Henry was pretty damn proud with the state of things. The Pioneer College Anime Club's stewardship had passed from generation to generation, from Alan and his friends to Bill and his, and onto new students past them. For years, it had been Henry alone, faking recruitment numbers just to keep justifying their use of a club room to the faculty. Now, though? Henry, as always, maintained in email communication with the current president of the club, and according to them, membership had ballooned out to almost fifty. All of his efforts would have been worth it even if it'd only amounted to establishing a library of manga and anime for the college, but this was a harbinger of changing times. The hobby, the passion that he'd squirreled away, was now on a path to becoming mainstream.
That said, he loved the bizarre, twisted, violent and perverse side of things, and so, flanked by three generations of Anime Club leadership, he strode into the Hentai Dubbing Panel on the third floor of the convention center, flashing his ID to the bouncer. After the last of his entourage made it through, he heard someone behind them get stopped. Despite their protests of “Come on, I'll be eighteen in two weeks!”, they were unceremoniously tossed aside. He was thankful for the security – if some of the things that he saw go down in the nineties happened today, the fandom's growth would be stunted.
Henry picked out a row of eleven seats towards the back, and led his people over, only to be surprised by the fact that they only filled ten of them. A quick scan revealed that Alan was missing, and Henry pulled out his phone to send him a text, to remind him that The Boys were meeting up.
The phone buzzed before he could finish tapping out a single letter.
[Where are you], Alan asked.
[Panel C, third floor, bring your ID, we're all here], Henry replied.
Three minutes later, Alan stumbled in. The Hentai Dubbing Panel was massive – the most-attended 18+ event of Friday nights every year – and the crowd was loud. Not just aurally – they were, of course, and even more so after the panel got started – but visually. Intricate, massive cosplays – the amount of wings threatened to block your view if you didn't sit in the right place – smutty cosplays, because of course – and then, fashion that could have only come out of a rave where every drug was replaced by the crushed-up essence of crusty anime VHS tapes. There were normal people, too, and one of them waved at Alan. He recognized the kind look, the tweed jacket with patched elbows, and the hairline that had completely given up at covering the man's forehead. What hair he still had was fluffed out, with the body and levity usually reserved for mad scientists.
Henry.
Alan darted over to him, and Henry took his backpack, already stuffed with who knew what, off an adjacent seat, which Alan took. He also took the first deep, full, leisurely breath he'd had in what felt like forever. Allies. The noise of the crowd fell away, as Alan closed his eyes. He really needed to talk with Henry. He had no idea how to explain his situation, or how much he should even reveal, but he always knew what to do. This was probably a bit out of his wheelhouse, but surely the experience of running an anime club for… a decade? Alan wasn't really sure – had to count for something.
“Hey, Henry?” he asked. Henry turned, but at that moment, the lights in the room went down, and Henry raised a finger to his lips. Alan would have to wait.
Henry leaned forward, to the chair directly in front of Alan, and tapped the occupant on the shoulder. “It's time,” he said, and Rich, improbably, turned around. He nodded, and shoved a nondescript duffel bag under his chair, and back to Alan's row, stopping at Alan's feet. Henry motioned for Alan to pick it up, and he did, opening it tentatively. Even in the growing darkness, Alan could see the light from the projectors at the front of the room reflecting off aluminum cans inside.
“Pass them down,” Henry said, and when Alan hesitated, he continued. “Rich assures me that the security staff in this room does not care. It's my treat.”
While Alan followed instructions well enough, once everyone in their group had a can, Alan just stared at the bag. He wasn't sure he could stomach any more alcohol, not now..
“He also assures me that it's perfectly safe.”
Alan looked up. “What?”
“Four Loko. I know people worry about the combination of energy drinks and malt liquor, but you should enjoy it while you can.”
The image of Sawyer lunging for his throat, of his hands around that girl's throat, his hands dropping her, they all flashed through his mind. “While I can?” Alan croaked out.
“Yes,” Henry said. “I have it on good authority that the state's banning it come June.”
“Ah,” Alan said. Henry took a can out of the bag, closed Alan's hands around it, and then slung the bag back at Rich.
Though Alan was reasonably sure Henry would know the answer, whenever and however the tradition of the Hentai Dubbing Panel began was lost to the sands of time, deep in the primordial convention soup. While it wasn't a universal presence, most of the larger conventions had one, perhaps owing to the inherent appeal of being able to list some events as being 18+. Like most experiences with human sexuality, the Hentai Dubbing Panel was mysterious, titillating, and a little frightening to those who hadn't taken part yet, then mildly confusing and a bit exhilarating for the first-timers, and good, clean, wholesome fun for the veterans.
The standard format, as it was, started with an announcement that all recording devices were banned from the panel, and a quick sweep of the crowd for anyone trying to circumvent that rule. There would be two presenters – charismatic and funny, usually two halves of a practiced amateur comedy duo, and almost always a man and a woman. Those conventions who experimented with that particular part of the formula found, quickly, that without a feminine representative up on stage, women were far less likely to volunteer. Volunteer for what, you ask? Don't worry, we're getting to that.
It occurs to me, dear reader, that you may not know what “hentai” is. The long of it is that it's a general Japanese term for the weird or perverse, depending on context, and can be applied as an adjective to just about anything. The short of it is that, in the anime fandom, it refers to drawn pornography. Of course, there is the standard definitional debate – Whether something is or isn't “hentai” is just as lively a discussion of whether or not something is “anime” – but that definition will do for now. So, take that knowledge, apply it to the term “Hentai Dubbing Panel”, and you'll arrive at something approximating an accurate picture.
