Subject: [FFML] [Spamfic][BGC] An Icon's Life
From: Adrian Tymes
Date: 1/24/2001, 2:34 AM
To: ffml@fanfic.com

Birdsong chirped as the river flowed, and the funny tiny pink elephant

strolled by.  All was cheeful and bright and happy #psych diagnostics:

condition green# and even Mr. Voice seemed pleased as usual.  But of

course he was.  How could he not be, here in this wonderful happy land

that PharmaFun provided?



Happy Tizzy smiled, reflecting on the peace and beauty.  It - no one

could really tell whether Tizzy was male or female, and Tizzy had once

asked that no one care - was tasked with tending this garden, making the

place a happy spot with just the right balance of colors.  There had

been an awful lot of dark red to mix in lately, but this red perfectly

complemented some of the trees in a sort of Christmasey theme.  And

Christmas was always a cheerful time, wasn't it?



Of course, not every single moment of Tizzy's time was spent tending the

place.  In fact, this was just a bonus for years of productive service.

Tizzy was the company's mascot, you see, and starred in most of its ads.

Tizzy had started out as just a dream in some advertiser's head, slowly

acquiring a life as the advertiser's employer developed more and more

guidelines to make sure Tizzy, and thus PharmaFun, was never associated

with anything evil or nasty or just plain not fun.  But Tizzy did not

star in all of PharmaFun's ads.  Tizzy had asked why, once, and was told

that the other ads dealt with unpleasant realities of the outside world,

so Tizzy would not want to star in them.



Tizzy's guest had seen the outside world, a long time ago, and just how

evil and nasty and just plain not fun it was.  That's why he was now

Tizzy's guest.  He acted as if he wanted to leave, sometimes, but why

would anyone not want to be cared for as Tizzy cared for him?



Anyway, eventually these guidelines and rules and definitions took on a

life of their own, in the adwriters' minds.  So, one of them thought it

would be a good idea to program a boomer with all those guidelines and

rules and definitions, so Tizzy could speak to them directly rather than

just in their dreams.  And so, Tizzy got a real body.  Several real

bodies, actually, though most of them came out wrong.  "Rogue" or

"braindead" or "suicidal", though Tizzy was not quite certain Tizzy knew

what those words meant.  They sounded icky, though, so Tizzy was happy

Tizzy was not rogue or braindead or suicidal.  How did Tizzy know Tizzy

was not?  The caretakers told Tizzy, so it must be true.



There was one more job Tizzy had.  Tizzy's guest was a brilliant drug

designer, responsible for most of PharmaFun's products.  Every so often,

the caretakers would come to consult with him, and walk away with a new

drug design.  Some of these were ways to help people who were suffering

from nasty diseases, which Tizzy helped sell by demonstrating how much

more fun it was not to be sick.  Some of these were ways to help unsick

people become even happier and better, which Tizzy really liked helping

to sell, because that meant more people could be like Tizzy.  The rest,

Tizzy was not sure about: the caretakers joked that they were weapons,

but PharmaFun would never sell weapons.  Besides, Tizzy would know if

PharmaFun sold weapons because Tizzy would star in those ads too,

wouldn't Tizzy?



#PSYCH INTERRUPT: DERAILING THOUGHT TRAIN#



Oww!  Tizzy got so confused whenever Mr. Voice shouted like that.  Tizzy

could never remember what Tizzy was just thinking about.  What was it

again?  Oh, right, the final job.  Sometimes more guests would show up,

and it was up to Tizzy to keep them away from Tizzy's special guest.

Only caretakers could be allowed near the special guest.  So, Tizzy had

to entertain them, guide them, steer them away from the special guest.

Sometimes they were really insistent on seeing the special guest, but

Tizzy had to remain firm.



There really was a distressing amount of dark red these days.  Tizzy had

asked the caretakers for some flowers to brighten the place up, but the

caretakers seemed to be taking their time.  Tizzy might have to get firm

with them if Tizzy could not brighten the place up.



#PSYCH INTERRUPT: DERAILING THOUGHT TRAIN#



Oww, again!  Tizzy had once tried to tell Mr. Voice that he hurt Tizzy,

but Mr. Voice did not seem to understand.  One of the caretakers said

that Mr. Voice was very crucial in keeping Tizzy happy and cheerful,

being a shield against not-happy and not-cheerful thoughts.  Tizzy was

not quite certain Tizzy was comfortable with that, but the caretakers

were always right.  Mr. Voice said so.  So, Tizzy never mentioned it to

the caretakers.  Besides, as far as Tizzy knew, Mr. Voice never spoke to

anyone but Tizzy, so Mr. Voice really must have been protecting Tizzy.



An explosion got Tizzy's attention.  The caretakers never blew anything

up here, though sometimes there were explosions when filming the ads.

But guests sometimes made explosive entrances.  Sure enough, through the

smoke, Tizzy could make out four humanoid shapes.  Tizzy could not tell

if they were boomers or armored non-boomers, but it did not matter.

Guests were guests, and the rules were the same.



All four guests paused when they got a good look at Tizzy's garden.

