I’ve tried to make it clear every once in awhile that I am not a brilliant man in the scientific sense. I’m not sure if I’m brilliant in other ways. I like to think that I have such a different perspective that I put the same pieces everyone else has together in different ways. If you’re putting together a car, sometimes that means you get an El Camino instead. In my case, it’s likely to involve a three-wheeled monstrosity that uses blinking headlights to cause epileptic seizures.
When I popped into this world through a hole from another dimension, some might say the experience left me temporarily unstable. Just a bit. So when I got my shit together and started to figure out what kind of place I crashed into, I realized there existed a disparity in tech levels between the place I came from and the place I now resided. I didn’t come from some sort of future; I think my version of Earth made better use of their time to advance faster.
Seriously, they didn’t even have flying cars. I mean, back on my planet, we just didn’t use them. We started to. After about a month, they remembered what the average driver acted like in less complicated vehicles that didn’t go all sorts of other directions. Still, that worked out better than the time they tried vacuum tubes to transport people around. That got gross in a hurry.
The sex got everywhere, but the real problem came, pun not intended, when people started shooting porn videos. Transport tubes didn’t mix well with lube, but it sure as hell set a new record for humans breaking the sound barrier without a vehicle. And still the woman kept moaning “Faster!”
Information traveled much faster than people, however. That’s why, whenever I had access to our infonet, I used to look up all sorts of stuff. A wealth of information flowed to me if only I had the sense to ask. I archived a lot, then focused on other information once I went rogue over there and became known as public menace. I just had to simplify things enough that I could put it together. The way things went, I have a much better understanding of my old world’s technology, but more cultural knowledge about this one I ended up on.
So I am definitely not the type who can fight his way out of so many strange situations and then turn invent a cure for some obscure disease in my spare time.
Come to think of it, my arrival was the first major time they incarcerated me. They tried to drug me up that time, too. Considering how most of my time was spent concentrating on how to direct the Rubik’s Cube researchers on how to build a modified power core, it’s as good a thing to talk about as any.
The trip through the dimensions left me a bit out of it. One moment, I had been knocked out by my girlfriend who broke up with me upon realizing I seriously wanted to destroy the world.
The next moment, I dreamt I’d been tossed outside the universe, which was part of a massive puddle. More like an amoeba, actually, because it split off. Then those universes split off too. Everything got this wide, fish-eye lense sort of look as I started to take in the entirety of everything. I stared at one part in particular and then felt the pull of something like gravity. I think I was a little beyond gravity at that point.
After that, I knew I was in a place with buildings and wreckage and dead bodies. Only, I couldn’t comprehend a whole lot, nor could I understand what everyone was saying. They actually carted me off to a local psych ward. I went along with it because my brain hadn’t caught up to things yet. About the time I started to figure out some shit had gone down, I sat in a wheelchair in an adult diaper watching the news broadcast about the blast.
I stared at it uncomprehending, then I had a thought: dimension bomb. Then my mind raced with realization. I’d crossed the universe divide. I made it to a whole new universe. I had crapped myself. Luckily, it didn’t take me too long to figure out paper wiping. I preferred that to the three seashells method used in some of the poorer countries back on my home planet. Still seemed odd that any civilization capable of going to space hadn’t figured out anything better than a slightly updated form of wiping with leaves.
Once I had that down, I had to learn the local languages enough to get by. First, adapting my wireless connection to local network protocols and programming languages. Then, I browsed the local infonet, called the internet, to determine what language I needed to speak. Deciphering them took a bit of effort, too. We had some similar languages back home, but they took different paths in the linguistic evolutionary line. Look at the difference between chimps and humans, or Modern English and Middle English. Apply that to pretty much every language.
My break came from figuring out this Latin business. Where I come from, it was merely one minor but well-documented language of the Late Etruscan Empire. I only knew it because of this time I had to deal with a growing religion devoted to the Roman deity Quirinus. They called themselved the Spear of Flesh. It loses something in the translation, but it gains so much more.
Here, Latin shaped so many damn languages. Those Romans were some horny bastards.
Once I got that figured out, it was time to go. I’m not the only one who thought that. A gaggle of assembled agents from various agencies showed up to check me out of the psych ward that day.
One guy in came in to get me out, only to get dragged out by a nurse pointing him over to another person in a suit. They almost fought, which I wanted to see. Then they all came at me with needles and I decided it was time to get the fuck out of there.
