Phobetor

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Phobetor

By BTB



Part 1-"Bad Dreams"




Slept like shit again.

The dreams. Same ones I have every night. Same one, I should say. Horrible, and suffocating. The details change slightly from one night to the next, but it's basically the same nightmare. It always ends the same way.

I find myself in some small, dark, nondescript room. That part never changes, it's always the same blank, black walls. The same dingy floor. The same dim, buzzing light overhead. I don't know how I got there, but I do know I'll never leave it in one piece.

All of my body modifications, tattoos, and scars are gone. I wonder how that's even possible. Like my dream-self only manifests as some unblemished version from an alternate, better universe. I can tell this because I'm not wearing much. Nothing but enough stuff paper to hide the stuff that needs hiding. At least my subconscious respects my modesty, if nothing else.

In this latest dream, there's a bulky wooden chair, oversized to the point that my bare feet don't make contact with the floor. My ankles and wrists are secured to the arms and legs of this chair with what looks like thick cable. It's impossible to wiggle free. My abductor had to have used a machine to bend and twist the cord around my extremities. There's no way anyone on earth had the strength required to do so by hand. I'm not going anywhere, and I feel lucky, despite my growing anxiety, they didn't crush my bones in the process of restraining me.

I sit there in a daze. How long have I been there? Minutes? Hours? Days? Who can even tell in dream time? The way there's never any true narrative to your nightly journeys. How things just come at you as your brain tries to make sense of the previous day's events in a way that frustrates any attempt to find logic in what it creates. If you find a beginning, a middle, and an end to a dream, it's because your waking, logical mind has decided to piece one together. Humans see patterns where there are none. Humans like structure. That's what scares the most about these nightmares. Once they start, there too much structure.

Early on, the suspense of what I know is coming has me sweating in my seat. It's been so long now, weeks turning into months of having these nightmares, that anymore my dream-self just seems...bored with it all. These dreams never end well for me and I just want to get the really bad part over with. I suppose that's why my brain makes the waiting period stretch on, longer and longer each time. Just squirming and sweating and wishing for my tormentors to get on with it already.

A familiar, husky, domineering voice erupts from nowhere in particular... and somehow everywhere at the same time. Who are they? I still don't have an answer for that question. My own superego? Some manifestation of guilt stemming from a relationship gone sour in years long gone past? That's what my therapist tells me. Could be. God knows I've burned more relationships than General Sherman burned cities during the first Civil War.

Not that any of it really matters. It's only a dream, right? Again, what my therapist keeps telling me. Easy for her to say. She isn't waking up in the wee hours of the morning screaming at the tops of her lungs. My downstairs neighbors must love me.

"Good evening, Ms. Crandall. I trust you slept well?" The disembodied voice asks dryly.

"How many times do I have to tell you? Ms. Crandall is my father's name." I don't know why I think the joke will land this time when it never has before.

"My name is SuperVixen!" I tell him for what feels like the hundredth time. I know it sounds ridiculous, and yes, that's exactly the point. Sue me.

As usual, the voice's owner ignores my correction. Their cadence slow, deep, emotionless. Distorted slightly by the staticky audio system. I wonder why they still use such outdated tech, shit left over from the early twenty-first century. Maybe it's to obscure his voice, but one could easily do the same with a novelty voice modulator, bought from an arcade vending machine. Does my unconscious world not have vending machines?

Or maybe ... as I keep telling myself... it's all just dream logic, and it only has to make as much sense as I want it to. I'm the one who's obsessed with antique tech. That's why it's coming through in my subconscious.

Why do I sit around pondering these things so much? Well, it's the sheer lucidity of these dreams. When I'm having them, everything feels as real as if I'm actually experiencing it. I can smell the heat and moisture in the air. I can feel the pain of my restraints crushing my joints.

I can feel.

Before a couple of months ago, I don't remember feeling much, if anything, in my dreams. Hell, I barely remembered them once I woke up. If I was falling, I woke up before I hit the ground. If I was having sex, I woke up before I got to cum. No imaginary satisfaction for this girl. Shit. It goes to show you how much deep-seeded self loathing I must harbor if these are the reoccurring dreams I have to suffer through and not the ones where I get to a have a rucking orgasm. What do you think of that, Dr. Langtree? I think I made a breakthrough!

What follows the mystery voice's initial, ominous greeting is what turns these dreams into so much more bad dreams. Night terrors would probably be more accurate. This isn't some kinky fetish that I'm only recently learning has been scratching away at the back of mind. Trust me, I've explored. The reason I wake up at four in the morning, every morning, bathed in sweat, my heart racing like a hummingbird on Speedy Gonzalex, is the interrogation.

(For those reading this in the distant future... or distant past if we somehow develop time travel... who I guess would also be from the future. Fuck, time travel makes no sense... Speedy Gonzalex is a combination of crank, cocaine, caffeine, and a touch of fentanyl for flavor. Many don't survive the first dose, but those who do are never quite the same afterwards. Nothing can match the high. So I'm told, anyway. I micro-dosed once and immediately blacked out and woke up in the hospital. Sorry, kind of a pointless tangent, I know.)

(Also, I’m aware just how scatterbrained all this reads. It should give you a good idea of my state or mind these days. Just bear with me. Anyway, where were we?)

What I'm trying to get around to is... I know... inevitably... I'm going to be tortured. Without question and without mercy. And I am going to die.

The moment I become aware of where I am, I know it's coming. Those black walls can only mean one thing: that the kind of pain that can drive a person mad is well on its way. And oh yes, those who want to argue that you can't feel pain in a dream, I would beg to differ. I too thought you were supposed to wake you up the moment that pursuing monster sinks its fangs in. Just your meat computer's way of sparing you from the sting of the imaginary bite. But not me, not anymore, and never in that awful, dark place.

"Tell me about the Triad Dimension," the voice demands.

He starts out calm. Calculated. Almost friendly, in a twisted sort of way. But the more I resist them, the more the interrogation intensifies. The less patient he gets. He gets louder. More demanding. I pretend I don't know what he's talking about, but that's an outright lie. I know exactly what he wants, but I give him absolutely nothing.

And I don't know why.

It's like... I realize we've done all this before. This is just... our thing. And because of that, I know whatever they are about to dish out I can handle. That's the thing about torture, after a while... you either break... or you kind of just get used to it. In my waking hours, I wonder why I never just give them the answers they want. It's not like it matters if I feed my own id.

"Fine," I tell the faceless voice, "I'll tell you if you just let me go!" Would the dreams stop if I just told them?

"I'm listening," the mystery man says, gruffly.

"The Triad Dimension is... Tridi! The girl who does my hair! You like it?" I've been at this so long that I'm running out of witty false names to give this asshole.

"We grow tired of your games, Ms. Crandall. Just answer the question."

While the torture is an inevitability, the method in which they do so is where my mind really shows off its creativity. I'm starting to think I keep holding out because I'm curious to see what I come up with next... what they do to me.

In this most recent nightmare, their newest method begins as a low, almost imperceptible heat beneath me.

"Who are The Triad Dimension?" He demands again.

"It isn't you?" I snark back.

Warmer.

"What does The Triad Dimension want?"

I shift in my seat. "Isn't that some old new wave song?"

Even warmer.

"Who are The Triad Dimension?"

"Ronald McDonald!"

I feel hot. Sweat tickles me as it drips down between my thighs.

"Who are The Triad Dimension?!"

I'd been waiting to whip this deep cut out, "Michael McDonald?"

Why don't I just tell him?

Hotter still.

"Who are The Triad Dimension?!"

"Old McDonald had a farm, ee-eye-ee-eye-oh... oh OH OH OH HOLY FUCK!!!"

With each dodging reply, the heat intensified. At first a slight discomfort, but even that was short lived. The very chair I'm tied to actually bursts into flames. The burning sting of licking flames envelope me whole. I feel my skin bubble and split from the devouring blaze. The smell of propane and smoke fills the air, then mixes with that of my own cooking flesh. The noxious fumes my own body is producing make me choke.

The pain is... excruciating.

This time, I almost tell them the truth.

Anything to make this stop.

Why don't I?


And then I wake up. Chest heaving, bedsheets soaked with sweat. Feeling like I might have a heart attack. A sense a hint of sulfur still lingering in my sinuses before it quickly fades away like wisp of smoke from a struck match.

4am. Just like always. Gotta get up for work soon.

My therapist has been little to no help. I tried a physician, hell, even a fucking cyberhypnotist. In case you're curious about the latter, don't be. That shit is absolute fucking nonsense. All I got out of it was hefty bill and single decent nap. I'll call him back if I ever need a novelty act to perform for a fucking birthday party.

As far as my actual doctors are concerned, neither seem especially worried. They just prescribe me a new cocktail of weak prescription drugs to try out after each holocall. So far none of them have helped. Not even getting black out drunk, something I'm especially talented at, has saved me from these nightmares.

I've got to get a handle on this before...

...before I go insane.





End Part 1

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 2-"Office Politics"




Found myself dozing off at my work station again. Anyone who's been there knows the feeling, like being drunk with none of the buzz. The lines of code whizzing by on my computer screen kept fading in and out of focus. I wondered how long I was out, and if anyone else had noticed. No drool stain my my blouse, so at least I hadn't been too obvious. Honestly, I was surprised my supervisor hadn't said anything to me yet. Knowing that cunt, she was probably too preoccupied flirting with the new hire to notice. I swear to god that woman has no boundaries.

Thousands of glowing green digits scanned across my screen, like any other day. Some increasing slightly in value, some falling. Nothing too worrisome. Things were oddly stable in the market that day.

Thanks in no small part to the cryptocurrency boom which occurred early in the twenty-first century, completely destabilizing the US dollar, this was how we kept the economy afloat. The British Pound failed too... then the Euro followed after that. When the Yen finally crashed, all that remained were digital funnybucks. Once powerful nations no longer had a true monetary system to back up their wealth, so most collapsed. Needless to say, things went to absolute shit after that. First came the Bank War... then a pair of Water Wars not even a decade apart followed after that. Who would have guessed water rights would become so valuable?

Things were bad. Very bad. As awful as the world is now, I count my lucky stars I'm not old enough to have lived through that shit.

Economically speaking, the current world is like the Wild West of old. A handful of multi-trillionaire robber barons are the closest approximation to a government. That means if a city needs anything done, infrastructure-wise, the proposition has to find its way up the corporate ladder. You can imagine how fucking inefficient that is. Unless it benefits their bottom line, the world is left to lie in stagnation.

Still, even with their unimaginable power, their wealth is fragile. With no government and no standard of currency, one week the world's economy can rest solely on the shoulders of Bortcoin. Then, within a matter of days, Bortcoin is absolutely worthless, replaced by some new, equally embarrassingly named medium. In Bortcoin's case, it was Fuckdollar that did it in... and so on and so on. Seriously, this is what you get when a bunch of dipshit techbros, half your age, get to name the very thing you use to buy food and tampons. Just a week ago, I was banking on rumors that Bun-yen was going to crash and had to be ready to make a big move on Blumpcoin. It's preposterous.

Why the long info dump, you may be asking? Because that's what I do for a living. Me and a small army of fellow coders are employed by the Ford/Microsoft/Lego Banking Group to keep the money "healthily" circulating. Crypto mining. If we fuck up, not only does the board stand to lose billions in the blink of an eye, but that money is just gone. Evaporated. Like it never existed. That's what happens when there's no actual wealth to back up this stupid system.

The anarchist in me says, good... fuck 'em, let 'em starve, but that's where these anonymous oligarchs maintain their hold on peons like us. If that funny-money goes bye-bye, then so do any helpful social programs, charities, or low income housing they fund. Remember, there is no congress. No president. No Supreme Court. These fucking people are in charge. It's their world and we're just living in it.

Back to the day in question, I'd spent my entire morning monitoring that week's latest embarrassingly named crypto, Dildollar, just in case I needed to swap 500 billion $wizzlerupie$ into that or Cannabi$. Needless to say, it's a shitty fucking system and doing this work day in and day out is absolutely soul-crushing.

So, when I tell you that I'm dozing off at my desk, you should now understand that losing focus in my profession is a little more serious than most jobs. One false move and hundreds if not thousands of people could be out on the street.

You know, no pressure.

Now, I'm sure you're thinking: no wonder she's having nightmares! Trust me, that's what I thought too. The thing is, the dreams were relatively new. I'd been working for the Group, as we called them (because Ford/Microsoft/Lego is a goddamn mouthful), for ten years, and only within those last two months or so had sleeping become a problem.

"I like your mods," an unfamiliar male voice jolted me out of my trance.

"Uh... huh?"

The gentleman in question was African American with a cleanly shaved head and kind eyes. He was quite handsome, with a big smile full of pearly white teeth. He'd put more effort into his outfit than most of the people I work with, wearing a white shirt and tie. It honestly made me feel self conscious about my leather boots and bright plaid skirt.

The new guy.

He leaned over the edge of my cubicle, casually resting his head on his folded arms. "Your mods, I think they're frosty."

I rolled my eyes, "ok, boomer... who the hell says frosty anymore?" Water Boomer, more properly. It's what my generation calls the previous one, those who were born after the Water Wars. Turns out a lotta people had the urge to fuck once they could get clean H2O without getting gunned down in the street by corporate assassin drones.

"Sorry," he chuckled, "never been real hip with the lingo."

I couldn't help but laugh myself, "you're a trip-," I suddenly realized I only knew him as New Guy.

"Dax," he completed my sentence for me, bailing me out. He extended his hand and I accept his greeting with my own, "Dax Loritone."

"SuperVixen," I replied.

"No really," he scoffed.

I shrugged, "what it says on my ID tag."

Dax still seemed skeptical, but the look I gave him quickly made him realize I was being serious. I held my name badge up for him to see for himself.

"I don't use my birth name," I explained. "Doing so would imply that I have anything in common, or to do with my parents. Most people just call me Vix... when I let them."

"Yeah, sorry... uh... nice to meet you, Vix." Dax nervously laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. "Is SuperVixen something your friends call you?"

"Nah, just an old movie I like."

Dax was even more surprised by my answer, "movie?! Who watches movies anymore?!"

"I do."

He realized another nervous laugh, realizing he'd put his foot in his mouth again, "heh, I'm givin' a real great first impression, aren't I?"

With a slight grin, I told him not to worry about it. The dude was just awkward and it was his first day. I get it.

"You just pegged me as the kind that spends all their free time hacking into every nook and cranny of Neurolinx," Dax continued, "not a film buff."

"And just how much time do you spend on Neurolinx, Dax Loritone?" I crossed my arms over my chest, waiting for his answer.

"I... uh... you got me. I ain't some Mindrider, but I'll admit it's pretty addictive."

"What can I do for you today, Mr. Loritone?" As much as I was enjoying making this dude sweat, I still had work to do. You know, fate of thousands of people and all that.

"Oh... uh... boss lady over there says I'm supposed to shadow you for the day, I hope that's alright?"

I shot the bitch an angry glare. God forbid she should have to do her fucking job and train the newbie. As much as I was not in the headspace to train someone, I still answered Dax politely, "yeah, of course. Grab a chair."

Dax disappeared for a minute around a long wall of cubicles, each identical to my own. This gave me an opportunity to through the miniature bottles of booze away that I'd carelessly left out on my desk. And I know what you're thinking... no, that's not why I can't keep my eyes open. Dax returned, rolling an office chair in front of him like it was a baby's pram. He plopped himself down next to me at my console, perhaps a little closer than I'd usually feel comfortable with. There was an instant charge between the two of us, at least I know I felt it.

"Alright, I'm ready! What exactly are we doing?" He blew into his hands and rubbed them together like he was preparing for a day of manual labor.

I looked back at him with slight confusion, "you... you don't know what we do here?"

"Nope."

"How exactly did you get hired?"

"Just my boyish charm," he replied with a shit-eating grin. He was such a dork... I couldn't help but like the guy.

"Well," I began, "we mine crypto. See these columns of numbers?" I activated the holograms on the sides of the monitor, showing more nearly-impenetrable data scrolling by than most people have the time or patience to read.

"Ok?"

"Well, our job is to monitor the flow for anomalies. Say this column starts to peak or this one starts to dwindle, we simply want to move as much money as we can into the first column from the second."

"Oh... that's it?"

I shrugged, "more or less, it's a bit more nuanced than that, and it doesn't require much attention, but things can go off the rails in if you get too lazy with it. You should have seen what happened in 2096."

"Oh yeah," Dax raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, "what happened in 2096?"

"Gareth Lonsdale. Dude got a little too chatty with the snack cart girl and ignored his screen for over an hour. Started a whole chain reaction. Nearly caused another Super Depression."

"Fuck. That... that's a lot," Dax looked genuinely concerned that he'd bitten off more responsibility than he could chew. "I assume he hit fired over that?"

"He'd be lucky if that's all the bigwigs did to him," I had no desire to get into details about what happened to Gareth Lonsdale afterwards. I don't know the whole truth myself, but what I'd do know is that the cleanup crew were picking pieces of the man out of the carpet for months afterwards.

Dax swallowed hard, "um... is it safe to work here?"

"Eh, it's not so bad. Just make a habit of checking on your assigned allotment every few minutes or so. Do that and you'll be just fine."

I leaned back in my chair, beginning to feel kind of glad that Dax was assigned to me that day. Someone to talk to to help keep me awake. "So, what about my mods do you like so much," I asked, finally acknowledging his initial compliment.

"Huh? Oh... yeah! Your ocular unit! I don't think I've ever seen one like it before."

He was, of course, referring to my cybernetic body modification, a prominent feature on my face. A custom Enhanced Ocular Modification unit, or EOM. Without drawing you too much of a gory picture, I lost my right eye as a child thanks to some especially lovely parenting. After saving up for years, I was finally able to afford an off-brand model through a friend with connections.

Finally, after years of second looks and whispers, the gaping hole in my face had been filled. It's not just an eye though, but a small super computer, patched directly to my frontal lobe. With it, I can link directly into the internet, operate infrared night vision, and access Neurolinx without a headset or spinal implant (more on that later). Those conveniences, as well as a few other novelties I won't get into just yet. Other than a slight purple glow in the iris and a trio of subtle electrical conduits protruding from the side of my head, the changes are barely noticeable.

"Did it hurt?" Dax asked.

"Anything worthwhile usually does," I replied. "I'm not exactly a stranger to pain." I cringed at my own response, "sorry, that was a bit of an overshare."

Dax was nothing but polite, "hey, no worries! I still think it looks pretty damn frosty!"

Oh, Dax Loritone, I think to myself, if you're not careful, you're gonna charm your way right into my pants.

He continued, "especially with your bright red hair. You must turn a lot of heads... right before you kick their asses, right?" He laughed again. It was infectious.

"Why, Mr. Loritone, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were flirting with me," I teased. He was making it so easy to do so.

Dax froze, "oh... uh... I'm sorry... I didn't mean," he stammered.

"I'm just fucking with ya, dude," I assured him. "And thank you, I really do appreciate the compliment. Most people gawk at me like I'm a freak show."

"Fuck most people," he exclaimed a little to loudly. Both of us recoiled in amused embarrassment.

I caught myself grinning back at him. Like I said, it was hard not to like this guy.

"Alright, well, we should probably get back to work. Be a shame if the global economy crashed because you couldn't stop staring at my frosty robot eye."

"Hey, I was just...," Dax paused, "wait... what was that last part?"





End Part 2

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 3-"Home Sweet Shipping Container"




A ten hour day. That's too much time to spend in front of a computer screen.

I tossed my digikeys on the kitchenette counter and begin the process of unlacing my calf-high boots. The walk up the twelve flights of stairs to my DSC unit following yet another long day made even a task as mundane as taking off my shoes feel like a chore.

Sorry, you're probably wondering what a DSC unit is. It stands for Domestic Shipping Container, super imaginative, I know. There were millions of them left over after the various wars of the last century. It became more cost effective to stack the things up and refurbish them into living quarters than to actually build new apartments. I do own my DSC outright after a decade and a half of mortgage payments, so I guess that's something.

Once my feet were liberated, I padded over to the refrigerator to retrieve a can of Sex Offender energy drink and a couple of protein cubes for dinner. Chicken flavored. I don't know why they even bother with the "flavoring." They all taste the same, bland and slimy. Plus, I'm not sure any of us forced to live on the things has ever tasted an actual chicken, so the comparison is mostly pointless.

The gelatinous cubes slid out of their plastic packaging with a wet plop onto a somewhat clean plate, jiggling a little as they settle into place. They're not exactly the most appetizing looking things. I usually dowse them in salt and toss them into the rapidcooker. Anything to help them taste like... well... something other than poverty. After about thirty seconds, the dense little cubes are piping hot and have a crispy crust on them. Only slightly more appealing than before.

Before sitting down to eat, I changed out of my work duds and slipped into my comfy green bathrobe. I couldn't believe someone had just thrown the thing out. Definitely one of my best scavenging finds. With my nightly ritual complete, I could finally sit my ass down on the couch and begin to unwind. My smartplate having kept my food nice and warm for me in the meantime.

I propped my bare feet up on the coffee table, thankful to be free of my binding shoes. I can always feel the residual warmth on the table beneath my heels from where the smartplate was sitting. Lifting the plate up to my face, I took a nice long whiff...

Mmmmm... smells like... burnt nothing.

My EOM allows me to flip through my film collection before actually placing a disc in the machine, so I searched for something to entertain myself with while I took my first bite. I was fortunate enough to come across an old Bluray DVD collection when a friend of mine and I went scavenging through the landfill sectors a few years back. Hundreds of films and even a player just laying there, ignored and forgotten beneath a pile of old bloody mattresses.

There was even a VHS player, if you can believe it! An actual, honest to god VHS player! Sorry, when you're a tech-head like me, you tend to get excited about weird old forms of media. It's unfortunate that I'll never get to use the thing though. After all the EMP attacks in the first half of the century, anything stored to magnetic tape had pretty much been wiped clean of any data. Anything like cassette tapes or reel to reel were rendered completely useless. Entire swaths of culture, gone in an instant. Anything like that that still worked would be worth some serious Dildoin.

It's uselessness didn't stop me from taking the tape player home though, if for no other reason than to keep it as a conversation piece. It sits next to the Bluray player, collecting dust and looking neglected. As for the DVD player itself, it wasn't in the best of shape and I was forced to rebuild some of its guts. Now it plays like it had just came out of the factory.

