The Uber driver deposited Dennis right in front of his apartment building. Thankfully, he hadn't bothered to interrogate the young man about why he was so damp.
Instead, that was Mr. Bitshoot's job.
As soon as Dennis entered the lobby, his landlord appeared apoplectic with rage. Mr. Bitshoot wagged a finger (you know which finger), pointing at Dennis as though he were a dog who'd just had an accident on the rug.
"What did I do?" Dennis wondered aloud, trying not to let his voice break.
"Don't ask me what you did" the landlord muttered in a deathly calm tone. "You know exactly what you did."
"No, sir. I do not."
Mr. Bitshoot frowned. "There's no need to call me sir, Dennis."
"Okay, Mr. Bitshoot. I really don't know what you're mad at me for."
"You told me you were going to the New England Aquarium. In the middle of when I know you'll be there, I get a news alert saying that the central tank blew up and flooded the place. Can you imagine how I felt?"
"Let me guess…alarmed?" Dennis replied sarcastically, but he was answered by a nod.
"Of course I was alarmed!" Mr. Bitshoot all but shouted. "To hear that there's an explosion at the aquarium while one of my tenants is there…well, it's pretty damn worrying to me! I bet you understand that!"
Dennis snorted. "Like I actually believe you were worried about me in the least."
"Oh I was!" Mr. Bitshoot bellowed. "So worried, in fact, that I thought you were dead!"
"You were only worried about me because if I died, I wouldn't be able to pay you any more rent" Dennis muttered. There was something viscerally satisfying about confronting his landlord like that, even if he knew he'd pay dearly pretty soon.
"Just for talking back like that," Mr. Bitshoot exclaimed, "I'm going to raise your rent by five percent next month!"
Dennis just stared at his landlord as though he'd known this was coming. To be fair, he should have known, or at least strongly suspected, that this would be his punishment. And it truly was a punishment - money didn't just come out of thin air.
"Well?" Mr. Bitshoot responded. "Why don't you lash out at me? You sound like you're enjoying this."
But Dennis refused to take the bait, and not just because he knew Mr. Bitshoot would use that as an excuse to exacerbate the punishment. Instead, Dennis merely shrugged. "I'm going upstairs," he said. Before his landlord could respond, Dennis did exactly that.
Once back in his apartment, Dennis reflected on how little time had passed since he'd failed his permit test. It had only been forty-eight hours, and yet his life had turned upside down during that period. If life were an auto race, he'd gone from zero to negative sixty in one fell swoop.
Two days ago, Dennis had ordered so much Thai food he'd hated himself in the immediate aftermath of his feast. Now, he could barely stand the thought of taking a bite. Not even of his favorite foods; his stomach was simply churning too much for that.
Instead, he booted up his laptop and lay sideways across the sofa, letting his tall frame cover the length of the couch. And then he searched YouTube for more aviation videos.
You know what? No. I'm not going to watch any of that shit. Just like my dream of being a train conductor, my dream of becoming a pilot will have to go the way of the dodo. And I'll have to find a new calling in life.
That new "calling", if you could call it that, might have to be merely evading the Lobster Mobsters. Does that involve witness protection, though?
Dennis shook his head. He would not believe it - he could not believe it. Accepting Clint's offer was an absolute last resort, and he would not take it until all other options had been exhausted.
The only question was: What options did he have?
For some reason (possibly due to masochism), Dennis ended up watching the streaming channel of this crazy wingnut named Charles Weldworth. Perhaps because Weldworth hated himself as well, the man called himself "Upchuck" and used the catchphrase "You've been chucked!" on a constant basis. Or maybe he just needed to make right-wing politics entertaining at all costs so that voters wouldn't see those retrograde policies for what they were.
In any case, that cartoonish football coach-looking man ranted and raved about the biggest news stories of the day. Of course, that category was subjective; if you were the sort of person Upchuck imagined comprised most of his audience, it included stories like 5G in vaccines, climate change being a hoax, and the former President being the Chosen One by God Himself. (The theme of today's show was "Answers That Cannot Be Questioned", perhaps appropriate given that these claims would crumble under the lightest possible scrutiny).
