CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE WITH THE JERRY BENNETT CH. 3

“It takes a stronger man not to fight.”

The voice echoed from deep within Jerry’s childhood. Was she a second grade teacher? Maybe third grade? Curled brown hair. Pixie face. Even though he was very young, Jerry knew she wore too much makeup, but her words still resonated. They fit snug with his evolving perception of faith and the spiritual walk.

She dabbed the blood from his split lit. The alcohol stung, bringing more tears to Jerry’s child eyes. She used a wet cloth on his dirty face as Jerry wondered if their age difference would matter in thirteen years.

His first unrequited love and he couldn’t even remember her name.

Jerry opened his steel eyelids to see the sky above him. Highway signs zipped past. A digital readout in his mind clocked their speed at 65 miles per hour. Straps held him down to the trailer bed. He didn’t really feel them as he would if he had skin, but sensed their tightness. He turned his head to the side to see a police cruiser matching speed. He looked above again, finding helicopters approaching, the media vultures descending. Little green boxes framed the helicopters, zoomed in, logged them as non-military. Cars were stopped on an overpass ahead, civilians looking over the edge of the bridge as the convoy passed. Jerry felt exposed, ashamed. A pang in his heart still longed for a good, cleansing cry. He considered converting his flamethrowers so he could weep fire.

The thought made him laugh. He then heard through the electronic distortion the timbre of his old voice. He laughed more, louder, embracing the emotional release.

And the convoy pressed on. His last thought before falling to sleep was whether anyone had told his wife what was happening.

Confused images fluttered through his mind. Robots at war. A metal planet. Steel and plastic faces that seemed strangely familiar. A voice. A logo in red. A logo in purple. A planet eating other planets.

He woke as the truck pulled through the gates of a fortified military prison. He accepted this new life passively, certain a path would present itself even if that path was death.

Jerry was left strapped onto the trailer bed within a darkened storage space, large cargo doors squealing as they rolled shut. He looked over to the aluminum walls knowing that the only thing holding him to this place was himself. The straps could be snapped, the door ripped out of the wall, the fences trampled or flown over. But he felt a need to not fight. To be the stronger man.

Lights buzzed awake, illuminating the lonely space. Men were approaching. Three in black and white suits flanked by National Guardsmen with rifles.

“Release him,” one of the black-suited men called. His face was lean, weathered, hard. A man who had been hard to kill for decades and would continue to be hard to kill for many more years to come. He could be a long forty, he could be an ageless seventy.

“Thank you,” Jerry said, his voice pious and soft, even through the digital buzz.

The straps slackened and were pulled to the side. Jerry sat up, still anticipating the human body aches that he would never feel again. The lack of pain made him feel more isolated.

“Why didn’t you try to escape?” the black-suited man asked.

Jerry looked to the others. They stood quiet, ready. Jerry swung his legs around as the trailer bed groaned under his weight.

“It seemed the right thing to do,” Jerry said. “I am not exactly the fighter type.”

He thought about quoting his teacher, but feared it would seem silly or insulting to these career warriors. No one responded, so Jerry felt compelled to further explain.

“I’m kind of a teddy bear, actually.” Jerry burped out a laugh, but still no one responded. “Like, if there is a spider in the house, I’m the guy that captures it and throws it outside. I don’t even feel comfortable playing Grand Theft Auto.”

“That is good to know, Mr. Bennett,” the black-suited man finally said. “We’ve encountered enough fighters today.”

“What? I’m not the only one?” Jerry stood and the guardsmen backed away, raising their rifles. Jerry rose his hands, smiling diplomatically through his steel beard as he sat back down.

“No, you are not the only one, Mr. Bennett,” the man continued. “There are over four hundred accounts of humans turned into whatever it is that you are now. This is global and it is a damn mess because most of you people are not quite so accommodating to authority.”

“I don’t even like to cut into lines,” Jerry said. “Even if there is no one in front of me, I still walk through the tape maze things they use at movie theaters.”

A guardsmen chuckled at that. The black-suited man smirked.

“So, what now?” Jerry asked. “You hide me away at some underground bunker and cover this whole thing up?”

Now the black-suited men laughed, including the leader.

“Have you ever worked for the government, Mr. Bennett?”

“No.”

“The only good secret we’ve ever kept is that we are terrible at keeping secrets,” the black-suited man said. “No, there is no covering this up. We are now trying to figure out how to contain hundreds of superhuman robots rampaging across the world. We are trying to find the ones we can work with and, Mr. Bennett, I think we can work with you.”

Jerry’s heart glowed at this. His smile was broad, making his beard lift like Norman Rockwell’s Santa Clause. His smile quickly faded though.

“My wife?”

The black-suited man frowned.

“I think you can appreciate how complicated this situation is, Mr. Bennett,” he said. “I simply don’t know how this will all unfold. I will not make you a promise that I cannot fulfill, but I will try to find a way for you to see her again. I don’t know when, I don’t know how. We will just take this one decision at a time and, if you help us, I will help you. Okay?”

The sorrow found whatever was still human within Jerry’s mechanical body and twisted and stretched it. The pain was real. The pain was comforting.

A siren sounded outside the building. More sirens joined it. A side door swung open and a guardsman ran in.

“They’re coming!” he shouted. The guardsmen ran to the cargo doors. One slapped a button and the cargo doors groaned as they rolled open.

Automatic weapons began popping around the perimeter. An explosion.

The black-suited man looked to Jerry.

“Will you fight for us?” he asked.

Jerry thought of his teacher, thought of his wife, thought of the damage robots like him could be doing all across the world. Another explosion.

“Jerry!” the man shouted.

Jerry nodded his head, terrified, but certain.

“Okay,” the black-suited man said. “Get out there and do some good!”

WHAT DO YOU TRANSFORM INTO?

Truck        Train        Plane        Cannon        Submarine        Or        Stay a Robot

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