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iCity Tales by AnonyMPC (various tags, cyberpunk, violence) AnonyMPC 14/07/30(Wed)22:09 No. 22139 ID: a609fb

Hi, I'm AnonyMPC. You might remember me from such stories as "My Private Camwhore," "Relatively Powered", and "Yet Another Thing That Isn't The Next My Private Camwhore."

Well, after a long time where I was working on various stories and making very slow progress, I got hit with an idea that caught my imagination on fire. It started with the artist NeckRomancer on HF, who drew a few pieces inspired my stories, and we got to talking. An offhanded comment by me made him suggest a story idea, a SF one that had a sort of cyberpunk vibe. It was a good idea, and I'm actually a fan of old-school cyberpunk and all it's tropes, but I didn't want to tackle it. I was too busy, and too far behind, with other stuff. But it reminded me of another idea I had (based on an idea granted to me by a fellow named kludo I met in an artist's stream), also set in a cyberpunk world. And I began to toss around the idea of a set of stories set in the same city, and came up with a few ideas, and NeckRomancer suggested a couple more, and finally, I realized I was enjoying the process more than I had writing in a while, and what's more, I had 5 stories that I thought fit together pretty well, I knew exactly where they began and ended and how they fit together. They could be short, I told myself, maybe one sex scene each, so it wouldn't be too much of a distraction from my other projects. And I started writing the first, getting more work done in one day than I had in all the other stories I was working on combined in the past week, and I had that glorious feeling I hadn't had in a long time where my mind was racing with things to write even while I was asleep.

So I figured I had to stick with it, even if it meant everything else getting delayed, again, for overall output, the best strategy is sticking with the stuff I'm excited with most.
I finished the first story, and am started on the second. I'm not going to officially post it to my site (http://www.asstr.org/~AnonyMPC/ if you've forgotten), or my HF page, until all five are done and cross-checked. But, because I have a history with this site, I thought I'd post them one-by-one here and here only. You can, hopefully, be my beta-test, so I can catch any major issues. This also means it'll be slightly less edited than they usually are, and I plan to tighten it up.

A few notes of things I'm especially looking for, or need to say up front:
Classic cyberpunk, which I'm a fan of, doesn't really mesh perfectly with computers and the Internet as it exists today. So I've done a bit of a bastard fusion and used some handwaving of vague historical events that have altered how things work. I'm certainly willing to hear if you think anything doesn't make sense on that level (networks don't really work like that!), particularly if you think it severely hampers the story, but for me, the cheese of the slightly retro vibe is part of the fun of the genre (though I suppose it wasn't quite so retro when it was written).

The stories are going to be written in various different tenses and perspectives (and there's actually a reason for all of them). The first, PoV, is written, mostly, in third person, present tense, which is not my natural, so I probably missed a few times where I slipped into past tense. Catching these slips would be extra appreciated. And, actually, I lied, because the first is actually second person, not third. I know, the worst one. But again, there's a point, and it's just to set up a specific voyeurism point of view, a little heavy at the start, but after that most of the action is third person with only the rare second person interjection.

The first story, in the very first paragraph, also contains reference to a logo that's very vague at present, the PoV logo. I want to be more specific, but to be honest, I don't have what the logo is yet in my own head... I have a certain feel for it, but none of the visual ideas I've come up with quite match that feel. The logo might crop up in a future story, so I'd like to nail it down. If anybody has ideas, please, I'd love to hear them.

Finally, I have to credit a lot of sources for some of the ideas in the series as a whole, some directly submitted to me, others just making me feel "gee, I'd like to do something like that one day" and I'll do so as each individual story comes up. NeckRomancer deserves special recognition for inspiring the anthology series as a whole, as well as two of the individual plots. The first, POV, is only indirectly inspired by a variety of sources... a user named Chirutai on HF who I've talked to quite a bit and made me want my own kind of 'iconic badass loli' character, and I believe there was a story or two on the /elit/ board that partially inspired me as well, not in any specific instance, but in a few themes. You might recognize it... sadly, I can't name it even if I wanted to because it was a long time ago and I don't remember the name, as I didn't even think I was particularly inspired to do something similar at the time.

So, let's begin. When I get all five done, I'll probably have a frame story introducing them, but for now, we'll just jump right into the first of the stories, PoV...


>>
PoV (Mg, voy, loli, rough, violence) AnonyMPC 14/07/30(Wed)22:12 No. 22140 ID: a609fb

The swirling icon on the wait screen finally disappears, and a logo appears, stylized, ambiguous, something that could be completely innocent unless you realize what it's supposed to be, and then it becomes pornographic, practically obscene considering that it's her logo. It only lasts on the screen for a few seconds before it dissolves and is replaced by a street scene, although wide swatches of the view are blurred, out of focus, or omitted entirely and replaced with a cartoon imitation of a city street, so that you can't tell exactly where it is taking place... but then, that's the point.

A few non-descript buildings are clear, the kind of standardized prefabs that are common in the lower class parts of town. You're sharp and automatically on the lookout for clues on them, and you think you spot one, just for a second... a distant squat box with Apple's old logo on it, and it's doesn't look like it's altered into one of the familiar gang signs. Instead, although it's hard to see the exact design, from the distance and angle, it looks like the fruit's been given a curly black mustache and a stick figure body has been drawn underneath to make the Apple a head. That suggests this is either neutral territory, or somewhere dominated by one of the less active gangs. In the really dangerous parts of the city, painting over the symbol with anything other than the gang stencil would get you killed. In the better areas, it'd get cleaned up almost immediately, the perpetrators caught on camera and arrested by the paid security. So, you surmise, this must be somewhere in between. The few people you see in passing support this view, a wide variety of people from the homeless and youths who look like they might stab you if they get too close, to people dressed conservatively for work. More importantly, though, relative to the camera, they look very tall. As do the buildings, the windows, the planters full of long dead trees.

The point of view leaves no doubt that, if this isn't her, it's at least somebody her height. And that distinctive way the view bobs as she walks, to a really big fan, you can recognize her by that, even if it made you a little queasy at first, and you had to wait for the image-stabilized rips to come out the next day. By now, it's second nature to you, you don't even notice the flashes of darkness every time she blinks, like you've learned to do it at the exact same time. You're just excited, it's another edition of the POV show, your favorite guerilla reality show in the Net, broadcast nearly live out of iCity.

You don't know her real name. Sometimes she goes by Laura, or Sara, or Madison, or Erin, or any number of others, but you don't believe any of them, you always just think of her as POV.

And you can't be sure of her face... her real face, anyway. You're all-too familiar with the slightly cartoonized version that is painted over the video of her automatically whenever a stream from a secondary camera unlocks, to protect or void her identity while still, supposedly, accurately translating her every unbridled expression, but that's not the truth. As for what lies behind that digital trickery? You've seen glimpses, laboriously frame-grabbed from those rare times a reflection isn't scrubbed by the Fly on the Wall, or she's caught by somebody else's cameras, but those are almost as variable as her name, almost enough to make you think there's more than one POV. But everyone on the fanboards is certain, and you agree, no, there's only one. The rumor mill says the bones in her skull've been replaced by experimental memory metal that shift her face to some random, though attractive, configuration every time she does a broadcast, just like the artificial chromatophores in her skin can change from a pale complexion like milk to a dark, nutty brown in the matter of a few hours, though a few determined skeptics think it's all done with makeup. Today, you're pleased to realize as she glances down at her hands, she's her most common color, the slightly bronze look of a white girl who's bought a tan, or been lucky enough to see some sun on iCity's beaches (not so dark that you think she'd actually taken a dip in the water outside of the treated pool), or maybe one who earned it working out in suburban farms all day instead of going to school.

You also don't know her age, not for real. Some say she's an adult with an induced hormonal condition, crafted with all her other enhancements to play the role of some fantasy living young sex doll, or assassin, or both. Others say she really is what she seems to be, a preteen girl who was somehow implanted with state-of-the-art, black market body mods and a desire to prowl our vile streets looking for men. Some even claim she's an android, that the long-rumored truly conscious artificial intelligence has actually arrived disguised as a fearless, limber young kid.

For all that you don't know, you know her body, although the face and the shade of skin might change, the rest of it doesn't, except the slow changes that convince some of her fandom that she's aging like a natural girl, that one day she'll grow breasts and pubic hair and maybe even become legal to have sex with. It's already possibly, tenuously legal to watch, although you can't imagine anyone who would admit it where a cop, or decent society, might hear. It's never gone to court as to whether the recent Underage Selfie Act legalizes the viewing of this particular show, and there's enough grey area that it might fall under the older child porn laws. Saving it certainly isn't legal. But possibly legal was all you needed to salve your conscience and watch the stream for the first time, back when you still cared about obeying the law, and then you couldn't resist going that one more step and save, rewatch, and familiarize yourself with that tight, forbidden body.

That body is covered now, but by now you've seen virtually every inch of it, sometimes from the PoV cam in her right eye, sometimes from the omnipresent Fly on the Wall. That waifish little girl, you're sure, you'd recognize if she approached you, even in clothes. When she looks down at herself, and your video window shows you the outfit she's chosen today, you can picture the body behind. She's given herself that look down just for your benefit, you know, swinging her gaze from one shoulder to the other just so you know how she's dressed, or, perhaps, that she's dressed, since she doesn't always start out that way. But even with the relatively conservative outfit she's chosen today, slightly iridescent grey tights that cling to her lower body, coated with shimmering, moving patterns, and topped with a low-necked black blouse that leaves her arms bare (on one side, the pink strap of some kind of purse or backpack is visible, and on the other, the blouse happens to have slid off the shoulder and into arm territory), you can picture her completely naked. The shape of the slightly oval aereolas, her innie belly-button, even the shape of her toes tucked into her woodgrain brown flat shoes, they can all be overlayed onto the scene like an augmented reality by your memory alone, you know it so well. More than that, you know how it moves. The way it responds to a finger, or a tongue, you know the sound of her moans, the girlish laugh when a gentle scrape along her labia tickles at first, the way the tiny mounds around her nipples jiggle ever-so-slightly as she looks down at herself and watches a cock slamming into her too-small-looking hole, the way the nipples themselves stiffen at the slightest provocation. You'd love to be attached to the finger, the tongue, the cock that's making her react so. But as often as you imagine having sex with her, just as often you imagine being her, this uninhibited girl who loves sex and wields unexpected power over people, and passes that power on to others. That's very much a part of the reason you watch PoV, to let your identity dissolve into hers and just be her.

Whoever she is, whatever she is, sometimes you wish she'd run into you, even with all the risk that entails. You could treat her right, you could probably rate a positive verdict, and although avoiding jail and public condemnation may be tricky for most people, you know communities where nobody cares much. Still, even though you're a little disappointed that what you see through her eye isn't the place you call home, deep down, you know... all in all, it's safer to just watch...

It's just past dark... early enough that a girl like her might still be out, late enough that there's that hint of danger, liable to attract both potential protectors and predators. The camera of her vision flicks back and forth among the citizens. Their faces are all artfully spot-blurred and replaced with the same type of cartoonized face, and even though the editing's a little slower to react than when you see POV's own face is censored, you can still tell that most of these people don't even give her a cursory glance. They have other concerns. The 6G nodes are acting up again, cutting off access to the torrent of information that guides their daily lives, either preventing access entirely, or slowing things to an intermittent sputter of data coaxed out of the nearest nodes. The only ones not inconvenienced are those too poor or vacant to have any access at all, or those rare few lucky yeomen with a platinum (or military-grade) connection or a dedicated landline... and even many of those piggyback on the 6G network these days.

The dropouts are not supposed to happen. But they do all the time, especially in iCity, and POV is always an exception, able to stream even in the deadest of dead zones. There's a rumor that she's got a dedicated connection to a dying satellite, still weathering the shroud of orbital debris despite the odds, but you know the fanboards love yammering about the mysteries and coming up with crazy ideas to explain them, and you aren't sure which to believe.

POV may not actually be inconvenienced, but she acts like she is, thrusting out her hand in front of her and wiggling her fingers as though she's a little girl convinced that extra-frenetic activity will somehow make her wearables work again. Really, she's either trying to blend in, or she's killing time, as the least popular part of the show begins with a distorted, buzz-filled voice. "Hello, fellow letches, you perverted, obsessed voyeurs, and welcome to another edition of POV. I am your host, and the ever-present, omniscient, vigilant and nearly invisible Fly on the Wall." The show may not be able to exist without him, as he almost certainly is responsible for running electronic interference, not to mention controlling the secondary cameras, but you could do without his irritating, overly excited commentary and gimmicky word choices. "And presently, our vixen is on the prowl again, searching for somebody who'll satisfy her needs... all of them. Who will be on the block today? Proceed, oh Venus, and spread some love to this lonely, disconnected world." You're not sure if he is referring to their present physical disconnection to the net, or some kind of greater emotional disconnect.

She gives up on her fake attempt at linking, and then strides purposefully down the block. Her gaze settles on a man, and by the way the view is locked on, save for a quick glance towards his crotch, you can tell she's chosen a potential target. His face isn't his face... you wish it was, so you can see for real the look of interest in his eyes, but for a live show, there have to be some concessions made to avoid getting caught... if some viewer recognized him and had a spike of conscience, they could call the police, send them that way, and put her away. Instead, after a moment's blur while the system calibrates, it, like the others, is painted on, slightly surreal, and combined with the blurry and occasionally animated backdrop makes the whole thing look like an experimental art film. His face, and virtually everything else except POV's own face, will be uncensored on the next-day version (unless there is a particular outcry to leave him anonymous, but that's rare), but it's never as exciting as the live show. What you can tell is that he's young, or appears young. All of the artificial faces look younger than they should, with all but the most pronounced wrinkles and lines simply left blurred out, but in this case, everything else about him looks young. By the height he's at least in his late teens, more likely college, but he's got that lanky body associated with genuine youth, and he's not dressed in the business wear that's become so fashionable once again for those with jobs respectable enough to purchase the look. Instead he's got a bulky leatherish jacket like he's trying to make himself look tougher. He might even be a gang member, although if so he's the milder type and not wearing any logos.

His clothes bear ads, of course, but plenty of people's do... and they're random, not betraying any particular trend noticed by the data miners that sets him apart from the mainstream. There's an animated patch along each arm, one promoting new strains of marijuana and the other a nearby burrito place. On his back, if he turned around, there'd probably be a trailer for an upcoming netflix. Most likely, he's just one of the underemployed youth making their way through odd jobs or living off their parents... if he's lucky and industrious, while he's going to college. The one thing that suggests he might be affluent is that he's lounging back on the hood of car... one of the sleek self-driving models with plenty of room in the back. Not new, but new enough to suggest that, if it's his, he's doing better than just scraping by. "It looks like our darling's found herself a target. Make him yours, honey," says the Fly.

It could all happen in the car... you know that happened at least once. Twice, if you count the automatic bus, but you remember more vividly the time a guy picked her up in a self-driving car and the two of them lay in the back fucking while it drove them around the city, even while it stopped in a service station to get a battery replacement and a vagrant took the opportunity to beg for spare change and got an eyeful when the window opened so the car's owner could slap a payment authorization. You watched through the camera as POV's eyes met the vagrant's and locked while she had a cock up her ass. You remember it particularly because it was one of the few times her face, or one version of her face, appeared unedited, captured on one of the mirrors as she swiped her head from where her own hand rubbed her pussy, to the man in the window. That half-second glance was missed by the Fly on the Wall's usually vigilant censoring regime, but not eager stream-watchers who saved and distributed every frame of it. You were gratified to find that she seemed just as happy and turned on as the cartoon face did. Another in-car scene could provide a fresh look at her face, one you'd like to have so you can search for any distinguishing features that remain constant through all her shifts.

But it's not to be. "Excuse me," she says, and the man's face swings in her direction, eyebrow comically raised with interest, and she continues, "The net kind of dropped out... and... that means I'm sort of stranded here. Do you think you could give me a ride?" As she's speaking, another car pulls up, this one overloaded with ads and bearing a glowing oval arch with medallion on the top that signifies it as an autocab.

A girl rushes out, a blue-haired teenager wearing a short black skirt, boots, and a blue sleeveless top that shows her bellybutton, and surprisingly, you get a glimpse of her real face to see that she has similarly blue lipstick, as well as a glowing sigil on her cheek... you think that's what did it, providing just enough of a difference from the human norm that the computer program took an extra second to register it as a face. Once that was done, her face blurs for a moment and then it's censored, cartoonized, now with red lips because it's more average, the stylish glyph removed entirely. From what you saw of it, you think she's younger than you thought the guy was, maybe 14 or 15. She rushes towards the man who was supposed to be POV's next conquest, yelling, "Logan!" and he straightens up to catch her as she leaps on him, wraps her legs around him, and kisses him. Once they separate, she asks, in a whisper loud enough for POV to hear, "Did you get it?"

"I told you I would, Hil," he says, full volume, as though he didn't care if they were hear. "You sure you're ready for it though?"

"It's not like I'm some pedestrian," she says with what you can only imagine is a roll of her eyes, but POV is looking at Logan.

"Yeah, but this is a big step... only the highest grade stuff, and I want you to be sure."

"I'm sure. Where is it?"

"Actually.. it's not here yet. My grrs are on their way, and the source is with them, then we'll go to the club to make it really cray. But it might be a bit before we can hook up, fucking deadspots hitting us."

"Mmm," the girl, Hil, says, apparently unconcerned. "I noticed. But that's okay. More time for the two of us to get more acquainted." Now she finally spots POV, who's been watching like a statue, as though, thrown completely off her game, she doesn't know what she's supposed to do. You've seen it before, rarely. Hil's eyes narrow at her until they're just two long lines, and she says, "Scram, kid."

"Best to back off, dear... no fault of your own, this couldn't be anticipated." Whoever's behind the show has never outright admitted it, but there's some strong evidence that the targets are preplanned in advance... too many accept POV's seduction attempts, or outright assault her when they see she's alone and vulnerable, than chance alone should allow. Of course, sometimes this was built into the situation, like the bus, or the time POV began her show already handcuffed to a broken Apple terminal node in a bad part of town, with "Free for public use... this service provided by Apple!" scrawled on her near naked body. She seemed at the mercy of anybody who might have wandered by (although the vote proved that wrong, at least, with the third person to come across her, who didn't get a chance to also cum inside her, before he started hurting her and pissed off viewers made him pay). But beyond outrageous setups that only drew the twisted deviants, surely there aren't that many randomly encountered people who would go after a preteen girl, so, many reasoned, POV, or more likely the Fly or the mysterious hypothesized backers of both, chose people they already knew, through their mastery of networks and databases, would fall for her trap.

If that was true, this Logan character might have a record for attacking young girls, or a history of searches for material relating to this, although not enough of one that he'd recognize POV approaching him. In an uninterrupted setting, he might well take the bait too, but it's not going to happen tonight, not with a girl there, although that's happened before, rarely, a man and a woman both take advantage of her, giving you the rare look of POV eating pussy with no shame or apprehension, all while she takes a hard pounding from behind.

POV takes two or three steps straight backwards, and finally turns around completely, looking every which way, like she's lost, and you brace for the show to suddenly end, as it has on a few occasions, with the logo of a drunken cartoon fly saying, "Oopsie!" leaving thousands, or maybe even millions, of viewers with blue balls.

"Don't touch that dial, folks," he says. "Lest you doubt me, I think I may already have found another option. POV, honey, if you'll just look up." The view swings up on command, darts around, and then locks on to a moving object, and, in a jump cut that happens in the space of a blink, zooms in, revealing a gunmetal grey apparatus. It would look nearly black against the sky if it weren't for the tiny lights along the edges that outline the shape... like a four-leaf clover, except each leaf is a tiny helicopter rotor enclosed inside a frame. Just another drone, but not a military or police, and although it has protrusions that could be weaponry, it's true purpose is made clear by the fact that, suspended below it by thin whiskers of carbon, is a black box. A delivery drone, then, but rather than being emblazoned with the logo of Flying Sushi or the Happy Doctor or Diaper Genie or one of the other popular services, it's completely unmarked. That doesn't mean it's illegal, plenty of companies prefer to hide what they're delivering to avoid poachers, but it's at least mysterious, as is the fact that it's still attempting to make a delivery during the dead zone. Drones often take the lazy route, they navigate via nodes to the intended recipient's position on the net, and so, if everything goes down, they have to park for a while. Maybe this drone happened to be close enough that it could home in on the customer's exact location.

POV's eye tracks the drone as it descends and disappears inside an open third-floor window on the alley-side of the very building that POV, Logan, and Hillary stood in front of, although, when POV looked at them for just a moment, it was clear that the latter two took no notice of the drone or anything outside of each other. "I have full faith in your abilities, my dear, but the choice is up to you." Exactly what that choice is remains unclear, the ambient blurring effect is still in place, hiding identifying details of the building from any potential white knights, but then, just after the drone exits the window, without whatever package it was carrying, the blur snaps off, and you can follow what might well be her mental path, from the alley, to the top of a dumpster, to a series of decorative notches that run up between two windows.

She could make it, you decide, but it would be dangerous, and only seconds after you make that decision, she acts on it, she's in the alley, hiking her leg and hooking her foot in the slot used by the automated pickup truck, then using that as a stepping stone to the top of the dumpster. Before you know it, she's on the second floor, taking one dizzying look back at the ground before focusing on the climb ahead. Worry begins to gnaw at the pit of your stomach, even while a part of you realizes how ridiculous it is, you're not this worried when somebody looks like they're about to rape her, but then, you've seen, she can take rape, you don't know whether she could survive a fall. But one of the things you love about POV is her utter fearlessness like you wish you could muster for your conventional problems. She's unafraid, not just in the face of sex, but in the face of dangers like rape and murder, and that makes her something admirable. Soon she's within reach of the open window, although she has to reach out her leg and dangerously overbalance herself to make the final transition. It's perhaps the most risky part of the climb, and she takes three tries to do it, landing the tip of her toe on the windowsil but pulling it back before putting much of her weight on it. Finally, on that third attempt, she leans forward and, just before she loses the security her previous foothold provided, she snags the underside of the open window with her hand and manages to slide inside.

This is another dangerous move, considering anybody could be inside there, and it's usually legal to kill people invading your home. But POV's whole show is built on putting herself in risky situations, and you'd have to be a real monster to kill a little girl without giving her a chance to explain.

There's nobody in the room. The unmarked package lay on the floor, a ratty couch along one side of the wall, and most of the rest filled with other boxes, plastic and larger than the latest delivery. Whoever lives in this place may have just moved in.

"Hello?" It's POV's voice, wavering with uncertainty, and you can't tell whether that's real or an act, that she's playing a role. "Anybody here?"

"What--?" There's a clatter of activity to go along with the angry word, something being hurriedly picked up or put down, and then somebody steps out. He's tall, muscled, but it's lean muscle, more like a gymnast than a body builder. His face is left uncensored, which is a surprise after all the faces on the street, but the Fly's protective censorship is always less dramatic in indoor locations, like he wants you to be able to look into the person's eyes to the soul before you judge him for whatever he does to POV. In this man's case, those eyes are tired, sitting above a prominent nose, and beneath very close cropped black hair. That and the beard that makes it difficult to judge his exact age... but he's not a young man, probably in his thirties, maybe forties, although really, the low-end anti-aging treatments get you looking that age even if you're significantly older, and they getting more affordable all the time, so it's difficult to be sure. He wears a grungy white tank top and a pair of long tan pants with multiple pockets running down the legs. But the most distinctive thing about him is his right arm. From just below the elbow down, it looks like it's made of dull metal with soft black vinyl-like patches, in strips on the forearm, and more extensively on the hand and fingers. Those fingers move in a natural way along with the body, flexing nervously around the waistband of his pants like he's ready to clutch a gun at any moment. A prosthetic limb, and a rather ostentatious one, where the current trend, for those that can afford it, is for ones indistinguishable from flesh, or to literally regrow limbs. Or it's possible that it's merely a long glove meant to make you look like a bad-ass. That's also a fashion among a certain set, the posers.

He gives POV a once-over, and the cyberhand relaxes, as does the rest of his body... he's still wary, and his eyes once again dart to every corner of the room, as though worried that the little girl might be just a distraction, but he's dismissed her as a threat, and, in the absence of obvious others, she becomes instead something to be amused by. "Look at you," he says in an accent that reminds you of Europe, but no specific country, of somebody who's spent a lot of time in different parts of the EU, picked up pieces of accents every place he's been, and stitched them together as an audible momento of all his travels. "The poachers are getting younger every year."

The view jiggles from side to side as she shakes her head. "I'm not a poacher," POV says, and then points out, "If I was a poacher, I wouldn't have said hello, I would have just taken that." The view swings down to the package.

"A PiRat might do both. They're very gregarious thieves."

"Do I look like I have a tail?" she asks, even though you know not all PiRats wear tails, and suspect POV does as well. It's probably just an excuse to turn to her side and make him look at her ass and think about tail.

His eyes do flick down in that direction, but then back up. "Then who are you, and how did you get in here?"

"I climbed up the side of the building. It's like a ladder." He responds with a short snort, but little else, and she goes on, after being prompted by the Fly to give a name. "I'm Michelle."

Her hand juts out, politely, but he ignores it. "And now the more important question... why did you break into my place?"

"I didn't break in," she says. "The window was open. I just saw you get the delivery and I thought you might have something yummy you'd be willing to share. Or, mostly, that you'd still have net access you might let me ride on. It's all futzed outside."

"Yes, it's bad here too. You're out of luck, girl. On both counts, I have nothing to give you."

"Oh. Um, can I hang out here for a while anyway? Just until it clears up? I kind of don't want to be on the streets, it's my ex-boyfriend's territory, and he and his friends are kind of assholes."

He stares at her, disbelieving, until she looks away. "You have an ex-boyfriend."

"I've been around... I'm not a kid. I'm almost twelve, you know."

"Oh, yes, all grown up." It's sarcastic, but light sarcasm, and when she looks back, he takes another step towards her, bending over slightly and putting his hands on his knees to look at her more on eye level. "But this is a dangerous neighborhood, and I'm a stranger. How do you know I'm not worse than your ex?"

"I'm tougher than I look," she says, and you know that this isn't just a kid's bravado, she actually is. "Besides, I'm an excellent judge of character, I have good instincts."

"Except of your ex, of course." She doesn't answer, just looks down at her feet. "So, tell me, what do your instincts tell you about me."

She looks at him again, and he's straightened up, so it's a long up and down look. "That depends." Her gaze centers on his cyber-arm. "Is that a glove, or real?"

He lifts it, flexes the fingers of the hand in front of his face. "It's real."

"Can I see?" He shrugs, steps closer, and holds it up to her close inspection, and she runs her hands on it, fingers tracing along the soft black parts, the parts that probably transmit sensation. "It's kind of small."

That draws a laugh, although she's right... it's slimmer than the muscles on his other forearm... in fact, except for the point where it attaches and suddenly becomes thick, it's rather like somebody stripped the flesh from one limb and revealed that there was actually a robot underneath the whole time. "You're right, it is. But it is not a custom job. It's a field model, fits nobody perfectly, but does the job for just about anyone. Look." He flexes his bicep and the fingers jerk, and suddenly all the articulation runs backwards, the thumb swinging around on joints you hadn't noticed. It's now a second left hand, proving he could have used it no matter which arm he lost. Another bicep flex, and it's back. "I could get another, but, this one has saved my life, and I owe it loyalty."

"So you're a soldier?"

He bobs his head, weighing the term over. "You could say that, I have been, yes."

"In the army?"

"Not directly." He reaches into one of his many pockets and pulls out a slim tube, an electronic cigarette. "I worked for companies who did things the army couldn't ask their own people to do. Because it was too dangerous, or required harder decisions. There is always a need for men such as me, they call us mercenaries."

"You don't look like a corporate."

He smiles then. "Perhaps you are a good judge after all. But I was, for a long time... PATH, Arasaka, even Constellis, a good loyal operative... well, loyal as the best offer, anyway. But lately, I've found it more lucrative to go solo. If I'm going to skirt the law, might as well do it for myself, not somebody who would sell my ass out to cover their own."

"So you're a criminal, then," she says, then waves a hand back at the mysterious package. "And this is probably illegal?"

"Would that scare you?"

"No, not really. Some of my best friends are criminals. I don't care, it doesn't mean you're a bad guy. Especially not if you let me stay here till things get back to normal."

"Brave girl," he says, and then turns away, bends at the knees and picks up the package, although it's not very heavy. "Fine, you can stay as long as you are quiet." She hurriedly nods. "And stay in this room."

He turns his back on her then, although he looks back over his shoulder once or twice as he exits back into the room he first emerged from. POV leans forward, you imagine on her tiptoes, but can't see anything significant beyond bare wall and a little bit of furniture. "Thanks. So, what's your name?"

"You can call me Jeter." It is pronounced as Jeeter, and you might be tempted to spell it the same way, but nonetheless, that is how it is spelled.

"Okay. Thank you, Jeter." The name sounds like a child's nickname coming out of her lips. "I really appreciate it. Except, it's going to be kind of boring. You're cut off too, right? Maybe we could think of something to do together, you know, to pass the time." She turns to the couch, tosses her backpack (it's a pink ruffled thing that looks like a cat) to one corner, and then sits down leaning back, legs spread open.

It took about a minute for him to come back into the room, and pauses for a moment, looking down to where those leg meet, where there's almost certainly some kind of eye-catching shimmer, or maybe a full-fledged ad to attract his attention, but then he looks back in her eye and says, "I've given you short-term guest access to some of my storage. The password is 'swordfish.' I'm sure you can find a movie to watch or some music, so long as you do it silently."

POV looks down at her wiggling stickernailed fingers which have begun typing in a password. Of course, the feed never actually shows her interactions with networks, but presumably she has them, for she says, "Wow, you have a lot of stuff here for somebody in a deadspot."

"Yes. I take my movies, my books, my movies, my information with me. Even things that are not to my taste, I collect, trade with PiRats. I'm sure I can find some music you would like. Look." He sits down beside her, but on the far end of the couch, and his fingers, both flesh and mechanical, begin to jiggle as well. He must have highlighted something on their shared view, for he cocks his head in her direction. "Here, some Bieber, One Direction, listen to what you'd like."

"'One Less Lonely Girl?'" she reads. "'You Don't Know You're Beautiful?' Okay, old man. Maybe these were popular when you were a kid, but... these are, like, ancient."

He seems surprised. "My nephew likes them. He's not much older than you."

"Then your nephew has retro tastes, and is probably going to be your girly-girl niece in a few years. Give me modern stuff like 'Princess Gangbang', or 'Knotted', or 'Touch-a, Touch-a, Touch Me.'"

"That last one's actually a cover... never mind. I get it, you're a hip and edgy little girl. Then look through the artist tags. I'm sure you can find something you like on your own."

"Why do you collect so much? Do you think the net's going to just collapse one day?"

"Well, it happened before." The Googlepocalypse was probably a good thing for Jeter... the widespread unrest, and the vicious corporate wars that followed as upstarts saw the chance to sink their metaphorical teeth into the weakened former frontrunners, not to mention leaders who finally saw an opportunity to impose the old school dictatorship they always wanted, all kept mercenaries employed if no one else was.

"I mean for good."

"One can never be too careful. But no, I would merely rather have it than not. For cases like this. And when some of it is illegal--I am a criminal, remember,-- I would rather have it on me. If the police are close enough to me to do a personal search, I am already screwed."

POV turns her whole body in his direction, lifting her legs on the couch, knees bent, once again aiming her clothed pussy in his direction as though she's trying to subliminally hypnotize him with it, one foot ever so slightly raises back as though she's considering whether to playfully kick him. "Screwed, huh? So if you're a criminal, why can't you afford better access to the net? Then you could stream everything securely, even pirated stuff. That just proves you're an old man. So, are you just not a very good criminal?" The voice is somewhere on the fine line between teasing and mocking.

He must have heard it on the 'mocking' side of that line, for he sounds momentarily annoyed and offended. "No, I'm a very good criminal. Which means I only use streams where I can't be easily watched," he says, then activates the e-cigarette with a flick of his thumb. The light on the end glows blue. "You, you don't know, you're too young. You've bought into the myth that it's better to stream everything. Well, it's not. Data you don't have full control over is not yours, it is a lever they can use against you, they can break into your cloud and rummage through it without you ever knowing you've been compromised. And they can watch who you talk to."

"But encryption..."

He interrupts her. "Yes, a high-priced connection can be encrypted, so can cheaplane access, and your cloud data, if you trust the files they provide to do it. But even so, the high-speed connections are more rigorously monitored... sure, you can hide what you say, but it's much harder to hide who you're talking to and what you access. It's good for keeping corporate secrets from each other, or if you're rich enough that the law is your lapdog, but for a man like me, who I talk to, how long, all of this metadata can lead people to me or those I work with. There are plenty of people who think they're safe on the platinum connections, committing their little crimes, but the truth is, the only reason they don't get caught is that it's not yet profitable enough." Jeter rolls his eyes at what must be POV's blank look. "You don't understand. But that is not your fault. You inherited this world, you don't remember what it was like. There was a time where almost everybody had the speed and security of platinum access, and for practically free. No longer. My generation is to blame for a lot. We invented the means to store copies of every piece of media in the world on our belts, and we let them convince us to store our privatemost thoughts on servers they own. We invented a network secure enough that it could resist a nuclear war and let the corporations chip away at it in the names of their own profits until it collapsed... and then they charged us with the repair bill. We invented the most egalitarian information delivery system ever devised, the potential for true freedom and engagement... and we let them put fucking guarded toll gates over most of it. I suppose I shouldn't swear." He doesn't look very guilty, though.

"Like I give a fuck about swearing? Anyway, I don't know, I just wish I could afford platinum right now. I mean, I don't get it... the cheaplane access isn't this bad everywhere," she says, giving a pitch-perfect performance as an entitled, spoiled adolescent. "I mean, when I lived in New York this was never this bad."

He takes a drag off the e-cigarette, the end glowing as he inhales nicotine, or marijuana extract, or maybe some more exotic chemicals, and then exhales dismissively. "Yes, well... that's for same idiotic reason we're still called the iCity. The sponsorship agreement this place signed to get it out of the budget crisis... this was back, shit, maybe even before you were born. I don't know, I can't look it up right now. Anyway, it said that Apple products had to be used for all infrastructure... and even though the company folded in the Googlepocalypse, the creditors can still sue the city if it reneges. So we're stuck with it, and we've built systems on top of systems to function around it. Between legacy code, self-mutating viruses, DRM on each and the added complexity of interoperability failures..." He rolls his eyes. "...any halfwit hacker can gum up the works."

"And I am not a halfwit hacker, actually, I have a full wit," comes the buzzing drone of the Fly. "Time to turn up the charm, my little darling, as much as I'm sure the viewers all appreciate this fellow's long yappy political sermon while you do the slow seduction, it's time to accelerate our schedule."

"You sound like you know a lot about computers and tech stuff..." she says, and he shrugs, not bragging, but not denying it either. "You think you could fix my pants?"

"What?" And his eyes slide completely towards her while his head turns only a little, but he can see what she's already doing, she's lifted her lets up and is pulling her pants down. He gets out an "I..." before his words are lost, and his head turns more completely.

You have a choice now, as another video window spawns, giving you access to the feed from one of the actual Flies that the host takes his name from, the robotic mini cameras perched in strategic locations masquerading as insects. You can't resist looking, your attention divided between both views. In future viewings you might decide to restrict yourself to only the POV cam, or only the third person view, but mostly, you try to take it all in from every possible angle at once, like a watching god. This new view is over Jeter's shoulder, and you can watch more or less what he sees as the tights peels themselves down her raised legs, and the brief moment her bare ass crack is briefly visible before she pulls her underwear back into place, making it all seem accidental, like they were merely pulled out of place momentarily. The cartoon face painted on her certainly doesn't betray any lewd thoughts.

Once the pants are off, POV's own eyecam is momentarily more entertaining. You get a much closer look at what she's wearing, a tight bikini style underwear, white, with golden tassels on the side, and that deliberately drops very low in front, to the point that, if she had any pubic hair, it would probably be visible. Decades ago, this kind of underwear would be considered obscene for a girl her age. Now it's fashion. Even better is the look from her own view, when she leans back, she's thin enough that the fabric stretches over the gaps between her mound and the hipbones, making a low bikini bridge that you can barely peek beneath, surprisingly arousing even though you can't see anything but flesh, because it's an implied invitation to slip a hand in between the underwear and her hot bronze body.

She only poses like that for a moment, straightening out the tights and finding the right spot before she leans forward again and points it out. "See? For the past few days I've got this ad stuck on it, right on the butt." It's an animated commercial for the popular but rather mindless game "TapThat!"

Jeter takes the pants, mostly because she thrusts it into his hands while he sits there stunned, looking at her lewd underwear and spread legs accentuating it, but then forces his eyes to the pants. "Yes," he says, like some kind of sleepwalker. "It can't update with the grid out, so it's stuck with the last ad in the buffer."

"No, it's been like this for weeks. And people keep making comments about it every time I wear it. Not that I don't appreciate the attention, but the jokes are getting kind of old, you know?"

"Yes," Jeter says again, but more surefootedly, keeping his eyes off POV, although through the show you get to enjoy the view he's missing. "I never wear adwear, myself. If it's a software problem you can reset it to factory settings back at the store. I can't do it here. But I suspect you may have damaged the quantum torsion antennas... if that's the case you're better off just getting a new pair."

"I hope I don't have to do that," she says, and on the Flycam she's wearing an exaggerated pout. "These are my favorite pants." He doesn't look at the pants again, but rather the space they once covered. POV's hands slide casually along her thighs.

"I think we're almost there," the Fly says. "Just a little more brazen, and you should do it."

"You can get another, exactly the same. It is not that expensive, that is what the ads are for." More expensive than simple synthetic printed garments, but for those with more enhanced wearable features, they defer the cost.

"Not exactly the same. These ones are lucky."

He snorts a little. "How's that?"

"Every time I hand them to a guy, I get lucky."

His eyes snap up to her own, and on the Flycam you see POV's cartoon face smile. "You shouldn't speak like that," he says, his accent coming in thicker than it had been. "It is one thing to play at being older, but if you joke like that, guys will take you seriously."

"But I WANT to be taken seriously," she says, and her hands draw up to the edge of her already nearly obscenely low panties and tugs them down just a fraction of an inch above where her clit must be. "Might as well do something fun until the net comes back up, and your music collection certainly isn't going to keep me entertained." Fingers still holding onto the skimpy fabric, she teases, lowering one hand, raising the other, exposing the slit for brief periods.

"I am too old for you," he says, but he's staring, hypnotized by forbidden luscious young fruit.

"You're definitely not," she says. "And you seem cool, aside from your music tastes. Besides, I need it sooo bad." She pulls the panties down again, but this time leaves them there, and one hand caresses herself, fingers dipping between the slit, and you can tell it's wet, at least from her own POV. The Flycam is too far away for such fine detail, and maybe Jeter himself can't tell. "See, feel." Her hand whips forward, grabs his right arm, right on the seam between flesh and plastic, then stops before pulling it towards her. "Can you even feel with this? I know with the good ones you can, but..."

"Yes," he says. "Yes, I can feel."

"Can the fingers do anything else special? Like vibrate?" she sounds excited, and now tries to pull his hand to her pussy, and he lets her. "Come on, show me."

The fingers touch her, but do not move, and in fact he pulls away. "No, they cannot, but perhaps I should hack it so they can, sometime. But no, this is not a good idea."

"Why not?" she whines.

"I could hurt you."

"Then use your real hand. Or I'll be stuck using mine and I'm so bored with that." Her fingers once again work, several descending into her hole at once, then withdraw to the outer edges, and pause, spreading the slit open, right at him, an invitation. "Come on! I'm bored and want to fuck! You're a criminal, aren't you? What are you afraid of breaking the law or something? Worried the cops are going to get you?"

"You know I'm a dangerous man, right? I could hurt you. Not just because of my hand."

"That's what makes it exciting. Besides, I like it rough. One guy used to choke me while I was giving head. You can do that if you want."

He stares at her, shaking his head, but then seems to make a sudden decision. "Take off your clothes," he says. "All of them."

"And ladies and gentlemen, it looks like once again, our darling's charms are irresistible," the Fly says, like he's announcing the winner of a combat sports one-on-one. You ignore it, and watch POV undress herself, occasionally looking at the flycam view as well. She stands to do it, moving swiftly and excitedly, not doing a striptease as you've sometimes seen, but at the same time this makes it seem earnest and childlike, like she really wants it and is just excited to get down to it. When she's done, Jeter makes her take off her jewelry as well, even earrings, then finally gets off the couch, gathers everything up, piles them on her backpack, and puts the whole mass beside the couch's leg, where they can't be easily reached.

"Come," he says, and pulls her back to the couch by his cyberarm, backing into a sit before letting her go. She gets on her hands and knees beside him, expecting to perform the promised oral sex, and then his cyberarm reaches along her body, first her sides, going to squeeze her tight ass once, and then slipping on the other side of her arm and running down to her pussy, which she can't see but almost certainly feel the rubbery soft plastic which suddenly transitions to hard, infexible material when he turns his hand, and the light stimulation makes her twitch and giggle, making her sound so much younger than she is. The hand then pulls back, squeezing on the breasts and rock-hard nipples, making you wish you could hijack the feed from his hand and feel it yourself. Some people do add sensation-remixes, after the fact, and shared them on the fanboards for others like them who enjoy reruns, but they're all hypothesized or stolen from sense-recordings of other sexual encounters. Some of the remixes may be very good, but they're all feeling somebody else, not POV. What his hand is sending to his body would be feeling her, as close as can be captured.

Finally Jeter brings his hand back to his own leg, and she looks down at his crotch. There's a bulge there, and it's a very prominent one. She doesn't wait for him to do it, she works the button and then the zipper with one hand, pulls it down, unleashing Jeter's cock, then stares at it.

"I told you I might hurt you," he says, amused at her reaction. It's a whopper... not a monster, mind you, but very long and thick, with big balls, and, what's more, he's completely hairless in that area, making it look even bigger than it is. That suggests a mod-job, people vain in one area may be vain in others, and a mercenary with a cyberarm would certainly go for the penis enlargement treatments that promise to make everybody into a porn star... except, of course, too often porn stars have penises that are too large even for adult women, or go for exotic mods like horsecock or knots. This, although it may be artificial, is at least modestly artificial, still in the realm of human variation. And it could be he is in fact, that big.

It's not the biggest POV's ever had, but to judge by the wide-eyed anime look of shock the Fly's programs paint on her face, you'd never know. "I can take it," she says, and she grabs the base to steady it and rock it into full upright hardness. Right away, her lips go to work on it, doing their best to stretch over the head, though it's difficult, and she soon resorts to licking all around the shaft while he leans back and stares at the ceiling. After about twenty seconds, she once more tries to take it in her mouth, but can't seem to get the widest part of the head past her lips and she looks up at him, and eventually he looks down at her, and they stare each other right in the eyes. And then his artificial hand comes up, wraps around her throat, and squeezes. But it's only for a few seconds before he uses it to push her away from his cock.

"Wait," he says. "I forgot." He slides slightly his body slightly away from her, but at the same time turning to more closely face her.

"What? You were going well."

"Your eyescreens. Take them off."

"Huh? Why?"

"Because I want all of your attention," he says.

"Believe me, when you were choking me, you had all of my attention."

"Just do it," he snaps, no affection in him at all.

"Fine." You don't see it on the POV cam, but one hand goes to her human eye, slides the little contact lens out of place. You don't actually see that on the flycam, either, the animation is too crude for that level of detail, but she holds the tiny interface between two fingers.

"The other one too."

"There is no other one," she says.

His brow furrows and skeptically, he points to her real eye. "Brown eye," he says. And then the finger points right at her camera eye. "Blue eye." This moment is the one where, if somebody is a dedicated fan of POV, or extraordinarily suspicious, they would realize that the girl in front of them is no ordinary girl. You've never seen those eyes for yourself, but you've heard them mentioned... one brown, one blue. Not every time, her eyescreen makes it match, both blue, and sometimes she wears something over her artificial one to tint the color there for a specific role, like when her skin has darkened to look like a black girl, brown eyes are more natural-looking. But sometimes, like today, her artificial eye is left naked, and she has to take the screen out of her real one, and her guest star comments on the difference. Heterochromia, the term is, at least when it's natural. It's something only the truefans tend to know. In your fantasies of meeting POV yourself, you like to think this is how you recognize her, but you've never seen anybody else do it. And this guy doesn't seem to, either. He just thinks she's lying, only taking out one eyescreen to keep the other running.

"It's artificial," she admits, and then her own finger directly taps the camera to prove it. It may look soft and fleshy, but it's hard underneath.

"You have a cybereye."

"Yeah."

"How?"

The camera droops, and her anime-face looks genuinely sad, reflective. "There was... an accident. When I was younger."

"So why is it the wrong color?" Color matching is standard practice, and many of them have the ability to change color at will, without a screen on top.

"My family's not rich. The surgery was expensive enough, so the eye... it was bought second-hand... all I could get." The strange thing to you is, with all of her other enhancements, eyes that automatically change color should be part of the package. After all, her skin can change color, and you'd have to be wealthy to get mods like that. Some say this is evidence that her eye was the first mod, and everything else came after.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"That's one of the reasons I'm feeling so drawn to you," she says, and then lays her hand on the cyberarm, the one that looks slightly too small for him. "We're a lot alike, you and me. Both rebuilt with... whatever was handy."

He makes a noise, somewhere between a sympathetic murmur and the sound of somebody mulling something over. "I don't suppose you can take it out, can you?" It's not made as a suggestion, but rather as a way of agreeing that she can't.

"Can you take yours off?"

"I can, actually."

POV's eyes widen. "Really? Can I see?"

Jeter nudges her back, and then, with his left hand, holds his right just above the wrist. There's a clicking noise, and suddenly the arm detaches, the ends folding away like a flower's petals. He pulls it back, and all that's left there is bare stump. No interface port, it must simply latch on and direct stimulate the nerves inductively through the skin like sensestims, but much more sophisticated. "Wow," she says. "I thought there'd be..."

Jeter interrupts, "I told you, it's a military field model. One-size fits all. Get you moving as quick as possible, no time for surgery." She boldly runs a finger along the stump, and he lets her do it. It's not smooth, but rather a mass of bumpy scars, like somebody burn it. "Even cauterizes the wound, if you need it."

"Can I ask how it happened?"

"That is indeed quite impressive," the Fly says, and though it's hard to tell through the buzzing background, but he sounds bored and impatient. "And may turn out to be useful, but the show must go on."

"It was... an accident," Jeter explains, sounding sad. "I wasn't careful with an explosive. That's another reason I keep this instead of going for a better model. It's a reminder to be careful around things that might hurt me." He didn't hear the Fly's snarky comment, but he seems to act on it, pushing his stump back into the arm, and it folds around it. Then, with a grip that proves the arm can not only be strong but also delicate, he takes the eyescreen still resting on one of POV's hands, gets up, and puts it on one of the plastic boxes. He takes one last drag off his electronic cigarette, then puts it beside the eyescreen. "I suppose there's nothing holding us back. You say you like it rough?" The camera bobs as she nods. "Then I'll give you something memorable." He pulls off his shirt, kicks off his shoes, and drops his pants. His dick stands out, proud, and the head is slick... extremely slick, like he'd already cum, though maybe, like was all the rage in porn a few years ago and is now popular on the street, his balls have been modified to squeeze out extra lubrication on command, so there's no need for anything extra when you want to fuck somebody in the ass. His body is, as you expected, leanly muscular, and completely hairless from the legs down. Even what you can see of his legs poking out from his socks, there's nothing. He doesn't take the socks off, either, and that could be a mistake. What kind of monster leaves his socks on while fucking a preteen girl?

He does fuck her, too, almost right away, first repositioning her... she is facing him with legs spread, but he doesn't want that, he wants her on her knees, facing the wall. He comes up behind her, sticks, rubs her crotch with the cyberarm, then inserts a fingers all the way in, then two, sawing them in and out, but not vibrating them as he hasn't had time to do the software hack he spoke of. Once he's judged her sufficiently loose, he slaps his massive slick member against her labia lips, then presses in, pushing, paying no attention to her moans, which sound like they could be pain, or pleasure, or both mixed into one. At the very least, the lubrication lets him slide in without much effort... POV's pussy is more stretchable than her mouth.

You're watching this mostly on the flycam, as POV's can mostly only see his belly slamming up against her ass, and while her ass is worth watching at any other time, you're more excited to see her take the large cock, see the expressions painted on her, even if they're not real, you can imagine one of her real faces doing the same thing.

This time, that expression is open-mouthed, eyes half closed as he penetrates into her about halfway along his length, what still seems like an impossible distance inside such a tiny girl, like he must be banging into her cervix at the very least. The previously dormant secondary flycam spawns yet another window... it's taken up a spot beneath her, so you can directly see the thick shaft moving in and out of her swollen mound, that jiggle of her breasts from impact that you've come to recognize. All three views are perfectly time synchronized, so you can watch his dick slamming into her from the side, or below, or you can watch him over her ass, see his grim face, not even like he's enjoying it, but rather like he's a soldier shooting a bunch of potential insurgents, just part of the job.

If you weren't before, you're masturbating also, trying your best to match the pace on the video feed. You're just using your hand... when the community gets its hands on this, you might watch a rerun and use a more advanced artificial substitute, with sensations synchronized to match how they believe POV's pussy must feel. Sometimes you use that for the live shows as well, with an off-the-shelf program, but you find your own hand matching the pace of whatever sex is going on is more natural. And it's only fitting, you watch both with your eyes as POV's eyes, and as an observer, so why not feel it the same way, you body plays the role of both the cock penetrating and the pussy being penetrated.

All of a sudden, the POV cam becomes less interesting, as his cyberarm grabs her by the side of the head, pushes it forcefully into the cushion, and keeps it there, so she can't even look at him anymore, she can only stare to the side and every time she moans she drools on the soft fabric, gets pieces of it in her mouth. But the other cams, they still provide a good show as he continues relentlessly. "You like it, you little slut?" he says. "You want to be hurt by a real man?" Aside from this show of dominance, he doesn't seem to be especially rough... there's no slapping, and he's not going for anal, even though he could.

As he gets into it, he pushes harder, and deeper, and one point he pushes her body down further into the couch, her legs slip off and he's bearing down on her, and the flycam beneath her has to reposition to avoid getting squished. When this happens, he's no longer pushing her head into the couch, instead, he pulls her hair back, roughly, so she can't look at anything other than the ceiling while he pounds her. But for all it looks like it might hurt, she's calling out, the word "Uh-huh" again and again. The views paint her face with her mouth open wide in pain or ecstasy and her eyes squeezed shut, which must be a somewhat liberal artistic interpretation considering you're still getting visual, although it is indeed narrowed vertically. By the sounds of her moans, though, you think she's coming, and he lets loose a grunt and a groan and then clamps down, pushing into her, pulling back on her hair, and so you assume he's cumming too. Which is perfect timing, because that's when you cum, and all the tension built up releases in a flood of pure joy that you pretend you are sharing with the people you're watching.

Then, the joy fades, and it's just breathing, heavy breathing, from everyone, and you as well, and things slow down. Jeter releases her hair, pulls off of her, the head of his cock making a wet, sloppy popping sound as it pulls out of her hole. He wipes his head with the back of his left, human hand.

"Wow," she says once she regains her breath. "I haven't been fucked that hard in forever." She's only being polite. She's had harder. But he said he was going to be rough, so it would be cruel to make him think he'd fallen short. And POV, whatever happens, is rarely cruel. Now free to move, she turns over, looking down at her taut body, giving one last good show to her viewers... the nipples are still erect, but they don't have her attention. Instead, she stares down at her still yawning hole, gradually returning to its original shape, but now spilling out cum... or, at least lube.

"Yes," Jeter says after one last deep exhalation of his own, "Well. It has been a while. And never, with one as little as you." He gets up, bends over to pick up his own clothes (a site you do not want to see, but POV was looking there), and says, "Don't go anywhere. I'll be back." He steps into the other room, and then from there into what must be the bathroom, where you can hear urination.

The moment he leaves, POV springs into motion, first picking up her eyescreen and placing it gently back into her eye, then going for her clothes. She starts to dress, efficiently and yet somehow erotically, for she doesn't even seem to care that she's still dripping out of her pussy... there will be a wet spot on her panties, and probably on her pants as well, although it might not show through. You have to assume it'll smell, to anybody near her who knows what sex smells like. Smell is one thing these experiences are missing, for all that you're aware that it's probably not as pleasant as you'd wish.

As she dons her clothes, the Fly begins speaking again, the buzz turned into a fever pitch of excitement, so high-energy that you think it must be fake, all part of the show, like a game show host. "And I believe the hour has come, the moment we've all been waiting for, POV, our vulnerable angel, now defiled, fucked like you fans only regretfully enjoy vicariously, emphatically requires your assistance. For she refuses to judge this man... she leaves that in your capable hands. Is Jeter merely a man who gave into natural, though perhaps a bit deviant, human desires you no doubt share with him? Or is he a monster to take advantage of a little girl? Alas, I also do not presume to judge, but you can, if you wish. It's time to vote, now. One question. Pervert or Villain. Weigh your choice carefully, this man's future is in your hands."

This is it, the other thrill, beyond the sexual one. This is what makes POV special... she's certainly not the first underage girl to be promiscuous, or visually so. There've been girls filming themselves having sex, girls who started younger than her, for long enough that the early ones are grown women by now. It was even a trend a while back, girls filming the momentous occasion of their cherry popping, posting them to be rated and doing their best to outdoor their peers with age, number attending, or location or intensity of the event. What makes POV different, aside from that certain something you perceive in her soul, is this moment, where she gives you the feeling, the responsibility, of holding a man's life in your hands. Not alone, mind you, there are countless others, also voting. Your vote always combines with others, some who'll vote the same way no matter what happens based on their preconceived biases... and it's even possible that vote doesn't mean anything at all, it's a fraud, the outcome predetermined... but you believe it does, and that's what matters.

There have been surprises, over the months you've watched... a corporate middle-manager who was relatively kind to POV was declared a villain. Three guys who cornered her in a party and snuck her off to their room where, hopped up on some new designer drug, they took turns with her for two hours, used every hole, sometimes all at once, and barely let her speak, then left her covered in cum without a word, they were designated mere Perverts by the hive mind. And then there was the Halloween special, you still don't understand that one. But normally, even when you disagree, you think you can predict what everybody else will vote, based on how he treated her, how aggressive POV herself was, and, sometimes, on how hot the scene was. This one, was a tricky one. She had to make several of the first moves, but he was very aggressive once he finally decided to go for it, and there was the choking and face-pressing and hair-pulling that not only might have been uncomfortable for POV, but also sometimes spoiled the view. And then there was the part where he didn't take his socks off to fuck her. So you don't know how people are going to vote, not for sure... but you think you know how you'll vote. Your trembling hand hovers over the icon, and, banishing last-minute second thoughts, you make your selection. That decision is between you and your conscience.

After that, all that's left to do is wait. The votes are displayed, but not numerically, just by an animated overlay of a line that functions as a scale. If the vote's a blowout, one side is obviously tilted towards the letters P or V. This one is a close one... so close you honestly can't tell which side the line is higher on. Maybe, this time, it truly is your vote that made the difference.

Jeter unknowingly awaits this decision the bathroom, and when he comes out, he is dressed, but his face twists in a half scowl as he sees POV is as well. She is still near the couch, but she is completely dressed and she has her shoes on. "Going somewhere?"

"Maybe soon," she says. "I was just checking to see if I can get a connection... I still can't, but I might try to head home soon anyway."

"I see," he says. "Well, just one thing before you go." His hand twitches, the human one, like he's typing in a command on his computer, but when he does, you can see, he's holding a small object there. POV notices this as well, and her eye zooms in, close enough that you can see that it's one of those thumb-sized power-syringes, favored by the drug-worshipping street gangs over the slow-release patches the sophisticated set uses. Maybe it's for himself, but things have taken a decidedly worrying turn, and you can only hope the crowdsourced instincts were correct. "What's that?" POV asks.

"Just a little something," he says. "To help you forget."

"Forget? I don't need to forget. You were actually pretty good." She has the instinct to back away, but she's backing right into a wall, and there doesn't seem to be anywhere to go from there.

"No, I am bad, a very bad man. You are not such a good judge of character as you think. I warned you I was dangerous, and this is because I think of myself first, and I consider everything. Like that your eye may have been set to record." Your heart lurches, wonder if he knew she was POV the whole time. "And I must take care of it before you are able to transmit." No, clearly, if he knew she was POV, he would know she was already transmitting, that his face and actions were seen by all that police, right now, might be watching the stream, trying to identify the location it's taking place. "It is a shame we are so alike, Michelle... I was going to just nuke your clothes, so there was no chance of you having recorded anything. If not for your eye, I would let you walk away from here unharmed, but you are now a weakness others could use against me. But I promise, it will not hurt."

"Wait, wait..." POV holds up a hand in front of her face as he leans in, and he hesitates, proving that for all his words, he's not as badass as he pretends. "You're going to destroy my eye, aren't you?"

"No," Jeter says, but you can see in his face, and hope POV does too, that it's a lie. It's not just a lie, he's going to have to do that and worse, because the only way to be sure the data is destroyed is to dig out the eye and see how it works, how it attaches, and whether there's any on-board storage. He already said he'd have to destroy her clothes to be sure nothing was recorded there, and if he was that paranoid, he'd be worried that she might have some kind of secondary storage internally. Not common for a girl her age, but possible. It would take some sophisticated scans to rule it out, and all of that still wouldn't prevent a girl from reporting him to authorities if he harmed her that badly... short-term-memory-wipe drugs are not universally effective, particularly where there's trauma involved. So, in the end, the only way for a paranoid man to be sure is to kill her. It should be clear to everyone now that he's a villain, though the vote is over. What if he was already judged merely a pervert? How hard would she fight to defend herself? Would POV know enough to fight with all her life? "I am good with machines, I will just make you sleep and erase everything." If she trusted him, he could wind up erasing POV entirely. Why isn't the Fly warning her?

"Then, before you do, can I just have a second?" She tries to squirm away, but he's faster, his artificial arm grabbing her wrist, her right wrist, pulling it up against her left shoulder and pinning her in place against the wall, and she stares at her hand, trying to will it free from that inhuman grip. If it wasn't a cyberarm, she could bite it and buy the few seconds she needs, but that probably isn't an option. "Wait..." she says, sounding desperate. "I'll blow you again... I bet I could get it all in my mouth this time, I swear." she offers, but he is stone faced. "Okay, but, Jeter... there's something you need to know." Her eye darts to the syringe in his other hand, getting closer, but halting, curious as to what she might say.

