Harper Kingsley blog

Title: Slipping Through the Cracks
Author: Harper Kingsley
Character: Franz Caulder/Ryan Wilder, Dr. Pamela Werth, Nicole Carson
Genre: mm
Rating: mature
A/N: Nicole uses the F-word like a lot.
Summary: Locked in a mental hospital, Kid Nitro is falling into the life of an alternate version of himself. Franz Caulder.

Check out: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

* * *

He felt groggy and out of sync. His body was a heavy suit pulling him down and even though he couldn’t sleep anymore he felt exhausted.

Franz realized that he didn’t react very well to being drugged. The hangover was awful.

He flipped up the hood of his sweatshirt and forced himself to leave his room. Dwelling on things wasn’t going to do him much good. Besides, he thought he was supposed to be hungry. Though it was strange to feel a hollow emptiness in his stomach, yet have next to no appetite at all.

He barely made it halfway toward the dining area when Dr. Werth cut toward with him a serious face on. “We really apologize for what happened yesterday with Bertie. It was unfortunate scheduling and I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“I wasn’t expecting that to happen,” Franz said.

“I know you hoped you were past the point of having panic attacks, but this isn’t a catastrophe. It’s a minor setback, and as long as you promise to keep trying, we can keep moving forward.” She was looking at him with a steady expression of determination.

“I’ll keep trying,” he said.

She smiled and patted him gently on the shoulder, careful to keep her hand in view at all times. “Good, good. You’ve progressed so far, Franz. Now, go get yourself some breakfast. I think Joshua broke out the waffle maker.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that.”

Walking away felt weird and uncomfortable. He hated not knowing how to respond in a given situation. All those years of training wasted by his lousy memory and lack of tactical skills.

Franz ghosted around the edges of the dining area and prepared himself a tray that boasted two perfectly golden waffles slathered with butter and strawberry jam. He picked up a carton of chocolate milk and went to sit across from Nicole.

She’d freaked him out, but at least she was a friendly face. He could feel everyone else’s eyes burning into the sides of his head and forced his shoulders square. He smiled at Nicole. “Good morning.”

She was messily peeling a hardboiled egg, the pieces scattered across an unfolded napkin. She held the egg a few inches away from her mouth as she spoke. “Well, you’re definitely the weirdest fucking thing I’ve seen all day.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on. You had a fucking freak fit outside yesterday. Why the hell are you acting all cheery and bright?” She took a bite, yolk crumbling bright yellow around her lips. “Usually you’d be moping around and sobbing as you write in your diary. What the fuck?”

So Other-Franz wasn’t the kind to bottle it up. That was valuable to know.

He poked at his waffle reluctantly, the golden perfection doing nothing for his lack of appetite. It felt like a waste.

“I’m trying something new,” he said. “That other stuff wasn’t helping me, so I figured it was dumb doing the same thing over and over again while expecting a different result.”

She wagged the last bite of egg at him. “That’s nearly scientific. Who would have thought that pretty face could hide such a brain?”

It was instinctive. His hand moved by itself to cover the left side of his face. It was the classic Phantom of the Opera face hug, his palm hovering over the scar without touching, and it felt strangely right. No one could see as long as he covered it up.

When he realized what he was doing he forced his hand away and down onto his lap. He clasped his right hand tight around his left, fighting his instinct. He bowed his head and held on, his ears burning hot with embarrassment.

Franz had never felt like this in his life. His emotions were all over the place and the body kept doing things without his control. He felt like he was losing himself.

“Sorry. Fuck, you just had one of your episodes, fuck, I am so sorry. There’s no way I was trying to trigger you or anything,” Nicole said. She sounded honestly contrite.

Franz sucked in a gusting breath and held it for a long moment before gently exhaling out through his nose. When he spoke, it was while staring down at butter dripping off his waffles. “It’s not your fault. You just surprised me. And why do you have to talk like that all the time?”

“What the fuck do you mean?” she demanded, then snorted a laugh. “I figure the worse I talk, the more people will pay attention to me. I spent my whole life with no one ever hearing a single word I said. Then the first time I told my mom to go fuck herself… She actually saw me. She might not have liked what she saw, but she *saw* me. It was the first time ever.”

