AL QAEDA IN SPAAAAACCCCE!

This week, I'm working to expand and really blow out a sub plot around the concept of Al Qaeda in Space.  I've written about the genesis for this idea on the blog a few times.  The chapters that follow will be edited into the book in some form or fashion, but will be separate from the ongoing news reports that occur in Peter3d Out itself.

I'm publishing them here so that you can follow the travails of Al Qaeda, held in Guantanamo Bay for almost 20 years and then shipped into space in deep sleep for what should have been 50 years...

Premise 

In 2020 the US is under pressure from the UN and the world. They decide to finally close down Guantanamo Bay but still can not decide what to do with the prisoners. So they do what any political body will always do when given the choice...

They kick the can down the road.

Except the can is a SpaceZ rocket and,

the road is a 50 year orbit path around the outer sphere of the solar system.

Unfortunately in 2069, a year before the can is schedule to return, Al Qaeda wakes up from their deep sleep stasis.

And Jonathan Scott, an actual rocket scientist who was detained as a non combatant in Afghanistan after he had been kidnapped by Pakistani intelligence and forced to work on their nuclear projects, is then wrongfully detained by US forces.

Johnathan is Gay and awakes to find himself stuck in a space ship with 72 Al Qaeda labeled combatants, some viscious, some not so much, some smart some stupid, but all virgins to Jonathan.

He now has to work with Al Qaeda to stay alive and get their ship back to Earth!

015 – Another Discovery

Part 2

vers 1.0

Brad transferred to a smaller single pod for the last leg of his journey. The stench of the crowds transferring tonight was heavy with travel commute stress.

Rubenz thought the smell alone was enough to give him a headache.  It wasn't the first time he wondered if the headache was just a mental thing or if there really was a type of accumulated air pollution triggered by such high numbers of people.

He mumbled, "Why the do I keep making these stupid trips to crime scenes?" So what if he closed cases a little slower?  While he did like having the reputation of being fast, it was the closing of the case that was most important.  He just couldn't completely rely on the recorded version of the crime scene alone.  If that cost him one closed case a year, it was too many.

When he got to his house, there was a digital delivery message on his door.  He walked inside, and opened his digital mail box as he walked towards the kitchen.

There was a flashing red urgent message from Goozmos, the monopolistic media company that controlled most of the content, entertainment and news on the internet.

Your personal contract needs to be updated and signed.  Until we receive your updated contract, we will have to hold all revenue earned on your accounts.  If the updated contract is not received within a three (3) day period, your pending earnings will be forfeit.  If the updated contract is not received within five (5) days, your account will be placed in suspension for a period no less than 1 year.

"Shit," Rubenz said to himself.  “That's all I need”, he thought.

He forwarded the message to his automated legal advisor program.  It processed for about thirty seconds and came back with a rapid message stating,

"The new contract has changed in two substantial ways:
1.  The new agreement calls for your release of your personal image to be used, reused, repurposed, modified and broadcast at the discretion of Goozmos in return for an increase in usage rights revenue for this image at a rate of $0.2346 cpm.
2.  Your account level as been graduated to the status of 'Temporary Web Celebrity" which entitles you to access to Goozmos talent agents, at a fee of $0.00000063 of your web contents total cpm, including the use of your personal image.

In layman terms, Goozmos feels your personal image has greater value as you are now a temporary web celebrity.  They will hold your account and all revenues, past and future hostage, until you agree to their terms.  As they are a monopoly and have greater legal resources than your personal financial statement currently indicates, it is advised that you agree as quickly as possible and return this agreement.

*DISCLAIMER - Personal Automated Legal Advisor Wizard Inc is a subsidiary of Goozmos Inc, an independent legal review would be advised.

"Well that can't be good.”  Brad flipped over to the news and was treated to a video of himself shuddering in an orgasmic like way with that damn P3nis stuck to his forehead.

" . . . and an Atlanta Detective was caught enjoying himself during an investigation . . ." the commentator was saying to her anchor sidekick, who was laughing like a damn fool as they looped that section over and over again. "... this video went viral 15 minutes after it was broadcast live to the internet during a routine investigation into the homicide of the infamous King of the Whack Jobs . . ." the anchor continued.

"... family members are calling for the removal of Detective Rubenz from the case as his head is not in the game apparently.. Meanwhile, spoof videos, mixes and other versions of the video are circulating faster and faster.  Estimates indicate this viral video may break new records as it has already been remixed 142,532 times and growing!"

Brad clicked off, pulled up the agreement, signed with his finger on the touch screen and sent off the document back to Goozmos as fast as he could.