She stares at her own thumb, the camera's view focusing on the nail. Like all her other fingers, this one contains one of those cartoon animal stickers which monitor and relays the exact position of her fingers to her wearable systems, so they can be used to interface without something cumbersome like a glove or ring-set. Unlike the other nails, this one conceals a secret. If you weren't looking for that exact thing, you might miss the top of her nail pop off and leave a little black space. Even looking for it, you can't see the invisible thread spooling down, but you can imagine it. He doesn't notice it, still wondering about what she's going to say. "Yes?"

"I'm not alone," she says. And he looks around for a second, but then back at her, convinced it's a lie, a last minute bluff of a scared little girl who got in over her head. But in doing so, he relaxes his grip... not the artificial hand, which remains tight, but on the flesh and blood elbow and arm connected to it, giving her enough give to lurch forward. As she does, her hand pivots, moving a lot more than her wrist does, a useless motion in any other circumstance, but POV is watching his face, and sees him reel back in shock. The arm may be a marvel of modern engineering, metal and electroplastic, but the reflexes that control it are human as anything else, and he is right-handed. He lets go, touching his face, just as a few dots of blood hit, where the invisible monomolecular thread cut into his skin.

It's only a surface wound, but now her right hand is free, she closes her fist and makes a thumbs up position, and you can't see it, but you know what's happening, although you had to have it explained. The monomolecular wire is relatively safe when it's flaccid, though able to cause a painful slice on soft tissues if hit with force, but with a small electrical charge, it stiffens, becomes deadly. And now POV sounds more confident, you picture her with a smug smile as she wields an invisible sword protruding from her thumb and says, "I'm not alone, and my friends? They told me you were a villain. And they are excellent judges of character. "

You can see it in his eyes, he still doesn't understand, he can't see the blade. He's reaching for her again, and you hear the Fly's voice, saying, "Try to preserve our villain's arm, if you can, sweetie, I think it's on our wishlist." And she seems to comply, lashing out with a punch with her left hand, which is handily caught by the artificial arm, but that's only a decoy to keep it busy, as she sweeps her right thumb across at just above the elbow. Seconds later, the cyberarm, as well as all of his flesh arm to the point her thumb grazed it, simply falls down.

He stares at it, uncomprehending, and that gives her time to slice at his other arm, the one still holding the syringe, which similarly detaches. They say the wire cuts so cleanly that the nerve endings don't even register pain, but it has to be a shock to see it happen, at finding yourself suddenly helpless when you considered yourself unstoppable. Luckily, POV won't leave him in anguish for long, she's not that type of person. She pushes him and, without arms and still a little in shock, he can't do anything but stagger backwards and bleed out in pulses that match his accelerated heartbeat. "Goodbye," she says, unemotionally. "You were fun, for a while." She extends her arm out as far as it can stretch, thumb pointed directly at him, and, leaping into the air to get the required height, then sweeps a savage slash across his head. The two pieces of his head slide apart, and he falls forward, and POV steps back to escape the growing pool of blood. The brain may be dead, but the heart's still pumping on its own for a little while longer.

She grabs her furry pink cat backpack, and steps around the body, and peeks into the doorway that he came from, like she's considering going in. "Forget it, it's best just to leave," the Fly warns her.

"But I want to see what the drone had."

"As I do as well, but other drones are approaching, as are police. I'm holding them off as best I can, but we don't have much time. Your curiosity will have to go unsatisfied. Grab the arm, clean up, and go."

POV reaches into her backpack, pulls out some capsules the size of sniper rifle bullets, and breaks one on Jeter's body. It starts fizzing up like a carbonated beverage shaken too much. It will expand to a remarkable degree, eating away at DNA and fingerprints that might lead people to her true identity. She throws another on the couch, and it does the same, and only then does she bend down to pick up the cyberarm. She doesn't need to work out how to detach it from what is left of his stump, now that it's disconnected from the rest of his body, it detaches itself, perhaps to make it easier to reattach it to whatever the new stump is, but that's not in the cards, at least not for Jeter. POV collects the arm, shoves it in the backpack, and then, as the foam starts to spread to cover the whole floor, moves to the window, and you think you can hear sirens in the distance. All the views then fade to black, and the logo of POV displays itself once more, followed by the Fly's. His, underneath the words "brought to you by" is a square that looks like a tiled wall, the words "The Fly On The Wall" superimposed inside. Inside the O is what that looks like the crotch of a pair of jeans, zipper partly undone, like the logo has been incorporated into a glory hole. And, if that pun wasn't enough, there also is an actual literal fly, a cartoon one, anyway, on the wall. The logo is on the screen for a few seconds before the screen goes black once more, for good, at least until next time.

That's all there is to the show, but you can't let it go there, your heart's still racing as it always is, more than during the sex itself, and so you check news feeds, ireports, suffering through the agonizing waits until access from the area in question is restored and you can find out if there's been any arrests. For one stomach-dropping moment, you despair upon learning that there was, including a girl... until you see that POV is not among them. Hillary, the girl with the blue hair that interrupted her first attempted conquest, she was arrested, along with the man who must be Logan, who's life was quite possibly just saved by no longer being POV's target. There are a few others arrested along with them, all on unspecified charges, there's a shot of them with quick-restraints behind their back and looking miserable. But POV wasn't caught, or at least, not officially. They don't always announce these things, particularly with high profile cases, as POV is, although she is only referred to as a serial killer. The reality child porn show aspect goes unmentioned by the sanitized, corporate-owned media that dominates the landscape. So it's possible her arrest is similarly being kept under wraps.

Until you see her next broadcast, or a reliable video update, you won't be sure. You worry, but you have faith. POV is just too perfect to be stopped. There will be another broadcast. You just have to be patient.

And until then? There's always reruns.
***


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Anonymous 14/07/31(Thu)04:27 No. 22142 ID: 054fb4

Too distracted to notice anything wrong.


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Anonymous 14/07/31(Thu)06:38 No. 22146 ID: f5b1c2

Honestly? That was rubbish. Completely overblown, with all of the pretentiousness inherent to the cyberpunk genre but none of the technical skill to back it up. Getting to the sex was a boring slog and the sex itself was completely generic and uninteresting.
Are you actually AnonMPC? Because I'm having a hard time believing he'd produce something so sub-par, particularly with that heavy overuse of commas.


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AnonyMPC 14/07/31(Thu)11:32 No. 22148 ID: a609fb

>>22146
Fair enough. I wasn't striving for pretentiousness, I was just having fun with a subgenre I love, but I guess my skills aren't up to it. Every time I write a story I'm half-convinced it'll be the one where everyone who's praised me before realizes I'm a fraud and not really a good writer at all, it's kind of a relief when it finally happens.

As I said, I edited it a little less than I usually do, because it's not going to go live until all of it's done, so that might partly explain the excess of commas (though there's another story-based factor at play as well), but that's really no excuse, especially for the rest of your complaints.

But yeah, it is me. Not sure why anybody would pretend to be me otherwise while producing a whole story. If you really have doubts, you can always send me a mail on my site.

I'm going to keep going with the project regardless, as I'm still having fun with it, and a poor reception never stopped me from my Phil Phantom tributes. Sorry it's disappointing, though.


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Anonymous 14/07/31(Thu)13:17 No. 22149 ID: f5b1c2

>>22148
>Not sure why anybody would pretend to be me
Maybe you should consider that someone has literally stolen My Private Camwhore, and rethink that.


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AnonyMPC 14/07/31(Thu)18:02 No. 22150 ID: a609fb

>>22149
>Maybe you should consider

Consider what? I consider a lot of things every day. Right now I'm considering what to have for breakfast. You really should be more clear about what you're talking about instead of leaving thoughts half formed.

Huh... will you look at that? There's more to that line than what was quoted, a whole rest of the sentence that provides extra context and answers those exact objections. Wow. Probably should have noticed that.

Stealing MPC is something that makes some amount of sense, it seems to be popular, it takes almost no work to do it, and might turn a profit. They're not pretending to be me, they're pretending to have done work somebody else did for a profit. Laziness is a completely understandable motive.

Pretending to be a slightly known erotic fiction writer on an online forum that he already hangs out at, with easily verifiable ways for people to confirm or deny, while also producing their own 10,000+ word story, yeah, I don't see why anybody would do that. Even if a troll right now decided to do it just for the satisfaction of proving me wrong, it still seems to have a bad work/payoff ratio.


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Anonymous 14/07/31(Thu)21:08 No. 22152 ID: 53f8ee

Very different from your other work, but still quite good imo.


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Anonymous 14/08/01(Fri)12:05 No. 22158 ID: f5b1c2

>>22150
And now you're acting like an arrogant piece of shit. Good attitude to have.


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Anonymous 14/08/01(Fri)20:21 No. 22161 ID: ca0982

>>22146

I sincerely hope you are trolling (because then you'd be just an asshole and not an asshole with bad taste). Everything about the cyberpunk setting in this story was perfectly competent and interesting. It wasn't super revolutionary but that makes sense since it's an homage. There was nothing pretentious about it and I thought that the slight nod to net neutrality and other contemporary issues was tasteful and brief. I didn't find any of the exposition to be a slog. Maybe you should stick to RedTube if you can't handle a little reading. You obviously aren't that literate since I didn't see any misused commas in this story.

That taken care of I will enter in some criticisms of my own. I do slightly agree that the sex was somewhat generic given the setting. I'd like to hear more about how the sex interacts with the technology, like with the girl getting the suggestive ad caught on her pants (which was funny and a nice bit of eroticism). The ability to put messages and videos on clothes seems promising. Maybe you have a hacker who likes to coerce people into incest and targets a brother/sister duo, bringing up suggestive messages and images on the sister's clothes (unknown to her) to entice him. Maybe they have sex and then he brings up the video on her underwear with sound while she's performing in a cheerleading squad or something.

I like the idea of the story being written from the perspective of a porn viewer but I don't think it was done in a way that added to the eroticism. You didn't capture the intensity and taboo of seeing something that you shouldn't, being shocked at what you're seeing while being unable to pull your eyes away. You described it too clinically. I think it would have been better from the perspective of a first-time viewer of POV's stream, some random guy who heard about it from /b/ or something and didn't really believe that such things existed. Other than that I liked it and thought that it was a good first entry in yet another series to anticipate. I really hope to hear from you more often because going months without updates makes my heart hurt and I get withdrawals.

I normally don't comment here because it's difficult to access 7chan via proxies but I had to this time because AnonyMPC is in such a great caliber of writer that I would hate to see him discouraged from posting by idiots like you. His great stories don't get enough praise as it is but to hear rubbish like your post makes me want to throw my computer out the window.

>>22158

The only piece of shit in this thread is you. AnonyMPC gives us top-quality work for free so I think you should show him some more respect even if you don't like a particular story.


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Anonymous 14/08/02(Sat)07:47 No. 22163 ID: aebce8

I find the references to modern civilization pretty neat in your works AnonyMPC. It is almost like it places the story as being more believable or modern than others.


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AnonyMPC 14/08/06(Wed)18:55 No. 22190 ID: a609fb

>>22158

I sincerely apologize if my admittedly a little snarky but hopefully humorous way of pointing out that the fact you had just asked me to "rethink" my belief in light of had, in fact, already been considered, as you could see in the part that was not quoted, came off as arrogant, but please consider that you doing that in the first place came off a little arrogant yourself. How about we call it even and just drop the issue (well, I suppose you already might have, considering it's been about a week, but really, I do want to extend my apology if the snarkiness offended you... I may be a piece of shit, but I try to be a humble, genial piece of shit!) I do take your criticisms of the writing at face value and will try to punch up some of those issues when the whole thing goes live after all five stories are done (though I suspect it'll still read as pretentious and not even good as cyberpunk to you, and probably others, but it's what I'm enjoying writing right now).

>>22161
Thanks for your thoughts and criticisms. The second-person aspect was a little tricky because I wanted to balance it such that the viewer could be either male or female (you might notice a few times where it's worded in such a way that you can't immediately tell if it's a girl who also sometimes fantasizes about being a guy fucking her, or a guy who also occasionally fantasizes being her), but that probably added a bit too MUCH distance. However, I think him/her being a regular viewer is essential, because it lets me bring in the references to other POV shows seen, which, I hope, work as little appetizers before we get to the actual sex. However, I will try to go over it again and punch up the language and hopefully bring readers closer into the mindset.

How the technology interfaces with the characters lives, and sex lives, will of course crop up again, although the next story in the series deals with two siblings in a sort of slummy gang-run area where they don't have much in the way of tech (it's sort of the price of their being allowed to stay there). It's also a lot closer to being one of my "normal" incest stories, except for the cyberpunk setting, and it's even first person (though again, that's a bit of a lie, because he's telling the story to someone else and at the end it switches to third person as you discover who he's telling it to and why). I'm actually pretty far along in it.

The next one after that deals with Hillary, the girl who cockblocks POV's first attempt and was arrested at the end, who's from a relatively nice neighborhood and technology will play a bigger role in her life (you might even get to see TapThat being played!), as does the story after that, focusing on a wealthy corporate family. Some of your ideas were pretty good though, and I might see about working some of them in, maybe not as the main plot of a story, but in subtler ways.

Also thanks to the others who've posted briefer but positive thoughts, I appreciate them as well. Now, back to work!


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Anonymous 14/08/06(Wed)22:09 No. 22194 ID: 71a078

>>22190

I know that gender equality is all the rage nowadays, but I think it's a mistake to make any role in an /elit/ story gender neutral. Sexuality is so tied into gender that if you try to write a character as gender neutral then all you do is kill their potential for both genders. Besides that I would probably venture to guess that over 95% of your readers are male anyway (especially given that most of the protagonists of your stories are male and I'm pretty sure you're a male too) so I don't think it's wrong to pander to the male perspective a bit. Most porn watchers are men as well so I don't think a female reader is likely to identify with one in the first place. They'd probably identify more with POV. Women already have stuff like 50 Shades and Twilight for their literary eroticism so I think it's only fair that stuff like this is male-focused to make up for it.

Could you give us an update on any of your other stories?


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Anonymous 14/08/06(Wed)22:32 No. 22196 ID: 644dd6

>>22190
Good ole fashioned sibling incest.

Yes, please.


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Anonymous 14/08/07(Thu)01:10 No. 22197 ID: df0dab

>>22196

I wonder why AnonyMPC never does any father/daughter stuff.


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Anonymous 14/08/08(Fri)02:58 No. 22212 ID: 89e49b

This is your reminder that there has now been more time between MPC4 and MPC5 then there was between MPC3 and MPC4.


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Anonymous 14/08/16(Sat)05:46 No. 22289 ID: e382a4

Very enjoyable. Loved the world building, especially with Jeter's dialogue. Personally, I like when you touch on real world issues or cultural references, and cyber punk especially wouldn't be complete without some of that commentary. If I had to complain, I would say this story is light on character so far, due to the anonymity of the narrator and protagonist. From your comments here it sounds like the next installments are already addressing this, though.

The "POV" show premise is just fresh enough to get me to read elit again - can't wait to see where you go with it.


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lovelovetinylovestories!2UMHv8AVGk 14/09/01(Mon)01:21 No. 22361 ID: bd6b8f

Found this thread by way of googling the text "iCity Tales" and going through withdrawal from your excellent work. The only reason I am tripfagging is because I am trying to start a blog doing reviews of ontopic erotic fiction like your own. It'll also work as a resource for refinding anything I liked as it seems any time someone starts any kind of repository of this type of fiction it is swiftly shutdown one way or another. (See Red Rose stories or more recently the Loliwood studios site on ASSTR) It makes it difficult to find anything.

On to your story as posted...

It seemed like this chapter was intended to be very experimental and a way to introduce the world and its history without being too dense and doing too much of an info dump. By combining the POV (love what you did there) with the primary viewer of the broadcast, the pontificating of the mercenary, bits and pieces given out by the "Fly" you were able to introduce large chunks of the world without having to do the literary equivalent of a history lesson just to begin the story. That worked well in my opinion. It was the difference between the Star Wars opening sequence and the David Lynch version of the Dune film.

I also agreed with other posters that the technology you're hinting at is very intriguing and what little you've shown us so far really makes me look forward to seeing more as it gets posted. The bit suggested with text being used subliminally was interesting and made me quiver with anticipation at what other uses for the hinted capabilities we'll be seeing in the future.

I'm not sure how you'll be tying everything together, or even if you'll be needing to tie the various vignettes together? I confess I am intrigued and appalled at the way POV (the character) interacted with her victims. It would make me feel better one way or another if we were eventually told more about both her and "the Fly" to know whether she is actually being hurt during these adventures or whether innocent people are being targeted. It'd be nice to know what criteria gets used to choose the targets.

I'll admit nothing major stood out on the grammar or spelling aspect of things but then I wasn't really looking for anything in that direction either. I will also confess that while the story did much for me intellectually I was left cold by the sex. There were too many people involved or maybe I just couldn't get into the voyeuristic aspect of it? I'm assuming that this is a lack on my part, not on yours.

Will be looking forward to catching the next installment when available.


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Plug and Play (mf, inc, cons, slow) AnonyMPC 14/12/08(Mon)21:26 No. 22920 ID: a609fb

Finally done the second story in this series, regardless of how limited the interest is, I still like it. This one ran a lot longer and took a lot longer than it should have (even despite the increased length), but it is slightly more like my normal stories, only in a cyberpunk setting. The other three are hopefully going to be much shorter (though one's possibly about the same). Still, if you didn't like the first one because of the setting or worldbuilding, you probably won't like this one either and should probably skip it. I won't mind.

As usual, I'm editing as I go so it'll take a while to post the whole thing, and this is a slower story overall. And even though I am editing, I'm editing it less intensively than my normal stories, on account of the fact that when all five are done I'm going to have to do another massive round of edits to make sure they're consistent with each other and ready to post on my normal site.

So, here we go, the story of two orphans living rough in iCity...

Plug and Play by AnonyMPC (mf, inc, cons, slow)

It's weird. I don't actually feel like I have to say anything, but I said I would, so I will.

Where to start? Real stories don't really have good beginnings, they're all tangled up in other stories. That's life, right?

I guess the night I found it is as good a place as any to start. I mean, it made all this necessary, so why not?

In some ways, you could say this all started with a wish, though.

Earlier that night, I was lying on the roof of a dry-cleaning place, staring up at the sky, and there was a gap in the cloud cover. I wasn't looking at that gap... I had more practical concerns than stargazing, and you couldn't actually see any but the brightest stars, but as I looked up from my phone and did a long scan of the sky once more, my eyes fell on that uncloudy patch right as a shooting star streaked by.

I'm not superstitious, but that song ran through my head, from that ancient netflix. "When you wish upon a star..." My mom used to sing that to me, when I was real little, and to my sister, too. And I fucking miss my mom. So, when I saw a shooting star, for her, I made a wish.

What did I wish for? The impossible, of course. I wished to reload my past like life was a game that I'd made the wrong choices in. I wished I was back when Mom was alive, and Ray, and when my sister Mitsy was still this happy, irrepressible tween girl who hugged me tight with both arms when I came home from high school, when I had friends and was popular and had a decent shot at a girlfriend I wouldn't have to share.

If you're going to wish, why not wish for the whole shebang, everything you want at once, right?

It's not like I expected it to come true. Ever since the Kessler Syndrome began, shooting stars are a dime a dozen. Granted wishes? Not so much. As always, they're something only the ultra-rich can count on, and they have to lay out some serious cash.

The wish was a harmless whim, but I regretted it anyway, both for the immaturity of wishing on a piece of space junk burning up in the atmosphere, and for the still-admittedly-immature thought that I might have wasted a wish on the impossible, that maybe a more reasonable wish would have a better chance of being granted.

When I left that evening, I had plenty of reasonable wishes already in the back of my mind. I needed to come back with a win, a realistic win, anything that fell on the spectrum between "a little better than barely adequate" to "might actually cheer Mitsy up."

The most I thought I could hope for that night was a long-delayed-but-thoroughly-righteous murder, or maybe, if I was really lucky, an orange. Considering the genetically-engineered blight that's been taking out 90% of the crop these last few years, the murder was probably the more achievable goal, at least if I was brave enough to go for it.

I knew where Slag Tremolo's gang hung out, and I knew what he looked like, and there was a chance I could find him and the drop on him and blow his brains out with the printed gun I scammed from one of the PiRats. The real miracle in the situation would be getting out alive again, and I couldn't afford not to, not with my sister depending on me. And, I was scared, I won't lie, I try to act tough but I'm a coward about a lot of things. Even telling this story terrifies me, but I'm doing it anyway. It's not like I really have a choice, right? Given the alternative, I mean.

Still, like all cowards, I was always brave in my head. I imagined killing Slag every possible way, fast, slow, sometimes getting the drop on him alone and abducting him for a long torture, sometimes being like an action hero taking out him and the rest of the Machetes all at once, cutting them out like the cancer they are, all without taking the slightest wound. I had fantasies of dropping Slag's severed head in front of my sister, telling her it was over. In reality that would probably have sent her screaming, but in my fantasy she'd come hug me, crying still, but happy tears this time. I was pretty sure that I'd be brave enough to kill Slag, if the opportunity presented itself, but I wasn't brave enough to go into his territory and seek the opportunity out... and it would take a minor miracle to stumble across him outside of it, alone.

Not as much of a miracle as finding an orange, though. Those were Mitsy's favorite fruit, back in better days. Every Christmas we'd go to our grandfather's and he'd have a box of those special kind, the easy-to-peel ones with no seeds, and Mitsy would probably eat half the box herself, and still squeal with excitement when she got of those orange-flavored chocolates that were made in the shape of the fruit, from Mom's old girlfriend in London.

The last orange we had, chocolate or otherwise, was just after we got kicked out of our house, while we still had a little money, and I knew she was sad and missing Mom and Ray, and it was too expensive but I went out and bought one with dinner for our first night in our new place, and she smiled and for a few hours we were actually optimistic, like we were going on a big adventure together. The spirit lasted for a few days before it eventually wore down.

Of course, that was before Slag. Slag changed everything, in ways I couldn't even always anticipate. Maybe oranges wouldn't mean the same thing to her anymore, maybe it would only be a reminder of pain when she tried to peel it.

But I hoped for one anyway. Maybe the gesture, the symbol, would be enough to make her smile. And I had to do something.

The way I found her that morning, I had to do something.

I suppose I actually should have started the story there, but I didn't want to mention it, it felt more personal... but now I feel I have to, to explain. So maybe this is working after all.

Mitsy and I, we slept in the same room since we moved here. Nothing weird was happening between us, it's just... for all we're grateful for the space the PiRats found for us, there aren't many options, and... after all that happened, well, I'm protective, I feel better knowing that we're in the most secure part of the building and, if something were to happen, I was right there.

Our place used to be, before it was abandoned, a fast food place, or maybe a donut shop or something. All the labels were torn off, so I'm not sure exactly, and I never bothered to look up historical overlays. But I do know that the heaviest, most solid door is what used to be the freezer, and we rigged up a big lock for the inside. The rest of the place wasn't very secure... somebody could bust in while we were sleeping and be on us before we got up. But in the freezer, we could lock it, and maybe robbers wouldn't even know we were there... who'd look for valuables in a broken-down walk-in freezer? And even if they did try to break down the door, I figured we could hold out for a long time, maybe long enough for somebody to show up and help.

It sounds weird, sleeping in a freezer, but it's not actually cold, the compression units were stripped out for scrap metal long ago, and there are even small holes in the wall, so light and fresh air gets in from outside, and we have a mini-heater for the really cold nights. It's not even as dingy as you'd think, and the walls help filter out the noise of our neighbors, who sometimes argue or party a little too loud. At their loudest, we can hear them through the shared walls anywhere, but it's usually quietest in the freezer.

So it became the natural choice for Mitsy and I to make into our shared bedroom. With all the shelves removed, there's enough space for both of our roll mattresses to lie side by side, with a curtain hung between us for a little shred of privacy, but not so much that we were separate. We could hear each other fart, curtain or no curtain. I actually offered to sleep outside, because I was worried I wasn't giving her any personal space, but she asked me to stay. It just made sense. If she had a nightmare, and she had those on regular occasions, I could wake her, hold her tight, tell her it was okay, and sometimes, let her sleep cuddled up right next to me until she felt safe again. That wasn't common, but it was at least something I could do... ever since Slag hurt her, I've felt so fucking useless... I've just barely been able to keep us alive, and that's relying on a good deal of PiRat charity, which I resented sometimes. But I couldn't afford pride.

Sharing a room wasn't always comfortable for me either... not the least because I had to find somewhere else if I wanted to fap, which I always used to do right before falling asleep. But a more mundane problem is that whenever one of us woke up to go to the bathroom or something, the other one knew. And when it was Mitsy who woke up, I tried to do my best to stay awake as well, until she came back, although honestly, I fell back asleep pretty often no matter how I tried to be vigilant. It was hard to actually stay awake, because I had to pretend to still be sleeping. Whenever I got up to make sure she was physically safe all the way through a bathroom trip, she accused me of smothering her. Which I guess was true, but after everything, could you blame me? So when she got up, I'd lie in bed, listening for any sound that anything might be amiss, pretending not to be waiting for her, until she came back, and sometimes I would manage it, and at others, I was just too tired and I'd drift off for real, until I heard the door open again for her return.

That's what happened early that morning. The falling asleep part, not her coming back. I woke up, realized I still hadn't heard her, whispered her name, then turned on the little taplight by my bed to confirm my suspicions. She hadn't returned to bed.

It didn't mean anything was wrong, but I couldn't just lie there anymore. It's easy to fall back to sleep on a routine bathroom trip, but now that the worries had crept in, I was up, and probably would be awake for an hour even if she came back in right at that moment. So I got up and headed out into what used to be the kitchen area, now just an all-purpose living area with a shower attached. That was a PiRat invention, but instead of being in the tiny staff bathroom, it had to be set up where there was already a floor grate, so in one corner of our living area, that I guess long ago was a sink or something, was now a curtained-off shower. The air was slightly damp and while the showerhead wasn't on, it was dripping... Mitsy had taken a shower, and I'd slept through it.

Maybe she was in the actual bathroom now, but, rubbing my eyes to try and banish the pain and disorientation of the first morning's light, I automatically stepped forward to close the tap as far as we could... no sense using up our water allowance any faster than we had to. As I did, I spotted something unsettling on the chair nearest to the shower curtain. It was Mitsy's arm, lying above the duffle that contained our few possessions from the old days. Just her arm. Mitsy herself was still nowhere to be seen.

I looked down at the soft-looking plastic, unwilling to touch it. I'd done it of course, but only when I had to. To me, it was a bad omen, a symbol of my failure, a symbol of the charity that I'd begun to rely on, a symbol of how things had changed. I don't like those kinds of symbols.

I soon discovered that the door to the bathroom was open, so with growing worry, I began to call out my sister's name... her full name, Mitsuko. It means honey child, at least the kanji version... well, at least that's what my grandfather told us. I guess it's kind of bad that we don't actually know. We're several-generation American born, and only half-Japanese (three eighths, to be technical, unless one of our biological dads had ancestry, but Mom didn't think so) and we speak a little of the language (especially the swear words), but a lot of the traditions lapsed. Mom had a very rebellious youth, and her respect for tradition came late and never as strong as her parents wanted. Right after the Japan Event, my grandfather tried to get us all back into it, to preserve what remained of our culture, but then he died, and soon after that, everything went to hell.

So, no more Japan, no more grandfather, no more Mom. Mitsy's the only thing that's kept me from feeling like a man cut off from my past entirely... sometimes I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing, but I do love her... always have, always will, and that's the truth.

I called her name again, my heart starting to leap into panic mode, and finally I heard her voice. "Here, KK." I'm named Kane, after my grandfather, although of course I always called him Sofu. We both pronounce the name in the American way, like Cain. Aside from a few people who I thought were longtime friends up until we became poor, my sister's the only one who's ever called me KK, the only one who still gets to call me that. She turned out to be just around the wall, in what used to be the customer area. I found her sitting cross-legged on the ground, staring ahead. I might have thought her attention was lost in the net, but we didn't have eyescreens or wearables anymore, not since moving to PiRat territory... that drove me crazy at first, but we've gotten used to it. So Mitsy wasn't doing anything, she really was just staring outside. We always closed the protective metal shutters over what was once a huge glass window (but now just a barren hole), but I guessed that she decided that, since she was already up so early, she might as well open them to watch the sunrise. Not that she could see the sun itself, there were buildings in the way, but you could watch the light bounce around the corners of other buildings as the day begins, and it has its own kind of beauty.

Mitsy's hair was still damp but starting to frizz out as it usually did when it dried, if it wasn't brushed properly. And she was wearing the same, dumb pajamas she wore that night, and she only had her left arm in the pajama top, her right just hung by her side, making it look like that psychopath Slag cut off her whole arm instead of just up to the elbow. When she dressed alone, it was sometimes too much of a pain in the ass to get it into the hole. If she was going to school, or needed to use her arm, she made the effort, or asked for help, but for pajamas, there wasn't any point.

If her halfhearted dressing and unkempt hair hadn't convinced me something was wrong, the wooden instrument in her lap did. It was her violin, one of our few possessions from the old days, Mitsy brought it with her when we moved out of the family home, not just for her own use but as a tribute to our mother, who played in a band in her wild youth and taught my sister. But that violin has been silent ever since Mitsy got hurt.

It's possible to play the violin with one hand... I've seen video of people doing it, tried to convince Mitsy that it wasn't the end of her dreams of playing in a retrozip band, or maybe one that's alternative-cubed. She studied classical of course, too, but she always preferred the more modern tempo songs. Mitsy just never seemed to want to try to learn how to play, ever since her arm was cut off. Nor would she sing... she was convinced she had an awful voice, compared to the stars, but that's mostly software modulation. Sometimes, when she's in a cheerier mood, she hums or whistles... that's about the extent of the music that my sister had produced since she lost her arm.

And I knew that today, this sudden digging out of the violin wasn't a signal that she wanted to start again, it was a signal the bad thoughts had started to take over again, and she was dwelling on all that she lost.


>>
Anonymous 14/12/09(Tue)01:57 No. 22921 ID: c8aa7a

>>22361
AnonyMPC has a page on ASSTR at http://asstr.org/~AnonyMPC with past stories. This one isn't posted yet, I think this is the beta project that is mentioned near the top of the page though.


>>
Anonymous 14/12/09(Tue)02:36 No. 22922 ID: c8aa7a

>>22920

Building a new setting for these stories is fine. Similar to what you did in Relatively Powered, making a whole world for the story to exist in is awesome.

I have one thing I noticed, near the end Misty's arm is on a chair. Then a few paragraphs later she has one arm in her pajamas but her other one is dangling on her side. I don't think Kane ever gave her the arm though.


>>
Plug and Play, continued AnonyMPC 14/12/09(Tue)02:37 No. 22923 ID: a609fb

I don't want to give you the impression Mitsy's just a depressive nut who can't move on from her trauma, because that's not the truth. Sometimes she's almost exactly like she was before, seemingly happy, optimistic about the future, even joking.

I remember when we first moved into the PiRat area, I was a little sour at what we had to give up as part of our initial seed, so, as soon as we were out of earshot of our guides, I rolled my eyes and muttered, "I can't believe they actually dress like pirates. And that guy had a tail, do you see?" It was the first I'd seen, though I've come to understand that the animated tail attached to a belt is a pretty common accessory for some bizarre reason.

Mitsy turned to me a wicked smile on her face, and she said, "I guess subtlety's not their strong point. You know, that's the problem with kleptomaniacs. They always take things literally." Maybe the joke's not so funny to you... and it's not even original. She probably heard it somewhere else and was saving it up. But it was perfectly timed, and I laughed, and she laughed, and it made the whole thing a little better.

When she's happy, I almost feel like everything's going to be okay... but the mood can turn quick, sometimes for no reason I can detect, sometimes for reasons that make perfect sense, but are unpredictable. When she has trouble with something due to only having one hand, sometimes she makes a joke, and sometimes it puts her into a funk lasting hours or even days. When something reminds her of home, sometimes we reminisce, smiling, and sometimes she stares off into space, remembering all we've lost. And, of course, touching can be a trigger too. If somebody other than me touches her, even innocently, she sometimes recoils, and that can set her off in a depression. I can't blame her for any of that, even if sometimes, and I'm not proud of this, I get impatient and wish she could just move on. I've lost a lot too, and it's not like people don't get limbs regrown or replaced... we just needed money. Of course, every time I think that I feel guilty and try harder to make her feel better.

That's what happened then... I had that brief, uncontrollable thought, "Not again..." but I didn't say it, I just sat down beside her. "You took a shower?" She shrugged. "You want me to brush your hair?" I usually did, or at least helped. Again she shrugged. If a brush was within reach, I probably would have, but as it was, I just stayed put. "Bad dream?"

I thought I was going to get another shrug, but after a long moment she exhaled and said, "No... a good one." I knew that feel. I've had my share of nightmares, and they're terrifying, at least until I convince myself they're not real, that Mitsy's still safe beside me... or that they are real, but happened long ago. The good dreams? They can be fucking haunting, and stick with you all day. "Things were, like perfect. Mom and Ray were okay. You and I were sneaking around..." she took a deep breath, like she was sucking back tears to prevent crying. "Doing teenager stuff. And I was beautiful."

"You're still beautiful." I always thought she was, which, fetish-album-songs aside, brothers probably aren't supposed to think about their sisters, although I honestly thought of her more as beautiful than sexy. Her face was pretty, at least, though she didn't really have much of a body... she was sort of gangly. Despite being fifteen, she was almost completely flat-chested. She liked to dress to disguise this fact, but I'd seen her briefly without clothes, completely innocently, sometimes when she was showering, or after, when she had to fumble getting dressed. I'd never admit to anybody that I got a little aroused, but at the same time, a part of me also acknowledged that she didn't have a conventionally sexy body, and especially now that she was missing a piece of it. I just figured I had a hair trigger those days. And her lack of outright sex appeal, that was kind of a relief before, because I know how guys treat sexy girls, I've treated a few badly myself. Mostly, though, I was saying it automatically, to make her feel better, and she knew it.

"You don't have to lie to me, Kane. I'm a big girl. I was maybe cute, on my best days, before... and now, not even that." Her eyes drooped down to her side. The lack of a lower arm was probably going to be off-putting to most people, especially sexually speaking, I couldn't honestly deny that. So I just put my arm around her and tugged her to me.

"You're obsessing too much on this. This is temporary. Regrowth treatments are getting better, cheaper all the time. All we need is a little luck..."

"Yeah, because we've had so much luck already," she snapped.

"That just means we're due."

She shook her head bitterly. "Does that look like how the world works to you? Good people don't get luck."

"That's not true, Mitsy..."

"Isn't it? You remember the Venturas? I used to babysit for their little girl?" It was more of a playdate than babysitting, considering Mitsy was only a few years older and the Venturas could watch their child using nanny programs or remotely on the house cameras, but she took it seriously. I didn't have as much contact with the Venturas, but they were good people. I sometimes joined in when Mitsy and the little girl played a game in the yard. "They were so nice, and Paula was such a sweetie-pie. And you know what happened?" Of course I knew. They died. Not the little girl, but the parents. Just like Mom and Ray died, months later, although the Venturas were involved in an accident at work, it wasn't a murder. "Now she's with that awful uncle of hers..."

I muttered "Dick," under my breath automatically. The guy was a dick, on his own. The corporation he worked for was even worse, and a lot of my venom was for them. PATHcorp was Ray's employer too, but he didn't buy into the whole corporate shark mindset, it was just a job to him. And at the time, I didn't think much about it either. Not back then. Now, anyone who works for those sons of bitches are automatically dicks to me, at best, until proven otherwise.

See, after Mom and Ray died, while we were still devastated, grieving and trying to figure out how to move on, PATHcorp decided the time was right to sue. They had experts prepared who would prove that Mom died before Ray, which, in the absence of a will, meant that legally most of her assets went to him, even though he was in the process of dying himself. They then argued that when Ray actually did die, he did so without any descendents, which, according to their employment contract, meant that his assets, including most of Mom's, went to PATHcorp. Mitsy and I didn't count as Ray's potential heirs under the law because we were only stepchildren and he never officially adopted us, even though he often said he would. So suddenly, thanks to the most underhanded legal maneuvering in history, we were moved from the category of orphans to dirt-poor orphans.

Mr. Ventura may not have been involved in any of that--PATH's a huge company and he's a manager in one of their tech divisions and probably has nothing to do with their legal team--but he's still a dick just for working for them. And, independent of that, he's an asshole, based on what he did after. We saw him a fair bit that spring... he was temporarily living in his brother's old house while he made arrangements to sell it and while his niece finished up the school year. We were going through the court case at this time, and when it was done, he came over to give an insincere apology for how things "worked out," combined with the patronizing insult that it was just business and we shouldn't dwell on it or take it personally. I so wanted to punch him, but I knew I'd just wind up in court and what little property we had left would go to him. I half-suspect that's why he did it. Occasionally I even think that he really WAS behind the legal theft of our inheritance, that he tipped his company off, all because I once trampled on his garden while playing an alternate reality game. But nobody's that evil, right?

Maybe, maybe not, because there was more to his assholery. Mitsy once told me, shortly before what happened with Slag but long after I was within punching range of Mr. Ventura, that on the day we were evicted from our home, he offered to let her stay with him in his. Not us, just her... I clearly wasn't invited, and that made the whole thing pretty sketchy. Mitsy was like, fourteen. So no wonder she referred to him as Paula's awful uncle.

"He's a dick," Mitsy agreed. "...yet he's rich. I bet nothing bad ever happens to him." I could almost feel the words she didn't say. That nothing bad ever happened to Him. Not Mr. Ventura. Slag. He's a psychopath and a murderer and he cut off a teenage girl's arm and who knows what else he's done, and he doesn't get so much as a parking ticket, because the cops don't dare go into Machete territory. She was right, it really was a fucked up world... but we had no choice but to live in it.

I didn't know what to say to those unsaid words, so I just addressed the ones she had said. "He lost his brother," I pointed out. He never seemed particularly bothered by it to me, but some people grieve internally. Maybe that was the reason he was such a prick every time I saw him. "Everybody has their burdens in life."

"Like me... I'm your burden."

"Mitsy... you are not a burden." She was, sometimes, but it was one I never complained about.

"Yes, I am. You have to take care of me, all the time, and it's not fair. And I want to pay you back, I want to take care of you too, to help you, but... I know I'm just not good enough. Every time I try..." The stump of her arm jerked beneath her pajamas and she looked at the space her hand might be if it was still attached and not under the shirt.

I shuddered a little. This was the conversation I was scared to have, scared to even approach. It was why I was too chickenshit to ask her for details on what happened, because until she told me, I could deny it, even though I knew, deep down, it was true. Her encounter with Slag Tremolo... there was no reason for her to be where it happened.

I made sure she had an app on her eyescreens that warned her when she was entering gang territory, but I couldn't be physically around to protect her. I was working my ass off trying to keep us afloat, living in a crummy apartment but an okay neighborhood. I didn't have one job, I did lots of short-term ones, whatever I could find, and I had a list of leads, left it open so she'd know where to try to reach me if the net went down, as it sometimes did. Some of these jobs were in bad neighborhoods. One was just inside Machete territory. I never planned on taking that one unless things got desperate, and they never did... I always had other options. But it was on the list. Mitsy kept asking to help, but I took it all on myself, and then one day, while I was doing temp work, tearing the guts out of an old school that was being turned into a game-stage, I got the call that my sister was in the hospital. I thought it was an accident, then, but when I learned where she was, it punched me in the gut. I wasn't responsible for what happened just because I wasn't there to protect her... because also she was trying to help me while she was doing it, taking a job to bring in some extra money.

"You don't have to do anything to help, Mitsy. We're fine here for a while. All I need from you is to keep going to school. That's how you can help."

"But I want to do more. How long until we're declared leeches?" I didn't have an answer for that. The PiRats were, as gangs go, the best option we had, practically a charity, in fact... but it was made very clear that they had no patience for people who just took and never gave back. So far, that had been pretty close to a description of us. "Maybe I should offer to join them."

"No," I snapped. That just wasn't an option.

She went on. "If they gave me a hook instead of that kuso arm, I'd fit right in." Despite the flatness in her tone, I knew she was trying to be funny, but I wouldn't have been laughing anyway.

"No," I said again. "You don't want that."

"You don't know what I want," she said. It was listless though, not really angry.

"Trust me, you don't know how they operate," I told her. "If things get that bad, I'll join them, but not you." I knew the rules, families of PiRats got much more latitude with everything... me joining was just as good as her. Of course, there were costs... costs I didn't like thinking about, but I wouldn't tolerate my little sister paying on my behalf.

"See? You'd do that for me." It wasn't gratitude, it was annoyance. "If it weren't for me, you'd never join, you'd just go off somewhere else, start fresh. I am a burden to you." She sucked in a breath. "Sometimes I feel the only thing I can do for you is not be here. You'd be better off right now if I did go to live with Mr. Ventura when he offered... at least you'd be free, you'd still have savings." Paying the medical bill for Mitsy's arm ate up the last of that, and we still technically owe. It was the last straw that sent us into the arms of the PiRats to begin with. "You could live your own life, instead of this sucky one taking care of your ugly sister." Tears were starting to drip down her cheeks now, but her voice wasn't blubbering.

"You're my life." I put my finger under her cheek and made her face me. "Listen to me, Mitsy. You're the last thing I have in this world I give a damn about." Sure, from a coldly financial perspective, she was right, I would be better off if she had taken Mr. Ventura's pervy offer... but I'd never want it for the same reason I wouldn't want her to be a PiRat. She's my sister, and I love her more than anything.

Her face was looking at me, but her eyes were drooped. "Maybe that's not a good thing. Maybe if you let me go, you could find something better."

The conversation was really starting to give me this hollow, gnawing chill inside. In netflix, this was the kind of talk you hear before somebody kills themself. And that was always my biggest fear when she got this depressed over things. "No. I'd be lost without you, Mitsy. I wouldn't know what to do with myself. I know things aren't great right now. But it's temporary. We'll just save up a bit, and we'll get out of this damn city. Maybe this damn country, if that's what it takes to get a decent job. We can move to China. Land of opportunity."

Though that was another lie, because even if Mitsy didn't understand how the world worked, I did. China may well be experiencing an economic boom, but it was yet another thing we couldn't participate in, for one simple, stupid reason... our ancestry. Even though we were born in the US, we'd just be more Japanese to them, and they had enough of those refugees since the Event. From what people over there have to say, the Japanese tend to get the shittiest jobs, and the standards to get in are much higher. Old grudges die hard, I guess. I might be able to get permission to move there, if I could pay my way and fake a college diploma, and get some kind of stable job, one that would make it worth all that effort but... only if I was alone. I'd have to leave Mitsy. So China might as well be Mars, it just wasn't happening. But she didn't know that, she'd often talked about seeing the world, and I wasn't above lying to make her feel better.

"Just please... you don't have to do it all alone. Let me help. I'll do anything you ask me to, Kane... anything, if it makes you happy. I love you."

"I love you too," I told her, and leaned my head into hers. "You know what? Let's do something fun." She drew back, to look at me, her tears still drying on her face but at least there was a hopeful look on her face. "There's a party in PiRat town every night somewhere, isn't there? We could go to one."

The hopeful look faded, and I realized immediately how I'd blundered. The old Mitsy had loved parties, but since Slag took her arm, people getting too close brought back bad memories, and the feeling she was being judged. If she was feeling her sunniest, she might be persuaded to try anyway, push on through, and even have a good time, but in her fragile emotional state it was like suggesting she go through one more trial. "Not for me," she said. "But you go. Maybe you can find a girl or something... someone who'll make you happy."

"Fuck that," I said. There was no way I was going to leave her to mope while I had fun. And as for girls, as appealing as that was, they'd be PiRat girls. "That was a bad idea. How about this? I'll run out and try to borrow some glasses or something for today. We'll watch some netflix." In the old days we'd do that sometimes, synch a movie on our separate eyescreens, sometimes physically together, sometimes in separate rooms, but either way we'd be talking, making stupid jokes and insulting the stupid people on screen, or, where they were available, pointing out interesting alternate perspectives to each other (usually she'd be pointing them out to me, I'd usually be scanning for good upskirt or down-blouse views). Well, we had to give up our eyescreens as part of our seed, but sometimes we could snag a few pairs of glasses temporarily. We could also check out the public movie houses... the PiRats were always playing something open to the public, like they did in the old days, inefficiently projecting it onto a wall (with only the default perspective) instead of beamed directly into the viewer's retinas. But that ran up against some of the same problems as the party idea, and usually they ran weird old serials I've never heard of, so it was plan B.

"Maybe," she said. "But I have school later, remember?"

"You can blow it off." I didn't know if that was the best thing either. Being responsible is hard. At least school meant she would be out, and she had told me she was making some friends... maybe they'd be good for her too. At least there she had some access, too, something I couldn't easily provide. "Or we could do it after. It'll probably take me a while to find some free glasses anyway. But it's still really early. Can we go back to bed?" We'd already adapted to PiRat time, at least mostly. It was still weird to drop Mitsy off for school in the afternoon and pick her up at nine, and we tended to be wake up and get to bed earlier than the rest of the gang, but dawn was way too early for me and now that initial rush of adrenaline and worry that woke me up was fading, I was starting to feel it.

I did manage to persuade Mitsy to come back to the freezer with me, and got a few more hours sleep before waking up again, but in that time, I decided that some borrowed glasses weren't enough. I needed to pull off a little something extra for my sister, to show her that the world really did have miracles for people like us. Even if I had to steal one for her.


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AnonyMPC 14/12/09(Tue)02:40 No. 22924 ID: a609fb

>>22922

Thanks for pointing it out, I do appreciate you keeping me on my toes. It is a mistake, although it's a different kind than the one you think - she doesn't actually have the arm on, but I meant to imply what's left of her right arm (which extends to just past the elbow) wasn't in the sleeve. But yeah, obviously I needed to be clearer about that, and I'm making corrections on my copy. Thanks again!


>>
Plug and Play, continued AnonyMPC 14/12/09(Tue)04:18 No. 22926 ID: a609fb

School here wasn't really anything like any school I'd been to. Growing up in a private school, I was used to sanitary buildings, locked doors, monitored halls, tailored education plans with ad-laden curriculum. PiRat school was just a rickety ship off the harbor with one old teacher and a lot of pirated educational tutorials. But at least she was learning, there, and out of the house, so I decided not to push her to skip it, and she didn't ask to be allowed to play hooky.

I walked her down to the pier so she could catch one of the ferries to the boat, and kept my eye open for one of the few PiRats I'd made a positive connection with, the girl that calls herself Stephanie, with the bright pink hair. I knew she didn't always go to school, but even if she didn't she usually saw some of her siblings off, and even though things were strained between us personally, I thought she'd help out Mitsy. She had before.

She was there, dressed in one of her usual outfits, the striped shirt with the vest, the pink pants, the beret, and the headscarf with the Pi symbol on it... her outfits were usually modeled after some old TV show she watched growing up in this part of town. The ferry was still loading up, but she wasn't on it, just waiting on the side, sitting on a railing and waving goodbye to some of the real youngins who looked up to her. I saw Mitsy get aboard the ferry and, once it set off, sidled up to Stephanie and said, "Hey."

Her eyes flicked to me, then away. "Hey, Kane, finally decided I was worth talking to again?" I kind of deserved that. I had been avoiding her, ever since I discovered that what I thought was a special connection wasn't. Or maybe it was, but it wasn't exclusive, sexually, and I can't do that. I wish I could, but me and some friends participated in one of those shared girlfriend pools when I was still in school, and I found out I just couldn't handle it, it made everything cheap and usually all the girls really wanted to be with one particular guy, and that guy wasn't me, and my ego wouldn't take it. I kind of want to tell the story of that, too, but it's not important to the bigger story so I'm going to resist that urge.

Suffice it to say, I'd been avoiding Stephanie because of my own issues, but I never hated her, and now I had a reason to talk to her. "Listen, I need a favor."

"If it's a blowjob, you should know I'm PiRat property today, and I don't think Buck's up for a two-guy threesome today, since I'm his first girl in a while. I mean, I can ask, but you might have to blow him too..."

Ugh, what were the odds? After a few seconds I decided she had to be doing it deliberately to raise my hackles, but I wasn't going to rise to the bait. "It's not for me, it's for Mitsy."

She'd been smiling innocently when teasing me, but then her face twisted up into a grimace, like she realized it wasn't a joking matter. "I'm listening."

I didn't know how much I wanted to explain to her. My instinct was always to keep our problems private. Though I had shared plenty with Stephanie when I felt this deep connection with her that probably turned out to be mostly due to the fact that she was the first girl I'd fucked in months, she wasn't the only one in earshot right then. The others nearby pretended not to listen, but I knew they did. "It's just... could you make sure she gets home safe tonight if I'm not there?"

"Where are you going to be?"

"I'm heading out into the city..."

"The mainland? What for?"

I did my best to not roll my eyes. I'm not sure I succeeded entirely. We were already on the mainland. The only thing that separated PiRat territory from the rest of the city were the gang signs and some AR tags that I couldn't even see anymore without borrowing glasses. "I just... need to bring her something special today." I looked into her bubblegum pink eyescreens trying to will her to understand the meaning, that it was a bad time for Mitsy. "And I don't know if I'll be back in time, and... I just want to be sure she's taken care of, you know?"

She stared at me, then nodded. "Okay, I'll make sure she has an escort. But you know it's really pretty safe here, right?" I did know that. The PiRats may have their quirks, but I respected the reputation. There are gangs who'll rape or murder you if they catch you on their territory alone, or maim people for fun. PiRats may not respect physical property much more than they do intellectual, but they don't hurt people unless they're attacked first.

But my parents were murdered in a gated community, one of those places crime just isn't supposed to happen. I don't trust anywhere to be completely safe.

"Yeah," I said anyway, "but I'm a worrier." There was one more order of business. "Also, you know where I can find some free glasses for the night?"

"Jesus-rape-me-in-the-ass..." came a voice from the girl beside Stephanie, sitting cross-legged on a raised post. It was one of her friends, a girl maybe a year younger than me named Cadigan, with tattoos up and down her arms and glyphs on her cheeks. I guessed the glyphs probably didn't double as drug patches, since she was always kind of a bitch whether she had them or not. She wore a purple microskirt today, an open vest, and painted-on top over her breasts. She was a PiRat through and through, but was one of those that didn't dress in PiRat-themed gear very often, the only clear sign being the Pi symbol painted above her left nipple, the one with the piercing. "You want glasses now? Haven't we done enough for you leeches?"

I winced. It was the first time the L word had been thrown around by a PiRat about me and Mitsy. Not entirely unfairly, either. We wore PiRat-printed clothes, ate mostly PiRat gruel, and they gave us a prime location with running water, and presented us with Mitsy's artificial arm, which, as low-tech as it was, really touched me. In return, we hadn't contributed much back beyond our initial seed to get in and a little bit of money now and then. Sympathy for Mitsy's situation went a long way, but it would not go on forever. If enough of them felt we were only taking and not giving back, we'd be exiled, and then we wouldn't even have a converted restaurant, we really would be living on the dangerous streets of iCity. That knot in the pit of my stomach came back. One more thing I had to put on the list of things to do... find a way to balance the scales, even a little.

"Shut it, Caddy." Stephanie said to her friend. "Anyone can take glasses if they're not being used. But you're going to have to find them yourself, I can't help you today." That one must have been a subtle "fuck you" to me, considering she was hooked into the PiRat social network with her eyescreens and they've hacked up their own resource management apps. If she really wanted to, she could look it up for me in seconds. When we were first connecting, she'd do that sort of thing all the time, help find stuff that I could use on any given day, but I guess since I blew her off, that privilege no longer extended. "If you can find Banksy, he might know." That wasn't much help either, finding any individual person without PiRat access was just about as difficult as finding stuff.

But, like with everything else in my life lately, I was ready to take what I could get and be grateful for it. "Okay. Thanks." She didn't look at me, just gave a halfhearted bob of her head. I tried to put a little more feeling into it. "No, really, thanks. I've been a bit of a jerk lately, but... it's me, not you."

She shrugged, and still wouldn't look at me, then enthusiastically waved to a man ushering a small group of kids towards the school. Probably waving to the kids more than the guy, but maybe he was in her crew, one of the guys she fucked on a regular basis, just because they were both PiRats, and that was the PiRat lifestyle. I tried not to feel jealous, and just backed away. Cadigan was staring at me... I wanted to give her the finger, but I couldn't afford to make more of an enemy of her than I felt like I already had, so I just shot her what I hoped was an apologetic shrug and moved over to another part of the docks to watch the ferry, make sure it got to the schoolboat without trouble.

I never did find any free glasses. But I did manage to wait out the line for one of those public terminals and access my old social network, which was growing pretty sparse. Most people from the old days quietly dropped me from their lists of associates, like my family's bad luck might rub off on them. Or maybe it's just they didn't like the reminder that the same thing could happen to them at any moment. One minute they've got a good life and are on track to a decent career, the next they're scrounging just to survive. Those who didn't drop me didn't shoot me anything other than a "Hey, how are things?" message once in a while, which I never answered honestly anyway. They cared enough to ask, the least I could do was not bring them down with the truth. In the first few months some of them gave me work, some money in exchange for schoolwork done on their behalf (struggling to survive, I was cheaper than people who just wanted the money to buy the latest wearables), but that seemed to have dried up. Even this girl who said she had this huge crush on me, the last girl before Stephanie I thought I connected with, hadn't ever made contact since I left home.

I didn't even know the girl's name... that was kind of the point. We chatted on a location-limited anonymous network, under pseudonyms. She was Hopeless-Dreamer, I was MarkOfKane, so obviously, she quickly figured out who I was, and confessed she really had a crush on me. Which sounded great, but she was too self-conscious to reveal herself. I never understood why, we seemed to click on a personal level, and we lived in an area where nobody's ugly unless they stubbornly choose to be... but I've known plenty of girls who still compare themselves to others and obsess over tiny differences that guys barely even notice, and she seemed to be one of those, convinced she didn't measure up. So she wouldn't tell me who she was. Instead, she made a game of it. I could guess one name every week, and she'd tell me if I was right... the idea was that if I guessed, it proved we were meant to be. All I knew for sure, thanks to an independent verifier, was that she was actually a girl, and she went to my school, but that still left a lot of choices. I even started to have fun with the game... up until the last few weeks when we had to move and it became like a deadline. A deadline I missed. Once I was out of range of the network, I couldn't contact her anymore, but she knew my real name. She could have contacted me on my regular profile, if she was willing to give up her anonymity, but she never did. Maybe she took my failure to guess her identity as a sign that I didn't really have feelings for her, but I took her silence as a sign that I was never really important to her at all. It was just like my so-called friends... if somebody really means something to you, you don't just let them go.

These days, my social networking was a purely practical affair. I had a few contacts, some notifiers set up from job share boards... they didn't often come up with anything, but every once in a while I could make a few bucks off it. And this time, I lucked out, I had a hit, a pure warm-body job. Some corporate douche my age wanted to duck out work early that afternoon to go to a Grind-Artist shoot, and just needed somebody his approximate height and weight to show up on the dumbest sensors until quitting time. In exchange, I'd get an insignificant fraction of his hourly rate, a fraction even of what he was paying somebody to dummy the video feeds. It was a ripoff, but it was better than nothing and it wasn't demanding.

I laid down dibs on the offer despite the fact that I'd have to rush and count on a little luck to make it. It was nearby, but without access on the way, it was easy to get turned around or wander into gang territory, and the autobuses don't run in PiRat territory, not that I could normally afford that anyway. So there was a risk I'd being a no-show which would damage my chances for future jobs... but I made it in time, barely.

Of course, my employer looked down at me, sneering at my lack of wearables and the sweat pouring off me. I don't know what his problem was, at the rates he was paying, he couldn't expect anybody with any real money to take the deal... poor and smelly is the best he could hope for. Besides, he didn't have time to arrange anything else, just approved the transfer to my phone (with a hold on it so he could cancel if I ducked out) and gave me the quick rundown.

The job was at a mostly-automated distribution hub shipping out coffee to various iCity cafes, but they'd already got their incoming delivery for the day, which was apparently the last time he had any human contact. So all I did was sit in a room, satisfy the sensors and probably my employer's dad or uncle that he wasn't shirking off the little responsibility he was given, and watch as stuff got sent out in automated shipper trucks. If there was some kind of fuck-up I'd be on the spot, which was the only reason the job existed at all, but these things are pretty reliable. I bet Mr. Wannabe-Grinder never saw a single emergency and spent every day here just keeping a chair warm while pursuing his own interests online, but for me it was deadly dull. Without wearables of my own, I couldn't even do much beyond a little bit of fiddling on my phone. I hear there was a time people got most of their access with these bulky handheld things, but in the few months I've had one, I haven't found much use for it. Of course, I'm stuck with a barebones adphone. I suppose if they were good for anything other than making calls, holding identity credentials, and tuning in news broadcasts and ads, they wouldn't qualify as dumb technology, and we wouldn't be allowed them at all. The PiRats would have taken them along with our wearables.

The only one I could imagine calling was Mitsy or Stephanie, and Mitsy was in school. And I didn't want to call Stephanie, didn't know what to say and wasn't prepared for the possibility she might answer the call while Buck or some other PiRat was banging her. So mostly I just listened to ads, tried to assemble a wishlist for after work. I'd already decided to go poaching... that's why I brought the gun and some of the other dumb tools I'd gathered and managed to keep over the past few months. It was my only chance to afford a really nice surprise... but with the money I'd earned today, I might be able to afford a warm bowl of noodles if all else failed, which was marginally better than the PiRat gruel we'd been living off. Call that plan Z, after Slag's head, an orange, or something valuable.

I did think about just ripping off my employer and making off with some coffee, but that's the sort of thing that gets you blacklisted from the jobsites for life, and he already had my identity to turn over to the police, so any possible payoff wasn't worth it. Poaching, that was a risk, but it was a more manageable one, or so I thought. Cops rarely come out for a poaching job if you stick to the fringes, and if I was careful I could avoid getting branded a criminal and having that hang around my neck the rest of my life.

I was a criminal already, of course... I'd just never been arrested. All my crimes were under-the-radar, and I planned to continue that trend, and went to work decked out right for it. My clothes weren't even smart, so they couldn't be tracked around town, and the scarf I had tied around my neck was mirrorcloth that I planned to wrap around my face to prevent a drone from getting an identifiable view of me... assuming I managed to shoot one down.

