Night Skies Hotel: How The World Has Changed! free porn video

Historian's note: This story is set during the "modern" era of the Night Skies Hotel; specifically, in November 2010. The events unfold in a timeline not far from our own. *** "Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one." ? Albert Einstein (1879 CE-1955 CE, Timeline 0600) *** Night Skies Hotel: How the World Has Changed! By Wolverine "Daisy" Coolidge sat on the couch, holding a long, thin all-white, lit cigarette in her dainty, little hand. She brought the cigarette to her pouty lips, drew deeply, and blew out a creamy plume into the air. "Mrs. Coolidge..." the Indianapolis police officer started, pulling out his notebook. "Ms. Gershowitz, please," interrupted Daisy. "I'm going to divorce myself completely from that slimeball soon. I wanna get used to it." "Ms. Gershowitz, how did you come to meet Mr. Dick?" the police officer asked. Daisy giggled, then stifled it by placing her hand to her mouth. She fixed her amused, green eyes on the police officer. "I don't see what's funny. We have a dead man." "Oh, but if you knew that dead man, you'd be in a good mood too," Daisy said. "As for your question, Mr. Dick ?" she snickered "? sorry, I had a couple drinks before you boys showed up. Um, I met Philip Dick when I walked into his offices, over on the corner of Fifth and Lennon." "What was your business there?" the police officer asked. Daisy gave him a look, and he frowned. "Please, Mrs. Coo...Ms. Gershowitz, I am trying to get a statement." "Alright, but don't go killing my mood because you're a stiff," Daisy replied. "I hope you know, this is all going in my report," the police officer said. "It'd be a shame if the D.A. happened to see you as a gleeful participant in the murder of Mr. Clyde Coolidge." "It wasn't murder, it was..." The police officer held his hand up. "We'll get there. Now, what were you doing in Mr. Dick's offices?" "I was there to hire him to follow my husband. Is there any other reason a woman goes to see a P.I.?" "I don't know of many. How long ago did this transaction occur?" "About three weeks. I'm sure you'll find proof of that in Philip's income tax reports." "I'm sure we will. Funny that you're on a first name basis with Mr. Dick. Are you sure there's no previous relations with this man? Perhaps a midnight rendezvous, or a..." "I am many things, officer, but neither slut nor whore is one of them. I was faithful to my husband." "So three weeks ago, you hired a Mr. Philip Dick of the P. Dick Agency to follow your husband. For what purposes may I ask?" "I wanted something on my dear hubby to smear his name through the papers. He kept me miserable, and since I couldn't get a divorce ? let it be known my husband never hit me once despite every other horrid thing he did to make sure I hated him ? I figured I'd find something dirty to make sure he was as miserable as me." "And I assume Mr. Dick found this?" the police officer asked. Daisy nodded. "Yes, officer, and then some. Philip found his way to the bottom of a conspiracy involving one U.S. senator, a museum curator, my husband, and Judge Coolidge ? no relation, by the way ? one which I could confirm to the law, should it ever come to that. "My husband found out about Philip, assumed he was a consort of mine, and called him here to murder both of us. Philip, figuring it to be a trap but also ? well, I'd like to assume he came here to get me because he fancied me. He always said he liked red-heads." "Please stick to the events leading up to the murder." "Alright, so Philip kicks open the door, gun drawn, and rolls in, dodging one shot by Clyde, and then putting one of his own into Clyde's chest. Clyde dropped like a sack of bricks. It was the most incredible thing I'd ever seen." "And where were you when this happened?" the police officer inquired. Daisy looked diagonally to the opposite corner of the small apartment, studied it, and pointed to a lamp. "By the lamp?" "Yeah. Clyde was standing over there," Daisy said as she pointed into the nearby doorway leading into the bedroom. "Clyde was expecting Philip to be some dumb waiter or bouncer I'd met at some club. He planned to pop out of the bedroom when Philip knocked, tell him to come in, and nail him. But Philip got the drop on him by kicking it in, so Clyde had to aim while Philip rolled." "And that's how Clyde Coolidge died?" "Yes, he was killed by Philip Dick in self-defense," Daisy said. The police officer nodded, closed his notebook, and put it in his pocket. Daisy watched him even as she put out her cigarette in the nearby ashtray. "Are we done?" "I suggest you don't leave town, or anything drastic such as that," the police officer said. "Should this make it to court, we're going to need your testimony." "But what about my other testimony, officer?" Daisy asked, giving him a grim look. "If any of those men I listed get wind of this statement, I might as well kill myself now." "I'm sorry ma'am, but as an officer of the law, I can't give any advice that would interfere with this case," the police officer responded. Daisy's mouth hung open, and she let her hands flop into her lap as she stared at the ground, flabbergasted. The police officer frowned, and kneeled down. Daisy looked into his eyes and he smiled slightly. "But as a man, thinking of the welfare of a pretty lady like yourself, I say get the hell out of town or lay low until this blows over. If what you say is true, then Philip Dick's career is peanuts to staying alive. This town is going to hell, and those men are some of the worst if you ask me." Daisy nodded, and chewed on her thumb as she thought. The police officer smiled, stood, and left. That left Daisy alone with the other police studying the crime scene. Soon, they'd ask her to leave, and she'd do so. Then what? She didn't know. *** Philip Dick lit up a cigarette as soon as Detective Morris handed his pack back to him. "I kept those myself. I'd hate for you to get any germs," Morris said with a smirk as they walked out of the police station. Philip laughed aloud. "Yeah, I think I can taste the dirt, Jimmy," Philip said, amused. Jimmy grabbed his arm roughly, and dragged him to the edge of the steps. The two patrol officers on the steps looked over at them. "You're out on my good graces alone. I vouched for you. I pulled all the right strings, and put my ass on the line," Morris said angrily through his teeth, holding Philip by his coat. Philip smirked all the while. Morris looked over at the two patrol officers. They quickly walked into the station. Morris's apparent anger faded, and he let Philip go before smoothing out the P.I.'s coat. "Besides, you don't seem to object to me taking YOUR bribes." "Of course not. That's why I love you," Philip said, smiling. He patted Morris on the cheek. Morris moved his head back, and pushed Philip's hands away. Philip turned and walked down the steps. "I'll be sure to keep in touch. I'll be a popular fellow around here in a week or so. Working on something big." "Keep an eye out, Dick! You don't have any friends!" Morris shouted after Philip as the P.I. walked down the sidewalk. Philip shot the detective the finger and kept going. Now, it was time to start breaking down the facts. There was nothing more wasteful than just doing something. A walk was a perfect opportunity to think. First, Mr. Clyde Coolidge, Judge James Coolidge, Sen. Red "Horace" Franklin, and Professor Merlin Holmes, and the late Mayor Casey Dandridge (hopefully Daisy hadn't given that connection up in her report; the last thing Philip needed was another possible murder on his head) had been known by Mrs. Natalie "Daisy" Coolidge to have regular meetings. Second, the subject of said meetings involved not only the running of the city, but the running of perhaps the whole country. Hence the senator's involvement. But how far up did it go? Irrelevant, or at least impossible to know. Philip couldn't leave Indianapolis, for