"Holy Shit!  This is going to be embarrassing as hell, but it might just pay for his early retirement and after the job the press was probably going to do on him, he might need that money even sooner."

He did a quick mental calculation on a modest one billion views / one thousand x a modest twenty-three cents that was about two hundred thirty thousand dollars or four years salary.

He needed to do some more things to fully capitalize on this fast wave, but he didn't have time.  He still had a crime to solve.

He pulled up his research list.  He needed to better understand the technology, some basic background information, and some technical details, especially about the cause of those welts.

He performed a couple quick searches, and tracked down the name of Razel Tulley, Phd, MD, who worked at Walter Reed Hospital.  Tulley had apparently been involved in several key areas of research and development with prosthetic systems.

Prosthetics had made rapid advancements since soon after the start of the Afghanistan War at the turn of the century.  Shortly after the first decade of that war, researchers were already making progress in the direction of developing prosthetics that could be hard wired, almost literally, into the brain.  They weren't pretty and the surgery involved was even uglier.  But the results were distinctly functional.

The hardware weighed less.  It was more functional, recharged in reasonable amounts of time, and restored a significant amount of mobility to soldiers and later other people that had suffered traumatic injuries.

About the same time, other researchers were making rapid advancements in systems that grew real skin, faux skin, materials that looked like skin, even skin that grew on inanimate objects.

There were obvious things missing, such as a pulse, warmth, or in some cases coolant that brought the temperature of the prosthetic up or down to something close to 98.6 degrees.

Research seemed to hit a plateau until about 8 years ago.  Most functionality could be restored in operation, movement and appearance, but there were two areas that lagged significantly.  The first major area involved tactile feedback systems.  These systems slowed down response times just a fraction of a second in all prosthetics such that movement was still just slightly mechanical in appearance.

The other major area was surgery.  It was still a very invasive surgical procedure.  Depending on what area of the anatomy was being wired back in, surgery could take days.  If multiple prosthetics needed to be attached, such as an arm and a leg, or fingers and toes and an eye, the patient would either have to endure a marathon of surgery that could take up to twenty hours or they would have to come back for repeated surgeries, undergoing, surgery, recovery, adjustment, and repeat for each prosthetic.  That could drag out for months or years.

This time and surgery and planning was insanely inefficient and expensive.  Plus, it always increased the possibility of complications, infection and rejection.

Dr. Razel Tulley had zeroed in on this problem and had focused her research and efforts on finding a 'plug and play' solution.  She wanted to entirely eliminate the need to perform an invasive neurosurgery.  Furthermore, she wanted to minimize the deficiencies in tactile feedback.

One news article described Dr Tulley as, "...smart enough to realize that the two problems were connected.  She isolated and interpreted the actual signals sent by the nervous system.  She identified a method that utilized communication networks in a universal way such that any nerve could function as a contact point for input and output in short, an incisive breakthrough."

Once translated, she then went about designing a contact patch that could interface directly with nerves through the skin.

Her research was speeding along at this point.  The only problem now was finding a method for attaching, 'sticking' the prosthetic to a person such that the attachment could hold the weight of the prosthetic and maintain the intended functionality.

Humans had dabbled in ways to attach prosthetics for hundreds of years, using everything from straps, to screws, surgery and implants and more.  This was never ideal.  It might create chaffing at best, and severe pain or life threatening infections at the worst extreme.

Fortunately, Dr Tulley had the backing of the Defense Department.  The defunct NASA space agency happened to be sitting on a dead end technology.  They had developed something of a tractor beam, a 'ray' that could capture an object in space and pull it in without physically having to touch that object.

The technology worked, but had long ago been replaced with more efficient technologies that required less energy.  It seemed that the tractor beam required large amounts of energy the further away an object was located.

However at small distances of millimeters, the energy required was minimal.  Some NASA researcher had actually solved the attachment challenge long ago.  They had used the tractor beam to lock new attachments of space stations to one another, like magnets.

Prosthetics were developed that essentially had this micro tractor beam technology built in, as the device made contact with skin, which itself had a micro charge of electricity, a connection was completed and the tractor beam activated, which then pulled itself closer, tighter and firmly to any dense mass identified as a stable system, such as bones in a skeletal system of a human.

It was a brilliant adaption and allowed plug and play prosthetics to advance quickly, however, the research articles didn't discuss the demand for prosthetic sexual devices or prosthetics as consumer products that could be bought off the shelf.

Brad replayed his conversation recorded with Jenny earlier.  He re-experienced his amazement that she was ... . had been married and married to the murder victim.  He realized he would need to inform the family of the murder in an official capacity.

