[JimmyDimples]

HYBRIDS

A What-iffy/Elseworldy/Alternate Reality/Really, Really, REALLY Unofficial Crossover Fanfiction

(And My 1000th Amaz0ns Post)

The man jogged on the treadmill at a brisk pace.  Though it wasn't any exertion or workout (yet), he knew the wisdom of not running into exercise full tilt.  He turned to the 50-inch flat widescreen monitor in front of him.  "Auxillary feed one," he said.

On the huge screen blinked an old news report from a nowhere town in some backwater called Taylor County.  The shown industrial park resembled a blazing war zone in former Yugoslavia.  Policemen rounded up hordes of unruly bike gangers.  Several motorcycles were scattered all over the grounds.  Firemen rushed to put out burning vehicles. 

By the treadmill, two stainless steel posts whirred up in front, one to a side each.  They turned like spindles, showing branch-like bars sprouting off them at different levels.  Then the posts stopped and came at the exercising man as quickly as the tread he jogged on.  He nimbly ducked the first one, then hurdled over the other.  He still focused on the report.

And then the screen cut to a black and white video from a squad car's camera.  This one showed a monstrously huge woman towering at almost ten feet tall.  She had thighs as big as 55-gallon steel drums, and biceps and breasts as proportionately huge. And when he saw the light, shining hair long enough for her to sit in, and that cute face, he glowered in recognition.

"Tetsuko," he hissed.

Bonkreak! He'd let a steel bar hit him squarely across the chest.  It bent out of shape.  Checking his mood so it didn't interfere with his pulse or blood pressure, he checked his breathing, focused, and kept in pace with the speeding treadmill.

On the monitor, he saw that she was wearing a floral print 1950s style bikini with huge leaflike patches on the hems.  As she faced down whatever was behind the camera, someone came up to her right side, his pate barely making it to her waistband: a young, skinny, nebbish college age fellow.  He reached up to Tetsuko's hand and whispered something up to her.  And her hand then reached down, curled around the side of his face, and tugged his head closely to her hip. 

"Hmmh," went the exerciser, "a new sweetheart?"

After this, the fellow said something reluctantly but finally firmly to whomever was flanking the squad car; presumably the police or the bike gang.  After a few moments, Tetsuko then brought one massive leg one step forward, and stomped hard, making the shot and everything around it jump.  Her friend popped up and landed flat on his seat.  She tensed, and sent her limbs' veins to the skin's surface as she tensed and bulged her muscles.  And though lip-reading wasn't the exerciser's specialty, her following lecture's first four words were plain enough:  "That's close enough, creeps!"

A few seconds later she smirked a little, apparently satisfied with the dialogue's result.  But then, she flinched as a group of grey metal marbles hit her in the chest and face.  Then another cluster.  The viewer assumed they were shotgun blasts. 

By the treadmill, the posts stopped passing him by and stopped behind him.  "Initiating press," went a digitized voice.  Then machinery from the wall alongside the widescreen slid two big, blackboard-sized flat panels toward him, one on each side.  Still running on, the man then raised his palms, caught each one, and pushed back without breaking his stride.

Onscreen, a big brawl broke out.  After the young man ran off toward the factory behind Tetsuko, motorcyclists then bore down on her, smashing blunt instruments against her body.  Not even saying ouch, she stuck out one leg, swung it, and kicked three bikers down in one sweep.  There was an explosion somewhere, the woman caught another cycle by grabbing the front wheel's mount.  Then she hefted it up, turned it sideways, and swung it around and around in the air, flung the rider off, and finally let it go flying away offscreen to crash who knew where.

A beep.  And an LED meter read 5t.  And ticked up to 7.5t.  The man kept pushing back and stepping forward. 

Back onscreen, a bottle smashed against Tetsuko, and she soon engulfed with flames.  Three other guys then started slamming more melee weapons against her.  She then simply stuck out her arms, grabbed them all, and pulled them to her chest in one grand hug.  Then after a quick comment, she then dropped forward on top of them, then rolled on the ground, putting out the fire, and squashing and knocking out the thugs.  Standing up, she spun quickly to another flash and explosion off camera. 

