In a lab, a young man sat before a computer, absently drinking coffee. He likely should have been working, but whenever he began to type, he would stop after a few keys to gaze away at nothing. Once more, he reached for his coffee mug.
"Are you actually tasting that?" asked the woman working next to him.
"It's terrible," he said. "About normal for the suburbs. But we've got more important things than coffee to worry about."
"Come on, you don't think it was really the Maers'tak returning?" the woman said incredulously. "Probably just some weather balloon or asteroid."
"Well, normally I'd agree with you," said the man. "But the doctor said it was them."
The woman involuntarily turned to look at the door into the centre of the lab. "Well… he might've made a mistake-"
"It's him!" hissed the man. "He doesn't make mistakes! We could be at war with the Maers'tak by tomorrow morning, and-"
The door opened.
It was not loudly flung, or slowly creaked open, just calmly pushed open and then shut immediately after. And yet everyone in the lab- the typists, the theorists, the guards- instantly ceased their quiet conversations to pay attention to the man stepping out.
He had curly brown hair and an impassive expression, as if nothing in the world could possibly bother him. He wore a white lab coat and black pants, and leaned heavily on a cane. In one hand he held a glass of tonic, from which he sipped.
"The Maers'tak are not the primary concern," he said in a calm, clipped voice. A machine would have had more inflection.
One of the guards spoke up. "Doctor… DeLawrence, sir, how can that be? The primary purpose of our organization is to-"
"I know what the purpose of our lives is," said Dr. DeLawrence. "The question is, do you? You have obviously paid the most attention to the most glamorous part of the situation, the fact that the only intelligent life beyond Earth has taken notice of us again. But you have not seen the most important part. The boy."
He pointed to an image of Calvin on a computer with his cane, the picture tiny below a satellite image of the spaceship. "You don't think it's a coincidence that out of everyone in the world, the Maers'tak landed next to one six-year-old? One who is the talk of the town, who has caused much trouble, whose every move seems to result in disaster?"
"You don't think he's-" the guard began, realizing.
"I know he's one," said Dr. DeLawrence.
The room was silent for a moment, then slowly sprouted into nervous muttering. "We'll have to plant agents at his school," said a man sitting at a table covered in strange instruments and devices. "We can speed up the process, but-"
"No need," said DeLawrence. "I have agents there already. There are several other candidates besides him enrolled as well."
"All at one school?" said a tech wondrously.
"They attract each other," said the woman.
"Indeed," said DeLawrence simply.
With that, he turned and walked back into his personal lab, his cane tapping loudly against the floor. Everyone else tried to return to work, but none of them could take their thoughts off the man behind the door, and what he might be doing.
"Oh, these are the dumbest ideas in the world!" Calvin loudly complained as he stood before the poster.
"I think it's a great idea!" said Susie. "Mental health is an important issue, so a therapist at the school would definitely improve things."
"Of course a dumb girl like you would think that," sneered Calvin. "I bet you came up with this school dance too."
"For the record, I didn't, but what would be the problem if I did?" Susie asked. "And for that matter, what's the problem with therapy?
"The kids here are ten years old at the most. People don't dance with each other at ten years old," Calvin replied. Whatever agreement in Susie's face quickly vanished as Calvin continued talking. "And as for therapy, if a guy's such a sissy that he needs it, he can go right ahead! What'll they do, just sit around talking about their feelings? Maybe they'll nap- excuse me, meditate, while the rest of us are doing work!"
"Well, I can think of one guy who could use therapy," Susie said drily.
"Really? Who?" Calvin asked.
"Well, let's see," said Susie. "He's really short- about this tall." She held up her hand to Calvin's height. "And he's really ugly, too, with terrible hair. And I think he might be completely crazy, or at least prone to hallucinations."
"Yeah, Ronald could do with a straightjacket," said Calvin, nodding sagely. "And really, what is it with that hair?! It doesn't suit him at all!"
"I was talking about you," Susie said bluntly.
"WHAT?! HOW DARE Y-" Calvin shouted, spinning on Susie, only to be cut off as the first bell rang. Startled, he overbalanced and fell to the floor.
"Oops! There's class! See you at recess, Calvin!" said Susie, sauntering away with an impish grin.
