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Sat below Rec Deck, so beyond giddy, he hadn't heard of any intrusion nor of any original plans; even to doubt the speaker's worth, might've bet his minority stake on believing her authoritative word—work hard, follow orders, keep noses clean, and nobody'd jeopardise his safety.
Maybe it'd been such promises, soft touches, and precious memories of late to dull the writhing, silence the screams. Memories like what he'd coin the 'gold and silver days'; hour upon glorious hour hanging out at Murray's arcade, dollars several to slot in and hone those pinnies or light gun skills.
Of the latter, that pirated copy with full gear, played hundreds of times since that grade-school Christmas morning, to originate the one thing—until now and too late—he hadn't believed in for years… A core of heroism had still kindled, indeed actual purpose, in spite of any choices since.
One that Dame Fortune would believe was still untapped—unbeknownst to him, enough to stow away an agent, belted in by a vending machine coil, with forbidden salvation in its grasp.
His only clue as to any intervention? The same great gasp for air, goggling of eyes, springing from the waist up that'd define a typical nightmare… Only now, additionally unsure of being actually awake or a prisoner of inception, going by whatever was observable in that moment.
"Oooookay, heard this great big thump, got this scent of mint and pine, and I think Red Cross coulda had a field day here." Would turn his gaze, fogs starting to clear. "Wait, if I laid—and that's… Is that my BRAIN? My BLOOD too?"
The more he'd comprehend these mysteries, the greater the curiosities—and dread—grew. Perhaps biggest of all, after some macabre destiny made real, was the inconceivable energy coursing inside his veins—ideas on who could commit the former, yet absolutely none to explain the latter.
"No, no, like she'd do me in without reason. Ain't gonna clear my muddy mind though, just sittin' here."
One immediate hunch, however it came, was to investigate his many pieces of mind; oddly, no odour to stand out. Only until he'd lean uneasily close would the air scramble him backwards.
"Phwoar, like rotten meat burnt black… Dunno what did it, but damn sure wasn't the galley."
Crawling all over, uncaring of the prints and blood he'd trail across the bridge, couldn't ignore the boggling knowledge to intensify inside. And yet, any investigation couldn't ascend him beyond head-scratching, least until a gentle breeze redirected him.
"Huh, weird spot to crack a window, and of some size too," he'd examine the hull breach. "Be eaten alive to escape, so hope we've no plans to—wait, oh no. No no no no no…"
Then and there, he'd piece those pieces of brains all together—murder was a means of mercy. For until it got busy corseting him, turning his skeleton into a grotesque origami, such otherworldly forces had existed only in fiction, Hollywood invention.
Implications to trap any screams in his throat; even for hours of visceral evidence—cabinet, console or Youtube—no doubt the Netherrealm itself would've called that too cruel.
"I shouldn't be alive, I SHOULDN'T be alive! How am I, and why?"
Sent into blind scurries for a peace now haunted, he'd then bash into a metal frame—far from any headaches however, left a dint to at first write off as coincidence. Closer look however to reveal a familiar ladder, and after a few moments, not for the fondest reason.
"All the challenges I'd taken on, all the decades of trigger skills… And yet did nothing but spray n' pray, not even with honour either. Captain cut half those bastards to shreds, and I still nearly failed—she thought I was her best bet?"
Fresh air to steady any growing shakes, or so he hoped—upon taking just a blink to reach the brig however, realised that nothing—no game, movie, book, TV show—could prepare him at all for this ascension, and maybe, that might've been the point.
"Strike a light, what's happening to me?" Right on cue, a long growl from beneath, "Ahhh, of course, must be just starved raving mad."
Searching his pockets hoping to pay for a snack, would groan and curl fingers once he'd hear the rustle of certificates instead. Was then that an idea part inspired and part inexplicable would flash—turret ladder to encourage them through the glass with caution, shattering it to bits with nary a scratch.
"Ohhh, ohhh, hooooooo-ly CRRRAAAP! This isn't real, wake me up, none of this should—"
The sink to grant his wish for cold water, allow a splash or three before he'd race back for the chocolate block he'd find front and centre. Matter of moments to devour half, except the taste was one to prompt a glance at the wrapper, and come to a sorry realisation.