Which brings me back to the rooftop, where I lay for a couple hours after quitting time, the mirrorcloth on my face, my hands sprayed with an invisible polymer that prevents me from leaving fingerprints. Now I looked like a criminal, just waiting for a crime. But I'd been waiting there far too long, so long my covered face was getting sweaty. I looked again and again for drones and saw only a useless shooting star, which I made a wish on not really expecting one to come true. I was getting ready to admit failure, once again, and go with plan Z... my stomach was rumbling, and I'd already had to phone Mitsy, tell her I'd be late, bringing dinner, and to lock herself up in the freezer until I came back. Again, just in case, it was past dark and we didn't even live in the security of a gated community.


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Anonymous 14/12/09(Tue)10:57 No. 22927 ID: 67c97c

The description in this story really makes me feel bad for Mitsy and Kane.


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Plug and Play, continued AnonyMPC 14/12/09(Tue)21:28 No. 22929 ID: a609fb

Finally, I spotted a moving shape against the clouds, no running lights, just a dark spot, very difficult to see. I have this little handheld zoom, old school, dumb technology, just using curved glass, but it was enough for me to get a better look and confirm that it was a drone, moving more-or-less in my direction. I didn't think it had any weaponry, but I was going to be taking a risk regardless.

It hit me then, as it had before, that even among poachers, having a little money made things so much easier. If I had eyescreens I could zoom in on an image-stabilized view and see every detail, use a targeting app that, since it's motion was relatively predictable, would not only tell me when to aim and fire, but tell me exactly where the package would drop if I hit. But because I was poor enough that I really need to go poaching, I didn't have that shit.

Mitsy's right, this is a fucked-up world.

I guess I should be lucky that I had a gun at all, though. It would probably be easier to just hold up somebody and demand their stuff, that just isn't in me. Not yet, anyway. If things get much worse, or we're forced out on our own...

I didn't have a lot of advantages, all I had besides the gun was one thing, my old unenhanced meat brain. Luckily, I'm pretty smart, or at least I think I am. I don't make a big deal out of it, I don't usually want people to know, but if it wasn't for what happened to Mom and Ray, I would have been on track to go to college, maybe get a corporate sponsorship and a good job right off the bat. So I leveled the pistol and readied my shot, waiting for it to get as close as possible, then adjusting for wind and picking just the right moment so it would land on an accessible rooftop, rather than down on the street.

Or that was the theory, anyway. The pistol went off with a bang that sounded like lightning had struck right in front of me. I'd fired guns before, but somehow it seemed louder when the stakes were real. And I missed completely. And from this point on, it was only getting farther away.

So I quickly got over my disappointment and fired again. This time I hit it, taking out a rotor, and the drone wobbled, took a steep dive, and then corrected. But it didn't come back unscathed, the package was already tumbling down, dropped.

Other poachers had told me about this... whatever it was carrying was worth less than the drone itself (or there was no insurance or guarantee), so it ditched whatever it was and prioritized getting away. Another reason it's better to rob drones than people. People are unpredictable and might fight you for something worthless, but drones behave rationally. The economics of delivery take poachers into account and some algorithm decides exactly when it's worth cutting their losses. It was fine by me that the drone escaped, the spare parts might have brought in some cash, but it'd take time to sort out... I was hoping there'd be something nice in the package, something I could use directly.

I couldn't see exactly where it went down, and I heard a lot of banging which suggested it wasn't a smooth drop, but I ran towards it anyway, racing over the gaps between rooftops, not even slowing down over the wobbly network of planks already linking adjacent buildings together, which proved it was a high poaching area. Whoever got that delivery probably had to pay a premium to go through there, or maybe the company was willing to risk it rather than a longer route around. Either way, I wanted to get to it before somebody poached it from me.

No box was in sight when I reached the building that I thought the package landed on, or near, so I started looking over the edge, down to street level. There, as I bobbed my head around, I thought I saw the glint of metal, and confirmed it with my handheld zoom. I'd lucked out, it had landed on a garbage bag, though the banging it took on the way down may have damaged the contents beyond usability. Still, if it was electronics, the parts could be sold, and even if it was a meal, it might be messy, but they usually packed them securely to account for shipping damage or evasive maneuvers.

I scampered down the side of the building towards my prize. I knew I wouldn't be able to get back up easily from there, but it seemed safe enough to descend, aside from a few bone-shaking jumps, and after less than a minute, I was at street-level. I crouched over the box and opened it up.

When I realized what was inside, I could hardly believe my luck. I closed the box once again and shoved the whole thing in my pack, then walked to the other side of the alley and emerged on the far side of the street, strolling casually like nothing was wrong.

That's when I started to think something was wrong. It was quiet... too quiet. I passed by storefronts and normally, even if they were closed, I'd be inundated with ads targeting my movements and sonically beamed into my inner ear, playing in my head and my head alone, but there was nothing. Normally, that is, if I was in a good area of town. In sketchier areas, there'd still that, but there'd also be wildcat transmitters, systems that recognized that I had no wearables and was a teenage male, and hit me with ads for porn or prostitutes or drugs or any illegal thing that they could plausibly deny if I happened to be connected to the authorities. Silence, though, that couldn't be a good sign in any neighborhood.

Especially when I realized I didn't know where I was. Oh, on one level I did. I knew where in the city I was, more or less, and how to get home. But there's a lot of different layers of information, different ways to look at a city, and some of them, you're just too used to appearing automatically. When you wear eyescreens everywhere, you become too used to the Gangview app warning you you're straying into the wrong neighborhood, or seeing augmented reality signposts. Who actually bothers to remember the borders of the different sub-neighborhoods of iCity, especially when they change so fast?

I thought the rooftop I'd been waiting on was safely in neutral territory... but I wasn't sure, and I'd crossed several buildings since then. The city can change character in less than a block, and it looks very different depending on whether you're on the street or the top of a building. And, there on the street, I was becoming more and more aware of people behind me, a group of them, casually walking along. They were talking quietly, too quietly to hear, but all that proved is that it wasn't the Silent.

I didn't want to look back too much, but I began actively searching, then, for the most obvious markers, the old logos of the now-defunct Apple company, emblazoned on public utilities, net nodes, and various other spots, and used as low-tech signals of gang territory. Finally I spotted one on a long dead terminal, and my blood ran cold. "Shit." The apple had been defaced with three vertical lines that came from a stylized fist. Even without a link to a reference site, I knew that one... it was the Sniktbubs, the body-mod gang known not only for their initiation ritual, having a set of sharp claws grafted into their forearms, but for their willingness to use them. They were a gang that made sport of people, and, like most gangs, they'd strung up their own sensor network throughout their territory to detect and track interlopers. Which I, apparently, was. And worse, like the Machetes, they'd also been known for following and hunting people outside of their territory.

I clutched my gun in one shaking hand and began to pick up the pace. Any hope that the people following me weren't themselves Snikts was dashed when I heard one of them shout, "Oh, look, little piggie's scared!"

"He should be," another called out. "Gonna slice you stem to stern, bub." I started running, then, and was very conscious of the people behind me doing the same. I tried to duck down an alley, only to see a shadow at the end of it, lift up an arm and grin as blades came out of it. There wasn't the "snikt" sound they were supposedly named for, but I might have missed it in the sound of my skin crawling.

I was fucked. Totally raped. They weren't just behind me, they were coordinating online. But I couldn't just lie down and die, I had to go down fighting. I ran past that alley, hoping I was still headed towards neutral territory and not deeper in trouble, and raised my gun, firing one shot... a warning shot. I cursed myself as a coward, but I didn't want to kill anybody if I didn't have to.

Well, there was another good reason for not aiming directly at them. Maybe they wouldn't kill me, maybe I could get away with just giving up the box, or they'd just hurt me to teach me and others a lesson. I couldn't count on it, but from what I heard about them, they had moods... and one sure thing that that would turn them into a murderous mood, if they weren't already in one, would be killing one of their gang.

"Come on, give up now and maybe we'll give you to our ex two threes."

I had no idea what that meant. Microslangs are hard to decipher without dictionary apps. But I didn't take the suggestion to give up seriously... one thing I did remember with my own brain was that they supposedly respected people who gave them a good chase, and even if it was just crowdsourced gossip with no basis in fact, it was all I had to go on. I kept running, aiming for the nearest street where there was traffic and auto-driving cars and beautiful, annoying advertising everywhere.

I bet in their heads they had awesome chase music going, but I couldn't hear any of it, all I could hear was the sound of my own pounding heart and, above that, the faraway hustle and bustle of a normal street... and what sounded like a loud, angry hum, distant but getting closer. As it got louder, I realized... it was like the sound they play from cars to let you know they're there, only louder, like somebody's cranked up the volume.

Whatever it was, I couldn't worry about it, I just kept moving, looking behind me to see the handful of people who were there before was now about a dozen, following, and there were more I could see out of the corner of my eye.

The humming noise intensified and I saw a sleek green motorbike coming my way, blocking my progress, and I swore, sure they'd boxed me in again. I quickly turned in place once to get an idea where everyone was and try to make a choice about whether I should risk trying to pass the bike and maybe get razor-sharp claws slicing through me at a hundred miles per hour, get down on my hands and knees to beg, or maybe try firing my gun, somewhere.

While I was still trying to make my decision, the bike got closer and closer until my only option to survive the next few seconds was to wait for the best time to jump out of the way to avoid the razors.

I was bracing for that, only it didn't try to run me down, instead it skid to a stop in front of me. The rider, a bare-chested guy in a leather vest, shouted, "Woooh!" and then looked at me, and the people chasing me. "You look like you could use a ride, man."

Normally, I'd never accept a ride from a guy like that. He was around my age, but he was big... like chubby, and you hardly ever see that except in old people. He even had boobs... not sculpted ones that indicated he was in transition, but just from having too much flab. His eyes were obscured by round, mirrored glasses, but his face sagged and he had an ugly double chin.

But what he lacked in native attractiveness, and fashion sense, he made up with accessorization. Two things made him the most beautiful man in the world for me, a guy who's about as heterosexual as they come. There was the long, pink tail that hung off his belt, and the bandana containing his shoulder-length hair, which was pink but had the greek symbol for Pi emblazoned in black right over his forehead. Both indicated the same thing.

Somehow, impossibly, a PiRat had come to my rescue. He was riding on an old motorcycle, gas powered if you can believe it... it had exhaust fumes coming off the end of it, like you mostly only see on big trucks. I haven't seen anything quite like it in a long time. It even had Kawasaki written on one side, in white, which meant it had to have been made in Japan, right? If it wasn't a collector's item already, it probably became one after the country went all black box. About the only way the scene could have been more unbelievable is if he rode to my rescue on a horse.

I guess I was gaping, because he said, "Well? You coming?"

I didn't have any better offers and the Snikts were getting pretty close to slicing range, so I tucked my gun into my belt and hopped on the back and grabbed on tight to his meaty frame, and we sped off.

The Snikt's might prefer to use their implanted claws, but they do know their way around guns, and when I looked back I thought it looked like they might be drawing them, so I released the PiRat with one arm, pulled my gun again, and fired the last three shots I had in the clip, aiming behind us, not to hurt, but just to make them duck and give us a few more seconds to get us further away. I had no hope of hitting anybody, but they didn't know that. Good targeting apps are cheap so the first instinct when somebody actually starts firing at you is to dive for cover, and that bought us those precious few seconds. My rescuer cackled at the gun shots, and began leaning us in one direction, and I could swear we were going to tip over, but we turned a corner and pretty soon we were whipping between autodriven cars, flagrantly disregarding the traffic rules in a way only a manually driven vehicle can do. His articulated rat tail squirmed uncomfortably between us, like it was trying to get free and provide some sort of counterbalance, or maybe it was just reflecting his excited emotional state, but I was holding on for dear life even despite the wriggling thing jostling my crotch around. At the same time, I was starting to get a high from the realization that I'd just cheated death, I'd escaped a violent cyber gang and I was free and clear and on my way home.

My savior didn't ask where we were going, just drove us towards the waterfront, although by a different route than I usually took, and we went unchallenged, so I only knew we were actually in PiRat territory when he slowed to a stop and I saw an Apple symbol with a rat in a pirate hat (with Pi on it) drawn around the apple, like the rat had just taken the bite. The traditional PiRat logo signifiying their area.

The driver of the motorcycle shook off my arms and them climbed off the bike, looking back at me with a grin. He pumped his fists and shouted, "Wooh!" in a deep, throaty voice. "That was stellar, man! Interstellar!"

I got off the bike as well, and my legs felt like jelly, like the bones were only solid through force of will, and I had to put all my will into not collapsing. My gun, I slipped back into my waistband, and then I pulled down the reflective scarf that had been covering my face. "Thanks, man... if you hadn't come along..."

He nodded furiously, then pointed at me, and took a step closer to tap my chest with one finger. "You man, are the luckiest motherfucker I have met in a while."

"Yeah," I said, although I didn't feel it. After all, it was pretty damn unlucky to be in the situation in the first place, that I got out of it just sort of evened the scales. And overall, my luck still ran mostly bad. Still, I couldn't help smiling.

"I mean, seriously... if I had been in my usual hunting grounds... you'd be dead. If I hadn't found this baby..." A pat of the handlebars proved which baby he was talking about. "...lying around in some garage, you'd be dead. If I hadn't been driving nearby when I heard the gunshot and checked to see if any PiRats might need help..."

"Yeah, I'd be dead..." I blinked. "I'm not a PiRat, though..."

"Yeah, but you got the token." Right. A large fake coin that fit in the palm of my hand. We were given one to let us in and out of PiRat territory... I guess it broadcast our location at short range as well. "And you'd make a good one, I think. That was so badass! Like something out of a netflix, you know?"

He lunged towards me, and before I could react, he wrapped his arms around me in an uncomfortable bearhug, my face mashed up into one of his bare shoulders. It was as if I'd just saved his life, not the other way around. "Yeah," I said with a strained voice. "It was pretty badass."

Finally, he let go, and backed away and put one arm behind his back like he was scratching something. "Seriously, I always wanted to come all knight-in-shining armor on somebody. To be perfectly honest, I was hoping it'd be a skirt, but I'm not picky. I'll accept a thank-you blowjob from you too."


>>
Plug and Play, continued AnonyMPC 14/12/10(Wed)01:14 No. 22930 ID: a609fb

I just stared at him. Sure the guy saved my life, but... there were limits to my gratitude. I stammered out, "Um, that's not really..."

He laughed and slapped his legs. "Man, I'm just fucking with you. I don't much go in for guy-guy."

Relief was my first reaction, but then curiosity. Not into guy-guy? "But, you're a PiRat..." I said. "Isn't that mandatory?"

I learned about the PiRats' particular sexual habits from Stephanie, on our third night together. Not really night, actually... very early evening. School was still going on, but neither of us were in attendance. Instead, we were in her place, a second floor former office painted in painfully bright pastel colors.

We had just had sex, not the first time for us, but the first time we did it with all the lights on, letting me get a great look at her tight, tiny body as it bounced up and down on my cock. One thing about Stephanie I loved is that she had a lot of energy, and she knew exactly what she liked. This was also the first time we did it with her on top, cowgirl style, and I squeezed her hips to help force her on me. Each bounce seemed to force me deeper into her expanding mattress for a second until it pushed back into its comfort-foam configuration.

As we fucked, my eyes couldn't decide what I wanted to see more, her shaved snatch swallowing my manhood, those perfect pink nipples as her tiny chest heaved, gasping for breath, or her expression... perhaps that was cutest of all, her mouth hung open and, as she was approaching orgasm, it looked almost like her eyes were rolling up into her head. Soon I was about to cum too, and one of her hands flew to her pussy, rubbing around the clit and mashing in the surrounding flesh while I pounded into her, until finally I came inside of her.

After we were done, she collapsed into my arms, and soon I slipped out of her. She pulled away only for a second, to open a window and feel the cool evening air on her naked body, then fell in beside me again. We cuddled together, sleepily.

"You know, I really like you," I told her, then looked right into her eyes, trying to make the moment meaningful.

She grinned her wide open grin. "You're not so bad yourself."

"I don't know if you want to skip school again tomorrow, but we could meet up again. Do... I don't know... something."

"Mmm... I'd love to, but I can't, I'm with Buck tomorrow."

I only met him briefly at an awkward orienteering party. He was a dark-skinned guy, big, but in his case it was height and muscle, not fat, and he was kind of creepy, because of the sheath he had built into his mouth, where he stored a knife, so it perpetually looked like he was biting down on a dagger. He'd take it out when he was talking to you and twirl it end over end like he was looking for somebody to stab. That wasn't very encouraging either. Stephanie had told me he used to be in another, more violent gang, but joined the PiRats after a turf war left most of his friends dead. "When you say with..." I asked, dreading the answer. "What exactly do you mean?"

"Well, I don't know EXACTLY," she said. "He mostly likes anal... but we might make it a threesome with Veronica, since we both kind of owe her. So he might like to cum in me so Veronica can eat it out, and she's not really a fond of eating ass, so..."

I winced and forced myself to look away. We hadn't actually discussed anything like exclusivity, so I wasn't angry or anything. She hadn't betrayed me or anything. I was just surprised, hurt, and disappointed. Stephanie and I weren't officially a couple, we just enjoyed spending some time together, not even just sex, but a lot of just talking. I thought we had a connection, but that didn't meant she couldn't also be seeing other guys. She said it all so nonchalantly, like she didn't even consider that this might bother me. I didn't want it to bother me, it was so... retro to be bothered by promiscuity. And really, I'm not, except when it's somebody I want to be with. I know I'm not the only one who still believes in one-on-one relationships... but at the same time, whatever Stephanie and I had was still pretty new, so I resolved to grin and bear it... I could settle for a while, in the hopes that I could convince her to eventually go exclusive. I didn't want to sound like I was judging her, since I knew that would just piss her off, so I kept my voice casual and asked, "So, you do girls too?"

"Of course. I have to."

I felt my brow wrinkling at the choice of words. "Have to?"

"Well, I want to, too. Being with girls... well, girls know what girls like, you know? And a lot of guys are lazy on the oral sex... not you, mind you, I have no complaints about you." She patted my chest lightly, and I smiled. I really did enjoy eating her out, but she seemed to enjoy it even more.

Yet there was one niggling detail I couldn't let go of. "But you said you have to."

"Well, yeah... they're in my crew."

I didn't get it. "So...?"

"So... I thought you knew?" she looked at me, but I guess it was clear that I didn't. "Being a PiRat's all about sharing. Sometimes even if you don't want to. Sometimes we share with people we like, like you, but we always share with other PiRats."

"You mean sex." I hadn't heard that about the PiRats, but I couldn't say it was a complete surprise. A lot of gangs had the girls as community property, little more than cumdumps, but that didn't seem quite like what was going on here.

"We share our bodies with our crew. Sometimes outside of it, too. It's a rule. There's a semi-randomized schedule. So you can't really be hetro... the girls all do each other, the guys all do each other, and all the guys do all the girls. But it's fun! It's bonding. We all get one-on-one time with everyone, and sometimes we get together for a big orgy. Nobody gets left out, nobody's lonely. Everybody feels loved. I love, I trust my crew like nobody else."

"Oh," I said, and the walls started closing in on my heart. How could I love a girl who loved several blocks full of gangbangers, probably more than me? It was like my early high school girlfriend pool all over again. Like what went down with Tara.

"You should join. I might be able to get us in the same crew." I was already starting to pull away, not just emotionally, but physically, too, though I was trying to do it slowly. "Everyone's really great. Even Buck, you think he's really rough, but he's like a gentle giant, you know? Especially with noobs."

"Yeah," I said, not meaning it. I had actually been considering joining the PiRats... up until that moment. But right then my mind was on autodrive, and I was just trying to get away, until I could sort things out on my own. "Listen, I should get going, I need to pick Mitsy up from school." It was the first excuse I could think of to get out of there.

Stephanie stared at me as I slid my shirt on, not buying it. "The first ferry's not even leaving for another few minutes."

"I also need to grab something from the food depot," I said, putting on my pants and underwear. Another lie, and one she could probably verify, if the PiRats kept track of how much me and Mitsy were leeching from their system, as I'm sure they did, and if Stephanie checked, as I'm sure she could, she'd know that I got enough gruel for both me and my sister earlier that day.

She didn't call me on it, though. "So, you want to hang out maybe a little later in the week? I can show you more about what being a PiRat is all about."

"Sure, maybe," I said. "I'll see you around." My last lie, since after that, I did my best to avoid her, up until I needed her that morning, to make sure Mitsy got home safely.

Now I was having a conversation about this particular PiRat quirk with somebody who saved my life, the first one who seemed to think it wasn't all great to be bisexual, and my first hint that it wasn't absolutely mandatory. Were people able to opt-out after all? If so, I could see myself joining that night.

His next words squashed that hope. "Oh, yeah, I do what I have to do... and it's not even so bad, you get used to it, and my crew's really cool. But it's not my preference, you know? And most of the time with the guys, we just do mutual handjobs. It's more symbolic than anything else, you know?" I didn't, but even that sounded pretty uncomfortable to me. "And trust me, a little yaoi play? it's better than the alternative. I couldn't handle that."

"Not being a PiRat, you mean?" I guess I could understand getting that desperate, as I'd considered it myself. They offered protection, and regular meals, and you could extend that umbrella to others, so yeah, under the right circumstances, the occasional hand job might be a small price to pay.

He paused as though thrown off his train of thought. "Well, yeah, that too, but I meant the other path to being a PiRat. Way too intense for me." So there was another path, though apparently it was bad enough that a straight guy would prefer to regularly fool around with other guys. Still, worth exploring. But before I could ask about it, he said, "Shit, we haven't even been introduced. I'm Sterling." He extended a hand, even though we'd just hugged a few minutes ago. Not a fist bump, either, but to shake it, which was still weird to me. The PiRats had a fetish for old-fashioned things, clothing, old media, handshakes, public schooling.

The guy just saved my life, so he could engage in all the weird habits he wanted, and I'd play along, as long as it didn't involve me pleasing him sexually, or vice versa. I took the hand, shook it vigorously. "Kane," I said.

"Nice. Biblical."

I was all set to say, "No, actually..." but correcting the person who just saved your life felt like kind of a douchey move. Instead, I said, "Anyway, I owe you one," hoping that, now that his joke about owing him sexual favors was revealed a joke, we could go our separate ways and I could get back home. "I need to jet off, though."

"Whoa, not so fast there, Kane," he said, putting one meaty palm on my shirt before I could turn away. "We still have a little business. Let's see what's in the bag."

"Huh?" I said, but I knew exactly what was coming, I just had the vain hope that playing dumb might get him to let it slide.

"You live on PiRat ground, that means we get first dibs on anything you got. What were you doing out there, poaching?"

"I... wasn't doing anything."

"Really. You were in Snikt territory just for a casual stroll. Man, I just saved your life and you're going to hold out on me? I guess you must have another place to live all lined up." He let go of my shirt and immediately poked me in the chest with a single, accusatory finger.

With a scowl, I bent down and opened the bag. It was impossible to hide the drone's payload... he probably saw the bulge in my backpack while it was still on my back. Upon seeing the actual box, he just grabbed it and went for it right away, laying it on the ground in front of him before doing a cursory check of the rest of the bag. Evidently he didn't find anything worth taking among my dumb-tools, because he went back to the box and lifted the top.

He whistled as it opened and the spicy aroma started to waft up. "Nice. What, you shoot down a Diaper Genie?"

"What? No, I... I think that's curry."

He laughed and picked up the small round tin, the first of three. "I know, but a lot of good shit gets sent by Diaper Genie drones, cause they think nobody'll want poopy diapers enough to shoot it down. Though I think they know that we're on to them, 'cause lately it actually has been diapers."

"Oh. This one was unmarked." As far as I could see, anyway. His eyes were focused on the tins, I hoped he didn't see what was lying flat up against the side of the box.

The top of the tin came off, and the smell got that much more intense. It was definitely some kind of greenish-yellow curry, with chunks of what looked like real chicken and vegetables inside. He set it on the ground, went for tin two, which was filled with deep fried breaded shrimp. Some of the breading had fallen off, probably due to the banging the package received, despite how tightly packed it was. It could have been printed food, but those always have a slightly deflated look... this, this looked plump and appetizing. Maybe vat grown. "Must be some wealthy fucker to get all this fancy a meal in prime poaching grounds."

"Wow, shrimp..." I said, leaning down into the box and placing my hand oh-so-casually on the flat treasure still defying gravity on the side of the box. It was probably partly smooshed, but still my best chance of impressing Mitsy. "I was thinking it was probably a corporate." It wasn't just the food, although such good stuff was pretty pricy, it was the included silverware, a durable plates, fork, knife, and spoon... all that upped the delivery cost significantly. And they might not have been able to get insurance on it. Somebody got screwed out of some money, and I hoped it was somebody from PATH.

"Maybe. Could be a gang leader, too. Ripper, the head Snikt, he just got himself a reality deal. Our escape tonight might even be on the tubes already." Sterling grinned, like it was all part of a day's excitement, and he grabbed the last tin.

"Figures..." I muttered. Yet another way the world's fucked up. Crime can pay, quite well... not just by the proceeds of the crime itself, as it always has, but if you're bold and brazen enough, you're more likely to get a contract to play on the dark corners of the net than to get arrested. My gruesome death or maiming is illegal, but if the cops aren't willing to act, then it's just going to wind up being somebody's after-dinner entertainment, and only one entertainer will get paid.

The last tin was filled to the brim with rice. Not very expensive, but part of your complete dining experience. Sterling looked it over, then up at me. "Okay, so, I figure I'll take most of the shrimp, and half the curry and just a little bit of the rice. Still leaves you with a good bellyful." Not ideal, but as long as there was a good meal for Mitsy in there, I couldn't complain. "Oh, and I definitely want what you're hiding under your hand there."

Fuck. I lifted my hand, knowing he'd already seen it, but he must not have seen exactly what it was, because his eyes bugged out. "Shit, is that a Scarffen Bar? Mine!"

It shouldn't have been a big deal, but it was. Chocolate... real chocolate, maybe not deluxe chocolate, like the Scarffen Bars, but at least good chocolate... it was expensive, due to recent cocao crop failures, but it wasn't like oranges. The shrimp alone cost more than the chocolate, assuming it wasn't printed. But since my sister and I became poor as fuck, chocolate was off our shopping list. Sometimes I'd get some cheap store or vending machine chocolate, but that crumbly shit's mostly corn syrup, tastes like vaguely chocolate flavored sugar. A Scarffen Bar? Not only is it high quality chocolate made in traditional methods, but the cost isn't even half of the problem of acquiring it, it's the exclusivity. You pretty much have to order it by drone, or as dessert from a good restaurant, or buy one in a sweet shop in a good neighborhood, like our old neighborhood. Poor people just don't get a shot at them because you have to be well off before they're even an option. I took them for granted before, but now... now, a Scarffen Bar would be a win. Maybe my only win of the night. And now it was being taken away.


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Anonymous 14/12/10(Wed)05:51 No. 22932 ID: 36e3b1

Man, this story is pretty fucking tough. Well written as usual, though.


>>
Plug and Play, continued AnonyMPC 14/12/10(Wed)05:59 No. 22933 ID: 35a25a

"Listen, don't do this, man... I get that you have to take your cut, but... let me keep the chocolate, at least. I can give you some money instead, I worked today, too..."

"Don't want money," he said, and grabbed it right from the box. "Want chocolate."

"It's not for me, it's for my sister..."

"Yeah, sure, I've heard that before..." But he stopped, his fingers started twitching, and his face took on that slack look people sometimes get when they're looking something up. "Shit. You're Mitsy Kishido's brother, aren't you?"

"You know her?"

"I see her in school, sometimes. Never talked to her." He looked down at the tray, scowling, then handed the chocolate bar to me. "Take it. Hide it before I change my mind." He made a show of not even looking at it, like he couldn't bear to watch it go.

I tucked it into my pocket. "Thanks."

"No problem. As for the rest..." He looked down at the rest of the food, took the spoon from the delivery box, dug a big spoonful of the curry, and shoved it in his mouth. "I'll just have this one bite, for formality's sake... and three shrimp..." These he picked out of the tin and placed them in a pocket of his vest, right above his man-boob. "And I'll mark you down as having shared it."

He said the last bit with his mouth still full of curry, like a total slob, but I could have cried and hugged him anyway. Figuratively, though probably not literally. Though, I guess I wouldn't be opposed to a manly hug if it was suggested. Regardless, I just stood there, stunned. I don't know what to do with charity, really. And I really did want to contribute, now. "I can still give you some money."

He swallowed. "Nah, don't worry about it... the Kawasaki, that's going to put me in good standing for a while. Still can't believe some yutz had it in a locked garage, gassed up and ready to go."

"Guess he's going to be pretty pissed when he finds it missing." It was a long shot, but maybe both the bike and the dinner belonged to the same person. If so, I hoped once again it once belonged to somebody from PATH.

"If he was that possessive of it, he should have been riding it. It's all part of the Pi, right, and he wasn't using his slice." That part of PiRat culture I knew already. Stephanie had explained it to me during one of our first conversations, about the transcendental number, the closest thing to a PiRat religious symbol. Because the digits of Pi go on forever, never repeating into a pattern, every string of numbers, no matter how long and specific, eventually crops up somewhere inside of it. I guess as a justification for stealing intellectual property, it has its merits... all data can be expressed as a string of numbers, so in the end, it's all part of Pi, and Pi, being a number, belongs to everyone. That's why they call their artists miners, because of this idea that they're just mining the transcendental number and presenting the rest of the world with the results. It never made sense to me how that applied to physical property, but I guess it's like all religions... it's mostly just an excuse to behave the way you want. And at least the PiRats had nobler ambitions than most. "We can chop it up, the tires'll make good feedstock for the printers, give some kids some new shoes, maybe. Maybe make the engine into a generator we can run on vegetable oil," Sterling explained.

I figured I'd try to offer my sage advice. "You know, it's probably worth more as a collector's piece..." Even PiRats had to contribute to the common good or risk expulsion as a leech... and so I wanted to be helpful, make sure he got the most value for it, especially after letting me keep most of the food.

He shook his head at me. "Man, don't be that way. That's an mainland-thought, corporate mentality, value over utility. I mean, what's the point of keeping things shiny and new and useless, just because somebody else says it's valuable? We use things, and if something's not useful, we tear it up and build something that is. Gonna be a shame, though, it is a beaut." He exhaled sharply, then looked at me with a grin. "So, yeah, I don't need your money. Besides, I already took your gun." He winked.

My hands went to my sides and for the first time I realized it was gone. It must have happened during the bearhug. "What...?"

"Only PiRats get to bear arms in PiRat territory," he said. "We were in a rush coming in, so I assume you just got caught up and forgot to declare the gun you found outside." But by the knowing expression on his face and the way he stressed the word 'outside,' I knew I wouldn't be fooling anybody if I claimed that, though he'd probably not call me on it. I was really starting to like this guy, more than just because he saved me, and despite the fact that he'd just stolen my gun. Like life was a game between friends and it didn't matter to him that I'd tried to cheat him, he cheated me right back and had no hard feelings, so neither should I. The truth is, I took it off a stoned PiRat when I saw an opportunity, just in case I wound up needing it, so I had no good reason to be mad anyway. "So, listen, how's your sister doing?"

How did I answer that? "She's... well, she's, you know... there are good days and bad days."

"The arm, though, that working out for her? Helping her at least?"

There was a certain eagerness in his voice, like he was searching for some kind of approval or validation. "You were in on that?" I guessed. Stephanie had organized the effort, but pulled in some friends. I wondered suddenly if Sterling was part of her crew, or a separate one.

He shrugged. "Yeah, a lot of us were... I didn't do much, just helped find some of the designs, was on the team trying to choose the best one, and chipped in some of my printer credits."

"It's.. it's just great," I lied, but unfairly. It really was a feat of engineering. With no electronic parts at all, Mitsy could at least cause it to open and close the fingers and so grasp some objects with it. It was also, unfortunately, unwieldy to put on and chafed uncomfortably if she used it too long. But we both really appreciated the gesture.

"There's so much better out there, you know, I just wish..." He trailed off, then started again. "You know how it is, man... we live on the razor's edge out here, the cops might look like they've given up, but they're just overwhelmed and taking it slow. And the one thing that will get us put to the top of their priority list is if we break the printer laws." 3D printers could make a paradise, but the government and corporations colluded to keep us down, at least that was the PiRat line as Stephanie told me one night on the roof during a party. Growing up they said it was all done to protect us from terrorism, the horrors of a world where anybody could print off chemical or biological weapons or bombs or self-replicating robots, but, Stephanie insisted it was mainly to maintain corporate monopoly on technology. Whatever the justification, everybody agrees on the effects: the government goes ultra-harsh on anybody who attempted to print electronics, drugs, biologicals, or a few other proscribed categories. Even the hint of a rogue printer operating gets instant federal funds for a crack investigation team, who might also arrest you for lesser crimes like copyright infringement, and, if you resist them too much? Well, the missile strikes on apartment buildings full of innocent people, just to destroy a suspected illegal print shop are all in the public record. They showed us the photos of one in school, called it a drastic but necessary precaution. I wasn't so sure, but, considering what happened in Japan, I was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Sterling went on, "Your sister really should think about joining up with us. Some of us on the team are still on the lookout for a better arm, but there's only so much we allow to let a non-PiRat keep." Stephanie had explained that, too. There are better prosthetic arms that they're not allowed to print because they have electronic components, but if they ever did find one, they'd probably turn it over to us, and we'd be allowed to keep them in PiRat territory, even as outsiders, because they're simple enough that they're not worth tearing up for their parts. They're classified as "dumb" technology, just like phones and music players. But for the really good prosthetics, even if they acquired one, would never be given to us, not as guests. Charity had its limits. If Mitsy or I joined the gang, it would be another matter, of course, but the chances of finding one seemed so small, so I hadn't made any commitments. Now Sterling was making the same pitch. "Personally, I'd welcome Mitsy in my crew. Both of you, really. I mean, you're already poaching, why not go all the way?"

My eyes narrowed. Given the PiRat habits, saying he wanted Mitsy in his crew could be a very polite way of saying "I'd like to fuck your sister." But given how nice he'd been already, I was willing to write it off as unintentional. Besides, he seemed to me like he wasn't thinking that far ahead... after all, he invited both of us to join his crew. Didn't he know what that would mean? Still, my face turned stony, my voice cold. "No, I don't think it would work out for us." I couldn't resist one last barb. "Besides, you still couldn't print her anything better, could you?"

"Print? No. But she rises up in the ranks, we might schedule a raid for one from a hospital, or trade with a street doc. It's not just about the arm, though..." He looked away then leaned into whisper. "We might have to bail on the waterfront."

That was totally new information, "What?"

"Not, like, today, or anything, but retreat strategies are being drafted, just in case." He tapped his nose for some reason, a gesture clearly full of meaning I didn't understand. "You know the cops pretty much wiped out the Juggalos, right?" I shook my head. Without access, in my eyes, at my fingers at all times, it's easy to fall behind. Though, now that he mentioned it, I did notice there were a few clown-faced kids coming to school these last few weeks. I figured it was a new trend, but maybe they were refugees. "That's actually why I was able to rescue you today. Normally I range out to the west, but with the Juggalos gone, the corporations have swept in there with a "revitalization project." They've got a construction site up with big DFWMs." He saw my expression, then explained, "'Don't Fuck With Me's. Big guns. Guy I know on another crew almost got his balls shot off trying to snag some materials. And I like my balls, so I figured I'd find somewhere else. We're starting to think that, one of these days, they might come for us, too. We keep a low profile, and we send a little money their way. So they'll probably go after other gangs first, but that's why we won't take any chances on printcrime. All the bribes in the world won't protect us from that." I wasn't so sure. It of course was no surprise that the PiRats bribed the cops to be left alone. I'd also heard that, instead of fighting the more violent gangs, cops bribed THEM to not make trouble outside of their borders. Is that fucked up, or what? The mostly harmless gangs pay, the real criminals get paid. I wonder if it all circulates through the same account.

"So what happens if they come?" I asked him.

He shrugged. "We can maybe fight for a while, but I don't know if we will. Discretion is the better part of valor, and all. If we have to bolt, though, we're not worrying about rounding up guests, it'll be PiRats and family only."

Great, one more thing to worry about. I grimaced, but I wasn't going to join on the spot, so I just gave him a shrug.

"Well, think about it. I think you guys would make good PiRats. But nobody can force you." Well, no person could, but circumstances could absolutely force me. He started heading back to his Kawasaki, and told me, "Anyway, I better get this baby into a Faraday cage before I find there's a hidden tracker on it and somebody sends an assassin after me." I nodded. "I'd suggest leaving the box by the side of the road, by the way. I haven't heard of delivery restaurants making an example out of poachers in a while, but... it happens."

Shit. He was probably right. "Yeah. Listen, thanks... for everything, Sterling. I do owe you, big time. You ever need anything, just ask, I'll do my best."

He revved up the engine, then smiled and said, "Don't pay it back, just pay it forward."

I did take his advice and left the box there... instead I just shoved the individual tins, along with the plates and cutlery, back in my bag. They might have tracking devices on them too, but right then, I figured it was less likely, and if they did, it wasn't likely to be able to make a connection. We lived pretty far from the nearest PiRat node and much of the area's been three-striked out of corporate access due to repeated copyright infringement. Even our phones can't get access except through the PiRat nodes, and they filter.

I walked home from where Sterling left me, my high of survival and accomplishment fading as I did. It was only a few blocks, but once you get to thinking in a certain direction, those thoughts prey on you, only getting worse. I was thinking, of course, of the possibility something happened to Mitsy, that all my fantastic luck of this evening had to be a cosmic joke and I'd find out I'd be too late, she'd have killed herself or something dumb like that, I'd find her bleeding on the floor. Another, scarier part of my brain told myself it wouldn't happen like that, at the very least, Mitsy would want to avoid causing me pain, she'd disappear and jump off a pier or something with only a note begging me to stay strong. It was scary because I actually found that a comfort, like it was a possibility I could keep going without her, but I'd be like that part, without a soul, just thinking of cold facts, benefits and liabilities, like a corporate.

So by the time I stepped into the converted restaurant that was now our home, my heart was pounding. "Mitsy?" I called. No answer. I called again.

The door to the freezer was closed. That was a good sign. I banged on it, called out once more and said it was me, then, heard the lock being undone, and, seconds later, there was Mitsy.

She was smiling.


>>
Anonymous 14/12/10(Wed)07:29 No. 22935 ID: 08bd6e

Thank god you're back AnonyMPC. I was going nuts. I haven't even read the story yet but seeing just the title was enough to make me start doing a Daniel Bryan around the room.


>>
Anonymous 14/12/10(Wed)07:30 No. 22936 ID: c8aa7a

>>22924
I kinda did assume you meant what was left of her arm. But, yeah, explaining that explicitly would help. Glad I could help!

>>22933
She is smiling because she joined the gang. I'm calling it now.


>>
Anonymous 14/12/10(Wed)08:39 No. 22938 ID: 4d471d

This story is truly wonderful, really fleshing out and giving character to the iCity world. After reading what's been posted I can say that all of the people that called the setting derivative or boring are dead wrong. The pseudo-appearance by Stephanie from Lazytown was a funny easter egg too. It's almost interesting enough to make me forget about MPC 5... almost. The only sad part is that if AnonyMPC keeps writing stories like these then it won't be too long before he's completely evolved beyond /elit/ entirely and into the realm of profitable fiction.


>>
Plug and Play, continued AnonyMPC 14/12/10(Wed)19:24 No. 22940 ID: a609fb

That cold, soulless part of me was actually a little annoyed for a second. Here I'd gone and risked my life just to cheer her up, and she'd gotten over it on her own. But the majority of me was happy, though skeptical. I knew as well as anybody that a smile could hide depression.

But it was nice to see, anyway. She called herself ugly, but, especially when she smiled, she was beautiful. What is it with girls, do they all think they're ugly, or is it just being surrounded by other people's physical perfection, you can't see your own?

"Come on. I got dinner." I threw my jacket and scarf in a pile, then, with my backpack, headed to the counter we usually ate at, side by side. Mitsy disappeared back into the freezer for a moment, just to bring the little music player, but then followed, and her eyes widened in surprise as I pulled out the tins.

"You bought that?" I hadn't been able to splurge for a good meal in a while.

"Not quite..." I grinned. "I did get some work today, though. Today was a good day." If you leave out the almost dying part, which I intended to do.

She gasped, a cute little noise as I lifted the lid off the first tin, the curry, then looked to me, unbelieving. I paid it no mind and opened the shrimp. Her eyes were now totally wide, astonished. "You weren't kidding..." she said. When the rice was revealed, she realized that nothing else was coming (I decided to save the Scarffen bar for a final surprise), evaluated the portion size, and said, "We'll still need some of the gruel, on the side."

"No, I'll have gruel, you..."

"No." It was firm, almost angry. "We share."

I knew better to argue. "Okay, I'll get it after." By this time I had the plate out, and was dishing out some rice. "Do you want the curry poured on the rice, or on the side?"

"Mixed in, please," she said. "But you take the plate. The tin is easier." She held up the arm, and I saw the point immediately. With two hands, I can corral food with both a fork and knife, but Mitsy had trouble maneuvering... but in this case, the sides of the tin could serve the same purpose (I'd considered that chopsticks would be easier for her, but we never picked up the habit, much to my grandfather's disappointment). So I made up a small plate for myself, and left much of it in the tins, prepared to insist that it was the same amount and any difference was an optical illusion.

She didn't press the issue, though, just took the fork and took a mouthful up to her lips, testing it. It was still warm... those tins were actually some special carbon composite and made extremely good insulators, and she made a sound that indicated she thought it was delicious. I tried a bite, and I had to agree... the curry tasted even better than it smelled.

It was a small meal though, at least for two people, so I did go fetch some gruel to beef up our plates. We usually ate the PiRat-made vegetable mash pellets dry, except sometimes in the morning we turn it into a porridge or roast it just for a little variety. This time, I poured a bunch of the plain pellets on my plate and ladled a little bit of extra curry juice on it for flavoring, which was sure to help a lot. Gruel's not bad at first, but the blandness gets boring after a while. Even though there's probably less than 20% potato actually in it, it still sort of tastes like fries, and like fries, adding a little bit of some kind of sauce can do wonders for it. When I was done with my plate, I poured a smaller amount for Mitsy in the tin that used to hold the rice before it was mixed in with the curry. She followed my lead and also poured some of the sauce on top.

As we ate, we listened to songs, and we talked. Or I got her to talk, about school. She wanted me to talk about how I got the food, but I was just vague, and change the subject, and the job, I could honestly describe as boring, so I could only talk about that for so long.

"You happen to know a PiRat named Sterling?" I asked at one point, mostly to change the subject from my night. She looked at me blankly, so I described him.

"I think I've seen him at school sometimes," she said. "Why?"

"Just met him today. He seems like a nice guy." She shrugged, so I guessed he really had made no impression on her.

She was quiet for a few seconds, and then, her previous question deflected, she went for another touchy one. "So do you want to tell me why Stephanie walked me home today?"

I blinked, decided honesty was the best option here. "I asked her to."

"Her? When you're not even talking to her?" I grimaced at that. She'd tried to ask me about it, but I didn't want her to know, either the extent of my relationship with Stephanie, or why it suddenly ended. "It's because of how I was this morning, wasn't it?"

"I just wanted to be sure you were safe."

"It was just a bad night, KK." But she looked down, and I was certain I sensed the deep sadness that still lay behind her mask that was currently so intent on convincing me she'd gotten over it.

"Okay," I said, anyway. That's the thing when you're that close to each other. She knew I was worried about her, and what specifically I was worried about, and so she acted like nothing was wrong, and I knew that she was acting, and she probably knew that I knew, too. But you can't acknowledge it, except in the most general terms. "Here, take the last shrimp," I said, nudging the tin towards her, and I ate a little more gruel... it was all that I had left, and it didn't even have any of the curry sauce on it. I ate the good stuff first.

"No, I'm stuffed. Besides, I don't want my stomach getting too used to eating real food."

I put my fork down abruptly. "Yeah."

"Oh, KK, I didn't mean it like that." She put her hand, her real hand, on mine, her thumb caressing the side. "I know you're doing all you can." Her head leaned against mine as well.

I knew she didn't mean it, but the reminder that I wasn't able to provide for her like she deserved still stung, and even the words 'doing all you can' sounded like an acknowledgement of my failure. All I could was not good enough. "Yeah," I said again.

"Thank you," she said, sincerely. "The dinner was so good. Seriously. I wish I could do something even half as nice for you. I wish I could make you happy."

"You don't have to do anything for me, Mitsy. I'm fine."

"Fine is not happy," she pointed out, with that wisdom beyond her years that I knew so well from her, even when it sometimes infuriated me.

I could say I was fine, but it didn't feel right to lie to her and say I was happy, like I knew she wanted. But I could force a smile. A smile may be a lie too, but it's an easier one, especially when there's some real pleasure behind it. "Anyway, the night's not over. I have one more surprise for you. Something very special." I was thinking, of course, of the chocolate. She pulled back, looked at me, a squinting side-eye, like she was trying to read my mind and guess what it is, so I smiled even wider. "But not right away." If she was stuffed, we could wait. I picked up the shrimp, waved it at her. "Last chance?" She smiled, shook her head, so I popped it in my mouth, savoring the little rubbery pop before I burst the soft flesh within, one of those things the printers can't quite duplicate. And I wasn't full... Mitsy probably had some gruel at school, the teacher there insists on it, but I hadn't eaten anything since just before I dropped her off. So I savored that shrimp and then cleaned up. Just because I was getting paranoid about hidden trackers, I collected everything that was from the drone box. Even a fork might be trying to phone home, and as unlikely as it was to get access, I didn't want it in our home if it did. Besides, we could get plenty of decent forks and plates from the print shop. "I'm going to dump these outside. I'll be back in a few, okay?"


Mitsy nodded, then headed to the bathroom, and I ducked outside, walked around the block, gently placing everything on a corner. I didn't think of it as littering... some PiRat would probably pick it up, maybe turn it into feedstock. I didn't know how it worked, but why not let somebody who did take care of it?

It was pretty dark out... even the streetlights seemed dimmer than usual, and there were, as usual, loud parties going on in the distance, so I wasn't as aware of my surroundings as I should have been. So when I got right in front of my house and I realized that there was a car in front of it, I once again practically shit my pants. Especially when it lit up and began speaking to me.

"Kane Kishiro," it shouted, in an artificial voice that felt like it was coming from inside my skull. The lights were impossibly bright at first, but once my eyes got used to it I realized that it wasn't a heavily armored police car, like my first instinct, but rather an old-fashioned rounded top car. Which didn't mean it wasn't dangerous, of course.

It wasn't just a car, it was an autocab, and it took me a second before it twigged a memory and I realized it was one of those branded tie-in ones from that Love Bug flix a few years back... the one about the autocar that gained sentience as a full AI and called itself Herbie. It was surprising the cabs were still around, despite all the promotion, the flix flopped, although Mitsy and I had seen it, along with a neighbor girl.

The cab was speaking to me with the same kind of holosonics they use to blast targeted ads, so even though it sounded loud, I was probably the only one who heard. "Kane Kishiro," it repeated. "This is a delivery mission, through Frank's Logistics Yard, for products of value, to be delivered only to Kane Kishiro or Mitsuko Kishiro. Accept delivery of package?"

I don't know what was more surprising, that somebody had a package for me or that it came for me here. Autocabs just don't come into PiRat territory, not without huge... well, huge DFWM guns, guns I didn't see, to dissuade the PiRats from descending on it and stripping it to useful parts. There's a lot of useful tech in autocabs, computers, internal displays, holosonic systems, the retina lasers that paint custom ads on people... even drones don't fly over PiRat territory, and drones are simple, practically dumb technology. An undefended autocab is a treasure trove. Yet here was one, in front of me, delivering a package, something valuable, to me by name. It sounds crazy, but I swear this is exactly how it happened.

I didn't answer, for fear that if I admitted who I was, it would signal my arrest or execution, since some kind of elaborate trick also seemed more logical than a mail delivery. How would anyone even know where I was? But I didn't have to speak. "Identity confirmed by physiognomy or voice recognition," it said. The door popped open. "Please remove the package." Well, it already knew who I was, so I got in close to see the long package on the floor. It was a plain box, much like a drone box in appearance but made of stiff, biodegradable cardboard, a little longer than my chest is wide, but only maybe half a foot high. But what the hell, even if I couldn't understand it, I wasn't going to turn down a free gift, so I picked it up and backed away to the sidewalk. It wasn't as heavy as I thought it might be.

Once I removed the package, the voice in my head returned. "Thank you. Powering our vehicles with love, for old time's sake, and Frank's Logistics Yard send their regards, and we wish you a good night."

"Yeah, whatever," I muttered. They really needed to work on their slogan. Poor branding probably explains why I never heard of them. The car drove off, while I took the package into our home, lay it on the counter, and opened it. And that was the first time I saw it.

Mitsy came out a few seconds later (or maybe I'd just been staring at it a really long time and I lost track of everything else in the impossibility of the discovery), and she stepped forward to peer inside the box, and she saw it too, and must have assumed it was the surprise I mentioned. Her eyes snapped up to mine, glistening, shining really, with wonder at the miracle. "What... how did you... ?" Then her expression turned angry and she shoved me with her one arm. "Did you break into a hospital?"

"No, I..."

"You could have gotten yourself arrested, or killed! Do you know how that would make me feel?"

"Mitsy... I... I didn't do this."

Her face scrunched up, trying to process it. "Then how..."

"It just... arrived."

It was, of course, the arm. It was grey metal, not perfectly smooth but made of interlocking plates that could bend and expand slightly. The metal was covered in parts with soft black patches, mostly covering the hand and in strips below the wrist, like whoever made it was too cheap to cover the whole thing. It looked far less realistic, or attractive, than Mitsy's fleshlike plastic arm... but you could tell that this had some serious technology behind it, the fingers were extremely articulated and it had a full range of motion. It smelled faintly of disinfectant, like it had come directly from a prosthetic factory, and I lifted it out and you could see that it attached itself around a stump and then, presumably, interfaced with the nerves to provide sensation like a real arm. There was a little card, with "self-attaching, just plug and play" written on it, which became visible when it came out of the box.

"Do you want to try it?" I suggested, and then started worrying again. What if it didn't fit? Even if it was self-attaching, there was a wide range of arm sizes, and this didn't look custom-fitted.

She continued to stare for a few seconds, but then slowly reached into her shirt to undo the strap that held her existing prosthetic over her shoulder. That, she was getting good at doing one handed. Once released, the soft plastic hand fell dropped away, the straps sliding through her sleeve and slowing their descent to the ground.

Mitsy held out the stump, and then, turned her eyes away, like she couldn't bear to look, especially not if she was going to be disappointed. I pressed the end of the cyberarm to her, and then saw that my fears about the size were for nothing... the thing actually moved, tiled sections stretched apart, revealing more connectors in between, and petal-like flaps closed around what was left of her arm, securing it in place. The arm had automatically adjusted to the correct length, more or less. It was still a little long, and notably thicker than her real arm, but... it was an arm.

Mitsy gasped, and the fingers began to move immediately. The metal hand grasped my own forearm. "I can feel..." she whispered. "I can feel your arm." Luckily, as intimidating as an oversized artificial arm looks, it didn't grip me especially tight, owing to the soft padded sections that were also probably sensors.

"How does it feel?"

The fingers began to probe around my own arm, moving up to my bicep. "Good... could be more muscular, only a little flab."

"No, dummy, how does it feel on you?" I could tell she knew what I meant, which is the only reason I called her dummy. She was in a good mood. I was in a good mood. We were playfully ribbing each other like the old days (after a few months living lean, even without toner, there certainly wasn't much flab on my arm). My wish upon the star earlier in the night may not have come true, but it had come closer than I'd ever believed possible.

"I don't know," she said, as she pulled away. I half-expected the arm to fall off as soon as I let go, but somehow it held, and the hand began to twist, the fingers flexing, like it was run on actual muscles that had gone stiff. Her other hand ran down its length, and then she began scratching the soft black plastic on the back of her new hand. "Oh my god, I've had that itch forever..." Next, she held the arms side-by-side, palms up, thumbs out. "It's too big. The fingers are too long."

"Forget how it looks," I said. "It's a hand, Mitsy. It works, right?"

"I guess. But it's ugly," she said. The good mood of the moment had faded awfully fast.

She wasn't whining, it wasn't that tone of voice... it was just pointing out a flaw. Still, the obsession with finding the few flaws in this gift that might as well have fallen from heaven was starting to irritate me. When she got the other prosthetic, she only complained after a few hours, about legitimate complaints, like how uncomfortable it got. "Who cares if it's ugly?" Was she really that shallow?

"See, you agree, it's ugly."

"It's functional. That's what's important. You can feel stuff!" I took the hand, squeezed it, hoping it was sensitive that she could actually feel the slight pressure. "You can go back to playing music."

She frowned, looked towards the clothes pile we stashed the violin with, so that a wandering PiRat wouldn't see it and think it was valuable, like she was considering. "The hand's not the right size, it's probably just going to throw me off."

"You can compensate for it!" I almost felt like growling in frustration. "Why do you keep looking for reasons not to be excited by this?"

She looked back at me, her eyes wide, still glistening, but now like it might break into tears. Her voice was resigned, and very small. "Kane, you know we won't be able to keep it."


>>
Plug and Play, continued AnonyMPC 14/12/11(Thu)01:11 No. 22944 ID: a609fb

Now it made sense. She didn't want to get her hopes up, she didn't want to get mine up, either. Because she was right, this arm was definitely in the category of "smart" technology. The kind we shouldn't be allowed to have while we lived here, without permission. I had one thin hope. "For all we know they sent this..."

"It doesn't really seem like their style."

She certainly had a point there. When they gave us her previous arm, it was accompanied by a group of raucous PiRats, led by Stephanie, who all brought booze and music and turned it into an excuse to party. Our housewarming was an excuse to party. So was when they installed our shower system. That we weren't always really in a partying mood never seemed to cross their minds, it was like it wasn't really about us, it was about them showing off how cool they were, giving us this stuff for nothing, and throwing us a party, to boot. So an anonymous drop-off? That didn't feel like a PiRat gift.

Of course I wasn't sure. Maybe some PiRat had stumbled upon it and wanted to give it to us anonymously... maybe they didn't want their friends to know what they'd found and given up, not to the group, but to a non-PiRat. Or maybe it was a trap, to try to trick us into not declaring that we'd found some smart technology, to make us prove ourselves leeches. Both possibilities seemed about equally likely. "You don't know that," I told her. "I can't think of anybody else who'd send us an arm, can you?" She shook her head. "So it's ours."

"And what happens if they accuse us on holding out on them?" It was made very clear... not only did could anything we own get claimed by the PiRats, hoarding technology would be severely punished. Our music players, phones, and other minor doodads were classified as dumb technology... the PiRats could take it if they wanted, but they probably wouldn't, everybody already had their own. Slightly smarter technology, like glasses, could be borrowed for short terms, as long as we were willing to turn it in regularly so everybody else could have a shot at them. But anything smart that cost more than fifty dollars was restricted to PiRats and PiRat family members, without prior permission by a local Browncoat, and I hadn't even met one of those yet. Trying to get around those rules could get them very pissed off at us, get us keel-hauled, as they called it.

There was one other possibility though. It might not be a trap. It might be a lure, dangled in front of us to try to convince us to make a move. "No, I'm not going to make you give it up," I said, "If I have to, I'll join the PiRats." That seemed like it might be the most likely scenario. Someone could have sent it to encourage one of us to make that leap, to join them. If it was a lure, it was a good one. For this, at least, it might be worth it... this wasn't a vague promise that they might help her someday, it was real, it was something she needed.

And something my sister rejected. "No," she said, her voice firm. "I won't let you."

Let me. I forced a smile. "Let me? It's not really up to you. Look, really, I've been thinking about it for a while. This just makes one last good excuse."

"It's my arm, so it's my responsibility. I'll do it."

"You don't know what you're saying, Mitsy."

"Yes I do."

"No, you don't." How could I put it gently... "When you're a PiRat... you're expected to... do certain things."

"I know what they do, KK... I talk to PiRats in school all the time."

I still wasn't sure she knew. She always seemed innocent to me, and for all I knew, she thought I meant that they steal from people who are perceived to have more than they need. Still, I gave her the benefit of the doubt... PiRats were anything but shy. "Then you know why I have to do it, not you."

Her mouth compressed into a line which then contracted, as though she was eating something sour. "No," she said again. "I know that's not what you want. You want one person to love, a partner, who loves you the same way, completely... not to share." That proved that she did know what I meant about what PiRats did, but it still surprised me. I didn't think I'd ever mentioned that hope to her, or my problems with the girlfriend pool. "And you deserve that. I won't have you give that up for me. You've given up so much already."

"I'm not giving anything up," I told her, lying shamelessly. "It isn't so bad, there's a definite upside."

"Oh? You started liking guys then?" My eyes slid away. I'd lie to her, but there were limits where I knew I wouldn't be believed. "No, if anybody joins, it's going to be me."

That just wasn't an option. I tried to be as gentle as I could, but I was going to have to be harsh to try to shock her out of this stupid idea. "Don't be stubborn, Mitsy... I'm the logical choice. Even if I didn't want to do it, I could handle it. You know you couldn't. You know you don't get a choice, if you're a PiRat, you'd have to have sex with guys..." I didn't know if girls would be as much of an issue as guys were for me. Mom was bisexual, and they said there was a small genetic component to that... not enough to affect me, but maybe Mitsy inherited it. It was one of the things we'd never discussed, because it didn't matter to me, but I had faint memories, before our lives turned to hell, of her, while we were watching something together, making complimentary comments on how some of the female stars looked. And I'd never known her to have a serious boyfriend. Maybe she was always into girls, and now, after Slag Tremolo, that might be all she could be interested in.

"Yeah, but they'd have to have sex with me, too," she said, sounding tough. "Maybe that's the best I can hope for."

Why did she have to be so dense? I wondered. I didn't want to spell it out, but I had to make her see. "Mitsy. You flinch when a guy touches you."

"Not you," she said softly.

"Yeah, but... anyone else."

She shrugged. "It's just a little PTSD," she said. Like that was nothing. "I can get over it."

"Really? You think you're going to be okay when some guy's about to crawl over you, and do what..." I almost said his name, but that was a name I'd never say in front of her. "That fucking psycho did to you?"

She tilted her head and looked at me, eyebrows twisting together. "He never raped me, KK..."

It was like somebody had suddenly changed the gravity, and now I wasn't even sure what was happening. "What?"

She rubbed her real arm with her fake one, then looked down at it, as though surprised that the motion had actually worked, like she'd forgotten the arm on her at all. "He didn't. He never touched me, not like that."