There were so many genres among the DVD collection to dig through. Romance, horror, sci-fi... but the ones really fell in love with were the westerns. Not so much for the cowboys and Indians stuff, but because of all those picturesque, wide open spaces. A long dead America, free and untamed, before the corporations just filled what they deemed to be useless, empty land in with radioactive waste and war surplus. To think, there was a time when you could travel across this country for days and not see another human being. No one tied into a vast social network. No bombardment with neon advertising holograms at every turn of the head. Just... you... and nature.

Even my namesake, Super Vixens, was a perfect encapsulation of this aesthetic. It's director, an eccentric man named Russ Meyer, seemed to be best known in his time for casting dim-witted actresses with gargantuan tits. And trust me there's plenty of that, but his films offer so much more. There are still plenty of articles about him to read in the old internet archives, but no one ever brings up his use of the desert as the backdrop to so many of his works. To me, it was as much a part of the man's entire auteur aesthetic as his love for well-endowed women.

I thought about picking one of my favorites that evening, The Searchers featuring John Wayne in one of his miserable bastard roles that seemed to suit his miserly personality better than his heroic ones. Unfortunately, this was not to be. As I forked at my pathetic meal, I sighed, instead choosing to shuffle over to Neurolinx. I know, after all this talk of auteur theory and defunct media, I just gave up and fell into what can only be described as mental comfort food. I can be such a basic, boring bitch sometimes. Dax was right in his assumptions about me... I do spend a lot of time in the network. I opened the Neurolinx mainframe and selected one of my go-tos, a cooking show, of sorts... which is probably the easiest way to describe it.

Neurolinx. The great distraction of our time! Imagine all of humanity, hooked into the same central hub, allowing them to access every corner of the globe through someone else's experience. It's like a social network on steroids, and makes the Internet look to us like the radio must have looked to the internet's inventors.

Instead of just posting Nazi propaganda and cat memes online like some waterwar boomer, Neurolinx allows one to actually access another human being's mind. For example, the "cooking show" I frequent is actually run by this wealthy woman. She has access to real food, none of this cubed ration shit the rest of us are forced to suffer through. Meats, vegetables, sugar, wheat. She spends all day just cooking and tasting what she's made, using her platform to share it with the world. I still can't make up my mind as to whether it's as a service... or a taunt.

That night, the woman, Mary Sweets she calls herself, had roasted a pork loin. I don't even know what the fuck a pork loin is, but it smelled absolutely intoxicating. Mary's a content creator, like so many others on here. A Host, as they're referred to. Other Tourists or Passengers, as the users are called, were just logging on as well.

Other than the headset or implant needed to run Neurolinx, the system has remained free for public use, one of the few things corporate America has allowed to remain free. If they didn't get shit loads of ad space out of the deal, that certainly wouldn't be the case. At least that's the official reason these corporations give. My opinion is that, with any sort of fascism, keeping the people distracted with vice helps to prevent them from turning on those in power. You take Neurolinx away, then the people will suddenly have a lot of free time on their hands to think about how much their being fucked.

As far as Hosts are concerned, they earn money through sponsorships, which is a nice way of saying lazy corporate marketers who pay to leach off their popularity and viewership. One can make good money doing it, but comes at the price of losing any kind of privacy you might hold dear. Hence why I don't Host, I enjoy my privacy. Mary Sweets had six million four hundred and three viewers other than yours truly logged on that night, which sounds like hell to me. Her entire countertop and kitchen cabinets are plastered with glowing corporate logos. The one for Shitstream Laxatives always makes me chuckle, sitting there so close to all that great looking food.

I can't say that I've ever even seen a pig, but here this woman was, basting a chunk of one in its own delicious looking juices and sprinkling various herbs and spices over the mouthwatering meat. Thanks to Neurolinx I could actually feel the heat of the kitchen and smell the sizzling meal. I could hear the same sounds she could, boiling pots rattling their lids, timers dinging, etc. As Mary carved off a slab of sizzling white meat, she raised it to her lips. I could feel the warmth of it on my fingertips and it radiating towards my lips. As she took a bite, I too slip a forkful of protein cube into my mouth. It's grainy texture rolled around on my tongue and fell apart before I could even swallow.

It's a strange feeling to the uninitiated. You feel this other person's reality as well as your own at the exact same time. I can taste what she's tasting, but I can also taste the disappointing slab of processed meat substitute in my own mouth. I can feel her hands dive into a wad of dough, but also my own scratching an itch on my leg. Its a trip, and It's easy for some to get lost in it.

Those Dax referred to earlier as Mindriders. Individuals who have given up on their own existence and have chosen to live out their lives entirely through someone else's mind. Permanently. They don't play a role in this story, but I think it's important for you to know they exist. That's the kind of power that Neurolinx can have over someone if they're not careful. Thankfully, I'm not that bad.

Speaking of Dax, I found myself thinking about him quite a bit that evening. I don't really think about guys much... or girls for that matter. I'm mostly a solitary creature, not that I don't enjoy the occasional roll in the bed sheets. I couldn't get that sexy smile of his out of my head. What was his last name? Larsen? Lorn? Lori...Loritone! That's it! I logged out of Mrs. Sweets feed and opened the Neurolinx user search engine.

One added benefit to having a receiver hardwired into my brain is that it allows me to simply think about a desired prompt instead of having to verbalize or key it in. After simply imagining his name in my brain, Dax Loritone's name appears within the EOM unit's information display. There's a profile headshot, which he obviously paid to have done. The photo looks too professional to just be a selfie. He was 29, single, not registered as a host. Which was probably for the best. Might have made it a little awkward around the water cooler the next day if I knew what he jacked off to at night.

Instead, I just sunk into my sofa, starring at his picture. Wondering what he looked like naked. Wondering if he'd like to see me naked. I mean, he's a guy, so I assumed he probably wanted to see anything on two legs sporting a pair of natural tits naked. I thought about flicking my bean solely to his profile pic when suddenly and rudely interrupted by an incoming message:


victor_victorian: we need to meet.

I replied,

sprvxn: we don't meet irl. You know that.

victor_victorian: do you think I'm fucking with you?! Something is happening. It's not safe to talk on here.

sprvxn: of course it is. I've quintuple verified the privacy network. No one can access this chat except us without at least a saliva sample. My code is sound, that's why you approached me in the first place, remember?

victor_victorian: you don't understand, NO network is safe. They're watching us right now. I'm sure if it.

sprvxn: bullshit.

victor_victorian: it's not bullshit! I'm sure we're being targeted. Look, I've already said too much. We need to meet. Somewhere public. Somewhere crowded.

sprvxn: you're being paranoid.

victor_victorian: you're only fucking paranoid when they're not actually out to get you.

sprvxn: how cliche. Chill the fuck out, dude. Any spyware would be automatically red-flagged in my system. All incriminating files would be dumped immediately. Nothing has happened. You. Are. Being. Paranoid.

victor_victorian: been having bad dreams lately?

sprvxn:_


Victor had my attention.





End Part 3

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 4-"The Dark Room"




Somewhere miles away, the following morning...


Hmmm. What a pleasant dream.

I was at work, training the cute new guy. Went home. Watched a woman cook a delicious meal on Neurolinx. It doesn't sound like much, but the mundaneness of it all sure beat the waking reality.

I opened my eyes and was immediately met with the panic of an unfamiliar space. A sharp pain at the base of me skull informed me that I'd slept in an awkward position. Where the fuck was I?

I didn't remember going to bed actually. Just walking home from work and then waking up in that... place. A small cell barely large enough to stand up in, white walls all around me. No windows. No doors. A few rags to sleep on. No toilet to speak of, though I couldn't actually remember the last time I'd eaten anything. The hunger was there, but my captors never feed me.

That's right, I thought to myself. This wasn't the first time I'd woken up here. Far from it actually.

I'm not given much to cover myself. Just a rectangular paper gown of sorts that I'm able to slip my head through. It always ripped and tore the more I moved in it. The only mental stimulation afforded was a transparent ceiling. A window into a world of giants.

Giants, you ask? I know, I probably should have led with that part.

It wasalways shocking to see at first. Huge beings looking down at you with nothing but an analytical stare. Each one indistinguishable from the next, their faces covered with surgical masks and goggles. In my early haze, it always took me some time to realize that this was just the norm. They were always there. Observing. Making their notes. Experimenting.

Every time I wake, it's like I'd just arrived, but as the amnesia began to fade, I realize that isn't the case. It was difficult to believe any of it was real. For one, I still had both of my eyes. None of my childhood scars, gifted to me by my loving parents, were anywhere to be seen actually. No mods. No expensive tattoo sleeve stretching down my arm. Even my hair was its natural color, boring old brown. It was surreal, like I'd been... fixed, somehow. I'd always find myself wondering if that room was the real dream.

Those beings who held me there, as much as I tried to deny myself of the truth, were not in fact giants. I'd tried to convince myself they were aliens or the figments of a particularly potent acid trip, but I knew the truth in my heart. People can't be grown or shrunk, that's just sci-fi, make-believe nonsense, but that didn't change the reality of my situation. I was smaller. Much, much smaller. So were the others being held there. Yes, there were others. Men and women both. We aren't allowed to socialize, but I could hear them screaming through the walls. I found it better to remain silent... and observe my observers.

The daily fog of my memories faded more and more as the hours went by. Somehow, I didn't think my captors were aware of this... and given the lack of any advantage I had, I sure as shit wasn't going to let them in on it. I didn't speak to them at all, just sat in my claustrophobic little chamber and waited.

For what? I'm getting to that...

The more I thought about it, the more I became convinced... and it makes me sick to even go there... that I was a clone.

It was the only thing that made sense. I still bled, trust me I checked, so I knew I wasn't a robot. Physics wouldn't allow for my to shrink. And the fact that there wasn't a mark on me. Perhaps I was still... made somehow. Grown. Printed. Who the fuck even knows? If this was in fact the case, then why make me... finger-sized? Why did I still have memories from before I arrived? What exactly did these people want?

Who was I kidding... there was only one thing anyone could have wanted from a nobody lie me. If I had indeed been targeted, that meant those people knew about The Triad Dimension. And since I was being treated as a prisoner, then they weren't exactly fans. There was no other reason to abduct me... or duplicate me, as the case may have been.


The Dark Room.


More was coming back to me. Every day I was being taken out of that cage by a massive gloved hand. It carried me over to a counter area, one larger than multiple football fields from my perspective, then placed inside some kind of a box. The Dark Room. My fear escalated as I was strapped to a table... or sometimes a chair... or simply left on floor. Depending on what they had in store for me.

Just as I expected something terrible to happen, everything would go black. I'd up back in my cell. Again, feeling as though I was about to climb up the long flight of steps to my DSC. The disorientation would return, as would the amnesia. An endless loop of nightmarish impossibilities.

As the days went on, clarity would find me sooner and sooner. All except for what happened inside The Dark Room. That remained a perplexing black spot in my mind. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't remember what went on inside that awful room. Perhaps I didn't really want to know. It was just that terrible.

The sharp pain in the back of my neck often got a worse by the end of the day. I'd reach back there to rub it, always finding a large bump that wasn't supposed to be there. The pain wasn't a crick in my neck, nor was it a tumor. It was an implant. A Neurolinx transmitter, I assumed. The thing was miniaturized to fit inside someone as small as I was, but it was still to large to go unnoticed. It created a constant pressure under my skin, vibrating slightly when I'd scratch at it. It still does.

If it was indeed a Neurolinx transmitter, then it occurred to me that my dreams were not a dreams at all. They were memories. The new guy, that day at work, the night at home... this happened to me... or rather... it happened to the real Vix. Which meant we'd been tethered somehow, even without registering as a Host.

They had to be using me! To get inside her head! That had to be what they were doing inside The Dark Room! Of course! They'd wait until she was asleep, when her subconscious mind was at its most open and vulnerable, then... enter her mind through me!

This felt like an enormous breakthrough... until a few minutes passed by and I realized that I'd come to the same conclusion dozens of times already.

How were they doing it though? Neurolinx wasn't capable of complete mind transferral. When engaged with a Host, you could only experience their life as a passive participant. You couldn't control the Host or influence their decisions. Not unless... unless those bastards had found a way to do so.

The implication that any of these things could be true was terrifying. That your mind could be entered without your knowledge and used as a living meat puppet, a zombified slave. No one should have that kind of power.

What was worse, I didn't know what they're getting out of me... err... out of the real Vix, if anything at all. I could only hope that I... that she was staying strong. We're stubborn and and contrarian, qualities that most lol down on, but may in fact save our lives. The work we... she was doing through The Triad Dimension was too important.

By the end of the day, I knew what would be coming. The ceiling would be lifted away. Those massive hands would come for me again. I'd be ushered away from my tiny cell to, well... you know where by joe.

That black pit of mystery. The Dark Room.

I didn't know how I was going to do it, but I had to try and get through to the real me. And above all, I had to try and remember what happened inside The Dark Room...





End Part 4

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 5-"Victor Victorian"




"Alright, all you Mindriders and Passengers! Are you fuckers ready to get TRRRRRAAAAANNNKED!"

Fuck. Must have fallen asleep with Neurolinx on again.

The grogginess of a sudden wake up is bad enough, but waking up inside someone else's head is as jarring as it gets. I may have passed out on my own couch, but I felt the softness and safety of it... and solid ground in general... leave me, replaced by the adrenaline inducing sensation of falling.

If I wasn't awake before, I sure as fuck was now. "No... nononononoNONONONO! OH FUUUUUUUCK!"

Who else but popular Host Stelvio "The Extreme" Trank would start his day off by jumping off a cliff. It's the dude's whole schtick, crazy stunts for views. All of the rush with none of the danger for his subscribers, of which I am not one. I'd accidentally entered his feed in my sleep.

The fall was terrifying, wind ripping by me as we plummeted a thousand feet per second. Trank's forehead mounted hologram projector ensured that his Pasengers passed through multiple glowing corporate logos as the bottom of the canyon rushed up to greet us. This gruesome death was brought to you by Sex Offender Energy Drink! Sex Offender, just drink it, you fucking pussy!

Feeling like you're about to die is no way to start your day.

As was his style, at the last second Trank ignited the thrusters on his rocket powered boots, blasting him, and anyone else riding his brain, back towards the canyon rim. He took a swig of Sex Offender to celebrate, label facing his viewers of course, then followed it with a boisterous, "FUUUUUUUUUCK YYYYYEEEEEAAAAH!"

I logged out of Neurolinx and tried to catch my breath. Fuck me. Why couldn't I have woken up inside a gardener's mind?

My head was killing me. Passing out in the network will do that to ya. It was almost enough to help me forget I'd had the nightmare again... almost. Same room as always, but no chair this time. I was suspended in air by a pair of enormous gloved hands. Every time I'd evade the question, what is The Triad Dimension, a pair of those huge fingers would pluck one of my limbs off like the wings of a butterfly. I woke up right before they took my head. Pretty fucked up, right? I wonder what Freud would have to say about all this.

There was something else though. Something different this time. An intrusive thought maybe? Like a dream within the dream. I saw myself, or a version of myself anyway, just standing there in front of me. She looked horrified by my plight, a single tear rolling down her cheek. She wanted to help me, but couldn't figure out how.

The pain was excruciating, as you'd imagine having your arm ripped right out of the socket would be. I'd had enough. It was too much, they'd gone too far... I was going to give in and tell those sadistic fucks everything they wanted to hear. That's when she/I stepped forward. I felt the gentle warmth of her hand on my cheek, then she leaned in and whispered to me... only... her voice wasn't in my ear, it was inside my head.

Don't give in. This isn't real. Everything you're feeling will pass. The pain you're feeling is a lie.

And then I woke up. In the middle Stelvio Trank's latest dumbass stunt, no less. Fucking hell. Thank god it's my day off.

A new message from Victor Victorian appeared on my retinal display:


victor_victorian: where the fuck are you? I've been waiting here for over an hour!

I checked the clock and, sure enough, it was almost 11am. We were supposed to meet at 9:30.

Goddamnit.

sprvxn: overslept. On my way.



I wandered the floor of the 24/7 Club looking for my panicked associate. Red and blue neon barely penetrated the darkness within. The air felt thick with humidity, the smell of sweat and regurgitated booze permeating every corner of the room. The party in the 24/7 Club never ends, hence the name. When you've got a system full of Speedy Gonzalex, sleep can wave bye-bye to a person for days at a time. All those junkies on the dance floor were basically dancing themselves into an early grave.

It occurred to me that I actually hadn't the foggiest idea of what Victor Victorian looked like on the way to the club. The two of us had only ever spoken online. I just assumed he'd be the one guy crouched in a corner of the party, looking very nervous and suspicious. Sure enough, in the darkest part of the club, a scraggly-haired fella in a brown duster and a pair of safety goggles was seated at a table, fiddling with the straw in his drink.

"A little early to start, don't you think?" I said, pointing to his glass of what looked like straight vodka. The phrase was also my signal to let him know it was me.

"It's 5pm somewhere," he replied, his own half of the cue. "You're prettier than I expected."

"You're exactly what I expected," I snarked back. I sat down across from him and snatched his drink out of his hands, took a big swig, then slid the glass back across the table at him. Yep, pure vodka. I tried to keep a straight face even though I instantly wanted to spit the shit out. Gotta keep up appearances of being this cool, anarchist type, ya know. "So, you're V-"

"Don't say my fucking name!" He cut me off, then looked quickly to each side of the club.

"You're drawing a hell of a lot more attention to yourself by acting like a nervous little bitch than anything I'm doing, ya know?"

Victor sort of whisper yelled so I could still hear what he had to say over the throbbing industrial-hop blasting through the sound system, "easy for you to say! You don't know what I know!"

I leaned in, propping my chin on the backs of my hands. "Alright, dude. What's this all about?"

"The dreams," he replied. "You've been having them too, haven't you?"

"What dreams?" I felt playing dumb to begin with was the best course of action with this guy. He was already worked up enough as it was.

"The Dark Room."

At the utterance of those three words, I nearly puked the vodka back up.

"See! I knew it!" Victor seemed both excited and terrified at the same time, like having that strange lump on your ass that you were certain was cancerous confirmed as cancer.

"So what? It's just a dream. Lots of people have shared dreams. Especially with Neurolinx."

Victor tapped the table erratically, mostly to emphasize the points he was trying to get across, "yes! That's what I'm trying to tell you! It has to be because of Neurolinx! Someone knows who we are and what we're working towards! They're inside our fucking minds, V! They're scrambling our fucking brains!"

"You and I both know that's bullshit. Neurolinx can't influence. I can't crawl inside your brain and make you, say, assassinate the CEO of Nabisco because they make shitty food like I'm wearing your skin."

"Goddamn it, V! That's exactly what I'm saying they're doing! And given what we've been up to, there are some very powerful people that would like nothing more than to stomp out what we're building. Think about it, everyone on earth is jacked into this massive central system. What's to stop them from toying around inside people's brains? Fuck, if I were them, I'd blow billions in Shatcoin to get access to that kind of power!"

"I'm sorry to inform you that Shatcoin is basically worthless, has been for weeks now."

Victor ignored my sass-filled comment. "Tell me, have you experienced missing time?"

Fuck. I paused, and he saw that I paused. Need to work on my poker face.

"Yes."

Victor continued with his paranoid line of questioning , "when?"

"I don't know... maybe... maybe a couple of months ago," I replied.

"What happened?"

Suddenly I couldn't get a sentence out without stuttering, "I... I was just... just walking home. I was about to start climbing the stairs to my DSC... and then... I was just... in my bed."

"And you didn't think that was weird?!" He asked in shock.

"Well, I had been drinking at work that afternoon. It didn't seem like..."

"I was leaving the ration distributor," he cut me off again. "One moment I was putting my cube rations in the back of my car... the next, I was just sitting there behind the wheel. Staring off into the dark parking lot. I'd lost fifteen minutes somehow. Fifteen minutes, V! That may not seem like much, but god knows what could've happened in that time! That night was the first time I dreamt about The Dark Room!"

Fuuuuuck. That was about the same amount of time I'd lost as well. I just figured I'd blanked out of repetition, like not remembering your commute to work because you've done it thousands of times in the exact same way before. But still, I'd remembered it. The event was odd enough to make me question my own excuses.

"Does Phobetor mean anything to you?" Victor continued with his cryptic line of questioning.

"I don't know, is that some kind of erectile dysfunction drug?"

"I don't know what it is either," he admitted, "but I can't get it out of my head. Like I heard it whispered in a dream within a dream. I'm convinced it has something to do with all of this."

Victor's theories sounded far fetched. Very far fetched actually, but he was right about one thing. We'd painted targets on our backs. He, I, and the others involved in The Triad Dimension had been very careful. The ideas we had been spreading were so dangerous that we had to be. Perhaps we hadn't been careful enough?

"Ok... say you're right," I tried to retake control of the conversation, "what exactly do we do about it?"

"I am right, goddamnit! I can't sleep! When I do, the nightmare comes! Fifteen minutes of my life are completely unaccounted for! That was more than enough time to implant a... a bug... or fuck with our Neurolinx receivers. In and out, leaving us dazed, but unaware. We can't use Neurolinx, V."

Victor laid his hand on the table, opening his shaky fist to reveal the still-bloody Neurolinx receiver he'd dug out of the back of his own head that morning. "You've got to remove it."

I tapped the side of my head where the conduits weaved towards my ear. "Not exactly something I can do with a claw hammer and some Tylenol to dull the pain, buddy. This baby is wired directly into my frontal lobe. Thats my brain to you. It doesn't just come off. Not without inflicting some serious damage."

"Listen," he interrupted again, "as far as I can tell, the others aren't experiencing the things we are. I've told them about all of this and they think I'm nuts."

"You are nuts."

"Fuck off, V. We're being used, don't you see?! And if you leave that fucking thing in your head, they're just going to use you to get to the others." Victor eyed the people around us again, then reached inside his duster. "I didn't want it to go this far, V, but if you won't remove it, you leave me no other choice."

In the blink of a strobing club light, Victor had a pistol pointed just inches from my face. "Don't make me do this, V!"

"Fuck you, Victor." I couldn't believe what was happening. I just stared back in disbelief that Victor would actually shoot me.

My associate pleaded with his eyes, so tired and sad looking, wordlessly begging me to do as he asked. Then, when I tried to stand up and leave, he actually squeezed the trigger.