“Wow, that’s strong.”

She scoffed, “No it wasn’t. It bought me a one-way trip to psycho camp. Religion for my spirtual betterment, mortification for my physical well-being, and pretty prancing counselors to provide the temptation. Because punishment and fear of punishment is powerful strong. I would have been better off keeping my mouth shut and letting my mom ignore me until I was out of the house. Because once you’re a freak, then you’ve got to be fixed. That’s the rule.”

“It’s a sucky rule,” Franz said.

Nicole smiled, her eyes shining bright with either tears or defiance; he wasn’t sure which. “You’re damned right it’s sucky. Especially when there wasn’t anything to be fixed.”

“Did your mom send you here too?” He wasn’t trying to pry into anything personal, but he needed to know as much as he could about this world. And he was a bit curious.

“No. The state sent me here.” She pushed her long bangs away from her face with her hand, the lank strands not wanting to stay behind her ears. “My mom didn’t do her research and sent me to the kind of place where sadists earn their paycheck. There was a big raid and all kinds of trials and people went to jail all over the place. And I got declared mentally unfit and there’s no psychologist that will sign off on letting me go. None of them trust that I would keep taking my meds.”

“Would you?” he asked.

She laughed. “Who fucking knows? I’m just some headcase that can’t be trusted on the street. They’ve got like degrees and stuff.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t know what to say.

After breakfast was group therapy. He sat in his usual pose with his arms crossed and his hood up and tried to imagine himself somewhere far away. Completely other than here.

Yet he couldn’t seem to close his ears. The words around him kept getting sucked into his head and unwillingly he was absorbing the things the man was saying in that awful droning voice. Just snatches here and there as Franz tried to will the sound away.

“…drove right over the cliff. There was blood everywhere and parts splattered all… took fifteen people… police… And when I woke up I was in lockup and I knew it was serious. I’d screwed up again. I’d been out of my mind, but the things I did and the people I hurt, I won’t ever be able to forgive myself for that… wonder sometimes why no one ever helped me… I was alone… hurting… I did awful things to survive yet… still feel dead inside…”

That voice was spinning out tendrils that were digging themselves into Franz’s ears, burrowing their way into him. His ears itched and ached and he dug his fingers into his elbows until he couldn’t take it any longer and he covered his ears with his hands.

The man kept talking. The words lost all meaning, becoming nothing but emotions washing over Franz. A dark flood of guilt, horror, despair.

He leaned forward and dug his forehead into his knees as he pressed his hands tight-tight against the sides of his ears. His breath came from him in heaving gasps and tears trickled from between his tightly clenched eyelids. He felt as though something had broken open inside of him and every part of him was being covered in slow moving syrup.

He was drowning with no air to fill his lungs and he felt sounds escaping his throat but he had no control over any of it. All he had the ability to do was hold his ears and pray that he would make it through this moment, that everything was going to be all right.

There was a harsh buzzing sound filling up his head. His keening cries couldn’t cover the painful, grinding *sound* that rang through his skull.

He was dying.

There was the distant whisper of motions and yells from the people around him, but he was too wrapped up to listen. The buzzing was so loud and there were colors swirling around the backs of his eyelids, sickening hues that made his stomach squeeze tight. And through it all there was an endless overflow of tears until even through his misery he could feel them hot against his face and soaking through his pants.

He didn’t know what was happening. Everything was out of control and he didn’t have the wherewithal to focus on anything but what was happening to him.

There was a warm hand on his shoulder and something prickly nudged against the back of his hand. There was the murmur of words, but he couldn’t focus.

The nudging continued until he lifted his head a little and cracked his eyes open. The overhead light stabbed at him, but he blinked until he was able to make out the small white pill cup being waved near his face.

He swung an arm to knock the cup away, but the nurse simply held it out of reach a moment before once again trying to press it on him. It took him a long time to comprehend that the pills were supposed to help him.