certain. It'd be too much trouble for something he wasn't getting paid for. So what was the plan of running this town? Third, Mr. Coolidge had been a bookie. He knew a thing about money, maybe even laundering it. The mob definitely had had him in their employ ? well, when they still existed. Things were getting better on the outside, but something stunk inside, and everyone could smell it. The world didn't just get better, cleaner, more hip overnight, which is what happened in the dirtiest metropolis of them all, Indianapolis. Shit, John Lennon himself was killed in the city, right near Philip's office, and if that bright ray of light couldn't be accepted by this city, nothing would. Then, Casey Dandridge, a former bookie himself and a notorious drunk, had been elected to office, and somehow things got better. It stunk bad. So two bookies. There were your money handlers. Maybe they were involved in some cockamamie scheme to move the money through the museum, under the blind eye of Prof. Holmes. Enough money to buy a senator, perhaps? So what was this? A secret mafia? Had the mob just gone even further underground, enough that you couldn't tell it was them? That would involve a huge boost in intelligence, which Philip didn't think they were capable of. "Oh well," Philip said with a smile. He flicked his cigarette to the ground, and walked right into the bar four blocks from the police station. *** The Tenacious Tavern was a respectable place. Luckily, Philip always looked respectable, even for a guy who had just got out of jail for killing a man. His black hair was always slicked down (he'd made sure to keep it down when he'd been in the holding cell), and he wore a pinstripe suit under his overcoat. After hanging his coat on the coat rack, Philip stroked his mustache, smiled warmly, and scanned the large, busy establishment for a particular lady friend of his. The walls of the Tavern were wood, and made to look like some kind of rundown dive in the middle of nowhere, but anybody who was anybody came here. Philip always found it funny they still wore their best clothes too, like the atmosphere was just some famous painting from Europe, and they could "ooohhh" and "ahhh" over it as they gossiped about nothing. Suits, fedoras, feathers, and beautiful dresses worthy of movie stars against the back drop of a seedy dive. Oh how the world had changed in the past few months. Oh well. "Mrs. Coolidge?" Philip asked in his most chipper voice as he approached a woman sitting at a stool at the bar. She turned, and cast the most beautiful blue eyes in Philip's direction. They were really striking opposite the greying brown hair on her head, and the hints of wrinkles she obscured with today's best makeup. Philip offered a hand to the older woman, and she looked down at it. "Yes? I told the last boy I needed nothing," Mrs. Coolidge stated. Philip chuckled, and shook his head. "No, ma'am, I don't work here," said Philip in a very young tone. If she thought he was young, let her stick with it. The better to trick her with. "I'm Robert Youngstown with the Lauderdale Lauder, and I'd like to have a word with you concerning your husband, and what it's like to live with such a powerful man. It's for the lifestyle section, if you must be sure I'm not one of those 'slimy' reporters." Mrs. Coolidge's eyes sunk, and she turned away from Philip. "I'm sorry, young man, but I have nothing to say to you," she said. "Please, ma'am, it'll take just a moment. I'm not one of those..." "You could be the editor-in-chief, and I wouldn't care. I have nothing to say." "I see," Philip said politely. "Well, please let me know if you change your mind. That's Robert Youngstown with the Lauderdale Lauder." "Please, before you leave, make me ruin my make up," Mrs. Coolidge said somberly. "Excuse me?" Philip asked politely. "I said 'Leave before you make me ruin my make up.'" Mrs. Coolidge said, turning her face back to Philip. He could tell now she'd gotten a little intoxicated. He could smell it, and see it in her eyes. "Feeling sick?" he asked, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. She brushed it away. "No, no, not that," she said, turning back to the bar, and pulling her drinking glass closer. "My husband..." "Please, ma'am, say what you need. It's strictly off the record," Philip said as sincerely as could be. Oh yeah, he was a bad boy. "My husband was a good man. He was honorable. A lot better than those other riffraff," she said. "I mean, the club rats, those peasants ?" Peasants? She said peasants? Philip thought "? that don't have anything to contribute to the world, that's fine. But my husband. All he ever did was try to help this town." "What happened, Mrs. Coolidge?" The older woman looked Philip over and shook her head. "No, you look like a fine, upstanding young man." Yeah, right. "I don't want to ruin your life. Just go back to your paper and write about Ms. Monroe's newest bathroom set." Mrs. Coolidge turned her head back to the bar, and Philip gulped. Alright, door closing again. Get a fucking foot in! "My shoulder has never collapsed when someone put their head on it," he said. Ouch. Mrs. Coolidge looked at him and laughed. "You think I need a shoulder, young man? I don't need your shoulder or anyone else's. Deborah French-Coolidge has never needed anyone. I am a strong woman," she said proudly. Philip nodded, and quickly walked away, Mrs. Coolidge still shouting after him. "You better know I can have any man in this joint, or not, and it wouldn't matter. My money is mine, and no one else's!" *** Philip bundled up in his coat as he scurried out of the tavern. Alright, that didn't go very far, he thought. Fucking dames. Always wanting to prove they were as good as men. Oh yeah, they could be just as good as men, but they could be just as bad, even worse. He grimaced. Always having to prove something, just like the blacks. Just shut the fuck up, and get on with your life. The world shits all over you, and then you die. Philip accepted what was, not what should be. Fuck ideals. "Oh well," Philip said quietly to himself as he turned the corner at the end of the block, and headed down Lennon toward his office building. It was unbearably cold, too. Shit, think of something else. Daisy. There was a looker. Busty redhead with green eyes, and a firm little body. All in all, she wasn't any different from other dames. Didn't try to improve her life at all. All she did was try and make everyone else as miserable as her, including Philip. Shit, this was a long walk. Philip wouldn't have been in this whole mess had it not been for her miserable ass. But what a great ass. Pfft. Thoughts not befitting a gentleman; how very like Philip Dick. As Philip approached his office, he was able to see a short figure more and more plainly standing on the doorstep. The person was bundled up, but the closer Philip got, the better he could tell the gender. A dame. Great. Some sad sob with an unbearable urge to go fumbling through her most untrusted one's life. Philip approached the doorstep carefully, and nodded to the woman. She looked at him out of her fur-lined hood with very Asian eyes. "Evening, ma'am," Philip said, climbing the steps. "Mr. Dick?" she asked with a slight accent. Philip nodded. "Oh thank goodness. I have been waiting here for an hour." "That's an hour too long," Philip said with a smile. The woman smiled slightly. Philip unlocked the office door and stepped in. "Please come in, and try warming up." "Thank you," she replied with a smile. Philip held the door for her, and they stepped into the entry hall of Philip Dick's office. Philip closed the door behind her, took her large coat, and then placed a hand outward to signify direction. "Please, come with me, I have some whiskey in my drawer," he said. The woman frowned, but followed. They walked past the bare desk of his non- existent secretary. The last one had quit when he half-seriously asked her to work