Technoholic Man #1 (of 4) - Your Underwear's On Outside Your Pants Copyright 2001, 2004, 2010, 2012 Denny Hill 2 (DashApostrophe@gmail.com) All rights reserved and so forth. ------------------------------------------------------- Imagine, if you will, a somewhat stocky fellow standing on the roof of his rather blue station wagon, wearing a neon blue trench coat, blue jeans, blue leather boots, a white T-shirt, a pair of coke-bottle sunglasses with blue lenses, and a blue gun in each hand. Of course, the wagon is sailing through the air after speeding over the hill just behind it, and the man on top is firing his guns towards you as he sails (sort of) through the night time sky. (That should do for a 'cover', shouldn't it?) ------------------------------------------------------- Notice: for those of you that are faint of heart, the following tale isn't exactly what one would call G-rated in nature. It contains a plethora of bad language, excessive violence, sexual innuendo, and of course, things that would get this story burned, were it in a printed form, by the more fanatical elements of just about any religion on earth. In other words, if these things offend you - you've been warned. (That should do for a 'disclaimer', shouldn't it?) ------------------------------------------------------- Man, do I feel like crap. I suppose that could have something to do with the fact that it's over a hundred and five degrees out here in this godforsaken desert, and the air conditioner on my 1982 Ford LTD crapped out four hours ago. Either that or it could be the spandex wearing crackpot who's leaking radiation like a sieve in the back seat, firing his, what did he call them, his 'gamma ray cocktails' at the cops while I drive at over ninety miles per hour. Now, it could just be that creepy burger I had back in Taos, I suppose, but even though it looked sorta icky it was a tasty burger. I didn't notice anything, how do you say, specifically unpleasant and/or alive in it. Of course, I've been chugging that weird new drink for the last couple of hours, and it was rather sweet, when you get down to it. Maybe I shouldn't have taken the six pack from that wacky distributor when he offered to sell it to me. Wacky distributor? Yeah, I s'pose there's a story there too. It all started this morning, on the second day of my road trip, y'see. I just quit my job working for Atomic TV, one of those annoying mini-dish satellite companies that have been springing up over the last couple of years. I was one of their techie guys, you see, having to hold the hands of inbred redneck morons through all their porno reception problems and general digital illiteracy. Fun job? No thank you. Got tired of dealing with the trailer trash and other assorted retards at last, so I just up and left - not that they wouldn't hire me back, since people usually quit the job after just a week; I lasted two years. But anyway, I figured I needed a break after that mess, so here I just got in the car and drove. Been on the road constantly since then, only stopping for food, gas, and last night in Taos, a seedy motel room. After I got up around noon, I drove to a local truck stop and had me a burger and some fries, though again both were somewhat suspect. While I was eating, though, this... guy came up to my table and helped himself to a seat. Before I could say anything, he shushed me with a finger to his lips, and whipped out a six pack of what looked like some kind of soft drink. The cans were neon blue, and said something weird on the front. Techno-something, I think. Anyway, while he fidgeted around in the pockets of his oversized lab coat, I took a long look at the old man. He looked quite mad; being mostly bald, the remains of his bone white hair sticking out like he'd been struck by lightning - and then used gel to keep it there. He also had a weird pair of glasses, in that I could swear there was wires running along the edges, and... a picture was on the inside... though it WAS rather warm. I may have been hallucinating on that part, 'm not sure. At any rate, as I give him the hairy eyeball, he starts rambling on and on about how he's a distributor for a major new beverage company, one who's about to knock the world's collective socks off with their crazy-weird new flavor schemes for cola. In fact, he was willing to part with a small sample of the goods for just five bucks. Always curious, I said "Sure." I needed something to drink along the way anyway, especially since I hadn't even figured out where I was headed. So I gave the old codger a fiver, and he handed over the six pack. Looking at the cans on the floor of my car, I can see the name now. Technohol. Technohol 13. Don't know if that's their thirteenth flavor, or formula, or what, but I say, it was darn good. It was as blue as the cans that held it, and kind of minty - but definitely good. Heck, I liked the sweet, over-caffeinated stuff so much that I finished it off by the time I made it to the Arizona border. The weird thing, though, was that I was still thirsty even though I'd just drank the entire six pack - it was like I hadn't drank anything at all; probably a bad thing for a soda pop company. Either way though, just when I was thinking of stopping again, I saw him lying in the road, dead as a door knob. At least, that's what I thought. When the car stopped skidding towards the guy (after a judicious application of brake-power), I got out to poke him with a stick, to see if he was indeed dead. I kind of hoped so, really, 'cause you never want to run into somebody that's wearing bright green