We'd never talked about exactly what happened. So I made a lot of assumptions. The scenarios played out in my head, and because she never refuted them, they became truth to me. That he tried to rape her, she fought back, he overpowered her, took what he wanted, and, just for spite, cut off the arm she struck him with. It wasn't completely conjecture... I'd studied his police record, heard he'd had other victims with similar stories. And what do you say to that? "I'm sorry, I thought..." The words stumbled off of my tongue, out of rhythm. "We never talked about it."

"I didn't want to." She was still looking down, but her whole body trembled. "I was ashamed."

"You had nothing to be ashamed of..." I told her, stepping close to her, holding her, feeling her face in my chest. "It wasn't your fault."

"But it was!" she said, and then looked up to me, into my eyes. I just waited, and I knew that now was the time, she was going to tell me. "I thought I could help... I could make some money. He said he'd give me some if I gave him a piece of my body... I thought... I thought, okay, I just have sex with this guy, and maybe you wouldn't have to work so hard for a while..." Her head once again buried in my chest. "So we agreed on a price, went to this building, and... I took off my clothes." She choked back a sob. "He told me he didn't want me like that, my body wasn't worth it. I was too ugly to sleep with... He just wanted a piece to add to his collection." There was no choking back the sobs, they flew freely, and I held onto her with all her might and she hug back and just let it out.

"It wasn't your fault," I whispered to her, several times. It wasn't, it was mine, as I'd always worried. If I'd made more money, she wouldn't have felt the need to help out. But I didn't worry about that so much then, I was completely focused on trying to make her feel better. After she calmed, and her breathing became more regular, I told her, "I'm going to join the PiRats." I couldn't undo the damage, grow her a new arm, not yet... but this was as close I could get. Being with guys still freaked me out, but Sterling had said something about there being another way. I could explore that. "I was going to have to do it soon anyway."

She pushed me away again, like my trying to help her was some kind of insult. "No. No way. I told you. You deserve real love. Old-fashioned love." Again, I wondered how she knew me so well. I'd used those exact words once, even though one-on-one relationships were hardly old-fashioned, even in high school plenty of people followed that model, but after being in a girlfriend pool it didn't feel that way. So I'd, occasionally, used the phrase "old-fashioned love" when I described what my perfect romance was, with somebody who claimed they liked the same thing, with the anonymous Hopeless-Dreamer. The only thing I could think of was that it was a friend of Mitsy's who had talked to her about it. "You broke up with Stephanie because you didn't want that. I'm not going to be a burden on your whole life just so I can keep a stupid arm." She started pulling on it, like she was trying to figure out how to take it off.

I put my hand on hers to prevent that. "You're not a burden," I said. "But look, are you honestly telling me you'd want to be a PiRat?" She described what she wanted for me with such feeling, I guessed that maybe it was also what she wanted for herself. "To be shared around among guys and girls?"

She shrugged, which meant the answer was no. "It's not like I'm going to get what I want," she said. "What guy's going to want me?"

My heart broke a little. "Don't be so down on yourself... you're beautiful."

"No... everyone at school was always prettier than me, and now..." She looked at the arm again. "I'm damaged. Who would want to be with me now, when there's so many perfect looking girls out there?" Before I could open my mouth to reassure her that she would find somebody, she added, "So I wouldn't be losing anything by joining the PiRats. You would. Let me protect you, for once."

I shook my head. "That's not how it works."

She turned away from me. "It is this time. You're not sacrificing that for me. I won't let you. I can do without the arm."

"It wouldn't just be for the arm," I said. "Maybe I want to join anyway. It's my decision."

She looked over her shoulder at me, clearly not believing me. "And this is mine. If you really want to join, join. But, I swear to you, if you join the PiRats, I'm joining right after."

I chuckled a bit, despite myself. She could be so stubborn sometimes. I guess it ran in the family. "You haven't really thought that through," I pointed out. "We can't both be PiRats. We might wind up in the same crew. How do you think they'd handle that?" I honestly didn't know.

"They don't care," she said. "Even if you're related, you're expected to share your body... I know a girl who does that with her brother." She looked away again, down at the floor.

Weird. "Yeah, but they probably grew up with this..."

"We're only half-siblings, you know."

I took a step closer to her. "We don't know that for sure." It was theoretically possible we had the same father. Mom never checked, and neither had we. "And anyway, regardless of blood, you're my sister."

She turned to face me, but I was going for a reassuring hug, so now she was so close that we were practically dancing. She looked up at me and asked, "Does that really matter? Erin Zula's in a relationship with her brother."

Or so they said... I personally always thought it was just a hoax to provide hype for her album Kinship. It's no longer shocking to just write a song about the fantasy of doing it with your brother... every other artist is doing a fetish album these days, connecting to their fans by singing about their most perverted fantasies, often including ones about incest. Crooning about the things you'd never do, yet that turned you on... it was practically mainstream. And even if it wasn't your fantasy, the songs sometimes caught on, first by people who wanted to sound edgier than they were, and then it just became part of the popular culture. "Do me Daddy," by Mad Hattie got like that. It had an awesome beat to it and for a few weeks everybody at school was singing it.

Erin Zula's situation was different, one step beyond. To actually be in a real incestuous relationship, or pretend to do it, that got headlines. I had no hard evidence which category she fell into, but everybody knows stars are attention whores, so I could easily believe it was just a stupid lie in Erin Zula's case. Her music was good, but like many artists she was a persona with an image, and we probably never got to hear her real voice under all the processing. She probably wasn't even that good, just some random person with a look that a corporate headhunter thought would appeal to a certain demographic, plucked out of obscurity, given her debut song, and her voice electronically massaged to make it a hit. That's how most musicians are made, even when they seemed to come up through the ranks of indie bands... a story can be just as manufactured.

I knew my sister really liked Erin's music (even though her own natural talents were probably far superior), and that she also liked a few fetish album songs that had incest in them by other bands, but that didn't mean anything. I doubt most of the people who liked Mad Hattie wanted to fuck their dad (though one of the girls in the girlfriend pool I belonged to confessed that she did want to), and if I thought even half the girls who sang "Knotted" when it came out actually wanted to fuck dogs, then if I ever get out of poverty, my get-rich-quick plan would be to open a pet rental place in our old neighborhood. They're just songs. So I assumed my sister never considered actually being with me. "You don't really want to have sex with me... you certainly don't want a relationship with me."

"Don't do that, I hate when you do that."

"Do what?"

She looked away, turning only her head. "Speak for me when you're really speaking for yourself."

"What?" It was like it literally couldn't process what she said, like a garbled signal, and for a second I thought that she thought I said something like "nobody would want to date me" and she was mad at me for being down on myself and reassuring me that people would.

"I guess I should just say it," she said, sounding defeated, dejected. "Bust the cherry quick so it doesn't hurt as much, and you can get freaked out and let me join the PiRats so you don't have to worry about me anymore and you can get out of here and move on with your life." She took in a breath, necessary after that rush of words, then let it out. I wanted to interrupt her, reassure her, but my mind was still reeling and, underneath that, I knew she didn't want to be interrupted, she was holding something in and wanted to get it out. "We've always been very much the same, Kane," she said. "We both want to be with just one person, that we can count on, our whole lives, who makes our heart beat a little faster, and... who's just as devoted to us. The difference is, I always knew I wanted it to be you."


>>
Plug and Play, continued AnonyMPC 14/12/11(Thu)04:15 No. 22946 ID: a609fb

I stood there, stunned, for a moment. "If you're trying to drive me away, it's not going to work..." That seemed the most logical conclusion, that she wanted to tell me something shocking so I wouldn't see her as my little sister that I had to protect, so I would leave her.

"I'm not. It's the truth." She began shaking her head and backed away, like, now that the admission was made, the thing she wanted to do most was escape the conversation. "I mean, I'm not crazy, I knew it was hopeless... compared to other girls, I'm nothing."

Hopeless. That was the word that made it click, and I reached out to grab her hand to prevent her from going any farther, to keep her near while I sorted through it. "Wait... you were... Hopeless-Dreamer?" The rest of what she said fit too, it was what my anonymous chatgirl had always said, when I asked why she was too scared to just tell me who she was. It always seemed like a ridiculous fear, that if I knew, she wouldn't really want me, because that she wasn't good enough for me, that she was nothing, compared to others.

"You finally guessed," she said, with a smile, but it was a sad one, like she expected that, underneath, I was already secretly horrified. "I wasn't good enough for you then, and now..." She looked down at the cybernetic arm. I could practically hear her thoughts. Too big, too ugly, hiding an even bigger imperfection, a stump of an arm hacked off by a madman by her own stupidity. Who would want this?

But she was still beautiful, arm or no arm, and I loved her. I wasn't horrified... that fact was maybe a little terrifying, but I wasn't disgusted or reeling away. My heart was beating hard, it felt like it was jumping into my throat in fact, but it wasn't from horror. "Mitsy, I love you more than anyone..."

"But..." she filled in, expecting it.

I let go of her arm, but I wasn't ready to let go of everything I'd grown up believing, not yet. "No. It's just... you know we can't be... like that. Shit, you probably don't even want it, you just think you do." Like I thought I wanted to bang the hot girls in my class, only it turns out once I could, it was hollow.

"You're putting your words in my mouth again," she said with a pout. "I know what I want. So go ahead, just say that you don't. That it disgusts you. It's not like it's something I don't already know... I've offered again and again, and you always turn away."

Offered? I couldn't think of a single time she even arguably offered herself to me. Unless she counted late nights when she rubbed up against me, I thought while she was asleep, and I literally turned away to keep it from getting uncomfortable... but I always assumed that was accidental. The thought that she had been deliberately coming on to me... that was what it took to get my penis to suddenly harden. And once I realized she could actually make me hard, my mind started to go down that path. It was crazy, but... ever since Mom and Ray died, my whole life's been dedicated to making Mitsy happy, giving her what she needed. So if this is what she needed... or what she thought was needed... isn't it a small price to pay? Hell, at least it was better than being with another guy, just so I could join the PiRats.

"I'm not turning away now," I said. I told myself that I was saying it to call her bluff, even if she didn't consider it a bluff, that she didn't really want me, that it was like those Bacon-Mushroom Flavored Jelly we tried once... sounds like a good idea, but when you actually try it, you realize that you can't take it. But, since I have to be completely honest, a part of me, deep down, wanted it just for me, that after living for her for so long, I wanted that kind of love for myself, even if I wasn't at all sure I could transform my love for Mitsy into it. And a much larger part of me just wanted sex, almost regardless of who it was, even if it was my own sister. I had neither had sex nor masturbated since Stephanie filled me in on how many guys were also filling her, and that primal part of me was yelling at me not to give up an opportunity to get off.

She blinked a few times, looking into my face with wide eyes that I felt like I was seeing for the first time. And she reached out, tentatively, with the artificial arm, onto my chest, and then stepped on her toes like she was going for a kiss. I leaned in, opened my mouth, closed my eyes, just ready to let it happen, see if this could work...

Her hand dropped, and I felt sudden, unexpected pressure on my dick, from multiple directions at once. She was squeezing me, through my pants, with her artificial hand.

I flinched, took a careful step backwards, but luckily she let go immediately. "Whoah," I said.

Mitsy's face fell. "See," she said. "You can't stand the thought of me touching you." She looked down at the cyberhand, and said, "It's not even my real hand. You can't even bear your half-sister not-actually-touching you with a robot hand."

"Sorry, it just caught me off-guard," I said. "I didn't expect you to move quite so fast... or squeeze like that. You know, some of those cyber-hands can bend metal and stuff..." I shuddered.

She looked at me skeptically. "So... it was... the hand that bothered you?"

"You JUST got it, Mitsy... maybe just be gentle at first."

She advanced again, this time using her flesh-and-bone left hand. I wasn't telling the whole truth... the fact that she was my sister was at least part of the reason I pulled away the first time. But this time, I knew it was coming and steeled myself not to flinch as her fingers flexed around my bulge, and there was a bulge. She was staring at it for a few seconds, then up at me, like trying to judge if I was going to turn her away or freak out, but I just smiled... a little uneasily, but I guess it didn't show, for she crouched before me and began undoing my buttons.

My conscience was yelling at me, pointing out that this was my sister, that what we were doing was wrong, but a larger part of me liked it, wanted to see how far this feeling could extend. I felt a little sick, but it was a good sick, the kind of nervousness you get when you're outrageously turned on by something you know you shouldn't be.

So I didn't stop her, and let her take my bare dick in her hand, let her stroke it up and down, all the while watching me for any sign of disgust. So I forced a smile... I say forced because my true feelings were still so mixed that it couldn't come naturally, even though it felt so good, like my skin was alive. It wasn't just the action... handjobs from the other girls I'd been with, they were okay, but never really did much for me, except for the very first one. This felt like the first one again, that sense that I was doing something forbidden, something I wasn't quite ready for, but that I couldn't resist. It wasn't just that she was my sister, though... in fact, even more than that was the confession that she'd always wanted me. Most of my experiences were with people who were just caught up in the moment, or who really wanted somebody else but I was the one there, or where there might have been genuine feelings, but we were both trying to play it cool and see where it went. The idea of somebody actually wanting me, above all others, and being open about it, that was arousing beyond belief.

"Do you like it...?" she asked, the eagerness evident in her voice.

"Yeah," I said. "It feels great. How'd you get so good at this?"

I was exaggerating, her technique was good, there was even a slight milking squeeze on the upstroke, but it was more the context than anything else that was exciting, and so, since I was focused on sounding convincing, it was only later that I realized my words could have been taken as a suggestion that she'd been behaving slutty. "I've never done it before," she said, a little defensively, but not offended about it. "Not on a person. But there was this bootleg AR Game, you can play on a sausage..."

I'd never played it, but I've done similar ones that were supposed to teach you how to finger a girl, by overlaying a porn star or cartoon character over an onahole (or jello mold, if you're cheap) and anything soft for boobs, monitoring your exact finger position and technique, and rewarding you with an orgasm if you did well. They were fun and all, but absolutely shit at teaching you... experience did it better. Of course, they might work better for oral, if you've got a tracking tongue stud, but by the time I got one of those, I had real girls to practice on.

"Of course, I used my right hand, not my left... so I might not be as good."

"You're doing fine," I said. "If you want, you can switch, just... don't squeeze."

"It doesn't freak you out?" She traced my belly with the soft and surprisingly fleshlike plastic, 'feeling' parts.

"Not as long as you're careful."

"It's still ugly," she said. "But I guess it's less freaky than seeing just a stump."

"However you are, it doesn't matter to me... as long as you're still with me, that's the important thing."

She interleaved her fingers, natural and engineered, around my cock, giving a two handed hand-job (my first for that), pressing them together gently. And as I closed my eyes, I realized I couldn't easily tell the difference. I knew which was which, but to my cock it felt the same. Much like the hand of my sister there felt like any other hand... except for the emotions.

The double-stroke was slower though, and made it more like a tease than a release, pleasurable but I wanted more. At the same time I didn't want to press. I looked down at her, and she was looking up at me, into my eyes, and then down at my cock. She lowered herself, pointed my dick towards her, and, looking right at my eyes, took me into her mouth.

That I was not expecting... I was realizing that was probably coming, eventually, but not so fast, so brazenly. Her lips slid halfway down my shaft, up to the point where it met with her thumb, and I could feel her tongue writhe on the underside as she tried to accommodate me without gagging. And all the while, she looked up at me, in the eyes, with what seemed to me to be a mix of apprehension, a little naughtiness, but also love. I could have been reading into it, but that's what I saw.

She slurped up and down just twice, before pulling off and said, "I was so sure you'd pull away..."

I laughed a little while I answered, finding it funny because I, in the seconds before she started, I was too busy being certain she wouldn't go through with it to think about what I might do if she did. "Uh... was I supposed to?" Deep down, I still thought maybe I was, whether she wanted me to or not.

She shrugged, then laughed too. "Wow, so... we're really doing this?"

"I guess," I said. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"I want to." My dick was still right in her face, so she gave it a lick, which made me feel guilty and self-conscious since I hadn't showered. If my sister was going to suck me off, shouldn't I at least be clean?

She didn't make any sign it bothered her, so I said, "I want to too."

"So you want to go into the freezer?" she suggested. "So we can have a bed?"

"A bed?" My voice squeaked as I spoke, like I was a pubescent kid, but once again she'd gone further, faster than I'd expected. I thought she was just referring to continuing the blow job, and she was already thinking about taking me to bed.

"Tell me you don't want it and we won't," she said. "But it feels like you do." She squeezed my cock with her real hand, her other moving down to the ground to steady herself. "And if we're both going to be joining the PiRats, we might as well find out what it's like..."

"You're not joining them..."

"Not unless I have to," she agreed, her voice cheerful, but her steely gaze leaving no doubt in my mind that she still wouldn't allow me to do it for her, alone. "So, what do you think?" She cocked her head towards the freezer, where our beds were, normally apart, but it looked like we would be putting them together..

It wasn't explicit, but I took the way she brought up the PiRats and then suggested going to bed as a hint. She wanted me to give her a reason not to join them, and words wouldn't be enough. I had to show her that she could do something for me other than be a burden. And I had to do it with my penis.

Or so I told myself. I didn't want to admit that I just wanted to fuck her, and that if she was willing to let me, I would even look past my worries that it would be bad for her in the long run. That's not completely true, either, of course, because the plain fact was that I just didn't know what was right. If I was sure it would hurt her, I knew I could, would put a stop to it. But I wasn't sure. Maybe I'd be helping her. Maybe it was what she needed to feel like she could be loved, attractive, even as she was. I may have been thinking with my dick, but my dick legitimately thought it might be the right call. It was ambiguous. And if you're not sure what the right call is, doesn't it just make sense to do what you want to?


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Anonymous 14/12/11(Thu)04:54 No. 22947 ID: 4c2b43

Your stories are much more than porn to me, never stop.


>>
Plug and Play, continued AnonyMPC 14/12/11(Thu)15:17 No. 22950 ID: a609fb

"Let's go." I offered her my hand, and she reached for it with her left, but then stopped herself, and used her new artificial hand to grab me and pull herself to her feet, and, with a sly little grin, led me to the room we normally slept in. Since my pants were already undone, and it seemed pretty clear we were headed for this anyway, I found myself kicking them off as we walked.

As romantic first-time spots, it probably left a lot to be desired. There wasn't much to the room, just our beds, the privacy curtain, a few paints along one wall when Mitsy had the idea of painting the wall nearest to her side, although she grew unsatisfied with her progress partway through and abandoned it. She never did tell me what it was going to be. There were blues and greens and purples blocked in, I think it was supposed to be a landscape scene. She actually was a good artist, or she used to be... she'd done some nice pieces with Sai and used to do wonders on photo-editing when we had access Shoopapps, but traditional media turned out to be outside her skillset, although maybe working with her left-hand was part of the problem.

But I wasn't there to play art critic, I didn't even think about the painting just then, nor was I thinking of romance. We practically fell onto our beds, my bed, actually, but the soft magic-foam cushioned our landing, and I lay lounging, staring at my sister, wondering how it was that I was seeing her in a whole new way. I loved her, but now, it seemed, we were about to become lovers, and every step along the way was awkward and full of second-guessing.

"Do you want to..." I started, and then trailed off. I was going to ask if she wanted to take her clothes off, but how do you ask that of your sister? I felt like I discovered a secret of the universe, the reason incest didn't happen more often wasn't because the people weren't attracted, it was that it was just too awkward to get started.

"Maybe we should..." she started, and she too couldn't finish whatever she was going to say.

I decided if I was going to feel and act like a nervous virgin, that maybe it would help to think back to my first time. Except I couldn't remember much about it... not the lines I used or the moves I made. My mind wasn't exactly clear at the time, it was a wild party, and although we filmed it, I cringed whenever I tried to watch it. What I do remember is that, as nervous and insecure as I felt, I did my best to act like it was no big deal, like sex was an everyday thing. Some of my friends, who did watch, told me I did okay on that front.

So I did the same here. I already had my pants off, so I just causally took off my shirt. My sister watched this, her gaze lingering on my chest like I was the one who had boobs. I took off my boxers next, while she continued to stare, although it's not like she saw anything that hadn't already been in her mouth.

Finally, my shoes and socks. Once I was completely naked, I waited... the ball was in her court. If she was going to chicken out, I'd be left pretty embarrassed and with blue balls, but maybe it'd be for the best... if she couldn't go through with it with me, she couldn't very well join the PiRats. I could pretend this night didn't happen for the sake of our relationship.

She reached for me... and then her hand moved past me and landed on the widget that controlled the room's lights. Instantly, the room darkened... not pitch black, there was a thin dribble of illumination that came from the lights being on their lowest setting, but until my eyes adjusted, it was pretty much the same thing, I couldn't see Mitsy, I could just feel the warmth of her body leaning over me.

"What..." I said.

"We should do it with the lights off..."

"Um..." Clearly I'm not at my most eloquent when I'm about to have sex.

"That way, you can imagine I'm whoever you want."

"I wouldn't..."

"It's okay," she said, cutting me off. "I don't mind. I know you don't feel how I do, and I'm okay with it, but at least... at least I'm helping you."

That broke my heart. I was actually okay with doing it with the lights off... I thought it might make it less awkward. But even though I couldn't see her face, I could hear the sadness in her voice, the certainty that I would be imagining somebody else. She bared her heart, told me she wanted me, but she never believed that I really wanted her, she thought that, at best, I wanted sex, and she could serve as a convenient hole.

I wasn't even entirely sure whether she was right or not... my own feelings were all still too new and confused. What I was sure of was that I still loved her as I always had, and I had a duty. I couldn't let my sister think she wasn't worthy of whoever she wanted, that she wasn't good enough in any way. I couldn't let her have her first time like mine was, as somebody's second or third or last choice. I had to convince her I wanted her, and nobody else.

I reached back and turned the lights on. "I want you. You." I repeated the word, making sure she looked me in the eyes, and trying to will her into believing me. Something in my head reminded me that actions spoke louder than words, and I found the confidence that I'd been lacking since we started heading down this path. I leaned in and, for the first time, except maybe when I was like seven, kissed her on the lips.

They were warm and twitched a little at my first contact, but soon she leaned in, and my mouth and hers seemed to open. Our tongues touched only tentatively, rather than a full-fledged making out, but it was sweet and tender and seemed to carry more feeling than any other real kiss I'd had. We broke, and I gazed into her eyes again.

"We don't have to do this," I reminded her once more. "But if we do, I want it to be with you, no pretending. And that means I want to see you."

I saw her swallow, whether out of nervousness or just a delayed reaction to the slight saliva exchange, I didn't know.

She was wearing these skin-tight black leggings, and a loose blouse that hid her shape (and was open enough that her original prosthetic arm never got snagged on anything and could be adjusted in a pinch. The leggings she liked because all she had to do was step into them and roll them up, or down, as necessary... easier to do with one hand. And this is where she started, rolling them down, with her left hand, her cyborg arm now lying limp like it was depowered... of course, it wasn't... the simple truth was that in a task that had become routine, in a context that was everything but, she'd forgotten she could use both hands. The fabric crinkled and bunched up, and as it came down, she tugged her underwear with it.

She didn't try to hide it when her pussy became visible... I guess we were past that point. It was beautiful. Or at least it felt that way, in the way these things do in the moment, even if there's no reason to find a pussy, or any other body part save, perhaps, a face especially beautiful. I'm sure most guys notice that they can, with a little imagination, make some random crease in their body look, if they squint, like a pussy, but I never found it beautiful. This was, even though it was just a crack in flesh, not even any visible inner pink or clitoris. My brief glimpses of her before had usually been too quick, or from a poor angle, and so while I had some awareness that she had pubic hair, it was the first time that I'd had a good look at it. There wasn't very much of it at all, and to my surprise, it was 'scaped... her natural color, black, but in a lightning bolt design starting an inch or so above the pussy. It was all short-length with well-defined borders. Otherwise, the whole area was smooth and bare, and I couldn't imagine my sister had an elaborate trimming regiment, so I assumed that this was now her natural state, a relic of the last styling she'd done with a stencil and some FollicleToggle cream. I knew she kept her legs and underarms bare, so I guess it wasn't that much of a shock that she'd managed everything else, but it was a surprise that she'd specifically designed a pubic hair shape, like she planned somebody to see it.

It had to have been done back when we lived in our old house, since that was the last time we had any of the cream. It's just one more luxury too expensive to indulge in once we began living poor... last time I got my hands on some, it was just to kill any facial growth potential... shaving every day was just one more hassle, no matter how much I used to like having various kinds of 'stashes.

I did like the way it looked, though. Normally I'm a fan of hairless girls, but something about the hair above her pussy aroused me, it was like it was a symbol that she really was old enough, it was okay to think of her in this way instead of as my little sister. And, it was just elegant, nothing anywhere I might put my tongue, not an overgrown tangle that obscured the view, just enough to make that point. My sister was a woman. Not just a woman, a woman who was... "Beautiful," I said.

She let out a breath of air that sounded skeptical. "You only gave it an eight."

It only took a second to realize what she meant. Most people in my neighborhood did it, shared proximity-limited photos of their dick, pussy, nipples, sometimes anonymously, sometimes identifying themselves, and asked to be rated. I must have, at some point, rated my sister without realizing it. "Eight's about as high as I go," I explained. Girls are more honest about their feelings (at least, I hope so, since my own average score was about 7.3, which I rounded up to 7 and a half, which I then felt justified in rounding up to 8), but too many guys rate 10 for everyone daring enough to show, which makes the whole thing sort of meaningless. My 'honest' scores don't make that much of a difference, but it's the principle of the thing. I've given a few nines, but most of the pretty-looking pussies scored an eight. "You showed?"

"Once. Anonymously."

"Yeah, I kind of figured." It wasn't Hopeless-Dreamer, who never showed me any part of herself, and it certainly wasn't under her name. It must have just been one of those purely anonymous pictures that crop up all the time, focused right on the genitals so nobody could say for sure who it was (of course, some people who'd done it like that had been named, if somebody else had seen identifying features in person, or could convince other people they had). Those anonymous pictures were too common and, after the first few, not very exciting. I still looked, of course, because... why the hell wouldn't I? But usually just long enough to give a rating and move on. This time, it was exciting, and I stared hungrily, taking in every subtle curve and shade and variation on the skin. "It's beautiful. You're beautiful." She shrugged. "Let me see the rest?"

Her eyes darted away, to her own feet. "I'd rather not."

"I didn't give them a low score, did I? I swear, half the times I barely give those rating things a second look."

She shook her head. "No, I never showed them..."

"Why not?"

Another shrug. "Why would I show off my worst feature?" Now she looked at her arm... not her new hand, but the stump it was attached to. "What used to be my worst feature, anyway."

I didn't say it, but I thought her worst feature was her lack of confidence, her tendency to give up. Yeah, the arm thing was a bit disturbing, but there was nothing wrong, in my book, with small boobs. I didn't want her to be self-conscious of them... of anything, really, tonight. If she got self-conscious about one thing, she might get self-conscious about what was happening, and I was too swept up to want to stop. "Mitsy, this is me. There's no part of your body I'm going to find ugly." She had a look on her face, like she could think of one. "Do you trust me?" After a second, she nodded. "It's just you and me here. I don't have eyescreens. There's no cameras anywhere. I can't post this anywhere online, not that I would. And if you trust me, you know I'm certainly not going to make fun of you. I just want to see you... all of you.

She very slowly pulled her top off, using her cyberhand, and then moved her arms behind her back, letting me see, or trying to thrust what she had as prominently as possible. But that didn't change what I'd already seen from fleeting glimpses over the years... she didn't have much, almost completely flat, with just a hint of a shadow between her breasts and underneath them. But I wasn't lying, either, it didn't matter to me. And the nipples were perfect, lightly colored with a round nub I just wanted to take into my mouth. "See," I said. "They're perfect." I leaned forward, and soon we were kissing again, making out, her arms around me, and when they released me, I slid down, kissing down her neck and to her breasts, right on the nipples. Her breasts might not look big, but they had a pleasant softness and more than enough give to make me not care about the size. "There's no part of you that's not beautiful."

She kissed me on the forehead, then said, "It's sweet of you to lie."

I couldn't help but sigh. "Stop saying that..." I said. What a way to ruin the mood of your sister wanting to fuck.

"I'm sorry, it's just... I know the truth, Kane. I mean, look at this..." She held out her arm towards me, artificial hand up. "It's okay to admit it's not pretty. I mean, I'm... I'm mutilated." She breathed out, heavily. "That's why I thought we should leave the lights off."

She reached towards the light to make that happen, but I grabbed her by the wrist. "I said I wanted to see you," I reminded her, and then looked down at the point where stump and metal met. "Do me a favor... take it off for a second?"

"Why?"

"Just... do it?"

She held the arm by the wrist, and said, "I'm not sure I know...." but then before she could finish, it pulled away. She handed it to me, and I set it beside us, then slid my fingers along her newly-shortened arm until it lifted up, stump pointed towards me. I'd always avoided it before, partly from disgust, partly from some insane worry that I'd be hurting. No matter how much I understood that it was healed, in my gut it felt like an injury, and injuries hurt when prodded. This time, I didn't. I placed my lips upon it, not the actual stump, but the edge of it and the part that was the side of her natural arm, now slightly red and creased from the connection to the cyberhand. I kissed, and then slid my lips around, down the unnatural curve, and kissed again. She shuddered, just a little.

Then she jerked it away, kept her gaze downcast. "I don't buy it, KK, that doesn't turn you on."

"I'm not saying it does," I told her, and waited for her to look at me. "I'm saying it's not ugly. I'm saying I'm not turned off. If you wanted to... make love, like this, that's fine. It doesn't bother me. I accept it... I accept you, because I love you. All of you, flaws and all. This..." I ran my hand over the stump. "This doesn't make you not beautiful, okay? Beauty's not all on the outside, and one flaw can't ruin it." The thought went through my mind again that this was a repairable flaw, given enough money. In some ways, it already was repaired, now. I looked down at the metal arm, and had a sudden flash of memory, of my grandfather pouring tea into an old, once-cracked bowl.

I picked up the detached limb, and held it up towards her, and as she made the connection to reattach it and make herself whole once more, I thought about exactly how to word the idea that had seemed like the perfect metaphor. "You remember grandfather's tea bowl?" Her brow furrowed at the sudden change in topic. "It was... shit, what was the term for it... Kint... Kint something. You remember, where the cracks were filled in with gold?" The bowl was dark and the repairs stood out, like they were golden veins. I hadn't seen the bowl since he died... I guess his last girlfriend inherited it.

"Kintsugi," she said, as the limb sprung into life once more and no longer needed to be supported by me.

"You remember you asked why it looked like that?" She must have been ten or eleven. Years earlier, I'd asked him a similar question, although mine was more "why don't you throw this out and get another one?" and I got cut out of his access for the rest of the visit to teach me respect. As much as I sulked at the time, I guess it worked, because what he said stuck with me. "He said that just because something is a little broken, it doesn't mean it's useless, that with a little work even the flaws can make it more beautiful." I was paraphrasing... I didn't even remember the exact words, just the concept. "That's you, now. So don't argue when I tell you you're beautiful, okay?"

I didn't think she entirely bought it, but at least it made her think, she looked at the metal used to replace her own broken body, flexed the fingers, and said, "It's not exactly gold." But her tone wasn't argumentative, she wasn't disagreeing with my point, it was more like a humorous nitpicking for the sake of nitpicking.

So I responded in the same way. "We'll paint it, if it makes you feel better." Fuck, it might even look good. At least, the metal part... I'm not sure paint would be good on the touchy-feely parts. "So can we keep the lights on?"

She shrugged and said, "If you want."

But we didn't make any moves... even though she was still nude in front of me, it felt like our moment was gone. I don't know if it was because we're related, or just because we've known each other so long without much sexual tension, but every interruption we had seemed to kill any momentum we'd bought up, made it no longer natural to move to the next step. If we wanted to continue, and on some level both of us still did, we had to move slowly again.


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Plug and Play, continued AnonyMPC 14/12/11(Thu)19:09 No. 22951 ID: a609fb

"Music?" I suggested, looking for something to distract from the obvious awkwardness, and without waiting for her reply, I reached for the nearest music box and called a random song up. Kerry Eurodyne's Animal Style. I couldn't have picked a better one if I had a context app. The song itself was one of those that tries to be coy about the sex, pretending to be a commercial jingle to some kind of extinct burger joint (from his album Sellout), but of course it was really just an excuse to have a video full of girls writhing on tabletops, on all fours while Eurodyne grinded against them, and clothes gradually started coming off. In my neighborhood, there was a tradition of adapting it for school dances, getting as wild as you could without the chaperoneware catching it. And outside of dances, people often recreated it for fun with no boundaries but what they set for themselves. And horny teens don't set many boundaries.

Mitsy must have been thinking along the same lines, because she began bobbing her shoulders in time to the music, and gave me a sultry grin. "I like this song."

"Yeah?" I asked. "Can you do the dance that goes along with it?"

She raised one eyebrow, and then smirked, and turned away from me, braced her hands on the mattress, and got on her knees, aiming herself so that her butt was aimed right at my face. Though I'd never tell her this, her butt was actually less attractive to me than her breasts, a little flat and bony, and although mostly clean, subtly darker inside the crack than I expected in a way that made it slightly unappealing. Objectively it was less attractive than many of the other girls I've had but, even so... it's not a thing a guy's going to be that picky about, especially when it's bobbing alluringly at you, and you can see her sweet pussy regularly coming into view with her undulations. That got me hard again. "You know..." she said, looking over her shoulder at me. "It's not a one person dance..."

Of course, I couldn't actually do the dance from the video directly, since she wasn't on a table, but I could improvise by staying on my knees, and I shuffled behind her, pushing my groin into her. I didn't penetrate her, not yet, it still seemed too early, though a part of me wanted to more than anything in the world, just to get it over with and eliminate any chance that she could back out. But I savored the movement, my dick rubbing up against her, sometimes slipping between her legs or the up the crack of her ass.

We hit the bumper part of the song, where, to follow the dance exactly, I should have pulled her hair back hard while bumping her back and forth (and technically I should just be wearing underwear at this point, so that would be the only thing keeping it from being outright fucking). I did grab her hair, but very gently, and bumped slowly, and then on one bump I realized my dick slipped right between the lips of her pussy... not going inside, just spreading them a moment and then sliding away, and I heard a little groan from my sister (I don't think there was one from the song).

The 'In-and-Out' section was coming up next, and I let go of her and slowed, then, finding it hard to resist anymore, I grabbed my dick and slid it deliberately on her pussy, feeling the wetness and requiring just a little pressure to go inside... a little too much, though, to do it easily.

She was tight... very tight, tighter than the pussy of any girl I'd been with, not quite as tight as an willing asshole, but close, and, even though it was almost certainly overly paranoid, I became gripped with the idea that I might hurt her if I just plunged right in. Like with anal, I needed to go slow and get her ready for it, although the precum on my dick was mixing with her own wetness and providing a lot of lube. I probably could have pushed right in, if I tried.

But I didn't want to hurt her, especially if this was her first time, which I wasn't completely sure of but I thought might be the case. I needed to make sure she was loose... and short of physically stretching her out, the best way I knew to do that was to make her really, really relaxed. I pulled away, put my hand on her butt and guided her into a turn.

"What? Is something wrong?" she asked, suddenly sounding worried.

"No. I just want to make sure we do this right," I told her. "Turn over."

"You don't want to do it 'Animal Style'?" But she did comply, and swung her legs around so they pointed in my direction.

"Let's take things a little slower." I leaned into her, and then whispered, "Lie back..." She did, but rested on her elbows, watching what I was about to do, maybe a little unsure of her ability to make the right moves without seeing my approach.

But I didn't need her to make any moves, I just needed her to be open and accessible and not be fighting me as I lowered myself down to her, almost lying down myself but face down, and with my face at her breasts, and descending, like I was just continuing the trail of kisses that I'd aborted a couple minutes earlier, and now going further down, past her belly.

I stopped, momentarily, as I had to hop over the pubic hair, then took one look at the beautiful, inviting tight little pussy my sister had. It looked good before, but now, better than ever, it had taken on a flushed look, and the lips were slightly parted, revealing the clit and even a round oval within the lips marking her hole. That, along with her evident wetness, proved that she was turned on, something I always loved in a girl. I gave her a kiss, first, and then thrust out my tongue to take a long lick at what looked like a delicious feast.

I was wrong. It didn't turn out to be very delicious at all.

I normally enjoy eating girls out, but most of the girls I've done it on used some kind of TastyPeach products, so that it tastes and smells fruity. But of course, neither of us had access to those kinds of supplements. When I ate Stephanie out, she tasted a little like the bubble gum flavor, but like she hadn't taken a dose in a while and it was starting to wear off and taste more natural, so I'm not even sure if PiRats have access to them regularly, but it wasn't the kind of thing we'd ever asked about.

With Mitsuko, there wasn't even a faint, lingering flavor... she tasted... sweaty, mostly, with a sort of sour flavor. I couldn't call it pleasant, but at the same time, I was surprised at how little it bothered me. Once I got over the first moment of disappointment, it didn't really play a role, the taste was overwhelmed by the sound of her whimpers of pleasure, the sublime sensation of the flesh of her mound giving way to my mouth, the gentle motion of her body as she undulated in time with me, and, eventually, the feel of a hand on my head directing me not to stop.

When she did that, I brought my finger into play, inserting it and sawing in and out as I licked around the edges, up towards her clit, and her moans became shorter and higher pitched, her body starting to twitch with every flick of my tongue. Finally, she started twitching even when I wasn't licking, and her butt, too, lifting off the mattress, and I put my face in and gave her a long French kiss, rubbing her clit with my nose, and she sucked in her breath and held my head tight to her, until she finally let go and exhaled in a deep sigh.

I licked around her mound, not directly on the clit, because some girls get super sensitive right after an orgasm, until her near-hyperventilating slowed to a more normal, although still somewhat excited, pace, and then looked up at her. She had a goofy, dreamy smile on her face, like she'd just gotten high, which I guess, in some ways, isn't so off the mark.

By this time, the music had shuffled twice, and was now playing some purely instrumental piece I couldn't name, but it swelled dramatically, like it was in the moment of some cheesy romantic netflix where two characters profess their love to each other, and Mitsy and I locked eyes, and she said, "I want you inside me."

I smiled. Most of the other girls I'd been with would just be like, "Fuck me, now." But not my sister. Mitsy's always been real classy.

And eating her out, feeling her orgasm beneath me, that kept me rock hard despite the taste, so I was ready to give it to her. I pulled myself up into a kneeling state, and then pulled her closer, so that once again my cock was brushing up against the lips of her pussy, though this time from another angle. It still felt tight as I pressed against the hole, but there seemed to be more give, more lube, and most of all, more urgency... I'd been hard too long to hold back now, especially when she'd just asked me to go inside her. So I pressed forward, feeling her surround me slowly, a tight, comforting squeeze all the way through but no real resistance. It was only when I was all the way in, and my balls pressed against her, that I heard a little grunt, like maybe that was all she thought she could take, or maybe she was disappointed at the realization there wasn't more. I thought it was the first one, though, enjoying the thought that we were perfect for each other, and briefly wondering if there was some genetic factor at play, that because we were related, we were perfectly matched in the genital area, that this was the reason incest was such a taboo... because if people found out about this secret, everybody would be fucking near relatives. Then it occurred to me that I couldn't have been the first one to think that, there was a line in one of Erin Zula's songs about "fitting together like hand in glove."

Of course, it could have just been coincidence we were perfectly matched, but either way it felt incredible being inside her, my heart was racing and my dick was jerking, crying out for motion. I stared down at my sister, who was still looking up at me with what seemed to be unreserved love, and I leaned forward, so my body would be closer to hers, on top of hers. She responded by lifting her legs and wrapping them behind herself. Her flesh hand went up to my chest, stroking down from my pecs with gentleness. The other she held behind her head, and her hair almost completely obscured it, like maybe she was hiding it.

I braced myself on my own hands, on either side of Mitsy's body, and, now that I was in a position with some leverage, began thrusting in and out, slow at first but picking up the pace, trying to keep my mind on random shit so that I could make it last, wanting her to cum again, although knowing I was getting pretty close myself.

As I continued, I noticed I found my upper body sinking into her, more and more, not so much that my arms were getting tired as that I was getting tired of this artificial distance, one I had started with but was now growing intolerable, I just wanted to press my body against hers.

I wasn't the only one, apparently. As soon as faces got close enough, Mitsy lifted her head and began kissing me, and I kissed back. I was still thrusting (although now it was more of a rocking motion), and it was a spontaneous attempt, and so it turned out being incredibly sloppy, at first, more lips on cheek with tongue trailing, although we did lock lips and wrestle tongues for a few second before it began to overwhelm me. I fell almost completely against her then, though with our head on each other's shoulder, and she held me tight with one arm, moaning, getting close to that pitch of sounds she made while I was licking her, and then she turned her head ever-so-slightly and nibbled on my ear, and I lost it... my cock went into overload mode, building up pressure and about to blow. I grunted, a long, undulating sound, one that surprised even me, but didn't warn her in any way other than that. It wasn't like either of us were fertile, thanks to implants Mom insisted on when we each hit puberty, and it was so much more fun to cum inside a girl, so that's just what I did, my self-awareness quickly shrunk into nothing but a feeling of intense pleasure and well-being and the physical sensation of shooting out a geyser of cum. I even held my breath until I did, then gasped for air when I couldn't take it anymore.

It was done. I'd just fucked my own sister. There was no going back from that.


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Plug and Play, continued AnonyMPC 14/12/11(Thu)20:47 No. 22952 ID: a609fb

"Wow," she said, wiping her forehead after I rolled off her. "That was... nothing like I thought it would be."

"In a good way, or bad way?" I asked, the shame of what I'd just done starting to build, now that I was no longer outrageously horny and the bliss of ejaculation had worn off.

"Good way. Very good. I kind of want to go again..." She said it just like that, like it was a ride at some kind of thrillpark.

Even through my worries, I couldn't help but smile at the image, remembering a trip we took years ago, Mom designating me to take Mitsy on the rides while she went to some adult club, and Mitsy always saying, "KK, let's go again!" after a particularly fun ride. "We can do that..." I said, as I usually said then, too. I just needed a minute or two, and we'd have to take it a little slower. But I was worried that maybe now that it was done, the guilt was starting to set in for her, too. "But... you feel... okay, though?"

"I feel... hungry. Very hungry. Is that weird? I mean, we just ate." I was about to tell her it wasn't weird, but she was talking very fast and went on, "Too bad all we have left is gruel."

A pop-up window went up in my head. "Wait here. One sec." I got up and sort of crouch-ran to the door, slipped out, and tried to remember where I'd left the Scarffen bar. I knew it was in my jacket, but I couldn't remember exactly where I dropped it after I came home. It only took a few seconds, though, before I spotted it slumped on the ground, and retrieved the prize.

I returned to our room holding it behind my back. Mitsy was sitting up on the mattress, an expectant look on her face. "Ta-da!" I said, and revealed my last surprise.

Her eyes widened. "Holy shit..." she said. "A Scarffen Bar? I'm dreaming, aren't I? This is all just one big mindfuck, isn't it?"

I could see her point. A great meal, an arm, sex, and now chocolate? But it wasn't. You just know, you know? Even though, when you're dreaming you usually believe it's real, the moment you question it, you're not sure... but when you're not dreaming, you know it in a way that transcends any doubt. "Maybe we're finally getting our run of luck." I plopped down on the mattress beside her, and handed her the chocolate.

She tore through the wrapper, smelled it, waited a moment, snapped off a square of it and popped it in her mouth. I could see her rolling it around on her tongue, savoring it, letting it melt naturally, rather than chewing and swallowing like I would have, and it warmed my heart. She held it out to me. "Try some." I shook my head. "Try some," she said again, more forcefully. "I'm not eating this whole thing."

I was ready to accept on the second offer, but she didn't give me a chance, she shoved it right towards my mouth, like she was force-feeding me, and I opened it at the last second and took a bite. Man, it had been a while, but that shit is good. Sweet, with just a shadow of bitterness, smooth and rich. The reason I typically chew and swallow quickly is because I get the sensation if I don't that it'll just drip all over my mouth and evaporate there, a thought which has some appeal but then I won't get to swallow it and get the sugar high.

After that, I tried to beg off, but she still wouldn't have any of it, and I gave in... it was too good to not eat. We took turns, each breaking off a square and eating it. Even though she's right handed, she still broke off the pieces in her left hand, using her artificial one to hold the wrapper. It was probably just because, these past few months, she had gotten used to finer manipulation with her left hand, but it turned out for the best, because, by the time we were done the bar, the fingers on our eating hands were brown and sticky.

I must have scratched my nose with that hand without thinking, because she snorted, and told me I had chocolate on my face. So I touched her with my chocolate fingers. I aimed for her shoulder, but she leaned backwards and I got her chest, a dark smudge just above her nipple. She tossed the empty wrapper aside and lunged at my face, and I grabbed her by the hips and rolled, surprising her, but she still got my chin. Then, to my surprise, she licked me, on the chin and nose, and I grinned, remembering where I'd got her. "So is that how we're going to get clean?" I asked.

She made a 'I don't know'-type noise, then said, "Shame to waste good chocolate."

I agreed, and when she pulled away, I said, "Well, you've got some on your lip." Instead of licking, I kissed... there wasn't much there, it was mostly an excuse. "And some here..." I touched her boob again, though no longer was I leaving very much chocolate, at least nothing visible, but I kissed there, and licked where I left the more significant deposit.

Pretty soon we were both pretty well clean of the chocolate (I even sucked her fingers clean), but I was hard again and my sister was ready to go, emboldened either by the chocolate or the fact that we'd already done it once and the awkwardness barrier was broken. She wasn't lying when she said she wanted more, and I was ready to oblige her... although this time, she took charge, crawling over me as we kissed, clearly wanting to be on top. I was okay with that, it being one of my favorite positions.

This time, we lasted longer, much longer, and I did have a moment of doubt, where I saw her on top of me, looking into my eyes, and a part of me reminded me this was my sister, and I guess I wilted, just a bit, but she leaned in close and kissed me, then drew back and ground against my pelvis and, well, how can you stand up against that? And there was another moment that stood out more... when I thought back on the night later, I wasn't sure if it was before or after, but right now I'm pretty sure it was after. I looked up from where her pussy connected to my cock, towards the rest of her body, and noticed, really noticed, rather than putting it out of my mind as I did most of the time, the artificial arm, how that made her unsymmetrical, and yet, at that moment, I truly did find it MORE beautiful for that. Maybe it was because right then she wasn't insecure about it, hiding it, subtly keeping the arm behind her body as she had at other times, and instead she was rubbing the flesh above her clit like there was nothing strange about it, because it was a part of her and she didn't seem ashamed. Or maybe my mind had just truly latched onto the Kintsugi idea, not just as an excuse to make her feel better, but as a real truth in itself, that all the tragedy she'd endured and yet she was there, living out her most impossible dream, made her all the more beautiful. Now, no longer in the moment of intercourse, honestly, I still wish she had two natural arms, the flesh certainly appeals to me more than metal and plastic, but I still see the beauty in the repair work, and would have no complaints if she was a cyborg forever, as long as she was happy.

She seemed happy then, with me inside her, filling in one more crack. In fact, she had an orgasm shortly after that moment of revelation, the first she'd had while we were actually having sex. More than perhaps any other impossible moment of that night, surviving the Rippers, finding the arm... that felt like a true miracle, like we'd done something impossible. Something magic. Two poor orphans in a crumbling building in a slums, doing something most of the world still considered an abomination, had somehow created a moment of such pure beauty that was more perfect than anything else in the world. I wanted it to last forever, but of course, it couldn't. I could feel her clench on me, her pelvic muscles spasming as she gasped for breath, although again, she was nearly silent in the moment. I like hearing a girl moan, but watching them struggle not to is almost as exciting... if I hadn't just blown a load, I probably would have cum then too, and as it was, I had to sort of blank my mind to keep from going down that road. I wanted to last long enough to give her another on top of that.

I didn't, though. Once she rode out the orgasm, she gave me a dreamy smile and then leaned forward to kiss again and the lack of movement helped me wait out the sensation that I was close to cumming. But once we began slowly rocking together and that picked up into her bouncing on me again, I couldn't hold out for more than a couple minutes, and Mitsy wasn't anywhere near a third orgasm. But I let loose and held her tight as I shot off inside her once more.

After I came, I was pretty well wiped out. "Sorry," I said through deep breaths, although she wasn't exactly aware of my intention or that I failed at it, it was what came out.

"For what?" I was still inside her, but wilting, and she could sense that, for she'd stopped moving as well.

I shrugged. "I just wanted to go longer."

"This isn't the kind of thing you normally go all night, is it?" she asked. "Because I'm up for that, but... I do have school tomorrow."

I grinned. "Good point. Maybe we should get some sleep. It has been a pretty long day."

Her face was unreadable for a moment, and especially so once she looked away a second later, but she said, "Okay," and climbed off me, lay down facing away, then turned back, slowly snuggled in close, and, after a few seconds, leaned up to kiss me. I returned it, but it was brief, a little hesitant, on both sides, I thought, and then she turned and reached for the light, and lay beside me. A few minutes later, she got up to pee, which reminded me that I needed to as well, and I did so after her, and then we returned to bed together.


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Plug and Play, continued AnonyMPC 14/12/12(Fri)01:49 No. 22953 ID: a609fb

But I couldn't sleep, even twenty minutes later. Normally I found it hard to stay awake after really good sex, but this time, I was starting to get worried again. This was my sister, and we'd just had some spectacular sex, and redefined our relationship in ways I couldn't even guess at. I could tell my sister wasn't sleeping either, just by the way she was breathing... she was trying, but it hadn't actually taken hold. If she was anything like me, I knew the questions that would be rolling around in her head too, and until we answered them, at least a little, neither of us would be able to nod off peacefully. So, after about twenty minutes of lying in the dark together, I thought I'd open the discussion. "Mitsy?"

She didn't answer for about ten seconds, and I thought maybe I was wrong, she actually was asleep, but she said, "Yeah?"

"So where are we, now...?"

"Wow, I was that good, huh?" she joked. "That you got amnesia?"

"No... I mean... what just happened..." I felt her body tense against me, took it as a sign to proceed with caution. "I mean, I loved it, but... where does this put... us?"

"Where do you want it to put us?" I didn't answer right away, and she spoke quickly, defensively. "It can just be something we do," she said. "Until you find somebody else." Until I find somebody else, not until we each find somebody else. "Or we could just embrace the PiRat life..." Join the same crew, and keep fucking each other, along with everybody else.

"I don't want to join them," I said. "I don't want you to, either."

"It's that," she pointed out, "or we leave, or we give up my new arm. We can do that... we can just go back... to how things were, yesterday. Pretend today never happened. If you want, KK."

I was a little unsure of myself and my feelings, but at least I knew that I didn't want that. I wanted it all. To keep this new sexual twist to our relationship, for her to keep her arm, to stay here, or move somewhere better, while not being forced to behave like PiRats. All of it at once seem impossible, but after tonight, I was ready to try for the impossible. But more important than anything was not crushing Mitsy's heart. She said... or at least implied she was in love with me. My own feelings, well, they were a confused tangle, as curiosity and desire and responsibility and protectiveness wound the strings of my heart in every direction, but I was willing to explore them, put them aside, even, for the moment. And she didn't sound to me like she wanted to go back. "How could I want that?" I said, and kissed her on her forehead. She relaxed, instantly, telling me I was correct, that her suggestion was something she was worried I might choose, something she was preparing herself to accept. "We're together now."

"Really?"

"If you'll have me."

She shuddered against me, and I felt tears on my body... she was crying. "Of course," she said, with no trace of sadness. "If I've got you, I don't need anything else."

"We're keeping the arm, too." I'd just, I hoped, gotten her on the road to accepting it, and by extension her injury, as not being an ugly reminder, but as part of her. Not far along the road, maybe, and probably I was a little full of myself and too self-congratulatory, but I didn't want to undo any of the progress I'd made.

"Don't be crazy."

That was crazy? Not having sex with your sibling, or wanting it for who knew how long? "I'm not being crazy. This... helps you, and it's a symbol of our new life. So I'm not going to give it up without a fight. We're going to try to have it all. I think life still owes us one, don't you?"

"I think it owes us a couple dozen. But if the PiRats find out..."

"They won't," I promised. "We'll hide it. Maybe you wear it only at home, at first, and in the meantime, I'll focus on getting us out of here. We'll go somewhere else, somewhere nobody knows us, and we won't have to hide the arm, maybe even somewhere we won't have to hide... us."

"Us?"

"Well, the world won't accept us together, probably." It was one of the things that my mind had gone over and over again as it tried to untangle the knot of my feelings. The worry that other people would think it was wrong, and never allow it to continue, might even force us apart, that seemed more intense, more real and certain, than my own feelings that it might be inherently harmful. "But there are ways around that. We could save up and buy a forged identity for one or both of us."

Her body shifted against me, and it felt like she was snuggling closer. "Maybe we could sneak off to China," she suggested. "Land of opportunity, a couple new immigrants, nobody would know us... we could pretend we were a married couple."

"Yeah, maybe," I lied... not just because I doubted we'd ever go as far as even a pretend marriage, which still seemed like a crazy, scary thought. But also because I still thought China itself was impossible. Crossing a border like China's hard, they'd do a battery of genetic tests and would not only turn up our sibling relationship but also our Japanese heritage. And I hear China's databases are more secure... the Googlepocalypse never hit them so bad. I think it comes from reaching the information age in a totalitarian regime, you learn how to centralize and control everything. Here, conflicting records are a fact of life that people are used to, and if you're good, you can invent new facts out of those disagreements... but in China, inconsistent data is an anomaly to be stamped out. But I figured, why trouble her with those details? China might make a nice goal for her to focus on while I figured out other, more realistic, arrangements.

"Okay... if you think we can hide the arm, we'll try that. Just remember, if we have to, I can give the arm up. I don't care about that, as long as you're mine," she said. "Here, there, where-ever... I'm happy."

"Me too," I told her, and we kissed again, which turned into more, but they remained soft, tender, and didn't escalate... we were too tired as it was, and, this big issue, of us worrying what each other really wanted, settled, soon we fell asleep in each other arms. It wasn't until the next day we had sex again, in the shower before school. The day had seemed to arrive far too early, but that shower certainly helped. I had a smile on my face all the way to the docks.


That walk was one I'd taken on almost every day, but now it was all different, and those differences would continue, blossom, in the coming days. My whole life had changed, in more ways than I could count. It seemed like I had hope again. I wasn't just trying to keep me and Mitsy alive out of duty or habit, I had my own reason to want to live. I'd always loved her, but the absolute truth was, sometimes she felt like a burden, especially emotionally... now, it was like we really were in it together, and just knowing she was there lifted me up. Love, romantic love, may not have started immediately, for a while I was just sort of playing along because I didn't want to crush her, and of course enjoying the sex... but love can sneak up on you, and I guess it did for me, because I may not have ever acknowledged it before, not even in my own head, but now, I can say that I do love her that way. I can't exactly lie about it now, not even to myself.

Even before I could admit it, I found myself thinking of that first night a lot... not just the sex, but the moment I started my story with. The shooting star. It felt like I'd found the true magic of shooting stars, that they didn't give you what you wished for, not exactly, but maybe they gave you what you really needed. Every time I thought that, I chided myself for being foolish, but I did it with a goofy smile on my face nonetheless. Because I believed in magic again... not literal wands and fairies and wishes, but the kind of everyday magic that makes life worth living.

I may not believe in literal magic, but I do believe in irony. Mostly as something that comes and bites you in the ass. Because it was a night of crime and gunfire and violence that introduced this miracle into my life, and it was a day of public service and a gift of music that threatened to tear it all down.


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Plug and Play, continued AnonyMPC 14/12/12(Fri)05:17 No. 22955 ID: a609fb

I couldn't really work towards my eventual goal of moving us out of PiRat territory right away, but that didn't mean I wasn't busy. Paying work was still pretty slim, but now, while Mitsy was at school, instead of killing time or going into the rest of the city looking for things to steal, I'd been volunteering at various PiRat projects. It wasn't actually civic-mindedness... I thought that we really needed to fight off the label of 'leech', especially if we were going to be keeping the arm a secret. Maybe, if I made myself useful, they might be more forgiving if we ever got caught. I hoped I could figure out one big score or some kind of permanent job, one that could set us up in a better place, and in the meantime, I worked for the benefit of the PiRats.

I tried out various things, depending on what they needed on any given days. I was on the MOOP-squad a few times (where I learned that the same autocab that delivered the arm was later poached by pirates and torn into parts). I drove around the bookmobile, delivering old-fashioned physical books on paper to people, mostly non-PiRats, who requested something to read that the PiRats then printed off. I spent some time changing water filters and adding solar panels to buildings or helping with maintenance of pirate nodes or other infrastructure. I worked on the gruel production line. I was planning to say I grew to like the work, but that's not true, so I can't. Work's never fun... the one place I actually did like working, a little, was in one of the big gardens, but when I trampled some plants I was asked not to return, even though I'm sure the green stuff survived. Oh, and when I was sent to take some stuff to the rail cannon and I got to watch them take out a surveillance balloon, that was pretty cool, even though you couldn't actually see anything since it was so high up and the projectiles were so small. Everything else, it was just work, work I wasn't getting paid for, work that sometimes left me exhausted... but I could tolerate it, more than I otherwise would have been able to. I didn't enjoy the work, but I did like the feeling that I was helping out, and some of the people I worked with were cool, and I felt like I was starting to make friends. And I had somebody waiting for me at home, so my social life was better than it had been for a while.

On the day we were caught, though, I was back on the MOOP squad, cleaning the streets and sorting the trash for input as feed stock, and later transitioned to helping do the same with material brought in by PiRats from the outside, which included some big metal pieces, not only heavy, but awkward to carry, forcing me to use different muscles than usual. And, toner being so expensive, I hadn't kept up with treatments ever since Mom died. My muscles may not have been flabby, but they were all getting weaker, especially the ones I didn't use much.

By the late afternoon I wasn't only tired, but sore, and what with it being a half-day at school, I had no time to relax and unwind and maybe track somebody down with a low-grade painkiller (the harder stuff was in short supply since the Juggalo bust, but I knew some people who had mild pills like aspirin). I had to pick Mitsy up. I guess I didn't have to, but I wanted to, I liked seeing that restrained smile when she got off the boat, like she wanted to run up and kiss me but couldn't, because people were watching.

On the walk home, she noticed my limp, and I explained my soreness. She ran her left arm up along my back, gently, while saying, "Aww..." and then leaned in close and, in a quiet voice, suggested a massage. That sounded pretty good to me, especially if it turned into an erotic massage. We didn't need much excuse to get sexual anymore, but excuses can sometimes be fun nonetheless. She could rub my body all over, and then I could rub hers, and then we could rub together. In a similarly low voice, I suggested this possibility, and she giggled and bumped her hip against me and I laughed, and suddenly I wasn't as sore anymore. That didn't mean I wasn't still interested in a massage, though.