"Of all the brands in all of creation, I had to get this 'Highway' bar of theirs. Still, rather have a thousand of these than go on the Abyss Diet."
Rest in hand ready to trash it, only to hold cocoa dust in place; the feeling of such fine grains, in fact, to soon let slip from his fist. As if dodging the eternal scythe wasn't enough, no longer could deny standing as impossible fantasy made reality.
"Could this be? A whole new man, and somehow in Superman's boots? Whatever could it entail, and why me?"
Questions of deliverance to ponder—teeth chattering—over as he'd descend to lower deck, knowing this evolution would beg for and deserve a serious test. Would discover no better time, indeed, once he caught wind of a war of words brewing beneath.
"Captain, listen to me! We've already lost crew, our dolly's destined for junk, and we won't survive to abort this. Can you please cut this selfish crap out, and—"
"Ah d-d-don't tell me how a superior should act, Missy! We are standout crew, we DON'T take shortcuts. Now I'd suggest you quit your bitchin' and get going."
"Your memory that messed up? We just tried to minutes ago, and if we lose you for going solo, how are we gonna get home? What kind of Captain would rather condemn us to—"
The threats he'd hear next would leave him grabbing his abdomen, pacing up and down racking brains—"Come on, come on, come on!"—for a peaceable solution. A snap of fingers to remember spotting keys in Bessie's ignition—many a deep breath taken, to commit to quite the disobedience.
Sure enough, his little exploit to be stopped with a seething promise—would've ran and never looked back, had circumstances not forced otherwise. Instead, took that moment of her turning back to take a chance, whispering apologies for blocking her next step, and flicking her frontal bone.
An eye blink of delay but a lifetime of impact; could only watch as she'd crash upon the canvas, her skull bouncing off.
"Ohhhhh, that was NOT a thing to screw up."
Prying their manifest out her hand, would then leap from the bay and land virtually beside Amy; as her scream echoed across empty hills—in her shoes, would do the same—figured there was a lesson for being caught lacking alternatives.
"Hold ya horses, it's only me, it's gonna be—For God's sake, WAIT A MINUTE!"
That, somehow, to ease matters, "Whaaa, hooow, whheen… The SHMELL'S going on?"
Command given, with respect, to begin stacking his shoulders with the bedding, "You think I've any idea? For any of those, or even who? Time and place though, and this for sure ain't it."
"Is this even for real? Heard all that'd happen, and…" A glance away before going on, "Must have friends up high, to—"
"May they never offer you a thing, not even their hand. Instead of granting a miracle, they MAKE you one instead."
Would then take off after making a promise; blitzing over grassy molehills and tearing down brickwork, hedge-laden paths, one return trip would turn to five, then ten, twenty, and soon forty in record time.
"She'll get the crew she deserves. No matter the methods to make it so…"
One final count before he'd clear his throat and yell, for fear he'd splinter the door's grains just for knocking.
"Can I help you, boy?"
A greeting with a voice to think he gargled gravel before coming; between that and any of those other absurdities, including ear-to-ear handlebars and impossibly squat bodies, Stumbos' innkeeper to stun him into utter silence.
"I see you've got my order. Must say I was worried."
"Oh, oh, yes of course, hello sir. Sincere apologies, for everything—just so much to take in, and so fast. Your signature please, so I can—?
"All counted for, at least?"
"Have my word on that, my Captain's too. Sorry for their condition, hate to say it's a real long story."
"Nothing a good wash won't fix, and I know not to ask. Thanks boy, your crew might have a hope yet."
"Just the latest Officer of a long line, sir. Will be for a while I imagine."
Leela's blue pen to glide and swish over the manifest, ensure the exchange of funds and gratuities; as they'd do so, would hear an offer of cuisine—homemade, heavy portions, half-price. Coupled with a complimentary stein, choice of real select beverages, would admit to the almightiest anticipation.
"Mein leben, what I'd sell for a schnitty right now. Little cheese and sauce on top, throw in some chips…"
Forces unknown and without warning to swiftly eject such fantasies; bizarrely, very own body to disobey any free will, and even threaten to turn his kneecaps into champagne corks.
"Of all days, of all times, why now… Sorry sir another time thank you gotta go!"
Last burst to only just make it back on board—for what he'd confront though, of Miss Wong—almost in tears—slapping the taste out of Leela's lips and getting no sign of life, could only pinch his face and try not to scream.
