Analog Time, Part Six free porn video

Analog Time, Part Six "Boston" by Sandy Man The hard part was iron oxide. Fortunately, I found a box of ungalvanized nails in a desk drawer; he must use these to hang his ugly pictures. I put these in a jar, then filled the jar with salt and a generous amount of water. There was a little manual power hookup in a corner of the bedroom. I gathered that, for the most part, electricity was beamed remotely to power vehicles and personal communication devices like Links. A manual valve like this was for antiques, and probably for devices with broken receivers, as well. If I only knew how to cut the SimLink off from it's power source, I wouldn't even need to do this. But then, even if I managed to do that, the Link probably had a battery backup that would shock me with restraint until power was restored. Or maybe it ran off of the electrical current of my body; I had no way to tell. The manual electric valve was a power strip with a variety of different outlet shapes, as well as a pair of clips, like a jumper cable. There were controls for regulating the type of current and the amount of voltage. I set it to about two amps of direct current and clipped the cables to the two largest nails in the bunch, then dipped the ends of the nails into the water. "You are to practice oral pleasure techniques, using the tools given you," chirped the helpful SimLink. "Be attentive to your work, or restraint will be applied." Fuck. My five minutes were up. I retrieved the dildo from my pocket, while the Link continued on a loop: "You are to practice oral pleasure techniques-" The annoying little bitch shut up when the dildo was in my mouth. How it knew that I was actually sucking on the thing, I have no idea. Sensors in the SimLink? Maybe they were in the dildo, as well. With one hand I played with the sex toy in my mouth, and with the other I turned on the juice. The liquid in the jar started quietly frothing. The mixture gave off a light gas of hydrogen and chlorine; ideally this would have been done in the bathroom, with the ventilation fan on full. I would need to be careful around it. I returned to the shower stall. Lucky for me, three of the four ingredients I would need were already located in the apparatus inside. It hadn't been difficult opening the panels to get at the mechanical guts of the stall, nor to locate and disable the safety mechanisms that prevented things like scalding, or a chemical mixup like the one I was attempting. You may be wondering why that is, or why the SimLink would allow me to carry out such a plan. The answer is that the device doesn't have the capacity to monitor abstract plans of destruction such as this. Pick up a candlestick and swing it at Master's head, you'll feel the sting of restraint seize the joints of your fingers and pry the weapon loose. But fuck up the boss's tax return, mail dirty pictures to his wife, set up a gas chamber - that's beyond the purview of a SimLink. People think that Sims are too stupid or too tame to warrant such safeguards. I took some of the sodium carbonate chips out of the stall, which were used to soften the water, and put them in a glass jar. It took me a while to grind them down using a rolling pin and a cutting board - holdovers from Mister Donald Heck's time as a lower-than-executive class citizen, no doubt. My diminished upper body strength made this a bitch of a task; I pretty much had to throw my whole body weight into every stroke. By the time I had a nice collection of fine powder, it was time to check on the nails. I covered my face with a towel to keep from inhaling the hydrogen chloride and brought the mixture underneath the big cooking fan in the kitchen to strain it through a cheese cloth to get at the iron oxide powder. "You are to practice oral pleasure techniques, using the tools given you," chirped the helpful SimLink. "Be attentive to your work, or restraint will be applied. You are to practice oral pleasure-" "Alright, you fucking cunt," I said, and put the stupid dildo back in my mouth, wiggled it around a little. This was really starting to piss me off. Once the mixture was drained, I laid the cloth out on the counter under a heat lamp to dry out. Then back to the shower stall, where I extracted charcoal from the carbon filters and laid those out to dry. When the lump of iron oxide dried out, I added about double the carbon and sodium carbonate and mixed it all up in a giant bowl. I tossed the mixture into a red hot Pyrex saucepan and stirred it until there were purple flames. Now I had ferrocyanide. I bet you're wondering what kind of chemistry class teaches kids how to make cyanide. The answer is no class. Not where I grew up. But high school chemistry did teach me how to make iron oxide from iron, if you needed to in a hurry. The cyanide I got from my father, who had a job as an exterminator for over twenty years. I filtered out the unreacted carbon, then closed my eyes to access the exact formula for the next part. 8 parts ferrocyanide, 3 parts carbonate. Done. I put this into another saucepan, and let it cook until the solid and liquid parts separated. The liquid was poured out into a fresh bowl, and cooled until it hardened. This was cyanide. "Mister Donald Heck will be home in approximately two hours," said the bitch box around my arm. "You will be clean and ready for his arrival. He would like you to wear something cute." "Shit." You might think that I was freaking out at this point, nowhere near ready to carry out my little escape scene. On the contrary, I was quite relieved to be able to take the fucking dildo out of my mouth. I cleaned the kitchen while the Link taught me how money worked. "The Points System replaced the U.S. Dollar as the standard form of American currency in 2064. Paper currency, which had not been printed since the Digital Standard Act of 2058, was now obsolete, and could not officially be used as legal tender on American soil, although it continued to be accepted in certain areas until 2066." "What about hard currency?" I asked. "Is there any hard currency left?" "While the Federal Government of the United States no longer prints legal tender, ECTO tokens-" "ECTO? What's that?" "ECTO is an acronym for the East Coast Transportation Organization, a corporation that replaced the infrastructure of public transporation for twenty states in 2061." "Okay. Continue." "ECTO tokens serve as an informal hard currency among the general public. The tokens are often used for illegal transactions, where a digital record of funds exchanged is not desired by either party." "Like what? Prostitution?" "Correct. While prostitution is legal in the United States, individuals often utilize ECTO tokens as payment in order to avoid the possibility of a digital record of the transaction." "I'll bet. Tell me more about. ECTO." The Link chirped on. After the cyanide had an hour to cool, I held my breath and chipped some of it away, put it in the resin cylinder for the water softener. So instead of the water running through sodium carbonate tablets, it would run through the cyanide. Then I hooked up the drain cleaner to the water softener. So now instead of water running over the tablets, sulfuric acid would. See, in the future, instead of using a plunger or a plumber's snake to take care of a clog, you just hit a button and the clog drains itself. A lot could go wrong with this plan. I had the food processor whip me up some pizza-flavored Nu Food in a pizza shape. Extra onions. I used to hate onions. Being a girl had changed my palate, though; suddenly onions didn't seem so bad. Rats. I ate it as fast as I could. The fatso alarm still caught me, and I took some level three restraint for about thirty seconds. I brushed my teeth, gargled some mouthwash, and selected an outfit, shiny black plastic with fuzzy cat ears. My, how original. I also washed my face and took the time to put on some