Kamen Rider Ego: Stories of Glory, Amazement, and Perversion!

This prototype is for my NaNoWriMo in November, but I wanted to see how it held up on its own. The premise of the story is very similar to Out of the Battle Arena, only this time the main character is Shot Riders, a confident writer who encounters a character he wrote named Kenjin. They then team up against an organization which is causing all sorts of fictional characters to bond to people in the school with terrible results! On the way, Shot will meet, fight with, and seduce anyone who gets in the way with his peeping adventures, so enjoy!

For those unfamiliar to the Kamen Rider series, think Power Rangers, but better. Kamen Rider Ego has two Forms, Dark Form and Light Form, the former of which will be introduced in this chapter.

Another thing, I didn't name any of the characters other than the main character. Meh, we'll deal with that later, for now enjoy!

Kamen Rider Ego: Journey to the Center of the Locker Room!
By Power Shot
One of the most noticeable features of any good high school, other than hair in cafeteria food, are the locker rooms. Depraved, disgusting places filled with mold, caked with the smell of sweat all year round, the walls cracked as if in memorial of the thousands of wedgies administered there to harmless nerds, their crimes naught but wearing glasses that went out of style before their births. Yes, such is the locker room, a horror-ridden corridor surrounded by lockers and jocks, even more terrifying than any English pop quiz. It was there that a hero walked towards, his head always glancing this way and that way when he would notice a rather nice shorter-than-dress-code-standards miniskirt attached preferably to attractive women and, only on rare accidental occasions, the high school’s traditional Scottish dancing team.

I really don’t think this is a good idea.

The hero paused, and decided that it was the perfect time to quench an imaginary thirst with water that contained the sweet tang of metallic steel as a result of poor plumbing. He bent his head towards the fountain, and a ‘fresh’ trickle of water escaped the nozzle. However, the amount drizzling could not have watered a single blade of grass, so he pressed harder on the button, inching his mouth closer and closer to the opening. His hard work was rewarded by a blast of freezing water that drenched the majority of his face and a fair portion of his hair. This effort earned him the apparent amusement of two girls passing by, who made a reference to going scuba diving the next week before leaving down the hallway he himself was heading in.

“I think,” said he, blowing water out of his nose, “that I need a better way to talk to you that doesn’t involve me going for a light swim.” He lifted his head, the girls had opened the door to the locker room and had drawn one another inside. “Now then, let’s find out the cheerleader squad’s dirty little secret, shall we?” His grin widened.

This is astounding, Shot Riders. You have my powers, my abilities, and you chose to use them to peep on your classmates.

Shot Riders, for that was the teenager’s name, proudly nodded his head. “Yes I do,” he replied, like a man running for public office confirming his support of a project. “And you, Kenjin, should be quite honored to be assisting me in such a noble, magnificent plan. After all, I did create you. Copyright laws says I get to do what I want with you.” The spirit that had taken up residence in some portion of Shot’s brain sighed audibly at the teenager’s intentions, but reluctantly conceded that the egomaniac was correct. Satisfied that his point was proven, Shot proceeded down the hall, every bit the secret agent his whimsical imagination believed himself to be. He crouched as he walked, stealthily approaching the object of his desires: the female locker room. He surveyed the surrounding hallway; no one was there, and the camera was facing the wrong way. He grinned, this was going to be easier than he expected. “Okay, Kenjy, let’s make the magic happen.”

You might find this fun, Shot Riders, but I think it degrading of your potential.

He brushed off the comment. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, “losing potential, disappointed, track loop of my parents at dinnertime, blah, blah, blah. Take it up with your union representative if you find something wrong with the way I exploit your powers.” He put his hand on the door knob, and closed his eyes in concentration.

When he opened them, his eyes had transformed, no longer brown amber but entirely black, even the whites had faded into darkness. But the pigments in the irises had lightened, becoming silver, or perhaps a sort of off-white, Shot couldn’t tell the exact color from the reflection in the door’s window. But the unique eyes were necessary to use the powers of the fictional character that had merged with his brain.

