The following is the original April 1, 2014 release of My Life As Abigale Quinlan, a novella by Natalie Neumann. Natalie does not recommend that you try to read the original work due to its low quality, structural issues, and grammatical errors. Instead, she encourages you to read the summary included in Volume 08 of The Saga of Vincent Dawn and the development history described in Volume 04: My Life As Abigale Quinlan of Natalie Rambles About The Saga of Vincent Dawn to better understand the content of this novella.
Day One: How Could This Happen to Me?
My name is- sorry, make that was, Jad Spencer. I like to think I was an average guy. Went to a school in a small town, had a crappy family life, and two of the best friends I could ask for. That is until I woke up earlier today, September 25th, 2014. It’s a day that I’m sure will be remembered. Not for being the day I died, I am nowhere near that full of myself. But for being the day when the world finally learned the identity of the person who was not only the cause of the Devastation of Mexico in 2012, but for the death of 253 people at Oransen High School. So far, the world has viewed the later as the fault of an insane student by the name of Jad Spencer, who died in an unexplained act of terrorism. While the former was a woman who goes by the name of Abigale Quinlan. A woman whose body I now… occupy.
I am still not sure of the how or why, but I do feel as if I should tell my story. Beginning a few minutes after midnight on September 25th, I was kicking myself for staying up so late, as I would probably not be getting enough sleep for school tomorrow. When I went to bed, I was a five foot eight male, had curly brown hair, a lean figure, and skin more than a little bit on the pale side. When I woke up, well, let’s start with what I noticed first. I was in this very sizable bedroom, a good fourteen by fourteen feet just for a twin size bed and a computer with a tiny desk. The walls were a very striking red that bled into the red carpeting and fully red ceiling. Hell, even the computer was nearly completely red, only making exceptions such as black characters on the keyboard, which, looking at it as I type, doesn’t have any form of logo on it. Hell, nothing on the computer does, and it’s something of a monster from what I’ve seen.
Yet, the room was far from the most odd and alienating thing I noticed. As I was awoken by the sun shining through a window and striking me at what a wall mounted digital clock read as 8:37, I panicked before I even truly comprehended that I covered in far softer sheets than I had in my room, and was in a far fluffier mattress. Instead, I frantically jolted up in bed, assuming I was very late for school at this point, but as I did that, the blood rushed to my head and I took note of one thing that was a far bigger change than being placed in a foreign room, looking down to see a foreign person.
Not that she was from another country, I mean, she did have a far, far, far darker complexion than I did, which I could tell from the hands alone. Beyond the far slimmer hands, my eyes drifted further down to see a white tanktop, black pocketless shorts, and a pair of unsupported B-cup breasts. Looking down at the woman’s sheet covered feet, I even felt as if the floor were further away from me as the body I had been placed in was likely far closer to six feet tall than I was, if not taller. All of this immediately raised a very important question: Who the fuck was this woman, and why was I in her body? Well, at first I believed that I was kidnapped, injected with goo, and became this person as an experiment.
A faulty premise, but waking up with someone else’s body is pretty damn unbelievable as well. Still, the who, why, and even where along with the how make me hyperventilate a bit as I attempted to get out of this woman’s bed and walk, which resulted in many a tumbling onto the ground. If I had to compare it to anything, it would be when I got my wisdom teeth removed, except instead of my mouth being numb, it was my entire body. I tried to call for helping as I made my way to the computer, attempting to crawl to the fully red bungee chair as my legs may as well have been noodles. It was then that I tested out my voice, which naturally sounded like a woman who just got a bunch of novacane injected in her mouth, so I could barely annunciate syllables.
During all of that, I was mentally flipping out with all of the scary scenarios about being captured by aliens, be part of a black operations secret project, have been living life as a dream, or this being a coma I was stuck in, but would forget right afterwards, as ten years already past! Needless fear that was only made better as I examined the red room I was in, trying to decide on if I really should go for the computer, of the south facing red door. I eventually decided against that as I moved the body which was likely a year or two older than me at most, but felt like sixty.
I made it to the red painted bungee chair after much struggled, getting there, let alone placing myself in it, thanks a heavily to a red shag carpet keeping the wheels in place. I did make it though, as I was able to quickly take a computer the size of my current lean body, out of sleep mode, where I then began to sift through information about what the hell was happening. The operating system was one I was not familiar with, and my best guess would be that it was some version of Linux. Either way, it did not take me long to navigate a web browser and uncover a single bookmark by the name of “Master Plan”. My interest was caught as I observed a customized website free of any content, but had one post scheduled to go public. I naturally began to scan through the post, simply referred to as, “Abigale Quinlan”. I began to read through the post and, well, here it is:
“Hello, you seven billion slabs of flesh and bone who I dub as lower life forms. I recently got that little number a mere three days from when this post, my declaration of war upon you mortals, was set to go live. Now, my name is not in many solid records, resembling a phantom more than a human being, but you may call me Abigale Quinlan. Shorten it to Abi, and I’ll set your eyes on fire, but how will I manage that? If you clowns recall, back in November of 2003, nearly eleven years ago, the innocent Washington town of Rainy Woods was struck with a catastrophe that shocked the nation as they saw hundreds dead, and a city demolished with not a single answer to be found aside from the name, Quinlan.”
“There is a reason for that, namely that I was the one who set the town into something more than a little resembling hell. I was also responsible for the assassination of both your precious Republican and Democratic candidates back in your 2008 election. You thought it was just two freak accidents of the doing of a very hurt Stephen Sinclair and Ji-Hyun Xing? Nah bitches, it was just some gal who wanted to watch the world lose its shit for a couple months. I mean, traffic accidents and a plane crash? I’m surprised you didn’t find me out sooner.
“Oh, but most recently, the ever tragic Devastation of Mexico. True story: I got fucking bored one day and decided it would be fun to drop a nuke on the country. Built myself a plane, a bomb, and the rest is history. Did a fucking nose dive into a field and it seemed like a good way to spend the twenty-first of December 2012. And oh boy, was it worth bringing the death of fifty million- oops, my bad, 52,640,137, to see the reaction you all had to it. Hell, I’m just upset you got your shit together so soon, as it just means I need a new source for my eccentric tastes in entertainment.”
“Now if you’re not an idiot, you’d wonder where the proof is. Well, I know you boys in the Pentagon have been working up little secrets I’ve found, and all you need to know is Zxkuqyb. It’s a little something from a game I played back when the world knew me as Wheatley Quinlan. Now with that information, and my location scattered, find me, find Abigale Quinlan before she sends this country further down the drain. You have until July 4, 2016. I’ll have an associate of mine attack the country in some form at 10:44 EST, one minute before this post goes out. Oh, and no, I don’t want anything from you world, I just would like to see you frail at the one plausible source of your complete and utter destruction.
– Hugs and sunshine, Gale the Divine”
I had no clue how the fuck I was supposed to react. I was in the body of the greatest terrorist in the world, or at least someone who was playing the largest practical joke on the planet. Not that I actually thought the former that until made note of the time, it was 8:47, and an indicator on the site labelled the post as published. Apparently I must have been in a time zone two hours behind. I wondered if anybody was aware of this in the three minutes that this happened, so I began to look up this mysterious Abigale Quinlan, and I found pages popping up by the second.
I continued hitting F5 until Google started to lag from what I could only presume to be overuse, or perhaps it was all some sort of elaborate trap. If so, it was apparently so well executed that I could see what looked to be panic from the single window of this room that I wheeled over to. It was ten stories high, but I could tell that everything was certainly not going right, as police cars had their sirens wailing and people were scattering about the streets.
“This is real. I’m in the body of the greatest terrorist in history… minutes after she announced her existence to the world. I am so fucked!” I thought as I started to hyperventilate, prepared to spiral out of control, as I heard the jingling of a phone. I had not noticed the slim electronic device right near the monitor as they shared the same color, but as it began to vibrate, I promptly picked it up. I did not have enough time to try and let out a flappy lipped hello before the caller was talking back at me.
“Jad Spencer, was it?” My voice, my original voice, said back, leaving me a bit too stunned to respond. “Look, I’d say I was sorry for trying to, y’know, set off a rather large gaseous bomb at your school, and planting regular explosives under cars, but I’ve got no time for that as the fumes are coming in hot. I figured I’d just let you know that, oddly enough, my big surprised won’t be happening after all. I know, I just announced it, and it needs to be canned. What can I say? I took a shot at something new and it didn’t work. I was hoping I’d be the one keeping morality when I left my body, but nope, it’s all yours now and probably forever. Oh well, enjoy being an immortal Jad, I know I did.” My voice laughed before the call ended abruptly.
Within seconds, I went back to the world’s largest search engine, and entered Oransen high school. The words attack, or dead, injured, and terrorist were prevalent among the first few results. With the information constantly changing alongside the world’s manic and furious reaction to Abigale Quinlan’s message. She was the most loathed person alive right now, but as I looked up information about the event at my high school, they mentioned finding the body of Jad Spencer, my body. In a sense, I am dead, and died with over two hundred others if the reports are correct. But at the same time, my death also, I guess, helped to save the world.
Not that the thought came to me before investing my day in gorging on all of the information I could find about Abigale Quinlan, which was next to nothing beyond the original blog post I was too enamoured reading to stop… I have not moved all day, and it is almost midnight. I am sweaty, drenched in tried tears, and probably dehydrated and suffering from a lack of nutrients. I have a lot to do now that I’m… in this position, and I haven’t a clue where to start, but I am going to try and sleep on it, and hopefully end this all tomorrow. Although, a resolution that quick would probably be some sort of miracle.
Day Two: I Can’t Believe It Myself
Despite not doing much of anything physical yesterday, I was once more woken up by the sun hitting me in the face. Without looking at the clock after I read the first digit as nine, I looked out the four foot by five foot gate to the outside and saw less than ten percent of the crowds that coated the streets a mere day ago. Doors were shut, businesses were closed, and there didn’t seem to be any public transportation going about. While the cars on the street seemed to be matched by the number of people walking about with both of them being far smaller than they should be as I looked out to see what I wouldn’t necessarily describe as a city, but it did have a few very tall buildings. In fact, I actually did end up looking up where I was before going to bed, and it turns out I am in Funke, Colorado. I’m not sure where that is exactly, but I guess the 102,738 person population helps explain the size.
Aside from the outside world, though, I came to several realizations when I woke up. One, I was walking and moving just fine today. I’m sure I was getting better yesterday, but physical recovery after sitting for a day is pretty hard to notice. Two, I hadn’t eaten or had anything to drink in a day. And three, I was in sweaty underwear… or at least very revealing clothes that were sticky, but somehow not sweaty. As such, I decided to move as best as I could with an altered center of mass along with longer legs, and explore what could’ve been a single room for all I knew beforehand. Well, that was clearly not the case, seeing as how through the south facing door, I was greeted by another door right in front of me, sunlight to my left, and a large connecting room that served as a kitchenette and living room. None of which were red like the main room. In fact, the room looked remarkably nice.
I passed by two doors to my left as I headed to the fridge, hoping that there was something I could quickly eat, and as I opened the door with far more ease than I would have expected, odd considering how bulky it looked, I was greeted with no less than forty tupperware containers. Food was obviously inside, although the variety and often abstract nature of the dishes did confuse me a bit. Paella, Nasi Goreng, Schnitzel, Yukgaejang, Borscht, Tom Kha Gai, I wasn’t sure what most of the cold, labeled, pre-made dishes were, but I scoffed down three and a half servings before I felt like a hog pumped with lard. Not that it stopped me from realizing how something about the way, well, everything felt. There was something about chewing with different teeth, moving my hands to get a fork from a drawer and shove into into my mouth. Hell, even the manner of swallowing felt more than a little uncanny.
Following my gluttonous decision, and the equivalent if one replaced food with water, I began to check the doors I passed before. I started with the one closest to the window, which quite conveniently gave me the bathroom, something that I seemed to need right as I was looking at it. I quickly removed my shorts, and promptly sat down on the toilet seat of the expectedly nice looking restroom. I could foresee the issue of doing one’s business to be a difficult act with a gender reversal, but as someone who always peed sitting down, I was expecting more or less the same. Yet what I got was both more similar than I’d ever had predicted, and far less comfortable.
As I felt the urine leave my body, my attention was naturally drawn to my newly acquired genetailia, and what I found was a penis head, or glans if I remember sex ed, sticking out of an otherwise flat crotch and letting out a constant stream of a dark yellow liquid as I waited for it to stop. Before then, I had not thought much about my state as the other gender, sure I did cop a feel to confirm my new assets, but I was sure there was nothing convex around there. I got off the toilet as I began to poke at the penis head poking out, which only made a shaft grow along with it. This led to a series of tugging on the penis that was coming out, but it kept on going and going until I was crawling out, as a floppy and dense twenty inch long… thing.
It got weirder, seeing as how when I focused on it, the thing moved. No, I don’t mean that it got up, and became the most awkward erection ever, I was moving the thing around like a tail. Hell, I could twist it, grab things, and even managed to support my weight by grabbing around a shower curtain rod and doing some sort of penial pull up with it. It was after this experimentation that I had to stare at what I had become in a full-body mirror conveniently placed in the bathroom. A six foot tall young woman who looked to be of a grab bag of ethnicities, with shoulder length jet black hair, glowing emerald eyes that I was only just now able to notice. With a fairly lean figure that looked a bit more muscular than it had been the day before, wearing a sweaty white tank top with one strap coming off. No pants on, and sporting a penis that is twenty inches long, and acts like a tail. Yeah, what the actual fuck would not do this situation justice.
Yet, as I decided to take off the tank top, I expected to see nipples, a body part I never found sexy for one reason or another, but they were also apparently missing. Despite the penis, I still managed to find a vagina in between it and the butt, so I am not sure if this is to be expected, or just continuing adding one more oddity to this borderline inhuman thing that I now was. Out of curiosity, I decided to give the two chest mounded b-cups on my chest a squeeze, which felt better than I expected, though I would hardly say I was happy about that.
It was around this time where my shock and wide eyed confusion were overpowered by my anger and lack of knowing how or why any of this shit was happening to me. I used my tail to punch through the full body mirror. It was dumb, but so was punching the glass the traditional manner before stopping the pieces into incredibly tiny shards that, naturally, were jammed in throughout my body. A painful state that I did not notice during the two good minutes I spent smashing it in blind rage.
Now, my guess is that one would assume I would be, well, dead, or dying with no means of help. That is where I learned one of the biggest factors as to how Abigale Quinlan was able to do the things she did, she is fucking immortal! The glass that was jammed all throughout my new body began to be pushed out as the blood, the ripped skin, the torn muscles, all of it just came together good as new. Hell, there wasn’t even any soreness to it, I was perfectly fine within ten seconds. No cuts, no bruises, no physical residue that I did something as dumb as I did seconds ago.
Hell, none of it really even hurt that much. It had a sting with every punch, bit comparing it to actually punching glass would likely be akin to comparing a paper cut to a getting stabbed with a knife. Yet, as I organized the glass shards into the corner, at least to the best of my ability, I recalled the third thing I promised that I’d do. It was then that, upon failing my attempt to cram the penial tail back into my body, I began to ponder means for it to recede, to which it did just that, and went back in an inch per second, going so far as to take the penis head with it as only a flat crotch remained. As for where the penis itself went, I did feel a little bit heavier in terms of my rear, so apparently Abigale Quinlan has a butt enlarged by her penis, or I suppose had.
Anyhow, I carefully walked into the shower, pulled the curtains, turned on the water, grabbed some bottles that advertised their purpose as body wash and shampoo, and began to rub my hands against the, at first glance, female body I had. It was a very odd sensation, but I could say that about all I’ve experienced. The way my skin reacted, the water’s temperature as it hit my skin me, and the weightiness of what was still longer than I was accustomed to hair, at least for me, were all close contenders for the most uncomfortable sensations. Unfortunately, well, at least for me, it came with a confirmation that my often passive sex drive was still in effect as… I’m a teenage boy in a young woman’s boy in the shower, I got aroused, okay?
And damn was it a big… one, coming out only halfway, my tail was far harder than it was before, acting as another part I attempted to rub, as it grew a bit more, and kept increasing in size as I rubbed the shaft, more absentmindedly than anything, before moving onto my breasts. Which, in a move that I’ll admit to making me look stupid, I started to rub, started to squeeze, and then started to fondle as I worked my tail. Why? It felt good… really freaking good. And I kept that up, the shower still going and steaming up the room, my hands moving frantically as I was moaning in delight, which went faster, and faster as I slid down to the floor of the bathtub and continued, ending with me letting out some… ejaculant onto the wall containing the shower head.
