by Gentry Race
“Those brainiacs… they’ll end up making freaks and ending the world if they keep this up,” Trevor said, shaking his head.
He leaned his mop against the wall and rounded the corner to see his relief custodial technician, Joe Ducey, still there, fastening up his normal attire: a pair of converse, dark blue jeans, and a plain white t-shirt. His hefty weight was carried evenly across his frame.
This wasn’t Trevor’s style. He loved his work uniform, the one-piece custodial technician jumpsuit. Why deal with the hassle of putting on several pieces of clothing? Besides, with one zip, no one could tell he didn’t wear underwear sometimes.
“Hey, Joe,” Trevor said, walking into the room.
Joe had a crooked eye about him. Trevor waited for a snide comment to leave his mouth.
“Hey there, dummy. You forget your radio-valet again?”
“Yeah,” Trevor said, walking past him and opening the locker labeled ‘Trevor Jones.’
“You know you need to be wearing that all the time, right?” Joe said.
“Yeah, Joe,” said Trevor, walking out of the room as quickly as he came in.
Trevor threw on the radio-valet over his thin-framed suit. Over the right breast pocket read: ‘Trevor Jones. radio-valet-0071115 Custodial Technician.’
He wasn’t much to look at, which explained the reason he went under the radar for most girls. He tried to bulk up his physique, but that just led to more weight loss. He figured he would just have to settle for being alone for a long time. It was a bummer that nice guys finished last. For once, he’d like to finish first.
He grabbed his mop from its place against the wall. Joe popped through the doorway and ran alongside him.
“Hey, dummy, I’ll walk you through the commons. You know how crazy it can get in there.”
Trevor nodded. Well, at least he’s looking out for me.
Despite calling him ‘dummy’ all the time, Joe seemed like a nice guy to talk shop and blow off steam with. Trevor checked his time card on the wall, grabbed his mop just before they walked away.
The employee common area was a sight for sore eyes. A cross between a high-tech industrial building that looked like it was built in the sixties and a lava lamp, pasted with flamboyant ‘Stay Green’ smut ads all over the walls to hide the cracks in the foundation. The open area sat hundreds of employees on various shifts, playing all kinds of recreational sports in hazmat suits.
The irony was undeniable when Trevor passed by a toxic sludge barrel in plain sight. He watched an employee grab a glowing ball from the barrel and begin to dribble it without regard to hazard.
Trevor read a nearby ad, tattered in yellow and green font. “Pfff… ‘Bringing the future’? More like babysitting the toxic sludge for the future, right?”
“You said it, Jones,” Joe agreed, pulling his jeans up and over his protruding belly. “So, you on the night shift again?”
“Like every night,” Trevor said in frustration. “Can you believe it? It’s been months of this shit.”
“Well, ever since that geo-thermal leakage, it hasn’t been the same,” Joe said. “Lava is not nice to play—”
“Watch out!” yelled a voice from across the commons.
Trevor looked up to see a hurling glowing ball of radiation, barreling straight for his face. Joe reacted fast, shoving him to the ground and effortless alley-ooping the ball away from them. Another employee caught it and waved a grateful thank you.
On the ground, Trevor fixed his name tag and stood up to hear applause from the rest of the employees in the commons. Joe stood there confidently, waving like a politician during a motorcade. From the corner of his eye, Trevor saw something shimmer on Joe’s hand.
He reached over and pulled the man’s hand down mid-wave. “You do realize you weren’t wearing gloves, right?”
Joe had a dumbfounded look on his face that turned to panic. “My hands!”
His fleshy skin color darkened to grey and began to glow a bright yellow. Small fissures of energy climbed up his forearms as he dropped to his knees in agony.
Trevor saw on the opposite wall a bright crimson ‘Oh, Shit’ button; he dashed over and slammed it in. Halon fire suppression systems began to shoot out all over the commons. Employees lunches were blown to the ground, and a red-suited evacuation crew charged in and picked Joe up.
His hands shook and his eyes were heavy. He looked at Trevor with a sense of disdain. “I saved your life, and this is how you repay me?”