He did a quick check of the file he had for Terrence McBoyd.  He was married to Jenny McBoyd, no children.  Terrence was previously married to Karen Chanier with one daughter age twenty-four.

That was damn close to Jenny's age.

Continue to Next Chapter - 016 – The Widow

014 – Al Qaeda in Space

vers 1.1

Brad was headed home and he was exhausted after having to decontaminate. Fortunately, the crime scene Bot’s ability to lift individual layers of evidence also gave them the ability to clean up a mess relatively well.

In reality, Rubenz had actually become a piece of evidence himself. He frowned at this notion as he realized how ridiculous this would look when this case ultimately went to court, not to mention his next review.

Brad was riding back in a common pod. As there was no emergency to respond to now, he did not rate the emergency response pod. He was sitting across from an off duty patrol person, who sat next to what appeared to be a soldier on extended leave maybe even a recently discharged veteran.

Next to him a teenage girl and her grandmother seemed to be wrapped up in a video game. Grandma was apparently much better at first person shooters judging by the curses coming from the granddaughter.

Brad had a lot of follow up work to do, including some interviews with a long list of people. He needed to track down a specialist in prosthetics, he needed to investigate some of the background of this sexual fetish trend, and he needed to dive into the financials of the victim, his company and more.

He touched the side of his own hand held computer which came to life in vivid 3d color visible only to him. The optical illusion of the screen made him forget that he was sitting in this pod and made him feel part of the online landscape.

A.D.D. kicked in and he was instantly pulled into a news update about Al Qaeda in space, this also apparently seemed to be the topic that the patrol person and the soldier were discussing.

Brad started to read a report, refreshing his memory and getting the latest on this event that was likely to cause a lot of trouble both internationally, and maybe locally.

"About 50 years ago in the mid twenties, while the remains of the US government were still being rebuilt and the UN had reached a war crimes stalemate in regards to Al Qaeda and Taliban detainees. For almost two decades fighters picked up around the world and some on the battlefield had been held in various locations around the world where the UN had little sway. Initially, they had kept many of them in Guantanamo Bay Cuba in a US military prison. But after Castro finally passed away and Cuba melted back into a capitalistic economy, the base there fell into question. The prisoners proceeded to move on a musical chair like path from one gray holding area to another."

"Times have changed but not that much. We can't just bring them back to earth and lock them up again," said the soldier who continued, "but take it from me we can't let them go again either."

"Do you really think some backwards resistance fighter from the turn of the century could keep up with the advances we've made in crime investigation, anti-terrorism, hell even warfare? It has been 15 years since I served in the military myself and even then we were far more advanced than when these Al Qaeda losers were still training on monkey bars." said the cop.

"... the US was losing political favor at an international level. Antarctica and the moon were both bastions of the UN, and the US could not hold them on their own soil or face war crimes charges. No US administration wanted to touch the problem with a ten foot pole. . . . "

"They have a will to fight and fight back unlike what we are used to today. Yes we are technically better, but mentally we are a little softer because our current adversaries are also softer. Everyone knows that the Taliban these days are pretty much just bureaucrats and Al Qaeda is more of a PR firm than a terrorist cell, but give them a fresh infusion of psychopaths with a blood lust and nothing to lose . . . " said the soldier.

"Shit we can practically predict a crime before it happens in most cases today. Plus, we have extensive psychological profiles on these assholes in space. I had to write papers on several of these tools myself in 101 level courses in college. Even if they have the will, they could barely reach down to pull a knife out of their boot before we'd know, let alone cause mass murder." said the police officer.

"...Remnants of the twentieth century NASA program that wanted to salvage some portion of their once sizable budgets dug an old technology out of the vault and offered up a solution. The idea was simple. The prisoners that did not qualify for repatriation, mostly Al Qaeda and various suicide bombers that had failed to detonate would be put into hibernation, a technology not far removed from cryogenics. They would be placed in a space ship and sent into space on an elliptical journey around the solar system."

The officer continued, "many of these guys are going to be pretty docile after being imprisoned for almost two decades on Earth as is. They are not young men any longer."

"That actually is something that makes it even harder for us," said the soldier. "Sure some will be docile, but those will actually serve to hide the dangerous ones even more. During that time they had ample opportunity to cook up new plans and ideas for revenge. Plus some of the political skeletons that were buried in past peace reconciliations will likely be disturbed all over again, unsettling people that for thirty years have come around to our side, but once disturbed might cause trouble again. The original warlords themselves may not be much of a threat here on the ground, but their children and grandchildren have benefited from their payoffs. A lot of people received those old fashioned greenbacks to stop fighting. Even while that money was being used to buy better food, homes and more, they were going home at night and telling and listening to the old stories of battle and glory in the name of Allah. Add into this mix, several thousand heroes of Allah that haven't been around or close to show just how crazy they were or are and their influence today might even be greater than it was when they were at the peak of their training." said the soldier.

