by B. York | Feb 8, 2006 | Story |
The light was beginning to come to him in a haze of blues and whites. Fredrick’s family stood by, smiling as they waited for him to sit up. The first thing he worried about was not knowing who was who.
“I… can see.†Fredrick was lucky to have received such experimental treatment, and now it paid off. “My eyes… hurt, but… everything is so, so…â€
A small girl to his right stood up and hugged him tightly. “Bright, Daddy! It’s all bright!â€
She could have been saying it was all right, but Fredrick knew the meaning of the word and he knew that this was his daughter Rosetta. He hugged her back as the Doctors came in to tell him the results. He could barely hear them over the colors and shapes of the room. “…a new vision thanks to sight based on…â€
His wife was pulled aside by the doctors, and Fredrick glanced down at his little girl. Rosetta was eight years old and cute as a button. Her father had imagined her to be somewhat different, but in this initial excitement he had forgotten to care. She still clung to him as if he was going to leave, but he had no plans to go anytime soon.
“The side effects have been, well, different in a few subjects, Mrs. Calter. We’ve seen some come out just fine, but others have hallucinations or become psychotic.†Mrs. Calter didn’t look happy, but how could she not be somewhat pleased at the results? She nodded to the legally-required banter about the side effects as Fredrick smiled over at her.
Just then, a little gray being walked by. Fredrick was still in awe of his surroundings, but his face changed when huge, black opal eyes turned on him and the creature’s head tilted in an almost curious manner. No one else seemed to be reacting, and all Fredrick could do was stammer nonsense in a whispered tone. He pointed and looked around, surprised that no one else was paying attention.
After the being had examined Fredrick, it started to move over to his daughter, sliding some sort of device from a metallic knapsack. The needle-end of the device was pointed at the back of her neck, and the creature moved around the bed and towards her body as if nothing could get in its way.
By now, Fredrick was screaming bloody murder and yelling at the doctors. They glanced over to him, seeing him point into the nothingness behind his daughter who stepped back from the bed. “Get that thing away from my daughter! It’s going to… oh, God! Get that out of her neck!â€
He struggled to get out of bed as one of the doctors hit a speaker panel on the wall and spoke into it urgently, “Code 9Z, Code 9Z in the recovery wing.†The rest of the staff watched Mr. Calter thrust his fist into the air behind his obviously distressed daughter. The girl was crying and screaming as loudly as Fredrick, who was the only one staring into the black void-like eyes of this creature who had taken a sample of something from the back of Rosetta’s neck. Fredrick’s fists did nothing aside from make shimmers and small waves in its form.
As he was injected with sedatives, Fredrick glanced around at his human attackers. His eyes glazed and the world began to spin. When Mr. Calter was unconscious, they put him in the bed and strapped him down. The creature that had taken a vial of blue fluid from Rosetta Calter jotted down some notes before walking through a wall. The note read: “Change our frequencyâ€.
by B. York | Feb 5, 2006 | Story |
Abigail used to cry her self to sleep every night because of another black eye, because of another bruise on her that she’d have to write off the next day. Her cheeks were stained and her doors were always locked. She never slept because she was afraid he’d wake her up. Abigail’s boyfriend was a complete and utter prick.
So one day, little Abby got herself a new boyfriend. Her old flame was always the jealous type, but Abby’s new fling burned him down like he was kindling.
Now Abby is happy with her new boy, and no other man will dare lay a finger on her. They walk hand in hand wherever they go and he glares at all the men before they even look her way. She knows how to turn him on would-be muggers; she knows how their faces change when they see him with her. First second is lust, second one is terror. Third? They don’t get a third.
Abby’s walking with her boy toy down the West-side block. You know, the West-side of Centuria. The place where even the United Militia won’t go. She’s walking with an easy stride because her boyfriend is walking next to her. They’re both shined up pretty, and both have grins that could scare the shit out of anyone with half a brain. However, as we all know, mutoids don’t have the luxury of half a brain.
Junkies. Criminal. Vile flesh-eating beasts. The mutoids killed them all, but there’s Abigail Winters still walking strong down the West-side block, hand in hand with her boy, bright as a daisy.