He imagined a five-hundred pound mound of fat.

His hands grew into gelatinous blobs with five fat fingers attached, so hard that he could only just barely curl it into a fist. His arm, so slender and muscular, transformed from the epitome of perfection into two slabs of gristle that required him to expand the size of his Hawaiian shirt several times. He imagined breasts developing, huge hunks of ham attached to his chest. He did, after all, need a good cover to enter the locker room without the ensuing resulting beating any man would have obtained for such rudeness.

Finally, what looked like something between Paris Hilton and a killer whale stood in the exact position that Shot Riders had been standing in. Of course, thought the pervert, it was still him. The disguise was only an illusion, an eye trick to fool the girls. He grinned, his teeth now covered with metal. “Well,” he said, his transformed voice a clanking and spit-filled lisp, “let’s have some fun.”

He opened the door to the dank, narrow area. Despite it being a locker room, it smelt rather nice, but that could have just as easily been because of Shot’s perverted nose. He stepped through, and closed the door behind him. He heard people moving inside, and prayed to every supernatural being he could think of from Allah to Zeus, and even including the Flying Spaghetti Monster, that the girls were kissing.

But alas, his prayers were not answered, as the two girls were not smooching as he had hoped for. Instead, they stood by a dark corner of the locker room, chatting together in front of an open locker, its door swinging in tune with the slight breeze of an open window.

“So,” whispered one to the other, “did you bring the stuff?”

The other, a redhead, bobbed her head up and down and produced something from within her purse: a nickel bag of the finest Columbian cocaine known to mankind. Neither of them heard him, because even though he looked on the outside to be capable of exhausting the food supply of a third-world nation, on the inside he was as nimble and quiet as a mouse. It was only until he decided to make himself known, as the two girls were far too engrossed with the apparent snorting of drugs, did he increase the volume of the noise he could make.

With the dignity of a rhino crashing a fancy party, Shot stampeded through the locker room, swinging the bag he had caused to appear in his hand wildly to disrupt the tasting party taking place only ten lockers down. “Oh!” murmured Shot in atrocious falsetto. “I must have forgotten my gym thong in here!” He rushed to a locker, and summoned his influence to make it seem to the girls that he had opened a locker and was rifting through it.

“Look at that whale,” hissed one of the cheerleaders, the blonde leader, in a giggling tone. “How’d she fit through the door?”

“Like, right?” inquired the redhead, her nose white with drugs. “Betcha anything that thong’s right where it was when she left gym, she just can’t find it!” This was, apparently, so amusing it caused both of them to erupt into fits of laughter.

Shot Riders did not like being made fun of, even though it was not really him that was being ridiculed. “Excuse me,” he murmured sweetly, batting his hideously done eyelashes, “were you talking about little old me?”

The blonde smirked. “You got a midget granny behind you?” she retorted, her voice as sweet as venom.

Shot laughed so happily, so cheerfully, that it might have worried someone of lesser importance then the head cheerleader and her lady servant. But they, so arrogant, chose not to concern themselves with the charade the egomaniac was performing for them, and began holding their sides for fear their internal organs might take flight of their bodies from the hilarity.

And that is why they did not notice when Shot strolled right up to them and punched the blonde in the face. Now, Shot was truly a gentleman, at least on the inside, and he had been raised ever since he was a newborn trying to figure out the padlock on his cradle to never touch a lady. To his hard training, he replied boldly that he had not punched a lady.

“Ow!” the cheerleader wailed, as though she had not seen the attack coming. “Why’d you do that?”

“Really?” asked the egomaniac. “You really can’t figure it out?” Shot sighed, sometimes people were really, really dense.

“You witch!” said the redhead. Obviously, she said something else, but it wasn’t a word that Shot liked. The redhead, quick to defend her cheerleader coke gal-pal, leapt forward and grabbed the egomaniac’s arm, to keep the large girl she saw from hurting her friend further. That was when her hand passed through the illusion and touched his skin underneath the magic. “Wait a sec, she’s not real!”

