Don't Forget
An Ego Trip Fanfiction
by Wickfield
Air.
Dexter raised his face to the sun. It was no longer his enemy, glaring red through a fog of pollution and filth. Its warmth on his face was welcome. The clear sky and gentle wind rustling through his beard felt like an impossible dream.
The man of science stared out at the bright landscape that stretched for miles into the distance, easily visible from the rubble of Mandark's castle. This – this was the future he'd dreamed about, the future that was stolen, the beautiful world that would bear the mark of his genius! He had waited for so long, hoped and dreamed for this day, now finally within his reach. There was so much to be done – he had no idea where to begin!
Of course he'd had everything under control. He didn't need the stupid girl's meddling to save the earth from the Overlord's clutches. But she had pushed the button and – well – the future was a sight to behold. "Perhaps I should have thanked Dee Dee instead," Dexter considered, suddenly remembering the deathbots they'd sent marching toward the past. He wasn't too concerned. He'd only built them to burn off some steam. Dee Dee would have the crude machines reduced to shrapnel the second they crossed her path. "Eh, she'll be fine."
Right now, though, something was crossing Dexter's path instead. "No time to waste. Gotta hurry."
The shriveled figure of the Great and Powerful Dexter chugged along across the heap of metal, straight toward the castle's tumbledown entryway.
"Whoa there, old-timer!" Dexter exclaimed. "We already said our goodbyes! Where are you off to now?
"No time to waste!" croaked the old man. "Gotta hurry!"
Dexter let out a deep chuckle. "Ah, I understand. You want to get back to your own time!" He lifted the old man in both hands and pointed him toward the time machine. "But you see, you're going the wrong – AAARGHHH!"
Old Man Dexter hit the ground as his buffer, manlier version wailed in pain, clutching at the dentures clamped into his skin. "What did you do that for?" Action Dexter pried the chompers out of his arm and thrust them at the old man, who slurped them into his mouth and continued on his way to the castle gates. "And where do you think you are going?"
As the old man showed no signs of slowing down, Action Dexter had no choice but to jog behind him, feeling rather injured at being so left out of this great mission.
Though he was glad to see he had retained his innate genius in his old age, Dexter had been…dismayed by the other shortcomings of his future self. He was deaf. He was creaky. His short-term memory was a joke. And worst of all, the growth formula that had generated his present bulk evidently had an expiration date. Dexter hoped he'd hold on to his muscles for a few more years at least. There was a lot of work to be done in the future, and it was certainly easier to wrench the bolts when you had a pair of biceps.
"Old man!" Dexter yelled again. "What are you doing?" But as soon as he spoke, he fell back and threw his arm over his mouth, choking on the smoke of chemical fire and the stench of human remains within the castle's ruins.
The old man charged forward undaunted, pulling himself toward the center of Mandark's lair with the aid of his trusty wrench. "It's gotta be here, I know it's here somewhere – EUREKA!"
Nearly half an hour had passed since his defeat, but the Overlord's brain was still thrashing about in a pool of its own liquid. Long-term exposure to the core's waves must have mutated his organs, increased their longevity. Suitably disgusting.
"You needn't worry about this monstrosity any longer." Dexter forced back a wave of nausea. "It's over. We won. Knowledge and wisdom have triumphed, and there is nothing he can ever – what are you doing?" He watched as the old man planted his feet, balled his fists, and squinched his eyes closed. The tiny genius remained in this position for a whole minute. "Er…do you require some sort of assistance, my friend, or – Einstein's Ghost!"
"Actually, it's a jar."
Rugged or not, Dexter couldn't conceal his amazement. "So the Teletronic Transference technology is a success!"
"Of course."
Dexter accepted the large, dome-shaped container from the old man's hands. Instantly, he recognized the acrid tang of formaldehyde in the jar's sloshing contents, and for a moment he was transported back through the span of years to his laboratory, as though he were still nine years old, carefully preserving specimens of great importance for future generations to study and to…
"No." Dexter smothered a gasp of disbelief. "No. Such a proposal would be inconceivable." But the old man was already crouching over the sole remnant of Mandark's hideous mass.
"Not dead till the brain is. We got a jar, there's still time – "
"You fool!"
The old man toppled backwards as the huge wrench swung into his path, barricading the brain as it lay dying on the floor. "You idiot! You wish to preserve the consciousness of the very Overlord who enslaved all mankind? Look around! Have you forgotten everything we've been through, all that he's done? And worse, you expect me to help you? It's ludicrous! Insane! And I'd rot in hell before I offered him another moment on the earth."
