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GM

 

Near Midnight...

 

...On the streets of Bedlam

 

The night of Bedlam was alive with its normal nocturnal residents. Tramps, drunks, burgulars, pimps, slingers, and buyers. But that was not the main event of the night. 

 

The main event was announced by the beeping of horns, the crash of cars, the screams of pedestrians. 

 

And round the corner came a lorry - large, steaming, travelling far faster than it should, threatening to jack knife as it turned. One light was out, and it was hard to see who, if anybody, was behind the wheel. 

 

It crashed through parking meters, it collided with parked vehicles. Steam poured from its damaged grill. 

 

What was certain was that it was only a matter of time before the runaway lorry would crash into some building or worse. And the people of Bedlam seemed only interested in one thing; getting out of the way. And who could blame them?

 

For at the end of the road it hurtled down was a fireworks factory. 

 

The night looked like it would soon be illuminated with a bang. 

 

Unless some hero was on the prowl...

 

 

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The Tattered Man cursed under his breath and charged toward the truck from the opposite direction. He jumped clear onto the side of the truck, and after a moment of wobbliness, managed to stabilize himself on the passenger side. He managed to pop the door open and slide inside to see what state the driver was in, if there was one.

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GM

 

And inside?

 

There was a man at the wheel, of sorts. 

 

A ferocious, eight foot tall gorilla!

 

The huge homidid turned to the Tattered man and let out a primal roar. 

 

It was still gripping the steering wheel, turning it left and right wildly, as though it half knew what to do. Its foot was on the pedal, and the engine was revving in second gear, surely at a setting that would burn out the motor in minutes. But as they were about twenty seconds from colliding with the firework factory, that wasn't going to be an issue. 

 

The gorilla was wearing the tattered remains of a t shirt and jeans. Split boots adorned its prehensile feet. A cap with "I ❤️ my mom!" sat, obstinately, on its head. 

 

 

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John had worn the coat for a few years, now. He had seen the worst depravities that Bedlam had to offer. 

 

He had never seen anything like this. It looked like a person had been turned into a gorilla or something, and was now stuck trying to steer a truck. John reached towards the steering wheel, and tried to jerk it out of the gorilla's control, trying desperately to turn the truck aside. 

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GM

 

The Gorilla-Man roared. Perhaps, with the eye of faith, one could make out some vague gutteral words that came out of a mad gorilla with gorilla vocal cords. 

 

"GET---GRRRROOOOFFFF!"

 

The Gorilla Man bared its teeth and flexed its biceps, wrenching the wheel left and right violently, trying to fight the Tattered Man for control. 

 

Control? The battle of sinew on the trucks wheel was not without effect. The Truck turned left, smashing into a car. It turned right, smashing into another. The insurance agents of Bedlam would have a headache in the morning. 

 

The truck briefly tilted to two wheels, threatening to jack knife. Although that would have solved one problem...

 

...it was still heading for the fireworks factory!

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John managed, with a great deal of effort, to force the wheel out of the gorilla's hands. Then, he pushed the gorilla's foot away from the gas pedal, and slowly, but firmly, pressed down on the brake pedal.

 

He thought he could survive the crash if needed, but he didn't want anyone else, including the gorilla trucker, to get hurt if he could stop it.

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GM

 

The Gorilla kept gripping the steering wheel, like a baby with a dummy. Was it a toy for him? or was some vestigal part of its brain keeping on task?

 

As the Truck came to a screeching halt, threatening to keel over at one point, the Gorilla harmonised with the burning tyres, giving out a roar. 

 

"Me ---- DRIIIIVE!" came the gutteral roar. 

 

It was not best pleased with the outcome. The truck has come to a stand still just outside the gates to the firework factory, the damaged grill of the engine gently bumping against the gate iron. 

 

"DRIIIIIIVE!" roared the gorilla again, furious. Angry, and ready to smash. 

 

"ME----SMASH!" it added, but way of explanation, bringing a fist round onto the Tattered Man's face...

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John was not feeling this nonsense. So, he braced himself slightly and charged forward through the cab of the truck, towards the gorilla man. He grabbed him and more or less scooped him off of the seat. He reached forward and opened the door as he shoved himself, and the gorilla, clean out the cab and out into the open air.

 

He landed with a rough thud on pavement, and stared up into the sky. 

 

He groaned in pain. It didn't hurt too badly, but it certainly wasn't pleasant.

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GM

 

The Gorilla landed on the tarmac. THUD!

 

All the fire in its chest was forced out from the impact, leaving his lungs empty. Stunned, it tried to get up, wheezing from effort, shaking, legs wobbling. It staggered left and right, before eventually coming to rest with one arm learning against the truck. 

