"What do you want, I'll do it," she said, hopping in place.
"I want you to leave me alone."
"Okay! Give me some and I'll sit over there, by the corner. You won't even know I'm here," she begged.
Joe sighed. He opened the bag and gave her some.
Debra just took it on the spot and then went and crawled in the corner in the foetal position. It was pathetic.
Joe cleaned up the dishes and took out the trash, he didn't want to wake up in the same mess of an apartment again. He should have gone for groceries, but the overnight shop was too far away and he felt tired.
He took some of his own product and leaned back on his sofa, never on the bed. He made a fist of his right arm and relaxed it, it was so weird seeing the pistons and artificial ligatures move at will.
He kept doing that when the drugs kicked in and he smiled, tilting his head back into sleep.
Joe woke up with Debra's face on top of his cock, in a forgotten blowjob. He opened his palm and shoved her away, then winced. Had he killed her with his augmented hand?
He held it up to his face, it was so dark in here. Nope, fingers, nails, flesh. Why did he think he had an augmented hand? Did he dream about it?
Debra was fine, her neck intact. She was drugged out beside him, her skinny limbs leaning over the edge of the sofa.
Joe zipped himself up, and then felt cold. He searched around for his socks. Why the damn strawberry always liked to take off his socks he never understood, she had a serious foot fetish. As he put them on, he felt his leg. Augmented. Oh, yeah, it was giving him problems, he'd wasted so much money trying to fine-tune it at the Mechdoc, the damn thing kept making him trip. His dignity was under some serious fire over here, so we spent the money and the Mechdoc fixed the damn thing.
Debra groaned and put her thigh over his legs. Joe shoved it away and stood up. He pulled his pants down and looked down at his legs. Sure enough, his right leg was augmented, all the way from the femur. A cheap thing, anyone could tell. As long as he didn't trip over himself it was fine by Joe. But why was he under the impression that it was his hand that was augmented and not his leg? Damn drugs, did the Greeks cut them with something again? They'd sworn that they wouldn't do that again.
"Ooh, pants-off time!" Debra cooed, misinterpreting his intentions. She fell on the floor and started to kiss his feet over the socks, pulling them off.
"No, Deb. Come on, stop."
She got one sock off and started to lick his big toe, looking up at his eyes as if it was a blowjob. The fucking strawberry might be better at sucking toes than sucking dick, but he wouldn't know because that action did nothing to get him horny. On the contrary, his feet were cold and he was uncomfortable.
Joe forgot all about Debra for a long while and stood there, thinking. She kept sucking his toe. He kicked her away, "Come on now, stop it."
Joe pulled his pants up, hopping away from the fucking cunt and splashed some water on his face. He stared at his hands in the bathroom under the only light in the garconniere. Normal hands, just the way he remembered them. That spot where he had a burn mark, that cut in his thumb from a knife, cutting straight through his fingerprint. So weird, thinking he had augmentations.
He got back in the main room. Debra's tits were half sticking out, she was sticking her face into the pillows, snoring. "Ugh, cover up, Debra," he said, and left the apartment.
He had product to sell, and he needed people to sell it to.
He went for his usual cup of frappe at the overnight shop round the corner. The girl there was familiar, tired, smiling up at him.
He got his usual cup of cold coffee full of sugar and milk, paid, and was about to turn around and leave, when she spoke again.
"Mr. Chip?"
"Yeah, love?"
"Got any, you know?"
It took him a second for the thought to register. He was used to buying in here, not selling. "Oh, sure."
He told her the street price, he wasn't gonna gouge a local kid, and she paid him with her paycard, palming the little bag. "Thanks," she said, seeming grateful.
Joe shrugged and said goodnight.