Let me tell you about Abigail.
Little Abigail came from a small part of New Utopia with a black eye and 63 credits to her name. She had an abusive boyfriend and showed him what justice really meant. They called her Little Abigail before she went to the West-side block because she was just above five feet tall and slender as a pylon beacon rod.
Now they call her Little Abby. Little Abby took her boyfriend to the West-side block and shot the fuck out of thirty eight mutoids before walking back into the main district with not a drop of blood on her.
Little Abby kissed her boyfriend’s cheek while he was still leaking smoke from his mouth.
The New RKX-Z Raygun. On Sale Now.
by B. York | Jan 30, 2006 | Story |
The locksmith knelt down to examine the mangled keyhole in Exetor’s office door. He turned his head and raised a brow at the man seated behind the desk, who was typing with twelve fingers and paying little attention to the tradesman. “So uh, how did this happen?â€
A grumble came from the broad-shouldered man at the desk, “I was in a hurry, all right? Haven’t you ever broken something while in a hurry?†Exetor said before reading the words ‘Bionic Locksmith’ on the back of the tradesman’s uniform. “Oh… I guess you haven’t.â€
Exetor felt weird in his office, talking to thirteen people on the transmitter in his brain and watching his door being fixed. The scene was a bit awkward with silence, so he sat up and decided to be nice for once. “So, are you natural born or implanted?â€
“Excuse me?†The locksmith turned his head with a look of surprise on his face and annoyance at being distracted from his job.
“I mean, are you born or implant? Not a hard question… wait, you’re not one of those liberal bionics, are ya?â€
Even though Exetor was digging himself into a bigger hole, the man just toyed with the rim of his hat and went back to examining the lock. “Born with it.â€
“Ah, that’s cool. I’m an implant myself. Yes, these babies cost me a pretty credit.†He held up his hands, wiggling all twelve fingers. The glint in Exetor’s eyes changed constantly with the numerous moods he was forced into due to the numerous conversations, but he kept a smile for the locksmith. “The transmitter and the language translator were both in-grown after the process.â€
“Yeah, well, you do something long enough…†The locksmith started, as his eyes narrowed to better see inside the lock.
Exetor interrupted again, “That’s what they say, isn’t it? Do something long enough and it adjusts for you? I’m surprised the nano-people haven’t made it into an ad campaign.†He rubbed his chin, considering the money one would make from such an endeavor. His guest remained silent. The locksmith was beginning to regret working for the big wigs.
“You know, man… I hear that if a bionic nympho goes at it long enough, her thing starts to-“
“Whoa!†The tradesman had heard enough and set a solid glare with huge pupils towards Exetor as a look of disgust etched itself across his features. “Look, buddy. I’m here to see if I can fix the door and get you a new key. I don’t need to hear your theories about sex and bionics.â€
The businessman frowned then shrugged and went back to rapid typing. His eyes already transfixed on the business going by at alarming speeds displayed on the screen.
With a sigh, the man at the door stood back up and started putting away his tools; he put on a pair of shades. “I’ll grow a key for you by tomorrow. It’ll be my ring finger so it’ll cost you a bit more.â€
by B. York | Jan 22, 2006 | Story |
“I’m sorry, will you repeat that?†Admiral Bunka was squinting to hear, even though his very nervous ensign was right beside him.
“We, uh, are at full stop sir. There’s nothing left.†The young man was sweating and the two continued to look out the viewfinder towards…well, nothing. The whole crew was there, staring out into what should have been space but where space stood it wasn’t black. It wasn’t white. It wasn’t molecules. It was nothing.
“Nothing?†The Admiral began to blubber off non-sense like an ancient car tries to shoot off its muffler when it starts. He pointed at the viewfinder and glared at his ensign with a twitch just above his left brow. “Ba…d… er… don’t give me that nonsense, ensign! Move us forward at once!â€
The ensign nodded nervously and returned to his post. They’d been traveling for seven years now, at about five hundred times light speed, when they suddenly came to this rather impassable juncture. The ship just stopped, and the crew had been clueless for the past hour trying to decipher just what was in front of them.