"…kill you…" Calvin moaned as he struggled to his feet.
"So Calvin, how was your day?" said Dad as they sat around the dinner table.
"Awful! They've started this new therapy program, and Susie thinks it's a good idea!" Calvin exclaimed, poking at the green glop on his plate but never touching it. "I mean, really! What good does therapy at school do?! If you're crazy, then you're gonna need more than a therapist, and if you're not, you don't need one, so the whole thing's pointless!"
His parents remained silent for a moment. "Well, about that…" began Mom.
"THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!" Calvin shouted as he stomped into his room.
"How were you minorly inconvenienced this time?" Hobbes asked, not looking up from his comic book.
"My parents are signing me up for therapy! THERAPY! I don't need therapy! That's just for crazy people!" Calvin replied, flopping down onto the bed with Hobbes.
"Yes, signing the Earth over to an alien race we know nothing about is the picture of sanity," said Hobbes.
"Oh, are you still on my case about that?" said Calvin. "It was the only way to complete my problem! And they would've blown up the planet if I didn't!"
"Ya see, the order of those two reasons is what worries me," said Hobbes. "Look, at the very least, you'll be getting out of Miss Wormwood's class. And if you really are sane, you've got nothing to worry about."
"But I don't wanna do it, so I shouldn't have to!" said Calvin.
"Well, that has no effect whatsoever on the current situation, so you'll have to go," Hobbes replied simply.
"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh," Calvin moaned. "I wish everyone would die."
"Wait for your birthday. Then you can make lots of wishes," said Hobbes drily.
Calvin reluctantly grabbed a comic of his own and began reading. Soon, he was happily engrossed in a story of Superman fighting an alien conqueror who was using mind control to turn the populace against him. Looking out the window as the twilight settled, Calvin watched in mild surprise as a meteor shower commenced over the forest.
Odd, he thought. The newspaper didn't mention a meteor shower tonight. Nobody mentioned a meteor shower. They don't just come out of nowhere... right?
Oh, well. The meteors should land in the forest, judging by that trajectory. Not my problem. With those final thoughts, Calvin returned to his comic.
The therapist's room was somewhat small and permeated by an unpleasantly lemony smell. It was sparsely decorated, the only furniture being a couch which Calvin reclined on and a desk where the therapist sat.
"So, Calvin, would you mind telling me why you keep interrupting classes?" said the therapist. He was a short, bald man wearing a grey sweater.
"Yes, I would mind," said Calvin petulantly.
"Does it bore you?" asked the therapist.
"OF COURSE IT BORES ME! WHO WOULDN'T IT BORE?! MISS WORMWOOD IS THE MOST BORING TEACHER IN THE UNIVERSE!" Calvin screamed, flailing around on the couch.
"…I see," said the therapist, writing a note. His hand briefly slipped under the table. "I can see you have some strong feelings about Ms. Wormwood. Maybe you should try to bring that feeling back up. Remember what it's like to be in that class. Can you do that for me?"
"So, the feeling of being incredibly bored, sitting in a stupid-looking room surrounded by people who annoy me. That shouldn't be too hard," said Calvin. He sighed, then began to focus.
Okay, let's see. Miss Wormwood's unending drone in that I have to strain to translate from Elderly, the barely balanced chairs and desks that I have to try not to fall out of, Susie "Aren't-I-So-Perfect" Derkins sitting next to me, the knowledge that I'll never reclaim this lost time, stir in pot, simmer for indeterminable amount of time while seasoning, and then… I am so bored… gotta spice things up… maybe…
"SPACEMAN SPIFF LEAPS THROUGH THE AIR!" Calvin shouted and backflipped up to the couch's headrest.
If the therapist was surprised, he didn't show it. He merely reached under his desk, and a click, followed by a hissing, rang out.
"Our hero has been captured by SPACE PIRATES! Their senior torturer has been sent to obtain the location of the Astrolabe Crystal Exchange! Luckily, our hero has a CUNNING PLAN!" Calvin yelled, gesticulating wildly and nearly falling off the couch several times, but somehow retaining his balance. "He draws his HYPER-VELOCITY AUTOPISTOL!"
