Contributing Author: rachasudd

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The inside of the Fred’s was large and hipster-friendly. Lots of wood paneling, eclectic signs about riding it like you stole it, and rows of bikes against one wall. The rest of the shop was filled with shelves of various cycling-related paraphernalia. In the center was an island counter with a register and a stack of New City maps.

Before another aphid could pop into his mind, Trey blinked as a Quest notice appeared in his vision.

[Quest Modified]: We’ve Got Fire, Baby! >> Create a Garden

[Description]: What do plants need? Water, energy, good soil, and loving care. Now that you’ve collected the fuel crate, you need to discover a way to open the container and combine it with the appropriate seeds to grow bountiful life.

Locate and claim possession of a suitable location for a garden within New City.

Note: Don’t forget to bring some love!

[Optional]: Bring Jill or Stacy to the garden.

[Reward]: Holy Fire (Incomplete), [Awareness].

Trey stopped short.

Stacy…

He hadn’t thought about her since, well, he thought about her all the time. She was always there, lurking in his thoughts, like a shark below the surface ready to rise and strike.

There was no way he was going to go see Stacy. Especially not if this Quest involved love. But then, did he really feel that way about Jill? What did the Quest mean by love, anyway?

He remembered the look of concern on her face, the halting questioning tone, the sweetness of her behavior as an introverted neighbor. That one day they went to check the mail at the same time and each stumbled over their words as they dropped their keys and bonked noggins. Never in his life had he experienced such a meet cute. If he hadn’t still been with Stacy at the time he might even have…

“Excuse me, sir, but this is a bike shop, not a standing shop.”

The owner of the interruption was a huge man. He looked like he should be banging the drum on a viking ship with his braided red beard and his belly, but all of this was stuffed into lime green racing lycra. His smile was wide and not a little nasty.

“Oh,” Trey said, his head tumbling with romantic gymnastics. “I’m here for…”

What was he here for again?

Can’t believe Geneva didn’t at least leave a note before they left…

Nah, sniff, she doesn’t believe in paper. You’re here for scrap parts or some bullshit. But I got bad news.

Oh, no.

Yeah, it’s, sniff, me. Guess we’re both happy to see each other.

I thought the root pull was random?

What do you think random means? Anyway, go put your fingers in Mr. Spandex’s mouth.

“I’m not doing that,” Trey said aloud, wincing after the words came out. He added, as if it helped, “I’m not crazy.”’

The bike attendant backed away from him, still smiling, now with a hint of cold compassion.

“Of course you’re not. Just look around and let me know if you have any questions.”

Trey nodded.

Why would I put my fingers in his mouth?

Did you notice the man in the fedora staring at you?

Trey stared at a shelf of gears. None of it meant anything. He picked one up and it slid into his wrist. Geneva’s inventory system was still working. Unfortunately, he couldn’t check it when they weren’t in control. He wished they were, instead of this nameless asshole.

You, sniff, go around naming assholes do you?

I didn’t notice anyone in here besides me and the clerk.

No, out–sniiiff–side, you idiot. Put your fingers in that guy's mouth or you’ll die.

I don’t believe you.

Cool, you’ll die though.

Trey walked along the shelf, poking at random bike accessories–water bottles, saddles, helmets, chains–and delighting in the way they slid inside his skin. There was no feeling to it. One moment they were there, the next moment they were gone.

Listen, he thought to the aphid in his brain, we got possession of the fuel, we just need to open the box somehow. That’s why Flamagan’s Quest didn’t trigger, right? Stop trying to distract me.

Hey look, you’ve got two brain cells. Nice job. Do you trust me?

No.

Do you think I’d lie to you?

Yes. You’re mean.

Even as he thought the words, Trey felt like a child.

Yeah, sniff, I’m mean, and you fucking suck. Think I want to be crawling around this sad excuse for a brain? I, sniff, have a job to do, and, sniff, it involves your dumb ass doing what I say. Now, sniff, stick your fingers in that guy's mouth so we can ride him or the door will open and you will be eaten alive.

Trey looked at the clerk behind the counter. He really didn’t want to do this, but he couldn’t hide the fear that was lurking inside his head. What if the nameless aphid was telling the truth?

