FicWad

A/N: Well, just to give fair warning, I am not actually going to include lyrics to every single song in here. All that does is break the flow of the story and, really, all of the plot devices included in the dances, song lyrics, et cetera, can be shown in different ways. Also, I do not own any rock-'n'-roll references (I'm not going to list them all this time, because there are many), but anything you do not recognize is probably my invention. I am actually working off of my experience with the show (the 2003 edition) and a script that is slightly more current, so you'll see elements of both. Again, thank you for reading, and enjoy the next chapter!
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Chapter One- Jailhouse Rock

Central State Library was almost impossible to find, which was why it was such a good hiding place. Stacks of magazines, posters, discs, and books were littered across the floor, the shelves, the tables. The place had a thick layer of dust over most of it. A solitary stool remained, the rest having been taken by the bohemians for firewood and for their makeshift instruments. Atop that stool was a man, with long, brown hair and tired eyes. He wore an eclectic mix of clothing, and looked rather old. His name was Pop.

How he had gotten his name, he no longer remembered. After being zapped a few times with the flashguns of the Globalsoft pigs, he didn't remember much of anything that he had not archived.

Pop had never exactly liked his job as a librarian, but he knew that the others needed him. Jon Bon Jovi from the Hotel California had once said that without Pop, the rebel bases wouldn't exist. But that didn't mean he had to like it. Besides, the Hotel California had been raided and taken over, those precious fragments lost. Almost all of the bohemians of the HC had been captured, and only Pop had escaped to return to the archives. Others had been evacuated to the Heartbreak, but few had made it before the raid. He had been this close to being sent to the Seven Seas of Rhye, and he was not planning to get there for some time. Hopefully, at least.

But he had more important things to worry about. Like finishing his log before Khashoggi and those other Globalsoft pigs caught up with him.

Pop dropped the magazine he had been studying and whipped out his voice recorder. "Cor, they nearly got me that time. I must complete the rebel archive. Central State Library, star date June the eighth, 2307. I must make haste, for I fear my arrest is imminent.

"Although I never discovered the exact day on which the music died, it is clear to me that an ancient entertainment phenomenon known as Pop Idol played a central role. So many people had become stars that they were famous for less time than it took to play their albums.

"It seems that the Globalsoft Corporation acquired the franchise and replaced the human contestants with computer generated cyber celebrities. With no cultural stimulation, the kids stopped caring. Democratic government collapsed - and the age of GaGa had dawned."

BZZT!

"Oh, bugger," Pop muttered, quickly hiding the voice recorder as a shadow fell through the laser cage.

"Oh my. Oh my, oh my, what is this? Do I see a little silhouetto of a spy? Tell me, old man, why do you concern yourself so much with what is past?"

A tall, blond-haired man stepped into Pop's view. He wore round sunglasses (which always bothered Pop- why wear sunglasses inside?) and had a Globalsoft issue earpiece, which Pop assumed was recording the entire conversation. Dressed in a gray suit, he stepped even closer. This was Commander of the Globalsoft Security Division, Khashoggi. The most feared man in all of Planet Mall.

"Because it is only the past that gives us hope," Pop said defiantly.

Khashoggi grinned. "You've read the secret histories. You know that there is no hope."

"There is always hope," Pop countered, grimacing as he attempted to escape the laser cage. "Hope is our birthright!"

"Then where is it? Where is this hope?" the commander said, mockingly.

"Any way the wind blows."

Khashoggi suddenly became serious. "What do you know of the phrase 'living rock'?"

There was no point in lying, the secret police knew this much, anyways. "No more than that which the legend promises. That salvation is to be found there, at the place of champions, and that a bright, bright star will show the way!"

"Oh, god, I hate hippies," Khashoggi groaned, removing his sunglasses. "Consign this miserable creature to the Seven Seas of Rhye!"

"Crap. Make love, not war!"

He felt something settle on his head and electricity running through him as he was transported away.
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Ten years later

There was no way he could go on like this. There was no going back to GaGa land, he told himself. No more Internet. No more www/Gordon@theJoneses.com. There would be no more downloading food; he'd have to find it like people used to. He would have to live with the clothes on his back, with only what he had with him and nothing more.