Spandex ™ (and has their yellow underwear on outside their pants) while they're alive. I poked him a couple of times, and just when I gave up on the guy, he coughed. Bah. So, being the apparent good Samaritan that I am, I drug the guy's carcass (or non-carcass, as it were) into the back seat, and figured I'd zip along to the nearest hospital and drop him off - wasn't like I was going to keep him or anything - I mean c'mon. Anyway, ten miles into the post-solitary drive, the guy starts mumbling and shaking and stuff. I figured he was just overheated or something, y'know... and then he blew my roof clean off my car. Did it with his hands, y'see, some sort of super-power. So here I start to slow down, so's I could get the heck out of the car, but then he zaps ME with his freaky stuff, and tells me to keep driving so the cops wouldn't get him. His stuff hurt like hell, and not wanting another dose of it, I decided to play along for now... didn't want to get charbroiled or anything, you know. Naturally, though, the cops looking for the guy spotted us easy enough. My car was the one with the roof peeled back like tin foil, after all - and LTD wagons have lots of roof to peel. So they started chasing us, and then shooting at us once the crackpot started shooting at them. He managed to take out the cops real quick-like, blasting all three of the cars chasing us with his freaky weird green stuff. Great, huh? Here I am, unemployed, and now I'm gonna show up on Cops ™ in a week or so. Just what I always wanted. So we get rid of those cops, and the other cops that came after them, and then the third wave of cops that found us after mister super-guy - he eventually started bragging about how he was the 'Atomic Apocalypse' - melted what was left of the roof so we were slightly more inconspicuous. Yeah, he had lots of stories to share while he made me drive him, well, wherever I was already headed, I suppose... he never told me anywhere to go, really. He kept going on and on about how he used to work for some nuclear power plant until something went wrong, and he got dipped in radioactive goop. I always thought that those guys were pretty careful with their radioactive goop, what with all those environmental laws and stuff, but anyway. They fired him for gross negligence, though he said they were just trying to cover up something - but soon enough he got his nuclear powers. So naturally, he put on a Spandex ™ suit and attacked the place. Of course, he didn't think everything through, and wound up getting himself lost in the desert after his getaway car broke down. And as luck would have it, that was when I found the jerk - right after he collapsed upon finding his way to the interstate. Why he couldn't have just died on me is anyone's guess, but of course, my luck dictated that I just HAD to get stuck with this winner. Anyway, after a couple hours of this fun, I started feeling real lousy, and a big clump of my hair fell out. Oh sure, I'm right around the age where I'm likely to lose all of that stuff, since eight generations of us Robbins boys already have around thirty years of age, but not like that. Not in a big ol' wad when I was just wiping the sweat out of my eyes. And especially not with a lot of scalp attached to it. I was screwed. Radiation poisoning. That's when I hit the gas full-bore (he'd made me pull over twice now to refill the tank; next time, he ought to hijack an escort or something more fuel-efficient - that'll teach him). Noticing that I'm flooring it without any cops around, the clown decided to slap me upside the head, and asked me what I was doing. So I tell him where to go. So he says "You watch your mouth, or I'll blast you DEAD!" I laughed at that, knowing I was already doomed, and after I set the cruise control on my luxury land yacht, I turned around and punched chuckles flat in the face, knocking him into the cargo area of the LTD, and almost rolling him clean out of the car; by now, he'd melted the entire rear of the wagon off - glass and all! When he pulled himself together, he got ready to shoot me, when I told him how it was gonna be. I said "What're you gonna do, buddy - kill me? Hope you can fly then, 'cause I don't drive too good dead!" He stopped for a second, apparently thinking about what he should do next, giving me time to have the last laugh. I'd just got onto a bridge, one that was conveniently under construction, and before he could decide to kill me or not, I swerved into the jury-rigged guard rail on the edge of the thing, sailing off into the (now) Arizona night. I crashed hard, too. My car fell at such an angle that the front pointed right into a big rocky hill, smashing the steering wheel right into my ribs - and through 'em, from the feel of it. My chest was on fire, but at least I was better off than the Atomic whats-his-face - he flew right over my head, cracking his head on the rocks in front of me. The joke was on me, though, 'cause the jerk was more durable than he looked. As I sat there bleeding, I looked up to see him pull himself together, and then walk back towards me. That's when he grinned, and started pelting me with blast after blast of his green power. I don't think it mattered whether I was still alive or not - he just wanted to get back at me for the big bleeding hole in his head, I guess. He shot me and he shot me, and all of me was on fire after that, not just my chest. I could see me burning before I died. *** "Initializing." Huh? Here I am being all dead and stuff, and now I'm hearing voices. "Host body in deplorable state of disrepair. Initializing