The old man blinked up from the floor, visibly dazed. He removed his spectacles and scrubbed them clean, and for a moment Dexter doubted the geezer had heard a word he'd said. Still, he stood between the senior and his target, blocking the way with his towering figure.
Old Man Dexter replaced his glasses on his nose. Then he rose slowly to his feet, extended his wobbly forefinger, and wheezed with all the power in his lungs:
"YOU ARE STUPID! YOU ARE STUPID! AND DON'T FORGET, YOU ARE STUPID!"
"What?" roared Action Dexter, but the old man drew himself up to all two feet of his full height.
"Get out! Get out of my way! No young whipper-snapper's gonna foul up my plans, not on account of any stupid misplaced pride!"
Dexter wasn't sure if he was surprised by the length of the speech, or offended by its content. "Watch it, old-timer. This is my world, and I'm its guardian. Your brain is clearly shot."
The old man shook his head and furrowed his brow, summoning his teletronic powers. The jar disappeared from Action Dexter's grip, reappearing under the old man's arm instead. "So maybe my brain's not what it used to be. It's a little smaller, a little wrinkly, just like me. But these days, it gets a little help – help from the ol' ticker." He jabbed his finger toward his chest. "And the ol' ticker's telling me to save that nasty thing, so that's what I'm fixing to do."
Dexter returned the old man's steady gaze. "No." His voice was deep, emotionless. He made sure of it. "No. I will not let you. I see now, just how much you have forgotten. You don't remember the days you spent trapped in darkness. Months and years, digging your way through subterranean canals, never knowing if you'd see the sun again. Do you remember when it was a crime to wish for the heat of a fire? To ask the question why? You don't remember ignorance, sickness and decay as far as the eye could see. You don't remember the chills and fever of pain, and the greater pain of shame and degradation, constant, never ceasing. All these things dreamt up, brought to life through the mind you would save in your precious bell jar. If your heart tells you to preserve that villain's being, then you must silence it. If you will not trust your brain, trust me instead. Because I do remember." Dexter brushed his glove over his sun-darkened arms, lashed with a history of vicious scars. "I cannot forget."
The old man was silent for a few moments, breathing hard. Then he rolled his sleeve up to his elbow, and Dexter saw the scrawny, spotted arm was crossed with scars as white as his own. They were his own.
Twelve times the old man's size; unrivaled in intelligence, stamina, and strength. And yet…from the darkness of the past, came a vague memory of a time long gone, when he was confronted by a smaller, surer version of himself – when he was weak, and wrong, and full of doubt and fear. He had been too broken to protest, then. And something…somewhere….heart, or brain, or something else, told him he should not protest, now.
"Get out of my way."
Dexter stepped aside, let the tiny midget of a man shuffle forward and scoop the Overlord's brain into the safety of the glass jar. Once again, he accepted the vessel from his future self.
"You may be stupid," said the old man, quietly. "But everyone's stupid until they're taught. Even me. See, sometimes, I do forget. Then I look at him, and I remember. I remember how your brain can play tricks, make you think you're hot stuff. Make you think you're the only one in the wide world who counts. But lookin' at this guy, this poor brain in a jar, I remember somethin' else – if you don't have a heart, a brain is all you'll be."
Dexter said nothing. But he stared at the organ bobbing in the liquid, looking sore and inflamed, useless. He saw his own face, reflected in the fiery glass. And then he felt the tiny hand on his forearm. "Don't be stupid! Don't forget!"
"I won't, old-timer. I swear I won't."
The two Dexters stepped back into the sun. The brilliant light glinted off the surface of Mandark's prison. Imagine, watching the world go by behind a glass. How much consciousness did the tissues really retain? Was a jar a suitable holding cell? A humane one? Perhaps I should investigate. Yes. My first order of business. A benevolent ruler would make sure.
The breeze stirred through his beard, whipping at the folds of his tattered lab coat. The action hero watched as the old man stepped into the time machine, and in a blinding flash the Great and Powerful Dexter was gone.
Hmm. It certainly had a nice ring to it. "The Great and Powerful Dexter. Perhaps it is a role I will need to grow into," Action Dexter murmured to himself. Then deep from his chest he laughed, strong and loud and long. Grow into it? Ha! Why, from the looks of it, he'd be doing just the opposite.