He kept trying to say no, but the buzzing was getting so loud that he was surprised the room wasn’t shaking. Finally he snatched the cup and swallowed the pills, choking a little when he drank the offered water.

He lowered his forehead back onto his knees and held onto his head. That hand on his back rubbed soothing circles. He might have pulled away, but that contact felt like an anchor holding him back from the pain swelling in his head.

He stayed there for some immeasurable length of time before he was finally able to unfold himself from the chair and was led back to his room. He kept his eyes tight squeezed shut and his hands on his ears, but the nurse held his elbow gently.

He climbed onto the bed when urged and let his shoes be tugged off. He was covered by the thin blanket. There was a rattling sound and blinds appeared from somewhere to cover the window. The light was switched off and everyone left, the door closing solidly behind them. He was in the dark alone.

Franz curled around his pillow and cried.

He wailed and sobbed and he made sounds deep in his throat that tried to split him apart. The pain ebbed and flowed through his head on the trail of that throbbing sound.

Even knowing that it was all happening inside his head, he still clutched at his ears. It felt as though it was helping.

He soaked his pillow and cried until his breaths were coming in hitching gasps and he felt completely broken open. The bed jerked with each of his hiccuping breaths and whatever those pills had been, he felt as though he were floating in place.

And somewhere he fell asleep.

He was sucked down into the dark, but it only felt like it took a moment. Then he was blinking open crusty eyes and the room seemed much darker than before and his mouth tasted horrible.

Colors throbbed bladelike across the walls, seeping in under that line of light on the door. He huddled around himself as the colors took form, a gibbering monkey in a red jacket with gold epaulets. Then more animals, dancing and cavorting, and there were circus tents in the background and the spinning shadow of the ferris wheel.

Franz watched everything, his eyes stuck at half-mast, gazing fascinated at all of the animals as they performed their show. Then the bear stepped in front of the lion and there was an argument and the monkeys were refusing to let the bear play with them.

Tears pinched the corners of Franz’s eyes and his heart was beating loud and fast in his chest. He could feel it thumping against his ribs.

He tried to climb out of bed and stumbled and fell. He lay sprawled for a moment, but the animals were dancing too close and the ferris wheel was spinning fast enough to leave a blazing trail of light across his eye and the monkey was leering at him and he was absolutely terrified.

He crawled to the door, the blanket tangling around his legs. He kicked it off and reached up to grab the knob with his hand, using it to pull himself to his feet. Then he stumbled out into the light.

One of the white wearing nurses saw him and walked over. It was the one that had made the waffles, Joshua. Franz liked Joshua.

“The monkeys wouldn’t let the bear play and he’s real sad and the light spinning and… I don’t feel good.” He leaned forward and threw up next to his own bare feet.

Joshua’s hands caught him before he could sag and fall. He was led toward a couch when he panicked about going back into his room with *them*. He was settled on a couch and someone wrapped his blanket around him. And throughout it all Joshua stayed next to him, a warm presence, solid and real.

TBC…

[table “24” not found /]

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Check out the rest of the hop and all the excellent people that have offered up some great posts and prizes. Spread the word: No more homophobia or transphobia. Equality for everyone.

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Title: Slipping Through the Cracks
Author: Harper Kingsley
Character: Franz Caulder/Ryan Wilder, Dr. Pamela Werth, Nicole Carson
Genre: mm
Rating: mature
Summary: Kid Nitro went to sleep in his own bed, and woke up on another Earth in the body of an alternate Franz Caulder. It’s a world without metabilities, which is jarring enough, but it’s also a world where Other-Franz is a mental patient grappling with some serious problems.

Check out: Part 1, Part 2.

* * *

He was running. His legs were churning fast and the world was spinning past him in slow motion. The faster he went, the more the world slowed down, until he thought that if he just went a little faster then time would stop all together.

Lightspeed was a bright yellow blur ahead of him and he couldn’t help being jealous. There was a reason Lightspeed was known as the world’s fastest man. Franz always felt a bit left in the dust.

Clenching his jaw, Franz pushed himself until his legs began to burn. Faster and faster until something seemed to happen, a strange switch over that turned the world around into a swirl of color and he was RUNNING with no impulse to ever stop. He felt as though he could keep going forever.