"Now, let's get to the number one story of the day! Every idiot in the mainstream media, from the liberal diehards at MSDNC to the cowardly RINOs at Fox News, is raving about it! And hey - a broken clock is right twice a day!"
Dennis gulped. He desperately wanted to believe that he yet again disagreed with Upchuck Weldworth about what constituted the day's most important story. It was a big world out there, with over eight billion people inhabiting over two hundred countries - surely something had to top the aquarium antics?
"This story hits near and dear to my heart, given that I've been visiting the New England Aquarium ever since I was a toddler. It went downhill once the liberals infested it with climate change propaganda, but it was always one of my favorite places in this magical, patriotic city."
Oh, fuck. I'm dead meat, aren't I?
"I was writing the script for today's show when the breaking news came in, and I just had to put it in my number one spot. Apparently there was an explosion at the aquarium, and the giant tank in the middle just collapsed. As of this moment, several people have been confirmed dead, along with most of the wildlife in that tank."
I knew it. I freaking knew it!
Dennis' heart skipped several beats, but Upchuck wasn't done yet. In fact, he was just getting started.
"But as always, the plot thickens. It turns out that the factor leading to the structural failure slash explosion was apparently a Gyarados! That's a species of Pokémon for those unaware! In other words, it's a creature from a fairy tale, and you all know how I feel about fairy tales, don't you!"
Upchuck cleared his throat again. After a sip of water, he continued spitting his venom.
"Listen. I'm sure this Pokémon story is a flat-out lie. It's a hoax promoted by the Pentagon in order to make us think our government is doing something about ISIS and MS-13! They're trying to fool you into believing President Fiddlesticks is a responsible leader, when nothing could be further from the truth!
"There's more!"
What more could he say that'd be worse than what he's already spat out?
"You see, a young man was seen rushing out of the aquarium shortly after the bomb was detonated. He called an Uber, and three minutes before the Uber came, he declined an interview from WBUR! What a load of bullshit!"
It didn't take Dennis more than a few seconds to realize that he was the one Upchuck referred to. This notion was reinforced by the image Upchuck pasted on the screen just above the chyron saying THIS MAN IS A DANGER TO THE COUNTRY.
It was the spitting image of Dennis - a moderately tall man with curly brown hair, blue eyes, and no glasses. The man's name may not have been on the screen, but that hardly mattered, for Dennis knew what he, himself, looked like.
"Now, why was this young white man from what looks like a very comfortable background working for the Islamic State? Why did he turn against his country and embrace the terrorist ideology of MS-13? Those are questions that might never be answered, but the government is going to provide you with answers that can never be questioned. Hahaha!"
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Dennis bit his lip. It was all he could do not to scream in fury; the only thing preventing him from doing so was the knowledge that the walls in this apartment building were far from soundproof. If he caused a disturbance, that'd probably be a ten percent rent hike.
He's spreading these lies about me. Could I sue him for defamation?
No. That's not an option. I'd have to tell the world I'm Dennis Summers, and Upchuck would just sic his rabid fans all over me. Everything sounds like a great solution until you think about it for about ten seconds.
On the other hand, Dennis clearly wasn't safe if he did nothing. The note bearing Clint's phone number was his life ring at sea. It was his parachute if the wind blew him too high. But he wasn't ready to act on it yet either.
Paralyzed by indecision, Dennis was however able to shut off his computer and stand up. When he did so, his left leg howled in protest.
Jesus.
The leg hadn't been especially painful during the Uber ride, but that was likely because the adrenaline had yet to wear off. While it could still bear weight, the sensation that action produced made Dennis howl. Additionally, the cut was still bleeding mildly, so Dennis went to a nearby drawer and took out a first aid kit.
While he was bandaging up the wound, Dennis heard a knock at the door.
It's probably Mr. Bitshoot. He's going to walk in and apologize for raising my rent, and he'll then lower it to where it was before. Everything's going to be fine.
Dennis did not let the fantasy go any further than that; indeed, he couldn't even give himself up fully to that idea. At any rate, he did not have a chance, because the pounding on the door reached a fever pitch.
"Someone really wants to see me, huh?" Dennis muttered out loud. He staggered over to the door, for the bandages and disinfectant did not preclude the pain. And then he leaned on the doorknob and swung it open.