My first thought as the honey-like, and colored, ooze ushed out in ten squirts was, “Fuck, that was good!” The second thought, at this point I was lying on the shower floor, still fondling myself as the sensation drained a bit was, “What the fuck did I just do? And why did I even do it?” With a weird mix of satisfaction and guilt for fapping within what had to be less than thirty hours in this body, I left the shower, and donned a violet towel, regretting that I did not bring a change of clothes in with me, as my old ones lied on the floor. That’s when I heard a doorbell, followed by some knocking five seconds later. “Shit!” I thought once before repeating that word in my head until I blurted out an unconvincing, “Coming!” It was the first thing I had said beyond a noise or a murmur, so you can likely understand the feeling of having a very silvery female voice come from your mouth, when you are anything but calm.
I took a deep breath before rapidly breathing as the doorbell rang twice and I heard a male voice pierce through the two doors and room that was in between me and the apartment entrance. I did rush out to the door, holding onto the towel as best I could, but in my wet state, lack of comfort with doing anything beyond simple walking with the body, and the tiled floor that covered the entrance and kitchen area, I latched onto the door handle, slipped, and fell flat on the ground as the door opened. And seeing as how I didn’t have either hand latched onto the towel, it unfurled, leaving my topless body out before a young Hispanic man in a familiar brown uniform.
“Leave your body, Jad. Leave your body.” Never rang more potent and true in my ears as I quickly yelped, poorly covered myself, and gave the man a great view of my ass before letting out apologies faster than I could finish them. Well, we both apologised, and the man did actively look away, and try to take care of business as he was clearly blushing, and I’m sure I was too. He quickly shoved a box no larger than a slice of bread into my hands before he comically ran away, tripping on his shoelaces as he went straight towards the elevator.
Following that, I closed the door, and began my quest for knickers. I checked the door next to the bathroom to come up lucky once more, as there was a fortune’s worth of clothes crammed inside of this room. Well, there was still enough room for a full body mirror, but every dresser and clothing rack was filled. Oddly with suits for what had to be at least a third of the wardrobe. Yet with no plans to go outside, I went for the most basic thing possible, a grey tracksuit that I quickly placed on along with some underwear that I selected without giving it any more than a second of thought.
Part of me thought that I should experiment a bit more, seeing as how I was in a body I found to certainly be attractive, well, assuming the body lacked the retractable genetailia I rubbed vidorously for my own pleasure. Instead, I just tried to not fondle myself as I put on a bra with more ease than I expected, with the rest only being different due to how nothing felt the same. Hell, even typing this doesn’t feel quite right even after six or however many pages. Oh, but that’s the least of my problems. I have a mysterious package to open and likely have a world to confront as the person who they are likely in fear of… I am really good at making myself depressed. Why me out of the four hundred million in this country?
Day Three: Suddenly I’m Up On Top of the World
Alright, so a little electronic pixie is reading my mind as of right now, and recording my thoughts into words… Just bare with me whoever the hell is reading this journal. I finally did open up the package after I saved and sent out my journal to a few locations, a plan I put into place just in case, I dunno, there was some program to automatically delete the files I stored on Abigale Quinlan’s computer. I opened the package to reveal what looked to be a rubber coated ring box encased in styrofoam, which I carefully removed before hesitantly examining the box underneath the white exterior before opening it up. I’m not sure what I was expecting to be hidden inside, but I found what looked to be some sort of SD or memory card the size of my pinky finger. I naturally picked it up, hoping to figure out what I should do with it, before I was given a massive jolt through my body, which sent me to the floor almost immediately.
I was not sure what to make of it at first, but the gears did turn in my head, and I did wonder, “How the hell did a chip shock me?” A question that evolved as I realized the loose chip was letting off sparks, hitting the carpeted bedroom floors as it puttered around, releasing more and more electricity, loose and visible shocks skirting across the room, before one hit the computer, causing all the following jolts to focus on the multi-thousand dollar piece of machinery. The intensity was clearly growing, with more electricity going into the computer, as the monitor became distorted, showing nonsensical text, random patterns, and eventually going black as the chip unceremoniously stopped.
I waited a few second before responding, and hitting a key, which brought the system back on with a white screen that illuminated the whole room, myself included. It was brighter than any screen I ever saw as it more or less blinded me as I tried to think of what the hell I just did and how I was going to get myself out of… whatever was happening.. I was too late though, as over the course of a second, I felt my insides burst as a shaky beam of light pierced my heart. I assume I fell, seeing as how I blacked out right as I stopped feeling or hearing my heartbeat.
I woke up hours later, about half a day later in fact. With my vision blurred and head pounding, I was naturally attracted to the still shining, although not as intensely, screen right in front of me. I quickly recalled how lightning pierced my heart, but my new immortal powers clearly repaired that injury, despite how I should have died, no questions asked. Looking down on my tracksuit, I noticed how the only remains of the bolt was a hole in the suit. No punctured skin, no blood staining the carpet, not unlike what happened with the bathroom.
However, as I got up, letting out a big sigh and stretching out a bit after getting knocked out and laying against a wall for a few hours, the computer screen changed. Displaying a prepubescent, blonde boy wearing a black leather one piece suit. The outfit was kinda like if someone made those footie pajamas out of skin tight leather that showed the boy’s huge ass. Seriously, it was like somebody attached two cantaloupes to his rump. He stared in my direction with his cat-like scarlet eyes, brushed back his blonde mullet cut with his naked hands, and seemed to walk closer to my computer’s screen.
He kept creeping through, a malicious grin on his face as it grew in size, occupying the entire screen before, well, the face went through the screen. Outlined by electricity, the boy, who was only about a foot tall, crawled out of the monitor, stumbling onto the keyboard and the chair, toppling over on his fat ass in the end. With a groan, he directed his attention back at me and spoke. His voice was not quite like that of a little boy, more like that of a woman imitating poorly one only for somebody to, also poorly, attempt to edit it to sound more childlike and throwing a noticeable computerized filter over him. Although, his projection certainly fit the later detail, as he resembled an example of imperfect hologram technology.
“Wassup Yahd-kun?” The boy greeted me, mispronouncing my name right off the bat. “How’s it hanging for you? Well, derp, I totally got your journals in my head, so I know how awkward it is transitioning to Gale-senpai’s bod.” I was a bit stunned as he pranced about like a doll, speaking like something horribly translated if the, what are they called? Honorifics? Not that it was the most prevalent issue on my mind, that was the question of who, let alone what this little shit thought he was. I reacted to this situation as calmly as I could, by asking, “The fuck are you?”
The boy looked confused for a second before slamming a fist onto a palm as if he uncovered a great mystery. “Sorry, Yahd-kun! I’m useta talking to peeps who already know me. Well, the one faptastic gal who gave birth to me and put me away for a few months… make that three years. She up and sealed me into some sort of 256 TB SD card I developed back in the late ots. I know, cra in the zay, right?” I took a second to pause after he broke the atmosphere by acting like such a boob. Then I just said, “To reiterate, what the fuck are you? Who, what, where, when, why, how the hell am I in the body of the world’s greatest terrorist?”
The boy looked over my body for a second, trying to scope out the best response if his snake-like eyes were any indication. “How do you know that you really are Gale-senpai?” He asked, as if I wasn’t already pissed off by everything. “Look, I woke up in an unknown room in a different body with hints telling me that I’m probably this Abigale Quinlan person, or someone close to her. Also, this immortality and massive… penis tail only makes me think that there is only one person running this. With that in mind what is even going on here?”
The boy made tisk sounds while looking over me and my tracksuit, pacing back and forward, trying to craft a response. He did eventually deliver after an uncomfortably long pause. “Lookie here little Sparrow, I’ll be real with you and just tell you all the story you need to understand. I’ll explain after starting with how Abigale and I were born.” I didn’t have much choice, so I removed myself from the wall I was supporting, and sat in the bed I woke up in a while beforehand.
“Back in the days of old, November of 1988, there was a scientist named Wheatley Quinlan, a struggling man in his roties at that point, Wheats, as he was called by his homies, went to meet his old pal, Louie Underwood. Lou was the man who lived to speak of what Wheats called the Rift world. In the small town where Lou lived his life for the past several years, he discovered portals to another dimension, and through some drama between the two and Lou’s livelihood, Wheats leaded about these wack portals and dove into one himself.”
“‘Cept the ‘Rift’ messed up Wheats like something else. His body was torn asunder, and remade in some otherworldly jizz, which made him look like an inhabitant of the Rift World on the other side. From there, the Wheats learned about the powers and abilities that he could hone in this Rift World, and possibly bring into his old one. And through some trickery and over a decade of messing around with these Rifts, he managed to get his dream of power, and a human body to access all of the new tricks he learned. That, and he managed to get little matter bending microorganisms that existed only to make him more divine. This was the birth of Abigale Quinlan, who made her debut during that Rainy Woods incident.”
I nodded my head in understanding, still unsure of where he was going with this, yet he only stopped for a deep breath. “From there, Gale-senpai took full reign of her newfound immortality and other keen skills she could now make the most of. Mind control, telekinesis, face morphing, and to set off little explosions with a snap of her fingers. She was sehr toll, to say the least. But she was also very witty if I’m any indication, inventing a programing language for your truly. Peatrice v1.0 was up and running by… I’d say, mid 2006.”
“Mind you, her acts were a rainbow of ‘bad deeds’.” Peatrice continued, “Taking money from people, setting fires, and running with shady guys who talked like Pasta-men. Hell, the reason she got that dick you rubbed so ferociously is because she wanted to rape her pet dog. But it was tame stuff like that which she pulled until 2008, when Gale-senpai decided that she wasn’t too keen on the two schmucks replacing the president of the US, and took both those suckers out of life on election day. Really fun-derful job where I had to hack this and that to see the delightful face of a lil miss Anne R Kei.”
Despite being told of her exploits, I was only growing more and more confused about this Abigale Quinlan due to one simple question that was unanswered. So I bursted out as calmly as I could. “Why?” I shouted, jumping out of my bed. “Why would someone do all of this? I get how being whatever sort of immortal demigod can bring the number of fucks someone would give to a whopping zero, but all of this for sport?”
Peatrice just stared at me, looking more annoyed at how I stopped his story time, than about how I was outraged as to why someone would do this. He let out a cough before continuing with, “Back to my story, Gale-senpai was a bit goofy with the rape, murder and extortion, but it was all in good fun while I was around. The election fever was silly, so she went and messed it up.”
“In other words,” I began, “You killed the president candidates ‘for teh LOLs’. And I thought it was vile to imagine how I have a penis that was used to rape a dog” “Wuh?” Peatrice responded with his face tilted to the side before once again mispronouncing my name. “Yahd-kun, let me finish my story first before you talk about penises, okay? Anyhow, I was eventually deemed a bit too, let’s just say, radical for Gale-senpai, as she decided I could not unleash a man-animal virus to strike Africa exclusively, and she put me in the same little card you found me in. Stuck until I was needed once more, apparently she sent an order from your smarty pants phone before accidently ending her life. At least she went down with her second highest body count, but nothing’ even close to that Mexican nuke if I may toot my own horn.” Peatrice then honked his buttcheeks, which, for some reason, did make a honking noise.
“And when I sent myself through that there internet, boy oh boy, there was a fuss about you! Well, more like Gale-senpai, but you’ve got her face, dawg!” “So, what am I supposed to do?” I asked after a moment of silence. Peatrice smirked as he grabbed his empty crotch. “Kukukuku!” he muttered while hopping up, levitating. Which, due to how the bugger was pacing backwards and forwards, surprised the pants off of me.
Peatrice made note of this, as he looked over his leathery outfit. “Oh, right, guess I forgot to explain how I ain’t real, dawg. That whole blast of electricity was just establishing my connection with you. In the layman’s terms, I’m just a hallucination caused by electric currents messin’ with your noggin.” I lowered my brow and clenched my temple, taking a deep breath before very clearly asking, “Am I just insane? Hell, I could just be in some sort of fucked up hallucination, trying to claw through some new breed of crazy I have no way of understanding.”
Peatrice’s response was to laugh at me, rolling around in the air like a loose plastic bag in the wind. “Oh Yahd-kun, you and I, we’re gonna have all the funs. You wanted to know what you’re suppose to do in that 9/10 bod? Well, I’ve got something that will knock yo panties off! Just be sure to follow my instructions and keep your mind even more open than it was when you realized you were an immortal. A trait you can thank little super powerful microscopic matter converters you are just lathered with, ya sexy beast!”
I was very hesitant as he first ordered me out of the bed and told me to get on my knees, placing my hands onto the red shag. “Now then, Yahd-kun, I nee-” Peatrice began before I cut him off. “Look, my name is Jad, not Yahd. I never even had a substitute teacher mess that up, you… aggravating little… What do I do now?” I was more than frustrated with him, though I can’t cite him as the only blame for pretty obvious reasons, like how just looking down arguably felt worse as I was almost getting used to it.
“Just think about pulling a, let’s see, melee weapon out of the ground. Just imagine: ‘Imma gonna transform this sick shag and turn it into a hatchet!’ Or just make it a knife, wrench, hammer, and so forth, my ever sensitive Jad-kun. And before you ask, no, you’re gonna still be my little kun.” After taking his words very loosely, I did just as he asked and pictured a hatchet as far as I could. With a wooden handle and metal, I dunno, axe head? Whatever the term, the image was clear in my mind, and before i knew it, I somehow yanked one out of the ground, leaving behind a small hole in the floor.
“Tubular, dawg! Now think about a pillow!” Peatrice demanded, spinning like a baked ballerina. I did just that, and the tool’s weight seemingly evaporated, while its volume increased, texture morphed, and it looked just like the pillow I laid my head down upon every night. Well, the one I used to sleep with anyhow, right down to the stained light blue case. I was about to give Peatrice a, “the fuck am I doing” sort of look, but he began talking before I could look him in the eye. “It’s a little trick called Real Booting. Took a while to get it right, after Gale-senpai used her trinkets from the Rift World, but it’s natural for her at this point in time. But seeing as she bit the dust through toxic gas, I guess you are the Real Booty Queen, Jad-kun.”
“First off, what does Real Booting mean? And secondly, why do you add honorifics to Abigale and I?” I asked, trying to hide my amazement at how I bent matter into completely different matter. “It is taking your thoughts and booting them into reality, pretty simple if you think about it. And your nickname is a request by Gale-senpai. She did love her an anime for some derpy reason. Never did have them in the 80’s though, so who knows where the love comes from. Perhaps a chemical imbalance that made her, and my extention me, an old school Aspie.”
I took the answers with a grain of salt, moving onto the next objective, if you could call it that. “So, Peatrice, any other tricks up my sleeves?” Peatrice gave a cheshire grin as he hopped in midair. “Trust me sexy boy, we’re just getting started, but let’s take care of that journal first. Let me just dive into your head and have you think back on our little meeting, y’know, for this little journal you’re working on.” Peatrice then vanished with a blip, and I fell unconscious, with his voice shouting at me in a high pitched screech, “C’mon I’ve gotta get yo thoughts logged up, think about this past half hour real hard-like!” Now the same voice is telling me, “ Boy, you so Fantastic!” in a slur that I can’t help but relate to a drunken valley girl. So yeah, my life as renowned terrorist Abigale Quinlan is going to be fan-fucking-tastic at this rate.
Day Five: I Wish It’d Have Been Somebody Else
It’s been about 64 hours since my last, well, Peatrice refers to them as “Logs” for some reason. For the remainder of the third day, September twenty-seventh, Peatrice said that he needed to, “Synch himself up”. Apparently that meant knowing everything that went on in the internet and world in the time he’s been off any form of grid.
Meanwhile, I was thrown out of the room, not physically, just told that, “Imma gonna be taking a while Jad-kun, go watch that there Telly in the main room.” I did just that, taking a right upon leaving the room and seeing a cream colored couch, coffee table, and 40 inch screen implanted within the wall. All of which was coated with a visible pile of dust that I wiped off using my track suit before sitting down and turning on the news to figure out the ever critical answer to the question I should’ve probably been asking since I saw that blog post. What are people’s reactions to this whole shebang?
