Nobody Ever Dies

I said worried, "What's the matter, baby?"

She said with tears in her eyes, "I just love you so much. I never want to lose you."

I said still concerned, "You just fucked my brains out. After a performance like that, what would make you think you would lose me?" Of course, I'd forgotten that I was now talking to the other inhabitant of my dear wife's skull.

She said with all sincerity, "I just never feel like I am good enough for you." Which was a preposterous statement, but personal insecurity was part of my humble, self-effacing, and totally crazy wife's basic nature. Maybe that was true for all women? How would I know! Nerds aren't noted for their insight.

*****

As the old Yiddish saying goes, "Man plans, God laughs." It was my appearance on the promotion list that let the snake into the Garden.

I liked the Army. It gave me a stable and predictable life. I did things that I loved, and I was valued for doing them. I would have made a lot more money in the cut-and-thrust of Big Software. But the service aspect appealed to me and frankly people with my almost total lack of social skills belong in highly structured environments.

There were two parts to my job. One was the simple task of maintaining our inventory of offensive code. Those were tabloid items like STUXNET and a million other malware objects that you've never heard of and that I'd have to kill you if you found out about. The other part was anomaly detection which helpled us find and dispatch everybody else's wee-nasties out there in cyberspace.

As a side project, actually more like a hobby, I had been working on a spinoff of my anomaly detection code. It was a heuristic AI engine that could be integrated into other applications to produce human-like cognition. Or in layman's terms I was trying to mirror how people think and learn in a way that would create a human in a box. The applications of THAT in the real world would be infinite.

I'd been playing at my little hobby off-and-on for well over a dozen years, which was actually two years prior to meeting and marrying Becks. Creating the program architecture took an incredible amount of time, since I had to conceptualize every variable that underlies experiential thinking.

In order to get my way paid to nerd school at Carnegie-Mellon, I'd signed the contract with the Army at eighteen. So as I approached my golden twenty, I was getting close to finalizing the prototype. Implementation would be easy from there on. So, I was starting to think that it was time for me to retire and take my little invention public.

Even so, the twenty-thousand a year difference between half-pay for a Captain versus a Major was a strong incentive for me to go up in rank first. Promotion was nothing that I'd sought or wanted. But when the time in grade criteria for Major were met, I got the notice and just went with the program.

The actual promotion was in the hands of a Promotion Board which was composed of field grade officers. This was all by the book. It required the usual COER paperwork that I would then pass on to a Senior Rater, in this case it was David Osborne.

Osborne was the Brigade's Colonel. Once he read it, he would pass it along with his comments. But I had never met him face-to-face. That changed at the next Christmas party.

It's odd really; the beginning and end of my happiness was bookended by two Christmas's, a dozen years apart. Becks was on the civilian side at the Fort, and she'd had her party the prior weekend. She'd bought a dress for that occasion that was daring for her. But she was celebrating with her nerd cohorts and the idea that she might be giving off sexual vibes never occurred to her.

Being my practical wife, she just recycled the dress for my party. It showcased her superb legs and for a change it was off her shoulders. So, there was a bit more cleavage. It was red which was a perfect contrast to her black hair, blue eyes, and alabaster skin. To say the least, Becks was stunning in ways that she probably didn't intend and would be embarrassed if she'd been aware of.

We walked into the Marriott ballroom and conversation literally stopped. Osborne was holding court with his usual collection of toadies, Lieutenant Colonel Wysocki, Major Sharpe and a cadre of bright-eyed-and-bushy-tailed junior officers.

I'm six-three but Osborne was even taller at six-five. I've got a runner's physique at a solid one ninety. Osborne was closer to two-fifty with big shoulders and an even bigger gut. He'd come up through the infantry and he just radiated machismo. The Colonel was an impressive guy.

He also had the steely eyed commander look down to an art, and so when he turned to stare at us, he looked like the American eagle itself. It was an effective gaze, and I could hear Becks gasp. That was new. I'd never heard my wife react to somebody that way before.

The Colonel said something to his gaggle of fawning admirers. Then he strode over radiating martial arrogance, never taking his eyes off my wife. When he got to us, we exchanged salutes and a handshake and he said with considerable fake joviality, "Good that you could make it."

I'd never met the man in my life, but he had my picture in my OER folder and it was clear that it was Becks who had drawn his attention. I said, "It's a pleasure to be here Sir." Which was a lie. But what else could I say?

He said, continuing the jovial act but looking speculatively at Becks, "Why don't we find some place where we can talk about your promotion."

