e Story sequel: Jonathan POV playman, woman, head, bed, love

Jonathan:

1.0 As you walk down the road between the rows of terraced, sterile, identical, minute houses to who knows where your anger subsides and you can only feel sorry for yourself. ‘Get out of this,’ You mentalise, ‘Think!’ You stroke the hair on your head that shouldn’t be there. First, you need to hide as your hairiness makes you stand out amongst the bald playmen. OK, you mentally agree with yourself. Next? Can playmen be recognised individually by the women? You ask yourself. You wonder what the ident was that playman 26 gave you and come to a decision stopping as you do. You need to go back to Magda’s place to get your razor and that ident.

Looking about there’s no place to hide; every house is identical with no hidey-holes. You jump onto the small wall in front of the nearest house, grab hold of the roof and your recycled muscular body has no trouble pulling you onto the house roof where you lie down hidden from below to wait for the playman rush. ‘Glad there’s no flying things in this Godforsaken place,’ you mentalise.

You don’t have long to wait as the scene before you fills with the sterile playmen all on their way to work making shit-tasting stuff for their ’rubbing’ partners your mind observes and you laugh at the thought. As they file into the transmit booth women appear. You start to get horny looking at these delicious creatures as the hormones within your body work overtime driven by the women’s presence on the arousal implant within your head. You know this but the reaction is still there. Your mind reminds you how innocently cruel these bitches can be and the hormones retreat.

Then, Magda walks past your roof hideout. You watch as she passes with the others within spitting distance from you, wanting to call to her. Your chest tightens as your heart visceral command speeds it up making it hard to breathe so you bite your lip until blood drips onto the roof. You silently bang your head on the roof to rid it of the hurt and want clashing within your tortured mind. Time is subjective, it only slows when something bad happens your mind rationalises and as you look over the roof edge again, she is gone, the road empty. Somewhat sad, you know not why, you jump down from the roof and make your way back to Magda’s house wondering if playman 257 is there.

You arrive at Magda’s house and see the birth. The lone flower in the front garden, the one you made and planted to see if it would grow. It has but has died, only a lifeless stalk remaining. You cup its dead bloom between your hands, your tears showering on this virgin thing in this insane world. You enter the house to find playman 257 revived, sleeping and naked within the re-cycler. Shrugging, you get your razor and shave all over. Returning to the recycler you think about recycling 257 but cannot come to do it. After all you don’t know if Magda would recognise you should you take his place.

You get the plastic ident collection within your black bag. Sort through it wanting the ident 26 gave you. You find it and dial. Nothing happens. You dial again, still nothing. Puzzled you try 256’s ident wondering if the POTS has gone down. In your time it had a habit of doing so. A woman’s face materializes within the ident. "Playman, where did you get this ident? Tintel records 256 recycled last night." Puzzles you. "You must wait for the IRS to come for you." She adds. The ident goes blank. You look at 26’s ident noticing it indicates ‘02’ you panic, something awful is about to happen. Run, you think then calm down. Think it through you mentalise.

You notice a new ident alongside the re-cycler and wonder. Swop it for yours, you mentalise. You take your pajamas off and put them on 257, put your old ident in his top pocket. You walk to the front wall and open it, cautiously peering out. Through the front wall-door you see a small form of sky craft coming. You panic, go back inside, pull 257 to his feet, out of the re-cycler. Drag him to Magda’s bed and slap him to fully awake. "You are playman 256," You instruct. "256, do you understand?" You add. He nods. "You must go to work." "Yes I will go," He meekly answers, rising and leaving towards the front wall-door.

You are distracted by the bed. No lovemake outfit is on it your mind teases then lets go of the thought immediately. As 257 reaches the open front door you see two women standing just outside it dressed in trousers, jackboots and leather-looking jackets, just like storm troopers, you observe. One holds a weird looking gun, points it at 257. The sound of an alarm noise fills the passageway. The gun automatically emits the familiar beam of blue light enveloping and sending 257 to the ground in a quivering, slobbering mass.

Oh shit, you mentalise, grabbing the ident of 257 and bravely walking out to the doorway totally naked. The gun is then pointed at you. You close your eyes waiting for the blackness or the terrifying pain, you know not which.

