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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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[
co /
eh /
fit /
halp /
jew /
lit /
phi /
pr /
rnb /
sci /
tg /
w /
zom
]
[
a /
ai /
grim /
hi /
me /
rx /
vg /
wp /
x
]
[
cake /
cd /
d /
di /
elit /
fag /
fur /
gif /
h /
men /
pco /
s /
sm /
ss /
unf
]