Redlight: Pandora Pt. 01

1

Limited Satiety. Two words forever stamped on James Harrison's biometric readout. Well, maybe not forever, but certainly for the foreseeable future. The whole city had gone to hell, or rather it had returned to its normal state for the past few weeks. A raise from his boss didn't look likely. As the pleasure capital of Europe, London didn't seem itself without the organ trafficking, Cyber-Fraud and SexCrime. He could feel something brewing in the humid and dank, sultry streets of the city. It was only a matter of time before he'd have to do some real work.

"Fucking bells."

Harrison leaned over the side of the bed and clumsily pounded a fist down on the clock. Six-thirty, enough time to sling on some clothes and get a decent cup of coffee. He'd moved into the dilapidated apartment several months back, he was sure if he had kept his therapist he would have said it was the physical manifestation of his subconscious self. Bullshit. Old, useless items from another point in time, crammed into cardboard boxes and left to rot. The truth was that he had been spending his time off at the various recreational complexes that covered the area between Southwark and Vauxhall. A man could lose hours, if not days if he didn't have his head in the right place. London, the city of blinding light. Fornication. Lies.

Twenty minutes later and he was out the door. Door locked, corridor stinks of piss and sweat. Got keys? Fuck. Check coat pocket again. Yes. A couple rutting like animals up against the banister on the first floor.

"Fucking degenerates".

She's on her knees, mouth open and tongue out, flickering around the tip of his shaft. Her hand cradles his balls as he bucks against the railing, he's got a fistful of her hair and he's holding on like he's riding a runaway mine cart. She's laughing as his white hot cum cascades down her face. Makeup smeared, her lipstick everywhere, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. She's gone, disappearing under mountains of curly auburn hair. She's beautiful.

The residential block was covered in gloom, steam drifted up from manhole covers and vents. The dull orange glow of the lights threw hideous shadows. Parts of the city were fortunate enough to experience artificial daylight. Not here. Harrison tore a parking fine notice from underneath the wiper of his car window. Quiet rage as he lifts his eyes to meet the reader. Systems come online and screens light up as he pulls slowly from the kerb, down the street. A right turn on to the main road and he is heading for the city.

Iranian Special Forces operatives had destroyed New Scotland Yard in a suicide bomb attack at the outbreak of global war in 2018. After the reclamation some thirty years later, the new building had been erected close to the Ministry of Defence, overlooking the Thames. It was a massive structure that reflected what the city had become. Almost quadrupling in size since the beginning of the 22nd century, the population had expanded to nearly 30 million. The apparatus of society had turned into a largely incomprehensible and highly complex system governed by AI socio-tech and the cybernetically enhanced. Not that Harrison cared. In his twenty years as a policeman he had seen it all, the rise of AI government, the Corporate Wars. As far as he was concerned he was DioCorp property, as was most of the city. His only desire was to get Tier 2 status, and nothing was going to get in his way. Netcast warbled on in the background as he swung into the parking bay. His mind plucked words out of the haze of noise.

"Play", "Desire", "Need", "Climax".

What's wrong with this picture? He knew he was dissatisfied for sure, but what about? Friday was only a few hours away, then the seductive abyss of physical gratification. A small portion of his mind recoiled in horror.

"Identify."

"Harrison 2213-A."

The drone disengaged its armaments and opened the lift's blast door.

"Ops Room."

Harrison prepared himself mentally as the lift lurched and filled with the sound of distant machinery. Richard Ennis would be waiting to ambush him on the progress of a blackmail case involving one of the city's most notorious Hostess bars. The fact was, every small business within the district had ties to the various local crime syndicates. Harrison's money was on Lei Feng and his group who ran out of Chinatown. Soho was a dangerous place at the best of times. He didn't like the idea of spending any working hours snooping around that part of town so he figured he'd throw Richard a bone; let him have his fun, then wrap it all up when there was some hard evidence. It was a common story. Some high-up Tier 1 status executive-type goes to slum it with the nastiest the city has to offer and ends up biting off more than he can chew. The newest cybernetic body enhancements were highly prized. Who better to blackmail than the research and development head of Europa Medical? It doesn't matter what universe you're from, necrophilia is bad press.