Lightspeed was always just a few steps ahead of him, always that little bit faster, but Franz didn’t feel like giving up. He knew that if he kept going, one day he would catch Lightspeed. One day *he* would be the fastest man alive.

“I’m going to catch you!” he shouted, the wind trying to whip his words away.

Lightspeed glanced back over his shoulder with a teasing smile on the visible portion of his lips. “You’ll have to try harder than that, boy.”

Franz yelled when Lightspeed put on another burst of speed and zipped ahead. Franz tried to catch up, but it seemed impossible. The man was just too fast. There was no catching that speed.

Franz woke with a jerk and the momentary sensation that he was falling.

He sat up and looked around the room, hating it and wanting to go home. He wondered if Nigel was taking care of himself without him there to nag him.

He got out of bed and went out to deal with his second day in Rotham Lite. He figured it wasn’t going to be too bad; he wasn’t locked behind a security door with padding on the walls like they had at Rotham. Housing both the criminally insane and the non-violent but permanently disturbed, Rotham had been rated as the world’s “Fiercest Asylum” by FasHonesta Magazine and that had only been a little bit of a joke. Rotham killed people.

This, though, was a completely different situation. These people actually cared for the mentally ill instead of just locking them up. He’d heard people discuss letting them out as an option, but he’d never believed it would work.

He’d heard all the stories about what the mentally ill would do if they were let out in public. There would be murders and rapes and horrible things all over the place. Everyone knew that’s what would happen. They had to be locked up for their own good, only allowed out to work and then only with a chaperone. It made sense; they were completely unbalanced and should be locked up for the good of everyone.

It was an idea Franz had always believed in. Except here in this world, the mentally ill were treated like normal people for the most part. They were only locked away when they were an imminent threat to themselves and other people. Otherwise they received what what was called “out patient” care, something Franz had never imagined possible. He was used to the idea of mental patients receiving permanent medication dispensing pumps to keep them safely controlled and happy in their Mental Health housing. Here, someone that just needed a few pills could live a normal life *outside*.

Which meant that Other-Franz had had some serious issues he’d been dealing with. Franz suspected violence and antisocial behavior, though it was hard to tell without asking what his prognosis was. He figured it would be better to wait for the information to present itself than ask dumb questions.

He’d been considering proving his sanity and getting out, but discovering how this world worked made him have to think. If these people that seemed so understanding about mental problems had thought it was a good idea to keep Other-Franz locked up for nearly a year, would it be such a good idea for him to get the guy out? If there was a body switch, Other-Franz would be out on the street with a clean bill of health. Could he do that to these people?

Sometimes he hated having a conscience. Because he definitely wanted out of this place, but not before he found out if it was safe for Other-Franz to be out in the world.

Franz wished that he knew anything about mental health disorders, but it had never been one of his concerns. *Those people* lived in special care facilities where regular people never had to see them or worry about them. When he’d occasionally had to deal with someone crazy, it was usually a supervillain he could hand over to the CMPF; it wasn’t his problem.

Yet here he was in this place, surrounded by people that made his skin crawl uncomfortably, and it wasn’t something he could happily ignore. They were right in his face and the doctors and nurses thought he was one of them.

The only relief he had was to keep reminding himself, “I’m not crazy.”

He held to it through another group session where he slouched in his chair with his arms crossed and his mouth shut. He held to it for the twenty minutes when he was forced to write down his *feelings*. And he was only a little violent with the paintbrush when it came to arts and crafts time.

He was feeling as though the walls were closing in by the time they were taken out after lunch for their daily walk. He pulled on his hoodie and promised himself that everything was going to be all right. Nigel would get him home and everything would be all right.

The air was crisp outside, a switch from the summer he’d left behind. The sky was a grayed out blue with some darker clouds in the distance. The leaves on the skinny trees framing the lawn were changing from green to yellow and he couldn’t help reaching up to touch them. Everything felt so real.