2.0 There is no reaction. You deliberately sway giddily as if you’ve just been born. The women ignore you and lift 257 into the sky craft you can see behind them, with a tractor beam. With great delight they leap into the sky craft and cut him into spare parts in front of your eyes. His screaming ceasing as his voice organs are removed to be thrown into the white mist within a small section of the rear of the sky craft. Your mind offers that ‘IRS’ must mean ‘Instant Recycle Section’ but you try not to pass out at the dismembering sight and the horrible dismembering sound.

One of the women turns to cast a debauched look at you. Oh shit, you mentalise, looking down at your hard-on. I’ve seen that look before, many times before, your mind reminds you. "This one needs a lesson in lovemake, it’s just been re-vived," She tells the second woman who grins. "Won’t be long," She adds jumping to the ground and grabbing your arm leading you roughly into the bedroom. Pushing you onto Magda’s bed she takes off her jackboots and trousers, gets astride you, pelvis gyrating in the stupid, external, rubbing on you, lovemake way you mentalise.

You feel yourself get even harder and wonder what to do because it’s now becoming nice, almost too nice to resist this gorgeous, vicious, voluptuous creature pummeling your hard thing against her clitoris knowing no other way of satisfaction. You pretend to cry, that puts her off. She slaps your face between rubs. "I must tell Magda," you utter, whimpering as all playmen do. This stops her in mid-rub. She gets off you, puts her trousers and jackboots back on and leaves the bedroom, ‘Without even a thank you,’ your mind offers.

You lie there allowing things to go soft as you wonder what to do next. Will Magda recognise you? You get off the bed and select a work garment from within the wall and dress. As you leave you remember the most important thing. The implant within your head. You learnt it controls your sex-drive and makes you hard when near to any woman of this insane society. You also wonder if it had anything to do with the stimulator these women use to enhance sexual performance but the thought leaves your mind since you disabled Magda’s stimulator. You go back to the recycler, touch the rear wall and mentally invoke Tintel. ‘Yes, Magda, what is your command,’ Tintel infuses in your mind. Concentrating, you mentally formulate, "I left playman 256 implant in 257," you reply. ‘Disable it and I will reprogramme it to 257,’ you cautiously mentalise.

A long, worrying pause follows. ‘Accomplished, when will you programme it, Magda?’ Tintel infuses in your mind. ‘257 is at work. I will do that this night,’ You reply and shut Tintel down very much relieved. You look at the two idents alongside the re-cycler, putting 257’s in your left pocket and 26’s in your right pocket.

Nostalgically you look around the room remembering how much you love Magda. Mental images float through your mind welling up until tears come to your eyes. You curse your situation and leave for the workplace not knowing really what to do.

As you walk down the metal work corridor you are deep in thought and looking at the floor. You pass a woman walking in the opposite direction and wait for the erection to commence. It doesn’t and you laugh, inside, your implant has really been disabled. Somehow, you sense this woman is crying and your whole body goes cold. The woman commands, "Playman, stop".

3.0 The voice of Magda calls to you. You stop, terrified, trying to look away from this bitch you love so much. She comes up to you. Holds your chin twisting your head to look into her beautiful, wet, lovable eyes. You dearly want to lick her tears dry. But you cannot. You sense yourself going hard but know it’s for her and not the induced reaction. "Why are you late for work, playman?" She demands aggressively. Her touch starts you trembling. Her voice resonates your being, you commence shaking from desire mixed with fear as the adrenalin spontaneously injects into your visceral system. "I….., I….," Your wavery voice attempts an answer. "Hand me your ident, playman." Oh, shit! You mentalise, grasping in your tunic pocket and handing her 26’s ident.

You hang your head as she looks at it. She shrugs, apparently calming. "You’ve been around for a long time, playman zero- two. You probably know many women so you can come to work late. Is this so?" You nod your head keeping your eyes to the floor. She hands you back the ident and continues down the metal-floored corridor her stiletto heels making that unusual noise on the floor as you stand there, sweat and puzzlement dripping off you.

4.0 You look at the ident she gave you back. It definitely says playman 02, puzzling, since playman 26 gave it you. You replace it in your pocket and enter your workroom and in your mind hear the familiar login, now one integer added, ‘playman 257’. You sit in the chair opposite the small blank wall. Your mind offers, ‘Perhaps playman 02 did away with the other 25 and took their place,’ You smile wondering if this is the answer. It would explain a lot and mean you have a chance to live, ‘assuming you can keep the thing between your legs continually soft in Magda’s presence,’ your mind teases.

