The Omnicosmic Odyssey of Sonicus Maximus

Part One, Chapter One, Act One

SCENE SIX - THE OTHER HALF IS EXTREME VIOLENCE

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Amanda had deliberately brought us to the college guys from the bar...the Penn Stater she "unofficially" tased in the crotch, along with Bradley, Henry, and Nelson, the football players...all likely offensive or defensive linemen, based on their sizes.

"Are you stalking me now," the Penn Stater asked, "you crippled bitch?"

"Whoa," I said instinctively, "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"If you do," Amanda added, before he could answer, "does she wake up?"

The Penn Stater was seething. He looked at the football players, as if he were wanting them to intervene, but they did nothing more than give him curious looks. The football players seemed as disinterested in conflict here as they did in the bar. They appeared to want to end the night as they began it, with conversation and comradery. If he asked for help, I could easily imagine them telling him, "Look, it's a tiny woman in a wheelchair and a middle-aged guy who couldn't decide if he was going to work in a corporate office or get into a wrestling ring and decided he would dress for both. Bro, you got this..."

I was well past done with the Penn Stater. If fighting him was one of the physical tests Amanda intended for me, so be it. I now had more than enough justification to be amenable to that.

If the footballers ever had any interest in my bizarre attire, they were not asking about it. But Amanda had certainly caught their eyes, as they routinely glanced at her and quickly turned away, smiling like children, sometimes laughing. I just hoped she was not going to prank them as she had me, feigning offense because she was in a wheelchair, but knowing full well they were appreciating her sheer beauty. I did not want to explain that one three times.

There was an uneasy moment of silence as the Penn Stater and I stared each other down. I assumed the footballers could tell something was about to happen, but they appeared to want no part of it.

"I distract," Amanda told me...telepathically, "Choose attack...when I say to...knock him out."

My first physical test was set. I was free to choose my attack, and it was an easy decision. I would use the Sonic Reducer, my version of the Japanese Sleeperhold, which I had often used in wrestling matches.

Though I expected the signal immediately, Amanda then asked the Penn Stater, "Who sent you?"

"Crazy whore," he replied nervously, "Why do you think anyone...sent us?"

I thought this was Amanda's distraction, so I readied myself for a telepathic instruction to make my move.

But Amanda informed him in substantially increased volume, "I don't think anyone sent THEM," looking in the direction of the football players, who smiled back at her then grinned to each other, "but someone sure as hell sent YOU. You went way over the top trying to make us believe that you watched that wrestling match and came away caring enough to accost Sonic outside the arena. No one believes that."

What? Though I was beginning to feel rather foolish about it now, I had certainly believed that. Was Amanda serious about this, or just making something up to distract him? Remembering that I needed to be ready for anything, I accepted the ambiguity as I awaited her signal for me to act.

"Ah, screw it," the Penn Stater declared, "It was this guy, a friend of a friend's friend. I don't know his name. Paid me to come here. Said to look for the two of you. I never met him before that and he made it sound like we would never talk again. I wasn't supposed to report back to him, he just trusted me to find and harass you. If you were to tase my balls again for more info, I couldn't give you any. But if you already knew...that I didn't really care about the wrestling match or Sonic...something's going on here that I don't know about, and I don't think I need to know."

Perhaps Amanda had read his mind during one of our interactions with him, and she learned that his attacks on me were not sincere? That was disappointing. I truly thought I had left such an impression on a mark that he was willing to extend the experience beyond the arena. I suppose I just really wanted and needed that to be true. It would have validated my desire to work as the heel. Instead, this revelation eliminated any remaining doubts about my decision to quit wrestling for good.

Immediately after disclosing his true motivation, the Penn Stater was looking at the football players again. He was now obviously uneasy, and it seemed as though he might actually ask them explicitly to intervene. But when he saw that they were now trading smiles with Amanda, he knew he was on his own. I didn't have to "borrow telepathy" to see that he was a cowardly opportunist. Minimal analytical aptitude would inevitably yield that conclusion. Once he determined that he was alone against us, he completely changed his tune, which immediately nauseated me.

"Hey, I was way out of line," he confessed to Amanda, "and I'm sorry for the stuff I said to you. Honestly, you are just one of the prettiest women I have seen in a long time. You got me hot and bothered. I kind of act out a little when this happens. I know I'm a little young for you, but all four of us find you attractive, and based on how you got the guys going over there, you seem like you're cool with that."

Amanda smiled warmly at him. I could not ascertain whether she would change the instruction she had given me, so I listened intently for her next telepathic guidance.

"So you just want to forget about what happened tonight," Amanda asked the Penn Stater.

Smiling with hope, the Penn Stater immediately affirmed, "Absolutely! If we can just forget about it all, and move on, that would be perfect."

