Born Hard Again: Book Three of the Future Remembered Chronicles

by Unce, Bo

  "They were... they were killed. By the soldiers," I explained. Maybe less was more in this case.

  "NOOOOOO!" screamed Koochy, his swollen tongue flailing. "Thuck that thit! My thamillllyyyyy!"

  I gestured helplessly.

  "Koochy, I know what you're going through," I commiserated. "Preston Jr., uh, he died when I took over his body, and I miss him dearly."

  "Ay, you don't know thit, P!" Koochy retorted. "Yo' thorry assth thon wasn't nobody. Thunior was my boy, he be my boy!"

  I restrained from yelling back and countering his criticism of my son, since that might seem like I was just being defensive about myself. Besides, Marcus was going through a lot right now. I imagined what Junior might have grown up to be.

  His future life was clear to me: the newer and larger mobility scooters he'd grow up into, casting aside the smaller ones like an invertebrate molting a shell. Junior's first heart attack, his elementary school graduation ceremony in a few decades, him falling in love with another land whale, Marcus giving Junior's hand away in marriage and riding on his armrest as they scooted down the aisle, Junior's heartfelt "Bluuuhhh!" in response... I wiped away a tear.

  He was cut down all too soon. And his beautiful life exchanged for what? A few minutes of delay? And shielding a hairy midget-god from a few bullets?

  After this contemplation I stood up straighter and puffed out my chest proudly, knowing that it was worth it.

  "Put that thit away, thuck, mane!" Koochy batted away my dick-arm.

  Alphonso walked up to Koochy. "Here. You should have this," he said, presenting Koochy with a blood-stained compute-pad. "She would have wanted you to have it."

  I was amazed. When Alphonso and I were in the shopping aisle of carnage and the power had been knocked out, while I was fumbling in the dark, Alphonso must have unclipped Yvonne's compute-pad from behind her snack packs! He was more sensitive and emotional than I'd thought. I considered his near-breakdown over his scraped knee, then figured it all lined up.

  "Beta as fuck," I muttered.

  "What?" Alphonso said. "Anyway, Koochy... you know she liked to record herself so she wouldn't have to take the effort to talk. Well I know it's not like a digital personal assistant or anything, but it's a little part of her, and now you can have her talk whenever you want. It's like she's still here, her and Junior."

  Alphonso pressed a button on the compute-pad and Yvonne's face filled the screen. "Ahh!" I jumped back reflexively.

  "Junior," her recorded image advised, "this is how you eat a pizza. You need to add organic sugar on top of it, because aspartame and those diet sweeteners aren't healthy." Wheezing and coughing ensued with Yvonne's effort to pour the sugar on top. "Look, so now it's good for you. Big and beautiful people need to keep they're energy up so their not tired."

  I twitched. "Their! They're!" I cried out.

  Alphonso looked confused and then smiled comfortingly. "There there, Koochy, let it all out. It's okay." Koochy carefully pocketed the bloody compute-pad.

  "Thankth, mane," Koochy mourned. "theeing her meanth tho much, it'th my only thamily." He paused to try to wipe some drool from his lolling tongue. "THUCK! Thuck this!"

  Marcus yanked at his swollen face-protrusions and pulled some necrotic pieces off. "That's better, mane. Thit."

  "We need to get you a new surgipod," I observed. I peered out over the suburbs, looking for inspiration in the soon-to-be early morning light and the glow from the fires we'd started everywhere. "There, look! A hospital!"

  "Preston, I don't know if that's a good idea," Alphonso began. "We just went to a shopping mall and look what happened." He pointed at the storefront just as it collapsed in a heap of twisted metal and puff of plaster dust. "Who knows what the Good Man would bring to bear if we went to a facility like that?"

  "Damn, thon. Yo' assth ain't no thtrategic masthter! Mo' like masthterbathter!" Koochy mocked.

  "Maybe he's right," I admitted. "There are only..." I counted, "five guards down by that GMS dropship. You remember that other one we rode in? It had a mil-spec surgipod, right? And GMS troopers get shot in the face all the time?"

  Alphonso nodded.

  "Le'th do thith!" Koochy exclaimed.

  The troopers out front had the ship's high-power spotlight focused on the collapsing storefront and their guns were trained on the exit doors, however they hadn't spotted us on the roof. We needed a plan.