On the threshold stood a Crawdaunt, opening and shutting its claws at a rapid pace. Its jaw clicked threateningly as Dennis took a step back.
"How did you…?" the young man wondered aloud. He of course meant to ask, How did you get in here?, but he couldn't force the words out, so stunned was he that his dream the other night had at least partially come true.
The Crawdaunt did not say anything, at least not in English. Dennis should hardly have expected anything else, of course, but it was still jarring to see a Pokémon standing before you clicking its claws.
Then the Crawdaunt leaned back and unleashed a stream of water out of its mouth.
"Come on, dude!" Dennis shouted. "Don't flood the apartment!"
This plea fell on deaf ears; a kitchen intruder generally didn't care about causing damage to your dwelling. Especially not this Crawdaunt.
Speaking of the lobster-like Pokémon, it used its claw to make a gesture akin to flipping the bird. The implication was clear; one of Dennis' old friends, after all, had been obsessed with Pokémon and talked about the move called Taunt that so many possessed.
"That's pretty rude, you stupid lobster!"
Evidently, the Crawdaunt objected to being called stupid, because its next moves were yet another case of flipping Dennis off, followed by a beeline toward the young man.
Soon, Dennis and the Crawdaunt were chasing one another around the living space. It didn't matter how much agony this sent up Dennis' leg - he'd be in a lot more pain if the Crawdaunt actually got an attack on him.
Still, it was clear that this resistance could not continue indefinitely. Indeed, it wouldn't last very long at all if Dennis didn't think of something fast.
The young man climbed onto the sofa, bouncing on the cushions as though the couch were a trampoline. The Crawdaunt's claws still swiped at him every few seconds, and it was all Dennis could do to avoid getting pinched while grimacing from the residual injury in his leg.
Then Dennis grabbed a lamp off the nearby table and held it like a sword. "This is the weapon!" he bellowed. "And I'm going to use it against you if you don't get out of here!"
The Crawdaunt, however, was not daunted, so Dennis decided he'd have to teach this lobster a lesson the hard way. He held the lamp sideways and swung it like a baseball bat. The Crawdaunt dodged the first swing, but the second connected squarely in the lobster's chest, knocking the Pokémon several feet back.
Dennis wasted no time, leaping off the couch and using the lamp to beat the Crawdaunt's head until the lobster stopped moving. Even once the Pokémon was clearly unconscious, Dennis did not let up until the lightbulb had shattered into a million pieces.
When the lamp was no longer an effective weapon, Dennis stood back to admire his handiwork. The Crawdaunt's chest rose and fell gradually, meaning that it wasn't dead yet.
Well, I didn't put myself in harm's way on purpose by going to a protest with a rifle. So if it goes to trial, I don't know if I'll be able to claim self-defense. Then again, it's always better to be judged by twelve than carried by six.
Dennis did not know how much time he had. However, what he felt pretty sure about was that once the Crawdaunt came around, the lobster would only be angrier. Therefore, the best thing to do was ensure the Pokémon didn't wake up.
The young man looked in his silverware drawer. Against a kitchen intruder, it was an effective weapon rack. After about five seconds, Dennis selected a steak knife with the initials DS carved into it and returned to the Crawdaunt's side.
"This won't hurt a bit," Dennis said mockingly, using the tone of a pediatrician telling their patient that a shot they're about to administer won't be painful. Of course, vaccines were meant to save lives; Dennis' next act would do the opposite.
He held the knife high above the Crawdaunt's chest, then brought it down like a hammer in a carnival game.
Dennis grimaced, expecting that he'd soon be covered in this lobster creature's blood. However, rather than dark red blood (a strange color, to be sure), the Crawdaunt exploded into a giant heap of golden dust.
Well, that's…not great.
As Dennis resisted the urge to sneeze, he realized that he would have a hell of a time explaining what had just occurred to his landlord. Mr. Bitshoot would be none too pleased about the invasion of his building; the dust and broken glass in Dennis' apartment would be like a cherry on top of a nasty sundae.