The AI-ran security protocols inside my EOM unit triggered a blinding flash of light once it registered the threat. The entire club was illuminated in a total whiteout for a matter of seconds, giving me just enough time to knock the gun out of my face before Victor could hollow out my head. The gun went off, causing chunks of dusty ceiling to rain down on top of us. Disoriented patrons, also blinded by the flash, screamed and fled from the direction of the gun fire.

"What the fuck?!" Victor screamed, "I'm fucking blind! You fucking blinded me!"

I ducked under the table, lifting the edge up with my back until it topped over on top of Victor. Glass hit the ground and shattered, eliciting more screams from the other patrons. With my former friend struggling to find his feet, I'd bought enough time to make my escape. I spotted a black hoody that was wrapped around a raver's waste, so I snatched it for myself and pulled it on over my head. Just like that, I faded into the frantic crowd.


After taking the most indirect route possible to get there, I finally made it back home nearly two hours later. I'm not sure how many more hours I spent with my back pinned against the door after that. The three mini-bottles of rum I ingested robbed me of any real sense of time. I completely lacked the mental tools required to cope with what had just occurred. Someone I had considered an ally, even a friend, had just tried to kill me. Over some paranoid fantasy, no less.

At least that's what I thought until a newsflash came through in my neural feed. A murder update, nothing particularly novel or rare in my part of town. The body of some man named Albert Novameyer was found in the alleyway behind the 24/7 Club. This obviously grabbed my attention, had this Novameyer fella caught a stray bullet from Victor's gun? A bullet meant for me?

The dead man's body had been so mutilated that the coroner had to perform an onsite digital reconstruction just to identify the victim. When the de-mangled version of his face finally appeared in my feed, I realized I knew the man. I didn't know him as Albert Novameyer though. The dead man was Victor Victorian.




End Part 5

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 6-"Pleased to Meet Me"




Mini-Vix:

Holy shit! I can't believe that actually worked!

For the first time I could remember everything from the moment I first woke up! And more importantly, I made contact with... well... me! Sort of. I was so taken aback by what was happening, and to my body no less, that I didn't know what to say at first. The things they were doing to her... to me... to us. My god, who were these fucking people?!

When I blacked out this time, I found myself was this dark expanse, but different from The Dark Room. Just vast emptiness. I didn't feel threatened there... I didn't feel much of anything really. Like it was some kind of purgatory... I think it's where I go when they force her consciousness inside of body.

Just realizing this was a huge first step. I could hear her screaming all around me, everywhere and nowhere all at once. Needless to say, it was beyond difficult to hone in on her. Still, I tried. Concentrating on her voice as best as I could, trying to find my way back.

As I walked, the sound started to filter into a single space... so I followed it. Then, and only them, was I finally able to force my way back into consciousness. Even then, I felt like being a Neurolinx passenger in my own body. I had no control over my own limbs, no governance over my reactions. And if that wasn't head spinning enough, it was the version of me I'd been cloned from steering the doppelgänger boat. The torture, the unspeakable pain of having your limbs ripped from your body, I don't know how Vix has been able to endure this abuse all these weeks.

For the first time, she wouldn't have to go through it alone.

And that's when she saw me. I'm still not sure how it happened myself, but somehow I... manifested, is the best way to put it... myself to her. Not like some hippy astral projection bullshit, but within my mind... occupied by her... she saw me standing in The Dark Room with her.

The events of her day are blasted into my own memory like a twelve gauge shotgun of thought. Victor Victorian had tried to kill her, not because he wanted to, but out of desperation. Instead, he'd been murdered, and in such a way that it couldn't have been suicide. Vix's day hadn't been nearly as appealingly mundane as normal.

Victorian was right about the two of them being targeted, but was way off on the details. His version seems like it take less effort, which is why I think they couldn't just get inside our heads and take what they wanted. That's why I was cloned, to bear the weight of Vix's interrogation with none of the messy cleanup. I wonder, is Victor one of the voices I hear screaming through the walls of my cell?

I'd been gifted opportunity to get a significant message through to Vix, and I blew it. Everything I was seeing, all of the memories suddenly flooding my mind that weren't my own, it was all too much to take in at once. The only thing I could think to do was try and comfort her. To take my share of the agony as much as I could. If I really am a clone, then that also means I'm not a real person.

My pain doesn't matter.

And if my newest theory about all of this is correct, then I'm also as disposable as an empty package of protein cubes. Based on what I witnessed that night, I'd say the odds of me being right are pretty high.

These people after The Triad Dimension, I know that now for certain. They know I'm... she's involved. Whoever they are, they'll just keep torturing us until they get the information they want.

What does that tell me?

That these fuckers are corporate. Probably paid by Pepsi or Microsoft or fucking Tampax for all I fucking know. Hell, there's probably entire companies out there who's entire business model is to hire out torture for these mega conglomerates. If these are the lengths they're willing to take to learn about The Triad Dimension, then that also tells me they're afraid.

Good. They fucking should be.

If these people knew what we really had planned, they'd start dragging innocent people out of their homes and executing them in the street just to weed us out. Like my father used to tell my siblings and I, "if I beat all of ya, then I know I got the right one."

My train of thought was suddenly interrupted. The lid is lifting away. What the...?

They were coming for me already?! I usually had the whole day before they took me back to The Dark Room! Vix must have been asleep! A mid day nap! Which meant it had to be the weekend!

Sorry, that hardly seems important, but you have no idea what time deprivation can do to your mind. Not knowing if it's day or night or even what day it is. You brain naturally seeks to order things, but with nothing but blank walls to stare at day in and day out, I felt like I could crack up at any moment.

Here we go again, huge fingers wrapped around me, cradling me. It's not a feeling you ever get used to, being carried around like I don't weigh anything at all. Judging by the thickness of those massive digits, I couldn't have been more than a few inches tall.

I felt like a lab rat. Going about it's day in its cramped little cage. Hanging out with its little rat friends. Completely oblivious to the will of the giant beings outside its walled in little world. Just living its simple rat life before being ripped away from it and experimented on, like its life never mattered to begin with. Was this all I was to these people? Scientific fodder?

It didn't take long before I was once again deposited inside the featureless black chamber. Not strapped or wired to anything this time, just left in the center of the room. I crawled backwards on the heels of my hands into the perceived safety of a corner, drawing my knees to my chest. My delicate clothing ripped at the shoulders.

Gotta concentrate. Gotta let the real Vix know what's going on.

But first... I needed to test my newest theory.

I wrapped my hands around a thick lock of my hair. With as much strength as I could muster, I pulled. The brown tuft didn't want to come easily, so I pulled again. This time, I ripped the hair right off from my head, screaming at the top of my lungs as I did so. A bloody chunk of my scalp came with it. Warm blood trickled down the side of my head and dripped onto my shoulder. It soaked into my paper robe, spreading out in a flowerlike pattern towards my chest. I stared at my bloody tuft of hair for a moment, then tossed it against the wall in frustration. The skin that still clung to it made a disgusting splat as it came to a rest on the floor.

There was nothing left to do but wait for the inevitable. I wouldn't have to wait long. My mind just... switched off. The room disappeared. But... things were different. I didn't just wake up back in my cell. I was conscious of the change for the first time. The darkness there didn't feel oppressive like it does in The Dark Room. It had to be that other... ethereal place. The space between, where my mind ends and hers begins. I wasn't there alone either.

Vix was there too.

Though not as you may think. She appeared to me as we looked when we were ten years old. I could even tell which day from the blood streaming down her face. This was us when we lost our eye. Little Vix just stood there, crying. Not even acknowledging my presence.

"Vix?"

I raced over to greet her, kneeling down and holding the little girl at the shoulders. She still acted like I wasn't there, remaining unresponsive to my efforts to gain her attention.

"Vix, you gotta snap out of... whatever this is!"

It broke my heart to do what I did next, but my options were running thin. I slapped her, right across the cheek. Vix's eyes fluttered a little, then she finally stopped sobbing. My anxiety peaked, knowing damn well I didn't have much time with her. I raised my hand again, fighting back my own tears now, and hit her even harder

This time Vix collapsed to the floor. In doing so, her body actually morphed into her adult state before coming to a rest on the floor. The way she was seated was unnatural, as though she were propped up against an invisible wall. Her eyes were closed shut as though she was sleeping. I dropped to the floor and began to shake her.

"Vix! Vix, you gotta wake up!" It doesn't take as much effort this time. It took her a Vix opens her eyes and looks at me. She tilts her head in confusion, probably wondering why this strange woman wearing a sheet of paper is wearing her face.

"What the...," she begins to say, then clears her throat, "fuck me, these dreams are getting weird."

"Vix! Vix you've gotta listen to me!" I exclaim frantically. "Vix, this is not a dream... I mean, maybe it is... I don't know. It doesn't matter! I don't know how much time we have and I have a lot I need to tell you!"

"At least I'm not being tortured this time," she says to herself moreso than to me, struggling to climb to her feet. I take her by the arm and help her up.

"Uh... no, unfortunately I'm pretty sure that's still coming," I told her apprehensively.

"Ugh... fuck," she seemed more annoyed than afraid. Jesus, how long had this been going on?! Vix was already... bored with it. She eyed me up and down skeptically, then planted a fist against her waist, "so what are you? Like, my conscience or something?"

"What? No! Goddamnit! This isn't some Jimminy Cricket bullshit! I'm you! In a way. A clone actually! Only...," I paused, thinking it probably didn't matter if she knew I'm about the fact that I'm four inches tall. "Look, all that matters is this: you're being used!"

"Not the first time I've heard that today."

"I know. I saw. And I'm sorry."

"You saw?" She asked accusingly. "Did you?" The implication being that I had something to do with Victor's death. Her reasoning didn't make a lick of sense, but I was pretty sure Vix was operating on dream logic at that point.

"No... goddamnit! Look, I couldn't have! I'm locked up! That's what I'm trying to tell you! They're using Neurolinx to-"

And just like that... Vix was gone. Blipped out of existence like a popped bubble.

They'd taken her.

"Ffffuuuuuuuuuuck! God! Fucking! Damnit!" I screamed into the empty void, doubling over and pounding the floor with my fists as I did so. I was frustrated, but we weren't done. I closed my eyes and concentrated, trying to find my way back into my own mind, just as I had before.

I could feel Vix's fear, I just had to figure out how to hone in on it again. The featureless nothing began to take shape. Swirling into the rectangular form of The Dark Room's walls. Walls that were slowly closing in. This wasn't a trick of my mind. As I'd found my way back to Vix, the torture had already begun. The Dark Room was actually becoming narrower by the second. A repeated, rotating squeaking sound penetrated our ear drums from just outside the wall. A crank perhaps? Which meant someone was actually cranking a mechanism by hand to bring the walls in on us. It was automated, meaning our torturer want to feel the moment we... popped. I know, two bubble metaphors in as many paragraphs. Fucking sue me.

A booming voice projected all around us, singing its same old song about The Triad Dimension. Vix and I feel the urge to scream together at the exact same time. Neither of us wants give them anything.

There are no words that can truly capture how intense the claustrophobia was in those final moments. The very thing a claustrophobe fears the worst. We could be longer turn our body, our back and front pinned against the encroaching walls. I tried as hard as I could to push past my fear. Concentrating harder, trying to force another projection of myself right next to her in giant vice.

Vix's head turns towards me, tears streaming down from her still functioning eye. I took her hand in mine. None of what was happening between us was real, experienced solely inside our shared consciousness. A brief calm of acceptance came over us just before the crushing pressure of the death trap was about to complete its terrible work. Our rib cage cracked first, then our pelvis. Slowly, our shared body collapsed in a gruesome implosion.


My eyes burst open and I gasped for breath.

I was in my cell, just like every other day.

No brain fog to speak of. I could remember everything. Every detail. So much so that tears began to well in my eyes.

The first thing I checked was the spot on my head where I'd torn out my hair. Nothing. No hole. No blood. Just... hair. Sure, getting crushed to death in a giant human juicer should have been clue enough, but that was done to me. I pulled my hair out. It was something I had control over... simply erased. As though it had never occurred in the first place.

It was exactly as I had thought. They really were killing me. Over and over. Dying in the worst ways imaginable, only to get respawned, like a character in a fucking video game.

Again. And again. And again...

It was horrifying.

Victor came to mind again. Arthur. Whatever his real name was. He'd ripped his Neurolinx transmitter right out of his own head because he couldn't take what they were doing to him anymore. With it gone, they couldn't control him anymore. In turn, he'd outlived his usefulness... which is why they had him killed.

Did that mean...

...was his clone still there? The last remnant of a man, preserved in miniature form?

Or did they just...

...dispose of it?

That thought was enough to push me over the edge. Like an old dam after too much rain, the tears I'd been holding back burst through. I buried my face in the rags beneath me, sobbing uncontrollably for many hours to come.






End Part 6

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 7-"Voyeurs"




"GHAW!"

Ghaw? Yeah, I don't know what it means either, just the sound that came out of me as I jolted awake. I couldn't even take a nap anymore without having that fucking nightmare. My head still swam with the alcohol making its way through my system.

It may only have been a dream, but I still found myself checking my body to see if it been run through a human trash compactor. I patted my chest and face, Good, still three dimensional. That's a relief. My doppelgänger or conscience or whatever the fuck she is made another appearance. She seemed to be trying to help me, but I don't really remember what she said.

I'd dosed off while using myself as a human barricade against my front door, my vigilance being rewarded with a back left stiffer than a teenage boy's favorite fuck sock. I checked the clock, it was mid-afternoon. Dammnit! So much time wasted. I'd have felt the same way even without these new paranoid thoughts. What a waste of a perfectly good weekend.

The DSC, my sanctuary away from this bullshit world, felt oppressive to me all of a sudden. Something I'd never felt before. This was my home, my Shangri-La. All of my things were still in their same old spots, but all of a sudden the clutter just seemed like it was hiding something. Had Victor felt the same way about his place?

I got up off the floor and and moved towards a painting on the closest wall, a ripped desert landscape I'd salvaged out in the waste sectors. Lifting it off its nail, I carefully inspected the rear side of the canvas, checking along the cracks where the canvas met the frame. When satisfied, I set it down gently on the floor. Everything else that hung on the walls followed suit.

Next, I went through my books. The more I searched, the more restless and paranoid I became. Honestly, I didn't even know what I was looking for, but the uncertainty carried me onward. I've never been a fan of the uncertain. Unknown variables are what leave you dead outside of a dance club at 11:30 in the morning.

My dvds came next, opening every singe case and inspecting beneath the discs. I even removed the outer casing of the player, but everything seemed as it should be.
This is stupid, I thought to myself. You're just letting Victor get inside your head. Which may have been true, but he was terrified... enough to try and kill me to stop what he believed to be true. Then, just minutes after I left him, he was hacked up in the street. My thoughts were going in circles.

Every container hidden beneath my bed was emptied and the contents spread across the floor. Each item, be it spare parts or my old panties, was gone through piece by piece. I opened every cabinet in the kitchenette, leaving the doors hanging open as I rummaged through each one like a junkie who'd misplaced their stash. Everything inside my DSC had been overturned and searched thoroughly before I could even think to allow myself to catch my breath. I still wasn't sure what I'd expected to find.

A prompt for a video call came across my EOM's display, its notification alarm startling me in the tense, uncomfortable silence. From Dax, of all people too. Though a little confused as to why he would calling me, I still went ahead and answered it.

"Um... hello?"

"Hey, Vix! I was hoping I had the right number!"

"Uh... yeah... what's up, Dax?" I asked, feeling tired and more than a little distracted.

"Well... I was wondering... do you have any plans for tonight? I was hoping I could bring some Thai cubes over and you could show one of those old movies you like so much."

My eyes darted from one mess to the next. My place looked like it had been hit by a bomb. Not exactly primed for a date night.

"Um.... now's not a good time, Dax. Can I take a raincheck though?"

"Shit, yeah... uh... I'm sorry... I've probably overstepped some kind of office policy on dating coworkers haven't I?"

I sighed, still rummaging through the pile on the floor, one I'd already been through twice. "Dax, I can assure you that there is nothing I would love to do more right now than eat spicy cubes, watch Rio Bravo with you, then... maybe... fuck your brains out. But I'm legitimately in crisis mode here!"

Dax was a little taken aback by my bluntness, not really saying anything in response at first. I've always found that the quickest way to get through to a man is to let him know that sex is, in fact, on the table.

"Are you alright? I... I mean... is it anything I can help with?" He offered. How absolutely fucking sweet of him.

"I wish, dude... but I gotta figure this out for myself. Look, if I'm not dead in twenty four hours, I promise I'll call you, ok?"

"I'm sorry, what's that? Vix-"

I killed the video feed before he could finish.

The room was silent once again. Sitting there in a mess of my own making, I wondered if I was losing my mind too. Hell, I very well could have based solely on my dreams of late. Convinced that I had given in to the delusions of a madman, I pushed a pile of shoes to the side to clear myself a path to the kitchen.

A beam of afternoon sunlight peeking through the blinds reflected off of something on the wall. It was small. I just barely caught it out of the corner of my eye as I started climbing to my feet. I sat back down, trying to find the exact angle again that allowed me to see it the first time. There! Whatever it was glinting back at me was tucked away inside of one of the electrical outlets.

With my place torn apart, there was no way I was going to locate a screwdriver anytime soon, so I shot to my feet and darted into the kitchen to retrieve a knife. I fell back down to the floor on my hands and knees, jamming the business end of the butter knife into the screw securing the outlet plate to the wall. I twisted it as quickly as my hands would allow, but the point of the knife kept slipping. Finally, the screw fell to the floor, allowing me access to the outlet. What I would find behind the plate made me drop the knife in shock.

There was movement. Six spindly, robotic legs released their hold on the lower outlet and began to skitter down the wall. It looked like an insect, except instead of a thorax, it's entire body was a camera. Some kind of spy drone. It picked up speed as it ran along the base of the wall, trying to get away. Either someone was directing it, or it's AI was programmed to retreat when discovered. Either way, I couldn't let it escape.

I dove for the thing, but it pinned itself between a bookcase and the wall. That wasn't going stop me, I just toppled the fucking thing over. Most of the books and equipment I normally stored on it were already scattered all over the floor. The drone's legs clamored for purchase as surprised spider's would, then set on a dead run for the front door. It would have made it too, had it not been for one of my bulky, black boots coming down right on top of it and smashing it to pieces.

I lifted my foot to examine the remains, tiny cogs and servos still twitching in their ruin. I picked up the camera, holding the tiny device in the palm of my hand, staring at it blankly. I'm still not sure what I was angrier about, the violation of this thing watching my every move, or the fact that Victor had been right. We were being surveilled... but what the fuck did any of this have to do with my dreams? Was he right about that too? Was someone using Neurolinx to dig through my head?

I closed my fist around the tiny camera and carried it into the kitchen. I showed the party on the other end my middle finger and then dropped it down the garbage disposal. The blades made short work of it.

A sudden wave of dizziness came over me as I stared into the grinding hole. I had to brace myself against the counter to keep from falling over. Convinced I was being attacked, I stumbled over to the sofa, landing on top of a pile of clothing. I'd destroyed their tech, and now they were gonna make me pay for it. Turns out that theory was a little too paranoid, I was just having a panic attack. All of it had just hit me at once and I found myself overwhelmed and scrambling for an answer as what to do next.

You've got to remove it.

Victor's plea rang inside my head. Again, the fucker was right, and I was getting tired of having to admit that to myself. I had to get my ocular mod removed. Unlike him, that wasn't something I could do by myself. Not without potentially losing the use of my arms and legs, going full comatose, or flat out dying. I needed help.

I grabbed my keys and threw my new, smelly hoody back on. There was some random jewelry on the dresser that I dropped into my pocket, nothing I wouldn't miss. This guy wasn't gonna want to be paid in Blumpcoin. You see, my mods weren't exactly done through... official channels, if you catch my drift... not that there's any real law enforcement in existence to regulate such things anyway. Only what the corporations say can and can't be used.

The nearest train station was only a short walk away from my complex. The high speed rail system would get me to the heart of the city a lot faster than taking an Omnicab. The trade off being that, if I was being followed, they'd have me cornered inside the confines of a train can traveling at 200 miles an hour. It was a risk I'd have to take, I needed the EOM out of my head as soon as possible.

Around every turn I found myself checking over my shoulder, quickening my pace in my exponentially increasing paranoia. Based solely on what I'd found inside my home, and the hit they'd put on Victor, these people weren't bush league. They'd never allow themselves be seen. Hell, if they really wanted me dead, they could've mowed me down with an assassin drone before I ever knew what hit me. Come to think if it, I can pretty goddamn-well guarantee that's how Victor met his end.

The train ride was nerve wracking. I tried not to make eye contact with anyone else in the cab, but I could still feel eyes on me. Were those responsible for the spy cam in my DSC waiting for the right moment to come after me? Were the other passengers just regular people? Just naturally staring at the weird tattooed girl with the dyed hair and a robotic eyeball who was acting shifty as fuck? I had to try and calm down. Thank god those commuter trains served alcohol.

A twenty minute ride into the heart of the city felt like an hours. The claustrophobicly crowded train, packed with more people than its marked capacity would have indicated, arrived safely at the Harper Street station. As soon as it came to a stop, I pushed my way through the crowd to get to the cab doors. An old woman flipped me off and called me a cyborg cunt. I thought about saying something back, then didn't.

Upon exiting the station, the smell of a hundred different kinds of food hit me all at once, all of it underpinned by a hint of old, stagnant urine emanating from the trash-filled who'd have thought there were so many ways to prepare a gelatinous cube? Pre-water war skyscrapers rose into the heavens, impossibly tall, yet dwarfed by the newer, flashier, and sleeker post-war structures. Buildings so tall that that street level is left in a perpetual darkness. One developer constantly trying to top the last by building an even taller, more impressive edifice in what amounts to a never ending dick measuring contest.

As with any trip downtown, the bombardment of corporate advertising began as soon as my motion was detected. Not just your traditional, old fashioned signage, but small flying hologram projectors, buzzing around your face like a swarm of gnats.

"Don't be a fucking pussy! Drink Sex Offender, or do you prefer to watch your girlfriend get fucked by a real man?!"

"Want a longer, thicker, meatier dick? All natural Erectoral may be the right choice for you!"

