[ story in progress. will undergo revision.]
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Carmen-7 looked at her haggard expression in the mirror
and swore aloud, ``Fuck 'em! I'm tired of being a whore!
Today, I'm going to be a man!''
A darting thought shot through her brain to trigger the
S'Exchang-O implant she'd finally been able to afford.
Pain burnt through her flesh as the mechanobugs ripped
through her body, re-assembling bones and even living
tissue. Testosterone flooded through her system.
He smiled briefly at his rugged face, then smashed his
hand into the mirror.
The bizdrones in the lobby didn't even notice a man
leaving Carmen-7's room; perhaps, considering her
line of work, they didn't think it unusual. Carmen-7
was pricey meat, but many of the wageslaves in the
hellfactories scraped together enough cheese to afford
her. She was well used. ... Or maybe it was some
other reason -- Carmen saw that most of the johns were
so strung out on ComePassion, their eyes hidden behind
fantasies that stirred them to their roots, anxious
to fill their sexhurt quotas, there was really little
chance that they'd notice anything that wasn't naked
and well-lubricated.
They certainly didn't notice Carmen picking up the
submachine gun and snapping in a clip.
``Suck on THIS, Pinks!'' he shouted, spewing his load
across their bloated flesh. They whimpered and died
as pathetically as they'd lived.
``I'll never have to suck another cock,'' Carmen
muttered. But in a way, hardened though he was by
the years of sexslavery and the hard times since
the SaucerMen left (Damn! Why hadn't he paid the
thirty bucks?) Carmen felt sorry. Hell, they had
beaten her ... him ... raped her, sodomized her ...
but they were just looking for a few kicks.
As he'd done himself. Life was hard in the World
Without Slack.
You can't blame worms for gnawing a corpse.
But you _could_ blame the mortician for stealing
the gold fillings...
``Jermin!''
The hiss left Carmen-7's lips like spit from a
cobra. He would have to pay back that pimp for
all the ... kindness ... he had shown Carmen
over the years.
He walked to the office. His boot smashed easily
through the rotting panel (that cheap bastard
Jermin hadn't wanted to waste money on a _new_
brothel -- he picked some shabby pre-X-Day
firetrap down on Level Six...) A quick glance.
Jermin wasn't here. The back door was open
partway.
Carmen shoved in past the splintered remains of
the panel and angrily overturned the antique
'80s teacart, sending the china teapot smashing
to the floor. Empty. Jermin kept that pot full
at all times while he was in, but was so anal,
he'd clean it carefully when he left. That meant
he didn't leave in a hurry, Carmen reasoned.
He'd taken his time.
Which meant he didn't know Carmen was after him.
So much the better.
Jermin had scribbled a note to himself on a
worthless late-'90s hundred-dollar bill, right
across Ben's fat, smirking, Masonic face. Two
words: _Club Seals_.
What the hell could _that_ mean?
Carmen-7 shouldered his weapon with a grimace
and pushed the rear exit open further.
``Time to hunt humans,'' he muttered.
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TO BE CONTINUED...
----John Laviolette---------|-------His Most Feathered Eminence------|
talysman@psyber.com | My CoCo wants to kill |
Sacramento CA USA | your mamaboard! |
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Original file name: End Times Rag
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