by Gentry Race
Telephantom
Telephantasma Series Book 1
Gentry Race
Forward by
Chucho Jones
Copyright © 2018 by Gentry Race.
Gentrifiction Publishing.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
To my beloved daughters Victoria and Mia. May you never lose the sense of wonder. ~ Author Chucho Jones
To Cherise, Cai and my family. May you never lose your wondering sense. ~ Author Gentry Race
Contents
Foreword
1. Teledeportation
2. MolecuLab
3. Deadly Dealings
4. Beyond the Wreckage
5. Holy Molecule
6. Enter the Quantum Cosmos
7. Dr. Beta’s Lair
8. Enter Cosma
9. Around the Campfire
10. The Baghdad Battery
11. The Return
12. Swinging on a Star
13. Light em’ Up
14. Spaced Out
15. Sharkanoes!
16. Aftermath
17. Cambion
18. Toxic Joe
Bonus Content
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Gentry Race
Foreword
By Chucho Jones
What is the Monster Hero? We remember them. From the tumultuous Toxic Avenger to the savageous Swamp Thing, horrifying heroes have been all around us for years. Sometimes played as the anti-hero, they show they have no real place in this world… at first. This was how I felt when we first conceived The Telephantom, and it would take a trip to San Diego Comic-Con to show me otherwise…
A sunny summer breeze hit the San Diego shore on Comic-Con morning of July 2015. Gentry and I, already covered in sweat, awaited the bus to take us over to the Convention Center for a full day of good old-fashioned geeking-out fun. Some good work and play couldn’t hurt the muse, for we were two professionals toying with the idea of breaking into the business, albeit in a meaningful way.
There was something about a conversation I had with Gentry — about David Sandberg’s ‘Kung Fury’ and it’s booming success — that must have triggered an idea within him. He kept asking me about my universe of characters I had developed over my years in school, something I called the Quantum Universe. After all, he had been a classmate of mine at the Academy of Art University in San Francisco, and saw the pattern in most of my student work over the years.
Comic-Con came at a good time for me because I had just lost my commercial studio in San Francisco a few months earlier, causing a turn of events that led to me to moving back in with my parents, along with my daughter. I was back to square one and just a kid at heart on his way with no prospects of a recovering career.
He asked me why didn’t I try to sell my stories like David did. I told him I tried and failed, and that’s when he challenged me to write a script. I accepted the challenge, since I had taken a few writing courses back in film school, but being as rusty as I was and with the help of Gentry, I wrote what people in the industry consider a turd (no offense, buddy).
After about a year of working on Telephantasma and other stories from the list of characters I had, Gentry decided that it was time for him to become a novelist. Since then, we’d worked together on multiple projects, but the idea of Telephantasma always stuck with him. In time I buried it, like most things I created. It wasn’t long ago when we spoke on the phone about our next move.
“What about Telephantom?” he asked.
I remember laughing and telling him it was too crude of a story. What reader audience would respect that kind of comedy and set up for a multiple women monster squad? He then explained the harem genre to me and how it already works within it. We then decided to take the plunge. He took our script that we had written together and further novelized (or what I like to call ‘gentrified’ it) into what you will read here today.
Everyone loves heroes, but what is a hero without his unit? His ‘team’ that helps him succeed? Just like any household, the significant other(s) provides a cornerstone for the other to stand on — to succeed. Heck, even help play out whatever power fantasy he/she dreams of. At least that’s what I personally discovered to be true in harem stories.
I believe that Telephantom brings something new because it takes a simple, flawed man, and turns him into a monster in order to change his humanity and make him see the difference. ‘Monster-Hero’ is the term of endearment we have used to describe the rebellious nature of the human condition. A term we hope Telephantom can symbolize. Here’s to the oddballs with the heart of lustrous metal covered in patina.
The inappropriate. The faulty. The Monster-Hero.
1
Teledeportation
The age of teledeportation was at its dawn. Trevor Jones pushed the mop one more time, spreading the dirty water out under the hallway lockers. The drains were clogged again. He was just starting the night shift, and it was an important one at that, since MolecuLab, the town’s biggest employer, was showing one of their internal videos.
He tried not to pay attention to the irony of the dark, dishwater colored slop being the same color as his hair, as he watched it pooling under the locker gap, hiding from plain sight. MolecuLab was known for some seedy practices, but Trevor felt like they had treated him fairly… for the most part.
“What the hell is that?” A voice came from the side of the lockers.
Trevor immediately recognized one of the jocks filming another infomercial for the company to jerk off to. He swung his mop out, trying to catch any remaining water running their way.
“Oh, gross,” a female said, just as a tall, blonde male turned the corner with eyes that were on fire.
He was in his tightie-whities, and even though they’d look ridiculous on anyone else, they looked stunning on the brooding jock, with each muscle well defined under his well-tanned leather skin.
Fucking models, Trevor thought.