"Living in a radioactive zone? Upgrade your underground bunker in five easy steps with our free Neurolinx seminar! (Seminar not actually free)"

"Turn those ugly piggies of yours into big time money makers with cosmetic foot surgery!"

"Have you spoken with Jesus today? Select 'no' to speak with our lord and savior for the low-low cost of 19 Blumpcoin a minute!"

You can understand why I avoid heading downtown at almost any cost. It's fucking nauseating. I passed through the digital ghost of a hooker trying to coax me into a brothel, her half naked holographic body projected right into the middle of the sidewalk. "You like man? Woman? Machine? Animal? We suit all tastes and perversions!"

Maybe later, sweetie, I thought to myself, right now SuperVixen has more pressing things to tend to. Maybe on the way home. The blue and pink neon lights were always aglow in that part of town, even during the daytime hours. It always made me wonder why the area was referred to as a “red light district.”

After a quick subway ride and a shortcut down an alleyway, I finally reached my destination. Concrete stairs led down from the main walkway into one of those hidden little storefronts that exist about halfway beneath street level. The neon sign above announced the business's name:

Sully's Specialty Mods and Tattoo Parlor.





End Part 7

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 8-"Sully"




A small bell above the door rang to announce a new customer had entered, a quaint, old fashioned touch that I always appreciated about the place. Sully's Parlor never changed. Black paint on the walls. Dozens of framed digital displays showcasing the owner's talents, from your basic drunk girl butterfly tattoos to complex body modifications. The familiar smell of ink, cigarette smoke, and basement mildew lingered in the air. Exactly my kind of place.

"Hey, Vix," the cute Asian girl working the counter greeted me in a less than enthusiastic manner. I couldn't tell if she was just bored or genuinely in a bad mood. She wore black, strappy bondage attire, contrasted with a pink tutu and pigtails. The low hum of an ultrasonic file ground away at her nails, shaping them into impressively sharp-looking talons. She didn't bother to look up or make eye contact. Never did. She'd always been cold towards me, but I honestly think she was that way with everyone. I'm surprised she'd even remembered my name since I sure as shit didn't remember hers.

"Uh... not much," I lied. "Is Sully in back?"

"Yeah, he's finishing up with someone. HEY, SULLY!" She abruptly yelled, still not looking up from her nails. It startled me in a way it wouldn't usually in my nervous, paranoid state. "VIX IS HERE TO SEE YA!"

Jesus, I could have done that myself, bitch. It wasn't like I was trying to keep a low profile or anything.

She snapped the gum she was gnawing on, then blew a big pink bubble into the shape of some obscure Pokémon I didn't recognize. Yes, they're still just as popular now as they were a hundred years ago, except the cards are used less now to game than as a form of currency. If that seems strange to you, think about how long characters like Mickey Mouse or Superman have endured. Or fucking Jesus Christ for that matter. You could take one look at this girl and know in your soul that Pikachu had more of a spiritual impact on her life then Buddha ever did.

A huge, hulking form pushed its way through a set of black curtains separating the waiting room from the workspace in back. Bulging muscles completely covered in elaborate tattoos rippled below a neck stretching wider than his head. In fact, everything but his face was adorned in ink, but even that was slowly filled in. The man opened his enormous arms and greeted me with a smile.

"Vix! Where ya been?!"

"Hey, Sully," I greeted him back, falling into his bear-like hug. It was the first time I felt anything close to safe since before Victor's attack that morning. Sully Bronson just had that way about him. He looked like a monster, but had the biggest heart of anyone I'd ever met. He'd done all of my body art and was responsible for installing my ocular mod himself. I wouldn't have trusted anyone else to do it.

"I was just telling Ami here about that time we got blind drunk and woke up in fucking Nevada!" He said with his big, boisterous laugh.

Ami. I'll have to remember that, making a mental note for myself... then instantly forgetting again. "Heh, yeah... I still don't know how we got there, or even survived the toxic zones along the way."

Ami rolled her eyes, "riveting."

"Come on back," Sully offered, pushing the curtain aside for me like a true gentleman, "I have something new to show you!"

I ducked into the back, still trying to find the words to tell him I needed him I needed my EOM extracted. Work he'd been especially proud of at the time. "Sully... I..."

"Check this out," he interrupted me with boyish excitement. He led me to his current customer, an Hispanic man who was laying limply on his stomach on Sully's table. He had the dark outlines of an elaborate sugar skull tattooed on his face.

"Check it out," Sully gloated, "no one else in the city is doin' it!"

I looked down at the unknown, half-naked, and bald-headed man. His entire back had become a canvas for a depiction of the crucifixion. Christ's bleeding arms splayed across the shoulder blades. His crowned head down to his bleeding feet laid out over the man's spine. Nothing particularly original.

"Walk around him," Sully instructed. I raised an eyebrow, but did as my old friend asked. That's when I saw what he was so excited about. The blood pouring out of Jesus's wounds actually appeared to flow as I circled the man. Sully beamed with pride, "It's a new kind of ink, state of the art! A new technique as well! Instead of the simply needle pricking the ink under the skin, I actually weave the tattoo in place, creating this chatoyant effect. What'd ya think?!"

"It's pretty sick, dude," I admitted, but quickly changed the subject. God only knew how much time I had. "Sully, I've got a question for you."

"What is it, Vix?" He asked, suddenly noticing the gaunt look on my face.

"Can we talk alone?"

"Of course," he gave the unknown man a friendly slap on the back, "we'll finish this up tomorrow, ok Hector?" Hector didn't reply. He just nodded, picked up his shirt, then made his way towards the exit.

"Good dude," Sully mused, almost wistfully, "doesn't say much, but always comes back when he wants new work done. Anyway, what can I do for ya, my friend?"

"Have you... I mean," it felt so stupid to even ask, "how have your dreams been lately?"

Sully seemed surprised and confused by my question, "I... don't know? I don't really remember my dreams. Is that why you really came down here, Vix? To ask me how I'm sleeping?"

"I... um...," this was good. Sully was a member of The Triad Dimension as well, but whomever had come after Victor and myself apparently hadn't come for him. Not yet anyway.

"Are you ok, Vix?" He asked, compassionately.

"Uh... yeah, never mind." I suddenly found it difficult to make eye contact with him, "I need a favor, Sully."

"Anything, but I gotta say, you're kinda freaking me out."

"I need... I mean... can you... fuck, this sucks. Sully, I need you to remove my EOM unit."

His head cocked back, "really?! You were so excited to get it! Is there something wrong with it? Did I mess something up? I'm sure I can fix whatever it is."

"Nononono!" I tried to assure the big, kindly ox by placing a caring hand on his gigantic chest. "You did a fantastic job! I just... I gotta have it out... for... for work!" I nodded a little, gesturing towards the now empty table. When his gaze fell on my hand, I traced out the word 'HACKED' with my fingertips into the black vinyl, each letter indented into the fabric before rising and disappearing again. I made sure not to look myself as I couldn't be sure someone wasn't watching our interaction though the device.

"Ah... uh... yeah... that happens. Stupid fucking office politics," Sully caught on quickly, playing along like a seasoned spy. "There's a reason I have no desire to work in one. It's a real shame, though. Some of my best work... and it looks so good on you!"

"Thanks," I replied, blushing slightly. Two compliments on my looks in as many days? I'll try not to let it go to my head.

"Well, you know the drill, hop on up," he instructed, patting the top of the table like a physician ready to get on with his examination, "Lets get ya squared away. Switch off your security protocols. I don't need to go blind pulling this thing out of your eye socket."

With the speed of a thought, I'd done as I was instructed. A warning message appeared on my display, informing me that my system was at risk. Yeah, no shit. I sat hunched over the edge of the table, my feet dangling just above the floor. Sully turned his back to me, prepping his machinery for the operation. The world felt like it was being lifted from off my shoulders. My friend turned back around, masked and gloves up, holding a long syringe in his hand.

"Don't knock me out, please," I asked.

Sully scoffed at my request, "I know you're tough, Vix, but come on."

"I can't explain why, but... just... trust me."

"I've gotta give you something," he insisted. "If you think it hurt for weeks after having it implanted...," not finishing that sentence said enough.

"Can you, just, numb the area around my eye?"

Sully sighed. He returned to his table, mixed a few chemicals together, then returned with a new syringe. "This is... well... it's mostly novocaine. Along with a few other ingredients. I promise it'll make you feel like a million Cuckbuck$."

"I really hope you haven't invested your nest egg in Cuckbuck$, my friend. What is that stuff? It isn't Speedy Gonzalex, is it?"

"Oh god no," sully exclaimed, "I wouldn't give that shit to my worst enemy."

"Great. Perfect," I laid back on the table, bracing myself for the prick of the needle. Holy fuck, this is gonna suck.

"This is pretty potent stuff, not the run of the mill shit you get at the dentist. Just a tiny amount is going to make your entire face go numb. Any more and we risk total body paralysis. If I get the dosage wrong, it could stop your heart."

"Either way, my problems are over." My friend didn't find that joke especially funny. I took his hand and looked him in the eye, "I trust you."

Sully let out another defeated sigh. He lowered the needle towards my face and warned me it was really gonna sting. Even though my left eye was completely artificial, watching that gigantic needle coming towards me still triggered a primal panic response in me. I tried to choke it back as best as I could, wincing my eyes shut and biting my tongue to keep from screaming. I felt the sharp pinch of the spike entering just below my eyebrow, followed by a cold sensation as Sully injected his cocktail. What pain there was quickly faded away.

In fact, over the next few minutes, all feeling in my face began to disappear, just as Sully said it would. What he didn't tell me was that he'd loaded it down with hallucinogenics. The bright yellow overhead lights erupted into a beautiful prismatic rainbow and all the tension built up in my muscles began to melt away.

"How ya doin', Vix?" He asked with concern.

"Heh," I laughed lazily, "I'm gonna need to get that recipe from you when this is all over. Within minutes of the injection, I was ridiculously high. The world was no longer a frightening place out to get me, but a wonderland of color and light.

Beings made of pure love danced around the table, singing a song of peace and happiness. I think it was actually the sound of Sully's mod installer humming to life. There was this beautiful, purple gorilla standing next to me the entire time, and by god, I tell you the thing could speak!

"Ok, Vix... I'm gonna start... try not to move. I don't want to give you lobotomy."

"Whatever you thay, mithter monkey man," my tongue suddenly refused to form the words I was thinking.

Between the whirring of Sully's octopus-like machine and my own much welcomed intoxication, neither of us heard the initial screams and gunfire coming from the front end of the parlor.





End Part 8

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 9-"Bad Trip"




"Thully? Dith you hear thomething?"

My words felt like they were leaving my mouth at half their normal speed. Sully's drugs worked their magic well. I swear, I could almost see each syllable floating away from me and disappearing into a little shimmering puff of smoke. Some words fell to the floor, grew legs, then skittered away into any dark corner they could find. My tongue was so numb that I couldn't actually feel it moving inside of my mouth. As much as I tried to blink my eyelids in unison, I couldn't get the damn things to synchronize. Credit where credit's due, the stuff was amazing. Sully could have made a mint selling it on the street.

My body-building friend, appearing to me as a friendly purple gorilla, had jumped back at the onset of the commotion. He had indeed heard the same thing I had, except for him it wasn't made of rainbows and farted out of a dragon's asshole. The reality was much, much worse.

"Don't move," gorilla-shaped Sully whispered. His hands frantically searched behind him, probably for something he could use as a weapon. Sully's eyes never left the thin, swaying barrier between us and the unseen.

"You look thoft," I mumbled, then reached out to pet Sully's arm.

One of the rings supporting the dark partition snapped and let go of the metal rod it clung to.... then another... then another. Four more followed like this until the entire thing collapsed. The curtains, rings, and rod fell onto the hard, black floor... with Ami's lifeless body laying on top of them. She was completely riddled with bullet holes.

"Thully? Ith thshe ok?" What a time to be stoned out of my mind. The room spun in a kaleidoscope of color while tendrils of Ami's blood seemed to pool together, forming letters. The message it spelled out couldn't have been clearer...

UR FUKD

"Oh," Still oblivious to the seriousness of the situation, I was convinced my pleasant trip was simply turning sour. Most of the bad trips I've had made me feel like I was about to die, but this one could actually do the deed. I suppose there were worse ways to go out. I read about a guy last month that fell into a sewage treatment lake and drowned. The crew that fished him out said that his lungs were completely full of human waste. Bet he would have appreciated some of Sully's drugs to dull the reality of his final moments.

Sorry, I digress.

Following the fallen counter jockey came a pair of gigantic red and black butterflies, each one as large as a house cat, floating into the room with ominous grace. Instead of having a normal insectile probiscus, spider-like fangs dripped venom from their hungry, frothing mouths. In actuality, what I was seeing were a duo of aerial assassin drones. Military grade. Formerly anyway, back when America still possessed an organized military instead of a bunch of corporate-funded mercenaries for hire.

Each four-propellered drone was adorned with a pair of miniature Gatling guns mounted beneath it, each one aimed directly at us. These models were capable of carrying about forty rounds of ammunition into battle, any more and they'd have difficulty staying aloft. Who knows how many they'd already spent on Ami. The tiny guns on the first drone began to spin, signaling that it was ready to fire on the two of us. To me, the fanged butterflies had brought us gifts of deadly, poisonous flowers.

"Oh, fuck this shit," Sully groaned.

He snatched a metal tray from his work station, the one containing his more delicate medical instruments. Vials, metal tools, and syringes fell clanging onto the floor as my friend swung the rectangular tray at the leading drone. The small propeller driven craft/vampire butterfly was knocked across the room where it crashed hard against the wall. It fell to the ground and spun wildly, seemingly defeated... at first. The machine managed to right itself and took flight once more, fixing both of its barrels solely on its biggest threat, the big purple gorilla in the room. Like I said, these fuckers were military grade. They'd probably been used in at least one water war, so a hard whack with a thin tray wasn't going to phase it. Drone-one found its aim once again, meanwhile drone-two revved up its weapons for a massacre.

Sully dove forward, whacking drone-one even harder the second time, knocking the thing straight back into the second. Our robotic attackers were sent tumbling one over the another, right back into the front of the shop. Sully turned back to me, a look of concern for me on his sweet gorilla face. I think. It also could have been a what-the-fuck-did-you-bring-here expresion. I was too high to tell and I'm not an expert at reading simian facial cues.

"Come on," he barked, "we've got to get you out of here!" Classic Sully. Thinking first of the well being of his friends, even when he was in just as much danger. He leaned down to lift me off the table, something that wouldn't have proven much of a challenge for a man, or ape his size. His strong, muscular arms slid beneath me, but strangely, just as he was about to lift... Sully froze.

He just... quit moving.

The cartoonish purple ape was gone, in its place the familiar face of my friend. A string of red fluid spread out from his his forehead, floating through the air towards me in breathtaking slow motion. It flowered, shimmering with the same DMT rainbows as the light it caught on its shining surface. Then... time caught up. The crimson flower turned back into a viscous, crimson liquid. I closed my eyes as it sprayed all over the top of me. When I opened them again, I saw nothing but a hole where Sully's sweet, kind face had been.

The rhythmic, pummeling of rapid gunfire faded in, from an almost nonexistent sound to feeling like it had always been there. Like someone had suddenly turned the volume up inside my head. Sully's massive body fell on top of me, pinning me in place against the table. The drones continued to spray their deadly payload in controlled arcs, mining a gruesome adit into the thick meat of Sully's back. A bullet-powered tunneling crew carving a path through him... to get to me.

The hallucinations intensified with the huge man weighing me down. It felt like the vampire butterflies were all around me, gorging themselves on a Sully-sized feast. Excited to reward themselves on finishing their meal with a dessert made of my tender flesh. I had to get my mind straight so I could figure out how to get the fuck out of there. That also meant trying to lift a 350 pound weight-lifter from on top of me without the ability to feel my muscles at work. It was a lot more than just my face that was numb by that point. Most of my body felt limp and useless. The blood message on the floor was right... I was totally fukd.

The wet sound of meat being ground into hamburger beneath the oppressive machine gun rounds was sickening. I could feel the pressure in Sully's chest as they bored closer and closer, like the reverberations of water droplets hitting the bottom of an empty bucket. Screaming, I closed my eyes and accepted my impending death.

But then... it stopped.

The room went silent, save for the abundant ringing in my ears.

My eyes darted back and forth, trying with little effect to force the waviness of the world back into something more recognizable. The whir of the drones' propellers began to fade, growing more and more distant. The butterflies' wings were flapping away!

Fuck me! They'd ran out of amo! The machines had used all of it up on Sully and Ami! Finally I had my window of escape. I had to act fast. Those murderous insects could be back at any moment.

I didn't have the strength to lift Sully's body off from me, but I was able to slide down the table enough that gravity did the work for me. Sully's lifeless corpse crumpled with a dull thud when it hit the floor. I couldn't help but stare down at it, hardly believing that it was really my friend down there. Guilt washed over me like a tsunami. I half expected him to jump up and yell, "gotcha!" Instead, his shaped turned to soil. A grim time lapse of rot and decay... then grass began to sprout from the little hill that once was Sully Bronson. New life sprouting from another that was once so rich... even if I was only imagining it.

Sully was dead. Ami was dead. And it was all my fault.


I'd met Sully in a dive bar over a decade before that night. The big ox was in the rear with a group of friends, claiming the holographic dart board as their own by surrounding it. He was showing off his latest body art, a dark, fiery-eyed unicorn with an erect penis longer than its magical horn, tattooed humorously on his inner thigh. I was headed towards the bathroom to do a little coke when he caught me rolling my eyes at him. Well, I rolled one eye at him anyway, I was still sporting an eyepatch back then.

"What? No sense of humor?" He said with that big, friendly laugh of his.

"Nah," I replied, "I just think people who obsess over tattoos do it to compensate for a complete lack of personality."

His friends replied to that with a series of hooting "oooooos" and roaring laughter.

The big man just smiled, pointing out the self inflicted track marks climbing up my inner arm, as well as several of my other visible scars. I'll ever forget what he said just then, "not all scars have to be about pain."

Normally I'd have had some bitchy retort, but for some reason, I just let him have that one. When I got back from the restroom, he caught me and apologized. After that, we talked all night. I even let him give me my first tattoo, right there in the bar. A blacked out heart on the back of my shoulder with the phrase "fuck you, mom" left in my original skin tone within.

That's how Sully was. He could call you out for being a total cunt, but in such a way that it made you actually want to be better. It was the beginning of one of the few friendships I've been able to maintain throughout my life. Probably because Sully was the only person tough enough to deal with my incessant bullshit.


I'm so sorry, my friend. I didn't mean to bring my problems down on you. The world is a much darker place without you in it.


You were right, Sully. Not all scars have to be about pain. Anything and everything that I can find beautiful about myself exists by your hand. You helped me get over my fucked up past. You touched me with more then just your talents. I just wish I could have told you that before...


I tried to stand on my own, but the drugs had made that almost all but impossible. Steadying myself against the table, I shuffled my feet slowly towards the exit. The distance between the end of the table and the door frame may as well have been a leap over the Grand Canyon. The black, painted floor beneath my feet fell away for thousands of feet into a murky abyss. Stelvio Trank zipped around down there on floating surf board, his voice echoing across the canyon walls, "you wouldn't be here if you'd have just had a Sex Offender to wet that little whore mouth of yours!"

"Fuck you, Ththrank!" I tried to chastise my hallucination, but it mostly came out as a mumble. Great, I couldn't even escape the constant deluge of advertising inside of a drug trip.

I held my breath and pushed off from the soft vinyl, praying to god that I wouldn't plummet into the psychedelic depths beneath me. Hallucination Trank sure wasn't going to catch me if I did. Instead, I landed hard against the wall like a bird smashing into a freshly cleaned window. If I had any feeling left in my face, I'm sure it would have hurt like a motherfucker.

My jellied legs wobbled with each step. Sliding along the wall for support, I pushed through the frame where the curtained partition has been, tripping over the dead girl in the process. As with the wall before, my face slammed into a hard, dense surface. This time it was the cold, black concrete of the waiting room floor. I couldn't feel it, but I could smell a bloodied nose coming on.

From there, I tried to crawl forward. One hand in front of the other, unable to feel the ground at the very tips of my fingers. My entire body felt like it weighed ten times more than it actually did. The palms of my hands blackened with ages of cigarette ash and shoe grime that Ami had neglected to clean. I'd almost made it to the front door, dragging myself along as though my legs had gotten up and left the rest of me there to die. Thats when my the top of my head bumped into something... soft? It's hard to say really, a sledgehammer or a pillow might have gotten the same reaction out of me.

There were two things actually. A pair of legs, ending at some expensive looking shoes. Above those, a set of nice slacks. Slowly, I lifted my head higher.

Some kind of demon loomed above me, smiling back down with a mouth full of perfect white teeth. The horns sprouting form it's shadowy head began to retract into its skull. The shadows softened to reveal a lovely face of chocolate colored skin.

It was Dax Loritone.

For a fraction of a moment, I felt a wave of relief. A friendly face belonging to someone who could help me get the fuck out of there. That relief was short lived though. I may be an idiot sometimes, but I'm not a fucking idiot. As I've stated before, I wasn't registered as a Neurolinx Host at the time. Dax couldn't have known I was there unless...

The demon Loritone finally spoke after just standing there staring at me for what felt like a thousand years, "shoulda just had dinner with me tonight, Vix."

Fuck.

I let my gaze fall back to the floor, the swirling blackness threatening to swallow me whole, "of courthe... you're a parth... of all thi-"

A boot to the face finished my sentence for me. I didn't feel any pain, but the world went black just the same.





End Part 9

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 10-"Mindbridge"




Mini-Vix:

It'd about had my fill of meditating. With the strange connection we had shared, I'd taken it upon myself to spend the hours following our last interaction attempting to make contact with the real Vix again.

And why not? It's not like I had a whole lot else to do in my constant, suffocating isolation.

I had hoped that if she could hear me while she was awake, maybe she'd finally realize I wasn't some manifestation of her subconscious. A lot of good it had done. All I had to show for my efforts was a headache and stiff thighs. Fuck the lotus position.

I needed a break.

Propping my back up against the wall and letting my legs stretch out in front of me, I closed my eyes and took in a long, deep breath. I tried to imagine myself someplace pleasant. An open desert, like the ones in my favorite movies, stretching as far and wide as the world is round. Nothing but the sound of the wind to keep me company. A warm sun beating down on my skin instead of the clinical fluorescent lightning of the lab.