As of the next day, he did not exist. After graduation, there would be no more Gordon.

But then, what would he call himself?

The world around him spun, as if he was inside one of the transports at school. He heard whispers, strange sounds, noises. He clutched his head. It was throbbing. Was this another dream? He truly was going mad. All these phrases, words, things... What did they mean? "WHAT do you mean?!"

Galileo! Galileo Figaro!

Another stupid phrase. He smacked his head, "Get out, damn it!"

Galileo Figaro!

Wait. Galileo Figaro? It didn't sound so bad. "Galileo... Figaro." He tried saying the name. "Galileo Figaro."

Well, it was better than the other names he had come up with. Who would name someone "Long Tall Sally" anyways? "Abraham Martin John"? "Nowhere Man"? "Sir Robin"?

"I am Galileo Figaro," he whispered to himself.

"I AM Galileo Figaro."
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Www/Gordon@theJoneses.com had been acting strange.

Www/Emmeline@Globalsoft.com/VirtualHigh/Teachers had known Gordon for a long time, since he had entered Virtual High four years previously. For months now he had been using bizarre phrases. He had once told www/Jean@theKenningtons.com that he was "on the highway to hell" or some such nonsense. He had even tried to make a musical instrument in his technical studies class.

Gordon was turning into a bohemian.

It was hot. It had been hot for the past twenty years. The sun shone brightly down on the Virtual High Graduates of 2317. All of them wore the bright white GaGa gear that they had been assigned for their graduation, all except two of them, Gordon and a girl. It wasn't very surprising that the girl had on an incredibly strange costume, but as for the boy... He had at least worn his mandatory gear at school, if nothing else, but not this day.

So when he started screaming after the commencement song, she had to do something about it.

"Morons! Clones! GaGa sheep!" He yelled toward the dispersing graduates.

"Hey, mate," she said, walking down the stairs toward him. "Go and celebrate. Your life is just beginning!"

"Good," he said with a stutter. "The s-sooner it begins, the s-sooner it's over."

"Oh, come on, mate! You have so much potential," she said reassuringly. "You could get a job in any division of Globalsoft you choose. How about... music programming?"

The boy stared at her as though he thought she was bonkers. "I don't want to program music," he retorted. "I want to make music. Real music." He stood up suddenly, as though he had some sort of goal to accomplish. "M-m-my own music!"

"Hey, mate, cool it!" She grabbed Gordon's ear and dragged him farther away from the school, into the courtyard of wilting flowers and dying trees. The maintenance crew had been lax. "Now listen, www/Gordon@theJoneses.com," she scolded. Before she could finish her statement, he cut her off.

"My name is Galileo Figaro," he snapped defiantly.

Galileo Figaro? What was this boy thinking? What an odd name. "Nobody is called 'Galileo Figaro'," she finally said. "Where on Planet Mall did you come up with that?"

"I-I found it," he whispered. "I-in a dream."

The look on her face must have been confused, for the boy continued. "I have these dreams. And I hear noises. Screeching, thudding, b-b-banging, banging noises... and words! Words just drop into my head. T-t-too many words. Help - I need somebody! Help, not just anybody!" He clutched onto her robes.

"...Yeah. I understand," she lied, "and I really feel your pain. But, come on, mate." She pulled away from the boy. "You live in a perfect world," she explained, gesturing toward the school and the stores across the street. "What more could you possibly want?"

"I... I want to break free," he replied longingly. "I want to break free from your lies" - at this, she winced inside. She had tried to reason with him, tried to make him understand - "You're so self-satisfied. I don't need you. /I don't need you/!"

"Gordon! Stop this nonsense right now!"

But he wasn't listening. He just kept talking, on and on. Her heart began beating faster. He had gone /mad/! She backed away, slowly at first. Then she ran toward the school, to inform Globalsoft Headquarters.