  I took inventory of our staff and materials. The first step in developing a minimally viable plan was assessing capabilities. Partially reanimated guy, useless guy, god with dick-arm and foot-nubs, some future sensing skills, a couple heavy-duty scooters with attached fleshy bullet sponge masses, a store full of food and various sundries, three knocked-out soldier types with their assault rifles, some snack packs, a couple compute-pads...

  "Damn it!" I said. "Why is this so hard! Argh! I need a visionary, someone with a long-term strategy!"

  Koochy pulled out Yvonne's compute-pad and pressed play.

  "Sometimes I think, what if this was my last day on earth?" Yvonne's recording blathered. I took note though since we were in quite a bind too. My interest was piqued. Could Yvonne actually have a single redeeming quality? Could she get us out of this situation? "Then I think to myself," the raspy voice continued, "could I die, just knowing that I didn't eat that last cupcake? That there was something I could have eaten and I didn't? No, I will never live that way. I will live every day like it could of been my last."

  "Fuck," I said.

  "Hey guys, there are three Good Man goons down there still knocked out," Alphonso advised.

  "Unnnghth, they got dick-thlapped!" Koochy added.

  "Why don't we put on those soldiers' uniforms and take their guns, and then get onto that ship?" Alphonso continued. "It's so crazy, it just might work!"

  I considered this. Well, I guess it wasn't any worse than my other minimally viable plans, of which I hadn't thought of any yet. "Fine, Alphonso," I declared. "But I just want to go on record that I am not fully in support of this plan, but I don't disagree with it."

  "What?" Alphonso replied. "Okay I'll go grab the guns and stuff, you guys stay here."

  I was impressed with Alphonso. What was responsible for this stunning transformation from abject failure to potentially, not-quite abject failure?

  "O-okay," I approved his suggestion despite my surprise. His face lit up.

  "Awesome! Okay, guys, I'll be right back," he jogged out of our sight, back towards the roof-top hatch we had ascended through.

  Turning my attention back to our target, I studied the guarding soldiers more closely. I wondered which of them was in charge. Too far away to make out any details of the insignias on their uniforms, I cursed.

  "Dammit," I nudged Koochy. "Which one of them do you think is the leader?"

  "Cain't he'p ya, P," he groaned. "Muh eyeth got dem theven cataracts-a death, kid! BLARGGH!" he punctuated his statement with puke. He dropped Yvonne's compute-pad as he did. That gave me an idea.

  "That's it, Koochy! Now we just need Alphonso to come back with the gear!" I said.

  Alphonso jogged back with an ashen expression on his face.

  "That was quick," I said skeptically.

  "Hey guys. So you know how I was supposed to get those guns from those three guys who were knocked out? Well one of them snored or something and it was pretty scary. So I ran back here," he explained.

  "You idiot," I berated him. "How scary are a bunch of unconscious guys?"

  "Well, when I was running back I tripped on one of them, and uhh..." Alphonso went on, pointing.

  I turned to look and saw that the five troopers by the ship had been joined by another three. The new three were gesticulating angrily and pointing vaguely in our direction. I glared at Alphonso and shook my head with frustration. At some point I was going to have to make some tough calls about the efficiency profile of our team, perhaps a personnel shakeup or downsizing were in order. So far the severance packages had just invo
lved severed limbs though.

  "Okay, we can still make this work," I suggested optimistically. "Follow my lead!"

  I picked up Yvonne's compute-pad out of the pile of vomit.

  "Enhance!" I commanded the compute-pad after pointing its camera at the soldiers who I could see were clearly pointing at me.

  Yvonne's compute-pad responded by overlaying various animated rainbows and twinkling star graphics atop its camera's video feed. The video of the soldiers I was trying to scope out looked like it was ready for sharing on the latest trendy social media mega-site. Now, a psychedelically colored unicorn was streaking above the soldiers, shitting what looked like Neapolitan soft serve ice cream.

  I vigorously shook the disgusting compute-pad.

  "Fuck!" I shouted in frustration. My plan was going nowhere. I looked over my shoulder and saw Alphonso had withdrawn from the group. He was a few feet away, tending to something on the rooftop beneath us. I couldn't make out what he was doing, but I was curious. "Alphonso," I called as I walked over to him.

  As I came closer, I could see exactly what he was doing. Using his finger, he had drawn out the shape of a giant can-can board in the snow. It was far from perfect; but it was obviously a can-can board. Several large notes had been drawn within the boundary of the overall board.

