Contributing Author: Dads Bedtime Stories

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“Shit!” Trey heard himself say his body jerked, causing the Harley to drift toward the oncoming traffic.

“Who the hell hands off control while catapulting the host at speeds capable of turning it into good compost?”

Flamagan?

A groan erupted from his throat, and Trey’s head started to hurt.

“That fire-loving, drug-pumping, self-proclaimed Magnificent? No… that aphid and his pack of dew suckers aren’t worthy of licking the sweet nectar from my body. Well, perhaps Geneva, but we all know they would use some contraption they built instead of their tongue, but I digress.”

Trey watched as his body suddenly leaned in close to the Harley. He felt his center of gravity merge with it, giving him just enough leeway to weave the motorcycle around a taxi as it switched lanes.

The taxi driver held a finger out his window in a friendly gesture. Trey replied in kind: he reached out, grabbed the man’s finger, and snapped it in half. The man screamed in pain. Trey just revved the Harley’s engine and sped away.

“You can’t do that,” yelled Trey as they raced down the road. “Who the hell are you?”

“One minute, the drug is almost gone from your brain, and then I can use it properly.”

His whole body started shaking for a few seconds. Actually, it was 5.87 seconds, to be exact. Somehow Trey knew that, even without Geneva in control.

There. I have rid your body of that drug, and now I can use your brain the way it was meant to be. Call me Doug. Master of all things… Clandestine. That’s a fancy word. I like it. Need someone to infiltrate and spy? I’m your aphid. Now, where the hell were we going in such a hurry?

“LEFT!”

Good job! Man, I need to stop monologuing.

Breathing rapidly, Trey felt like his head was going to burst. What the hell was wrong with him today? A mechanical body? A flame-loving aphid and now some voice in his head that makes him break cabbie’s fingers?

Chill, Trey, chill. I got you, baby. Just relax. Here let me pull over for a minute, and we’ll grab a bite to eat. Your body feels like it's low on amino acids, and I know how important sugars are for life.

Horns blared as the Doug-controlled-Trey swerved between four more cars and a bus full of half-asleep commuters before reaching the curb. He pushed the kill switch and Carl’s Harley sputtered, then went quiet altogether.

Trey sat there for a moment, collecting himself, surrounded by the sounds of morning traffic. Cars honking. Bicycle bells. Hawkers selling wares and newspapers.

That was probably a mistake on my part.

“What was?”

You really shouldn’t talk to yourself, bud. People will think you are crazy.

“It’s New City. Everyone talks to themselves.”

His head began scanning the people walking up and down the street. Sure enough, dozens of people were talking to themselves. No one seemed to be paying attention to them at all.

That is disturbing, but it is what it is, Trey. Now, I think I just screwed ourselves because I just realized you don’t have a key for this thing, and without Firenuts to get it going again, we are going to have to walk for a bit.

“Can’t we just sit here till he comes back?” asked Trey as his body started to climb off Carl’s chopper.

No can do, buddy. We have a mission, and I need to find you some food. Can’t be a man of action without some solid sugars pumping through our body.

Trey glanced back as he began to walk down the city street, leaving Carl’s bike parked between two cars.

“That isn’t going to be good,” Trey muttered as he glanced around, looking for a street sign, trying to remember where he was.

Nice work trying to remember the location of that transport device. You can relax. My mind is a fortress for stuff like this. I could tell you the brand, model, and color of the four hundred and thirteen cars we passed, twenty-seven buses, and all the other vehicles if you needed them. I even remember the name tags they keep on their butts. So just sit back and help me decide what to eat. I see a taco truck and a footlong cart up ahead. Any preference?

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“We’re in the industrial section, near the city’s Armpit. That means there will be some good food no matter what you pick.”

Trey noticed someone glance at him as he spoke, but the older woman just kept on walking as she shook her head.

Fifteen minutes later and twenty dollars lighter, Trey was eating some tacos, relishing in the flavor after a night of drinking and a morning filled with drugs.

I can feel the juices flowing. Those were a good choice.

“Yes, but how did you speak Spanish? I don’t know Spanish!”

Sure you do, Trey! I can recall everything you ever heard, or watched, which, by the way, I think your childhood binging of some women in a red swimsuit running on a beach is perfect. Mr. Flores, in seventh grade, gave you everything you need to order tacos and make Miguel back there think you’ve got the potential to be a friend, not just a customer.

Choking on his taco, Trey managed to dislodge the piece stuck in his throat as what Doug had informed him sunk in.