"It was a fifty year journey. The decision basically kicked the political can down the road. Once the deed was done, no one could do much about it, but the fifty year game ends in two weeks. Al Qaeda would be returning to Earth and no one knew what to do with them still. No one alive today, really had much skin in the game for the decision made fifty years ago. The US government didn't truly exist in its past form. The world community didn't hold much of a grudge against the US for the mistakes of its predecessors. The former countries of Afghanistan and Pakistan, which were now collections of large feudal city states, did not want the fighters back. They had been continuously at war the entire time, but the fight had changed. Some factions still wanted to have foreign fighters removed from their soil, but the definition had been muddled. There was almost no side in the fight that did not have foreign fighters on their side. The immediate families of the men and women of Al Qaeda in space had all aged and mostly died away. Those that still survived would not acknowledge the connection, even though intelligence reports still had them documented."

In short no one wanted Al Qaeda. Plus, for fifty years parents around the world had turned Al Qaeda members in space into something of a bed time story bogeyman for their children. 'You better eat all of your food or Al Qaeda will fly down from space and blow you up.' 'Don't eat that gluten filled cookie or Al Qaeda himself will hit you with a beam from space and give you a belly ache.' The stories were never very realistic and often times personified the entire group as something of an angry super man or woman depending on the story.

But now the real Al Qaeda fighters were going to pass by Earth. If the world failed to pluck them from the sky, these Al Qaeda detainees would go around the solar system again, which seemed very inhumane. The world collectively felt like it had advanced past such barbarism, but it couldn't collectively figure out a solution either.

If they did collect the spacecraft, bring Al Qaeda down to Earth, then what? They couldn't be prosecuted. It was inhumane to hold them on Earth longer, especially if they were allowed to age. From the information they had from the spaceship, all of the sleepers were still in good health and had not aged much, it would be as if they had been asleep for about a month.

"No matter what, we can't just send them back around the solar system to lose another 50 years. That would be adding one crime to another, and they would be that much more out of place in fifty years when they came back around. Besides, there is the emissary issue. We are starting to get more signals from other likely sources of intelligence in space. What happens if some other species come to visit us, and stumble upon Al Qaeda first? Do we want Al Qaeda to make the first impression or alliance with a foreign intelligence? They are more of a threat to Earth in space than they are here living amongst us," said the patrol person in a definitive statement.

They would need physical rehabilitation. Their bone density and muscle mass would need a severe amount of therapy and rebuilding. So they would not be an immediate threat in a physical way, but what about their infective ancient ideas of revenge and terrorism and fighting off foreign invaders from their home land?

"That's just some old superstition that dates back almost 100 years to some silly science fiction movie that was old even to my grandparents. We shouldn't opt for a dangerous bird in the hand to avoid a hypothetical pair in the bush. That analogy only works in reverse when the potential involves reality, not some politically cooked up fear. That's the type of fear that started this war to begin with." said the soldier.

To Brad's ears, the pair seemed to be arguing in circles and he was starting to have a difficult time assessing which side either of the participants were really on.

The world frankly felt that they did not need those old wounds re-infected. There was only so much that science, therapy, re-education, and re-training could do. The Al Qaeda banishment of fifty years ago as terrible as it was, is still one of the few effective punishments to prevent suicide bombers that society has come up with. It deprive a suicide bomber or terrorist of their homeland, of their life (temporarily), of their afterlife and all of its promises for fifty year stretches and the cost benefit analysis that was pitched to a suicide bomber became much more difficult to rationalize.

'Go blow yourself up for the cause, and you will die a martyr in heaven with seventy-two virgins and the best afterlife possible under god. . . .' But that didn't play out very well when modern science could heal almost any wound. That included many suicide bombers post detonation. Science could keep a brain alive if found in tact and put someone's consciousness on deep freeze for fifty years ago blocking them from their heaven.

Furthermore, PR campaigns in a post super digital world were so powerful that any given terrorist organization could barely account for whether or not a suicide bombing had been remotely effective. Digital cover ups stopped them from finding out if the bomb went off. It prevented them from determining if anyone was killed or injured including the bomber. They could barely determine if any property was damaged, destroyed or scratched.

Terror did not work if no one saw the results of terror. With no horrid death and destruction visible, it was as if a tree fell in the forest and no one was there to hear it, talk about it, and no one could find the remnants of the tree at all! No terror, no career path for terrorists.