Franz looked around at the other patients with him–two men and three women–but they were seemingly off in their own worlds, wrapped up in their own problems. The nurse with them let them all do their own thing, knowing that the tall chain link fence surrounding the large yard would keep them in.

He turned to look back at the hospital, his eyes tracking over the windows and what he could see of the roof. It was a solid red brick square looming four stories high with bars on every window and only the wide double doors for entry or exit. He didn’t see a whole lot that he could work with.

For about the ten millionth time in his life, he wished that he had taken the extra courses the CMPF offered on escape and survival. He’d always had his superspeed and his superstrength; being normal had never been one of his worries, so he didn’t know how to do it.

His body felt strange to him, heavy in a way it had never been before. The hum that he’d heard thrumming in his blood since he was a little kid was gone. He felt drained, a shell of himself.

But he was still alive, and powers or no powers, he was still Kid Nitro.

Franz looked around at the fenced in yard and the other patients. He’d never been in a situation like this, had swung things so he would never be in a position like this.

He’d never seen much purpose in facing hardship when he didn’t need to. If the world went to hell, he was sure he could survive whatever got thrown at him. He didn’t need special training because he would be fine. Plus he’d have Nigel, and Nigel knew practically everything.

Except here he was in another world all alone. And he was worried that he was going to screw everything up. Because without guidance that’s what he always did; he ruined things. He was a ruiner.

Franz must have been too deeply in his own world, because the overly friendly arm slung across his shoulder almost made him fall. He caught his balance and looked at the brown haired man that held him.

Cheerfully round body and a clean-shaven face that was nearly cherubic in its sweetness. But there was something in the green eyes that put him on edge. “Shame about the scar on your face, but you’ve always caught my eye, Franzy. You’ve got something appealing about you. You’re a very handsome boy.”

Franz felt a throb of creeping dread go through his whole body. He couldn’t help it. He *cringed* away from the man. “Leave me alone, Bertie,” he blurted out, and it didn’t even sound like his voice. It was so timid and small; weak.

It felt as though all the strength was draining out of him and the fight went with it. He felt small and fearful and there was this rising sense of helpless misery.

He experienced the phantom slide of hands across his bare skin and the ghostly whisper of voices in his ears. And there was fear and pain and somewhere in the dark someone was screaming.

The sound that escaped his lips made his whole body twist. His throat felt squeezed tight and his testicles were trying to draw up. Every bit of him felt strung with wire and the world was narrowing down to a pinprick of light and he was fading away.

“Bertie, you have been told before that you are not allowed to speak to Franz. It was part of our agreement to treat you.” The nurse sounded exasperated. “Are you all right Franz?”

He couldn’t speak. He was being pulled out of his skin, colors smearing around as his breath came in fast pants that left him still desperate for oxygen.

He wondered if he were dying.

The world was getting too bright and everything looked too sharp and frightening. He was scared, he couldn’t help it, and he wasn’t even embarrassed when he felt the warm gush of hot liquid down his leg.

His head was whirling and spinning and he couldn’t breathe. Everything was too bright, too harsh, it was killing him, wiping him out, destroying him bit by bit as the world spun fast and faster. He keened, the sound rising from him like a bird and…

There was a nearly gentle prick against his hip. He hadn’t even seen her get close. The needle looked gigantic in her hand.

Then everything slid sideways and he went too. Just for a little while.

TBC…

[table “24” not found /]

---

Check out the rest of the hop and all the excellent people that have offered up some great posts and prizes.

Spread the word: No more homophobia or transphobia. Equality for everyone.

Title: Slipping Through the Cracks
Author: Harper Kingsley
Character: Franz Caulder/Ryan Wilder, Dr. Pamela Werth, Nicole Carson
Genre: mm
Rating: mature
Summary: Franz goes to sleep in his bed and wakes up locked in a mental health hospital with no idea how he got there or why.

Check out: Part 1.

* * *
By the time he was back in his room and was sure he would have a bit of time alone, he was about an inch away from throwing a screaming fit.

Making sure the door was tightly closed, he pulled the napkin wrapped bundle of pills he’d hidden in his underwear out and took them directly to the bathroom. He was glad they trusted him enough to allow him his own toilet and sink; he knew there were some facilities where the patient was only allowed a bare mattress and could expect invasive body searches on a regular basis.

