinates. The Americans are most likely bored out of their minds and are itching for something to do. Something to shoot. Me.

The spotlight flickers and shines in another location. Time to move. I slide down the roof and I land, uncomfortably into a snow drift. Why doesn't my school have a more practical school uniform? With all of the physical and mental challenges I have to endure, the dress code is paramount. If I dressed to my tasks then everyone would look funny at me. They would ask me if some of her weirdness rubbed off onto me. What a sight it would be! Ah, never mind.

I stand up. Snow infests the tiny nooks and crannies in my uniform. I will have to do the laundry – again! She doesn't realize how much a pain this is – my parents will question why my uniform got dirty again and it will have to be replaced if it goes under any more stress. If my clothes were a person, they would resemble me – exactly. You could say I feel as crappy as I look.

The cold is uncomfortable, but I have to grin and bear it. The snow is very deep and I have to jump from step to step. I jog towards the large warehouse as quietly and quickly as I can. The snow makes a crunching sound and I wince with every movement. Surely I can back out now. Surely if I hand myself in, they'd send me home in a car with noone the wiser.

But then I'll have to deal with my parents. And her.

So I continue and I meet the first challenge of the day, a locked door.

(Break)

The locked door had a numerical keypad with 10 numbers enamelled with brass. Assuming this was a four-number lock, their were 10,000 possible combinations. Assuming, of course, it was four. Military hardware is supposingly more secure then the civilian locks I've been shown of this time.

I look at my sheet of paper. 6-1-1-9. I press the keys as slowly as I can, straining to hear the clicks in the hardware. Nothing. I try again. Nothing.

I pull out my cellphone. Do I even have reception here? Are the Americans tapping into the local communications here? I call Haruhi's cell. My anxieties heighten with each and every dial tone. My hands are shaking horribly, partly from the cold and partly from my paranoia. The phone picks up.

"Hey! Idiot, we've been worrying about you for hours – where are you?"

"The door code is wrong, I can't get in and I need some help."

"You jerk! First you don't pick up your phone and now you don't answer my perfectly reasonable question. Now I don't know if I want to help you."

"I don't have time for pleasantries! For some reason or another this door isn't opening. Can you give me a solution?"

"Of course not- Fine! Fine! Since you are so hopelessly impertinent we can overlook the breach of protocol for now. Why aren't you using your code name?"

I absently press the keys. No dice.

"We have codenames now. I'd decided them after we stowed you on that Humvee."

I'd expect her to do something as idiotic as this. The difference between her common sense and her fantasizing is nonexistent. Honestly, how in the world was she able to pull this off?

"Our cheerful vice-president is codenamed K. Remember that!"

How unimaginative. You'd think that if you bothered to create nicknames they wouldn't have anything to do with your real name.

"Our resident mascot, although I doubt she will be of any use in this operation, is codenamed Tight Ass."

Another voice whines in the background. I hear her yelling incoherent. She must have pulled the phone away! Damn.

"After some heated debate, I have consented to compromise with her. Instead of Tight Ass, she will be called BB."

"What does that stand for?"

"Big breasts."

How is that any better?

"She wouldn't speak up, so I decided that Nagato's codename is Snow."

"Isn't that her first name, but in English?"

"I know, right, aren't I so clever?"

I think it would mean the exact opposite of clever. And why mention the real name just before you say the codename? It defeats the purpose.

"Finally, my super-impressive secret title codename is Ultra-Director Hazuki Suzumiya!"

Idiot! Fool! Changing one letter doesn't make it secret? And why did you keep your last name?

"Why Hazuki? Isn't that a boy's name?"

"When my parents were deciding on a name, they were arguing day and night. My mother would pick feminine names and my father would reject all of them. He would tell me that if I was a guy then he wouldn't want me to be some sort of feeble-minded pretty boy. They finally determined to pick a name that, with a change of a couple letters, would be good for a girl or a boy."

"But why include your last name?" She doesn't even know the basics of espionage!

"If the Americans pick up on my last name they will have to go through all of the Suzumiyas in Japan! And since I was born a girl, Hazuki doesn't exist and they will spend their entire military budget on finding this mysterious Japanese terrorist. Aren't I brilliant?"

Words fail me to describe your genius, oh humble one. Perhaps one day I will find the strength to force common sense into your head.

"I'll send you the video Snow found on the internet for cracking these locks."

"There'd be a small problem with that."

"What is it Kyon?"

"Firstly, do I get a codename?"

"Since you seem content wasting my time, I have decided that your awesome nickname shall remain, for the time being, a secret. Kyon will have to do."

