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Maybe, just maybe, Crankcase shouldn’t have skipped his science class. Then the cops wouldn’t be on his ass.
Actually, fuck that. Science sucks, this is way better. At least the cops aren’t gonna fail him for no good reason. It was Misfire’s idea to try to see if her hair gel would ignite, they didn’t actually want to start a fire!
This Misfire person seems like a problem, the random voice in Crankcase’s head says.
He does not have time to confront that random voice right now. Maybe he is going crazy. Or maybe it’s a ghost haunting him. Doesn’t matter, as long as he doesn’t get arrested for accidentally breaking into that weird facility.
All he wanted to do was check it out. Misfire couldn’t skip because his mom would have killed him if he missed another math test, and the rest of them don’t want to skip because they care too much about their grades. Next time he should offer Grimlock a chocolate bar from Dollarama, that will probably convince him.
He trips, surprised. He isn’t used to the voice even though it’s been popping into his head ever since he found that dead body on the floor of the lab. “Fuck. Don’t do that!” He looks behind him, watching as the middle-aged man in a way too tight police uniform gets closer to him.
He gets up, ignoring the sting in his knee as he feels blood slip down his leg into the hem of his sock. Despite the pain, he still doesn’t regret wearing shorts today.
Scraping his knee beats his mom trying to force him into leggings.
Sorry, mysterious voice apologizes. Crankcase seriously needs to see a therapist.
He decides not to respond to the voice in his head, because that would be weird. Although, he has definitely been in weirder situations then going crazy as he gets chased by the cops. Example: that time when Misfire accidentally drugged Krok and he punched the school counsellor. Good times.
He isn’t even sure why this cop is following him, it’s not like he stole something or killed a guy, that dead body was there when he got there. Shit. Wait. Is he a murder witness now?
He didn’t even technically break in, the side door was wedged open by a small pebble, and it’s not like he cared enough to read the ‘private property: keep out’ signs. Trespassing is such a dumb crime.
He slides across the pavement as he ducks into an alley, the rubber of his soles burning against the sidewalk. He climbs over a fence, grunting as he hits the ground below.
He flips off the cop as he stands on the other side of the fence, staring at him. Fucking old bitch, can’t get over the fence without back pains.
He turns and gets a face full of fabric.
Shit.
A large hand grabs onto his shoulder, hard, hard enough that Crankcase has to wonder if his shoulder is going to get broken. Is his shoulder even a bone he can break or that just his collarbone or his arms? Shoulder is totally a bone he can break.
He pushes away from the guy, who isn’t another cop but some ripped dude in a security uniform. His badge says he is from the facility Crankcase snuck into. He is so fucked.
“I got him,” the man says, talking through his earpiece with who Crankcase can only assume is another security guy.
I know you told me not to do anything but I’m going to help, the voice in his head says.
Before Crankcase can respond or acknowledge that he is still going crazy, he is getting covered in pink, and is somehow growing in height, and has four arms.
What the shit?
He knows about mutants, and he knows that mutant powers can develop in weird ways, but this is fucking weird. Too weird for him to really get what’s happening other than the: ‘what the fuck holy shit’ thoughts rushing through his head faster than a rocket ship can lift off into space.
His new tall, pink, and surprisingly spiky body must have a mind of it’s own because he is suddenly on the move, pushing the security guard out of the way and climbing onto a building.
He lifts himself up onto one of the buildings, sharp claws on a three-fingered hand he didn’t have a moment ago digging into the brick as easily as if it is play dough.
He wants to make his body stop, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to get caught by the security guy or a cop, he wouldn’t know how to explain the pink flesh that covers his body.
Why the fuck does he have defined muscles now? Does getting randomly mutated suddenly make everyone fucking ripped? If so, why did everyone hate mutants?
He keeps running until he is in a forest behind a field, miles away from the town. It didn’t feel like he had run for miles though, he couldn’t feel any physical side affects—lungs heaving, heart racing, sweat dripping—other than the after affects of his post-cop chase escapade.
The pink sinks back into him, returning him back to his normal body, as if that didn’t happen at all! As if he didn’t just become some weird creature from a shitty ‘50s horror movie.
I apologize, voice in his head says, still making Crankcase jump. Fuck he’s never getting used to that. I couldn’t get taken again.
What the fuck is his subconscious on about? Did he get transported into a fucking video game? Is he the main character in some coming-of-age sci-fi flick?
“What?” he asks, rubbing his face. He is talking out loud to the voice, he really is going crazy.
By those humans, the voice answers. Helpful. Very fucking helpful.
Where’s the nearest psych ward? Do they have schools in psych wards? Does he have to do homework when he is in there? Will his friends be able to visit? Crankcase is pretty sure Misfire would visit him, that’s what friends do.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but, what the fuck is going on?” Nobody is this deep in a forest on a Wednesday afternoon, and if they are, they are probably more crazy than Crankcase, they won’t mind if he starts screaming to the voice in his head.
You saved me, the voice responds.
“Saved you from what? Who are you?” Crankcase questions.
Suddenly, a face comes out of his shoulder, attached to his body by thick strings of pink flesh, the same pink flesh that had covered his frame.
“I don’t have a name that can translate into any human language,” the head says, and every time it speaks can see the rows of razor sharp teeth in it’s mouth.
“Okay?” Crankcase backs up slightly, but the head comes with him.
“The humans wanted to use me, but they didn’t find me the perfect host,” pink head explains. Whatever that means. What the fuck is a ‘perfect host’ anyways?
“But then I found you, and you’re my perfect host,” it explains.
“What? What the fuck? I don’t— I’m 14, I don’t want to be in your freaky alien cult, hold your horses,” Crankcase says, feeling uncomfortable under it’s gaze.
“It’s not a cult. It’s symbiosis,” the pink head says.
“I have a 10 in science, I have no clue what that means,” he deadpans.
“In the simplest terms I know: you were made for me, and I was made for you. I can live in your body without dying or hurting you.”
“You were gonna hurt me if I wasn’t your perfect match?” Crankcase asks, alarmed.
“Yes. I would have needed to eat your organs to survive. If it makes any difference, I wouldn’t have liked eating your organs.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Oh.”
Crankcase takes a moment to process what is happening. If he didn’t skip Science and check out that facility he wouldn’t be sharing a body with some weird alien. It’s all his Science teacher’s fault, if she wasn’t such a bitch then he wouldn’t be scared for his organs.
Worse things have happened, though.
“So, you’re stuck with me?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He is definitely going to regret this.
“If you’re stay then you’ll need a name. Unless you want to be called ‘pink thing’ forever,” Crankcase explains.
The alien tilts it’s head, like a cat or a dog would. Weird.
“Pick a name for me. Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m making it weird.”