Symbiotic Submission

Issue 5: Flight or Fight

Squelching out onto the sidewalk, I looked up and down the street, uncertain where to go.

I could hear sirens in the distance. Without a clue whether they were coming to the convenience store or if it was just a coincidence, I assumed the worst, and that I didn't have much time to get clear if I didn't want to spend my time answering their questions.

"Haven–I don't know how to actually do this superhero shit. What do I do?"

(I...)

They trailed off, at a loss for words for the first time since I'd met them.

Glancing up and down once again, I tried to think. The people had come in right before they attacked me, and–

"The car!" I said aloud, looking at the black SUV parked right in front of me. It was the best chance I had at tracking down where these people came from, unless I stuck around and talked to them myself.

Walking around, I tried to peer inside, unsure what kind of clues I was looking for. Something–anything. They had sought me out specifically, attacked me while talking about a 'sample'. They would come at me again unless I put a stop to it.

(How the fuck did they know about us?)

Getting to the driver's side, I tried the handle. It opened–a stroke of luck. Glancing around, I got right into the seat, my still-full diaper squelching beneath my weight as I looked around.

It looked used, but barren–no personalizations, no cups in the cupholders. I closed the door before leaning over and opening the glove compartment, taking out a few papers.

"It's a rental," I said aloud. "Made out to...Storm Holdings? There's no name listed."

Haven didn't respond right away.

"Haven, what's–"

(I didn't protect you.)

I paused. "That's–whatever. We don't have much time before–"

(Mine. You are Mine, and I didn't protect you.)

"Haven, you can self-flagellate later. Right now, I need to–"

Black ink spilled out from beneath my clothes, Haven's body slipping over the paper and producing my phone. Their gooey, jet-black form seemed to bristle, like water set on a bass speaker, movements more quick and twitchy than I'd grown to expect from my parasite. Almost...

"Haven, are you anxious?"

No response for several seconds, though I saw my phone blink through several screens, tabs moving as fast as they'd load.

(You need a better phone,) Haven replied. (Storm Holdings. I've got an address. Drive.)

"Drive?" I said, barking out a laugh. "I can't just hotwire a–"

Blackness shot out from Haven's form, a strand oozing into the keyhole. A moment later, the SUV rumbled to life, convinced to start by...whatever Haven had done.

(Drive,) Haven repeated.

Eyes widening, I gripped the steering wheel, pulling out before I could question what we were doing. "This is, uh, grand theft auto."

(Would you rather go back, explain things to the police, and trust them to handle it? I thought you wanted to be a vigilante.)

"I want to be a superhero. There's a difference."

(What is the difference?)

"Erm..."

(Turn left here.)

I obeyed. "Are we sure we want to go after these people now? We're, I mean... I'm hardly in the best condition to fight."

(I'm healing you as we go.)

"I mean my diaper," I clarified. "I didn't exactly get to change back there. I'm...this is not how I pictured my crime fighting to go."

It wasn't as bad as it could have been–the modern style SUV had strong air conditioning and kept the air moving away from me, so a lingering smell didn't bother me.

Haven's tone was resolute. (We're going. We're going to find these people. We're going to stop them.)

I hesitated, then put my foot on the brake, looking for a place to pull over. "Haven, stop–"

Blackness spread over my body, suddenly, Haven consuming my body, sealing me away in their sticky, confining presence. My arms were pulled back to my body, my feet were stuck to the floor, and Haven took the wheel, swerving back into traffic.

(No. No. I am the master here, I am the one in control. I am allowing you to play your little game because it amuses me, not because you are in charge, not because you have any power of your own. Do you understand?)

I inhaled sharply–cognitively, I knew the car wasn't without a driver, but there was a certain terror in sitting in the driver's seat, my arms bound to my body, watching cars zip by.

(We are going to go find the people that attacked you,) Haven continued. (And you are going to be obedient and thankful to me for indulging in your fantasy of heroics.)

"Why?" I demanded. "Just to spite me? Because I said no? What the hell kind of logic is that? You want to take me back to the apartment, find some new way to make me debase myself for you, fine, but Haven–I'm scared."

(Don't be. They won't get a shot like that on you again, I'm going to make certain of it.)

"Haven, I'm not scared of them."

Dead silence.

Haven stopped the car, pulling off to the side. The restriction on my limbs lifted, and they pulled away.

"What?" I asked, masking fear with sarcasm. "Does fear not taste good?"

(Charlie,) Haven thought, letting the name hang.

"That's my name," I said. "I'd say 'don't wear it out', but I don't know if you've ever said it before."

(They hurt you.) That was all the explanation they gave, as though it perfectly explained all their behavior.

It didn't. "You hurt me all the time. So you're jealous someone else played with your favorite toy?"

(It's different. I know what you can take.)

"They didn't break me," I objected. "Your plaything is fine. We don't need to go in all half-cocked trying to beat a bad guy we know nothing about."

(Charlie,) they repeated. (They hurt you. That cannot happen again.)

The repetition interrupted my reply. It didn't strike me as mere redundancy–repeating the same words until I gave up and stopped arguing. Haven didn't know what else to say, how else to convey their motive.

(Get out of the car. We'll get a hotel room, in case they know where you live.) Haven said. (We won't go after them tonight.)