 

He was shrinking with every out of breath pant. The arms, the legs, the chest. The simian facies started to morph back into a human shape. Even the red glint of fury in the eyes started to dull. 

 

In front of the Tattered Man stood a man in tatters; exhausted, middle aged, with a receding hairline, stubbled chin, and beer belly. His clothes were ripped to shreds, leaving him shivering from the cold. 


"Wha... where...." he mumbled, before sinking to his knees, exhausted. 

 

 

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"I don't know what happened. You somehow transformed into a gorilla, or something. I don't know. I got you out of the truck, though, so you're safe, now. Let's get you a cup of coffee or something." John chuckled. "And maybe some new clothes."
 

He was planning on asking the man some questions, but for now, getting him safe and warm was more important.

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GM

 

It was cold, it was true. A bitter winter breeze of a bitter city. And the rags did little to hold the heat in. The man was already shivering. 

 

"Cup of coffee would be swell," said the driver. And just a minutes walk away, John would be able to find some dive serving passable coffee. One thing about Bedlam - it was awake 24 hours a day. 

 

"But..."

 

John picked up a smell, something like sour vinegar, coming from the truck. 

 

"Smell that?" said the driver. He shuddered, not just from the cold. 

 

"It... it screwed me up. I was transporting it. Couldn't resist having a look. Chemicals, or something. Made me... what... an animal?"

 

There was the sound of Rats from under the Truck. Scuttling, squeaking. Rats were common enough in Bedlam, but these rats sounded... big...

 

"SQUEAK!"

 

It wasn't just a squeak. It sounded like a human saying the work "Squeak"...

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John cursed under his breath. "Sir, I am, well, not a professional, but I'm probably a lot tougher and stronger than you, so I recommend backing away from the truck. Who were you hauling for?" He asked.

 

He put himself between the driver and the truck, and would make a mental note of whoever hired him to track down the cause. He was worried about another animalistic attacker. He slipped a small handful of cash, about fifty bucks, into the man's hand. 
 

"Go get yourself a meal, a cup of coffee, and maybe a new outfit on me while I figure out what's going on."

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GM

 

"Fifty bucks? Jee mister, thats a bunch o' Generous! You are alright..."

 

He shivered more violently, his teeth now chattering. 

 

"I g-g-g-g-g-gotta go get that c-c-c-c-c-offeee!"

 

The squeaking and scuttling below the trick intensified. John could smell petrol now, mixed in with that odd vinegar smell. Dark purple oil swilled from below the Truck, threatening to set ablaze. 

 

You would not want to drop a match here. The Fireworks factory was only two dozen feet away...

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John backed away from the truck, slowly. He hoped that whatever this new thing was, they'd come towards him and not cause any further damage, as he was not wanting to know what would happen if a spark went off.

 

Now that the driver away from the area, he felt a little better about what might happen, but he was still quite nervous about the situation. He was durable, and not afraid to die, but he wasn't that durable, and he knew he wouldn't be the only one hurt if something happened. 

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GM

 

The noise came to abrupt stop. 

 

Squeaking came from below the Truck. 

 

The purple oil oozed through cracks in the road tarmac. John could smell the fumes; like vinegar, like poison. Whatever it was, he could feel the chemical seep ingo his body, lashing it somehow, but flailing hopelessly. 

 

Whatever the chemical was, it didn't work on dead men. Or men that had been dead. 

 

But it was seeping out of the truck faster and faster. And Bedlam never slept. 

 

Like a gunshot, three rats scuttled out of the bottom of the truck. Not normal rats, either! maybe two feet long, with hands and feet that looked suspiciously simian, with faces that looked suspiciously human. 

 

Gorilla - Rats!

 

They were fast - rushing towards an alley filled with garbage...

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If these mutant rats weren't going to mess with John, and they weren't going to start a fire, he wasn't going to mess with them. He needed to find the trucker and ask him more questions, if he could find the guy.

 

Giant gorilla rats. He really hoped they couldn't reproduce, or that the mutation would wear off soon. However, while he could just go stomp on them, he knew that he needed to sort out the source of this...apification.

 

Or whatever was happening. So he ignored the rodents to track down the driver.

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GM

 

The Driver was half a block away, trying to warm himself up in some crummy bar. Warming himself up with Central Heating For Hobos. 

 

Alcohol. 

 

He was already on his second double shot of whiskey, staring at the glass in shock. 

 

There were a half dozen other drunkards and truckers in the boozer (unfortunately, at least one person was both). The barman was serving both without the bat of his eye. This was Bedlam by name, Bedlam by nature. 

 

the barman - a middle aged man of lean physique and a broken nose, spotted the Tattered Man, but responded only with the raising of one eyebrow. 

 

The Driver was lost in his thoughts, holding the whiskey shot like it was some kind of divine panacea for his troubles. 

