Dexter’s Laboratory Porn Story: Dimensional Terror Chapter 1

Is it totally insane to write an actual long semi-deep chaptered story for so outrageous a cartoon show as “Dexter’s Laboratory”? Probably… but I was inspired to do it anyway. Like all my fics, this one will focus on Mandark. This story takes place a few weeks after the culmination of Ego Trip, so while having seen Ego Trip is not vital to understanding this story, it’d probably help. ^_^;
Constructive criticism, whether you like this story or not, is always greatly appreciated, so by all means use the happy little Review form down below. Oh yes, just so you know. I rated this fic PG-13 mostly because of the sheer complexity that the plot will eventually have, and also some minute swearing and semi-adult themes in later chapters. Don’t worry about it, though. I know better than to desanctify a cartoon (or do I?). Everyone thank Honoria Glossop for beta reading this for me and forcing me to write on it all weekend, and may she never forget the Artsy S.
11.03.2001: I’ve revised a lot of this chapter, and made it a bit longer. Feel free to reread it and don’t forget to review.

“Dexter’s Laboratory” is Y 1996 Hanna-Barbera Productions and Cartoon Network.
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The rhythmic raindrops splashing against his windowpane were driving him insane. Gripping the gnawed pencil between scrawny digits, he stared at the numbers as they blurred on the paper before him. Peace would not come without tremendous effort. He thought of the test the next day, and how vital it was that he did perfectly on it, how crucial it was to all his plans… But another notion entered his mind, one of a far worse predicament, and quaking with anger, he soon found himself with two snapped halves of a pencil.

“Blast,” he muttered, and tossed the useless pieces of wood into a trash bin at the side of his diminutive writing desk. The tapping of the rain entered his consciousness again. Could he have no reprieve? He squeezed his eyes shut, envisioning the possibility of another A minus and the disgrace that would accompany it, that face that would rise above all the rest to ridicule him so gleefully. No, it cannot happen again! Clenching his tongue firmly between his teeth, he tried to speed through the assignment, but despite his fears he felt could muster motivation to continue.

School had never really been a place for him to learn anything; he went there daily and was only reminded of things he already knew from countless previous experiments and studies he’d either read about or had conducted for himself. There was no need to put any effort into the work. So why couldn’t he focus long enough to jot down even one simple answer? Something treacherous would not leave his mind- that impending thought had to be the source of all this frustration- and if he did not do anything about it, it would consume him. He slumped forward and let his forehead come to rest on the desk. “I need a break.”

After a moment’s contemplation he leaped up and stormed his way to the closet door. Shoving a row of hangers aside in the cramped and dank storage space, he stepped through the gap in the pressed white button-down shirts and crisp blue shorts and was abruptly engulfed in an ethereal white glow.

Black thorny pipes and walkways swirled in all directions, workstations and machinery of similar dcor branching from them at intervals. The whole enormous atrium radiated a white aura that was impeded only by those parasitic silhouettes. At the heart of this sector floated an oval superstructure with spikes and spirals and narrow stairs and, though not visible from the entrance in which he stood, the command centre that kept functioning the entire facility. A steady pulse emanating from its fiberoptic veins gave a hollow sense of solitary life to the cold black figures and washed over him every time he entered the chamber, as though there were binary numbers being pumped through his own body, all part of one solid heartless machine. How bitter and colourless life in this country has made me, he resigned. It was towards this superstructure that he ran.

“The D-5 simulator,” he instructed one of his waiting robot servants when he reached a partition high up in the tower. He slipped on thick insulated gloves with numerous wires and circuits flowing from their seams, and removed black goggles from their peg on the partition’s wall. With the goggles strapped onto his rounded head, he found himself standing upon a green grid traced against solid black.

He looked around himself; wiggled his fingers in front of his eyes. “Loading,” rumbled a woman’s voice as it reverberated through the vast field. Abruptly his school-clothes changed to an elegant Edwardian costume- a rich burgundy velvet waistcoat was wrapped over a silky white shirt, and garnished with a black lace cravat. Heavy black pants were tucked into leather riding boots that nearly reached his skinny knees. He smoothed one of the pant legs and grinned.

