What is that smell? I wondered as consciousness returned. I had no idea where I was. The last thing I remembered was running into Storm over at the park. Literally. I was pedaling my saggy ass across town to pick up a booster box when a transformer blew up (that happens sometimes when I’m not keeping a lid on it), and the EMP knocked Storm down from wherever the hell she was, and she landed right in front of my tire.
I distinctly remember the sound of the thud, and her Ooof! Ow! as my tire hit her ribcage. This in turn sent me ass over teakettle. I remember flying through the air, and the pavement looming large.
Now it gets fuzzy.
So. Where am I now? Why does it smell like a goat died a week ago? Can I move? It felt as though I were under some fuzzy blanket. I slowly sat up. I may have groaned, I don’t know. I wasn’t hearing anything.
I wasn’t seeing much, either. Everything was gauzy and pink. I rubbed my eyes, and felt hard grit come away. But my view was still rosy fuzziness. And why was that smell so familiar?
I pushed the wing up, crawled out from underneath. Oh fuck. Not again. Spitfire’s smiling face peered at me from the headboard. Good morning, Blippy! I know I groaned this time, because her face turned just that quick to blazing anger. You weren’t so upset last night, were you? You liked it just fine then, didn’t you, you nasty slug? Oh yes, you loved it! Don’t give me this shit! Quit your whining, put on that GI Joe outfit, and come here and fuck me, or I swear by the Horn of King Sombra I will shit on your grave tonight!
I stared at the costume hanging on the far wall, across a sea of cigarette butts, beer bottles, ropes, spilled bongs, roaches, dildos, and other less reputable items. Was I really going to do this? Again?
I started crawling.