Cyberspunk 2069 Bk. 03

We watched the rest of the display reverently, as Xu instructed the pair on the bed into different positions. Devan's heavy, dark frame mingled with and dominated Lacy's delicate, pale flesh, both of them soaking the mattress with sweat. It was an oddly satisfying dance, and felt like it had history behind it, somehow. When Devan finally climaxed he was standing over his panting plaything, and she gleefully caught as many ropes of wet jizz as she could on her outstretched tongue.

Chapter 3

U.B.S. Headquarters

Stamford, Connecticut

September 10, 2069

11:14 A.M.

The placard on the desk read "Mansley Thrush - Executive Producer" - but we knew Mansley, and there was nothing "executive" about him, apart from the suits he'd started wearing after he retired from the ring. He'd been an old-timer when we got into the league, but rather than settling into a cozy life somewhere with all his earnings, he decided to use his familiarity with the sport to climb the corporate ladder.

Manny and I were let into his office by his secretary, while he wrapped up a meeting with his boss in a conference room down the hall. We weren't important enough to meet the Chef Admin Officer, but we'd heard she was a pretty cold bitch. I looked around the room, thinking what a narcissist one had to be to frame magazine covers of oneself and hang them all around their office - and then the narcissist strode in through the door.

"Whew, hey guys - sorry for the wait," Mansley grinned and swept a hand toward his short, sand-colored ponytail. "Good to see you both!" He held out a beefy hand and we both shook it somewhat unenthusiastically.

"Yeah, hey. What the hell is up with this match-up? Manny and I don't wrestle each other." I got straight to the point. I didn't have the patience for Mansley's shit and he hadn't even started giving me any yet. I'd seen the schedule first, and called Manny immediately. He didn't seem as surprised or angry as I felt, but he agreed he thought he remembered having that discussion with the commission reps when we were both finally in the league. I called headquarters next, and got us a meeting with Mansley for the following day.

"Well, technically just because you haven't doesn't mean you won't," the buff, gray-suited sleaze settled into the rolling chair behind his desk and laced his fingers over his belly. "There's nothing in your contracts that prevents it, so it's been more of a courtesy up to now." He looked from me to Manny with his pinpoint green eyes.

"So, why would the courtesy stop all of a sudden now?" I was bouncing my heel. It wasn't helping.

"Because U.B.S. is a show, guys. The drama isn't scripted like the old days, but the show still needs drama. Some sibling rivalry will really stir things up - it'll be good for both of you, think of the recognition!"

"We don't need some publicity stunt to get recognition, we already have recognition. Just change the schedule - swap us for another pair that week, the ratings will be the same," I waved my hand at the slot in his desk where his computer screen would slide up if he planned to use it.

"It's out of my hands, guys - you must know that. I'm not the commission, I work for the commission. I'm just the messenger here," Mansley held his hands out to show that they were empty, nothing up his sleeves.

"So let me talk to the commission then, weren't you just with your boss? Can she get it changed?" I looked over at Manny, who was being uncharacteristically quiet.

"Not a possibility, I'm afraid. Once the schedule is decided it's decided. Do you have any idea the ad revenue we would lose if we promised sponsors a big tune-in and then pulled the plug? Listen to me, this is a good thing - for your career, for your pockets, for your legacy here at U.B.S. Just roll with it, the climb to the top doesn't always take you along the path you expected, or even the one you wanted!" He flashed a crooked smile and stood from his seat, letting us know the meeting was over.

"Come on, Meem - let's go," Manny stood up and turned for the door.

"No fuck that, I'm not gonna go along with whatever's 'on the schedule' just because they don't feel like changing it," I flipped a frame off Mansley's desk containing a photo of him with Brawnswick from a few years earlier.

"Mia! Let's fucking go, c'mon," Manny grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the door, and I gave Mansley the finger on my way out.

***

"You couldn't have fucking said something back there?" I turned to Manny as he closed the door to our apartment behind us. I'd spent the ride home fuming, trying to kill the birds outside the truck window with my hateful glare.

"Like what? Pretty please? You know they don't listen to shit." My brother brushed past me and opened the wall fridge, taking out a packet of papaya juice and pulling the tab to slurp it down.