Then you think of the ident in your tunic pocket, the one playman 26 gave you in case you were about to be re-cycled! Shit! You mentalise, ‘The poor bugger couldn’t use it! He must have thought all that shit stuff I made for his Catrina really was food! You feel sad so to take your mind somewhere else you commence work.

You start by making simple food, the sort of food a newly recycled playman might make. If you made the stuff you normally used to make Magda would become suspicious. Only you, you amongst the huge playman number could make food like that. ‘Must make it taste crap,’ you mentalise but its hard to accomplish now that you’re becoming an expert with the system.

Simplistic foodstuff comes and goes within your mind apparently replicated on the wall, knowingly to end up on Magda’s eating table. You make it nourishing but bland-tasting. You also make a few ‘crap’ things like a new playman would make just to allay suspicion. You cannot help but throw in a half-formed breast. You’ve learned that if you ‘save’ what you’re making its stored for future retrieval. In this insane, sterile world there are no birds, flowers or any natural things so you try making these. You’ve already had success with the seed, which has flowered and died outside Magda’s house, now for some ‘live-stuff.’

You’re not very successful, the birds you make only live for a short time. You decide to start from scratch, make some simple one-celled creatures. As the amoeba you’ve mentalised splits into two you hear the sound of stilleto-heels on metal and quickly, mentally give the ‘save’ command, initiate a simple foodstuff and wait. The sound, as usual, stops outside the door of your workroom and Catrina’s right breast nipple commences to rub your left shoulder, as usual.

You mentally grin as it has no effect. "Hello, 257. My name is Catrina," she sensuously says. You slightly turn and blankly stare at her. "You’re not as pretty as playman 256," she adds, pouts and leaves. You grin. The sound of her stiletto heels on the metal walkway disappears into the distance.

5.0 You arrive home and smell something going rotten. It appears to emanate from the re-cycler. You remember the first awakening and how you found the eyes in the back of the re-cycler, the organ bank. You touch the rear wall of the re-cycler mentalising, ‘Open.’ Tintel and the organ bank appear as the rear wall transmutes. The smell gets awful! You search with your hands in the white mist of the organ bank and find what you want. You pull the slimy, putrid organ into view. You can hardly contain yourself. You hold the eyes in your hand and touch Tintel with your other hand.

‘Magda,’ Tintel enters your mind, terrifying you, ‘That organ should have been re-cycled months ago.’ Momentarily you remove your hand from Tintel breaking the mental link. Caution stirs you and the hand is replaced. ‘Yes, I forgot it. Please re-cycle it,’ you mentalise dropping the eyes on your bed area, the re-cycler, and stepping back awaiting the noise and blue re-cycling light- energy.

When it comes you are no longer terrified by the noise of re-cycling. You only feel anger and hatred for this society that debases men and produces women knowing nothing of love. The eyes disappear in an instant. You mentalise your sorrow that some poor playman sod will get them and be unable to see some woman pumping him in frictional lovemake. It adds ‘What a boon!’

6.0 Feeling hungry you go to the eating area and eat. There is food a plenty you notice. It will last some months you mentally add so there’s no urgency in making more. You can concentrate on learning to make the other things you need. You don’t notice Magda enter. "What are you doing, 257?" She asks. You cringe. Your mind elated – she really doesn’t recognise me, it adds. And, what’s more you aint got a hard-on being so near to her! ‘Whoopee!’ You think, ‘The bloody implant really has gone!’ You cower.

She takes you by the arm. Her touch makes you tingle, like always. You feel the blood ingress into that you must keep flaccid. You cross your legs, walk awkwardly. She leads you back to the re-cycler. You part the velvet curtains and get in subserviently, waiting, watching her. Watching your only true love in total loss and desolation.

Later on you are waiting for it you are! It doesn’t come. No lovemake. She just moons about, talking to herself ignoring you. You think back to when you first met her.

She had taken you to her bed. You purporting to ‘hurt’. To be relieved by a ‘kiss’. Your mind takes over.

You slowly sit up; reach out to pull her close. Her face overpowers you yet you concentrate on that which you were created to do. Your lips touch hers, tingle like never before and the lifetime experience that is your destiny comes into play as your silent tongue parts her lips and entry is gained. She is penetrated, lost, she tries to pull back but you flick your tongue in and out like some universal hypnotic command, she subsides, becomes compliant, subservient to what ensues, a woman.