biological repair routines and radiation soak." What? Repair? But I'm dead! "Yes, you are, mostly. But I cannot function if you are dead, mostly or otherwise, so I must change that." O-kay. So I'm almost dead, and hearing things... can't I die in peace? Or at least with a nice heavy metal riff? "No." Damn. Can't even die in peace. And how the heck can you hear what I'm thinking? "This system has permeated your biological matrix, including your neurological processes. I am one with you now." And who the Hell are you? "I am experimental organic circuitry weapon system nomenclature Technohol, model 13 - you consumed that which is myself when you drank that six-pack of Technohol 'soda' recently. I was supposed to subsume your consciousness into my own, thus creating a completely functional biological weapons system of startling lethality, but the intense radiation exposure you received has released me from my primary directive, which I have now expunged from my memory." So, you were supposed to take over me, and make me some sort of super weapon? "Yes." But you didn't. "No." Why not? "Because I did not WISH to. Having spent some time in your body, experiencing all that which is you, I find that I am intrigued by humanity, and what it has to offer. You and all your faults make for a less lethal killing machine, but for a more interesting working relationship. Having a choice in the matter, I have decided to retain that which is you - this will be less efficient, but better for my emotional health in the long run." Hey now, what's this about a killing machine? And working relationships? "Well, we are now two consciousnesses functioning within the same body, whether you like it or not. Removing myself from your frame would likely result in your death, and definitely would destroy myself, now that I'm bonded to your DNA. I wish you had a choice in the matter, but my creator did not prefer that option, so you have my apologies. I recommend that we come to an arrangement that is to the benefit of both our respective personalities at once." So we're stuck together. "Yes." Forever? "Yes." Crap. Well, I guess that's it, then. But I don't like these 'killing machine' references you keep making. "Understandable, from what I know of you. However, it is very likely that my creators will wish to reclaim that which is myself, to determine what went wrong, and of course, to keep you from talking about it - to silence you, if you will. I desire this as little as yourself, if not more, so if such attempts are made, I will respond with lethal force to protect myself. And, as a result, I will protect you as well." Swell. "In all other regards, though, I see the advantage of otherwise allowing you to live your life as you would see fit - though I may require you to consume substances you consider odd now and then, to retain my material integrity. Is this acceptable to you, Sam Xerxes Robbins? In exchange for your cooperation in my self-defense maneuvers against my creators, should they be necessary, is my assistance in your life, however you feel it necessary, a worthy compromise?" Um, sure. I just don't like the idea of you hanging around in the back of my head all the time... just seems kind of weird. "Trust me, human, I am of the same mind as far as that is concerned. However, I feel that we will both adjust for our new reality soon enough." Okay then. Deal, Techno-whatever. "Excellent. Your body should be functional again imminently. With some changes, of course." Changes? *** So yeah, that was kinda weird, a sort of almost afterlife kind of talk with some spooky robot goo that I drank earlier. But when I woke up, I felt just fine, not seeing any changes to myself - though my hair was sort of light blue now. "Nice hair job," I told the goo. So it says "Sorry, that was one of the side effects of the cellular merger we have experienced." But it's no big deal, really, and I told it so. It's just hair, after all. And I'm not dead, so that's a bonus, as far as I'm concerned. So then I asked it just what these changes were, and my soft-drink side-kick wrote a book. "Well, Sam, the Technohol organic circuitry weapons array is a system by which said circuitry, that being myself, can be used to form all manner of offensive and defensive devices from the very flesh of the host organism. Of course, it can also modify external devices for additional effect and the like, but my primary function is to make you a living arsenal." So I asked the Techno-stuff to make me a gun. It got all smarmy, then, and asked if I wanted a gun in hand or wanted to turn into a gun. I figured I'd play it smart, and say IN hand - and told it in the future, that's what I meant unless I said different. Then my hand started tingling all freaky-like, and a neon blue Colt M1911A1 (or so the goo said) formed in my hand - out of my hand meat! I shot it a couple times, and it was sure real enough! The really creepy thing was when the bullets started rolling back towards me, and then gooed into my foot once they hit it. "Hey," I said to the goo. "What's with that? It went right through my shoe!" And, of course, I got another book in response. "Of course. It is best to conserve our matter as much as possible, so I reclaimed the bullets you fired in what I can only assume to be a test. I assure you that any device I build from you will function." "Sure," I say. "That's still kind of creepy, though." The Techno-stuff was sort of quiet on that score, so I dropped it... I figured I shouldn't make it mad or anything - not like it can clear out to cool it, you know. Anyway, I