TIME DOUCHE CH. 2 - GET TO RUNNIN'

TIME DOUCHE CH.2 - GET TO RUNNIN'

By John Elrod II

“Actually, it is Buonaparte. Napoleone di Buonaparte… although, now that you mention it, Bonaparte sounds much more French. Plus, it totally sounds sexual, as in: You hear that, old man? I’m going to be boning your daughter apart!” An unexpectedly immature Napoleon stands before you, gloating over a dead body of his making and thrusting his hips into the air.

You make the decision to run for it, leaving Bonaparte to himself.

Bolting for a nearby wooded area, you reach the tree line and duck behind one of them. The three men are speaking with Napoleon; they’re smiling, so maybe he -- nope, no he’s pointing them in your direction.

“Bastard,” you say to yourself.

“What?” From your pants, Nubleman’s voice carries genuine concern; it’s likely not for you, however. “What have you done now?!”

As you pull the communicator from your pocket, you place it near your mouth and whisper, “Nothing, now be quiet. I’m hiding.”

Napoleon and the three men are still speaking with each other, but that quickly vacates from the list of things with which you’re concerned. A series of bright white lights flashes before your eyes. You’re momentarily blinded, and you let out a girlish squeal and fall to the ground.

“I… I feel strange, Thomas.” Your speech is slurred.

“What happened? I hate this! I’ve been relegated to endlessly wondering what the hell is going on, while you experience everything!” Nubleman’s voice no longer carries any concern whatsoever.

You manage to stumble to your feet, not having heard a single thing Thomas said. Propped against the tree now, you turn you attention back to the four Frenchmen.

Wait, your thoughts pause.

Where the four men were, there are now two. The others must have come searching for you. In a panic you try to scramble away, but your body feels as if its bones are missing. You fall forward, back into the propped position, and concede that you will simply have to be captured; you are unable to run any more.

Wait, your thoughts return to the two men from before.

That one guy, he’s not wearing the correct clothes; he’s wearing clothes more closely resembling yours. It… it is you.

“That’s ridiculous. I must be hallucinating.” you speak directly into Nubleman’s box, absentmindedly.

“What’s ridiculous? Tell me what is going on! I demand it! Or so help me…” The mighty Thomas Nubleman musters all of the empty threatening power he can.

You continue to ignore Nubleman, as your gaze has been enraptured by what the two men are doing. The you one just hit himself in the crotch; what the hell?

More flashes blind you, and this time they are extended in duration by nearly ten seconds; they are painful.

Grimacing and sweating profusely, you see the men are now fighting, but it’s no longer you; it’s the old man from before. Just then, a man surfaces over a hill beyond the dueling men--it’s you!

The flashes return, once more, but they are no longer surrounding you; they are radiating from you.

You desperately cry into the speaker, “Thomas! I’m seeing flashes--I am flashes! It hurts like crazy! I see other times! Why am I?!” Your cognitive dissonance has imploded.

“Oh god.” Nubleman’s voice finally expresses concern for you. “I’m sorry. Your matter has been corrupted, and the resonating chronotons must diffuse you to stabilize the continuum.”

“Diffuse me? What does that mean?” You force through your painfully clouded mind.

“In layman’s terms: time particles will attach to your atoms, tear you into microscopic pieces, and spread those throughout the wormhole reparation.” His voice cracks. “If it’s any consolation, my machine will suffer the same fate.”

“No it’s not any consolation!” You scream, throwing the transponder against a tree; it disappears in a flash of white.

You stumble out of the trees, toward the men. Your body is now a confused mess of luminosity, varying from head-to-toe and accompanied by a bit of periodic tonal ringing. The men can’t see you, yet you attempt to speak with them; a beam of white light replaces your words. With every movement of your mouth, the light becomes hotter. Your sight is still with you, but your eyes have become empty, glowing, white-hot torches. You drop to your knees and look again at the men; the other you has dropped to the ground and his crotch is smoking. You stop fighting the inevitable and give in to time. Your last sight is of a Frenchman putting a bullet through your head, before your entire body flashes three times and disintegrates into empty space.

THE END

Oops...RETURN TO CHAPTER 2

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.6 YOU ARE HERE

Choose Or Die: Red Planet Stowaway Ch. 6 - You Are Here

By John Elrod

Momentarily forgetting everything about the day, you stand, shoulders squared in confrontational disdain and head pivoting from point-to-point. "Shopping malls? Drive-thru restaurants? A STRIP club? This is Mars?"

Slowly your neck begins to crane upward as the crimson Martian sky overflows from your eyes, leaving you agape. "This is Mars."

"You noticed the bar, too, huh?" Bob practically salivates onto the nape of your neck as he wraps his arm around your shoulder and talks just a little too longingly into your ear, "Yeah, maybe that drink isn't too great of an idea there, Wallace. I've got a bit of a drinking problem..."

Bob continues, but every bit of your predicament comes rushing back in an instant, with the refreshing click of an idea.

"Come on, Bob," you interrupt his sobriety speech--and his sobriety. "One drink can't hurt, right? I mean, I took you for more of a man than that."