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Gritting his teeth, Trey walked over to the clerk.

The clerk forced a smile back on his gruff face.

“Found someth–uuugh!”

Trey stuck his fingers inside the man’s mouth. It was hot, and wet. Nothing happened. They stared into each other’s eyes.

Hahaha, sniff, hahaha. Nah, but imagine if this was a prank?

Why would you-

Trey was cut off halfway into the start of his indignant tirade when his whole body liquified and flowed into the clerk’s mouth. It was an indescribably horrific sensation, as though he was squeezed by his mother’s love into a noodle and then swallowed by his father. He settled inside the fat man’s intestinal tract.

Good job, sniff, you did it, now let me just hook this up.

There was a spark of light, a sensation like a fart lighting on fire–only he was the fart–and then Trey was two.

He could see through the clerk’s eyes, smell through his nose, move his large heavy limbs as if they were his own.

It was strange and so, so awful to be wearing a meat suit.

Yeah, welcome to my, sniff, hell. Now, act casual or you’ll die.

The door swung open. A little bell jangled. It was a crisp and pleasant sound, in complete contrast to the rumpled man who sidled into the store with tiptoe ballet grace. He wore a crumpled grey fedora and a plaid suit the color of cigarette ash. The suit bulged and rippled around the man, though it was clear from his hatchet face and slender fingers that he was thin to the point of sickening emaciation.

What’s he carrying under his jacket?

I bet even you could make a good guess. That’s Rat from the Frugal Five, sniff. You’re fucked. He’s the mean one.

“Hello,” said Rat as he turned around and locked the door. “I wanted to ask you a few questions, and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Uh, yeah,” Trey spoke with the clerk’s mouth. It was like hearing an echo come back with the wrong voice. “What questions?”

Hey, sniff, have you ever heard of acting?

“Do you want to buy something? We’ve got… uh… cruisers, unicycles, um, and road bikes.”

You’re, sniff, a goddamn natural.

Rat crept over toward the counter where Trey rested his considerable weight on fat forearms that weren’t his.

“No, I don’t want a bike. I prefer walking,” Rat answered, stepping his fingers along the counter until he placed his hand on top of the clerk’s–and not in a cute, lovey-dovey way.

Rat’s nails were long and yellowed. A squeak came from within his ashen sleeve. “I’m going to show you some photos, and if you have seen the people in the photos, I need you to tell me everything you know about them. Do you understand this question?”

Trey felt his liquid heart hammering, and in turn the clerk’s heart pounded away like B-rate stars in a bad porno. Sweat started to bead on his forehead.

I didn’t sign up for this. I’m freaking out.

Neither did I, yet here we are. You can do it. I think. Just say something.

Gathering his courage, Trey tried to calm down. He tried to remember what Rat had said just a few seconds ago. Something about walking?

“So, uh, you don’t want a bike?”

Yeah, that’s about what I expected. You’re a, sniff, idiot.

“No bike,” Rat smiled with sharp teeth. “I just want information.”

He slid two photos onto the counter. If Trey had a mouth of his own he would have gasped. Fortunately, he was able to hold his clerk-suit back, keeping the big man’s breathing somewhat steady.

One of the photos was of Trey. It was taken of him as he sat in the diner as Daizy. It was slightly blurred, but clearly him. Was he smiling? He couldn’t remember the last time he had such a carefree smile, though he supposed it wasn’t really his. It was Daizy’s.

It was the other photo that made his blood run cold.

That one was of Jill. She sat at her computer, drawing on a tablet. The photo was taken through cracked blinds. She was in her pajamas, half asleep. Cute, but unaware. Why were they taking photos of Jill? Did they know she was named in his Quest?

Oh dang, looks like they, sniff, got her in their sights. Maybe you should go see Stacy after all.

“So,” said Rat. “Do you recognize either of these people?”

Trey looked at the horrible man through the clerk’s eyes. He felt a rage growing within him, a rage that was quickly replacing the fear that had bubbled inside him since that morning. He might not care about himself, but he cared about his neighbor. She was nice, and nice to him.

