Nine members of the Anime Club had been vanquished. Laying on the floor, stage blood spattered over their white zentai suits, they waited. Then, Sharon, Asuka, proclaimed victory.
It had taken a few weeks of yoga and stretches, but the officers had learned just how to pivot their bodies up in the most unnatural ways. It didn't quite match the movie, but as long as it was unsettling, it worked. They grabbed their glaives off the ground, and walked towards Sharon. She fell to the ground, and cried out in faux-panic.
All was going according to plan.
The lights went down.
And Alan threw a single plastic rose across the stage. A spotlight, carefully positioned, picked it up where it landed. A vaguely Spanish musical cue played, and Alan swallowed both everything in his mouth, and his pride.
He dove on-stage.
The lights were blinding, and he was thankful for it. No matter how many people were in the crowd, he'd never see them.
“NEVER FEAR, SAILOR SOHRYU!” Alan shouted, as a recording of a Spanish guitar echoed out over the stage. He lunged over Sharon, holding his cane high.
“Let's fucking do this,” she cried out, and they, minus Alan, rushed the stage.