Had I so interfered in behalf of the rich, the powerful, the intelligent, the so-called great, or in behalf of any of their friends, either father, mother, brother, sister, wife, or children, or any of that class, and suffered and sacrificed what I have in this interference, it would have been all right; and every man in this court would have deemed it an act worthy of reward rather than punishment… I believe that to have interfered as I have done as I have always freely admitted I have done in behalf of His despised poor, was not wrong, but right. Now, if it is deemed necessary that I should forfeit my life for the furtherance of the ends of justice, and mingle my blood further with the blood of my children and with the blood of millions in this slave country whose rights are disregarded by wicked, cruel, and unjust enactments, I submit; so, let it be done!

- John Brown’s speech to the court (1859)

 

Tamaside Patisserie was in a state of emergency, alone on a stranded island in the middle of the sea of (what was ostensibly called) civilization. They couldn’t request help from any authorities; they were illegally squatting on what was considered to be private land. It was also illegal for catfolk to walk freely without government certification (granted in the form of a bell) or without permission from their ‘owners’.

The people of Tamaside could only rely on themselves and their allies when facing the Sensible United Citizens’ Kindness, Edification and Rejuvenation Society.

Yes, the Tamaside folk did have allies. Brown had been busy giving many a passionate speech in the churches and streets, calling for catfolk liberation. He now had a sizeable following that was called upon to defend Tamaside from the upcoming attack by the Society. All walks of life desiring liberty and freedom for their fellow sentient beings united in watch.

Unfortunately for Brown, he couldn’t bring his beloved Beecher’s Bibles for battle. Importing the Sharps carbine, or any sort of firearm for that matter, was next-to-impossible in Japan. Not to mention, using lethal force would most likely only lead to the Tamaside getting further into trouble. Brown wasn’t wont to causing needless bloodshed.

One week, full of uncertainty and fear, passed. The folk of the Tamaside Patisserie didn’t have to wait long for their adversaries to show up once again…

The Sensible United Citizens’ Kindness, Edification and Rejuvenation Society marched once again next to the Tama River. They were greater in number; their leader didn’t intend to be humiliated once again by some ‘geriatric gaijin’. Surely, the ‘superior spirit of the Yamato race’ would today prevail over the ‘degenerate bums infesting our beautiful Tama River’.

Yet, something seemed off to them. The lonely makeshift camps around the Tama River were abandoned, depriving the mob of easy targets. They could only march forwards to the Tamaside Patisserie in hopes of destroying their enemies’ base of operations.

The Society’s march through the suburbs wasn’t as smooth sailing as they initially hoped. There seemed to be new problems in every corner wherever they marched to in the suburbs. Roads blocked for maintenance, cars blocking their way, dogs off their leashes attacking them… These didn’t hurt the members of the Society physically but it drained their morale as they went more and more off schedule with every meter they marched.

What they saw when the patisserie came into view wasn’t too pleasant for them either. Unbeknownst to them, the Tamaside folk had already mobilized. They stood in somewhat disorganized rows, a week wasn’t exactly enough to train a militia properly, holding sticks of bamboo and wood. Most of them also held slings, bottles, anything that could be thrown in someone body else’s face to hurt them.

The treachery of the suburbs and the militia being ready in time were not just lucky coincidences. Thanks to Miss Watanabe’s help Brown had gotten ahold of the greatest wonderweapon of all: the Internet. He had borrowed her phone and organized a chat group full of sympathetic plants that were placed around the suburbs. The plants had been reporting the whereabouts of the Society as they marched, coordinating small attacks to wear them down psychologically. Brown was already informed of the unwelcome visitors hours ago, giving the Tamaside ample opportunity to mobilize.

The mob hesitated upon seeing the militia ready to receive their visitors. Still, many of them were blinded by a horrid fervor that made them feel that final victory was certain. How could they face their oh-so-glorious ancestors if they didn’t charge down these vagrants dirtying their more-so-sacred lands? Their leader brandished his sword (he was most furious about the fact that he had to go buy another one), their colorbearer raised the Rising Sun up high and a cry that signaled the beginning of the battle rang out:

“Wagakuni banzai!” (Long live our country!)

The Tamaside responded with a battle cry of their own as the Society clashed with their staves “Jiyū banzai!” (Long live freedom!)

The fighting was sluggish yet fierce; both sides weren’t trained or experienced in combat. The Tamaside had planned to maintain formation with their staves but their untrained formation didn’t last long against a wild banzai charge. Unlike the already-battered Society though, the men of the Tamaside were rested and in high spirits. Their long staves gave them an advantage in keeping their foes far away; many frustrated Society unintentionally reenacted Pickett’s Charge by going for a frontal assault that ended with a staff smashing their skulls.

The fighting slowly died down as both sides got tired. They retreated away from each other instinctively, only a few projectiles continued to be exchanged during this tense interim. Left in the middle was a mess consisting of wounded people, crying out to whoever or whatever came first to their mind. Nobody could properly tell who was getting the upper hand in this environment of chaos.

Brown thought that it was the right time for a wild yet calculated gamble. “Brave men of the Tamaside Patisserie! Your foe is beaten, they have gone through Hell on Earth just to get here! ‘As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal.’ Let us deal with our contemners who have no regard for their fellow man, for the grace of liberty and freedom! Forwards, charge!”