Scenes from various hentai flicks would be screened, usually absurd scenes with strange fetish content, a nonsensical premise, and above all else, abysmal voice acting. Then, after the raucous laughter of the crowd died down, the presenters would call for a selection of volunteers to come up to the array of microphones at the stage, and after a quick discussion, they'd work out which characters they'd voice, and the scene would be replayed, this time with the vocal performances of the volunteers. This, you might think, could end up as awkward and strictly pornographic, but when you give people absurd material, put them in front of a crowd, and everyone is giddy from the experience of being at an anime convention, some impressive improv comedy was the usual result. Alan had seen, just the previous year, a scene that at first seemed abysmal – the two leading ladies were playing it straight, and Alan was ready for an awkward couple of minutes. Then, the male volunteer spoke his first line completely in character as Sonic the Hedgehog, while the women stayed completely on-script. The contrast was exquisite.
Tonight, Alan was currently being stymied by a scene that someone, somewhere, at some point, must have thought was pleasantly kinky, where the domming male lead was telling a woman to squeal like a pig. The original dub was laughable, in both the bad and good senses, but the volunteer for her role had made the transcendent choice to do the scene as Porky Pig. Of course, as a second male character arrived, to be directed by the dom to do various acts to the “piggy”, the volunteer voice actor leapt to the occasion and voiced him as Bugs Bunny. It was perfection, and unfortunately for Alan, that meant that he couldn't get Henry's attention for the life of him, even though “for the life of him” was getting more literal with each passing moment. He hadn't seen Sawyer for certain since ditching her, but every shadow, every ill-defined figure, and every sudden motion could be her, and he was pretty sure he hadn't blunk in the last fifteen minutes.
When the scene wrapped up, Alan turned to Steve, sitting in the seat to his immediate right, but he couldn't figure out any words that could properly convey what he was feeling. Steve, seeing that Alan was in a state of distress, put his hand on Alan's shoulder, and told him to “Just sit back and vibe, man,” with a smile that said this was some of the most heartfelt advice he could give.
Alan's body seemed to misinterpret the instruction, and instead, he vibrated with nerves and fear.
“Please,” he said, tugging on Henry's sleeve after two more skits.
Henry looked at him, confused. “Please what, exactly?”
He wanted to say “I think someone's trying to kill me,” but even Alan could recognize how weird that would sound. He leaned back in his chair, sunk deep into it, and into his own head.
Alan needed a plan.
All other things aside, he didn't want to be murdered.
To avoid that, he had to stay safe. Safe was where other people were. His first option was to just stick to his friend-group. Follow them as a pack, go back to the hotel room with them after this, make sure they didn't leave without him the next morning, and stick to them like glue for the whole weekend. That seemed reasonable.
He had a sudden, glaring image of Sawyer standing over his bed, holding a knife slick with the blood of his friends. “Why?” he would ask, and she'd answer “They got in the way, silly,” and then he would die, and that would be bad. Alan tried to provide a counterargument to his imagination, but Sawyer was too much of an unknown quantity. She knew where his room was, and that gave her all the time in the world to prepare for him to arrive there. He didn't want to embroil his friends in this, whatever this was.
However, the convention hall, and the attached mall, closed down eventually. Even the latest video panel only ran till a little after 2AM… Except for the game room.
That left the problem of staying awake. He could be dragged away, unconscious, and disposed of. He had to be vigilant.
Somehow, the panel was ending. He needed something -
As they walked out, he turned to Henry, but he was gone. The others had followed – Alan spun around, and found Rich still lingering.
“Rich!” he exclaimed, grabbing him by the arm. Rich turned, surprised.
“Weren't you Gendo earlier?”
Alan tried to keep his eyes from looking too wild. “Rich, I need a pick-me-up.”
“Just like that?” Rich said with a smirk. “I thought you'd never ask, but isn't it a little late?”
“I just gotta…” Alan tried to remember the right phrasing. “I need some energy, some focus, some…”
“Fun?” Rich finished.
Alan just stared at him blankly, still holding on to his arm.
Concern flashed, briefly, across Rich's face. “Are you okay, Alan?”
There was no good way for Alan to answer that question.
Rich sighed, and pulled Alan away off behind a structural pillar, away from prying eyes. He set down his backpack, and rummaged around in it. “You know, Alan, sometimes you make things harder than they need to be.” He pulled out a handful of tiny zip-lock bags of white powder.
“Whoa, I dunno-” Alan started, and Rich laughed at him. “It's just Adderall. Coke stays in the hotel.” He counted out two bags, thought about it, grabbed a third, and tossed them to Alan, who just barely managed to catch them. He shoved them into his jacket pocket.
Rich slid the backpack back on. “Still, be careful with those. I dunno why you need this, and I get the feeling you're not gonna tell me.”
Alan shook his head.
“I'm choosing to trust you, Alan. Don't fuck me by dying.” He pointed to his eyes with two fingers, and then one back at Alan, in the universal expression of “I'm watching you”, and he laughed.
Alan didn't, and Rich shrugged at him before walking away.
Alan made his way down to the central stairwell, figuring he'd follow the crowd heading back to the hotel, and he'd sneak into the 24 Hour Game Room on the way. As he rode the spiderweb of escalators down, he looked up.
In one of the third floor alcoves, Sawyer stared down at him, smiling.
Alan looked away, desperately hoping that object permanence stopped being a thing.
He fingered one of the baggies. He'd never snorted Adderall before, having only bought it in pill form from Rich during finals week back in college.
No time like the present, I guess.