But these Al Qaeda space travelers had the concept ingrained in their psyche before the super digital revolution. That and they had been imprisoned for fifty to seventy years or more, held captive, in some cases physically tortured, and in all cases severed from their families and friends, who were now probably dead. In short they had yet another axe to grind.

Even with the PR tools of the present, the ever present digital recording devices around the planet would watch them around the clock. If they did find a way to cause damage, it would be sensationalized worse than the hundreds of movies on just such a possible scenario had predicted fictionally, while they were still in space.

It was a big fat mess and Brad was captivated by the story, but he had some work to do. The community pod came to a stop. As he got up, the grandmother snickered and her granddaughter snapped a quick picture of him. Brad stepped out of the car, and could see through the window as the pair started talking. On the screen of the grandmother’s device was a news report and video playing featuring an image of Brad standing in the warehouse with a giant erect phallus on his head.

Continue to Next Chapter - 015 – Another Discovery

007 – Need for a Penis

Version 1.2

Nicky wasn't sure what she was doing. She had always had tremendous self control, never drank much, never did drugs, never had an addictive personality. She had always been the rock in every relationship she had ever had, whether it was with Colton, her sisters, her classmates, friends and even her parents.

Her father was an alcoholic and her mother had struggled with prescription drugs, long before Colton was aware of such things, but both were better now, for the most part. They had obsessive compulsions of less destructive varieties these days. Her dad now loved to clean, while running had become one of her mother’s greatest passions.

Nicky closed her eyes and felt the receptors attach themselves again. She had Colton's Beta Penis 3.3 with the latest software update attached to the palm of her hand. She was rubbing herself slowly with her other hand as she slowly started to lick her penis, breathing in slowly and blowing out hot air on the skin of the wet member that was now part of her hand.

It didn't matter where the penis was attached. It always felt natural and a part of her. Right now, as she licked her penis and rubbed herself, it felt more natural and amazing than anything she could think of.

She started to suck, applying even more pressure to her penis, taking the penis in her mouth with more pressure, nipping it just slightly with her teeth in that way that she had learned was just right.

She was moving her other hand faster and faster as she approached the start of a nice but shallow clitoral orgasm. Just as it hit, her penis started cuming, and hard. The cum that came from the Penis 3.3 was sweet almost like the filling of a candy Easter egg.

She stopped sucking long enough to gasp and breath. She took her penis-hand and moved the head of her penis into her vagina. She started moving in a plunging motion while maintaining an amazing amount of pressure in the perfect area. She shifted it down low and then with her other hand started teasing her clitoris again. A wave of orgasm, deep and amazing, rolled through Nicky. Her back arched and she was temporarily paralyzed.

Her breathing slowed. The room stopped spinning, even though she had not noticed the movement earlier.

"Are you finished?" Colton stood there across the room. He was standing rigid in the doorway of the bathroom, the same place where he had caught her using his cock six months ago.

"Colton, I promise this will be the last time, I just needed one . . ." Nicky started to say. Then she saw what was in Colton’s hand. She screamed.

Colton lunged forward and grabbed Nicky by the wrist, the one that was still attached to her penis.

"You're damned right. This is never going to happen ever again." he said.

Nicky screamed and screamed, looking at what he held in his hand. She thought, “He’s going to kill me!”

Colton lifted his hand, holding a large combat knife. It swung down in an arc and sliced clean through her penis.

A bit of blood, or what looked like blood, squirted from the base of the penis, and the device suddenly detached from the palm of her hand.

But Nicky didn't notice any of this, at first. What she experienced was a blinding flash of light and then an amazing wave of orgasm that consumed her entire body.

Her screams of fear turned into gasping moans of pleasure as wave after wave of orgasm racked her body, past the point of muscle failure. It seemed to last for ten minutes.

Then the light returned and she could see again.

Colton looked absolutely sick. He was holding a knife blooded from cutting off his own penis.

"You are the most fucked up person I've ever met. Not even the sickest people I met in Afghanistan could compete with you. You fucking disgust me, Nicky”

He calmly walked to the closet and pulled a shirt off a hangar. He reached down and grabbed a duffle bag on the floor.

Nicky could see that the duffle bag was packed full, and wondered when Colton had packed it.

Colton walked out of the room.

Nicky heard the front door open, then slam shut. She knew he wouldn't be back. He had warned her that if he ever caught her again, he'd leave and never come back. She believed him, but she didn't care.

She had just experienced something so unbelievable, an orgasmic experience so beyond the 'real' thing that it was like the difference between a chaste hand shake and a multiple orgasm.