He flushed the pills down the toilet and felt a little better.

Most of what he knew about mental hospitals was stuff he’d learned from TV and movies. He’d been worried all day that he was going to get caught with the pills and evil doctors would end up giving him shock therapy or a lobotomy. It was terrifying.

Franz stood in front of the sink and examined himself in the mirror. It wasn’t made out of glass, just polished metal, which left his reflection slightly wavery and out of focus. He was able to see himself, but for a long moment he didn’t recognize the man standing there.

This was the first time he’d seen himself since he’d woken up. He hadn’t realized he would look different from what he was used to. It sent a jolt of fear through him.

This all might be real.

The man in the mirror was in his early-twenties with the light brown skin he was used to. His black eyes were almond-shaped and there was something Asian about the cast of his features, but he mostly looked black. His mother had been half-white and half-Japanese while his father had been black. They’d died when he was too young to have many memories of them, though he remembered how British they sounded.

The fact that he knew they spoke with Estuary English accents had been something he’d learned from Nigel. Before that he’d watched old home movies of them and thought they sounded like something off the BBC. It had also been Nigel that had told him all the stories he’d missed about who his parents were.

His mother had been Sophia, his father was Terence. They had been Butterfly Woman and Mothman, and Dr. Scourge had torn his family apart.

Dr. Scourge had killed Terence, and Sophia had killed the supervillain. Then she’d taken her grief, bottled it up tight, and burnt herself out fighting crime for another year as a solo act. One day she’d gotten careless and she’d died, leaving him an orphan with more questions than answers. Some part of him had never forgiven her.

He’d lived in foster care until he was ten, never understanding what had happened to his parents. Until Nigel had come and taken him away, an old friend of his parents that only wanted the best for him. And Nigel had turned out to be Lightspeed. He lived with a superhero and he’d grown up to be a superhero himself.

He was Franz Caulder. He was Kid Nitro. He had battled supervillains and helped to protect the world from destruction.

But the guy in the mirror… He didn’t know what to think of that guy.

There were strange shadows and a jagged series of scars across the left side of his face. When he turned his head sideways, it looked like the letters FA or FR had been carved from his jaw up toward his ear; the writer had been interrupted given the ragged upsweep that almost bisected the corner of his eye. The skin was puckered and burned looking, though the blade must have been as sharp as it was hot.

He stared at himself and it looked bad. That scar looked old, several years at least, something that had to have happened when he was a teenager. It was ugly, no doubt about that, and hadn’t received any kind of aftercare. One look told him the wound had healed naturally with no doctors.

Franz would have immediately gone to a plastic surgeon. If one of his bad guys had carved up his face like that, Franz would have used his League of Superheroes medical card at the nearest hospital. He would never have a scar like that, not with the miracles of modern medicine.

There was something very bad wrong here and he was beginning to suspect that it was him. He hadn’t been in his bed last night, or at least this body hadn’t. This body had been here, locked up nice and cozy with Other-Franz in his cell where he belonged.

Just like in the old Chrestomanci books. He’d been body snatched. It was the only explanation.

Like the gears in some great machine his Essence, or soul, had been shifted one universe over. And somewhere out there someone was walking around in his body living his life. While he was here in this alien/familiar/terrifying body with this giant, horrible scar across his face.

Franz reached up to touch the scar, but stopped. His finger hovered, then he dropped his arm.

He stared at his reflection for a long moment and forced his shoulders square. He could handle this. He was Kid Nitro. He could handle *anything*. Even a crazy case of body switching.

He would just have to remember to be careful not to damage the body. It wasn’t his, and he already missed that vibrant hum that had always filled him before. He felt wrapped up in the fleshy prison and it was strange feeling so powerless, but he would do his best to take care of the body. Because until he managed to switch back, he was only borrowing someone else’s skin.

There went his chances of ever being a beauty queen.

The laugh garbled out of his throat and he stumbled out of the bathroom to flop down on the bed. It was uncomfortable, but he didn’t care.