Then he turned to Becks and said, "I'm sure a beautiful lady like you can find plenty of people to talk to while I'm holding your husband captive." A comment on my wife's attractiveness was close to over the line. But Osborne was daring if he was anything.

Becks alabaster skin went a lovely shade of scarlet and she said uneasily, "I'll wait here." But Osborne would have none of it. He called Sharpe over and said gruffly, "Find this gorgeous creature a drink while I grill her husband. He's on the list this year."

Sharpe was a skinny little weasel with a bushy mustache that looked like a hedgehog had crawled up on his lip and died. He was obviously overjoyed at spending any time with Becks. He said, "Come this way and I'll introduce you around. Can I get you a drink?"

Becks said hesitantly, still appearing overwhelmed, "I'll have a Chardonnay, thank you."

Osborne turned to Sharpe and said peremptorily, "Get the lady a drink." Then he grabbed me by the shoulder in a totally inappropriate buddy hug and waltzed me into a side room that seemed to be designed as a meeting nook.

He began the conversation by asking me the usual questions about my background and career intentions. He was regular army infantry, and I was something else entirely. So, explaining what I did, and where I thought that led, was like describing cyberwarfare to the family dog. But that wasn't the point. He wasn't paying attention to my answers anyhow.

It was clear that he was interested in my wife. Because he started asking me a bunch of personal questions, how did I meet Becks and what was the current state of our marriage. I thought his questions were way over the line. Still, what were my options? I could report him. But he was too far up the chain of command, and they would protect him.

Moreover, he held my future in his hands. So, I gave him noncommittal answers while kicking myself for not having a recorder running. He kept me in that little room for well over an hour. It almost seemed like he was stalling.

When he finished, he said with what I read as fake sincerity, "Well, this has been a productive discussion, Captain. I'm sure I can move your promotion along from here."

We saluted and he turned and walked back in the direction of his group while I headed for the bar. After what I'd just endured, I needed a stiff drink and maybe a shower.

That's when Sharpe reappeared, mustache bristling like the fur on the back of an eager Jack Russel. He said, "I talked to the Colonel, and he wants me to brief you on what to expect in the rest of the process."

I looked at my watch and said, "Can't that wait. I've left my wife alone far too long." He gave me an unfathomable look and said, "It will only take a few minutes and everybody else is taking care of her." If I'd only known what that really meant.

His few minutes were closer to forty-five and so it was well over two hours before I began searching for Becks. The ballroom was huge, and it was filled with enthusiastically celebrating people. I did a circuit around the periphery trying to spot my wife.

I had almost done a lap of the entire room when I saw a flash of red. Becks was standing with the Colonel's group and she looked drunk. That was amazing for a couple of reasons. First and foremost, I had never seen her take more than two glasses of wine. Second and more importantly, there was no way she would behave like that in public.

Osborne was standing possessively next to her, and Becks was sort-of leaning against his shoulder. It didn't look intimate as much as she was trying to steady herself. The others were fawning around both of them while the "Great Man" dispensed wisdom. His underlings were nodding smiling approval.

I strode through the group and directly up to her. Becks gave me a sloppy grin and slurred, delighted to see me, "FINALLY!!" She was holding a full glass of wine and was clearly shitfaced. I didn't know how she'd gotten that way. But I knew that she was going to be very embarrassed in the morning.

The last thing I wanted to do was to humiliate her further by abruptly dragging her away - like the drunk that she was. So, instead I smiled at the group and said, "Sorry guys, but we have to be up early tomorrow, so we need to leave."

Becks piped-up in a whiny voice, "Don't be such a pooper, Lover!" Now I knew that she was drunk because she'd never called me "lover" in our entire marriage. Maybe it was Tiffin talking? I said letting some of my irritation at the whole shitshow be evident, "You don't, but I do, and it's getting late."

Osborne said in a voice that wasn't going to tolerate disagreement, "Come on now. We're just starting to have fun. You can stay for one more round at least." It was clear that that was an order, not a request.

He said. "Why don't you get yourself and your wife a refill while I escort the lady onto the dance floor."

He made a sweeping bow that was right out of a Nineteenth Century bodice ripper and said, "Shall we dance my lady?"

Becks giggled drunkenly and said, "Why of course kind Sir." And the two of them disappeared among the swirling couples.

I headed for the bar as precipitously as I could. I didn't want to leave Becks in Osborne's clutches any longer than necessary. Thoughts of promotion had long since been replaced by rampant mistrust of Shithead and his intentions.

Ivan Patterson walked along with me. He was the only one in that group who I knew, and he was a decent fellow. He said guardedly, "You'd better be careful. Osborne is after your wife. I've seen him do this before and he rarely takes no for an answer."