makeup, trying to hide the baggy eyes that might give away my all-nighter of research. Mister Donald Heck arrived home exactly forty-one minutes after the SimLink predicted he would. I imagine that the shithead gave me extra time so that I'd be nice and limber for him, and squeaky clean. I stood at attention as he entered and reset the autolocks for the door. He looked me up and down and gave me a half smile, then went to the bedroom to strip off his gear and load it into the safe. "I have to shit," he said as he closed the safe. "Stay here." I gulped down as much water as I could while he was in the bathroom. When he got out of the bathroom, he plopped on the bed and turned on a holovision show called Run Rabbit Run!, in which hunters competed to kill Sims that were engineered to flee and hide from hunters. "Make me a gin and tonic," he said. "Do you know how to do that?" "Yes, sir," I said, and fixed him his drink. Gin and tonic. Damn. Too clear, too watery. If I spilled it on him, he'd probably just towel off while I rolled around on the floor in pain. "Less ice next time," was his critique. "And put a wedge of lime in it." "You don't have limes," I said. "Start a grocery list," he said. "Put limes at the top. I'll pick up the stuff on my way home tomorrow. In the meantime, use the food processor to make some lime-flavored powder, and spice this drink up." He handed me his glass. When I returned with his drink, he'd switched the holo to a porno. Licking lesbians now filled the room. "You seem upset," I said, as I handed him the proper, powder-lime gin. "Long day," he answered, then made a face as if he'd caught himself talking to the toaster. "Can I get you anything else? Nachos, maybe? How about a hot spinach dip?" Whatever it was, I wanted it to be messy. The fridge was full of four different kinds of messy dips, waiting to be "accidentally" spilled on him by the clumsy new Sim. "No." He eyed me up, and then patted the bed beside him. Here we go. Fuck. I sat on the bed, cursing myself for not dumping gin on him when I'd had the chance. He unzipped himself. "Show me what you've been practicing," he said. I swallowed, and took a deep breath. This was the moment I'd been dreading since Amanda DeLong first showed up. Did I actually have to do this? I weighed my options. If I ran, pain. If I refused, pain. If I tried to fake illness and convulse on the floor, the SimLink sensors would tell him I was lying, and then - pain. And then he'd make me do it anyway. I could tell him that I was really a man, and a time traveller. He might be disgusted enough not to stick his dick in me. And then I'd probably be recyled. Then again, he might get off on that. He saw me hesitating and reached for the control pad. I licked my lips, leaned over, and started sucking him off. Not my proudest moment. I was doing it right, though, judging by his reaction. Well, that's what hours of lessons with an expert and two days of forced practice will get you. *** I took it slow for about a minute, then shoved his thing down my throat, trying to trigger my gag reflex. Any second now, his lap would be covered in hot, wet, oniony, pizza bile. Nothing happened. Shit. The endless hours of forced practice had apparently paid off. I was so used to having a dick-shaped object in my mouth that my pharyngeal reflex had grown numb. Fucking great. I'd have to do this the hard way. "Slow down," he said. He was breathing heavily at my vigorous effort, but he wanted to make it last. I took a breath. "May I?" I said, referring to the holoporn all around us. He nodded, and I used the holo control to replace the crude, distracting porn with a pleasant shore scene, surf gently crashing on a beach at sunset. My surf playlist also started, beginning with a slow one by the Beach Boys. "Little Surfer Girl". I resumed my task, taking my time and keeping eye contact. It didn't take him long. I knew he was almost ready when he put a death grip on my hair, forcing me to hold tight and swallow his spunk. He needn't have worried. I grabbed his arm as rancid, clorox-flavored shampoo flooded into my mouth. My gorge finally rose, and hot pizza vomit sprayed into his lap. He released my hair and I spewed on his wrist, covering his Link. "Aw, come on!" said Mister Don Heck, and swung a backhand fist at me. I saw stars, and my eye felt like it was going to pop out of my head. He shoved me off the bed and looked around for a towel. But there was none to be found. I stifled a laugh. "Damn it!" he said, and stormed off for the shower, stripping off his what clothes he still wore. When I heard the hiss of the chamber opening, I bolted into the other room and sealed the external locks on him. Then I returned to the bed room and looked around for the control pad. I smiled when I saw that his Link was among the items that he'd stripped off before entering the bathroom. By the time I found the control pad, he'd discovered that the inner controls weren't working. Mister Donald Heck responded to his predicament in a rational, problem-solving way, worthy of someone of his rank and pay grade. He howled and pounded at the walls of his prison. "Knock it off," I said into the intercom. "YoupieceofdirtI'mgoingtokillyouripyourheadoffofyourneckandefecatedownyo urneckhole," said the intercom. I calmly rinsed the spunk and vomit from my mouth, removed the plastic sex outfit, and wiped the makeup off of my face. Inside his prison, he was starting to realize his predicament. "What do you want?" said the intercom, sharply. "Code for the SimLink," I said. "Go to hell." "I'll try that. Enjoy your gas chamber." I turned the valve that exposed the sulfuric acid to the ferrocyanide. Hydrogen cyanide entered the chamber; he caught the smell of bitter almonds. I watched on the little monitor as he puked and fell over. "Wait!" He croaked. I closed the valve, and flushed the chamber with fresh air. "Well?" "Master dash nine nine seven." "Not the emergency code for the police. The real code, dummy." I squeaked the valve open a tad, and a spurt of HCN sprayed at him from every direction. "That IS the real code!" He said, "I never installed a fake one! That's the truth." I closed the valve and tried the password. In a moment, the SimLink shackle was off of my arm, and I breathed a sigh of relief. "What's the code for the closet safe?" I asked the intercom. He grumbled. "Five one seven, eight two three five." "Thanks. Now the code for your Link." He said nothing. "Well?" "I'm not going to be the guy that armed a crazy, homicidal Sim and set it loose on the streets of Boston. That's not me." "Sure it is," I said. I bypassed the cyanide and hit him with some hot steam. He howled in pain. "The empathy gland shrivels up when you shock it with restraint, you know," I said. "I could do this all night. You have all night, don't you?" He slammed the walls of the stall a few times, but I wasn't afraid. Solid titanium, over an inch thick, with a creamy lead filling to block radiation. I could also start performing x-rays on him from here. "NXS-one one eight seven," He said. I strapped his Link onto my wrist; it was much lighter than the Sim shackle, more like a big digital wristwatch. The code worked, and the holographic display on the vim glasses was crystal clear and beautiful compared to the clunky cartoon shapes from the cheaper SimLink. This was state of the art. I opened the safe. There was a lot in here, an entire closet full. "Link," I said, holding up a machine shaped like a metal loop. "Identify." "A Marks and Hodgson radar collar. The device is worn around the neck. The wearer may then track the movements of objects and individuals up to a range of forty yards." "How does it work?" "The device emits a combination of ultrasonic, radio, and infared waves. The combination makes it extremely difficult for would-be assailaents to surprise the wearer." "Eyes in the back of my head. Good." I picked up