He went back to the Ubik nightclub. Same deal as always, too much noise, too little light, packed and shitty with smelly bodies. He nodded at Yorgo at the door and went straight inside, looking for customers. The VIP booths were empty, dammit. There went his easy sell. He'd have to work for it for a change. He looked around, ordered a drink. Sealed bottle of beer, never an open drink in here. It was always bad. He took a sip and looked around, searching for the usual signs. It was easy to spot junkies, if you knew what you were looking for. The proper local kids that were in there were dressed up, proper, out to have a good time. The junkies were always messed up, hair, sunken eyes, their movements either too jittery or too methodical, like when you're completely drunk and are trying to align your key with the front door.
He found some, a bunch of losers in a corner. They were sipping the same empty drinks, which meant they were either broke or saving their money for something else. Joe decided to go there before they gave up and spent it all on booze.
"Hey, looking to score?" he said, cutting straight to the point.
The junkie looked up at him. He was a mess, a blond kid. He should feel bad. But Joe was just doing his job.
"Yeah, you carrying?"
"What if I am?" Joe asked, suspiciously.
And then the other junkies surrounded him. "Let's see it then," the blond shithead said, looking all smug now.
Joe was not much of a fighter, but he had one trick up his sleeve. Or up his pant leg, to be precise. He wasted no time, he simply raised his augmented left leg, and slammed it down on the blond shithead's leg.
"OW!" he cried out in pain, and before the other junkies could shake their heads and realise what had happened, Joe darted out of Ubik. Yorgo wasn't at the door, he was probably inside, dealing with some asshole that was drunk and feeling up women that hadn't consented. Better for Joe, he just shuffled out of there, aware of his augmented leg. That was helpful tonight, but he hadn't sold anything. And he couldn't get back in there. There would definitely be a scene and the last thing he wanted was for someone to call the cops.
Junkies couldn't be reasoned with, not when their eyes were glazed out like that and their fingers jittery.
No, the smart thing would be to get back home and wait. It was a tough night, but shit happens, man.
He got back inside, Debra waiting for him behind the door like a goddamn puppy. "For fuck's sake, Deb, again? Do you smell me coming or something?"
"Can I have some?" she said, ignoring everything else in the universe but he blow in his pants. She felt him up, groping his ass and cock.
He shoved her away. "Same kind of crap every time..." He got in the bathroom and took a piss, then got out, leaving the light and the door open.
Debra was on the bed, biting her nails. "I waxed for you..." she said softly.
Joe ignored her. He sat down on the sofa and leaned forward to the coffee table. He splayed out the product on the table, measuring grams.
Debra kept bobbing back and forth, biting her nails, airing her pussy for him in case he decided to give her some. She knew not to reach out and grab any without him saying so, she'd gotten a good beating that day she'd tried that.
Joe had forgotten his own strength and had slapped her with his augmented hand-
Wait.
No, that can't be right. He stared at his hands in the dim light coming in from the bathroom. They were flesh and blood. He pinched them to make sure. He was sure. And he wasn't high, so that was out. He shook his head. He felt fine, considering. He had a needy strawberry leeching off of him, and he hadn't sold anything tonight, but other than that he was fine. Perhaps he was hungry? When was the last time he'd eaten something? He couldn't remember.
Debra moaned and groaned, looking anxious. She turned her pussy at his direction, as if the sight of that filthy slit would entice him to give her some
of this and then some of that. Even letting her filthy mouth around his cock was disgusting for him.
Oh, Joe did like pussy. And he had had his fair share of strawberries, it wasn't morals that were stopping him. It was just Debra man, he was sick of her. The sight of her made him wanna hurl. And there she was, in his home, the only place where he could relax and lock out the shittiness in this city.
He split up the product, made his calculations and logistics in his mind, then tossed a bag at her.
Debra didn't catch it, of course. She fell on the floor, scrambling for it, scratching her knees. She found it, ripped it apart and snorted the whole thing. Then she tilted to the side and just ran the trip, you know? Her ass up, pussy staring at him, hands like a broken doll.
Joe snorted. "Fucking cunt," he said, and gathered up his product. He took half a baggie and leaned back to enjoy it.