The meter went up to 10t. Then 12.5t.  The walking man shoved and stepped on.

On the monitor, reacting in alarm and dismay to whatever went boom, Tetsuko turned and was about to run over and back to the factory.  But then she suddenly stopped, staggered, then doubled over, clutching her stomach. 

And then her already broad back got broader.  Her thighs thickened, almost ball-shaped.  Her calves got wider. Her upper arms, already beer keg size, got nearly spherically round without flexing.  And her massive chest got to bean-bag chair size.

As she grew slowly and steadily bigger, the exercising man felt his stomach tighten.  And he felt a twinge of nervousness… of fear.

NO. He clenched his teeth.  Turn it to something else.  And narrowing his eyes, he imagined the plates as her… and that he was shoving her down.  And he threw his back into it.  And he made progress up the treadmill, drawing near the front of it.

The electronic counter went to 15t.  17.5t.  20t.

Onscreen, Tetsuko slowly righted her self to standing straight.  And the remaining bike thugs gasped at her new height:  over ten and a half feet tall.  She turned and surveyed the remaining unhurt, agape goons and said one thing:  "BOO!"

A number of them yelped.  And they all turned and got out of Dodge without any further encouragement.  After she saw all of the thugs flee, she focused on the warehouse, turned around, and the camera shot bounced a little as she dashed right at the wall and burst through it like it was made of pure Styrofoam.

Then he saw smoke coming out of the cavernous hole she'd made.  And just then… a red light flashed on the treadmill's console.  Then he heard something grind, crunch… and then he staggered forward as the panels suddenly stopped pushing back.

Exasperated, the exercising man quickened the pace on the treadmill, got up to the console, grabbed and donned a headset set hanging on a hook, flipped the microphone in front of his bearded face and pressed a button.

"Lundt," the workout man demanded, "who are the idiots that installed the arm press?  I distinctly said FIFTY tons of pressure maximum! Fifty!"  A beat passed as he listened.  "Well, kindly send them over here to my West Coast offices and get them to put the thing back in working order, and up to the specs I wanted.  And if it's still out of commission by sundown today, the parts and shipping charges are coming out of their salaries."  Another beat.  "Yes, I'm aware how much freight costs this far out.  I hope they are, too."

Another light blinked on the console.  Checking it, the exerciser resumed running speed.  "All right, patch him through the rerouter."  The headphones clicked.  "All right, go ahead."

"They're both in our time zone now," a vocoder-distorted said.

"You couldn't pick them up earlier?"

"The opportunity… was not the best.  When they arrive, it will be optimal."

"Well, you know what I want and expect.  And you know what you'll get for what you give."

"Understood, sir.  We'll get in place and be in touch."  Click.

And on that subject, the exerciser spoke into the mic.  "Auxillary feed two."  The screen winked off from the arrest scene to a computer's desktop screen.  "Open file:  Dossier EGLS.  Maximize."

And opening in a window was a folder showing two passport photo pages, a couple of resume documents, and a few newspaper clippings.  The British passport had a slightly balding middle aged man.  His name:  GREEN, EATON MOORE.  The American one had a young fellow who didn't quite look 21 yet.  His name:  SAFER, LESLEY ELLIOT.

And as he studied over the information in front of him, he dialed out and made a phone call. 

"Hello, Global Renewable Enterprises?  Yes, I'm calling about the possibility of investing in your company.  I'd heard somewhere that there's something new called 'Safer-Greenwear,' and I'd like to help you get in on the ground floor of this.

"Oh, yes, the name?  Hamilton Slade."

***

Les gripped the seat's armrests like he was squeezing an orange.  "I hate flying," he whimpered.

"Yes, me too," grumbled his 40-something travel companion.  "The least fuel-efficient transportation except for maybe the Space Shuttle or drag racers."

Les turned to face him.  "That's not what I meant, Doctor," he said through clenched teeth.

Dr. Eaton Green put a reassuring hand on his compatriot's shoulder.  "I know precisely what you meant.  Come on, you've crossed the Atlantic.  This puddle jump should be nothing."