“W-what?” asked the blonde through a very broken nose, which was now bleeding so profusely over her uniform, clashing horribly with the green and white. “She’s not just Free Willy’s stunt double?” She got up quickly, and the redhead continued holding Shot back.

This looks bad, Shot. They’re getting wise.

“Figured that out,” replied Shot. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.” He twisted his arm away, just in time to swerve the redhead off balance and into her friend. To his extreme delight, they fell up each other and clattered to the floor in a lover’s embrace. He flicked out the camera in his phone, and snapped off a photo of the rather intriguing position, along with a snapshot of the cocaine for evidence. “That’s all for today, folks! Remember to tips your cheerleaders!”

As Shot stood taunting, the two girls huddled and rose together, forming some sort of cheerleading stance that made Shot unsure of they were planning to attack of just give him a reassuring pep dance before he ran off to the multimedia room. “It’s that guy, Ego,” the blonde whispered to the redhead, who nodded her head.

“My ears are burning,” said Shot, and he lifted the flab of his arm to his ear. “You two chatterboxes talking about me?”

Both of them had wide grins, wider even than the one adorning the egomaniac’s lips. “You’ll see,” murmured the blonde, her voice dripping with venom that could make a cobra quake. “Do it.”

The redhead shut her eyes, almost in the same way that Shot had when he had summoned Kenjin, and when they opened they flared pink. Deciding that this could in no way be a good thing, Shot began tiptoeing in the direction of the exit. “Well,” he said briskly, “it’s been all kinds of fun, but I really must be going right about now. I think I need to see the nurse, terrible case of mono from the rest of the cheerleading squad. I’m sure the both of you understand.”

But there would be no talking out of this, as the redhead demonstrated. Her hand, so gracefully, mutated from a nigh-flawlessly manicured piece of art into something resembling a gymnast’s ribbon. The other had transformed as well, this one into a puffy pom-pom. Shot definitely decided that now would be a really good time to vanish.

We’d better deal with this one too, Shot. I don’t want there to be another one of these things roaming the halls if we can help it.

“Okay, okay,” Shot grumbled, as he was not the biggest fan of work. “If I beat her up, we go to McDonald’s later?”

I’m not setting foot in that grease-ridden cesspool again.

“Good thing it’s not your foot, isn’t it?” the egomaniac laughed, then turned his attention to the cheerleader, who was transforming into quite an ugly monster. He supposed there was a metaphor there somewhere, about beauty being only skin deep, but he couldn’t find it from the way her face was hardening, transforming into some sort of mask that resembled a cheerleader, as that was probably what the motif of her fictional character was. When the transformation was completed, she growled, and her partner, the blonde grinned and laughed in the most evil way possible, throwing her head back for dramatic effect.

“Get his camera, and take care of him,” the blonde ordered, pointing at the large girl who’s illusion Shot was hiding in. The cheerleader monster snarled, and nodded her head as she charged forward, growling quite savagely.

But Shot Riders had the element of surprise on his side. Keeping the illusion right where it was, the egomaniac simply made himself vanish and stepped out of the big-boned lady, allowing the monster to grab it and rough it up a little, touching up the illusion now and then to give it the realistic rag doll appearance he had so often seen done incorrectly in films. He sidestepped the excited blonde, who’s face was red from the blood pumping her veins full of adrenaline, and settled himself behind her, folding his body with a shadow to keep himself masked and hidden.

He coughed, awaiting their response to the sudden sound, but none came. Perhaps it might have been the attention being given to the rag doll he had left behind, or it might have been the intelligence quotients of the cheerleaders, both of which could have added up together to only just make the expected IQ of a third grader. Either way, neither the monster nor her commander noticed him, so he resorted to the only move remaining in his arsenal that could divert their attention from the fake threat to a real one from behind.