Nicky knew one thing absolutely and completely.

She needed a new penis.

Continue to Next Chapter - 008 – Married

005 – Rev3lation

Version 1.2

Nicky was a morning person. She had always felt more aroused in the morning, but Colton’s biological clock had spun even further out of sync with her own since he came home.

He would get horny in the middle of the night just when her energy level was lowest. She could not quite work herself up to a real orgasm at 1 am. Seven hours later at 8 am she was on fire, fully awake and usually fully aroused, but Colton rarely got out of bed before 11. Even though the electronics were always on, his mental hard-on wasn't any use to anyone, until after he downed at least one cup of coffee. When he had been . . . . in the flesh, early morning ‘groggyness’ kept all systems down. Nicky knew better now and that had created more stress.

Colton had a new cock, a rocking hard cock that would literally be turned on at the push of a button located under the skin, but Colton would never go for that. He wanted to get his dick hard the old fashioned way, thinking about it, foreplay etc. Any button pushing just reminded him that his dick wasn't the real thing, but god did it look and feel like the real thing.

Today was a little different. Colton had a job interview at 10 am, his first. He was finally venturing out and towards something that seemed like the future and not the past.

Nicky was ecstatic, but when she tried to rouse Colton in a little play before he rolled out of bed, he was groggy and a little on the mean side. That was the other thing, it was one thing for him to be groggy and out of the mood when he first woke up but another for him to resonate like an asshole with an attitude.

She gave up, rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. No luck, she felt frustrated. After fifteen minutes listening to him shave, she had worked up the courage to go throw herself at him in the shower.

She quietly walked into the bathroom. She saw his leg sitting there and remembered that shower sex was not an option. His prosthetic penis just didn't work as well in steamy shower water. Something about the osmosis effect of steamed water could sometimes trigger the beta penis 3.1 to release and let go from the skin attachments.

The fucking military couldn't even pony up the money for a first class penis 5.0. She was simultaneously mad with all three of them again, the military, the government and Colton for not being careful enough in Afghanistan. He had to go and be some kind of god damned hero.

Then she saw it sitting there. It was erect as it always was in storage mode. She could tell by the outline of his body through the shower curtain that he was feeling morose again. He always felt terrible when he was reminded of losing his leg.

She just couldn't handle it today. She had been strong and supportive of him for too many days since his return home.

Today, she just needed a quick orgasm and then she could go about her day. She didn't need to absorb his problems, save that for tonight after the interview and probable failure.

She was just about to turn and walk out of the bathroom when she saw his penis again, erect. Almost without thinking about it, she grabbed it and walked out of the bathroom. It felt warm, exactly 98.6 degrees. If she was quick, she could have a quick orgasm and get on with her day.

She almost laughed to herself, happy that her husband couldn't see her. She half hopped back into bed, got under the sheets, wriggled out of her panties and started to massage herself with her finger.

She heard him in the shower and thought she'd have to speed this process up just a bit. She laid the penis beside her on the bed as she rolled halfway over to reach for the night stand to grab the pink bottle of baby oil to add some lubrication.

Just as she was reaching in the drawer, she felt something amazing. Colton's penis suddenly attached to her belly. The nano tech receptors had come into contact with the skin on her belly.

The Beta penis receptors thought her skin was the skin that should trigger attachment. They grasped and fused with her skin. Suddenly she could feel this amazing feeling as blood seemed to pulse through her veins through . . . her throbbing penis.

The penis was part of her. It was hard and it was throbbing. She touched it just at the tip and a quick groan escaped her lips. That felt amazing. She touched again and started to grasp . . . her penis with her right hand.

'Ohhhh' the word groaned out of her lips unconsciously.

That was so easy. It wasn't quite like the feeling of a clittorally stimulated orgasm but it felt just as good. She started stroking the penis with her hand lightly skimming the skin like she normally did when giving Colton a hand job. He always seemed to love it, but it didn't feel quite right.

She squeezed a little harder and started rubbing the member underneath the skin, the skin of her penis sliding just a bit as she moved up and down the shaft.

Without realizing it, she reached down with her left hand and started to touch herself. Her penis was throbbing and as she pressed and rubbed against her clitoris it almost instantly started throbbing too. She was amazingly wet unlike anything she had ever . ..

A clitoral orgasm swept over her in a wave of pleasure. She squeezed her penis even harder, jerking upwards without letting go, when all of a sudden; she felt the penis throb and squirt. She jerked again and again; and then faster and faster untilll...