for free because he couldn't pay her anymore. Note to all the aspiring whatevers of the world: don't be notorious for being a crook if you don't want to have no heater and live alone. Philip led the woman into his office, closed the door with the letters "P Dck Pri Detective" on the glass. He stepped around his desk, turned on the lamp, and motioned for her to turn off the ceiling light. "Sorry, I don't like it too bright in here. Have a seat if you want." The woman sat, as did Philip. He reached down to the bottom drawer, opened it, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He had three, which made him feel like a king every time. All the other P.I.s might have all the letters of their names on the door, but Philip Dick, the only guy with a name tailored to private investigations or being an asshole, had three drinking glasses. Philip filled both glasses and slid one to the woman before downing his with three quick gulps. The woman held hers and stared as he set his down on the table and wiped his lips. "Go on, there's no heater in here, and since I don't expect to be getting many jobs once the paper puts out that I'm a suspected murderer, I won't be getting many more," Philip said casually. The woman dropped her glass and Philip chuckled. "No, not you, ma'am. I don't kill anyone I don't have to, and never have. I may be a bastard, but a cold-blooded murderer I am not." "Mr. Dick, can you help me?" the woman asked, rubbing her arms for warmth. Philip reached down into the bottom drawer again, grabbed the other glass, and poured it for her. The woman took it, and sipped it. "My husband has gone missing." "You don't say?" Philip said, letting the whiskey kick in as he kicked back. He was a bad P.I. So what? "Yes, he worked as..." "Sorry, ma'am, but I don't think I can take on another case right now. I'm working on a big one, and..." "Please, sir!" the woman begged. Philip looked into her eyes, and felt a little sad. He must've been getting drunk. "My husband means everything to me. I can't work!" "I could think of at least one job every woman could do, but I'm sure you don't have any interest in being down on Marx Street every day," Philip said. The woman's mouth dropped open. Oh what a bastard he was! She promptly stood, and rushed from the office. He heard the door open, but not close soon after, and he groaned. Philip poured another glass of whiskey, stood, and walked for the front door. He closed it, and plodded back to his office. It was true. Prostitution was a perfectly respectable profession. And it didn't discriminate. Philip pushed the profoundly advanced thought from his brain, and sat back in his chair. So much for keeping with this, and not wasting time. Oh well, he'd killed a man, and been to jail tonight. That was a bit much for anyone. The phone rang, and Philip looked at it. It rang again. Then, it rang again, and Philip picked it up. Obviously, they weren't giving up. "Hello?" "Mr. Dick?" a male voice said on the other end. Philip nodded, laughed to himself, and then sobered up. "People say so," Philip said soberly as possible. "This is Senator Horace Franklin," the voice said. Philip opened his mouth to respond with a "Yeah, right." but closed it when he realized that this was actually possible. Wow. How the world had changed. This was an impossible occurrence now occurring. Wow, maybe Philip would open a charity in the morning. "Mr. Dick? Are you there?" "Uh, yes, sir, senator. I was in the middle of a thought when you called," Philip said. Uh huh. "What may I ask is the pleasure of this call?" "I know that you were investigating Mr. Coolidge. Might that investigation still be going on?" the senator asked. Huh. Guess it wasn't such a tight pack after all. "I'm sorry, but Mr. Coolidge is dead," Philip said. The other end gasped. "How, may I ask?" "I shot him in self-defense," Philip replied. "He believed me to be a less-than-reputable relation of his wife. You'll hear all about it on page 13 of the paper tomorrow." "Aye," the senator said, defeated. "Then I assume any information I might have on him would be irrelevant to you." "Not necessarily," Philip said. Obviously, they don't know you're onto them. Keep going, but stay cool. "I'm sure I'll need something for my defense." "What if I told you, sir, that I could provide you with a get-out-of- jail-free card, and one place as a world hero?" the senator said. "My normal fee isn't quite so high, but I'm not complaining," said Philip. Oh yeah. "I thought so. Meet me at the park in thirty minutes," said the senator. A click followed, and Philip pressed "end" on the phone before placing it back on its charger. He gulped down the small remainder of his glass before putting the whiskey away. Philip looked across the table, spotted the woman's glass, and frowned. He'd had enough...but whiskey couldn't go to waste. *** The "Park" was fairly big. Philip remembered that once he arrived, buzzing more than a little. He snorted, dug his hands deeper into his pockets, and wandered along the cement path. The trees were all dead and the electric lights were dim, which gave a eerie feeling to the otherwise peaceful night. What stumped Philip was how science had produced fluorescent lighting, but somehow no one had figured out how to cure some of the worst diseases. Like this one time, Philip had been investigating a doctor, and he of course had to go into a hospital to see if this noble man of medicine was indeed an adulterer, a bad Christian, etc. At one point, Philip had ducked into a room to lay low, and come face to face with a horribly sick man. The man looked so frail; almost like a mummy. And every time the man gave one of his hacking, lung-busting coughs, Philip was sure he would fall apart. Of course, the man was barely aware of Philip being in the room, watching him, as he stared off into the ceiling on his morphine and whatever feel-good medicines they gave him. And there was one time that Philip had been over in Niggertown on a job, getting pictures of a white man having an affair with a nigger woman. The pictures ruined the man's life, and the city damn near lynched the woman. All work of an unappreciated, uncaring P.I. But Philip did wonder sometimes why people had made lighting like the ones in the poles, and yet we couldn't...oh, there was the senator. Philip threw away his traveling cigarette and lit another as he walked off the path, and into the shadowy, dimly lit forest to meet the honorable Sen. Franklin. Big, bushy eyebrows, snow-white hair, wrinkle upon wrinkle, and chin upon chin. That was Indiana's senator. Good times. The senator offered his hand, and Philip shook it. Good times indeed. "I'm glad you met me. I have some things to tell you that may shock you," the senator said. Good, time to get to the bottom of this case, get it to the police and the papers, and get some kind of huge heroic reward plus some respectability. "Let me guess, Mr. Coolidge and the mayor handled the funds of some underground group, channeled it through the museum, paid you for a vote in Congress, while Judge Coolidge kept the police off your case, and let anyone in your little game off the hook. He was their 'get-out-of- jail-free card,'" Philip proposed. The senator's mouth hung open. "Not quite, but you're on the right track, son," the senator said. "What am I missing?" "No, I 'spect not," the senator replied with a grin. "I figured you knew." "Knew what?" "Something is terribly amiss with this world." "What are you talking about?" "Power," the senator responded. "I have it. It is given to me by men of this world. Their price? Food for their dreams. A little glamour to help them think the world is ripening, ready for a fresh golden age to spring forth, when really you're rotting." "What are you talking about?" "The big picture, but I didn't come here to explain art to a child," said the senator, sobering up and losing his air of satisfaction. "You want to know about Judge