"I was never warned that this was TEMPORARY! Swear it's outta the flames and into God's hot sun."
Up and down he'd pace praying for an out, neck gripped tighter for each moment there wasn't, until skitters across the deck would startle him. Thick green tube to come into plain sight, and with it an inquisitive grab; closer look to reveal a white and gold label, and flipped upon the back, a mish-mash of glyphic symbols quirky and foreign.
"Dr. FlimFlam's Miracle Cream, huh? I don't get it, what's so extraordinary about—hey wait a sec."
Nostrils under his clothes, then over the tube, to confirm the one and the same scent—reminders of eucalyptus, like forests of evergreen pines. That and its badly screwed cap to suggest a use both recent and rushed; warning in plain English, to realise just what had gone on.
"May cause super—dear Gods, this is it! But then, in saving me, that has to mean… Move aside Amy."
Ignoring any blanching faces or waves to back off, would squeeze a small lump and commence a rubdown, refill where it was needed; sixty seconds tops to earn an easier breath, when Captain rose with the haste he did. A delivery well done, and a return to home guaranteed—thoughts of braving the cabin until he'd hear Amy be subject to a berating salvo.
"Ooooooh, this really bees my gees! Miss Wong, I'm gonna shove my boot so FAR up your—"
"Ma'am, please back off and—"
"Don't you interrupt me! Does nothing register in that fairy floss brain of yours? I thought I WARNED you about using shortcuts, what'd happen if you did!"
"Dammit, listen, it wasn't me, swear it on my life!"
"Do I look like I'm gonna buy that garbage? Now I'm gonna give you a choice—come quietly and confess, or start wishin' ya did."
"Captain, for Christ's sake, please believe her here."
"What the—Mayfield? You're alive?"
"No need to guess how. As to who done it, haven't a clue. Were I to imagine why, well…"
Tried not to smile nor make a sudden move, as he'd hand the manifest over, hopes only had that matters would soothe or even be dropped. Suggestions otherwise, was sorry to note, upon a pursed mouth, and growing squint.
"Cabin. Now."
Her fingerprint to override his own; were it not for watchful eye, might've been the one time he'd give grace that old messes had lingered. Without evidence of raids or heists, couldn't be held responsible, and even then, HAD to be cleared by virtue of deed—surely justice would prevail.
"Okay, how did your signature get on this?" she'd slap their notice.
"I, I—"
"Test me at your convenience, Officer."
"Ma'am, all I can offer is total garbage, absolute bulldust for an answer."
"Not gonna be good enough. But go ahead anyway, we'll see."
"Well, did my damnedest to figure out these powers, this new life, and then I'd overhear youse two at each other's throats. Can only gather that whoever granted this gift, they had to be a stowaway."
"I checked every station, every room, and every deck. Twice in fact. So try again."
"You chose to blow my brains out, which we both agreed to. And Amy can't have done so, you think she's gonna defy you? So tell me, please, why the hell I'm now ALIVE."
A hand to lightly grip his shoulder; began wincing to hear cricks of bone, but stood his ground enough to elicit her smile.
"Huh, so no desire to confess. Guess it is the truth, which then leaves the actual culprit in question."
"Gave its head to Fate to revive me, and can't imagine it did so simply out of goodness."
"Be that as it may, I'll tell you what I told Amy; you won't touch it, you won't suggest it, you won't even THINK of that cream."
"But—"
"No buts! Or else first nights will be papercuts to what's coming."
Gave only a gulp as she left him to start making calls—thing or two to really impress while he'd hustle about, eager to be awash of his first delivery's chaos.
"All this time, I thought people flying, phoenix acts, and powers were just fantasies of ink, wild imagination on screen. That our Captain had such total control, must've been a thing a lot longer than I believed."
Blood caked or fresh to scrub off and send down the drain; each minute in this eternal shower to digest all he'd bear witness to, or be made to comprehend.
"Was what'd revive, protect, begin to redeem me… Say, wonder if that's related to any 'answers' she's after? Course, being in that same boat, she better not make shark bait of me in seeking them."
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Lolling about Mess Hall, left on his own with a lunch of potato chips and soda, he just couldn't help but conjure up those secrets hidden, stories untold—there was no ignoring that impromptu meeting nor its implications.