Nicky could feel something sticky on her upper stomach and breasts. She opened her eyes, looking first at the penis staring her in the face still wet with cum. Then, Nicky’s turned a little to the right, and her eyes focused on the doorway between the bedroom and bathroom where she saw Colton's frozen face full of revulsion and disgust.

Continue to Next Chapter 006 – Never Again

004 – Discovery

iteration 1.2

Colton was sitting on a special non-slip chair in the shower. Showers used to invigorate Colton. Now they were just a constant reminder of the challenges that would face him for the rest of his life.

He extended to reach the soap and almost lost his balance from the seat of the specially designed chair in the shower. He started scrubbing his leg. Then for the umpteenth time, he twisted to scrub his other leg before he realized it wasn't there.

He hated these reminders.

Colton had been in Afghanistan towards the end of the 6th Deck when he had been hit by shrapnel from a grenade, which triggered the explosion at an opium processing lab. Nation building in Afghanistan had only fueled the black tar heroin industry and more war but not much else.

Colton had been a draftee. The draft had been reinstated in the 4th Deck. Men and women had given their lives fighting for their country for hundreds of years, when volunteers were called. The citizens of the USA also had a long history of dodging the draft when volunteers weren't enough.

They typically didn't mind fighting for what they believed in, by choice, but not by god when there was no choice involved. Colton's great grandfather, a draft dodger from the Vietnam era had been furious when Colton had not dodged. Colton wished he had had a better understanding of his great grandfather, who had pleaded with him to run. But dodging in the 2060’s wasn’t as easy as dodging in 1960’s.

Colton had been a black sheep. He was always out of step with his family, which itself was out of step with almost everyone. That made Colton almost normal. Now, he was normal like most of the veterans from the never ending Afghanistan war.

He was incomplete in body and mind.

He rinsed off and turned off the water. He reached outside the shower for his towel and started drying the remainder of his leg.

He had lost his leg just below the hip. He had to make sure that his leg was very dry before he could attach the prosthetic. The prosthetic looked exactly like his real leg; it even had the same birth mark on his thigh just above his knee. Full visual body scans of soldiers made it possible to create replacement prosthetic devices that were exactly the same, in appearance.

He finished drying and slid the device up next to the skin around the remains of his leg. He felt a slight phantom tingling and then the miracle, he could feel his toes wiggle at the end of the prosthetic. Every time he experienced this, . . . .

It was a miracle. One minute he was crippled and missing a leg, and the next minute he was complete.

Almost complete, he was drying the remains of his testicles, when he realized that his penis was missing from the counter.

Where the hell was his dick?

"Nicky", Colton growled.

He stepped easily out of the shower and walked into the next room.

Nicky, his hot little wife of about 5 feet and 7 inches, was lying on the bed, masturbating with his penis.

Colton was floored. She wasn't just pleasuring herself with his penis by using it like a dildo, she had it . . . She had the fucking thing attached to her belly and was giving herself a hand job, not like any of the crappy hand jobs he’d received from her. She was jerking off like she was a man!

Hell, it was worse than that, she was jerking off and fingering herself at the same time.

Colton thought he was going to be sick with the twisted feelings that flooded him as she reached climax with the same expression on her face that Colton normally adored himself, but watching her achieve that look while jerking off with his dick from across the room . . .

Next Chapter 005 – Rev3lation

001 – Uploading for Dollars

iterative update 1.6

Read this Chapter on a KindleBrad Rubenz clicked the upload button and watched as forty-three thousand five hundred eighty-two seconds of content were uploaded to his 43rd movie site. He speculated that he would earn at least thirty-three cents per second of movie on average for the life of the content. Each second was part of a movie generated in his MCMS, which stood for Movie Content Management System.
Read this Chapter on an iPad

So over the course of the next year . . .

Then he would earn . . .

He quickly pulled up a spreadsheet and ran the calculation again, entering forty-three thousand five hundred eighty-two in a cell, thirty-three cents in another and multiplying them together in the amount of time it takes most people to scratch their nose.

It would earn him fourteen thousand three hundred eighty-two dollars and six cents over the life of the movie, which he could cash in through a video copyright backed security at a return of about 74%, based on the performance of his past results. If this batch continued to improve in performance, next month his per second rate would increase to thirty-nine cents, which was a nice extra. However, he would finally boosted his video copyright security rating to CCC+ up from his current DD-. That would translate into a security payout in cash up front of 81%. On a $15k batch of video that extra 7% meant just over $1k more per month in income, which would finally give him enough to invest in retrofitting his past videos with real voice over artist performances.