Joe had the most horrible dream. He saw he was a brain in a box. Someone had broken in, those junkies, Debra passed out on a half-finished blowjob on his crotch, and they drugged him more and hauled him off somewhere. Some people in white jackets cut of his brain, oh gods, he could hear the circular saw going around his skull, and then the squishy shlop as they separated the top of his skull, exposing the brain. And he had to be conscious for some reason, and they prodded his brain and asked him about cats and dogs and fucking pictures of oranges, and then they were satisfied and they cut off his brain and put him in a box.
He was a brain in a box, in the darkness, all fake. It was all fake, that's why his limbs weren't real, they kept changing, that wasn't possible, right?
Right?
Joe woke up. Only there was no process of waking up, there was simply unconsciousness, and then suddenly, consciousness. Like flipping a switch.
He could see nothing, he could hear nothing.
He shouted, "Hello, Debra?" There was no sound coming out of his mouth.
He couldn't move.
Then suddenly, light.
He could see, but what he did see was far too weird. He wasn't in his shitty apartment. He was in some sort of lab, clean and sterile. And there was a woman standing there in a lab coat. She looked familiar, but he couldn't place her.
She turned, carrying a tablet and taking notes. "Oh, you're awake, Joe."
"Debra?" Joe squinted at her, making a frowny face. Only he didn't have any muscles to squint with or frown with. "What is this?"
"Oh, Joe, you still don't get it?" Debra chuckled. She seemed healthy, fine. Pretty, even. She wore glasses, for god's sake.
"Get what?" Joe snapped at her. "Why can't I move? Did you drug me, you cunt?"
"Yes, I did, actually. But not the way you think. Let me refresh your memory. Remember last year when you were out of money and you answered an ad for a clinic, hm?"
"Yeah... So what?"
"Well, you signed a lot of documents with your digital signature, if you recall."
"So. Fucking. What?"
"Yes," Debra said, fixing her glasses. "What you signed for was to let us scan your brain..."
"Us, who?"
"Hermes," she said, her teeth held together. "You don't remember?"
"Okay, now I do. Okay, fine. I got scanned, so what? They said it was for some autistic or epilepsy treatment or something."
"Yeah, that was, and is, the original goal. But you see, you are the copy."
"I'm the what?"
"The copy."
"Of what?"
"Of Joe Chip, organic person. You are a digital scan of that person, a copy effectively."
"I have rights!" He didn't even feel a tongue in his mouth.
Debra chuckled and fixed her glasses. "Ha! No, I'm afraid you do not. You waived those rights in the documents you signed."
"And where is Joe? My body?"
She looked around. "Oh, I'm sure he's happily back to his pointless life. Dealing drugs, screwing junkies, you know."
"He'll look for me," Joe said with a broken voice.
"Joe Chip has no clue that you exist, I assure you."
"And what do you want with me, Debra?"
"We're already doing it. We're testing drugs that help with the psychological trauma and ease the augmented limb assimilation process," she said, mimicking a smoothing out motion with her hand.
Joe could remember that skinny hand around his cock, jerking him off, semi-passed out. Was that even real? Did that ever happen?
"Is your name even Debra?" he spat out.
Debra laughed heartily, throwing her head back. It was eerie. Then she muted him.
A couple of hours passed and they both said nothing. Debra just checked things in her tablet and inputted parametres, mumbling to herself, deep in thought.
Joe couldn't speak, no matter how much he tried.
"Okay," Debra finally said into her tablet, making a recording. "Subject is ready to be imprinted into a fully fabricated body."
Joe suddenly felt his gaze just shift, from the spot he was placed on, to about five metres behind that. He could see the pedestal where they had placed his copy, where they had placed him. But now, he was suddenly behind that in an instant, without any warning, and he was inside...
A body.
He had a tongue, but it was rubbery.
He had hands, but they were artificial.
He had legs, but they were augmented limbs, just like before in his... dream? His reality? He wasn't sure any more.
He looked down. Even his cock was a fabricated tube.
Debra stepped close to him, she looked all confident and smug. "And now, for the next test."