"Still not sure I cared for rescue. Just did what any good crew woulda done… So I thought at least. Yet Captain now considers me a threat, an obstacle, heaven forbid a traitor in waiting."
Commotion above, of Bessie presumably being put back into place, to then settle the palpitations, and come to one obvious conclusion.
"Regardless of what all this meant, had to be the right call. Will make 'em see the good of it yet."
Karmic misdeed in mind to feel the spread of a strange itch, especially for questions of supporters while they flew home—resignation to worsen when a familiar voice, one wishing to meet their landing request personally, began to reach his ear.
Wasn't so much that they could've collected pensions by the time he'd get there, nor was it any cracks of knuckles or cursing in foreign tongues. It was that, even to have enjoyed nobody's company thus far, Farnsworth was the one whose obituary he'd read with obvious pleasure, hands down.
Even so, to compare smarts AND lacks of scruples, living fossil in a lab coat was leagues beyond anybody at HQ, perhaps Earth period. Decision to get no easier, for hanging behind a Captain carrying their scrapheap—real light work of it too—off the bridge and soon face-to-face.
"Ahhh, forgot what it felt like, patting Nixons in my pocket… How 'bout a hug, my crew?"
"Professor, hugs are like honesty or ass-kickings to me. What you deserve, you shall have."
Scavenged titanium, then, to let collapse upon the linoleum; clangs to echo about and cause a probable heart attack, only helped along when she'd seize and lift the Chief right out of his slippers.
"Time and again, you'd deny my requests for repairs. Time and again, out of some stubborn belief of business, you'd postpone upgrades. Time and again, you've screwed us 'round or stood in our way. As a result, a secret I wanted kept could now start coming out. So help me, I'd sooner kick you into our dumpster and drill the lid shut."
Company share to go all-in on—experience to guide the bet—that such an outburst would oust her from the Captaincy AND out of HQ altogether, maybe into the Sun. Surely her fate was sealed, even to gently set him down.
"Must it be your mission to make my life difficult? Must it take bankruptcy and cardboard boxes, for our situation to sink in?"
"Ooooh, still yapping are you?" came a shake of fists. "Swear I'll freeze Hell and make Satan foot the bill, before I figure out why you're worth a damn."
Amy to rush right in between, if only to stop lips—faces too—from getting smacked right off.
"Hey, hey, cool your jets! Always bigger concerns to deal with, don't you think?"
"Jeez, if him running this place is the LEAST of that lot, no wonder we've got a noose 'round our necks."
Own separate issues for sure, especially for getting threats over thank-yous, yet knew even then that a word was needed. Bosses of another age would've balked to spray a professional—equal parts leader AND pilot—with such acid, and so casually.
"Are you for real, codger?"
"Professor idiot!"
"Sorry, thought it was Farnsworth. Anyway, as among the few trying to save this place, our SHELTER, maybe she's got a point?"
"So what if she does? Plenty more like her out there. Though speaking of which, be quiet and know your place."
"Yeah, as if they're gonna go here. And of my place, what of it when you're bought out, when pocket change is paid to make all this a hoverpark or whatever?"
"That's my business, not yours. So how 'bout you go earn your keep instead? Go on dead weight, scram!"
A deep breath and balling of fists, just for a minute, before he'd let things go—series of theories to again occupy his thoughts. The fabric of fiction, it felt like, to thread his true story; perhaps only admission of such to dodge a harsher sentence.
Of course, same now to believe had been taken out of reach, and knowing the big boss's mind was completely elsewhere, could only prop up the cushions, take a lie down in the lounge, and try to massage and make sense of the madness.
"Second chance for a reason, because to abuse it beyond that, I'll wish I hadn't. Hell, bet I never left that psycho's shit-list as is… But to be so Gods-damned useless, how else can I enter her good—"
Lounge door to slide open: "Hey, is everything alright in here, rookie?"
Sprung up to face Amy's gaze, one of concern then confusion, before he'd sigh and return to his back.
"Oh, it's you, hey. Well, I won't say it is, but given where I was an hour ago, damned if I won't take it."
