017 – Manhood Revitalization Services

version 1.1

Brad really couldn't get out of Jenny's place fast enough. He wasn't physically rushing, and there was nothing strained in his departure. He was simply hyper aware of her presence.

He was walking a fine line on this case already. If things got any more personal, he might have to request reassignment. It would not be the first time. In fact it was expected in cases where the parties involved had too great of a connection with an investigator. So far he was within the realm of ethically acceptable, but he did have to resist giving Jenny a hug and offering her consolation and . . . 'Fuck I've got to be careful." he muttered.

He arrived back at his home at 9:40 PM. He hit the can, grabbed a drink from the fridge and quickly scrolled through the news headlines first.

"Al Qaeda Prisoners Awoke 1 year Ahead of Schedule"

Prisoners on the space ship circling the solar system apparently awoke 50 weeks ago, or 1 year ahead of their anticipated potential landing date.

It is unknown why they awoke out of their hibernation early. Scientists are scrambling to figure out what could have caused this and how or if they might have survived in a space ship with minimal support for this extended period of time.

There was a hydroponics module on the space craft, an independent scientific test designed to grow manna, a type of glucose rich algae based material that some scientists believe was used by ancient Hebrews that wandered the desert with Moses after fleeing an ancient Egyptian Pharaoh Horemheb, who had succeeded Pharaoh Tutankhamun. It is likely that the manna machine was stolen from the Egyptians of the time.

A manna machine discovered 900 feet below ground in Nova Scotia in 2030 was reverse engineered and sent on this space ship to test its capability to progressively generate more nutritional food stuffs over a 50 year period in the confines of space.

"The world is just too fucking weird sometimes." Rubenz said aloud. Then he toggled over to check his account balance.

Today's Earnings $53,254.43

Account Balance $53, 290.78

"Fuck Yeah!" Brad said aloud as he saw the bounce in his income.

It was probably from whatever viral video craze was taking place after his p3nis fuck up. Brad wasn't really embarrassed by much, especially when he might be able to retire early because of it. He did like being a detective and hoped that wouldn't get fucked up, at least not before he could help Jenny.

Jesus stole my Sk8board started playing on his cell phone.

"This is Detective Rubenz."

"Detective, I'm connecting you with Dr Razel Tulley at Walter Reed Medical Center Research and Development Unit." the automated voice said.

"Hello, this is Colonel Tulley, may I ask whom I'm speaking. Please also state your credentials and security key?" stated an extremely sultry voice with an even more authoritative tone.

"Certainly, this is Detective Brad Rubenz, Atlanta Metro Police, my security key is Java Hector Java Eight Tree Symmetrical Four Seven Eight." stated Rubenz mechanically.

"Confirmation received. How can I be of assistance Detective?"

“I need your assistance with some background information relating to a homicide investigation. A local distributor of prosthetic devices named Terrence McBoyd was murdered in his warehouse earlier this evening." Rubenz said.

"Terrence, Terry McBoyd was murdered?" Colonel Tulley stated.

"Yes Doctor, I mean Colonel, um how exactly do you prefer to be addressed?” Asked Rubenz.

"Colonel Tulley or Colonel will be fine Detective Rubenz."

"Certainly. Given your initial response, I take it you were aware of or possibly knew Terrence McBoyd? What if any type of relationship did you have with the deceased?"

"My company, Haifan Incorporated, works in a joint venture with the research department of Walter Reed Medical Center. Our joint venture licensed the rights to manufacture and distribute prosthetic devices worldwide. In essence Terry McBoyd managed the exclusive license."

"How exactly is your company partnered with Walter Reed in relation to this license?" Rubenz asked.

"I do want to cooperate but I am unable to be specific for legal reasons. Let us just say that my company and Walter Reed Medical Center share portions of the rights to the patents surrounding the prosthetics licensed to McBoyd." stated Tulley.

"Are you trying to say that this is some sort of national security issue or a legal non disclosure agreement. I assume it is not patient confidentiality... "

"I can say that It is one part national security and one part legal, but I will cooperate within the bounds that are allowed me." Tulley confirmed

"Understood. Are you familiar then with Mr McBoyd's , uh. level of internet fame?" asked Rubenz.

"No, I'm afraid I am not."

"Mr. McBoyd was apparently known as the King of the Whack Jobs. Can I assume that you know what a 'Whack Job' is? After all, we're talking about one of your um, inventions Colonel?"