“D-5 simulator, Level 36.” The grid flickered, then snapped into a chthonic environment of jagged black mountain peaks surrounding him on all sides. A swirling red tint devoured the horizons and bled down the faces of the range. He was perched deep within the gulch, on a small outcropping that wound its way through the chain of craggy rocks, halting before a particularly large one where he stood. A shaft of light burst into the vespertine air; an illumined doorway laid out in front of him.

“Hello?” he called out, but the only answer was the whistling of the dry wind as it whipped its way through the canyon walls. He took a step forward, hearing the pebbles and broken stones crunching underfoot, and tried to discern a means to get around the large formation and find some sort of a trail.

There was a screech and a flaming black shape appeared in front of him, gaping holes the only indicator of eyes or a mouth, and it began to lunge for him at an incredible speed. “Ray gun,” he announced, and a red-barreled firearm appeared in his right hand. The blasts from his weapon at first appeared to have no effect on the demon, but then it began to dissipate and fade away, and with a haunting cry it vanished into the howling wind.

He rounded the corner of the outcropping to discover a lever set into the floor of the path. Upon pulling the lever, a shaft of light burst into the vespertine air; an illumined doorway laid out in front of him.

On booted feet he crossed the threshold, and with a snap the omniscient light ceased to be. The door had closed behind him. His breath was the only sound indicating that anything existed in that ultimate darkness, with not even the faint sounds of wind to rustle the room, and he could distinguish no shapes. “Lantern.” A glowing orb flickered in his outstretched left palm. “All right, Holy Light will do,” he muttered to himself.

Throwing malicious shadows that smothered the landscape, he rotated through the room and investigated its composition. A swirling staircase of endless length crept up the far wall of the large foyer like a dark vine against the crumbling walls. Jumbled metal statues were situated at intervals on the rotting wooden floors, some partially covered with filthy canvases, others broken or only half-assembled.

“Skeleton key.” He began to ascend the stairs despite their groans of objection under even his meager weight.

“You do not have that item.”

Frowning, he slowly repeated, “Skeleton key.”

“You do not have that item,” the voice confirmed.

The stairs creaked deafeningly beneath him. “Key?” he whimpered.

“You do not have that item.”

He sighed and continued his climb. The steps winded through the air, spanning over a seemingly endless valley of the foyer far below with its imposing spears of steely artwork glinting back. His ball of light could not outline the path more than eight feet on all sides; it was as if something rank in the musty air was pushing the light back in on itself, devouring it. That same filthy breeze grew stronger as he perdured

“I know that smell,” he snarled. The memory did not, however, yield any identifying label. His focus drifted from the stench when he noticed that thin slivers arranged in the pattern of a doorway’s outline were at last visible in the distance.

“You do not have that item-“

“Oh, shut up.”

He reached out for the door when at last he had arrived at its precipice, but at the touch of his hand, it disappeared. “What-“

Before he could say any more, he was jettisoned to the centre of a brilliant room, sprawled on his back, forced to stare at the harsh fluorescence that yielded no other forms but a glowing white light. “Welcome to my lair. I see you’ve found your way.” Although he could distinguish see but the creamy glow of the room, that affected voice was too familiar

The glare faded to reveal a short boy with shocking orange hair hovering above him. “You!” he cried. The boy curled his lips and his glasses furrowed maliciously to match his wicked grin.

“Yes, it is I, and I believe I have something that you might want.” He gestured to the far end of the domed room with its moulded walls and baroque ceiling, where an intricate wrought iron cage of black stood. The boy on the floor followed with his dazed eyes, and gasped.

“Help me get out of here!” wailed the beautiful maiden inside the distant cage. “Please, oh please, help!” He could not see her clearly enough to verify her identity, but if he knew his enemy well, he was certain who the saintly prisoner must be. Only one foe could be so cruel as to taunt him by imprisoning his heavenly angel!

He scrambled to his feet. “Fear not, my love, for I will rescue you! Foil!” The blaster he had been clutching transformed into a thin fencing sword, which he quickly swung to point at the short boy.