another device, one that looked like a wrist guard with smooth plastic electronics attached. "Identify." "A Thompson portable sonic cannon. Also known as a thumper. The weapon emits a point of nonlethal sonic force sufficient to knock down a full grown man at a range of ten yards." "How much kickback?" "The device has very little recoil. There is, however, a danger of damage to the wielder's inner ear." "How do I protect against the inner ear damage." "Sony Mark Seven Stereophones will provide adequate protection against the thumper's blast," chirped the Link, highlighting a pair of earphone cans dangling on a hook. "In addition to providing stereophonic surround sound." "Right," I said, pointing to the next object. "Identify." "VIM Sport Goggles," said the Link. "Shatter resistant, fireproof, and completely opaque." "Identify." "Electromagnetic Projectile Shield Harness. The wearer is protected from metallic projectiles and bomb fragments." "Identify," I said, picking up a metal tube connected to a battery pack. "Neutron-powered Portable Ion Lance. The beam will cut through nearly any solid matter." "Really? What's the range?" "Three feet." "That's it?" "Safety regulations prohibit private ownership of an Ion Lance with a range greater than three feet." "Fine." There was plenty of other stuff in the safe, but I didn't need a computer to identify most of it. Like the sealed copy of The Incredible Hulk #181. Or the first edition printing of Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead. Or the pouch full of ECTO tokens of various denominations. I checked in on Donald, who was doing his best to pry open a circuitry panel with his bare fingers. "Sleep," I said, and released cyanide into the chamber. When he passed out, I shut off the gas and flushed the stall with fresh air. He might survive minimal exposure, and he might not. I figured his odds were about fifty fifty. Good enough. "Link. Show me the five most watched holovision shows. In North America. That aren't porno." Five little windows popped into being, hovering in the air in front of me. Each had shimmering, three dimensional lettering underneath. The windows displayed a little montage of clips from the show, running in a loop, and from this I could glean what each show was about. They were Daily News With Matt Powell, a historical war drama called Fathers and Sons, a morning show called Wake Up Planet Earth, Run Rabbit Run!, and a sitcom called Take My Wife. I manually eliminated all of them except Take My Wife, which I then skimmed through. No good. The outfits were too silly, too wild. Nobody dressed like that. "Show me the next five," I said. "Hey," said the intercom. "I told you what you wanted, now let me out of here!" The next five were Settle Down (another sitcom), Exchange (a science fiction series), Copper (about a British detective in America), Run Kit Run! (which was Run Rabbit Run! with children as both hunted and hunter), and The Floppys (a kid's cartoon). I selected Copper, and skimmed until I found a smartly dressed lady detective. I manually selected her outfit, changed the color of her turtleneck from red to black, and altered it to fit my height and measurements. Then I sent the specs to the Maker, which made the clothes. The ouftit included boots and a pencil skirt; I wasn't too thrilled about the last part. But it seemed like every woman that I had seen on the streets of Darbyshire and every woman on holovision wore a skirt, and I wanted to attract as little attention as possible. I also ran off a sanitary napkin for myself. Shut up. Food. I had taken the liberty, earlier in the day, of constructing a necklace and rings made from NuFood. They weren't even sticky. Each color corresponded to a different fruit flavor. It was like wearing fruit rollups as jewelry. I suited up. The front door was still locked, and it wanted a password to open up. But I was in possession of a portable Ion Lance. I brought the little tube to life and promptly cut the door in half. Fully armed and armored, I departed the abode of Mister Donald Heck. The night air was cool by the time I made my way out of the building. Maybe this had to do with the difference in climate between Boston and Philadelphia; then again, maybe I wasn't as smart as I thought. "Link," I said. "What's the date today?" "October 20, 2067," answered the Link, in bright green letters in front of my face. Damn. A new civil war and legalized slavery in less than fifty years? I guess Mark Twain would have had a lot to tell at the turn of the century, too. Okay, first things first. If Mister Donald Heck survived his ordeal, I had no idea how long it would be before he escaped from his prison and reported his Link stolen. If he didn't, I had no idea how long it would be before someone discovered his corpse and called the police, who would, in turn, track his missing Link. Missing Link. Heh. Either way, I had to drop this hot piece of electronics in a hurry. "Excuse me," I asked a pedestrian who was ambling by me, a dazed expression on her face. "I'm looking for an electronics store. Is there one around here?" She was startled and confused by my question. Not because electronics stores were extinct, mind you, but because she was being asked a question by a human being on the street. She backed away from me and started following some invisible thread on the sidewalk beneath her, giggling. She wasn't the only one self-medicating. Here was a couple grooving like they were a hundred years too late for a Jefferson Airplane concert. Here was a stoned doofus throwing invisible lassoes on the street lamps. Here was too much cocaine man racing down the street as if he was being chased by the devil. Scratch that, I thought, as his face came into view. He is the devil. There certainly were a lot of people on the streets at 10:30 on a Tuesday night. And I do mean on the streets. The only cars down on the ground were hovercars, and they were parked. The main drags through Boston had essentially become large sidewalks and bike paths. The side streets were landing strips and parking lots. Overhead was the everpresent drone of the hovercars; underneath the rumble of the grav- trains of Boston's T system. "Link," I muttered. "How common are sex change operations?" Could I pass for Donald Heck? "Sexual reassignment surgery is freely available at any NuYou clinic. The nearest is at-" "Link," I said, cutting it off. "Can a person buy a new Link without an IDS?" "An IDS number is required for the purchase of a Link." "But when I buy one, do I need to register my identity with it?" "That is not required by law. However, more than sixty percent of available applications will not function on an unregistered Link." "Good enough. Show me the nearest place that I can buy a Link." The computer led me to an all-night electronics joint at the corner of Somerset and Sherburne, near the waterfront. The clerk showed me his latest top-of-the-line models, which were tiny as hell. I swear one of them was shaped like a dime. "That one," I said, pointing to a small ring. "Excellent choice, Miss," said the clerk. He started rattling off its features, which for the moment seemed like gibberish. "How much?" I said. "I could give this one away for... one twelve." "A hundred and twelve points?" He gave me a funny look, then smiled. "Sorry. One hundred twelve thousand points." I made a face like I was looking it over while he stared at me, trying to penetrate the opacity of my welder's goggles. Nothing about my getup seemed to phaze him in the slightest, though. "Will you take a trade instead of points?" He raised an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?" It was clear from his reaction that he thought I meant sex, and that he wouldn't be buying. I surprised him by stripping Donald Heck's Link off my wrist. "This Link, and..." I pulled Donald's polybagged Incredible Hulk number 181 from my rucksack. "This," I