Most guests did.  The caretakers said that there were few places like it

in the outside world, and that Tizzy was doing a very very A double plus

good job of maintaining it.  Tizzy was certain that meant Tizzy was

doing what Tizzy should be doing, though Tizzy sometimes wondered if

such a garden should be shared with more guests instead of being locked

up deep inside PharmaFun's headquarters.



"Happy Tizzy?"



One of the guests called out Tizzy's name.  Guests never did that.

Maybe these were caretakers wearing armor?



"It IS you!"



Now the guest was tracing a finger around her head, then holding her

fingers out in a V.  That was something Tizzy used to do a lot, years

ago, and still did from time to time.  But caretakers never did that.

If this was not a guest, and not a caretaker, then who...?



#designation: fan#



Ah, Mr. Voice had the answer!  Tizzy should have known to ask Mr. Voice!

But, what should Tizzy do with a fan?



#Fan: an intruder, but fans will break in to meet the guard, not the

prisoner.  Reccomend entertaining fans until security arrives to escort

them away.  They're not likely to be a threat.  They may even be our

best customers.#



Mr. Voice had such wierd terms sometimes: "intruder" when he meant

"guest", "prisoner" when he meant "special guest", and so forth.  And

Mr. Voice sometimes spoke in a different voice, as if replaying someone

else's words.  But, Tizzy knew what Mr. Voice meant, so Tizzy copied the

fan's guesture.



The fan ran up and hugged Tizzy.  Tizzy knew this meant affection: it

always did in the ads.  Affection was good.  It was happy and cheerful.

So, Tizzy hugged the fan back.



"Nene, get away from the boomer."



"It's alright.  Tizzy won't hurt us!"



The other guests seemed a bit distressed.  Too bad Tizzy didn't have any

MellowFun Number Three around.  It always calmed down a tense situation.

At least, it did in the ads, and why would PharmaFun advertise anything

but the truth?



"Tizzy...umm, could I could get your autograph?"



Autograph?  Tizzy knew that meant a signature.  Tizzy usually was not

supposed to sign anything from guests.  The caretakers signed for

everything.  But giving this fan one would seem to entertain the fan,

and it would certainly make her happy.  What did Mr. Voice think?



#action authorized#



Yay!  Tizzy was so happy Tizzy could make this fan happy!  Tizzy

released Tizzy's embrace, reached over to a nearby tree, and plucked off

a leaf.  This was not a real tree, of course, but a plastic imitation

that could be arranged into a cheeful and bright and happy setting and

stay there for years and years.



But what to write with?  Ah, that dark red Tizzy had painted the trees

with.  Tizzy scraped some of it off and ground it into the leaf real

hard, hard enough that the now-crumbly dark stuff would stay embedded in

the leaf for quite a while.  Possibly even years and years, if the fan

took good care of it.  Tizzy had recorded ads in both Japanese and

English, and this fan might want Tizzy's autograph in either language,

so Tizzy signed "Happy Tizzy" in both.



"Over here, inside the shed."



What was this?



"I don't know who you are, but please, kill me quickly!"



Oh, no!  The other guests had found the special guest!  Tizzy had to

act fast!



"Huh?  Umm...we're looking for a Mr. Honda, a chemical weapons designer

responsible for at least one million deaths."



Tizzy tried to get out of the fan's embrace, but the fan would not let

Tizzy go.  Maybe the fan did not know that Tizzy had to act?  Tizzy

tried to pry the fan's grip apart, but her armor enhanced her strength

too much.  Or maybe the fan was a boomer, after all.



"Yes, that's me.  Believe me, all I want is for this nightmare to end.

They keep coming in and hooking me up to their machines, forcing me to

design whatever they want.  I haven't seen the sun in years, and after

what I've done, I don't think I could function in society.  They put me

in this cell so I wouldn't have anything to commit suicide with.

Please, whoever you are, just kill me before that thing gets loose

again!"



"Ok, just hold still, sir.  You won't feel a thing."



"Thank y-"



My, such a hideous cracking noise!  This was so unfun and not-nice

and...eh?  The guests were just walking away from the special guest.

Oh, good, now Tizzy would not have to get firm.  Even the fan was

letting go of Tizzy, picking up the autographed leaf Tizzy had dropped.



#COMMAND OVERRIDE: ELIMINATE INTRUDERS#



Oww!  What?  Oh, no, Mr. Voice said Tizzy had to get firm with the

guests, even though they were already leaving.  Perhaps Tizzy should

start with the fsdaklweeff;sdajksldhslgdsd.f...



---



Priss removed her fist from the boomer's head, calculating just how

close Nene had come to a sudden end...or maybe not, considering how weak

and lightly armored this boomer was.  Definitely not a combat model.



"NOOOOOoooo...why-hy-hyyy?"  Although Nene's helmet was closed, Priss

could easily visualize the tears now streaming down her cheeks, and the

accusatory gaze she now shot at Priss.



"I was out of ammo."  Which was true: she would have shot the boomer

full of holes rather than running up and punching it, had she been able

to.



Linna sighed over the commlink.  "Priss, you're cold."





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