"I certainly can arrange that," Amanda assured The Penn Stater, causing him to smile anxiously.

Amanda had talked about tranquilizing me with something that would make me forget the night. Her statement suggested to me that she intended to do that to the Penn Stater, and probably the football players. But what about my "test?"

"Prepare," Amanda said to me telepathically, "Distract coming."

Preparation was simple, as I had chosen my attack, and was prepared to commit to it. As a pro wrestler, I often employed a hold whose technical name was the "Japanese Sleeper" but is more commonly known to fans as the "Cobra Clutch" used by Sgt. Slaughter, or the version closer to mine, the "Million Dollar Dream" made famous by Ted DiBiase. I called mine the "Sonic Reducer."

Al had a policy at BodySlammers. Any move you wanted to learn to apply, you first learned to take. I never forgot the Japanese Sleeper briefly cutting off the blood to my brain. He released it in timely fashion, but I came away with a profound respect for the hold. In my matches, I employed the Sonic Reducer at every opportunity. Obviously, I would never have clamped down fully on the carotid arteries of a worker who had put his body in my hands during a match. But I always reserved the right to fully apply the hold if the need ever arose in real life. It never had before now.

Once I had the Penn Stater in the Sonic Reducer...it would be simple matter of applying the pressure before he could escape.

I discreetly positioned myself in a spot where I could dash forward and get behind the Penn Stater, and waited for Amanda's next communication to me. But again, her next immediate message was to HIM, instead of me...

"Hey stud," she asked the Penn Stater, "Can I call you my...'Pitt Stater Boytoy?'"

Amanda looked directly into his eyes. He fully reciprocated the stare.

"I am...your...Pitt Stater Boytoy," he confirmed. This disgusted me. He had berated Amanda with abusive slurs, angering me. Now he was acting as if she had been his lifelong crush, with lines so cheesy they might have been cut from the final revision of a script for an inexpensive adult film.

I wondered if she might try some telepathic trick on the "Pitt Stater Boytoy" or if perhaps she already had.

Amanda put her gloved fingers to her neck. From head to toe, no skin was visible below her chin. She began to pull something down...it was a zipper, one which I had not identified because the color was not the standard dull metal gray color that zippers traditionally had.

But I certainly noticed it when Amanda pulled the zipper down. I knew that this was her distraction, and it was working on him...and me. I resisted my own curiosity and pulled my eyes away from her, and turned them to the Pitt Stater Boytoy, who was staring at Amanda as though he could not turn away. I remembered what she had done to me earlier...and I understood his plight. That empathy sickened me. I turned my vision away from them, intending to keep only him in the most extreme reach of my peripheral vision, waiting for Amanda's unmistakable telepathic instruction. But my attempt to visually avoid Amanda failed quickly.

"I can finally admit that you also got ME hot and bothered," Amanda told the Pitt Stater Boytoy, dropping the zipper further down slowly and deliberately. It soon revealed the skin of her upper chest, and inexorably, her ample cleavage.

"Mostly bothered," she slyly quipped to him...as she signaled to me...telepathically, "Now!"

The Pitt Stater Boytoy had no chance. He was captivated, giving me more than enough time to get behind him. I grabbed his left hand with my right hand as I shot my left hand under his left shoulder, and ultimately locked my lower arm and wrist firmly against his neck. I quickly tightened the hold, assuring both sides of his neck were feeling the controlled pressure. By the time he was able to react and tried to pull his left arm away, it was too late for him. He began to lose consciousness, and became heavy in my grasp. I lowered him slowly to the ground, unwilling to just drop him and risk him hitting his head for serious injury. I loosened the hold and soon released it. This was a person's actual health in question. I was not going to wave an American flag to an adoring crowd. I was not going to put a hundred-dollar bill in his mouth as a crowd booed. I was only trying to pass the test, and perhaps teach him a valuable lesson about respect, without causing him long-term damage.

Because I had attempted to be careful and not cause permanent injury, I was not sure if I had actually "knocked him out" so I looked to Amanda for confirmation.

"Congratulations. You passed the first test," Amanda announced verbally, not caring if the football players heard her.

The football players had also been distracted by Amanda's unzipping action, but having seen me put the Pitt Stater Boytoy down, two of them went over to check on him. The other one was coming toward me. This was Henry, the mid-sized of the three. He began to remove his football jacket, telegraphing his obvious intention to attack me.

I quickly began analyzing the best way to contend with Henry, noting his physical advantages over me...height, weight, strength, and conditioning...

I had exerted a lot of energy keeping his friend locked in the Sonic Reducer. My mouth was as dry as a desert. Amanda was hardly overreaching when she informed me that she needed to test my physical ability.