"Yes, I am aware of the meaning of the slang term 'Whack Job'." Colonel Tulley stated with a glint in her eye that could easily be a smile of humor, or an inviting, faux tell conjured on demand to pull her feeble minded prey in for the kill. Rubenz had a feeling that she could have made a great actor a hundred years ago.

“Can you describe for me in layman's terms why prosthetic devices designed by the government trigger a super orgasm when they are cut off of a person? Is that really a necessary byproduct for a government developed prosthetic?" Rubenz asked.

"Of course, when we first designed the protocol for our prosthetic devices we focused on fingers, arms, feet and legs. The level of sophistication involved in managing these devices as if they were the real thing requires something akin to tactile sensory feedback. In a few of our early devices, we realized that if a device was 'injured' it triggered a sensory perception far stronger than a similar injury might cause.

“If we turned the intensity down during pain events, it turned the volume down across the board in the mind, so that a user could not feel pressure from a slight amount of heat, or the touch from the edge of a piece of paper.

“We couldn't find a way to modulate the extreme without impairing the ability of the device to appropriately sense base level activities. We couldn't subject our patients who had previously endured so much personal trauma already to a level of pain amplified falsely by our devices. So instead of modulating the pain down, we created an inverse of the event. Instead of pain, we opted for pleasure. It was an imperfect design. For prosthetics that did not involve sex organs, the pleasure was not sexual in nature. It was more akin to receiving a quick deep muscle massage.

“Later when we moved into sexual organ prosthetics, we, well we went too quickly. Our test subjects for the early devices seemed like representational examples, but as it turned out they were actually outliers. We were a few years into creating prosthetic P3nises before the situation came to our attention.

“We have not yet found a better alternative to the design dilemma but we are working on it very closely. In medical terms, we look at this as a side effect and not a life or system threatening problem at that.

“I can’t wait to hear the medical disclosure at the end of your future television commercials.” Rubens said dryly. “In fact, from my cursory review of Mr. McBoyd’s business, it would seem that this design issue is actually very good for business. I just visited a warehouse full of millions of P3nises.” Rubenz stated flatly.

“Oh, that was you.” Colonel Tulley said in a suddenly knowing way.

She seemed to blush a bit. Maybe that was the wrong description Rubenz thought. He had this growing feeling that he was misreading her body language, but couldn’t quite figure out why that was. Regardless, he didn’t respond, just let her pregnant-pause extend and grow a bit further, until she continued.

“I believe I saw you on the news a short time ago Detective. However, the volume was down and your face, was, it was slightly obscured.” Colonel Tulley seemed to be regaining her composure and that look of a predator was evident again.

Rubenz feigned slight embarrassment, cleared his throat and said, “Yes, I have also had opportunity to experience your handy work this evening. So tell me have the men of the world actually lost millions of penises. Are prosthetics that much in demand that millions of these items would need to fill a warehouse? I do not seem to recall any news stories to that effect lately?” Rubenz wanted to see how Colonel Tulley would do if she were playing defense. This was supposed to be a basic background discussion, but he sensed there was more to it.

“As the CEO of Haisham Inc and the leader of the project at Walter Reed Medical Center, I can confirm that those devices were not officially licensed. We have already submitted a patent and trademark dispute, and we are taking other steps as called for in our license to the late Mr. McBoyd’s company,” stated Tulley.

“Which company are you going to seek that claim against Colonel?” Rubenz asked again hoping to put her on the defensive. “And how long have you been familiar with More Cox 4 U?” he added as an afterthought.

“Excuse me Detective, we learned of More Cox 4 U Inc tonight from the news following the viral video report featuring yourself. We followed up by performing a due diligence search on the product ID’s on the packing material featured in the video, which led us to More Cox 4 U Inc and from there we traced the company to Mr. McBoyd.”

“Since you are filing licensing claims then, are you saying the P3nises distributed by Terrence McBoyd were black market items, and the man who was supposed to manage your worldwide prosthetic license was found in a warehouse, that we have confirmed he owned and managed directly, filled with blackmarket items?”

“That is our preliminary view,” stated Colonel Tulley.

“As a medical Doctor, Colonel, can I ask you a question about your prosthetics, specifically, what happens when a person wearing a prosthetic expires while the prosthetic is still connected?” asked Rubenz.

