The Drunkard from the 4th Dimension

The Drunkard from the 4th Dimension

A Story by Luke Steed

This was actually from a Reddit writing prompt post, so it should be pretty okay. It's about a guy who can teleport through space and time, but he's really drunk and angry.


Just four hours ago, the dangerous man who can reportedly teleport to any place on the planet at will has been sighted in Washington D.C.. Authorities are on the search to restrain the figure before he has the chance to harm any politicians.

The television glimmered amongst the cacophony of the pub. “They don’t have his face,” the bartender said as he shined his shot glasses. “I think it’s all a hoax. Probably some freaky magician.”

A figure listened to the bartender’s self-conversations, drunk. He slammed his empty whiskey glass down on the bar, implying another round. The bartender walked over to serve his drunken customer, glaring politely, judging.

“Alright, one more round and I’m cutting you off. You’ve had plenty to drink tonight.” He filled up Figure’s glass.

The figure looked up from the bar at the bartender, glaring angrily, drunkenly. He took the shot and stood up, keeping eye contact. He turned around and walked away, yet not out of the pub. He headed for the bathrooms.

Inside, he faced the mirror and turned on the faucet. He let the water run as he splashed his face in it. He was a raging alcoholic and he knew it. For a moment back there, he felt like punching the bartender in his stupid, self-righteous face. Figure didn’t want to stop drinking- why should he? Everything ruined. He blamed it on the government. His wife, his children, gone. Forever.

He looked up at himself in the mirror. Who was he anymore? Nobody, and that’s why he has that chip. Said it would make him somebody again, and they were right, but how? So many questions he felt he should answer, but left unsaid in his mind. He was drunk, after all.

He thought more.

If the government hadn’t taken his whole inheritance, he and his family would still be well and happy. Ever since that president entered the Oval Office, his only way of upkeeping a family was whisked away without a second thought. He became homeless, and his family starved and died, and nobody cared. And now he’s here, with the power of a thousand worlds hidden under the skin of his neck, somebody evolved back from nobody.

He looked up at the mirror, his face dripping with cold water. His whole body began shaking with rage. He had to have vengeance. He had to have justice. Maybe it was all irrational, but he was drunk, wasn’t he?

Figure remembered what the shady merchant told him about the chip. Something about the 4th dimension making whatever. All he really cared about was the power it gave him; not the taxes it would toll on him.

The air in front of the stalls began to transform into hexagonal, trigonal shapes. He didn’t hesitate. He stepped through the air, and there he was. The White House. Even the place itself made him angry. He had to find the president.

His goal was the Oval Office, dodging security wherever he went. More surreal shapes appeared out of thin air, the figure slingshotting through them. A pain stung his neck from the chip, but his drunkenness dulled it. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care. He searched every room he came across, nothing.

Then he screwed up. He ran through a portal into the next room. Spotted.

“FREEZE!” Figure didn’t freeze. He dove into another portal and reappeared behind the security.

He drew his pistol and shot one in the back of his head. He teleported into a hallway. The alarm sounded quick. The first shout, FREEZE, had triggered it. Escape was possible, but he couldn’t afford it now. His goal was right in front of him and he felt it. He tried to envision the Oval Office in his drunk, enraged mind while guards swarmed the hallways in the blink of an eye. Then he found it.

The portal.

The other end.

The Oval Office.

He jumped through with his pistol blazing. The guards who made their attempt to warn the president were down, and it was just the two of them. Figure blocked the doorway with a portal. Finally.

The president was grim, unmoved.

“Finally…” His voice shook. “I can have revenge.” Figure approached the desk, shakily pointing his gun at the leader.

The president spoke. “And what will that change?”

“It’ll change everything! Everything I had, lost,” Figure hiccupped, “because of you.”

“Then shoot me.” The president had no hesitation, “have your way and watch it unfold in vain.”

Figure pulled the trigger.


Out of ammo.

Figure stumbled backward, losing his mind. The portal dissipated, and the guards barged in. Figure turned toward the door, and stared into the face of death.

The very last thing Figure heard was the sputtering gunfire as the bullets tore into his intoxicated body. Blood stained the blue floor of the Oval Office. The president was ducked behind his desk, safe and sound. Figure failed.

There were no other thoughts in Figure’s drunken head that night. He was dead on the floor of the president’s office. His desires for vengeance meant nothing, and life went on the very next day with his name all over the news.

The Infamous Teleporting Man.

© 2017 Luke Steed

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Added on December 2, 2017
Last Updated on December 2, 2017
Tags: science fiction, revenge, anger, assassination


Luke Steed
Luke Steed

Fort Worth, TX

My main project right now is Copperoton: the Snatcher Saga, a long sci-fi adventure book. The first couple of chapters are still being worked on, with the first being the most heavily focused on. My o.. more..

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