Since Henry had not yet completely removed his football jacket, the time to strike was now. The jacket was too tight, making it difficult to remove. Perhaps it was an older jacket that he had outgrown, but tonight was hardly weather that required any extra layers, causing me to briefly ponder why he wore it. His failure to remove it completely left his clean white shirt exposed, bearing the image of some modern cartoon character...a pink lizard with humanoid characteristics. I thought I had seen it before, but I could not recall its name. I lamented that I was even observing such trivial details when a fight was imminent.

"Threat," Amanda's voice rang within my head, more loudly and forcefully than any of her previous telepathic messages, "Eliminate!"

"Understood," I assented to her telepathically. Time was of the essence. I had decided to shoot in for a leg takedown. Getting Henry flat on the ground should mitigate his advantages, unless he had substantial ground combat training. I could not have survived childhood, much less gotten anywhere near a wrestling ring, if I had not been willing to fight men larger than me. Through training, I eventually gained the advantage in condition over most of my heavier foes, and more or less closed the strength gap with many of them. But the reality of height and weight always required skill and creativity for me to negate. As I positioned myself to make my move against Henry, I hardened my mental focus. I had to move quickly enough to surprise him, and once I grasped his leg, it was imperative to leverage the force and technique with optimal total execution. I might only get one chance, and if I failed, Henry could do any number of things to me...all bad.

Before I could reach Henry, I saw a black shape come flying toward him with sufficient force to not merely stop his advance, but to cause him to stagger.

As Amanda's...flying body...struck Henry, she grabbed his neck with her left arm, supporting herself with her grasp on him, before striking him repeatedly with her right arm. Henry quickly collapsed backward with Amanda on top of him.

In disbelief, I looked back at her wheelchair. There was a portion of the seat that was upright. It had...ejected her...as a human projectile...straight into Henry's face...

One of the football players, Nelson, continued to try to revive the Pitt Stater Boytoy. The other football player, Bradley, joined me in moving toward Amanda and Henry, laughing hysterically. The sight of a woman, barely five feet tall, likely weighing no more than 110 pounds at most, pounding away on a man over six and a half feet, weighing at least 300 pounds, was as hilarious to Henry's friend as it was to me. I held back my laughter, but Bradley did not.

It was funny...until it wasn't.

Amanda had maneuvered herself into a kind of straddling position, seemingly the best she could manage without full control of the lower body. But the advantage of her position hardly mattered now. Henry was obviously not fighting back...but Amanda continued to bludgeon him with her attacks. There were some punches, but most of the strikes were elbows. I now realized that Amanda's elbow pads were solid, a hard and durable material, likely designed for rough terrain. Henry seemed to be unconscious, and he was bleeding. Amanda showed no sign of relenting, and every subsequent strike was bringing more blood. If she did not stop pounding his face, he could suffer long-term injury...or worse.

I had expected Bradley to intervene by pulling Amanda off, releasing her, and attending to Henry. But Bradley seemed unwilling to do anything. Did he not saw Henry's situation to be as dire as I did? I mouthed something to him, but he did not respond. Perhaps he was unwilling to touch Amanda under any circumstances. I tried to use telepathy to read his mind. I was not able to. The "terms and conditions" of Amanda's "borrowed telepathy" were uncertain, but it seemed that this power had not been delegated to me to an extent that I could use it without her.

All I had to rely on was the look in Bradley's eyes, and his countenance gave me my answer. Stopping Amanda was solely up to me.

Confronting Amanda from the front, I tried to make eye contact, hoping that would stop her. When I could not get Amanda's attention, I attempted to reach her telepathically. She quickly shut me out, and I knew that my request had no effect. But before she could block me completely...the strength of her unfiltered thoughts enabled me to read them and glean some information.

I learned enough to understand why she attacked Henry...and why she would not stop.

Only now did I understand that I had unknowingly triggered Amanda's earlier PTSD episode...by referring to my wrestler, Exodus, as an "anthropomorphic lizard."

Henry's shirt prominently displayed an anthropomorphic lizard with pink coloring. Though I was unable to ascertain why, I understood that the color pink also generated hostility. It was not mere annoyance, as if she simply did not like the color, and people were always shoving it in her face because she was female. It was real hatred for the color. It was so powerful that I felt it when briefly reading her mind. And right before she shut me out, I realized that the two things were connected...pink anthropomorphic lizards, for some reason, were so especially objectionable that she would attack their visual representation on sight.

What insane horror had this woman experienced, that such a benign image as that of a pink cartoon humanoid lizard might provoke such an extreme reaction? Was a pink lizard the logo of a unit she was part of, one that experienced unspeakable tragedy? Or was it the emblem of some enemy unit that caused such a tragedy? No matter what the truth was, it was locked away inside her mind, which was absolutely not taking my telepathic calls. And without any avenue to telepathic communication, I began to scream verbally, pleading with Amanda to stop striking Henry. She ignored my cries...if she could even hear them at all.