"Ops Room."

It took less than a millisecond of the doors opening and Harrison instantly heard the grating tone of Ennis as he called out his name across the spacious office area.

"Fucker."

"James, you swine bag! Where the fuck are my suspects?"

"They're all sitting around holding each other's dicks at Feng's place. Go fetch."

Harrison pushed past Ennis and the throng of staff bustling around the elevator door. He needed to get into his office fast before anyone else found him. The last thing he needed was an expanded workload, or even worse, a fresh case. Harrison made a dash for the door. He got within a few feet of it.

"Harrison, my room. Now."

"Yes Chief."

Harrison slid the glass door shut. He saw McLeish activate the sound dampening system. The glass panels overlooking the Ops Room floor polarised.

"There's a problem."

2

"What is your name? Pretty thing."

"Pandora."

"How fitting. Open up and show me what's inside..."

She lies back on a raised bed; the room is bathed in a dim crimson light. She is already completely naked and her slim body shimmers. So fucking desirable that a man's balls would become heavy and painful just from catching her eye, and there she is. Dripping wet and ready to fuck. Fuck machine. That is what she is. She parts her legs in the manner of a gymnast, feet and toes raised, pointing to opposite ends of infinity, limbs outstretched, beckoning her client in like an exotic plant entices its insect prey.

"Would you like a taste? I want to feel your hands on me..."

She purred in a thick eastern European accent as she trailed her fingers from her ankles and across legs any man could not refuse to lick. She stroked her thighs playfully as she licked her lips. Her eyes focussed intently on him. She would have him by any means.

He could feel his growing erection pressed hard against his pants. It had been this way for a while now, as Pandora teased and played with him coquettishly. In the Rec-Centre bars and image suites she had enthralled a substantial group of men and women with her humour, good looks, and her outrageous sexual predation. She had caught his eye whilst reaching down the trousers of a hapless mixologist whilst the unusually raucous clientele dared him to make drinks. It was lust at first sight. They had spent a couple of hours drinking and making small talk in a dimly lit booth at the back of the bar. She slipped a stockinged foot out of her heels as he whispered his desires to her. He felt her tiptoe her way up the inside of his leg and then down, pressing into his crotch, massaging his cock and balls with her delicate toes. She had leaned back in her chair and laughed as he asked her what it would take to get her upstairs. It wouldn't take much. He pinned her up against the elevator glass, holding her wrists and kissing her passionately again, and again on the mouth, his tongue flickering around hers. She tasted of alcohol, exotic fruit, and danger. He coaxed her thighs apart with lustful strokes, his hand slipped under her short dress. He felt warm flesh, soft and smooth like a ripe peach. His fingers danced around her panties, then he began to stroke with more conviction. She kissed him hungrily. They tore at each other's clothes and threw each other down on the bed. He felt her nails digging and clawing at him as she bucked on top of him.

"What is your name? Pretty thing."

It wasn't the first time this had happened. Somehow he knew her already, and knew what fate awaited him. Tired of this job, tired of this city, her eyes promised him sweet escape.

"Pandora."

The holder of all the world's evils. The thought briefly and violently shot through his brain like a bullet. His subconscious entertained it, and he would succumb to it. She was terrifying beauty.

Somehow she had known what he needed most. She saw the look of wild yearning on him as his eyes darted up and down her body. She loved to be worshipped, and she would become his idol. Her black cocktail dress hung off her shoulder; she let it fall to the floor, exposing her tall, slender figure. Her jet-black hair fell straight to her shoulders. The severe looking fringe gave her an almost martial look. She bit her lip. Fixing her pale blue eyes on him, mesmerising him as she unclasped her bra, he watched lustfully as she stripped for him. She confidently strutted to the bed then rolled down her stockings. Draped on the bed, she was a heavenly creature. Somehow defiant in her nakedness, she looked at him as if she were challenging him.

"Open up and show me what's inside..."

Now she was in control. She could sense him quaking with barely concealed longing as she stretched out her legs, offering herself up to him completely. He descended on her with voracious desire, taking in the scent of her deliciously wet pussy. He flickered his tongue around her lips, parting them gently with his fingers before eagerly licking her. She moaned softly at first as he traced his tongue slowly up to her swollen clitoris. She could feel him nibbling and sucking on her labia, and then suddenly felt a couple of his fingers delicately probing her. She wanted to fuck badly, and she wanted him as hard as possible. She pulled away from him before he had the chance to slip his fingers inside her.