“You can recall everything I have ever watched?!” He asked anxiously.

Yes, and no worries, man. Your kinks are yours alone. I won’t bring them up, but I can’t promise some of my other friends won't. Now, hold on a second. I heard something up ahead, and I want to check it out.

As they walked down the sidewalk, Doug tossed the taco he was about to eat in an open dumpster. He had taken a different route, informing Trey that it was where Fireboy wanted to go. Painted artwork lined the front of many buildings and mailboxes. The people on the street were giving him looks because he was not dressed a little too nicely for New City’s Armpit.

“We shouldn’t be here,” whispered Trey. “This isn’t a safe side of town!”

Nonsense kid. I’m the best there is for this thing. Now stop talking or you're going to get me spotted in a minute.

Trying to open his mouth, Trey found out he couldn’t. Somehow, Doug had prevented him from talking.

Up ahead on our right, there is an alley, and I’m sure I heard someone asking for help. Now, just let me do my thing and enjoy the show. Pretend you are at one of those action movies you always dreamed of being in.

When they reached the alley opening, even with it being daylight, Doug flattened himself against the wall. Trey felt something shift.

As his body moved on its own, he saw that his hand and even his clothes had changed color. They looked like the brick wall they were standing against, even as Doug slid his body slowly down the alley.

Yeah, it's cool. Now stop trying to look at it, and let me focus. Up ahead is my target.

It was like an action movie. Trey recalled how much he had enjoyed those. Secret Agent 420 was so cool in the way he lit everything on fire. It was always a smokefest!

Doug was pretty amazing. Even in his work shoes, which were probably not the most stealthy things, Trey realized he was moving with soundless steps as he crept up on a group of thugs standing over a man. The guy on the ground was holding his hands up, covering his face and head.

“That’s all I have! Please stop it!”

“He’s lying, Phillip! This guy works for the petroleum plant. Even the workers there are loaded!”

Phillip, a brutish thug with a buzzcut, was holding the man's wallet, pulling out the cards and cash.

“So, Dom. I think Tony’s right. You holding out? Why, I bet if we took a trip to an ATM, you could make this stop even better. You up for that?”

The man on the ground was sobbing uncontrollably as the third man kicked him in his leg.

It felt unreal. Trey had not realized how close they were because he was lost in the moment. It was as if someone was holding a camera and slowly moving closer to the bad guys, knowing something bad would occur at any time. That thought snapped him out of his reverie, and he cursed.

“Shit!”

The three thugs snapped around quickly, scanning the alleyway, searching for whoever was the source of the disruption.

Why the Mother Plant picked you, I have no clue. I was almost upon them. Now I will have to show off and I hate doing that on a full stomach.

The men’s eyes all went wide as Trey’s body shifted and his clothes and color stopped blending into the brick wall.

“Sorry to ruin your fun, scumbags, but this is my city. I am vengeance. I am the Clandestine King.”

The three of them had been afraid for a few seconds, but that fear left them as they began laughing and pointing at Trey.

“Get a load of this guy. Who the fuck does he think he is?”

“He’s quoting Darkman!” the one named Tony said. “That’s like season two shit right there!”

“God, I’m screwed,” whined Trey.

Hold on, cowboy, this ride is about to get bumpy.

“Hold whaaa…”

Trey’s body streaked across the ten feet between himself and the laughing thugs. Doug was in control, and he leaped into the air, landing one kick on the left-most thug’s forehead, before following it up with a slamming roundhouse that sent Tony spinning into a dumpster that was a good six or seven feet away.

‘Shii...” was all Doug’s last opponent, Phillip, got out before his hand lashed out and exploded into the corner of his jaw. Phillip’s eyes rolled back into his head, and Trey watched on in disbelief as the mugger collapsed to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Only one other man remained. He was on the dirty floor of the alleyway, pulling himself up, staring at Trey with wide eyes.

“I won’t hurt you,” Trey heard himself say, courtesy of Doug. “Now get your stuff and get out of here.”

The young man nodded and grabbed his wallet and cards from where they lay. Right before he ran away, he stopped and kicked the Phillip guy two times in his ribs.

“Thank you!” he shouted as he hobbled down the alley. “I won’t forget you.”

Waving, Trey found himself fighting Doug, who was trying to stop him.

Knock it off. We got things to do, and–crap, how the hell is my time up already?

“Doug?” Trey managed to call out, right before his brain erupted in a flash of pain.