“Our trials and clinical testing did not include testing the devices through the process of the host’s expiration or death. However, as a doctor here at Walter Reed, I have seen far too many soldiers and veterans die, and a few of those included good people that were wearing one of our devices. The device requires a very small amount of energy from the person that wears it to maintain a connection. When a person dies, the processes of the body begin to fail. This includes the micro amounts of electricity that flow through the body. The prosthetic is designed to use more of its own power to maintain connection for a short amount of time. As the electricity inherent in a living person starts to fail, the energy level sometimes pulsates up and down. The swings down, trigger the device to work harder, and the end result is something similar to a repeated suction from the device. Once the prosthetic is removed after such a situation, it can sometimes leave traces of a suction mark on the body, similar to a subcutaneous hematoma caused when the lining of the blood vessels are slightly damaged and blood escapes into the skin. Most people refer to this as a hickey. I cannot say if this occurs with our prosthetics universally nor over what time interval as we usually remove the prosthetics of our patients after they decease and sometimes before if we are treating them here.

A warning light indicator flashed on Brad’s phone indicating that their allotted interview time was almost up.

“Thank you for your time Colonel. I may need to follow up with you as the case continues, although I will endeavor to minimize any distractions possible. I would ask, that if you are aware of any information, even casual considerations, that you feel might be pertinent to the demise of Mr. McBoyd, please feel free to contact me or send them through the formal post interview communications medium. Specifically, I would like to make a final request for a copy of the license agreement that Mr. McBoyd was responsible for prior to his death. I will need it for my investigation and I suspect IP Vice may need to review it as well.”

“Of course detective, I will provide you with any information or assistance that I can,” responded Colonel Tulley who had that predatory look in her eye again.

They signed off, and Rubenz sighed it was going to be a long night. He went to take a shower and think. The crime scene Bots had cleaned him up, but he still felt the need to shower. At the last minute, he detoured and decided to run on his virtual tread mill for a few miles. While he was running he started reviewing the available virtual crime scene, in a cursory inspection to regain a sense of the place and the ordering of the items in the crime scene.

After he determined that he had a good sense of things and he had run for about 50 minutes or about 11k, he then finally headed for the shower to clean up and decompress.

The time was a little after eleven PM. He would need some rest before tomorrow, but there was still some work to be done while the case was very fresh in his mind. He set his alarm for a 45 minute power nap and killed the lights in his bedroom.

Continue to Next Chapter - 018 – Al Qaeda Eunuchs in Space

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

009 – Penis Parts, Pallets and other P…..

Revision 1.1

Brad walked back through what appeared to be an office area. There was a guard by a door at the end of the office. There was no window on the door, but as he approached, the officer opened the door to a vast warehouse area just on the other side of the wall. This was some type of combination office warehouse space.

As he walked through the door, he was struck by the immensity of the storage area. The rows seemed to go on forever. The shelves for each row were stacked six levels high. Each level was approximately 7 feet tall, for a total height of close to 50 feet. He couldn't see the end of the warehouse as he peered into darkness at the end of the row in his path.

He could see flickering, flashing lights to his right. It was similar but not quite a strobe light effect. He recognized the neon green flashes of a crime screen scanner technician bot.

The crime scene technicians were scanning the crime scene area for future interactive play back and review both for investigators and if necessary for a jury and judge. The scanners operated in a way that recorded the position and layering of every object, speck of dust, drop of fluid or blood and much more in the crime scene area. Like an archaeologist reading the levels of silt build up over thousands of years, the crime scene scanner could identify and deduce from layers, spray patterns and more the order in which different materials or objects had been deposited in a crime scene area. This was exceptionally useful in complex areas where there was a significant amount of materials such as a multiple car wreck, the day after a riot scene, mass killings or a crime scene that had been exposed to the elements, people and animals several days after the crime had taken place.

It was also important for commerce. The crime scene technicians were also responsible for cleaning the crime scene, completely and thoroughly to minimize the amount of time an area might be inaccessible to the public. The cleaning could be charged directly to a property owner or insurance company, but from the owner’s perspective, getting an asset back into use was the more important factor. The days of an area surrounded by crime scene tape for hours or days were long past.

Once forensics came in and matched up each and every item, it would be possible to identify exactly when an item appeared in its position in a crime scene.

In a classic case where more than one victim had been shot or stabbed, multiple blood drops or spray might layer on top of each other. The analyzer could identify which layer appeared first. This was very useful for crime scenes involving animals, insects, or even vagrants as well. Sometimes a crime scene needed to be rebuilt slightly if it had been contaminated by a party or object that was not party to the original crime or event.