"What are you gonna do to me?" Joe wailed, his hands up, clawing his face, feeling nothing but augmented parts.
"We will test a full augmentation," she shrugged, pursing her lips. "You know, replacing everything but your mind."
Joe snapped at that moment. Crazy, he went crazy. Nuts, nuts and bolts, and coffee and...
Joe woke up, drooling. Debra was on his crotch, passed out in the middle of a half-finished blowjob.
He gripped his morning wood with his augmented hand and rubbed it on her face. The electronics of her face scratched at his cock, but he didn't really mind. It was, after all, just an orange dildo. He pulled Debra up towards him by the pistons on her waist and shoved his cock into her mouth, parting her silicone lips.
She woke up and carried on her payment for blow as if no time had elapsed.
Joe leaned back on the sofa and enjoyed it all, her rubber tongue on his dildo, her augmented hands down his metal toes.
None of this seemed any weird to Joe at all.
The End.
Love is a Car Wreck
Ten years ago.
It was a time when producers had money to throw around. Films were made and car chases could fit in every movie's budget. Plutarch was having the time of his life around that time, getting gigs left and right, doing what he loved, partying all night.
He had his arm around a sexy blonde when he first met Carmen. The blonde's name was... Ugh, who cares. All he could remember was that she wasn't a good lay. All the pretty ones aren't, they aren't trying hard enough. Whereas the average girls... Well, let's just say they have more ways than one to get your attention and make you keep coming back for more.
He had slept with three actresses that week alone, the film was a good one in the titty aspect.
And he was walking to the stunt car, his arm around the sucky blonde's tiny waist, and then he saw it. That beautiful ass of the woman that was elbows-deep inside his engine.
She turned around and frowned at him. "Are you the malaka who drives this car?" were her first words to him.
He opened his mouth but words didn't come to him no more. "Ye-I-Um," he stuttered.
The tall woman stepped close to him and looked down on him, her hands on her waist, still holding a greasy wrench. "Bababah," she mocked him. "Yeah, that's you. Didn't you see my note of not going over five-thousand rpms on this one? We've modded it, it's not a race car, it's meant
to keep your thick head safe!"
Plutarch let go of the blonde's waist and opened his hands in apology. "I burned it, didn't I?" he winced. "I felt it as soon as I made that last turn, the sound just shifted."
"Well, duh! I had to replace everything! I had a part getting shipped by personal courier on a Sunday because you," she poked his chest, looming over him, "needed to show off to this bimbo," she continued, pointing at the bimbo in question without looking at her.
The bimbo chewed her gum. "Huh?"
"Look, lady. What's your name?" Plutarch said.
"Carmen."
"I'm Plutarch. Nice to meet you and everything. Yes, I messed up, I just said I felt it as soon as I'd done the deed."
"I fucking know. It's not like you needed to go fast, didn't they tell you that the camera can't pick it up anyway?" Carmen frowned, looking back at the car with sorrow.
She was a good head taller than him, strong and lean, with wild hair that refused to be tamed.
Plutarch got a hard-on.
"Can you fix it in time for the shoot?" Plutarch asked, actually worried. Partying was one thing, doing his job was another. He was proud in what he did, and he always tried to be a professional, even in this crazy world of filmmaking. 'Everyone else can be flaky,' his father told him. 'You need to be dependable.'
Carmen snorted in a totally unladylike way. "Of course I can. But if you burn the engine out again..." she threatened him, raising her wrench.
"I won't!" Plutarch raised his hands in surrender.
"Good." Carmen eyed him hard and then turned back to the engine, shoving her upper body inside. "I'll be done in an hour," she shouted from inside the metal.
Plutach figured he had enough time to kill, so he fucked the blonde on all-fours in her trailer. She was not a good lay, and from this angle he could pretend he was holding onto that wonderful ass he'd just seen tinkering with his engine. It was a beautiful sight indeed, a true woman petrol-head, he could tell.
MOAB � Mother Of All Boxsets Page 127
