NOTE: This is pulled from chapter 3 of my in-progress fic "The Gray Goo Incident." It was a rough attempt at writing Laserbox from Laser's first-person POV.
I'm debating whether or not to write out a longer one-off that goes into further detail. Gray Goo will expand on some things, but I'm not 100% sure on including a full Laserbox chapter. The framing for this is Laser giving a condensed history of his relationship with Box Lad for Dendy's record-keeping purposes.
“I’ve convinced most of my research subjects to narrate or pen their own respective stories or accounts. Out of everyone though, Laserblast is a surprisingly personable storyteller, so you’ll probably have an entertaining read whether these records are relevant to what you’re looking for or not.
If you want just the facts, I have his general biography with just the important bits, but I seriously recommend reading his stories too. I’d love to trade notes about what he’s like in your universe and any other encounters you’ve had, period. I have my suspicions about Laserblast and his alternate universe counterparts or their greater relationship to the multiverse, but they’re currently just theories. Musings….”
Rippy is the one that convinced me some villains can be talked down or recuperated. Given some of my history, which is an entirely different rabbit hole, I wasn’t convinced that a villain wouldn’t return to evil eventually. I’m talking about the proud men and women that monologue, wear all black, and practice their evil laugh. The man stealing a loaf of bread for his starving kid is desperate. I’d call him a hero despite the narrow-minded letter of the law.
There’s a world of difference between a buffoon dangling heroes over a vat of lava and the mad scientist angling for world domination, but they’re both a threat in some capacity. They’re both evil. The buffoon could become the mad scientist sometime. Well, I say that. And then I met the one person that made me wonder “Who is the buffoon?”
Enter: Box Lad. Foxtail caught him robbing a parts manufacturer. He had a rickety old truck with a trailer attached and he was wobbling with box load after box load of clinking processors and wires. All of the employees just watched and waited. They gave poor Fox a lukewarm reception when she arrived on scene and booked him.
Her lips were puckered like she’d drank a gallon of sour lemonade and she held this tiny, scrappy little fella. He was wily; jumping around, gnashing his teeth and barking like an agitated chihuahua. It took another moment before I clocked the cyborg eye and the chicken claw. So much of me wanted to step in and see what happened if I wound him up a little more.
Fox ruined my fun with this really stern, sharp glare that said “Don’t you dare, kid.”
That was the first time I saw him. I don’t remember our exact first meeting, but about a week later, we were fighting just about every day. He rocked up to a hardware store for nuts and bolts. He had a ziploc baggy full of screws before I scared him away, squawking and babbling, with a few sharp blasts from my trusty helmet. He rocks up to a mom and pop computer store. He doesn’t make it inside before I have him pinned to the asphalt.
That little beast spat in my face, rolled out of his labcoat, and took off like a roadrunner. Every scrap, he figured out new little tricks. He cracked my helmet’s visor. He hacked my helmet once and I had to wait on our techs for a replacement. Oh cob, that sucked. My helmet isn’t just a tool. It’s my whole identity. Besides the helmet damage, he slashed the tires on my bike.
He had to be a wrestler in his younger days because he’s a grasshopper. He can jump ridiculously high. He’s light on his feet. Really strong.
One day, I had him backed into a brick alley and pinned to the wall. I held one of his wrists in place, was getting ready for a punch, and then he narrowed his eyes and sighed. A dreamy, lovesick schoolgirl kind of sigh.
“You’re handsome...” Box Lad said.
“Thank you?” I lowered my hand because well, I wasn’t expecting him to flip like this. The bulk of our encounters were glares, curses, “I’ll get you next time!” kind of stuff.
“Fighting is getting...kind of old. Played out.” Box Lad shrugged and giggled. “So...are you free this Friday? I’d love to take you out for dinner.”
Curiosity creeped up on me. The scientist and betting man in me took him up on his offer. Apparently, being a ten cent villain doesn’t pay very well since he wore the same crumpled shirt he always does, a tie filled with holes, and he sat me down in a red booth at a greasy diner. We shared some wet fries. They were sopping with salt and grease. He kept tugging at his shirt collar, fidgeting his fingers, and trying way too hard. Poor guy didn’t know how charming he is behind the junkyard dog act.
Of course I pulled him into my truck and I’m not sharing those details. You’ll know why when you’re older and either explore that yourself or read about it in the novels Mom has with the sexy shirtless man on the cover. Box Lad was a fan of those. He’ll hate me for sharing this, but that was the majority of his romance experiences before he tried his shot with me.
So, press the 2X speed button on our relationship and we quickly switch from secret-ish rendezvous to Box Lad showing up at my lunch breaks. He spoiled me with truck stop food and half-melted candy bars. Such a sweetheart that wanted to give me the whole world whether his wallet took a hit or not. Don’t worry, I treated him to steak, wine, and looking at me in a tailored suit.
Soon enough, he joined the POINT lab boys, started getting to know Rippy, Sparks, and El Bow. He hit it off with Bow pretty quickly. I think Box went to a few of Bow’s big matches before Bow completely gave it up to go full-time hero. Ask him sometime. He was a champion luchador!
I remember drinking a few too many adult beverages one night. I called up Box Lad and gave him this real sappy, real emotional spiel and ended it asking him to marry me. It went to his answering machine. His damn answering machine.
The next morning, he approached me with really wet, shiny eyes and cried “YES. Yes, yes, yes yes yes yes.” We would’ve gone ring shopping and found matching tuxes that afternoon. Those plans were cut short by a head in a jar on spider legs and his Frankenstein creature. Head in a jar is a whole other complicated rabbit hole. But, we’re talking about Box so I’ll stay on topic.
Unfortunately, things...did not work out. We’re on speaking terms, by some miracle. But we were never able to patch things up or reignite the feelings. Don’t get me wrong. I love my life, I love my wife and even if Box showed up tomorrow single with roses, I’d tell him no. The moment passed here. But there’s always these little what ifs. Especially when you know something like the multiverse and alternate universes exist.
Every once in awhile, I wonder if Box Lad and I are happily married in another universe….What does that life look like? I hope that version of me is as happy and satisfied as I am.