She didn't deserve to be dragged into this madness.

“Are you a cop?” he asked. “Why are you asking these questions?”

“No,” Rat giggled. It sounded like a chorus of squeaks and hisses. “I’m not a cop. And I’m asking because I want answers. Why does anyone ask questions? Because we seek the truth. But I can already tell you won’t give me the truth, not without some incentive.”

His jacket sleeve flared and a fat and greasy rat wriggled out. Its red eyes gleamed as it crawled onto the clerk’s hand where it was held down on the counter. Trey tried to jerk away, but Rat’s grip was too strong. The filthy rat crawled up his arm, its claws digging into his clerk-suit’s lime green lycra–until it bit down.

Trey flinched… but he felt no pain.

Yeah, you’re, sniff, insulated from anything too physical, but just remember this clerk is gonna feel all of it. So, sniff, don’t be more of a prick than you usually are.

“I know this man,” Rat tapped the photo for emphasis, “entered this shop. So where is he hiding?”

“Why,” Try gritted the big man’s teeth as blood pooled from the rat’s bites, trying to sell his fear like the clerk sold bikes. “Why do you care so much about him?”

Rat’s eyes gleamed.

“Funny that you aren’t just telling me what I want to know. Ha. Ha. Ha. Funny. What is this man to you? Because whatever he said, it was a lie. He is a dangerous terrorist known as the Host. He stole a powerful source of fuel and is planning on creating a bomb that could eradicate New City as we know it.

“Think of all your fucking bike lanes gone. Destroyed! Not so funny now, is it, you fat–” Rat coughed, bent over, and spat yellow phlegm onto the floor.

“Sorry, my rage… I’m in therapy. You shouldn’t have to deal with that,” he leaned over and plucked the rat off the clerk’s arm. He held it up, and it wriggled and squeaked, blood dripping from its teeth. “Now. Where is he?”

Trey stared into the maniac’s eyes and saw only ten thousand years of horror.

“He ran out the back. Told me he was being falsely accused, I just, I wanted to protect him. But if he’s a terrorist…”

Great acting, sniff, you deserve a fucking Oscar.

Shut up!

Sniff.

Rat stared at him for what seemed like far too long, then nodded.

“Thanks for your time. Tell anyone you want about this, but just remember, this man is incredibly dangerous. The world as you know it is about to change, do you want to be on the wrong side of history?”

He released the clerk’s hand and swept up the photos. As he walked to the door, Trey forced the clerk’s heavy body around the counter.

“Um,” Trey said.

Rat swiveled with animalistic grace.

“I’m in a hurry.”

“Who’s the girl?’

“Cute, yeah? Seems like a cheap date,” he winked. The wink was… revolting.

Trey was at a loss between throwing up on the spot, or stepping in to punch him.

Do you even know how to, sniff, punch something? We escaped them once, but I don’t see any drains, do you?

Instead, Trey forced himself to nod. “Yeah, cute. But I was just wondering if she’s dangerous, too.”

“We don’t think so. But it won’t matter soon. We’ve got a hit squad taking care of any loose ends. Thank you for your time, citizen.”

Then, Rat strode out of the bike shop. The bell jingled, happy, and cheerful, until the sound died.

Trey stood in the shop in silence, clenching the big clerk’s heavy fists.

“I need to save Jill.”

You need to find a garden. It’s, sniff, too dangerous to go to Jill now. Just go find Stacy. I’m sure, sniff, you could grovel your way back into her heart. You’re built for groveling after all.

Let me out of this body.

Sniff, whatever.

Somehow, being vomited felt worse than actually vomiting.

Trey splashed onto the floor as the clerk slumped down on the ground behind him. In less than a minute, Trey congealed and reformed into himself.

Yeah, sniff, can’t say I’m disappointed in you. Doing the right thing and all, but I don’t care enough to take part. It’s not the end of my turn yet, but bye.

Trey ignored the nameless aphid as its presence left his mind. He stared at the large map of New City plastered onto the shop’s back wall.

“I need to get back to my apartment. What’s the best way…”

He turned, eying up the row of bikes.

“Oh. That’ll work. That’s perfect.”