Once we were safe in the privacy of our own home, in the freezer that we used as a bedroom, we kissed for a minute or so, giggling, and then she told me to lie down and take my shirt off. While I did, Mitsy took off the inferior arm she wore to school, and changed it for the deluxe model. With it attached, her hand instantly came alive. We'd gotten over any awkwardness around the hand, and she was getting used to it, even if we had to keep it secret. She was even getting into the habit of reaching for things with that hand rather than her left.

Lying on my stomach was another of those situations where I actually couldn't easily tell any difference between the two hands. The hard parts rarely touched my back, and although there was a slight temperature difference, it wasn't striking, and even though the artificial arm might possibly have been able to crush steel, the force was fully under her control, squeezing just hard enough to knead tired muscles. My sister's massages felt incredible, a mix of pleasure and a little bit of pain as the tension finally gets released.

I had my head turned to one side, and I was looking right at the pile of stuff that my sister used to hide the arm when we weren't there, now moved into our bedroom for extra security. PiRats don't exactly have a healthy respect for property or boundaries, so we agreed to hide it in a pile of clothes and other assorted items, itself hid in the most private room in the place, in case somebody got nosey and went looking for something to steal.

It was also the strategy we employed with Mitsy's violin, which not only had sentimental value but also had some monetary value, since it was made of real wood. The arm was far more valuable, so she hid it underneath the violin, but now, after she retrieved the arm, the violin was left out, right in my sight.

I didn't say anything then, but that planted the seed in my mind for my later mistake. I began to think about when she played music, how good she was and how proud she was of having a talent that people enjoyed, how excited she was that she was chosen to be part of a LongSong (I think the one she contributed to is still going on, now at something like three and a half years of continuous music). I began to think about her dreams, dreams she used to think she had a chance at, and how now both of our futures seemed to have shrunk, so the only dream we had was to be together.

I wanted her to have a dream again, to believe in one again, one outside of me.

At that moment she started kissing my back, and asked if there was a muscle up front that was stiff and needed a little attention, and pretty much every other thought ran out of my head. I turned over, and she stroked that particular stiff muscle as we kissed, and she climbed over me so I could enter her, on top again but this time I was more in a seated position so after she slid down on me we continued to make out, leading to a much closer and more intimate connection as we slowly rocked together and I kissed her neck. But eventually I wanted to be a little more active, so I nudged her off me and she rolled onto her hands and knees and I took her from behind, thrusting into her doggy style and feeling that rising energy until finally all it felt like all the tension of the day had exploded at once, inside of her, as she moaned her own cry of pleasure.

Afterwards, we lay together for a while, but she grew concerned that she was getting smelly from all the sweat we'd worked up, and wanted to take a shower. I went with her, supposedly to save water, but we started fooling around in the shower, too, probably spending more time than the two of us taking a separate one, although we didn't have outright sex and I didn't actually cum. I wanted to save something for bed.

It was only a little later in the night, after we ate some gruel and were listening to music while Mitsy did some studying, on an old fashioned book borrowed from school, that I looked over at the violin again, and those thoughts that had vanished when sex came into the picture started coming up again.

I waited though, until she was done her reading, and then a short time later I moved over to the pile of stuff as though I was just going look for something, and "noticed" the violin case. I picked it up, looked at Mitsy. "Hey, have you given this a go?" I asked, knowing she hadn't. She looked at it like it might bite her. "Why not?"

My sister shrugged, and said, "I don't know."

I thought maybe I'd made a mistake bringing it up. "Sorry, I just thought you'd want to... you used to love playing." She didn't say anything. "And I used to love hearing you."

"I guess I'm just afraid," she said after a moment. "What if I'm not any good?"

"You'll never know unless you try," I pointed out. "But I know you're good. And if your new arm messes up your timing or coordination or whatever... that doesn't mean you're not good, it just means that your arm isn't as good as we thought." I gave her a second, but she didn't seem to say anything, so I added, "You don't have to, but I would love to hear you play again sometime."

Finally, her lips curled up into a smile. "Okay... for you. Except... what do I play? I can't see any music," she said, waving her hand in the direction of her eyes to emphasize the lack of any eyescreens.

"Do you really need any?"

She bobbed her head a little, her body language conveying grudging agreement. "I don't know if I want to improv, not yet... it's..." Her head shook, unwilling to complete the thought, but I thought I could understand. If she was just playing directly from her soul, and it didn't sound right, that was somehow a lot worse than if she messed up on a technical level, a mistake that could be entirely blamed on the her being out of practice or unused to the hand. "There are some songs, ones my teachers drilled me on, I know pretty much by heart."

"I'm not exactly going to spot any mistakes," I pointed out. "Play for me." I held out the case towards her.

She took it, put the case on the ground, then opened it and retrieved the violin and the bow.

They say cybernetics is the perfect fusion of humanity and machine. But in my opinion, they were beaten a long time ago, by music. That's sort of what happens, the human, aided by an artificial extension, turns into a machine for making music... it even looks that way with some people, my sister included. She's concentrating so hard on getting it right, so her face loses most expression, and her body moves in ways that look mechanical, like a programmed robotic routine, making adjustments so precise and fast it would be hard to believe a person could do it. Her new artificial arm only emphasized the visual effect, like it was playing her.

But I knew that wasn't the case. The sound that streamed out of the violin was alive, dark, occasionally brooding, but somehow providing an overall uplifting sound in only a few minutes. It was fully human, and it was absolutely from my sister, even if it may have been composed by somebody else and produced by something more than human flesh and bone.

"That was beautiful," I told her honestly, once the tune ended, and she let out a breath. "What was it?"

Her face was red, but not just from the compliment. The motion and rush of performing, even when she did it alone, often left her flushed and even a little sweaty... but most importantly, it left her happy and excited. "It's called the Angel Theme, by Darling Violetta." I'd never heard of her, or him. I guessed it was somebody from the classical era. "I chose it because... well, you're my angel."

I smiled at that. "No, you're my angel." And I moved in for a kiss.

She kissed me back, then pulled away. "I made a few mistakes," she said.

Even happy, she was self-critical. "I didn't hear any..."

"But it was better than I thought it would be."

"Better than listening to the same old songs on shuffle," I said. "Hell, we get out of here, put you on a stage, maybe you can start being the breadwinner." She smiled at the compliment, but in a way like you do when you don't believe it. I wasn't just flattering her, though, live music is a legitimate way you can make a living, if you're good, and I may be biased, but I thought she was.

And I guess I wasn't the only one, because it was only a few minutes after she stopped playing that we heard banging on the door. My heart leapt into my throat, but I put up a finger to my lips and edged out to the freezer door, which wasn't the one being knocked at. Mitsy did the smart thing and ripped off her arm and started hiding it, it and the violin, and once I was sure she had, I went out to see who was outside.

It was Cadigan, Stephanie's friend, dressed in what looked like a young girl's pink pajamas, although sized up for an adult. But that was the only thing that suggested she might be ready for bed. She wore elaborate earings, and had a glowing glyph on her cheek (that old Egyptian symbol, the Ankh), and there was a horizontal strip of black face-paint over her eyes, and she had earrings on, so either she wasn't just roused from bed, or she goes to sleep wearing some strange makeup. It was awfully early for a PiRat to be sleeping though, so I didn't think that was it. More likely she was at some sort of nude party and took PJs for the trip there and back for warmth or processing power. Whatever it was, the look seemed to clash.

What also clashed was her presence at my door. She rolled her eyes the moment they landed on my face, like I was a distasteful chore, and for a second I wondered if she was relaying some message from Stephanie, who I hadn't talked to since me and Mitsy became intimate, despite, and probably partly because of, how I felt I still owed her. "Can I help you?"

"I guess you'll have to, won't you?" She pushed her way past me... I let her, more out of surprise than anything else. If I'd stood firm in the doorway maybe I could have succeeded in keeping her out, but once she was in, I'd have had to physically force her, and threatened the wrath of her whole crew... but the moment had passed me by. "Good news, you can finally make yourself less of a leech. I want something, you've got it."

I felt a hard lump in the back of my throat and did my best to swallow it without looking suspicious. "We don't really have a whole lot here..."

"Relax, it's nothing tangible." My stomach relaxed. The arm was definitely tangible. So this had nothing to do with that. But she was still walking further, into the kitchen area. "Where's your music library?"

"What?"

The door to the freezer opened then, and Mitsy stepped out, her arm off, stump showing. Cadigan looked at her, at the stump, then just gave her a nod and looked back to me. "Your music player. I'm not going to steal it, I just want to copy that song you had on."

Mitsy and I exchanged a panicked look. Sound does travel... there's holes in the walls, even in the freezer. Usually there's enough noise from other sources to cover it up, but tonight... it'd been a quiet night. Our neighbors were off partying elsewhere, but Cadigan, she must have been near enough to hear it. "You must have made a mistake..."

She snorted derisively. "Please. You think I don't have apps that can triangulate a sound? Come on, it's not like it costs you anything. Turn it over."

I was at a loss. But I did have a music player... maybe I could just let her copy the whole thing. "Wait here..." I said. I went into our bedroom, grabbed it, and by the time I turned around, Cadigan was there. I glared at her.

"You're on PiRat territory," she said defiantly, by way of explanation. "I'm a PiRat. You're a guest. I go where I want in my territory."

I handed her the block. "Here. Just copy it all and go." She took it, stared at it for a while, synching her eyescreens to the library and bypassing the clumsy manual controls.

Finally she said, "It's not in here."

"How do you know?"

"Cause I know," she said. "This is my thing. And you guys are acting awfully shifty. I'm about this close from calling in a full audit." She raised her hand and moved two of her fingers very close together to demonstrate how close.

I pictured a team of PiRats combing through every inch of our place... they'd certainly find everything then. I thought briefly about threatening to kill her, but it was one of those passing thoughts. If I couldn't kill Snikts trying to kill me, I certainly couldn't kill her. "It's just..."

"You can't find it on there," Mitsy said, and she strode purposefully towards our pile of stuff.

"No, Mitsy, don't..." I said, lurching one step in that direction to stop her, but it was too late.

"She's going to find out anyway..." She pulled out the violin case, opened it. "It was done live."

Cadigan nodded. "I guess that explains why I didn't already have that version. I'm surprised... you're quite good." She looked at me. I guess she didn't suspect a one-armed violin player, or an extra-special arm lying just beneath where the violin case was, barely concealed by some clothes. "So why were you trying to hide it?"

I figured I'd try to go with it. "Yeah, well..." I started. "I thought you might take the violin. It's one of the only things we have left from... before."

"I could," she said. "I'm sure I could find someone who could find some use out of it." After a moment, she said, "But I won't."

"Thank you."

She picked up the violin, and the bow, and handed them to me. "You'll just have to play it for me live, so I can save a clean copy."

It was a deadly flaw in the plan that I should have seen all along. But when you're out of options, you'll try anything, no matter how desperate. "It's... it's different when you know somebody's listening... I don't think I'll be able to with you here."

"Come on... from what Stephanie said about you, performance anxiety isn't exactly one of your problems."

"I don't know if I can even remember the song."

Her eyes narrowed. "'Song'?" Shit. It wasn't a song, it was a piece, or a composition or something... I didn't know, didn't have to... but a real musician wouldn't make that mistake, and she knew it. "You played the Angel theme from memory before. Try." Her gaze was like a dare to lie to her.

I picked it up, tucked it under my chin, and, even though there were no shooting stars, I wished for another miracle.

But you only get so many of those. I never had a lick of musical talent. So, I made one sound, like a wounded cat, and put it down. Cadigan turned to my sister. "You?" Mitsy shrugged, sheepishly. "And how exactly did you manage that?"

We were out of lies. Oh sure, Mitsy could have claimed she did it with her first artificial hand, grabbed it, put it on, and tried a performance, but... all it would have done was delay the inevitable. I was sure she could eventually learn to play with the PiRat-made hand, but... without any practice?

It might have been worth a try, or trying to come up with some excuse why Mitsy couldn't play now might have, but we would have had to think fast... and neither of us did. The hesitation caught us.

Maybe she was good at reading people, or maybe she had an app that analyzed our body-language. But our eyes must have darted a little too often to the place my sister hid the cyberarm, because Cadigan looked there too, and with what I swear was an evil gleam in her eye. "You got something interesting in here?"

"Wait, don't..." I said, but that only made her want to more. I tried to get in between her and the stuff, hoping physical imposingness might do the job, but she reached into a pocket that I didn't even see and pulled out a small gun, just about the size of her hand. Tiny, but I had no doubt she could kill me with it.

I backed off and let her fish one-handedly through the pile, until she finally revealed the arm beneath clothes. "Well, well... what do we have here? Something you shouldn't have."


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Anonymous 14/12/12(Fri)06:37 No. 22956 ID: 1fe15d

Am I the only one that finds it a bit out of character that Erin would become a corporate, autotuned music star solely to promote her kinship agenda in a world full of wealth inequality and technological oppression? I mean, she could be doing other stuff but the incest thing is all they seem to know about her and it's mentioned that Mitsuko is a fan.


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AnonyMPC 14/12/12(Fri)11:33 No. 22958 ID: a609fb

>>22956

I knew I should have put a disclaimer when I was posting that section. :). This isn't at all in continuity with MPC, the reference was just something of an easter egg, but not one to be taken too seriously. If it's not too esoteric a reference, it's like Zelazny's Amber: This world is one of many shadows, a distorted reflection of the true world, and there may be some superficial similarities but also a lot of differences. And as you point out the story's being told through Kane's perspective, so really, we don't know if the Erin mentioned isn't also one of those activist musicians who's got a million charitable causes.

Though, honestly, Erin-prime going corporate in a world with inequality and oppression doesn't seem too out of character for me, she's always had a selfish streak where her own needs and desires take precedence over everything else. Her being a music star? That's a lot stranger. It's never come up in the MPCverse, I think (though I plan to mention it in #5 at some point), but, in my head, singing's always been one of the few things that Erin's pretty much hopeless at, and despite what Kane thinks, some musical talent is, if not absolutely required, at least very helpful for superstardom (in this world, live concerts are a very important part of a musician's revenue stream as it's an experience that can't be pirated.).

Also, don't discount the possibility that this world's Erin isn't the singer, but somebody who inspired or maybe even outright manipulated the singer into taking this public stand, and the stage name was merely out of homage to her. It could be someone like Krista. Fuck, it could be Madison, still under Erin's thumb and told to invent a brother she was sleeping with if she wanted her dream of a music career. ;)


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Anonymous 14/12/12(Fri)15:27 No. 22959 ID: 797473

>>22958

Well that's all quite a bit to chew on so I guess that resolves the issue.


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Plug and Play, continued AnonyMPC 14/12/12(Fri)19:56 No. 22962 ID: a609fb

Now it was time for my thoughts to start racing in a different direction, searching for justifications, excuses, or anything that might lessen the damage of what she'd just found. "I didn't think it would be a big deal. It's not like it's something anybody else could use." I hoped maybe if I pretended I thought it was a minor matter, she might take pity on me. Fat chance, but I had to try it.

"You'd be surprised what we can use."

"Please," I said. "Just let this slide. You don't have to tell anybody about it." She looked at me, and I thought maybe I was getting through to her. "My sister's been through so much, don't take one more thing away from her." Cadigan looked over to my sister, who wasn't pleading, didn't even look nervous. It was like she just expected this to happen sooner or later. "Just let us keep it, and I'll owe you one forever..." I took a breath. "Just... have a heart!"

Cadigan looked down at the arm, then to me, then smiled. "Somebody's been holding out on us," she said. She wasn't talking to me. She was spreading it all over the PiRat network. "Time for a council. My location."

And then she just strode out, holding the arm above her head like a battle trophy. My sister was in her way, and Cadigan barreled past her like she was going to plow into her if she didn't move, and so Mitsy skittered out of her path at the last moment. Cadigan paid her no mind, just set out to ruin our lives. I don't know how she could hate us that much... or maybe she was just an evil bitch at heart.

Mitsy stared at me, like she was saying, "Do something!" But what she said was, "What's going to happen now?"

"Whatever happens, you tell them this was my idea, that I convinced you it was allowed, okay?" I told her.

"No, it was both of us..."

"Yeah, but they'll only punish me. There's no room for solidarity here, Mitsy... if they punish both of us, we're twice as screwed." And I knew the punishment. Mitsy probably did too, since they explained it to both of us, but those first few days were overwhelming, so she may have forgot the specifics.

They called it Keel-Hauling, borrowing the name from some old punishment from real pirates, when they used to sail the seas, even though the actual punishment was nothing like it. That had something to do with dragging you underneath the boat. The PiRat version... they stripped you of all of your possessions, including your clothes, and exiled you from their territory. I would have thought "Walking The Plank" would have been a better name to steal, since it amounted to throwing you into a hostile ocean to fend for yourself, but that was already used for the rare executions, and involved an actual plank-walking over a vat of toxic chemicals. I'm not sure that wasn't more humane. And "Marooning" might have been an even better term, but that was apparently something they only did when exiling an official PiRat, so that was out, too.

I hoped that if I took all the blame, Mitsy might be allowed to keep her possessions... maybe even be allowed to stay. But I wasn't sure. I did, however, have another option. "And they might not do that much." Her wide eyes stared at me, waiting for an alternative. "I'm going to ask to join up."

"We'll both do it."

I shook my head, and started digging around in our pile of stuff. "Don't argue, Mitsy. This..."

"We both join," she said again. "I promised you. Or we could just run. Grab everything we can, and go."

But we couldn't grab everything. The arm was already gone. And I wanted it all. Not just for Mitsy... the arm had brought us together, had made her happier, and that meant it was special to me, too. Besides, I didn't think escape was realistic. The PiRats watch their perimeter, and they'd probably be expecting us to bolt. I might be able to take on the blame for this, but if we both ran, she'd probably be considered just as guilty. "Please, Mitsy, just trust me on this. I have a plan. It doesn't mean what you think." I finally found what I was looking for... my phone. They're easy to lose when they're not attached to you like they should be. But as it turned out, I left it in my pants pocket when I took them off.

I called Sterling. I made it a point to track him down after the night he saved me because, even though I was in a positivity haze exploring these new feelings with my sister... I wasn't stupid. I knew that getting caught was a possibility, one way or the other, that I'd have to join... and he'd mentioned something that stuck in my mind.

Since at this point I didn't have his number, I had to track him down in the physical world. PiRats don't give out contact info easily to outsiders, but telling me where his crew hung out, that was a different matter. From there, I managed to convince one of them that I wanted to thank him for saving me... and I did, but it wasn't my only motive. So they directed to me where he slept.

His apartment was a weird place. All the walls were painted bright colors, kind of like Stephanie's, but with heavy black lines on all the angles, so it looked like you were stuck in one of those AR overlays to make it look like a cartoon.

My arrival was unexpected and, although he claimed he'd been 'mining Pi', I'm pretty sure he'd just been watching porn, probably fapping to it, when I knocked. He had a sort of flushed look and there was that... smell. Of course, it's not like I was going to bust him on it, nor would I ever tell anybody... except, I guess, right now, where I just did.

I wanted to bring him some kind of token of my esteem... all I could come up with was a beer, bought with some of my limited cash reserves on a special trip outside of PiRat territory. I didn't even know if he drank, but it was something, and I was relieved when he took it with a grin, and told me that I didn't have to do that, but in that way where you can tell that they're happy you did.

"Least I could do, you saved my life," I said. "And everything after, too."

"Your sister's doing better, then?"

"Yeah... yeah she is." I couldn't help but smile at just how much better, but I covered it quickly. "Listen... I've been thinking about what you said. About joining the PiRats."

"Oh, awesome. I can hook you up with a Browncoat."

I put up a hand. "I'm not sold yet. There's a few things about the lifestyle that... aren't for me."

"It's the gay thing, isn't it? Really, it's mostly just a mental hurdle to get over."

That was a major factor, but it wasn't just that. It's not true that I didn't want to be with anybody else but Mitsy. I wanted to not want it, but I'm human. There was a large part of me that just wanted to fuck any hot girl that I could. But it was true that I hated the thought of being disloyal to Mitsy, hurting her... if the price of that was being loyal, it was a fair price. And if I was going to fuck somebody, I wanted it because they wanted me and only me, not because it was a schedule. "I just don't think it's in me," I said. "But you said there was another way..."

He told me then, about the code.... The PiRat life was based on a bond of ultimate sharing... but there were two ways to do it. They didn't want to exclude anybody who, through upbringing or trauma, or personal hangups, couldn't bear to share their bodies... so they decided they could share their souls instead. All new PiRats have to go through lie detector tests, to prove that they're serious, but some people go further, telling their darkest secrets and having them recorded. An intense experience, and, in Sterling's opinion, far more intimate than simple sex, and not just as a one-time thing, either. Not even one in ten PiRats go that route, and not many of them keep it up for long... and I didn't want to do that, either. But I thought maybe I could bluff my way past it. I figured they'd be using lie detector apps, based on body language... and a lot of people don't know this, but they're not really very accurate. I've fooled them before, but then I've always been a pretty good liar, at least with people I don't care about. The lie detector apps work largely because people think they do, and people give off signs when they know they're suspected. Confidence was the key, and even confidence that the tests were bullshit could be enough. Sure, if you do deep brain MRI scans, you can't fool them without drugs, but I couldn't imagine the PiRats having one of those machines.

Of course, I didn't know about the Storyteller drug, either.

I kept this option as my backup plan, and, after Cadigan discovered our secret, it was time to put it into action. I called Sterling, briefly told him about our situation, asked him if there was still time to join and salvage the situation, or if I could spare Mitsy by talking all the punishment myself, or if we should just try to run and get out before we were officially evicted. I didn't actually say that last part, just in case he would feel honor-bound to warn his friends of that.

"If you ask to join up before you're officially sentenced, you're clear... probably even get the arm back," Sterling told me, which is just what I wanted to hear. "If you've got somebody to vouch for you."

"So... uh, man..." It would probably have to be him or Stephanie to do the vouching, and I'd been virtually ignoring Stephanie again since the last time I asked for a favor.

"Yeah, you can say I vouched for you. I know you were thinking about it before, not just because you got caught. Your sister, too, if you want. But that just gets you the interview before a Council. It's not a guarantee, you know, and if they reject you, they'll go right back to sentencing you. Course, I guess you've got two shots at it, so you're probably be okay."

I didn't bother to correct him. There was only one chance... but I figured I could get in... they certainly didn't seem to be picky, and I WAS trying. I thanked him, then turned to my sister, who was still looking at me like she was heartbroken. I'd never told her about my Plan B.

Now was the time, though I had to do it quickly. "It'll be okay," I told her. "We'll still be together. Me only for you, and you only for me. I promised. I just have to give them a good story, and buy us some time." I tried to briefly outline the Storyteller role, rushing my words out and I'm not sure how clear I was, for she just listened without saying anything or asking questions. I don't think I could have answered them very well either. My mind was half on the story I was going to tell, and reminders to myself to be confident, and a good chunk of the other half was worried that Cadigan might be arranging my official sentence right that second. I had a feeling PiRats resolved things quickly, haphazardly. Once I finished trying to explain, I kissed her, first on the lips, then on the forehead, holding her tight to me. "Whatever happens, I love you."

"Don't," she said again. "Let's just run, KK."

"And go where? Just trust me," I said again. "I'll handle it."

I left, then, even though she followed, I couldn't look at her, she might make me lose my nerve. I knew I had to do this, and I had to do it this way.

Outside, standing in the middle of the street, Cadigan already had an audience, her fellow PiRats, those who weren't too busy partying or sex or with something else more interesting than two people who broke a stupid rule... or maybe they were the type that was especially interested in that, who got off on watching people get punished. The night safety lights that had been installed in old streetlamps, had been cranked up to a level I hadn't imagined possible, giving her something of a spotlight. "We give people shelter, we share our food, and all we ask is that they try to contribute, and they follow our fucking rules. But some motherfuckers don't care, they mock our ways, they see us as fools, and they just want to take, take, take... they want to be leeches. Does anyone here like leeches?" She swung the arm around at people, pointing at them in turn... she actually curled the fingers into a pointing shape. Whoever she pointed at either said no, or shook their head. She turned towards me and Mitsy, right behind me. "And there they are... Leech One, and Leech Two." The crowd parted slightly so that anyone who was blocking our view wasn't. "Many of you have given your time, your knowledge, materials, your friendship, to help them... some of you helped make her an arm. If they seemed a little ungrateful, well, there's a good reason... because they had this." She lifted the arm again. "I found this lovely piece of technology... inductive neural interfaces... Seebeck cells... full proprios. All shit that WE could use. All shit that guests are not allowed. And we can't tolerate that. Can we?" She pointed again. And this time, now that I was closer, I saw that the person she pointed to had bright pink hair.

She looked at me, and her face looked a little sad when she said it, but there wasn't a waver in her voice as Stephanie said, "No. No we can't."

"No we can't," Cadigan repeated. "The PiRat code demands that we make an example of them."

I didn't know exactly when sentence would be passed... this could be the opening statement of the prosecution, or it could be all that was required before somebody in power said to Keel Haul us. So I couldn't afford to wait anymore. I stepped up, right beside Cadigan, who got into a defensive stance, holding the hand up like a club. "I'd just like to say..." Suddenly it all seemed to go quiet... everyone was looking at me. A couple faces I recognized, people I'd worked with recently, but none I was especially close with, and they gave me no comfort. They were waiting completely on what I had to say. Being the center of attention is not something I'm comfortable with, but I tried not to let it show as I continued, "It's true we have... something we shouldn't. That's my fault, and I should take all of the blame. I found it a couple days ago... Mitsy wanted to give it up, but I told her it was okay and she believed me. I thought it would be okay, too... I know it was against the rules, but I had made a decision, and I was just working up the nerve to actually do it. I planned to become a PiRat. And I still do, if you'll have me. Right now."

I spared a look over at Cadigan who was scowling. "Convenient, but do you really think any of us here are willing to take you?"

"Sterling vouches for me," I said, and took some satisfaction with the way her lip jutted out, disappointed that she couldn't bully the crowd into not backing me up.

"Everyone knows you're just covering your ass now that you've got caught. We all know what you think of our ways." I had no idea anybody knew anything about me other than a handful of them that I'd talked to, but I guess they were gossips on their private network.

But Sterling had said there'd be some kind of vote, and I didn't know if any of the people here would be voting, but it wouldn't hurt to butter them up. And what I said was mostly true. "I like your ways. I like how you share everything you can. I like how you help people who need it. I like how you find value in things other people discard. But yeah, there's one thing that... that I didn't know if I'd be able to handle, and that's why it took so long for me to step up. Except it was only recently I learned I didn't have to. Sterling told me there were two paths... share your body with the PiRats, or share your soul. I choose the second one."

I don't know what I expected. Some kind of gasp, maybe. Or a cheer. Instead, there was mostly silence, although a few tilted their heads in interest, like it was something they hadn't expected. "You couldn't handle it," Cadigan sneered. "Pampered little leech like you, I can't imagine you have anything to offer us."

"He deserves the chance to try," I heard Stephanie said, and I shot her a grateful smile.

That was when somebody peeled out of the crowd. He was maybe twenty, black, with a scruffy beard, wearing only a white shirt and leather-style pants. He spoke in an accent that sounded like an imitated British accent. Or maybe it was real, but it sounded very theatrical. "Well then... let's give him his chance. A toast, to our prospective new Storyteller!" He produced a flask, offered it to me. Relieved at this provisional acceptance, I drank, tasting the familiar moonshine they called Grog. There was a cheer.

After that, things got fuzzy quick. My feet seemed to want to go in different directions, and then disappeared entirely. There was a falling sensation, and things went black.


>>
Plug and Play, continued AnonyMPC 14/12/12(Fri)19:58 No. 22963 ID: a609fb

Next thing I was aware of, I was strapped into a chair. A girl leaned over me, black, wearing an inappropriately shiny nurse's outfit and black-rimmed glasses. She shined a light in my eye with a finger-sized wand. As soon as the light was gone, my gaze went to her cleavage... the top was very low cut, and I couldn't help but look. "Where am I? How did I get here?" I had no idea how long it had been. It might not even be the same day.

"Your interview," she said. "We like to spring it on our applicants, so they don't have time to get countermeasures in place." She stood up, and I was able to look at her face, and I realized that there was resemblance to the guy who gave me the drink. They could be siblings.

Which made me think of my sister. "Where's Mitsy?"

"I don't know, not my department. I'm just your dealer." She grinned. "I'm pretty excited, it's not often I get to do a full dose. But we'll start you off slow, for the routine questions." She fiddled with something, just out of my vision... I tried to turn my head to look, but it was also restrained, and I realized there were sensors pasted to my head, and, when the doctor was out of that view, there was an apparatus, with glass bulbs that were probably cameras at eye levels.

This was it, the lie detector. And I realized for all my bluster before... I actually wasn't confident. Not just because I was disoriented, and not just because I suddenly remembered part of the reason body language apps were so unreliable was that eyescreens automatically disguised your pupil dilation... and I didn't have any of those anymore. If that wasn't enough, there was also the mention of drugs. "What are you giving me?" I asked when she returned. She took my pulse, and with her head bowed, I noticed she had some weird round mirror on a band attached to her head, and in it, I saw a distorted glimpse of myself strapped in the chair, helpless.

Once she'd gotten a measurement, her head tilted back up and she smiled. "It's our wonder drug. It's called Storyteller. Some Scientologists developed it... they use it in their audits." I had no idea what she was talking about and I certainly wasn't in a position to look it up. "Don't worry, at this dosage, it just encourages you to be honest." She patted me on the head, and then turned around. I was relieved at first, to see she didn't have a PiRat tail peeking out from under her dress. Then my eyes finally began to focus on stuff more than a few feet in front of me and I realized that we weren't alone. At the other end of the room was a creepy group of faceless forms in robes. They were people, not mannequins... I could see them subtly moving, but they just sat, waiting. I wondered if was maybe prelude to a human sacrifice. One nodded, and that's when the questions began.

The doctor asked them, but every once in a while, she looked to the hooded people, as though they were the ones feeding her the questions. Even though the odds were stacked against me, I readied myself to lie...

Only I soon realized it wasn't necessary. The questions they asked were mostly stuff I wouldn't lie about anyway... stuff they already knew, like my name, whether Mitsy was really my sister, whether I was paid to infiltrate PiRat territory, whether I had ties to law enforcement or any copyright cartel... stuff I guess they had to be worried about with new recruits, but wasn't an issue with me. The only things they asked that I would have lied about was how long ago I found the arm, and how long I was seriously considering being a PiRat... I was going to say I'd just found it a few days ago, I thought it looked better than if I had kept it secret for more than a week, and if I'd been thinking about joining up for weeks before that. But at that point, I figured, fuck it, why not tell the truth?

I also had a little trouble with the question about special skills that might benefit the PiRats... I'm smart, always got good grades, but I realized that it was undirected smarts, I really didn't have anything specific I thought might be useful, and the PiRats were all about useful. I wanted to make something up, but nothing would come to mind except the truth.

After the questions were out of the way, I thought maybe we were done. The doctor-girl looked to the robed men, who nodded, and then she turned to me. "Okay, now we're just going to up your dosage with a special little kicker..." She leaned out of my view again, and I stared at the jiggly dark line between her breasts again, and then she pulled away, came up with a little water bottle with a hose attached, and held it towards my mouth. I opened, and she squirted inside, and I swallowed. She then affixed it to a metal arm, and curved the tube towards me, within range that, if I needed to, I could take a sip by puckering my lips. "I just wish I could stick around..."

"What? You're just going to leave me here...?"

"Have to. The next part's only for the council over there to hear, at least until you get confirmed. Make it something exciting though, something with sex and crime and loads of angst... those are the stories I like."

"No prompting, Mona," came a voice. She looked back at the robed figures and pouted. "How long?"

She leaned over me again, stared me right in the eyes and said, "Judging by his pupils, another thirty seconds should do it." She was quiet then, like she was counting off the seconds... it seemed to go a lot faster than thirty seconds though, when she said, "Okay, we're good to go..."

"Then leave us," said one of the voices from the crowd. My eyes were having trouble focusing on them, or much of anything, they seemed to be darting around, and I only got peace when I started to close them.

As she shuffled out of the room, she said, "Okay sweetie, I'll just be in the next room in case you start vomiting uncontrollably or something and start to ass-fix-he-ate. But don't worry, side effects like that are very rare." She gave me two thumbs up and an open mouth smile, and then backed her way through a door.

By now my eyes were starting to jiggle too much that I couldn't bear to look, particularly at anything moving, even to the limited degree that the robed figures did. As I finally decided to close them completely, I wondered if maybe that was why they stood so still. Seconds, or minutes passed as I began thinking of things, my parents, my sister, my first time. And I heard a voice, like it was coming from far away, in another world. "Bare your soul, and tell us a story, Kane Kishiro, a story you didn't think you'd tell anybody."

I tried to prepare my fake story, the one I'd made when I made this planned, but... I just couldn't think of it. Instead, my thoughts seemed to crystallize about what brought me to this point, how that seemed to be a story worth telling, like all the most crazy things to happen to me in my life were fit into one night... and weirdly, I no longer had any fear, or shame about it. I thought I could just leave out the embarrassing parts. I licked my lips and began to speak. "It's weird. I don't actually feel like I have to say anything... but..." I began. And as soon as I said the words, I realized that it felt good, like even just those first few words were unburdening myself from a great weight, and I wanted to go on. "I said I would, so I will. Where to start?"

I thought about the nature of stories themselves, and how life was different, and continued, "Real stories don't really have good beginnings, they're tangled up in other stories. That's life, right? I guess the night I found it is as good a place as any to start. I mean, it made all this necessary, so why not?"

A better starting point suddenly occurred to me. "In some ways, you could say this all started with a wish, though..." I thought back on the moment, and suddenly it became incredibly sharp and vivid, almost like I was reliving the memories as I spoke them. And I wanted to relive them, even the painful or scary ones. "Earlier that night, I was lying on the roof of a dry-cleaning place, staring up at the sky, and there was a gap in the cloud cover."

******


>>
Plug and Play, conclusion AnonyMPC 14/12/12(Fri)20:05 No. 22964 ID: a609fb

******

"He's going recursive on us," someone says. "Where are you Mona? Snap him out of it."

Mona, the sixteen-year-old black girl with glasses and a headband with a big round metal mirror attached leans enters the room, salutes, reaches into her glitter-speckled lab coat (which covers a short skirt and low-cut top), and pulls out a patch and peels off the plastic. With her other hand, she leans over the young man, Kane, strapped to the chair, now telling the story of him telling the story of his darkest secret. It's usually best to let a storyteller session end naturally, but sometimes those on it get into loops. The watchers let it go this long because they were interested in knowing what he planned on lying about even though he couldn't lie, but now that he was telling the story of telling the story, it had to be stopped. Mona snaps her fingers in front of him, says, "Okay, that's enough. Story-time's over."

When interrupted, he stops speaking, but only for a moment. "I can talk about something else. You know, when I was twelve, I found this site on the net about bondage, and I... Ow!" Kane yelps as she tears off the glyph on her forehead, a glyph he likely didn't even know was there.

The doctor attaches a new patch. "No, save some embarrassing stories for next time. Nobody's listening."

Kane frowns, but does, finally, stop speaking, and the Doctor gives a thumbs up to the assembled crowd, then walks out, leaving him once again alone with the people he told the story to. His whole confession has been watched by fifteen lurking youths, black-robed, masked observers, who didn't speak once, just let the Storyteller drug do its work, and recorded the revelations forced out of it.

Formalities must be observed. Although the robed ones are all identical, save for their different heights and slight variations on the masks, one is clearly in charge, for he gestures theatrically to the man in the chair and says, "This man wishes to become a PiRat," one says. "He has shared his soul, confessed his darkest secrets and given them to the group. What say ye? Do any speak against him?"

"He's not a real PiRat," one says, and, although exhausted and distracted coming down from the drug, Kane recognizes it as belonging to Cadigan. "He doesn't believe in what we believe, he's a leech at heart. He is only doing this to get out of punishment for keeping the arm from us. Selfish with stuff, and selfish with love."

"Many of us started with less than noble reasons," says the leader. "The culture endures. And you heard him, he thought it might be a PiRat gift."

"He still knew he should have turned it in," Cadigan says. "Otherwise why hide it?"

"I don't care. He's got a good reason to want to be one of us. He's got a good story."

"Are you kidding?" This is a new voice, a male. "Okay, fine, the story might be okay... but he's a poor storyteller. He explains too much that everybody knows, digresses too easily. He just skimmed over exciting bits like the chase and the sex, and we never even did get the backstory with Tara or whoever."

Another new voice, another girl, speaks next. "He's not too bad, he just needs a good editor. Of course, it's not going to be me. Not if he's only going to fuck his sister." The disdain for that is obvious in her voice... she is a woman who can understand a PiRat not wanting to have to sleep with every PiRat, but can't understand every PiRat not wanting to sleep with her.

The conversation turns then, to the quality of Kane's storytelling, and some make comparisons to other PiRat stories, some positively, some negatively, although detailing them would be unnecessarily recursive and boring to folks like you. A few more points are raised, in favor and against, and then nobody has anything to say, except the one who started the discussion, who decrees that it is time to vote.

They do this in a shockingly old-style way, not on the PiRat network, and supposedly with no witnesses, the group simply withdraws into a second room and, one by one, each of the jurors puts a 3D-printed marble in a bag, either black or white depending on whether they want Kane to be included. Nobody should know what anybody else voted, but if you heard the discussion most votes weren't hard to figure out.

Since she knows him the best, she's the one to break the news. She enters the room where he sits, still in the same chair where he made his long confession under the storytelling drug, though his head's in his hands, trying to ride through the after-effects with the minimum discomfort. Mona paid him another visit while the vote was going on, unstrapped him and removed the headache patch, but she's gone again. Kane and Stephanie are the only ones in the room. "We had a vote," Stephanie says. She's removed the mask and the cloak, and is once again wearing a pink outfit to match her hair.

Kane looks up, eyes bloodshot, but penetrating. He's awake and aware, the drugs not totally out of his system, but he can hold a conversation without lapsing into a long story about some deep dark secret. "And?"

"Eleven-to-four. It wasn't even close."

Kane continues to stare at her expectantly. He doesn't know enough about the PiRat culture to be able to tell which way was more likely to win, and he can't read Stephanie very well, she's smiling, but it's not really going up to the eyes, the smile of somebody who'd been hurt and is trying not to show it. Finally he can't bear the tension. "And?" he asks again.

"Yo-ho-ho and fiddle-dee-dee," she says, in a sing-song voice that makes her suddenly seem twelve. "If you really want to be..." She completes it with a flourish, her hand extended towards him, "You are a PiRat. This is all still probationary, of course, but as long as you follow the code, you're in."

Kane exhales, a long weary breath, completely unimpressed by the musical accompaniment to her announcement, but then he's not very familiar with the reference, either. "And the arm?"

The song in her voice goes away. "Your sister can keep it, under our family plan." He nods, relieved. "If she doesn't decide to join herself. She wanted to, tonight. Asked me to vouch for her."

The panicked, half-heartbroken look on his face as his head snaps back up at her is almost comical. "What?"

"She did promise that if you joined, she would too. But I don't think she entirely understood what you're going to be doing. She still thinks there's going to be a celebratory orgy with you as the star. Or maybe she doesn't think it's fair that you're sharing your soul without consulting her. You probably should have discussed this plan with her, explained everything instead of trying to be the hero."

"I have to talk to her..."

She lays a hand on him to keep him from getting up. He's weak enough that one hand is all it takes. "Yes, you do. But it can wait. I managed to convince her to give her decision a few days. But if she asks me again, I am going to vouch for her. This is a good life, and she deserves a real part of it. If your relationship is so weak it can't stand anybody else, well, maybe she'd make a good Storyteller too."

"I don't want to put her through this..." Left unspoken is his own uncertainty that he wants to do this again.

She plays along and ignores it, changes the subject. "Anyway, we decided to put you in Sterling's crew." He tilts his head at her, and Stephanie smirks. "Don't worry, it's just for organizational purposes. You won't have to have sex with any of them, unless you want to." Her voice softens as she has to tread again on the topic she just avoided. "You will have to do a Storyteller session every month. It'll be easier. We'll match you up with an Editor to help focus you, so sessions won't run as long. Your stories all go into our archives, and any PiRat can access them, as long as they don't have recording devices. Anonymized versions will also be torrented to PiRat clans across the globe, though you and your sister have some distinctive features that might make it easy to identify you. We try our best to keep it out of the hands of non-PiRats, but it's data, so there are no guarantees...." This should come as no surprise to anybody. As secure as PiRat networks are, there's one thing, a fundamental logic, you can count on: Hackers gonna hack. "When you get right down to it, it's all part of the Pi." Kane is starting to look like he might throw up, and she adds, "It's how it works. No one said it'd be easy. If it gets too intense for you, you can switch back to the normal way, or you can quit. The arm stays behind if you leave us, though. Unless your sister joins in your place."

"I'll be fine," he insists.

"Sterling and his crew will guide you through the PiRat code until you get used to it, they'll get you some wearables and teach you to use our network. They're a good bunch, you'll like them."

He nods, then adds, conversationally, "You know, I know Sterling vouched for me, but... somehow I was sure I was going to wind up in your crew. But I guess Cadigan wouldn't..."

"No, I vetoed that," she snaps. "Cadigan actually wanted it... she didn't want you to be a PiRat, but now that you are, she wants to be able to watch you and pound you into shape if necessary, and get you kicked out if you can't hack it. She's not actually so bad, she would have given you a fair chance. But me..." She shakes her head. "I just can't. No... I don't want you in my crew."

He looks at her, hurt, but it fades, like he realizes it was only right and natural for her to feel this way. "I'm sorry. I can understand not everybody being okay with what's going on between me and Mitsy..."

"Give me some fucking credit, Kane. I'm not mad you're with your sister," she says. "I'm happy about that. You both deserve somebody. I'm not even mad at all, really. Shit, I voted for you." But anyone watching would know she is in fact mad, but not just mad. "I'm just... hurt. I really did like you. A lot. I thought maybe I was special to you."

"You were," he says. "You are... under the drug, what I said..."

"Yeah, I heard it," she says. "You said you had feelings for me, but the truth is, I wasn't ever a part of your story, not really. I thought I was... maybe you even thought I was, but, it turns out, I was just a minor supporting character. The wrong girl, before you found the right one under your nose. Like in any good romantic story. And again, I'm happy for you. It just sucks to be a part of it, when you're the wrong girl who thought it was the one right guy."

His brows come together, confused and angry. "The one right guy? You have sex with tons of people!"

Stephanie rolls her eyes. "That's just sex." She looks behind her to where the vote took place, like she's wondering if she can change hers now, since Kane clearly doesn't get PiRat culture.

"So how can you be angry?" he finally asks.

"I'm not! I want to be friends, eventually. Just... not right now." She's silent for a few seconds, and it almost looks like she's going to leave it there, but then she adds, "I guess it kind of hurts that in your whole story... you spent more time talking about the food you found than about me." This isn't actually true, but no data miners have gone to work on the story, so it's understandable that she might think that. "I thought I meant at least a little more to you."

"I'm sorry," he says, and he is, because despite what happened with his sister, he does still have lingering feelings for Stephanie, and his instinct is to try and make it right. "My mind was just sort of just trying to put everything in some kind of order, I wasn't thinking about it. I couldn't exactly control what I was saying..."

"If you could, that would defeat the purpose." She smiles, again not reaching her eyes, but at least it doesn't look quite so fake. "Us being in the same crew, it's just... probably not a good thing, for a while. And I really don't want to fuck up things with you and your sister, even accidentally. So we could probably both use some time to let our feelings die down. Besides, it's going to take a while to get used to a friend I don't fuck. That is, if you still want to be friends."

"I do," he says.

"Okay. Maybe in time. I'll see you around."

She starts towards the door, intending to leave, and stops only when she hears him say, "Wait." She turns, waiting, and Kane looks around the room, palms up. "So what happens now? Do I just wait here? Go home? Do I need to cobble together a pirate-themed outfit and a rat tail? Go on raids? I know I'm supposed to be a storyteller, but aside from that, I don't really know what a PiRat is supposed to do..."

She shrugs. "The council's already gone, so you can go home if you want. You do need to have that talk with your sister." Although that may well have been what he was trying to avoid. "Sterling's crew will probably be dropping by later for an orientation party. As for everything else... it's just like the old song."

"Song?"

She bobs her shoulders a little and says the line, "Do what you want cause a PiRat is free."

The End

So that's it for this one. Next one in this anthology series will be a (hopefully much shorter) tale of a certain blue-haired girl who got arrested in a sweep when the cops tried, and failed, to capture a pint-sized killer, in a tale told through her diary entries, tentatively titled "Alternative Punishment".

Oh, and I forgot to mention up front, the in addition to sparking the idea of the iCity stories in the first place, the very general idea of this particular story also comes from him, so thanks to him.

Hope you enjoyed it. I'll be lurking.


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Anonymous 14/12/12(Fri)21:30 No. 22966 ID: e81734

Wow, this story got really meta at the end. I'm kind of confused, but I like it. With every new story you seem to expand your narrative repertoire instead of simply stagnating like so many authors. The mixture of your refined literary style with prominent references to a children's show is interesting too. Overall I give it a 10/10. I hope that you will revisit Kane, Mitsy, and the PiRats at some point.

What I'm interested in is if there are any groups/gangs that oppose the rampant degeneracy of the iCity/modern culture? Given the state of popular music and culture as described in the story, it seems to me that the PiRat view on sexuality would probably be closer to the mainstream than not, and that more right-wing/traditionalist groups would be more likely to draw the ire of governments and corporations specifically for their views on sexuality. Yet they would likely still need to adopt technological methods similar to the PiRats given that they would not be welcome on corporate/government networks. Do such groups exist in this world?

Also please include more degenerate, perverted sex acts disguised as mere dancing. muh dik


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Anonymous 14/12/14(Sun)17:32 No. 22975 ID: 024940

Just finished reading Plug and Play

The writing is excellent though the eroticism is lacking. I don't mind since I care more about the story but it may explain why you get so few replies. I just hope you keep writing no matter what people say.


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Non-Anonymous 14/12/17(Wed)19:08 No. 22982 ID: b3e330

with the first story in this set, i was intrigued. i liked the world-building, i liked the musing exposition (i really have to work on the info-bombs in my own writing), and i really liked the premise. hell, i even liked the second person perspective, believe it or not.

with this one, you transcended. i went into it, expecting a story. you gave me a tale. a yarn. the type of thing i would have gladly devoured in one of the story collections i found in a yardsale milk crate. i laughed, i nearly cried, i ROOTED for the characters. i love what you're doing, and i can't wait for more. also, you reminded me of one of my favorite philosophical arguing points. about the infinite nature of PI. but that's another rant.


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Non-Anonymous 14/12/17(Wed)20:28 No. 22983 ID: 9fd99f

Dammit. Forgot to mention two things. Firstly, I literally cheered at the end. Well done on getting the reader emotionally involved. Second, I absolutely loved the tie-in with the introductory story. Well played.


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Anonymous 14/12/18(Thu)01:17 No. 22985 ID: 0dbf24

This stuff's amazing. I wish I could fund you AnonyMPC. These are probably the best characters you've made since Andrew and Erin.

What's next up on your plate?


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AnonyMPC 14/12/18(Thu)20:37 No. 22988 ID: a609fb

>>22966
Thanks! While I do have a few tenative ideas for another story involving these characters, it won't be in this anthology series and realistically, given my output, I probably won't get to a second volume. But who knows, maybe I'll get fired and have nothing else in my life but /elit/ and produce massive amounts. But one piece that wouldn't fit in this story but would eventually be explained in another is the reason Cadigan was such a bitch towards them: she's got a sibling she takes care of too, who's got a more permanent developmental disability, so it pisses her off that people bend over backwards for Mitsy who, fundamentally, CAN be fixed and even until then is mostly functional. Kane telling her to 'have a heart' (which in a sense accuses her of NOT having one) when she literally spends most of her time thinks about somebody else more than her was the last straw. If he'd been a bit more sensitive about it, she might have let him slide.

As for the rampant degeneracy... well, that's been a little overplayed in these sections, largely because of who it's focused on, I hope to establish in the future ones that there's a bit of a dichotomy, and there in fact is a strong conservative streak in society... just in slightly different ways than we think of it. These things come and go in phases, and at the time period of the story they're sort of moving out of an ultra-conservative swing (where people were panicked by the consequences of cameras everywhere) and towards a bit more liberal, but with a few major differences:

1) Homosexuality is generally completely accepted outside of ultra-religious communities (although, at the same time, among the medium rich it's slowly disappearing, as it IS something that can be mostly prevented by biotech advances), and transgender is more or less where homosexuality is today, about half accept it, plenty bully over it (and also disappearing among the wealthy for the same reasons as homosexuality, although it's a bit of an iffier 'fix').

2) Kids are always going to rebel, and to different degrees. The music, fetish albums and such, are the equivalent of earlier trends that made parents clutch their pearls: the swinging hips of Elvis, hardcore gangsta rap that idolizes cop killing, Miley twerking. Not every one in those eras was into those trends, but enough were that parents predict the downfall of society. And sexually, Kane's been somewhat in the "cool kid"/"rebel" crowds, which includes a lot more sexual experimentation and variation (and, in Kane's case, a bit of a blindness about it not being normal), but there's a strong contingent of people who, say, abstain from drugs and sexual activity as well, not for lack of desire but for 'moral' reasons or social pressure (even though certain kids might do it and be considered cool, if any kid tries to cross the line between groups they face exclusion from their old peers and being considered a poseur by others). Mitsy actually was a virgin (although she masturbated), and was a textbook example of that. Of course, even within the people who abstain, there's a lot of fantasy play and talk, which leads to point 3

3) There's generally a widespread acceptance of the "have whatever fantasies you want, even talk about them, as long as you don't DO them" line of thinking. The Internet has kind of made this adjustment mandatory. So part of the reason these fetish albums persist is because it is just fantasy, or at least, that's a readily-available excuse they can use. Think of drugs today, you can see drug references in music and movies that glorify it, and you can talk about it pretty openly that you use it... but if you ever get arrested for drugs or there was a video everywhere of you smoking crack, well, your career prospects might be severely limited from then on (unless you're already a member of the elite). But, though it's a deterrant, it doesn't stop anybody really determined from doing it because the odds of anyone making a huge issue of it are small, even though the consequences are high (the youth criminal justice facility is not a fate anybody wants, especially now that it's run by corporations rather than the government and is essentially an excuse for slave labor). This dichotomy still exists, it's just shifted ground... and, of course, some segments of youths are always going to be more rebellious, despite the risks.

4) The new morality is here, it's just not evenly distributed! As it's often been, in addition to youths who rebel because they think they're immortal, the very poor and the very rich are the ones most able to flout society's moral rules: the poor because they have nothing to lose, and the rich because nobody will hold them accountable. So while there are areas like the PiRats or gang territory where anything goes (and they're large enough that businesses and underground economies actually cater to these tastes, another reason that things like fetish albums exists), it's not entirely a reflection of where it is everywhere. Hopefully I'll be able to pull this off in the next two sections where we rise into better neighborhoods. Even there, it's not that degeneracy is gone, it's just suppressed. The POV show is illegal, for example, and the "handjob"/"fingering"/"oral" simulator they mentioned was a bootleg, in other words, it's not a product you can just buy in a respectable online store, it's traded among people. Prostitution's still illegal (or illegal again), as are many drugs... it just doesn't stop them, because it's easy to get. And yes, to answer your question a bit more directly, there are groups that take a specific moral focus, and religious groups continue to hold sway in some areas (the farms outside of town tend to be a lot more religious), but I doubt I'll be focusing directly on them.

But to sum up my long-winded reply, think of it sort of like the Victorian culture: generally repressed on the surface, but a whole lot of kinky shit underneath. Except, add the Internet, so that everybody can choose to access and learn about the kinky shit if they so desire, and aren't especially punished as long as they uphold the public face.

>>22975
Thanks... and yeah, it probably is a fair point about the eroticism... to be honest, lately I've been struggling a lot more than usual writing actual sex scenes, the mood just doesn't carry me. I lost something like 2 weeks with everything else in the story done just finishing up the sex scenes because it was so slow going. Although in this particular story I was a bit handicapped by the fact that the narrator was essentially telling the story under a truth serum, so I felt I had to point out some of the less-than-appealing aspects like not liking the taste or finding her ass a bit too dirty, stuff you (or at least I) may sometimes think in the moment but isn't a concern enough to stop... still, that probably hampered the eroticism even more.

I think the lack of replies may have had a bit more to do with the fact that it finished on a weekend, though. I've noticed before that board activity slows to a crawl then, which I can only assume means that many of you only surf /elit/ from work, you glorious risk-taking bastards!

>>22982
Thanks! Glad you got so emotionally involved, although to be honest I'm not sure I can identify a good 'cheer' point towards the end. Oh well, I can't complain regardless! I hope that by the end of the five stories you'll see the running threads through all of them... but yeah, POV's got a background role to play in all of them (btw, Stirling was fapping to a POV rerun when Kane visited him).

>>22985
Thanks! No funding's required, though, I make good enough money at my job, and if I was capable of making any through this art I'd probably just spend it on artistic adaptations or renderings of bits from my work (there's a very slight chance of some more news on that front in the next few months). So if anyone does want to fund me, fund affordable artists to draw stuff and that way you fund two people for the price of one! Or just spread the word that you like my stories, that always helps too. :)

What's next? Can't say. I'm still very much having trouble forcing myself to work on something I'm not "feeling" and I can't say what I'll be particularly inspired by at any given moment... I often jump around between projects, and my HD is littered with projects that are uncompleted and I have no idea if I'll ever get back to them. But right at the moment, in addition to the various series that I know I have people waiting on the next installments for, and so will always be on my mind, and of course the next part of the iCity project, I have been playing around with a loli-femdom idea. And, because my brain's still in the middle of after-posting writing blahs (where I don't really feel like writing ANYTHING), I might try to do a Phil Phantom tribute for a while to shake free of them.


>>
Anonymous 14/12/19(Fri)21:09 No. 22994 ID: 37c6e8

>>22988

You rarely see authors on here give such thoughtful responses to their fans. That's (partly) why AnonyMPC is the king.

Now let's start a petition to get him fired so he can work on /elit/ full time.


>>
AnonyMPC 15/05/09(Sat)01:07 No. 23526 ID: a609fb

Don't mind me, just testing to make make sure something will show up in posts if I use this formatting.

[[Does it?]]

I have reasons to test this.


>>
Anonymous 15/05/09(Sat)08:25 No. 23527 ID: 45d99c

>>23526
My body is ready.


>>
Alternative Sentence (mf, ff, bond, ws, inc, humil) AnonyMPC 15/05/09(Sat)21:41 No. 23528 ID: a609fb

Here's the third story. This idea actually predates the iCity project. There was a conversation in an art stream where people were talking about their OCs, and one person named kludo tossed off an idea for a bondage-themed OC. (I believe the idea was something along the lines of "Hillary in the mobile pillory"). I was inspired with a vision of this working in a near future cyberpunk context, and asked, and this person graciously allowed me to do whatever I want with the idea, since he wasn't really serious about making it his OC. Then, when the iCity project came about, I finally had the perfect vehicle, and though it changed a little in conception, it's remarkable close. So thanks to kludo, if he sees this (he did say he was a fan).

Anyway, one last word before the story begins, just so there's no confusion: The bit at the start is part of the framing device connecting all five iCity stories, which has been absent in the previous entries on this thread, but is intended to be in the final version of them all (although, I might change it significantly).

So...

Alternative Sentence (mf, ff, bond, ws, inc, humil)

[[Perhaps that one didn't do anything for you. I feel like you want something more punchy, less romantic. Another dirty secret, but this time a story told with no audience in mind, save the author herself, but teased out of a distant server just to provide you with a voyeuristic thrill? Well, it just so happens one has fallen into my hands.

But I'm afraid I must temper your enthusiasm, somewhat. For courtesy's sake, the desires of privacy over voyeurism will be respected, and actual pictures, audio, or video elements will be summarized rather than provided directly. It may seem odd to say it, but... imagination lies openly, video endangers your own understanding, promising objective veracity. An impossible dream, for data is vulnerable to manipulation, and sometimes what you don't see is more important than what you do. By withholding that imaginary perfect objective window, you'll be forced to wonder, to doubt, and I want that.

Besides, I am a conservative sort, and I wouldn't want to overwhelm your bandwidth with useless pixels, when, for only a few bits more, I can provide additional context and commentary. So I present to you a tale of a girl and her peculiar...]]

Alternative Sentence
The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5606 (rounded up), 7:11pm:
[[Soundtrack: On Trial, by Wack Mitt]]

Court tomorrow. I'd never give anyone the satisfaction of knowing it, but, between you and me, diary, I'm pretty fucking nervous. It's a bullshit charge, I wasn't even doing anything, but people have gone down for bullshit charges.

I don't know, it's not like I'm going to jail or anything. At worst, a juvenile facility, and, honestly, maybe that would be the best thing, then I wouldn't have to be around fucking mom who is driving me up the fucking wall more than usual. To hear her bitch about how she has to come with me to court you'd think it was her ass on the line.

I don't get why we have to go at all, what the fuck is wrong with court, you can't just submit my plea from home? I have to waste a whole fucking day off of what was supposed to be a three-day weekend. There are parties I'm missing tonight because I can't show up to court hung over.

God, she just came in... look what she expects me to wear. Hard to believe this is a woman who was once famous for fashion vids.

[[Inset: Short video clip, taken from eyescreens, focusing at first on a black long-sleeved top with a knee-length blue dress. She takes it to a mirror, where the filmer is revealed to be a fifteen-year-old girl with a slim build, wearing a tight halter that wraps around her ample breasts yet exposes her belly button, and a skirt that has moving ads along the side. She puts the Mom-chosen dress in front of her and poses with it on her body... it looks frumpy and oversized on her, and not at all in style, but at least the blue matches the color of her hair, which is long but shaved on the sides of her head, tending to droop over one side or the other at one time. "I look like a total pedestrian" she says into the camera, by looking straight into the mirror into her eyescreens, then flings the outfit to the floor.

A voice, male, young, maybe just past puberty, calls through the door. Her brother. "Hillary?"

She rolls her eyes, taking the camera view with it. "What?"

"Seeing as how this may be your last night of freedom, you wanna..."

"Oh shut up!" Video ends.]]