Trevor was confused. He hadn’t asked for that. How could the man blame him for an accident?
Employees were running in panic. The evacuation crew moved Joe to a stretcher and carried him out. Trevor couldn’t help overhear one medic spitting medical jargon and then say something he had never heard before.
“Poor guy. Looks like he’s gonna be bathing in vitro-plasma for days.”
Trevor was taken back by the new phrase. Looks like those scientists were at it again—creating all kinds of new things to destroy the world when they think they are helping it. He noticed the yellow infection spreading on Joe’s body. Joe got it good, he thought. But it wasn’t his problem—he had to get to work.
MolecuLabs had a gloomy, sinister feel about it at night. Long hallways with light blue corridors in an art déco architectural style. At least, that’s what Trevor assumed. He really didn’t know much about the building other than it gave him the opportunity to live on his own and have enough change to head to the local arcade for a bite. There, all the new wave girls cling around the affluent jocks. One day, he would make it big here at MolecuLabs. They would see.
Just past the lunch cafeteria was the large atrium that jeweled the center of the campus. Filled with overgrown, green shrubbery, the fake courtyard looked like something out of cinema that involved giant reptiles. Smooth pathways snaked around small ponds.
Trevor smiled excitedly and entered, holding his mop like he was sighting a rifle.
“Look at that beaut,” he said in a terrible Australian accent. “We got ourselves a Sheila.”
He imagined one of the atrium benches was a large female crocodile, lit from above in the cold moonlight. He sniffed around like he was a hunter on the prowl, trying to catch scent of her male partner.
“Where’s your blokey-bloke, Sheila?” Trevor asked, stepping closer. His mop rifle had dead sights on the scaly creature as he pressed further into the jungle.
From the side, one of the large plants was pushed aside, and the large beak of a male crocodile jutted from the shadows.
Trevor caught the snarly face in his peripheral and smiled. “Clever boy.”
A moan, followed by a gasp echoed from the far side of the atrium.
Trevor, taken aback, snapped out of his daydream of hunting crocs in the wild Australia coastlines. He looked over at the bench that was the female croc he’d imagined before and saw more atrium plants moving. Is there someone here? He shook his head to make sure he wasn’t imagining it and then looked at the male croc sticking his head out from the shadows.
“Go ahead. She’ll be apples.” the crocodile said in an Aussie accent just before disappearing.
“I need to lay off the reefer,” Trevor said to himself, pushing past more plants and heading toward the sounds.
Around the bend, the sounds got louder. They were female, but followed by a deep grunt. He could see which plants were being jostled now and a pair of legs extending out onto pathway. It was one of the jocks. His shorts were pulled down to his ankles while he pushed his endless manhood into the center of what looked like a tan-skinned beauty.
Her red lacy underwear was strung around her right ankle and wrapped with her other leg around his waist, squeezing him into what Trevor guessed was the warmest apple pie he could make.
Trevor leaned his mop on the tree and thought about his dick, feeling it swell within his one-piece radio-valet custodial suit. Why aren’t the girls throwing themselves at me, he wondered. He had never been with a girl, nor seen
anyone having sex before.
Trevor stepped a little closer, this time a getting a view of one perky breast. It was shaped like a large dollop of fleshy whipped cream, topped with a cherry sized nipple. So tight, it barely moved to the pounding her pussy was getting. Eric the jock gave it too hard. She ripped her panties, extending her legs out like an ice skater spinning her way to a triple axel.
“Missy, I’m gonna cum,” Eric said.
“Not yet! Not yet!” she moaned.
Trevor was caught in the excitement, wanting to touch himself.
CLUNK
Trevor looked to see his mop now on the pathway, and the two that were fucking like rabbits now looking back at him.
“It's that fucking janitor!” Missy said.
Trevor was shocked, but didn’t hesitate to respond, pointing to his vest. “Actually, Custodial Technician.”
Eric pulled what looked like a small dick from the hot blonde and pulled up his shorts. Trevor caught just a second’s glimpse of her thin patch of curly blonde hair, or what his friends called a ‘landing strip’, and smiled.
