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The Buzz: Cracker Jack versus The Striped Knight

This week, The Bee foists yet another piece of fan-fiction on us

The Buzz: Cracker Jack versus The Striped Knight
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It was bedlam, a storm of engine fumes and noise. Searchlights ploughed across the river, churning white through the waves. Police cars lined the bank like catastrophic fairy lights while the city behind them lay deserted.

On the water, two ferries lumbered for the far shore, side by side. On each of them a hubbub was growing. "What do you do for a living?" a man on the left-hand ferry said, to a stranger who had been looking out of the window.
"I write for the Wired games blog."
"And you," he said, grabbing another stranger by the arm to get his attention. "What do you do?"
"I'm a QA tester for EA. I'll be honest, it's not what I hoped it would be, but I really think -"
"- And you," the man said, drawing yet another passenger into his frantic survey "What do you do for a living?"
"I make pornographic Flash games."
"Jesus," he said.
"Listen buddy, I'm just trying to make -"
"Where did you hear about this ferry?"
"I saw an ad on Gamespress."
"What's happening?" said the Wired writer.
"I have a Gamespress account," said the QA tester. "I mean, not an account account, but -"
"- Are you talking about the Gamespress ad?" said the Wired writer. "You know I blogged the ferry ticket story before I realised it had nothing to do with games? Talk about :/, I was like OMFG, but my editor was like LOL. Gamespress is fail."
"I'm a producer for Atari," the first man said, ignoring him. "Do you see what that means?"
"Totally. I think Gamespress has a jobs section, though."
"No! I mean we're all in the video game industry. Everybody on this boat – you're like the fiftieth person I've spammed. This a ferry full of videogame professionals."
"Weird," said the pornographer.
The Wired writer nodded thoughtfully. "We r0x0r."

On the other ferry, meanwhile, a WASP was just expounding her views on immigration. "I don't mind them coming here," she said. "But what bothers me is that they reproduce."
"Mmm," said her companion, nodding. "I've often thought, if I pay my maid I ought to be able to have her sterilised."
Just then a noise crackled over the tannoy. "Good evening," said the man at the microphone. His voice was composed but tinged with mania. "Cracker Jack here."
Screams fireworked from both ferries.
"Calm down," said Cracker Jack, irritably. "You're in no danger. Shhhh. You will be perfectly – shhhh – QUIET!"
The ferries fell silent except for a few scattered sobs.
"Now, as I was trying to say, you're safe. I tricked you onto the ferry, yes, and a good number of you may die tonight, granted, but there's no reason why you can't all make it over to the shore there and carry on with your lives."
He waited for the last of the voices to die down, and then continued. "First, I should make the introductions. On the right-hand ferry is a group of fine, tax-paying Americans, and on the left is a few hundred denizens of that despised body, the videogame industry." He paused to let this sink in. "These are people who make the games that train our children to kill, who desensitise them to violence so that they can murder without remorse, and they are people who play Grand Theft Automobile and earn Xbox Life points for killing and eating harlots. You know who you are."
At this, the people on the right-hand ferry let out a crashing and involuntary 'Boo!' Cracker Jack laughed, and then stopped. Silence fell. "On each of your ferries," he said, "I've hidden a little something – a device. And on that device is a button. And if you press that button…" he paused for effect. "Whoosh, boom, up in flames goes the other ferry." There was some mumbling.
"If," said Cracker Jack, "you don't wish to look for it, fine. If neither ferry finds it, beautiful. Everybody makes it home alive. Question is: what's happening on the other ferry?" There was a murmur from both crowds. "Ladies, gentlemen, let's settle this debate once and for all. Good evening."

Five minutes passed. "We're not going to press the button!" shouted the pornographer across the gap between the two ferries. "You can relax."

Another minute passed. "Screw you!" shouted the WASP. "We're going to blow you to pieces!"

