Meanwhile, back in the city of Toronto, 2009…
Vast titanic breasts on an enormous nude chest have just emerged from the city centre, ripping up everything from Bloor and Sherborne to Queens Park Circle…
The man from the hyper-future, Tyra Banks, stands amazed at the chest unleashed by his powerful super-suit’s chestmaker. With him are the nerd he recently met, and soeone who looks remarkably simlar to (name deleted). But it can’t be him, can it? (name deleted) is sleeping, dreaming, even now inside the frown of the universe… then who is this man? What is his plan? And his span? Fan.
The dials and knobs on my suit dialed down and knobbed down to the minimum. I was again allowed to utilize my own bodily limbs to control my directions and motions. how pleasing it was to regain that lost control.
The night air swelled with the rush if heat of the heaving breasts on the now breathing chest, and with the cries and yelps of the hapless Torontonians who had, understandably, not predicted this occurance. Torontonians are notably terrible at predicting the emergence of body parts in the middle of their city, as their future history would bear out time and time again. Old Shafty-Cocks of 2140 really springs to mind.
I turned my gaze proportionatly, following the golden ratio, towards the man who, until only an hour ago, had been my trusted companion. And yet, after vanishing into thin air at the hospital, and returning without much ado, he had seemed to be like another man who just looked like my friend. What had hapened to him? It was like taking the orange out of the orange skin and then putting some rags in the orange skin, and then saying ‘this is an orange, OR IS IT?” I’m saying this is my friend, or IS IT? You feel me?
I ji-HAD no time to find out (had no time to find out), as the blood pooling up in my suit from my recent interaction with bullets meant i had to gather my mind and hurl my body onward. Why had my friend shot into my body with his gun? It wasnt’ even a malicious gun, it was a kind looking gun. one of those little stubby guns, that you imagined the big guns always teased and that you just wanted to buy when you saw it at the gun shelter. In the age in which i come from, guns were large wooly creatures, barely resembling the primitive guns of today, but in that stubby little fellow I saw the Grintaur, the gun I had growing up. Not actually growing up, obviously, as I blinked into existence all at once due to m suit’s conclusion that it was inevitable, but nevertheless, i blinked into existence with a full life’s memory set. With a bonus expansion pack of half remembered possible victimizations.
“You’re a real dink for some reason,” i shouted, as i turned and hopped away. My suit’s inflective screens corrected my clearly pained intonations into those of a tough urban fellow. While i said “you’re a real dink for some reason”, what (name deleted) and the nerd heard was “Yo, ya’ll is total douche machine, white honkey ghost!” Cool, right? That’s pretty cool.
The suit’s wound augmenter kicked in, and my bullet wound began to feel like a scorpion bite in my hand. It wouldn’t interfere with me running, though my leg now liberated from pain, i was running awfully hard on it, and I could feel blood glooshing out. It was without a doubt the wettest my jeans had ever been thus far. I made amental note to add it to the big wet jeans scroll in the year 249,493 when i was next visiting that time.
In the dim light of king’s college circle, surrounded on all sides by venerable old buildings, universty College, a vast victorian edifice with tasteful ivy growing on every side, i could make out the nerd leaping on (name deleted) and wrestling away the gun. The starlit sky arched overhead like a threadbare shroud, permeated with vague light from beyond. There was something remarkably peaceful about this epoch, no lip-chives, scenting the night with their spicy salivas, no gontules, lobing your legs with their lobes. No scrimshaw pipes hanging from everyone’s hoary beards, drizzling out smoke into the blustering new england autumn nights. All three of the worst things in time were absent.
In the distance now echoed the sound of sirens, emergency vehicles rushing to disruptions in the city’s life. Probably the giant breasts, I’d imagine. I’d be willing to bet that that ws, by far, the biggest disruption. However, though i didn’t know it at the time… I mean, though i dno’t know it at the time, i don’t know what i’m about to say, the galgravolt had realized it was a galgravolt. The city, and everyone in it, was doomed. I dont’ know that yet though. I’m saying it with my fingers poked into my ears so i don’t’ hear myself say it.
To be continued.
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