He was in an alternate universe. It was the only explanation.

“Fuck, why me?” He covered his face with his hands and allowed himself the luxury of a hysterical moment. The barely muffled sounds that escaped his mouth made his own ears hurt, like listening to some wounded animal he couldn’t help.

It was cleansing though. Letting it all out.

And when he’d gotten himself back under control, he forced himself to his feet and began examining the room. It wasn’t that bad. The doors opened and he had his own bathroom and he wasn’t sharing with anyone. Definitely not too much like real prison.

He’d been to prison before, or at least the juvenile version of it. They’d been pulling a sting and he’d been undercover at Barosoma, otherwise known as Kiddy Max. The CMPF were tracking Hesse Mijandro, the leader of the Purity Movement’s Junior Believers, and Franz had been asked to befriend Mijandro’s cousin Ursa.

He’d done a good job of it and they’d become prison friends, close enough for Ursa to see him as a real friend. And after they’d gotten out–timed close enough to keep the relationship meaningful but not close enough to be suspicious–it had seemed completely natural for Ursa to invite him around.

They’d gone to movies, they’d shopped, they’d gone to baseball games, it had been great. Franz hadn’t had that much fun with another person in a long time and it had felt real. Ursa had become a friend.

And through Ursa he’d gotten close to Tiedre Mijandro. Close enough to be invited to the Mijandro compound overnight. He’d done his job. He’d gotten the information and he hadn’t been discovered. Six months of being Alex, friend and sometimes lover of Ursa and Tiedre, had left him feeling changed inside, but he’d done it. Because he was Kid Nitro, sidekick of Lightspeed.

The Mijandro case had won him a lot of respect. They’d seen him as a kid and some had tried to talk him out of taking the job, but he’d told them he was ready to do his part. He was ready to go in and use Ursa to get what he needed and it was going to be no big deal.

The Purity Movement had taken a big hit when their junior division was brought up on criminal charges for selling drugs and guns and robbing houses. And the world was made a little better.

Except he’d felt like crap for a long time. Ursa and Tiedre had really become his friends, and he’d brought down their family. It had killed him to see them hurt, but Hesse Mijandro had been out of control. Franz had done what he needed to do.

He was Franz Caulder. He was Kid Nitro. He made the hard choices. He did his job.

He firmed his jaw and the last of his quiet sniveling faded away. He’d been in hard spots before. He’d get through this.

 

There wasn’t anything of much interest in the room. The dresser held more of his same scrub pants and tee shirt ensembles, along with a bundle of white socks and plain briefs. There was a plastic tub in the corner that held some paperback novels — mostly sci-fi and fantasy — and a handful of spiral notebooks. That was about it, other than a red hoodie flung over the back of the room’s single chair.

He thought about taking the bed or the chair apart to fashion some kind of weapon, but he wasn’t ready to do that yet. He needed to find out more about why he was here.

All he needed was to bust out of the hospital, then have Nigel manage to flip him back. If the Other-Franz had a mental illness that made him violent, the last thing Franz wanted to do was break the guy out. That was like an invitation to feeling guilty if Other-Franz went on a murder spree or something.

He grabbed the hoodie and pulled it on. The inside was soft fleece and he lifted the hood up around his head. That was a lot better.

So he was in another world in an alternate version of his body. He could deal with this.

“I’m Kid Nitro,” he whispered, climbing back onto the bed. It took him a long moment to find a comfortable position lying on his side and he wrapped his arms around his legs.

He would find out everything he could about this world and he would make sure no one knew that he didn’t belong. Because if he told the doctors here that they needed to let him out because he was a different Earth’s Franz Caulder, they would think he was crazy and he would only make things more difficult for himself.

He needed to play this cool and smart.

“I’m Kid Nitro.”

TBC…

[table “24” not found /]

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Check out the rest of the hop and all the excellent people that have offered up some great posts and prizes. Spread the word: No more homophobia or transphobia. Equality for everyone.

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May 17th is the International Day Against Homophobia and Transphobia. The link is: http://dayagainsthomophobia.org/.