Four shots of space tequila later . . . (Space tequila is much more potent than just your regular, old tequila)

"So that's when I said, 'intergalactic chronoton-collider? I barely even know her!'" Bob bellows as he finishes up a particularly bad joke (and his fifth shot of space tequila). "What's with you, Wallace? You've barely drank any-anything at all."

You have to give him credit. Even in his current, bent condition, Bob managed to be nearly correct; you haven't drank anything at all. You've slowly plied him with alcohol, and it's just about time for you to start getting some answers.

"So, Bob... this mission we're on--"

"Geez, work work work. We have plenty of time to get to that." He interrupts you this time.

You begin again. "Yes, but this mission; what exactly are we doing again? I mean, I know... but... um... who... who's this guy we --"

He interrupts again and begins shifting his appearance haphazardly; first, as Saleen. "Listen, hot stuff, I know you want to get to work; well, so do I." "She" heaves her chest upward before sloppily shifting into Malloy. "Yeah, come on. You know you want some of this. I think my junk is feeling nice now. Why don't you check for me?"

You're feeling all kinds of things, most of them being shades of nausea, but you simply must know the answer. "Who are we here to assassinate?" You blurt out above Bob's nonsense, dampening his inebriation for the time being.

"I don't think everyone over in Cydonia heard you." He quips, through the bottom of yet another shot glass. "Can't you guess? No? Geez, no wonder they picked you. It's Manuel Womack."

Suddenly, your insides feel like they want to be outside. You ask a question you wish you didn't already know the answer to. "P-P-President Manuel Womack?"

"Yes, 'P-P-President Manuel Womack.'" This time Bob morphs himself into a reasonable facsimile of you -- the alcohol seems to be impairing his abilities. He takes on a mock-simpleton tone, "Ugh, I'm Wallace -- or whatever -- and I need shit spelled out for me. Why did I wake up in a storage locker? What am I doing here? Wah-wah-wah."

"What did you say? I --" You stagger to find the words to counter his, but your mind is still mush, and he apparently knows, anyway.

"Listen, kid. You seem nice enough. It's been, what? 25 minutes since I took a leak? I contacted Malloy, and I'm supposed to stall you until he gets down here. Why don't you just run? The job's wrapped up, anyway. There's nothing that will change that. Maybe you can buy yourself a few more days of freedom before they haul your ass in."

You have so many more questions than before, but only one has the stamina to leap out of your mouth. "Are you even really drunk?"

"Oh, yeah; I'm definitely wasted and saying all kinds of things I really shouldn't be. That's why they don't want me drinking; it messes with my programming," he says as he melts into some weird mixture of you and ... Lara Flynn Boyle?

Sprinting from your seat and out of the bar, you speedily survey the still irritatingly terrestrial streets. You spot the shuttle station. Just inside the terminal, you shuffle up to a massive directory, reading "You Are Here" with an arrow pointing to a pictograph "shuttle station.”

You utter beneath your breath, "Everything's so familiar. Where are all the Martians?" With cardiac quickness, a holographic media guide appears.

Bee-Boop
"This is the human sector: Cydonia Mensae. The majority of its inhabitants are human tourists." Bee-Boop

She vanishes as suddenly as she appeared.
"Well, how the hell do I get out of here?" You ask to the space in front of you.

Bee-Boop
"Shuttles leave regularly, going: north to Cydonia, going south to Nanditz, and going east to the construction zone of CITY NOT AVAILABLE."
Bee-Boop

From over your shoulder, you hear the female voice boom, "Pod 1-1-8 docking." The pod doors open and you hear the voice, somewhat muffled as it's now coming from inside the pod: "Welcome... to Mars." Out step Malloy, Saleen, and Peter Tan.

"Shuttles... now boarding," the omnipresent, female voice monotones from above you.

You must make your choice. Do you...

A. Hop on the shuttle to Nanditz and hope there's someone there who can help you?

B. Follow Malloy, Saleen, and Tan to try and find out about what is going on and possibly intervene?

C. Jump on the shuttle to cydonia and try to warn President Womack of the assassination attempt?

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.4 LET SALEEN OPEN THE DOOR

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.4 - LET SALEEN OPEN THE DOOR

By Richard "RJ" James

Before the door is even fully open, you can smell the stench of Malloy and his sweaty junk. Thankfully, he is fully clothed this time around, but that does little to calm the nerves you feel seeing him again in such a cramped space.

Saleen snaps to attention, throwing in a salute for good measure, as Malloy enters the room.

“Are we ready for the operation?” Malloy’s voice is full of arrogance and male pride. Mayhap that would quickly change if Saleen knew that, when kicked in the giblets, he hit the floor as if he had dropped a sandwich.

Malloy catches your eye and the smug smile slips from his face as if it was greased.

“You!” He wheezes, and even at this distance, you catch a whiff of garlic. In fact, the smell seems to be emanating from the man in general.

As fast as you can, you whip out your laser pistol and fire a warning shot that goes just a little awry. Actually, the blast from your laser pistol comes within a hair’s breadth of castrating Malloy. Wafting over the top of the garlic aroma pouring into the room from Malloy, there is the scent of singed pubic hair.