I felt calm. The pain in my legs leaving as quickly as that in my head. When I opened my eyes again, I was surprised to find that I was no longer surrounded by white walls. I was inside the void.

"Huh. So that's how it's done. About goddamn time."

The OG Vix was there as well, standing a few yards away with her back to me. She didn't seem to be aware of my presence, so I called out, "hey!"

She jumped a little at the sudden break in the silence, grasping at her chest from the start. "Jesus... you scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry."

Vix looked around the emptiness surrounding us, "Huh... I must still be stoned."

"You were getting high?!" I asked in thinly veiled annoyance.

"No... I mean, sorta. I was trying to get this fucking... thing... out of my face," she pointed to her EOM unit with frustration. "Sully gave me something for the pain."

"Oh shit! You saw Sully! How is he?!"

The real me didn't say anything. She just shook her head and started to cry. That wave of emotion found its way to me. Visions of what she'd been through flooded my brain, confusing ones. Giant butterflies and purple gorillas. Then, one clear image came into view, that of Sully's face being erased from existence.

"No... not Sully...," if we were on a physical plain, my knees would have given out beneath me.

"It was Dax!" The real Vix sobbed, "he's responsible!"

"Who the fuck is Dax?"

"The new guy at work... or... I don't even know anymore! I'm starting to think he was just there to keep an eye on me! He was there... when Sully..."

That's right. I'd forgotten all about the guy.

"Vix," that will never not feel weird, "you have to listen to me. Keep it together. This is all going to sound insane, but it's the truth. The dreams you've been having are not dreams. Not really. You've been cloned... and I... well, I am one of those clones."

"Huh?" Her head cocked back. She didn't say anything for a moment, obviously trying to process what I'd just told her, "wait, what do you mean one of?"

"Don't interrupt. I don't know how much time we have. Victor was right about your receiver getting hacked, but he was way off about how they were using it."

"How do you know about...?"

"You're interrupting again. Just listen. They're using Neurolinx to pipe your consciousness into my head while you're asleep. All those horrible things they do to you in the dark room? Well, they're actually happening to me... or.. I guess the previous version of me's body... but it's all real. They'll keep coming at you. They won't quit torturing us until they get everything they can on The Triad Dimension."

"Holy shit," Vix gasped.

"I know... it's diabolical."

"I'm losing my mind."

I just stared back at her, feeling like ripping my hair out of my head... again, "goddamn it, you're not losing your mind! And it's our fucking mind! This shit is real! I'm real! Just... not here, because whatever this place is is just in our heads. It's like some kind of no-man's-land between our two consciousnesses. A bridge."

Vix ignored me, "just a schizophrenic episode, that's all. I'm seeing a better version of myself that's trying to push me aside and become the dominant personality. They have meds for that."

She thinks I'm the better version? Daawww! Fuck, don't get distracted.

I didn't know what else to do at that point except give her yet another hard slap her across the face. I even pinched her forearm as hard as I could for good measure, "there! See? Does that hurt?!"

"OOOWW... uh... huh. Actually... no," she replied, looking at me dumbfounded.

"And why do you think that is?"

"Because this isn't real?"

"Hey, you're finally catching up. So why exactly do you think it hurts when they torture you in the nightmare?"

Vix finally looked me square in the eyes. And there it was... that holy-shit-this-doppelgänger-bitch-knows-what-she's-fucking-talking-about look I'd been waiting for. "Oh god! Oh god! This is so fucked up!"

"No one knows that better than me," I assured her. "Listen, you've got to run! You can't let these motherfuckers catch you. The entire movement is at risk. I know us, and I know we can take a lot of abuse-"

She interrupted, "thanks mom and dad."

"Exactly. But there's only so much anyone can take. Even us. And you can't stay awake for ever. You've got to find someone who can get that thing out of your head, and fast. Before they catch you."

A guilty look casted an ominous shadow over her face, "yeeeeeah... about that..."

"What?"

"I'm pretty sure Dax knocked me out. I think that's why I'm here."

So much for thinking I'd become some next-gen meditative guru. Vix wasn't in the void because I willed it into happening, she was there because the dumbass got herself caught... and Sully killed in the process.

"Ok... let me think for a second... we need to figure out what to do." The mind void got deathly quiet while I paced back and forth in thought. It could have been minutes, it could have been eons. Who the fuck even knows when it comes to this sort of thing? Then, the silence dissipated. As if rehearsed, each of us sprung at the other, announcing, "I've got an idea!"

It may seem odd, both of us coming up with the same idea. That's the thing about sharing a mind with yourself though. For better or worse, you're probably gonna come to the same conclusions.

"Alright, lets go over the plan, so I can be sure we're both on the same page..."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When I came to, I wasn't inside my cell. At least not the one I was accustomed to. This new prison was slightly larger, but instead of white walls, I was surrounded by metal bars. Beyond that, a white plain stretched out in all directions, except for one side where a pair of enormous hands rested like the foothills of a mountain range. I crept forward on my hands and knees, feeling my paper coverings rip slightly when it caught beneath one my legs. I pressed my face through the bars and looked up.

It was a man, dressed in a white lab coat that stretched high into the air above me. His chin was covered in a well manicured goatee. A pair of thin framed, gold glasses rested over his eyes. It was hard to tell from my perspective, but he also seemed to have a combover. The appearance of movement below him caught his attention. I darted back into the shadows.

"Ah, she's awake!" His voice seemed to fill the air with its power and weight. Like god himself had taken notice of me. "Come on out now. Don't be shy."

I didn't comply. And not just because I was terrified by his size.

I knew that voice.

This was the man that had been interrogating Vix.

Instead, the mountain of clothing seemed to retreat into the plain, which from the enormous stationary laying just outside my prison, I then realized was a desk. The hulking form continued to lower, as if the earth itself was swallowing an entire skyscraper. It only stopped once the man's face became visible through the bars. I was right about the combover. His enormous eyes, magnified even further by the thick glass of his spectacles, fixed upon me. A chill ran up my spine.

With a knowing grin, he asked, "and where did we go just then?"

I got the distinct notion that he was on to me. That he was on to us.

I played dumb, "w-who are you? What is this place? Please let me go!"

The man laughed, a line of yellow, coffee stained teeth revealed with his smile. "You really are a fascinating little creature, 01Beta. A fascinating creature indeed."





End Part 10

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 11-"The Plant"




Nervous eyes fell away as I was marched through the middle of the plant. Men and women working away, pretending not to notice the punky girl with bright red hair that was being led deeper and deeper into the building. An artificial meat factory, aisle after aisle of cylindrical meat rollers slowly rotating as far as the eye could see. Each one at least six feet in diameter and growing over a central axel like a hog on a spit. The workers oiled the jiggling red substance with mop-like rods to ensure every inch and crevice was properly lubricated.

Two large goons in matching blue and white track suits huried me along from behind while Dax Loritone took the lead of our stupid little procession. Along our route was a long line of wheeled bins on tracks, each labeled for a different kind of meat. Chicken, fish, beef, alternating between each cart.

Far ahead, an enormous machine resembling a high tech guillatine was parked at the end of one of those long rows of tubic, artificial muscle, slicing off large tire-shaped sections. It too ran along a track, only in its case from the ceiling, allowing it to move about the entire factory wherever the use of its mighty blade was needed. Robotic arms ushered the meat tires through an attached grinder, puréeing the product into a disgusting looking paste, then shitting the result out into one of the rolling bins. No matter what the cart was labeled for, one after another was filled with the same manufactured protein goo. I knew it, I thought to myself.

"Amazing isn't it!" Dax exclaimed. He turned around, raising his arms in the air as if doing so would enhance the place's grandeur. It did not. We stopped moving long enough for him to remove a single latex glove from his jacket pocket. "The entire world, supplied their protein intake by this one lone factory. A true marvel of human ingenuity! It really is a miracle of engineering."

He slipped the glove over his right hand, then used it to caress the end of one of the gigantic meat rollers. "To think, our species was on the verge of starvation before Nabisco finally discovered a way to manufacture artificial meat. Growing it, almost agriculturally, as though it were a field of wheat. All without taking the life of a single animal." He slapped the giant meat log with a big, wet sounding smack and I was only slightly horrified to see it twitch in reaction.

"As amazing as this achievement is, we've only just opened the door to the possibilities this technology could provide us. That's why you're here! A new dawn approaches, SuperVixen. It's too bad you won't be alive to witness its rise."

"I've always been more of a night person anyway," I snarked back.

"Hmmm," Dax replied, studying my face, "so confident. We'll see how long that lasts."

He turned his back to me and resumed walking. A pair of shoulders on either side behind me nudged me in the back so hard that I nearly fell on my face, the goons' subtle way of informing me it was time to move again. We pressed forward, row after row of the same red, gooey cylinders passing by. I began to feel like I was trapped in some kind of time loop, subjected to walk these fields of meat for the rest of eternity. My legs grew tired beneath me and my head still swam with the lingering effects of Sully's drugs. At least I could feel my tongue again.

Finally, we approached a small glass rectangular structure. A hover-vator, conspicuously placed in the exact center of the plant. The four of us loaded in and the largest of Dax's goons pressed one of the hundreds of buttons lining the transparent walls of the lift. It took off, first rising upwards, then leveling out and shooting straight toward the rear end of the factory. The glass floor beneath our feet revealed hundreds of rows of meat logs rushing by at breakneck speed, each one looking hilariously like a flayed giant's erect cock. I was Charlie in Willy Wonka's shittiest chocolate factory.

"Why wouldn't you just set this thing up front?" I asked.

"What's that?" Dax answered my with a question.

"This elevator. Why wouldn't you just have it waiting for you at the front of building instead of having to walk halfway through your field of horrors to access it?"

Dax didn't reply. I chose to think it's because he hadn't ever considered it. After seeing the way he caressed that meat, I entertained myself during the ride with the mental image of Dax with his pants pooled around his ankles and his... probably, dainty cock buried deep into one of its crevices.

Damn, definitely dodged a bullet there. I chuckled to myself. Dax looked back at me and almost asked what was so funny, but must have decided against it.

The elevator came to stop just outside of a long corridor. There were no stairs in sight, meaning the only access to that level had to be the way we'd arrived. Dax stepped out first, then the goons ushered me through the double glass doors. When I say this corridor was long, I mean it was like miles long. Or at least that's the way the psychedelics still festering in my system were interpreting it. Great, another fucking cross country trek.

On and on we walked, passing by one grey, windowless door after another. Who the fuck designed this place, the world's most depressed carny?! Seriously, it was like a fun house without any of the fun. "Are we gonna get to wherever you're taking me soon," I complained, "I feel like I might need to take a leave of absence from work."

"I don't think you need to worry about work anymore," Dax replied. How fucking ominous of him.

"Oh, so I'm gonna be your stay at home wife from now on?"

Dax didn't laugh.

After what was probably another half an hour of tedious walking, the four of us finally arrived at our destination. Dax removed a key card from his pocket and swiped it over the door handle reader.

"This is the shittiest hotel I've ever seen, Dax. We could have just gone back to my place. I've got HBO." He still didn't laugh. I felt like I wasting some of my best snarky material on this dude.

"Sorry, Vix. Slumming it isn't really my style." He opened the door and shoved me inside. Afterwards he told the goons, "I've got it from here, gentlemen. You're dismissed."

The room was dark, save for a single beam of light directed straight down on top of a desk in its center. "Is this your office, Sam Spade? Bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"Oooo, if looks could kill!" He said with a laugh. Apparently Dax only laughed at his own stupid jokes. His smile disappeared just as quickly, pointing at my EOM. "Wait, you don't actually have a laser canon built into that thing, do you?"

"Do you think you'd still be alive if I did?"

My captor's relief was spelled all over his face, making me realize I just wasted a perfectly playable card.

"Fair enough," Dax replied, "It's an office. That's all that you need to know right now." He forced me to sit down in a metal chair sitting directly across from the desk, cuffing my hand to it so I couldn't get away. Dax leaned against the front of it with one of his legs casually crossed in front of the other. "So, SuperVixen. It's taken some effort to get you alone with me in a darkened room."

"Holoflowers and a cheap bottle of wine would have been sufficient."

Dax looked at the floor and shook his head, "still with the snarky attitude. If you only knew just how much shit you've stepped in."

"What? That you're using some kind of cloning program to try and coerce information out of people through extreme forms of torture?"

Dax bobbed his head agreeably, "ok, so you do have a pretty good handle on what's going on. But that's not what's so interesting, it's how you know." He pressed a button on his desk and spoke into it, "Dr. Gibson, can you bring in test subject 01Beta?"

A door slid open opposite the one we entered from. In walked a man. Short, balding, a pointy goatee dangling off his chin. I'm it sure how he attained the title of doctor considering the companies abolished the university system decades ago. He carried some kind of small container with a cloth draped over top of it in his left hand. The man stepped briskly across the darkness into the light, setting the his little carry-on item down on the desk.

"Greetings, Ms. Crandall. It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance... in the flesh, so to speak."

I knew that voice. I knew that fucking voice.

"How many times have I told you? My name is SuperVixen."

"Ah, so you do recognize my colleague," Dax chuckled.

"It's you...," I said, glaring at the old fucker, "you're the man in my dreams."

Both men laughed, Dax replied, "but Vix, I thought I was the man of your dreams."

"I said in not of, cockface! What the fuck is he doing here?!"

Dax shrugged while still laughing, "well, since you already know about the cloning program, the two of us just thought it was about time you got to meet your other self."

Dax stepped out of the way and the doctor lifted the rag away from I what was revealed to be cage. I looked first at one man, then the other as they stood there waiting for my reaction. Dax raised his eyebrows, grinning from ear to ear, nodding his head in the direction of the little cage.

"What is this some kind of joke?"

I was damn near certain I was being fucked with. That was until I heard it. A tiny, distant sounding... almost imperceptible voice coming from within that little cage. A voice calling my name.

"Viiiiiiiiix!"

I narrowed my eyes and looked inside. There, protruding through the bars, were a pair of tiny hands. Human hands. And above them, a little terrified face trying to force its way through. Not just any face though, it was my fucking face. It was me, my clone... just... in miniature!

"What. The. Actual. Fuuuck..."





End Part 11

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 12-"Just Meat"




"This... this is impossible," I gasped, staring into my own eyes in shrunken form.

"Quite the contrary," Dax replied. "Why do you think the other companies approached us?"

I tore my eyes away from... myself... and looked back up at Dax, "what?"

"Oh, I apologize, I just assumed you'd figured it out by now. Our little friend here only exists through the miracle of artificially grown protein. We grew it, just like all that nutritious product we passed through to get here.

"She," I corrected him.

"No, it's very much an it, Vix," Dax corrected me back.

Dax walked around to the other side of the desk. I assumed he was looking for a gun or something as he opened one of the drawers, but instead he surprised me by removing yet another clone. Just as tiny as the first, but this one was male.

"Recognize this one?" He asked smugly. "It's officially called 01Alpha, our very first attempt at human cloning, but I think you know it by another name."

Dax held the little figure struggling between his fingertips up to my face. I didn't recognize him at first, mostly because he wasn't decked out in all his dark, broody, stereotypical hacker gear and a gallon of eyeliner. But I didn't need to be a rocket surgeon to know it was the copy of Victor Victorian. Dax was holding onto him by his delicate little head, the poor man screaming out in pain and terror.

Dax let the mini-Victor hover in front of me like that for a moment before walking back over to his desk. Without any kind of warning, he just opened his hand and let go! Dropped the mini-Victor over the edge of the desk! The clone fell feet first into a hungry, waiting paper shredder. I'd wondered, be it ever so briefly, since first entering that room why it was even there, especially considering paper hadn't been produced in well over over twenty years.

I got my answer in the most gruesome way I could have imagined. The tiny, screaming Victor clone was pulled into its rotating metal teeth, disappearing into the rectangular plastic belly of the shredder. He left only one pathetic final spurt of blood to prove he ever existed. The machine shut off on its own, its teeth coming to an instant rest, newly stained with gooey crimson.

Dax smiled at me. A sick, menacing smile, like that of a cruel kid pulling the appendages off a daddy longlegs. A smile I'd found so adorkable just a day before, but suddenly revealing the monster lurking underneath his dorky facade. Loritone lifted the shredder up and set it back down in the exact center of his desk. He removed the mechanical lid and reached inside, his arm disappearing up to his elbow. His still-gloved hand emerged with a fistful of chewed up Victor.

"It's only meat, Vix. The same shit you stuff your face with night after night before flicking your bean to bodybuilder Hosts and passing out drunk."

Had Dax personally observed the footage of my, admittedly pathetic life, from the creepy spy camera his company had placed in my home? Or was there was some anonymous drone working at Nabisco who's only job was to give Dax daily briefings on how many days I'd worn the same sweat pants in a row?

"This is sick, Dax." I scoffed at the man, spitting at his feet.

"Aha," he raised a finger with a little chuckle," I thought you might need more convincing." This time, Dad went for the little cage. He opened the latch and lifted it into the air. Then the bastard held it over the shredder and casually began to tilt the open gate into its waiting mouth.

"You wouldn't!"

My clone held on to the bars as the floor beneath earth her feet angled into the machine. Dax was slow, making sure to torture us both by tightening the suspense. The clone held on as long as she could, but her tiny fingers began to slip on the slick metal bars. Before she fell, she looked at me and shouted, "don't worry about me! Just don't give the fucker what he wants!"

The little figure tumbled out of the cage and landed on her back. She never even had the chance to catch her breath after having the wind knocked out of her on impact. The blades roared to life, grabbing hold of the flesh on her back and pulling her into its deadly jaws. She too disappeared in a gruesome spray. What was left fell through the grinding gears, landing with a splat at the bottom. Her chewed up meat mixed with that of Victor's.

How does one even begin to process seeing something like that? Horrified doesn't even begin to express what I was feeling. My brain's coping mechanisms passed right on by the usual responses, such as screaming or sobbing, and I actually began to laugh. I'm not sure this was the reaction either man thought they would get out of me.

"You... you're one sick sonofabitch, Dax Loritone. Fucking sick!" I was certain I was cracking up, laughing uncontrollably and crying at the same time.

The doctor pressed the button for the intercom on Dax's desk and spoke into it, "bring in the fabricator."

Great, now fucking what?

The automatic doors slid open once again, only this time the person who stepped through was an attractive looking nurse. And when I say nurse, I mean like, a cartoonish idea of what a nurse looks like. The white cap with a red cross on it, white collared minidress, white fishnet stockings, and... you guessed it, white high heeled shoes. She looked more like a stripper impersonating a nurse then an actual healthcare worker. I don't know why I was more focused on her getup than the sheer weirdness of someone in the profession working inside a factory producing meat cubes. Her curvy hips swayed back and forth behind the aluminum cart she was pushing into the room. She rolled it to a stop right next to the desk, looking at me emotionlessly before making her exit. I regretted not getting her number.

"Ah! Here we are," Gibson said with his arms opened wide, showing off the device sitting on top of the cart with pride. A cream-colored, rectangular object with a wide door in front. It resembled a microwave more then anything. "Observe, Ms. Crandall."

The doctor punched a series of numbers into a side-mounted keypad and the machine lit up like a Christmas tree. The chamber behind the door lit up as well, revealing a vaguely human-shaped, transparent effigy. Something I quickly learned was a mold as it filled in with what appeared to be tiny bones. As the machine progressed, muscle and flesh were added layers at a time. Hair even began to sprout from the little figure's head. Within minutes, the thing had produced another miniature person, another clone of me. The fucking thing actually dinged when it was done cooking.

Gibson swung the door open and extracted the clone, steam still rising from her moist little body. He laid her down on a metal tray, then covered her naked form up with a small rectangle of paper. How fucking considerate of him. She wasn't moving, just laying there on her back, unconscious. She looked so peaceful, completely unaware of the horrors around her. Yes, I was jealous.

Dax curiously picked through the meat shavings in the bottom of the paper shredder, extracting a tiny glowing object. Barely a millimeter or so across, but shinning as brightly as a car's headlights. He handed it over to the doctor, who proceeded to insert it into some kind of needle-like apparatus. After flipping the tiny clone onto her stomach, Gibson inserted the pointed end into the base of her neck. Her brow furrowed slightly from the sting and pressure, but she still didn't wake.

To move things along quicker, Dax decided to flick her in the face, repeatedly, with a fingernail easily as large as her head until she finally opened her eyes. Upon seeing the three giants staring down at her, the little Vix-clone gasped and retreated into a corner of the tray. Dax snatched her up by the ankle and dangled her upside down in front of my face, just as he had with Victor.

"Wanna see it again? We can do this all night if you like."

God, she was so small. I think her whole body was about as thick as one of Dax's fingers. If I had to guess, I'd say she couldn't have been more than four inches tall. She didn't have any of my scars or tattoos, which only made her look more vulnerable. A vision of what I could have looked like if life hadn't been so hard on me.

"Leave her alone!" I shouted back, my laughing fit had subsided during the cloning process. More than anything, I was just pissed off now. "This is it?! This is what was worth killing Sully and," oh fuck, I don't remember her name, "that girl over?!"

"Couldn't have him destroying that little prize inside your skull there, could I?" He tapped the surface of my cybernetic eye with the end of a pen to punctuate his point.

"Huh? Wait... I thought this was about The Triad Dimension."

"Oh, it is," Dax confirmed, only with the hint of a big 'but' coming my way, "at least that's what the companies are most interested in. The big heads may not have a lot of information about your little group, but they're still treating it as they would any terrorist organization."

He continued, "you wouldn't know it from all the advertising constantly competing for your attention throughout this city, but the world's corporations cooperate a lot more than you'd think. After all, there'd be no point in a pharmaceutical company producing insulin if Coca-Cola decided to quit packing their products with all that delicious high-fructose corn syrup, would there?"

"Please kill me or get to the point," I groaned. I shook the cuffs holding me to the chair a little to emphasize my restlessness.

"The point, SuperVixen, is that yes... we are going to extract the information they want from you. You had the chance to do it painlessly-"

"You call what you bastards were doing to me...," I looked down at my clone, "to us... painless?!"