"Yeah, well, this ride doesn't have a hot meal, movies, headsets, or magazines to take my mind off that…" And his knuckles went white as he stared around the Volkswagen-sized cabin.  "…that there's only a metal plate and 35,000 feet of air between us and the ground."

"Fiberglass plate," Dr. Green corrected.  "And it's only 17,000 feet.  The canola diesel gets gummy up there with the Airbuses."

With a horrified squawk, Les froze and silently stared dead ahead.

Wing Long, the pilot, glanced back at the passengers. "Don't worry," she reassured, "it will be less than two hours before we arrive."  And her smile raised her cheeks to her dark-almond Chinese eyes.  "And sunny skies all the way."

Les nodded, but didn't look any more at ease.

Dr. Green then got an idea.  "Why don't you write a text message to send to your friends when we land?" And to Wing:  "All right as long as we don't send just yet?"

"Dui," Wing nodded.

Les fumbled in his shirt pocket and fished up his mobile phone.  Tapping through the contact list, he finally arrived to the Ts and saw the pic of a dear friend:  A bright, beaming, cheery, long haired blonde waving a massively muscled arm.

"Tetsuko," Les whispered.  Forgetting his fear,he switched over to the text message function and keyed a draft:  "On the ground.  Doc & I will see you soon."  Saving that, he got another idea. 

He quickly switched over to another e-friend he'd made through T-chan:  SunnySide-51-133121.  He smiled at her icon:  a manga-like cartoon of a young woman with 1980s cut lemon-blonde hair, tan skin, a peach cat-like triangular nose, and a cute, pearly white smile.  Les grinned at that himself.  Admittedly he'd never ever heard her voice, let alone seen her photo, but from the chats online they'd had, she seemed verysweet and bubbly.

Wondering what she'd really look like when they met at the airport, he saved the message for her, too.

***

Dr. Sonya Gannon folded her arms atop her ample chest.  "I hate traffic," she groused, staring over the pickup truck's hood at the bumper-to-bumper congestion.

Tetsuko grinned at her boss and friend.  "Hey, you just have to ride.  I'm doing the driving."  And as her muscular legs pumped the pedals, she pressed the button on the steering wheel to hit the brakes and switch the pedal's drive to the flywheels.   

As they rolled to a stop at the red light, Sonya checked the readouts on the dashboard.  Tetsuko's pulse, breathing, blood pressure and other numbers were on the high ends of what could be expected from her bicycling and weight-lifting regimen, but definitely still healthy.  And while generating enough power to turn a truck's transmission would blow anyone's mind, Tetsuko simply had a light sheen on her skin, and the smile of a runner's high. 

"Sure you're feeling okay, Tet-chan?" Sonya asked.

"Never better!  Could use an orange though." Tetsuko giggled.  "I'd like to take Les cruising in this.  And see Dr. Eaton Green's face when he sees our ride.  Now THIS is alternative power!"

Sonya fished one up from a grocery bag and handed it to her.  "Well, it's definitely cleaner.  If there's a way to get my serum safe and approved, though…."

Honk honk honk HOOOOOONK! Off to Sonya's right, a fresh new royal blue Lexus blasted its horn.  A yuppie with black, slicked back hair snarled at the elderly woman trundling with her cane through the crosswalk.

"C'mon, Grandma!" he barked.  "Move it!  I got a meeting in 10 minutes!"

Turning to that, Tetsuko rolled down the window.  "Hey, buddy!" she said.  "Ease up! She's going as fast as she can, and we got a red light anyway!"

The yuppie shot her a dirty look from behind his sunglasses.  "Mind yer own business, ya bleache blonde bimbo," he growled.  "I'm turning right."  Then he gave a sudden, long, protracted blast that made the senior citizen leap up a foot or so.  "Now make it horizontal this time!" he snickered.

That ticked Tetsuko off.  "Scoot your seat back a little, please?" she asked Sonya.  After the doctor did, T-chan tossed the orange up lightly, caught it, then flicked it straight at the Volvo's driver-side door. 