“You fucking pervert!” Eric said, shooting to his feet.
Trevor doused his mop into the nearby atrium water and plopped it down as he ran for his life. He looked back at the trail of water and saw the Jock slip on his ass as he rounded the corner. Trevor looked for an opening—he knew this atrium like the back of his hand. His jerk off spot was close by. He pushed past some foliage and hit the bark dust, then slid into a small vent space.
He scuttled quickly into the long tunnel, looking back to see no person in sight. He’d lost the dumb brute. Just a few feet up, the small vent let out into a central heating room. Trevor knew this place well. He ignored for now the lazily taped up nude posters of Ms. December and February. Between them on the wall, Ms. January was missing, but he knew very well where she was.
He smiled, walking to the door and poking his head out to check if the coast was clear.
3
Deadly Dealings
The previous series of events had been so kind as to lead him to the starting point of his work routine – the upper balcony of the presentation arena. Here, the doctors performed their self-serving jackoff internal videos.
Trevor walked down the hallway overlooking the studio, which was a sight to see. The machine he had seen earlier stood center stage, and row after row of seats climbed their way to his position.
He took a breath and began to push his mop. Another day, another cent.
Below, a conversation was picking up. What sounded like murmurs became clearer as two figures entered the stage. Trevor looked closer and saw not just the Teledeportator machine, but also a fish bowl.
“Something smells fishy,” he said.
The shadowy gentlemen revealed their identities in the light. Dr. Betamax stood in his devilish persona, along with another man beaming with blonde hair and sharp features; he looked like a Russian military general of some sort.
“Oh shit. Dr. Betamax is a Commie?” Trevor said to himself.
Dr. Betamax gestured to the general and pointed back to the machine, explaining the mechanical workings of the Teledeportator. The general looked less than amused.
“You see, Comrade, Phase One was to develop Teledeportation,” Dr. Betamax said, walking around his prideful joy. “Phase Two is where we take care of the financial transaction. Phase Three, we relocate to the newly established headquarters on the moon.”
“And what of Phase Four?” the Russian general said in a heavy accent. Trevor could tell he was most interested in this phase.
“Phase Four?” Dr. Betamax echoed hesitantly, as if to hold the room in tension. “We overload the Teledeportator’s geo-thermal batteries and they erupt all over the face of this planet, in grand, Sharkano showers!”
“Sharkano showers, doctor?” the Russian general asked.
Dr. Betamax pulled from his pocket a large apparatus. He made a clicking motion and a projector came on behind them, illuminating the front wall. A slideshow commenced, starting with a badly taken photo of the doctor on a beach with another man dressed as a woman.
Dr. Betamax blushed in embarrassment as he clicked to the next slide. Another photo: the doctor swimming in a pool filled with cash.
“Bear with me, General Pylinsky,” he said, clicking furiously.
The doctor finally fumbled to the next projection slide. The large world map revealed strategic locations all over marked in red with tiny Teledeportator icons. Affixed to those, were larger images of popular landmark targets within each designated border. All but the country of Russia was highlighted.
Trevor watched the general smile with satisfaction.
Then, in a gigantic burst of red splatters, the teledeportators spewed spouts of lava all over the key world locations, in a whirlwind of destruction. Tiny fins could be seen swimming throughout the crimson substrate, finally revealing the heavy infestation of lava-resistant sharks.
“Volcanic eruptions of shark-filled lava flows, or what we call ‘Sharkanoes’,” Dr. Betamax said. The general and the doctor erupted in laughter over the sinister plot they would soon unfold. Dr. Betamax then leaned to the side and muttered, “And I will be known in history as the man who frees the Earth from all boundaries, taking my rightful place ruling over all.”
“Looks like the Earth will finally be a ‘red’ planet,” General Pylinsky said, laughing to himself.
“Indeed, comrade,” agreed Dr. Betamax.
Trevor chuckled to himself as well, and then his eyes widened, as he realized the ramifications. He knew the doctor had gone mad, and there had to be a way to stop him, but what could a janitor do? He stumbled back in a panic, trying not to alert the contemplating cohorts below.
