Less than an hour after his husband had discovered the reason for Brad's apparent "disappearance," Brad found himself trapped in the nightmarish scenario of still being trapped in fly form while rendered flightless with both his enormous father and brother out to exterminate him. Almost quaking with fear, the gulf between fellow humans and his new Chronivac-imposed form had never felt so wide.
His hiding place had been rendered pointless after Sal casually picked up the cloth napkin and gave it a light shake, dislodging the hidden insect, which had ended on its back, six wiry legs splayed in the air as it fought panic and a ticking clock to right itself. If only Mark would return with the batteries and save him...
The tiny fly's clumsy struggles and fumbling legs brought forth a disdainful look on Jim's face.
“Blast it before it gets away!" Jim hissed.
The little fly twisted and squirmed, finally landing on all six legs just as Sal aimed the towering canister in the insect’s direction.
In multiple images from his compound eyes, Brad saw his brother’s colossal fingertip poised over the nozzle, ready to spritz him with the toxic spray.
“Sal! No!” Brad’s panic must have done something to switch on his wings. With a shrill buzz, he took flight just as Sal pressed the nozzle.
“It’s me! I’m not a real bug!”
Due to his father egging him on, Sal pulled back the spray can's trigger with amused glee.
The first jet of toxin splashed against the countertop where seconds earlier the fly had been struggling.
Brad had little time to celebrate the near miss before his father swung a heavy tube of glossy magazine paper at him, forcing him to veer back in Sal’s direction.
“Sal! It’s me! Don’t…”
Sal frowned at the tiny, buzzing thing and sprayed again.
SPLASH!
The jet of toxin squirted the fly, which rolled in agony, wings faltering, the liquid that was now coating its tiny form burning like acid. The toxins wasted no time in causing a cascading failure along the insect’s entire neurosystem.
Nerve cells fired in continuous spasms, causing uncoordinated movements, tremors, and convulsions.
Brad’s thoughts misfired in random bursts as the catastrophic breakdown commenced.
No. Not bug. Not bug. Not bug. Not bug…
He crashed onto countertop tiles. Six legs twitched and jerked as his sodden wings buzzed to no effect. The mental stuttering grew worse.
Not bug! Not bug!
Brad looked up through icy flame at the fierce expressions on the massive faces of his sibling and father.
Not…not…not…not… fired in his brain in a rapid staccato.
A face loomed overhead, framed by a halo of too-bright light and expressing disgust.
“You got the sucker!” Jim exclaimed approvingly.
Me. Brad. Bug.
Sal squinted at the drenched fly. "Gross! It's still twitching."
Jim positioned the magazine over the bug.
A bug? A bug? A bug? No! Wait!
Brad saw himself receding far back into a tunnel. Only he wasn’t holding a mental image of himself. He had switched over and saw himself as the bug.
A distant voice echoed through the dark tunnel. “Brad, I’m home!”
Mark. Not a bug. Not a bug. Not a…
Jim slammed down the magazine.
Silence followed the thunder.
Jim, having finished off the writhing, disgusting bug beneath the magazine, turned to welcome his startled son-in-law.
“Brad with you?” Jim asked.
“It’s obvious he’s not.” Sal didn’t disguise his impatience as he held out the borrowed can of bug spray to Mark, who was already clutching a bag of batteries in his other hand.
Mark looked sick as he clutched the canister of insecticide.
“What…” Mark glanced at the can.
“Exterminamos un insecto feo,” Jim chuckled and placed the magazine on the counter, glossy cover and Brad’s crushed form face up.
“No charge,” Sal interjected with a short laugh of his own.
With Mark looking sicker every moment, they quickly made their excuses and departed, leaving Mark to stare at the negligible remains staining the glossy cover of the magazine.