Contributing Author: Dads Bedtime Stories
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Holding his head, Trey trembled as he shook off the last effects of the nameless aphid.
“Please, please, I need someone strong,” he said out loud as his voice cracked. “I can’t let Jill get hurt! I don’t think I can do this by myself.”
Trey felt like a fight was taking place in his mind, like a jackhammer was going off in his head. Squeezing his eyes shut, he wondered if he was going crazy.
God damnit how did I get this again!
“Doug!” Trey exclaimed, eyes snapping open, suddenly feeling like he’d just had a good night’s rest. “It’s you!”
What the hell did you do, Trey? I was busy taking a nap when I was yanked out of my sleep. Mom showed up in my dream! The only perk in all this was Fire Boy was about to get his turn. When I saw the root Mother asked me to pull, I realized too late that it was golden-tipped. Priority queue. You should have seen his face. I thought his head was going to explode!
“We don’t have time for this,” Trey growled as he looked at the bikes in the store. “Focus! Jill’s in trouble. Some guy called Rat just said a hit squad is coming for her. I–we–can’t let that happen.”
His eyes locked on a black bike with a giant, shiny golden star on it.
That’s the one! Doug announced. Trey’s body spasmed as adrenaline and something else flooded him. Let’s get it and go. I’m done reading your memory, and if what I’ve gathered about Beetleface’s minions is true, you better start thinking of haikus.
Trey ran toward the bike simultaneously. After pulling it off the wall, he whistled at the $5,000 price tag.
“That's the Road Rocket of Death,” Trey muttered as he ran his hand along the titanium black frame. “Hundreds of bikers have died on the streets of New City riding this thing.”
Taking control, Doug grabbed the lock and standard two-inch chain that was wrapped around the bike’s rear wheel and its frame.
Watch this, kid.
With what seemed like little effort, Doug twisted the chain’s links in opposite directions, ratcheting up the tension until they snapped, as if they were made from styrofoam.
“How strong am I?”
It was eerie hearing Doug laugh inside his own head. It was even scarier when Doug decided to wear the four-foot-long chain like a necklace.
Well, I can’t stop a runaway train, but I can leap over a tall taco truck, if that’s what you are wondering. As for this chain, well, chains make good weapons. They’re versatile.
Not wasting another second, Doug grabbed the bike and hauled it in the air as they moved toward the store’s exit. The faint sound of the burly, bearded shopkeeper retching paired itself with the door’s jingling bell as they headed outside.
Hopping onto the Road Rocket of Death’s seat, Doug couldn’t help but smile. The massive ‘Turbo Button’ between the handlebars looked like a beautiful thing.
Let’s blow this joint.
“Read the warning label!” Trey shouted as his index finger raised up, then down, hovering a half-inch above the far-too-tempting glowing red switch.
Doug snorted, began to pedal, and glanced over the shiny sticker with skulls and crossbones on it, and then his whole face lit up in excitement.
💀💀💀💀💀
Disclaimer
Pushing Turbo Mode may result in death due to high speeds and inability to turn.
Please refrain from using Turbo Mode unless on a drag strip as Court Case #42069 has required us to state.
Many people have died in a fiery explosion, going up in smoke.
Others have died while eating it face-first into a variety of positions.
This is your final warning.
Do NOT press that button.
💀💀💀💀💀
“Doug. I don’t know about this. We need to go fast, but–”
We’ll be fine, Doug declared, continuing to pedal down the street, weaving between cars. With the authority of his title as the Clandestine King, he jammed Trey’s finger into the button. There was a click. A rumble. A shake.
“Where the hell is the turr….”
A small hum emanated from behind the seat. Doug glanced back to see what it was, only to realize a miniature rocket had appeared out of one of the bike’s rear compartments.
This is going to be good, isn’t it?
Leaning backward on the moving bike was not the best decision. As they watched the rocket with fascination, it grew brighter and brighter, until–with a thrust of deadly energy–it exploded with a sapphire blue flame.
Lurching forward against the wind and the force what had to be no less than dragon breath, it was only Doug’s aphid-empowered strength that managed to keep Trey connected to the bike. People on the sidewalk barely had time to register the BOOM of the rocket igniting before they had to dive out of the way to avoid being struck down.