“Right. Now that I have you attention, I want you to listen to me.” The words are having a hard time coming out of your mouth. You are still in a state of shock that the laser pistol worked.

Malloy sidles into the room. Both his hands are covering his crotch, which is still slightly smoking. Saleen crosses her arms over her considerable cleavage and looks down at you with disdain.

“I know what you’re planning and I’m not going to let you get away with it. I’ll hand you over the GBI and let them deal with you.”

“PAH!” spits Malloy, and not just in the figurative meaning either; he actually clears his throat and spits a wad of greenish phlegm at you. The wet lumpy mass splats across your face. As you wipe your face with your arm, you realize that you made a mistake almost as big as being held up with a finger, with or without the PEW sound.

Sure enough you feel a quick flash of heat and the arm that’s holding your laser pistol is now wriggling on the floor. You look down at you arm in shock. Malloy’s voice sounds again, but you miss most of what is said; all you know is it included the words “Galactic Swirly.” Knowing that this cannot possibly be good you turn to run, but Saleen’s strong arms lift you effortlessly from the floor. She drags you toward the bathroom, where you see the fate that awaits you.

The toilet doesn’t look like it’s been cleaned out in a while and again you can taste the after effects of the chicken curry from last night. Your head is forced under the murky water. You can feel the merciless boot of the Amazonian Saleen on the back of your neck.

You struggle with all your one-armed might but to no avail; with the taste of pre-owned chicken curry in your mouth and within kissing distance of a floater lurking round the U-bend you expire and pass from the galaxy… which is really for the best when you think about it. If you could think about it. But you can’t, because you’re dead… in a toilet.

THE END

Oops...RETURN TO CHAPTER 4

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.3 USE THE LADDER

OPTION B - WHAT YOU DIDN'T CHOOSE - USE THE LADDER TO THE SERVICE HATCH

By Tomara Armstrong

As an accountant for NOSSA, you aren’t the sharpest with a firearm, but you have watched plenty of television. You know you must first flip the safety on before shoving the barrel into your pants. You shove a little farther than is comfortable, to ensure zero slippage while scaling the ladder up to the service hatch.

The rungs are a bit sticky, sending a wave of nausea over you. You can’t help but notice the air is thicker above the lake of waste, and attempt to hold your breath as you continue to ascend.

At the top of the ladder, you wiggle the latch and slowly push the door open a crack. The room above is fairly large, and appears to be empty. Feeling safe to proceed, you flip the door open and climb through the hatch.

You carefully lower the hatch door and lock it. When you turn around, you’re surprised to see two small children dressed in school uniforms standing side by side. They are studying you, tilting their heads. “I see you,” they say in unison.

You back away slowly, trying not to trip over your feet. There is something strange about these kids, but you just can’t put your finger on it.

“Do you want to play with me?”

As they move closer to you, their faces ripple and pulse; their eyes flicker. You continue to step backwards as they move toward you. “I’m kind of busy right now.”

“Do you not like me?”

“Um… “ You scan the room looking for a quick out. “I’m sure you’re great kids and all, but I really must be going.”

“I’m not a kid.”

You watch as the children meld together into a revolting blob and quickly ooze into the form of your naked friend, Captain Harper Malloy.

“Crap!” You should have known it was a shape shifter. All those weeks of taking Possible Threats and Extermination in Academy could have really paid off… if you hadn’t slept through the class. Way to go, you.

Though you are disgusted, you are also surprised at how the shape shifter mimics Malloy’s dangling bits with complete accuracy.

“Is this better?” he asks.

“Not at all.” You frown.

Irritation sweeps over the face in front of you, and the shape shifter quickly changes into a topless cheerleader holding pom-poms. “Better?”

“Not really.” You shrug, eyeing her breasts. “Obviously not real… they could be bigger.”

Her head begins to smoke, and the shape shifter begins to flip through different objects trying to impress you; man, beast, and monster.

You remember the gun delicately wedged between your butt cheeks, and attempt to dig it out without drawing attention.

“Surely you are impressed now,” the shape shifter asks as it takes on the shape of a towering dragon with flashing orange and blue scales. Its gaze is drawn to the pistol you are holding out in front of you.

You shake your head, irritated, and unlock the safety. “Why are you even here?”

“Silly human,“ it says, laughing at you.

The laughing strikes a nerve and you fire a blast from your pistol. It clips the wing of the shape shifter’s current form.

“I AM THE SECRET WEAPON!” he booms.

You are so impressed, you wet your pants. Your hands are shaking and the pistol is growing heavier; it falls to the floor and fires again, ricocheting off the metal in the room and braising your ear.

You clutch your misshapen head and fall to the floor. Tears and snot slide down your face as the dragon hovers over you, his steamy breath pushing your hair into and out of your face.

He waits for you to stop crying, to look him in the eye, but you don’t allow him that. You sit and cry in the puddle you’ve created.

As he descends upon you, you will your body to be tough and gristly. You vow, as the dragon wraps his slick lips around you and swallows you whole, to be the greatest cause of indigestion this shape shifter has ever experienced.

*Burrrpp*

THE END

Oops...RETURN TO CHAPTER 3