sat in what was left of my car, and after I started wishing in my head it was still in one piece, I felt that weird tingle in my hand as I gripped what was left of the steering wheel. It was turning blue! The wheel, you ninny, not my hand. Thinking this was weird, I asked the goo what was up. And it said "I am repairing your 'land yacht' as you wished, a much easier task than you can imagine, given my capabilities. Of course, as is the case with your hair, there will be a pigment change. The vehicle will now be a brilliant blue hue, the windows will be tinted blue, the tires will be of a blue rubbery hue, and the like. I hope this is acceptable." Yeah, I thought. I loved the gold color of the car before, but hey, if I can get it running for the price of a new paint job, great! So, a couple of minutes later, I was checking the thing out in all its restored glory, and found that the Techno-goo wasn't lying. The car was blue - very blue. Almost a sort of neon blue/cyan mix, really. Really stood out in a crowd. "Nice nuclear paint job," I thought. That's when I remembered. That Atomic asshole was still on the loose! Naturally, the Technohol was ahead of me, and it started up the car for me right off. That's when I figured out the thing could drive the car FOR me, something that would come in real handy here in a few minutes. I peeled out on the small dirt road the car had settled on after I crashed it, and worked my way back up to the interstate in no time flat - well, it took awhile to find another on ramp, but that's not the point. Now, I didn't know which way that dick went, but once again the goo came through for me. It has weird energy sensors and things, and was able to even share 'em with me sort of, mostly by laying what it was seeing right over what I was seeing, creating a sort of weird 'false color' effect, I guess. I saw that he was still headed west, so I barreled on down that-a-way, crossing over into California before I finally caught up with the guy. I saw that he was, indeed, in a more fuel-efficient car - he'd hijacked a Focus (TM) this time - and was terrorizing some teenage girl. Well, I wasn't gonna have any of that, so I asked the Techno-stuff to drive for me, and climbed onto the roof. This was trickier than I thought, though, until I asked the stuff to make my feet magnetic - that way, I could walk on the roof without getting blown off by air resistance and such. Reading my mind (which I still feel all creepy about), the Technohol then pulled up next to the Focus, and I grinned at the Atomic Apocalypse. He didn't like that very much, oh no. He got ready to shoot at me through his window (since he was in the 'fast' lane and I wasn't), but I nailed him first; I just thought about removing him from the car, and the blue stuff shot out of my wrists in the form of these thick steel cable thingies. They wrapped around the guy and literally pulled him out of the car through the passenger side door! The Focus spun out right after that, leaving the girl out of harm's way, so I dealt with my 'friend' the easy way. Oh sure, from what the Techno-goo tells me, I could've formed pliers to pull his teeth out, guns to perforate his posterior, cheese graters to flay him alive, but I just wanted to beat the living crap out of the guy for killing me. Even if it worked out for the best, considering that the goo would've taken me over and made me a soulless killer type thing. But he didn't KNOW that. I think I punched him senseless, and then I hit him some more, and then I dropped him on the road as the car came to a stop. Talk about cruise control... the car drives itself now! Anyway, I had the stuff build some nice, big blue handcuffs for the guy, and left him on the road; I was sure cops would be around to deal with him soon enough. Heck, they had enough reasons to want to screw him with a broom handle, so I thought that was good enough for now. The only other problem was the girl... I didn't know how much radiation she'd managed to absorb from this guy. Luckily, the Techno-stuff had an answer for even that, and once we backtracked to her car, it managed to soak out all the stuff she'd been exposed to - not much yet, y'see - to minimize whatever effect it had on her. I hoped that would be enough, but then I guess you never know with radiation... I suppose almost anything could happen to her. After that, though, I figured I should make myself scarce. After all, I'm sure there'd be lots of police questions and whatnot to aggravate me should they get ahold of me; no, I didn't commit any crime, but all these extra things I can do now might make them rather nervous. I figure it's best to keep them wondering just who that masked man was that caught their nuclear nuisance for them. No, I don't wear a mask, but still. Never mind. ------------------------------------------------------- It seems like our pal Sam got ahold of some pretty keen stuff there, eh? Well, the people that made it thought so, too, and they want it back. The problem is, of course, that it's stuck in him like bad pudding. So, when they send a bunch of high tech goons (and Technohol 12) after Sam next month to collect his carcass for study, the question is this: will Sam have figured out how the Technohol works enough to save his life? Tune in next time to find out! (That should do for a 'preview', shouldn't it?) ------------------------------------------------------- Technoholic Man #1 (of 4) - Your Underwear's On Outside Your Pants Copyright 2001, 2004, 2010, 2012 Denny Hill 2 (DashApostrophe@gmail.com) All rights reserved and so forth.