“Holy SHIT!” Trey heard himself shout as they blasted across bumpy sidewalks and over small dogs and squirrels that had failed to get out of their way in time. “This is working!”
His heart thundered in his chest as Doug wove them through crowds of shopping people, into the street, and back out on the sidewalk again. While the aphid handled the mechanics of the movement, of the journey, Trey’s mind was stuck on Jill.
“We’re going to make it in time, aren’t we?”
The only way we could get there faster was if I could still fly.
“You could fly?”
Yeah, it was fun, but I had to wear a cape, which isn’t my style. Forget I mentioned it. Now, close your mouth.
“Why?” Trey asked, unconsciously opening his mouth and sucking a fly right into it, almost gagging on it.
That’s why.
Streets flew past at a blazing rate as they ran red lights, dodged cars, avoided old ladies, stopped a purse mugging, and somehow evaded a few different policemen trying to chase them on their own bicycles.
We are only a few more blocks from your place, but I need to make a quick stop across the street before we go in.
“The coffee shop?”
Yeah. I remember you got a tea there once and had them add honey to it. Before we walk into a hit squad, I wanna pick up something to help in a pinch.
Somehow, they managed to hook a hard right and stay on course. The problem was, they turned onto a one-way road… and they were going the wrong direction.
Horns, curses, and even a few cups were tossed at them as Doug bobbed through traffic with amazing pinpoint accuracy. It felt like he was playing a tunnel rush game in hyper mode. The only difference was if they ran into someone, Trey doubted they–or the person they hit–would get an extra life.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
And then they were there. Doug slammed the brakes, and the bike came to a terrible, screeching halt, leaving a twenty-five-foot-long black tire mark on the sidewalk. The rocket on the back of the Road Rocket of Death petered out and slid, seamlessly, back into hits hidden compartment.
A student wearing a New City University sweater stared at Trey as he got off the bike.
“That was rad dude!”
“Here, it’s yours,” Doug said, using Trey’s voice, as he pushed the bike into the kid’s unexpecting arms. “Too slow for my taste.”
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Walking into the Cafe de la Mood, the first thing Trey noticed was the crowd of people packed behind the service counter, looking around with nervous, fear-filled eyes.
“Trey! Is that you? You need to stay here and hide!”
He turned his head to see the cute barista, Gertrude, waving her hand in his direction. “What’s going on?”
“Two... two people were just in here. A man and woman quoting poetry and flashing weapons! They had guns and knives, Trey. Guns and knives… and they went into your building!”
Doug took over for Trey, shifting his posture into one of readiness. “By poetry, do you mean haikus?”
“Uh… maybe?” Gertrude responded with a confused look on her face. “Aren’t you scared? They had a picture of you, Trey!”
“Yeah, it freaked me out,” said Nora, a different barista, who was squeezed between a stainless steel trash can and the wall.
Trey would’ve frozen right there if Doug had not kept his body moving. Instead, he was able to approach the counter and examine the different bottles of syrup and other drink-toppings behind the counter.
“I need that,” Doug stated, pointing at a half-full bear-shaped bottle. “It’s important.”
“The, uh, honey? Trey, that’s for drinks only. I can’t just hand it over,” Gertrude informed him.
Doug reached into Trey’s back pocket, pulled out several cash bills, and placed them on the counter.
“The honey, Gertude.”
His voice carried in the quiet room, with an unquestionable authority Trey could only marvel at.
Gertude nodded, her dense curls bouncing, and handed over the plastic bear. Her eyes opened wide as she watched Trey pop the top off it, squeeze the bottle, and pour all that he could into his mouth.
“God, that’s good!” Doug grunted, licking his lips.
We need to go! Jill’s inside! Trey thought, urging Doug forward.
Keep your pants buttoned up, I got this!
With a quick wave to Gertrude, Nora, and the hiding customers, Doug exited the cafe and examined Trey’s apartment building.
The doorman, Carl, was gone. That meant the Poets had entered from the main entrance. And if they were already inside, the elevator and stairs weren’t going to be viable options. He needed something better. Something stealthy.