  GET GUNS

  DON'T FUCK IT UP

  FIX MARCUS KOOCHY

  I read the phrases Alphonso had scrawled on the "sticky notes", barely legible in the snow. I felt a sense of pity for him. He really did try. He just could not succeed.

  "What are you doing, Alphonso?" I interrupted him.

  "Oh. Hi, Preston," he greeted me without looking up. He was putting the finishing touches on a new to-do which read: SAVE TK. "I feel bad about what happened with those soldiers and all. I think we just have too much going on. I think we need a can-can board, but I left mine back in the, you know, sled. So, I drew one for us!"

  Now he looked up at me, grinning proudly.

  "How are you going to move the tasks as we complete them?" I asked him without hesitation.

  His smile faltered.

  "Dammit, Preston!" He looked as if he were going to cry. "I am just... so... mad at myself! Stupid, Alphonso! Stupid!" He clasped his hands to his scarred and hairless face.

  "Ay, P!" Koochy called to me, his voice sounding stronger. "Braing dat 'pute-pad back ova here, playa."

  Obliging him, I handed it back. He was healing rapidly. His face, and the various other visible parts of his body which were exposed through holes incurred in Limbozer's final encounter with the Limbotron, would not regenerate until we got him in a better surgipod. But I could tell the vast majority of his self was quite a bit stronger already.

  "Coo'," he grabbed the device from my hands and began interfacing with it. His fingers moved quite a bit slower than the last time I had seen him in action though.

  Suddenly, the engines of the soldiers' ship roared to life and I ducked behind the short wall surrounding the rooftop. I could hear the soldiers yelling in surprise and anger which turned to helpless frustration as the sound of the ship got louder and louder.

  "Come on, thon!" Koochy grasped my arm and pulled at me.

  Looking over Koochy's shoulder, I could see that the military air ship was hovering feet away from us and landing.

  "No, way!" I shouted, optimistically. "You hacked the ship! Good to have you back, brother!"

  "Ha HA! Big Kooch up in dith bitch like whoa! Po' one out tho' Junior. Lil Kooch Kooch, R I P, ya hear' muh?" Koochy made a weak attempt at some gang signs, but his digits lacked the dexterity necessary.

  The ship was beautiful. The letters GMS-KJH86 gleamed on the side of the sleek, modern tropospheric vessel. It was built to house eight soldiers, including the pilot and co-pilot. This was smaller than I had hoped and my heart sank. A ship this size usually did not have the kind of surgipod we needed. I did not want to delay TK's rescue a minute longer, but I knew Marcus wanted badly to recover to a more normal state.

  "Wow!" Alphonso yipped. "This is awesome! I call the pilot's seat! I am a Vice-Admiral, after all!" He jumped up and down with excitement, like a cheerleader.

  We scrambled into the stolen government vehicle and fastened the doors closed behind us. Alphonso made his way, uncontested, to the cockpit. Koochy and I ran immediately to the supply and storage area at the back of the cabin.

  "Vice-Admiral Alphonso Roy signing in to the Good Man Ship KJH86," Alphonso's annoying voice came over the loudspeaker. "Buckle up back there, boys!"

  "Thut up and get uth tha thuck outta here!" Koochy attempted to extend his middle finger in response to Alphonso's welcome.

  The air ship lurched violently as Alphonso engaged the thrusters and we began to ascend from the burning building.

  "Thuck!" Koochy cursed. "Motha thucka! Where da hell dey thurgipodth at?!" He angrily and ineffectively slammed around.

  BIZZZAAKCKK!

  A bright blast of hot plasma from one of the soldiers' rifles tore through the cabin's interior wall. The warmth we had been enjoying was vacuumed out and frigid air poured in to take its place. We watched through the ship's windows as several other bolts of light streaked by, but did not strike us.

  "Alphonso!" I screamed. "Get us out of here! Up! Up, man! UP!"

  "You honky ath motha thucka! Move yo ath! Goooo!" Koochy pleaded loudly alongside me.

  "Oh, all right. Sure," Alphonso agreed as if the idea had not occurred to him independently.

  Koochy and I were knocked to the floor as Alphonso hit the gas and the ship accelerated surprisingly quickly. After few moments of speeding away, we no longer saw the strobing light of the soldiers' plasma beams. Still on the floor, I looked around cautiously before starting to stand again.