You remove her nightdress, slowly kissing, nurturing, softly biting every inch of her beautiful body with your lips, teeth and tongue. Always driving lower. Her breasts, each one getting attention, her midriff, navel, then onto the forbidden area, depths unimaginable until she’s prostrate before you, demanding, wanting, a now participating complement of mutual lust.

The penetration of your hard, erect organ seemingly hurts her but you’ve deflorated many, many times before so become gentle. She thrusts her hips and you moan feeling the fire leave your erectness, time and time and time again. She bites, screams, kicks, squeezes and moans in delight just like a virgin you surmise and wonder at the thought. You make mad, passionate lust with her until the early hours of the morning.

You fall into sleep. Satiated by this mental reverie.

7.0 Weeks pass. At night she moans with delight making you so hard as you listen to her voice and the sensuous culmination of the dream. You have no idea what she is dreaming about but you wish you were a part of those erotic dreams she must be having. You roll over, sleep never coming, yet your hand reaches for the organ perennially screaming for attention but in all your life you have never had to resort to that.

And that’s how it is for a long, long time.

You rise every morning at the designated time, you have learnt why. You must go to work and make just enough eating stuff to make Magda happy but not suspicious. You shave the hair from every part of your body but the stubble worries you. You modify the ultrasonic shower to allow hair removal at the molecular level but the hair still grows, Nature will not be beaten.

At night you watch her wishing you could only get between her luscious thighs and relieve the thing that demands this. But you realise you cannot and sleep.

In dreams you may utter words that meet hers in a longing that has no physical fulfillment. As you sleep you dream again. You dream that Catrina pokes her head through the velvet curtain of your recycler. You dismiss the dreaming thought.

The words subsequently heard you also dismiss. "I am really glad I removed the mens-stration-inhibitor from the water supply in this area."

8.0 Months pass. Then you notice. Her tummy is somewhat larger! Growing as cells controlled by Nature divide and divide obeying the two-squared law.

Shit, your mind tells you, you’ve put her up the duff!

Normally you’d be many miles from the problem. Here, you cannot be. She’s pregnant, with your child!

Oh, shit and corruption, ‘Incoming! Incoming! A bastard is incoming,’ your mind ‘helps.’

You cringe, try to copulate with the re-cycler wall but you’ve gone soft and wonder why. You wish you had thought to make some condoms. Many condoms at work. But you never thought and never did! Bloody dimwitted rubber-Jonathan your mind offers.

That dream you had wafts up to your conscious mind and explains. ‘Mens-stration- inhibitor – "menstruation-inhibitor!’ In the water! Oh shit! That explains it! You mentalise. You twist and turn as the thought possesses you. Sheep do not help. Eventually you sleep then wake.

Magda sleeps. You rise and make her breakfast. You decide a change is necessary and resurrect the original breakfast stuff you first made. Awakening her you place the ornate golden tray with breakfast on it across her thighs. Somehow the urge to get between them in orgasmic pleasure has subsided within your loins, you know not why.

You look down at the love of your lives, her long hair cascading down over her lovely shoulders. She caresses your bald head. You shut your eyes hoping this will shut off your longing for her, stop the enormous hurt within your chest while your phallic totem remains soft for the first time in two lifetimes.

You cannot help but plant a soft, affectionate, really loving kiss on the forehead of the mother to-be of your very first child.

9.0 She looks at you, puzzlement appearing on her lovely face as you remove the lips longing to caress other places she possesses. You both draw back and you subserviently return to the recycler where you lie hoping nothing will ensue.

The rest-day passes slowly.

The night tortuous to you as she whimpers and mouths your name over and over again in her dreams. In total loss you mentally return to the year 2001.

You dream you sit up on-elbow admiring Samantha, nubile, young, your latest conquest asleep beside you in her bed. You look around the room, walls adorned with worn teenage idol pictures, worn, just like you but you wont admit it to yourself. You trace along her back with your index finger, remember the night before.

Undressing her was easy but you did it slow, deliberately, it always aroused them, the teasing enhancing the wanting. Her soft, firm nubile muscles, especially on her neck, made her quiver with excitement when bitten. Then like a volcano, she erupted when taken, suppressed desire, unknown territory for her, familiar, oh too familiar for you.

Then it came, "I love you Jonathan", and it always came at the coital height, always.

You poke her in the ribs, gently, she says "No more, no more, Jonathan, I’m too tired", you grin, and subconsciously your hand seeks your old-fella, commences manipulating it to fulfil the dream in this physical world.