He reached forward and, quite firmly, smacked the perky, plastic-feeling left set of the blonde‘s glutei, who yelped in a surprisingly pleasant tone, and swerved around hunting for the pervert who had dared do so. When she noticed him, she gasped. “Pom-Pom!” she ordered, snapping her fingers. “Got a problem here!” The monster, named obviously Pom-Pom, dropped the fat girl, which promptly dissolved into thin air as a mass of shadows. “Ego’s back here!”

“Oh, yes,” murmured Shot. “Have I mentioned how much I love hiding behind people? It reminds me of my first restraining order…” But now was not the time for reminiscing, as he pulled out his camera and took a quick flash of Pom-Pom and the blonde together. “If only I’d gotten your good sides. You both don’t seem very photogenic.” He put the camera away, and began to advance.

“Come on, freak!” shouted the blonde. “We can take you!”

Shot’s head tilted in confusion. “Sticks and stones may break some bones,” he quoted, a bit off he sensed, “but my fists do the trick just fine too.”

Hurry up and transform. I get the feeling they hate speeches.

He nodded. Thankfully, Shot was quite invisible, at least physically, to his two foes. The shadows he had cloaked himself in, and the deepening of his voice, made recognition impossible. He pulled out a dark belt with a round buckle with the yin-yang symbol so elaborately decorated on it, with two buttons, one on each side of the buckle. Quickly, he clamped it onto his waist, though it clashed horrible with the t-shirt and pants he was wearing, and pushed the button on the left side.

“Henshin!” ordered the egomaniac. “Kamen Rider Ego- Dark Form!”

His uniform, a full muscle suit of black, materialized around him, covering his clothes and his face. Dark purple accents, like additional armor over his biceps and other important parts like his shins and his chest, emerged shortly after from inside the muscle suit. The portion of the suit covering his head changed as well, gaining white eyes that looked suspiciously like a beetle’s with the top looking very much like purple fire frozen upwards.

With his short, but incredibly cool, transformation was complete, Shot grinned beneath his mask, and wondered aloud, “Ready for some fun?” He ran forward, with nothing but the guards on his fists to use as his own protection. “Then let’s go!” He dove right towards the girl who had transformed into Pom-Pom, and threw her to the ground with his own weight.

“Get him!” cheered the blonde.

Hold her down and possess her. We can’t afford anyone walking in on this!

Kamen Rider Ego agreed, he wasn’t as careful when performing in front of a crowd. He snuck behind the monster, as she was currently struggling to regain her footing from the brute force of his blow. “You look drunk,” he noted, as he grabbed her arms and held her still from behind. “You know, too much alcohol can kill brain cells, that might be why you were dumb enough to fall for this.”

She roared in protest, and her breath was foul. So foul, in fact it almost caused Shot to lose his grip. But he maintained through the odor and melded his mind with the monster, possessing her. The blonde in the corner only witnessed the event as the hero diving into her friend’s body not unlike so many quarterbacks, but to Shot it was an intricate, delicate process that required all of his focus and attention, something not always afforded to him due to the perversion prevailing through his mind about his body’s current position in relation to a cheerleader, regardless of that cheerleader’s current body structure.

But he succeeded, and slipped quite nicely into her body, finding it a little snug due to his height. With Kenjin’s gentle prodding, the hero located the portion of the brain where Pom-Pom was lurking, hiding in the cerebral cortex of her mistress. Kamen Rider Ego grabbed hold of the piece, and possessed it, removing all trace of the character from the cheerleader’s mind, and placed it into his cell phone for storage. Then he noticed the fantasy section of the girl’s brain, and found it very difficult to resist a quick peak.

No. You’ve had your fun, now let’s get out of here.

Kenjin certainly was a busybody, though the begrudging hero, as he pulled out of the girl and stood back up from the ground, where the redhead had collapsed upon the removal of the dangerous bug in her brain. She had reverted back to human form, which was always good news for anyone he helped. Now all he had to do was get back to a computer and release the bug back into the server it had come from.