“Not so fast,” his opponent slurred. With that, a sabre of his own clashed against the taller boy’s blade, and they locked their foils against each other for a few moments. Sweat was visible on the shorter boy’s brow just under the edge of his fiery hair, and dripping down onto his suit of black and orange. The hero felt no fear, no hesitation, in the face of his worst nemesis. Only total confidence would allow him to preponderate and save the fair damsel.

“You know that you have no chance to beat me, you incompetent fool. Whatever you can create, I shall destroy. I am the one and only boy genius, and now this world shall be mine!” His eyes bulged and his orange hair quivered to accentuate the proclamation.

Swiftly the adventurer retracted his sword and made a new jab at the villain, who deflected the shot. He grunted. “Your evil ways shall not prevail. Besides, this is my game and I designed it. I will win!”

“Ha! Are you kidding?” He attacked but the taller boy parried. “You never have been able to defeat me!” He began to laugh, a tortured, raspy laugh, his round body shaking.

It was at that moment that the protagonist safely sliced his rapier into the boy’s side. The villain’s eyes began to widen, and then he blinked out of existence.

“I did it! I defeated him!” He cast the foil aside and threw his arms into the air.

“Congratulations,” came the ubiquitous announcer. “You have won the game.”

But he was not listening. At the far side of the hall he approached the cage, where the beautiful girl in an elaborate pink satin dress crouched. Though her hair was mussed and dirt smudged her face, in those full skirts shimmering with numerous hues of translucent pink and white and with the pearl jewellery that adorned her neck and ears, she resembled a goddess. “Thank you for defeating my evil brother,” she gushed in her melodious tone.

“It was only part of my duty to you, my dear.” The ray gun was in his hand once more. He fired it at the lock on the door and the metal disintegrated, the door to the cage swinging open with a screech of metal.

She leaped from the bars and into his welcoming arms. “I love you,” she swooned, deep blue eyes looking into his own, full of admiration. Holding her frail body against his, he became delirious with the thrill of being so near her, ecstatic to once more see her shining face

“I love you, too.” He ran his fingers through her silky blonde hair.

She leaned towards him and closed her eyes. At last! he thought joyously, puckering his lips in preparation for the utter euphoria he was about to experience. A heavenly scent flooded his nose. Her porcelain face came closer, closer

There was a beep and everything went black.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he cried, yanking the goggles from his head and tossing them aside. He ripped the gloves off of his hands. “Olga!”

A girl much shorter than he but infinitely more terrifying stood next to the wall, twirling an electrical plug in one hand. Two black pigtails arched from either side of her head and she wore a deceivingly innocent pink leotard and tutu, topped off with white tights and pink ballet slippers. Perhaps her attire made her look cute and perky, but her expression was definitely not cuddly, nor was it one of happiness by any stretch of the imagination.

“Where’s my homework, Man-dork?”

He stepped away from her and backed right into a shelf stuffed with containers and test tubes. “I was just finishing it up”

“Yeah, right. from inside your stupid virtual reality world?” She let the unplugged cord fall and took a step towards him. “Apparently there’s something I need to teach you, dorky little brother”

He cowered on the floor, several glass beakers tumbling down around him and shattering. “Please don’t hurt me! I’ll do your homework right now, I promise!” He brought his knees under his chin and curled into a ball.

She strutted over to him and tapped his trembling knees. “You won’t go play kissy-face with your stupid digital Dee Dee?”

“How did you know?” he shrieked, straightening up.

“Maybe it was ‘coz you were doing this.” She scrunched up her nose and began to make smooching noises.

Going red in the face, he lunged towards her threateningly. “Get out of my laboratory and leave me alone!” he howled, before realising what he was doing. When he saw her eyes, though, and the fist she formed, he dropped to his knees in submission and splayed his hands to his sides, almost putting him down to her height. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it! Do to my lab as you like!”

A powerful, compact fist snatched him by the collar and pulled him towards a clenched hand. He squeezed his eyes closed in dread of the coming agony. No punch came He opened one eye, and looked around. “Aren’t you going to beat me up?”

“I’m too tired,” she lamented, and released him. He clattered to the floor amongst the shards of glass. “Just do my homework. I’ll beat you up in the morning, or something. Good night, Mandark.” She began a slow descent down the superstructure’s ramp.