With this, Calvin drew a rubber band from his pocket, stretched it out, and, with a loud snap, let go. It soared towards the therapist and struck him in the arm. "YOW!" he screamed, jumping backwards in his seat.
"The torturer dead, our hero leaps for the door to make his daring escape!" said Calvin as he jumped for the door.
There was a loud bang as he slammed into it. Calvin fell to the floor with a moan. "Oooh… what happened? Where were we?" he said as he struggled to his feet. "Why do I hear a ringing in my head?"
"You were j-just telling me about your classmates," said the therapist, wincing from the pain of the rubber band. He scribbled down a note and with another click, the hissing stopped.
"Oh, right. The plebeians I am forced to breathe the same air as," Calvin sneered. "Well, there isn't much to tell about most of them. Except for a few, none of them have any original thoughts beyond what the teachers or their parents put in their heads. Their every word is a chisel at my soul!"
"You said 'except for a few', who are those few?" asked the therapist.
"Well, there's Moe, the pongo abelii that somebody stuffed into clothes," said Calvin. "Fond of beating me up, taking my money, and beating me up while taking my money."
"Have you ever told the teachers?" asked the therapist.
"I did, but all they did was shake their finger at Moe and tell him to stop. Shocker: he didn't," Calvin replied. "And then there's Susie Freaking Derkins."
"Some vehemence in your tone, I see," said the therapist, flipping through a notebook. He looked intrigued at what he found. "Any particular reason?"
"Oh, nooo!" said Calvin. "What possible reason could I have to be mad at Susie? After all, she's perfect in every way! Everyone loves Susie Derkins, up to including my parents, and they aaaaall make sure to let me know it! Whyever would I dislike Susie Derkins? The town's little golden girl!"
"And you don't think there's any particular reason why people might like Susie so much instead of you?" said the therapist pointedly.
"I- wha- that's not-" Calvin stuttered out. Clutching at his head, he squeezed his eyes shut. Suddenly, he reopened them with a confident expression, sticking out his chin. "The nefarious arch-fiend Annoying Girl has sent a mind probe to attack the brain of mild-mannered billionaire playboy Calvin! Luckily, our hero has a secret identity: the Masked Man of Mega-Might himself, Stupendous Man!"
The therapist drew back, startled. Sputtering, he began consulting the notebook again. Calvin didn't seem to notice as reality crumbled away before his eyes, making way for a new world.
At night, a city is usually dark. Not this city. Lights on every corner, in every window, bathing the darkness in glowing yellows and whites. But even in the brightest of lights, there will be darkness.
That's why he is here. To fight the darkness.
He was clad, shoulders to ankles, in a red spandex jumpsuit. It bore no insignia or distinguishing marks- this hero needed no introduction. He wore yellow boots and gloves, and a gold belt. But by far his most distinguishing characteristics were the crimson cowl that hid his face from view, and the cape of the same colour that billowed far behind him.
He stepped forwards and his feet met air as he abandoned the roof of the building, but he did not fall. Rather, he floated in the air, hovering suspended over the illuminated streets.
Surveying the ground, he gave a satisfied smile, then in a red blur, rushed away. Streaking past the rooftops, his eyes scoured every inch of the concrete, glass, and steel that the city was forged from.
"A crimson bolt bursts through the air! It's Stupendous Man!" he yelled. "Somewhere in this fair city lies Annoying Girl, seeking to establish a system of absolute dominion over the world! Luckily, Stupendous Man is here to bring evil to justice!"
"Tum ta-da-tum ta-daaa! Tum ta-taa!" Calvin sang, running around in circles on the therapist's mat. The hissing sound could be heard again. The therapist stared quizzically at Calvin as he slowed down and ceased the singing. "Stupendous Man is getting dizzy…" he moaned. "Our hero will… return to his pursuit of Annoying Girl… in a minute. Tune in… same stupendous time, same stupendous… channel."
With that, Calvin fell backwards onto the couch. "Whew. Anyway, where were we, doc?"
"Perhaps another topic," said the therapist. "What are things for you like outside of school?"
"Well, my best friend is Hobbes. He's a tiger," said Calvin.