"Ummm, okay, that's good?" she'd shuffle, with hesitant thumbs-up. "Anyway, listen, about when I met you the—"
"Wasn't your fault, forget about it. Rather than clearing matters up, just let my piss come to boil instead. Been caught in a world where everything's gone to shit, I know why, and yet can't fix it… Though lately—"
"Yeah, speaking of which, reckon you could get the TV for me?"
Cocked an eyebrow in reaching for the remote, in sitting up to make room, and could only watch as she kept changing the channel, each new program to curdle his insides and leave them queasy.
"Alright, so I've got this straight, this is called KIDS entertainment now? Elementary school sluts, fast food superheroes, and BABIES in diapers beating the snot outta each other?"
"Mmm-hmm. We're not fans either," she'd continue to click.
"The hell's WRONG with these Tickleodeon bastards?!"
"Can't be any worse than anything else on this thing. Besides, not really why I'm here."
She to then palm a couple notes in his hand; after some quick flicks, chest could've lost a beat.
"Umm, whatever loans I might've had, world's written 'em off by now… You sure these Gores won't go astray?"
Remote to raise the volume, and then would shimmy up with a furtive glance or two: "Forget the money, just listen. Though I doubt you're done with 'em, you really need to stop using—"
"So what if I'm not? Have you any idea just how I—"
"Had that glint, real sparks in your eyes? You think I don't get it? Didn't even recognise the guy who'd rescue us—can't have been the weirdo we'd find sobbing over spaceflight, of all things."
"Amy, for never having the wealth nor expertise required, how couldn't I? Hell, give me an absurd amount of both, and I'd STILL only reach the Moon, Mars if I was lucky. You sure you really get it?"
"That obviously can't be right. Next you'll tell me it was total chance that you'd become that—"
"And if it were? Back then, would've been beyond anything any dream of mine could conceive. To now know it's not only real, but so simply euphoric too, why stop now?"
"Dude, you helped destroy our ambush AND stopped a critical breach. You never needed powers." Hand upon his knee, as her gaze turned serious. "I'm just hoping you don't abuse excuses to become this Superman wannabe."
"Given what I'd abuse before, how is this worse? Given the choices I've made, why mess up this good thing? Given how I'd get folded like a piece of paper, come moments shy of ejecting as fatty red paste, why line up to relive that? Is it not enough that'll wake me every morning in a cold sweat?"
To get a side-eye and watch her shift, would then take a couple breaths to compose himself.
"Besides, between helping contribute to the mess and anything else I've got eating away, saying I'm a hero's the steamiest load I'll ever hear. If I wanna step up, actually keep up, then can't imagine I've any other choice."
Braced his body for questions when the Captain arrived and grabbed a seat, taking over the remote; not fancying any repeats, chose to steal glances at the skyline. Many a machination working inside, plotting for his next fix of renewal, least until news presenters of the starkest contrast redirected his gaze.
"Welcome to Root 2 News, or Channel Surd for your grandpas. For your afternoon update, I'm Linda van Schoonhoven—"
"And I'm Morbo the Annihilator. Three-time nominee of 'Earth's Greatest Nightmare'—your winner soon, I promise."
"Greeaat, another charmer of an alien… Anything else the ol' comic books wanna lie about?"
Entire city to make today's top story; growing civil plague to be captioned "GOING LOONY FOR LUNEDITIS." Mentions of booths giant and grey—people going in yet not coming out—to startle him enough, and then there was the spiking queues, dog-eat-dog brawls, occasionally the odd food hover-truck…
"Okay, time-out, what's the story with those things, what's going on down there?"
"Gently put, they're done. None of 'em see a point anymore; for 25 cents, can go as painless, or horribly, as they like."
"That right Captain? Whoof, believe I'd see a couple in my travels—blessed be the ignorant and penniless."
No response heard as boasts of world domination, papers scribbled to bits, began pulsing Morbo's impossible green head; prayers mumbled, just once, it was all a gag if only owing to Linda's chuckle. And as if he weren't full of shivers already, then came along the segment of greeting their special guest.
Wasn't so much the man's head hovering in lime liquid, nor the knowledge of granting a second life, however mysterious or unconscionable the method. Rather, it was the guest's undoubtable face and name to leave him squirming up the couch, clicking fingers before his eyes… guy was once a Surgeon General, one he could've MET in theory.