I started watching a local news station that was detailing things I could probably see if I looked out of my single window. I was unable to figure out where exactly I was supposed to be, just that this was a fairly sizable city by the name of Funke, and located in Colorado. However, one thing stood out to me rather quickly, and that was the term “Constable Initiative”. A civil protection movement launched by president Ji-Hyun Xing. No matter how many times I see her, is hard to believe that the first non-white and male president happened at the same time, and all because the intended president croaked when he visited Mexico during mid December.
I was intrigued by the concept, and continued to watch the minor riots, containment of citizens, and occasional tidbits of rape, murder, and arson conducted due to, “the impending devastation”. An idea that I think goes back to that post, and that keyword Abigale slipped in at the end. Zyxqub. A term that was apparently in the instruction manual for Ultima III: Exodus. Which only made peatrice’s tale of body snatching all the more plausible, even if it does raise questions about whose body I’m even occupying.
Minutes turned to hours as I was doing what I assumed most Americans were at that time, eating food they found in their fridge while watching a box talk about how everything was going to hell. Not that it lasted for as long as I’d assume it took most people, because at around four in the afternoon, I felt like I needed to take another shower. Not because I was dirty or even smelled, hell, I couldn’t even smell body odor on myself. I didn’t even feel the need to take a poo or pee, not that I was eager to burst out my tail again. I just felt like I should clean myself after sitting on my ass for hours on end. But, seeing as how nothing can go my way, as I was preparing to enter the shower with a change of clothes, the bathroom door burst open and I was knocked out once more.
This naturally led me to waking up a few hours later, naked in my still foreign body, and in an even more foreign dimly lit white tiled room that only broke the pattern for a large garage door. Well, I’m guessing that was what the room used to look like, because it looked as if a pack of angry rhinos had a particularly nasty orgy in here. Yet, as the natural course of hows, whys, and wheres came into my head, and I lifted myself up with next to no effort, Peatrice filtered himself through my left tit. Meaning he phased into vision while passing through my breast, which felt very wrongly good.
With a smirk as warm and convincing as one worn by Dennis the Menace, Peatrice was all but telling me that he’s the one responsible for my current situation. I would’ve smacked his ass if he was anything but a mental hologram, and if he hadn’t gotten in the first word. “Wassup sunshine? Sorry I had to do all of this BS, but it was either this, or weeks of possibly setting the atmosphere on fire, cuz you be the A-bomb. In shorts, I was just using my mental control over you to test out all your amazing powers, well, it was more like I made sure that you could easily do things more complex, like pulling guns out of the wall. I call it mental implants, go on, try thinking of an RPG!”
I was still both angry and hazy, so I just responded to him with squinted eyes, a scowl, and a harsh, “What?” Peatrice in turn elaborated. “I took out your body so that I could make it really easy for you to use some of Abigale’s powers. Think of it as a pair of training wheels being put on a bike. It’s for your own good Jad-kun.” There were many places I could go with my next question, but I decided to start right from the top. “Did you possess me?”
Peatrice tried his hardest to look cute, as I did just the opposite and wished that I could smack that smirk off of his derpy face. “Well, I’m in your brain, so it shouldn’t be that bizarre. You’re more or less possessing Gale-senpai afterall… it’s just that she ain’t coming back” “If you can control Abigale, and her powers, why the fuck do you need me?” I asked, standing up and staring down at the little twerp… and my breasts. “Good Question, but I don’t really need to be living inside of a bag of flesh, now do I? I’m a series of electrical currents given sentience and invulnerability. I could set off nuclear strikes in about half a day if I wanted to, so being in control of your powers ain’t all that great.”
I suppose that answer worked, as my next question was regarding the present, as I couldn’t help to notice how I needed a bra and some pants. With the gentle covering of my breasts, Peatrice was able to figure out what I wanted, and pointed at what looked like a worn metal lunch box from the 1950s sitting in a more or less untouched corner of this demolished storage space. I gave him a glare, he gave a shrug, and I walked over to open it up and see some poorly folded clothing. “Whatcha expect?” barked Peatrice. “I don’t need to physically interact with Jack, why would I know how to fold things? ‘Snot like them inter-knot tutorials did even a small wonder.”
I carried on with opening the box, and came up with a dark skin colored, well, my skin colored pair of underwear. Looking at it still gave me a bit of a chill, thank Christ. Along with a Yellow tank-top, a jean jacket with cut-off sleeves, some boots, and a pair of skinny teal trousers. I was about to give Peatrice another stink-eye, seeing as how I was in a tracksuit last time I checked, but it turns out that there was a brown belt with a silver buckle, two red wristbands, and a necklace with violet beads. Peatrice was one step ahead, excusing himself with a, “Sorry for trying out her Wardrobe, better than looking like a NEET… even though you’re just that Trust me, you’ll look slammin’ in them threads, Grrrl!”
Upon donning the outfit provided, I could only let out a sigh as I looked over the destroyed fifteen by nine by fifteen room I found myself in. Peatrice once again saw no need to be asked what the hell happened to this place, and began plainly trailing off his explanation. “Remember how you made a hole in the floor for a knife? Well, think of that as the tutorial for your game, and I just boosted you up to level ten… or twenty. Hell, you can probably alter the air around you into a singing squirrel if you’ve practiced enough. Now for a test, try snapping your fingers, any hand you want, Gale-senpai is ambidextrous. And think about something blowing up in a miniature explosion, one about the size of your fist.”
With a raised eyebrow, I followed his instructions, looked at a tattered wall, thought about a tiny firework going off, and snapped my fingers. Instantaneously, I saw some of the wall pop off, a burst of fire strike from nowhere, and heard something akin to a gunshot. “Fuck!” I blurted out without thinking. “Yay-uh, get it Grrrl!” Peatrice uttered in response, raising his hands in the air before shaking about in a little dance, murmuring a series of buhs. With my helper preoccupied, and me still being in a sense of shock, I tried snapping my fingers again, imagining another explosion. The results were the same and Peatrice just let out another roar, so I tried it again… another seven times.
“Woah!” slipped out of my mouth as Peatrice drifted on in front of me, nodding his head and puffing his cheeks. “Well? Got any kind words for the electronic intelligence, eh Jad-kun?” I knew what he wanted, and sighed before delivering a, “Thank you, Peatrice.” It was only mildly convincing, as I had my eyes closed as I said it, but his smirk when I opened my eyes showed his satisfaction. “No probs, my main gal. Now, we’ve been out for five to the zero in terms of hours, so we better get back home, don’tcha think?”
“Fifty hours? I’ve been out for fifty freaking hours?” I thought, but instead my face once again told him all he needed to know. “Yeah, yeah. Probably should get some food, water, and sleep in you. I mean, I kinda forgot about all that stuff, but you’re Gale-senpai, you should be solid forever.” “…So I don’t need the bare essentials anymore?” I asked while flailing my arms at the holographic creature. “What’s next, can I go without air?” Peatrice took only a second before he plainly replied with: “No, you should be okay without air, but you do need to be around some sort of gas. So if you happened to be in a vacuum, you’d maybe be dead. Gale-Senpai said her little thought reading micro-helpers were like Tardigrade, and they can live in space. You could live under the sea though, that’s fo’ sho!”
“Son of a bitch, how did it take this woman a decade to even start her plan to take over the country?” I asked, thinking my comment was wittier than it actually was. “Well, she wasn’t trying to take over the world during that entire decade, mostly she just screwed around with it, before deciding to spice things up. But that’s the past, and now I should wonder if you have any keen ploys for your supah powders.” “Peatrice, I don’t want any of this.” I said, trying to get him to stop telling me how much of a demigod I was.
“I want to go back to my old life, even though I have great powers, and can never die, hell, I don’t even think I age anymore. I miss my friend, my family, my own face. But now, the country’s gone to hell over that one fucking blog post. I could’ve stopped it if I had woke up five minutes earlier. Now, I wear the face of the one responsible for all of this, which isn’t even this Abigale, or, what the hell did you call him, Wheatley? Point is I am in the body of a demigod whose body was not even theirs, and then they gave their new body a… massive dick. I mean, it’s receded, but I can still feel it inside of me, along with everything else I gained with this mutated body.”
All that Peatrice had to say was in response to my comment about genetailia. “When you live your whole life with a penis, lose it, and enter another body without one, I can see why a guy with the ability to do, I dunno, make me for instance, would feel like making a dolphin dick for himself. Or herself, as is the case with the Gale-senpai I always knew. Really though, it was just a slapdash way so she could cum harder, hence that golden stain you placed in the shower. I’m just glad it came off easily.” I looked away from him, and to the garage door. I opened it up, and went on through. A very bold statement that I more or less ruined as I was nearly blinded by the afternoon sun.
After moving my hands away and oddly not flinching as I saw their color, I discovered I was in some sort of warehouse district, or the equivalent in this Funke, Colorado, and an empty one at that. Trucks looked to have been stationed for days, all doors aside from mine were shut, and there was not a soul in sight. I followed the directions Peatrice shouted into my ears, or I guess my brain, as I tried to ignore his comments through the silent treatment as I was hardly satisfied with my clothing. That is, until I got a good first hand look at whatever has been happening, and it certainly escalated since I’d been out.
The streets were mostly barren in terms of vehicles, with only a handful of cars slowly making their way through the streets in accordance to lowered speed limits and a swath of uniformed officers patrolling the place. I didn’t get a good look at any of them as Peatrice, rightfully, recommended I keep a low profile on my way back to the apartment. I recalled hearing about this under the name of Civil Protection. A movement that was intended to bring an influx of armed officials into the major metropolitan areas of the country, one of which I suppose was Funke, or perhaps I’m really just in a suburb of Denver. I never did check where exactly I was after all.
Oh, but the lack of bustling business and low quantity of shifty eyed citizens certainly took the cake in terms of unsettling. With nearly everybody keeping their hands in their pockets and eyes glaring at other passersby, it was hard for me to stay calm as I made my way through this cold and quiet stretch of town. Although, looking like a colorful candy bar wrapper certainly did not help boost my spirits. I ended up jogging back to the place where my current home was located, making note of just how out of shape I used to be if Abigale’s body were to be viewed as the standard. Peatrice then directed me to a door, claiming that he forgot the key to the apartment and, “It’s not necessarily under Abigale’s ID, if ya know what I mean.”
This prompted yet another task, one where Peatrice “mentally inserted” the schematic for a skeleton key into my mind, expecting me to turn the tiled flooring beneath me into something that could open my, along with nearly any other door. I quickly got it over with as I saw the familiar sight of the room that had been the closest thing to home I’ve had for the past few days. From there, Peatrice continued the expected cockiness, talking about how I earned a night off to, “Do whatever makes your little buddy up here and down there feel sexilicious.” Pointing at his head and currently flat crotch respectively.
I decided to not take him up on that offer, and see how the little world I assembled before this whole… venture began. Which is my way of saying that I decided to do my best to not log into any of my old accounts, and instead look up the going-ons in the game industry, turns out not much, watch a few episodes of an anime on CrunchyRoll, making sure to not log into my premium account. All of which cumulated in me rereading part of a webcomic as night had already fallen hours ago, and was nearing its middle.
It was almost like things were back to normal again, but whenever I tried logging into an account I had made more or less shoved me back into the shitty reality I was placed in. As far as the world knew, Jad Spencer was dead, and I was a mass murderer with the power to make a ham sandwich out of some mud if she damn well felt. I need some time to get my head straight, well, as straight as it can be with an electric fairy buzzing through it.
Day Eight: Remembering My Friends
I’ve spent the past two and a half days pondering my next action in the world. Well, while also being shouted by Peatrice to practice my Real Booting and keeping tabs on whether or not I’d be shot in an instant if I dared to show my face and tell my story to the world at large. I was undecided at first, and that sure as sugar hasn’t changed. At least I got over the initial fear and now am just enjoying my time with a Netflix account Peatrice got for me, allowing for me to do nothing but marathon through TV shows and turn several pounds of clothes into guns that Peatrice mentally inserted the schematics of into my brain, the ever delightful bugger.
In fact, he just couldn’t let me enjoy the beginning of my second week as a demigod in peace, as he did what he had three times before and frizzled out the TV screen into his face wearing a shit-eating grin. I naturally let out a sigh as I let out a snarky response. “What does the thunder gimp wish from me this day? I have already turned a coffee table into a couple swords and put it back together… for the most part. Sorry, I don’t have a photographic memory.” I said very apathetically, not wanting to start shit with him at eight in the morning. “Well, is your memory good enough for you to know the names Zoe Xing and Maxxie Flare?”
I short my then glazed over eyes wide open as he said those two names, and the look on his face certainly indicated just how much he expected me to do just that. “Yeah, I done found some interviews with them and your mother, who looks like a combination between a slutty real doll and a MILF. Your Papa, who looks like he wrestled bears before eating one whole. And, obviously, your chinaman and filipino gal buddies.” “Maxxie’s actually a mix of Indian and… some country from northern Africa, with about one eighth Chinese. While Zoe, he’s Chinese, Romanian, and Korean.” I said, reiterating what they told me, hell, it was probably about two years ago when we were dealing with this no-goodnik by the name of Yuccot Kikansky. This chubby little jerkwad who thought he was a big-ass mofo all because his dad was ranked pretty high in the military.
“Well, would you mind giving me a bit of insight into what it was like when you were still classic Yahd-kun?” Peatrice asked, sorry, demanded from me in a silent threat that he would be an asshole for the rest of the day if I didn’t tell my story. “Look, I’ve known both Maxxie and Zoe since the first day of elementary school. We all had these cartoonish problems that plagued our first day come recess. Maxxie was kicked out of the girls’ groups and nobody wanted to touch a cootie-head like her. Zoe was being picked on for raising his hand for every question in class. While I was crawling over a kid for stealing my toy that I brought with… Wow, that sounded a lot better in my head.”
“I don’t give a tosspot if it is rougher than sandpaper, just get on with origin story for your triad!” Peatrice said, very impatient at my storytelling abilities. “Well, we all went to this little spot with benches that was hidden behind these bushes we brushed past, except Maxxie had torn her dress. Both Zoe and I felt bad for her and kept away some jackasses, whose face I can’t even remember now, away from her because, well, her panties and whatnot were showing.” “Color?” Peatrice asked, clearly interested by knickers. “Um… they actually had a frog pattern- not that I was looking or anything!” I said as I could see his digitized lips begin to move.
“Long story short, I beat up the meanies, got in trouble, but made two friends for life. We went on adventures where we got on a bus and were lost for a day… several times. We played a lot of games, watched a lot of movies, and overall grew up together. Hell, we pretty often had joint family vacations. Though, the past three just had us exploring Chicago, San Francisco, and, begrudgingly, Miami for about a week. Best thing about the last one was how I didn’t need to shovel anything during a particularly terrible winter. I could fill a book with stories, but I’d just need to remember them first.”
“…Couldja just give me the synopsis of what you did on that twenty-fourth? The final day of Jad-kun mark one.” Peatrice asked, as if he were unaware of the possibility of me not wanting to talk about the last time I have, and probably will ever see my friends. Though, naturally, I did respond. “It was nothing special, just another Wednesday of high school, my final year in fact. I got up, made my way into the bathroom to shower, have a quick breakfast from my mother, get the stink eye from my… fuck it, my dick of a father, and get picked up by Zoe. Now, Zoe was not very well off. In fact, he was pretty poor and got his spending money from tutoring other students, students like Maxxie, whose car he was driving because she was seventeen, we all were in fact, and she already totalled one.”
“But let’s not talk about how she drove into a tree and knocked it down. WHen in the car, Maxxie did what she does pretty much every day and asks for some sort of homework help from either Zoe and I, yet it was most often me because, well, Zoe was driving us all to school and I was just sitting in the back seat. It was most often giving her my reading notes for English or terms for history class, not much else because, Maxxie was always this delightfully upbeat little ball of energy, but she really didn’t have many book smarts. Hell, she only got a 3.0 half the time because she was given a larger weekly allowance from her rich as all hell parents. Not that I had cheap ones myself, but I’d rather not talk about my father one day being an idiot and gambling most of his savings into thirty-five times as much. Not that he didn’t have a lot of cash saved up from being a professional athlete for a few years, because that sure as sugar helped him out.”
“Jad-kun, you know I love hearing ‘bout your life, but couldja stop after going into detail about your plastic mother?” Peatrice said, instantly surprising me. “You… you know then?” “Course I know, I mean jeepers, her plastic surgery and calm demeanor kinda speak from themselves don’t they?” “”Yeah. My parents married young, my mom was sixteen at the time, and my father just got drunk and decided he’d need to stay with, and I hate that I remember what he said about her back then, ‘a sexy young piece o’ ass like that.’ Yeah, I don’t really like him if you couldn’t tell, and it goes beyond how he called me a faggot because he didn’t like my name, and how he forced my mom into getting so much surgery done to, I dunno, preserve her. Fat old man sure as hell doesn’t do that with himself.”
