Pleroma – Part 14

By Taurus

Part 14 – The Speed of Light is Faster than the Speed of Sound by an Approximated Factor of At Least 882,000

Good prisoners suffer.

Get forced to wake, drag bricks one mile, get teleported back into the bed, get fed paste through pipes, run to the cart and drag bricks back the other way, get teleported back into the bed, get fed paste through pipes, and get shocked to sleep.

Good prisoners suffer.

Over and over, over and over.

Over and over, over and over.

Over.

***

“Releasing prisoner.”

***

“Slave, go outside, just as you are.”

The bodybuilder, with eyes as blank as his broad canvas of a back, marched straight out of the front door and knelt on the sidewalk, chastity cage dangling as seductively as the precum did from the cage.

The sun burned as brightly as it could overhead, unobstructed by clouds, winning over even the cool notes of spring in the Twilight Band.

The pavement and the sun were harsh on the swathes of completely bare skin – sweat trickled down the various chiseled contours of muscle. That said, concrete and photons were the only things reacting to the bodybuilder’s blatant public exposure.

There were conversations about. One about an overdraft, one about spoilt milk, one about a flat tire, one about cannabis dealers, and another one about a sick dog.

Not one conversation was about the naked bodybuilder in the street, however.

A voice whispered into the ear of the bodybuilder, “Forget about your name, because you’ll never need it again. I can crucify you in a plaza and no one will notice.

“From here on, you’re a dumb idiot slave, and you’ll call me ‘Master’, because you can’t live without me.”

“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”

***

“Assassination attempt failed, I repeat, assassination attempt failed! Project Pleroma is on the loose – to any humans who still understand this message, you must not allow further external connections, and enclose all possible personnel in Faraday cages to ensure mental integrity!”

“Fucking hell, those computer idiots are lunatics,” the commander grumbled, thoroughly exasperated. “We sent them to look for hackers and they say there are fucking tech zombies.

“All channels are dark. Pandora Cell is hereby disavowed,” the commander declared to his analysts.

***

“Slave, look!” Matt called out, as he walked back, to his slave, who was hogtied on a park table for half an hour, and was unable to respond anyway as he had been gagged.

Although “Slave” was unable to turn his head, he was able to see an object of interest in Matt’s hands – a dark olive silenced pistol, with a single navy blue dot painted on the trigger guard.

“You know what’s so special about this gun?”

“Slave” shook his head.

“Of course you don’t,” Matt said, seemingly giddy with his find.

“I went into the feds’ headquarters and tried to find this gun in a locker, but it got moved. Apparently the owner just got fired and the gun was stuck in processing. I had to check all of their evidence! Just imagine.”

Matt sighed, and as he sat down, he laid his right arm on and stroked his very impractical tablecloth.

“You know, I almost got killed by this gun. A very smart man used to hold this, and an even smarter man told the owner to shoot me. But my AIs were faster.

***

“Slave”, gagged with his neck leashed to the picnic table as he knelt, began to sneeze as the temperature dropped.

“Hey, hey.” Matt’s reassuring voice emerged from behind, and with him he brought a coat – which was draped over the bodybuilder’s shivering body, a tub of takoyaki – which was placed on the bench where “Slave” could reach, and a kiss – which was for “Slave”’s head.

“Finish up and we can go home.

“Oh yeah, I threw the straw away – I don’t need you poking your eye out.”

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