Hoping My Companion Could Hold His Breath
My bare ass almost made contact!- already sweaty
- a nearby fanny pack
- socks with cherries on them
- tango that culminates in an extravaganza
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Hoping my companion could hold his breath really well, I worked as fast as I could to fashion the rest of the apparatus. I whipped yards of foil off the roll, rapidly forming it into another box with one side left open so I would be able to place it over my own head. The other component was a narrow tube to connect the enclosures once they were both in place. The final maneuver was the most challenging part: I took the knife from his hand and, working blind because I had already sealed myself up in my box, poked through the other man’s foil and also the skin on his nose. Then I quickly put the tube in place over the opening so that the escaping nanobots would flow over to me. I gave them a few seconds, and then pinched the foil tube shut to keep them on my side.
“Okay, you can unwrap yourself!” I called out with the last of my held breath, and when I tried to inhale I felt the microscopic swarm tingle across my mucous membranes along with a pittance of stale air. That had been my goal all along, but something about the situation suddenly felt off.
I pulled the foil off so I could breathe, and so I could see. The pharma man was gone. He must have been in a hurry to resume his secret mission.
The phone with the nanobot control app was gone, too. That was bad, because without it I had no way of programming them to restore my memories, or keeping anyone else from using them to control me.
“Sleep.” The word sounded within my head, and my last thought before I passed out was that I really needed to get that phone back.
Seemingly the next instant, I was in a Colloquillian steam bath. But the thing is, everything in Colloquillia needs scare quotes. What they call a “steam bath” is… not nice. I was also nude, and poised in the act of sitting down on some random slimy surface. My bare ass almost made contact! The place was horrid, but the steamy part of the name was true. I was already sweaty from the presumably mild exertion of disrobing. I didn’t see my own clothes anywhere around, so I searched a nearby fanny pack and discovered one garment: a pair of socks with cherries on them. I didn’t bother putting them on, but donned the fanny pack with them still in it.
“Dance.” The word again seemed to fill my skull but came from no discernible source, and the effect was immediate. My limbs arranged themselves into a classic pose, and my feet carried me in a marching cadence across the fetid chamber. Unless they stopped soon, I would be dancing a tango that culminates in an extravaganza of bruises, because this steam room had stairs going down.
bonus points for using them in order