“So, after you were having car sex with the Zoe-Xing and the Flare of Maximum proportions?” Peatrice asked, exiting the television and now just tapping his foot on the coffee table. “We pretty much just talked about video games, anime, stuff like that which we loved back in the day and still did back then… they probably still do, actually. Then we went to our separate classes, only seeing each other for lunch, thank god, and then getting driven home without making plans for the weekend. That’s pretty much how our days went.” “Yawn-o-rama, didn’t you kids at least set shit on fire?” Peatrice asked. “Um… no. We had a campfire once, but that sucked because there were all these mosquitos, it was super humid outside, we lost most of our water. Although, Maxxie did manage to hump onto a deer, which was among the best things she ever did, even if it caused her to break a couple of bones in the process.”
“So, with Maxxie being the Flare of your group, what of the amazing Zoe-Xing?” “Well, Peatrice, his dad died years ago, and he had to be raised by his mother, was encouraged to be in the top ten in our school, and was always the more mature one, trying to keep Maxxie from being, well, being somebody whose name was short for Maxxisaurus… I am not kidding.” Peatrice then laughed his ass off at the concept of Maxxisaurus Flare being a name, all for me to ask the critical question of how I fit in with this trio. I took a deep breath before I answered as Peatrice’s laughing began to cease.
“I was the more laid back and less energetic of the two, I didn’t have Maxxie’s creative drive, I mean, the girl made a couple of self made comics in her spare time, while Zoe was planning on going to his pick of top tiered colleges with most of his expenses paid. I was a creative consultant for Maxxie, her term, not mine, and I did get Bs and As on my report card, but I was more the middle ground who thought he kept everyone together. Now that I’m gone though… I’m not sure if I’ll be missed for any other reason beyond how there are only two voices in a conversation and two players in a co-op game.”
“Liar, liar, thou hast the pants on fire… seriously, throw them on the floor, you nitwit!” Peatrice blared out in response to my story. I was more than a little confused, naturally, but then Peatrice explained how, get this, Abigale Quinlan has somehow been monitoring my life before she stole my body and left me in hers. How? Well, that’s the best part, as she apparently used little robotic insects that recorded everything I did the past week. With all of it being stored as archive footage that, of course, Peatrice has access to.
“So… then why bother asking me?” I said in light of this information. “I’m gonna live with you for the foreseeable future, so I figured you should tell me just about everything you ever did, Jad-kun. But you gave me half truths, so I’m not sure if this is gonna work. Maybe I’ll just call up the coppers and have then haul your butt into the furnace… the witch furnace.” “So, you want me to say that I think my friends will be remorseful of my loss, making me feel like a shitty person for not trying to leave this apartment and try to rekindle my life?” I asked as the hypotheticals began flooding in, with them being dubbed as accessories and being thrown in jail while I am being dissected or used as a test dummy for new weapons, seeing as how I am immortal.
“Well, there ain’t nothing that is stopping ya from assuming a new life at that Oransen High… except for how it is closed last I checked, with the teaching taking place in tiny little classrooms. Well, there is one teensy thing stopping you, it starts with a P, contains a C and ends in an E. Give up? It’s named Peatrice.” My reaction was to merely raise an eyebrow. “What? You think I’m staying here with you just because I wanna? Hella nay, it’s just that I’d need for you to let me free before the life of Jad Spencer can begin once more. Well, actually that life is over forever so… how about Jad Underwood?”
“…So what the hell did you want to know?” I asked, having lost sight of the bouncing ball that was this conversation. “I just would like to hear a story of your first day of your Junior year, Buckaroo Benzaie.” I took a deep breath before responding with the whole blasted story, thankfully interrupted by his wiseass comments. “I woke up, took a shower, got dressed, picked up my prepared backpack, went downstairs, didn’t see my mother even though she normally gets up very early, turns out she was being held up so my dad could get his morning… fuck. So I quickly got some cereal, waited for Maxxie to honk the horn like an asshole, not that she is, but c’mon, once or twice is plenty at 7:30.”
“I got in the car, we talked about our classes that were coming up, bitched about how we didn’t have any classes together, and how lucky we were to have no classes period five, at least on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Then the conversation turned to how hyped Maxxie was over The Evil Within and how she wanted to skip school to buy it, throwing away how playing a survival horror game in the middle of the day, and missing the shortest day of school was a terrible idea. Then it became another debate about our stance on survival horror in the medium, namely how I am the one of the three who never played the Playstation horror classics and how I should just borrow one of their copies of Silent Hill 2 and the Resident Evil Remake.”
“Then the bell rang, we rushed to our classes, learned about our teachers, and all went through the schedules, before going to the library because who’d eat lunch when ninth period ends at 1:10? There we expanded the arguments into the merits of horror in games, talking about how I do not see any reason to be afraid of anything but that of failure, and if you do not have a penalty, there is really nothing to be afraid of. And even if there was a penalty, I could probably call bullshit for punishing players for dying, as I think that is just dumb.”
“Then we spent about fifteen minutes talking about everything from Dead Space, Amnesia: The Dark Descent, that Call of Cthulhu game, Outlast, and even freaking Pac-Man, as Zoe was so keen to pin point. It was actually a very interesting discussion we had on game design, but you know what? We still were peas in a freaking pod and went through our boring day before swimming in Maxxie’s pool one last time, where she decided to get naked and climb on top of Zoe, whose face looked like a tomato. Then we played Phantom Breaker: Battle Grounds for an hour, got some Pizza from this place called Doodlers, and parted ways for the night, planning to, and these were Maxxie’s words, ‘make the most of our reality even if we gotta punch it in the butt!’ It was great, and made things better when I saw my dad fucking my poor doll of a mother on the couch.”
“Now then, can I get back to catching up on Adventure Time, or have I not satisfied the one thing preventing me from ever seeing my friends again in my life?” As I cooled off from my rant, I did feel as if I were a bit harsh on the amalgamation of coding and electricity that created a creature who could just be representative of my own personal insanity. That is, until I started viewing him in that light, and the little boy then phased out of the TV to rub his leather clad pregnant woman sized ass in my face. I then returned to watching my children’s cartoons before bursting into tears as I learned of the Ice King’s origins. In short, I just hope this week only started on a bad foot and is not just me falling further into the pit of frustration, irritation, and overall bullshit that has become my life. Fuck this and fuck you Peatrice for making me update this stupid-ass Log of yours
Day Thirteen: Peatrice Is My Pet Peeve
It’s been awhile since Peatrice last popped in my head to drop some commentary on what I saw throughout the past few hours of my life. Mostly because the little bugger had been teaching me how to make my mythical ham sandwich from the bacteria, carbon dioxide, and oxygen in the air around me. Yeah, it’s been a the better half of a week of going to the same storage area, and using my finger keys to break open the other “abandoned” storage areas to try out my powers. Well, at least until October fifth, when I was told to try out a new power, but I’ll get to that in just a minute.
It was a pretty dull overcast day. There had been riots, criticism, people locked up in jails, the death toll had reached well past five digits, and several officers of the whole “Civil Protection” movement had gone out and abused their power, taking over a small town that had to be assaulted by some army men. The country was kinda up shit’s creek without a paddle, but it was better than what Abigale planned… or so I think. Though at the rate things had been going, I could be wrong and this could have just been that psychopath’s plan all along. Would certainly explain the lack of evidence I’d have for however she swapped bodies with me.
But getting into the events I am here to log… I mentioned a Hispanic delivery man a while ago, right? Well, the guy came back to deliver a package ordered by Peatrice, apologizing for how it had taken so long for it to arrive, what with all the chaos about. But Peatrice had plans beyond the package, as he requested I ask the man to come on in. He politely declined, but Peatrice managed to send a jolt of electricity through my body and into the man before me, causing him to fall flat on his ass, which was technically in the apartment.
Peatrice then shouted at me to drag his unconscious body into the main room, much to my dismay. We were actively abducting an immigrant who lost his home less than two years ago. Hell, he could’ve lost his family to boot. But Peatrice then told me to place both hands on his head, and think about altering or “Remastering” his brain. Now, I could either refuse him and lose my own consciousness for a few hours, again, or I could do it myself. My choice was made by whatever one I thought was better by the time Peatrice yelled at me too choose. I decided to think about Remastering this young man’s mind.
The process was more than a bit alien to me, seeing this man’s life filled with loss and death, and altering his fears and likes into, well, a simpler form. Basically… he was brainwashed into being my slave. As he jolted up from my hands and began speaking in his thick accent, I knew that I had fucked up. There was no way for this final outcome to not exist, but the fact that I was conscious while this happened made things infinitely more… wrong in my mind.
I naturally yelled at Peatrice for being such a prick about this, throwing this dumb situation at my face like a spunk rag into the trash. Yet the hyper intelligent sentient spark plug merely pointed at the Mexican, who was currently suckling my naked toes. The ever present question of asking why this was a necessary action came up, as it always fucking does, and Peatrice gave his trademarked smirk. “You need to get all of your powers in place before you can figure out where you’ll go from here, right? So maybe you could be a doll and order that boy to clean this place up.”
He did have a point, the place was getting a bit on the messy side due to a fashion show that I put on after being forced into drinking some fifty-year-old wine. Hell, I’m not even sure how I got drunk off of that stuff. Though, it was probably just Peatrice messing with my head or some shit like that. Regardless, it was pretty damn uncanny to see the young man fumble about like he was controlled by a brain parasite, calling me Sextress, which Peatrice conveniently blamed on Abigale, the cheeky bastard. And, of course, begging me for orders after he finished cleaning the kitchen and making me enough food for a week, despite how I did not need to eat according to Peatrice. At the same time, I’d be damned if a seventeen year old habit can be broken easily.
The occurrences throughout most of yesterday were mostly me barking orders at the boy, seeing as how Peatrice threatened to possess him otherwise, like the cunt he is. So I just practiced making an iPhone out of bed sheets and cosplay props while continuing to hear the downfall of society according to the TV. Apparently there are thousands dying due to panic, and there is some breed of rebellion around the whole militarization of the government. I can’t really blame them though, they still think Abigale is out there when she has probably been buried and I’m the one wearing her skin.
Oh, yes, my whole body situation. I’d be lying if I didn’t say it felt natural to look down, or even walk around in this body after I was sent to a gym by my oh so beloved data Jiggawatt of a master. And I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t gotten used to moving around a massive penis like it were a crotch based arm. If anything, I need to look down to really recall that I’m not who I used to be, and that scares the metaphorical jimmies right off of me.
Yet, that is more or less the typical shenanigans I needed to deal with for the past week of inactivity but that would hardly justify much of a log according to Peatice. Oh no, there is a special reason why Peatrice eagerly told me to tell me story to him once more, despite how I mentally insult him at every turn. It was nine twenty one in the evening, I was naturally going through my cooling down mode. Y’know, take a shower, change into my sleeping clothes, stop working and get ready to rest despite Peatrice’s nagging for me to stay up 24/7 because I could.
The door to enter and exit my apartment bursted open as I came out of the bathroom in a plain T-shirt and sweats. Before I could ask my floating buddy as to what the hell he was planning, I noticed a canister fly into the center of my living area, hitting the Mexican boy right in the head. A white gas began to pour out of it, causing myself to gag as my eyes began to water. The Mexican boy did much the same as he crouched to his knees and was promptly stomped on by large black boots. Through the cloud of white mist came a plethora of men in dark attire very clearly made for battle. I was not sure where they were from or who, but they were undoubtedly soldiers, and four of them grabbed my limbs and gripped me like there was no tomorrow. As my vision cleared up, I was able to see that there were about a dozen more of these guys in my apartment, all wearing gas masks and aiming assault weapons at me.
I was about to ask the predictable stuff, but then another man made his way through my likely broken front door. He was donned in slightly more garish armor, with the gas mask and heavy machinery being a mainstay as he quickly shed both of those accessories, and walked right toward me. I’d say he was about six foot four, two-hundred thirty pounds, a lot of it muscle, and about fifty if the grey hair were an indicator. It certainly didn’t help his age due to how his face looked like it suffered many scars and bursts of flame in his time on this Earth. With that in mind, his cat-like hazel eyes shined as he scowled at me like a cat just shat in his bed. He quickly grabbed me by the collar and spoke with a voice that made it clear this man is, or at least was a heavy smoker. “Lookie here, we can take this nice and easy or I’ll leave your pretty little face twice as fucked as mine.”
I gulped, or would’ve if not for the headlock one schmuck placed me in. The man was less than a foot away from me and looking me over as if he were figuring out where he would jam his knife in first. I was helpless as Peatrice, in his eternal wisdom, told me to, “Try and turn these cunt-muffins into batter! C’mon, your hands are in the right places!” It was shit advice at best, as I never tried to Real-boot humans into anything, and I was not sure if I even could.
I ultimately decided against such an act, hoping for a second that I could work all of this out diplomatically. But then the ruffled faced man punched me right in the jaw, causing a spitwad of blood to jet out of my mouth. Impulse got the better of me, and I muttered an insult under my breath. It was quiet, but loud enough for the man to bark at me once more. “The fuck did you say to me? You might not know who I am, most people sure as hell fucking don’t despite how I risked my ass for them more times than they could ever thank me for. But I suppose we can try something a bit more ‘formal’. Name’s Dick, Dick Kikansky. Say one word about my name and cocks and you’re gonna have trouble saying much of anything from there on out. Now then, who might I ask are you?”
I had several ways I could approach this, but honestly got the best of me as I muttered out: “I’m Jad Spencer, and what the hell are you doing here?” Dick socked me in my nose before responding. “I ask the questions around here, little lady. Now, you’re calling yourself Jad Spencer. Wasn’t he the little fucktard who killed 258 people about two weeks ago? I suppose that its just a coincidence that you share a name.” I let out a groan while he talked down to me, fearing what may happen, but mostly just boiling in rage over Peatrice for not being proactive and doing anything about this. Because no matter what I ended up saying, I was completely fucked.
Honesty won once more, as I responded. “No, it is not a coincidence, there is a reason why I share that name, but you’d probably just give me a black eye for saying why exactly that’s the-” I paused as Dick’s mouth and eyes creeped on open, eventually forming a bewildered expression. I looked around, and noticed that the blood I spat out was crawling over my clothes and into my mouth. Whatever cover I could have tried to keep, it was blown straight out of the water and launched to the freaking moon.
“The fuck is this!” Dick shouted, spraying his saliva on my face. He then tried to use his finger to grab the blood, but as a bit of it stuck onto his finger, it quickly fell onto the floor, and followed the quest back to my mouth. Not leaving so much as a stain on his finger in the process. I was about to pull a nervous laugh before going a hundred percent honest in hopes that I could not get dissected in a lab or what have you, but then Peatrice popped in front of Dick, a remote control in his little electric hands.
“Abort base, entering the boom-boom sequence in 3-2-1 now!” Peatrice said apathetically before he pounded on the button, which was where I knew things would only be getting worse. Dick turned his head as the wall behind him started to break up accompanied by a wave of fire. A bomb had gone off, and I was propelled out of my high standing apartment, through the glass window, and down into the street. The last thing I remember was the combined force of gravity and an explosion sending me a block away as I called Peatrice an fuckwit.
Day Fourteen: Threw In The Towel Too Late
When I regained consciousness, I was lying on the street as my face was being doused by a steady stream of rainwater. I could hear sirens approaching, and my ever present pal was telling me to move my tan tush. I was not sure what happened at the moment, but if my lack of any clothing, location a block away from my apartment window, and budding crowd of a few dozen who were capturing my image with their smartphones were any indication, I could fill in the blanks. I must’ve been knocked out as I fell, but my whole healing factor made it so that I could be reconfigured after being splattered on some asphalt. It wasn’t a huge shock in retrospect, after I spent a few hours cutting and growing back my arm from some repurposed molecules of dirt a few days ago. But I knew that I couldn’t sit here as a naked woman with a thick ten inch long penis for very long.
Peatrice flustered his way through the many options I had, but eventually howled like a hyena in intercourse and pointed to a manhole. “Jad-kun, get your keester out of this place! No time to explain, just make your way into the shit pipes!” Saying that I wanted a word with Peatrice was an understatement, but based on my current situation, I really had no time to do anything but make my way into the sewers.
