Synchronizing... INSTRUCTION MANUAL NOT FOUND!
Suit Containment Pocket: EMPTY
Containment Case Pocket: EMPTY
Searching with normal range... NOT FOUND
Commencing UNAIDED Power Up Sequence
Scanning current spatial location...
Scanning current global location...
Scanning current universal location...
Translating celestial/local time equivalent...
- power up complete -
Bi-Pedal Humanoid Power Suit ( .17.231) now active
Reason for Initial Power-Down: Extended disuse detected
Length of disuse (local meas.): 9 Dys 4:54:65.72 hrs mark
Disintegration Count-Down: Interrupted
Reason for interrupt: Previous user detected (HINKLEY, RALPH)
Voice-print match: NEGATIVE
DNA match: working... ... ... ... ...
ERROR: Unable to verify from containment case
User/HINKLEY required to engage with suit directly
WARNING: User/HINKLEY gender non-match to User/HATHAWAY
User/HINKLEY: larger mass, two-piece design required
Upon DNA verification, case-aided transmogrification begins
Time to completion of resize/redesign (local): 0:22.91 hrs
waiting... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
Containment Case WARNING: Activated!
DNA match to User/HINKLEY: (pending)
Opening allowed, activating interior light
Contact with User/HINKLEY...
NEGATIVE! DNA NO-
"Oh, man," Kevin said to the darkened empty living room. "I was just kidding about the kinky stuff."
On the table next to the open black case, Kevin dropped the key he used to get into Holly's Bunny Ranch, as he liked to call it. Well, Sarah's Bunny Ranch now, and wasn't that a weird thought? The innuendo didn't quite fit plain old Sarah as well as it did her MILF mother (and, actually, shouldn't there be a few extra letters added on now, code for Mom I'd Like to Fuck If She Wasn't Dead: MILF-IS-WD?)
In a way, Kevin knew his mind was disengaging. He was having a real hard time wrapping his head around the... outfit he was now pulling out of the case he had found in Holly's (Sarah's) hall closet. "This is not what I imagined when I thought of rifling through Holly's underwear..." he said under his breath.
But other than some weird kind-of roleplaying, this costume couldn't really be for kinky stuff, he thought. Although it was probably form-fitting on a woman, he wouldn't really call it sexy, per se. It seemed to have a turtleneck, not a plunging neckline, and no short skirt or high-heeled boots that all the comic book heroines would wear. No, this looked like what Holly Do-Gooder might wear if she really wanted to go out and start fighting bad guys, not just helping stray cats. And he had NO idea what the symbol on the chest stood for; it looked kinda Chinese, or maybe an origami bird of some sort. Not something obvious like a big "S", or "HH", or "CRL" (Look out, here comes Crazy Rabbit Lady!)
Of course, maybe instead of "HH" it should say "RH". Sarah did say that Holly was borrowing it from my father.
Now THAT would be kinky! As mad as he usually got when thinking about Dear Old Dad, it was hysterical to think about his father running around Los Angeles in his red spandex suit, chasing bank robbers, fighting bad guys, hosting Saturday Night Live...
Hosting Saturday Night Live?! Where the hell did that thought come fro-
And suddenly, the thought became even clearer, as though it had actually happened: A pre-teen Kevin, sitting up late at night, alternating between staring at his mother with her mouth wide open, and staring at his father on the TV screen, just finishing up his goofy Groucho Marx impersonation ON LIVE NATIONAL TELEVISION (well, taped for the West Coast); his father, starting his opening monologue as though he was a movie star or sitcom actor or football quarterback-
Whoa, my father was never on SNL! Why would he be? He's just a high school administrator, not a celebrity or an athlete.
Well, then again, there was that time he pitched for the California Stars. Maybe it happened around the same ti- PITCHED FOR THE STARS?!
Kevin dropped the suit back into the black box he found it in, and shook his head like a wet dog. Man, I'm tired, was his last coherent thought as he closed the lid and picked it up and headed back for the closet. Since his brain had pretty much started running on auto-pilot, it wasn't a conscience decision that changed the movement from putting the box back wear he found it, to instead reaching up with one hand and just pulling the light cord inside. The other hand bobbled the case a bit, since it went from holding the case up near eye-level to sticking it under his arm, but the movement was still pretty fluid considering. Forgetting how he had planned to check Sarah's animals after finding out what was in the box (box? what box?), he grabbed the key back off the table, locked the front door on his way out, and dropped it back in the rabbit-shaped pot.
As Kevin continued on auto-pilot, merging onto the I-5 southbound on his way back to his house in Anaheim, the freeway noise easily drowned out the faint whirring noise of the black box on the seat beside him, busily working on the contents within...