Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I'm also starting a Johnny Turbo fic. If you are unaware of the man, the myth, the legend himself, then I'd recommend you get on Google and look up "The Johnny Turbo Story". Click the first available link and enjoy. (And then enjoy this fic.)
It is still the nineties, but somehow there is not enough time for Klax anymore. What a shame. In his apartment, computer expert Jonathan Brandstetter stood staring out the window, on the lookout for more heinous crimes courtesy of FEKA Enterprises, Ltd. A feeling in his gut told him that something was not quite right, but he wasn't sure whether or not it was FEKA's doing, or if that massive pile of burritos that his er, friend Tony had prepared for him was troubling his IBS.
"Johnny?" called a very wormy man from the hallway. "I think they've given up by now. It's been two years since the whole battle of the CD systems..."
"YOU WILL SPEAK WHEN YOU ARE SPOKEN TO!"
"Y-yes, Johnny. T-t-terribly sorry." Tony ducked back inside the kitchen. He doesn't mean that... he thought to himself as he tightened his apron, which read "TTI", and turned back to baking a pineapple-upside-down cake. He just gets a little worked up, is all...
Jonathan turned back to the window and crammed another burrito down his throat. Crumbs of half-burnt triple-refried beans (his favorite, made with love and tears from Tony himself) tumbled down his beard and double chin and landed on his shoes. Outside, an older woman's purse had just been stolen by a wiry thief. Was this a job for Johnny Turbo? No, not unless the culprit had tried to sell her a console that just doesn't compareto the mighty processing power of the TurboGrafx-16 and the almighty TurboDuo. Jonathan only used his alter-ego for the real emergencies. Maybe Tony is right, he thought. FEKA hasn't really been heard from for quite some time. Well, except for that whole 32X thing. I knew that that chunk of plastic wasn't worth the $200 price-tag. He took another bite, shuffled over to his brand new Gateway 2000, and slumped down into the seat before it. He pushed aside his treasured copies of Lord of Thunder and the TurboGrafx 3-in-1 and set down his plate. After the machine booted up, he glanced at the date in the corner of the screen: May 11, 1995. He logged on to one of those new-fangled threads and within five seconds nearly punched a hole in the monitor.
"WHAT?! WHAT IS THIS?"
"FEKA has just released a new console in North America- the FEKA Nocturne. These so-called "experts" say that it has not one, but TWO processors and TWO graphics cards!" He seemed to calm down for a second, then reached for a burgundy vase that was holding a pair of daisies. He held it horizontally and tossed it up and down in his hand for a bit, and with a sudden, mighty ZARK! hurled it at the wall. Tony ran over, trembling. Jonathan, crushed, leaned over his desk and slammed down his fist, a defeated man. "Tony..."
"Get out my uniform and belt collection. This is personal."
Outside, someone was lurking in the mid-afternoon shadows. They wore only a simple judo robe, and carried only a simple calligraphy brush. Once this mysterious man found just the right wall, he painted in elegant script and not so elegant Engrish, "Prepare You Die, Turbo-san."