But, he found himself unable to resist a small taunt, so he turned to the blonde. “You know,” he said, with a smirk underneath his mask, “drugs take forever to get out of your system. Imagine if you were tested tomorrow! I’d guess you’d be out of this school, out of this squad, before lunchtime.” This was just a nice bonus, he thought to himself. After all, no one messed with his friends and got out unscathed. “Doesn’t life suck when you don’t follow the rules?” He turned, and walked away, finding it much cooler to simply do so, his back turned to her pleas, rather than give her any further indication he was aware of her existence. He covered himself with the shroud again, making himself invisible to anyone as he simply phased through the doorway, his body transformed into nothing but shadow, and thus the perfect material for such escapes.

He reached down and undid the clasp of his belt, and Kamen Rider Ego faded, with Shot Riders remaining in the empty hallway. He glanced both ways, and again at the camera, before he returned to the land of the visible and started heading away from the scene of the fight. After all, it would be very bad for him if he were to be caught up in all that. His secret identity could be compromised. Which would be bad.

***
Shot proudly grinned as he entered the sanctuary of the First Amendment, or so it proclaimed on the wall in bold lettering. The multimedia room of the school was filled, obviously, by many, many computers, most of which were either off or loading something, depending on the competency of the school’s internet systems at that particular moment. To the untrained eye, the room might have seemed empty, but that was because his friends were playing video games. So he sighed, shook his head, and raised his hands to his lips.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he announced. “Boys and girls, step right up and read all about it! Today, the newspaper team is too lazy to present you with a halfway decent cover story, so we instead bring you in-depth coverage of a kitty picture we found on the internet! We’ll be waiting for your letters about the cuteness of the kitten, whether it looks nourished, and if it’s morally wrong to proclaim what a cat is doing in a humorous picture taken out of context! Coming soon!”

From somewhere in the back, he heard the distinct banging of his editor’s head bashing against something, as it often did. This was followed moments later by his editor rearing her head from the depths of the ‘work closet’, which was just the multimedia group’s slang term for video game area/movie watching place/Shot’s place to bring attractive women during off-hours.

“Can’t this wait until we finish playing?” she asked. “I’m about to pull off the best Fatality I’ve ever designed.” The silence in the room was broken by the sound of the Mortal Kombat theme song starting up again, and she sighed. “Great.” She turned to the door. “You’re cheating!”

“Yeah, yeah,” a voice from inside the room replied, and a sickening crunch issued as he completed a Fatality of his own.

Shot Riders flipped out his cell phone. “What have you got for this week’s issue?”

The editor sighed. “Apart from a nice discussion about the poetry that’s been circling around the bathroom stalls, not much,” she admitted with a hung head. “Got anything that’s gonna cheer me up?”

He shrugged. “Depends,” he murmured, “you by any chance interested in some cheerleaders getting caught with a small bag of cocaine? I know the respect you have for the popular cliques at our school.” He hardly had time to finish his story pitch before she ripped the phone out of his hands and plugged it into her laptop to view the photos, as plugging the cell phone adaptor into a school computer would result in them all growing heavy beards before the first pixel was decoded.

She looked over all the photos. “You sure about these?” she asked skeptically, especially when she saw the Pom-Pom monster that he had taken a photo of. “This looks Photoshopped to me.”

“You kidding me?” Shot declared, and scratched his head, sensing a mild itch. “It took me three years to figure out how to use e-mail. I don’t even know how to upload the pictures, how could I Photoshop them?” She blew some of the hair out of her face in response, she knew perfectly well how computer-illiterate Shot was, so oblivious was he that he could hardly figure out how to get rid of pop-up adds. “Think you can have fun with this?”

She smirked, and nodded. “Oh, yeah,” she murmured, in the same manner a lioness might purr upon notice of a wounded gazelle. “Oh, we can definitely do something with this.” Her hands whirled all over the keyboard, typing and typing with the efficiency of a machine. After several minutes, she had completed her work, and folded her arms as Shot bent over her shoulder to inspect the work.