"Was it worth it," Amanda screamed at Henry, pausing her attack long enough to interrogate him, "How much did you get paid to taunt me by wearing that shirt?"

What? Had Amanda concluded that Henry was hired to wear this shirt to provoke Amanda, like the Pitt State Boytoy was paid to accost us in the bar? That made no sense. Henry had been wearing the shirt under a jacket which he only tried to remove in order to fight me. Without us coming here, and initiating this altercation after leaving the bar, Amanda would never have seen the shirt.

Nelson had heard this and interjected, "What are you talking about? Henry's girlfriend gave him that shirt! He wore it for her when they went out this afternoon. He didn't have time to change it and he knew the guys would tease him over it, so he just kept his jacket on all night..."

While the Pitt State Boytoy seemed to have gotten what he deserved, I saw no evidence that Henry was guilty of anything but being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And if that was MY conclusion, what would be the result of a court-martial that investigated Amanda's behavior? Surely she would be disciplined for this, and if she maimed or killed Henry, who knows what the consequences might be?

What had to be done, for the sake of everyone here, became irrefutably certain to me at that moment. I simply did NOT want to do it.

My mind searched for any experience I could leverage to make this easier. So I recalled that I had wrestled a woman before. In the summer of 1995 at BodySlammers, I learned the craft of pro wrestling alongside one. In fact, Jess became the closest thing to a friend someone like me could have in this world. I always took great pleasure in knowing that I was part of her pro wrestling training, as Jess went on to make quite a name for herself in Japan, and she is still admired by legends and fans from there today.

Even so...when we wrestled those practice matches in Lima, Jess was working with me, not against me...as we told a story in the ring.

23 years later, Amanda would surely NOT be working with me after she recognized my intervention. I feared that the only story told here tonight would be a cautionary tale about the potential fate of anyone who got in Amanda's way...

Positioning myself behind Amanda, I grabbed her left hand with my right hand as I put my left arm under her underarm, bringing my left forearm to rest on her neck. Due to the small size of her frame, and the large size of her chest, my left hand rubbed across her breast as my hand went under her arm. Once I had the framework of the Sonic Reducer established, it was simply unavoidable that my left arm would be more or less touching her left breast as long as I maintained the hold. I did not expect her to gladly tolerate my physical intervention. So I surely anticipated intense indignance over the unavoidable sensitive contact that would never have occurred if I had any other option but to do this.

It is difficult to to effectively describe what Amanda's instinctive retaliation felt like to me once she understood what I had done. Perhaps an appropriate analogy might be someone grabbing an animal. This could a wild one that attacked the person's pet. Or it might have been a pet that had lost its senses and attacked another pet or a family member. I felt as though I had found a downed power line in the street and picked it up and hugged it as I now became the object of Amanda's rage. I had successfully pulled her away from Henry, and now it was essential for me to avoid taking his place on the ground with Amanda pummeling me.

I applied no pressure to Amanda's carotid arteries. I established the form of the Sonic Reducer purely for restraint. Desperately, I tried to reason with her telepathically and verbally, to no avail.

Her reactionary thrashing was indescribably intense, but I was able to maintain the hold, as sickened as I was by having to do it. Eventually, Amanda's resistance finally began to diminish, and her activity soon slowed, which brought me mental and physical relief.

I had leaned forward, allowing Amanda's...dangling legs to come to rest in a way that helped me support her weight. Though Amanda frequently joked about her own paraplegic condition, this seemed perverse to me, making this circumstance that much more difficult. Hopefully, Amanda would soon tell me that she was fine now, and she would instruct me to help her back to her wheelchair.

"CC Sonic," Amanda said with a listless tone. For her to call me by my full name, with the emotional detachment of the third-person reference...was very peculiar...and not at all encouraging.

Amanda informed me verbally of her grievance against me in painful detail, saying, "you have...unlawfully restrained...a...disabled...female...veteran, and...inappropriately touched her..."

Wow, that sounds BAD, I thought. How had this night gone so horribly wrong, so quickly?

Then I remembered how I had laughed at the Pitt Stater Boytoy getting a taser applied to his scrotum, and how I had willingly gone along with the...official story...being that he was teased, not tased.

Was it now my turn to be on the wrong side of the "official" story? Was I going to wake up on my front porch, with no memory of this night or how I even made it home, helped into the house by my family, as the morning headlines described a manhunt for the man who caused permanent brain damage to a promising Penn State graduate, was suspected of bludgeoning a local football player to death, and had fondled a female disabled veteran who bravely managed to escape his clutches and report him to the authorities?