said, and folded my arms. He looked it over. "What is this?" "It's a comic book," I said. First appearance of Wolverine, in fact. "So I see. Is it worth anything?" "Look it up." He did, and let slip a moment of surprise when he saw the numbers. But his poker face was back in an instant. "This is a reprint?" "Scan it." He put it through what looked like a miniature xerox machine. "Seems real. Do you have ID?" "What if I don't?" "I don't accept stolen goods," the clerk said, and slid the issue back at me. I shrugged, and collected my things, turned to leave. "I couldn't go higher than the Link plus three thousand in trade," he said before I got to the door. I turned around, smiling. "Five thousand," I said. "Done," he said. "Do you have an IDS for the transfer? "I'd rather not," I said. "Can you give me ECTO tokens?" "I don't carry that kind of cash in the store," he said. "Then transfer it into the new Link. You can do that, can't you?" "Yes, Miss." He hit a few commands, and then slid the ring to me. "Nothing to sign?" "No, Miss." "Good." I picked up the ring and put it on the index finger of my left hand. It was loose, but it adjusted itself to my finger instantly. "Got an owner's manual?" He looked confused. "It's... all included," he said. "Thank you." I turned and left his store. I walked toward the sea, getting familiar with the features of the Link. It made me come up with a unique avatar name (I picked Solex Frankenstein, two words that had thankfully not been selected by anyone) and a series of passwords. And it asked me for an IDS number. A lot. I ignored it. *** I left the shop and made my way to the nearest waterfront. If Donald Heck was alive, it would only be a matter of time before he escaped from his prison and came after me. If he wasn't, someone was sure to find his body, and then the authorities would be after me. Either way, I needed to get out of Boston now. I found a bar on Seaport Boulevard called the Rusty Hook. It had a neon sign that appeared to float above the place on my holographic display; this explained why there wasn't any physical signage on anything in the future. It was cheaper and easier to design an abstract digital sign and post it online than it was to actually fashion something out of glass and neon and pay someone to install it. Inside, the joint was a typical waterfront shithole. Perfect. The more wretched the hive of scum and villainy, the less likely I was to attract attention. I ordered a Pabst and some chicken fingers - better to save the NuFood for an emergency - and opened my ears. In the meantime I declined a few rather forward propositions from the gentle seamen ("No thank you. I'm waiting for my husband, sweetie."); eventually I overheard discussion of a freighter hauling hovercars to England, leaving at dawn. Based on what Miss DeLon had said about the Netherlands, I could infer that England probably saw eye-to-eye with the US on Sim slavery. But why assume anything? Maybe they destroyed Sims on sight in the UK. "Link," I murmured. "Tell me about the politica stance on Sims in Great Britain." The Link made a chirping sound, and the words ACCESS DENIED flashed in front of my face in red letters. "Shit," I whispered. The authorities had already tracked me to the pawn shop where I had picked the Link up. Someone was closing in on my location right now. I had to lose the Link, and fast. Underneath the table, I made sure the Thumper was primed and ready and activated the EM harness. Unfortunately, being locked out of the Link meant that I didn't have enough credit to pay for my food. I wanted to save the tokens for a real emergency. "Hey," said the bartender as I slinked toward the door. I ignored him and slipped the headphones onto my ears. "Hey!" he said again, louder, and hopped the bar to intercept me. I almost made it through the door, but he latched onto my arm with an iron grip. "What are you, helping yourself to a free meal?" "Don't have the money," I said, my sonic cannon pinned for the moment by his grasp. Jesus, he was strong. "Yeah? Why's that? You run away from Daddy?" He turned to his partner, the first obese man I'd seen in the world of tomorrow, who was already coming out from behind the bar. "Charlie, get the scanner. We got either a runaway kid or a Sim for midget freaks." My hip slammed into a table as he pushed me away from the door. I spun around, pointed my fist at him, and thumbed the trigger of the sonic cannon. The burst slammed him into a wall with a sound like a blown subwoofer. I charged through the exit and made my way to the nearest dock. The ring popped off my finger and went sailing through the night, coming to rest in the cool waters of the Atlantic. If I was lucky, the glittering metal would attract the eye of a hungry fish and get swallowed whole. Whoever was after me might assume I had hitched a ride on a submarine and alert the coast guard. Rogue submarine with a Sim crew, threatening the good people of Cape Cod. Close the beaches. Steven Spielberg will want to acquire the film rights. Well, his descendents, anyway. As I turned away from the water, I saw an unmarked hovercar descending towards me. I kept my head down and started walking briskly from the scene. So now what? I didn't know if I could score a hotel room for five thousand points, or if they'd give me one without this damn IDS number. For sure I wouldn't be able to book passage on a boat to Scandinavia without passport or funds. Someone was piloting the car. I didn't know who, but I wasn't taking any chances.I put my head down and hustled away from the dock, doing my best to keep my face obscured. Where could I go? I looked around, sized up my surroundings. The main street with all it's bikes and pedestrians seemed miles away. In front of me were a pair of large warehouses; the one on the right was bristling with security equipment, and then one on the left wasn't. Left it is. I put my goggles back on. Unfortunately, the heads-up display of the radar collar could no longer be seen. I guess it relied on the Link to work. The same Link that was now drifting in the waters of the Atlantic. I pulled the useless goggles off my face as I arrived at the warehouse door. There were no cameras, and it was dark inside. Behind me, I could hear the telltale hum of the hovercar setting down beside the water. I pulled the Ion Lance from my bag and cut apart the lock of the massive steel door, and yanked it open with a scraping sound. I gritted my teeth, hoping that whoever was in that car didn't hear me. It wasn't likely; the propulsion unit of the car was still humming down towards silence. Inside was blacker than a tomb. I was on my own; the VIM goggles had nothing for me. I tried to feel my way around by the little moonlight that crept in through the skylight, and started encountering tubes of rubber and smooth metal. There was something round, with spokes: a bicycle warehouse? I wondered why it seemed to be closed. Shit, what if it's not? What if I'm setting off dozens of silent alarms right now? I hunkered down by a seaside window and watched the hovercar. A door slid open and a man emerged, his eyes fixed on a handheld device. He leaned over the edge of the dock where I had tossed the Link and looked back at the device. After muttering something I couldn't make out, he put the gadget back in his car and pulled out a small tube. He knelt down and the tube became a spray can. A quantity of white foam emerged, after laying down a little strip of the stuff, he stood and watched it, waiting. He yawned, and the white foam began to spread out in a little puddle. I could see what it was doing, exactly, so I shifted my position, trying to get a little higher. Unfortunately, the box I was relying on to hold my weight flipped onto it's side and spilled a bunch of handlebars onto the cold concrete of the warehouse floor. "Dammit," I hissed as I dropped to the floor. On my way down