A brave hero called The Bee looked on from the top of a dockside skyscraper, silhouetted against the moon, his Kevlar wings flapping in the high wind.
"Andelko," he said into his excellent microphone. "Explain."
"It's Cracker Jack," Andelko replied, clear as crystal from his secret office. "He's scared everybody out of the city with some kind of bomb threat."
"I saw the freeway," said The Bee, remembering the freeway. "It was a white snake all the way into the hills. I figured there was an evacuation, but what's with the ferries?"
"Darnedest thing – Cracker Jack sent out alerts through private channels. The one on the left, that's full of video game developers, producers, designers, otakus, fanboys, journalists."
"Nerds," said The Bee.
"Right, nerds. Virgins and whathaveyou. And on the other ferry, we've got conservative types – pro-lifers, churchgoers, censors, that kind of thing."
The Bee narrowed his eyes at the boat. "I see," he said.
"He sent out those invitations in an NRA circular."
"I hate Cracker Jack."
"The Bee."
"Yes?"
"Do you like plot twists?"
"I love them."
"Good," said Andelko. He cleared his throat, and hurriedly said, "I'm actually a baddie and Cracker Jack is about to knock you unconscious. See you later."
"Hmm," said The Bee, thoughtfully.
Cracker Jack knocked him unconscious.

"You know what's really funny," said Cracker Jack. The Bee was hanging upside down, swinging gently from a steel girder. They were in a half-completed building by the river. Wind slapped against the white plastic sheets in the windows. When The Bee had nearly stopped swinging, Cracker Jack put out his cane from the shadows and set him off again, and he spun as he swung, his long wings slapping him noisily in the face.
"No," he said. "I don't know what's funny."
"What's funny is that this plot I'm cooking, this thing that's going down – it's rigged."
"I'm surprised," said The Bee. "Not."
"Ah, you haven't lost your unfunniness I see."
"And you haven't lost your not-horribleness."
"Now, now," said Cracker Jack, springing from his seat. The Bee could make out his shape against the sky; paunchy, short-haired, well-dressed, twitching with madness. "Enough of this. You're here as a witness to my evil genius."
"Go on then," said The Bee, attractively. "Impress me."
"Very well: get this - only one of those buttons is attached to explosives. The only people who can die tonight are the people responsible for the state of this country, the violence, the massacres, the sexism, the racism, the villainy."
The Bee wasn't surprised. He only felt the weariness of dealing with Cracker Jack yet another time. "So you've set up the videogame industry to be slaughtered? Why go to all the trouble when you could have just sunk the ferry yourself."
Cracker Jack didn't answer. He stood up and walked over the edge of the building, then slashed a hole in the plastic. The Bee was still again by now, hanging with his back to his arch nemesis. All he could hear was wild laughter, and the wind ripping through the slash.

He had dealt with Cracker Jack several times before, and this was by no means the direst predicament he had been placed in. Jack was an evil genius, and he had been holding the city's videogame industry to ransom for decades, decrying the iniquity of it while behaving far worse than even his most controversial opponents. If one of the ferries blew up, the death toll would be enormous, but The Bee had been here before. Things had a way of working out.
"Bee," said Andelko, contritely in his ear. "How do you feel about second plot twists, which reverse the previous twists?"
"Under the circumstances, I think I'd be quite well-disposed."
"Great, I'm a goodie again."
"Fine, then walk me through it: how do I stop Cracker Jack?"
"Well first," said Andelko, "I recommend that you make use of the bee-shaped shurikens on your wrist."
"Oh yes," said The Bee. "Those."

Meanwhile on the left-hand ferry, there was a sudden commotion. "I've found it," came a voice from the galley. "The button, I've found it."
"Let's see," said the Atari producer. It was just a square remote-controller with a big red button on it, emblazoned with a skull and crossbones. He ran to the side of the ferry. "Hey," he shouted over the sound of the river. "You in the other ferry – we've found the button."
There was a heavy pause, and then a distant voice pierced the silence. "I'm shaking, I'm shaking."
"We're not going to press it," said the Atari producer, "as long as you promise to stop looking for yours."
After another silence, a man on the right-hand ferry shouted, "I am rubber, you are glue."
The Atari producer turned to the man standing next to him and said, "Do you know what that even means?"