"Yes, I do, Vix. We've created what could be considered the most perfect form of enhanced interrogation ever created. We get the information we want, and you walk away with no physical scars whatsoever. It's the most humane form of human intelligence retrieval that's ever existed."

"Sure, and all you had to do was torture and murder all those tiny people you grew in that fucking thing. Seriously, dude... there's delusional and then there's deluuuuuuusional."

"You can think whatever you want. The reality is that Dr. Gibson here is going to torture you. For real this time. He's very good at what he does," Dax leaned in to whisper in my ear, "in fact, just between you and me, I think he kind of likes it!"

Dax slipped the tiny Vix back into her cage and locked her inside. She quickly rushed to the side, pressing her face through the bars again. She looked me in the eyes and nodded. I knew then that... although not the same incarnation, which I'd just seen turned into hamburger... this new mini-Vix shared her mind. Our mind.

Our gracious host continued, "in the end, he'll get what the companies want out of you. And then, I'll get what I want... that sweet little supercomputer living inside your eye socket."

My head was starting to hurt. The drugs had completely worn off and I kinda wished I was still high having to listen to all of Dax's grandstanding bullshit. "Wait... you've gone to all this trouble... killed Sonny to keep him from removing my eye? And now you're just going to take it out yourselves? You could have just skipped the middle part and asked me for it. It's just an EOM unit!"

"Oh, Vix, it's a lot more than that. And just for your information, you're not going to be alive when we extract it. That thing isn't standard issue in any way, shape, or form. I knew it from the moment I saw it. We'll probably never know who the architect is, or how that tattooed gorilla friend of yours came into possession if it, but your EOM unit is very special indeed."

Did Dax see the purple gorilla too? Fuck, getting distracted again.

"And here's the part where you tell me my eyeball is the key to take over the world or some stupid bullshit like that, right?"

"No, Vix... I'm gonna use it to live forever."

Jesus, this shit was getting convoluted. "You're going to do what now?"

"Immortality, Vix. Immortality."

I rolled my eyes, "yeah, that was gonna be my second guess."






End Part 12

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 13-"Host"




If some asshole isn't trying to rule the world then that same asshole is trying to figure out how to live forever. Even then those two things aren't mutually exclusive. It's a tale as old as time. Be it the kings of old trying to live on through their progeny or Walt Disney freezing his fucking head. Dax fit the delusions of grandeur stereotype to a T, I just figured he'd be a bit more original about it. How he'd come to the conclusion that the road to the fountain of youth passed through my fucking eyeball was beyond me... but here's the thing you can count on with guys like him, he was going to tell me all about it. In great detail. Whether I liked it or not. Fuckheads like him just can't help themselves.

Loritone pointed at the miniature version of me still trapped on top of his desk, "these are just prototypes. We made them smaller for practicality reasons. Managing a mouse-sized clone is much easier than dealing with one that can wrestle a gun away from a guard. As soon as the new machine is completed, we'll be capable of making clones at any size we desire. And that's where you come in, Vix. You see, none of the other test subjects can recall... well, much of anything. They have memories of the originals' life up until their creation, but after that... nothing. We kill one... we grow another... it's like the first day all over again."

Shit. I can already see where he's going with this.

"But you and your counterpart are able to pass memories back and forth. It's truly remarkable! And the more we studied the two of you, the more convinced we became the only thing that could possibly be responsible is that EOM unit. We're going reverse engineer it... take it apart, figure out what makes it tick."

"I know what reverse engineering means."

Dax continued, "soon I'll be able to grow a perfect copy of myself, and out of the very same shit we sell as chicken flavored protein cubes-"

I interrupted, "You know they all taste the same, right?"

"We're working on that," he replied, "anyway, that magic eyeball of yours will allow me to transfer my entire consciousness into a new host body, one I can reproduce at will. I'll never grow old. I'll never get sick. I'll never die. This is the future of the human race, Vix... at least, for those who will be able to afford it."

"Except for one thing... you keep calling her an it, but if you clone yourself, that's all you'll be too... an it, Dax. Just meat, as you insist on telling me over and over."

"We're all just meat, Vix, but I appreciate your perspective. I can live with it if it means I never have to experience Parkinson's disease or cancer or... whatever goddamn-awful thing already heading our way that we couldn't possibly have imagined in our wildest nightmares. Something tells me there's a lot of people who'll feel the same way. Our world is a shithole, Vix, and the human race is responsible for ninety-nine percent of it. Wouldn't it be fantastic if you could go outside and not have to worry about the toxicity of the air anymore? To transcend what it means to be human?"

"Except, as you've already made clear, it won't be for people like me, will it?"

"You're not much of a big picture kinda girl, are you?" Dax gathered up his coat and slung it over his forearm, "I suppose it doesn't matter. Whatever The Triad Dimension is after is irrelevant, but it does paint you as an idealist. And arguing with an idealist is as useless as a fourth testicle. I think it's time I leave you and Dr. Gibson to chat alone, so the two of you can really get acquainted."

"What? You're leaving?" The fucking coward. "Wait a minute... a fourth testicle?"

Dax tossed his slimy glove in the trash. "Sorry, don't have much of a stomach for the things Gibson does, I have to admit."

I cocked my head back, "you literally just killed two people by feeding them to a goddamn paper shredder!"

"They're not people, Vix. I shouldn't have to keep explaining that. Nevertheless, what's about to happen is your own fault, just remember that. We tried to make it easy on you and you just kept resisting. Kept on being the stubborn bitch you are. Now we have to do things the hard way."

"Mmmm," I moaned sarcastically, "I like 'em hard... but you wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Dax?"

He just hook his head, shrugged, and grinned without saying another word. Dax walked out the door, leaving me alone with the dream man. Gibson stepped in front of me, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

"Well," the doctor began, "shall we get started? I just need to retrieve a few things from my lab, but I assure you I'll be back in a jiffy!" The glee the man expressed made my stomach turn.

Fuck me, this is going to suck.

I found myself alone with my clone, who immediately called for my attention with a loud, "pppsssssttt!"

I narrowed my eyes, leaning in closer... mostly to chastise her, "I think you left out some pretty important shit!"

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know... like the fact that you make my vibrator look like an ICBM!"

She planted her fists on her hips, "I had a hard enough time trying to convince you I wasn't a figment of your imagination! Do you really think you'd have believed any of this insanity without seeing it for yourself?!"

I bit my tongue. "Fair enough."

She quickly changed the subject, "are you live?!"

"Yeah, I don't have very many Passengers yet though. We need to think of a way to draw more attention..."


As soon as I regained consciousness following our most recent meeting in the nowhere realm, I realized I was stuffed in the the trunk of Dax's car. Just as my clone and I had discussed back inside the Twilight Zone, I turned on my Neurolinx Host user setting. Everything Dax had said to me was now public record on Neurolinx. (And just as a side note to all my potential time traveling friends who'd hoped for flying vehicles, I'm sorry. We dropped the ball on that one. They're still just as much of a pipe dream as a viable electric car. But again, I digress...)


"How the hell are we gonna do that?!"

It was an excellent question. Under the pressure of time, it didn't take long for an answer to come to me.

"Oh shit!" I exclaimed, "I know! You're not gonna like it though."

She replied, "I don't like any of this!"

"Alright then, take off your clothes."

"The fuck I will!" The clone folded her arms over her chest in protest.

"Look, you and I both know porn gets the most hits on Neurolinx. Just do it! We don't have a lot of time!"

She rolled her eyes and said, "fine!" Tiny-me tore her paper coverings off, revealing her shapely little body in total.

"Great, now start dancing!"

"Fuck you! You start dancing!"

"Listen, the numbers are already climbing! Sex sells, it's like the first rule of advertising. Now boogie that cute little ass off!"

She huffed, "I am so getting even with you for this."

Within seconds, the number of Passengers I'd gained through Neurolinx went from a couple dozen Tourists to hundreds... and then thousands. "It's working! Keep it up! Grind those bars, you little slut!"

"Fuck me," mini-Vix groaned, then slipped a leg through a pair of the cage bars. Viewership shot into the millions after that. "This so fucking humiliating."

The door slid back open, with Dr. Gibson pushing yet another rolling cart in front of him. It's wheels cried out in need of oiling and it rattled with loose bolts. He parked it up against my right side and locked the wheels in place. "I couldn't decide which method I wanted to go with, so I just brought all of my favorites... and well... we'll just find out what feels right... together."

Mini-Vix darted back into the shadows of the cage, halting her little stripper act just as it was starting to get good. I made sure my vision was honed in on Dr. Fuckhead for what was about to go down, revealing his face to what had become millions. The tourists riding my mind were going to be very, very confused.

Here we go.

All the pain I'd endured over my life, all the trauma I'd learned to beat down and suppress, it had all prepared me for that moment. I had to take as much as Gibson could dish out. People needed to see what was going on in that place, whether I lived through it or not.

I'm here, I heard a voice inside my head say. My voice. Her voice. You're not gonna have to do this alone.





End Part 13

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 14-"Bamboo"




-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Somewhere in the suburban sector of New Oklahoma City, an anonymous young man in his late teens is ready to call it a night. His room lies at the very back of his parents' double DSC. He pulls back the sheets, fluffs the pillow, and hops onto the mattress. He crosses his hands over his chest and closes his eyes, ready for a good night's sleep...

...but...

That primal urge. The one nearly every teenager feels... sometimes multiple times a day... prevents him from letting his brain shut off.

The kid gets back up, closes the door to his room, then locks it behind him. Beside his bed is a nightstand with a single drawer. He opens it and removes his Neurolinx transmitter. As he crawls back into bed, he attaches the round, glowing device to his temple, then begins to scroll through available Hosts for some good, old fashioned pornography.

Ah, he thinks, this one looks promising. A brunette, naked, dancing inside of some kind of cage. Right up his alley. The young man removes a few sheets of Kleenex from the box sitting on his nightstand, as well as a squirt of hyperlube into his hands to help grease things along.

He's just getting into it when she stops. The pretty brunette quits grinding her pussy against the bars of her enclosure, instead retreating into the darkness and out of view. The Host's perspective shifts to some middle aged man with a goatee, smiling from ear to ear.

"What the fuck? Who the fuck is this asshole?"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Gibson removed the white sheet that covered his cart of tortures in dramatic fashion. As it floated to the floor, what lay hidden beneath was finally revealed. A dozen or so instruments, none of which looked remotely familiar to me. Custom shit. Lots of sharp, pointy things, for lack of a better description. Tools designed for no other purpose than inflicting the maximum amount of pain.

Dr. Frankenfuck picked up a drill-like device, testing it, pulling its trigger to a clicking sound. Each time he did so, the four prongs at the end would expand. "This one is particularly nasty. You see, I insert this end between your teeth...," doing exactly that, the taste of metal and oil suddenly filled my mouth.

"...then the trigger here expands, opening your jaw further and further. Just a centimeter at a time. I can't even imagine the pain the victim experiences. Makes a real mess when it maxes out too, which is the only way to remove it once pressure is placed on the prongs." He pulled the trigger once so I could feel them expand inside my mouth. "But, the proper job requires the proper tool, and I don't think I'll get much out of you if your jaw is broken."

Gibson pulled the horrifying device out of my mouth before it could lock in. Thank fucking god.

"Tell ya what," the twisted little man said with the kind of enthusiasm you'd expect from a child at their birthday party, "why don't we start with a classic. If you make it through this... which for my own interests I very much hope you do... then we'll move on to something a bit more... modern."

He took a few minutes to make sure my un-cuffed hand was zip-tied to the chair, doing the same with just one of my legs. "Comfortable?" He asked.

"This is your bullfight, doc," I replied, "I'm just the bull."

"Such a resilient young lady you are, Ms. Crandall. I truly have enjoyed our time together. Such a shame that our acquaintanceship will soon have to come to its natural end."

"Yeah, I'm just broken up about it. Can we get on with this? My legs are starting to fall asleep."

"Well, what do you say we wake them back up then!" He giggled, suddenly kneeling down and wrapping his hands around my right boot.

"Whoah, doc! I hadn't taken you for a foot guy! What'd ya say we call this whole thing off? I'll let you paint my toenails any color you like!"

"Very funny, Ms. Crandall. You should be so lucky. No, I do not believe your toes will be in any shape for a pedicure once I'm through with them," he chuckled to himself. "I think it's time for a history lesson. You see, the various guerrilla factions of Southeast Asia would often employ this particular method of interrogation on their captives."

Sigmond Fraud finished unlacing my boot and removed it from my foot. The sock followed quickly after that. "Taking small, sharpened shoots of bamboo, they'd place them at the tips of the fingers, then force them under the nails... very, very slowly. I'm curious to see if the toenails are just as effective, human feet being as sensitive as they are. An experiment I've been unfortunately unable to indulge in with your smaller counterpart there, for obvious reasons."

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck...

You can do this, my own voice rang in my head. No, not my voice, her voice. I looked inside her cage and the tiny Vix was propped up with her back against one of the bars. Her eyes were closed, appearing to be wrapped up in some kind of meditative state. You don't have to take all of the pain yourself. I can take some of it from you. Just be strong.

Taking a single, tiny stalk of bamboo from the tray, smaller even than a chopstick, Gibson twirled its pointed end against his fingertip. Taunting me, while simultaneously testing its sharpness. The man locked my ankle under his armpit and clamped his arm down as though he were putting my leg in a sleeper hold. He looked over his shoulder to grin at me maniacally.

"Careful, Doc... I'm ticklish." At that final snarky remark in, the bastard shoved the pointed stalk of bamboo beneath the nail of my big toe.

"HOLYFUCKMOTHERINGCHRIST!!!"

I'd been exposed to some intense pain in my life. Taking a belt buckle to the eye at ten years old wasn't exactly the picnic you'd think it would be. Even that didn't compare to what the world's worst pediatrist was did to me. Gibson drove the shoot in further, excruciatingly slow, forcing me to feel every goddamn fiber of the bamboo as it ripped through the skin. I could feel the warmth of my own blood trickling down the sole of my foot. Worst of all, the bastard was just getting started.

"Funny," he laughed as he struggled to maintain a grip on my thrashing leg, "how the smartass little quips always stop once the fun begins."

I panted, trying like hell to compartmentalize the pain. I could feel her though. There, inside my head with me, taking every bit as much as she could handle. I'm certain if she hadn't been there to help, I would have passed right the fuck out. "If you could, Doc... while you're down there... I've been curious about getting French tips. Think you could handle that?"

For that, I got another shoot imbedded under the nail my pinky toe. "GOOOOOODAAAAAMMMMNNIIIITT! FUUUUUCK!"

How much more do you think we need? I asked my other self telepathically. Do we keep going until I black out? Or do you think people have seen enough? Our viewership has already quadrupled since he started... the sick fucks!

She replied, we've got to get him to talk more! Get him to admit to what they're doing here!

Fuck. I was afraid you were going to say that.

"Hey Doc," I tried to fight through the unbearable misery, "you don't... strike me as... the kind of guy that... gets off on torturing clones. You seem... like you need more... a real life person... to get your kicks. What exactly... do you get... out of all THHIIIIIIIIS!" I could feel him twisting another shoot beneath my second toenail.

"Not that it's any of your business, Ms. Crandall, but you are correct. Do you know your Greek mythology?"

"Sure," I grunted, "those clubs people belonged to back when universities still existed."

"Not quite," he said, unenthused by my answer, "the Greeks, like much of Europe before the arrival of Christianity, were a polytheistic culture. Gods and monsters, all just as real to them as this narrow bamboo shoot is to you."

He inserted yet another and I screamed just as loudly as the previous ones. The urge to vomit was growing, My god the pain was all I could think about. I'm here. We can do this, just keep him talking.

My tormentor continued, "Somnus, the god of sleep, had a thousand sons known as the Oneiroi. The three of note were Morpheus, the god of dreams, Phantasos, the god of surrealist dreams, and finally, Phobetor... the god of nightmares."

"I can take a wild guess which one is your favorite."

Gibson chuckled, "we didn't name our little project after him for nothing."


Phobetor... why did that word sound familiar?

Of course! Victor! He'd mentioned to me when we met earlier that day. I bet he'd overheard it during one of his own nightmares!


The Phobetor Project... Project Phobetor, whatever it's called, that has to be worth something, right? I asked mini-Vix, hoping to god it was the truth. I wasn't sure how much more torture I could take.

Yeah, its good, people will have a field day with it on Neurolinx, the mini-me replied, just keep him talking. The dude clearly likes to brag!

The twisting pain in my toes was unbearable. I would have given anything to be anywhere else, but I pressed forward rough the agony, "you developed... the clones, right? Loritone couldn't have figured it out. That fucker couldn't... mine crypto... even with me leaning over him explaining how. So... are you... in the market... for your own... live forever... clone... like him?"

The sick sadist twisted each of the shoots he already had imbedded some more before answering. "You've switched from taunting me to flattery, Ms. Crandall. It seems my methods are finally having an effect. No, I do not intend to live forever, as my colleague aspires. I'm here because, as you may have already deduced, I have very specific... tastes... that need satisfying. Working here affords me the means to do so. The pay ain't bad either. But you are correct in your assumptions about me. Why settle for being the god of nightmares when I can be Zeus himself?"

"Is that enough, yet?! I can't take any more!" I'd realized I had yelled it out loud when it was already too late.

The doctor spun around, glaring at me suspiciously, "is what enough?! What are you talking about?! What have you done?!"

Do it, my other self instructed, the jig is up!

"Nothing," I told him, "I just think our audience is ready for some real action."

"Audience? What-," Gibson stopped himself, realizing the answer was right in front of his face, "ooooh... you clever bitch."

I tried to activate my EOM's emergency protocols, but forgot I'd shut them off when Sully was going to remove it. Fuck!

What's wrong? Asked Mini-Vix. Do it!

I'm trying! I mentally screamed back, the thing is still trying to boot back up!

I guess I was going to have to do things the hard way.

With every ounce of strength I had in my ass muscles, I sat on my hand and forced my thumb into the metal chair. A sharp crack and an electric jolt of pain rushing up my arm informed me that I had been successful in dislocating the digit. "Fuuuuuuuck!"

I wiggled my wrist free of the cuffs and used my newly liberated hand to punch Dr. Gibson as hard as I could in his stupid bearded face. Then once in the dick for good measure. Punching someone never feels especially great, but with a dislocated thumb, I swore my hand was going to explode with how much it hurt.

Gibson stumbled backwards into his torture cart, sending it and him crashing into the cloning machine. Sparks and smoke erupted from inside as it smashed into the floor. Blood poured from Gibson's nose as he joined the ruins of his work. I snatched one of his sharp, twisted tools from the floor and sliced my way out of the rest of my bonds before the Doc could regain his composure. Trying to stand, the terrified man stumbled over the cart and his various torture devices trying to get to the intercom to call for help. Once completely free of the chair, I tossed it across the room at Dax's desk, smashing the microphone to pieces.

Dr. Gibson froze, his eyes darting from one side of the room to the next and back again, desperately searching for an escape. As he'd accurately deduced, the time to test if he could take as much as dish out had come. A particularly devious looking device lay in front of me, its sleek, chrome surface glinting back at me in the limited light of the space. I knelt down to pick it up.

"No, don't!" He pleaded. I had chosen well. It was the jaw-breaking abomination he'd taunted me with already. "Ms. Crandall, let's be reasonable now."

"Motherfucker! How many fucking times have I told you?! My name isn't fucking Ms. Crandall! My fucking name, is fucking SuperVixen! Let me fucking help you get that through your fucking skull!"

Dr. Gibson recoiled in horror as I clicked the device's trigger a few more times for intimidation's sake. Before rushing at the groveling, bleeding man, I grinned and told him, "alright, Doc... time to say aaaaaaaah!"





End Part 14

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 15-"Jackpot"




Seriously? What kind of a person do you think I am?!

I wasn't going to torture Dr. Fuckknuckle. That's his kink, not mine.

No... instead, while I had him cornered, threatening to shove that horrible, jaw-mangling device into his mouth, I reached down with my other hand and retrieved something I'd hidden inside my boot.

A syringe.

The drugs Sully had given me. I'd taken it while trying to stumble out of his tattoo parlor. Not knowing if I was going to live through the night, I figured it might be my last best shot at stopping my pursuers. If not, at least I'd have it to use recreationally later on. When Gibson began taking off my shoe, I was terrified that he'd find it, but I got lucky. He'd only removed the one it wasn't hidden in.

I popped off the cap with my thumb and jammed the needle into Gibson's leg, injecting the contents in full. Gibson quit struggling at the sudden sharp pain in his thigh.

"Wha... what did you do?! I... can't feel...," the man collapsed to the floor before he could finish his sentence. His limbs had gone completely limp, leaving him in a heap on the office floor.

I leaned down and flicked him in the cheeks. No response. I tilted my head at the same angle as his, his eyes staring back at me emotionlessly. "Good shit, huh? Though I should tell you, you just took a lot more than I ever did. Sully told me that too much could actually stop a man's heart, can you confirm that for me, Doc?"

Gibson was unable to respond.

With that asshole out of commission, I turned my attention to the desk.

"What are you doing?" My miniature self chastised me through her cage bars, "let's get the fuck out of here!"

I rummaged around inside the desk, looking for... well... at the time I wasn't exactly sure what. A gun maybe? I opened drawers, flipped switches, anything I could in hopes of finding something that would make our escape easier.

"They're not gonna let us just walk out of here, you know. Especially you," I informed her.

Returning to my search, I continued to feel around the sides and even the back of the bulky, white piece of furniture. Checking beneath the center drawer, my hand grazed over a hidden switch, one that immediately opened a secret door in the wall, "ah-hah!" Snatching my errant boot from the floor and mini-Vix's cage by its handle, I stepped inside the mysterious chamber.

"You can let me out of here now, you know!" She complained.

"You're safer in there for now."

I limped into the seemingly empty space, dark as night. One foot still bare and aching with each step as I crept forward. I expected to walk into some new chamber of horrors. A dump shoot for mass body disposal of those the Nabisco had had killed? A secret lab full of little mutant clones that didn't form quite right? Nothing could have prepared me for the truth.

Motion sensors immediately illuminated the room with warm, moody lighting. To my surprise, it wasn't another office, but some kind of... lounge? There was a circular red sofa sunken into a pit of white shag carpet at its center. Three different types of televisions, from antique tube technology to pre-war digital, were centered on the wall in front of it. A well stocked bar looked enticing at the far end of the room. There was even enough room for a round, rotating bed.