I thought I saw his head turn my way. I crawled on my hands and knees, picing my way to the next window over. When I was there, I took a cautious peek outside and saw him striding confidently towards the door that I had come through. "Shit shit shit," I said under my breath. I crouched behind a big tandem bike and stuck my arm through the frame, pointing the business end of the sonic cannon at the doorway. In a minute the heavy door was kicked open, but nobody appeared. Instead a round object like a hockey puck slid into the room. I almost panicked, thinking it was an explosive. Two observations held my nerves in check. The first was that whoever was out there was after me in some sort of official capacity. No random neighbor or relative could have found me so quickly. The other was that the little array around the edge of the device looked very similar to the radar collar around my neck. This wasn't an explosive; it was a scout. I held my breath and kept as still as I could, my finger poised over the trigger of the thumper. A minute passed without incident, and I allowed myself to breathe, but very slowly. "I know you're in there," said a deep voice. "If you surrender now, I'll put you down quick. The bounty doesn't stipulate that you have to be alive. If you don't, I'll fill you with poisoned needles and let Binary come and collect you. When they're through, you'll be recycled. Do you know what that is?" I gritted my teeth and waited. After a minute of silence, the glass of the window behind me shattered as a thousand filled the air around me. I spun around and fired the thumper at the face in the window, but it disappeared behind the wall before the impact hit. The window exploded outward, and I heard him swear as he was showered with broken glass. I was in a terrible position. Of course he wouldn't come strolling through the door; he hunted Sims for a living. I was lucky that the EM shield worked as well as it did; otherwise I'd look like a porcupine right now. My best option was to rush the window, now, while he was switching to a neural whip or whatever his backup weapon was. I sure as hell couldn't go outside and let him chase me with his hovercar; beside me was a stairway to the basement, but I didn't want to get cornered down there. He probably wouldn't be expecting it; Sims were probably terrified of his kind. Hell, I was terrified, and I wasn't even a Sim. Maybe. I got up and started toward the window, my finger poised over the thumper's trigger, ready to fire. Before I'd taken two steps his face popped up again like a whack-a-mole, and I thumbed the trigger. The weapon didn't fire. A blinking red light on the wrist indicated that it was out of power. "Aw, nuts," I said as he pulled a beam weapon not unlike my ion lance up from below and swept it across the room. I backed up and fell into the hole to the basement as bits of burnt bicycle collapsed all around me. As I fell, a shock of warm blonde hair drifted into my face, severed by the beam. It hurt to fall down stairs, but not as much as it used to. Lower body weight, less mass to slam around. I saw stars as I hit the bottom, but I was conscious, and nothing was broken. I heard him cutting his way through the wall to get at me as I scrambled to my feet, gasping for breath. I guess the destruction of property didn't concern him much after all. Or maybe I had just pissed him off by shooting at him. He probably wasn't used to that. The basement was a labyrinth of shelving for bicycle parts. Near the entrance the shelves were relatively bare; deeper in the maze the shelves were stocked nearly full, forming solid bricks of cardboard. I probably had a better chance there; whatever motion sensors his outfit was utilizing would have a tougher time penetrating the walls of crumbling merchandise. Okay, so he didn't flinch when I pointed the thumper at him a second time, which means he knew the recharge time on a sonic cannon. He probably knows more about my gear than I do. At least he thinks he does. Let's see how he reacts to this one. I armed the ion lance and took aim at the wall. A portable ion lance has a safety feature that prevents the beam from extending past a certain range. Otherwise people would be waving them around in the yard and knocking cars out of the sky. This one had a little telltale light on the handle to let you know when it would fire; green for range, red for anything beyond range. I tested the ion lance and nailed the range down to about a foot and half. I could decrease that, but I couldn't increase it. Damn. His laser cannon had a range of at least ten feet. Maybe more; I had no way to know. This was going to be difficult. I clicked the little safety light on my goggles and barreled down an aisle as quickly as I could, dodging boxes and various other obstacles as I ran. Upstairs I could hear my pursuer cursing and pounding his way down the steps. I rounded a few corners and extinguished my light, tried to stop wheezing. The fall had taken the wind out of me, and the running hadn't helped. I slinked back into a corner and put my hand on a shelf to keep from falling over. I saw spots, on the verge of a blackout. No, goddammit, I said to myself. You will not die. Not like this. Not here. The hunter quieted down when he hit the floor of the basement. There wasn't any light, though. He probably had goggles similar to mine, but with a working Link to operate it. Right now my goggles were opaque, useful only as a blindfold except for the light. I had to change rules of this engagement, and fast. But how? Playing possum certainly wouldn't work. These people had absolutely no sympathy. The possibility of my surviving this encounter was so remote, and my death such a given that he didn't even try to bluff me; the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. To him I was a thing. A construct. A golem made out of living flesh, but nonetheless lifeless. How could I turn this to my advantage? Well, you wouldn't expect an automaton to express any degree of creativity. I flashed back to the look of annoyance on the faces of the police when I displayed any curiousity; I was hushed up like an annoyance. Like a priest trying to hush a parrot that was endlessly reciting the Lord's prayer; the creature had no comprehension of the meaning behind the words, and the insistence on maintaining the appearance of something like free will was anathama to them, a mockery of the truth that was being mimicked. I pictured the layout of my aisle, as seen in the moment before clicking off the headlight. Since then I had taken about ten paces, which mean that the ladder was just to my left... there. My probing fingers located the cool metal, and I put a foot on the ladder as silenty as I was able. If the metal should creak, though. Thankfully, it didn't. Relying purely on visual memory, I guided one foot after the other, breathing slowly through a wide mouth, bracing myself for the burn of a laser in case he should turn down this particular corner of the labyrinth. No burn came, and I made it to the top of the shelf. Here I hesitated, because there was a blank spot in my view of the ladder from ten paces away. I had no idea what would greet me if I put my weight on the shelf. Maybe it was sturdy and quiet, and maybe it would collapse under me and I would crash to the floor, only to be cut in half moments later. Maybe there was a box there, and I would knock it off by putting my leg there. I stripped off the goggles and clicked the light on, immediately dropping them to the floor. On the other side of the store, I heard the hunter turn and begin to quickly close in on the light source. In the dim light I could see where there was a box on the top shelf, a big one right above the light. Pipes dangled from the ceiling above the box. His footfalls closed in on my position, and I sprang from the ladder to grip the pipe, my mouth wide open, taking in