Brad took a breath and headed towards the light. It was further than he initially expected. The massive rows looked very distant, but even after walking for 80 meters approximately he realized that he still had a way to go.


 

He approached the modern day equivalent of crime scene tape. By appearance it looked like an archaic three dimensional lighting effect almost like a hologram as depicted in classic science fiction movies of the previous century.

The effect of the lighting mechanism was one of a slightly translucent but actually opaque optical wall. It gave the impression that if you stared at it long enough, you would be able to make out the details on the other side. In fact, it was completely impossible to see through the image.

It was designed to mesmerize and captivate the attention of people passing by the scene for a few moments. A scanner would record and identify each and every person that gazed on the wall. Once identification had been confirmed and logged, the illusion of transparency would end for that individual and it would be replaced by an image that would give the viewer a slightly uneasy feeling.

The goal was twofold. First, stall the person long enough to gaze at the wall and enable visual identification of the gazer. Second, disperse the viewer after identification had been made by presenting them with a visual emotion that would repel them from the area. The result was one of almost perverse interest and repulsion.

In his training, years before, Brad had learned that to understand the phenomena might help to avoid the negative feelings, but he suspected that was just urban legend. He actually believed that these devices became more magnetic and respectively repulsive with each software upgrade. If knowledge of the process could build up some form of inoculation against the effect, then any criminal could teach and train themselves to ignore it. As it were, Brad too, always paused for just a moment just before entering despite the fact that the same device recorded his entrance into the crime scene area.

The device was trained to identify law enforcement officials and end the charade much faster, but Brad sometimes felt that this expedience was sometimes delayed so that the device could either use officers as a calibration control group, or possibly just to test their reactions to see if they might have something of a guilty look on their own faces.

Technology policing the police existed at every level of crime processing these days. You could never be too sure where it existed and where it did not exist. This type of intelligence had been blocked from his pay grade decades earlier by some accountant or CID investigator that spotted a conflict of interest.

The wall of course also warned people not to pass through. If necessary, it could actually prevent the physical movement of unauthorized personnel via biological electro-magnetic pulse wave. The same technology that could kill electronics on a battle field or after a nuclear explosion, could scramble the mental wiring of a person to turn away from the wall, like a dolphin stuns or scatters fish sub-sonically in the ocean.

As Brad walked through the area marked off for entry as if it were a large sliding vertical elevator door, the brightness of the warehouse suddenly stunned his pupils a bit. Just past the wall the level of lighting was very high. Brad realized that the shimmering light had actually been light reflected off the ceiling 50 feet up that had then bounced back down and off the aisles for 100 meters back towards the office entry.

The electronic crime scene wall didn't allow light to pass through it, but the corrugated roofing material made for an imperfect seal 50 feet above. The electronic walls were designed to go up operationally to a height of 100 feet, but the roof had foiled it. In outdoors area the electronic tape actually formed a dome to prevent helicopters, drones, and remote micro vehicles from being able to capture video or still images to sell on the WWWN, worldwide wiki news platform.

As his eyes adjusted, he was finally able to take in the crime scene and he cringed inwardly in shock. He felt a deep sense of revulsion. There was something fundamentally wrong about the images his eyes were being forced to process. There were body parts everywhere. The body parts were illuminated in a ghostly way by the standard super fluorescent lighting of this section of the warehouse, combined with the green scanning lights that were hitting every available surface almost instantly from multiple directions at the same time.

A robotic technician picked up body part after body part as the scanner instantly kept pace with this work. Each body part went into a unique evidence bag, which instantly vacuum packed upon sealing. The bag was then deposited on an inventory tray platform where every item of evidence was scanned again. This second scan was instantly indexed with the crime scene scan so that the custody of the evidence remained virtually perfect with only a fraction of a second where the item would have moved from the scene to official custody.

Brad was able to identify every body part almost instantly. They were different in size, hue and shape, but they were all the same . . .body part. Brad could see that the floor was littered with severed penis heads. Blood was everywhere, across the carton containers, pallets, the floor and a splatter pattern almost nine feet up.

There was a raised crime scene path, a transparent and firm gel that had been applied in a narrow sidewalk like path that could be traversed by foot, gurney or robot to enable emergency responders to attempt to help the victim without corrupting the crime scene further. The gel existed just above the detritus of penes cluttered on the floor like dead leaves fallen from a ghastly penis pod tree.