Coolidge, don't you?" "So you know about Judge Coolidge?" "Go to Marx Street," said the senator. "What's there?" "Whores, riff raff, the disenfranchised ? and 55 percent of our profit." "Ah," replied Philip, jotting this fact in his notebook. "Some sort of brothel?" "Something very much like that. You'll find Judge Coolidge there." *** Philip walked alone down the snow-covered sidewalk, hands in pockets, as he made his way back to the office. Marx Street. How many cases had involved a trip to Marx Street? All of them. Marx Street was heaven for prostitutes, junkies, and those that fed on them. Whatever the senator had been hinting at would be well- hidden. Schemes within schemes, operations within operations, running right next door to another. For every one crime, there was another the same night two blocks down. It was a place the police had long abandoned for lost, preferring to instead keep that disgusting street's cancer from spreading. Philip decided to forego traveling there until he'd spoken with Dr. Holmes. He was hoping that by the time he reached the office, Daisy would have established a place to make contact, which he could visit the next day. The past 48 hours had been more than enough excitement for Philip. He needed rest. The office was unlocked when he returned. Daisy was the only other with a key, a decision made of necessity and passion, so she had obviously returned. The lights inside were out, however. Maybe she was scared. What could make her scared? Philip, feeling the hairs on his neck stand up, reached into his coat to hold his gun, ready to be drawn any second. He flipped on the light switch and found his empty, boring office. He steadied, relaxing his grip before noticing the 6-foot tall Amazon in the corner to his right. She came in a blind spot, and disarmed Philip in less than a second. Red hot pain swept through his neck as he dodged her pistol whip, taking it on the side of his neck instead. He staggered forward, turning slowly to face her. She punched quick. Philip staggered backwards, falling across his desk, as she broke his nose. A strong, yet feminine hand grabbed at his shirt and then his collar. Philip looked up through the dizzying pain at his attacker. She was at least 6 feet tall. Long black hair. The strangest golden eyes. A body to die for. And obviously...Philip's view changed as her other hand joined in the grabbing and then lifted him up into the air. He looked down at her grim, emotionless face before flying three feet across his desk and to the floor. His arm cracked, broken. Philip forced himself to focus and MOVE. He pushed with his feet and found his strength, finding himself halfway to his feet before she grabbed him again. By now his adrenaline was pumping. Philip spun into her, headbutting the Amazon in the sternum. She cried out and lost her grip. Philip put up his arms, his right one throbbing with pain from the obvious fracture. She steadied herself before he could throw a punch and easily deflected his first one. She countered with punch of her own, catching him cross the jaw. Philip kept himself focused and steady. She'd disabled him; this was a fight for life. Live. Live. Live! Philip retreated, keeping his hands up and blocking as she tore into him with a flurry of kicks and punches. Damnit!, he thought, who the hell trained this dame? Philip fell back against his hat rack. He grabbed it with his right hand, forcing his movements through unbearable pain, and swung up. It caught the Amazon in the jaw. Blood flew up into an arc. She slammed into the wall. She caught herself against it. Heaving, she spit blood onto the floor and looked up at Philip, furious. Her pretty jaw was swelling and blood continued to ooze from her mouth. Quickly realizing this was a lost fight, Philip ran through the door and out of the building. He ran, kicking up snow. A gunshot. His right leg stung and quit working, followed by his left. He fell face first into the snow. Another gunshot and a ricochet. He fought to stand, but couldn't move his right arm anymore and his right leg refused to work. He managed to turn over as the Amazon closed in for the kill. "Stop!" he screamed desperately as she approached, holding the gun firmly at his face, drawing a bead for a point blank kill. "My master sends his deepest..." she said in a mumbled, broken jaw voice before another, male voice boomed loudly from several yards away. "Hey you! Drop the gun!" the male voice said. The Amazon looked up and so did Philip. A cop ran toward them, reaching for his gun. The Amazon raised her weapon and fired, hitting the cop square in the face. He tumbled to the ground, dead. She looked back down at Philip, lowering her gun once more for the kill. A siren sounded and they both looked up again to see a cop car pulling up fast. She looked down again and fired, hitting Philip in the chest before running. Philip blacked out. *** When he woke up, Philip was in a hospital bed. A few hours later, still on an I.V. drip of morphine, he was questioned by two detectives. He told them he couldn't tell them anything on account of the medicine and they left. A few days later, they returned. Then, he told them he couldn't say who the attacker was. He had never met her. He had a drawer filled with vengeful husbands and wives who would be happy to hire a hitman or hitwoman to kill him. He gave them a description and they left. Philip spent the next few weeks in the hospital. Nothing came in from Daisy. He heard nothing. He could do little more than read the newspaper. One story reported the disappearance of Dr. Holmes, removing the last man other than the senator that had any information regarding Philip's investigation. Dedicated to his craft as he was, Philip struggled to find any clues in the paper that he could that might pertain to the case. Marx Street, the two followups to the Holmes disappearance which revealed nothing, anything. Finally, Philip gave in and decided that, between the numerous bouts with death and the loss of all leads, he would cut his losses and drop out of the case. He'd find a way to keep the forward. Hazard pay he'd call it. Any information found in the investigation would be left to be read by the client. And then he'd tell the client he would not expect anymore payments. This case was ended. Of course, hearing from the client involved being back at the office. That was the only number he'd ever heard from this one from. That was the case often. But usually, they'd at least give a name. This one had given him nothing but money and a job. Well, it wasn't worth it. He'd go back to missing persons. Call that woman, whatever her name was and find the next month's rent there. She'd pay if she was desperate enough. *** The woman's name was Angelica Craft, and her husband had been missing for two months. Despite the likelihood that all leads were dry by now, Philip apologized for his earlier dismissal and swore he'd find the woman's husband, Mr. Bradford Craft, for a "small" advance. The case was pretty much open and shut as soon as Philip began investigating. Mr. Craft worked as a waiter in Niggertown, according to his wife. But, according to his coworkers, he rarely reported for work. Instead, according to a few name drops with the right people in the wrong place, Mr. Craft moonlighted as muscle for one of the many gangs running Marx Street. Pissed off employer, dead hubby. Gang war, dead hubby. Philip was immediately sure this was the case. However, Philip was dedicated, so he followed the obvious lead, Marx Street. Specifically, Golden Dreams Hotel, one of many brothels littering Marx Street. This one was quite special, though. All of the employees were women, and all of them quite Amazonian. Figure that. Philip spent two days watching the hotel from a broken down car across the street, looking like a perverted homeless man. He even took to drinking for effect. Or was it for the dull pain in his bones from that