I placed my palm over the manhole where did the first thing that came to mind and Real Booted it into water, much to the amazement of the folks who were about to place my amazing feats and naked ass all over Youtube. I quickly jumped down into the dark stream of urine, poop, rainwater and I don’t even want to know what, instantly regretting how I didn’t try to run through the city like a normal person. I plucked my nose while treading through what was likely a backed up system of neck-high gook, and managed to Real Boot something to keep my nostrils shut, thanks to how I knew how nose plugs worked.
Things were immediately 2,000% more bearable, so I brought my attention back to Peatrice, who was skipping around in the sewage making little chuckle noises. “Peatrice, what the actual fuck? No, explain how, why and what just happened to me, because goddamn, I’ve been getting more than a hair peeved at your bullshit, but this is a whale sized mountain of feces in comparison.” “Tee-hee! It’s funny because you’re in actual poo-poo!” Peatrice remarked, like the smug little bastard he tries to be. “I’ll give you the rundown, and you just follow me. Seeing as how I, and I know this is shocking, have a map of the sewer system within my space age mind!”
I let his crap slide by, but only because it would lead to answers. “Well, it turns out that the Gov’ment were able to track down Abigale-senpai’s IP address, and that post was eventually traced by the Gov’ment, who never even thought to look there until day ten of this whole affair. But after they found you, and I’ve getting this off of a bit of mental hacking on my part, they surveyed the area, which resulted in next to nobody knowing who you were, Jad-kun. Guess it is sorta Gale-senpai’s fault for not being a social wallflower, but ya can’t transmogrify that there past.”
“Okay, I get that. Just why exactly did you need to, I don’t know, send them to a fiery grave?” I questioned, as the sewage brushed up against my back and sent shivers down my spine. “Well, I did see that Gale-senpai installed an emergency get out of jail bomb to prevent anyone from leaving her crib alive. So I just used it to get away, seeing as how we’d never go back there anyhow. Oh, and I did make sure to get the outfit designs and all your logs before we had to go-go.” “…Peatrice, this is not about a fucking wardrobe, it is about you killing… how many people?” “I dunno, I think it was forty-six?”
“forty-six, so other people in the complex were innocent victims as well?” I asked, while grabbing onto a thin pipe along the wall. “Hell, even that Mexican boy who you made me take in all had to die for our escape?” “Oh, don’t bring up that Mexican boy card, did you ever even learn his name?” “..No.” I depressingly replied, feeling like I had actually warranted being stuck in a sewer for a split second. “Yep, did I, and I could’ve done a background check on him in a second. In fact… his name was Pablo Gallegos.”
“Peatrice, you’re still a murderer.” “Excuse me? I’ve been killing since you were nine, my good man. I was programmed to do just that, and I’m sorry for following my natural instincts.” “It’s also natural instincts to sex up anything of the opposite gender, what’s your point?” I snarkily replied, not that I got an answer. Instead I heard a the sound of gushing water overpowering anything Peatrice could have said.
I was tumbling through the sewers and had to react quickly, I grabbed onto a wet chunk of metal in between the pipes and began to think of a boat forged from the water pouring through the sewer. Its wooden body was forged faster than I expected, and I made sure to add a rope to it so I would not be swept away even if the thing went a-tumbling. I was unable to see, so I quickly did indeed fall underneath the currents, with the last thing I was able to hear through the roaring waves of disgusting fluids being something of a warning. I didn’t need to take many guesses before I figured out what, or I suppose who the warning was for. With that, I went through the water, my body seeping beneath the water and eventually getting knocked out because I was not really aware of how to turn water into oxygen when bashing my head against metal.
I am not sure how long I went in between consciousness and… death during the trip, just that it was a miserable experience that had my nose plug fall off so what little air I got was the worst air I had ever breathed. Saying it was the worst thing to happen to me would be just applying the honor to a more recent event, as this felt like the amalgamation of terrible events that could happen to me. Being tied to a little wooden boat and constantly drowning and smelling watered down shit. I wanted to do nothing but yell at Peatrice, but I’m pretty sure even he knew already.
I was eventually given a break, thankfully, as the tiny boat seemed to get stuck on a metal ladder on the side of the sewer, which served as a very clear exit for me as I evaporated the rope and made my way to the manhole cover that was keeping me from the night’s sky and freedom from this literal shit hole. Upon Real Booting the sewer lid into air, I was greeted by the continued rainstorm that seemed to evolve into a downpour since I entered the sewer. My surroundings being pretty unrecognizable, almost looking like a suburb to Funke if it were even large enough to have one.
Peatrice then decided to pop into my vision and shake himself like a wet dog. “Well, buster, guess we don’t have many options now, do we. For the moment, I’d say its best to get your sexy tush out of the lit-up street and go up… that tree over there.” Peatrice has scanned over the decent looking neighborhood and pointed to a thirty foot tall pine tree in the backyard to a two story house that thankfully looked to be empty. I had little choice unless I wished to return to the sewers of death, so I moved my naked ass out of the street, making sure to retract my penis tail while running, which was far more uncomfortable than it sounds.
Once I managed to pull myself up the tree with the ease I had grown to expect, I could only peek through and look at literally hundreds of vehicles coming on in. Police cars, jeeps, cars with freaking turrets in them for Christ’s sake, and helicopters that were shining lights across the streets as they scanned for me. I knew I needed to get to a more secluded area than a tree in some family’s backyard, so I made way to what looked to be some sort of nature preserve, one drenched in soaked autumn colored leaves and a mere three blocks away from my current location.
As I was planning my next move, Peatrice was being his usual asshole self, making remarks like, “Oh, them coppas are gonna getcha at this rate, you’ve gotta just go for it and rack up those Murder Death Kills!” Which was just super encouraging, as he tried to imitate… what was his name… ah, Mickey from Rocky. I climbed down, or more accurately fell out of the tree to a loud clunk. It was enough to cause the family whose house I was trespassing to turn on their lights, and for me to dash to the land of wet wood. I just wish I had tried to stealth it up a bit more, because I was certain that somebody did catch a look at me, and the last thing I needed was for someone to tell the military my general location.
I made it into the land of trees and asphalt trails fairly quickly, only for my next step of action to be asked out loud. “Tough call there, Jad-kun.” Peatrice remarked. “Your chances of success given all of this crap are close to, let’s see, fifteen percent. And that’s being a bit generous.” I mumbled a few swears at him, as I tried to find another tree to hide in. But given how most had already lost their leaves and there were not any evergreens, I fumbled around for far longer than I ever should have. It became incredibly apparent when I heard what could only be interpreted as yelling, likely amplified call out to me. I was not sure of what it said due to the thunder that began to come in through the storm that was brewing, but I heard the name Abigale Quinlan loud and clear.
Peatrice was useless at this point, only advising me to, “Just make a freaking nuke or some shit.” Forgetting that I not only lacked the knowledge of what exactly goes into a nuclear weapon to make it real, but also how that would only make things far, far worse. Instead, climbing a tree was the best option I could muster as lights began to pop up from every side, with military men inevitably coming to either apprehend me, or place a bullet in my brain. I settled on staying in a tree that had only mostly gone through the process of deciduous, seeing as how I did not fathom them ever possibly using something to detect my heat signature. Hell, just aim one heat seeking missile and I’d be splattered all over the leaf covered ground.
I wouldn’t say that the reality was much better though, as I made note of at least forty men with some form of light scanning the trees in hope of finding me. But after only about two minutes of scanning with head mounted flashlights in the rain, the grizzled announcer’s voice called out to the hunters. “Men, report to the nearby trucks, and grab some flamethrowers and propane. We’re gonna burn her out!” The men quickly scattered away to the dozens of nearby trucks, stopping for only a few seconds before scampering back, but now with propane tanks on their backs.
At first, I could only wonder about how they would expect this to work during a storm. Then I saw a couple fire trucks appear and begin to hose down the forest, but not with water if the order was an indicator, with propane. It was around this point where I went through the same conversation with Peatrice over and over. Where I asked, “Peatrice, seriously, how the fuck am I going to get out of this? Can I grow wings or something like that?” Then Peatrice responded, “Nu-uh. Guess I should’ve given you an ace to pull out, but I didn’t expect for them to pull an all-out attack. Couldn’t you just try to snipe them out or maybe toss a few of those fire grenades I taught you how to make?”
It was a cycle made all the worse when I saw the men carrying tanks on their backs finally get a flame going, which did what you would expect fire to do and burn. It was all around me, covering the nature preserve as the men began to fan out, presumably because the fire was scorching through the soggy trees at a startling pace. I kept on waiting for the right time to dive in and possibly use the fire as an escape route, but it’s only natural to want to avoid things that are mentally associated with pain. So I chickened out, and only went further up the tree as nearly half the trees was either ash or aflame. That is, until the inevitable happened, the tree I was gripping too was caught up in the inferno, and all Peatrice has to say to me was that I was a “dumbass pussy”.
From a certain perspective, I was both of those things, but I can’t help but imagine others doing much better in my shoes, or lack thereof. Especially when the tree finally began to fall from the burnt trunk, and I was sent into the worst of it. Heat was the first sensation, but it only grew and grew into something far, far more worse. I could only look back at the whole being eaten alive thing as an inconvenience. Hell, going back to my previous life, I was being a little bitch when I was seven, burnt my finger on the stove and cried. This? This was an aggressive fire, and my skin was being turned into a crispy shell of what it once was. I could only flail as my eyeballs were destroyed, muscles eaten away, and nerves sending on the sensation of pain into my mind. If hell were a real place, and it was just being burnt forever, I could see why the punishment might have been so terrifying to some. Afterall, I was living through it.
TIme lost meaning while I hopped and rolled until I could only lay there as consciousness left me for a while, only returning as the flames receded. I believe I managed to crawl away from the flames, but with my mind consumed by nothing but agony, anything could have happened. Not that it really mattered as I regained consciousness to see the blinding light mounted onto an assault rifle that was aimed right at my head. I had been captured, and all it took was the deaths of dozens and the destruction of a small forest.
I tried to escape at first, pressing into the ground in order to form a pillar twenty feet into the sky, but I was stopped at three as I felt a bullet pierce the side of my head. I then got up, ran away, and was hit the the back with a shotgun, falling flat on my face. Recovered, got up, and was stabbed before getting stomped and shot several times in the head. With another bullet coming in whenever I felt consciousness return. I wanted to run. Hell, I wanted to finally give into Peatrice’s plan and fight these soldiers. I did not, however kill any of them… or at least I wish I didn’t.
I brought down thirty with the knives I made from the charred Earth beneath me, and fell ten times before giving myself up in disgust at what I had just done. I had robbed people of their lives in my own frustration. They were merely following orders, doing what they rightfully thought was just. But me? It was the least I could do to get hand and leg cuffed and be thrown into the back of a truck. A truck that I could very well escape from, along with the chains that bound me, but all I wanted to do was cry. Letting the harsh reality hit me like a ton of bricks as I knew that my life may as well have ended. Who the fuck am I kidding? It should have ended two weeks ago.
There, are you happy Peatrice? You could have made this work, you could have made the world a better place. But now? I wish you would just crawl into a recess of my mind and just fucking die, you complete and utter waste.
Day Twenty: I Sing The Elf’s Song
It has been six days since I last made one of these entries in this little shitty diary, and looking back on my last little episode, I find it hard to believe it’s only been that long. Well, to continue my memoirs, I did eventually break out of that truck by Real Booting a grenade from the metal all around me. I died less than a minute later thanks to the helicopters, trucks, cars, and even a fucking tank that were all tracking me. I was put in another truck, except this time some pasty doll eyed teenager was told to stab my face in so I could be kept out of commission for a few hours. The plan was actually pretty effective, seeing as how I don’t recall jack shit about those hours, but I do remember waking up to a tired teenage boy holding a knife that he was about to shove into my face, before I grabbed it and shoved it into his.
It was shit like that which occupied my time before being dumped out of a truck, and dragged by a meat hook that latched through my skull and into a building, at least before I was able to, I’m not sure, build my brain around the hook and be able to bite off a chunk of the neck of the schmuck who was carrying me. They then decided to chop off my head and drag my body through some sleek looking metal facility. Funny thing was that my head just sorta popped back up from my body, as my old head was decaying into nothingness as another soldier was carrying it in a metal box. I stole the submachine gun off of the man who was dragging my body and tried to take down the twenty or so men all around me. I got about three before they got me.
From there, I was sent through increasingly brutal attempts to contain me. I was not even sure what was going on, where I was, let alone just how much time and money all of this shit must have cost the government. They started with a metal prison, but I was able to break through the walls and into bullets. They threw me into a vat of acid, but a funny thing happened where I did lose consciousness, but I woke up to discover that all the acid was gone from the vat, they claimed I kept on squirming as the acid vanished, so I guess I have a fail safe where I just Real Boot everything around me into myself when I’m surrounded by death.
I learned a lot about what I was capable of as I kept on surviving from death trap to another, my immortality naturally preventing any sort demise that was intended for me. However, when I was turning the air around me into a shotgun, going on a rampage and getting up seconds after any soldier brought me down, I’d be lying if I didn’t get some sort of thrill out of it. I felt myself getting stronger, more accustomed to using my powers and those who captured me clearly knew that as they could not hold me for more than a few hours before I managed to escape from them once more.
From being crushed between two tons of metal which I turned into pliable goo. Or being caught in between arching strings of electricity that I thwarted by forging a layer of dense rubber over my burning body, eventually crushing the machines that launched the electricity back at me along with those who followed their orders to contain me. Yet, during all of that I made note of how a familiar voice in my head was silent, it was that of Peatrice. I can’t remember when he said his final words to me, or even what they were. All I know is that he stopped responding sometime during my electrical assault.
I bad mouthed him a lot, but even if I was stuck with the most annoying lump of shit I’ve ever met, I’d have someone to communicate with. Instead I was sent from room to room, always trying to break free after I was tortured for god knows how long. Any one of the contraptions I was shoved into would be thought of as a cruel and unusual path to the grave, but that path was closed for me, and me alone. So even when all seemed lost, I would use oxygen to get me out of any given pickle. The problem was that there was no end to it. I could break free when I figured my way out of one contraption, but it just meant that I would need to deal with a steady stream of bullets piercing through my skin as their effect was inversely affected by how quickly I got back up my feet. A process that went from about ten seconds to just two.
Oh, but I naturally got out if I am typing this as… although I suppose somebody could have offered me some sort of deal with me acting as a Living Assault Weapon for the US military. Anyhow, the final room I was placed in was something. Being about thirty by forty feet, saying it was sizable was like saying the fifteen foot walls were going a bit overboard. With a clean white surface, large lights hanging from the ceiling, and a swarm of guards standing against the walls, all with their weapon either aimed at me or just a second away from that. Meaning that everybody was getting a particular angle of my naked body as I was in the middle of the room on my knees, with my movements being traced by snipers who were up in separate rooms and looking through the windows and a couple of rockets locked onto my heat signature. Saying they went all out was certainly an understatement.
Yet, how was I being contained? Well, both my hands and feet were encased in these dense metal spheres, which I could not physically touch, and gripped my ankles and wrists like a bitch, so there was barely any air left in them. And to make things all the more secure, they were tied to a big ass metal pole via some thick cables that I could barely see, let alone reach as they kept me on my knees with my arms pulled way back. I knew I could escape from this trap with relative ease, but I had gone through this shit enough times to know that I’d just be shot down and shoved into another prison. So I bided my time and thought of a way I could get out once and for all.
It was hours before I saw someone new open the garage-like door into this room I was staring at. It revealed a few more troops all guarding one man. He was bound in a wheelchair and pushed by a short haired Hispanic woman in her early thirties, donned in military apparel. She did not do much aside from push the man with one hand on her pistol holster, but the man was what caught my attention. Hell, calling the sad creature that sat in that chair a man was generous.
He had a face coated in bandages, leaving nothing but burnt lips covered by an oxygen mask and a squinty eye that struggled to keep open, while the other one was merely a hole in his head. While his body was completely covered in what looked like any other hospital robe only with sleeves that led to two plastic and metal artificial hands that he chose to keep on his armrests. As for his legs? They were gone, replaced with two uneven nubs that stuck out of the chair. I’d say he looked like somebody who was being kept alive against his will, but then I saw him reach into his robe and pull out a revolver.