"A… tiger?" said the therapist quizzically.
"Yeah. Y'know, stripes, tail, fangs, the usual. Anyway, we like to watch TV, ride our wagon, and throw water balloons at Susie."
"And Hobbes joins in on this? You talk to him?" said the therapist.
"Yeah. We enjoy philosophical debate. I am very much the capitalist perspective, while he is more on the artistic side. And I would say that I'm religious, whereas he's more of a realist, so he's both down-to-earth and at times, cynical."
"…I see," said the therapist, scribbling something down. "Do you get along with your parents?"
"Well, my mom's evil, so me and Hobbes make sure to throw lots of water balloons at her. But my dad's great! He's taught me all sorts of useful things, like where exactly in Utah the sun lands every night, or how sometimes the stork who delivers babies has a pterodactyl work part-time, or when the world changed from black-and-white to colour!" said Calvin happily.
"Hmm. And have you ever thought much about these things?" said the therapist.
"Why would I?" asked Calvin.
"I simply suggest you try it," the therapist replied.
Calvin shrugged and began trying to remember everything his dad had told him.
Okay, there was how he and his dad used to hunt dinosaurs for their clan rituals… wait a minute, I know for a fact that dinosaurs died out sixty-five million years ago! So Dad must be sixty-five million years old… but his college yearbook that I'm not supposed to know about came out in the seventies! How is that…
There was so much rain that the gutters overflowed and the streets flooded with water. Mix in the booze that's supposed to be illegal and you have a mixture that keeps most people off the streets, as if the crime rate wasn't enough. I tell you, I'd love to sit down with a few bottles and see if I can change the orchestra in my head each morning to a marching band, but a guy came into the office and now I got a case.
The name's Bullet. Tracer Bullet. I'm a private eye.
A man in a fedora and a trenchcoat walked down the rain streets of a dirty city, smoke trailing from the cigarette in his mouth. Suddenly, he stopped, his fingertips brushing the holster hanging from his belt. Slowly, he turned to look at me.
"Wake up, kid," he said.
Calvin stumbled backwards, as if he had been punched. Shaking himself, he shrugged and turned to the therapist. "Yeah, I thought about it. It makes sense. What next?"
The therapist sat stock still at the desk. "Doc?" said Calvin nervously.
"Go back to class, Calvin," said the therapist in a voice from the driest of mouths.
"What do you-" Calvin started.
"I SAID GO BACK TO CLASS!" the therapist screamed.
Calvin drew back. His father had yelled before, but he had been angry. The therapist's yell was filled by something else. Hate? Fear? Both?
Whatever the case, he wasn't sticking around to find out. Scrambling out of the couch, he ran to the door, pulled it open, and ran.
Standing in the hallway, Russy White stared. Once again Calvin was causing trouble. That was nothing new, but the look on his face was. Calvin looked… scared.
This, of course, could not be. Calvin scared people, not the other way around. What had been going on in that room?
Russy crept up to the door and pressed his ear to the keyhole. He heard a minute clicking and a whirring. A telephone. But that couldn't be right, only the front desk had a telephone. They wouldn't give a telephone to the new therapist's room.
Would they?
The therapist's voice could be heard faintly. "-three of them, sir! I've never heard any-" Russy missed a couple of words. Another voice came onto the line, dispassionate compared to the frantic fear of the man in the office.
"There is no cause for concern. I will see about acquiring additional-" a couple more words Russy couldn't make out- "All that's important is your confirmation that he's one. I will require evidence later. I'd hate to think that my time had been wasted."
"Never, Doctor," said the therapist with a tremor of fear in his voice.
"Good," said the man on the phone. "Any further discussion will require further security. Have the CIA scrub all records of this call. Expect the next communication from me in three to seven days, after I've assessed the crash site. Dismissed."
Russy heard a click as the therapist put the phone down, then footsteps headed for the door. He scrambled away, but it was thrown open. The therapist instantly developed a scowl at the sight of the boy, but didn't seem surprised.
"It's not polite to eavesdrop," said the man. He motioned for Russy to step inside, and his traitorous feet did so on autopilot, his brain too terrified to command them otherwise. The therapist reached into his desk and took out a syringe. "Don't worry," he said. "This won't hurt a bit."