beating? He didn't really know. By the fourth day of his investigation, Philip got bold enough to try going in. Dressed in his rags, he stumbled up to the front door, slicked down his hair and strolled in. The building was incredibly comfortable, and very timeless. There wasn't a time period not represented by an object in the small entry room. Medieval, Victorian, Roman, Greek, Neoclassical, the list went on. His eyes went haywire trying to pin down everything. And then there were the women. Five, amazingly beautiful, raven-haired women all grinning and scantily clad, ready for his money and his lust. Two sat behind the wooden counter. Their golden eyes stared hungrily at him. "Welcome to the Golden Dreams Hotel," one of the women behind the counter said in a very bubbly voice as he stumbled up to the counter. She grinned wickedly at him, and her eyes moved down his body. "What will your pleasure be today?" "Need a room!" Philip said as drunkenly as he could muster. He was a little buzzed so it wasn't hard. "Need a woman! NO! Two women!" "Well, sir, I would be happy to find you a room," she said before looking conspiratorially at her coworkers. "And if you have a nice tip, maybe the bellhops would be happy to provide your second request. How many nights would you like to stay?" "All of 'em!" Philip exclaimed with a grin. "But I can probably only afford tonight." "Okey dokey," the woman bubbled. She scrawled something on her writing pad and then reached over to take a key off the wall. "You will be in Room 10. Have a wonderful stay!" Philip took the key from the woman's outstretched hand and turned with a smile. The other women grinned at him, all eyeing him hungrily. "Would you like some help with your bags?" one woman asked, knowing that he didn't have any bags. But she had big tits, so why the hell not? In fact, they all had enormous tits. This was going to be a fun investigation. "Why, of course I would!" Philip shouted. He took the woman by the arm. Another woman hurried next to him as her coworker led him away, but Philip shook a hundred dollar bill in the air, and she backed off, frowning. *** "I am going to suck the skin off your dick," the woman whispered in his ear as she clawed at his chest. She squealed. "You're ripped!" "Thank you!" The woman pulled him aggressively for a kiss. She tasted like three-day-old semen and food, but her mouth was still quite wonderful. Philip broke the kiss after a few moments, and kept letting her pull him to their room. He tried to catch a glimpse of anything important, but the route was very straight-forward and his "bellhop" was definitely eager to fuck him. Tits and a slutty, empty-eyed face kept obscuring his vision. Room 10 was a rundown piece of shit, just like the rest of the hotel, and it reeked of sex. His companion instantly threw him to the bed, and he quickly shucked his jacket, revealing his much nicer clothes underneath. The woman's grin widened. "I knew you had to be a rich man," she said, just as bubbly as the woman up front. Her top came off in a second, followed by any other clothes that she had. Philip stared dumbly at her, taking in the whore's body. She looked amazing. Especially for having been violated in the ways he imagined. She giggled and played with her tits, letting him know she saw him looking. "You like what you see?" "Yuh...yes..." Philip stammered. "Very much. How much is a woman of your caliber worth?" "One hundred dollars an hour, and you can cum in me," she said happily. "Anything you want in that time, too." "Well, I happen to have just that!" Philip said, and he handed the woman his money. She took it with a big grin before dropping it and tackling him. She was sweaty and reeked of sex even more than the room. It was stifling. "Wow! What's your name?!" "Cocksucker!" she screamed before mashing her lips to his. It was an incredibly unfortunate thing to say. The taste of other men in her mouth was overwhelming. Philip kissed back, reluctantly, but his dick was far, far from hard. This was disgusting! "Cocksucker" was very, very bad at what she did. She probably got by on looks alone, and the desperation of men to cum in someone that looked like that. She rubbed all the wrong places, humped him wildly and violently, and screamed in a very annoying pitch like this was a bachelor party. "Come on and fuck me, stud!" "I..." Philip stopped, and just frowned. He punched "Cocksucker" right across the jaw, knocking her out cold. He pushed the woman off of him and stood up. His clothes were soaked in her sweat and juices. He almost puked having the smell on him. He checked her to make sure she was out, and then gently laid her on the bed. "Sorry." It was time to explore. There was a case afoot, and the connection to the woman that'd almost killed him was more than coincidental. After straightening himself up, and putting on a tie, Philip made for the door. He brushed his hair back down with his hands as he opened it. Surprise! Standing in the door was a tall, golden-eyed woman with all the features that came with the rest of them. Except this one had clothes on. Serious clothes. And a serious look on her face to match. Philip stared at her, and she sneered back at him. "Oh, hell..." Philip started to say before the woman grabbed his throat and lifted him one-armed into the air. He kicked wildly, and tried to scream. "Hello, Mr. Dick. I presume you're the dead man I've come to take outside," she said in a not-so-friendly tone. What was it with women these days? *** The woman eventually dropped Philip and then dragged him outside by the hair. He'd have pulled an escape, but she also had a gun and a firm grip. The woman threw Philip into the snow outside. The alleyway was dark and cold. He climbed to his feet, stopping when he heard the click of her gun cocking. He froze and waited for the inevitable. The gunshot rang loudly in the alleyway. Philip checked himself to make sure he was still unholed. He turned around, confused. Another gunshot rang along with a bright muzzle-flash in the small alleyway. Philip grimaced at the sight and sound. He couldn't make out the woman's features enough to find her face, but stared at her shadow. "Mr. Dick, you are hopefully dead or wounded, but you were able to run from me," the woman's serious, accented voice said. "I would recommend you stay on the run and far from Marx Street." "Who the hell are you?" he asked. The gunshots had almost deafened him. "What did you say?" "I am head of security for the Golden Dreams Hotel, and I have handled a very violent man, who harmed one of my girls," she said. "If I see you around here again, I'll kill you." "Yeah? Well, why didn't you do it this time? I just decked that dame, and I don't feel bad at all," he responded. "So tell me again who you are." "All right, Mr. Dick," the woman said. "If you're not afraid of me, then be afraid of the Night Sisters. We're watching you, and we're telling you to stay the hell away from this place. You're only going to get yourself killed or worse, and ruin everything we're doing here. Please, Mr. Dick, stay away from Marx Street." "The who?" The woman didn't respond, but instead turned and opened the door. The warm air and the light spilling out made Philip jealous. The woman walked in and let the door close. Philip ran for the door and banged, hard. "Wait!" Goddamn crazy broads all over this town. Daisy included. Oh...Daisy. Philip shivered and wrapped his arms around his chest. It was going to be a long, cold walk back to the office. *** The Night Sisters Haven was a battered women's shelter in the heart of downtown. And unlike some of the other places in town, they took in women who had worked as whores on Marx Street, considering their experience alone a form of abuse. The place was very well-known downtown apparently, but very closed doors in a literal way. Any new "residents" had to apply by mail or by dropping an application through the drop slot on the front