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

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

003 – Ulmec Skull Suckers

Iterative update 1.4

"...Ulmec Skull Suckers. They sliced off the top of the skull, and then slurped the blood out of the brain vessels while the heart was still beating and a high priestess was going down on .. . Oh Shit, Good evening, Detective" said a police officer, just noting Brad's arrival.

The police officer’s partner stationed at the door didn't even flinch but Brad could see the woman stifling a smile in her eyes.

"Detective, the crime scene is ready for your inspection. Detectives Jambun and Scinlin are waiting for you just inside."

Brad recognized the names and frowned, "What's Intellectual Property Vice doing here? I'm H2.” H2 was an acronym for H squared or human homicide. Brad noted the first officers name tag, Stillson, as he approached.

"Detective, IP Vice was called initially when the crime scene was first identified. The victim was not initially found and this appeared to be an IP Vice crime. All the video equipment and the dismembered penises. . . ." Officer Stillson trailed off as he seemed to turn a little green while remembering the scene.

"Penes," Rubenz said, stating the plural of the word penis, correctly with the hard 'e' sound following the ‘n’ where the ‘I’ in penis normally was.

Brad had been ridiculed by a teacher in middle school for using the word penises to insult a group of 8th graders. The teacher hoping to set an example had schooled Brad on the correct plural pronunciation of penis, ergo penes for 30 minutes and it was one of those nasty childhood memories that he couldn't quite shake even in middle age when it made him half-chuckle to recall it.

"Say what?" said Officer Stillson.

"The plural of penis is penes, spelled p-e-n-e-s" said Rubenz, "But never mind you were saying?"

"I made the initial call Detective." stated Officer Hernandez, the female officer whose eyes still had that look of an inner joke. "This looked like another illegal Whack Off Video Production. Then we found the victim."

The door opened, and Detective Jambun, an unnaturally bald man in his mid thirties, who for some reason had not undergone gene therapy yet to fix the condition, looked out at Brad, and said, "Fuck! What took you so fucking long. We've got work to do and didn't need to waste our fucking time mopping up your shit. Come on Scinlin. Let's get the fuck out of here."

"Just a minute Detective, tell me what you have found here. I'm not accepting this crime scene until you get me up to speed and debrief." Brad said.

"Our report is filed. You should have viewed it already. We filed it 10 minutes ago. You being lazy again Rubenz?" Detective Scinlin leered at Brad.

Scinlin was a hard ass twenty-nine year old female detective. She had made detective faster than any other officer on the force. She had briefly worked in homicide in Brad's department. They got along together like phosphorous and water.

"I just received the call 4 minutes ago, and only the cursory first response report was included in my file." Brad said.

"Not our problem, take it up with the Captain." Jambun said as he tried to walk past Brad.

Brad didn't let him through. "Well this crime scene is still yours until I either get your report verbally or digitally. Check your phone yourself. Who is still responsible for this scene?"

Jambun looked down at his phone and said, "Shit."

Even Brad could see that the screen was still green in tint indicating crime scene responsibility had not yet passed.

"OK, asshole let’s get this over with. We have us a murder victim. One Terrence McBoyd, aka Terry. It would appear that he died due to excessive blood loss when his peter was cut off," Jambun stated using that odd and very old fashioned slang term for penis.

"What about the other eighty-six victims?" Brad recalled the preliminary report indicated as many as eighty-seven other victims.

"It was a fuck off. Terry boy was apparently the King of the Whack Jobs, literally. All those other penises lying around in that bloody mess weren't his." Hernandez said.

“Penes,” stated Rubenz.

“What?” said Hernandez.

“The plural for penis is penes, p-e-n-e-s,” said Rubenz wishing he hadn’t said a word, but it just slipped out.

"Who gives a fuck. Technically the penises probably were the victims." Scinlin snickered.

"What the hell are you two talking about? Are you saying eighty-six men were mutilated, not killed and Mr. McBoyd was the only person harmed fatally?" Brad asked.

"Brad, you are getting too old for this job. You're behind the fucking times. Didn't you hear me? Terry boy was a 'WHACK JOB'. He got his ROCKS off literally by getting his rocks cut C-U-T off.” Scinlin said with ridicule spitting out of his mouth. “Where have you been, living in a fucking hole in the ground?"

Brad was definitely a little confused but didn't want to give Hernandez the satisfaction. "I don't work IP Vice. Just what new sick and twisted shit has your department cooked up and shared with the masses lately. Trying to justify your budget again?" IP Vice had a massive corporate sponsored budget that was the envy of all other police departments short of Internal Terrorism which was funded directly by Homeland Security.

Always looking for an opportunity to show how smart he was, Jambun spoke up, "Mr. McBoyd was a sexual deviant. He engaged in a new sexual fetish called Whacking Off. Detective Hernandez referred to him in the vernacular as a Whack Job, a person that receives the cut from a Whacker, the person that does the cutting. The Whacker cuts off the P3nis of the Whack Job. That's P3nis with a three not an 'e'. A P3nis is a prosthetic device originally developed during the sixth Deck to replace damaged, mutilated, destroyed penises of veterans."

"You mean 'Penes'" Brad interjected.

"Do you want this debrief or not?” Jambun interjected. “The P3nis was developed to not only look and feel like the real thing, but to respond as well. Through a combination of biochemistry and nanotechnology it automatically electrically connects itself to the nervous system when it comes in contact with human skin. It has the ability to give the host the feeling of a fully operational penis." Jambun finished.

"He sold Plug n Play dicks, made to be Whacked Off." Hernandez spouted.

Jambun continued, "Some sick fucking house wife figured out that if you cut off a P3nis, it triggers a sensation in the brain that replicates the best fucking orgasm a person could ever hope to have. Our victim Mr. McBoyd was the King of the Whack Jobs, literally. His company mass produced and distributes P3nises around the world. He also has his own video production facility where viewers who don't want to actually experience getting their rocks cut off, can instead, get their rocks off by watching others get their rocks Whacked Off. McBoyd's moniker in this production is King of the Whack Jobs. He's had his P3nis cut off over a million times in video although most people did not know his real name."

Brad just looked at the two detectives. His phone chirped, he looked down, it was green. He had the file. This whacko fucking case was his.

Hernandez snorted, and the two IP Vice detectives walked past him to the emergency response terminal that was still open. They closed the panel and zipped away in the blink of an eye.

"Jesus stole my Skate Board" started playing on his phone again.

"Fuck," he swiped the screen, "Detective Rubenz here."

"Oh My god, Brad, Is it true? Is Terry dead?"

Brad's world just turned inside out. Jenny was talking to him, she had just called and Jenny knew about his murder victim.

Continue to Next Chapter 004 – Discovery