Russy tried to scream, but all that came out was a rather garbled moan before the syringe was jammed into his neck and his eyes rolled back into his head.
"And once you wake up in your locker, you won't remember a thing about the last fifteen minutes," said the therapist. "Truly, the doctor is a genius."
"Well, that sounds… strange," said Hobbes.
"That's one way to put it," said Calvin. "I swear, Hobbes, it's bizarre. I get sent away to a therapist to teach me to be 'normal' and the therapist is just as nutty as me. I mean, what qualifies you to decide what's normal and what's not? Aren't we 'all mad here', to quote Louie?"
"Your dad getting up at six during a snowstorm, biking for hours, and declaring himself the envy of all other men his age is abnormal," said Hobbes drily.
"That's different. He's defying the natural instinct to survive," said Calvin. "And what's worse is, I'm gonna have to deal with this guy for who knows how long! It's a travesty, I tell you! Can't we kids have-"
Calvin was suddenly cut off by a bloodcurdling scream from the forest. It cut off abruptly into a choked rattle. Then there was silence.
"What was that?" Hobbes cried. "It sounded like a person!"
"Well, it's not our problem," said Calvin. "Anyway, where was I?"
"You were talking about how unfair it is that you have to endure something painful that could easily be stopped by another," said Hobbes hurriedly.
"Oh, yeah, I- hey! Was that a dig? It's a different situation entirely!"
"We don't know that," said Hobbes. "All we know is that someone is hurt, and we heard them. Are you really going to ignore that?"
"Wellllll…" said Calvin slowly.
Hobbes squeezed his eyes shut. "We are going to help him, or I will take your comic books and draw moustaches over every single superhero."
"You wouldn't!" Calvin exclaimed, sitting bolt upright.
Wordlessly, Hobbes picked up a sharpie and Batman #400.
"Alright, alright! You drive a hard bargain!" said Calvin as he ran through the door and hurried downstairs. Hobbes shrugged, opened the window, and jumped to the yard, landing on all fours with barely a grunt.
Calvin burst out of the back door wearing his jacket and rushed up to Hobbes. With no words exchanged, the two raced into the forest.
Hobbes' eyes glowed green as he galloped through the trees on all fours, finally in his element once again. Calvin simply followed the tiger, stepping only in his tracks to avoid the myriad ways in a forest to sprain both your ankles.
Suddenly, Hobbes stopped short. Calvin walked up behind him. "What's… oh," he said.
A man lay before them, face-down in the dirt. The hilt of a revolver glinted in his hand. It had obviously availed him little, since while Calvin could make out little of his appearance in the dark, he was pretty sure human spines weren't supposed to bend that way.
"Is he…" Calvin began.
"Dead," said Hobbes simply.
"Oh," said Calvin quietly. He leaned against a tree to steady himself and said nothing for a long time.
Hobbes broke the silence. "I don't get it. Whatever killed him shouldn't have left so much of a corpse. It would've eaten him then and there, or at least dragged him to its den. Why would it leave so much meat for us to find? Unless…" His fur began to rise out.
"What is it?" said Calvin.
"Unless," said Hobbes in a strangled voice, "It wanted to use the meat to attract predators to eat. Predators like… us."
Alarmed, Calvin instantly let go of the tree and seized a rock to throw. "What is this thing?" he hissed, backing up to Hobbes.
"I'm not sure," said Hobbes as back to back, they turned in a circle, scanning the area for any trace of whatever it might be. "The scent is completely unfamiliar. I haven't smelled everything in this forest, but most of the predators are on my list. So what could've-"
It let out no shriek. No cry. No rustle in the bushes. A great mass of legs and carapace leapt from somewhere- where exactly, Calvin couldn't say. It slammed into them both with mighty blows from its claws, scattering them like bowling pins.
Hobbes backflipped to his feet and snarled at the thing. Calvin would have done the same, but was a bit preoccupied trying to remember how to breathe.
With a discordant, metallic shriek of its own, it lunged at them.
Edit circa 08/14/2023. Apologies for the inconvenience, but I realized the story as it was just couldn't go where I wanted it to.