* * * * *
LEBARON UNIVERSITY
WAKE COUNTY, N.C.
(PRESENT DAY)
Once again, I had to involuntarily shake my head in order to clear it. An action that made the Baronettes smile in derision.
"Disorienting, isn't it?" said their spokesperson/captain: "Your individual telepathy tuning in our hive mind. You could avoid all that inconvenience simply by joining us!"
There was no longer any doubt in my mind that Ken Gambol had not been out of his mind when he wrote the manuscript I was now concealing beneath my suit jacket. These flashbacks I'd been experiencing ("retrocognitive visions" if you wish to be technical), of people I'd never even met, were recurring with too much frequency to be anything but real.
That being said, however, the question became: how was I going to make it past these young ladies blocking the only door in and out of Ken's office?
It swiftly became evident they were going to answer that question for me.
"Enough of this stalling! Ladies? Which of you wishes to have the honor of...indoctrinating him?"
Before any of the other three baton twirlers could reply, they were interrupted by a very loud "KIAI!" Which was followed, almost instantly, by a bright flash of light; a somewhat deafening bang; and a white puff of acrid smoke. Consequently, all four of the young ladies fell to their knees, crying and coughing. While I, on the other hand, had seen the egg-shaped object responsible for their condition arc over their heads just soon enough to begin my descent behind Ken's desk!
I was therefore just enough less afflicted that I could get a running start and leap over their slumped forms as if I were an Olympic high hurdler. Out in the hallway, though, I had to pause for breath and get my bearings.
"Sorry, Professor Grant. But, there's no time. My little flash/bang set off the sprinkler system in that office!"
"Who...?" I began to demand, peering to my right.
All I saw, however, was a figure wearing a black turtleneck beneath a matching leather jacket, baseball cap (sans team logo) and over-the-mouth kerchief.
"What part of 'no time' didn't you understand? Come on!"
He grabbed me by my left wrist, and I just barely kept from losing the manuscript pinned beneath my right arm as I was half-dragged down the hallway toward an exit stairway I knew led directly to the faculty-only parking lot directly behind this building.
Bursting through the double door at the bottom of that stairway, my rescuer suddenly used his black-gloved hands to doff his low-budget mask. Throwing both cap and kerchief into a nearby trash can. Followed by another egg-shaped explosive even more pyrotechnical than the first! After that, he practically threw me into the back seat of a waiting Kia Sorrento (like the losing opponent in a judo match) before slamming shut the door and jumping into the shotgun seat.
It was only after I had somehow managed to pick myself up off the floor of the rear compartment, and seat myself properly, that I felt calmed down enough to repeat my earlier question. Albeit, in fuller--and louder--detail.
"JUST WHO THE BLAZES ARE YOU PEOPLE???"
My rescuer gave me a smile that I was sure was only half-shameless, at best.
"Sorry for my initially bad manners, Professor. My name is Chet Northfield. And, our get-away driver, here, is Kevin McCloskey."
tbc
Giantess World
Author's Chapter Notes:
JASON GRANT''S P.O.V.