“Good night, Olga.” He sighed and pulled himself back up.

The chamber hummed with the subtle sounds of processors sending data in all directions of the laboratory. He bent over to replug the simulator, but then thought better of it, and instead made his way back to his bedroom. Someday I will defeat Dexter for real. But all he could envision was that eerie scene that had transpired a few weeks back; how he had been plucked from the time-space continuum just after a humiliating failed attempt at infiltrating Dexter’s laboratory, and was forced to suffer through an unbearable ghastly parade of his future failures and ultimate downfall. Granted, he had taken over the world in that future, but no. It could not turn out that way. Is the path of time immutable? No, he did not have leisure time to dwell on such things, not if he wished to live long enough to find out.

Still, as he scratched away with a fresh pencil late into the night on both Olga’s homework and his own, listening to the passing thunderstorm, he could not help but wonder

“Good morning, Mr. Luvinsky,” the rest of the class sang merrily. Mandark only hung his weary head, and tried not to look at the simpering boy next to him, so eupeptic and eager to learn. It made him sick. Dexter always did well in school, but he was usually learning things for the very first time, whereas Mandark had already learnt all the material long ago as a mere toddler in State School 590. As a result, Mandark rarely put much effort into his work, which would occasionally make his grades suffer, but he was far too jaded by the mediocrity of American schools to waste his time on such endeavours. He glanced down at the sloppy homework assignment before him with only a miniscule twinge of regret.

Mr. Luvinsky rubbed at his shiny forehead. “Good morning, class! Please pass your math homework from last night to the front.” A smug Dexter grabbed the paper off of Mandark’s desk and placed it on his own.

Oh, how he hated that fool!

Burning behind Dexter’s thick glasses were eyes far too proud for their own good, surveying all that they saw as their personal dominion. And, alas, Mandark had viewed that to be true. If the events of the past few weeks really predicted the course of the future, Dexter would leave him absolutely nothing, not so much as his own corpse so that he may decompose in solitude. Instead he would be no more than a perverse addition to a museum that would pay grotesque patronage to that short orange-haired twit. Mandark would be mocked and scorned. And with every peek at one another, they both knew it; both recalled the denouement that had been prescribed for them. They had not spoken since it all happened- not that they spoke much anyway, unless it was to argue- and yet that was all the more agonising to Mandark, to stare at that smiling moron and know of that fatal blow Dexter would deal him in years to come!

“Today’s first lesson will be different in that we’re going to study something we wouldn’t normally cover- the subject of time travel and the different dimensions. I hope this will be a nice break from all the astronomy we’ve been working on. Can anyone name the three dimensions?”

Even Mr. Luvinsky tormented him! The mere mention of time was enough to fill Mandark with a rage so volatile it was a wonder he didn’t spontaneously combust. He scrubbed narrow fingers through his shimmering black hair in an effort to divert his mind and fixated his eyes on an overhead projector in the corner of the room.

Receiving no responses, the teacher informed them, “Well, there is the first dimension, which is length, or width.” The portly man drew a straight line on the chalkboard. “Can anyone tell me the second? Anyone?” Dexter waved his arm around wildly but Mr. Luvinsky ignored him. “Haven’t any of you read A Wrinkle in Time?”

Mandark emotionlessly copied the line into his notebook.

“Second is the dimension of height.” He turned the line into a square. “Do you know the third dimension, class? Please tell me someone has read Flatland or Sphereland Aren’t these things on your reading list for Mrs. Wolfberg?” Empty faces gazed back at him as though they weren’t hearing anything at all.

Hunching over his desk, Mandark tried to evade Dexter’s notice. Something malicious was in that boy’s smile as he flailed his hand in the air, was in the way he curved his brow

Mr. Luvinsky transformed the square on the board into a cube. “Now we add depth. This is the dimension of our world, where we can see three sides of the cube at once, can sense the depth of objects. Drawings and things printed on paper are only two dimensional, but when you involve the depth of something as in a sculpture or bas relief, it has three.” He looked around the classroom, then finally pointed to Dexter and asked, “Dexter? Can you tell us what the fourth dimension is, the one that we can’t see?”