The NSA, FBI, and CIA guys all rushed me at once. I put a pretty good hurting on them, too. The NSA guy really didn’t like it when I pulled the diaper over his face and held it there. I remember telling him, “I present leave, motherfucker.” He didn’t like that at all. Incidentally, he got me with the needle.
Then, as I fell down, I saw the FBI guy turn to the CIA guy and jab him with the needle. The NSA guy pulled my diaper off his face and started wretching, which reminded the FBI agent to turn and stick him too. The NSA guy saw it coming, though, and had time to jab the FBI with his needle too. They put the dic in jurisdiction.
It took me a lot longer than them to go down. Slight differences in body makeup, you know.
In order to quell the in-fighting, local police shipped me to their lock-up while all of us were knocked out. I hadn’t yet picked up any fluency in English, so that’s when they started bringing in this weird trio of a psychiatrist, lawyer, and linguist.
Interestingly enough, that’s when I learned more about the social stigma of certain words I picked up from the internet and TV signals. Did you know that homosexual black attorneys, no matter how much they may use the term amongst themselves, don’t like being called “ambulance-chasing scumbags”?
Anyway, I realized I needed to escape, and they didn’t yet realize I was a highly-trained anal-rapin’ machine, so I pulled their dental caps out through their pudding puckers and stole their clothes. The charade didn’t last long because the linguist’s skirt constricted my thighs. The heels were an absolute bitch, too. At least the thong fit, but that’s because I took that off the psychologist, an aged man with a grey beard, bushy eyebrows, and a picture of a young, smooth chested, shirtless Filipino man in his wallet.
Well, the cops tried to stop me, complete with their firearms. The man standing by the door tried to draw on me. I grabbed it, twisted it wrists to weaken his grip, and gave him a ballistic vasectomy. While he fell down in pain, clutching at his newly aerated ball sack, I examined the weapon. I’d seen firearms before, obviously. I just needed to examine this world’s version.
I’d held bigger. I’d held smaller, too. Sometimes, the true power belongs to the person who knows when to put the gun down. In this case, I dropped it and stumbled down the hallway holding onto my stomach. The blood sprays helped sell the illusion that somebody shot me. An officer running in my direction caught me as I fell into his arms, then pushed him into a side room for a quick knock out and clothing swap. I kept the thong, though. It cupped my scrotum, like a friendly fabric handshake.
They checked there, in what turned out to be the bathroom, but by then I’d pushed that guy’s unconscious body into a toilet stall and closed the door. All the other cops saw was a cop in a stall with a kneeling person in front of him wearing the linguist’s skirt and heels. The hairy legs would have been a dead giveaway, except they shaved mine at the psych ward for some reason I still don’t understand. They even went for the pubic hair, but something interrupted them about halfway through.
Discussions of my body hair aside, escaping proved easy once I dressed as the enemy. I’d say that cops aren’t that smart, but that depends on what their intelligence is focused on. They’re really good at finding reasons to detain and shoot people. They don’t question authority very well. Most people don’t.
Just like with any con, sneaking out of a police station while dressed as a cop is all about projecting the air that you belong there. In my case, I projected that I belonged there but didn’t want to. I was Officer Psychopomp Gecko, with two weeks to go until retirement. I had to go walk the beat. Fun fact: they call it a “beat” because that’s their time to beat people.
Escaping like that wasn’t possible in this Rubik’s Cube place, but the general principal remained the same: make them underestimate me. Maybe I should have kept Venus around and pretended to be her little pet Gecko. People eat that shit up. “Oh no, we got to see something from the villain’s point of view and now the cannibalistic serial killer rapist turned out to have a tragic past. Let’s go hug him and love him and make him a hero.”
Then they treat the snarling wolf like a yipping puppydog.
Gah, why can’t I settle on a fucking plan? Why am I discussing my past? Why am I asking y’all?
Ah well, before too much longer, I’ll talk these guys through the rest of the bomb-ified power core, kill the crap out of them, and everything will be right with the world. Except for the part where an unstoppable madman ran around assaulting and raping people, but it’s not my fault professional sports have such lax ethical standards.
Dammit, people, I need something to kill! Someone’s pet! A bug! Germs. I’ll settle for a pet rock.