I expected Amanda's next words to deliver additional scathing accusation. However, the encouragement they brought felt like an immediate reversal of fortune.

"All your life," Amanda proclaimed with infectious empathy, "you could never understand why you didn't belong."

Amanda brought her right arm down to my right hand, which was holding her left wrist, then she placed her right hand on top of mine, in gentle fashion. She lightly tapped my hand, in comforting fashion.

"But you DO belong," Amanda whispered, in words that brought relief beyond description.

I heard a digital sound. She had pressed a button on the computerized device that adorned her lower left arm.

"You belong to ME," Amanda declared.

There was a loud snapping sound. My lower leg soon felt intense pressure. It quickly became painful.

"You failed to account for one huge difference between me and that Pitt Stater guy," Amanda told me, "I always skip leg day...so I can do extra arm training."

Amanda had moved her right hand behind my head. She pushed my head forward and she snapped her head backward to strike me with a headbutt. It stunned me, allowing her to rotate her left hand into a position where my right hand had the least powerful grip. Between technique and power, Amanda was able to pull her left arm from my grasp. She immediately placed it around my neck. She turned her body, grabbing me as she had Henry, before elbowing me once in the head, causing me to stagger.

Though her body had not collided with mine with the same velocity that had struck Henry when she was ejected from her own wheelchair, my leg was...constrained. I fell backward with her...quickly finding myself in the same position from which I had saved Henry.

Sneering, Amanda directed my attention to a cord that stretched from the clamp on my leg to a previously inconspicuous area of her wheelchair.

I positioned my arms to protect my face from the anticipated bludgeoning, thankful to have at least received a warning Henry never did.

"Congratulations," Amanda offered verbally, smiling reassuringly, "You passed the second test."

Amanda rolled off me, and pressed a button on her wrist. The clamp opened, and released from my leg. It retracted back to its launcher on the wheelchair, which now was immediately behind Amanda. The wheelchair had...moved. Amanda had previously mentioned to me that her wrist devices controlled the chair. The circumstances suggested that some of her button-pressing must have instructed the computerized chair to detect her position...and move to it.

Amanda immediately began working the devices on her wrists, at something of a frenzied pace, before finally stopping and looking at "the boys."

"Whew. I almost forgot to do that," Amanda confessed, as though the intense and awkward physical contact between us never occurred, and as if she expected me to recognize what she nearly overlooked. She used her arms to move her body toward her chair, coming to a stop between the foot rests. When she did, the foot rests either moved or extended, too quickly for me to be sure which, closing in toward her bottom. She pushed herself up to rest her buttocks atop them. As the chair made a mechanical sound, the...foot rests...lifted her and pulled her toward the seat, allowing her to easily pull herself into a sitting position.

She immediately retrieved another bottle of MK Ultra for herself as I stood up.

"Is NOW a good time," I inquired, "to ask what I have gotten myself into?"

"We're almost at that point," Amanda assured me before sipping more MK Ultra, "so please be patient. Thank you!"

What else could possibly happen, I wondered to myself, before it became appropriate to ask that question?

One of the football players, Bradley, shouted that he could not use his phone to make a call. Then he asked the other one, Nelson, if he had phone service, which he promptly confirmed that he did not.

Nelson asked Amanda...if she could make a phone call...to get help for his injured friends.

"I actually do not think I can," Amanda stated, taking another drink of beer as she flashed a devious grin, "Pennsylvania's phone coverage is disappointing, right?"

Bradley suggested checking the phones of the others, but Nelson appeared to have put the pieces of the puzzle together and accepted the circumstances.

Nelson asked Amanda fiercely, "WHO ARE YOU?"

"I am the BOMB DIGGITY," she disclosed, "I bomb the living hell of shit that does not officially exist...so you can join a hivemind of contemporaries who lack the gonadular density to tell their girlfriends they don't want to wear a shirt featuring a cartoon character. You're welcome!"

"Any greater detail than that," she continued as she took a drink and threw him a serious stare, "is pithy nuance."

"Nelson," I asked him, "I believe that's what the Penn State grad said your name is, right?"

Nelson nodded to confirm.

"Amanda is a pilot...a soldier...a veteran," I told him, confirming the revelations the night had brought to me, "and she has seen things...you and I can hardly imagine..."

I was concerned about how he might respond to that. If Nelson uttered something incompatible with the circumstances, it was hard to predict what Amanda's next move might be.

So I was certainly pleased as Nelson, nodding his head with respectful affirmation, told her, "Thank you...Amanda..for the sacrifices you have made."

"Thank YOU, Nelson," Amanda retorted, raising her volume to be heard over a few more beeps and a sudden cacophony of mechanical noises, "for the sacrifice you are about to make!"