of the building. All entrances were done by armed escort by very menacing looking men and women. The women here also seemed to be Amazons. Was there a theme? To say the least, getting any closer to the Night Sisters was almost impossible. At least for him. So once again, Philip decided to leave well enough alone, even if it meant losing this client, too. Or maybe he could tell her he found her husband to be dead. His body's location is unknown. Case closed. Then Daisy called. She'd been working as a girl of the night for the past several weeks and had dug up some information on Philip's original investigation. Something to crack it right back open. She knows everything, Philip thought. To tell the truth, Philip didn't care at all about the investigation any more. Both cases had gotten him closer to being killed than he had the stomach for. But getting to see Daisy again was worth at least pretending to still be professional. To tell some more truth, Philip and Daisy were in lust. "Mr. Dick, I am very scared," Daisy said. Philip smiled at her vulnerable voice. "Now, now, Daisy, there is nothing to worry about," he responded. "Tell me where you are so I can bring you back here to my office." "I'm at the Fool's Gold Hotel on Marx Street. Room 405," she replied. Philip sighed. "How many hotels does Marx Street have now?" "A lot more than it used to! Very relevant!" she said before quieting back to a soft panic. "Please, come get me, Philip. I've had to do terrible things these past few weeks just to stay unnoticed." "I'll be there to sweep you away, my dear, in no time. Sit tight." *** Fool's Gold Hotel was three blocks away from Golden Dreams. The staffs were exactly the same. No matter what Philip did, he couldn't escape the Amazons. He felt like he was in a jungle being hunted by the cannibalistic natives. Luckily, no one recognized him as he found his way to room 405. It was on the fourth floor. The room was shit, just like the hotel and just like Golden Dreams. But the woman inside was much better than "Cocksucker." Daisy, who looked rough to say the least, practically glowed when she saw Philip enter. As soon as he closed the door, she rushed to him and threw her arms around him. "Thank God!" she cried before breaking down sobbing on his chest. He wrapped his arms softly around her and patted her hair. "I can't believe it's over! These past few weeks..." "I know. I know. They've been rough. But hey, I'm here now, and I am going to take you somewhere safe," he assured her. Daisy pulled away from his arms and sat on the bed. Her eyes zoned out into the floor. "Would you like to talk first?" "It's been really, really bad for me, Philip. I've...I've really been working here. It's the only way to know anything about anything. And that wasn't much at first. It doesn't come very fast either. I've had to put my life on the line time and time again just to get a snippet of info," she said, still sobbing. "And the job...Philip...you don't think I'm a whore, do you?" "No," he said firmly. She smiled sweetly and softly. "Thank you. It seems like forever since I didn't feel like one." "What have you found out?" "This hotel, and several others along Marx Street are a front for a much bigger operation, which you were running into in your investigation. All your conspirators...they were here all the time. These weeks it's been Sen. Franklin alone, but that makes sense now that everyone else is gone. He comes in wanting to improve the area, but really, he's just dirtying it up even more." "What is it? What are they doing here?" "Slaves. These women are slaves. The brothels finance the operation. The women who work here are the ones who've already been 'conditioned' by whoever is really running things. They're either too scared or too insane to give anybody up or run away. The other slaves get funneled through these places, and sent wherever they go. For entertainment, and for...labor I think." "Sen. Franklin would be the best bet to be the big boss. The where I don't know." Philip sat beside Daisy. "You did very well. I won't lie. We're going to need facts and evidence, but you've gotten a direction to look. So let's get you out of here, huh?" "Oh, but I have evidence!" She reached under her mattress and pulled out a small book. "I think it's a prisoner manifest. They use old prison buses as transport for the slaves. I've seen several. Almost got thrown on one if I hadn't shown them...well, a talent..." Daisy trailed off, her eyes closing in some long off pain. After a few moments she opened them and looked up at Philip. She handed him the book. He opened it to find a strange text he'd never seen before littering every page. "It's in some code, but I bet I can find someone to crack it," he said. He smiled at her as he stood. "Good work. We better get you and this outta here, eh?" "Have you found anything?" she asked, studying his face. He sat back down and shrugged. "Almost got killed a couple of times. Women just like these pulling the trigger." He thought of where to begin. "One of 'em had me dead to rights just yesterday, snooping around. And she..." "Oh baby!" Daisy said, throwing an arm around him and hugging him. Suddenly, things didn't feel right. The arm didn't feel genuine. And nothing Daisy had said since he came in...really, it didn't sound genuine at all. Daisy stared at him, and he caught himself thinking. "You OK?" "Yeah, just famished from all this excitement," he said with a fake smile. "What say you and I go grab a drink?" "Let me get you one right now!" Daisy quickly stood and scrambled to the minibar. "Whiskey Sour, right?" "Favorite drink, babe," he said. Oh yeah, something was definitely wrong. Why didn't she want to leave? Had they gotten to her? Probably not. Daisy was a tough chick, and definitely far too headstrong to be enslaved without killing every bastard that tried to put their hands on her. "Here you go," she said, handing him the drink. She sat back down. "One of 'em had you dead to rights and..." "And I got away," he finished. Daisy nodded, and smiled. Philip fake smiled back and sipped the sour. Didn't taste funny. He downed the thing, and hoped for the best. Daisy could've shot him in this place if she wanted to kill him. "So what say we do that right now?" "That's a splendid idea," she said. She stood and began collecting her things. Very slowly. Philip watched her even drop her purse intentionally, spilling everything across the floor. She sighed fakely and hunched down to collect the items. Not knowing her game, he just watched and pretended to not know anything. "I can't wait to get back to your office and take a hot, hot shower." "I bet." Daisy obviously had no intention of leaving, she was just buying time for something. Probably security. Damnit, how had they gotten to her? Maybe weeks of sexual abuse warped these women into sheeple. Philip didn't know. Instead of worrying, he relaxed. Everything would play out soon, and some big, Amazonian warrior would burst through the door...it was all so repetitive... Or a knock might come at the door, which it did as if on cue. Philip's lips turned up in a light smile. Daisy put on her best damsel in distress face and looked at him, then the door, then at him, all the while hamming up the fact she was distressed. "Oh shit!" she exclaimed softly. "Lay down. Take your pants off. We're fucking." "Or I just got here," Philip responded, lifting one leg over the other to cross in his lap. Daisy looked at him like he was crazy. "That's them! The..." "Just open the door, and let's get this over with." Daisy looked hurt for a moment. She then put on a smile and went to the door. As it swung open, two Amazonians in suits strolled in, both looking somber as death. Both dark haired and both with golden eyes. It was almost impossible to distinguish the two. So Philip mentally named them No. 1 and No. 2. He nodded with a smile at the new guests, and they responded by looking even more