Dexter straightened in his desk, and Mandark turned his head away and instead noted the intricate patterns made by the flecks on the linoleum floor. “Well, Mr. Luvinsky, the fourth dimension is that of time- as I’m sure my colleague Mandark here can tell you.” He swiveled to the taller boy and gave him a flagistic look. “Or would you rather I call you Overlord?”

That cruel flat laughter excoriated Mandark’s nerves and made him cringe. That jerk! For weeks he does not speak to me, and when he finally does, it is only to mock me and remind me of my sad doom! And yet the worst of it was not done. Three times over he would experience the anguish of defeat against Dexter, and every time he would remain helpless to change the course. Over and over until he was in his final form, locked into that gloomy fate. Could he do nothing to change that haunting premonition?

“Thank you, Dexter, that is correct.” The instructor pretended to not hear the last statement, as he had long since learned not to involve himself in the boys’ constant rivalry. “If we could see the dimension of time it would be like seeing the act of motion. I could wave my hand like this-” he demonstrated- “and you could see, at the same time, my hand when it was down here, up here at the top of its arc, and down over here.”

Mandark blinked and held his own hand in front of him and shook it. If he did it fast enough, he actually could see the flowing of his own hand at both sides of its motion at once

“The fourth dimension is best described in Slaughterhouse V– but don’t go reading that! I don’t want your parents angry with me!” He chuckled. “In that book, there are aliens who live in the fourth dimension, and they are always getting tossed around in time to different points of their life. They know how the universe will end, but choose to do nothing about it, for they feel it is simply the way time is constructed and it is not their place to alter that.”

Mandark became aware that Dexter was giving him a sly grin. Irritated, he stuck his tongue out at the unruly dissenter.

“But they describe the ability to see time as looking at an entire mountain range. They liken a human’s three-dimensional view to being strapped to a slow-moving train, being forced to look straight at the mountain range without the ability to turn your head to see the beginning of it or the end, and then to only be able to look at a very tiny section of the range through a lead pipe.” He replaced the chalk in its tray, stirring up more dust as he did so. “Now then. Any questions?”

Feeling an awkward kinship with the extra-terrestrials, Mandark raised his hand. “Yes, Mandark?”

“The aliens think a human’s view of time is limited, and yet they themselves can do nothing to alter it. But we can restructure our three dimensions, to an extent. Why can’t they change their fourth?”

After frowning pensively for a moment, Mr. Luvinsky replied, “Slaughterhouse V is only one way of representing the fourth dimension. The book focuses on many things, including World War II and man’s own helplessness no matter what dimension he exists in.” He glanced curiously at all the students staring at him in confusion. “It was a rather existentialist book.” Mandark looked downcast. “There are other approaches to fourth-dimensional theories, though. H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine shows man in a fairly active rle in the shifting of time, as does Bradburys The Sound of Distant Thunder– though it too is pretty bleak.”

The Time Machine of course! At last he began to smile. Man was capable of shifting time to his own wishes. “Nothing is inalterable if you control time,” he uttered to himself.

“What are you talking about?” Dexter demanded. “You can’t change time! What has happened will always happen, for it already did!”

Mandark scowled at him. “It hasn’t happened yet. We’re still sitting right here in fourth grade.”

“Three more times I will defeat you, and there is nothing you can do about it, Man-dork,” he concluded with a self-satisfied smirk. Yes, Dexter definitely had his ego on the brain at all times.

Infuriation rippled through Mandark’s body. “I can change the course of my life. Making different decisions will inevitably lead me down an entirely different path, and I will destroy you, Dexter.”

There was more laughter from the little boy. “Yeah, right. You couldn’t change a reactor’s cooling rods.”

“Mandark? Dexter?” bellowed the angry instructor. “Are you done yet, or would you rather settle your differences in detention?”

They both hung their heads. “We’re sorry, Mr. Luvinsky.”

“That’s better.” He scowled at them. “Okay, class. You may have ten minutes to study your notes in silence before we take our test over long division”

“Now that we are on speaking terms again, Mandark, why don’t we talk about what happened the other week?” questioned Dexter as they left the classroom.