At the first downward movement of your autonomous action you hear a squeal of brakes, turn to your right, make out a huge radiator with the word "Kenworth" on it about a metre away, hear yourself utter, "Shit!"

And DIE!

10.0 You wake instantly totally swathed in sweat from the remembered past experienced ordeal and realise you are grasping your dick.

It’s morning. Magda stands beside the re-cycler totally naked. Oh, how you want her! To quench the fiery sword you still dreamingly hold, within her scabbard! The pregnancy makes her look even more beautiful you mentalise as your hand releases its autonomous grip but somehow her long hair cascading down makes her look like a tart you mentalise and mentally laugh. Your mind adds it never thought pregnancy would look so magical.

You watch as she consults Tintel using some scanning device, moving it all over her gestating midriff mound her eyes filled with fear. Oh how you want to console her, take away the fear.

You watch, every day she consults Tintel. You don’t worry that she has never tried to lovemake with you throughout the months passed. You are merely grateful she did not recognise you as Jonathan.

For some unknown reason the woman you love is to bear your child but she doesn’t love you. In her insane society the word doesn’t exist.

You are a different being now. Yet, something is not quite correct, your mind tells you.

11.0 You wake and she is nowhere to be found. You panic, get out of the recycler and initiate Tintel. "Magda, you should be at the Growth Re-cycle Centre," drifts into your mind. "I am late," You mentally answer. "What do they do?" You mentalise. "They will need data to ensure that when they arrive at your home to remove the growth things will be correct." Is Tintel’s answer. Puzzled at the response you shut off Tintel and leave for work.

At work you continue with the experiment. You can now make worms. Squiggly, wonderful live, slimy ones. Grass is easy, trees and the sun a bit more difficult but the birds, flora and fauna and small animals live! Dead things are easy.

You make a log cabin and equip it with everything you can imagine that isn’t alive. You are elated and save the total construction. You still feel alone. Oh so alone in this insane world.

You return early and lie on Magda’s bed, tired, waiting, wondering what you should do. Cuddling the sheet you drift into uneasy sleep hoping a dream of her will come and at last, after many months, you can too.

12.0 You wake. You sense Magda beside you. You turn over and automatically kiss the one you love. Your tongue on automatic pilot. It silently, softly slides into her lovely mouth flickering, transient, inviting a longing you both desire. She murmurs, in both sleep and delight. You roll gently to lie on her, your months of pent-up desire flowing through your body, downwards to end up waiting for relief via the hardness you are attempting to hide within her lovely body, to spray the fire of life abundantly around.

Through the raised wall of her stomach you feel an almost imperceptible, tiny push on your stomach. Something stirs within you, you know not what. You roll off her and place your hand at the source of the feeling, just below her navel. You smile as you feel ‘him’; you know it will be a ‘him’, moving around inside her.

Magda wakes. "257, what are you doing?" She demands, removing your hand from her pregnant area and sitting up. "Go back to your re- cycler." She adds. You subserviently rise and do as commanded.

Mustn’t get recycled a second time, you mentalise.

13.0 At work the next day you mull over your problems, think of the vicious, storm- trooper bitch-pair disseminating a living human being and liking it. You wonder what other garish treats like that await you and decide you must take some action, have an escape plan and something to protect yourself with.

You begin mentalising a gun; you remember seeing UMP45 thingos, long ago, so you choose it. Make sure it’s silenced, has the swing-out shoulder stock. Clips of ammo follow, short-range stuff with stopping power and long range PTFE tipped for penetration.

Your mind likes that word as you make a black bag like the one you remember Arny always used to hold his armaments.

All sorts of armaments follow, things you’ve only seen in video and films you make augmented by Tintel’s enormous memory and your human input. You smile.

Now where to run to, your mind asks.

In wishful reverie you begin to bring together the individual parts of your experiment. Idyllic scenes within the enormous space that is your mind displayed on the workroom small wall before you. You are both creating it and in it at the same time. You have mentally grown tremendously. You know Tintel is merely accessing your thoughts, comparing the concepts with some look-up table and resurrecting the item from its enormous stored record of millennia. But this feels different, perhaps born from hopelessness.

In your mind you rise from the chair and enter your mind.

Lavish greenery, totally living, natural flora and fauna surround you. Birds sing and small animals scurry about you. The sun shines on you as never before and you pick one of the flowers at your feet holding it in your hand, smelling its wonderful fragrance. In the distance you can see the log cabin and know how well equipped it is. In the recesses of your totally occupied mind the end of shift indication sounds.