"Thank you Linda, nice to be here. While I've spoken loud and often about public health matters, I pray we don't dismiss the subtle power of our spirit. Burns me still that cigars bear my name, that children remain denied of real life… But regardless of then or today, they're among those I shall always fight against, or for. This is C. Everett Koop, recommending ready-mix 'fore you call me."
Reminders of old doses, of advice so blunt, to bring on giggles that'd earn a head-tilt or two.
"Did I miss the joke or something?"
"Dialect back home, just made polite Captain. Where I'm from, would tell the sods 'Harden the eff up!' to—"
"Says you tough guy, but still, early days. Hope for a hero outta you yet, but gotta hold out for now."
"Just don't bother, please and thanks; nothing I do now can ever polish up what I have done."
Series of gurgles to interrupt, loud enough to leap her off the couch: "Say, maybe I can get to know why over some lunch? My treat."
"I think I'll pass. Gonna get a nap in, again didn't sleep a single wink."
"For a guy eager to get breakfast on my time, that's rich to refuse a meal. Wouldn't you say?"
"What, gonna take me to court over it? What if I just plan to settle for toast or something?"
"Oughta be no problem given where we're going," Amy raised. "Besides, don't recall you ever—"
"Uggghhh, alright fine! Gods forbid I get a minute for myself."
Suspicions they were onto him, yet a cross of fingers for otherwise, as on the way to the lobby he'd discover the big boss ducked under that tarp, muttering and whacking at something. At that moment, any invasions of ideas would seal the pact, ensure he'd see out his scheme.
"Scuse me Farnsey, you have a mo—"
"Can't you take a hint, Maynard? Beat it!"
Hoped the tarp would obscure his obscenity, before he'd begrudge his time heading out into that concrete jungle.
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Forced to jog just to keep up—at times, fears had for losing them—would enter the ladies' eatery of choice in great huffs and grabbed knees, starting to find certain beliefs unshakeable.
First, that any persuasions and cash under the table were just the beginning of Leela's machinations; that by grabbing Amy's grand bribe, had tumbled fleet of foot into her easiest trap imaginable.
"Trust me to act with such wanton, stupid greed, instead of asking if it was alright. Now they're gonna think that's my actual motive—not entirely WRONG, but—"
"Listen kid, once you're done yapping to yourself, wanna feast your eyes for a sec?"
Any judgements to reserve once he got second winds and stared ahead; among the newspaper readers and chattier diners, would discover cuisines of every culture rolling along that S-shaped belt. Many to be and remain absolute favourites, at more than a cursory glance, and eventually ones above what he could afford.
"So tell me, you're gonna refuse a free lunch anymore, or what?"
"Thought that was the plan, but I'll welcome this deviation of life. If only that was all."
Settling into a foam-stuffed booth, where the ladies grabbed plates in an instant, would keep an eye on every meal to cross over; body to twitch over seconds and thirds, daresay a week's worth of takeaways, before a plate was passed his way.
"Everybody loves a burger, but nobody likes waiting, alright?"
Fixed her only a glare before he'd grab his meal in both hands; grand sort to chow down on, as each tastebud was coated in flavours beloved yet unfamiliar of late. Buttered brioche, the most tender beef, odd condiments acting as complements, then a myriad melt of crunches, chews, and crispiness.
Each bite to last only seconds, before those golden shoestrings got shovelled in, many drowned in a dressing or two. Prickles for any priceless memories had, but once the Captain helped herself to spillovers, any waterworks would threaten to turn full-blown.
"You gotta be kidding. Really gonna shed tears over these things?"
"Not about that, dammit, f-flash just passed… Won't thank you to tell me how I oughta feel."
"Huh, thing in common it seems. But now's not the time nor place, don't you think?"
"Cute of you to assume I'll ever have either of those again."
A tall glass of what was whiskey and cola, perhaps by coincidence, to slide by; grabbing it, would mumble a toast to long-dead clan, then take good time draining the lot. Through obscuring liquid, cared not to notice the twirling finger nor fallen gaze—couldn't ignore, however, the sudden topples of ceramics, the mess of potato mash across the table.
"Captain, there something wrong?"
"Regarding you, or—"
"Better to be told sooner, I'd say."
"Can't fight or save yourself for crap, can't even control yourself in public, and can't keep that mouth shut either. Let's face it, we've a lotta work ahead—not like I've enough to do—to get you on our level."