"Holy shit!" I exclaimed, "I think we found Dax's fuck pad!"

"Eww," the smaller-me groaned, "he lives at work?!"

"Shit, I bet everyone who works here is forced to live on premises." You gotta hand it to the corporate overlords, the fuckers can always find new ways to steal your personal time away from you.

"Oh my god... do you see what I see?!" My attention had been captured by what had to be one of the most incredible things I'd ever seen. Well, to me anyway. On either side of the television array were shelf after shelf of... VHS tapes. Not dvds. Not blurays. Not UltraHDs. Fucking honest-to-God videotapes! And if they were as meticulously curated as they appeared to be, I'd have bet my robot eye the things still worked. The collection had to be worth a fortune!

I rushed up to the wall, dropping my shoe on the floor, mini-Vix's cage swaying in my grasp. I picked a random title off the wall, cradling it as though it could turn to ash at my touch. Something called Caddyshack, what appeared to be a comedy about a sport that no longer existed. My brain was firing on all cylinders, like a junkie who'd just stumbled upon an overturned truck full of cocaine.

"Who watches movies anymore, my ass, Dax Loritone!" I mumbled to myself. "That fucker was holding out on me!"

"Is this really the most important thing right now?!" My clone yelled at me.

"If you really are a scaled down copy of me, then this is getting your lady-dick just as hard as mine right now!"

She replied, "of course... but did you not notice the fucking computer sitting right over there?!"

I shook myself free of the beautiful collection's transfixing hold and turned around. She was right. Sitting near the edge of the round coffee table that occupied the center area of the C-shaped couch was a holopad. I placed mini-Vix's cage on the table and sat myself down in front of the personal computer. I pressed the power button.

"Oh, you've fucked up now, Dax Loritone."

"You think one of us should keep a lookout?" Mini-Vix suggested.

"It'll have to be you, unless you can dance across the holographic keys faster than I can type?"

"I can handle it," she replied.

My attention was fixed on the computer login screen, but still managed to unlatch the cage door, allowing her to step out on her own. The tiny, naked clone peered over the edge of the table, then back up at me, "I might need a little help getting down."

I peeled my eyes away from the computer, seeing for myself just how much of a drop awaited her if she tried herself. "Oh yeah... sorry."

My first instinct was to simply grab my tiny self and drop her on the floor, but as I reached out to do so, I was immediately struck by the thought of how much I would hate exactly that. God knows she probably hadn't had much agency of her own in that godforsaken place. And since she was technically me, I could only assume she felt the same. Flattening my hand and raising my palm to the sky, I offered it to her at the edge of the table. "Is it alright if I carry you?"

I think she was taken aback by my gesture, understandably. Gibson didn't strike me as the type who respected boundaries. Mini-Vix was cautious, but stepped onto my waiting fingers just the same. I hadn't expected the experience to mean as much to me as it did, but feeling her tiny bare feet tickle my fingertips as she passed her way towards my palm... the way her warm body felt as she settled into a seated position, it gave me chills. Not a flaw or scar on her. A perfect, little copy of myself, nestled safely in the palm of my hand. I could have been her, if life hadn't chewed me up and spat me out. She had been so protective of me leading up to that day, and now I could finally feel those same feelings being reciprocated towards her. I would do anything to protect this person.

"Hello?! Earth to Vix!" She shouted back up at me.

"Huh?" I felt like I was coming out of a daze.

"We gonna do this, or are you just gonna gawk at my tits the rest of the night?!"

"Uh... right," I shook myself out of my thoughts and carefully set her down on the floor with a clear path towards the door. I found it incredibly difficult to let her go, like a mother must feel the first time she puts her child on the bus to the work camps. She began to run off, but I interrupted her.

"Hey, Vix?"

She stopped and turned around, "yeah?"

"Uh... try not to get yourself stepped on, will ya? I don't know how to make another one of you."

She rolled her eyes and resumed her dash, "gee, thanks for your concern."

Mini-Vix ran off towards the office door and I turned my attention back to the computer. "Holy fuck, no saliva DNA scanner?! The dumbass doesn't even have a retinal authenticator?! Dax, you dumbass, are you just asking to get hacked?!"

It didn't take long to gain access with nothing but a password between me and the contents of Dax's computer. Daxsax6969. Men are always so predictable, if given the opportunity to fit something about their genitalia into a passcode, they most certainly will. A green, holographic homescreen appeared floating over the coffee table. I quickly began to sort through his files, one after another.

How's the Doc doin' out there? I thought, not even realizing I hadn't said it out loud.

Still just staring blankly, she replied, still appears to be breathing though-

Just a minute, I cut her off, I think I'm on to something.

The dude actually had a file labeled "porn." That may not register as being particularly noteworthy to the novice, but no one labels their porn files that way. It's always "animal pictures," or "family vacation 2098." Not "porn." I opened the file and began to explore its contents. Sure enough, there was a whooooooole lot of Neurolinx recordings of thick-bootied girls shaking their asses in front of a mirror, but there was another link buried inside of all the smut.

Inside of this poorly protected computer, sitting right out there in the open for just about anyone to find, Dax Loritone had the entire corporation's business dealings and practices stored. The guy certainly wasn't upper level management, so that meant he'd stolen it himself. Probably to use as leverage in case he one day he too found himself in my unenviable position. Well, thank you, Dax! Your leverage is now my leverage!

"We hit the jackpot!" I shouted with an enthusiastic clap.

Great, let's pack up and get out of here!

"Not quite yet," I replied out loud. "Nabisco will certainly come after us, so I'm gonna give them an even bigger crisis for their financial department to deal with."

By fucking with their crypto?

"By fucking with their crypto."

What can I say, great minds think alike.

"Lets see here...," I mumbled to myself, digging deeper into Nabisco's financials, "hah! Would you look at that! They've got some real pros working here! Everything's holding steady in Blumpcoin... but what if, say... a billion suddenly wound up in... Cuckbuck$? That should give the bigwigs upstairs a collective heart attack."

Why not all of their money you might be asking? Well, because as evil as these people were, they were still in control of a large portion of people's food supply. I didn't want to bankrupt them, at least not yet. Just get their attention.

Vix?! My clone's voice appeared in my head once again. Something's wrong!

"Wait a minute, I'm just about done," I replied, ignoring her. I was too in the zone to be bothered, a personality flaw that's gotten me into more trouble than you can imagine. "You try typing with a dislocated thumb."

VIX!!!

"Just a little calling card left to put in place," something to let those bastards know just who they're dealing with and what I'm capable of, "aaaaannnd... there!" I clicked the holopad's power button off, then tucked it beneath my arm. I'd only just stood back up when mini-Vix's mind-voice actually raised to a scream:

VIX! LOOKOUT!!!





End Part 15

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 16-"The Triad Dimension"




Mini-Vix:

A screaming, white mass barreled past me faster than anything its size should have been capable of moving. I know my perspective is skewed, but still, watching a man the size of a skyscraper rushing towards me at full speed was enough to brown anyone's shorts. You know, had I been wearing anything to shit in at the time.

He leapt through the air before reaching the original me, arms outstretched and aimed for her neck, the horrible jaw-breaking torture device cocked in his right hand. The man struck her with the force of a wrecking ball, sending both of them falling into and smashing the coffee table. The sound the two giants made as they leveled the huge piece of furniture was damn near apocalyptic.

I did my best to warn my bigger self, but Gibson had simply moved too fast. One moment he was laying face down on the floor, and the next wobbling to his feet with eyes bulging and bloodshot. The veins under his skin visibly pulsed like they could rupture at any moment. He didn't appear to have full control of his muscle function, but that didn't stop him from going after Vix, hate-mad, numb, and tripping balls.

I raced towards the pair of giants out of instinct, not really thinking about just what the hell someone my size was going to be able to accomplish once I got there. I rounded the C-shaped sofa, which was inset into the floor. This led me to the short set of steps leading down into the pit area. I say short, as there were only three of them, but for me each step was going to be like dropping from the roof of a one story building. Agonized grunts and the sounds of a struggle reverberated off the towering walls around me.

I didn't know what the hell I could do to help her, but I had to try.

As carefully as I could, I flung my legs over the side of the first step, then dropped down to the second. "Great, no broken legs, only two more to go." I made my way to the bottom of the pit, a soft landing in plush shag carpeting making my final drop far easier then the wooden surfaces that preceded it. Finally, the clash of titans came into full view.

Dr. Gibson was straddled over top of Vix, one hand wrapped around her throat and the other trying to force the jaw-breaker into her mouth. He looked mad with rage, drool from his open, grunting mouth oozing down in long strings onto her paling face. She was clawing at his choking arm with one hand and trying to block the torture device from entering her mouth with the other. Nothing she did seemed to have any effect on the man, like the drugs she'd given him had made him completely oblivious to pain. Vix's head turned to look at me, her big blue eyes spiderwebbed with red, tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn't have much time.

I looked around me at the shattered remnants of the wooden coffee table. Bits of broken wood with nails sticking out everywhere. Chunks of broken glass. Improvasional weapons galore, but all far too large for me to even attempt to lift. I felt useless... and helpless... like I was back in my parents' house again, awaiting a beating I knew I couldn't avoid.

Vix's nails dug long trenches of bloody skin out of Gibson's arm, something that would cause any man to scream out in pain, had no effect on him. He couldn't feel it. Instead, she tried feeling around for something to use as a weapon. A length of broken wood was close, but lay just out of her reach. It was long, and far too large for me to use myself, but I could try and push it towards her.

I ran towards the object, dodging the dangerous debris of splintered wood and broken glass with every step. Once I reached the plank, it looked even larger than it had initially, at least as long as a pair of semi truck trailers sitting end to end. It didn't matter, I still had to try. With my naked back pressed up against the smooth surface of the polished wood, I pushed with my legs. The board moved easily, aided by the soft, carpeted surface of the floor. I pushed again... and again... and once more until it met Vix's fingertips.

Vix, get him on his side, was the only thought I could think to send her.

She nodded, then took the board in her hand and knocked that fuckhead doctor upside the head with it. He seemed unfazed, but the force with which she hit him was enough to knock him to the ground. Even then, the doped-up bastard still would not give up his hold on Vix's neck. Broken glass sliced at my legs and feet as I scrambled around the top of my giant doppelgänger's head. She was kicking him as hard as she could, right square in the dick, but he still would not let go.

Vix rolled herself on top of him, then began to slam his hand that still held the jaw-breaker into the floor. It took multiple tries before she'd broken enough of his fingers that he finally let go. Thinking quickly, she jammed the business end inside of Gibson's mouth and pulled the trigger like rapid fire. The man may not have been able to feel his jaw stretching open, but he was aware enough, even within his hallucinogenic, hate-filled state that he would still like to maintain use of his mouth. The doc whipped his head to the side, trying to keep the trigger out of Vix's reach.

I quickly found myself near where Gibson's elbow met the floor. There, I took hold of the fabric of his lab coat and used it to climb up onto his arm. Little red footprints from my battered feet trailed behind me on the white fabric as I raced towards his face. Luck had found me, the jaw-breaker's trigger was within reach.

I threw myself at the handle, using my entire body to pump the trigger as quickly and as many times as I could. His massive, grimacing face filled my view. Murderous eyes locked on me. The doctor screamed an angry howl, finally releasing his hold on my original self. I heard an echoing gasp before my feet left the fabric ground beneath them. The doctor had wrapped both of his hands around the shaft of the device, trying in vain to rip it from his mouth. Blood trickled out of the corners of his lips.

I was airborne, holding onto the trigger for dear life as Gibson clawed and flailed. It was no use, the slick, metal surface and the frantic motion of a man in desperation sent me flying. Crumpling in a heap onto the floor, I was positive I was going to die... again. Thank god for the motherfucker who invented shag carpet, that shit had cushioned my fall for the second time that night.

There was no time to count my lucky stars. A massive hand was reaching out for me, it's shadow creeping closer like an impending storm. If I didn't move, I was certain it would crush me in its grip. I tried to crab walk backwards to escape it, but I never stood a chance. Gibson could cover so much more ground in less time than I ever could. He snagged me by the leg and started dragging me back.

That's when the sky itself seed like it had fallen. A massive black column fell down on top of Gibson's hand, crunching bones with its sheer force. No, not a column, it was a boot. Vix's boot. She rose above me like an ancient statue, looking tired and angry and just... done. God, I miss wearing those boots, they fit me so well!

My heart leapt with joy, and with a sense of pride in myself, even if I was no longer her. Vix, was something to behold, dare I say downright awe-inspiring, battle-worn and badass. A vengeful tattooed warrior goddess, ready to take down any and all who dared challenge her supremacy. I could finally appreciate the woman I... or rather she... had become. I wished I could be her again, not the small, pathetic creature I'd become.

With his hand pinned beneath the rubber of her sole, Vix's other still-bare foot ground Gibson's face into the floor. Blood continued to trickle from his mouth as she pressed his head harder and deeper into the carpet. Finally, the sadistic bastard had been subdued. I hurried back to my feet and took hold of the trigger once again. Gibson's eyes grew wide and he stopped struggling against Vix's weight.

"This ends right now," I barked, I don't know how many more clicks it'll take to separate your jaw from your skull, but judging by the way you look right now, I'd say not many."

Gibson only screamed in response. Using his free hand, he tried to beat on Vix's calf as hard as he could. She didn't budge.

"I think I've gotten to know you about as much as I like," she told him, then turned to me. "How about you?"

I nodded in agreement.

Vix knelt down in such a way that her knee was imbedded firmly in the side of Gibson's neck. She leaned in as close to his ear as she could and began to whisper, "but before we kill you, I feel like you've earned the knowledge you've worked so hard to gain. What do you think, shorty?"

"Tell him," I agreed. Both of my hands were turning pale with the death grip I held on that trigger.

"You wanna know what The Triad Dimension is? Alright, I'll tell you. It's the end of corporate fascism. The Total Restoration of Independence and American Democracy. Victor just added the "dimension" part because he thought it sounded cool."

I picked up from there, "capitalistic greed has controlled our lives for too long. The people deserve a say, like they once did in this country."

Vix continued, "no due process. No standard of currency. No government oversight. Hell, there's no government to speak of. Who's to keep you fuckers from doing unspeakable acts in the name of more profit?"

"Like cloning people just to torture them," I added. I clicked the trigger once just to make sure he was still paying attention. Gibson grunted.

"Here's the kicker though, Doc. Even if your methods got the information out of Victor or myself, it wouldn't have mattered. There are millions of us, just waiting for the right moment to take you greedy sons-of-bitches down. And after people start talking about tonight's Neurolinx stream, there'll be even more. The revolution isn't coming, dipshit. It's already here." She picked up Dax's holopad and waved it in front of Gibson's face, "this won't hurt in giving us a leg up either."

Vix turned her attention back towards me, "you ready?"

"Nothing would please me more," I replied. I don't even know how many times that man had kills me. It was a shame I'd only get to kill him once. I looked Dr. Frankenfuck directly in the eyes... and smiled, "see ya in my dreams, doc."

Like rapid fire, I pressed that firing mechanism as many times as I could. A hail of screams and cracking bone followed as Dr. Gibson's gaping maw expanded. His cheeks tore into long, bloody gills and several of his teeth actually popped right out of their sockets. Pushed to its limit, Gibson's jaw completely exploded. A wave of blood sprayed from his mouth in my direction, knocking me off my feet. Teeth flew everywhere like lava bombs from an erupting volcano. The force of the final crack was so strong that it actually broke Gibson's neck, killing him instantly. And just like that, the room returned to an eerie calm.

The warmth of the doctor's blood had covered every inch of me. I'd gone from completely naked to coated in gooey crimson. I wiped the thick liquid out of my eyes, gagging and fighting the urge to puke in the process. The stuff was all around me, creating a disgusting pink bog in the thick white shag.

"You let Sully inject you with that shit?!"

"Fuck me," Vix gasped, "I'm not sure what I expected to happen, but that sure wasn't it. He said an overdose could stop your heart, not turn you into a fucking rage monster. I saw some pretty crazy shit while on it, I wonder what he saw."

"Yeah, it's a real fucking mystery. Can you quit guffawing and help me get cleaned off now?!"

Vix lowered her hand to help me up. I had to pad through blood-soaked carpet fibers before crawling on board, cringing at the feeling of Gibson's bodily fluids squishing between my toes. I was sure I was going to be sick. Just as she was about to lift me, the device that had brought an end to Dr. Gibson began to retract in on itself, resuming its original starting position.

"Huh," Vix breathed.

"What?"

"Killed by his favorite toy," she mused. "Kinda poetic, don't you think?"

"Yeah. He's a sicko. Fuck him. Water now, please!"

My titanic doppelgänger quickly carried me over to the bar where a sink was conveniently available. Being packed around like that was something I was going to have to get used to, but experiencing someone's hand wrapped around me while basically flying through the air had just about pushed me over the edge. If I had eaten anything in those last couple of months, I most certainly would have thrown up.

My giant self set me down inside the basin, stainless steel walls curving up towards the sky all around me. Like being at the bottom of an empty swimming pool. She turned on the water, asking me if the temperature was ok. I couldn't have cared less if it was scalding hot or ice cold, I just needed to get all the Gibson off of me. As I hand scrubbed my skin, Vix's face disappeared from above me.

Once satisfied I'd gotten at least most of the blood out of my hair, I found myself waiting for Vix to return. What the fuck was she doing? I wasn't exactly capable of getting around the room by myself. There was a bottle brush hanging over the edge of the sink, which after several leaping tries I'd managed to knock down into the basin with me. I set it up at an angle and used its bristles as a ladder to escape my latest prison. When I finally pulled myself up onto the bar surface, I understood why she had disappeared.





End Part 16

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 17-"Dinner With Dax"




Mini-Vix:

"You're not seriously taking his videotapes, are you?!" I don't know why I thought my voice would carry across the room at my size. I repeated my question telepathically, knowing exactly how Vix was going to respond.

The larger me was buzzing across the shelved wall, plucking different movies from their designated spots and placing them into a plastic bag. Where she'd found the bag is anyone's guess.

"You bet your ass I am! I... we've waited our whole lives for a haul like this! We've been through hell and I think we've earned a little reward. Look at this! The Neverending Story! Never heard of it, but even if it sucks this thing could be worth a year's crypto to the right buyer!"

I crossed my arms over my damp, naked chest, tapping my foot in annoyance. I'm not sure if I was more irritated by the fact that she was wasting time loading herself down with Dax's stuff, or the fact that, if I was big enough to do so, I knew I'd be doing same goddamn thing myself. Well, if you're gonna loot the place, could you at least find me something to wear?

"Way ahead of ya," she replied, hobbling back in my direction. She was still only wearing one shoe, but I imagine she was in too much pain to try and squeeze her foot back inside that restrictive boot. Pinched between her thumb and forefinger was a single sheet of tissue, which she released right on top of my head.

Great. Paper clothing again. I wrapped it around me into a soft, but bulky toga, ripping long strips off the ends to wrap the cuts on my feet. Luckily none of them were very deep. I don't think anyone on earth is qualified to suture someone my size. The thought of Dax's fingers having touched the very thing I was wearing brought up all kinds of horrible images in my head. Wiping snot off his face or cleaning his knob after a wank. I shivered with disgust, having had my fill with being coated in other people's bodily fluids for the day.

In the meantime, Vix had returned to the shelved wall, tapping her index finger on her lips as she tried to decide what else to take. Knowing her little plastic bag would only hold so many was just another form of torture. She knelt down to look at the titles closest to the floor and that's when she audibly gasped. "Oh. My. God. Dude, you're never gonna believe this!"

She didn't even need to show it to me, I just closed my eyes and viewed what she was seeing through her eyes. I'll hand it to her, she had indeed struck gold.

The distinctive red packaging.

The bold white 'Bossomania" distribution label logo.

Vix thought her heart might stop. A dozen films by the late, great Russ Meyer himself, just ripe for the picking! Among them, our very namesake, SuperVixens itself!

Vix pushed them all into her already overstuffed bag with a single sweep of the arm. When she finally came to get me, the towering woman's arms were completely full. Her bag looked like it was about to burst at the seams. Dax's computer was tucked between her arm and her body. Her boot draped limply over her arm, hanging over that fucking cage dangling from her hand.

"You can't be serious," I scoffed, finding the idea of going back inside that fucking thing absolutely repugnant.

Vix opened the cage door, "quit being a little bitch about it and get in, unless you'd rather ride inside my bra?" It was the first time I'd witnessed my smug raised eyebrow and crooked grin from the outside. I wasn't a fan.

I chose the former.


Vix slipped out of the office door into the hallway, setting her sack of tapes and shoe down on the floor while she made sure the door was secured tightly. Couldn't let any passerby's see the mess we'd left Gibson in after all. The lack of any police force may seem beneficial to us, considering we'd technically just committed a murder, but just because there wasn't any way to prosecute us didn't mean we were safe.

Nabisco had already shown Vix that they had their own private goon squad, those men who'd ushered her into the factory with Dax. These private security firms rarely took prisoners, abiding by the only law that existed... the will of the corporations, and how much they'd pay to enforce it. We could only hope the message she'd sent them would have the desired effect.

My larger self set me down on the floor as well, finally giving herself the time to put her goddamn boot back on. "Ow!" She shouted, before slipping her foot back out.

"What is it?" I asked.

She tilted her shoe upside down and started shaking it. "There's something sharp inisde!"

Sure enough, a single broken tooth bounced onto the floor in front of my cage. One of Gibson's teeth had found its way inside after we'd cracked his face open like a salted nut. I immediately wanted to puke again.

Vix finally wiggled her foot back into her shoe, one agonizing inch at a time. "Jesus Fuckmothering Christ this hurts!" She couldn't bring herself to tighten the laces very much, leaving the shin high footwear loose against their ankle. She picked me and the bag of videotapes back up, then turned towards the elevator...

...nearly running into Dax Loritone in the process.

She froze.

He froze.

Dax hadn't noticed us as he made his way down the hall. A holographic screen was projected in front of his face, some businessy looking bullshit with a bunch of pie charts and graphs. He was holding a tray of what had to be his dinner. A bottle of wine. Vegetables that weren't molded into the shape of a brick. And I swear to god, an actual steak. Not a meat cube molded to look like one, an actual... cut-off-the-cow... ribeye steak.