As Amanda had spoken and sipped another drink, more "hidden" devices, much like the one that launched the clamp onto my leg, had also come into view.

"And now," Amanda enounced after chugging MK Ultra, "what I believe CC might call...the 'Main Event.'"

On both sides of the wheelchair, boxes that previously appeared to be storage containers, or simply components of the chair, had opened to unleash what was hidden inside them.

The launcher for the clamp that had grabbed my leg previously was visible, as was another symmetrical counterpart on the other side. It took little imagination for me to conclude that these were not primarily for restraining human limbs. Instead, these devices were likely designed to grab onto things and pull the wheelchair to them. That meant that the painful pressure I experienced from one was a happy coincidence for Amanda.

Other "launchers" appeared to have emerged. One of them was not immediately recognizable to me. However, another one on the other side of the chair, once in plain view, was far less ambiguous. Amanda sipped more MK Ultra and pointed to this one, smiling triumphantly.

It was, quite obviously, a machine gun.

It was like something from an action movie or video game, a turret hanging from the ceiling or positioned on a platform, offering resistance to advancing protagonists. I had never expected to see a weapon like this in real life, much less protruding from a wheelchair...but here it was.

The Pitt Stater Boytoy and Henry had regained consciousness. Their level of lucidity was not immediately apparent, but all four of the college guys gave Amanda their attention. The next obvious question was whether they believed the machine gun on her chair was real. Knowing what I knew, I had no doubt. I was just hoping none of them would test it.

"That's not real," mumbled the Pitt Stater Boytoy, causing me to wonder if I had released him too quickly from the Sonic Reducer, or if I had left him in it too long.

"CC," Amanda requested politely as she pressed some buttons on her wrists, "would you step in front of the chair, then make short dash to the left, then another to the right?"

Amanda had revealed that she actually needed me to go to the Amazon with her, and that any other outcome would be failure for her. So killing me seemed counterproductive. But after having previously contemplated her turning me in and pinning miscellaneous crimes on me, a wheelchair mounted machine gun shredding me was certainly not the worst way this night could have ended for me. I said a quick prayer and did as Amanda requested.

I kept my eyes on the machine gun. It was in fact, a motion-sensitive turret, tightly following me as I moved. I had little doubt the gun could have kept up with me at any speed I could achieve. I was convinced that this gun was real and could easily have mowed me down if Amanda had armed it. Then I looked down and realized that the gun was shining a targeting laser beam at my crotch. I gave Amanda a piercing stare and grimaced as she laughed loudly and redirected it.

"Okay, okay," Nelson shouted, "We believe you," then looked at the Pitt Stater Boytoy as if to tell him to keep his mouth shut.

"Damn," Amanda exclaimed. Realizing that her zipper was still down, she immediately pulled it back up, asking "Haven't you boys seen enough big guns tonight?"

"Don't worry, I have concealed carry permits for all the...lethal weapons I've brandished here," she assured them, taking another drink of beer, and giving the college boys a wicked smile, "and please believe those permits can be found in my purse...right next to my 'kill you all and get away with it' card."

"Amanda," I asked, sighing, "is now the time--"

"Oh yes," she confirmed, laughing, "now you can finally ask what you have gotten yourself into. Thank you so much for being patient about that."

"We still don't know who you really are or what's going on here," Nelson told Amanda with impressive composure, "What do you want from us?"

"I need assurance that you won't tell anyone about what happened here tonight," Amanda replied, "because my job relies on a certain amount of secrecy."

Nelson had taken over the group, and he looked at all of them, as if to demand agreement, then looked back at Amanda and assured her, "Okay, we're cool. This never happened. You tell us what the story is...and that's what we take with us...are we good?"

"Oh my," Amanda laughed maniacally, "that's not at all how this works. I don't get my assurance by trusting. I get it by verifying...that I did not leave any living witnesses."

Some of the college guys tried their phones again, and at least one began to cry when they realized they were not going to be making any calls...and we were well out of audible range for anyone to hear them scream.

As the others began melting down, Nelson stepped up again, pointing to me and saying "Wait, what about him?"

"Oh, he's mine now," Amanda claimed, smiling, "but I'm also kind of...his. Let's just say he and I are kindred spirits...with more or less connected destinies..."

Amanda had really put me through it tonight, psychologically. She gave me an honest smile that provided undeniable reassurance. And I felt like I was truly beginning to understand her somehow. With no telepathy involved, I believed I knew what she expected me to do next.

"Amanda," I stated boldly, "you cannot kill these men. I never agreed to be part of this. Please, take me with you, and let them go."

"I appreciate your integrity, CC," Amanda replied while sipping a drink, fighting back laughter, "but this is a matter of national security."

Nelson looked at me with respect, thanking me with his eyes.

