by Lars Teeney
Brook’s hair was cut in an asymmetrical manner and was dyed black with red highlights. The right side of her head was shaved to the skin, which was a stark contrast to the rest of her hair. She left the bathroom and walked out into the rustic neighborhood bar. The building had been constructed out of corrugated metal and other types of scrap. The electricity for the bar was generated from a solar panel, hodge-podge on the roof but was supplemented by siphoning power off of the old power grid. The bar’s name was the Reliquary, and the proprietor of the establishment was Sister Sarah. But, she was no docile nun-type. The bar was filled with religious paraphernalia for an ironic sense. The air was filled with smoke and smelled like spilled booze on musty carpet. There were a smattering of slum regulars around the bar, most were milking their drinks and engaged in some inane banter. A few were heads down on the bar, the weight of reality upon them.
Brook approached the bar and perched upon a loose barstool. She lit a cigarette and took a drag, releasing the cloud from her lungs. Music began to play over the old speakers mounted in the corners. It was old country music from the middle of the Twentieth century, “Hey, good lookin’, whatcha got cookin’...” the song played on. Sister Sarah had contracted with the black market to have her neural implant hacked. Her music collection was then stored within the implant, and she was able to play banned material in her bar. The name and brand of her establishment usually kept police and L.O.V.E. away, and as such they had too much to do to harass her over booze.
Sister Sarah moved over to Brook, “ Hi love, how are you holdin’ up?” Sister Sarah asked, polishing some pint glasses with a rag.
‘Hey, Sister. You know me: always lookin’ for trouble,” Brook responded, inhaling a drag.
“Can I get you a little something?” Sister Sarah inquired.
“For sure. Can I have a shot of bourbon?” Brook decided upon something strong.
“Comin’ right up.” Sister Sarah grabbed a bottle that had been home distilled by a local. She poured some into a shot glass and put it in front of Brook. Brook smiled and picked the glass, then tossed it back into her mouth, and slammed the shot glass upside down on the bar surface, and winced from the burn in her throat.
“Oh, that’s good!” she exclaimed. Brook paid nothing for the drink. The two had a business arrangement. Brook worked Sister Sarah’s bar for ‘johns’ and received protection and a low-profile place for conducting business, and got free drinks. In return, Sister Sarah received a cut of Brook’s earnings and an incentive for returning customers. Prostitutes who worked the slums of Santa Cruz on the street were at the mercy of the winds, so it was a huge advantage to work with Sister Sarah.
“Only the best served at the Reliquary, love, That’s why you’re on the menu!” Sister Sarah jested.
“Yeah, on that note I better get to it.” Brook looked around. The booths were packed with rough and tumble characters: scavengers, mechanics, and field hands. At the end of the row of booths was a well-dressed man, sitting alone. The man had messy, morning hair and managed stubble. He was wearing a slate gray suit that looked like it had been purchased somewhere uptown. The man was drinking a Manhattan and had a wood and brass cigarette case sitting on the table. He glanced over at Brook with inviting grayish-blue eyes. Brook took the prolonged stare to mean that he knew what was on offer and he was interested.
Brook approached the man’s table slowly and walked so that she swayed her hips. He looked up with a smirk on his face, meeting her eyes with his.
“Hiya, can I join you?” Brook asked with an inviting smile.
“By all means. Please sit,” the man confirmed. He gestured at the other bench with his hand.
Brook sat down and leaned upon the table. She grabbed his cigarette case without asking and took one, put it in her lips and pushed her head forward, signaling for him to light it. He took the hint. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an oil lighter, and flipped open the lid and struck the flint to summon flame. He reached over and lit the end of her cigarette.
“A woman who knows what she wants. I like that,” the man stated, placing the lighter back into his breast pocket. He took a sip of his drink, taking stock of her.
“So, you here all alone, ‘hun?” Brook inquired. Her curiosity was piqued.
“Why yes, I am. Thought I’d come to a side of town I don’t often visit,” the man said, still with the smirk.
“I was gonna say, classy looking gentleman such as yourself. Doesn’t seem like this would be your usual haunt,” Brook confessed to the well-dressed man, with a bit of a smile.