This is not going to me my fucking last night of freedom. If I have to do a little time, fine, I bet you meet loads of interesting people in juvie. Or maybe I'll just run away, live on the streets. I would totally kick-ass as one of those street kids, running with a gang or something.


>>
Alternative Sentence, continued AnonyMPC 15/05/09(Sat)22:38 No. 23529 ID: 66305b

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5607 (rounded up), 8:24pm:
[[Soundtrack: Don't Give A Fuck, Whirlwind Williams]]

So, court. They wouldn't let me just grab a video of my court case... when we entered, they even threatened that eyescreens might be randomly popped (even though it's MY life they're deciding on, and justice is like, supposed to be transparent, isn't it?), so, since it is a pretty big day, I'll have to describe it, in case my memories start fading when I hit my mom's age, and so there won't be a gap for the Resurrectionists' future archeologists to bring me back from these entries.

The good news is, no jail time, real or juvie. As the song says, 'Don't give a fuck cause I'm free.' Though sometimes I'm not sure I wouldn't prefer juvie... like, I'm happy I don't gotta go, but, I wish it didn't go down like it did, and it's not all sunshine and roses. I'm not even exactly free, I've got a punishment coming and I'm technically grounded.

But I should try to go in order. After getting myself all respectable-looking (by my own standards, NOT hers) Mom and Billy got in an autocab to go down to the court house. Billy shouldn't even have been there, I guess he wanted to offer moral support. Which is sweet, I guess, even if I can't let him know I think that. It's my duty as a big sister to randomly be a bitch to him at least 50% of the time to prepare him for the real world. He spent so long under Mom's wing he has no idea what it's like... at least I got more of a break when the Rat was born and Mom couldn't manage all three of us. Besides, it's not like he has anything better to do, probably, beta as he is, no girl or boyfriend even in the queue. But I didn't mind him tagging along... at least I had somebody to talk to whenever we lost access... thankfully, the Rat was left with Mrs. and Mrs. Griffith, so at least I didn't have to put up with HIS crying or throwing a tantrum (if there was any justice, they'd lock HIM up in juvie, at least until he hit double digits and becomes worth talking to).

First impressions of the court house: Ugly old building, like something out of ancient Greece or something.

Second impression: There's probably so much mold in the walls I should get a booster as soon as I finish writing this. It even smelled musty. And everyone seemed grungy, from the cops to the workers to the defendants, even if they were trying to look their best. Maybe it's the lighting. Or maybe it's just that with no access, I actually have to look at them.

So, we signed in on the board, and then there was a lot of waiting until it was our turn, which meant I had to put up with mom's "coaching." And worse, I couldn't just tune it out and pretend I was listening while watching something on my eyescreens. Telling me to call everyone sir or ma'am, speaking only when spoken to, (see more). At first I just gave her the usual "uh-huh"s, but eventually I couldn't take it and started mocking her, making my hand into a mouth and lip-synching it to whenever she talked.

She was not amused by my comedic genius. Story of my life.

She gave me a glare, then went off to take a piss and I was banging the back of my head against the wall repeatedly in the hopes it would maybe give me a blackout and I'd wake up tomorrow with everything handled.

So next I look over and Billy was staring at me with these wide, terrified eyes, like he was the one going to court, and facing a firing squad. "What?"

"You really should listen," he said. "This is important... this is your life! The least you could do is act respectful..."

"Relax. I've got this handled."

"Damn it, Hil, this is serious. If you act good, you could get probation... if not, you might be sent to juviejail."

"So what?" I said. "Might be worth it, if it means some time away from HER."

"It won't be," he said. And he stared at me, so seriously. "Seriously, I've heard some bad things. About what happens there. You think it's bad with Mom? With them, you've got, like, no rights. You need to take this seriously. Some of them're like practically slave labor camps. Kids die in there."

Poor kid. People talk bullshit all the time and if you're young and gullible you might believe it. I mean, sure it would suck, it's supposed to be punishment, but if they were really hurting kids, the shareholders would object. Or the government would step in. That's how the corporate system works, same reason why school is boring but safe. "Trust me, I'm two years older than you." He gave me that look that I hate like I fucking hate olives. That look that says "Yeah but I'm the smart one." Well, fuck you Billy I could get good marks too if I wanted to avoid having a life. That's why I'm really the smart one. But I know he means well, so I ignored it this time. I leaned over to ruffle his hair, which I know he hates so, we're even. "Don't worry, when I go into court I'll act all polite and shit. I'll be the picture of pedestrian propriety." Well, not exactly, depends on who you ask. Sometimes with old people, old people with stable jobs, I mean, purple hair or glyphs or piercings look bad for some reason, even though it's just expressing my individual style. Some people get thrown into jail for 'contempt of court' just because they dress like normal people. So I did compromise, a little. I mean I just had the ear piercings, at least visible (I joked with Dani yesterday that if the judge saw my nipple ring then I better be getting off), but I'm not dying my hair for a bullshit hearing... remember how long it took to get just the right shade? And I didn't wear Mom's ugly outfit, but I did wear this: [[Inset: Mirror shot of Hillary, now wearing a short-sleeved buttoned blazer, top three buttons open but breasts mostly covered by a plain black shirt underneath that allows an amount of cleavage which would only be provocative if she bent over in front of somebody. Below, she wears a black skirt, with white dots, that comes down to an inch above the knee]] I wore it to that retro dance before they fixed that dead zone, though my hair was black then. [[Inset: Link to a diary entry not included]] Pretty cute with the blue hair, right? And completely appropriate for court or a funeral. Of course, just for processing power I wore my big synthskin jacket over top, which made me look a bit tougher, and just ditched it when it was time to go in.

I bet I could have dressed completely normally, jacket, glyphs and all, though, the judge, he wasn't as stodgy as I expected. He was kind of an aged beefsteak. Shaved head, and under the robe you could tell he had a good body, and when he pushed up the sleeves you could see he had chrome tats on one arm. Couldn't see what it was of, though, so it might have been something twee. Still, I think he would have been open to a girl looking good in his courtroom.

Of course, I couldn't actually see if he was giving me a once over. Like the lawyers and other court employees (except the bailiffs and guards who wore those wraparound visors just like you see on netflix... I guess they're afraid of criminals hitting them from behind and don't have the budget for the stuff the cops use), the judge wore glasses that were immune to popping, so he could still have access to any necessary data, and they're tinted just enough that it's ass to see what people are looking at, from a distance. I tried giving him a smile as we came up, but he didn't respond at all. Maybe he had porn on in a window.

But I guess it wasn't really the judge who decided my fate, although you'd think it would be. Really, it was the lawyers. Because the prosecutor did a little bit of the evidence, then took a recess, and I was all getting ready to do my defense (which was half "I'm really sorry" and half "I didn't really do anything!") but my Mom and the defense lawyer went off to talk to the prosecutor (again, leaving out me, the one who this was all actually AFFECTS), and when they came back, Mom told me I had to plead guilty.

I know, what the fuck, right? I didn't want to do it, but apparently they made a 'deal' that kept me out of custody if I admitted it and acted all sorry. I bitched a bit at Mom about it, and she acted like I didn't even have a choice which made me want to plead not guilty just to piss her off. But Billy begged me to take the deal, and at least he acted like he wanted me to choose to do the right thing, rather than being forced into it. So fine, I said okay.

We had a private meeting to hammer out the details, and then went back into court and the Judge was all serious, "I understand we have a change in plea," and my lawyer nudged me and I said that I was pleading guilty, and even said I was really sorry, and he convicted me and asked the prosecutor for their sentencing recommendation.

That's when I heard it for the first time. "In consideration of Miss Gibson's guilty plea and her age, we feel that..." And he paused, or it felt like he did, and I thought he was going to say probation, which is what we talked about (later Mom insisted she said LIKE probation), but how he actually finished was, "an alternative sentencing model would be appropriate. Miss Gibson could serve as an example to her peers while still paying a debt to society, prevented from re-offending but still able to attend school." So I'm thinking I'm going to be doomed to sacrificing my weekends to community service, picking up trash (things a DRONE can do), and then they flash a picture on the screen beside the judge of this neckband and cuffs. "PATHcorp's on-demand restraint system has gotten trial approval to enforce alternative sentencing conditions and is working well in (I can't remember which cities he gave because it's bullshit anyway). We recommend daily punishment periods with longer terms during weekends as well as constant monitoring."

I spoke up then, just a "What?" and got shushed by everyone at my table, and tried to stand up but Mom held me down (bitch is stronger than she looks), and before I knew it, my trial was over. He referred it to a probation officer who will determine all the conditions along with the prosecutor and my lawyer.


I mean, seriously? I have to wear this experimental restraint tech that's going to monitor my location, and restrict my movements? ALL THE FUCKING TIME? It's like house arrest except on amphetamines. Speaking of which, since there were drug charges, I'm almost certain it's going to monitor my blood to make sure I'm on nothing fun, so that's going to be a huge pita. I guess it's still slightly better than actual incarceration. They said something about recommending a public component, too, which means it's probably going to be ugly as fuck, but maybe I'll start a new trend. Weirder things have happened.

I'm technically already grounded, but they're not coming until next week to put it on, so I guess I have a little break before my sentence. Maybe I can sneak out if my friends throw me another last night spectacular. Probably asking too much since I JUST had one, but any excuse to party, right?

Naturally, even though I was obviously miserable, Mom must have been pleased as a punch with the sentence. I mean, she tried to pretend that she was depressed, but I can tell. It's like her life dream, she's basically got the cops to control my life for her. Another way I could tell she was happy: she got the autocab to stop at Sonic for dinner. I got a Big Mac [[Inset: picture of double-decker burger, resting in the lap of a girl. One bite has been taken out of it.]] I should have got the footlong.

I'm just killing time now... I mean, it's already far too long a recap that I'm never going to read, but I needed something to do, something's been fucked up with access all evening... like, not an outage or anything because I can still get to this journal, obviously, but, I'm not able to connect to anyone I know, there must be something gumming up some traffic but not others. Or like Mom's selectively blocking (but she wouldn't fucking dare after what I did last time [[Link to diary entry not included]]).

And it doesn't look like it's back up STILL.

Maybe I will go talk to Billy, see if he wants to play Wobble or something.


>>
Anonymous 15/05/10(Sun)07:25 No. 23532 ID: 36e3b1

Always great to read your work, AnonymPC. Looking forward to seeing where this goes.


>>
Alternative Sentence, continued AnonyMPC 15/05/10(Sun)17:50 No. 23535 ID: a609fb

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5608 (rounded up), 4:55pm:
[[Soundtrack: Pillar of Rage, by The Black Hands]]

Fucking motherfucker cuntface shitgoblin Aslan-raping-Christ!

So turns out I was being fucking snubbed yesterday, and this morning. And the cowardly fucks didn't even tell me to my face, they just let me figure it out for myself.

Last night I went to bed early. I mean, I was kind of wiped out and Mom was watching me like I was an only child so I couldn't go anywhere, and I couldn't connect with anyone in my circle, why not just jump into bed. I couldn't sleep at first, but there are ways to fix that... Of course, I'd been fucked hard by the legal system, so instead of using Teddy Humps-A-Lot, I decided I'd relax with my Living Tongue toy instead. Synched up a program so I could see Bruce Rucker between my thighs behind the tongue, making me quiver, and before long, that was pretty much it for my wakefulness. I'm always sleepy after a few good cums.

Morning came too fast, and I still couldn't get in touch with any of my (EX-)friends, but I was only a little worried. The sun had just come up, so I didn't expect anyone active. I figured they were probably all sleeping off whatever they did yesterday. But being out of contact so long did start to piss me off... I mean, at least a "hey how'd it go" would have been appropriate. I mean, I told Dani briefly on the way home, but still, I thought, they're my friends, right? They should want to hear the story, get any video, and so on.

My reputation score on the school markets took a dive, but I expected that. Most dreamers just relish the chance to downgrade somebody right after anything happens that's too public. Same thing happened right after my arrest, and, sure, the drop from my conviction was worse (I guess they were expecting me to get off?), usually showing I don't give a fuck is enough to make them remember that they wish they were me and envy and upvotes from friends bring the scores back up... and even if not, a low score among the dreamers is usually a point in my favor for the people who really count.

And my score among my friends group seemed to be stable. Perfectly stable.

I guess that should have been the first sign. No congratulation upvotes? No random fluctuation as the balancing equations do their magic because somebody else gained or lost popularity and that changed how their opinion of me was weighed? No, it was steady.

It took me till like noon to figure out why. My house was declared "not-local" to the network my circles use, and my last out-of-area codes lapsed without being able to grab new ones, and since my widget couldn't refresh, and my last score stuck.

At first, I thought it was a mistake. Maybe somebody had crossed the boundary between dreamers and doers and became one of the cool kids, and some admin got sloppy while updating the borders, shifted the center and left me and a bunch of others out when it was time to grab the fresh out-of-area codes. And of course, I usually never even think to try contacting my friends on the public channels where they might be tapped by nosy parents, I just waited for someone to wake up and figure it out.

So finally Mom went out, dressed up like she had a date or something, and I decided it was time to break out of house arrest while I still could. Billy must have been watching the hall cams, because before I got to the door, he came running out. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going out. I'm not hanging out here all day."

"You're going to get in trouble... AGAIN. If the police find out..." Just like a beta, always concerned about consequences.

"They're not going to find out!" That's what the dazzle glyphs were for, to confuse any facial recognition on cameras. Not that I expected they'd put me on any lists for that, I've checked on line, and nobody knows anybody who's been facialed into jail for such a minor crime.

"Mom will find out."

Of course she would. The way Billy was acting, I almost thought he might even be lame enough to tell her himself... if it wasn't already a whoregone conclusion. Or maybe it wasn't. It was fifty-fifty on me being caught. Billy might whine at me, but I don't really think he'd turn me in... he was good with hacks, and usually he covers for me if I ask nicely, put old footage in, disable the nanny monitors. Narc? Nah... the most he might do is not help out. But the fifty-fifty chance was because, even if Mom wasn't watching things live, she'd be paying more attention than usual after.

I didn't give a fuck though. "Yeah, and what's she going to do? Ground me double? I'll just sneak out again. She can't tell on me, cause then I'd go to jail, and it'd be all her fault. Mom ain't going to do shit." That's the thing I learned that Billy hasn't, that dreamers never figure out. You're free of your parents when you decide to be, because there's only so much they could do. And if they love you, they'll cover for your shit. Mom can be a bitch and I hate her sometimes but she loves me, and if I ever found out she murdered somebody, I'd cover it up and she'd do the same. Which puts her at least one step up off friends, who'll fucking stab you in the back and fuck your life over for no fucking reason.

Billy backed down, like I knew he would, and I pushed past him and into freedom. Didn't get more than a block from home before Mom called, but I thumbs-downed the call.

That was also about the time that I got within range of the Darer network and saw my reputation plummet. I was in the negatives! The fucking negatives! That meant that some of my best friends scored me negatives, that I could tell without even looking, but I didn't know who, and I sure as hell didn't know why.

The comments, they were brutal too. There were plenty of the usual assortment, cunt, bitch, loser, things that might even be meant affectionately, but one word kept appearing over and over again. Snitch.

I am not a fucking snitch.

Somebody was smearing me.

I tried to connect with Dani, sure that she was already trying to do damage control. After all, she was the only one to talk to me yesterday. But even though I was in range, it wouldn't connect. I'd been shitlisted. I couldn't even call up pointers to where she, or anybody who mattered, was.

Eventually, I found somebody (Joan) who hadn't already shitlisted me (and didn't do it immediately when I tried to connect), who explained what now, apparently, "everyone knows." That I was supposed to go to juvie but I got a back room deal in exchange for selling out everybody else arrested that day. Because none of THEM got to go home.

It's total bullshit!

I knew what I had to do. I had to find Dani, explain, because even if she fell for what everyone was saying, we were best friends, and if I could just talk to her I could explain and she'd believe me and then she'd help me convince everybody else. Right?

[[Inset: Ominous music]]

Yeah, right. I tried visiting her at home, but she wasn't there, so I connected with her mom, got her secretary of COURSE, but I told him my address book was fried and wondered if he or her mom anyone knew where Dani was in the flesh. Luckily nobody tells parents anything about their social dramas, and they certainly don't tell the secretaries, so in order to get rid of me the fastest way, he just told me the truth... or what he thought was the truth, anyway, that Dani was listed as meeting some of her friends down at the game stage in the GoDaddy building. That meant she probably was in that vicinity, physically, though I doubted she was participating in the game. We're not dreamers, we're doers, the Daring. Participating in somebody else's drama may be fun sometimes, but the best part about the game stages is finding an unused room to have our own fun our own way or skipping out entirely.

I checked the listings. This week they're running a starship drama where you could play crewmen, and a zombie horde story and some medieval fantasy shit. True, the medieval one might have had some fun costumes to get dirty with, but I thought the starship one was the best bet. We've actually played that one before (I mean they change the plot up every couple weeks but they're all pretty much the same), and the halls of the ship have lots of little rooms that it's easy to fritz the monitoring... or set up a good-enough blind. The others are more open-area, easier to get caught by somebody who sees through AR.

Autobussed it down there, paid the fee to join in the space opera, got my AR uniform tags (should have worn something tighter so they had to cast me as a space marine... still, looked pretty badass in the selfie they allowed me before shutting down my access): [[Inset: short video, AR-enabled, of Hillary with full combat armor, heavy shoulder pads, in shades of blue and silver, with ads for MerckPfizer, Pepsi, and Facet Software floating above them like the classic devils and angels offering advice, or, more accurately, three corporate devils, and the only advice they had was "buy." Of course, the ads are no less real than the armor... both are augmented reality projections, albeit very high-quality ones. As such, Hillary moves more fluidly than somebody actually carrying everything projected on her would, particularly somebody of her slight size. In the ten second clip, she whips out a huge plasma rifle, also mostly AR, and aims it at the mirror she's filming herself in.]]

I wandered around for like an hour while cannibalistic aliens stalked the ship (I showed up late so they were already in an action act), shooting things occasionally, but I wasn't there for the game, mostly I was ducking into individual rooms looking for teenagers getting freaky. And I found a few (and one guy I bought a hit of kama off and I'm glad I did because it is sooo taking the edge off right now), but no one I knew well, they were all people from other enclosures and a few of the cooler iCity poor splurging on a fun night.

Then I got killed while making my way to the next empty room. One of the main cast members came running down a corridor and an alien was coming after him and I just reacted and shot, but then there was another behind that one and that one shot me, and they pulled me out of the game and I guess ate my corpse. In the waiting room where they showed you how your actions impacted the story (I totally saved that bio-acquisitions expert guy who was apparently key to the resolution of that arc and making sure the mission turned a profit despite the deaths) and tried to convince me to join back in as another character, but I figured I'd chosen the wrong sim, and, especially after buying the kama, I didn't have money to try one of the other floors in the game arena, so I just ditched, went down to the food court and went hunting for leads.

That's when I found it. My former friends might have cut my access to the locator system, but they didn't change the codes for our private AR protocols, and that meant I could see the upright rabbit standing in a potted plastic plant near the Noodle Printer. At first I didn't know that no one else could see it... I thought it was just an ad, the kind everyone ignores, but then I remembered Dave Pondsmith was pitching to run a party recently, and he liked the whole Alice in Wonderland theme and the rabbit WAS staring at that gold broach thing that had a clock in it.

So I took a chance and of getting spammed and went up and poked it so it would unpack. Sure enough, a map appeared highlighting a spot on a floor two down from the food court, not part of the game stage. The directory said it was a cosmetic tune-up clinic, but the doctors only work a few days during the week and I guess somebody had security override codes which made it a perfect place for a party. The elevator wouldn't stop there, but there was a route outlined through an emergency stairwell.

Sounded good to me. Maybe I could change up my boob size while I was there.

Jokes aside, can you believe this shit? This is what happened when I showed up:

[[Inset: video footage, AR enabled.

What you see is teenagers doing what they've done for centuries, partying with music and mood enhancers. Whether PiRat, working class or glitterkids, the pattern's the same, only the details and the stakes are different. Among those from Hillary's neighborhood, in that delicate space where they have a realistic hope of a corporate sponsorship leading to a high paying job if they keep their reputations clean enough, it's usually a tamer affair, but these are the self-proclaimed Daring, the envelope-pushers, the ones who believe they're the exception, immune, immortal. They'll party and fuck around as much as any PiRat... but they do it in what they believe are carefully engineered blind spots, trusting in each other to keep the appropriate secrets and savoring the thrill of getting away with things under the noses of adults.

They never realize that the truth is their privacy is largely illusory, that it's fairly likely you can't stop a determined snoop, if they care enough, and often these kids are actually just an expected part of the system they think they're rebelling against. The game stages have empty unmonitored rooms just because it attracts kids like these, or more importantly their money. In this clinic, their presence is noted and waiting for a cost/benefit analysis to tick over and decide it's worth breaking up... if they choose the right moment, they might even be able to turn a profit by confiscating drugs or technology hastily left behind by teens sure they're about to be arrested if they don't run. For all their fears, actual arrest is unlikely. The price of involving the cops being what it is, even after the fact, the incursion is temporarily tolerated so long as they don't do much damage and don't attempt to hack into the supply of legitimate medication.

Though on this night, from this point of view, that supply is disguised... the space no longer even looks at all like a clinic. Gone is anything identifiable as a waiting room or surgical bench. Private AR tags have transformed the walls and furniture into art spaces, some giving a two-dimensional surface the look of a deep window onto an alternate world, the kind of quality that has caused more than one person, judgment impaired by sufficient chemicals, to hurt their head trying to access. Others are painted with more simple virtual video screens or static paintings. Dancing flowers sway sprout up from the floors, swaying along with the current song (Haze by Kerry Eurodyne). The adolescents themselves are also made up, although the cheaper AR illusions are necessarily less perfect with moving people, and sometimes a flash of adware asserts its dominance and peeks through an otherwise good costume.

There are a little over two dozen in all, clumped up in small groups. One couple's making out, another two guys are dancing together and singing along, and there's a small crowd watching a girl on her knees alternate between sucking one guy and licking another girl, while the two being serviced kiss.

The mood changes quickly, as one boy, with a playing card of the 6 of clubs sprouting from his lanky body on either side, turns and spots the camera, spots Hillary. He nudges his nearest friend, and then both of their fingers stars wiggling, composing private messages, and within a few seconds, everybody's turned, at least briefly, to the new arrival in their midst. Most (at least, most of those who aren't wearing masks that have animated AR faces on them) stare disapprovingly.

Hillary's voice says, "Hey everyone." It's uncertain, nervous, no matter how much she might deny it. Even more insecure is the waver in tone as she says, "Figured I'd sneak out and celebrate my evading juvie."

"Yeah, we heard you escaped," says a blonde asian girl with large cartoon mouse ears. Lest you think she's a wannabe PiRat, the truth is simpler, she's taken on a costume loosely inspired by the Dormouse in the book "Alice's Adventures In Wonderland." There's a gleaming bead hovering by her head, expandable to point out that she's accepted a dare, that she will take sedatives at the party and allow anybody to do what they want with her unconscious body, for lewd youths to watch and enjoy. But at the moment she's awake and alert, and perhaps thinking of backing out. For all their bluster, even the Daring are more conservative than they pretend. Given enough time, peer pressure might win out over nerves, but right now the Dormouse is grateful for the distraction. "Funny how nobody else you were arrested with got off so lightly." Somebody calls forth an AR image of a winged golden ball that floats towards the view and then disappears from the footage, but other enabled views would show it circling her.

"I'm not a snitch!" Hillary whines. Nobody seems convinced, or even willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. They stare at her with the type of hard, uncompromising faces that judges wear when they sentence somebody to death.

The view bobs and Hillary spots a girl who looks very much like herself, same age, same style of hair (only it's green, longer in the front, and starting to grow in, in blonde, on the shaved sides), same body type and skin tone, and similar glyphs on her face (although hers are a simple spiral pattern). AR paints an old fashioned blue dress with a white pinafore and striped stockings over her slight frame, marking her out as taking on, at least at present, the role of Alice, although she's actually wearing a tight bodysuit and AR costumes often get swapped throughout the night. The girl's not looking at Hillary, at least not all of the time, she's looking at the floor. "Dani! Come on, you can vouch for me, you know I didn't do anything!"

There's a short laugh, and one of the revelers says, "Who do you think told us what you did?"

Dani looks up then, staring Hillary right in the eye, holding it for a second of silence before looking away, disdainfully. She doesn't speak, her fingers send a message not intended for Hillary's ears.

"But... I didn't! I wouldn't. It's a lie." It's said at first with wonder, then with vehemence. "It's a lie. She's fucking lying!"

"Then why are you the only one free?" the one who laughed asks. "Logan didn't get a sweet deal, did he?"

And Hillary has no response, except, after a few seconds, "It's not a sweet deal! It's just a different form of punishment!" But she sounds unconvincing. "I wasn't even really involved!" And it's true, to an extent. The possession charge was fair, as far as these things go, but unlike many of the others arrested, she wasn't directly involved in the creation or distribution of the illegal drugs and weaponry, and never touched the hacked print shop. But she knew about it and there was enough to support a charge, and some of the other kids' involvements were as limited as hers.

A message blooms in the air, a vote, suggesting they uninvite Hillary from the party. Various people make a thumbs up gesture, and check-marks appear next to the vote. "You're not really involved with us, either," someone says, when the vote is clearly trending towards approval... not everyone has voted yes, but nobody has yet voted no. The camera's view is locked on Hillary's friend Dani, making a thumbs-up gesture.

"I didn't do anything!"

Moments later, everything changes. Hillary, and the cameras under her control, no longer have the proper codes to see the party's AR tags, and so the clinic returns to a sterile business place filled with teenagers in the kind of average clothes that are optimized for AR-enhancement... mostly tights and plain colors, except for the ads that flicker on some. A counter that was disguised as a rose bush contains bulkier clothes that were shed in the interests of a sleeker profile or remaining cool, while still close enough to provide their function as wearables. The music is likewise gone, and the video is suddenly silent, except one girl who was singing along and appears not to have noticed the whole expulsion ceremony. Nobody else notices the singer either, because they can still hear the music, see the sights, and there, she's just part of the background and doesn't stand out as unusual.

"Go away, Hillary," says the former Dormouse. "Find some other group to bother."

The camera pans one last time to Dani, before Hillary says, "Fuck you all, motherfuckers."

They turn away and continue dancing, a move that seems calculated to express the attitude that she is an outsider, unwelcome, unworthy to even share the same reality as her former friends. She could stay, but why? They're already in two different worlds.

So Hillary turns for the door, and that's where the video ends.

Not shown: Security decided to 'notice' the party minutes after Hillary leaves. It wasn't her fault, merely foul luck, yet... Hillary will be blamed for it anyway, because it reinforced the story they've already decided on. Even though no one was arrested, and only a few reprogrammable AR stickers were lost, it's one more piece of evidence in their minds that she's a snitch. Whether it is for this misunderstanding that Hillary was systematically removed from access to most of her other social networks, or whether this was planned all along, must be left up to your own imagination.]]

I can't believe it. Some of them, I couldn't give a shit, idiot sheep. But of all people, Dani? How could I have missed what a fucking backstabbing bitch my best friend could be?

As if this week couldn't get any worse. I even had to that hit of kama on the way home to stop from crying, and it's working, mostly. At least I got home before I started to look like this:

[[Inset: Self-photo taken in a mirror from a bed, while Hillary is clad just in a short undershirt and panties. Her hair's wild and all over the place, like she's been vigorously shaking her head several times, and her eyes are red. No tears are presently falling, but the glyphs on her cheeks have dead pixels where the protective coating has been worn away by previous ones and wind up looking oddly streaked.]]

The weird thing is, the tears don't stop but on the kama, I don't feel sad, I feel... disconnected, but I guess my body knows. I do feel the anger, but it comes and goes on it though. Sometimes I forget I'm angry at all, sometimes I want to burn the world down.

Tomorrow I'll be straight, though and that will almost certainly be like a red-hot metal ass rape of my heart.

Anyway, thank you Joan Varley [[Inset: photo of a tall girl who looks eighteen but is actually 14, with long straight blonde hair and almost too-large eyes. She's dressed in a black leather ensemble, with ad-patches on the arms]] for at least bothering to tell me why everyone hates me now, and for not being a total bitch when she did. I owe her one even if we weren't close before, and I always pay my debts. You better keep that in mind too, Dani, cause it goes both ways.


>>
Alternative Sentence, continued AnonyMPC 15/05/10(Sun)23:01 No. 23537 ID: a609fb

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5609 (rounded up), 3:05pm:

[[Soundtrack: Memory Hole by Agrippa]]

Now that I've been stabbed in the back by what was supposed to be my best friend, and abandoned by everyone else, I don't know what to do with myself. I guess not everyone's abandoned me, but I don't feel like talking to anybody in any of my other circles... all the ones that matter, Dani's in too, and she's probably poisoned them against me too, that bitch. All the rest are specialty interest groups and right now, I don't feel very interested in anything. I don't even want to leave the house, and I ALWAYS want to be away from here when Mom's home and the Rat's crying his head off.

I can't believe she did this to me! If it wasn't for me, she'd still be in the pedestrian lane of life. I was the one who figured out that nanny programs turned off when we masturbated, so we could actual talk about crossing between dreamers and the daring. I was the one who got us invited to that first black party. I signed us up for our first dares, and set us up to get our first drugged glyphs (not to mention I was the one to take the cumshot on our first ever blowjobs to pay for them).

And she can't even give me one bit of loyalty?

Why? She won't even talk to me! If I could just know why, maybe I could get past it, or try to make it up to her, but if she won't...

... fuck her.

I want to make her pay, but what am I going to do? I've got so much dirt on her but if I do anything with it, then that just proves her right. I can't exactly punch her out (maybe I can, but I'd have to do it quick before my sentence begins if I was going to get away with it, otherwise it's jail for me). So I'll have to play the long game, earn my way back up the reputation scores and find a way to trash her in the future.

Well, there's one other thing I can do. Flush the fucking tumor out of my system. No way does that bitch deserve to be promoted in any of my networks. She deserves to be fucking erased. So today I've been going through every old share that mentions or includes her, and deleting it.

Not in my journal, of course. As tempting as it is, the whole point of this thing is that so one day long after I'm gone, scientists can recreate me from my memories and the stuff I've recorded. I don't even know if I believe in this simulation-afterlife shit anymore (Mom probably secretly stopped paying to store my blood sample knowing how I turned out), but if it IS real, me without my memories of Dani won't be me. Probably.

But I can send a message by scrubbing her from every other part of my public life. And even the private memories I've built up, I don't want them anywhere I might come across them. So I'm going through my starred memories, removing them from easy access, and shoving them here. Maybe I'll delete them later.

[[Inset: Video taken at Hillary's pre-court party. The theme of this party is bondage, with most participants wearing shackles or gimp masks or other bondage-paraphernalia, mostly as demonstrated in netflix rather than actual experience. A few wear genuine fake leather, although AR imitations of it are more common.

The video is long and unedited, incorporating video from multiple sources, and a lot of the footage contains a lot of drinking and casual drug use, surprisingly little sex except occasional spanking, and even that's mostly without physical contact.

One section is highlighted by Hillary. Dani and Hillary dancing together, side by side, their cheeks pressed together and green and blue hair look like they're wrestling with each other for dominance. Then, suddenly, Dani turns and gives a sloppy, drunken kiss on Hillary's cheek, and insists, with seeming feeling, "I'm gonna miss you so much, babe! When you're in jail, think of me!"

Hillary responds with a spontaneous, drug-fueled burst of laughter. "It won't be so bad. I'm sure I'll be back before you know it."

"I hope so, it won't be the same here without you. Even if you piss me off," the sentiment is broken up by another burst of laughter, "I love you like Keene loves Coke."

"I love you too, Dani. If I wind up in juvie, keep my place warm for me."

Dani then breaks away and rounds up the nearby people to cheer for Hillary and give her a good-luck-in-jail song.]]

Two-faced bitch. She's going to miss me so much, then she tells everyone I'm a snitch.

[[Inset: Video clip from Hillary's POV of a girl's room... it's not Hillary's, but rather Dani's. What can be seen of the AR enhancements make it look like some kind of ancient temple, but Hillary is too familiar with it to spend any time on any of the details. Instead, she looks at Dani directly. It's only a matter of months ago, but her friend's style has changed, she's got black hair bedazzled with jewels (some real, some illusionary) and green eye makeup, a look somewhat inspired by a recent netflix depiction of Cleopatra. She wears a long tan two-piece dress that shows her belly.

"Okay let's do this," Dani says, and gives a giggle that ends in a snort. "I do hereby swear that, should it become necessary, I will relieve your brother of every one of his virginities before he becomes too much of a pest or an incorrigible d-com." She reaches out and wraps her pinky finger around Hillary's.

"Thank you," Hillary says honestly. "That's a load off my mind."

"You know, you should be glad he hacked into that haptic bra."

"Yeah, I guess... I mean imagine if he hacked Teddy Humps-A-Lot? I mean, I'm pretty sure he doesn't have a fullsense onahole, but... still, gross."

"No, I mean you should be glad he did it at all." Dani rolls over and leans over the side of the bed to stroke her longcat, who looks up and closes his eyes contentedly into slits. "I mean, at least he's taking a step. Better than being a dreamer your whole life, like I thought he was going to be."

Hillary rolls onto her back to look at the ceiling instead, which appears inlaid with gold and has a stylized depiction of the heavens. "Please, an anonymous grope? It's just barely above peeking. It's still pretty beta. Hardly darer material."

"You think he knew it was you?"

The view turns back over to look at her friend, who's looking back at her. "God I hope not." Just in view behind her, Dani's longcat stands up and puts one paw on the edge of the bed, uncertainly (the lab-conjured animals never were good at jumping). It opens its mouth to meow, probably plaintively, but it's silent as the cat's also had the popular voicebox-disabling surgery. Dani probably hears an AR simulation of the meow, or at least recieves an alert, as she immediately turns to pull the overlong animal up, and it then crawls over her and finds its desired spot between the two warm bodies. "I don't see how he could know, he didn't know I had it and I hadn't officially signed on. There could have been dozens of girls within range."

"You figured out it was him, couldn't he figure out it was you? I mean, he is smarter than you."

Hillary shoves her friend playfully at the insult, over the head of the cat who is startled by the sudden movement and looks as though it's reconsidering its choice of rest. "No way. The little beta's done it on other bras, he doesn't hide it cause we didn't know WHAT he was doing. It wasn't until I saw him doing this..." She makes a little pinching motion with her hands, rolling her fingers slightly. "And I felt MY nipple getting tweaked that I realized it wasn't part of a game. If he knew he got my bra this time, he'd have hidden in his room to do it."

"Unless he wanted you to know, cause he wanted to start something..." She grins.

Hillary makes a disgusted sound. "Don't even say that."

"I'm just saying, maybe you should give him a go. Isn't that what your whole Resurrectionist church is always talking about, be interesting so they bring you back? What's more interesting than letting your own brother cum inside you, being the one pussy he compares everybody else against the rest of his life."

Hillary strokes the once again relaxing cat between them. "Please. It's not about acting like a famewhore, it's about being interesting by being yourself. Like how my mom got famous, following her passion or whatever. And my little brother is not one of my passions. The only reason you think the incest thing is cool is because you don't have siblings. Trust me. If that was one of my things, I'd have already initiated him myself instead of asking you to do it."

"Hey, I don't mind doing it. He's kind of cute, for a betaboy. Hey, what're his cockstats?"

"I don't know, I haven't seen it since he was, like, ten. All guys that age are tiny."

"You've got to have some recent tighties pic that I can run the guesstimate app on."

"He doesn't like tights. Even when he's wearing AR he usually has clothes peeking out. So I don't know, maybe I could find something... but, you know, he's probably average at least."

"But if he doesn't like tights, maybe he's..."

"It's not that, it's his legs he's self-conscious about."

"I hope so, I don't want a microdick in me." Dani makes a face.

"Too bad, you already promised. No breaching."

Hillary's friend gives a sigh, but then smiles. "Fine. I'll do him even if he's a microdick. You're lucky you're my best friend, though."

"He's probably bigger than average. Mom would have wanted him to be exceptional."

"Well, in that case... maybe I'm lucky I'm YOUR best friend."]]

Bitch never followed through on that, either. What a useless fucking shitstain of a friend.

[[Inset: Another video, another party, this one taken at somebody's house. The point of view is stable, probably a camera on one of Hillary's wearables, hung on a hook. She's certainly not wearing them. She and Dani, at this point in matching shoulder-length red-hair that makes them look like twins, are clad only in bra and panties. The panties are the classic look of Disney's failed Faces brand underwear, the ones that, years ago in outraged media reports, were mockingly called, "A Girl's First Strap-On", with soft plastic face-molds jutting off the front, in the shape of Mickey's snout that could, and often were, used in exploratory lesbian sex sessions, just long and wide and rigid enough to barely penetrate a curious preteen's hole with soft humping, or rub against a clit with a firm but silky pressure. As the original underwear were mostly in smaller sizes and, furthermore, have been sought-after collector's items in the years since they were taken off the market, it's most likely that these are reproductions from a custom clothing print shop skirting intellectual property law.

While Dani and Hillary are not actually having sex, they are using the cartoon faces provocatively, alternatively thrusting towards each other's panty-covered butt, as they dance together for an audience of friends, singing two songs (with a jump cut in between that suggests they were not consecutive). The first is "Show Me" by Wants To Be Free. The second is an impromptu tune, a parody of a much older song, the dancing more fun than sensual, despite the words:
"Thank you for being a friend....
We'll be united right to end...
I'd stab a bitch for you, you're the cause of my best mistakes.
And if you threw an orgy,
Invited every nigga you knew,
You would see the biggest cock would go to me,
And in my cries of bliss, I'd say...
Thank you for being a friend..."

After this song, the girls dissolve into giggles while others at the party clap or whistle.]]

Friends to the end? Right now the only bitch I want to stab is you.

[[Inset: Video taken at night, in iCity, far outside of the gated community enclosure Hillary hails from, one of the neutral areas, standing on top of a prefab building, looking down of a street glittering with various AR advertisements but no sound filters up to them.

"I don't know about this..."

She looks up, catches Dani smiling at her. Dani wears dark hair, freshly shaved along the sides, and has a temporary nose ring in, and is clad in black tights, much like Hillary is. "Come on, Hillary... I know you can do it. But we don't have to. If you want to back out, I won't do the dare either."

"I want to, it's just... the Silent... they're kind of freaky."

"Trust me." This isn't Dani, and Hillary's POV swings to see the speaker, a young man in his late teens wearing a leatherish jacket. "I've lived near the Silent for months, and trust me, they're mostly talk."

"Really," Dani says with a bit of a smirk. "Cause I've heard they're pretty much all text."

The joke's not worthy of a reply, but Hillary focused on the man now. "Yeah, I knew you wouldn't be scared, Logan, but that's you. You've got protection, Logan, even if they caught you...." She leaves the thought unfinished, but it's likely the Silent would arrange a trade of some sort. "But us, we're rich kids, and if we go screaming through Silent territory at night, they might..."

"What? Hunt you down? Make an example out of you?" Logan finishes. "You've seen too many netflix. If there's any danger, it's that they won't fall for the distraction, and it's not US who's on the hook for that." He waits a second, then, sensing hesitation, continues, "Look, chicken out if you want, but, I'm not doing this for some stupid dare, I've got money on this... so... keep up, or be left behind." He smiles, though, and walks to the edge of the building where there's another guy.

After he's out of earshot, Hillary whispers, "Man, I love how cool he is. What do you think he's on? Glide? Kama?"

"I don't know," Dani says. "Maybe he'll give us some after we do this. If you still want to." She reaches out, clasps Hillary by the hand, squeezes tight. "Whatever it is, it's together."

Hillary takes a deep, audible breath. "Okay, let's do it. Only thing worse than death is being left behind, right?" They walk to the edge of the building, meet Logan and his friends, who attach something to Hillary's belt, and also Dani's, and pins something to her shirt.

"You know the plan, right?" Logan says. "If we get separated."

"We won't get separated," Dani says.

"We know," Hillary says. "Let's just do this."

The three, along with two others, brace themselves on the side of the building, and then, at an unseen signal, loud, instrumental music, disturbing the quiet of the night. This isn't opt-out music, played only an AR layer and the eardrums of those subscribed to it, it's actual sound, loud and attention-getting and angry. An optional viewpoint becomes available, from a small camera drone, viewing them from above as they exchange one last nod.

While the music plays, the five quick-rappel down the side of the building, the two girls screaming in glee. When they reach the bottom, they detach and step onto powered inline skates, already waiting, and zoom through streets raising hell and attracting the attention of members of the gang known as Silent, who peer out of windows or look up from corners. Some are curled up in a ball suffering from, or pretending to suffer from, the sensory sensitivity that affected the pioneer Silents. Others shake their fists angrily while AR curse words appear in vibrant color in the air. A few even give chase, on foot, but without much success. And the gang is true to their name, although many look like they want to, none shout. Even those who didn't get the voicebox shunt that's becoming popular, the same surgery that was developed for loud dogs and cats like Dani's, wouldn't dare speak louder than a whisper after midnight.

The raid Hillary and Dani are part of inconsiderately disturb as many members of the gang as they can, making a quick pass through the blocks they control, getting the excitement they craved and fulfilling the terms of their dare, but are never particularly in danger, nor do they even get very close to a member of the gang who wasn't holding their ears to blot out the noise. Once they're safely out of neutral territory, Dani and Hillary laugh in relief, shut off the speakers on their chests, and hug, then Hillary looks around, realizing that she and Dani did wind up getting separated from Logan and his group. "Come on, let's go find Logan, he owes us something good."]]

I haven't even made a dent in the Dani tag. God, I don't have the fucking energy for this right now. Maybe I'll do more tomorrow.

Fuck, tomorrow I'm back at school.

Fuck my life.


>>
Alternative Sentence, continued AnonyMPC 15/05/12(Tue)01:21 No. 23542 ID: a609fb

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5610 (rounded up), 5:30pm:
[[Soundtrack: Tree of Pain, by Aenea and the Keats Cybrid]]

So today I discovered what being a pariah at school's like. And let me tell you, it's comcastic. I've been home an hour and I still feel like slitting my wrists. Not really, I don't want to give them the satisfaction, but it was pretty harsh.

All day it was like everyone was staring at me, whispering about me, taking some video to give it some cruel filter or caption and sending it back, or just messaging each other about me. It sounds egotistical but you can see it in their eyes... every eye was on me. And sometimes they were open about it. Like this:

[[Inset video: Hillary approaches the front door of her school, a sleek metal sliding door with a scanner above it to make sure only students and staff enter. After a brief scan, it opens, and there are students milling in the antiseptic white halls beyond. No staff are in evidence, but most of the teachers are virtual presences anyway, along with a few guards to prevent physical violence and proctors to enforce rules.

It's not Hillary's imagination, the other students really are eying her, sometimes sneering openly, before dramatically turning away. The words "Snitch" and "Traitor" and "Coward" are muttered, just barely loud enough to hear, some to friends who are physically there, some over some network link, the latter representing some token rebellion against the rules that the administration usually turns a blind eye to.

To those in not-for-profit school systems, or who get their education from the streets, the entire setup would seem sterile, almost inhuman. There's a certain eerie uniformity among the students, not least because they're actually wearing uniforms. The outfits come in two varieties for top and bottom each, there's a buttoned shirt and vest combo or a short-sleeved blouse, and either pants or knee-length skirts, all in white and either blue or red (to match the currently sponsored corporate colors), or black (to provide a neutral choice consistent with the flimsy legal guidelines of 'avoiding compelled speech'). What each individual student wears, within those permutations, is legally up to them, and there are plenty of females wearing pants or vest and a few males wearing either skirts or blouses, or both, but still, it feels like a sea of conformity, especially because personal AR enhancements are at least theoretically forbidden on school grounds. AR in general is fairly sparse within the school, aside from educational aids, administrative tags and official ads, and they're mostly limited to walls and lecture plans.

To assert their individuality, some of the students choose outrageous hair styles, facial glyphs, or augment their outfits with jewelry or footware (which provide double duty in allowing them to access their own archives separate from school monitoring), but most of them are so paranoid about what future employers might think that they'd rather blend into the crowd than be noticed for the wrong thing.

Even allowing for the minority of fashion rebels, the atmosphere of conformity goes beyond the outfits. Those with parents well-off enough to enroll them in this school are also in a position to have flaws corrected, sometimes genetically in the womb, sometimes with surgery or hormone treatments after the fact. There are differences in height and body shape, facial features and racial makeup, but everyone is blandly beautiful. No one has bad skin or an ugly mole or teeth. No one is overweight (and over-muscled is out-of-fashion, even among the males). Even those who've taken the plunge and officially crossed gender are indistinguishable from attractive members of their new sex on the outside (regardless whether or not they have the genitals to match, that change a step most parents are still cautious about taking before teen years are up).

Still, a trained eye can pick out slight differences between the two major social groups, the daring and the dreamers (as many of the daring call them... the so-called dreamers more typically describe themselves as "normal people" or "on track" and sometimes the darers are "the entertainment" or variations on that theme). There's nothing that outright signals any individual person as belonging to one category or the other, but broad trends apply. The daring are more prone to stretching the dress code rules with accessories or adapting their outfits to show more skin, and outside of school, they are on the bleeding edge of fashion. In general, the dreamers are more stressed, about passing all the tests, that somebody will expose some dark secret to their friends and those friends will expose it to everyone to get ahead, and their future lives will unravel.

But in this video, the key difference is highlighted in their reaction to Hillary. The dreamers are amused, her fall from grace is another piece of entertainment, a cautionary tale that validates their own cautious life-choices. The darers, they're contemptuous, she betrayed them and their best revenge is to make her aware of how much beneath them they feel she is.

Not shown: Shortly after entering, before class begins, one of the darers fakes a sneeze and uses that opportunity to spit in Hillary's face. She apologizes profusely, but that's a show for the cameras and any proctors questioning her behavior later, although as she's not a good actress... the look on her face makes it clear that it was no accident. Hillary doesn't have any footage of this incident... it's certainly possible to get around the blocks with a little effort, but, by default, personal video recording is disabled once school grounds are entered. Hillary didn't mention this incident, but it's included because it's known to the students and for leaving you with a better picture of what went on.]]

That's pretty much how it went all day. I've never been so lonely in a crowd full of people.

Like, the only one who even talked to me today is the new girl Shirley [[Inset picture: A dark-haired girl with glitter sparkles in her hair, wearing a school uniform in blue, sitting in the school's dropoff area, presumably waiting for an autocar to pick her up. It's a crop of a bigger picture, Shirley wasn't the focus initially and Hillary must not been able to find a more relevant photo.]], and I'm pretty sure she's a memepusher. Not a very good one, but still, I mean, the way she obsesses over this new show Count Zero that's not even out yet, it's like every time anyone's talking about new ones she breaks in to mention it. She's got to be paid to spread the word in advance, especially since it's not on any of the big watchlists.

Oh, Shirley... more like Shilly, am I right? My friends (my EX-friends) had just been talking last week about how she tries to act like one of the Daring, but we've never actually seen her do anything beyond some of the tamest dares. She's probably not even a teenager, so if she actually did anything too radical she'd be locked up or fired. You want me to like your show, eat my pussy, bitch, on camera. Actually cross the line between the dreamers and the doers instead of pretending. Sure, even if you're not a pusher it might spread, but look at all the stuff I've done and aside from that one arrest, I'm fine.

Who am I kidding? If she hasn't abandoned me by the time the first batch drops, I'll watch her fucking show just so we have something to talk about.

God, I can't believe I'm writing about Shirley in my journal. Has my social life come to this? Everyone else has got to get over it and forgive me soon, right? This was totally NOT MY FAULT.

I hope so. Otherwise, I'm probably going to have to cross back to the dreamers... I mean, not really cross over, because that's impossible. Firstly, my reputation's already pretty well trashed, so there are no dreams of a job where they care about such things. And there's no fucking way I'm giving up sex... I'm sure even with the cold shoulder I've been getting lately, somebody who knows the right moves will fuck me if I'm willing to keep it a secret.

But, just to have somebody to talk to, I might even have to go back and associate with the batch of twoshoes (what does that even mean?) I left behind in sixth grade. They don't like me either right now but I think it's mostly for show... I'm still the kind of person they only wish they were, and if I can manage to spend time doing wholesome things with them and not blow my brains out, they'll accept me sooner or later, I think.

So, it's not so bad. Hey, maybe I can even sneak a virgin over the border. Neil's [[Inset Photo: A clean-cut looking kid, blond, blue eyed, square-jawed, like an aryan clone, wearing the school sports uniform]] is pretty yummy and I don't know if he's a actually a virgin like he claims (even the most drone-watched kids hits an outage or glitchy access now and then... maybe he and another dreamer made a silent fuckpact or something during one), but I know the only reason he doesn't try to get laid is because his mombeast watches his every move. You can just tell he wants it worse than anyone.

Like that time we were playing Tap That after school and I slapped his butt and he got all cute and blushy but then his bitch mom cut in and told him not to hang with me, and me to "please not drag her son into my rebellious phase" because he's got a good career track ahead of him. The nerve. As bad as Mom is, she's not THAT bad anymore. But I can tell by the way Neil looks at me he's just praying for an outage when I'm nearby, and he's right to... Give me a few minutes alone with him and I'll have him ready to shit in his mother's bed and then join the Machetes just for another blowjob from me.

Of course, that would involve me being alone with him after school, and too much of my after school time is about to be devoted to this stupid fucking punishment. Fuck shithouse cunt cops, dicks shrivel up because they can't catch a murderer and have to make me suffer for it.


>>
Alternative Sentence, continued AnonyMPC 15/05/13(Wed)00:38 No. 23545 ID: a609fb

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5612 (rounded up), 6:33pm:
[[Soundtrack: Shallow by Rei Toei]]

I finally got to talk to Dani. She's been ducking me these last few days, I'm on her shitlist everywhere and even at school she'd been either ignoring me or avoiding me or has been in a crowd most of the time. And even if I did get her close-to-alone she'd probably stick to her story, knowing I was stealth-recording it and could show it to everyone if she admitted she made it up.

But even if I couldn't go through with that plan, I still needed to talk to her. I needed to hear from her lips... why?

Well, as much as I've complained about gym class being pointless time-filler when we can just use toner, it finally had a use, because the shower/change room is the one place that they don't just try to override your systems, but actually take all of them away so there's no chance of video getting out. And since Dani and I share the class, it gave me a window of opportunity to get the truth.

I played it casual at first, ignored her during class, waited till the shower. Most people don't actually shower or just a quick spray of their lower body, but I know Dani's one of the few that likes to, because she likes the look it gives her hair. So I waited until she was in, and I did my best to look intimidating and told everyone else to clear out. I guess they figured I had nothing else to lose, because they did, retreating to their individual cubbies so they could get their wearables back on. Then I did the same for the few girls in the shower.

Dani just looked at me, with what looked like scared eyes, but I guess she wanted to hash this out too. If she wasn't, I couldn't really do anything about it. It's not like I could hold her there... they may not actually watch us but they've got thermal sensors take note of any prolonged physical contact so the proctors can break up fights or sex (as Bella and Luisa found out in middle school [[Inset link to entry from years ago where Hillary describes the event and finds it hilarious]]).

But she stayed, until we were well and truly alone, just two girls standing naked in a shower, staring at each other. "What?" she said. "Don't blame me for your situation, this is your own fault."

"I didn't do anything."

"Right. Your lifelog isn't going to be used against Logan or the others?" Well, sure, but that's not enough to make me a pariah.

"That's not my fault." It isn't, not if something you have gets hacked or taken by the cops or your parents and that winds up exposing somebody's secrets. People understand... that's just bad luck. It's only if you collaborate... that was the story she spread about me. She had to tell everyone that I gave up the encryption keys or agreed to testify or something like that. "And it's not the point. You fucking backstabbed me, Dani. Why? What did I do?"

"What did you do?" She shook her head, rage making her look ugly. "You don't even know. But of course not. You never care about anyone but yourself." I waited for her to tell me. "You shouldn't have even been there, with him."

I didn't get it. "With who?"

"With Logan."

Slap me with a fish. I'd been trying not to think about him, since it was his fault I was in this mess. "This is about Logan?" She just looked at me, like this was no surprise, but I shook my head, sure that there was something deeper going on, that my best friend of all these years wasn't THAT shallow. "No... you're lying. If you were mad about me and Logan, you wouldn't have thrown me a party."

"Yeah, well, it's easy to be forgiving when I thought you were going away," she said. "I was going to let it slide if you were going to jail. You'd been punished enough, and I wouldn't have to look at your face for a while. But no. You got away with that, too. Little Hillary Gibson gets everything she wants. It made me sick. So I had to do something, just so I could feel like there was SOME justice in the universe."

It was hard to take all that in. I mean... what a stupid bitch. "You threw away our friendship... because of fucking jealousy?"

"Threw away our friendship? Who said anything about that? I'll still be your friend. Just not in front of anyone else. You're kind of ebola right now, and I have my own rep to look out for."

That was bullshit, and I must have sneered at her when I said, "You bitch!"

"See. You won't even forgive one little thing." She'd been smiling for the last few exchanges, that classic "this is just a game and I'm going to win" smiles, but right when I was about to punch her for it, it vanished and she was deadly serious. "So, fine, I'm fucking done with you too. You know what, Hil? I'm not sure we ever really had a friendship, not really. You just did whatever you wanted, and it didn't matter if I came or didn't."

"You destroyed my fucking life! How could you?"

"Pretty easily, as it turns out. Maybe they were all tired of your self-centered bullshit too." Like everyone's not self-centered at times. But Dani was always my best friend, at least until this, and I treated her well. Now? I don't have anything left to say to her. Ever again, probably.

I walked right to the cubby and geared up as quickly as I could so I'd be out before her. People were waiting in the hall, maybe hoping to see blood. I just sneered at them, and called back, "Fucking lying bitch," hoping Dani could hear me through the cubby wall. And I didn't show anything other than rage.

I managed to keep the up until I got home, then I started bawling. How could she think I was self-centered? I was always helping her, pushing her to keep up with me, when it would have been so easy to leave her behind. Okay, sure, I didn't key onto her crushing on Logan, but she never fucking said anything. Probably because she knew if I did, I would have tried to push her into asking him, and she would have kept putting it off and chickening out, until we both lost our shot with him. Like what happened with Mitsy's brother (course that was probably for the best, they're poor as fuck now, lol). I'm practically the saint-mother Theresa of her life and she does this?

I used to think I'd be destroyed if Dani died, since she doesn't keep a lifelog or subscribe to the church service, so I'd never meet her again if I became immortal or if I was ever digitally resurrected. Now, I realized there are worse things than your best friend dying.

What a fucking disaster my life has become.


>>
Alternative Sentence, continued AnonyMPC 15/05/13(Wed)00:49 No. 23546 ID: a609fb

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5614 (rounded up), 9:38pm:
[[Soundtrack: Like A Slave In Chains by Robert Foster]]

I got my monitoring device today after school. It's more awful than I imagined. Look at this. Seriously, look at this shit:

[Inset video: Hillary stands before a full length mirror, posing. She's dressed in a black crop top and skirt, but what's more eyecatching than her bellybutton or mesh-covered legs is the huge collar around her neck, and, to a lesser extent, the wristbands.

The collar is a metal donut, and looks like some cross between an old-style neck brace and a torture device, though at least it is padded inside by a skinlike surface to prevent chafing. Three circles dot the outer surface, one in the front, and one at each side. The bracelets are about the size of wrist weights used by the poor or exercise purists instead of toner, and they, too, have a metallic appearance. Although it's not legible in the video, in fine print over all pieces is "Property of PATHCorp, unauthorized tampering or removal will result in civil and criminal prosecution," as well as a serial number.]]

That's bad enough. But this is what it looks like in punishment mode.

[[Inset: Hillary is bent over in front of a mirror. An articulated pole now juts out of the bottom of the neck piece, reaching down to the ground. This reveals why the neck piece is so large... it contains a strong wire that unfurls and is made rigid with a coded signal. Her arms are up at neck level as well, thrust forward, her wrist bands now physically connected to the neck piece, at a small distance, by two more stiff wires. The position evokes, and was in fact modeled after an old-fashioned wooden pillory used as a means of social control using humiliation as punishment, in the days before actual technology. What can't be seen, because the AR programming wasn't coded well enough to show up in mirrors, is the display, hovering above her head, listing Hillary's crimes that earned her this punishment.


"See?" Hillary says, looking at herself. "I get, like, one minute warning and if I don't get into position to be locked up, I have to go to jail." She exaggerates, there are a series of warnings (including a mild electrical shock) and there are provisions in place for her to defer if she is in a situation where complying would be unsafe (as well as for taking bathroom breaks), and even an emergency panic button, but the spirit of the rules is true. "I can move a little." She demonstrates. It's awkward, both because she's moving while bent over at the waist and the stick that reaches to the floor slows any movement, using molecular wizardry to maintain an anchor on the floor even while allowing some motion laterally. "But it's a pain in the ass. I mean this is ridiculous. Who the hell thinks this stuff up?" She rolls her eyes. "My hands are free enough to make gestures, and I still have access, so I can 'make productive use of my time and get homework done.'" By the deeper tone she adopts, it's clear she's imitating somebody. "But my back is going to hurt with too much of this. I guess that's the point, make me suffer for breaking the rules."

Hillary exhales sharply in frustration, and then looks at herself in the mirror, turns her body slightly to look at her butt. "Look at this, it's like I'm set up and asking for a spanking. Bunch of perverts probably thought this up. Morons."]]

That was my second official session. My probation officer gets to set how often and when and where. He wasn't the one who thought this up, but he is a pervert, while he was discussing this with me he put his hand on my knee and slid up, like, "Hey, be nice to me and I'll be nice to you." I didn't want to play along because he was old and gross and hairy, but, he was the Law, so I spread my legs and let him see my lack of underwear. Except he was too cowardly to rip through the mesh and actually go through with it, or maybe I didn't give him the right signal or something and he thought I was trying to trap him. Or maybe I did give the right signal and this was all supposed to be much worse.

I do have to do this for five hours every week, though. The bitch of it is I don't know when it activates. All I know is that he said they won't activate it automatically during class hours so it doesn't interfere with any of the other students, but at any other time I'm awake, usually for a fifteen minute or half hour stretch. So either I stay home all the time, or I risk it triggering while I'm somewhere public. And the police, the school proctors, and my probation officer can trigger it at any time, even if I've used up my weekly hours. Like I'm going to suddenly attack them and need to be restrained or something. Fucking morons.

Meanwhile, a Friday night I'm spending in my fucking room, doing homework. That's the real punishment, making me live like Billy does. Fuck everything.