breath as quiety as possible. In a moment I heard him come down the aisle and smelled burnt cardboard and metal. He was firing wild, cutting the whole area up with his laser, hoping that he'd find me hiding here somewhere. It didn't occur to him to look up. That would require a clever Sim. I pumped back on the pipe when I saw the top of his smooth, plastic helmet marching down the aisle. Then I kicked forward and connected with the box with both feet. There was a moment when I feared that the box was too heavy, but with a shove, it toppled over the edge, right down on top of his head before he knew what hit him. He howled in pain, and I risked a peek over the edge to survey the damage in the dim light. The laser tube had been knocked clear of his grasp and was laying on the cement floor, just beyond his reach. The box had been half full of batteries for electric bikes, most of which were sprawled about on the floor. The hunter was pinned under the remaining batteries, and at a glance, he looked like the proud owner of a broken clavicle. I let go of the pipe and landed on top of the shelf with a bang, then made my way down the ladder, or what was left of it after his haphazard attack. Upon closer inspection, he had probably also punctured a lung. He didn't look up at me as I pulled the ion lance out from my backpack, but lay gasping like a fish out of water, still stretching towards a laser pistol that was mere inches from his hand. May as well have been miles. He let out a strangled grunt as I used the ion lance to burn through his neck. When I was done, his head was seperated from his neck. The heat of the beam was such that it cauterized the wound as it cut him. There was almost no blood. I stared at him for a moment, then promptly vomited. I briefly examined his gear, but decided against taking any of it. All of it was hot. I found a badge inside his jacket that indicated that he was licensed by the city. Serial number BK-13578. Who knew what kind of tracking devices cops keep in their gear? I kept my own portable ion lance, though. The Link's description hadn't indicated anything about a police tracking device in that. I wandered back outside and wandered along the docks in a daze. The aches and pains that I had been able to ignore with the help of adrenalin were starting to make themselves known. And I was bleeding, not just from scrapes to the elbows and knees, but from a scalp wound that I hadn't even known was there. Also, the NuFood necklace had broken in the fall and the food itself was gone. I had taken a life. There was nothing I could teach him, now; he wouldn't learn anything ever again. I drifted back into the Executive part of town, careful not to let anyone see my face. I really needn't have bothered; my face could have been plastered on a giant billboard in the sky over Boston underneath neon letters that read I RAPE BABIES; the medicated zombies that roamed it's streets wouldn't have given it or me a second glance. That is, until I hit the convention. *** "Hi," she said to me, her eyes round and bright and full of curiousity. "Wanna be sisters?" I blinked at her, unable to form a coherent response. Didn't I look like shit? Why was she being so nice to a complete stranger? "I like your outfit. Anti-Kat, right? From Murder Night." I nodded my head slowly, still unable to form a verbal response. "I'm Barbara," said the redhead. She extended a hand toward me and I accepted. Except instead of shaking it, she turned the hand over and kissed the back of it. I managed a half-smile in gratitude. I began to notice the details of our similarities. Her outfit and appearance was nearly identical to mine, except that her turtleneck was red (like on the program) and so was her hair. "Come on, signups end in ten minutes. We can still enter if we get in line now." She took my hand and started dragged me through the convention center, past the assorted weirdo horded. Here was Optimus Prime, here was a zombie couple, here was a family of giant robotic silver dildos. "Don't I need a pass or something?" I said weakly. Barbara either didn't hear or straight up ignored me. We came to a hall where the costumes got a lot more farout. I didn't recognize most of them, and others were strange twists on old classics. Like Alice in Wonderland, covered in blood. Or Rocky Balboa as a werewolf. There was a whole series of well- known historical figures with spiraled unicorn horns sticking out of their forehead. Unicorn JFK, Unicorn Colonel Sanders, Unicorn Tom Waits, and a whole bunch I didn't recognize. "Made it!" said Barbara as we slid into the line. She put her hand up for a high-five. I weakly pressed my palm against hers. "Come on, you can do better than that, Anti-Kat. Made it!" She repeated the gesture, and I sighed and slapped her hand with all my might. "Ow," she muttered as she rubbed her fingers. A boy dressed as Unicorn Judy Garland showed up and smiled at Barbara. "Who's this?" he asked. "This is Anti-Kat. Anti-Kat, this is Gomez. He's not signing up because he's a poop face." "You see how many Unicorns there are in this line?" said Gomez. "No way am I even placing." "Good, then you can do me a favor," Barbara said. "What's that?" said Gomez. "Run off a pair of platform boots for Anti-Kat, so we at least look like we're the same height. We look like sisters, don't we?" At this point she was grinning and bobbing up and down in a hyperactive frenzy. Gomez grabbed her face and checked her pupils. "You're wired," said Gomez. "Take half a dose of come-down and I'll find her some shoes." Barbara made a pouty face and said, "Okay, dad." She hit a command in her Link and closed her eyes. When she opened them she wasn't nearly as hyper. After Gomez had gone, she looked at me, her face apologetic. "I'm sorry, what's your name?" said Barbara. "Josie," I said, and instantly regreted it. Should have given a fake name. It was hard to keep track of who I was supposed to be at any given moment, though. "I'm sorry, Josie. Guess I was a little wired just now. You don't have to do this thing if you don't want to." "It's okay," I told her with a weak smile. I needed to blend in someplace anyway, and this comic book convention or whatever it was seemed like a place where I wouldn't draw a lot of attention. She touched my chin, gently turned my head up to look at her. "You look like hell, girl. Rough day?" "You have no idea." "What kind of medicine are you on?" "I'm, uh, not sick. As far as I know. Do I look sick?" She looked confused. "You're not dosing anything? You're stone cold at PAX? What's wrong with your Link?" "I lost it." "Lost it where?" "Dropped it in the ocean." Her eyes grew as big as saucers. "Oh, you poor thing!" A light bulb went off over her head, and she started searching through her purse for something. "Really, I'm fine," I said, which was a lie. I was teetering back and forth on my heels, struggling to stay upright. I had eschewed sleep the night before in favor of studying up on the world of tomorrow. And there was still so much I didn't know. "You sure? I have something that's sure to chase those blues away. And it relaxes you without making you sleepy. A mild neural stimulant keeps you awake so that you enjoy your high." How stoned could it make me? I wouldn't attract much attention among this bunch; certainly it would be less than if I passed out right now. "Okay," I said. Her face lit up. "Yay!" She held me by the wrist and slapped a sticker on my arm, just below the Don't Panic tattoo. "Cool ink," she said. "Thanks," I said. Warmth was spreading from the sticker and travelling up my arm. The image on the sticker was of a sun with a face, wearing sunglasses and flashing me a thumbs-up. "What's this called?" "Mister Sunshine, of course. Part of your balanced breakfast." "But it's nigh-" Vertigo overtook me, and I nearly fell over mid- sentence. Barbara caught me and kept me on my feet. "Wow, that