Well at least his best videos, and then only in the highest paying languages of Cantonese, English with a Scottish accent and urban Pashto street Jive. Good voice over artists were expensive. The marginal increase in cash would not cover the full cost, but would finance the down payment to accelerate his profits and keep his leveraged operation growing.

Brad smiled with hope and thought, “Not too bad for a week’s worth of work. And that would sure as hell be better than the type of work he was doing lately. Even though the amount was only about half that of his normal monthly salary, but if he could produce enough of these movies…”

"Jesus Stole My Skate Board," started playing on his cell phone. The hyper rap death metal ring tone was a negative signal emphasizing his point. Brad used friendlier ring tones for friends and family, but he preferred really nasty shit to set him on edge and get him in the proper frame of mind for some of the more troublesome people he worked with.

Brad pulled his phone from his pocket seeing the incoming call from department dispatch. Yep, that was about as negative as it got.

"Shit," Brad muttered, before swiping up on his phone. He answered the call stating, "Detective Rubenz."

"Detective, please proceed to 104301 Warehouse Way. Just off Industrial Boulevard. This is a mega warehouse complex. Your destination address is the mixed space warehouse, office of . . . Let me spell this for you. Tree, X-ray Tango Roger Alpha Charlie Zero X-ray Four Uniform Incorporated." Said Wolverson, the overly gung-ho dispatcher, just out of the military.

As far as dispatchers were concerned, Brad liked Wolverson, but he could do without the gung-ho lingo. "Just tell me the name of the company Wolverson."

"Detective, its uh .. ."

"I don't have all night." Brad snarled.

Wovlerson mumbled something that sounded like "Its Extra Cocks for You, Detective."

"Wolverson, What the fuck are you talking about?"

"That's the name. That's the way it’s pronounced or listed anyway."

"Ok," pissed now, "Spell the damned thing again."

Hearing the embarrassment in his voice and maybe a little anger, Wolverson punched the words out in a rapid fire staccato stating, "Tree X-ray Tango Roger Alpha Charlie Zero X-ray Four Uniform Incorporated... Detective."

The military delivery gave Rubenz a vision of Wolverson calling in fire on his condo. The precise emphasis that Wolverson used on the word ‘Detective’ let Rubenz know that in Wolverson’s mind Brad was somewhere between a mine field and asshole territory.

Brad was writing the letters down on a pad of paper deciphering the lingo that appeared to be some type of hacker’s idea of a company name.

3xtra C0x 4 U, Inc.

"What's the situation Wolverson?" Brad asked.

"Probable multiple homicide, Detective. It’s not on the air waves yet, but I received a picture message from a buddy of mine, and I've never seen anything so sick, even when I was fighting in Afghanistan during the seventh Deck."

Brad knew that Wolverson had fought in Afghanistan. He had never heard that Wolverson had fought during the seventh 'Deck' or decade of that war that never ended.

The seventh Deck was a period of cleansing. There had been two previous periods of 'cleansing' where one side or the other decided that the only way to end the war would be to kill everyone possible on the other side and start fresh. Unfortunately, this also always led to a power void and after each period, new factions of warlords, gang leaders, recently retired colonels that would never see general, and religious zealots would migrate in with a new merry band of rebels armed to the teeth and pick up right where the last murderous group had left off.

The seventh Deck was worse. Both sides had initiated a cleansing period at the same time. Few people survived, let alone made it back to the continent to restart a normal life if they had been present to endure the seventh Deck.

Talking slower and with a new type of respect Brad started to say, "What do you mean by that . . ." He was cut off as another call came in. Caller ID let him know that it was Captain Bruhaus.

"Never mind. Call coming in. Out." Rubenz cleared one call and accepted the other simultaneously.

Rubenz figured Wolverson would like the 'Out' Sign off a bit anyway. If you gave a soldier a bit of shit, they could generally deal with it in short order as long as you didn’t dig your own grave with a lot of stroking and horse shit apologies.

He swiped his phone again, and said, "Detective Rubenz here Sir."

"Brad, I'm getting hit with a media shit storm. What are you seeing at the scene?"

"Sir, I'm at home."

"What the fuck are you doing at home Detective?"

There was that asshole intonation in the word 'Detective' again.

"Why aren't you at the scene of the murders?"

"Sir I just received the call from dispa..."

"God Damn it! Brad, Shit! I'm not yelling at you. Somebody has fucked this up good. Get your ass over to that scene yesterday and watch out, this one is nasty even by your standards." and he clicked off.

Brad let out a deep sigh, then said "Fuckin A" for good measure and stood up gazing longingly at his computer monitor, wishing he had uploaded those files last year and had a different life right about now or at least a different option on life.

Next Chapter 002 – Piece Meal