“But what about the side effects?” General Pylinsky asked. “Your monkey didn’t actually teledeport. And now your fish shows signs of —”
The general was interrupted by a loud clamor from above.
Trevor looked down to see everyone looking directly at him as he flailed about wildly.
“Who is that idiot, doctor?” General Pylinsky asked. “One of your employees?”
Trevor calmed himself just long enough to see another figure step into the light.
Long, sheer pantyhose met a high-waisted skirt that screamed ‘do me all night long’. As time stood still, Trevor molested the beautiful woman with his eyes. Her C-cup tits were pushed together like two mounds of peach Jell-O, ready to burst out at him. While looking highly feminine and donning a beehive hairdo, she had a robotic quality about her skin, which was paneled and sectioned.
Trevor was in love at first sight.
“What a doll,” he said when he was finished eyefucking her.
Dr. Betamax was quiet as he got a good look at Trevor’s face, now fixated on the robotic woman. “You are no match for my Femroids, Trevor. Ms. Joy, acquire him!”
“Femroids? Sounds like you have a bad case of ‘em,” Trevor said wittily.
Then he shot to his feet. If clumsy ever had a name, it was his, as he seemed to hit every object in sight on the balcony floor. He panicked. Not sure what to do, he caught sight of a bulbous red button on the wall that read: ‘Oh fuck! Push me in case of Commies.’
Trevor smiled at the convenience of such a button, and was not five seconds away from pushing it when Dr. Betamax yelled from below.
“Go ahead! Hit the button, boy. Who will believe you? ‘Oh, Fuck’, indeed,” Dr Betamax said, smiling.
Trevor paused for a moment, trying to think of an outcome where he would come out on top. Thoughts of literally coming on top of that Femroid thing suddenly flooded his mind.
If there was ever a worse time to think about sex...
Ms. Joy stood waiting for him at the top of the stairs with a soothing smile. She raised her right hand as it converted into a deadly gun that looked like it had been designed by Nicola Tesla himself.
“Thank you for your services, Mr. Jones. Don’t move, or I’ll blow yo
u away,” Ms. Joy said.
Trevor couldn’t lift his eyes off her. Something entranced him about her, as if she was ‘play ready,’ a video game guru ready to show him the ways of the game.
“Services? Blow? Only if you promise,” he said, kneeling down and picking up his handy mop.
He spun on his heel, extending the long wooden handle in a furious frenzy of gyrating jousts. He knocked the gun away, and Ms. Joy flew back, her beehive hairdo knocking to the ground, revealing a bald beauty of bastardization. Tiny electrodes exposed themselves and made the Femroid look like an abused hairless cat.
“Whoa! Does the carpet match the drapes?” Trevor asked rhetorically, striking the Femroid again.
This time, she was quick to block his strike. Angry sparks emitted chaotically from her head, among the spiky, exposed electrodes on her scalp. A buzzing sound filled the room, and Trevor looked to see where the sound was coming from. The Femroid’s beehive hairdo now swarmed with actual bees. Trevor gyrated his mop even more, blocking what bees made their way toward him. He smiled when he saw his skill set was coming in handy, and redirected the bees to the Femroid and the Commies below.
“General, don’t run!” Dr. Betamax pleaded as his guest hightailed it out of the room. “They’re just bees. Let’s schedule you for next week for Phase Two?”
Trevor and Femroid tussled on, making their way down the stairs and stopping in front of Dr. Betamax. Trevor could tell the man was fired up, as he jumped between the two, waving his arms wildly to stop the fight.
“Mr. Jones. I invite you to calm down. We are on your side, sport,” Dr. Betamax pleaded.
“Then why send this sweet looking droid after me?” Trevor demanded, giving the Femroid a wink. “Is she even a she? Besides, what are you doing with the Commies, Betamax?”
“Commies, son?” Dr. Betamax asked, his expression calmer now. “Trevor, my dear boy, he is my friend, along with Ms. Joy, my furious Femroid.”
Ms. Joy held her blonde beehive in one hand, raising her well-manicured eyebrows. Her blue eye shadow shimmered in the light.