The fire escape!
Now there’s some smart thinking! I was about to say that.
Glancing both ways, Doug dashed across the road faster than a cheetah preparing for an antelope snack. He quickly found the alleyway on the side of the building and, without pausing, proved that he could leap higher than a taco truck. Jumping into the air, he snagged the fire escape ladder and pulled himself up, rung by rung, before racing up the building’s exterior metal staircase.
“Her apartment is on the third floor,” Trey said in a hushed whisper.
I got it, kid. But you don’t know what we’re getting ourselves into here. I need you to stay silent. We got to take advantage of the element of surprise.
They reached the third floor in a flash and risked a brief glance into Trey’s apartment. His blinds were up, and Doug couldn’t see anyone inside.
Doug prepared to smash the window with a wicked elbow strike, but Trey beat him to it. It’s not locked. Please, don’t break my window.
You should always lock your windows, kid, Doug thought back, slipping a finger under the rotting sill and lifting it, slowly, preventing it from creaking as he slid it open.
He rolled inside, eyes scanning every inch of Trey’s apartment and confirming that there was no one there.
Tell you what. This is important to you, right?
Extremely important.
I think you can handle this one. I’m here if you need me, but it’s important that you get some practice doing these kind of things on your own. You’ve got this, alright? As of this moment, I’m going radio silent.
“Seriously?” Trey whispered into his empty living room.
When no response came, he shook his head. Can I really do this?
Doug had moved to the backseat, but he’d left Trey in control of his powerset. Trey’s body thrummed with power–but something told him he was going to need more.
He took out the bottle of honey again, popped the cap, and grinned as he tipped it back. The remainder of the honey entered his system, and power–far greater than what he currently contained–raged through him. Tossing the bear over his shoulder, he realized a second later it passed right out his now-open window and slammed into the building next door.
Okay… with power comes responsibility, doesn’t it?
Cracking open his front door, Trey heard sounds coming from the hallway. Crying and whimpering came from the direction of Jill's apartment. Her door was open.
Shit.
Taking a deep breath, Trey tried to remember how Doug had made him blend into the wall, but nothing happened. That was okay. He’d stick to basic stealth–tiptoeing and paying attention to his surroundings.
Moving down the hallway, he paused before a board he knew always squeaked. He stepped over it carefully, made it to a few feet away from Jill’s apartment, when he heard her break down into a desperate sob.
“I haven’t seen him in a while! Please, you have to believe me! I don’t know where he is!”
> She dies, no knowledge,
>
> In her final breath, she fades,
>
> Ignorance remains.
Trey froze. A man had spoken, and he knew what it meant. According to Doug, the Poets were a couple. If that voice belonged to the man, then the woman was likely nearby.
He knew he should be careful, but as his fear, as his anger, raged through him, he felt his hand go to the metal chain around his neck. Taking it off, he unravelled it, held it in his hands, making sure its links didn’t clink or rattle.
He wasn’t going to let the Poets mess with someone he lo–cared for. It was time to act.
“Hey you, who the hell do you think you are?” Trey proclaimed, his voice surprisingly steady as he walked through the open front door.
He got a good look at Jill then. She was tied in a chair near the middle of the room. He had forgotten how clean her apartment always was compared to his. She shopped at that DIKEA store. Her straight-line couch, coffee table, and shelves. Something for everyone. Damn their instructions and little tools that only worked with their stuff.
Refocusing, taking in the room, Trey realized that two people, a man and a woman, were staring at him, heads cocked with curiosity. Each held a knife in one hand, a gun in the other. Thankfully, the guns were not pointed at Jill. Unfortunately… they were pointed at him.
“Ahh, it seems he does care,” the woman said with a devilish grin. “The Boss will be happy that we can kill two birds with one stone.”
The man eyed Trey up and down, as he began to pace around the room, waving his knife through the air, as he spoke in a rich, educated voice.
> Brave but dumb, they say,
>
> Courageous yet lacking sense,
>
> Foolishness displayed.