>>
Alternative Sentence, continued AnonyMPC 15/05/13(Wed)19:27 No. 23551 ID: a609fb

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5618 (rounded up), 5:10pm:
[[Soundtrack: A Star For All The Wrong Reasons, by Damon Killian]]

Had my first public punishment session. Remember how I said it wouldn't activate it during class hours?

Apparently the lunch break was a loophole. Motherfucker.

Maybe the probation guy warned me and I just wasn't listening very closely. But yeah, I was just enjoying my synthchicken chalupa... sure, in a corner surrounded by pedestrians, but enjoying it anyway... and then I got the warning. I swore out loud.

I must have eaten like twenty seconds of it just trying to figure out what to do. I've already been warned about using too many deferments (yesterday it almost activated but I managed to defer it until I got home). And if I just got up and ran for the door, like I wanted to, people would think I was running for the washrooms, and I wasn't sure that was dignified, but I didn't want to do it in front of everyone, either, so I swore and got up and tried to casually walk and ignore the electric shock.

I ate up most of the rest of the time getting out of the lunch room and into the outer hall, and I got my final warning right by the door outside. So I bent over, put my hands out, and got locked in place.

I tried to shuffle down the hall towards somewhere more private, but it's so hard to move, and before I could get very far, somebody saw me, and when one person did, everyone knew. I was the lunch-time entertainment until it finally released me, seemed like everybody in the school walked by to have a look at me, or say something to me. Mostly mean things.

I could take it, though. Most of the jokes were from people I don't know, younger kids just trying to look cool. My former circle? They mostly showed up to look at me with a sneer on their faces, or a self-satisfied smirk.

Oh, and that Krushkova bitch I got into a fight with last year [[Inset: Link to a story about a physical altercation between Hillary and another darer at a party over a meme mutation they both claimed to have invented. According to the entry, Hillary was clearly winning the knock-down drag-out fight at least up until the party scattered because security forces arrived, although an objective analysis of the video suggested a more even match where the worst injuries were some pulled hair and a bloody nose on Hillary's part, complimented with a split lip on the other girl's]], she dropped by too. We've been mostly ignoring each other since, but now while I was helpless, it looked like she was getting ready to spit on me. I closed my eyes and got ready to take it, but her BFF warned her that it would probably be caught on the collar's video and I'd turn her in to the proctors. As if I would. Haven't before, not my style. I'd take it like a champ and plot revenge later. Fucking Dani poisoning my reputation.

I didn't see Dani at all. Fuck her, though, I didn't really want to.

All in all it was an annoying, humiliating experience, intensely uncomfortable, I felt like my face was going to burn off. Wish I could figure out a way to get my hours out of the way all at home. Maybe I'll ask Billy, he spends way too much time in those hacker spaces, it's about time it starts to benefit me, and I bet I can play the sister-sympathy card.

Oh, and I almost forgot: look what got sent to me anonymously.

[[Inset: A short video of somebody walking around Hillary while she is in restraint position, but only from behind. There is plenty of focus on her skirt-covered ass. Hovering in the air above her head is an AR display proclaiming her juvenile delinquency, the drugs and weapon crimes she was charged with, and you could see some faces of people circled around Hillary and laughing, but that's not where the focus is. The focus is on her skirt-covered ass, to an obsessive degree that suggests the person filming was almost certainly an adolescent boy.

"Fuck off," Hillary says, not to the filmer, who she's completely unaware of, but to some younger students who suggests that she's used to being bent over. Finally, just before the video ends, a pale hand reaches out as though he's about to grab her crotch, although he stops short of actually making contact. The crowd laughs at the attempt even though Hillary is completely unaware of it.]]

I'm not sure if that was meant to mock me or flatter me, but fuck, I'm taking it as a compliment. After all, he went to all the trouble to get around the school's filming-blocks and get nice video of my ass. And it doesn't look half bad, if I do say so my self. Maybe it's getting a bit chubbier than I'd like... Mom really needs to refresh her order of toner... but obviously it was attractive enough that somebody wanted a grab. He's probably some dreamer using it as fap material, and I can respect that. Besides, my self-esteem needs all the boosts it can get.


>>
Alternative Sentence, continued AnonyMPC 15/05/15(Fri)00:04 No. 23562 ID: a609fb

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5621 (rounded up), 8:14pm:
[[Soundtrack: Nothing to Live For, Nothing to Lose, by Angel Kovacs]]

Just checked out the local Dare Boards... I was hoping there might be something I could do to up my karma, get myself off the shit list. Because between you and me, journal, it's starting to drive me nuts (if only the rep-management companies that have been adblasting me lately actually did work instead of just rubbing my face in my situation) and I'm ready to do anything. I mean, at this point, I'd fuck a dog on an opened live stream. Well, maybe not on an open stream. But I'd do almost anything in front of a crowd, just to be popular again. Fuck, I'd do the crowd. Never done more than a threesome, but better I'm sore for a week than an outcast for life.

Anyway, doesn't look like they're giving me the option. Under my name there was one suggestion:

[[Inset: Shot from a Dare Board, superimposed over Hillary's bedroom wall. Text:
I Dare: Hillary Gibson
to: Kill Yourself.
Total Reward Pledged So Far: 114 Karma from 23 people.]]

That's cold. And it explains the other day, when they were talking loudly during lunch about that old rumor that when the profit margin gets too low, the school administration chooses a goat, somebody on the outskirts who doesn't have anyone willing to stand up for them, tracks them, finds every single violation, and charges the mandatory fines for them, until their family goes bankrupt and has to drop out and live on the streets. They wanted me to hear and put it together that I'd be the goat this year, and being poor would be a fate worse than death. I mean, it's not true, everyone knows you just get kicked out if the fines get too high, but that they were saying it... it was like they were trying to push me over the edge. Ass-fucks.

Maybe I should just do it. I mean, why not? Nobody would miss me. I hate my life now. I just hate it. That's why I haven't been as detailed when writing my lifestory updates. Why bother? It only depresses me more to go back through my day. Better idea: delete the last few weeks of footage and kill myself, then if they ever bring me back, they'll only have data up to the time when I was happy. I'll wake up in some perfect heaven future with none of the memories of after my life turned to shit. Sure they say suicides will be low priority, but surely the future's got some pervy old guy who'd love to have a real 21st century teenager brought back to life.

Only problem is, these fucking shackles probably monitor my health too and they'll send somebody to help and saddle Mom with a big medical bill. And worst of all, they'll know they broke me. And fuck that noise. I may not be happy, I may not be smart, but I'm stubborn as fuck and I won't give them that satisfaction.

But I've gotta find a way to turn this around, or at least make it not suck so hard. I had one idea that I liked. School sucks, and it's not like I have much to lose anyway, so... why not just get myself thrown out so Mom can subscribe me to some homeschooling thing? It could be almost fun getting banned, and at least I could go out as an epic legend. Imagine, I just bring a big old vibrator to school, drop my underwear, plop down on the front desk and start going to town in front of everybody until the proctors or guards pull me away or they activate the restraint device. One way to break the fame barrier.

Of course, that's probably a violation of my probation too and would mean outrageous fines for Mom to boot. Getting locked away is less appealing now that I've already lost everything else. Have to hold on to the small pleasure of relative freedom as hard as I can.

And really, I'm not sure I'd want to spend my whole day at home, either. Already going stir crazy just because I have nowhere to go without risking looking like an idiot. And Mom would make me watch the Rat non-stop. She's already going out all the time now. I think she's doing it to taunt me. I'm locked up and suddenly SHE gets a social life? It's driving me crazy.

I snapped at Billy the other day. I asked him about hacking the collar, and he was all "I don't want to do anything that might get you in any more trouble," and I kind of went off on him about how useless he is, and got a little insulting when I tried to goad him into doing it.

"You probably can't even do it," I said at one point after I lost patience with the pleading approach. "This hacking sensei of yours you spend so much time talking to, he's probably not teaching you anything, he's just grooming you to be his little cock slave when you grow up." I don't know why I always go there. I mean, I'd be thrilled if Billy was at least a little bit bi... we could bond over hot guys. I always wanted a rainbow brother, a cool brother, and with the heteronormative tweaks Mom got on the Rat, Billy's really my only shot (seriously, Mom, fuck you, fucking hypocrite, even if the biodad insisted).

Typically, he was equally offended that I made fun of his hack-friends than at the gay thing. "Cat's-Meow isn't like that," he said. [[For the record, Hillary is deliberately misremembering Billy's friend's screen name, which is Ferocious Lion Yell. You may have heard of the name in Hackerspace circles.]] "He's legit."

"If he is, then it's probably not long before he figures out YOU aren't. You're such a fucking poseur, acting like you're going to be some badass hacker one day, but you don't even have the guys to do anything, not for real. I thought maybe you'd grow out of it, but... fuck, if you won't even help your sister... you're a dreamer and you always will be." He blustered some, trying to claim he was just looking out for me, and I said, "Fuck you. I'm sick of people 'looking out for me'. It's all a lie. You don't want to help me for me, you just want me to stay home all the time like you do, so that you can stop being so jealous. Because I actually live, instead of being too afraid to go after what I really want. And if you don't start living like that, it doesn't matter what you know, you're going to wind up a lonely beta-male for life, meaning less to the world than the part of the load that leaked out the night you were spawned. All you'll ever be is Hillary's meek little brother. And the way you are, I don't even know if I want you to be that." Or something like that. I was mad, I probably wasn't as fucking eloquent as I usually am, but that was the gist. I am particularly proud of the phrase "Why don't you crawl back up Mom's cunt for good, you'll both probably be happier," which I said while storming out, but only because usually I don't come up with an exit line that good until a few minutes later and wind up having to send it as a followup a few minutes later. I hope if Mom was checking in on the house cams that she got to see that one (course, ever since we figured out how to spoof the stuff we don't want her to see with intrusive ads, she doesn't usually even bother).

The thing is... Mom might have, but Billy kind of didn't deserve it. He's not that bad. Sure, he's a little beta, but he can grow out of it, and it's not the worst thing in the world, some girls even grow to like it. The truth is I was probably right the first time... he probably couldn't do what I was asking him to do. I mean, it's one thing to hack some commercial front end or a public service, but this is the justice system. But Billy never likes admitting to somebody else that something's too hard for him, he'll either try and try and keep failing until it's far past funny and way into sad, or he'll make up some excuse for why he doesn't want to. I bet that's what he was doing. The second one, I mean.

In other news, since I don't have much of a life and can't go anywhere without risking my sentence kicking in, I've been back to doing slut shows again, with some friends, and sometimes strangers, in other nets around the world. It makes me feel good and at least it's somebody to talk to who won't judge me on anything more superficial than my hotness. Though I did have a freak-out moment... one of the guys called me out, identified me by my real name based on recognizing the type of shackles I've got on me and doing some research. I'm going to have to be careful about that. I trust the guy, he was connected through Europe's net and that's a hell of a distance away... he was just doing it to make the point, that even across net borders people can find you.

Though, it had me thinking... why bother being careful? My rep's in the toilet anyway. Why NOT show myself off? I've got one advantage over most of the other darers, I can spread the really nasty stuff outside of my circle of trust, AND show my face while doing it. I could send Neal a vine of me moaning his name while I've got a vibe up me... who cares if his mom reads all his mail and flings shit at me? I could send some to everybody. Or maybe I'll be coy, post a video of me fingering myself but with my shackles in view, so everybody knows it's me but I can pretend I didn't intend it. Nah, they'll just think I was stupid. No half-measures, full-face or nothing.

Maybe nothing. As much as I'd like to break the fame barrier that way, that also means Mom and Billy and Grandpas and Grandmas and everyone else would get to see all of it, and I don't know if I want that... can you imagine? Or maybe I'm just a coward too. All talk. Or at the least, at the mercy of my brain chemistry... every big move I've made has been on the spur of the moment and I wasn't sure I was going to do it until I just had. So if my next entry is about how I went and did it, well, I guess I did it. But more likely, I just enjoyed the thought.

It is a delicious thought, though.


>>
Alternative Sentence, continued AnonyMPC 15/05/15(Fri)04:40 No. 23563 ID: a609fb

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5631 (rounded up), 7:06pm:
[[Soundtrack: Hack The Planet, by Bibi Bethke]]

So, no personal news. My worse-than-jail sentence drags on and my life is in sleep mode. School sucks the shit straight out of my ass. But there was one bright spot today. Nothing to do with me, just cool and it's finally something worth writing about.

Somebody ran a major hack on the school. It's totally porous. I mean, even more than it was. Most of the blocks are gone... well, not technically gone, but they don't apply to anyone who gets a simple bit of code from anyone else. And for once I am not totally left out, because even many of the dreamers are getting in on it, since it lets us do on-the-fly AR enhancements to our pedest uniforms.

Who knows how long it'll last. Last time one of these happened, it was two months before the school's moneymen approved a security audit, because they couldn't figure out exactly who was doing it or how. [[Inset link to an entry three years back in a middle school, about a hack that only let AR run, and younger-Hillary's evident glee. Not shown, because Hillary either wasn't aware or wouldn't tell: That hack was running off a ficticious administrator's ID that was part of a scam to inflate the number of 'real education professionals' the school used to get more government funding, and much of the delay was the concern over the scam being caught. A student stumbled upon it, largely by accident while on a purely snooping hack, and used it to enhance his access and those of a small group of friends. Mildly impressive but nothing that fancy like you might imagine, or like what happened in this more recent case, where viral self-renewing code was introduced.]] Right now, I'm not even sure the proctors even know about it, it all happens on a layer they can't see. If nobody blabs (and right now, people are especially sensitive about getting caught squealing, because of the unfair rap on yours truly), we could be free to the end of the school year.

I can only imagine that will help me. If everyone, even pedestrians, can live upvote during school hours, then some of them will upvote me based on my scintillating personality in the moment, instead of having to make a private note or wait until they get home and other things seem more important.

I was talking with Shirley when it happened. Yeah, I watched Count Zero, the show she was shilling, at least the first third or so of the first season, even paid to get the uncensored version. It's not bad, I like the way they keep finding ways to make his invisibility to machines be useful in different ways, but I doubt it'll make enough for them to do a second season drop. Shirley's trying to start a fan group, mostly dreamers so I might be able to work myself in and start getting some rep back without getting knocked back for trying... but that's not the point. The point is, I was talking to her... oh, and she's already talking up some other upcoming show, a canime about men who turn into little girls once a month like werewolves. The animation looked good in the preview, and the voices are good (Rimpler from Jaegernauts is voicing the little-girl-cop, so I might give it a try just for old time's sake), but I don't know about the premise. If guys did turn into little girls they'd just be hired to go into schools and memepush like Shirley. Speaking of which, I checked and it's totally the same parent studio that owns both productions... the evidence is getting stronger!

Sorry, off track again. Man, I'm out of practice. We were using the break to hit the bathroom and get a caffeine drink (to ensure we could take another pee break during class), and a freshman came walking by. To our surprise, his tongue snaked out way past his mouth and waggled obscenely at us, then proposed going down on us. Must have had a tracking tongue stud because the synch was good, but judging by the tongue technique he demonstrated, I'd have to train him too much to get my own O, so, as the meme says, "No thank you, Mr. President." Maybe if he had a ten inch tongue that wasn't AR. Shirley also declined the offer, and we broke into giggles when he went off. The frosh moved off to try the joke (or his luck) on somebody else, and a group of people came along behind him, running, the one in the lead with golden antenna coming out of his head, and the others covered in the uniforms of the game Mutant Hunter V. The Proctors yelled at them to slow down, but didn't seem to realize they were playing a game that shouldn't be allowed on campus.

Later, while we were waiting for our Chinese teacher to connect, somebody put the room into fishtank mode and the instructions for how to break through got passed around (written on the back of the fish swimming around the AR). Someone did make a snide remark about me potentially telling, but it was too late, I already found out how.

A couple people had fun hanging ridiculous AR tags on to proctors, who couldn't even see them and were a little perplexed at what exactly was so hilarious (which proved that, at least at that point, they still didn't even know ARing was going on, which isn't supposed to be possible). Some people watched netflixes in class on private vid windows (and Case watched some porn on a not so private one). Some talked to friends who live in other time zones or other parts of the school.

Me, I just enjoyed the chaos. I mean, I did a little bit of communicating, but most of the people I know who aren't at school weren't available for a chat. I did do a lot of planning my outfit, though. If the AR thing sticks, fashion is going to once again be a factor, and I can play that game.

Like everyone else, I'll have to work around the uniform. Unlike everyone else, though, I also have to work around the collar and cuffs. You can paint over something, but painting under something just never looks right (except when it's also giving yourself bigger boobs or dick, of course).

I thought of buying an Arkham set, so I'll look like some maximum security crazy-ass prisoner. They're cheap, but the clothes are a little drab and the face mods get poor reviews so I'd have to upgrade them. My current idea is go pre-tech slave-girl using some off-the-shelf elements. Check it.

[[Inset: Short video, AR enabled, of her posing with an outfit painted over her school uniform, such that it looks like some kind of brown animal skin, a skirt and top, like something out of a netflix. She was clearly trying for sex appeal, but, because of the clothing underneath, there's a limit, and the outfit winds up looking remarkably conservative compared to the majority of slave girl depictions. At least her belly shows, thanks to bunching up the real shirt, a modification, much like hiking the skirt, that is technically not allowed but can often be done under the noses of proctors who don't care enough to make a scene over it, or those who like to see a little extra skin. Hillary's neck collar appears to be made of a thick leather, the cuffs have become manacles, linked by a chain which swings with the movement of her arms and drags along the ground, clattering as it goes.

There's a bruise on her face, planted on with a glyph, but it gives her the look of having been knocked around by whoever might hold the chains.

She continues to have her blue hair, which, with not just the color but also the style and straightness, looks thoroughly modern and rather ruins the illusion. She also wears normal shoes, unenhanced which is either a failure of attention or imagination.]]

I guess the hair doesn't fit the time, but with my hair, afros are my only other option, and fuck it, those look awful on me. Besides, historical accuracy's for diehards, and diehards mostly need to get laid. I think it looks cute, at least, which is always worth an upvote from some of the straight boys. And maybe they'll like my sense of humor, like I'm not letting this huge imposition on my life get me down, I'm actually making fun of it.

At the very least, things are looking up.


>>
Non-Anonymous 15/05/15(Fri)06:14 No. 23564 ID: b3e330

loving this new tale. for some reason, i'm getting a Scarlet Letter vibe off of it, despite the total dissimilarities. can't wait for the next installment.


>>
Alternative Sentence, continued AnonyMPC 15/05/15(Fri)19:32 No. 23566 ID: a609fb

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5633 (rounded up), 3:40pm:
[[Soundtrack: Bubble Crisis, by Tomo]]

School was let out early today because somebody activated the nightly school's autowash cycle while we were in class. [[Inset: Laughing kids running while the walls are sprayed with a fine mist that gets everywhere.]]

Okay, whoever did that one probably went a step too far, but it was funny. We all got ushered into the auditorium where the head proctor laid into us about how it was potentially deadly, and that these "shenanigans" must stop, and that they're seriously considering taking away our eyescreens and not allowing any wearables at all. But I don't buy it. I mean, what are they going to do? Wheel in some ancient large screen? They won't even pay for an extra set of proctors so there's always one who can see AR and one who can't, much less rent specialized equipment.

Also, I got to sit next to Neal at the auditorium and there were some serious vibes there. [[Inset: short video of Neal taken from Hillary's point of view, as they sit in the auditorium. They do exchange glances and smiles that suggests there's sexual tension between them, but Hillary might be overstating it.]] My ex-friends are still drinking the kool-aid about my supposed snitching (even the guys aren't giving me the free-to-play), but the dreamers have more or less forgotten it, and Neal treats me like a beta treats a girl with loose morals that he might get a chance to bang if he's lucky, patient, and friendly enough. And lucky for him, right now, he's right. And if I manage to get him as an actual boyfriend, instead of just a quick ride, I can leverage that into higher rep down the line. Win-win.

I think I'm going to have to do it at school. That's why we never made something work before, we're like two different species. For me, school is a lag, it's the place I can't completely be free because, proctors. When I want to have fun, mostly I have to wait until after school. But when you're 'coptered as bad as Neal is, school IS the freedom, since your parents can't watch you live. The school watches you, sure, but you can always get away with a little. And right now, you can get away with almost anything, so it's the best of both worlds. I just hope whoever did the autowash hack didn't scare them into an emergency security overhaul... wouldn't it just be my luck if they get everything fixed right before I make my move? I figure I probably have a few days, no matter what, though... they always do these things on weekends.

I'm probably going to have to be pretty brazen about it too. Which I'm okay with, even if I prefer the guy to move first. It's worth making an exception... I just want to mean something to somebody. And god, I'm so fucking horny. I thought seriously about trying to join a girlfriend pool, but I doubt any of them would be open to me until my rep increases, and I don't want to give them the satisfaction of turning me down.

But who needs 'em? I've got a plan and the plan is Neal. Okay, actually right now the plan is to come up with a good plan for Neal.


>>
Alternative Sentence, continued AnonyMPC 15/05/16(Sat)01:44 No. 23569 ID: a609fb

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5635 (rounded up), 9:22pm:
[[Soundtrack: Rockslide, by the Razor Girls]]

Everything in the entire fucking universe can go die in a sewer. Once again I totally fucked my life over. Today was just like the song Rockslide... one thing after another, and before long I knew I was making things worse but I was just so angry and frustrated I couldn't stop myself.

It started with Neal, the ball-less wonder. I've been working up to making my move, since I knew he wouldn't, nothing outright anyway. I had a spot of the school marked out to create a blind spot, scouted it out so once the AR was in place, on an ad-layer for maximum visibility. I thought once we were alone, I could push him up against a wall and let my tongue convince him to try something his mother wouldn't approve of. I was so eager to get it on video, in the hopes I later could work up to convincing him to let me send it to her as the first of a long-deserved series of "fuck you"s.

It started out okay, he was nervous, but, he always was. But this is what happened:

[[Inset: Video, AR-enabled, Hillary's perspective. She is no longer wearing the prehistoric slave girl, and although it might take an individual who is a fanfash lover, yet highly versed in Canadian Anime to recognize the fleeting glimpses of the AR enhancements to her current outfit as being modeled after one of the character from the obscure series "A Bomb Called Youth," in which high school students were fitted with explosive collars set to go off if they failed a course, masturbated, or did any number of other acts unapproved by the administration.

Neal is being dragged along by the hand, with a bemused smile on his face... he's not sure where this is going, but doesn't openly resist. He's still dressed in school clothes, just blues and whites, with the only nod to flouting the rules being the white undershirt under his vest occasionally flashing with patches advertising his favorite bands, and an animated bow-tie that sometimes spins. A token rebellion, yet even among the band choices, there's nothing that would potentially offend anybody... should he ever get in trouble for it, it would barely warrant a punishment, save the usual fine added to his tuition the administration levies to any offense. "Can you at least tell me what you want me to see?"

"Nope," Hillary says. "More fun this way. But you'll like it, I promise. It's something you've needed to see for a long time." Her head jerks towards the end of the hall, clean, uninteresting save for a window that only shows white sky.

"What?" he asks, despite just being told she won't tell him. "Look my tailoreds start in only a few minutes. I can't skip those." Although the computer assisted learning programs that supposedly tailor additional lessons to each student's weak spots are arguably the most skippable part of the school day, as they're mostly a vehicle for ads.

"This won't take long. Though you might want it to. Come on..."

She lets go of his hand and steps towards the window. Suddenly, the light changes, slightly. Were you actually there, you might notice a few other tiny shifts, like everything had just slightly moved, but in a video, it would be written off as a moment of lag, a few frames dropped. It is when she turns back to Neal that becomes obvious what's happened. Floating in the air between the two appears to be several translucent grey diagonal bars, obviously not natural, a line demarking something. Neal looks around, not directly at Hillary... in fact, like he can't see her at all. "You made a blind?" he asks, and puts his hand through, then steps through himself, looking back at the bars.

"Yup... now nobody can see us... And your mom's not watching unless you're steaming to her, which, I know you aren't..."

Neal catches on, smiling again, but it's nervous. He's actually trembling. "And what you wanted to show me was..."

"Are you vidding this?"

"I... I wouldn't do that."

"No, I want you to... you deserve a copy of this forever..."

A flicker of annoyance crosses his face. "She can check out anything I save..."

Hillary lets out a snort of amusement, like this was expected, but she gives him a minicam off her earring. "Here, cover me on this. I'll post a copy of it for you, and give you the address, so you can check it any time you're safe."

From here, you would have your choice which view you follow, from Hillary's perspective or from the minicam held in Neal's hand at eye level. The one Neal holds is the most lurid, though. Hillary stands in her outfit (blouse and skirt, colored with AR to be a dark, almost black blue, to fit with the outfits in the canime inspiration), legs spread, and then pulls the skirt up, revealing she's got no underwear on underneath.

Her lower body is hairless, as is once again in fashion, and her toned legs are just the right length and thickness to be a draw to even adult straight men who have no special interest in young girls... although they, like Neal, would almost certainly be more interested in where the legs meet, a slit with a glistening line of pink in the middle, and a pronounced pearl at the top. "Wow..." Neal says, just about breathless.

"I just thought you really, really might like to see this," Hillary explains with a smirk on her face, like she knows she's nabbed him. "You probably don't get much chance to see stuff this good when you're being supervised all the time."

The s-word makes him suddenly self-conscious, and he looks around, back through the blind, where there are people walking, all of them students and seemingly oblivious to them. "You know, there are proctors who can see through the AR," Neal says, trying to cover his nervousness, like this is something that happens to him every day (and, like many of his generation, he pronounces the acronym like 'air'... and why not, it's about as ever-present and substantial). "Is it even on a layer they can see?"

"I'm not dumb, Neal. But the risk is part of the fun. Come on, this isn't just a video, it's interactive. You're allowed to use your hands. Or other parts of your body. I'm using TastyPeach's banana flavor, if you're curious... I read it's your favorite fruit."

He reaches out a trembling hand towards her bare pussy, although he's constantly looking back beyond the blind as though worried they're going to be interrupted at any moment. Still, he makes contact, stroking the edge, pulling the slit up, and then a moment later working one finger in down to the mid-knuckle, then withdraws. "See? Isn't it fun to take a few risks?" Hillary's quite aware that Neal's got a bulge in his pants. "Go on, have a lick. Unless you'd rather I do the licking..." She winks at him, then runs her tongue along her teeth, grazing the lower edge of her upper lip, and he leans forward, like maybe he might even be going for a kiss, on her mouth.

Whatever he was planning, though, it's interrupted by a chime, although Neal doesn't hear it as the AR-sound effect is keyed only to Hillary. Her face falls. "Oh, butt-fuck-nuggets."

"What?"

"I have to... fuck, not now..." She looks around, then sighs, takes a step backwards, then bends over at the waist, her hands in front of her. The cables snake out and stiffen, pulling her into perfect alignment, and an AR sign appears over her head.

"Oh, uhm..." That is the extent of Neal's reaction. He watches Hillary's predicament not with amusement but with what looks more like embarrassment. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

"No! Look, we can have fun like this too, Just whip out your dick and put it in my mouth." Hillary opens her mouth wide and extends her tongue, as though she's trying to perform oral sex at a distance.

Neal lowers his hand, unwilling to continue filming, so for the remainder of the clip only Hillary's POV is available. "Yeah, but that...thing's probably got a video link to the cops, and... who knows what they might do with the images." He is both right and wrong... video can be remotely enabled through the collar, but nobody bothers unless there's a compelling reason to record and review footage.

"Who cares? Come on..."

"It's just... I'm kind of on track for a sponsorship with EBM, and they're real strict about 'open displays of immodesty'. I can't take the risk of this getting out... I mean, I know YOU wouldn't share it, but... with whatever spyware's on this thing and who knows how borked the school surveillance really is, and..." As he speaks, he starts shuffling away. "Maybe we can try something after your sentence is over."

"It may be now or never, Neal," she says. "Chances are I'm going to break my probation eventually and they'll send me to jail. Do you really want to take the risk on missing out on this forever?"

"I... I can't, Hil, I'm sorry. Just be good, and maybe we can set something up another time. I promise, as soon as it's safe, I'd love to... mess around with you."

He backs through the blind, but even though he can't see her, he can still hear her, as she shouts angrily, "You fucking coward, as if you're going to get another chance from me. ]]

So, one more bridge burned. Fuck it, I don't even care about him anymore. He loves EBM so much he should transition and try to marry an EBM exec, probably got a better deal in the long run than working for them, except having to wear a burkha and live sharia in their desert megatower.

Now, Neal's rejection stung like a bee-atch, but it wasn't the worst of it. I was angry, but it wasn't enough to ruin my day. I just figured I'd fuck all his friends and send him videos of it, make him realize what he missed out on.

But no. The day had only begun to suck.

What a fucking double standard. People (WRONGLY) call me a snitch, but they share stuff all the time when it's humiliating. And pretty soon people were coming through my blind to check me out and say mean things about me getting what I deserved and how I wanted sex so bad I did it to myself (because my panties were still in my bag, and it wasn't hard to look under my skirt). Of course the mean things hurt more than the peeping. But sometimes it was both, like that hypocritical uptight cunt Lenina Bullock who said it smelled like somebody ate a rotten banana and threw up in my cooch... fuck that, I smelled delicious, and I bet her cherry pie with its unbroken hymen crust probably smells like gym sweat... why clean a room you never let anyone go into, right? And whoever it was who was behind me and said I looked looser than a PiRat's WiFi and joked that the cops probably ran a train on me to get me to snitch... fuck you too. If you'd had the guts to put a finger in there, I could damn near have snapped it off.

That surprise finger was almost a possibility, too, because... I guess they figured the hack on the school made it so the cops couldn't watch either, which is dumb, but they certainly didn't do anything to stop it when they spit on me. Yes, again. A few girls this time, right in the face. And everyone laughed, while my face was all red (with rage, but they probably thought I was embarrassed). The spitting was the capper, actually, they didn't start with that. They pinned AR tags on me with insults on them, though I couldn't see them, I could hear them joking about it. I think one said "Slut for Cop Cock" or something like that, another was something like "Biohazard", or "Trash." That one I figured because of how they threw wrappers from energy bars and vac sandwiches at me. It was beyond tasteless... I could totally get their parents fined for Class 2 Bullying if I DID turn them in.

But worst of all, these were dreamers, pedestrians. I could have taken it from the Daring, I know they hate me, even if it's cause of Dani's lies, and they're game is pushing envelopes, it would make sense that they push each other farther and farther to make fun of me, and I could only earn points by taking it. But dreamers? These people I was actually dumb enough to believe secretly respected me even after what I've been through. And it's just galling to have to take abuse from people who've never put themselves out there and taken a real risk in their lives.

But I should've. I should have just taken it, not said a word, and just walked away. And I was going to. But finally my punishment time was up and I was able to straighten and take off the AR tags, and I spotted Lenina with this fucking smug self-satisfied smirk on her lemon-suck face and got so mad and in the process of calling her a bitch and pushing her, we tussled a bit, and while they pulled me off her... I might have told the crowd that if they want to know which anonymous pussy-shots are hers, to look for the mole between her crotch and left leg. And by might have, I mean I yelled it loud enough that people outside the blind could hear it, along with her name. So now everyone knows. Maybe some already did. Dani pointed it out to me in the shower when we were still friends, right after Lenina posted one, and others could have seen it, but everyone who did know kept it quiet, but... fuck that now.

Doing it was stupid, though, even though it shouldn't be. I mean, outing her was a little classless, but it counts as gossip, not snitching, except probably for me because I'm already considered a snitch. Fucking double standards. And of course, it was stupid because it just proved to all of them how much she got to me.

As stupid as that all was, I somehow drove ahead and managed to fuck things up even worse by the end of the day. Neal was ducking me, but I finally found him after school let out. I was angry and wanted to destroy somebody else... I just wanted to tear him down, not for rejecting me but because I was sure he told everyone where I was... I wanted to do it where his mom would hear. So I followed his marker as soon as school let out, tracked him down.

And guess what I saw? Something that made me see so much fucking red you'd think I was sent to kill John Connor.

[[Inset: Another video taken from Hillary's perspective, just outside the school.

A black-haired student, approximately seventeen years old, is hanging out of an autocab. His clothing and bearing generally marks him out as one of the so-called good kids, who follow the rules even as the rules start to fall apart. He wears AR tags, but as they're technically not allowed during the school day, he hasn't yet booted them up. His uniform, mostly, meets the code.

The only exception is that the young man is wearing an resin earring. This type of token rebellion is barely acknowledged by the administration, and not even daring enough to be considered cool... he was probably given a small fine that he paid willingly for the privilege of wearing such accessories. With this particular earring, though, it's a special case. A metal-flecked circlet hanging off the end of the piece bears the no doubt familiar to you logo of vigilante exhibitionist POV and her most excellent host the Fly on the Wall. The logo is physically marked into the earring, not an AR enhancement floating on top... no doubt the thing was printed in one of the pop-up memeshops. It's even possible the young man isn't aware what it signifies. I happen to know he is, though, and is a frequent watcher.

Neal gets into the cab with this young man while Hillary comes right up to the door. They're still waiting for somebody else to share the cab's travel cost, which gives Hillary the chance to lay into Neal. "You fucking coward," she says, sounding far closer to the tears than she probably believes she was. "I hope you're proud of yourself. You told everyone I was there, too, didn't you? Well you and I are done."

Meanwhile, Neal seems panicked, aware his mother could be watching this whole thing and drawing conclusions, and at the same time not wanting to burn all his bridges with Hillary. "I didn't, I swear."

It's at this point that Hillary focuses on the friend with the earring, who is smirking, considering himself uninvolved... as he is, until Hillary notices the earring itself, and the logo on it. "What the fuck is this?" she says suddenly, grabbing it to get a closer look, now sounding really enraged. "I recognize this. This is the fucking show that got me arrested." This is an unfair characterization. It's true that if not for the cops chasing POV, the cops would not be there, and their frustration at her well-engineered escape certainly led them to look for somebody, anybody, they could arrest. The group Hillary was slumming with was, however, committing actual crimes. "It's a fucking child porn murder show, and you wear the logo of it? What are you, one of their sick fans? You like watching a little girl get fucked? Or is it her murdering guys that gets you off?" Most like the subtle blend of both. "I asked you a fucking question, answer me, you fucking sicko."

He doesn't answer, he's panicking at what he thought was a subtle nod to other fans is suddenly exposed, out loud, as he tries to pull the earning away without tearing it right out of his ear. Neal, meanwhile, is just as panicked, and insists, "No, I don't have a clue what she means," looking studiously away while carrying on a conversation with somebody not present. "How could I have seen it, Mom? I've never even heard of it! She's probably making it up, she's a crazy psychobitch." The teen with the earring finally pushes Hillary away, roughly enough that she falls on her ass, and before she can get up again, he slams the door closed. Seconds later, the cab speeds off, leaving whoever their third passenger was intended to be without a ride.

Hillary pulls herself to her feet, turns around, sees a crowd of people within earshot, looking disapproving, because watching a child porn murder show is evidently less of a sin than outing somebody as a watcher of a child porn murder show in front of a mixed crowd including parents of a friend, watching from afar.]]

So considering I'm pretty sure I ruined any social progress I've made in the last few weeks, naturally I was in a rancid mood, and when I got home, I snapped some at Billy, and he made a big show of shutting me out. I feel more alone than ever.

And I have to take care of the Rat because Mom's out again. And meanwhile, I'm in a mild-editwar on my wikiprofile because some assknife keeps trying to add a picture of me behind the blind with my skirt flipped up to it. But he (maybe she) isn't getting harassment even though that sort of shit's totally uncool because Mom and Billy could read it. Whoever it is, they're actually getting upvotes on it. I'm probably going to have to request it be locked down, and take all the auto rep hit that comes with that.

What do people want from me? Can't they just give me a break? I mean, I left the bullshit references to me being a snitch in because it wasn't worth fighting it, but really, photos of my humiliation, that's too much.

Edit: And I didn't think it was possible, but... the night was worse than the day. Just had another screaming fight with Billy, because I wanted him to watch the Rat and he wouldn't. All I wanted was to hook up to a lifestream and just... be somebody else for a while.

He wouldn't go for it, so I screamed at him and he screamed back, and, in the course of yelling back and forth, I bitched about Mom getting to go off and do fun stuff, he snapped, dropped a bombshell.

Mom hasn't been going on "dates" like I thought. At least, not romantic ones. She's been working as a body-slave... for the prosecutor who agreed to my plea deal. He was a fan when she was famous, and always wanted her, and I guess, because she was desperate, now he has her.

She's not going off to dinner and dancing, she's letting him drag her off to fetish clubs or sometimes just his own place for sex or nude photoshoots or whatever he wants, because he can rescind the plea deal whenever he wants. So this is all my fault. I didn't want to believe it. I still don't. I thought Billy was just making it up, and told him so, but he showed me a picture set he found on some fan site all excited that they have, for the first time, genuine porn of her.

I never wanted to see porn of Mom. And I especially didn't want to see it when she looks as miserable as she did. She had tears streaming down her face, black mascara tears, which means it must have been old-style make-up, the kind Mom used to always have perfect. That was probably the point. My heart died a little as I watched it. I ruined her reputation and didn't even know it.

I probably ruined my standing with Billy, too, because I couldn't just react like a human being, I felt backed into a corner, and that I had to save face, and so my reaction was to act all hardass, pretend I didn't care. God, I outright told him I didn't give a shit that Mom did that for me, that I never asked her to do that for me, it was her own choice, and that it wasn't even a big deal. "It's nothing. She probably enjoys it." He said she didn't, that she was only doing it to protect me, and the only thing I could think to do was double down. So I screamed at him that I didn't want anybody to protect me, not him, not her, and if everyone looked after their own shit the world would be better. "You want me to feel sorry for Mom? At least she's got people who WANT her. I don't have that anymore. I'd do worse than that just to get popular again." And that started another fight because he couldn't believe I'd act like that, and I couldn't back down, I insisted that the only thing that mattered in the world was popularity and if he actually had any he'd understand that. I insulted him a few more times and then stormed back up to my room, letting him wonder whether I'm even watching the Rat's feed, so he'll have to do it too just to be safe.

Course I am. I'm not a monster, even if I act like it sometimes. Things hurt me, even if I don't let anyone else see it. I save my tears for my room.

Like now. Why the fuck did this have to happen? I wish I could just die, like, make my brain turn off forever.

This is all my fault. I may not always get along with Mom, but love her, and I don't want her to have to do this... now I feel like shit. Worse than shit. It's not just her rep, it's like I ruined her whole life... she was always so proud of never having had to rely on sexuality when she became famous on YouToob or whatever it was, never having to resort to custom porn during the Freemarket Correction like so many celebrities. Mom never even had sex with the guy who paid her to incubate and raise the Rat. But now, because I fucked up, she's got to throw all that away and be a sex slave?

That's why I don't like people protecting me, because I don't want that shit on my conscience.

It should have been me she traded off as a sex slave. I could probably handle it. Maybe Mom can too, but she shouldn't have to, not for me.

Why the fuck am I such a screwup? I just want to get through life, have a little fun, be... mean something to somebody. Now I'm worse than a nobody and I'm making other's people's lives suck without even trying.

I should have just gone to jail. At least there, they tell you everything you do, there's no choice, no decisions you have to make, there's not as much chance of fucking up. If only I could reload my life, I would... fuck, I don't even know where to begin. Maybe I'd just need to start my whole life over.


>>
Alternative Sentence, continued AnonyMPC 15/05/17(Sun)17:46 No. 23578 ID: a609fb

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5639 (rounded up), 6:56pm:
[[Soundtrack: ReWilding The Halls - A Bomb Called Youth Soundtrack]]

School's getting bananas. It's kind of like in ABCY when the bomb collars got jammed, except instead of an orgy of murder and sex, there's a lot more goofing off and... well, some sex too, I guess, but most of it behind walls. Or maybe it's like the first stages of the Googlepocalypse... maybe we're due for another one and all of this is just the fun before the crash and corporate wars start.

But as it is now, pretty much all the monitoring's been fucked. Not just the chaperone apps and the proctor's privileged view of AR streams... today the remote-teachers didn't seem to be able to see us at all. They just went on with their lesson oblivious to how almost nobody except the relentless gradewhores were paying attention, there were conversations, games, AR wars, all pretty well out in the open. None of which I'm welcome to participate in, so I mostly sat and watched the more amusing hijinx and sometimes actually tried to pay attention, since it's not like I'm going to be able to cheat off anybody when a test does come. In the more boring classes I just couldn't deal with it, so I used the time and freedom to watch a few old netflixes I've saved up or haven't seen in a while. Oh, and in one class Shirley was running free previews of this Lolly Anne show in a corner, and I tuned in for some of that (only the censored version, though) though I'm still pretty iffy on it.

The classes with real teachers are a bit better, but not much, since so much can go under the teacher's nose even when everybody seems to be quiet and listening. And since the AR lesson plans keep getting fucked up, even a few of the real teachers (like a bunch of the proctors) must have decided "fuck it, if nobody else is going to do their jobs neither am I, I'm getting paid anyway." I kind of respect that.

And you know what? At least these days school's INTERESTING. There's a chance for something cool to happen, something unexpected. And that's pretty stellar.

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5642 (rounded up), 4:13pm:
[[Soundtrack: Pound of Flesh by Whirlwind Williams]]

Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with this fucking school?

My punishment device triggered IN FUCKING CLASS today. Right in the middle of Chinese! Everybody there saw. And they had an AR porn thing play so some fetish star was peeing in my face. Luckily AR only goes so far. I'm pretty sure something went on behind me too, but I couldn't exactly see that with my face locked forward.

I don't even care any more, I think I'm desensitized to humiliation by now, I just rolled my eyes at it and the people laughing it up. But I'm fucking outraged by this piece of junk that's ruined my life not even working like they promised. And worse, it's not even consistently fucked up in a way I can use. I tried going outside of the gates, just to see, but I got the warning about a probation breach.

Also, Shirley's gone. So that bites. I guess I'm still in the groups she tried to set up, if they don't fly apart without her, but I no longer have her as mod on my side... I might get permabanned if I'm on my own. And I liked talking to her. I did a search for her outside of our local network, just to keep in touch, but her name doesn't come up... it could just be her family subscribes to Fresh Start and change their names whenever they move so they don't get a rep... but I don't want to spend money on a face recognition search to find out what I already mostly know, that she really was just a meme pusher. I mean, a bunch of other students disappeared the same day, nobody I knew well, but everyone says they were expelled for no reason. At least no official reason, but everyone assumes the school kicked out all the meme pushers at once. Not, of course, because they were adults who shouldn't have been there in the first place, but because they were corporate employees and the school feared they might try to make a little extra money by selling the "expensive school's total break down" story to a media corp and turning what was once a synergistic partnership into a PR nightmare.

As if we couldn't go to the media ourselves if we wanted to.

But I don't care if she was a shill, at least she was a shill I could talk to and not feel so alone. I miss her.


>>
Alternative Sentence, continued AnonyMPC 15/05/18(Mon)00:24 No. 23579 ID: a609fb

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5651 (rounded up), 2:10pm:
[[Soundtrack: Discount Salvation by Rei Toei]]

Well. Something's up. I just got this:

[[Inset: Video clip, AR-enhanced, with base video channel completely omitted so no one can see what's underneath.

The main focus is cloaked head to toe in an AR illusion that covers his, or her, face, hair, and skin, in an illusion of a muscular man in tactical armor, with a helmet covering most of his face (though the face itself, adult and tinged with five o'clock shadow, is also an illusion), an avatar from Judge Dredd (the version set during the Corporate Wars, as portrayed by Dave Mazouz). The voice isn't his, nor is it recognizable as anybody. It has been crudely, cheaply, masked and retimed to defy voice analysis, so it seems to stutter at times, rush at others.

"Hillary Gibson. You might feel you've been already punished for your crimes, but you have not. Not your true ones at least... nobody cares about what you almost went to jail for. Laws come from the state, and they can be broken. Justice comes from the community. You escaped most of the state's punishment, but you did it by betraying the people who matter. That has not been punished.

Your sentence begins tomorrow. You can avoid it. You can appeal to the law. But while you evade justice, you will never be forgiven. If you submit to your punishment, and finish out your sentence, you may eventually become a respected member of society again.

Here are your instructions: Do what you're told. Wear your eyescreens. Do not look below the AR layer. Do not tell anyone what happens. Ever."]]

I'm so excited I could shit. I mean, yeah, it's probably going to be hard... maybe even painful. Like when Leah started all that drama that broke up a girlfriend pool. [[Inset: Link to another entry where, in order to be forgiven, an acquaintance of Hillary's was caned at a party, in imitation of a gang ritual that was widely heard about. Hillary neither received nor performed the caning, but she did watch and take video for her lifelog.]] I couldn't even watch that without wincing along with it, it's hard to imagine going through it. But I'm sure I can take it. And once it's over, if I can just be... forgiven, it'll all be worth it.


>>
Alternative Sentence, continued AnonyMPC 15/05/19(Tue)00:21 No. 23581 ID: a609fb

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5652 (rounded up), 5:45pm:
[[Soundtrack: Princess Gangbang by Faith Sharrow]]

I don't even. I just don't even. It wasn't bad. I mean, I don't know how I'm going to look anyone in the eye, but... I don't have to! Oh god I can't stop laughing. Maybe that's the real punishment, coming down from this... when this wears off I'm going to stuck in the goo again. 'Stuck in the goo...' Is that a thing? I have a feeling it might be an old meme. But I also might have just made it up. I do have goo on my mind. And on my skirt. And inside.

I probably shouldn't write this until I'm clear headed but I might not remember then.

It wasn't pain. IT WAS SEX. I KNOW LETS PUNISH HER WITH FUCKING THAT'LL TEACH HER A LESSON WHO COMES UP WITH THIS? Not that I'm complaining. Maybe they still are my friends after all!

Okay there's some pain, there's some TMJ going on and I'm sore downstairs, but it's a far away throb, like it's a wisp of a shade of a video reenactment of pain somebody else had or I'm like too tired to even feel.

I was twitching with excitement all day, waiting for it to start and starting to get the feeling that it was just a prank. But then in the middle of Search class, I got a ping, telling me to go out for a break and follow the signs to start my sentence, and reminded me of the rules. Which is why I didn't get this on video, myself, I couldn't take the chance that they might see some kind of telltale or have spyware on my system.

But OH MY GOD did it deserve video. I followed a trail of floating arrows, which led to a sign saying "follow the white rabbit" (I guess Dave was one of the people behind this). One of the arrows turned into a rabbit and then hoppity-hopped further down the hall, and I followed, right into the boys washroom.

It was less gross than I imagined it would be. It wasn't even as bad as the unisex one for the ambiguously gendered. Of course, the bathrooms get the clean cycle every day... and today, they probably need it more than most LOL (DID I JUST LOL? LOL).

But here's the big surprise! I got onto the spot highlighted on the floor, right in the middle of the bathroom, and then... my collar went off!

No way was that a coincidence. Somebody hacked it, figured out a way to trigger it whenever they want. But what could I do? It was part of my punishment either way. So I bent over into position and waited... I actually did think for a second that maybe this was an elaborate murder attempt, they were going to lock me here and start the bathroom's ultra-clean cycle, the one using the harsher chemicals they don't use in the rest of the school, and me being stuck there until I passed out and died. But right when I started to worry, that's when somebody came in from a hiding place in a stall.

I don't know who it was, they were covered in a whole body AR field, you know the one, the one that's just a green face with a question mark on it and a black suit, red tie. He disguised his voice cheesily just by making it fakey-fake deep and harsh and moved slowly so there was no risk of his face showing through AR-lag. So I don't know who it was, but I guess that was the point. He said to let anybody do what they want to me, and asked if I remembered my rules. I did, but he reminded me anyway, keep AR on and no telling.

I nodded about as best as I could in the collar and said okay, and that's when he put the glyph on my cheek and said "This'll make it go down easier. Don't worry, the collar won't pick it up." Oh and a private message hit me, I don't know if it was from him or someone else, saying I should play act like it's rape, it'll look better for me if I don't report it. I'm not even sure I had to play act... I mean, it kind of was, rape, wasn't it? Or at least, how would anyone know if I really didn't want it or if I was just playing.

I was kind of into it, just then, though. The drug patch glyph might have had something to do with it, though that would make it still rape. I don't know what was in it, but it was strong... or maybe my tolerance is shit since I've had to be straight ever since the collar was on. It was sooo good though, when it kicked in. I'd probably suck cocks just for that hit.

Then people started coming in. Only a few at first, but over the time I was in there, it was lots. All of them, when I could see them, were in AR covering, mostly the off-the-shelf green-face, though a few were Blur-Man/woman or other stuff. Not all of them were guys either, I could tell that much. I was pretty sure one of them was Dani, but that was just a gut instinct. She didn't speak, I played by the rules and didn't peek under any AR, but there was one girl who stood right in front of me who was about Dani's height. The rest... I don't have a clue. I can't even be sure how many were there, most of them I never saw at all because I was locked down facing away from the door. I only saw the people who came around front (which was still a good dozen or two), and had to guess at the rest from hearing.

When it started though I hadn't actually seen ANYONE yet, except that first green face, and heard a few others. But anyone could have been back there. Friends. Proctors, guards, teachers, janitors... freshmen, even! It was kind of exciting though, my legs were trembling and I was warm all over, I hated it, not knowing, but also kind of liked it.

Somebody pulled my underwear down to my knees and my skirt over my ass, and I remembered the protip about pretending it was rape so I asked what he was doing and said "No... what are you doing? Stop!" I think I did a pretty good job, but I couldn't have stopped it if I wanted to, short maybe, maybe, of activating the collar's panic button, but I didn't even know if that would work, and I wasn't going to try.

So somebody pushed into me from behind, while I said "nooo". He felt pretty big, and I liked it at first, up until he pulled out and then went in my ass. That's probably where it became the closest to rape, since, I only do that with people I'm really close with, and I can count them on one finger. And one finger's about all I can usually get in without a lot of foreplay.

This guy was about three times bigger than that, and it hurt, a little, both the good hurt and the bad, and the drugs were starting to kick in so I didn't mind as much as I might have, but right then I still didn't WANT to do it like that. And it was ultra embarrassing to be taken like that by a stranger, in front of everyone, just treated like a piece of meat but... what choice did I have?

After he caim, he slapped my ass and said, "Anyone else want to get in on this? She can't fight and knows better than to tell."

They didn't join in right away, there was some fingering and exploration, which was probably more humiliating than the fucking. At least with sex I could lose myself in it a little, this felt more like a doctor's exam in front of the whole school. The whole school wasn't there, I think, but they could have been. And normally I don't have doctor exams while cum's dribbling out of my asshole. So that just made it worse. And worst of all it still felt good sometimes.

It was during that that the girl I thought was Dani came in front of me, her greengirl face with a big cartoon grin on it all the time, taunting me. But she didn't speak, just watched... her fingers moved a lot so she might have been private messaging someone, maybe the others in the room. If she was using her tracking tongue stud to subvocalize, I couldn't hear it.

Finally one of the guys came around the front with his dick out, and my eyes just about bugged out because that thing was huge! I didn't have to act when I cried "No, please, don't!" Course, as soon as he thrust it in my mouth I realized it was just part of an AR overlay, the real thing was a little below average. Good thing, cause he just went in my mouth a few seconds before circling around back and gave my pussy a good pounding.

I think of that first group, only one fucked me, and then they left and others came in. Over the next hour or so, I was just a helpless piece of fuck meat for anyone who wandered through. Only a little fraction of the people who did actually did anything to me. Almost nothing, really. Not counting the first one (who I'm sure was in on it and knew I was cooperating), only like five or six guys actually got the nerve up to fuck me. I think it was four caim in my ass (only one started and finished there though). And another four finished in my mouth (though I think I probably had a dozen different cocks in my mouth during that whole period), and I swallowed like a champ.

Aside from the odd cock-gagging, the ass-fuckings were the hardest, cause, again, I've always been very picky about who got to do that before. To just have to take anybody using it was pretty hard. But maybe that's the point... this is punishment, right, and buttsex is just subtext rearranged as the old meme goes. And whatever it still felt good, just hurts more now that I think I'm starting to come down off the drugs.

If that's the punishment, I can take it... because that's all it was, just standing there, bent over, and taking it. It's like running a marathon, and it feels like it, but it's hard to do something wrong, it's just a matter of keeping on going, you just plow on through and get to the end. Except this came with orgasms, which started kicking in with the third guy, and then every few minutes after. Once that started, it was like I didn't even have to think anymore. My biggest decision was that I couldn't decide whether to do the fake moans or not.

I mean, people expect it of me when I'm getting a good fuck. I'm loud. Only Dani knows that, for me, it's all for the guy (or girl)'s benefit. I can cum in dead silence and usually do when I'm fucking myself. So if I start the moans while I'm restrained and supposedly being raped, what does that say? I mean, I'm fine with them thinking that they raped me so good I wound up getting off to it... I can play that trope, and it's an easier acting job than pretending to be scared. But I don't want them to think I'm fake-moaning, cause, what does that say? What kind of loser fake-moans so the person raping them enjoys themselves more? It all depended on whether I could trust Dani not to tell, and recent weeks have proved, I can't trust that bitch for anything.

In the end, though, I did moan. I just can't help playing to an audience, I guess, and I wasn't 100% sure Dani was there. So I moaned until somebody shoved another dick in my mouth to shut me up, and I moaned quietly on that.

It ended suddenly, with somebody warning that a proctor was coming, and the guy in me pulled out and everybody seemed to desert the bathroom, and then seconds later the locks disengaged and I could stand up. I was alone in the boy's bathroom, smelling like princess gangbang in the song, cum dripping down my legs.

I pulled my underwear up, let it make a soggy connection, and then walked out. I didn't even have time to clean, not then, I had to escape the proctor too. Luckily she didn't seem to notice me that I came out of the boy's bathroom, and I ducked into a side hall so we didn't directly pass each other by, and then I made my way to my last class. Felt like everybody stared, like they knew what happened. Maybe they did. But they didn't say anything to me, it was just looks.

The rest of the day was a blur. I did remember to catch an early autocab so I'd beat Billy home and could take a shower... shit I forgot to take a shower. At least I did dump the underwear. But I just checked and my rep is up! It's still in the negatives but I'm higher than I've been in forever!

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5652 (rounded up), 11:36pm:
[[Soundtrack: Knew It Was You by Chevette Washington]]

I knew Dani was there.

Guess what video showed up with a message "For your lifelog."

[[Inset: A video, forced AR-perspective, of Hillary's time in the bathroom, taken from a fixed perspective on the wall. No faces are visible, although rebellions teens always underestimate the ability to identify people through other means. Height/weight estimates and gait recognition, especially in such a limited pool of students, can, within a reasonable margin of error, positively identify those participating, to an observant fellow looking. You're lucky that I am one such, because I can confirm that Dani was in fact the one Hillary thought she was, although whether she was the one who arranged the video is an open question.

Otherwise, the event is more or less like Hillary described it, and there is no need to repeat.]]

I mean, it was anonymous, I'm sure Dani sent it. I mean, I'm not the only one who lifelogs, obviously, but not many people know my family are Resurrectionists. And there was something about the way the text felt... it was only three words, but, it was like you could hear the sneer in it, but only a cover-sneer, like she really did want to help, too.

Maybe I'm overthinking it.


>>
Alternative Sentence, continued AnonyMPC 15/05/19(Tue)21:38 No. 23583 ID: a609fb

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5654 (rounded up), 6:09pm:
[[Soundtrack: Madhouse, by Whirlwind Williams]]

Another day of being the public cum dump. Community service, that's me these days, I go where I'm told, get locked in place, and whoever wants to can get off in me. Today, it wasn't a bathroom, or a underused hall (shit somehow yesterday's entry didn't save? Oh well, I was tired). This time it was in a blind set up in the corner of the cafeteria during lunch, my biggest crowd yet. Proctors were around and everything, but there were crowds of people blocking the real view, and I was bent over.

Some girl rubbed her pussy in my face, had to step on her tiptoes to do it, but I licked. Surprised it hadn't happened earlier. But I can't be unfair and service only the boys, right? Still, mostly it's been boys who're using me, and I'm pretty sure mostly freshmen. Dreamers, at the very least... guys who are more used to sex usually start taking Tasty Peach, but virgins don't know the importance of good taste. They make their MangoO line for a reason, you know. If I could make one change to this whole thing, it'd be making that mandatory.

But really, I don't even mind. And it's like a madhouse in school now, in a good way. The line between the dreamers and doers is breaking down, and everyone's getting bolder. I bet I've already single-handedly devirginized more people in the school than anyone else this year. They say something like 75% of high school students never have sexual contact until they move out of their homes... I bet at my school it's at least down to 70% now, all due to me.

I just wish I could record this visually, just for my private memories, but I'm still worried about spyware. I thought about dragging out my old halo, get a 360 view of it. I mean, it's obvious, they'd know I'm doing it, but the reason people stopped using them was because they can't record WITHOUT AR because of all the controversy. So they'd know I was playing along, still protecting everybody's identity, while getting some good shots for my own memories. It might work, too, if I tried it, but I hate how halos pins down my hair. And call me a narcissist, but I want to see my face, especially if there's not going to be anybody else's. I just have to hope Dani sends me another one.

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5655 (rounded up), 6:32pm:
[[Soundtrack: Tuned To a Dead Channel by Wintermute]]

It's like all I write about is how I'm getting fucked lately... like it's all that my life is, anymore. In a way, it is, my life revolves around it. Or seems to. School? I don't give a fuck, except to wonder when I'm going to be led aside to become community service.

Today it was while I was doing my tailoreds. I had a private booth booked for me, and boom, got the alert, time to bend over. This time there was no oral, since I was stuck facing the AR board, which was a bit of relief after all the cum I swallowed yesterday.

Only three guys fucked me there, but I caim on the first one. It's getting easier to do it in front of a crowd, and there was a nice crowd, not as big as yesterday's, but it was more out of the way so they had to make an effort to cum. I guess it was somebody popular's first time because I could hear them cheering him on in mutters. After that there were others. No drugs this time, maybe I'm not worth it anymore, but I'm still worth plenty of fucks. It's the only thing during the day that's even interesting.

The thing is, I come home exhausted, and usually I have to take something just to make it through the evening, but when I do crash, I sleep better than I ever have before. It's like this life was made for me.


>>
Alternative Sentence, continued AnonyMPC 15/05/20(Wed)05:31 No. 23587 ID: a609fb

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5657 (rounded up), 6:13pm:
[[Soundtrack: Life of the Party by Nirvana Reborn]]

I have an invite. To a party. With my old friends.