I remained silent as I scanned him, the woman eventually pushing him about four feet away from me. Leaving the two of us to try and examine the strange individual brought before us. One looked like a naked girl held against her will, the other like an old man caught in a terrible car accident. It was a somber moment… at least before I snickered, and chuckled, and began to burst out laughing at this situation. “Fucking Hell!” I shouted in between laughter to the unamused man. “So, who the hell are you, and why have I been going through trap after trap, some sort of test as to what I can do with all of these marvelous toys at my fingertips? Because, trust me, I wouldn’t have murdered so many if you had just backed off and gave me a minute to vent after, I don’t know, having hot metal rods crammed into my eyes. But if we can all just be nice, sensible people, then I’m sure we can come to an agreement, and I can just leave, never making note of this encounter again, and not laying my hand on another’s skull and exploding it. I think that would be just dandy, don’t you?”
The man was pissed, shakily tracing me with his revolver as I continued taking advantage of the only proper human interaction I’ve had in days. He spoke up as I rambled, sounding like someone who would need and oxygen tank, with his slow, deep, and grimey voice. With the constant pausing sealing the deal. “You have… slaughtered hundreds… of us. And robbed me of… my body. Do you Remember… Dick Kikansky?” That soldier’s face immediately popped in my head, as I couldn’t help myself from commenting on his current state. “Well Dick, I’ve got to say that I’m impressed. Surprised you found a way to look more like something the cat dragged in after it shat on it. How much of yourself even survived that explosion?” I mentally shouted fuck to myself about twenty times before my wiseass remarks warranted a response from the humorless dying man.
“We want… to know… why you… did all this.” Dick coughed up, sounding like every syllable may be his last. “First thing’s first, all this probably refers to that whole destruction of that hick town, the Presidential shenanigans, and destroying most of Mexico. None of which were done by my hand, just the hands I currently have. You might remember hearing about another story that day that blog post went out, the story of a boy named Jad Spencer making mustard gas. Well, I used to be Jad Spencer.”
The already hateful glare became slightly more agitated as Dick took in my story. “It all happened on September 25th, 2014, just a few days ago. I woke up, and bam, I went from kid in a small Midwestern town to being in the body of the greatest terrorist that the world has ever known. Meanwhile, my body was then occupied by the one who caused all of this, Abigale Quinlan. Except, funny how these things work, she dropped dead in my body. Leaving me stranded in hers, without any help or guidence, at least until the Twenty-sixth.”
“That was when I got a little package for an electronic man who wore a gimp suit, had a vagina, and was only visible to me- Fuck, this sound so stupid! I know it sounds like bullshit, but trust me, I could come up with way more convincing shit than that! Oh, so why did I end up killing all of those people? Let me think, oh, right, basic human fucking instinct. You’re cornered, you try to run or kill your way to safety and freedom. Hell, the numbers would be smaller if you had just done this shit from the start, you fucking dumbasses. Fuck, why’d I call you that… Dick?”
It was an awkward series of words I only had half conviction in stating. I didn’t think too badly of it at the time, hell, I was being as much of a sarcastic ass as I could manage, but when all the odds were stacked against me? I don’t have any clue what I was thinking. I’m guessing Dick didn’t either, as he more or less ignored my story. “What do… you want?” He bluntly asked. “ I want to get the fuck out of here, you… it’d be generous to call you a human at this point, I’m sure that you’ve got fake organs to go with your hands.” Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! Fuck me so hard up my goddamn shit filled ass. I had the chance to possibly fix everything, but I just fucked it up and… uhnidsKsdfhyurztngFNJkiusnejgNSEAjklNTDFABHZD!
“I am not of… importance.” he droned. “I want to know… what is your plan? What were you… planning? Answer or… we’ll make… Swiss Cheese… out of your ass.” I bursted out in laughter once more. “I told you, I don’t have a plan, this isn’t my normal body, I don’t even know why it has a huge penis and no nipples. I just woke up in it, and got taught how to use it by the most powerful AI in the universe, who seemingly poofed out of fucking existence. Or, hell, maybe he’s bringing in a mech to come and save me. Fuck if I know anything about this shit! Bahahahaha!” I then tried to bash my head into the floor, but could not reach and was probably nearing the limit that would have me turned into fleshy jam.
Dick could only take rapid breaths as a response to my words. He then took his arms up, plopped out of his wheelchair, and began to move his body over to me by crawling. He plopped himself up onto his amputated legs and pulled out his gun only a foot or so away from me. He also made sure to tear out his breathing mask to speak to me without a somewhat robotic filter over his every word.
“Tell me!” he shouted before hacking away his lungs, which he did after every few syllables. “What the fuck you think you’re doing? Where are the bombs, the plans, and how the fuck are you real. Let me know, or the rest of your shitty fucking life will be nothing but eternal fucking-” he was cut off, not by me or anyone else, but by a massive hack that sent him down on his back. The woman who pushed Dick then rushed over to him, shouting out with surprisingly general concern for a man. That is when it hit me. I had the opportunity to seize freedom right there and then. I only had one shot, could not miss my chance to flow. I was going to escape.
I quickly and temporarily brought out my tail from its crotch based hole and into the face of the woman, knocking her lights out as the shock delayed the shots for a second, which was twice as much time as I needed. I then used what little air I had in the metal balls that encased my hands and feet, turning it into an explosive gas that just needed something to ignite it. And seeing as how I already knew how to snap an explosion into existence, it was a very simple process to blast apart my feet and my hands.
I then pressed my freed body against the ground, which I had been hollowing out for the past few minutes, sending away the concrete beneath me and turning it into air that nobody seemed to notice as it fizzled from the ground. As such, I was able to drop before three bullets entered by body, which I had more than enough time to push out as I thought up something I should have a long time ago. Battle armor. I merely thought of a very dense and durable material that could brush off explosives and bullets alike, and within ten seconds my entire body, which rapidly healed its missing limbs, was completely covered by a silver substance with a blue visor for me to look out from. It was a good inch and a half thick, was hard as hell to move in, but I knew that these chumps didn’t have anything that could break through it.
I leapt out of the five foot deep hole I made for myself and was assaulted by more rounds that I could count, none of which resulting in so much as recoiling from myself. Hell, I can’t even say the rockets they shot at me did much but cause a bit of a smoke cloud. Yet, I had about sixty men and women all around me and could not simply walk past all of them. And this, whoever the hell is reading this, is where I started feeling really shitty about myself in retrospect.
You see, Dick Kikansky was right in front of me, and I felt as if I needed to use this broken man as something before killing him like I would a fly. I grabbed him by the head and did what I never thought I’d ever do and Remastered him. Not just his brain, his entire body. I thought of a massive blob of meat that would be unphased by bullets and only seek to kill those around me. I looked into his hazel eyes, unable to hear him over the gunfire, but able to read the words, “help me” in his lips. He then went from half a man and into what I had imagined, a rampaging glob of flesh that began to consume and absorb the soldiers on the ground floor. Leaving me with the men and women in the alcoves.
With a burst of ground allowing me to leap to the men with rocket launchers, I promptly threw them down into the lower level, taking their weapons for myself, and aiming for the two other alcoves of snipers, leaving behind nothing but a mess in both of them. I then leapt back down onto the killing floor, pulled a katana from the ground, and went to town on whoever my little monster hadn’t killed. With reinforcements succeeding in nothing but keeping the body count higher, and increasing the size of the murderous pile of meat I had created and, after nearly twenty minutes of murdering, reduced into nothing but a nat I squished in my hands.
It was at that time, when I had brought down more people than I could even count, that I sat down in one of the countless blood coated rooms and just think as the expected alarms kept on blaring since the moment I grabbed Dick by his head. Had I achieved anything I wanted? No. Were there better options than going on a killing spree, acting like the person you have been trying to claim you were not for weeks now? Yes. Did I agree with my actions from mere minutes ago? No, the more i looked back on them, the more disgusted I felt about what I had done. I was a cold blooded killer at this point, stuck in god knows where for reasons I just went and justified. I decided to then shed my battle armor, go to the locker room and steal a bra, white tank top, and some black sweatpants, steal a jeep, and get out of here.
Here turned out to be some remote military installation in the middle of Nevada. Well, probably not the middle, but if getting out of there was any indication, the place was hard to locate. From there, I then just kept on riding through the desert, looking at the setting sun, and sobbing like an infant being torn away from their mother as I made my way up north on an empty dirty road. I did that for… two hours if the clock in the car wasn’t busted. By then night had fallen, it was getting cold, and I wanted to get some sleep. I found a cheap hotel, made myself some money out of sand, and went out to buy a cheap laptop, which is what I’m tying on as of right now… I’m going to bed, hoping that I can dream of a life less upsetting than the one I made for myself. Maybe one far away.
Day Twenty-Seven: My Life Is Near Its End
It has been a week since I last bought that laptop to write out these diary entries. Not even sure why I’m doing it at this point aside from how there is some comfort in reciting everything that you’ve been doing, possibly reflecting and facing some form of self actualization. If not, I’m just clearing my head, even though I had a couple hundred miles worth of driving to accomplish that. Cruising along from Nevada to a very poorly planned path to the first part of Canada I could get in. It was some small town in the Ontario province, can barely even remember the name now that I’ve faked the papers to get in.
I managed to Real Boot them, along with a couple thousand Canadian dollars. The question then is how the blazes did I make a passport? Yeah, it was odd enough how I managed to forge money, but I at least remember Peatrice giving me the schematics to do at least that. As for the papers designating my identification before entering another country for as long as I wanted? Not a single goddamn clue, I just knew what the papers should look like and what they should have in order for “Jade Dawn” to enter.
Well, the answer is both simple and complicated. I was lucky enough to figure it out on October nineteenth, the day I managed to get past the unsurprisingly surplus of people trying to get out of the US. Makes sense given all the shit that’s been hitting it ever since I was unable to stop that blog post from being posted. There were loads of people heading North after what happened in Mexico, so I guess it was just the next step for most people.
Sorry, got off topic for a second. The point is that I quickly managed to get a modestly furnished apartment right afterward, when I had a very odd dream. I had not seen him since I was being tortured for days on end, nor had I recalled any of my dreams since I got a new body, but there he was, floating in the air in front of me, Peatrice. My first reaction to seeing his pixie-like body floating around in what looked like a world inspired by the work of Vincent Van Gogh was naturally a question.
“Peatrice, where the hell have you been?” I barked, barely even noticing how, even in my own dreams, I both felt and sounded like Abigale. Hell, I’m not even sure I remember my old voice now. “Jad-kun, I’ve been with you since the very beginning, ya wacky space digger, so why would I leave you in your most dire hour? I’ve just been allocated to some, let’s say, less visual areas. As is the result of having your brains splattered several times in succession, something that I probably should’ve accounted for. But, well, now I’m kinda stuck like this. And things will only be getting much worse, at least for us as individuals.”
I was about to ask the pivotal word, but Peatrice rose his index finger, and my mouth was suddenly gone. “I don’t have a lot of time, so no more questions, and don’t try to lucid dream out of this, Jad-kun. The important thing is that you won’t, I guess, really be Jad-kun for much longer. As my personality and vast zettabytes of knowledge will become one with yours in, I’m guessing, two weeks. Give or take, I’m basically researching this malarky with a 56k Modem.”
I had so many questions as to why, and how I could stop this, just wondering how all of this would make sense, and what would happen to me. I mean, fucking Christ, I was hard on the little shit, but being melded with him? That sounded awful no matter how much benefit of the doubt I gave to him. “Heck, I’m lucky to get just that. I’m already sorta embedding myself with you, hence that bit of bloodlust about a week ago. Oh, and weapon schematics, did lotsa research on that. But as for advice… I’ve got nothing, just try to not lose yourself inside of me since I’ll probably still be around, got back-ups all over the place and all that jazz.”
With that, Peatrice began to walk away, eventually fading into nothingness as I found myself in the lavender colored sheets I covered myself with hours ago, looking up at my off-white walls. The notion of it being a mere dream was something I immediately shot down, as it was too memorable and specific. Seeing as how the last dream I had back in my old body was about recycled coffee, the BBC, and a little girl in a lobster costume shouting, “SIDs, Aurora!” In short, they were pretty damn nonsensical.
So, with this realization that I am going to gradually lose all signs of my own identity and have already been partially corrupted mentally, what was I going to do? Well, considering I was still dealing with being hundreds of miles from what I once called home and in another country that I entered due to my own fear of there being some sort of hit out for me, do I even need to say where my mind was? I was nothing but a paranoid mess for the first couple hours of the twentieth.
It began with the simple fear of being tracked after what I did back in the US. I left the base where I was imprisoned in a very bad shape, but I didn’t go out of my way to break some computers. Hell, they probably had back-ups all over the country if such a scenario were to occur. But was there any chance I was being tracked? Did I have Nanobots in my bloodstream or something like that? They had to get my face, so was that something I had to change too? Wouldn’t people flip out if I got a cut and I healed instantly? Did I even need to bother with people? Could I move away into the mountains and live in a nice cabin while forging my bills forever? Would I be content with doing that, considering that I could potentially cure everything in the world? Would I even want to after my mind is completely fucked over by Peatrice?
That paragraph was just the best questions I had. I was wondering this kind of crap for about three hours before I realized that even if I lived a normal life, Peatrice said that Abigale never aged, so I guess that I’m eternally someone who you’d need to check the ID of before letting them into anything adult. I wouldn’t even be able to properly die, just seeing the world unfurl before me, until either mankind fucks itself into extinction, or I move to another planet after a billion years alive, assuming I don’t just go crazy and kill everyone.
Fucking hell, I’m still coming up with new ways that this whole scenario will fuck me over? Alright, alright, I’m reliving this bullshit again, so I guess I’ll need another chill session, like the one I went through when I decided I haven’t technically bathed, or I guess showered within two weeks. Body odor was a thing of the past, but something about being doused in water was calming to me, though I don’t think the fact I sent through a rather… brutal masturbation session when I tested out my new shower. End result was a golden yellow stained wall and a mix of happy chemicals pumping through my body as I had an internal debate if I should feel bad about spending my last days fapping about.
Afterwards, I looked out at the town I found myself in and decided that my last few days may as well be spent doing something aside from feeling bad about myself and masturbating, so I went out to walk the blocks. I ended up Real Booting myself some new clothes for my little outing, which were for a sigh worthy reason were a purple T-shirt, tan three-quarter length tan jacket, some skinny jeans, and some dark boots. I more or less shrugged it off for being primarily gender neutral above all else, but the whole melding psyche thing was brought right back up in my head. As I slugged down the two flights of stairs and out into the 48 degree, sorry, 9 degree weather. Seriously, why did the whole conversion thing not take off in the 80s? It’s a pretty easy system to learn if shown side by side for a few years. But no, they had to be removed for god knows what reason.
I spent about an hour wandering around, wishing I had dried my hair better due to the cold hand of pre-winter that was grabbing me by my shoulder, but getting strange looks more than anything. Had there been an APB put out for young women with darker skin, tall stature, and green eyes? It certainly seemed like it as no police officers pulled me over before I eventually sneaked into a restaurant, don’t even think I looked at the name before I came in. Not that I’d have much to say, as it was a mostly empty series of booths, tables, and even a bar with one bumish grimey man nursing a drink.
A door placed bell signified my entrance, but nobody came to greet me after a few seconds, so I just dived into a booth, where I kept on throwing out another batch of theories. Thinking that they would be waiting to send the government after I was lured into a false sense of security by how nobody was interacting with me, although that could be due to how I was looking like a greasy haired ne’er-do-well. That is until I was greeted by a nice, “Can I take your order hun?” I looked up to see what woman produced that very southern drawl. She looked to be over half a foot, at about five feet five inches, but was certainly a lot thicker than I was, as she had to be a good 230 pounds. Which was concealed in a brown t-shirt dress combo, with the shirt having the first few buttons undone to show off her double Ds.
I looked up to see her pasty face with blonde hair tied up into a bun, freckles on her cheeks, and bright green eyes leering at me. I was a bit flustered, looking around to see that there were no menus on the table, and all she had in her hand was a notepad. I should’ve asked for a menu, but I just ended up fumbling for half a minute, almost like I didn’t expect to be confronted after entering a restaurant. I did eventually get enough courage to ask for a menu, fumbling like somebody who hadn’t had a proper conversation in a few weeks, which was only somewhat true.
“Sorry Applejack, we don’t got any of those left. All were taken a few days back when the first wave came through.” The woman explained, with the first wave obviously referring to the whole mass immigration thing that started just over three weeks ago. After all, nobody wants to live in a country with a curfew and with lawmen on every other block. “Erm, were you part of that wave?” I asked, as her accent clearly showed her to not be from around here. “Nah, Ditzy Doo. I came here with my Hubby back in twenty-ten. He got himself a job up here, but ended up getting caught in a car accident.”