“You’re correct. It is not my usual stomping grounds. But, sometimes we all have to reach outside our comfort zones for new thrills,” the man took a quick sip of his drink, with one arm resting atop the booth back.
“Well, I think you came to the right place to take you outside of your comfort zone—and for new thrills,” Brook said seductively, hoping he would bite.
“Oh yes, indeed. I came here looking for something of a different flavor,” he reciprocated.
“So, ‘hun, what’s your name? I’m Brook. I hope we can get to know each other better.” She moved from her side of the table to his, and put her hand on his pant leg.
“I’m Dmitri—Dmitri Zhukov. Just a humble man looking for some excellent company tonight, and it appears I’ve found it.” His smirk never changed, which made him difficult to read.
“Well, Dmitri, I think you have found your company. You do know I’m working, yeah?” She put one of her stocking-clad legs over his leg, teasing slightly.
“I’d say we have an arrangement. You look like you will fit the bill nicely,” Dmitri acknowledged, putting a hand on her bare thigh, grabbing a handful.
“Ooh. Well, should we leave this place behind? Have a place we can go?” she asked.
“Why yes—yes I do. Please follow me.” Brook got up to let him out of the booth, then the two walked out of the Reliquary into the chaos of the slums. Dmitri signaled across the street to a man standing next to an armored, black car with tinted windows.
The man snapped to attention and opened the back door for the couple. Dmitri let Brook get in first then he joined her. The driver closed the door behind them and rushed to the driver seat, started the car and accelerated down the pot-hole ridden street. The drive to his penthouse was fairly lengthy because escaping the wild of the slums was difficult. Intoxicated and drug-addled individuals would run out into the street without awareness, akin to driving through a minefield. Stray dogs ran free through the ramshackle structures and broken down fences. Dmitri and Brook engaged in some exploration in the back seat. She had her legs up over his lap and was nibbling at his ear and neck. He rubbed his hand on her thigh and probed underneath her skirt ever so boldly. She did not stop him. He moved his hand up toward her waist and ribcage, then his hand slid up just bellow her breast, feeling the girth of the underside. She reciprocated by firmly planting an open hand on his package. She was not disappointed.
The armored car reached the downtown district. There was a marked difference to the surroundings. Everything was well kept and well maintained. There was no trash on the streets and the roads surfaces were evenly paved. The Sky-towers were sleek and rose up into the heavens and their facades were immaculate. Dmitri’s car reached the rear garage entrance to the residential tower in which he lived. The couple exited the car and reached the high-speed lift, the door opened and they entered. She pushed him to the back of the elevator and straddled his leg. He made a groan of approval. She began to kiss him. He returned the favor, shoving his hands through her hair. The lift reached the penthouse suite, and she exited the elevator pulling him by the hand and laughed. He directed her down the hall, and they reached a door with no handle or keypad. Dmitri used his neural implant to unlock and open the door. Inside she was greeted with ultra-modern decor. All colors were white or neutral grays, with chrome accents. The furniture was minimalist, and in the middle of the living room was a circular module that us
ed condensed plasma to heat the space. It was also a conversation piece with the white-hot plasma that danced behind slightly tinted ballistic glass.
“Would you like some port?” he asked her.
“Of course!” she accepted. Dmitri pulled down two slim glasses from his full bar. He poured them both port and handed her one. Brook tilted back the glass and made quick work of the drink.
“Well, ready for another, yes?” Dmitri offered. She acknowledged by pushing her glass toward him over the bar. He poured another, and she picked it up.
“So, you do know that I will need to be paid, right?” Brook brought up business amid the pleasure.
“Oh yes. Without a doubt. Money is no object. You will be compensated handsomely,” Dmitri assured her. She nodded and knocked back another drink. She gestured with her hand for Dmitri to come to her. He accepted and walked over coyly. Brook grabbed him by the lapels and pushed him against the bar. She dropped to her knees, and slipped her hand down his chest, feeling well-defined abs. She went to work unbuckling his belt and pulling his boxers down. She handled him, caressing and rubbing. She used her tongue as well to arouse him. He laid his head back with his face to the ceiling, and he let out a groan of pleasure. She put all of him in her mouth and manipulated his manhood. He grew inside of her mouth. Lips and tongue were used in conjunction with hands. She played him like a musician singing while playing guitar. He pushed her head back before he could climax.