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John growled to himself. He gave the man money for coffee, and he was getting drunk. Well, that was pointless. He resolved to do something else. He would wander back over to the truck and try to see if he could figure out who the man worked for, and maybe figure out the source of the gorillas from there.

 

He headed toward the door and left the man to his drinking. He did after all almost crash his truck while transformed into an angry gorilla. If anything drove someone to drink, it would be that.

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GM

 

It was only half a minute to walk back to the Truck. 

 

The Rat-gorilla's were gone, at least to the Tattered Man's uncanny senses. Maybe in some trash pile somewhere, maybe in the sewers. 

 

A half dozen curious (and possibly even concerned; Bedlam was not without a few kind hearts) pedestrians had gathered around the stalled and dented truck. A hobo, a drunk, a street cleaner, two men (obviously a couple) high on coffee after a night raving, and a lady of the night who had been trying, unsuccessfully, to sell her services to the couple. 

 

All were holding their noses. 

 

Yes, the purple liquid oozing from the truck had formed a small pool now, and it did not smell good. It smelled like stale sweat, putrid infection, something organic and unhealthy. Something animal. It was the opposite of perfume; something that augmented the unpleasant natural smells of a man (or woman). 

 

And a few of the onlookers were twitching. 

 

And a few of the onlookers were looking a bit on the hairy side...

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John took note of the phone number on the back of the truck and committed it to memory. He wouldn't be calling it, but, rather, he'd be looking it up online to see if he could figure out what company it was. Whatever this chemical was, he didn't want the suppliers to be warned of his approach.

 

"Folks, back away from the wreckage. There's a dangerous chemical, and you need to get away." He said, remembering his cop voice from when he served.

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GM

 

Strange things happened in Bedlam. And there were plenty of fools thats strange things could happen too. Like these pedestrians. 

 

Give em order? A sensible order? No chance!

 

Instead, they started writhing with strange jerky movements. 

 

"Grr..."

 

"Mmmph...."

 

"Ugggh...."

 

They started with - a variety of gutteral sounds whilst they twisted and jerked. 

 

"Oook..." they finished with. 

 

Knuckles on the ground, eyes wide, hirsute and confused, six pedestrains had turned into six gorilla men (and women!)

 

And were not best pleased about the transformation!

Edited by Supercape
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John had to move quickly. These gorilla people were a danger, based on the aggression the truck driver had showed.

 

He charged up to one and punched them hard in the face, knocking them down. Then he turned around quickly and elbowed another directly in the abdomen, before switching targets again and kicking another in the side of the head. Finally, he moved over to a fourth one and, with a quick punch to the side of the head, knocked them flat.

 

He needed to clear this up, quickly.

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GM

 

The Gorilla-Men quickly fell to the punches of the Tattered Man. There was no doubt - they were strong, tough, even rageful, but they all of them had lost their human intelligence. They were barely able to string together a few words.

 

"Ugh!"

 

"ooof!"

 

"Grrr!"

 

And so on where the responses to blocking the tattered Man's fists with their face. They had little or no fighting skill; a form of brutality and ferocity, yes, but no finesse. 

 

In the blink of an eye, John had knocked them all out. With sleep, came a reversion back to their human selves - although with ripped and torn clothes. They actually looked peaceful in their knocked out slumber; free from whatever transformation had been inflicted on them. 

 

And the purple liquid? It was still oozing from the truck. 

 

John could feel the chemical trying to wrestle with his body; try to make it Gorilla-form. But he had been dead, and the chemical seemed to be unable to penetrate that protection!

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John knew what his target was. The circus. He would head over there as soon as he could, to sort this business out.

 

He had to leave the purple stuff where it was, having neither the training nor the tools to clean it up.

So, John took off to head toward the Primal Fear circus and figure things out.

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GM

 

And so...

 

It was morning now, but the Sun would not show its weary head for four or five hours. This was the cold, empty hour of morning, when even Bedlam tried to sleep. 

 

The Circus had set up in a litter strewn park, its canvasses washed out, torn. Primal Fear, as it had named itself, was clearly not a top notch circus. This looked battered, tired. Or maybe it was just Bedlam at night, under moonlight. 

 

The Circus appeared to be mainly about animals' John could see the relics of a few clowns - the feet, the noses, painted on the wooden huts. But these were of secondary importance to the large amount of steel cages. Lions, bears, an elephant. All looked reasonably well cared for, and the cages - whilst still cages - were spacious and clean. 

 

The Circus artists themselves seemed to sleep in the several portable wooden cabins around the periphery. Although the big central tent could certainly be a house - even a palace (a cheap palace) - for a few. 

 

It was silent, bar the scuttling of rats, and the snoring of animals. 

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