Looking back on it, that is an extremely bizarre thing to say to somebody who you just met. It may have been pushing it when I asked how she got here, but mentioning something like that makes you seem insane in the membrane. Though almost immediately afterwards, she went back to asking, “So what can I get for ya?” Completely avoiding the personal information bomb she just dropped. “I’ll have a, er, I don’t know, any sandwiches you recommend?” I asked, acting as to be expected from someone who rarely went out to eat. “We got something called a Sinner’s sandwich. It’s turkey, strawberry jam, cheerios, and butter on white bread, served cold. Should I put you down for one, Sweetie Bell?” I cautiously nodded my head before she looked up from a notepad she scribbled on and back at me.
“I’ll also have the…” I mumbled, trying to picture what I could get before remembering something I heard about thanks to a podcast. “I’ll take an order of fries with gravy and just water to drink.” The woman let out a mildly smug grin in response, and left after saying, “Order should be up in about ten minutes.” I needed something to focus on aside from my current predicament, so I merely began coming up with origin stories for my waitress. I eventually settled on one where she was some sort of time travelling black girl from 1906 who wounded up 100 years in the future in the body of her employers’ great great granddaughter. It showed just how clustered my mind was, and how I probably should’ve slept more the past week, instead of getting really good at making smart phones out of pillows.
She did come back with a tray containing my Poutine, sandwich, and what looked to be the same water this establishment used for the dishes. I muttered a thank you until she left me to go back into the kitchen, presumably to gossip, seeing as how I only saw four other people around me. I just nursed my fairly mediocre food for about fifteen minutes before the woman came back out with my bill. Just under $20, which I paid with a single bill I pulled not from my ass, but from my seat.
From there, I only managed to kill about a little over an hour when I returned to my apartment, but all it really did was put me on more of an edge. I had an objective before, one to run away from a government that would probably try to find some way to put me down for good even if it meant destroying a city. Now I was just in an apartment with godlike powers that could very easily lead me off the deep end. I could try to research medicine and cure Cancer or something. Seeing as how my comprehension has become remarkably potent since I entered this body and I could probably read through a book like Doctor Who, and know everything just by flipping through the pages.
But at the same time, I only had a few more days until I could essentially be a different person, or at least even more so than I already was. As for what I’m going to do, I haven’t a clue. Hell, I’ve wasted two of my three-hundred some odd hours left just writing about how confused I am. I’m not going to die anytime soon, but I’ve got to make a bucket list and finish it as soon as I can.
Day Thirty-Seven: The Bliss of Murder
It’s been quite a bit since I last looked up onto, well, I haven’t actually published this anywhere, as it is all just in the cloud at this point. Just a collection of ones and zeroes expanded in a sequence from bits to bytes, to kilobytes, and maybe even a whole megabyte at this point. Though I doubt it. Anywho, the last ten days were a bit of a dash. I travelled around as much as I could with border patrol, bought many a frivolous thing that I currently have in a nicer apartment than the one I was writing from last time. All of which led me to realize one important thing. What was I really doing before I got this body?
Think about it, as a teenager you don’t have much aside from personal bullshit to keep you going. You want the world, but you’ve got nothing to do with it. Just a bunch of demands when you’re still just learning what the real world and life actually are. Hell, on my first draft of a bucket list, I put down games I wanted to beat and movies I wanted to see. Now that’s just pathetic bullshit. The power of a god, and all I could think about petty qualms with things I have an eternity to consume.
It didn’t take me long to realize this as I was in planes more often than I was off of them in the past week. And without the need to sleep, I ended up pondering my state, and realizing that if I was annoyed enough, I could send this bird down in flames. But I managed to always snag first class, so I was pretty chill until I ended up using a bit too much of the recycled air as a Real Booting project, which led to me taking down a plane before I jumped out in a Parachute I made out of the walls. All it took were a few snaps of my fingers before it was making a fiery nosedive into the Canadian mountains, with the nearest town being what I picked as home sweet home for the next couple of days which were filled with forging documents before I got the most expensive condo there was in a ten mile radius.
I actually wrote a bit of a diary around that point, but as I was about to go down the whole, “I’m such a fucking monster” route, I realized something. There are just about Seven billion peeps in this world, so just under a hundred dying meant nothing. And it did make me, someone whose memories will probably stay with her millenia, happy as shit. Kids kill ants and set them on fire, and I’m really not so different, now am I? A far mightier and longer lived being carelessly smashing down things that are hardly a threat.
Oh, but I’m in no mood to talk about how great I am, and likely mentioning my meter long buddy. I do however have a very delightful tale of my experience during the all hallow’s eve of 2014. I managed to dash twenty miles southeast within an hour, ending up in a pretty small town not all that different from what I remember of Oransen. Mild quaintness to it, no building over four stories tall, and a good number of teenagers who I could mess with the usual series of plump little post-fetal human nuggets were strutting around in costumes of popular cartoon characters.
The idea of maybe messing with a kid’s mind, handing them a gun, and telling them to kill people was a rather novel idea for me, but I wanted something more… deceptive. I wanted to try subtlety, and not act like an overpowered bitch while I flaunted my weight around and sprayed people with my golden honey jizz. And what better place to act like an asshole than a teenage Halloween party going on at one of the nicer houses in the area. I could immediately tell that the mostly white group of balanced boys and girls were somewhere in the high school spectrum, mostly Juniors and Seniors.
Naturally, I’m some weird mix that made me look to be Filipino, but not quite. I did check it in my down time, and it was a pretty schizophrenic list of nationalities that aren’t really worth property listing, as variants drift into the one sixty-fourths many times. From Britain to Brazil, to India. The second red flag came from how I was clearly an outsider, someone who did not necessarily belong in series of very clearly premade groups. Third and final flag came from my outfit, which was far too blah if I wanted to have fun at this little swaray.
Firstly, I poofed up my hair a bit. It have very clearly grown a good inch past my shoulders, but with some gestures, I managed to give it a bit more flair, if only because I thought it’d be sorta keen looking. While my outfit was a cream Trapeze dress that looked to be a size too small for me, not helped by how I had a dark outer corset covering the middle of it. Paired with a tight jean jacket that went only down to my ribs, with its already short sleeves rolled up so they just missed my elbows. Along with some fishnets covering my legs, making them stand out more as if being the tallest woman there was not enough. And, of course, a pair of brown leather boots with an inch of elevation, because it made me feel like I was just a teensiest bit better than anybody who walked up to me.
Nobody did for a while, as I had snuck my way in, and helped myself to picking off a few things from a snack table, before going to the not so carefully hidden bottles of liquor only a few others were drinking. Not that I wanted to get drunk, I could control my body’s alcohol levels so I wouldn’t even need anything for that, I just wanted to come across as an easier prey for some boy with a shorter penis than mine. Which didn’t take too long for me, as I felt a tap on my shoulder within a minute.
I promptly looked over the mildly nervous looking man over with a grin. He had a gelled glob of black hair, it was clearly on the long side, but would take a good six weeks to be considered a true mullet. A flannel vest over a black shirt, a very prominent belt that I think had a bear or something on its metal buckle, some jeans, and white tennis shoes that looked to cost him a good $100. Though, his blue eyes were clearly the lean and muscular boy’s best traits. I’d guess he was on the local tennis team, probably as the star player of whatever high school he went to.
He spoke to me in a voice deeper than I expected, but not by much, asking the ever important question of, “Who are you?” There were many, many ways I could answer that. Hell, I could make up a page of responses I thought up then and there. But one shined through above all else. “Darling, I can be whoever you want me to be, as long as we can spend the night together.” He was confused, and I was a teensy bit as well, but saying my mind’s been clear is like saying one’s shit is silky smooth.
He then asked, “Are… are you asking me out on a date? You do realize this is my party, right?” “Well, you’ve already gotten a pretty damn good party for a high schooler. Booze, weed, pools, and I think I heard some ‘cuddling’ upstairs.” I said to him, getting close enough to lean in for a kiss. “What? Goddamnit Michael, I told you not to-” He began before I placed my right index finger over his lips. “Forget about your friends for just a sec. Maybe I was being a bit too subtle, but I’m offering sex to you on a silver platter. Are you interested or not?”
The kid was flabbergasted, walking back into a wall, tripping over his words as I kept up with him, eventually placing both my arms on the wall, his head parallel to mine. “C’mon, don’t you find me attractive? Or do you play for another team?” I asked, leaning in, and adjusting my breasts up a bit so that they entered the C range to better persuade this man. “No, it’s, I’m just… wow. I wasn’t expecting to have someone who is… very pretty just come up to me tonight and offer to have sex, that’s just, um. O-okay. I’ve only done it once, but… where would we do it, do I need a condom or-” He was cut off by my lips as they embraced his. We grabbed each other, and undoubtedly got a few looks from the others in the living room, not that they were even blips on my radar. I was just using my body to seduce a man and getting the willies all the while.
“All I need from you is a nice secluded area. Let’s just go into that nearby little naturey area. Also, don’t worry about protection, I’ve got that covered.” I gave him as wink as I walked out of the house, he took a moment to recompose himself and rush out, eventually grabbing a new looking car that he parked right outside of the connected garage. I took shotgun while he prepped everything. It all took about twenty seconds.
He was drifting through the neighborhood, causing a bit of a ruckus as he went and extra 20 kilometers over the speed limit and into the road, parking next to a nature trail. It was then he started asking questions again. “So, how, how are we going to do this. I’ve never fucked in the back of a car, so do we just move the seats up, we’re both kinda tall, so could it-” “Get in the back, and I’ll show you how to do it, and do it just right.” He silently slipped his way out and back in through the back left door, as I did the same with the right.
His palms were sweaty, knees trembling, and arms looked heavy. His face on the other hand, looked calm and ready, as if he was hiding his true fear and anxieties behind a stone cold mask of mildly unshaved manliness. I gave him a smile as I lifted my hands to tear off his vest and shirt, while he tried to clumsy take my clothes off, but after the jacket I pulled his hands away, make a bit of a tisk tisk motion, and more or less stripped for him. Throwing my clothes over the seat as I was eventually down to nothing but a pair of panties and a bra that was failing to contain my enlarged assets.
He was just staring at me for a solid five seconds, almost ready to pounce, but I think we both knew who really was in control. Which I abused as I crawled over to the radio, brought out an MP3 player I stuffed into my panties, plugged it in, and played Radiohead’s Iron Lung. The boy was smiling like a twat in response, confused at what I was doing, but ever so delighted when I told him it was his move. He pounced on me and made way to rip off my bra, which I had made preparations for, but instead of seeing any nipples on my enlarged rack, he saw inhuman globs of fat and had this utterly priceless look on his face.
“The fuck is this shit?” He uttered, sounding betrayed by the lack of “genuine” tits. I laughed at him for that, as I pointed down to my panties, telling him to, “Check things out where it really counts.” He did, carefully pulling down my panties and seeing what at first glance looked like a normal vagina, but his brief sigh of relief was quickly paused as he witnessed me poke a out the tip of my tail. The boy was utterly horrified at this point, crawling away from me, swearing under his breath out of disappointment, fear, and overall confusion as a penis crawled out of me, eventually growing two feet in length.
Now, I was just laughing my ass off at this point, but I realized that I couldn’t have this man tell the tales of the dreaded dick girl for the rest of his days, and I was feeling like going in for a bit of murder. I moved my flexible little tail around his neck, and oh so gradually tightened my grip around his neck. He was panicking as he flailed his arms and tried to let out a scream, but could barely even scratch my tail as he suffered. Words can’t do justice to how fucking wonderful it was to see that boy’s face go from white to red, to green, to blue, going through a rainbow before the eyes popped out a bit, and I knew I could let him go. He was no longer a boy, will never be a man, and is now nothing but a corpse.
I rubbed my tail frivolously afterwards, and was able to squirt a handful of my honey-like splooge onto his already stinking corpse. It was insult to injury, and not too far above from shitting on a guy you shot in the head. But y’know what? I slept like a motherfucker that night, and felt like a badass the next morning as I catched up on the local news. I can still remember the days when murder was something I viewed as awful, and should only be done sparingly. But now? The world is my fuckhole, and I can rape it as much as I damn well please.
Day Fifty-Five: Jad Spencer, I Hardly Knew Me
I really thought I was over all of this shit. I mean, with being Jad Spencer and all that jazz. Sure, the memories still laid in my head, but they were more like those instances in childhood that seem all blurry, so it’s hard to really imagine yourself in that situation. Hell, in many ways you are not the same person who you were back when you were a kid. It’s like that Locke’s Sock theory. How much can change over time before the current subject is unrecognizable. Even your cells more or less poof after seven years, so you don’t have your body to call back on because you’re not the same stuff that came out of your mother’s vagina.
I should explain what happened in the past eighteen days first. That little Ontario town I found myself in back during October? I eventually heard the news about that kid I killed, and it sent everybody in a frenzy but only because there was a murderer on the loose. That is, until the shit hit the fan right in their face, and I realized how I could be found out if I stayed in this country. I didn’t lure and stupidly murder a guy who was in an alley, I moseyed around a party for long enough for people to remember my face. So I said au revoir to the True North.
I took a more scenic route back to the States where I walked for two days straight. Only taking a major break when I reached the border and had to Real Boot away some dirt into air. A pretty simple trick in my repertoire, seeing as how before I left I was fucking around in the woods trying to make trees into cars. Hell, my Real Booting skills were at the point where I no longer had to touch the dirt to make it rearrange itself, I just needed to look at it and bam! Just a gust of air pumping into my face as I smoothly walked under the undoubtedly cluttered border and into Minnesota. Although, I felt as if there was unfinished business before deciding where exactly I would go from here. And what better place to go to find your next move than the place I most distinctly remember as home, Oransen, Illinois.
As I said back in my earlier journals, which were thankfully saved to the magical cloud, before put in my head thanks to some funky shit going on with my brain, it was and still is a little middle of nowhere place that in all honesty sorta sucked growing up in. Hell, now there were cops on every five corners and a citywide curfew. I would have been worried about being spotted, but apparently the public had no face they could pin to the name of Abigale Quinlan, so I was able to enter the town with a driver’s license and no questions asked.
Oh, but as I went down the streets I used to walk on a daily or weekly basis, I was hit by several pies of nostalgia, the creamy coating being about as sweet as the memories, and metal tin as bitter as some of the events I’d rather forget. Namely everything involving my shithead of a father and pathetic mother who would probably enjoy being murdered by me. Well, I was in a bad head space considering everybody was pissed at how there was a passerby coming through this town, when there was literally nothing else worthwhile for ten miles. Hell, I even saw that fucker, Yuccot Kikansky. He decided to throw shit at me, probably pissed at how I killed his dad not that the fatwad would have any clue who the dreaded Abigale Quinlan would be.
But I didn’t come here for the bad memories, so then what did I come here for? Well, Maxxie and Zoe is the short answer. I already talked about how much I used to love those two, but seeing as how I didn’t look even close to my former self, assuming my life again would be impossible. Hell, I tried reshaping my face or even skin seeing as how I can do it with nearly anything else, but nope, it hurts like a motherfucker and makes me wonder how Abigale got herself the giant cock I now wield
Penises aside, I eventually made my way to Oransen High school, only to see the parking lot reduced to rubble for the most part, a chunk of the school blown out, and what looked to be stained walls from behind its many windows. I never was the kid who wanted the school to be blown up, so seeing a place where good times were had would make me upset even if it wasn’t where my body bit the dust. Which brought me across town once more to my next destination, the grave of Jad Spencer.
It took me a while to find my body in the cemetery as I brushed off many names of old people I never knew, and barely have any reason to have a fucking rock with their name engraved on it. I mean really, you should be satisfied with what you did with your life as a lasting impression, your name on stone means jack fucking shit. Oh, but I’m getting pissy and being immortal hardly gives me any reference point. Though, I can safely say I decided to dig down into my grave, moving away the dirt, and open up the coffin to see what little remained of the man I used to be.
The smell was terrible, and body was decaying already as I destroyed the coffin, seeing my not too remarkable mug looking like a corpse, because that’s just what it was. I was staring at Jad Spencer in the face and kept at it until it began to snow, first snowfall of the season, and the perfect point for me to… the perfect point for me to let go of whoever I was by taking my old body, and crushing it. When it was dust, I decided to do the best thing, and turn what remained into air. Why? Closure? Revenge? Rage? All I know is that I cried like a baby as I left my open and empty grave.