“Come, let us go to my bedroom.” He led her by the hand back to his bedroom. He had a wide, king size bed with a smooth, black headboard. She was impressed with the setup. He willed her to lay back on the bed, and he took a knee and raised her legs to rest upon his shoulders. He hiked back her skirt and pressed his mouth against her and kissed. She exhaled heavily. He buried his head into her and she let out a high-pitched squeal of delight, breathing heavily. He worked on her—making her arch her back and grab the edge of the bed with intensity.
Suddenly he stopped. He got to his feet abruptly. He had a troubled look on his face, looking down at the floor with a frown. He looked like he was having a conversation within his mind. She stared at him, puzzled.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Okay!...yes, yes. Okay. Everything is okay,” he sounded exasperated and slightly confused.
“Please—please get on the bed. Lay on your back,” He insisted. Odd requests were nothing new in Brook’s line of work. It was routine, so she thought nothing of it. Brook laid spread-eagle on the bed. Dmitri grabbed her wrist and pulled up a chain attached to a restraining strap. He strapped her wrist in and secured it. He did the same with her other limbs so that she was restrained at the four corners of the bed. He stood over her studying her physique. His eyes darted from one position to another. Dmitri put his hand into his jacket pocket and procured a ‘Database’ applicator.
“You’ve been a very bad girl, haven’t you?” Dmitri said with his signature smirk, “Daddy will have to discipline you.”
“Oh yes, daddy! I’ve been so naughty! I need to be punished,” she played along, assuming it was the man’s fantasy scenario. He plunged the ‘Database’ applicator into his arm. This got her worried because she had bad experiences previously with ‘Base-heads’.
“Daddy is going to give you a full on whoopin’! You earned your punishment,” Dmitri yelled. The look on his face made him appear to be somewhere else.
“Oh, yeah! Daddy—” she was cut off.
“Shut up, you slut!” He looked right at her. Then he changed his tone of voice, sounding like an older man, “Son, she’s no good for you! She is not a Virtuous citizen. Where do you think this can go?”
“Are you alright? I’m getting worried here—wanna let me go?” Brook pleaded; trying to free herself, but the bonds were firm.
“Father, please. I love her. I want to marry her,” Dmitri’s voice shifted to a younger, submissive-sounding voice, then reverted back, “Do you realize how this scandal would reflect upon the family name? I am a fucking Bishop in the Church of New Megiddo!” Dmitri looked possessed.
“Let me go, you nut!” Brook demanded, struggling to no avail.
“Father, I can’t let you do this,” Dmitri protested to the opposition in his head.
“Shut up. You make me sick!” Dmitri recoiled back and fell to the floor like he had been struck by an invisible assailant.
“I want you to dispose of the girl. She knows too much. You clean this up, or I’ll clean you up, boy!” Dmitri began sobbing uncontrollably. He shook his head with his face buried in his hands.
“Father, father! I love her. I don’t want to do this. Please don’t make me do this. I love her...but...I must—for the family!” Dmitri pulled himself to his feet by the ledge of the bed.
“My love, I am so sorry. You mean the world to me!” Dmitri looked at her with tears streaming down his cheeks. He climbed on the bed, hunched over her.
“Please, what the hell are you doing? Just let me go,” she cried and looked deeply in his eyes. They did not stare back. He was gazing upon something else; some other scene. His pupils were dilated, and his expression was one of agony and pleasure all in one.
She struggled some more in vain. He grasped her neck with two hands joined, and squeezed. Her airway closed and she panicked attempting to break his grip, but she was restrained. He throttled her violently.
“My love...I am so sorry! We will be together in the next life! I promise you!” Dmitri was transfixed on some distant drama.