Subconsciously you save the scene and allow the end of shift sound to enter your conscious mind.

You drop the flower in your hand and leave for home.

14.0 You sit in the dining area eating. You have prepared a similar meal for Magda. She returns and surprise, she clutches the flower you made at the workplace to her breast. She sits opposite you placing the flower on the table. "What were you making at work today, 257?" She quietly asks. You shrug and carry on eating. She picks the flower up, "Did you make this for me?" You nod. "What is a ‘weapon’?" She follows with. Shit! Your mind expletes, how did she find out, it adds as your face displays the guilt felt.

Magda gets up and leaves the dining area only to return with the stimulator. She points it at you. You shut your eyes, waiting for the pain of stimulation.

15.0 Nothing happens. Then you remember you’d disabled the evil thing. Magda pulls and pulls the trigger time and time again. Adjusts its sensitivity upwards and downwards all to no avail. She throws it at you in sheer frustrated anger. You turn, avoiding it.

She sits at the table, her head in her hands sobbing her heart out in frustration or her condition. You cannot decide which.

But it’s all too much; you rise, walk round, and gently pull her to her feet, her wet face close to yours. You cannot help yourself,

"I love you, Magda," Your mouth says, while your mind fills with expletives at this stupid, selfish action.

She closes her eyes, begins to explore your face, your head, your nose. Your mouth seeks her lovable hand, begins mouthing it as you’ve always done. She murmurs, softly, with delight, as she always did when you did this. You can feel her nipples going hard through the garment she wears.

And then it happens.

"I love you too, Jonathan." She replies.

16.0 You don’t remember taking her to her bed, it happened. You don’t remember worshipping her with every part of your being. It happened. One minute she lay there waiting to be taken, no lovemake stuff, her on top, futilely reciprocating. Your greatest worry was your baby so you never penetrated, Hah! Your mind teased, ‘lovemake!’ But you merely worshipped her with your mouth and tongue as she did the same to you.

The milk emanating from her now enhanced breasts spurring you on.

As her waters broke you knew it was time. "You know you’re pregnant, Magda, my love," You ask, as you lie beside each other both spent. "Pregnant? What is that?" She replies, kissing your lips as you cradle her head in your arm. You smile; explanation will do no good, you mentalise. "Why am I all wet down my legs?" She asks. You laugh and kiss her again, softly, waiting, gently extracting her tongue with yours as your two lifetimes have taught. Then the contractions start.

You remembered seeing birthing in your previous life, on television. You only need a bowl of hot water and plenty of towels, a clip thing and sterile scissors for the umbilical, some disinfectant and warm blankets. You’ve thought about this long and hard and have all these items ready made at work to appear at home.

But she is very scared, "Why am I hurting so much, Jonathan?" She cries and you can do nothing except hold her tightly in your arms. Her contractions get closer and closer until you help your newborn son into the world, turn him upside down and force the sound of sounds from him as you clear the amniotic fluid from his newborn lungs. You see Magda look up and collapse back onto the bed, exhausted.

17.0 You clean up your son and wrap him in the blankets you had prepared. The bed mystifies you as it apparently cleans itself. You mentally note you hadn’t noticed before. Magda appears sleeping but you grin and place your newborn son alongside her, his mouth near her ample, nourishment-filled breasts. His mouth latches instantly on to a porous nipple.

She slowly wakes. Her eyes widen in amazement and you mentalise that the dormant mother instinct, dead for many centuries, awakens. She clasps your son close, kissing him as he suckles.

You grin with contentment. She looks up at you and smiles. You shrug with affection, shake your head and crawl beside her placing your arm around the both of them. You fall into dreamless sleep.

At last you have found your first and last loves.

18.0 Voices awaken you. You slowly open your eyes to see the storm-trooper women beside the bed. You see the nasty stimulators holstered at their hips. "And what is this playman doing here?" Demands the woman who tried to rape you. "He helped remove the growth." Your Magda replies.

The two look at one another in puzzlement and your son starts crying. One of the women pulls the sheet off the bed revealing the tiny bundle nestling in Magda’s arms. The woman unholsters the thing you know the purpose of and points it at your son.

You know what will happen next so you leap at her knocking the thing from her hand to fall, alarm sound screaming to the floor. You cartwheel into the diner, knowing their reaction to your action. You invoke Tintel and grab the first UMP45 sub machine gun materializing from the blue light together with a short-range clip. Just as you cock the UMP45 your raper enters stimulator ready.

