The Intoxicating Adventures of Bat Saxton (Episode 1)
The Intoxicating Adventures of Bat Saxton
OK; I'm officially at the loosest definition of consciousness. I feel like an alarm signifying the final countdown of a doomsday device that will unmake the universe is going off in my head. There is someone screaming...probably at me. If I open my eyes, it might bring me into the next stage of consciousness and allow me to process and understand sounds. Everything is a blur. There are lights flashing. I am clearly laying face down on what feels like a concrete floor. There is still screaming. I'm starting to make it out.
“THAT IS THE ALARM SIGNIFYING THE FINAL COUNTDOWN OF THE DOOMSDAY DEVICE THAT WILL UNMAKE THE UNIVERSE! PLEASE BAT, FOR THE LOVE OF LIFE ITSELF, WAKE UP AND FIX THIS!”
Hey; Bat is my name. That voice sounds eerily familiar. Wait! It's talking to me! I think I have to do something. Or I've just done something. Or worse— both. Why can't I remember anything?! No time for retracing steps right now; this seems urgent. My eyes feel like two piss holes in the snow. I jump to my feet, only to fall on my ass. I can see clearer now. I'm in a geodesic dome lined with all types of high tech computer-y shit. The place is wrecked. Where is that voice coming from? There is a central control panel in the middle of the room with a spinning red light.
“BAT!” The voice is coming from beneath a fallen bookcase, about 30 feet away from me.
“I'm up!” Words shouldn't be coming out of me yet.
“YOU HAVE TO STOP THE COUNTDOWN!” Man, that voice sounds familiar.
“How?!” As shitty as I feel, I really do need to stop this thing. I firmly believe that my doing so will end the deafening alarm and the mystery dude's screaming, all in one shot.
“JUST PRESS THE FUCKING STOP BUTTON, DIPSHIT!” I'm way too fucked up for this level of hostility. I stumble to my feet and approach the control panel. Oh, there are only two big buttons on this thing. One reads “Unmake the Universe”. The other reads “Stop”. I push the latter. Instantly, the room falls silent. I sink to the floor, with my back propped up against the console that so recently held the fate of all of existence somewhere within that beautiful red button called “Stop”. It's never that easy in the movies.
“You did it, Bat!” I gotta figure out who that voice belongs to. But before I go freeing that guy, I have to get my memory back.
“Hey, you wouldn't happen to know where my bag is, would you?” If I can find my bag, I can fix up a dose of my blackout cure. After years of waking up in the strangest of situations, with no recollection of the events that preceded them, I developed a tincture that actually restores its user's lost memories 100%. I carry all the ingredients with me at all times, due to my rampant alcoholism and drug abuse.
“Yeah, you're wearing it. Just take off your shell suit. You're wearing your own clothes underneath it.”
Wow, he's right.
I didn't even realize that I'm in some weird spaceman garb, which appears to be splattered with vomit. After fiddling around with some type of seal at my waist for about 10 minutes, the whole time bookcase boy is whining for me to help him out, I'm able to fumble the top part of the suit off over the top of my head like it was one of the many sweaters that my mother forced on me to ward off any possibility of a social life. I'm not helping this dude until I know for sure if he's friend or foe. Once freed, I dig into my bag for the magic ingredients:
½ teaspoon of nutmeg,
1 fl oz of Red Bull,
3 ml of ammonia,
a dash of cayenne pepper,
1 gram of magnesium,
a pinch of powdered beef marrow,
¼ cup of orange juice,
and ¼ of an oxycontin (to take the edge off of what is presumably a horrible hangover). Shake it up, pound it down, and in about 4 seconds my memories return, in full.
“Holy shit! I'll have you out in a jiffy Mr. President!”
To be continued...