"Alternate ending" - The Wild One
There was unease in Wrightsville - since the biker gang the Black Rebels Motorcycle Club (BRMC) had driven into the sleepy Californian town, the townsfolk had been concerned and worried what trouble this large group of disaffected youths could cause in their normally peaceful place.
The bikers were led by Johnny Strabler, a young man of few words, but revered by his gang. A rebel without a cause. Strong, cool, confident and untouchable - or so he thought.
Having caused commotion at a motorcycle rally in Carbonville, the BRMC had moved on to stir up trouble somewhere else - that eventually led them to Wrightsville. One might think that one knows how this story ends… But this time it's different.
---
It was only about 1 o'clock in the afternoon on the day of BRMC's arrival, when the elderly Chief Harry Bleeker, the only police officer in the sleepy town, entered the Wrightsville pharmacy.
The bell rang like always, but nothing felt normal today, the boisterous gang had only been here for a couple of hours, but it felt like days and the whole town was nervous. This included Chief Bleeker, who now felt like he was on the toughest assignment of his career.
"Hey Doc." Chief Bleeker greeted the pharmacist. Though he wasn't a doctor, he was very knowledgeable in medicine and biochemistry, thus everybody in town referred to him as 'Doc'.
"Hey Chief." Doc replied.
"I need something for my nerves." Bleeker said trying to hide his nervousness.
"Got something right here for ya, Chief." Doc said, almost as if he had expected Bleeker to ask.
Doc attempted to hand Chief Bleeker the bottle, but Bleeker declined with a hand gesture.
"Please give a glass of water, I'll be takin' 'em straight away." Bleeker muttered.
Doc went to get a glass of water for the Bleeker, who opened the pill bottle pouring two pills into his hand, before he put the bottle back on the countertop.
"Seems like our loud and rowdy visitors have done a number on ya, Chief." Doc said as Bleeker swallowed the pills followed by the water.
"Yes…" Bleeker replied glumly, his grip tightened on the empty glass, "never in my time, had I thought that I would end up in situation like this…"
Doc put the pill bottle back behind the counter, not responding to Bleeker's plight.
"It's like sitting on a tickin' time-bomb. Everyone's on edge - not that I blame 'em - if the situation somehow escalates, I don't think I can handle it."
"Yeah, I don't envy you." Doc replied, resting at the counter looking over Bleeker's shoulder to look through the window facing the street. "It's the calm before the storm, but they are like nomads-"
"Nomads?! 'Locusts' is more like it. If I don't put my foot down, we risk that these hooligans start feeling at home… I've heard of other towns, where that happened… I really don't wanna see that here."
He paused, but when Doc didn't respond he continued:
"Kleiner noticed that I hesitated to act, when those hoodlums made him crash his car. And I think they noticed too."
"If I was smart I would be skipping town just like you, Doc."
Doc wasn't pleased with Bleeker's insinuation.
"You know very well, Chief, that I am not 'skipping' town for at least another 3 months. So I will have to live through this, just like the rest of you."
There was a long pause. It almost felt peaceful in contrast to what might be happening on Wrightsville's streets...
Chief Bleeker, lost in thought, began speaking again, Doc was confused at first, but he quickly figured that Bleeker was in a train of thought, now saying it aloud:
"It's their leader Johnny - Johnny Strabler, he strides around the town like he owns it, and his men follow him around like puppy-dogs. He doesn't say much, but he radiates an attitude - I don't know what to call it - a dominance, that makes his crew follow him without question, they're wrapped around his finger."
"Hmmm..." Doc said, breaking the officer's flow of thinking and made him look at him, "listen Chief, I may be able to help you... But it may be a little 'drastic'."
"The situation seems to call for it," Bleeker replied, "but thank you, if you can help in any way, it'll be appreciated."
"Very well, then listen very carefully…"
Bleeker left Doc's pharmacy twenty minutes later, and it didn't take long, before he was forced into action against the rebellious youths. A brawl had broken out, outside Bleeker's brother, Frank's, café.