"If the government is willing to murder citizens in cold blood like this," I questioned Amanda, "what kind of nation are you securing?"

Wow, that sounds GOOD, I thought. Amanda smiled at me, and without spoken words or telepathic signals, affirmed the chemistry she and I had established.

"CC," Amanda announced, "you have passed the final test. Enjoy your all expenses paid trip to the Amazon. Expenses paid by your taxes, I mean."

I had wanted this moment so much, and feared many times it might not happen. Forgetting the immediate context of the moment, I expressed unfiltered gratitude to Amanda.

"What the hell's this," Nelson demanded, "Did you want to go with her???"

"That's why they were here," the Pitt Stater Boytoy divulged, "I heard them talking about it in the bar. He quit wrestling and makes video games now. His first game bombed, and they cooked up something stupid involving the Amazon to try and make the next game do better."

"Seriously," Nelson demanded of me, "You put all our lives in danger just so you could make and sell video games?"

"I am a really talented logic programmer," I assured him, "and I can't save everyone..."

Amanda spit out her most recent drink, laughing hysterically, before requesting, "CC, please step aside."

I obliged, as the wheelchair-mounted machine gun's targeting laser beam, which previously was pointed at my crotch, had come to rest in the middle of the Pitt Stater Boytoy's forehead.

All of them were weeping but Nelson, who turned on the Pitt Stater Boytoy, blaming their now obvious fate on him not being able to keep his mouth shut.

Amanda took another large drink of MK Ultra before pressing buttons on her wrists.

With definitive finality, Amanda told them, "Goodbye, boys."

I heard the device on her wrist beep, indicating one last button press. The mechanical sound of a wheelchair-mounted device roaring to life was the next sound I heard. It convinced me that no one would be telling anyone about Amanda...or me.

It fired four times. The firing sound was much louder than I expected. The sound of projectiles hitting the flesh was somehow not as loud as I anticipated. But I suppose the sound of the bodies falling was exactly what I imagined it would be.

As the final college boy slumped to the ground, I asked the only question that seemed appropriate in that moment.

"How long will they be asleep?"

Amanda had moved her chair to where I was standing, and answered, "It varies. I mean, their size, the booze, getting beaten unconscious, and that sleeperhold thing you put on the Pitt Stater, all play into it. They'll probably wake up at different times. They could have hangovers even I never imagined possible, and some of mine have been...out of this world. None of them will remember anything since arriving at the bar, if even that. They may end up on someone's podcast, whining about 'lost time' or some shit like that. That happens sometimes..."

"Maybe one of them will renounce his poor choices, and move on to some higher calling," she added with additional contemplation, "Maybe one might even become a preacher or pastor? When was the last time YOU had a hand in making something like that happen?"

"It is hard to say," I confessed, "success in that endeavor is hard to measure, unless someone explicitly tells you had a part in their conversion."

"Even if they gave you no credit," she asked, "doesn't it still net you some treasure in Heaven?"

Not having anticipated such a turn in the conversation, I gave Amanda a curious look. She explained, "I read a lot of books. You didn't think I would have read The Bible?"

Amanda handed me the bottle of MK Ultra, which I knew must be nearly empty based on the number of times she had sipped it while orchestrating the destruction we now surveyed. As I took a drink, I remembered how my OCD's about germs had earlier made me hesitant, but now those inhibitions were completely gone. The bottle was nearly empty. She smiled at me as if to say, finish it...and I did.

"I lied to the Pitt State Boytoy," Amanda confessed, "about not having a degree. I just wanted to come clean with you about that."

"That might be the least impactful revelation I've heard tonight," I asserted with some degree of bewilderment, "but few people lie and say they have LESS formal education than they do. Why did you tell him that?"

"Because he was a dick," she observed, "I've met a lot of people who did not go to college and did more in life than he ever will, unless he has some miraculous conversion as we discussed...or at least pulls his head out of his ass. After you told him you had a degree, I needed him to believe someone at the table did not."

"So...are you going with me," Amanda asked, "or joining them? Not to wake up here, I mean...I wouldn't do that to you. You'd wake up on your front porch. Fumble through your pockets for your keys, then frantically open your doors as the neighbors jog by and either ask if you're okay...or just speed up and try to forget the image."

"You told me you needed commitments from me," I recalled, "but you needed me to pass these tests first. I passed your tests. So what are these 'commitments' you mentioned?"

"First and foremost, I need you to commit to listening to me, Amanda instructed, "From the moment we leave the ground, till the moment you get home, you do what I tell you. With my own life, I will ensure that you return here in one piece. Once we get in the air, you are my responsibility. Fortunately, once you are in a vehicle I pilot, you'll be the safest person within the entire orbit of this dustball. I trust what I have shown you tonight gives you confidence that I can protect you once we reach the ground."