And I am so going.

They aren't welcoming me back with open arms. I'm not that dumb. I wouldn't get my hopes about it even if the invitation hadn't started with "your sentence continues at..." and ended with a suggestion to "Wear something you don't mind getting dirty." Which, by the way, is this: [[Inset video of Hillary in her room. Despite the instruction, Hillary is dolled up like she's going to a party where she expects to meet her true love, assuming it was someone who expected the level of style she already generally aspires to. She's wearing makeup and bright blue lipstick, her hair has been meticulously teased so that it falls in a cascade of ringlets down one side of her face, exposing one of the shaved sides. Her clothes are shiny black waterproof wearables, a top that presses her breasts together for effect, and a skirt that opens on the side for easy removal. Rarely, ads flash over the surface, visible even without AR for maximum impression, with segments of the black fabric shifting colors to coalesce into a logo, but it's subtle, not so often that they make fashion-conscious teens want to reject the outfit for a dressy occasion.]]

I know, I'm not a guest, I'm the entertainment. For them to laugh at, fuck, maybe even gangbang. There won't be any dancing for me, no joking around, no extreme daredevil games. I'll just be at the mercy of whoever controls my collar. Maybe they'll leave me bent over all night.

The thing is, I'm excited anyway. Not just because there's this chance I'm on the path to being forgiven, but the thought of just being there, made available to anyone who wants me, to just use me like I'm a human onahole, making fun of me... especially the making fun of me, because these aren't dreamers taking advantage of me, it's my ex-friends who've been even crueler, it's going to be worse than ever. It's soo weird. I should hate it. But it's the opposite. I mean, it's not that I'm not embarrassed, or hurt by the insults, even by the dreamers... I am. That's the point. The feeling is so strong and it makes me so uncomfortable that it's like... it makes the pleasure that much more intense, because it's going on while I'm feeling so low. And there's a moment where it gets so good that I just don't care about the humiliation, it doesn't even enter my mind, it's like that moment when you pee after holding it in, that moment you take Glide after a really rough night, that first glorious moment you get outside after spending a boring day in school. Sometimes, when it's really good, it's like that moment you jump off a building or ride a coaster over the first big hill, your stomach drops and you feel sick but it's like your whole body's vibrating at the same time, in tune to the universe, just for a moment. It's like pure freedom, and you want to grab hold and ride it as long as you can, except this moment can last minutes at a time.

Those minutes are so good. I think I'm getting addicted to it. Even right now, it's making me wet just thinking of it, I had my hand in my underwear just imagining them fucking me while calling me stupid, saying I'm only useful as a life support system for a set of holes, or putting a make dog on me just to degrade me even more.

Wow, I'm turning into such a whore for this I'm surprising even myself. They don't even need to give me drugs anymore... it's a drug of its own. Who knew this would be so powerful? I mean, I always thought of myself as pretty vanilla... sure, I'm daring-with-a-capital-D, but as far as tastes go, I never went in for anything too weird, no fetish albums became my personal anthem. But now... it's like I leveled up in kink. All the rest of my time is just spent waiting for this. Good thing they're forcing me to do this otherwise I might have to beg for it. Though maybe that would be even better.

Actually, I kind of did beg, a little today. I had to beg Billy to watch The Rat and cover for me with Mom. She'll be out all night again (I wonder if she's feeling the same things I do... if so, I should probably rollback that sympathy for her), but if I'm going out, I need him to be on the Nannyapp button, and he might not outright tell Mom, but he still could blow it all if he was still pissed at me. And most of all, I needed to borrow some cash from his card to pay the autocab cause I don't have squat right now.

So I begged. I pulled out all the stops, even got down on my knees, told him that this was the first party I'd been invited to in forever, and how might be my one chance to get back in good with my friends. He was cold about it at first, but finally he asked me, with sort of a surprised wonder, "You really WANT to do this?"

It was then it hit me, for the first time. Billy might be among the most pedestrian of dreamers... but people talk. And he does go to my school. He probably does know what I've been going through, he just hasn't said it. Maybe he's even seen me doing it, I know he usually takes lunches in class but he could have seen me in the cafeteria, or even a hall. And it's not that big of a leap for even Billy to guess that I'm getting more of the same tonight. And here I am, begging him to let me go out for more.

Now that's embarrassing. I'm probably going to be thinking about that tonight, while I'm locked in position and drowning in cum.

But what was I going to do? I had to do it. And I thought, he wasn't going to tell Mom, and he was too much of a coward to confront me about it before now, how bad could it be, him knowing? If he looked at me with shame in his eyes from now on, I'd get used to it.

So I told him that yes, I wanted this more than anything I've ever wanted before. And luckily he folded. He's going to cover for me.

Maybe he doesn't even really know, maybe it was enough to see me beg.

I better finish this, the autocab's just pulled up.

Let's hope this night doesn't turn out to be a waste of time.


>>
Alternative Sentence, continued AnonyMPC 15/05/20(Wed)17:28 No. 23588 ID: a609fb

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5658 (rounded up), 10:13am:
[[Soundtrack: Shockwave Riding, by Agrippa]]

My back is still sore, my body is crying out for more sleep, and my mouth still feels like a toilet.

Yet I, in some weird way, I feel clean. But not completely. There's one thing I have to do to finish, to put an end to this chapter of my life.

I have to admit I've been lying. To you, which is really to myself, unless the people of the future read this before bringing me back. I was too embarrassed by the truth, and I didn't want it to be a part of the new Resurrected me, if it ever happens, so I hid it, denied it... but I realize now I can't. Our mistakes make us who we are. If they Resurrect me in the future without this, it won't be me, it'll be just some near-copy. Sometimes I don't care so much about the distinction, or even really believe it'll really be me no matter how close they get... but it is important to be honest, and I haven't been.

I could launch right into the why, but it's going to come up again when I storify, so I might as well save it until then and just tell you what happened last night. No video, again (one of the more bizarre parts of my life lately is how so much is happening that I don't have footage, just memories, like I'm some kind of Victorian era cavewoman), they wouldn't let me.

Only Jack Ramsay was there when I got in. I thought it seemed early. And he had that smirk under his ridiculous mustache when he answered the door, and I knew that he was loving this. Reject a guy once in middle school and he never lets it go.

No surprise, we had sex, but of course he didn't ask, he led me to his bathroom (no surprise), told me to take out my eyescreens, then to take off all my clothes, and then triggered my collar. He dicked around for a while, making a big show of trying to decide what to make the AR display above me, the one that lists my crimes, but I couldn't see it anyway, and what did I care? I said as much, but he told me he settled on "Human Cumdumpster, Free To Use."

I think he was expecting me to be bothered by it, but, why? It does bother me to be called that, I guess, but it's sort of what I am now, and with just him saying it, seeing it, it wasn't even really embarrassing enough to get me a little flush. Maybe when the rest of the people showed up, or if I knew he was streaming it, it would be better.

Besides, I wanted to at least look defiant, so I kind of rolled my eyes at him and asked if he was the one behind this all, and he snickered and denied it, said it was a group decision. But I know how it is, group decisions are pushed by a few people, and I still wanted to know who it was. Dani was probably one of them, but she doesn't have the hacking skills to pull it off herself, and the smirk on Ramsay's face said it was somebody he found funny. Bastard wouldn't tell me for sure though, his dick got hard and he decided he was going to "use me before I got all loose and messy."

That one hurt good enough to make me do an involuntary cunt-clench.

The sex was just okay, he was bigger than I expected, but hardly the world's greatest lover or anything, it was pretty much just a passive pounding, and without people watching me it wasn't even degrading enough to really get me going. It was the kind of sex where, if I HAD my eyescreens, I'd probably be doing something else at the same time. Which is what I'd expect from him, really.

When he was done, he just left and went into the other room, leaving me alone with nothing to do but just sit there, staring at the towel rack. I didn't even have a good view of the mirror. And I couldn't tell time without my eyescreens in (I still had my nailtabs and ringbuds, so I could theoretically have played my own music or set time alerts to be audio, but that's nightmare-mode to do when you can't actually see the menus).

At least they left my ringbuds in and tuned to the ambient AR, so I could hear Ramsey's house music selections when he started it up, but he wouldn't even pay the extra few cents to name me as an additional listener. So I only got melody, no vocals.

And even the music only started after more people were there. They started showing up in knots, not as a flash, and usually they came to peek in on me with a big shit-eating grin on their face, like they were relishing me being in this position, but most of them didn't do anything to me. One guy fingered me a little while he used the toilet. Having to listen to him peeing was worse than finger up my ass.

After some kind of debate going on just outside, a few of them came in and put a pair of swim-goggles on me. AR-enabled, but I couldn't control them, so anyone who wanted to could disguise their identity. I guess somebody was still shy. But that was only the first step. Whoever was shy came in next, clothed in a pillar of fire, and put sense-stickers on my forehead and mound, to measure bloodflow and electrical activity. I knew where this was going. It's just like what we did for Christie's coming out party [[Inset: Link to previous lifelog entry about a girl who'd just joined the "Daring" clique by eating out another girl at a public game stage. At a later party in her honor, they hooked her up with sensors to measure her arousal and when she had orgasms, as part of a dare to test her claim that she wasn't REALLY bisexual, as various men and women tried to make her climax through visual stimulation combined with kissing and fingering alone. The consensus at the end of the night was that her preference was for males, but that if you got her aroused enough, even just watching girls could push her over the top.]]

But if it wasn't bad enough that they were going to know every time I caim, they weren't even going to commit to being around when it happened. Next up was a two-pronged vibrator up my ass and pussy at the same time, that anyone could turn on or off or speed up. Anyone except me, that is. I just had to wait and wonder when it was going to go off into mega-burst mode, and when it was just going to be a low buzz.

It was mostly on low buzz for the first while, and I was left more or less alone. Sometimes someone would come in and use me, mostly my mouth at first. They thought it was funny to turn the vibe up to max right when they were about to cum, so I caim at the same time. Or sometimes the guys caim on my face while I caim to the wand. I had to remember to give my moans.

So pretty much I was a piece of fuckmeat, and I couldn't even tell you who used me how. Maybe everyone. Mostly it was one-on-one, although sometimes I was double-teamed, and usually whenever I ate out a girl there were a few watchers. But otherwise, I wasn't even the main attraction anymore, the party went on without me, I could hear snatches of conversation and I was barely even a topic. People just came in and used me when they felt the urge, or ignored me otherwise, although there was a rush of laughter every time I had an orgasm, especially if nobody else was there, so they hadn't completely forgotten about me. But they almost never talked to me, even if they were just coming to use the bathroom, they'd ignore what I said to them, unless I had a simple request like "can you wipe the cum off my face" or "I really need to pee." Sometimes, just sometimes, they'd help me out. Yes, I had to beg to use the bathroom myself, the deferment commands didn't work (or I didn't use them right), and so I had to plead just to get a little break from the punishment position, but the breaks topped out at ten minutes. And somebody let me sit on the toilet, in handcuff mode, while he fucked me, which was sooo much better after being bent over for so long, even though he draped a towel over my face so he "didn't have to look at me."

The whole night was pretty much either being used, or waiting to be used. I wanted to sleep sometimes, especially after a big orgasm, but I never could get more than a few seconds, the vibe would always go into overdrive if I tried. That thing was a master stroke in degradation. Any time somebody wanted to fuck me, they'd take the vibe out (or just take one prong out) and they put it back in afterwards, so it wasn't ON non-stop, but I was pretty much full non-stop and I feel like I need to rub toner all over myself or I'll never be tight again. I've never felt so worthless or so consistently turned on. Even if I'm sore now, I still feel like I'm high.

The height of the worthlessness wasn't when somebody made a trip to the toilet and decided instead of sliding around me, they'd eliminate the middle step and just pee in my mouth. The height of worthlessness was the third or fourth time that happened. After that, I'd gotten used to it. But the first time was a real eye opener... way different experience than an AR simulation of it. I thought he was just coming for a blowjob, and maybe it was my fault, I opened my mouth, tongue wide, right when he came in, hoping that he'd be one of the guys who cranked the vibe up, because I'd been on the low buzz for too long and really needed to cum again. He stuck it in, and he was hard but not super hard, but he didn't pump, so I was licking, and then... boom. Suddenly he was peeing in my fucking mouth. And laughing. "You wanted a beer," he said. I'd asked for one earlier but been ignored. "Don't complain that it's been recycled." I couldn't exactly speak, just swallowed, trying to taste as little as possible, but it was salty and warm and, even with the hint of mango, it was pretty vile. I called him a bastard after he pulled out, and he lightly slapped my face and said something about how I'm not acting like I really want forgiveness. Then he went out to the rest of the party, and he must have told people because pretty soon Ramsey (he didn't bother wearing AR) came in and did the same thing. The third person to pee in my mouth brought a crowd with him, the first time I was the center of attention since the start of the party, and this time while I was drinking pee, the vibe cranked up to max and I had to do my best to fight off an orgasm. I didn't want to cum while drinking piss.

Then I heard, "I got dibs on next." And I knew that voice. Fucking Dani. She downed the drink in her hand, but wasn't ready to go right away. Didn't stop her from shoving her cunt in my face and telling me to lick.

I thought a guy peeing in my mouth was bad. A girl's even worse because it splashes all over your face. Maybe if I sucked on the hole, but I wasn't going to do that. I have some dignity.

Who am I kidding, dignity and me parted ways long before the first time I was forced to drink piss. But I still wasn't going to do that, not for her. Especially not when, this time, she succeeded in forcing an orgasm on me while I was drinking her piss.

"Look at you," Dani said mockingly, circling around to my back where I couldn't see her. "Getting off while drinking pee. That keeps happening, you'll probably start begging for it." We'd heard the rumors that people were programmed like that, give them orgasms while doing something they hate and make them love it. Dani got really into that fantasy when we first started masturbating together. "Maybe I should make it hurt a little, just to help you out." And before I could decide what to say, or whether I should say anything, she smacked me, hard, on the ass. I cried out, but a lot of the others in the bathroom laughed, and she did it again. And I guess they must have noticed my arousal levels increasing, because she said, "This turns you on too? Wow. What a useless whore." She smacked me again, though. And I was aroused but it also hurt, and she did it again.

Somebody who wasn't watching before came in and asked, "Isn't that going a little too far?" I wish I did know who that was, everything was blurry because there were piss drops all over the goggles, and I was crying, it wasn't the pain so much as the humiliation, which had pushed past pleasurable and was just painful. I was glad to have somebody speak up for me, though... it was nice to think I had an ally. "He's not going to like this." Maybe two. I didn't know who "He" was... maybe some guy had feelings for me?

The rest of the people disagreed it was too much, though, and someone with voice distortion said, "Fuck him. We agreed. If she likes it too much, it's not a real punishment. I say we keep pushing her, see how far down she gets. If she wants to be treated like a human being, she has to make amends."

I knew I was risking pissing them off by speaking, but I couldn't help it, I still had the taste of piss on my tongue and was spitting mad as well as ashamed and crying. "What do you think I'm trying to do?"

It was like time stopped, except for the house music which was still going on. "And what are you making amends for, Hil?" asked Lilah. She pulled the goggles up so I could see clearly, everybody waiting for my answer.

But I couldn't answer. I wasn't ready then. I still thought I could hold onto the lie. Then I realized that even if I did lie, they'd probably be running lie detector apps and, without my own eyescreens in, I couldn't block it. I tried to think up a set of words that would appease them while still keeping that shred of... I don't even know if I can call it dignity.

When I didn't have an answer ready, Dani said, "See? She's not even sorry. Not really. Come on, let's go back to the party."

Dani brushed past me and towards the door, and everyone turned away, ready to leave me alone in the bathroom again, smelling Dani's urine in my hair and an itch on my nose I couldn't scratch, while they joked and dance and got high and just have fun like I haven't had in forever, and I shouted, "Okay!"

And I told them. Everything. I admitted it, and even though I cried while I was doing it, it was actually a relief not to have to lie anymore. And now I realize that it was just a first step, and I have to do it here, too.

I did help the cops. I got Logan and those other guys higher sentences to save my own ass. Mom pressured me and Billy too, but it was my choice in the end, I could have said no, deleted the lifelog sections entirely or lost the encryption schemes, or forced them to do whatever they could to try to break them. Instead, I turned them over. I just really didn't want to go to a juvenile detention facility and I got scared and I didn't care if the others got off worse, I figured they were probably going to jail anyway so why make it worse for myself?

But it was still wrong, I'm still ashamed of myself, and that's why I lied to everyone, to my lifelog. It's against the code of the Daring. We just don't do that.

I don't know how everyone else knew. Maybe Dani lied to screw me over and happened to hit on what really happened. Maybe they hacked into sealed court records. Or maybe I'm just a shit liar, even with eyescreens masking my pupils.

At least I don't have to worry about that anymore. After I blubbered out my confession, Dani turned and walked out like she was even more pissed, and most just had a "knew it" look, but a few people... maybe it was my imagination, but I thought it softened, like they had pity for me. Which feels awful and good at the same time, kind of like being fucked while restrained to the floor.

"Let her have five minutes to clean herself up," someone, Juan Riviera but I didn't know just then, said, and slowly people started filing out.

Before Juan did, he released the restraints so I could finally stand up, wipe my eyes, and turned away. "Wait! After that, I can come out?"

He snickered at me, and ruffled my hair like I was a stupid little kid. "Of course not, silly. If admitting what you did was all it took to make amends, I'd... you don't even want to know the shit I'd do. Your confession was a good first step. But it's only a first step. The point of this is... like rehabilitation, making you a useful part of society again. And don't forget, it has to be bad enough to make anyone else think twice about doing what you did."

I could understand that. But I still wanted a light at the end of the tunnel. "And how long'll that be?"

"I don't know. Your sentence continues until your rep gets high enough. Maybe as long as you wear the collar. Honestly, it's just too fun a toy to give up before we can. Besides, you're not fooling anyone... you like this too. The data doesn't lie."

I did. I couldn't deny that. "Not all of it." That was true, at least mostly. The pain of being in the same position for so long just sucked. The pee was gross, although even just thinking how disgusting and ashamed that made me, gave me a dirty thrill. Maybe I would grow to like it, or hate it but love it being forced on me. The thought of it made me hate myself a little. But maybe I love myself too much for my own good. I wouldn't have done this if I cared about Logan half as much as I did myself. And humility is good, right?

"Yeah, maybe we went a bit too far. Now that you've stopped lying about it, we'll go back to the original specs we agreed on, and if anyone goes farther they'll be downvoted." Relying on peer pressure isn't a guarantee of anything... I bet Dani would risk a few rep points to make my life a little more miserable. But it was better than nothing. "Any special requests before I rejoin the party?"

I asked for something solid to eat and drink to get the taste out of my mouth, and a drug patch to cut out my sore back, and if I could take the vibrating double dildo out of me, and pointed out that if they engaged handcuff mode around the sink pipe, so I was lying on the floor, I'd still be unable to move but at least my back would get a break.

That was probably too much, but I got everything except the drug patch. A few minutes later, after I washed my face and wet my hair (and put the goggles back on to show I was cooperating), Joan Varley came in with a beer and a bowl of soystrips... better than nothing. She wouldn't even look me in the eye though. And then when Juan came back in, he laid a towel on the floor and let me put my hands around the sink so when handcuff mode was engaged, I could lie down.

After that, it got better. I was still the open license slut of the party, but it wasn't so physically painful. The boredom was a factor, so I was mostly eager for somebody to come in and use me. Surprise, a lot more girls when I was lying on the floor, because they could squat on my face maybe. They also didn't usually make me do it till they caim, I think I was more to get them a head start for when they had sex with somebody else at the party. And once I got a face full of cum-filled pussy that I had to clean off. That wasn't so bad, though. She used Strawberry and he had a Banana flavoring going on, so it actually tasted really good together.

Only one more person peed in my mouth, and it was a girl too. She wore a blue elemental AR skin that I couldn't see past, and I thought she just wanted my tongue to make her cum, or get her wet. But about a minute in, she grabbed my hair, said, "Shhh," and started pissing. When she was done, she whispered, "Don't tell anyone."

I didn't. I didn't know who it was, but I could have told somebody and they probably knew what skin she wore when she went in, so I could have cost her rep points. It might have been a test. Or maybe she was just curious what it was like. I guess I couldn't blame her, I might have done the same. And she wiped my face after and gave me the rest of her drink, and let me have another break to stretch my legs.

It was only one more person, and what was the big deal after I had so much?

I went back into punishment mode for a while after that, but I had more breaks to stretch.

At the end of the night, Ramsey let me have a shower before giving me my clothes and eyescreens, and I almost cried again. I synched up, looked around, and it was like.... [[Inset: Video clip from the wildly scientifically inaccurate end of Supervolcano, where David looks up, and sees the sky clear and, for the first time in years, the stars are visible and he falls down to his knees and cries as he gets on the radio and reports the success of the corporate cleanup]]. Bright points of light for several of the Daring in my interest list, once again letting me know where they were compared to me. A sign that I was no longer shitlisted, at least not completely. Not everyone's there. But it's a start. It's like that old meme, [[Inset: Clip from the 20th century film, The Shawshank Redemption where the narrator says the partial line "who crawled through a river of shit and came out clean on the other side," except the word "Who" has been seamlessly replaced with "I"]].

Juan even gave me a ride back in his car instead of having to call an autocab. I mean, he was leaving at the same time anyway and sure, I had to give him one last blowjob during the trip, but what's one more, right?

When I got in I heated up some Meatieballs and went right to bed. Billy was asleep, as was the Rat, and Mom still wasn't back yet... for all I know, as a body-slave she had the same sort of night I did. A part of me wanted to run into her, though, so I could show her my matching mascara tears and she'd know that I'd been through something kinky and degrading just like her. I wonder if she secretly liked it as much as me. Maybe I shouldn't feel sorry for her, just because she spent her whole life proud that she didn't do that sort of thing doesn't mean she isn't thrilled now that she is. We share some genes after all.

I don't know, I hope she likes it, anyway.

She's home now, and she must have gotten some sleep wherever she went last night, because she's up and full of energy at this ungodly hour, which means I gotta be too, since we're supposed to go to Church today and update our backup memory diamonds... that's why I wanted to do this now, to make sure the truth got saved even if I got atomized or something. But so tired, I just want to crawl back into bed and leave it to next time. I suppose I could beg off and demand sleep, but I was supposed to have an early night, and if she get suspicious and audits the housecams, not only do I have to deal with her shit but Billy will be too, for covering. And then next time I need a favor he won't help.

So time to put on a fucking smile and leave my room.


>>
Alternative Sentence, continued AnonyMPC 15/05/21(Thu)18:52 No. 23590 ID: a609fb

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5659 (rounded up), 4:36pm:
[[Soundtrack: Everything Ends, by The Difference Engine]]

It's the end of an era.

The security hole in the school was patched over the weekend. No more AR costumes, no more unfiltered access to the outside, no more media watching. No more being suddenly locked in position for anyone daring enough to use me as a living fuckdoll.

Damn it.

I was looking forward to it, too. I'm already starting to feel sort of empty without it. Second day in a row where I just been... normal. And where am I going to get my rep points now?

I don't even know if they can set off my collar anymore. Maybe it was all part of the same hack, and nobody will do anything to me because they're afraid the cops will see. Fuck. How do I ask someone without sounding pathetic?

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5660 (rounded up), 7:19pm:
[[Soundtrack: Entering The Mushroom Kingdom - Super Mario Origin Soundtrack]]

Apparently the saying is true. When God closes a backdoor, he leaves open Windows. The collar IS still compromised. Nobody can risk using me in school, but after, I'm fair game. Got a 'suggestion' to walk to the kiddy park instead of taking the autocar home, from two of the Daring that I sort of know but am not really close with.

So I did.

I was taping this time. Fuck them if they have a problem with it, it's my life. So if the future recreation of me needs to know what it's liked to be fucked in front of a bunch of elementary schoolers, I present...

[[Inset: Video shot from the edge of a tween park, on a path out of sight of the main monitoring area, between a copse of artificial trees which block the views of cameras, except those placed in the trees themselves, but those are rarely checked unless there's evidence of a problem.

Through the trees, we watch, from a distance, a group of kids, a dozen, between the ages of ten and thirteen, playing a game of Tap That! around a playground, which, to anybody not subscribed to the game and able to see the targets, looks like them randomly running from point to point, pestered by some annoying fly, and trying to splat it with their palm whenever it lands on a slide, swing, or ground. They seem completely oblivious to Hillary watching, but then, at their distance, even if they weren't also cloaked by AR, it might not be obvious what was going on through the trees.

The view also regularly jiggles with motion, as she is indeed being fucked while watching.

Overheard, but not seen because it is occurring behind her, the man penetrating her is having a conversation with his friend about school. "How'd you do on that live-essay?" The one not fucking her asked.

"Not bad. 83. Moved up a spot in the rankings. You?"

"95, but I dropped. I'm pissed at myself, though. The grader docked me a couple points because I accidentally used 'corporate wars' instead of 'great free market correction.'"

"Shit, rookie mistake, man."

"I'm pretty sure I hit all the talking points on today's though."

"I forgot to work in the one about the human cost being acceptable because current models render space travel feasible in five years." Not likely unless there's a worldwide change in policy. "And the... shit, what was it, resource maximization..."

"Anything less than a maximally efficient exploitation of the resource is failing the company's duty to their shareholders."

"Yeah, that." The fucking continues for the duration of a few thrusts. "Hey, speaking of efficient exploitation of resources... we should really set up Hil somewhere we can charge admission. Set up a ticket booth in a game stage or something, we could make a decent profit."

"Against the T&C, man." Hillary may not know all the Terms and Conditions, but the others in her social circle do.

"Fuck that, what kind of punishment is it if we can't get more than a good fuck. Besides, it's only a violation if Hil tells on us... and you won't tell on us, right, Hil?"

It's as though it takes a second for her to realize she's being addressed, or maybe she has to think it over. She lets out a weak moan first. "No."

"Game stage is no good, then," says the one watching the fuck. "All it takes is for one person from our school to see it."

"Good point. Could make it a...." There's a grunt before he continues, "...blind glory hole? Or is that still going to be too obvious?"

"If we're going to do it, we should go downtown somewhere, maybe a gang territory. One of the soft ones. Wouldn't make as much in the poverty districts, but maybe they could crowdfund enough to make it worth the trip. Or maybe we could set up outside of a club catering to corporates. Would you like that, Hil?"

Hillary's first answer is hard to decipher as a yes or no, but she follows it up with, "My probation. I can't leave the gates..." She takes a breath. "I think. Depends on how hacked... this thing is."

"You know?" There's no answer visible, but one can infer a shaken head. "We should really check on that."

"Hey, what about them? They probably got some money."

"They're, like twelve." Hillary's view focuses more intently on the kids, now.

"Means they've got more money than sense. They'll just spend it on Power-Taps or something. I'm sure at least one would pay for a first time, even with an overused whore." Ahead, the kids yell at a contentious score, a dark-haired boy complaining that the game didn't register his tap. He sits down, having been eliminated, but not happy about it. Meanwhile, the classmate fucking Hillary continues, "Shit, you should feel her... she likes the idea of being somebody's first... or maybe she's got a shota fetish. Hey, I've got an idea. One sec" The intermittent motion jostling the camera stops. "You stay right here, Hil." There's snickering at the obvious joke, for Hillary is still locked in place and can't move. Seconds later, two young men in their late teens and wearing school uniforms approach the kids, begin talking, possibly triggering an alert because they're outside of the proscribed age range for the park, but as they're not adults and their identity is registered, no security forces are launched, yet.

It's impossible to hear what they're saying over Hillary's breathing, which is growing excited, almost hyperventilating. A couple of kids hear whatever pitch they're making and shake their heads, but that one dark-haired boy, eliminated from the game and not willing to buy his way back in (as one of his friends just did), starts walking back with them. "It's right this way," says one of Hillary's classmates who, for, largely, your convenience, we will call Al, the one who has just bust his nut. "They're running it off a... like, mini-drone to build up buzz, but they can't enter your park, because they think you're too young for it."

The young dark-haired boy we'll call Ben, after the AR emote he launches, the face of child star Ben Rickenharp, who appears in the air and says a well-received line from his Candide movies: "Okay, but if I wind up tied up in your basement or something, I'm going to be really annoyed."

To keep with the theme, we'll name the third of the trio, Al's friend, Charlie. "Trust me, you'll like it. Just five bucks." By now they're close enough that Ben should be able to see Hillary's face, but although his eyes roam in that direction, they don't find anything unusual, because from his perspective there is another tree in the way.

They circle around the back, out of view, but Ben's sharp intake of breath can be heard. "Looks like a real live porno, doesn't it? Best part is, it's like a long distance sensestim rig... stick your finger in, and it actually feels like a real live pussy."

"It smells like..." Ben's young voice, full of wonder, like he's already bought into it.

"Yeah, smell too... the drone's stimulating your, uhm, nose-hairs. It's the next phase in AR. Gonna change the world. And for just five bucks you can be one of the first to try it." There's a pause, in which one could imagine a hand reaching out, and being prevented from touching. "Nuh-uh, money first."

"Fine." A few seconds pass, and the view twitches again. "Whoah."

"See, feels pretty good, doesn't it? Now for fifty, you can do more than touch..."

"Oh shit," Ben says suddenly, in pure panic. "No, Mom. No, I wasn't doing anything."

"Shit," say Al and Charlie in unison.

"I don't know their names," Ben continues his half of his conversation with his mother as the sound of footsteps run the other way. "It was just a bit of porn, Mom..."

The view changes as Hillary is suddenly released from her confinement. Now that her head is free to move, she turns, spots young Ben, who, after a moment, gapes with wide-mouth astonishment that she wasn't just a next-gen sim, but actually a real person. While he stands there, unsure what to do, she looks down, tugs her underwear back up under her skirt, and starts running, in the direction of the long-departed Al and Charlie.

This is where the video ends.]]

I just about died! I can't believe they did it. Or how hot it was. I just about came just when that kid put his baby finger in, and after his Mom caught him, and I had to shuffle out of the park with cum still dribbling down my thighs... man, I almost chased the guys down begging to be fucked again, but instead I just went home and did it myself.

This treatment is kind of messing me up. I feel like I need to go in for some hormonal rebalancing. When it starts, I'm ashamed and afraid, and then I get so turned on and want it to go even farther... and then after I cum a few times I just feel ashamed and depressed and worried it's going to come back to haunt me... and then after a while that fades, and everything is just like, numb, unless I'm reminded of it. And when I'm numb, I want to do it again, not because I'm turned on but because it's better than not feeling anything.

I wonder how serious they were about taking me out downtown. Maybe if charging me is against the T&C, they could just leave me there for anybody to come across, so anybody could do what they want and I couldn't stop it. They might think I was just a rich bitch on probation, locked in place by bad luck in the wrong part of town, and I could fake-fear at being raped. Of course, they might not do anything, but... like someone said in that episode where they tied that POV slut to a post... the street finds its own uses for things.


>>
Alternative Sentence, continued AnonyMPC 15/05/21(Thu)19:12 No. 23591 ID: a609fb

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5661 (rounded up), 8:19pm:
[[Soundtrack: Blow My Mind (Not My Man), by Rei Toei]]

Wow. That's all I can say right now.

[[Inset: Clip of the wide-eyed Chipotle Bill cartoon character, standing in front of his friends Ben and Jerry, whispering, "This. Changes. Everything."]]

My mind is so blown, it may never function again.

So I had it out with Dani again. Not a blow-out argument, just sniping. It's kind of hard to have a real argument when the person you're arguing with can make you bend over and eat her out at any moment.

Which, by the way, happened at her place, a girl's-only party. This time in addition to leaving me in Dani's mom's room, they blindfolded me, so ALL I could see were AR shadows and my wearables menus, and sometimes they talked about what they were doing, and sometimes it was like they were part of the Silent, planning everything by text until suddenly I'd have a vibrator shoved inside me while my head was held up against a moist pussy and expected to lick. Mostly it was one at a time, and sometimes they'd turn a vibrator on and not do anything, and sometimes I'd be ears deep in pussy. I think it was because they're mostly-straight girls, and some dreamers, who wanted to experiment with lesbian stress relief anonymously, like a glory-hole, without the cocks. Aside from Alice Tiptree's (at least I think it was her, from her moans when she caim inside me. Considering how shy she is about it, I may be the only girl ever to suck her girlcock off... maybe the only who ever will, if she gets the remodelling she wants. I'm kind of proud about that).

It was all good fun, really, embarrassing but the good kind, and a few even ate me out to an orgasm. I could tell they hadn't done it before, they were sort of shy at first (enough I almost made the soundtrack for this post Miley's fetish song "A Virgin Girl's Willing Tongue" but they're all teenagers at least and a little too old to fit with the song, ha), but they got into it, and me too.

But mostly it was me with the willing tongue. I just wish I knew when it was Dani using me so I could bite or just go limp or something, to let her know that I still hadn't forgiven her... even if what I did was wrong, and it's worked out okay for me... she was my best friend, and to turn me to the others just because I was with a guy she liked was beyond the pale.

I didn't get my chance then, but after everyone went home, Dani came in and removed the blindfold, asked if I had fun. And she did it in that smug, superior voice, so I couldn't just grin and bear it anymore.

"God, I wish I knew you were such a raging bitch when we were in middle school, I wouldn't have wasted my time being your friend." I said that right after she let me stand up straight, even knowing that she could activate it again and make me have to bend right down again.

She didn't, though. Maybe knowing she could was enough. "Now, now, that's not the kind of mouth somebody who needs rep points as bad as you do should have."

"Please, we both know you're never going to upvote me anyway. And all because Logan liked me instead of you."

She stared at me, enraged, and I knew I scored a point, even as she said, "It's not about Logan. I don't give a shit about Logan."

"Sure." She might be over him now, but she'd have to be cold as fuck not to care about him a little, especially since nobody's heard from him since he went to jail. "Keep telling yourself that."

"You don't know a thing, you know that? You're so clueless it's painful."

"I know who my friends are."

"Do you? Do you even have any, anymore? I mean, ones who don't want to use you like a piece of meat."

"At least they want to use me, you're not even on anybody's wishlist." I could do better than that, though. She went for the low blow, so so did I. "Least my family cares about me." I figured, my mom and I might not get along, but at least she hasn't gone all-out corporate workaholic like hers. Dani doesn't know how to hack the latest update of the house's security feed... her mom just doesn't ever check it, because she can't be bothered. I bet this whole party, me in her room, was probably a desperate ploy for her attention. And I may not know my dad, but that's not as bad having one who fucked off once you were five years old to live in some slum and never see you again. And, I thought, there was always Billy that I could rely on, someone who had my back no matter what. I thought.

I expected to see Dani's face crumple, but instead, she laughed. And after a second, "You don't even know, do you?"

"Know what? Did your Daddy send you a letter? Trust me, it won't last. He'll get tired of you, like he did last time."

She rolled her eyes at me. "You really should pay more attention to the dare boards."

I didn't know where this was going, but I wanted out of there before I tried to find out. "Oh, I know. I know more about it than you." And I left before she challenged me. And on the way home, I checked the dare boards.

More than just the surface stuff, she couldn't have meant that, I would have noticed. But I went back, scrolled through the old completed dares. And, there it was.

[[Inset: Two shots of completed dares on the Daring's private dare board. One was "Hack Hillary's collar so anybody can use it," marked as semi-completed (because there were too many conditionals). The other was "Fuck Hillary while she's restrained," marked as completed and witnessed. Both were issued to, and completed by, the same person. Her own brother Billy, who's current rep score is now far higher than Hillary's has ever been.]]

I should feel betrayed, violated. Maybe I'm just numb to it by now. Everyone else seems to be using me however they want, why not my own family too? I guess it says something that he could take advantage of me at home and never has... maybe he's scared to, but he fucked me in front of a bunch of other people, so he had to know I'd find out eventually. Why not again, in private where he can really enjoy himself. Maybe he thinks I'm pretending it didn't happen and so is he. Or maybe he needs a crowd. What's wrong with him?

Fucking be a man, Billy. Making a move once and being a chickenshit is worse than never trying at all, cause then you can at least pretend you never wanted it.

I just can't believe I missed that one move for so long, though. I've had access to the private dare boards since my confession, I just never thought to look back. How the fuck did he get so much rep, anyway? My own geeky brother has more rep than me. I think I'm actually more annoyed by that than what he did to help him get there (actually, he didn't even need me, he also claims responsibility for the hack on the school and that alone made him one of the Daring).

So if he didn't need the rep, why did he do this to me? To get back at me? Or maybe he really wants me.

I want so bad to confront him on this, but it really needs to be face to face and Mom's home tonight. Waiting's probably a good plan anyway, right now I don't know whether I'd smack him or beg him to take right on the dinner table in front of Mom. I'm supposed to watch the Rat tomorrow night anyway, if he doesn't go out, that'll give me a perfect time to bring it up.

If only I can decide what to say.


>>
Alternative Sentence, conclusion AnonyMPC 15/05/21(Thu)19:18 No. 23592 ID: a609fb

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5664 (rounded up), 6:40pm:
[[Soundtrack: Make a Man Out Of You, by The Peripherals]]

I've decided. This is the night. I'm going to lay it all on the line. I can't decide what I want to say, so I'm going to let him make the decisions. I'm just going to wait until he goes down for something to eat, and then bend down in front of him. Wearing this:

[[Inset: Short video of Hillary, wearing an ultra-short, ultra-tight purple skirt and tube top. When she stands, it's risque, but covers everything that needs to be covered. But as the video continues, she bends over, and it's very evident that she's not wearing underwear, especially as she's wearing high heels. Hillary gives a sultry smile at the mirror, although her face is more flush than usual.]]

If he comments on it at all, I'm going to tell him that he can activate it any time. I'm totally at his mercy. I know it, he knows it, why pretend otherwise?

Then I'll see what he says, play it by ear. Maybe he didn't really want to fuck me, he just wanted the popularity from having done it. I can respect that. But if he's just holding back from what he wants because he's worried about my feelings... well, if I learned nothing from this experience is that life can be surprisingly fun when nobody respects my feelings, and it's time he learned that about me. And it's time he learned to be a man, go for what he wants. In a way, he helped me, so I'm going to return the favor in my own special way and do my best to make him rape me.

So we'll see what happens.

Seriously, what the fuck am I doing? This is insane. I must have brain damage or something. My heart's pounding, and I feel a little sick, like my body's telling me that I should abandon this plan without saving. But as scared as I am, I'm doing it.

I should record this, for my lifelog if nothing else. It could wind up being a defining moment in my life, one way or the other.

But Billy and I made a deal never to record each other without permission, and as fucked as I'm getting, I'm not going to break the deal. Now if I find out he is, maybe I'll throw in a copy later. But until then..

Shit, gotta go, hear him downstairs. Wish me luck.

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5664 (rounded up), 10:03pm:
[[Soundtrack: Brotherly Love, by Erin Zula]]

So my brother fucked me. And he did it just how I wanted him to, in the punishment position, completely in his power and helpless to resist anything he did.

I don't think that role comes naturally, but I think I can work on him.

I asked him later if he made a video, but he didn't, so I guess I have to use words.

It went just like I planned at first. He made a package of QuickBites, sat down at the table. I couldn't get RIGHT in front of him like I wanted, but I could get close enough, even though I had to clear my throat to get him looking my way.

He was all, "Uh, what the hell are you doing?" Which maybe is the most humiliating reaction to bending over in front of somebody there is, short of an insult.

"Just thought I'd get ready in case my collar triggered. I mean, since you can do it any time you want."

He seemed nervous, but I knew it had to be an act, considering what he did, so I jiggled my ass a little. "Come on, you know I wouldn't do that."

"No? You'd just make it so everyone ELSE could do it?"

Now he was angry. Good, I wanted him angry. "I did that FOR you. You were always saying you'd do anything to be popular again. I just gave you the opportunity."

"Opportunity." Riiight. Like I had a choice. I mean, I am grateful for it, but own up to your own selfish reasons, Billy. Don't steal my fishcakes and tell me you're looking out for my mercury intake.

"You could have said no. It's not like you were raped, you could have used the panic button and backed away any time. Shit, you begged me to go to the party, and you knew what was going to happen there."

I didn't know everything, but he was right, I had begged him. Maybe that's why I wasn't even angry about it, not really. Mostly, I was pretending. I wanted to goad him into taking it action. "So, why hold back now? Too much of a pussy to do it when I know it's you? That's it, isn't it? Can't get it up unless you're anonymous?"

He was red, now, but not with anger, it was embarrassment. I wonder if he got turned on by that like I did. I pushed the point before he could untangle his tongue. "You may have a high rep, but you're not really one of the daring, are you? You're too scared. I mean, here I am, right in front of you, I can't stop you. I sure as fuck won't tell anyone on you, no matter how many times you do it. I know you've hacked the house cams so Mom can't watch without you knowing." Or at all, if it's set up right. "It's the perfect opportunity to take whatever you want, whenever you want, and never get caught. Most guys would kill for a situation like that. But you won't, cause you're too much of a coward. Sooner or later the rest of the school will figure it out, and you'll be a nobody again." He still didn't say anything, just looked like he was gritting his teeth, but he didn't make a move, and I stood up. "See, I thought not. Even when I'm taunting you about it. You're pathetic, a useless beta who's already gotten laid for the last time in his life. I'd actually respect you more if you DID rape me."

I figured I'd blown it, pushed too far and he was going to start crying, and I started walking away. I wanted to be away when the tears started, so I wouldn't have to see it, and he wouldn't have to see me see it, and tomorrow I could apologize and say I was on Aggro or something. But before I got to the stairs, I heard the collar's alert.

My heart practically skipped a beat, but I got into position fast, before he changed his mind. "Shit, you really are damaged, you know that, Hil?" But I felt him behind me, standing in the perfect position for a doggy-style fuck. And then his fingers, not thrust rudely inside like I might have wanted, but a light stroke, like he wanted to see if I was wet. Well, I was.

"Everyone's damaged," I told him, one of the great truths of humanity. "The difference is, I'm not afraid of my damage." Okay, shit, I was afraid, am afraid of how fucked up I'm getting, but I'm starting to get over it... and that feels like a fucking power-up. "So you going to do it, or what? I don't have all night."

His hand went away, and his hips drew closer, though I could still feel his pants on between us. A dry hump... I wonder if maybe that was all he'd have the guts for, but then I felt the warm rod slip between us, up against my slit. "If you don't want this," he said, trailing off, which almost ruined the mood, but just knowing he was about to do it kept me roaring.

"I'm not going to beg you not to treat me like a rapist would," I spat out. "Do it, faggot." I saw that in a retro porn once. Made no sense, but it was hot.

And it did the trick. He pushed inside me, and once he was all the way in, it was like the boy in him faded away and the man started to come out. He wasn't the most aggressive lover I'd ever had, but he was more forceful than I thought, holding my hips tight and thrusting into me with a lot of force. And if he was like this now, the first time (second time but the first one didn't count, I didn't know, and it was for an audience... like scissoring with a girl out for a crowd isn't actually a lesbian experience)... then once he got used to it and just used me however he wanted without any kind of doubt or care about my feelings, maybe even in public... god, just imagining that makes me want to visit him again.

I guess I wanted to help that along, get rid of those doubts as fast as I could, so that's why I started moaning. He doesn't know I'm a quiet cummer, so I wanted him to think that I was getting off to it, that he was that good... or that I was so damaged, so beyond saving that it wasn't worth worrying about me. It wasn't even an act, because I was getting off on it.

And I was kind of proud of him, too. Not just for doing it in the first place, but also for going for the pussy instead of the ass. With an ass-fuck he could have told himself he didn't really fuck his sister, he just, like the old joke, [[Inset: Short video clip from Corporates, the hapless lead saying, "No, you just got a dick-massage from my sphincter muscle."]] But an actual fuck was a fuck, under the legal definition,and even if I couldn't get pregnant, his flooding my ovaries with his cum was an ancient act, he was claiming me as his bitch, at least for right then, and really, whenever he wanted. Go Billy.

When that happened, I caim for real, still moaning loud enough that the neighbors might have heard us, which made it all that much better even if they thought I was just masturbating. I hadn't realized it, but Billy was a quiet cummer too.

Somebody did overhear, though. The Rat woke up and started crying, after Billy pulled out. "I better feed him," I said, and Billy released the restraints, and I fetched the prefilled boob-shaped bottle. While I put it in the Rat's mouth and watched him suckle on it, Billy came up behind me again. He wasn't ready for another round, he just put an arm around me, possessively (which was good) and then said gently, "I was always trying to protect you." Like we were lovers or something. I liked what happened, but I had to nip that in the bud.

"I don't need you to protect me."

"But you do, you wouldn't believe the kind of stuff they WANTED to do to you, your supposed friends. I put my foot down... said if they didn't want the hack to go away, they had to follow my rules."

"You shouldn't have," I said. "I'm not exactly fragile, you know." But at the same time, I liked that. Follow HIS rules. Not my rules, his.

"So I should just tell them anything goes?" he asked, not like a real offer, but like he couldn't imagine it, he was challenging me on it.

And I guess he won. I'm not sure how far my friends would have gone. Maybe somewhere I didn't want to go, even if I liked it, liked it so much that I wouldn't stop them. I wanted to go farther, but I don't know how much farther. Pimp me out in gang territory may not be the brightest idea, especially after I was coming down from cumming. "No," I said. "But maybe check with me." That was like a lightning bolt, it seemed like the perfect idea. If Billy set the rules, I could still have limits, but everyone would think they weren't my limits, that I was willing to go farther. Maybe him caring a little about me was a good thing. Something like the best of both worlds. Meanwhile, I could work on him, make him more aggressive, assertive, force the beta out of him. That's what big sisters are for, anyway, right?

Maybe I'd do my job too well, and he'd get tired of me, toss me aside without a word, let everyone else do what they wanted to me. But I'd have a fuck of a good time until then.

I think I'm going to go into his room again and tease him until he takes me again.



[[Some entries have been omitted at this point, because they don't seem to cover much new ground, just further sexual escapades, many of which Hillary recorded and I would have to recount. In addition, because her status within her social group is recovering, a lot more of it focuses on personal relationships. If they were included fully, likely you would consider it a waste of time. But one entry deserves a special note:]]

The Journal of Hillary Gibson, Lifelog Date 5701 (rounded up), 4:21pm:
[[Soundtrack: Slave to my Emotions, by Jenny Mnemonic]]

Had a probation meeting today with my case worker. He suggested that since I was following all the restrictions (HA!), he could put in a good word for me and they might reduce my sentence, get the collar off me earlier. I panicked and told him off, called him a fucking autist, which pissed him off and, I think, ruined any chance for his "good word."

I probably shouldn't have done that. I mean, what do I really need the official law-enforcement collar, with its single position and the chance the cops might patch it at any moment? I've already got enough saved up for the custom fetish rig, so Billy or anyone he wants else can force me in any number of different positions. And it's much cuter, too. I can't wait to try it out. So why am I clinging to this old thing?

Sentimental value, I guess. But all things must end, including this. This thing was made for probation... but I'm doing a life sentence.

End


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Anonymous 15/05/23(Sat)17:43 No. 23601 ID: 6799e9

Very Good.


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Anonymous 15/05/24(Sun)04:54 No. 23602 ID: 4c2b43

The story felt a lot different from your normal ones and seemed shorter. I liked it all anyways though.


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Anonymous 15/06/04(Thu)21:42 No. 23628 ID: edc92d

Yo Anony. Any chance of more POV? That was my favorite but also seems like the shortest of the three. Would really love a mini-series where the protagonist maybe gets involved with her somehow?

Just a thought. Love your work.


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AnonyMPC 15/06/07(Sun)17:26 No. 23637 ID: a609fb

>>23628

POV is one of the running threads through all five stories, although sometimes somewhat tangentially, so in a sense, yes, there will be more of her, she might even appear in a major role in the last (and in the next one, "Fuck Attachments", at least one of her videos will probably need to be described as part of the plot), although there won't be another one written in the same style as POV was. I really don't like second person that much, I just wanted to try it as an experiment, and because I thought it fit the story.

Beyond that? Well, while I was writing these, because I also wanted more POV, I had the idea of maybe doing a second anthology, iCity Tales 2: The (adjective to be determined) POV, where it'd work as a double meaning because not only would the stories be from that particular point of view (for example, if it wound up being "The Street-Level POV", it would be a perspectives of the street-level people), but also because the stories would directly involve POV herself, even if they were told from different people's perspectives (and some of them would be revisits of characters introduced here, like Mitsy and her brother). I have two-to-three-sentence plot outlines for several stories for it (and in truth, I know the missing adjective for the title, or at least have it narrowed down to two, but they're a bit spoilery).

Will that second anthology ever happen? Honestly, odds are slim. In addition to the whole project of #1 taking a lot longer than I'd hoped, and consequently taking time away from other projects I also want to get back to, the response has been rather... tepid? I mean, I appreciate the positive responses that I've gotten, but there hasn't been a whole lot of them, which I take to mean it's not most of my regular readers "thing" or it's not up to my usual quality standards and everyone's just being polite. And while I write what I'm personally inspired to write rather than for popularity's sake, I'd be lying if I said I don't get affected at all by knowing other people want/don't want certain things, and that, with a vast field of projects I want to complete, that that outside influence sometimes drives my limited motivation to work on one type of thing over another. Given infinite time and motivation, I'd do it, I'd do everything, but we don't have that luxury, and realistically, at this point, iCity Tales looks like a one-off (once the five stories are complete). But who knows, the iCity idea (and POV herself) grabbed me once and wouldn't let go until I wrote something, it may do so again. And there's always a possibility that if once I complete the first anthology and post it outside of 7chan it may get more popularity.


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Anonymous 15/06/19(Fri)17:45 No. 23683 ID: 98f6f6

What's it like having so many fans asking for more for some many stories? Does it get you down trying to write something just because someone else wants it?

I know I've enjoyed so much of your work for your style of writing more than the content but I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to see anything in particular continued. Yet it just seems so selfish to ask someone to do something so time consuming for free, even if they don't really want to do it.

Could you ever see yourself selling your work?


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AnonyMPC 15/06/23(Tue)19:49 No. 23687 ID: a609fb

>>23683
I think you overestimate the size of my fanbase, it's actually pretty small. But yeah, if I try to write something JUST because I knew others wanted it, it doesn't work out so well, it's a slog... so I generally don't do that anymore. Though it does get to me sometimes, a feeling like I'm letting people down. And sometimes knowing that there are a number of people waiting for something does put the pressure on, but the effect is somewhat unpredictable: it may make me subconsciously shy away (under the theory that I'm disappointing people less if I don't get to something than if I do and it's awful), or in other cases it may motivate me, give me drive knowing that I'm not JUST writing for myself.

I don't see myself ever selling my work, no. Commissions just don't appeal to me, and luckily, I make enough that I don't have to be financially motivated. I generally believe in giving things free over pay-to-access... and I'd rather have more readers than a little extra cash from those readers having to pay me. Finally, all of that aside... I have a paranoia about connecting my finances to this kind of erotica, and I've never found a decent way to accept money (even in tips, which have occasionally been offered) that wouldn't also involve such a connection being forged (same reason I'll unfortunately never commission someone, even though I could afford to and occasionally have the desire). I mean, things like bitcoin theoretically work, but they're too much hassle and finding a place to use them makes them not really worth it.

I have once or twice considered working in a collaboration with somebody and releasing it under a pay-to-access model, in a scheme where the other party collects all the money and, if it turns out to be wildly successful, maybe once in a while they pay for a commission for me or something, but otherwise they keep all the profits and I'm comfortable with that. These would be things along the lines of interactive game/stories with art, or artistic adaptations of my existing prose stories... but the right project and dynamic's never come along.


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Anonymous 15/06/24(Wed)12:26 No. 23694 ID: 01859a

I usually comment on your stories but I'll be honest that I didn't find this last one inspiring enough for me to bother until now. I'll comment on your recent Phil Phantom story here too since I'm too lazy to track down the other thread. I read them a bit ago so I may not remember all of the details exactly, but these were most of the impressions that I got after reading.

Alternative Sentence:

This was a decent story, but far below your usual fare both from a literary (especially your last story in the iCity Tales collection, which was better than many published authors) and erotic standpoint. Here's what I see as the main problems:

1. The story being told entirely by diary entries is an interesting idea in theory, but in practice turns reading it into a mundane slog by removing any sense of immediacy or impact from the events. Because the "recap story" form taken is that of private diary entries in particular (as opposed to a rogue storyteller trying to impress people or something), it is especially egregious in killing the excitement since Hillary usually makes it completely clear what's about to happen before describing it. The format is narratively difficult in the first place (particularly for erotic literature), and not done well enough here to alleviate that. Even if you were to fix these problems, it could easily end up being less realistic to how a teenage girl would actually write a diary if you weren't very careful.

"Today, I was fucked up the ass." And then she goes on to describe it, but the thrill is neutered because there's no sense of surprise or uncertainty, which is a large part of eroticism. There's no "Oh boy Hillary's collar was just forcefully activated. What are they going to do to her now?" We already know that there's no chance of her getting out of the situation. Of course the story isn't as explicit about its spoilers as the example but it still makes things pretty clear. Imagine a chapter in MPC that started off "So Lawrence raped Erin today." Obviously it'd completely take the edge off of what would otherwise be a nail-biting roller coaster of emotions. That's how this story felt.

2. I don't think that most of your readers (who are probably men in their teens and 20s) can erotically relate to the sexual perspective of a teenage girl. Even if this story was as well-written as MPC I don't know if I could get into it as much just because of the fact that I can't imagine myself as the main character. That's not a mark against it artistically of course, but just something to consider.

3. The incest subplot felt completely tacked on, just because it's "your thing". A major plot point of the subplot (the two siblings officially consumating their relationship) happens at the very end of it, which violates all of the rules of narrative structure and is a major indicator of a rushed plot. There's a lot you could do with the idea of a brother having control over his sister in such a fashion, but very little of it is explored here. It's the first act of a three act structure forced in to a story where it doesn't belong. He should have had a much more explicit part in orchestrating things (as opposed to being vaguely alluded to), especially since he's the main character that the audience would probably identify with most.

The conflict of him wanting his sister sexually but not wanting to be bold about it is not developed enough either because we don't get to see a sufficient amount of characterization and perspective from him. It makes him giving into her a sort of blase moment because there's not enough built-up tension from his side.

4. "Well that's how it went and I'm going to be a slut for the rest of my life, kthxbai." isn't really a satisfying conclusion. It seems like something more out of a Phil Phantom tribute than one of your main stories. That's natural though since this story didn't really have any sort of good conflict or narrative tension in the first place. The major conflict about the collar is resolved very early on in the story, since Hillary can't offer any meaningful resistance to it. So the majority of the story feels like "just further sexual escapades, many of which Hillary recorded and I would have to recount." Off of the top of my head, two easy ways to inject a bit of drama would have been to have a subplot about taking down the corrupt case worker, or have another hacker that is warring with Hillary's brother for control of the collar.

I think that covers the main things. It's still better than 90% of the stories on this site, but it's not that good.

Muckrakers, Slutmakers, and Fucktakers:

This one seems very generic and paint-by-the-numbers, even within the boundaries of Phil Phantom's style. The "Hi, I'm the narrator. Allow me to tell you about these lurid sexual acts that I assure you I do not approve of despite excusing for a variety of contrived reasons." shtick is old and has done more cleverly (in your own stories) before. This one doesn't even have much of a real theme (which seems to be the only major differentiation in stories of this type). It quickly devolves into the girls just being standard whores, with what little that was developed about the newspaper angle seemingly forgotten.

>>23637

I would love to see more POV.

Anyway, since you teased us with the references: How is MPC5 coming along?

>tfw when coming up on the 3 year anniversary of MPC4

It's worth the wait but it really is a shame since I think that MPC would be one of the most popular erotic literature stories of all time if it had just been a bit more timely (though it's still very popular and I see it suggested randomly all the time). A lot of online stories nowadays update by chapter, which keeps people more invested, and while I'm not saying that you should retroactively adopt this system for MPC, I can only imagine how much bigger your fanbase would be had you in the past.


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IE!Fn5Xsal0nQ 15/06/24(Wed)18:07 No. 23695 ID: f68fe3

>>23687
>And sometimes knowing that there are a number of people waiting for something does put the pressure on, but the effect is somewhat unpredictable: it may make me subconsciously shy away (under the theory that I'm disappointing people less if I don't get to something than if I do and it's awful), or in other cases it may motivate me, give me drive knowing that I'm not JUST writing for myself.

It helps to think back to the first posts you've ever made. People weren't expecting it, but they got it and loved it. Just write for yourself, and it will appeal to those followers.


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Anonymous 15/08/02(Sun)01:43 No. 23783 ID: 7e7967

>>23687
>These would be things along the lines of interactive game/stories with art

Oh god, please do this. Almost every eroge I've played has had garbage writing.


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Anonymous 15/08/16(Sun)05:24 No. 23798 ID: 0409e9

I think u should do another story like Beting man...this time the Mother sale her daughter to a lesbian? But The lesbian gets The daughter pregnant anyway somehow.


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Anonymous 15/08/17(Mon)02:43 No. 23803 ID: d33143

>>23798

I always knew that these were the types of people that enjoyed the Phil Phantom stories...


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Anonymous 15/10/06(Tue)00:46 No. 23890 ID: a261ba

Beting man but lesbian style!! Superidea!
This would be awesome!


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Anonymous 15/10/06(Tue)01:52 No. 23891 ID: e546cc

>>23890

Don't bump the thread for retarded posts like these. I was actually excited when I saw it on the top of the board too.


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sage sage 15/10/07(Wed)06:37 No. 23897 ID: 735cd1

>>23803
Heh. I don't think that's fair though, I'm guessing that her/his first language isn't English, and s/he isn't exactly proficient in it.


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Anonymous 15/10/07(Wed)17:59 No. 23898 ID: 059a24

>>23897

Somehow I don't think that his drivel would be any more intelligent coming out of the mouth of a Harvard professor.


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Anonymous 15/11/27(Fri)20:10 No. 24014 ID: 38e867

AnonyMPC the asstr captcha system isn't working so i'll tell you here (sorry it's not actually commentary on the work, love it but don't want to spoil and it's sage'd) but danoume's hentaifoundry was hit so the image links for Magic Marker, Tiger by the Tail, and Gauntlet: Karen's Tale no longer work. The only site I've seen with them is exhentai so they're not so easily linkable now.


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Anonymous 18/01/20(Sat)05:11 No. 25304 ID: e4b79b

>>24014
Where are they on exhentai? Quick searches yielded nothing.


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Anonymous 18/01/20(Sat)05:45 No. 25305 ID: 4b5709

>>25304

That post is from 2015. They're probably gone now. They were shitty anyway.



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