Someone from across the room yelled out, “Ensign! Don’t! We… we can’t!â€
Bunka rose up and cleared his throat, “And why not, Sergeant Gimble?â€
Gimble was a stout man, but his eyes glowed with the seriousness of his words, “We… we can’t just go forward into nothing! Then it will cease to be nothing!â€
“What fimble-tossle! Of course we can go forward. It’s…it’s just a cloud.†The whole crew heard the Admiral, but they knew that he was lying. It was like telling someone who just had their arm cut off that they still had use of that limb. The ensign glanced at his Sergeant.
“Well, if nothing is nothing, then maybe if we go into it we’ll change it into something.†In any moment other than this, those words that the ensign spoke would cause any man to bleed from the eyes, nose, and ears. As it was, the words unfolded a debate in the main cockpit.
Admiral Bunka was the first to try and add in his opinion, “Well, if we’re next to nothing, then nothing is next to something. Therefore, nothing would be something. It can’t be something if it’s nothing.â€
“Aren’t we looking at nothing? Isn’t it something we’re looking at?†said the Sergeant as he stood up to get a better look at nothing.
“Uhm. No. We can’t describe what we’re looking at. We may not even be looking at it. It’s barely even an it. Nothing, people. We’re talking about nothing here.†Now that the ensign had everyone thoroughly confused everyone on the deck, the three took a moment to look at each other before turning back to the viewfinder. The definition of nothing had these men absolutely confused, and they were suffering from a mild case of brainpan rupture.
Admiral Bunka appeared understandably perplexed, and rather upset at the whole situation. He stood up straight and nodded in personal acceptance of the decision he had made. “Full reverse then! We’ll go back the other way.â€
The Ensign returned to his seat and began typing the orders until he stopped and glanced back to Admiral Bunka, “Sir, wouldn’t that be going away from nothing?â€
by B. York | Jan 17, 2006 | Story |
“Simply put, I do not, under any circumstances, want your filthy fingers near me.” Alison was near hysteria by the time Timmy called her. Both had been having a relationship for three years now and it was always the man who made things awkward. Nothing killed a relationship more than wanting to meet the person you’re in love with.
Alison’s face scrunched up as Timmy went on with the video call, “How can you be so ignorant? I mean, this is how people before our time did things and I don’t consider it political. I just – want to see you and touch you.”
“My God, that’s fucking creepy. Tim, can you even hear yourself? I’m calling the police if you keep this up.”
“What? No, no. Listen! Sweetie, I’m just bored of this whole cyber thing and phone thing. I want to feel warmth I want to feel you. Can’t you understand what I’m going through?”
A sigh came from her lips. The girl was losing her interest already. “Timmy, that’s why the internet gives you porn: so that girls like me don’t get pregnant. No one has to move and lose their job, and when we get married we can set up for insemination. See? Simple.”
The signal ended with Timmy’s frowning face etched on the plasma reader. How could she do this? He was furious. Already, his computer screen had been buzzing with offers from girls in far, far away places. They knew better than to be located in the same time zone, let alone the same country. Sex became sterile and love was the plastic bag they held it in.
His fingers went to work, and not the way you would think. He typed and he typed until he found what he was looking for. Little clicks of fingertips tapping at a plastic board led him to an illegal escort service that did, indeed, promote ‘touching’ and even ‘mouth to mouth playmates.’ Myspace had been around for almost a hundred years.
Timmy worked his magic and made sure the ghost-bot was up and running. First offenders got minimum of five years for even thinking of doing a spit-transplant with another humanoid. Things were sketchy and Tim knew the risks when he dialed the supposedly free website.
Search upon search turned up old advertisements. Some were funny, and others had become obsolete like penis-enlargements and physical enhancers. Soon, however, he spotted a few girls still active, fishing their lines and listing the interests that piqued more than his curiosity. Timmy knew he was crossing the line, but something told him that living in a box was wrong. These girls wanted to get what he wanted to give: touch.
