I crawled from the pod, electrodes knotted round my seared naked flesh like string on a flashy bottle of sherry. Pain like I’d never known consumed me — pain I didn’t want, never wanted. Pain that nobody would ever want, and if they did, wouldn’t like when they got it.
Flames licked at my heels, fumes swam in the smoke, and my inflatable Evil Editor mobile popped overhead as if the man himself had been lanced by an overeager knight transported from Camelot by a time machine while battling a ferocious dragon.
Ten. Yards. To the exit. Would I make it?
Behind me, the pod exploded — KA-BOOM!
I leapt to my feet — KA-BOOM!
With a vaudeville turn, I grabbed my cane and tap-danced across the lab.
Ka-boom ka-boom ka-boom!
A shimmy, a string of taps — ka-boom-di-boom-di-boom!
Then music, a big band, lights; the roar of the crowd, an inferno.
That’s when I made up my mind.
No more gene splicing experiments involving gay Broadway dance troupes...