caught on quick, didn't it, sugar pie? Don't worry, it'll pass in a moment. How you feeling?" "Syrupy," I said. My mouth felt like cotton candy. I stared at the image on the sticker and said, "Why would the sun need sunglasses?" And then I giggled. The line moved forward. As it stopped, I tripped on my feet and fell forward. Barbara caught me and put her arms around me to keep me steady. My chin ended up right between her fabulous breasts. "We'll lose our place in line, sugar pie," she said, her lips close to mine. "You don't have much of a tolerance, do you?" "New vehicle," I said, dopey smile plastered across my face. "Haven't made all the payments yet." "Uh-huh." She cradled my face in her hands and caressed my lips with hers. My tongue tingled, and my crotch started to feel all gooey. "S'aright?" she asked when we took a breath. "S'okay," I answered, and pulled her in for another smooch. Before long we were going at it pretty vigorously. Some of the fanboys were more than a little enthusiastic about seeing Kat make out with Anti-Kat, and started recording holovid for posterity. "Ahem," said a voice. I opened my eyes. Gomez was standing next to me, his arms crossed, a single eyebrow raised in miled condemnation. "W'Sup, dude?" I said, pissed at having been interrupted. Barbara rolled her eyes and straightened her hair. Gomez's eyes narrowed as he examined mine. "You got her high? Who told you you could do that?" said Gomez. "She wanted it," said Barbara dismissively. "All I did was offer." "Great," Gomez said. "Well, you lost your place in line." "What's it to you, dude?" I said. "Here are your shoes," said Gomez. He tossed them at my feet and started playing with his Link. He looked upset, more disappointed than angry. I picked up the four inch platform heels he had made for me. "Yeah, I don't think so." "Might help you to blend in," offered Barbara. "Genetic screening has done away with most people your height nowadays." "Yeah, you might want to wear them in case someone is, you know, looking for you," said Gomez. I glanced at his face, then at hers. "Is there something I'm missing here?" I said. "Yeah, we're really secret agents," said Gomez with a smirk. "We're here to smuggle you to Free Dutch territory," said Barbara, and let out a few notes of her musical laughter. "Um..." I was at a loss for words; luckily Mister Sunshine was there to take the wheel. "Okay, what's next?" "Next is when our ride shows up to take to our rendezvous point in the North Atlantic," said Barbara. "That's not until about four in the morning." "Until then we should blend in at this convention. From the look on your face you've never been to PAX before. I'll bet you don't even know what it is," Gomez said. I bit my lip in nervousness. "Is it that obvious." "You stick out like a sore thumb, honey," said Barbara. "But luckily about ninety percent of the people here are high as a kite." "Oh no," I said, suddenly mortified. Mister Sunshine was amplifying my reaction tenfold. To tell the truth, though, I was more excited than scared. "How do I blend in? What do you do at a Star Trek convention in the future?" I said. Barbara and Gomez looked at each other. "Star Trek?" said Barbara. "No, baby, this is a video game convention. And we're not actually inside yet; this is just one of the little bits of fun in orbit around the real deal." "So what you do to blend in," said Gomez, "Is you play a game." "Oh. Well, what game should we play?" Gomez smiled. "I have just the thing." *** The game in question was called DUNGEON! Neither Barbara nor Gomez would give me any hint as to what it was about, or even what kind of game it was. The demo was located on the rear of the main floor of the convention, which was a medium-sized city full of vendors displaying their wares, and the awestruck masses of visitors taking it all in. I believe I noted earlier how there didn't seem to be fat or ugly people in the future; here this was doubly true, with the added caveat that no one appeared to be over the age of twenty-five. There were, however, a lot of interesting aberrations. People with green hair. People with green skin. Pale vampires with jet black hair and marble-white skin, complete with fangs. Elves and Vulcans with real pointed ears. Bumpy- headed klingons. Not make-up, mind you, but real plastic surgery. And the catgirls. So many catgirls. We finally made our way to the demo area for DUNGEON! It didn't look much like a demo for an expensive video game at a big convention. There was no music, no big flashing lights or neon signs. Just the huge letters of DUNGEON! Carved out of stone, floating above the entire area. There also weren't any screens. The players were simply lounging around in sleek, futuristic recliners, seemingly comatose. "Where's the game?" I asked Barbara. "You'll see," answered Gomez. A salesman greeted us and escorted us without much fanfare to a small table with four recliners around it. "Will you accept another player?" he asked. "We'd rather not," said Barbara. The salesman nodded, and hit a few buttons on the console built into the center of the table. "Sit down," said Gomez. "Feel like I'm about to be dissected," I said groggily. "You guys aren't cooking any soylent green in the back, are you?" Barbara put a hand on my cheek. "Don't worry about it, sugar pie. I wouldn't lead you astray." And then she gave me a deep tongue kiss, while the salesman waited patiently and Gomez waited impatiently. Afterwards, my will to protest sufficiently weakened by drugs and sex, I poured myself into the chair that the salesman indicated. "This is a demo version, so certain areas won't be accessible. The game won't be personalized; in the full version you will of course be able to customize your avatar and equip it with various upgrades." "Avatar?" I asked. "What you'll like after we translate," said Gomez. "What do you mean, translate?" "A translation game is played telepathically," said Barbara. "The BBR located in the server here-" she indicated the computer tower built into the center of the table, "will access your CNS and translate your brain activity into commands for your avatar. You'll be able to feel pain while in the game, but of course this won't translate to any real damage to your physical body." "BBR?" I asked, trying to work it out through the syrupy haze of Mister Sunshine. "Brain Box Router," said Gomez. In spite of the euphoric effect that Mister Sunshine had on my mood, a chill went down my spine. I had no desire to submit myself to a Brain Box connection yet again. "So what does the avatar look like?" I asked the salesman. "Will I be a werewolf or something?" The salesman smiled. "Sorry, not in the demo. The game will simply use your default setting." Uh-oh. "What if I don't have one of those?" Gomez said, "Every human being, from the aborigine to the theoretical physicist, has a sense of the image they project. Don't worry, you have one too." "What colors would you like? I have black, red, green, orange, white-" "Black," said Gomez. "Red," said Barbara. "Um, green," I said. He placed a small green plastic box on the armrest of my chair. Inside was a green pill. "Hang on," I said. "What does this mean? What did I just do?" "Don't worry about it," said Barbara. "The green stuff just corresponds to you is all." "Whenever you're ready," said the salesman, and pressed a button on the console. Barbara and Gomez swallowed their pills. I hesitantly put mine in my mouth; before I could ask for water, the pill had dissolved on my tongue. "So what happens next?" I said, and the cat in my lap meowed a response. Cat? Yes. A small calico feline sat in my lap, pawing at my chest. Which, by the way, was decidedly masculine. "What?" I said, and my voice was my own. My old voice, not Josie's. I looked around. It was a sunny afternoon, and we were in a house. Wood paneling was on the walls, and a song was playing. Mystic Lady, by