"This," Amanda said while looking at her wheelchair, "is how I dress for polite society. Please believe that I will wear my 'outdoor attire' in the Amazon."

"What is the second commitment?"

"I need you," Amanda requested, looking as directly into my eyes as she had since were at the table inside the bar, "to meet someone. He will be...unlike anyone you have ever met. My mission is to put the two of you in close proximity and record what happens."

"Another fight," I determined.

"Oh no," Amanda reacted, howling with laughter, "you will NOT fight this guy. You've survived conflict with bigger guys, from the bullies of your childhood all the way up to the wrestlers who were taller and heavier than you. But this guy is not like anyone you've ever encountered. Even at your maximum size and strength in the nineties...and even with all those "shoot" wrestling moves you can somehow still pull off, this guy would end you fairly quickly. That's all I can tell you about him now. Fortunately, he will not attack you. So if you just follow my instructions, everything will be fine."

"Why do you want ME to meet this person," I asked.

"You are different," she explained, "and you KNOW that. All your life, you've basically expressed that to anyone who would listen. You've even eluded to that me here tonight. You can actually be quite annoying with it...even so...you are correct about it."

Amanda continued, "You just never understood WHY you were so out of place in this world."

"So I will learn some answer to that question," I inquired, "by...meeting this 'mystery man' in the Amazon???"

"I truly don't know how much YOU will learn," she cautioned, "because my mission is to gather evidence. I assume those who gave me this task will 'learn' whatever they need to. Once they get the data I collect for them, it's out of my hands. But I can tell you this...if you do what I'm asking, you will come back with so much content for games and stories that you will be hard-pressed to ever incorporate all of that material into your work. And I'm confident you'll receive some assistance, should you even need it. Look, this shit is going to blow your mind, and if you are even remotely competent at writing stories and making games, you'll pass that brain explosion on to your audience."

"So I get to see this...even participate in it? And I get to come home and tell of the experience," I questioned, "and you won't tranquilize me at the last minute, for...national security?"

Amanda laughed as she retorted, "Well, no...I mean, you're not going to come back here and say 'Look people, I personally witnessed all this' or anything like that. So I would have no need to make you forget it all. You'll know what you can share and what you can't. Someone will counsel you about that. Bottom line is that you'll definitely be able to write stories or make games or any number of things just by making good use of what you do learn and see on the trip."

"Amanda," I said, "you have convinced me that you are engaged in some kind of special operations--"

She cut me off instantly, saying "No, don't say 'Special Operations' because that has a specific connotation in the Air Force. Not something I was ever in...as far as you know."

"So," I said with confusion, "what type of ops should I call it? Black ops? Shadow ops? Covert ops?"

"None of these," she said, "There's not really an appropriate designation for what I do...not one you would have heard of, anyway."

The picture was becoming clearer, prompting an obvious question. "Are you actually still IN the organization I would understand as the United States Air Force," I asked.

She smiled before telling me, "It's complicated...and classified."

"I wish I could tell you more," she assured me, "But I've said all I can. And I know you are the...contemplative sort...so I do regret that I can't give you more time. But now...I need your decision."

"Amanda," I responded, "You are saying I will see things that will blow my mind, but I have already have experienced those tonight. If you can guarantee my safe return, I can guarantee to cooperate and trust your direction."

Grinning happily, Amanda pressed buttons on her wrists.

"Then it's a deal," Amanda said, "I just sent you a time and location. Meet me there. I gave you as much time as I could, in case there was anyone who needed to know you were leaving."

"Anyone," I asked, "such as my...wife...and children...?"

Amanda laughed and said, "Oh yes, of course...'Wifey' and 'the kids' definitely need to know...along with anyone else you think should..."

I had begun to wonder if Amanda doubted I actually even had a family. I supposed that with the obvious idiosyncrasies I exhibited, many strangers might find that to be unlikely. But Amanda was no longer a stranger...and she had literally been in my mind...

"By the way," Amanda asked, "what do you call that sleeperhold thing you used here tonight?"

"The Sonic Reducer," I told her.

"If you EVER try to put me in the 'Sonic Reducer' again," she said sternly, "lock it in. Don't even approach me like that if you aren't prepared to go all the way."

"I'm sure that won't happen," I said, perhaps unconvincingly, given that I never imagined that it might ever have transpired in the first place.

"What do you call that thing," I asked, changing the subject while satisfying my curiosity, "where your chair launches you at a person?"

"The thing where my chair launches me into someone and I kick their ass," Amanda replied, "but I'm open to suggestions for shorter names..."

We smiled at each other and parted for the night.

I left understanding that I had made a commitment which would change my life.

I did not know that my choice would ultimately end that life and give rise to a new one.