“You got my shorts wet, idiot. You should have used that mop,” the jock said.
Trevor pretended not to hear the brooding teen, proceeding to continue pushing the mop. The jock stepped forward, followed by a boy and two girls shorter than him. Trevor couldn’t help noticing they each wore a high-thigh space bikini. The blonde had a look on her face that was mean but still sexy. Her lips were pouty and plush.
Why did these beautiful women hang all over this guy? He wondered for a second what it would be like to have that many women swooning over him. How could you handle that many at once? To please all of them would be a challenge, but worth it.
Next to her, a brunette had flowing locks, like Barbarella herself in a silver space suit of some kind. Her eyes were hazy green like frosted glass with a look of eagerness. Trevor felt his groin react and wondered what kind of infomercial was being shot that had them dressed the way they were.
“Did you fucking hear me?” the jock said again, his eyes scanning Trevor’s suit. “‘Trevor, Custodial Technician’.”
Trevor pointed at the pretty girls on what seemed like a whim, and said, “Yeah, too bad I didn’t get their shorts wet.”
The jock took a second to register the comment, then balled up his fists in anger. “I’m gonna shove that mop up your ass.”
“Good, at least someone around here will be getting some action,” Trevor said without hesitation. His defense mechanism was in full effect — kill ’em with comedy.
“Why, you little—” the jock said,
throwing a punch and hitting Trevor in the stomach.
Trevor felt the pain go through his gut and up into his chest. The wind was knocked out of him, and he couldn’t breathe. He slumped over and hit the side of the locker next to him, looking up in time to catch a faint glimpse of the jock barreling toward him —
“Hey, Eric, you guys! We are on!” another voice said from the other side of the lockers.
The jock, Eric, broke his guarded stance and ran around the corner, grabbing onto the tight behinds of the two girls. Trevor watched each tan cheek bounce as they excitedly left. Now that is some booty. If only he had the power to show those knuckleheads up.
He crept closely to the corner of the lockers and heard a bleeping sound. Peeking one eye around, he saw the two girls excitedly looking up at one of the many televisions positioned throughout MolecuLabs. This always put a bad taste in Trevor’s mouth. He could never understand why the moving pictures were so influential. Sure, it was a new, hip technology, a new medium, but the technology felt like a facade.
The beeping sound continued, along with a countdown that wiped numbers with each circle. The television faded to black and began to oscillate, eventually tuning into a clear picture in black and white. It was the infomercial the group of jock guys and hot girls had helped film earlier. Trevor watched the small, nuclear shaped symbols become larger, with their atom orbits gyrating about.
Trevor looked at the tight butt of one of the girls, where it met the unforgiving leotard space suit. Her thighs and cheeks looked like they could use a good gyrating. If only he had a chance. The blonde next to her got on her knees, pulling the other one down in excitement. Now, each high-thighed butt cheek was compressed, peeking out just enough to kill Trevor in anticipation.
Music cued, breaking Trevor’s creepy stare, and he watched the nuclear symbols come together forming the MolecuLab logo. Just what he thought. Another internal jerk-off advertisement video to soften the wits of the workers that didn’t know any better.
A deep-voiced narrator announced:
It wasn’t long ago, our Nation knew it was long ago the need for progress.
“Talk about a contradicting statement of words,” Trevor mumbled to himself, leaning against the locker with his mop in hand.
An older man entered upon a stage, marveling at his own genius in front of some sort of machine covered in a sheet. Trevor recognized him as Doctor Richard Dickens and then realized that the jocks and hot girls were walking out holding a sign that read: ‘The Teledeportator.’
“There we are! Eeek,” the tan, blonde girl said in a high-pitched voice, which Trevor imagined sounded the same if she was on top of a guy.
“We look hot,” the brunette said, reaching for the jock’s waist as he stood astutely, nodding in pride.
Trevor shook his head in disbelief. They really were caught up in their own crazy worlds. To have women throwing themselves at him would be extraordinary. A team of kick-ass females could change the world and his mundane existence. He gripped his mop tighter in disappointment, its sweaty grip marks only reinforcing his depressing thoughts.
Next to Dr. Dickens stood an arrogant looking man. On his white coat read the name ‘Dr. Betamax’. Trevor recognized this doctor too, as being one of the founders, along with Dr. Dickens, of MolecuLab. Dr. Beta was younger than Dr. Dickens by at least fifteen years. His black hair shone in the harsh television studio’s lights.
While the hired help stood next to the machine holding the sign like the idiots they were, Trevor watched a young and beautiful girl take the stage. Her hair was a soft brown and was complemented by the matching frames she wore over eyes. Despite the awe-struck spectacle, she was dressed in fully clothed scientist attire… but even considering that, Trevor still was taken aback by her natural beauty. Her white coat read, ‘Dr. Anita Dickens.’
“Anita Dickens?” Trevor mumbled to himself, “You gotta be kidding me. More like she need a new name.”