  "This is your Vice-Admiral Alphonso Roy speaking," Alphonso's voice came over the loudspeaker again. "According to GMCR section seven, it is now officially time... to party! We made it! WOOooo!"

  I smiled. Koochy's disfigured face uglied back at me. I stopped smiling and stood up.

  "Come on, Kooch," I beckoned to him. "There's got to be something here we can use to help you out."

  He climbed to his feet and joined me in tearing through the various storage lockers, drawers and closets inside the ship.

  "Food!" I exclaimed as I tore open a box and discovered neatly packed bags of potato chips. I was ravenous. I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten.

  "Ugh, cain't do it, P. I'mma be ill- uuuuUUHH-BLARGHH!" Koochy doubled over, clutching his stomach.

  Without hesitation, I ripped into multiple bags of chips at once. I put entire bags in my mouth and ate them in just a couple of bites, wrapping and all. Towards the three-quarters mark in the box, as my hunger began to be sated, I paused to read one of the bags of snack food I was eating.

  It had a brightly colored set of three capital Ps atop of what looked like a cartoon of some kind of internal organ. I vaguely recalled seeing it in schooling materials back when I was younger. The phrase: Now, with OLESTRA! was scrawled over the drawing of the organ.

  "What the hell is OLESTRA?" I wondered. Some kind of new gluten-related food fad? Ultimately, I shrugged off the concern and finished the entire box of potato chips.

  A huge belch tore free from my throat. It stank of salt, grease, and death. I could feel my stomach and digestive system queasing back into action after a prolonged period of disuse.

  "Thuck, thuck, thuck!" Koochy cursed thrice in frustration. "Ain't no damn thurgi-thit on dith here bitch! GOT-dammit!"

  Reluctantly, I nodded in agreement. I had also found nothing of value, from a healing perspective. I cast my gaze to the floor, trying to focus my best judgement on what to do next. My eyes came to rest on a full head helmet and air filtration system.

  "Hey, Marcus," I elbowed him, gently. "Can you use that thing?"

  "Wha? Ohhh thit! Yeah! Yeah, thon," Koochy responded enthusiastically and snatched up the helmet and attached apparatus.

  Truthfully,
I had made the suggestion because the full helmet would cover Koochy's entire disfigured visage. I loved my bro, but it was getting really hard to stare at that nasty engorged tongue that was constantly wagging at me.

  He connected his compute-pad to the filter at the end of the hoses attached to the helmet. Koochy's fingers went to work on the device and after a few minutes of concentration, he seemed pleased with the results. He disconnected his compute-pad and donned the helmet.

  "Thank god," I said quietly to myself as his frightening countenance disappeared from sight.

  After affixing the filtering mechanism to his chest, Koochy bent over and retrieved two large energy weapons from the mess we had made.

  "Get you thome, P," he advised.

  I felt at ease now that Koochy's rotting face wasn't spilling out everywhere anymore, and also because we were armed and moving. Things were even better now than when we left Putin's place, all things considered. I mean TK wasn't here and she might be getting tortured in horrible pain, but we weren't broken up anymore and she wasn't currently mad at me, and that was something.

  I picked up a plasma rifle and cradled it to my chest. It was tricky to find a good firing position with an enormous penis jutting from my ribcage, but I found that I could use it to my advantage by rubbing it a bit and then resting the weapon on top.

  "P, thtop jerkin' off, thave that thit until you thee TK," Koochy recommended. "Bitcheth love that thit."

  "I wasn't... nevermind," I said. "Koochy, where should we head to? We got some guns, where do you think we can get a full surgipod? Maybe we are ready to take on the hospital?"

  "Theeit, thon," Koochy slurred. "I gotta hit thith." Smoke billowed out from behind his new helmet.

  "What the fuck? Let me guess, you hacked up something to make that helmet fill up with weed smoke, right?" I complained. "Dammit, Koochy, we have to focus here!"

  "Thhut up, ay, yo' assth … BLEEAAARGH!"

  Vomit squirted out from the sides of the helmet. It completely filled the face mask and was now leaking from above his ears.

  "BLUUUUUHHHH!" Marcus burbled. He was flailing around randomly, high as a kite and blinded by his stomach spew, and I was reminded of his progeny. Poor Junior truly was the spitting image of his father.