BAPFWOOMP!  The side-mounted airbag clocked the driver neatly on the side of his head. 

The light went green.  Tetsuko released the brake.  And off the pickup truck went, leaving a surprised grandmother staring at them with a smile.

"Better boogie to the airport," Tetsuko said.  And she moved those mighty legs faster.

***

"Wow," Les exclaimed.  "This is a pretty big airport for only one strip."

"It's part of our host's compound," Dr. Green said.  "Better buckle up, tray tables up, seats upright, turn off your gizmos and all that."

And soon afterward, the experimental jet lowered, descended and screech!  It landed neatly and slowed down the runway.

"Finally," Les sighed.

"Oh, come on," Wing said.  "My flying wasn't that bad, was it?"

And soon, they taxied toward a hangar huge enough to house a Boeing 747.  Les was boggled.  "Who exactly is our host working with?"

"Well," Dr. Green began.  Then he stopped and stared out the window.  "Hallo, who's this?"

Les squinted.  "Who's who?"

"I think it's your internet friend."  And the doctor moved out of the way.

And sure enough, there was a golden tan slender female, about 19 years old, in a pink T-shirt with a cheery flower on it.  Once she spotted Les, she waved promptly. 

Smiling in recognition, Les smiled back.  And as soon as the jet powered down, the door swung open, the stairs lowered, and Les hustled on out.  After a stretch, he sauntered over.  "Hi!  You're Tetsuko's friend Sunny Side?" 

"Yeah!" she said cheerily.  "You must be Les! Welcome!"

And she gladly clasped Les' extended right hand in both of hers.  They felt soft and… furry?

Les then realized that her handshake didn't feel quite right. For one thing her hands had only three fingers and a thumb each, like a Simpson.  For another, he saw that that golden tone on her body wasn't a suntan:  it was soft, fine fur.  Then on the back of her head… were those ears he spotted?  Sheep's ears?

And she even had that triangular cat's nose just like in her picture.

"I…" he stammered. "Um… er… uh…."

Dr. Green showed a steadier head.  "Ah, I think my associate is trying to say hello, and thanks for meeting us here."

"Uh, yeah! Yeah," Les finally managed.  "Yes, hi!  I… oh, I'm so sorry, Sunny Side, I'm coming off like a total rube.  I didn't mean to… uh…"

"Be weirded out?" The cute girl shrugged.  "It's okay.  I get that quite a bit.  Name's Sheeri."  A 4×4 vehicle pulled up behind her.  And she gave them both a dry look.

"And besides," she added, "you ain't seen weird yet."

Out hopped two more figures.  The driver was a massive, muscular female in a tank top and cargo pants.  She stood over seven feet tall, and at over 480 pounds seemed almost as wide. 

And her hair was a very short Mohawk cut, her skin was blue, and her eyes were glowing white.  Literally see-in-the-dark glowing.

From the shotgun seat hopped out a short, thin man in a lime green jumpsuit, with rectangular glasses, blonde hair in a pompadour and a back-long ponytail.

Les jaw was all the way down to his chest.

"Well, you've arrived safely, folks," the bespectacled man said.  "You've met Sheeri, I see.  I'm Dr. Otto Bonn, and this is my wife Andrah.  Welcome to Polymer City!"

To Be Continued…

[Keith McCray]

WOW! Crossovers indeed! Can't wait for more.

[Fonk]

Oh boy. ;D

[David C. Matthews]

A great start to what looks like it'll be a very interesting story.

And congrats on 1000 posts!

[AlexG]

Congrats on your 1000th post – the next 1000 doesn't get any easier, believe me.  😉

Good to know your power pen is still full of creative story-telling ink.  ;D  8)

“I like a good story well told. That is the reason I am sometimes forced to tell them myself.”
~ Mark Twain / Samuel Clemens (1907)

[Cowprobe]

Nice stuff Jimmy D.

Your feel for the dramatic is well honed.

I'm fiction-crushing on your able secondary character Miss Wing.  😉

[Author]

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