“You have misspelled no less than thirty words,” noted Shot, glancing at all the red lines under over two dozen words. “Methinks your typing need a helping hand called Spell Check.”

“Shut up,” she retorted. “You think you can do better? I’ve seen the chicken scratch you drabble. Looks like a fifth grader.”

He scoffed. “Maybe I’ll just take my stories somewhere else,” Shot replied, and grabbed his phone. “After all, I’m sure that the town newspaper hasn’t been hounding us for stories lately at all…” He failed to complete his sentence, as his editor tackled him to wrestle the cell phone away from him, as she had failed to completely download the pictures.

“Okay, okay,” she conceded. “You can critique, you can critique!”

She tried to get up, but Shot grabbed her, and made her pay for her insubordination by jamming her nose in the direction of his left armpit. “Take that!” he declared, as she struggled for breath. And, as the icing on the cake, he tickled her stomach, causing her to erupt into fits of uncontrollable laughter. “Now, say uncle!”

“Uncle! Uncle!” she gasped, and he allowed her to crawl away. Shot, in contrast, reclined himself on the floor, and stretched. “You’re a jerk, you know that?”

He shrugged. “I prefer the term ‘egomaniac’, thank you very much,” was his witty and clever dialog. “Which reminds me, kudos on moving up to B-Cup.”

“What?”

“Nothing!” Shot Riders leapt to his feet, and gave a small bow before picking up his backpack and running out of the room. It was probably best that he not incur the wrath of his editor twice in one day.

One of the many benefits of having Kenjin being inside him was the fact that, in addition to being able to change his appearance and the power to become Kamen Rider Ego, was an interesting ability to make himself lighter than air. So he headed up to the roof of the building, bypassing so many people heading home, including the two cheerleaders, both of whom looked quite terrified, and he thought he heard them dialing their lawyers. The roof’s door was always locked, so he squeezed his way through a nearby window and climbed onto the top of the school. To anyone else it might have been dangerous, but since Shot had gotten Kenjin stuck in his head a number of things had been reclassified from dangerous to completely fun.

He closed his eyes, inhaling the soft, warm air that surrounded him. Above, the sky was blue, and the clouds so delicately waltzed through the wind, only occasionally blocking out the very bright sun that glared down at Shot. “Let’s go home, Kenjin,” he murmured, as his eyes transformed due to summoning the character’s powers. “I want my second lunch!”

You knew that cheerleader had a character, didn’t you?

The egomaniac chuckled at the annoyance in the character’s tone of voice. “Well,” he muttered, “I don’t think I’d be a very good hero if I didn’t have some idea. Besides, you smell the perfume on that chick? You could tell she was hiding something nasty, and I’m not just talking about armpit issues.”

Shot, sometimes you’re too crass. I think that’s why no one likes you.

He laughed. “What’re you talking about, Kenjin?” he asked. His body became transparent, almost invisible to anyone actually trying to find him, as the particles of his shape and form transformed into lighter-than-air fragments of shadow. “Don’t you know that I like me, and I’m an egomaniac?”

Meaning you’re the only one who’s opinion matters.

Shot nodded. “Now you’re getting it,” he retorted, and crouched his knees in anticipation of a blast-off. But, before he could complete his stylish leap into flight, he heard something moving behind him. He turned around, and noticed her editor, her glasses just barely hanging off the tip of her nose, which was heavily inflamed from heavy breathing.

“Where do you get off feeling me up?” she growled. Shot assumed that she didn’t really care that he was transparent, and if she lunged for him she would fall off. “A bra-size joke? I’m gonna rip your head off!”

“Love to chat,” he said with his tongue out, “but I’ve really gotta be going.” He leapt up, and soared through the air, drifting on the air currents in the general direction of his home. “Hope the article goes over well!” He cackled, as he flew out of sight, and his editor clenched her fists in rage.

“Get back here, you Ego Ranger!” she ordered savagely at the air. “I’m not through with you yet!”