Mandark ceased mid-stride, slowly drawing his brown Oxford shoes back to a standing position. “Is there something you wanted to discuss regarding it?”

“Well, I guess there’s really nothing to discuss,” he grinned. “It’s now indisputable that I’m better than you!”

“That is not true.” Mandark struggled to keep his voice cool, but he could feel his face heating up. “The future may be changed any moment by something I may or may not do, Dexter, and where will that leave you? Caught up in your own fantasies only to be severely disappointed? At least I’ve learned from my future mistakes.”

A lengthy snort burst from Dexter’s mouth. “Whatever you say, Overlord.”

“As I seem to recall, it wasn’t really you who defeated that hideous misrepresentation of me, now was it?” As they rounded a corner in the dingy hallways, Mandark finally indulged himself in a satisfactory smirk.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Dexter growled. “That stupid girl-“

“Dee Dee is not stupid!” He had almost regained control of himself, but with that comment his temper had been unleashed in full. The nerve of Dexter to blame all his faults on that gracious seraph who was the only beacon Mandark had to follow in his otherwise dark life- especially if the imprecation was true! “Maybe if you didn’t spend all your time drenching yourself in your own ego, you’d see that she’s much brighter than you give her credit for!”

A raised brow hinted that Dexter was unconvinced. “So many delusions plague you, Mandark. So desperate are you to defeat me that you will try to disprove the basic principles of time, and so infatuated are you with my idiotic sister that you call her brilliant and refuse to hate her even when she obliterates you!”

“So you admit it was her doing, then.” He permitted the boastful look to overtake his face, and dropped his arms to his sides.

Dexter grimaced. “You you I hate you! Get out of my sight!”

“Hi, Dexter!” rang out a voice.

The girl who pranced up to them wore pink ballet shoes and a matching leotard and tutu. Two tufts of blonde pigtails were painstakingly sculpted to perfection on top of her head, bouncing gingerly with every step she took. A broad smile was perpetually carved into her face beneath wide blue eyes that scanned everything around her with a sense of wonder. Her eyes, her hair, the way she glitters like the stars… In Mandark’s mind, she was the pinnacle of beauty.

“Dee Dee” Mandark gasped, and clutched at his chest. Just being near her was like bathing in honey and soaking in all the aesthetic juices of a gorgeous sunset. She was the ultimate inspiration to him, the only means he knew to carry on in his otherwise menial existence. The way she sparkled with every step she took; it filled his heart with incomparable joy! If only she would return his passions. If only she would see what a wonderful suitor to her he could be

Her pointed nose turned upwards. “Ew. It’s Mandark.”

He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips with the intention of kissing it gently. “Hello, my dear,” his nasally voice squeaked as he attempted to sound suave.

“Get away from me!” she cried, and yanked her hand away. “See you later, Dexter!” Turning, she skipped away, her kinetic vibes brightening the hallway as she exuded vivacity.

Mandark uttered a dramatic sigh. “She’s so wonderful.”

“Get real,” Dexter moaned. “You can’t possibly know what it’s like to have her invading your laboratory, ruining all of your inventions.”

Crossing his arms, Mandark snapped, “I beg to differ.”

Puddles of rain populated the streets from the previous night’s shower, and the world was still coated in a murky grey by the clouds that had yet to disperse themselves. The neighbourhood through which he walked was wedged uncomfortably between the rustic homes on the border of downtown and the antiseptic new structures of the suburbs- a deteriorating baby boomer locale filled with middle-class nuclear families not quite sufficiently inspired nor financed to move further out. Nothing like the orderly familiarity of Russian apartment blocks, Mandark observed with much disdain.

Dexter was shuffling away in the other direction on his squatty legs, Dee Dee prancing alongside him. With every pirouette, her legs arced in such a graceful display and she so delicately moved her head he wanted to throw roses to her and hold her lovingly in his arms for the rest of eternity. How Mandark would love to be in his place! Instead he glanced at Olga. The scowl more bitter than months-old milk made Mandark want to hide until he could be absolutely certain her infuriation had blown over- if ever it would. She was not happy about something, and probability was high that she would take it out on him.