Stray. Move It, 1973, with the distinct pops of a vinyl record. "We're here," said Barbara. "This is the game." She stood up and straightened her red dress. She was taller than she was in real life, and her breasts were a bit higher and smaller, but otherwise she looked very much the same. "Try to find a newspaper or a piece of mail. Something with a date," said the other person in the room, a pale, dark-haired girl as diminutive in stature as Josie, but exploding with voluptuous curves that Josie lacked. "Gomez?" I said, still not quite used to the sound of my restored male voice. "Yeah," said Barbara. "Gomez translates as a girl." "That's weird," I said. "Is it?" said Gomez, her sharp eyes burning through me like a particle beam. "And what's your story, Josie?" "Oh. I guess I translate as a man." "I guess so," said Barbara. The news didn't seem to interest her in the slightest. She found a newspaper. "August 21, 1975. NASA just launched the Viking 1 probe." "What's the paper?" I asked. "The Modesto Bee," she said, looking at the header. "So, California," I said. "That's right," said Gomez. "I forgot it was a period piece." She lit a cigarette that she'd found in her jacket. She waved the pack in my direction. "Want one?" "Um, no." Since waking up in Asbury Park, I hadn't had the slightest urge to smoke. Didn't want to give that particular monkey a reason to come back into my life. "What do you mean, you forgot it was a period piece? You've played this game before?" "Yes. Last night I tried the demo while Babs was... out." "You played it yesterday and you already forgot crucial stuff like when the game takes place?" I said. "There's an option at the end to voluntarily have your game memory wiped, so that it will be like new if you ever play again," said Gomez. "Pretty standard with pretty much all translation games nowadays." "That's... wow," I said. "Compartmentalized amnesia?" "Yeah, it's amazing what they can do with computers these days," said Gomez, dryly. "I didn't forget everything. I know we have a while before sunset, which is when things start to happen." "Really?" I said, giving Barbara a smile. "Maybe Barbara and I can explore a little. Is there an upstairs to this place?" "Sorry, sugar pie," said Barbara. "Not with that model. I play for the other team." My heart sank. Through Mister Sunshine's bright world a ray of darkness fell upon me. It would only be a matter of time before the authorities closed in on me and I ended up recycled; this would have been my last chance to have sex as a man. "I, however, am a free agent," said Gomez with a wink. "You want to explore, find a nice soft bed somewhere, stud?" I hesitated. "Um, I don't know." Gomez raised an eyebrow. "Really? 'Josie' isn't comfortable with me?" She crossed her legs and opened the top three buttons of her black shirt, softly caressed the cleavage of her generous boobs. "Fair enough. Maybe Babs will want to entertain me." "Don't involve me," said Barbara. She tried to ignore Gomez, but I caught her glancing at the little show that she was putting on. "No, that's not what makes me uncomfortable," I said, unable to take my eyes off of Gomez. She stroked her belly and squeezed one of her breasts as I tried to form the words. "I just hate to hurt Barbara's feelings. It seems mean." Barbara smiled and waved her hand dismissively. "That's kind of you, but you're not going to hurt my feelings. I know you've had a rough day. What happens in translation stays in translation." "Really? Um." I looked from Barbara to Gomez. Gomez was beaming at me and undoing another button; Barbara was checking out the record collection, as if she could care less. "Okay." I said. I stood up and took Gomez by the hand. "Here, Barbie, take the cat." I scooped up the kitty and plopped it on Barbara; kitty didn't seem to mind, but Barbara had a sour look on her face, which made me hesitate. "Never call me Barbie. Ever," she said, and began stroking the cat. A default avatar in a translation game tends to be a slightly idealized version of yourself. This meant that while I looked and sounded like me, I wasn't as chubby as I had been before, and while this body appeared wearing glasses, it didn't seem to need them. Also, it had a lot more stamina when it came to recreational activities, which was good news for the both of us. Gomez had about four orgasms before I had mine. She was a screamer, and the reviews were positive. "What's your first name?" I asked her as we basked in the afterglow. "Gomez is fine," she said. "Oh. Sorry," I said. I had gotten so caught up in the moment that I had forgotten that Gomez wasn't really a girl, and therefore wouldn't have a girl's name. "No problem, stud. You ready to go again?" "You know, I think I am." We mixed it up with a number of different positions. Reverse cowgirl seemed to hit a particular nerve for her. I hope she got her fill, because I was channeling a hundred percent of the anxiety of my life as a woman into every thrust. "Not that this isn't fun," I said afterwards, accepting her offer of a cigarette after all, "But where's the dungeon?" "I don't remember," she said, and absently stroked the cat, which had found it's way into the bedroom. Her brow furrowed as she looked at the collar. "Felix," said Gomez. "But I know that she's female. And I think she's going to die soon." "What?" "Felix is going to start the next chapter by dying." "This is a chapter? Us fucking in the bedroom? How can that be written into the game." "It's not," said Gomez. "The first chapter is exploring the house. We just decided to use that time to fuck. Which isn't terribly unusual. You can't get herpes by in a video game." "Or pregnant," I said. "They haven't cured herpes?" "Not to my knowledge," she said. "Come on, Babs is probably down there doing all the fun stuff while we're fooling around in bed." "I can think of worse ways to spend my last few hours on earth," I said. "What?" "Nothing. Let's go." We got dressed and she was about to open the door to leave when I held up my hand. "Wait a minute." "What?" "I don't want Felix to die. Let's make her a leash." "What? Why?" "She's cute, and all she does is nuzzle and purr," I said. "If she has a leash, she can't run off and get hit by a car or whatever the next thing is." She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Hurry up about it." I fashioned a kitty leash out of a shoestring and tied it to Felix's collar. Gomez was ready to go, but I bid her to pause yet again. "There's something I absolutely have to do before while I still can." I went into the upstairs bathroom and unzipped myself, ready savor every moment of a glorious standing piss. Unfortunately, the serenity of the moment was broken by a shrill scream before I could even begin to relieve myself. "Hold that cat," I told Gomez as I zipped back up and exited the bathroom. "No matter what, don't let her go." When we got downstairs, Barbara was holding some kind of rabid squirrel at bay with a poker from the fireplace. "Get it get it get it get it OFF OF ME!" she screamed as the squirrel took a lunge at the bare toes of her flip-flops. "Keep holding that cat," I told Gomez. Lucky for me, I was wearing boots with thick soles. A few stomps made short work of the beast while the cat thrashed and wriggled to get free. Gomez got clawed in the shin, but the squirrel was dead and the cat was alive. "So," I said as I poked the squashed remains of the squirrel with the poker. "The cat can't take a squirrel?" "It's not a regular squirrel," said Barbara. "You can't tell now, but it was, like, half-rotting away. Some of it's ribs were sticking out." "An undead squirrel?," said Gomez. "Or a zombie squirrel," I said. " "In all likelihood, this is a survival horror," Barbara said. "Maybe we're supposed to stay in this house until morning. Probably the squirrel is just the beginning." Sure enough, within five minutes, we were besieged by a