“P-p-please, c-can’t—” She tried to protest and managed a few words, but he wasn’t listening. It became more difficult to resist with each passing moment. Her vision went blurry and she started seeing double, with bright flashes of light. Suddenly her retinal H.U.D. activated, without her controlling it. Something was happening: she had been suffocating and dying, but now she could sense her heartbeat slowing, then stopping, and her lungs ceaced to function. However, she knew that she wasn’t dead, but she could no longer will her limbs to move. She was no longer in pain, but she was aware of everything around her. The man was still throttling her and crying, tears dropping from his face onto her face. Soon, he noticed that she no longer stirred. Dmitri loosened his grip upon her throat. His eyes took on a more serene look, but he still cried. He rolled off of her and curled up in the fetal position on the bed beside her. And he cried there for some time. She was aware of all of it, but she felt disembodied and strangely calm.
“Father, I’ll kill you for this. I will make you suffer, slowly...for everything you have done to me. You took everything,” Dmitri snorted to himself between sobs. He laid there crying and sobbing for hours. She heard all of it. It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning before he composed himself, picked himself up off the bed and walked toward his bathroom. Dmitri removed his suit and stepped in. She heard a shower head start, and the brushing of teeth. She heard a shower door sliding open and shut and singing. Brook had witnessed his entire morning ritual.
Finally he approached the bed. He was fully dressed in a pinstriped, slim cut suit, clean shaven, and well-composed. He gazed at her body for some time.
“I’m sorry my love,” he said forlornly. Then it looked to her that he had activated his retinal H.U.D.
“Hello, yes, I am in need of disposal of another one...Yes please...right away...I have an appointment later today...thank you,” Dmitri had been conversing with someone. He moved over and unfastened each of her limbs. She was free, but would go nowhere. Dmitri took one last look at her and blew a sinister kiss to her corpse, then exited the suite. She had laid there for what seemed to be an eternity. Soon two men in black suits entered the room. They both wore sunglasses.
“Wow, this one is quite a looker,” one man said, taking off his glasses for a closer look.
“That’s the way he likes ‘em,” the other man confirmed.
“Alright, you grab the arms and I’ll grab the legs...the view is nicer down there,” the other man instructed.
“You sick fuck. Let’s get this done already. I gotta pick my kid up from the H.O.V.E.L. after this,” the man exclaimed. He had grabbed her legs and the other man reluctantly grabbed her by the wrists. She could see that they had lifted her and moved her out of the bedroom. They carried her into the living room and dropped her to the floor. The crinkling of sheet plastic could be heard as her body impacted. They rolled her body end over end until she was enveloped by the plastic. The rest of the event was witnessed through a world-altering blur. All she could make out were fuzzy figures, the odd frame of a door, and finally the white noise of the city, and the sound of the distant ocean. She heard the distinct racket of a dumpster-lid opening.
“Okay, right here is fine. Let’s toss ‘er,” one of the men said.
“What a waste. The boss has all the fun,” the other man lamented. She heard the sound of her body compacting the rubbish within the dumpster and the lid slamming shut. Then: darkness—nothing but darkness for an indeterminant amount of time. She was aware but, might have reasoned that this was the afterlife; a kind of purgatory where the soul was still sensory aware, but was attached to its vessel without the power of manipulation. It would be a brutal and boring eternity. And so, she resigned herself to her fate: languishing in the darkness of the dumpster.
Then it happened: light. The dumpster door flung open. It was daylight. The plastic ruffled and snapped. The dumpster was left behind.
“That’s the one. Wynham will be happy to hear the mission was a success. You can deactivate her implant now,” a man’s voice said. The light began to fade, and all went dark in existence. Now she reasoned that this was final death.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
Aqua-Deluge’s eyes sprang open. She exhaled heavily. She stared up at the ceiling and saw only sheet metal and fluorescent lighting fixtures. She looked to her left and right, gazing at medical supplies and rows of beds. She surmised that she was in some infirmary, but not the Iowa’s infirmary. Aqua knew she had dreamt about her life before being “born again”, but, what had happened to her? She couldn’t remember much, and everything was fuzzy. She looked at her body covered by white sheets. Aqua picked up the sheet that had been pulled up to her chin and looked under it. Her chest was wrapped in bandages and it ached. She barely had any strength and could not bring herself to sit up.