The Tamaside militia charged forth with their last remaining energy, catching the Society off-guard. The last thing they wanted or expected was a counter-charge from the Tamaside. Their morally and physically beaten men completely shattered before their foe even made any contact. The Society scattered to the suburbs, where they never met each other again out of shame after this shameful display.

“Here you go miss, enjoy your raspberry-syrup white chocolate frappuccino with no caffeine!”

Miss Watanabe slowly slurped on her drink provided by the catgirl waitress. She wasn’t sitting in some stylish catgirl café in the middle of Tokyo for fun though; Miss Watanabe had been tasked by Brown to keep track of the situation inside the city. Such a busy establishment was the perfect spot to do just that. The frappuccino is a nice bonus though, I have to admit.

She was closely monitoring the TV in the café in particular (she didn’t want to spend money or space just to install television at her already miniscule apartment room). What she had been waiting for finally came up on screen after a couple minutes of idle frappuccino-drinking. “Now for a report on an incident that has developed recently near the Tama River…”

The news presenter presented a summary of the events, showing recorded footage of the battle. There was also talk of various protests happening across the country in response to this attack. Brown had discovered yet another dangerous weapon: modern mass media. He had made sure to assign a few volunteers to take footage of the fight and spread it around social media, especially footage that’d make them look good like the Tamaside catfolk taking care of the wounded left over from their retreating enemy.

His plan already seemed to be working, judging from the reactions of the café’s patrons.

“They attacked them? For what?”

“The real animals are those from the Society!”

“Here you go mister, enjoy your Americano with extra sugar!”

The report ended as the cameras returned to the studio. “In our studio is Minatsuki Jiu, self-made entrepreneur and licensed catgirl expert. Miss Minatsuki, any ideas on what might have caused such an incident?”

The guest on TV spoke with a calm, posh accent. “I think the main problem is the ingrateful attitude of the cats instilled by foreign liberal influences. Japan is a cat’s paradise; there should be and there is nothing to cause dissatisfaction for cats. Their owners protect them, those without owners find suitable work in government facilities. Despite that, the number of strays increases each year, forcing responsible citizens to take extreme measures to defend their communities.”

The news presenter raised his brow. “Are you saying that the actions of the S.U.C.K.E.R.S. was justified?”

“No, no. Of course not. I do not condone vigilante action, policing of the catfolk should be left to the police. Getting back on point, the state of cats in Japan is the best in the world. Look at America – cat unemployment is a major issue there, despite them being declared legally equal to humans. In Japan, such problems of unemployment are dealt with our special education facilities. Yet, Japanese cats are radicalized with ridiculous notions of ‘equality’ and ‘liberty’, dangerous anarchistic ideas that threaten to rip our harmonious society apart if not stopped.”

The interview continued like so for about half an hour, full of horrible ideas glazed with the dazzling varnish of ostensible concern. Its contents were laughable to someone-in-the-know like Miss Watanabe, who had heard firsthand accounts of what the catfolk experienced.

“My family owns a few catgirls, and they’re all happy! I wouldn’t want them being taken away.”

“The catfolk do seem intelligent, is it right to put a collar on them?”

“Don’t you think these cats are getting uppity? They should know their place and be grateful.”

Only a few bubbles of doubt had begun rising up from the boiling stew of public opinion. It wasn’t going to be easy job changing the opinions of the common people who believed in whatever they were told last.

“Now for the Turkish presidential election, where the president incumbent has given his first public address since election…” The interesting part of the news segment ended as patrons went back to dining. It was getting late; Miss Watanabe had papers to grade from her students. She rose from her chair to pay her bill, leaving a small tip for the waitress.

“Have a nice day miss!” said the catgirl waitresses as she bowed down to bid farewell to yet another customer.

Miss Watanabe smiled in response. “May you have nicer days, dear.”

The ‘nicer days’ were coming soon; she was sure of that.

“Now for a report on an incident that has developed recently near the Tama River…”

Today was more than busy for the Governor of Tokyo, all thanks to one incompetent underling.

It was supposed to be an easy job, how did the boys mess it up? That question was only rhetorical. The Governor already knew how they had messed up. I should’ve sent the boys in before they got as organized as… this.

They weren’t worried about their men that had been wounded. The Society was just composed of the disposable, zealous members of their party, nothing much more. Suckers were dime a dozen nowadays.

What was worrying them was the fact that they had been unable to suppress the flow of information. They had contacted news stations close to them, making the stations spin news in amicable fashion. Unfortunately for them, they were not in control of everything; negative news had spread like wildfire regardless of their best efforts.

Some foul crap in Tokyo would end up smearing them, the one governing the city, eventually. Pushing this matter further, of ‘clearing the vagrants’, would just cause more unrest, more problems for the Governor.

If they didn’t push this matter though, then their dear campaign donors over at the Tamana Corporation would be displeased. Other business friends of theirs might look upon the Governor with distrust as well.

The Governor heaved a heavy sigh. They were stuck between a Brown-shaped rock and a Tamana-shaped hard place.

I’ll just wait until this all blows over. The people will be outraged for a week or two before they forget and move onto another thing. That’s what always happens.

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