Dax's eyes fell towards me, then raised towards the stretched-out sack full of his videocassettes, even higher still to the laptop tucked under Vix's arm, then finally coming to rest on her face. The tray in his hands began to quake with the rage building up inside him.

"You. Fucking. Bitch," Dax hissed. I felt like I was about to witness a volcano erupting.

Vix responded with a shrug, which just happened to be the last straw for stretched-out plastic bag in her hand. The bottom ripped open, spilling all of Dax's VHS tapes into a pile on the floor at her feet.

"You're fucking dead," Dax threatened, though finding himself at a loss as to what he should do with the tray full of food in his hands. It had to be an extremely expensive meal after all. Something I'm sure he'd been saving for a special night. The night when he'd finally set himself on the path to conquer death.

Cover your eyes, Vix told me telepathically. Her attack deterrent must have finally primed. I knew what was coming and didn't hesitate.

Dax's brief moment of indecision gave Vix just enough time to initiate her attack deterrent, blinding Loritone with a flash of light that filled the hallway for hundreds of feet in both directions. Dax screamed, "fuck! Goddamn fucking bitch! What the fuck?!

Vix snatched the succulent cut of meat right off Dax's plate and stuffed it in her mouth like a poorly trained dog stealing its master's dinner. She turned and ran, making sure to grab the copy of SuperVixens off the floor before hitting full speed.

Dax threw the tray blindly, just missing her but hitting my cage dead on. The impact sent a rattle right through my bones and I was terrified that Vix was going to drop me as a result. Turns out she had, but managed to catch it by the bars in mid air without missing a beat. If you'd ever wondered what it was like to ride inside a tumble dryer, I can tell you from experience that it isn't a real cool time.

The elevator was still so far away, easily a half a mile or more, and Dax was hot on our tails. He couldn't have been armed because he most certainly would have fired on us. Vix just kept running as hard and as fast as she could, which couldn't have been easy after what Gibson had done to her.

Oh my god, this tastes so good! She told me telepathically.

Sure, rub it in my face! I replied.

Don't worry, I'll save you some meat crumbs. There should be plenty stuck between my teeth when I'm done.

Funny. Real funny.

"You're dead! Both of you! Fucking bitches! You're fucking dead!"

Dax's voice reverberated down the hall, fueling my doppelgänger's drive to run.

"We're gonna make it... we’re gonna make it...," she panted over and over. I'm not sure if she was trying to convince me or herself.

Either way, Dax's angry expletives were getting closer with every second.




End Part 17

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 18-"Hellevator"




The hallway stretched out in front of me, feeling like it would never end. Four straight lines leading to a bright dot in the distance. It was dizzying. Door after identical door rushed by as I pushed my leg muscles to the limit. I sit behind a desk all day, so cardio is not my strong suit.

My heart pounded in my chest, and not just from the unwanted exercise. Dax was gaining on me. Every time he called me a cunt or a bitch or a whore, his voice was just slightly closer. The EOM flash I unloaded on him would only blind him for a few minutes, but there was no way he could see his way down that hallway. I had no idea how he was keeping pace.

I tried to keep the cage I was carrying as steady as I could, but I could still feel its diminutive occupant bouncing around inside. At any moment I could trip and fall, especially with one of my boots not laced up, sending her flying out of my hands to certain death. If I fell, Dax would catch me. He'd easily overpower me. The fact that I had information he wanted would no longer matter. Dax was so enraged that killing me, and probably with his bare hands, was the only thing that could set his world right again.

The shape of the elevator became more recognizable as it drew closer. Warm grease from the steak, still locked within my lips, trickled down the side of my mouth and dripped off my chin onto my shirt. If nothing else, at least I'd wrangled a nice final meal before my execution.

My legs burned and my sides hurt due to dehydration. It wasn't just the strange surroundings making me dizzy anymore. Gibson's torture still lingered in my toes and I could feel blood pooling inside my boot. Every muscle in my body was screaming to give up. Let him win. It won't be so bad. It took everything I had left to make it to the elevator.

The doors were right there, open and waiting for the right next passenger. I wrapped my arms around my clone's cage to protect it, then leapt inside. My momentum carried me forward as I fell to the floor, then skidded into the wall like every bone in my body had suddenly turned to jelly. I crawled back towards the opening, searching frantically for the button that closed the doors. With hundreds to choose from, I didn't even know where to begin... and I cost me.

I started pressing everything I could to the right if the doors, and by chance on elf them did them did the trick. The double gate began to close, but I was too late. Dax shoved his arms through the narrow crack that was left, easily prying them back open. He forced himself inside, the fires of hell and vengeance burning in his, admittedly pretty eyes. He was still struggling to see us, but not enough to give me any kind of advantage. It was a small space after all. Like a rat in a cage, I crawled towards a corner, but there was nowhere left to hide.

Dax didn't waste any time. His fist made contact with my face before I even knew what had happened. The steak flew out of my mouth, splatting against the glass wall to my left, then slid down to the floor, leaving a greasy streak in its wake.

What a waste.

The doors closed behind our pursuer, trapping my clone and I inside the lift with this lunatic. The only thing I could think to do is put myself between him and and her cage, wrapping my body around it in a sort of fetal position. For failing to defend myself, I was rewarded with a strong kick to the spine.

"Do something!" Screamed mini-Vix, "he's gonna kill you if you don't fight back!"

Another body kick found my kidney, a blow so painful that I actually squeezed the cage until it shattered in my arms. Mini-Vix toppled out onto the floor, first staring up at me, then up at Dax. He must have noticed her movement through his blurred vision.

"Oh, don't you worry, you two-legged petrie dish! I'm not leaving you out! As soon as I'm done stomping SuperVixen here to death, you'll meet the bottom of my shoe too!" To punctuate his point, Dax kicked me in the back once again.

I rolled over, my hands flailing in the air, anything to try and save myself from Dax's wrath. A suddenly jolt rocked all three of us. The lift began to move, which knocked Dax off balance. I'd inadvertently pressed one of the many glowing buttons lining its walls while trying to hold him off. With the tiny window of opportunity I had, I kicked him as hard as I could in the balls. A shocking wave of pain rocketed up my leg from my still aching toes. Dax's legs buckled and he fell to the floor, holding his aching dick with both hands.

Mini-Vix darted around the edge of the elevator, trying her best to stay out of harm's way while the pair of boring, human looking kaiju wrestled each other to the death. Once safely in a corner, she shot me a telepathic message, I have an idea. Try to keep him occupied.

Making a move to punch him in the dick again, Dax snatched my arm and pulled me up against his chest. In an instant, he me in headlock. His dark, flexing biceps cutting off my air and sending me into a full-on panic. I thought back to mini-Vix, I don't think that's going to be a problem! I'm fucking dying here!

"Now', said Dax through gritted teeth, "let's see about getting this thing out of your head. I could have just taken it after you were already dead, but as seems to be your style, you just had to go and make things difficult."

Dax's fingers felt around the periphery of my EOM unit, trying to probe their way into my eye socket. The harder he pushed, the more I screamed. I couldn't breath, I couldn't move, and Dax was going to win.

But I couldn't let him. We couldn't let him.

We had to keep this tech out of his hands, even if it meant I wasn't going to walk away from that place in one piece... or at all.

Just hold on! See if you can get him to his feet! Mini-Vix instructed.

Jesus, this better work, I thought to myself, not thinking about whether or not she heard me. I kicked against the wall in front of me, forcing Dax's head against the one behind us. He banged into a series of buttons, activating about six of them at once. This caused the elevator to jolt wildly in different directions. It didn't shake his grip on my neck free, but it did allow me the chance to slide us both up the wall into a standing position.

Alright, he's up. Whatever you're gonna do, you best do it. I can't breath! I'm... I'm getting... dizzy...

My doppelgänger replied, trust me, I'm working on it! Now, bite his arm and get the doors open as fast as you can!

Easy for you to say!

Suddenly I was finding it very difficult to keep my eyes open. Dax's choke hold was taking effect. If I didn't act right that second, I was going to pass right the fuck out. Then that bastard could do anything he wanted with me. Kill me right there, torture me some more. Hell, maybe I'd wind up packaged into a series of processed protein cubes. Special new SuperVixen flavored, for your enjoyment!

This was it, all or nothing. With what could have been my last act on earth, I kicked my legs into the air, making sure to dig my heel into the button that opened the elevator doors when I did. I jammed my broken thumb into his eye, which didn't feel amazing for me, but knew from personal experience that it felt worse for him. Dax's grip on my head slipped just enough that I was able to lock my teeth onto his forearm. Biting down as hard as I could, I drew blood, then took a mouthful of flesh with me as I slid out of his arms.

"Fffuuuuuuuuuuck!" Dax screamed, staring at the bloody hole in his arm with the one good eye he had left. "Bitch! You're dead! You're so fucking dead!"

"Yeah," I panted, trying to regain my breath. I wiped the blood covering my thumb off on my skirt, "I've heard that song already."

Finally free from his grasp, I found myself in a just as unenviable a position: between that psycho and the open elevator door. I'm not sure there was any part of me left that wasn't throbbing in pain. The lift sped along horizontally, about fifty feet above the factory floor, still moving erratically at right angles due to all of the conflicting commands. A sea of billowy pink meat tubes stretched out in every direction below.

While Dax was preoccupied with trying to stop a geyser of blood from pouring out of the gaping hole in his arm, I took the opportunity to throw the hardest punch I'd ever thrown in my life. It landed with a dull thud against his jaw. Rather than knock him out, it really only served to piss him off more... if that was even possible at that point. Dax lunged at me, but something was immediately wrong. In an instant, that hate in his eyes... er... eye... switched off, turning instead to fear. He wasn't lunging anymore so much as falling.

Mini-Vix screamed inside my head, get out of the way!

A single step to the right saved me from Dax's impact. His forward momentum carried him past me, then right through the open doors. The elevator was traveling directly above the giant meat slicing robot, and Dax fell head first directly into its open jaws. Before he even had a chance to scream, the man's body was trisected, killing him in a fraction of a second. Robotic arms picked up the severed pieces and fed them into the grinder.

Mini-Vix joined me at the the edge as we peered down at the gory sight. "I guess Dax was right, we really are all... just... meat."

"So much for immortality, you piece of shit!" I yelled into the giant vat of sliced and diced muscle. I thought I could make out some of his clothing before it too disappeared into the churning vat.

All quipping aside, what the fuck had just happened?

Dax had me. By all rights that should have been me down there getting mixed in with the frankenbeef.

The voice in my head returned, you're welcome!





End Part 18

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 19-"Bailey"




I pressed the button to close the elevator doors, then turned around. Mini-Vix was at my feet. She had her hands placed at her hips, looking extremely proud of herself.

"What... how... Jesus, I'm so confused."

I really was.

She cupped her hands over her mouth and shouted back up, "oldest trick in the book!"

"Oh yeah? And what's that?"

She laughed, "I tied his shoelaces together!"

My jaw about hit the floor, "that was it?! That was your whole grand scheme?! Tying his fucking shoelaces together?! Bitch, I almost died!"

"Come on! Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the exact same thing!"

The more I looked for a way to prove her wrong, the more I couldn't. Again, same brain. I winced my eyes shut and pinched the space between them. Yes, I was annoyed, but I couldn't help but laugh.

Big mistake, every chuckle sent waves of pain throughout my body. I fell against the back of the elevator and used it to carefully slide down to the floor. My miniature self came and sat down right next to me, both of us seated in the exact same position with our legs stretched out in front of us.

On the floor to my right lay the steak I'd stolen from Dax's tray. I leaned over slowly, trying to cause as little pain as I could to retrieve it. Holding the now lukewarm slab of beef in my hand, I looked to my companion for approval.

She shrugged and said, "ten second rule?"

"It's been way longer than ten seconds."

She replied, "since when has that ever stopped us? Remember when we ate that protein cube that had sat in the back of the fridge until waaaaay past its expiration?"

"Yeah, and I... we... got violently ill afterwards."

We sat there in silence for a moment, both of us just staring at the uncommon delicacy. That's when I ripped a small piece off from the edge and handed it over to my counterpart. In her tiny hands it looked huge, way more than she could ever hope to consume on her own.

She told me, "you know... this will be the first thing I've eaten in months."

I gazed down at her in surprise, "uh... how is that even possible? I mean, do you not have to eat?"

"No, it's not like that. They killed me so many times that I was usually dead before they ever had to bother feeding me." We both let that hang in the air for a moment. Hints of a trauma she'd only then began to process were starting to rear their ugly heads. "The hunger was there though. Every day."

"Jesus," I gasped.

Again, the two of us just silently stared at our spoils of victory. A single videocassette, Dax's computer, and a dirty steak.

"Any idea which one of these buttons gets us to the floor?" I asked, kinda rhetorically.

Mini-Vix just laughed, "guess you'll have to try 'em all. It'll give us time to enjoy our dinner."

"Fair enough," I replied. I stood up and swiped my hands down the sides of every wall until each and every button was lit up, basking us in a weird, dimly green glow. I took my seat once again next to my new friend... or was she my sister? Whatever the fuck she was, it didn't really matter. I lowered my share of the steak to meet hers in a toast, "to Sully?"

Sullenly, she returned my gesture, "to Sully.... and Victor."

"...and Victor."

Each of us took a bite... then another... then another. We didn't talk for a while, just savoring the juicy, salty flavor. Mini-Vix ate all she could, then I finished what she couldn't. That steak, which I'd literally scraped off the floor, was by far the best meal either of us had ever eaten. I should have grabbed that bottle of wine while I was at it.

The elevator continued to buzz around the factory, stopping here and there, but not reaching the floor for quite some time. My clone allowed me to pick her up and hold her, both of us feeling more exhausted than either of us could ever remember. Her eyes looked heavy, like it was everything she could do to keep from falling asleep. I could definitely relate, but I had to ask her one last question before she did.

"Soooo... what... like... what do I call you?"

"Huh?" She asked, groggily.

"I mean, yes, we're both SuperVixen, but that is gonna get confusing... and... you're your own person now. What would you like me to call you?"

She closed her eyes, snuggling into the warmth of my palm, "don't know. It's not something I've really had time to think about."

"Right, right... I just...," the next thing out of my mouth could easily piss her off if I didn't handle it the right way. "I don't know, I was just thinking... you have all of my memories, so we share all the same mental scars, but in reality you're really only like, what, a couple of hours old? My asshole parents never actually got to lay a hand on you. Maybe you don't have to carry that baggage anymore. You could just... let it go. I was thinking... maybe... maybe you get to be Bailey."

Bailentine Crandall. Bailey, for short. My birth name. The name I'd spent my entire adult life trying distance myself from because of my parents' abuse... but for her, it could just be a name. Her eyes opened a little, and I could tell she was thinking it over.

"Or not," I backtracked, "just forget I mentioned it." What a stupid thing to suggest.

"Yeah... ok," she finally replied, much to my surprise. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Bailey closed her eyes again and wiggled into a more comfortable position where her head could rest against the rise in my palm at the base of my thumb, "but leave that Crandall bullshit in the dumpster where it belongs."

I chuckled a little, surprisingly to little pain, "wouldn't have expected anything else."





End Part 19

[Bloodthirstybutcher]

Part 20-"Three Days Later"




Ugh. Must've dosed off.

My eyes struggled to open, like they'd been glued shut. When they finally did, the strange image of a large breasted black woman, shaking her bare ass in front of an old desert motel, filled my field of view. A strange sight to behold, indeed, until I realized I was looking at a screen. A screen that was now much, much larger than I remembered it being.

The sofa beneath me felt weird, stiffer somehow. My bare legs and feet stretched out straight in front of me... except, they weren't my legs. My toes didn't hurt from Dr. Gibson's interrogation tactics. In fact, I was covered in cuts and scrapes I didn't remember having.

Something was definitely... off.

Was I still asleep? Still dreaming?

Please don't tell me this shit isn't over with.

My sofa was nowhere near deep enough for me to sit like that. I would had to have my feet propped on the coffee table to do so. There was a foot propped up on it though. One that dwarfed me in every way.

The seeds of panic were planted firmly in my mind.

My clothes were different too. Not my usual tight fitting black attire, but a fragile, tattered toga. One that smelled of days of wear. No tattoos. No EOM unit. No scars. And then I felt the warmth next to me. An enormous arm, covered in tattoos stretched skyward, disappearing under a canopy of bright red hair. I knew instantly it was me, only gigantic! Turning away, I took in the familiar view of my DSC, except it had exploded to enormous proportions.

Oh god no... here we go again... the nightmares are back.

After earning the first two nights of peaceful sleep I'd had in months, it had all been for nothing. Before I knew it, I was hyperventilating and my skin flushed warm with fear. The instinct to pinch myself awake arose, but I knew that pain was still very much on the table if...

...fuck me, they made another one! Those bastards made another clone!

Except... that didn't make any sense. Why would those corrupt, corporate scumbags go to the trouble of creating another clone, only to plant it in my own home?

Wait a second... where's Bailey?

That's when I heard the snickering laughter coming from the gigantic woman next to me. Her eye, my eye, was looking over her shoulder at me, a glint of mischief in its depths. Then she spoke, "neat trick, huh?"

"Bailey?!" I exclaimed in disbelief. I climbed to my feet, my fists clenched at my sides. "What the fuck did you do?!"

She giggled again, "you dosed off in the middle of the movie, so I thought I'd fuck with ya a little."

This was a little more extreme than a hand in a cold glass of water or finding a dick drawn on your forehead after a slumber party. I pointed my finger at her accusingly, "you... you fix this right now!"

"Daaawww," she cooed, patronizing me with response, "I wish someone would have told me we looked so cute when we're angry."

"Baaaaailey?!" I'm sure I looked really intimidating, punching the bottom of her elbow with my tiny fists.

"Ok, ok," she finally relented, having had her fun, "hold on, this might be a little jarring while you're awake."

She wasn't kidding. The switch didn't feel like the layered experience of your usual Neurolinx session. For a second, it felt like I was whipped back by a jolt of static electricity, falling into nothing until I landed safely back in my proper self. Making matters even more disorienting, I quickly realized I was still fucked up on booze and pain killers. I scanned my surroundings to make sure everything else was as it should be.

Just my DSC, still in shambles after I'd torn it apart looking for spyware. My tortured foot was elevated on the coffee table, just where I'd left it. Bailey was looking up at me, giggling to herself. Christ, I thought, is that what my laugh sounds like?! "How the fuck did you do that?!"

"Didn't know I could until I tried," she replied.

I raised an arm to wipe the nervous sweat off my brow, finding it odd that my forehead was dry. Of course it was. It was her body that was in panic mode, not mine. My own body was just drunk. "Why the fuck do you have so much control over this thing in MY head?!”

Bailey shrugged.

“Please don't ever do that again!"

"You sure about that?" She asked playfully.

"Lets see, do I want to be four inches tall? Yeah, no thank you.”

"Think about it," Bailey began, "if you want a day off from work or something, I can just switch with you!"

I looked at her skeptically, "there's no way you're a perfect clone of me if you actually want to go to work."

She explained, "listen, I've spent two months getting sliced and diced, burnt and frozen. Trapped in tiny cell with no one to talk to. The thought of going to work... or even standing in line for food rations sounds like a fucking vacation to me."

"Hmmm...," I thought out loud, "not sure I'd ever be able to rest if I did swap with you. I'd probably use your size to scour ever inch of this place for more spyware."

Bailey scowled at me, "great. Thanks. Now that's all I can think about."

Staring blankety at the ridiculousness unfolding on the screen, I let my head fall back against the sofa. Finally letting the relief that I wasn't going through yet another round of evil corporate mind-swapping interrogations find me. I picked up my prescription for the ample pain I was in, trying to remember the last time I took a dose. I swallowed a couple more anyway. The bottle was clearly marked do not take with alcohol, something I continued to ignore as I refreshed my can of Sex Offender with another shot of rum. The sugary, caffeine and speed infused beverage had gone flat and lukewarm since opening it the night before. I still drank it.

It had been three days since we escaped the Nabisco plant. No one had come after Bailey or myself, which made me fear that I might be letting my guard down. Well, obviously not enough to keep from getting a little fucked up anyway. You take a few shots to the ribs and see if you don't wanna dull the pain any way you can afterwards.

Either the mess I'd made of their crypto had scared the meat oligarchs enough to back off, or Dax and Gibson had possibly been operating outside the scope of the company's orders. Can't imagine the bigwigs would let him have all the glory if he really did find a way to live forever. I don't really care either way. It's not like we have any actual leverage over them, I released all of the documents into Neurolinx as soon as I got home that night. Now anyone in the world can produce artificial meat who has the means to do so... the exact thing The Triad Dimension plans to do to the rest of the world's monopolies. Taking their neo-fascist capitalistic greed and shoving it right back up their asses.

Still, that meant a war was coming. One that would determine if the masses could once again find their voice. That, or remain trapped under the boot heels of the richest fraction of a percent of society. Bailey and I had fired the first shots. Hearts and minds had been won, but now the fight would put the movement's resolve to the test-

"I love this part," Bailey exclaimed, interrupting my thoughts.

Sorry, I think I was getting a little too ahead of myself there.

"You hungry?" I asked.

"Always," she replied. Since gaining her freedom, Bailey'd stuffed her face with as much food as possible, and at any opportunity she could. It's understandable, considering what she'd been through. I just worry she might to turn into a fat little couch potato.

"Veggie cubes sound alright again?" I suggested. "I think I'd like to avoid protein cubes for a while. At least until I find out there's a little leafy SuperVixen somewhere getting turned into a salad."

Bailey nodded, "yeah, sounds good... and thanks for that image, by the way."

"Alright, I'll warm some up after the movie's over."

The videocassette copy of SuperVixens played on. The amazing climax was about to begin. Charles Napier, the villain, stands on top of a desert mountain, tossing sticks of dynamite down the slopes at the film's hero as he tries to climb up to save the girl. A naked woman is staked to the ground at Napier's feet, screaming her head off.

Sheer. Fucking. Cinema.

Flashes of weird, distorted lines often flickered across the bottom of the screen, as well as the somewhat fuzzy image occasionally rolling from top to bottom due to some kind of tracking issue with the player. The two of us watched quietly until the credits began to roll. Then Bailey said what we both were thinking.

"Huh... VHS... looks like shit."

"Yeah. Who knew?"

It really did.





The End.