somber. "Welcome to my rented whore-shack, ladies," Philip said. "Would you care for a drink from the wonderful minibar?" "Sir, we are with Fool's Gold Hotel security. We'd like you to come with us. It appears that there has been a threat against the lives of the hotel guests," No. 1 said in a bouncy but outrageously serious voice. "Your escort will be evacuated along with our other girls." "Oh my, a threat!" Philip exclaimed. He stood, and threw his arms up in defeat. "Who would do such a thing?! How could they do this on this day?! I needed this so bad!" "Sir, please calm yourself..." No. 1 tried to say. "I work my hands to the bones, day after day, just to get to visit my favorite girl! Woe is me! I needed this!" "Mr. Dick..." No. 1 started. Philip sucker-punched her, and then lunged at No. 2, who quickly threw him into a nearby dresser. Daisy yelped and slammed the door before sinking into a corner. Philip was back on his feet in no time, and charged No. 2. He blocked one punch, then a kick, threw one of his own, then fell back as she swept his feet. No. 1 rejoined the fray and brought her heel down onto Philip's face. He screamed, and then grabbed her foot and twisted. Her ankle snapped and she howled. Philip pulled and the bitch fell back, hitting the ground with a loud thud. She continued screaming as No. 2 quickly began her assault on his stomach, kicking and stomping the shit out of him. He screamed in unison with No. 1. After some considerable stomping, No. 2 grabbed him by the hair, pulled him over and then tried to kick him in the face. His fist flew into her crotch, and the woman stumbled backwards in pain. No nuts, but a viable pressure point. Philip pulled himself up and tackled No. 2, pushing her through the cheap wallpaper and into a few nail heads. She growled and punched at his ribs. He snarled and headbutted her in the nose. She yelped and reached up to cover the streams of blood. Philip punched her in the ribs, then the jaw and then spun. Murder in his eyes, he closed in on No. 1 and sent the heel of his shoe into her mouth. Teeth clattered all over the floor. He reached down and slammed the woman's head into the floor, then again, and again, and again until...Philip blacked out. *** When he awoke, he realized how much fighting really, really hurt. Also, the back of his head now hurt. Daisy... Philip's world was still dark. He heard the two security women talking, jabbering about something in some kind of coded speak. Something clothlike was on his head, and something clothlike was beneath him. His arms were restrained. The world was kind of spinning. "Son of a bitch, he made my face ugly!" No. 1's voice came from somewhere. Then directly at him. "I hate you!" "Hey, at least you still have those wonderful titties, right?" No. 2 responded, her voice slightly nasally. No. 1 giggled. "Yeah, I guess you're right," No. 1 said, then giggled again. "Every time I think about them, I feel them bursting from my chest. These feel so great. Do you think the boss will still let me suck him off?" "I'm sure he will," No. 2 said cheerfully. "He loves his sluts, especially you once you bring him this package." "And you! How're you going to fuck him, Frida?" "I probably won't." "What?!" "He's going to be disappointed in me. I just know it." "Why?! He's always so pleased to see us. Always grabbing my slutty parts. I've seen how he touches you. How could he ever be disappointed in..." A gunshot ended No. 1's question. Philip's ears rang. Suddenly, he realized he was laying in a car as the car stopped. He rolled forward slightly, and listened intently. No. 2 quietly muttered to herself, and then the car door opened. Cool air flooded in. Philip braced himself, finding his "footing." Another door opened, this time above him. Dainty hands grabbed hold of his shoulders and then pulled. Philip slid upward with a shout. Wet cold engulfed him and he cried out. "That's for the nose," No. 1's nasally voice assured. Bright light flooded his eyes, and suddenly he wasn't blind anymore. Snow, building, no people, no nothing. They had to be in the outskirts now. Great. Philip looked up at his captor, who frowned slightly at him. "I brought you here to kill you, you know." "Not much I can do about it, huh?" he replied with a smirk. No. 1 smiled slightly, and then produced a knife. Philip studied it, then her, and then the dead body lying about four feet away. "Wait! Before you kill me, why'd you kill the other dame?" "She was hardly even a person anymore." "Right..." "What had to be done has been done." No. 1 leaned in closer behind Philip with the knife. And off came his hand restraints. He looked up at No. 1 again. "Who are you and why aren't I dead?" Philip asked as he climbed to his feet. No. 1 extended a swollen, bruised hand. "Frida Herzog: protector of tough shits and representative of the Night Sisters Haven...secretly at least," she said as Philip shook her hand. "You're not dead because I need you alive and don't particularly want you dead." "Mwah?" Philip asked. Frida nodded, leaning back against the car. "Yes, my...partner and myself had orders to bring you to my employer." "The Night Sisters?" "No. While we look similar, bimbo and me have nothing in common." She pointed at her golden eyes. "Underneath this is green." "Right..." "My employer is your employer, Mr. Dick: Sen. Franklin. He thinks you've more than served your purpose, and it's time to meet your end." "Why would the senator hire me to track him down? And why am I not dead?" "Get back in the car; you and I have places to be." "You're taking me to him still?" "Not exactly what you think. Get in the car, and I'll take the scenic route." "Thanks, sister." *** "Let me get this straight: you're a time-hopper from an all-girls' dorm floating around and trying to both avoid and confront an all-boys club hellbent on world domination?" Philip asked after Frida gave him the spill. She nodded, watching the road and ahead AND behind intently. Philip laughed. "Seriously, that's your story?" "How many times in your life have you seen a woman with, literally, golden eyes?" Frida returned. Philip chewed on that statement. "Whether you believe it or not, Franklin is one of them, and at the very least he wants you dead." "If he's the big man, why haven't you taken him out? You're obviously very close to him." "Because I am intelligence," Frida asked. She snorted some blood into a hanky, and frowned. "By the goddesses' blackest hearts! I can't just kill someone and hope to keep my position very long. Of course, now you've compromised me." "Compromised? Hey, you could've killed me back there, and your 'boss' wouldn't have blinked an eye your way." Frida shook her head. "You've shaken everything up. I was supposed to kill you before, and I didn't. It won't be long before he traces it back to me. The operation is over." "So what now?" Philip's stomach gurgled. Nerves were finally starting to act up. "Now we do kill him." "We?" His stomach lurched. Damnit. "You and I. We're going to kill Sen. Franklin, and end his operation on your world." "What exactly is his operation? Daisy was very sketchy about that," he inquired. Frida shook her head. "Slavery, which you already know. There's something more, but I hadn't gotten to the bottom of it yet. Sen. Franklin is the only one here, the women his only manpower. It's not their way." "They being your enemies?" Frida nodded. "What is it usually like, then?" "Fire, death, even more slavery," she replied, her eyes losing their gleam. "You do not want to see it." "Aye. Glad they're not around then. Save this lone wolf. Wonder what his story is." "We're about to find out," Frida said as the car stopped. Philip's stomach gurgled again as he looked up at the four-story building before them. "Patriarch Paper Inc." it said in plain white lettering, slightly obscured by the snow. The front door was dark, and the building looked closed. "This is?" "Sen. Franklin's real