Some townsfolk had already intervened, having incapacitated a biker, who looked like he'd already had way too much, and struggled to get out of the grip of the town's mechanic, while still trying to stand up straight.
"We'll be taking this punk to the cell, Chief," the mechanic said, and headed towards the police station.
Chief Bleeker was forced to step between the mechanic and the biker gang members present trying to calm them down, fortunately it was only a handful - for now.
It didn't however take long, before the BRMC had gathered outside the police station, yelling and screaming, really trying to escalate the situation. Bleeker did his best to stay calm, but he was nervous, and he knew the biker gang could tell.
"Look - I've told you already, your friend is NOT under arrest, he's only in the drunk tank to sleep it off. Once he has sobered up, he'll be free to leave (just like the rest of you)."
Bleeker returned to his office, uncertain if he had actually improved the situation and managed to calm down the rowdy crowd outside. As long as they stayed outside, that would be a good sign at least - unless they started causing chaos elsewhere…
It seemed inevitable, that something bad would happen, soon, very soon - a single spark igniting the powder barrel, and if he was to prevent it… He had to reflect on Doc's proposition.
---
A couple of hours later, Chief Bleeker walked back outside, the crowd was still there, but they seemed to have dispersed a bit. Bleeker pulled together all the courage he could muster, before loudly and clearly addressing Johnny.
"Johnny? Will you please come into the station and pick up your friend, please?" Bleeker tried to sound both authoritative, but also polite at the same time, not knowing if he was successful at either. Johnny didn't say a word, he just raised his eyebrows, and began to walk towards Bleeker, the crew followed his movement. "J-Just Johnny please," Bleeker said trying not to stammer. Johnny turned his head, looking at his gang, then with that smooth and cool voice, he simply said: "Alright, I'll take care of it, guys," and followed Bleeker inside.
Once the doors was firmly closed behind him, Bleeker turned to Johnny, gesturing him towards his office. "Johnny, can I talk with you privately for just a minute, please?"
Johnny was silent, but the silence spoke volumes - he was confident and in full charge of the situation, a lone 'octogenarian' cop was no threat to him, so he might as well humour that old geezer, not that anything he could say to him would change anything.
As soon as they were inside, Bleeker took his chance and jabbed a syringe with a clear liquid into Johnny's neck. Johnny instinctively reached for it, but collapsed on the floor, his body convulsing, Bleeker fell down alongside him, holding the syringe firmly in his hand, making sure it was emptied inside Johnny's neck.
When he was sure the syringe was empty, Bleeker managed to get back on his feet, exchanging a final gaze with Johnny, who looked at him with the strongest contempt in his eyes, before his head collapsed, hitting the floor.
Bleeker stood still in the office, still holding the empty syringe in his hand. The unconscious Johnny seemed to slowly shrink, as a visible vapour left every orifice of the youth's body. Carefully Bleeker pushes Johnny's over with his foot making it face upwards. Despite that Doc had told exactly what would happen, Bleeker was still disturbed by the sight, but it also filled him with awe.
Johnny's insides were clearly gone, no bones, no organs, not even his eyes, which were now just empty holes. But his skin remained, stretchy and flexible - and able to be worn.
With shaking hands Bleeker undressed what remained of Johnny, discarding all the biker gang leader's clothes in a pile.
He held up the skin amazed at the result. This is crazy, Doc, he thought. Running a hand through the Johnny's hair and over the face, that felt like a deflated balloon, Bleeker flipped the skin over, so he could enter through the mouth as Doc had instructed.
It was a bizarre, yet exhilarating experience. Getting his feet in place was difficult with his aching back, but he had no intention to stop. Taking Johnny's body for himself was a drastic move, but desperate times calls for desperate measures.
Sliding the skin upwards his frail legs felt stronger and grounded, once they were covered by Johnny's.