The UMP45 makes a dual, soft, metallic sound as the shells eject and the ‘recycling’ lead leaves the silenced muzzle. Her head contents recycle all over the diner wall and the second projectile of your double-tap sends her left nipple into fragments and splatters her recycled heart through her recycled left scapular.

Like a rag-doll she falls to the ground making no sound.

You hear Magda scream and you rush into the bedroom the UMP45 cocked and ready. The second woman holds your son, by the legs, upside down next to the recycler the blue light already visible.

Magda screams, "No, don’t." The woman grins at your entry, fingers the stimulator holstered at her waist. Automatically you hear the double-tap sound again and before either she or your son can reach the floor you have cart wheeled across the floor to catch him in your arms.

You return him to Magda, kiss her forehead affectionately. She holds him close, motherly, your mind laughingly observes.

19.0 You fill the two bags as tightly as you can selecting a range of armaments like Arny would, you mentalise. The backpack is for clothing and the papoose carrier for our baby you further mentalise as you pick them up. You’ve planned it well your mind adds twisting your face into a smile.

What to do? Your mind questions. Acting on impulse you drag the corpse of the first woman downed to the recycler and dump it. You notice the small flashing light on her belt flashes no more but the thought is gone as quickly as it came. The second woman follows. You invoke Tintel and command the re-cycle.

The blue light envelops the bodies, tearing them apart the re-cycle sound now seemingly pleasant, you don’t know why.

"Why are you re-cycling them, Jonathan, playmen are not allowed to re-cycle," Your Magda asks. You walk to her, sit beside her. "What would happen if a playman were to do such a thing?" You ask. "Why," She replies, "The Trackers would know and the IRS would come for you." She replies as she inserts her nipple into your son’s mouth.

You laugh, internally, a scared laugh.

20.0 Loaded down with the bags you reach work. Magda takes it all in her stride. She is amused at your son slung on her back within the papoose carrier. You find an empty workroom and drop the two bags so heavy with protection, take off the backpack and lay it beside the bags. You sit in the chair and recall the stored sequence you hadn’t finished. It displays on the small rear wall. You hear Magda gasp as it materialises. You’re unsure what your intention is. It’s unfinished and you want to make sure of the thoughts in your mind. The flower Magda brought back was real, you have to check whether what you intend will be real. Magda nudges your shoulder indicating rearwards. You stand; stepping in front of her, turning.

A woman stands there pointing that awful thing at you. She smiles, twistedly, malevolently. Your heart drops in your chest and you close your eyes, waiting for the blackness.

21.0 It never comes. The blackness of recycling death you experienced once before. Instead, you hear the soft, metallic ‘clack-clack’ of the UMP45 emptying its clip.

You open your eyes. Magda stands in front of you the UMP45 in her arms still smoking. "Your re-cyclers work good," She smilingly offers as you look down at the crumpled woman before you lying on the floor. You take the UMP45 from her lovely arms dropping it to the floor your mind now filled with respect for the love of your second life. Bugger it, your mind offers, throwing caution to eternity as you turn, pick up one of the black bags filled with protection and hurl it at the scene displayed on the rear small wall. Your mental space that could be your life or death. There is a flash of blue light and the bag lands amongst the greenery there. The other bag follows then the backpack.

You turn to Magda. How beautiful she is you mentalise and add, "Maybe there’s time to hump her on the chair?" You smile at this ancient thought. You’ve grown now, you are a father and she is the mother.

You take her hand and kiss her receptive, beautiful mouth. Your tongue lingers there as never before, hers mingling with yours in, perhaps, a last coital embrace.

"When I say jump, you jump," You order and laugh at this ancient sex- slang.

She nods. "Jump," You order.

You both jump into the scene displayed on the small rear wall, you not knowing what to expect on the other side and even if there is another side.

You have forgotten one thing, JT of 2001.

It may be a boon or not. Fate will decide for you.

22.0 Had you both stayed you would have seen a barrier materialise on every workroom entrance throughout the workplace accompanied by an alarm almost too rusty to operate. Would have heard the sound of myriads of sky craft arriving.

You have raped this world; Jonathan of distant past, defoliated and taken a virgin and first-child from it.

This world and Tintel will not rest until they retrieve both the loss and your termination.

You have opened the Gates of Hell.

END ---------- GOTO Magda