"Your turn now."

He gets up and fumbles desperately with his zip, trying in vain to tug his pants down. She's already on the floor, prizing his hands off his trousers as she mouths his erect cock through his clothing. Peeling down his boxers, his cock springs out.

"Sorry dear, should be kept on a leash..."

He winks at her playfully as she starts to explore him. She's pleasantly surprised as he's a lot thicker than she'd imagined from feeling him through his clothes. Holding it in one hand, she takes in the heady and pungent smell of his body. She feels the flood of wetness in her mouth as she anticipates wrapping her lips around his hot, hard cock. He gasps as dripping warmth envelopes him. She takes him in deep, her lips sliding down his shaft and almost reaching the base of his cock as she uses one hand to gently massage his balls. She pulls back and forth, slowly bringing the tip of his cock to her lips, then languorously swirls her tongue around the head. He shudders and groans as she increases the speed and intensity of her movements. Suddenly she stops, eyes fixed on him as he looks down on her. Her lips slide off of his swollen cock, his balls have tightened and she can feel the rush of heat course through his body, he's ready to cum. Before she sends him over the edge, she pulls away.

"I want you inside of me..."

She brings herself up from the floor. He grabs her around the waist and lifts her up as she wraps her legs around him. He strides over to the wall and presses her up against it, forcing himself on her with an aggressive kiss; his tongue penetrates her mouth, demonstrating his intentions. Her thighs are slick with her own excitement as his cock slowly slips between her swollen lips. They both moan as he thrusts deeper inside her. She can't control herself as her pelvic muscles tighten, gripping him like a vice. He begins to move, making deep, forceful motions. She yelps as she feels him throbbing inside her, the heat courses through his body. Both of their bodies slick with sweat, the room filled with the heavy, cloying smell of sex. She feels her own excitement boil over, a wave of physical stimulation that causes her whole body to shake. She cries out involuntarily as she is consumed by her orgasm. He feels himself seizing up entirely as the white-hot jolt of his own climax reaches him. He bucks violently, forcing himself deeper. Her cries become screams as she registers the combined sensation of his brutish thrusting and the hot splashes of cum deep inside her. He looks into her eyes. They are both panting. He has reached the end, the sudden realisation of completion.

Something was wrong, he should have been experiencing the sudden rush of endorphins and the immediate sense of gratification. He felt blind panic. He pulled out of her as her piercing blue eyes communicated to him her intention. Her arms shot up at lightning speed, no time for anything. With a sudden mechanical jerk she twisted his head around, snapping his neck. She let him fall to the floor, his warm semen slowly seeping down her thigh. There would be no satisfaction, and all physical pleasure would remain hollow. Only the agonising reality of unanswered desires, the all-pervading truth of death.

3

Harrison had never liked using vehicles from the police car pool. Modern cars were characterless machines, over-designed by soulless AI fabricators to fulfil the needs of practicality, performance and ease of maintenance. Like so many things in this age, whilst they had retained their purpose, they had lost the latent mark of humanity. Maybe because they were assembled, rather than being crafted or created. To Harrison a true motorcar was a work of art, not something to merely aid in the movement from point A to point B. A car was to be admired by all for its beauty and power, to be envied and coveted, not to be valued or judged by its usefulness or logical purpose. Harrison's mind performed mental gymnastics as he tried to discern the purpose of the detective sergeant sitting in the passenger seat of his Jaguar XK. Reynolds, Julian P. promoted from beat officer barely a year ago, with a distinctively unremarkable track record. He had yet to get a single conviction from the handful of arrests he had made over the past few months. Harrison figured that this was McLeish's attempt to antagonise him for the caustic effect he had had on the department since his return to service. This was Reynolds' shot at the big leagues, his baptism of fire. The fucking dickhead was going to burn. Harrison couldn't even be sure if he would come out of this one. He eased his foot down on the accelerator, instantly feeling the kick of the vintage V8 under the bonnet of his beloved.