office. It looks closed, but I assure you, it's filled to the brim with people." "So we're just going to walk in and kill him?" Philip asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Nothing about nothing felt right. Frida nodded. Philip's stomach gurgled again in response. "Great plan." "It's the best I have." With that, and an elbow, Philip's world went swimmy. "S...o...o...rr...y..." Frida's door opened and closed, and then Philip's opened. He fell out, hitting cold, wet snow. Soft hands pulled him firmly upward, and then he felt like he was gliding. But his feet were dragging... *** Patriarch Paper Inc. was very warm on the inside, and very cozy. The entrance was a simple marble corridor with one guard desk and two doors, one to the outside, the other to the elevator. Tonight, the lone desk had a lone occupant: a nude, golden-eyed, golden-haired beauty staring blankly at the patterns in the wooden surface of her desk. Her name was Slut 326 and she was chattel. She was property. Her very blood told her, and her superiors had made it very clear that she, like them, was property to a man. They had also promised if she was good, the man would let her please him. She was very eager to have that, so she was good. Since she'd been so good, and obedient to the slaves in charge, she had been promoted to guard duty. It was an awesome job. She didn't have to think, she didn't have to do anything but make sure the people in the building were like her: slaves. And if they weren't, call for help. Everything was going great until the woman entered, toting a man. 326 looked blankly at them for a few seconds, watching the woman strain as she dragged the man closer to the elevator and, contemplating playing with her cold-hardened nipples, 326 was sure no one would care. It wasn't like they didn't fuck each other anyways. Just a little...then she realized the man wasn't a woman, and wasn't her man...the man...oh no! "Stop!" 326 chirped in a way-too-cute voice. "You're going somewhere! Stop!" The woman, her visage bruised and battered, nose broken, looked at 326. 326 stared back, not sure what more to say. She hadn't learned to fight yet. She was still learning. Oh no, was she messing up? Oh wait. The woman had golden eyes. Like her. They were the same. But who was the man. She hadn't seen any men come in...how did she know what men were? Hadn't she seen one somewhere...a few...friends...the memories faded as quickly as they had come, her old life vanishing again into 326, who frowned. "Like, who are you?" "Frida. I have a gift for Master Franklin: this man. He's been, like, messing with him," the woman responded in a nasally, but satisfactorily sexy voice. 326 smiled. "I like gifts! And so will the master. Go on!" 326 chirped. The woman turned again, and dragged the man into the elevator. The doors closed, and 326 tweaked a nipple as she looked back down at the desk. Pretty... *** Philip came to in a sea of brown. Blurry brown. He cursed to himself as his head swam, and then blinked. The world got a little better, but it was still brown. His friend, Frida stood over him, looking down at him. "Get up. I stopped the elevator. Now, we've got to get moving," she said. Philip nodded. He swam to his feet. He shook his head again. Not feeling so hot. Frida frowned at him. "I didn't hit you that hard." "Why'd you hit?" he mumbled. He shivered. Something felt good. Frida shook him. "Focus!" she said. Philip did, and then looked down at the cold hardness she'd pushed into his chest. A gun. He looked back at her. "Ready?" "Yeah," he said. His focus wavered for a moment, and then he snapped back to it. He didn't feel good at all. Probably all this unconsciousness. "No more knocking me out, OK?" "Sure," Frida said, smiling, and then she restarted the elevator. It didn't budge. She frowned, and restarted it again. The third floor dinged. "Shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit!" Frida raised her gun at the door, and Philip quickly followed suit. They slid open, and Frida began firing. Two women in the hallway dropped, injured as three more returned fire. Philip popped off two shots and threw himself to the side of the door. Shit! The gunfire continued, with Frida and Philip both occasionally returning fire. They all ran out of ammo quite quickly. Before the dust could settle, Frida was charging from the elevator. Philip tried to move, but found himself way too distracted by his hand. As he heard the cracking of bones and flesh that was Frida's attack, he saw long, ruby red nails shoot out from his fingertips. He gulped, and his stomach flipped. "Philip! I could use some help here!" Frida called. Philip snapped himself back to reality, and pushed himself to his feet. He stumbled into the doorway. One more woman was down, and the other two were engaged in combat with his friend. Philip staggered to the fight, aching head to toe. He grabbed one woman by her shoulder, tugging her around, then swung. She dodged, then cracked him in the nose. Blood spurted as he stumbled toward the wall. The woman continued her assault. Philip sluggishly dodged two punches, then took a kick to the ribs. He quickly hugged her waist and pushed, taking them both to the ground. She clawed at him as he jabbed her several times in the kidney before she finally connected with something. Philip fell off. The woman stared down at him. Without warning, two dainty hands closed around her head and twisted, sending her to the ground, dead. Philip stared up at a beaten Frida, who was heaving for air. She studied Philip. "Are you OK?" "No," Philip croaked. He coughed, and groaned. His ribs cracked loudly and he screamed. Frida frowned. "You've gotta get up. They stopped the elevator, so they'll be using the stairs. We have to beat them to it. Let's go," she said, offering him a hand. Philip stared at it, then looked at his own hand, now much daintier. He tried to scream, but his whole body was screaming in agony. Frida's eyes widened as she caught what he was watching. "Fuck! How? How did they get you?!" "What?" Philip squeaked. The world was spinning. He giggled as his head seemed to fill with air. He relaxed, and his body melted. With a grunt, his hips cracked and soft, supple flesh began filling the back of his pants. He squirmed, the changes interrupting his buzz. Soft, auburn hair fell into his eyes. He cooed. "Ooooohhhh. This feels so goooooodddd..." "Fuck!" Frida's head flipped around, desperate. She ran away, leaving Philip in a changing mess on the floor. He lifted his head to watch her before two huge, fleshy orbs burst from his chest. He moaned, his voice jumping up and down, as the rough cotton of his undershirt rubbed against his turgid nipples. Somewhere, in the distance he heard voices. Gunshots. Then a thump. But it didn't matter... Only the change... Philip... Phili... Phil... Five women encircled him. They all smiled, golden eyes empty. He smiled back, and then drifted once more into unconsciousness. *** "You've lost a lot of blood, but the pathogen seems to be..." someone said. Someone male. The girl's eyes snapped open, and she was aware of a softness under her. She moaned softly, feeling disoriented and excited all at once. "Are you awake?" the voice asked. Man! The girl tried to move, but she was mush all over. Something popped, and she yelped. "I guess so." "Huniunfnwefnewifiuew..." the girl stammered. Where was she? Man! It was all she could think about. She tried pushing herself up again, this time regaining the capacity to get her hands under her. She awkwardly, lifted herself up, first to her hands, then to her hands and knees, then to her haunches. Weight almost pulled her back forward for a hard faceplate, but she quickly steadied herself. She looked down at two of the largest breasts she'd ever seen. They were D-pockets for sure. Oh yeah, those were hers. She lightly brushed a fat, dark nipple and shivered with pleasure. "I do love to watch this," th