It reminded Brad briefly of a child hood fight he had had with a neighborhood girl. A large tree with a long flat pea pod type of seed hanging from the branches had haunted him after a slightly older girl,maybe twelve years old, had teased him that the pods were actually shriveled penis sacks that a witch had hung on the tree to scare away little boys. Brad had been old enough to know that her taunts were crap, but he had had nightmares about the concept for weeks afterwards anyway.

A month later, he had seen an elderly lady raking leaves and the pods in her yard. She had driven a riding lawn mower with a leaf bagger through the fallen pods and leaves creating a path on her first pass that looked very similar in the memory of his mind’s eye to the path that he was walking now.

Following the gel path forward with his eye, he realized the actual victim must lie several dozen feet further into this disgusting area. There must be 50 - 100 severed penises. He mentally noted that this image was going to scar him mentally for a long time, and he had instant second thoughts about his need to put up with shit like this.

Opposite the gel bridge, the crime scene robots had cleared a path through the body parts as they collected evidence. They were working their way towards the gel walk way, which allowed them to document the area while detectives could traverse the path and begin investigating the victim’s body immediately.

Brad methodically covered the path as it wound its way to the body taking in a significant amount of information, even for a human. There were a couple swerves around extra large piles of body parts. Eventually he arrived in the presence of the victim.

The victim, a middle aged man was strapped upright on his feet to a large dolly. It was unlikely the dolly had been used in the warehouse where forklifts and robots would have been used to move pallets and boxes. The dolly was more likely used in the office to move supplies.

The deceased man appeared to be slender in build, Caucasian and very pale almost on the pinkish side, rather odd for a corpse actually. The man had thinning to bald white hair, which was extremely odd for this day and age where such a deformity would typically be amended with a simple transplant procedure of new hair follicles combined with stem cells to stimulate recoloring and renewed growth.

The victim had obviously turned down this treatment, which was almost unheard of even for the deviants that like to practice extreme forms of naturalism, almost like the religious whack jobs of the former century who would turn down basic medical help and would instead chant and pray by the bedside of a child that didn't have a hope in hell of recovering without medical help.

The man seemed to have a slight indentation across the bridge of his nose with a symmetrical pair of indentations just to the side of this bridge as if two small ovoids had pressed against his skin daily for years. Brad glanced down and sure enough noticed a pair of broken glasses laying on the floor, yet another bizarre old fashioned device.

The man was not fat, but not in very good physical condition. That wasn't surprising, a person that wouldn't even have their eyes or hair fixed, was unlikely to accept treatments to improve or correct their muscle tone or mass a process that Bollywood and the military had perfected decades earlier.

The victim appeared to have pink, red welts all over his naked body. The welts seemed to be forming something akin to bruises on the corpse as the corpse lost its color. The welts were almost starting to turn purple. They had an odd circle overlapped by to other circles pattern. There were different sizes, but only 3-4 different sizes. There were dozens of these welts covering the victim literally from head to toe. There was a large welt that touched what would have been his hair line and his fore head. There were smaller patterns on the tops of his feet, overlapping his big toes.

Brad estimated his age to be somewhere in his mid to late forties, even though with the white hair and the glasses, it was a look that most people didn't accept or allow until they were at least 90 to 100 years old. Maybe he had some perverse notion of naturalism. Most people did not accept this look these days and again he was befuddled that Jenny could be married to this guy.

There was a stacked ring of body parts in a half circle around the victim from one pallet around the body and to the next body. The blood splatter almost made it look like the body parts had spilled out of the boxes shrink-wrapped on the pallets.

Each body part, a penis, had been cut off. This was apparent as the shaft of each penis had bled from the cut clear through. Weirdly, these members had a, base, where the testicles met the shaft that was flat and not bloodied at all. There was a jelly like gleam to this area. It had a skin tone color he noted in his mental report.

The bases of the penes separated from their likely respective severed shafts were scattered around the victim. As Brad looked more closely at what would have been the inside of one base . . .

Brad's thoughts were interrupted as his HUD buzzed his ear lobe. Brad hated the old fashioned heads up display video messaging device, especially when he was at a crime scene. Soldiers in old war stories, used to complain about losing their night vision temporarily when a blinding flash erupted. That was long before the invention of basic rod replacements that enabled eyes to automatically adjust to changes in light, but you just couldn't completely change the wiring in your brain to look at two different things at the same time and keep your level of focus at one hundred percent. Fortunately, this area was well lit, so his old pet peeve would not be to off putting.

Continue to Next Chapter 010 – Advice from the Rookie


[b1]Which officer? (one of the two patrol officers not detectives

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