Excitedly Bleeker looked down at his new manhood, it was erect and pulsing with vitality, he had lost long ago. How many girls (and guys) must have felt this? he thought as he stroked it. Not enough, a wicked thought said in the back of his head.
Pulling the skin further up, Bleeker's wrinkled and sun-worn skin was replaced by Johnny's smooth and youthful. There were bruises and scars, for sure, but Johnny was a fighter and had probably been in countless bar brawls and fistfights before. He felt his new abs, there was no denying, that this guy was strong, Bleeker had a feeling that if Johnny got into a fight, he'd always win, maybe then it's only fitting, that his muscles serve me now, Bleeker thought, given that I bested him.
Bleeker thrust down his hand into Johnny's throat and into his smooth, muscular arms. Once it was firmly in place, he twisted and stretched it, feeling an unfamiliar strength, that now worked for him. He flexed, and it responded flawlessly. The other arm followed suit - and Bleeker was now only moments away from a new existence.
Stretching Johnny's mouth a final time, so it could fit over his head. Bleeker completed the transformation. Bleeker massaged Johnny's face and it all fell into place. He felt a jolt of energy causing through his entire body, and he opened his eyes, Johnny's eyes.
Looking down himself there was no doubt that it was a complete success, this body was his.
He ran a hand over his impressive new chest, feeling the heat and the smooth, soft chest hair under his fingers. 'Johnny' looked at the clock, realising how much time had passed. He'd need to get going before the gang, his gang, stormed the station.
'Johnny' slipped on his underwear, his jeans, his socks and stepped into his solid motorcycle boots. He pulled the sweaty t-shirt over his head, pleased with how he recognised the smell as his own. He put on Johnny's hat, before setting his sight on Johnny's leather biker jacket. It was Johnny's crown, the very garment, that told the world who he was, and what he represented.
Mine, was all that Bleeker could think as he picked up the jacket, this is going to look so good on me. The leather creaked as Bleeker claimed Johnny's jacket as his own, pushing his rejuvenated arms into its sleeves. There was a very devilish satisfaction in buckling the belt, then slowly zipping the zipper to his chest. Bleeker smiled as he looked down at the "Johnny", his new name, written on the jacket, just above the heart. Mine.
Bleeker caught his reflection in a mirror and grinned, his new reflection - young, strong, confident, handsome, respected, uncontested, feared - and the epitome of cool.
"Yeah," Bleeker said with the youth's smooth silky voice, he flexed a leather-clad arm, it still responded flawlessly "I could get used to this." He grabbed his keys and with a confident swagger walked towards the drunk tank, where a slightly groggy gang member was lying. Bleeker unlocked the door, the rattling metal caused the biker to look up at Johnny. Bleeker smirked, he knew that Johnny would have done the same, no words needed.
Outside the police station it looked like all the BRMC members had gathered, waiting for Johnny and their buddy. "Alright!" 'Johnny' said firmly, looking at the crowd. It was a completely different experience. The gang looked at him with respect and admiration, almost reverence.
He didn't have to say anything else. They would follow him without question. It was a power and respect that Bleeker hadn't felt in decades - if ever. 'Johnny' made his way through the crowd and they followed him like an entourage back to where their motorcycles were parked. 'Johnny' smirked at the sight of Johnny's motorcycle. Johnny didn't show much emotion, but Bleeker was very excited as he mounted Johnny's bike, his bike, but he hid that excitement behind Johnny's cool demeanour - his cool demeanour.
'Johnny' revved the engine, feeling a surge of adrenaline and youth, he hadn't felt in eons. He slipped on Johnny's sunglasses with a faint smile, then he took off - and the gang followed him.
'Johnny' had led the gang out of Wrightsville, he didn't know where he would lead them, but he knew that he had an undeniable power over them, they were his gang now, and they would follow his rules. And if there was ever any sign of dissent, Johnny had several more of Doc's syringes stored safely inside the pocket of his biker jacket. Maybe he could turn some of these delinquent youths into more 'productive members of society' - but for now, he was the Wild One.