He wasn't becoming a bohemian. He was a bohemian.
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"God knows I want to break free!" Galileo Figaro sang out. He wasn't sure where the words had come from, but they felt... right. It felt as though the words had been written just for him, in his mind. He looked around. The teacher had gone. It was strange, Virtual High virtually deserted. It was time to go.

He looked around at the plants in the courtyard. They were dying of thirst in this heat. There was no one to give them water, or food. The once beautiful flora that adorned the school devoid of any true life. Almost poetic, he thought. He ran his hand down the bark of one of the trees. An oak, he remembered.

Tie a yellow ribbon 'round the old oak tree!

"Damn! G-get out of m-my head!" He punched the tree, and leaned his head onto it. "G-get out," he pleaded.

He hated it. He hated how he was different, and yet it empowered him. Knowing that he wouldn't ever be forced into servitude by Globalsoft, and knowing he would be free. He would break free. Here, and now.

Turning, Galileo began to run. And he ran right into a man in a gray suit.

Suddenly he was trapped, frozen. He couldn't move.

Maybe breaking free wasn't such a good idea.
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The room was dark, except for a cylinder of greenish light surrounding Galileo Figaro. The boy couldn't quite see what was out there, so it made him jump a little when he heard a voice from behind him.

"We've found your laptop, boy." It was that man in gray. Khashoggi? Yes, that was his name. He walked next to the boy, looking at a data tablet. "We have read the notes that you keep."

"Oh," he replied, almost lazily. "So pigs can read. W-well, you'll be flying next."

The commander groaned. "What does 'a-wop-bop-a-loo-bop, a-lop-bam-boo' mean?"

Galileo laughed. Was Globalsoft really that scared of such a phrase? Did they think that he had some sort of code? "Well, i-isn't it obvious? I-it means 'a-wop-bop-a-loo-bop, a-lop-bam-boo'," he taunted.

"Do you really have a girl named Daisy who almost drives you crazy?" Khashoggi continued.

"W-well, of course!" Galileo teased. "And she knows how to love me, yes indeed. Boy, you don't know what she's doin' to me," he laughed.

"Then where is she? What is her email address? How does she love you? How does she drive you crazy? Is she a drug pusher?"

The most feared man on the planet was actually buying this? He laughed. "You're madder than I am, pig! T-there is no 'girl named Daisy'!" He sighed. "A-although... I wish there was..." He looked down. Then his head snapped back up defiantly. "I-I just wrote it, that's all. I-it appeared in m-my head!"

"Don't play games with me, boy!" the man boomed. He removed his sunglasses and stared at the boy with wild eyes. "I'll make you wish you'd never been born at all!"

Did he think that was a threat? Galileo scoffed and shook his head. "Don't you think I wish that /every day/?" he barked. "Don't you think I wish that this wasn't real?"

A second voice called out, "Where is Penny Lane?"

He remembered that one. "Penny Lane is in my ears, and in my eyes."

"What are the Strawberry Fields?" A third continued.

Strawberry Fields forever...

The commander looked back at the tablet. "Underground, over ground... Wombling free? Tell me, boy, how do you do the mess-around?"

Galileo raised his head. "I-I wish I knew! Oh, sweet mother, I wish I knew..."

The green light disappeared, and the boy could now see the interrogation room clearly. He could see needles, operating tables. His stomach clenched, and he began to squirm in his chair, suddenly very aware of the dangers around him. Then, he jerked as hands grasped his shoulders.

"Galileo... Do you know what a bohemian is?" Khashoggi asked, softly.

"H-haven't you got it yet? I- I don't know what anything is!" he replied, shrugging the man's hands away.

"Excellent!" The man boomed. "I think we've found you just in time!"

Several pairs of hands grabbed him and lifted him up onto a stretcher of sorts. He struggled, but to no avail. "The, uh, Seven Seas of Rhye, Commander?" One of the men asked.

"No, no, no, not yet. Soon, but not yet. First, I think this boy shall have his uses!"

The voice quieted as he was wheeled away, kicking and fighting. He heard the commander say something else but he couldn't quite make it out as a mask was placed over his head and all went dark...