But that was the physical remains, and there were two- no, four people I wanted to see before I left this town for good. First two, I knew where to find on November eighteenth, the day I am composing this. You see, Maxxie was very partial of this not very good pizza place, went by the name of Pizza Doodlers, and she always made sure to spend any one of her special occasions at the vaguely western themed restaurant. Hell, she loved the place so much she sometimes even volunteered to work for nothing, that is assuming she wasn’t being swarmed with homework she forgot to do, the adorable ditz.
Anywho, November eighteenth is her birthday, and I figured she would be coming at six in the evening, I was there by eleven in the morning, ordering a couple pizzas I apathetically ate as I awaited seeing her and Zoe one more time. As I waited, I began to reminisce about my time with the two, I mean, Maxxie was always the adventurous sort, with her crazy ideas for a good night often involving me and Zoe running away from the cops while she was laughing like a madman. We never did anything bad, she just liked adrenaline and wanted to experience everything she could. She even tried to get both Zoe and I to give her some of our “hot-ass rods”.
But there were innocent times where we just sat around, talked, played Castle Crashers, watched movies from a little place called Video Vietnam. Or maybe just had Zoe build us up a Potato gun, or show us the wonders of baking soda and vinegar at the eager age of five. He earned both of friendship that day, and despite some brawls, drama, and academic suspension, we were all smiles. And even after I finally saw the two walk on in, alone, I felt the same way I always had when around them.
I was two tables away, so I could make out most of what they said. Zoe had become pretty goddamn depressed over my death, and Maxxie was trying to keep things upbeat as always. The problem being how she was forcing it. When she was forcing it, it was always obvious, and always a little depressing to see her try to act in a certain role. But even a super cheesy sausage pizza wasn’t enough to get a genuine squee out of her, it didn’t sound right, and lacked a bit of what made Maxxie, well, Maxxie. By the time she shoved three fourths of in down her hatch, with Zoe desperately trying to have a good time and admire the pseudo-western allure of this place, I knew that I had seen all I needed to, and if I wanted to act, I had to do it now.
I passed by their table with a note in hand that I slyly placed on their table. Zoe took note of this, and picked up the paper, bursting out of his seat as I was halfway out the door. He ran after me, and stopped when I was close enough to tackle. “Row, row, right the power?” He said in reference to the note I left him. The note contained that as an inside joke, along with a picture of a little ghost drawing that Maxxie made as a sort of mascot for all her doodles. It was a bit blunt, but I wanted it to be a sign of sorts, something of a test for myself, and see what I would do in this situation, because I really had no clue myself.
I took a deep breath, and kept my head in place. “It was either that or ‘write’ the power. You never did decide which one worked better.” There was dead air following my somewhat sarcastic sounding reply. Before Zoe responded very coldly with the mother of all questions, “Who are you?” “I’m not sure. I’ll know tomorrow, and you’ll know by the end of the year.” With that, I then ran away faster, leaving Zoe outside of the restaurant. But now, as the clock is seconds away from striking twelve, and I just murdered Mister and Missus Bryce Spencer, I know who I am, and it sure isn’t Jad Spencer, not any more. If I had to be given a name, the most suitable one at this point would be Abigale Quinlan.
Day Sixty-Four: Former Vice President Ji-Hyun Xing
Since my prior journal, I’ve been able to keep a very clear mind as to the person who I am, and shall be for the foreseeable future. Well, person is not selling myself as anything above a normal human, now is it? For all intensive purposes, I am a god. I cannot be killed, nor necessarily contained for any more than a few hours. When push comes to shove, I will adapt, and that is before you consider that I could destroy the world within a matter of minutes, maybe even seconds. I could try to live a normal life, but when you have the power, never let it go to waste. And my word, I certainly did not.
After getting out of my hometown of Oransen, I began to plan my next course of action, and it only took me a matter of minutes of driving through the interstate on a Real Booted motorcycle to come up with the core details. In short, my plan was to threaten the president with total nuclear annihilation. I figured it would only take a few bodies and threats before that ill prepared forty-three year old woman would more or less give in, and from there, well, what could I not do?
That question actually did come to mind, hence why I spent a week playing with myself and trying to master another part of Real Booting that I doubt Abigale Quinlan the first was able to do. I dabbled in mental control, pheromone release, and even body alteration before, but what about myself. Hell, that horse cock sure ain’t normal, I can tell you that. So at a mid range hotel a few minutes away from my ultimate destination, I was planning on Real Booting aspects of myself. It was a very icky process that did take some experimentation, which ended in me being very, very uncomfortable and converting myself back to Abigale after trying to contort my face to resemble president Ji-Hyun Xing, setting forth the only limit I had.
Instead of going with an espionage, I decided that I would do things a bit more… traditionally. Remember how I dug under the border? I started my Thanksgiving night infiltration the same way, except I dug through to the floor. From there it was a mix of detonating an EMP, and going to town on the suits that stood between me and wherever the hell Madame President would be stored.. And my god, was it a thrill to go to town on those guards when I broke in.
Grabbing one from behind and turning his every cell into air, converting another one into a swarm of angry wasps that were specifically made for assault. Same with the two punks I turned into murderous crows who ripped the throats out of their former co-workers. It only lasted about five blood drenched minutes of me dashing through in my hunt for one of the few pairs of XX chromosomes in this place. But I did eventually weaken down a heavily enforced wall, only to be met by the barrel of six men’s firearms.
Last time guns were surrounding me, I was a pussy, afraid to murder let alone feel comfortable with bringing weapons into reality. But now? Well, it took me only two seconds to have all of those guys‘ heads pop like plump cherries after a brick was dropped on them. Their faces filled with that delectable sense of dread that just put a smile on my face as I saw them bleed out, crawling for me and saving their last breath to insult me. It was funny how they cared, just as funny as how I no longer needed weapons to kill, I just needed enough to snap my fingers, and bam. One snap, one kill, and five liters of blood on the floor.
Oh, but my prize had yet to be claimed. She was hiding in a corner, her once proud purple suit stained crimson by her protector’s insides, tears rolling down from her brown eyes, passing the glasses she once proudly wore, and one balanced mid-length hair nothing but a mess. I placed my hand in the air and Real Booted a simple firearm, unnecessary, but still effective for leverage. And just to be on the safe side, I Real Booted an even better door than the one I had destroyed, much to the continued amazement and shock of one Miss Xing. Didn’t want any more goons showing up and interrupting the conversation I would have with the little lady, after all.
“Madame President, Miss Ji-Hyun Xing, leader of America, and the one who arguably sent it to shit. I am the person you have feared more than any other. I am, for all intensive purposes, Abigale Quinlan.” Thinking back to it, I made myself sound like a shitty 90’s Saturday Morning cartoon Villianess as I saw her crack like fine China being tossed on concrete. “Abigale… Quinlan… This can’t be real, it just… No, this, this wasn’t how my plan was-” She went on like this for a while, but with a door that could only be broken through by a high powered laser that would take hours to wear down the door, so I had plenty of time for little Ji-Hyun to regain her composure.
It was only shortly after I coated this entire room with the same material as the door, minus a few air holes, before she started speaking full sentences. With the first one being the undeniable classic, “What do you want?” I responded with a retarded laugh made up of “kukuku” before looking her dead in the eye. “I’ll be honest and say that I’m pretty much the closest thing to a god in existence. Immortal, superhuman abilities, and the ability to fully master something along the lines of quantum mechanics within half a week. So with this badical power, is there any major question as to why I’m taking over this country? Hell, I’m surprised that it took classic Abigale a decade before she threatened the county with total destruction.”
Of all the routes this sad excuse for a woman could take the conversation, she merely murmured the classic word. “What?” “Yes, Madame President, It’s a long story, but I’m technically the second rendition of the legacy being who named herself Abigale Quinlan. Though that bitch is dead and buried, while I’m still here and ready to make a demand that can be summed up as obey or die. But I think there are more complexities to it, if you would be ever so inclined as to lend an ear.”
I wish that I had Real Booted a camera at this point, as her face alone was putting one hell of a grin on mine. “Option A, you give me what I want, leaving this entire country 90% alive, but under my iron fist. Merely your words and act of handing every little secret will do, but I may have a few special requests. Or option B, you say no, and I launch nukes across the world, resulting in a nuclear holocaust that I build a new fucking world out of! You can either live through the storm, or die in it so you never see the remains of the world as you once knew it. The fate of the country, the entire human race, every living thing on this planet aside from those cunt-muffin Cockroaches, is in your hands.”
“Why?” was all she mustered, almost amusingly so. She was sobbing for several minutes beforehand, but now she sounded like someone whose pussy was pumped with enough cum to make a fucking dinosaur. Defeated and simply overwhelmed. “It’s pretty simple. With godlike powers, one tends to want to have the status of a god. It’s not all that different from an athletic person wanting to flaunt their bod, or wealthy person buying themselves a frivolous abode. I want something because it is just within my reach, capiche?”
She did not even attempt to humor me, slumping in the corner in response, looking extraordinarily pathetic. “Tell you what, Toots. I’ll give you four weeks, until Christmas morning at ten in the morning. We meet outside of, I dunno, you can pick the spot. Trust me, I’ll figure out and be sure to track your every move. Well after I do one more thing.” From there, I bit into the president’s ear, taking one of her earrings with me as I spat the lobe out and at her face. Just because I thought it would look really freaking badical.
Come to think of it, I’m still iffy as to why I even let her pick the location, but I suppose it would be an extra challenge for me. I mean, I captured her without even knowing the layout of the White House. Anywho, I Real Booted away part of the floor, making sure to set a wall to break a few minutes after my getaway. Which, as if I even needed to specify, went beautifully. Although, once I was sitting at a cheap motel in the middle of Maryland, a sudden thought came to mind. Why the fuck did I give Ji-Hyun a month to prepare something where she would spend a trillion dollars in making sure I just need to deal with more bullshit?
I had one shot, one opportunity to seize everything I ever wanted in what could’ve been one moment. And I let it slip! Though that reference may be a bit misplaced, seeing as how the most rational answer I can muster is that part of me wanted a challenge. Part of me wanted to earn this country, and not just suddenly have it on a silver platter. I mean, what’s the point of having something but being too scared to flaunt it? Oh, and trust me, I have absolutely nothing to fear, I am the ultimate life form after all! You, my future servants, know this to be the objective truth. Kukukukukukukukukukukukukukukukuku!
Day Ninety-Two: We’re Here… The Final Frontier
Fuck. Just fuck me as hard as you can right in my shit colored goddamn face. I mean, there is stupid cocky arrogance, and then there is just strutting into a pit of lions while your cock is coated in zebra meat. I’m scared right now. Honest to god flipping the fuck out as I’m making this goddamn mental log. I mean, Christ, I feel like making a joke about this being the worst Christmas ever, but the time for being a wisecracking motherfucker has long since past.
Okay, okay, I guess I should explain how I am in a state where I, someone who could survive just damn near anything, is just losing all of her goddamn marbles. I spent the past month playing the waiting game, that is until news broke about some massive military movement down in Florida. That’s when I took my cue, Real Booted myself a one-man plane, and flew straight for the town mentioned. The waiting game continued from there, until Christmas morning, when I donned a suit and walked my way to the nine block area that was blocked off from the general public. With a naturally messy entrance to boot. Making this not so much a green or white Christmas as much as it was a red one.
Not that I came all that far past racking up more than a dozen corpses, before I came face to face with Miss Ji-Hyun Xing once again. Except this time she gave me a real death stare, like she was going to claw my eyes out the moment I was not ready. With the missing chunk of ear only making her look like more of a psycho bitch than anybody else would wearing that scowl she wore. But with a little force field I mustered up, blocking those bullets and ricocheting them in a random direction, I made it crystal fucking clear that I was ready. She did realize this, and naturally shouted at the men to stop wasting bullets and let us have a nice little conversation.
It was about a minute before she finally spoke to me, with nary a soul within fifty meters of the two of us. “Abigale Quinlan. We’ve done the math, seen how most places around the country have been turning this little incident of yours around. You’ve cost us at least a million lives here, but I’m afraid that your childish self indulgent rampage has come to an end.” I let out a bit of a chuckle before telling her the problem with what she just said. “I’m not the one who said that. These lips probably did, and these hands likely typed that phrase, but the person beyond the veil, the new and now only Abigale Quinlan, knows that she will have hundreds, thousands, millions, and perhaps even billions of years ahead of her. And if I was just after getting joy from causing anarchy and racking up them Murder Death Kills was my real goal, you’d all be dead already. Speaking of which, have you made your choice?”
She retained her composure, looking like a leader should when confronted by a powerful threat. “We do not negotiate with terrorists. And you, Miss Quinlan, are the greatest one this country, or perhaps any nation in the history of mankind, has ever faced. It is clear that you must be dealt with. But the question of how is far simpler than any answer this nation has been able to muster. Until now.” When she said that, I felt the grass covered ground beneath me vanish, an explosion that was blocked by my barrier had still caused me to come crashing downwards. I first thought they were dumb enough to throw me into a pit, so I was confused when my fall barely lasted more than a few fet.
I was quickly sealed inside of in some sort of box that was blacker than the darkest of nights. Not a spec of light was to be seen, and there was nothing to be heard. So I naturally used my finger like a zippo to get a small flame to illuminate that I was in something no bigger than a living room, with nothing but a sheet of metal blocking me from the outside world. This was confusing to me, as I had everything that I needed to escape, so I just laughed it off, thinking that trapping me in a box was the best they could do. But then I felt myself float. It was an odd sensation to say the least, as I had never attempted to use my powers for levitation, but I was a good three feet away from the ground by the time I heard Ji-Hyun once more.
“Abigale Quinlan, what would you say is the source of your unique abilities? How would you describe them to the world?” It sounded somewhat static, wherever it was coming from, and also very much like she had said those very lines in anticipation of capturing me. “Oh no, I can’t touch the ground, guess that I need to use the air to make some sort of hook that will take me back down to-” I paused suddenly, as I let out a cough, followed by a wheeze, and a gag to boot. I did manage to break through something coherent in due time, shouting “What the fuck is this?”
“Really Miss Quinlan, I expected something more from you. I mean, there was one critical weakness that you never seemed to acknowledge, what will you do without air or any form of gas, liquid or solid. Stranded in the middle of a vacuum, unable to create, or ‘Real Boot’ as your journals say. I do feel sorry for what had become of Jad Spencer, but I think he is the reason why it has been so easy to apprehend you. Think of him as your conscious, the thing that caused your death, and made the world a better place.”
I wanted to smack the bitch, finish it right now, but as I moved my arms and felt the air escaping from my lungs, I knew that I was just plain old fucked. All of my tools relied on using something around me, but now? I had nothing and was could only flail like an infant as Ji-Hyun continued to deliver her speech. “Abigale Quinlan. You will not be contained anywhere in the United State of America, or on this earth at all. I have discussed it with other nations who fear your actions, and we have decided that the cold vacuum of space will be the most secure prison for someone like you. The vessel you are contained in will explode once it exits Earth’s gravitational pull, until then, I only hope the anti-gravity machine keeps you from escaping. Goodbye, you monster.”
With that, I heard machines moving, engines starting up, and god knows what else moving. Whatever was keeping me still in this box was working, and I was unable to do anything but think. Why did I not monitor their files? Why did I not just kill the bitch when I bit her ear off? Why did I not try to corrupt her mind, and have things go both ways? Why was I even doing this? I reflected on my own words, wondering if even I believed in them. It is true that I have powers beyond all humans, but I chose to do this with them? Try and fail to take over a country because I… felt like it.
Who the fuck am I at this point? I call myself Abigale Quinlan, masquerading as the skin I was thrown in. I used to be somebody else, but now he’s dead, and I… I am just the corrupted remains of a program made by a psychopath and kid who was thrown out of a world that wasn’t all sunshine and smiles, but into one where I became the worst. I can feel the oxygen leaving my body as I am making this final log, god knows where to at this point, and one thought is stand out among all of these regrets. Even beyond the fear of death after I abolished such ideas as impossible for someone like me. I was feeling remorseful. Like I wanted to apologize to someone. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did to my country, to the people who I’ve killed, and to the lives I’ve ruined. But most of all, I’m sorry, Jad Spencer. I’m sorry for what I did to you, but thank you for what you’re doing to me. Fuck my life.
Continued in Punky’s Post-Apocalyptic Adventure