And then he realized: The landlord wouldn't even have needed to see the carnage in Dennis' apartment to surmise that there'd been a scuffle. He would surely have noticed the Crawdaunt barreling into the lobby and up the stairs. In fact, several others would no doubt be wise to that as well.
So how had it still happened? How was nobody able to prevent the Crawdaunt from posing a threat to the apartment complex? Wouldn't Mr. Bitshoot have cared to prevent it?
Maybe he was on his lunch break, Dennis thought, but dismissed that out of hand. Why was he making excuses for his landlord now of all times?
Just then, the phone rang again. Dennis rolled his very itchy eyes, hoping that the call was an apology from Mr. Bitshoot or the police for not responding quickly enough. But then, he hadn't even called 911, so why would he have expected a response?
At any rate, the caller ID indicated that it was coming from Clint Cargile. So Dennis sighed, unlocked his phone, and answered. "Clint?"
"Yes, it's me. You were at the aquarium this morning, weren't you?" The Southern accent in Clint's voice was palpable, as was the man's irritation.
Dennis gasped. "How did you know?"
"Your face is all over the Internet! The image of you escaping the doors of the damaged aquarium has basically gone viral at this point!"
Dennis' stomach dropped like a freight elevator whose chains had been cut. "What are they…saying about it?"
"They're saying that it has the potential to be the most famous photograph in Boston history. They don't even know your name, and they're already calling you a coward!"
It was then that Dennis remembered the incendiary claims made by Upchuck Weldworth. It didn't matter how ridiculous they were - at least some of his audience would believe it, and at least some of those people might be willing to act on it. Even if only one percent of the audience would actually "do something" about Dennis, his life was still in danger. Serious danger.
"They can't really think I'm in ISIS, can they?" Dennis asked frantically. It's one thing to say something, it's another to make people believe it. That's what he told himself, at any rate.
"I'm afraid quite a few of them do," Clint replied gravely. "Of course, not all of them are convinced, but some of them are, and all it takes is some. The Lobster Mobsters also have that image of you…".
"The name was on the side of a bus!" Dennis exclaimed, realizing too late that he should probably keep his voice down. "One of the duck tour buses. I guess they're run by the Lobster Mobsters too?"
Clint did not respond for a while, probably because he couldn't figure out exactly what to say. Perhaps the precise choice of words made all the difference here. Finally, after what felt like an eternity (though some eternities were longer than others), the silence was broken.
"I obviously can't force you to do anything, Dennis," Clint muttered. "But I can only recommend you accept my offer and enter the witness protection program for your own safety."
"Of course you're going to make it sound good" Dennis snarled into the phone, impressed and alarmed by the sheer bravado he put on full display.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you're not going to tell me the downsides of witness protection."
"You know, the success rate of witness protection in the United States, at least for those who have followed all the rules, is virtually one hundred percent" Clint pointed out. "Given I'm a CIA agent myself, you should trust me on this."
"Yeah, but at what cost?" Dennis asked. "It's my life, and I'll live it the way I want to."
"That's all well and good until the Lobster Mobsters snatch it from you. And they're just like the narrator from that song Folsom Prison Blues. Johnny Cash said he came up with the most fucked-up reason someone could have for killing another person…do you remember the reason?"
"Yeah," Dennis mumbled. "He did it because he could, just to watch the other man die."
"That's exactly what the Lobster Mobsters are after" Clint snapped. "And I don't know you very well, but I don't think you want to meet the same fate."
"Well, I don't know you very well either" Dennis told Clint. "So how am I supposed to trust you?"
"You can choose to trust me now," the CIA agent replied, "or be at the mercy of the Lobster Mobsters when you fall into their clutches. You'll then have no choice at all. And that's a matter of when, not if."
"Cool," Dennis said sarcastically. "I still don't trust you, and I can't choose what I believe just because."
There was another pregnant pause, but Clint eventually said something that made Dennis' blood run cold. His memory was then sold.
"Dennis Summers, you need to accept the fact that the past isn't what you should be after. It's just a weakness. If you dwell on the way things used to be, your life will be a living hell."
Dennis grimaced.
"Or, to put it another way, the past is a scam. If you change one letter in that word, you'll get a different word with a similar meaning. Do you know that word, Dennis?"