She wastes all of this time with this secret name crap and I don't even get a secret nickname? Sorry, mother, father, little sister, Taniguchi, Kunikuda. I'm afraid that you will have to bare the shame of knowing a terrorist.

"Secondly, my phone doesn't receive video."

"What!" Suzumiya exclaimed. "How old is your phone?"

"Two years. Why?"

"Two years is ancient!" She was screaming into the phone. Honestly I don't get the need to replace a phone every 6 months. Isn't technology still useful even years after it is been created? I've been using the same totebag for 3 years! Does that make me some sort of Luddite?

"Damn it, Kyon! If you paid any sort of attention to the state of Japan any amount of time you'd realize the need to stay current. The old and stale forms of thinking are useless if you want to keep up with the SOS brigade. Now thanks to your geriatric cell phone our plan has ground to a halt! Wait a second – Yuki wants to speak to you.

Why even have secret codenames if you are going to mention her real name in the first place?

"Kyon." Nagato spoke with a reassuring monotone. Have I ever thought that it was unpleasant to listen to? Emotion and tone is overrated.

"What is it, Nagato?" I was genuinely interested in what she had to say. Unlike Suzumiya, she usually had something relevant to say.

"Flip the paper."

I looked at the code.

6-1-1-9

became

9-1-1-6

I pressed the keys. Click!

"Thank you, Nagato."

"... Yes."

I swung open the door and I walked in.

(Break)

I don't think that I should call her again. Definitely not her. If anyone, I should call Koizumi if anything or anyone gives me trouble. Even when he behaves like a insufferable ass and give me non-answers to my questions, at least he gives solid support from the organization of his. Nagato has her own ways of contacting me, and Big Asahina would just appear if this was a crucial period of time.

I came here to look for, in Haruhi's words, "Strange documents or anything relating to aliens. There should be something interesting hiding around any American military base! Perhaps this base is Japan's Area 51!..."

Arguing that Japan doesn't need anything like that and that the American military probably doesn't leave secret information lying around for civilians to steal was futile. She could not be persuaded. And of course I was the one that had to do the job. Koizumi was the second-in-command, Mikuru was the mascot and Nagato "was a girl, so be a man, Kyon!". If I have to be a woman to get out of this mess then I would gladly accept.

Isn't feminism supposed to promote equality, rather then increased unfairness? Modern society has stripped away the negative reactions to woman, but not the positive. Chivalry is dead, why do I have to die too? That's another thing I dislike about Haruhi – she manages this double standard like a pro. She plays cute to break the rules and then she goes frosty when it comes to the consequences.

This hanger is almost empty. The intel Haruhi scammed out of some poor guy was good, but poor. Only a bunch of tarps and a small office sat in the empty hanger. Fortunately for me, this means that there was very little security, and no guards. Lets think. I could tell her that I went into the hanger, but I found it was empty. I searched the entire area but there was nothing to be found.

Poor excuse. That wouldn't work. She would curse me for being useless and being the most stubborn person I know, will send me again somewhere. She takes advantage of the fact that I'm vacationing somewhere decent and pulls me into this mess. That tarp could be hiding something, but it looks securely nailed down to the floor and I don't have the time to take it off. The only option left is to search that tiny office.

The door is unlocked, surprisingly, and I let myself in. I fumble for a light switch and a anaemic light turns on. This looks like a small cubicle that a salaryman would commit suicide in. It was stuffed with papers in complicated-looking english that I didn't know. I page at the contents. I'm not a fast reader, but all of this seems to be weather balloon data and acquisition requests. I stuff some of the pages with charts into my totebag.

The hanger suddenly roars to life. A loud engine sound reverberates throughout the entire building and it rattle the poor little cubicle. Initially, I'm shocked. I peek out just in time for a iron stake to miss my head. The tarp is straining at whatever is contained within. More spikes fly around, creating holes in the ceiling. I hit the floor, hoping that Haruhi's stupidity wouldn't finally kill me. I had lived a good life, haven't I? I've gotten acceptable grades, treated my friends well, never had enemies. I would have a good afterlife, right?

The tarp finally loses the last of its integrity and flies into the air. The engine noise is even louder then the impromptu rock concert earlier this year. Eventually, it dies down. An American fighter plane was just sitting there, smugly looking at me, mocking me for my pitiful attempt to satisfy Suzumiya.

The cupola popped open and a familiar flash of orange hair stood out in the darkness. And there I was, looking for the first time at little Asahina.