"Probably because nobody fucking pushes back when they say shit is final! Manny - we're not fucking wrestling each other." I put my hands on my bare hips and stared at him as he leaned against our kitchen table. He took another slurp of juice. "Manny!"

"I hear you. But what's the alternative, we get suspended? Blackballed? Get our contracts ripped up?"

"They wouldn't rip up a damn contract that's why they exist, they can't get out of it either."

"They can if we violate the terms."

"There's no fucking term that says we have to wrestle each other!"

"Oh so you read all five thousand fucking pages before signing?"

"No! I just... We're not fucking puppets, you know?" My voice went soft. Manny was staring at his snakeskin-patterned boots, lost in thought. "It would be... it would be embarrassing, don't you think?"

He actually snuffed at that. "Embarrassing. Because the other shit you do out there isn't embarrassing?" I felt a pang in my chest.

"What the fuck." It wasn't even a question, just verbal disbelief. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means the whole fucking sport is 'embarrassing' for femme-letes! You get tossed around and stuffed and creamed out there, for what? To 'win' a handful of matches by STILL making the guy cum, just not inside you?" Manny crumpled the juice packet and dropped it on the table, then crossed his arms, and continued staring at his shoes.

I was floored. He'd never talked about the sport, or me, like that before.

"I don't... I'm not some fucking rag," I felt hot tears welling behind my eyes. I was not the crying type, and the sensation made me feel even angrier. "I'm not some fucking Pet, I'm putting up a fight out there - I'm choosing for my damn self. What are you doing? Just whatever the fucking commission tells you? We're supposed to be a team - we're supposed to have each other's backs. That was the deal when we came here. Watch out for each other. Always." A heated trickle spilled down my left cheek as my vision of Manny wavered. He dropped his hands and gripped the edge of the table.

"You ever notice there's no male Pets, Mia? No femme-letes topping the U.B.S. charts? Nobody's choosing anything. The rules are made way, way above our heads, and we keep our heads down to survive. Women especially. Because they turn you into fodder. And you can be feisty, angry fodder - but you're still fodder. And... I don't want to see you get hurt, when it would only cost us a little dignity to stay safe."

"Safe..." my voice was beginning to waver too, like my vision.

"I just... Why are you even still in this, if you're embarrassed by what happens out there?"

"I'm not embarrassed about the whole thing - just about being turned into a fucking sideshow with a match against my brother! And why the fuck are you still in it if you think it just turns us into fodder??" I tossed a hand at him and paced like I was going somewhere, but there was nowhere to go.

"Because! What the fuck else are we gonna do?? You think me and you are gonna get corporate jobs like white-boy Mansley? Or get a loan to open up some mod shop or restaurant chain? This is what we can do and it's been working really well for us."

"Oh so it's not just the fangirls you're always fucking and the tits you're always signing and the worship you're always getting from complete fucking strangers online?" My tears burned like venom.

"Jesús Cristo - you love the adoration too. It feels good to be singled out in a positive way for once! Can't you just enjoy the good parts? Yes, it feels good! It feels good fucking in the ring! It feels good fucking out here! It feels good being admired for once, instead of spit on and outcasted." Manny shook the table in his grip with each emphatic statement.

"And you don't think the league is spitting on us now, by turning us into 'those siblings who fucked in front of the world on TV'? You don't think that'll have any effect on your adoring fans - that girls are still gonna want to fuck the Minotaur after that?" I was trembling. I couldn't differentiate between the anger and the sadness anymore. Manny was quiet for a long time.

"I just... what do we have, Mia, if we don't at least have this?"

"Do you really need to ask that? Manny, we have each other, you fucking idiot. And a little shred of pride to hold on to. Every other fucking thing in the world is for sale. Can we at least not sell that?" I roughly swiped my jacket sleeve over my damp cheeks, wetting the shiny material and sniffling once. Manny closed his yellow eyes, and exhaled heavily.

Chapter 4

Lafayette Highrise Apartments, #1403

Trenton, New Jersey

September 16, 2069

7:03 P.M.

She sat at the small, round kitchen table in a sheer, pink nightie that barely reached her waist. Her head hung down, facing her empty plate, and the straight hair spilling over her shoulders was the same color as the twilight slats of sunlight filtering in through the blinds.