"Fights aren't always physical, I've tried for losing so much, and I no longer care to keep silent. Add everything up to now to all that's come before, and maybe, I'd rather take a miracle over a mentor."
"So that's it then, just like that? You're gonna throw all I've learnt, over years of travelling the universe, right back into my face?"
"Oh what, you believe you're worth blind faith, especially AFTER piling your share? Pardon my plate being full, for trying to forgive what I can't—likely won't—forget. You don't deserve my trust, and don't you dare expect otherwise."
She to lean in close, uncomfortably so, "If I were you, kid, I'd suggest trying anyway… Most occasions, you're made too much of glass to go throwing any stones."
Turned his eyes toward the belt, hoping she didn't notice any clenches of teeth—might've ground them to nubs to catch a tea set coming their way. While not quite the scent to what he'd know anywhere, was when it'd be grabbed upon polite request that he'd dig knuckles into his forehead.
"Oh what the hell's the matter now?"
Whipping out of the booth, wouldn't even look back in shoving those double doors open—probes of then, and promises now, to promptly kill an appetite that would've left his plate clean any other day.
"Who does she think she is, that nosy bitch? Nerve on her, thinkin' she can act like any friend of mine."
Begging for different company, whether for distraction or daresay for a word, would only arrive to a 'DO NOT DISTURB!' sign slapped across the lab's doors. Ear up close to gather high-pitched cackles, a faint yet familiar bubbling, and the odd gibber; mind of a madman again in full flight.
Taking a subtle glance about the hallway, and assured of being alone, would begin thundering fists over the sign; many a curse to whisper when a disturbed Hermes would come rushing from his office.
"Jah damn it Mayfield, can't you read plain English? Defy this sign again, and I'll ensure even your dental records won't identify you."
Bureaucrat's back firmly ahead when he'd mouth off to it, after which he'd return to the door—none of what'd transpire to warrant even the slightest reaction from beyond. Conference view to also prove inconclusive, and for an alleyway sprint only to discover 'back doors' boarded up, was sure his tirade would fill a glass jar or two.
"You gotta be—AGAIN I can't reach that corpse?" would kick the planks. "This keeps up, I'll have nothing worth keeping for."
Any breakthroughs—or thoughts of how—to hit real harsh brakes when a sudden, growing stench would bury his face beneath his shirt. Not a scatter, accent, or clack of claw to notice, to bring on shivers despite the summer.
"Mayfield, my friend! You seen all the barnacles on my tuchus today?"
As claws sped to and pinched those slacks, instincts were to wave clear surrenders, almost crack his neck for shaking it. As if the odour wasn't enough of a line to cross…
"Don't you bloody do it, you—"
Protests on water-logged ears as the ghastliest sight would soon glisten in the sunshine; flab-folded, slimy-pink meat, blackened by dozens of oozing bumps. Beyond that, hadn't any words for the whirlwind to unleash—lunch to rise with such haste it'd coat the wall, the ground, even his clothes.
"You friggin' dropkick, what do you mean by showing me THAT?!"
"Friends always share with friends."
"Is that right? Then lemme share with Mr. Conrad, see what he thinks."
A hope to bank on obvious hatred as he headed for the foyer; instant withdrawal once that crab scuttled after, pleading for a chance. Wasn't sure of mercy, of giving any kind of alternative, until an idea burst inside.
"Alright bisque meat, how 'bout this? Get me inside, I'll give ya a pass. Deal?"
An offer taken and dealt with, virtually in a heartbeat; lack of work once again clear as he'd beeline for the locker room, hoping to erase such foul from his tongue and threads. Soap and water to settle for—couldn't keep changing, after all—before he'd discover why his legal entries had been locked up.
The cackles and gibbers to come only from dreams; in addition, Professor to let a long beaker dangle loose in his fingers, still bubbling away. One careful pluck to curb complete disaster—of that he was certain of—before he'd then pop the top; devious grin to grow for his latest idea.
"Mmm-mmm! Delicious lime cordial boss, just like Cottee's used to make."
Rose that ancient one in an instant, with fists out and throat trembling, "You'll take this lab from my cold dead—wait, Mayweather?"
"Damn straight, Skippy."