Following Anita came an interesting figure. Like if a female clown doll and a toaster fucked and had a baby. She was pretty; without full-fledged beer goggles, he would take her. She wore white stockings that ran up her bluish humanoid legs, which were both tight and firm, meeting what looked like a high-waisted, white pencil skirt. Her face, like a Nurse Ratched from heaven, was topped with a small nurse’s cap adorned with a red cross symbol.
“Jesus Christ. What is that?” Trevor said, watching the nurse robot walk with a switch in her hip that could tame a lion.
She stopped next to the machine, never showing a smile. Trevor wondered if she had teeth. Gums only would be nice, if she was going down on a guy, but also kind of creepy. Trevor chuckled to himself at his overwhelming thoughts. Jesus, he needed to get laid. Even robots were looking enticing.
Progress that only MolecuLabs have brought. Starting with Geothermal batteries, molecular genetic infusion and, now, the new wave in shipping and receiving. The Teledeportator!
The staggered crowd of what looked like current employees lowered their chatter. One of the girls pulled off the gown covering the machine. The oohs and ahhs filled the room, followed by a sentiment of wonder all around. Dr. Dickens reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a note card with a prepared speech.
“Let this day show that, this day, MolecuLabs gives a debt… diaper.”
The crowd was quiet. Trevor tried to register what the doctor said.
“Oh, this is where he messed up,” the jock said.
“Shut up, Eric. He has dyslexia,” the blonde said, nudging Eric the jock in the thigh while bouncing on her knees.
“I think he’s cute,” the brunette added, pushing the Blonde in a playful way.
“Did he just say ‘diaper’?” Trevor mumbled to himself in laughter, switching his mop to his other hand.
Dr. Betamax stepped forward. “What Dr. Dickens meant to say was ‘repaid’. MolecuLabs gives a debt repaid.”
Across the stage, another bot-like nurse held the hand of a female chimpanzee with dyed whitish blonde hair, dressed in what looked like a space suit—the kind that matched the buffoon hired help. On the chimp’s suit was the name ‘Cosma.’
Dr. Betamax flipped the switch, starting the machine.
Trevor took a guarded stance, seeing the animal put inside the Teledeportator machine. He had never seen animals experimented on during his tenure as a custodial technician at MolecuLabs. If that animal ends up being hurt by any means, there will be hell to pay, Trevor thought. But he was just blowing off steam. What could he do? This company had made him all that he was. He was thankful for the opportunity, despite being treated as a lesser.
Watch carefully, folks, as Dr. Betamax engages the Teledeportator! As we witness this event, imminent death could be near for Cosma the Space Chimp.
Trevor watched the expressions of the jocks. If the girls weren’t in tears by now, that meant everything had gone fine, since this was recorded earlier. This eased his anxiety. And why name it a ‘teledeportator’? Sounded like some kind of fascist regime’s idea of deporting illegal aliens.
Electrical sparks of energy rippled along the monkey’s contours inside the machine, building to a climactic crescendo.
The chimp was gone.
The voiceover narrator returned, excited.
The doctors did it! Courtesy of Prime City’s very own MolecuLab!
The crowd was astonished, and gasped as the door to the Teledeportator was opened, revealing the missing primate. Dr. Betamax nodded with pride, gesturing to the back of the room. Another monkey ran up to him, but this one, Trevor could tell, was slightly darker. He wore the same suit, however.
The crowd cheered in victory, and it was a success. MolecuLabs had shown that, once again, it was the greatest company to work for.
Trevor was wide-eyed and couldn’t believe what he was seeing or what the doctors were trying to pull. Was no one seeing that the monkey that went inside was not same one that ran up after?
“Jesus.” Trevor plopped his
mop head down and shook his head. “‘Great company to work for’ my ass.”
And remember, lads. Wear your radio-valet vest at all times for safety. Thank you and good luck.
The Voiceover Narrator finished while the TV turned to black, leaving nothing but a MolecuLab logo.
“Shit,” Trevor looked down at his chest. “Forgot that stupid vest.”
He left the locker room, taking one last look at the hot girls as they kissed the cheeks of the douchebag jock and wrapped their arms around him in excitement. If they only knew what a real man was. One that could genuinely take care of them. He felt as if a hero was waiting in the depths of his soul too timid to rise up.
2
MolecuLab
Trevor walked slowly to the Custodial Technician room, where he used to get ready before his shift. Working nights alone, he hardly saw anyone on the premises. What a delight to see babes out and about in his workplace. Trevor had a mouth on him sometimes, and he wished he could have used it to neck on those girls, but alas, he was still a virgin.
He dragged his mop along, not caring to pick it up as he walked, watching the trail of water drag behind him. Trevor liked little things like this. It reminded him of art — like he was a painter of cleanliness. That he had a purpose. It was everyone else that refused to see it.