"My ass!" screamed Cracker Jack, clutching his buttocks. With a second shuriken, The Bee cut his rope, and in a flash Cracker Jack was hanging where The Bee had been, red-faced, chuckling insanely.
"How do I stop the explosion?" The Bee said, angrily.
"You can't. It's all down to the people on the boat."
"But it's rigged!"
"How long has it been, now, The Bee?"
"What?"
"How long since we've been doing this little dance?"
"Tell me where the button is," said The Bee, trying to maintain the urgency of the exchange.
"Fifteen years?"
The Bee sighed. From experience, he knew Cracker Jack was too obstinate to be derailed. He would have to go along with it. "About that long."
"Fifteen years in the spotlight."
"For all the wrong reasons."
"Is there ever a wrong reason to be in the spotlight?"
"Murder springs to mind."
"Who have I murdered?" Cracker Jack snarled, suddenly angry.
"If those god-fearing mouth-breathers on that ferry find the button, you'll have murdered plenty."
Cracker Jack laughed. "You misunderstand," he said. "I'm a genius, not a thug. The rigged button isn't with the videogamers. If they push the button, up goes the city's great and good in a ball of flame. But we both know that's not going to happen. If my conservative friends in the other ferry push it, on the other hand, all they'll get is a squirt of lavender."
Uncharacteristically, The Bee was caught short. "You rigged the conservative ferry? Why?"
"Why would I kill the videogame industry?" Cracker Jack said. "What do you think's been keeping me in gold-plated Cadillacs and illuminated bibles this last couple of decades? My legal skills? Hard work?" He laughed noisily. "What do you think I would do if the videogame industry died? I'd be out of work."
"So," The Bee said, stunned by this revelation. "This is just a publicity stunt?"
"Bingo!" said Cracker Jack. "Give the kid a lolly."
"It'll never work."
"What do you mean? It has worked. I've got an exclusive interview with The Bee, and I've got the attention of every professional in the city. Christ, I've been texting soundbytes to Kotaku the whole time we've been up here."
"The videogames press won't go for it. They'll never give you a platform to spew your crap."
"And miss out on all those hits? Are you kidding me?"
The Bee had no answer to this. He knew that Cracker Jack was right. "We'll see how much publicity you get in jail," he said, limply.
"Ooh, you're right," said Cracker Jack, theatrically feigning panic. "Mugshots never make it into the papers. And how could I ever hope to smuggle something as bulky as a soundbyte through the bars?" At this, he started laughing again.
"Hang around," The Bee said, walking away. "The cops'll be here any minute to cut you down."
"I'll be back," shouted Cracker Jack as The Bee retreated. "You need me. This city needs me. The videogame industry needs me. I'm your god-damn page-views, your free advertising, your eyeballs - me. I made the blogosphere, I made every one of the jerks on that ferry. I'm infinite! Infinite."
"You're fail!" The Bee shouted back, jogging down the concrete stairs. On the way down, he met a squad of cops. "What's the situation on the river?" he said.
"Everybody's safe, both ferries made it across."
"And how did they smell?"
"Excuse me, sir?"
"How did the passengers smell?"
"Like lavender, sir. Now that you ask, the ones on the right-hand ferry, they smelled like lavender."
The Bee narrowed his handsome eyes. "Round up everybody who smells like flowers," he growled, "and charge that self-serving, myopic, cretinous, brain-dead, reactionary, hypocritical heap of human scum with attempted murder."

The end.

This story is dedicated to J.T.- never give up.


The Bee is an industry insider who has fed on the nectar of over three decades' worth of gaming. All opinions expressed are the author's own.