I fucking got shot, can you believe that shit? This war is getting out of hand. This goddamn evil corporation needs to go. Fucking send robots to try to kill me? Assholes, anyway, back to the origins story...
That night, Black slept harder and more soundly than he had in his entire life. The Nanobots that infested his body worked tirelessly through the night, repairing deteriorated tissue and broken neural connections. They filtered toxins from his cells, rejuvenated and enhanced his organs, hardened his bones and thickened his muscles. Malcolm would not remember his dreams from that night, as they were not actually dreams. The Nanobots rewired his brain and re-educated his mind, instilling a vast array of knowledge. As he slumbered, Malcolm learned computer languages and programming, theoretical mathematics and quantum mechanics, cutting edge "spooky" physics, a detailed history or warfare and tactics, and the full spectrum of hand to hand and armed combat. While his knowledge and memory capacity increased exponentially, the structure of his brain was being recreated, his senses enhanced, even intuition. Malcolm was becoming SuperBlack.
He woke, lying in an ocean of brown sweat, teeming with his expelled impurities. "Damn," he whispered, "smell like I shit da bed." As Black rose from the fetid bog, the sheets stuck to him. They peeled away from his back like shedding skin, as he stood up. He felt weak and dizzy, and had to sit back down. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he had but two thoughts in his head, "Thirsty. Hungry." Black got up again and stumbled into the kitchen. His hand was trembling as he turned the faucet knob and plunged his face into the cool stream of water. He slurped and gulped for what seemed like hours. After topping off, he moved to the fridge. Voracious, Black devoured the three day old lo mein without blinking and then tore into the pound of lunch meat. He let out a belch like a lions roar. Black was finally full. He was standing naked in the middle of the kitchen with bits of Virginia ham speckling his distended belly and noodles dangling from his chin. His stomach churned and gurgled as his new highly accelerated metabolism broke down the food and absorbed the much needed nutrients. A sudden urgency for a bathroom visit overcame him. Bruce had recently woken and stepped into the hall, just in time to be almost trampled by his big brother, sprinting to the shitter. He made it, barely. As he sat on the toilet, finishing his business, Black realized that he was still covered in his nocturnal secretions, now hardening to a thin crust. He finished and took a long hot shower. Now clean and refreshed, he threw on his robe and returned to the kitchen. Bruce was cleaning up the mess he made."I'm only doin did cuz you died last night, mutha fucka," he said to his big brother as he scrubbed the goo from the floor. "Don't think Imma be yo house nigga, foo..." his voice trailed off as he looked up at Malcolm. Bruce's head tilted slowly to one side. "Yo, you look... Not... Right..." he paused, searching for the right words. "Diff-ent."
"I feels diff-ent, man," Black answered. "Betta." He took a deep breath and smirked confidently at his younger brother. "Feels like I can lift anythang," he proclaimed. "Like I can run fassa' than my ride, like I can FLY!"
"A'ight R. Kelly, don go pissin on any ugly bitches yet," said Bruce. "Jus' chill til we know wassup, yo."
That was around the time I arrived. "Hey Malcolm, how you feelin?" I asked him. Black did a spot-on James Brown spin and screamed, "Yee-Ow! I feels good!" He put his hands on his hips and turned his head, all stoic. "Feels like Supa-Fly, gonna make da bitches cry... Malcolm!" he laughed and clapped, flexing. I could see that he was noticeably bigger, taller, more muscled. His skin had an odd youthful glow, like a little kid's, before the sun and smog had gotten to it.
"Goddamn Malcolm," I exclaimed, "you look..."
"Diff-ent," Bruce interrupted.
"Yea man," I concurred. "Different... Better."
Malcolm grinned from ear to ear. "You bess ease up, Lil Richard," he joked. "I don suck dick. I fuck fly bitches." He motioned for Bruce to break up some weed. "Imma go get da suit, nigga!" he said with a child-like twinkle in his eyes, and ran off to his bedroom.
"Yo, hold up," I called out as I chased after him with Bruce on my heels. "Maybe we should try to do more research first." As I stepped into his room, he was already naked and climbing into the suit. "Yo man, wait!" I demanded. "You wanna fuckin die again?"
He paused and thought for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. "Yea," he agreed, nodding his head. "You right. I betta wait."
"Good," I said. "Now put some fuckin drawers on cuz I don't need to see your black ass anymore today." Bruce and I went out to the living room and fell into the couch. Bruce looked at me and shook his head. He didn't know what to make of all this craziness. He did roll us a fat blunt while we waited. Little brother fired it up, hit it and passed that shit to me. I took a deep pull and held it in. The sweet skunky smoke burned my throat on its way to my anxious lungs. I watched to blue cloud grow over our heads as I exhaled slowly. What the fuck were we going to do? *Gotta roll people. Bleeding through. Gotta change the dressing on my shoulder and get back to Black and Chi. Fucking robots must pay.*
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