Doug nudged Trey’s mind, Tell them a Haiku, you fool. That is what the two of them do. They’re called the Poets for a reason.
Trey knew the aphid was right. It’s not like he could win a fight against two opponents–who wielded knives and guns–with a chain. He needed a distraction. He needed to catch them off-guard so he could close the distance and get Jill out of there. So, he dug deep and called out a five seven five.
> Meandering thoughts
>
> A heavy, tiny gun breaks
>
> because of the knife
The Poets winced when they heard Trey speak, as they watched him count out all seventeen syllables on his hands.
“Oh, that hurts. But almost in a good way?” the woman muttered. “Reese, do you want the first crack at the kid?”
“It would be my pleasure,” the man said. He pointed his gun at Trey, finger on the trigger, and vocalized another haiku.
> Chains cannot bind me,
>
> Gun my shield, fierce and true,
>
> Victorious, I stand
The woman clapped, smiling as she watched Reese give a slight bow. When they didn’t shoot him, Trey was almost surprised. Instead, the two Poets looked at him, almost expectantly, as if waiting for a retort.
“Okay then,” Trey muttered to himself, before saying,
> Aim goes astray
>
> Gun cannot find its target
>
> Misses in the air.
Again, the Poets groaned. They grabbed their chests as the words reached their ears and tugged at their heartstrings. Trey didn’t waste the opportunity. Using Doug’s enhanced speed, he dashed across the room, leapt over the twenty-five-dollar coffee table, and unleashed a whip-fast spin kick with brutal accuracy.
His foot caught Reese in the chest and sent him flying with his arms splayed to his sides. In a horrible twist of luck, the man’s finger pulled down on the trigger of his revolver, and a round flew from the barrel and into the back of his companion, blowing a hole right through her chest.
Trey’s stood in shock as she slumped to the ground, blood pouring out all over the one-hundred-dollar DIKEA carpet.
“What… what the hell–”
There’s no time for that, kid. Move.
He felt Doug pushing him forward, and though his mind was still catching up to the action, he acted. He still needed to take down Reese, so he did what he had to do. Using his chain like a whip, he lashed it forward, extending it to its full four-feet in length, and snapped it into the side of the man’s head.
The poet dropped, body pressed against the apartment’s wall. Trey felt a passing twinge of relief as he realized the man’s chest continued to rise and fall, but he set it aside. For now, there was only one thing that mattered.
And that was Jill.
He turned, took her in his arms, and gave her his best smile. It was a little wobbly, a little nervous, but it was there.
He hoped it was reassuring.
“Hold on, I’ve got you.”
It felt like one of those movie moments. Him holding a woman, her hands and feet bound by Muct tape, tears streaming down her face and panic and fear filling her eyes. She looked up at him with snot running down from her nostrils, and he wondered what their wedding might look like.
That’s a stupid thought. Stop acting a fool and get the heck out of here! You only have like a minute left before I’m gone. All that honey is making me sleepy!
Doug’s words jarred Trey’s brain awake, and he took off running out the door, down the hall, and back into his apartment, trying not to jostle Jill, who was still in shock at what she had just witnessed.
“One second,” Trey said as he ripped the tape binding her wrists and ankles with two flicks of his fingers. “We need to hurry!”
After scrambling through his window, he helped pull Jill out and onto the fire escape.
Twenty seconds, bud. You're as smooth as sandpaper on a nut sack.
Trey could feel the energy fading. That wasn’t good.
Can I survive the drop if I hold her?
Yeah, but you better hurry! Fifteen seconds!
Without hesitating, Trey snatched her into his arms again.
“Hold on,” he whispered.
“Trey, what the fuuuuu–”
Her scream sounded as Trey leapt from the third-floor fire escape. Seconds flew by before he landed, cracking the pavement under him, and stood tall. This time, his smile came a lot easier.
Jill’s face was frozen in shock and horror, glancing at the ground, then back up at the fire escape.
“What the shit Trey! We could have died!”
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, dropping to his knees. The strength was gone, and he knew Doug was on his way out.
Thanks, Doug. I owe you.
Yes, Trey, yes, you do.
[SYNCHRONIZATION UPDATE!]
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