Her owner stood humming in front of the stove, frying up dinner in a pair of stained briefs. He clicked off the burners, filled his plate with chicken and rice and beans, then went over to the freezer and took out a tray of frozen white pucks. The girl remained focused on her plate, as he pushed one of the pucks out onto it, and set his fresh, steaming dinner on the table across from her.

He slumped into his chair and began eating noisily. The scraping of his silverware on the plate made her cringe, and her stomach growled at the smell of his food. She could even feel herself salivating, and swallowed hard. He looked up with wooden, joyless eyes.

"Eat." His tone was not a suggestion. She watched the slimy white puck melting in front of her, and felt nauseous. Her hands didn't move from her lap. "Eat it," he set his fists down on the table with the knife and fork gripped in them.

She lifted a hand to scoop the inhumane meal from its gooey puddle, and reluctantly slipped it between her lips onto her tongue. Her owner resumed scraping and slurping, and a tear slipped down her cheek as she swallowed the little globs of protein filling her mouth.

She would get more, later. Directly from the source.

Chapter 5

Riya Commons Shopping Center

Kendall Park, New Jersey

September 18, 2069

2:55 P.M.

"So, I'll probably be gone for at least a month. Just wanted to let you know, since I won't be able to come on any tours. We'll have to pause the payback plan for a bit." I was sitting by the metal slab in the back office of Lane's store, where she was sorting some new components on her wooden table. They looked like regular internal bio-mods and broken synthetic joints. She was using a heat gun and little tongs and hammers to break them up into shiny, irregular shapes. Then reforming them to look like various gems or melting them into bars for use in filigree designs. She was diligent in her work, almost religious about it in her focus. I felt sort of bad interrupting.

"I'm not worried about that, Mia. Take your time." If she'd said something like that a few months earlier I would've thought she was just trying to milk our sponsorship for longer. But we rarely talked about the jaw springs anymore, or my debt to her for them. "Are you going to be okay for money, without the weekly match income?" She had on a pair of magnifying goggles, and didn't look up from her work as she spoke.

The match against Manny was supposed to take place two days prior, and despite the reminder emails and warnings from Mansley, we just straight-up didn't show. Our phones were blowing up for multiple hours ahead of the start time, with arena staff demanding to know where we were. But both phones were in the console of Manny's truck while we drank ourselves blind at Bulldog Bar. The bartender, Sal, almost died laughing when Lester and Tony announced that the audience was in for a special surprise match-up between two shem-letes, instead of the scheduled programming. I actually did feel bad for the two dick-girls while the audience was booing their entry down the arena ramps. They didn't deserve all that vitriol that was meant for us. And they put on a great show, regardless.

The next day I got a call from Mansley's boss, Divya, and could feel pure malice in the tone of her smoky voice, as she calmly told me that Manny and I were being suspended for three months. She didn't even give me time to confirm that I understood, just hung up when she was finished relaying the message. She was a busy woman, after all.

"I've got some savings," I answered Lane, "enough to get by for a little while. We're just gonna tour some podunk towns in the woods anyway. Can't imagine things are too pricey down there."

"Got any specific plans in mind?" Lane picked up a metal ring from a collar and began melting it down with her heat gun.

"Um, not really. Just gonna try to enjoy life for a few weeks, if that's still possible," I grinned, adjusting my green sweater and shifting my black boots on the stool.

"A little enjoyment might do you some good," Lane said, setting down the half-melted ring. She swiveled her seat and opened a drawer in her little cabinet, shuffling some things around before turning back with a tiny piece of red plastic, edged with little gold prongs like the stiff bristles of a brush. She held it up in front of her magnifiers.

"What's that?" I asked.

"A pleasure chip." Lane took off her goggles and set them on the desk.

"For... for me? No, thanks Lane. I appreciate it, but-"

"Mia. You've seen a lot, since we started spending time together. I'm sure you've drawn some harsh conclusions about... well, all of it. But, it can be important to see things from all perspectives, before making up your mind."

"I... I see what you're saying, and I appreciate the offer - I just can't be walking around in a constant state of orgasm. It's not really practical for me," I chuckled, thinking the image was kind of funny.