"Of course I'd hire an idiot who can't read, doesn't respect their elders," he'd hear him grumble. "And dear Buddha, don't drink THAT, it'll liquefy your insides!"
"Left that a little too late; lucky for us, was only stirrin' ya. But speaking as the 'brainless' one of us both, perhaps you've forgotten AGAIN how there's still everything to lose?"
"Young man, I've forgotten more in five minutes than you'll know in five lifetimes. Now get out of my way, I've got things to invent."
"Seriously, is this busywork, dozing, and talking bullcrap's all you're good for 'round here?"
"You'd be wise, even do well, to start remembering who owns this place, who CAN do whatever they want. Were the cannons I spoke of just empty threats to you?"
"You more than me, sir—like it or not, this legacy's all ya got left. Let this fall through, might as well pay your quarter and quit, for I'd guarantee you'd suffer cruelties I never could."
"How cute to assume I'm incapable of defying time itself. Speaking of which, start making my minutes good."
Couldn't help an attack of guffaws, only to return to a stare that hadn't wavered; no way of telling between a masterful poker-face or actual pure experience, perhaps enough to wonder if extortion was in his future.
"Oooookay, right down to it then. Simple and brief of it? First mission of mine I'd forfeit my life—please don't ask how—only for a special tube to save and evolve me beyond mortal men. Naturally, had desires since to remain it. Thing is, we're gonna need each other to make that happen, much as I'm sure you'd rather see me hit the bricks. With me so far?"
"Forty-plus years I've owned and ran these headquarters, and that's among the stupidest things I've ever heard. Even if there were truth to it, do I look like I require your help?"
"Umm, that ain't the flex—thing to boast of—you think it is. Sorry boss, but look out there"—empty hangar to motion toward—"and look around; Bessie's the only thing out here that impresses. Knowing we've gone absolutely nowhere, maybe I'm the truth, the proof, you oughta hear out?"
"Bold words, from the most expendable of everyone else under this roof."
"Oh don't worry, first mission'll remind me each and every morning. Which is why I wanted you to begin with. I've found the means, now, to gild our doors golden, get us expanding beyond these walls. Maybe, to imagine HQ as your child, to actually stop any 'changes of custody', so to speak. You get me?"
Two leathery hands to grab and grip his top; mix of surprise and temper over that sudden lunge.
"You think you're just gonna come in, and dictate the way I do things here?"
"Dictator, moi? Boss, I'm just after an alliance that'll benefit not just us, but everyone here. Had I the skills you did, trust and believe, I'd be trying to put them to actual good use. Y'know, rig the odds in our favour, since we've no other home in this hellhole? Now how 'bout ya let go and listen?"
Crossed arms and pouty nod to proceed, though as he'd speak of that delivery, could see the taps of feet rivalling those of ancestral jigs. Didn't help either to experience gaps in recollection, make the whole thing come off as a complete farce.
"I've spent a LIFETIME¸ maybe two, living by hard data, hypothesis, and heaps of test subjects—how big a fool do you believe I am, that I'll be sold this 'miracle' nonsense?"
"None at all, even a total idiot could be sceptical for being told. But as I said, I AM the proof, and I am prepared to BECOME such a subject. Captain never had to reach out my way, you never had to offer this shelter, so—"
A hint of growls to question if they were hearing things, least until Farnsworth snapped back.
"Ooooh, get to the point!"
"I've only my mouth and manhood to offer, inverse though they are. Call me a dreamer, but just imagine US being able to survive any planet, take on any client, deliver the truest of services. Imagine the word of mouth, the opportunities that might arise, maybe the money to pile in… Certainly fund a crapload of research, I'd bet."
Had to smile to hear the man stammer; Doosra of a delivery aside, knew he could no longer deny the threats and dangers, lest he watch his lifetime of work be destroyed.
"Oh confound you… Bring that blasted thing, and I'll tweak what's under my tarp. Now leave me!"
"Cheers Farnesy, sure appreciate it."
"That's Professor to you, and don't you EVER forget that."
Knowing that second chances were ensured, would begin for the lounge raring to rest up, get ready for whatever next job came in. Beliefs now had of never saying hello, never talking again to 'old friends', now that a guiding light of sorts had been established.
"Too long I'd suffer helpless, in silence… No more, and never again."