As soon as they reached the yellow-sided house, Mandark rushed inside and headed for the stairs, hoping to escape the fit of rage his sister was no doubt preparing to throw. Let me make it to my room, he prayed while pounding up the staircase. His feet thudded and slipped on the nasty carpet that was most likely the original carpet placed in the house. It was certainly dirty enough. He reached the hall, and soon his hand extended to turn the doorknob-

It was too late. The shackle of Olga’s claw was already around his ankle, and began to pull him away from the hacienda. He tried to push away with his other foot but to no avail. Now he could only anticipate the violence that was about to be vented. “What do you want?” he sobbed.

“Obviously I didn’t make myself clear to you last night,” chastised the stocky girl. “When I told you to do my homework, I meant for you to do it right.”

“What-” He swallowed. “What do you mean?”

She flung him to the ground with only a slight twitch of her wrist; his joints creaked in protest. “Three of the answers were wrong. A B! I got a B! You’re supposed to be some kind of a super-genius-” she leaned into his face- “but you’re nothing more than a rotten, ignorant, dorky, dead little brother.”

Ive never gotten a B on anything in my whole life before! No! This cant be true! But his initial shock at having gotten three questions wrong was overpowered by her last statement. “Dead?”

The haunting smile made it clear what she meant, but the swift punch to the stomach solidified it. I was tired. I couldn’t concentrate. It’s all that Dexter’s fault! He keeps terrorising me from within my own mind! All those thoughts were dulled gradually, though, as the blows continued to come.

He studied the intricacies of his ceiling; the uneven spreading of the paint, the visible brush strokes, the cracks and chips and holes We were better off in Russia. Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Before the Soviet Union’s fall, an era he could barely remember, home was a posh penthouse in an elaborate socialist-style building overlooking the Volga River. His parents were both heads of their respective government departments, and at State School 590 he was the star. Even Olga was nicer then. He winced while trying to move his arm. But then the State collapsed, and while everyone else was free, the Nomenoffs and all other state officials were lucky to even be alive.

I guess we are better here, he conceded. Except for that Dexter! He had to change the future; he had to end it now! He began to soar from his bed and crumpled to the floor. “Ow.”

Slowly he fought to stand up while incurring as little pain as possible. Perhaps there was something he could do There, tossed haphazardly onto the cascade of books and papers and folders on his desk, were the notes he had taken in class that morning. Glaring directly at him was the three-dimensional cube.

Is that the answer? He swiped the paper away and darted for the closet, ignoring his body’s throbs of protest.

He scanned one aisle of the imposing, writhing black structures in his laboratory, then glanced down another. Where was that contraption? He knew just how to reset it; just what he needed to do. Curling dark silhouettes of various stations warranted no signs of the machine. He scurried to another sector. At the end of the row was a hoop fixed onto the base, made in the same monochromatic style as the rest of the chamber. “Yes”

Snapping his goggles onto his face, he approached the controls of the machine. Just rewire a few cords, calibrate these settings properly Perhaps half an hour’s work, and I’ll be set!

“Your prescience will not prevail, Dexter,” he incanted upon completing his tweakings, strapping the control watch to his wrist. “Time will be mine to do with as I please.”

He was fully aware that he was talking to no one but himself. None were ever around to appreciate his brilliance, his creativity, his application of science and mathematics, his diabolical laugh. But that had never stopped him from throwing his head back and cackling madly before.

The machine stuttered at first with the painful sound of steel grating steel, but then crescendoed into a fantastic rotating buzz as its centrifuge spun. Whirling, gyrating, squealing to function The view inside the hoop began to waver and distort.

“Time machines only manipulate the fourth dimension to reach their desired destination in the third,” Mandark declared, banging the lid to the command console shut. “But now I will actually control time.”

At the top of the staircase leading up to the ring, one foot in front of the other, he began to step through.

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Constructive criticism is my best friend. No, really! And so is Honoria Glossop for beta reading this for me. ^_^ Chapter 2 is now up, so use the link above to go read it.

The Mandarkers Society
/mandark