"It's not like a radioactive pleasure bomb," Lane stood and rounded her table, joining me by my stool. "You can switch it on and off, like the masc-lete pumps, if it's set up that way." She placed the chip on her palm and held it out for me to see. It was too small for logos, but I would've bet a year's earnings it was developed by SexCorp.

"I don't have direct brain connectivity, though - and my nerves are-"

"Damaged, I know. This doesn't require either. It's implanted at the nape of your neck, right outside the brain stem. One small incision and a band-aid - and if you ever want it taken out, same process." Her cocoa eye-discs held my gaze a moment before I looked down at the chip again.

"But... how do I activate or deactivate it, then?"

"Manually - you can just pop your shoulders up, like this - and you'll feel it working," Lane demonstrated the odd movement, and smiled.

"Can't it get flipped on by accident, then?" I considered how embarrassing it might be if I squirted a pussy puddle onto someone's shoes during a yawn or something.

"Sure, I suppose that's a possibility. But you'll be on vacation."

"Suspension," I corrected her.

"Right, either way. Give it a try, and if you want it out when you get back, I'll take it out."

I pondered for another moment, then sighed. "How much will I owe you?" I looked up at her with a half-smirk.

"This one's on the house." She smirked back, and then set the chip down to go grab a scalpel, some numbing spray, and bandages.

Chapter 6

Universidad de Medellín

Medellín, Colombia

March 22, 2061

The Social & Human Sciences building was on the opposite side of campus from my all-girls dorm, and my legs often burned after running all the way over there when I was late for class, as usual. I'd chosen Political Science as my major after seeing how my mom's eyes lit up when I was reading off the options in the brochure. I really didn't know much about politics, or science, or how the two could possibly overlap - but I knew my mom thought it would be a good path for me, even though she'd never force me onto it.

Most of my classes were in the morning, even though I hated waking up early. But that did come with the benefit of having my dorm room to myself in the afternoons while my roommate, Jacinda, was in her mid-day classes and then out partying in the evenings. She was a "glamour" girl and we had almost nothing in common. She wore brightly colored dresses and giggled coquettishly when boys would flip them up to fuck her in the lounges of our unlocked residence hall. I was still wearing skirts back then, and would make the boys work for some pussy when they tried to pull me aside at the vending machines or the bulletin boards.

One late morning when I was leaving lecture, a boy caught up with me outside the auditorium and introduced himself. Already that was a sea-change from the usual "¡Quihibo puta, bend over!"

"I'm Andres," he said, "I was the one who flicked the paper at you - sorry." He had a skimpy mustache that looked like he was trying and failing to grow out.

"Oh, I thought it was that bitchy girl who's always sighing," I fixed the shoulder strap of my messenger bag across my pink tee shirt.

"Nah, it just looked like you were dozing off. I didn't want Sr. Alvarez to stand you up in the corner again," Andres chuckled. He offered to walk me back to my dorm, and that was another surprise. If he wanted to fuck me, he was being unusually patient, waiting until we got to my room. I thought maybe he had a tiny dick, and didn't want me to laugh at him in public. But I let him walk me because he was funny, and because if the other guys on campus thought I was already "occupied" then they'd leave me alone for a minute.

We got to my building and veered around a couple of dance girls sucking the custodian's dick by the elevator, taking the stairs up to the second floor instead. Jacinda was gone, and her raised bed opposite mine was cluttered with cum-stained skirts and tops. Andres sat in my desk chair while I sat on my bed, and we laughed about the stupidity of our campus police, and how bad the food was in the dining halls. He made a slick transition to the bed to "show me a music video" from his favorite band, and we ended up sitting side by side staring at his slim trifold phone.

When it was over I looked at him and said it was cool, and that I'd have to look up some of their other stuff. His eyes flickered between mine, and then he kissed me. My knees pressed together reactively, and I felt my stomach float up like I was on a rollercoaster, before I found my fingers in his hair and his tongue behind my teeth. We rolled over onto my mattress, and his hands slipped under my shirt, then lifted it over my head. I unzipped his pants and fished his cock out from his boxers - pleased to discover it was not laughably small, before I started stroking it.