"Don't fucking touch anything, and don't you make a fucking sound either."

Reynolds looked across at him, opening his mouth then closing it again, thinking better of calling the man's bluff. He knew he was already properly fucked for the foreseeable future; all that was left was to hang on for dear life until Harrison got him buried, or on early retirement. The car raced down St. George's Road toward the Strata complex.

Strata, one of the iconic residential buildings of the London skyline for much of the 21st century, was now dwarfed by the recently completed mega structures that covered the area of the Elephant and Castle. Strata was now a hotel connected to a much larger recreation zone that served a mostly Tier 2 clientele. If you were Tier 2 it meant you had currency to burn. The result was that the vast majority of Tier 2s were decadent and twisted thrill seekers who spent their working lives fulfilling progressively more elaborate and sordid fantasies. If you were going to make an arrest on a charge of SexCrime, your list of suspects was almost always going to be made up of Tier 2s. Harrison saw the blue flashing lights of vehicles outside the building, he drew up beside a young beat officer standing guard on the sidewalk, rain lashed down from the rusty orange haze of the evening sky.

"Detectives Harrison and Reynolds, care to fill us in?"

"Harrison, good to see you. Homicide are already upstairs going over the crime scene. Victim is male, early thirties. The poor guy nearly had his head twisted off. I'll call and let them know you're coming up."

Harrison casually shuffled along the marble clad court and through gargantuan plate-glass doors that slid open silently without betraying their enormous weight. Reynolds observed that he still had a slight limp in his right leg, a memento from the incident at the Isle of Dogs that had Harrison on long term sick leave for nearly six months.

"You coming Reynolds? Or do I have to do everything myself?"

They both made their way to the main elevator hub, two insects in a foreign termite mound. Strata Control noted the arrival of the two law enforcement officers, accounted for the presence of otherwise restricted firearms and duly placed the local security systems on override.

"Which floor sir?"

"22."

"We regret to inform you that this level is off-limits due to an earlier incident..."

"Harrison 2213-A."

"Level de-restricted, enjoy your evening sir."

Harrison cracked a wry smile at the young detective sharing the elevator with him.

"Building Controls always come out with the strangest stuff..."

"Wanna fuck with it a bit?"

"Ha! Control can you hear me?"

"Yes sir."

"You are aware that a murder has taken place on the 22nd floor, right?"

"Yes sir."

"...And that we are the investigating officers."

"Yes sir. Enjoy your evening sir."

He burst into hoarse laughter; Reynolds barely contained himself with an involuntary snort. Harrison could think of plenty of things he'd find more enjoyable than spending his evening in an apartment with a dead body and a prick of a detective sergeant, but at least he seemed to have a sense of humour. The communal area of the building was surprisingly cramped, with the comings and goings of law enforcement personnel and people from other agencies.

"Harrison, the victim is still in situ but the coroner wants him moved out soon for his own examination."

"It's okay, take us in and we'll have a look around."

Untouched by the investigative team, the apartment was bathed in a dim red light. Most people had some form of cybernetic enhancement and as such, no one had given it a thought. Harrison was one of the few without ocular implants.

"Can't see a fucking thing. Someone hit the lights."

Control raised the lighting to an acceptable level, and he entered, closely followed by Reynolds and the floating metal orb that was the Observer Unit. About the size of a grapefruit, it would enter a crime scene and record exactly all of the details about the immediate area, it would also make a log of all the activities of the investigating officers, in order to identify issues such as cross contamination, evidence planting and such. Observer Units also provided the additional benefit of being able to revisit a scene of a crime through the use of an image suite or by simply jacking it in directly if you were unfortunate enough to have a neural lace and sub dermal wireless link. Harrison would use neither, unless he had to. He prided himself on his powers of observation and analysis. There had to be some reason why he hadn't been fired yet. They took their time walking the apartment; Harrison liked to get a feel for a place before he dived into the minutiae of an investigation.

"We're looking for a woman."

The air still reeked of the couple's fornication. They must have been at it all night from the state of the place. Sheets halfway off the bed, the victim's clothes scattered about. A silk stocking, obviously from the suspect, draped over the sofa. The OU bobbed around the rooms like a drunken honeybee.