I said firmly, "Becks isn't that kind of girl."

Patterson said, "She might not be, but Osborne will make her one. He's had his minions filling her glass all night. It's the old 'boiling a frog' trick... never let the level get too low." That gave me a chill. Becks was way too polite to decline if somebody offered to top her off.

I said, "So that's why he was stalling me! I've never seen Becks act that way in her entire life." It must have been a planned and coordinated effort to get her plastered.

I wondered what would happen if she actually was over the line. My wife was always so disciplined and controlled. But I knew that Tiffin Ellerian was lurking somewhere in the background. It didn't seem possible that Becks would let her slip. But I had also never seen her that drunk before.

As I was returning with the drinks, I spotted the two of them out on the dance floor. Osborne had both of his hands resting just above my wife's bubble butt, pulling her into his no doubt raging hard-on. She had a dreamy look on her face, with her arms clutched tightly around his neck, boobs jammed into him and head resting intimately on his chest. She looked lost.

The heretofore inconceivable thought occurred to me, "She's his, if he wants her."

I said out loud, "Nope!! Ain't gonna happen... not here!!" and handed the drinks to Patterson, marched out onto the dance floor, and tapped the Colonel on the shoulder.

There was a big disparity in rank, so I had to keep it civil. I said with a faux-friendly smile, "It's my turn to dance with my WIFE, Sir."

Osborne gave me a smirk and said, "Maybe we should let the lady decide."

He said gently, still swaying intimately with her, "Who do you want to dance with my dear?"

Without saying anything Becks just nestled closer into him. She was clearly drunk and reacting in the moment. But it was a very erotic gesture. Her choice was clear. Shithead said with a sneer, "Well, I guess that's your answer." Then without another word, he danced the two of them away.

I stood there for a heartbroken eternity. Then I realized that the entire cadre of Osborne's toadies was watching me with undisguised glee. Their hero had once again dominated. It made them ALL feel powerful and manly.

Of course, Osborne had ensured that Becks was out of her mind before he'd made his move and more relevantly, he ALSO knew that I would land in the stockade if I struck a superior officer. Ours was the world of the UCMJ, not civilian law.

I was blind with fury. Some people might storm out of the place, or they might sit there and sulk. But this is the digital age, where hackers are the apex predator, and IMHO Shithead needed a harsh lesson in morality and manners. So, I opted, right-then-and-there, to go nuclear on his arrogant ass.

I know that that particular reaction makes no sense. But you do stupid things when you're pissed-off. I needed some space to pull all the necessary levers. So, I walked over to a secluded window alcove, port-scanned Osborne's smartphone and dropped a flying monkey on it.

What?? doesn't everybody keep hacking malware on their phone?!!

Now I had unrestricted access to Shithead's calls, texts, photos, contact list, even to his bank account, anything that a busy person keeps on their mobile. More importantly, I could control his camara and recording features. So, I was in his pocket -- literally!

He and my wife had finished their dance by the time I had gotten everything in place. Shithead led Becks docilly back to the group and said cheerfully, "That was easier than I thought!!"

One of them said, "What a wimp. He just vanished with his tail between his legs."

The assembled multitude had a good laugh about that, which only reinforced my intention to go the whole nine yards with Shithead. He was about to have a very bad day.

There was more joshing among the boys. Then the moment arrived. Osborne turned to my wife and said in a false reassuring tone, "You don't look well my dear. Let's go up to my room and you can lie down for a minute."

THAT made my ears stand up in points!!! I stopped orchestrating Shithead's demise and started paying rapt attention to what was going on with Becks. She slurred something like, "Maybe I should. I'm having a hard time standing up. I've never been this drunk." That was clearly Tiffin talking. I immediately went to Defcon One.

There was mass jocularity among the troops as Shithead took Beck's hand and led her docilly toward the lobby. My wife was staggering slightly as she followed. But it was obvious from the sway of her hips that Tiffin was in the house now. I knew with a sinking heart that Osborne was going to get a lot more sex than he'd bargained for if I didn't do something fast.

I didn't want to make a fool out of myself by trying to physically intervene again. It was a problem of rank and I'd already seen where that got me. So, I had to have leverage. I was feverishly hacking the hospitality system as I ghosted along behind them. It took a minute for my flying fingers to launch the sequel injection that I needed to get the room number. Meantime I heard the elevator door ding.

The two of them hadn't said anything in all the time that it took for them to walk the length of the marble clad hall. But I heard rustling and wet sucking sounds as the doors closed. Then my wife moaned with lust. She was clearly in heat, and it just broke my heart.

Honestly, I'd planned to end their little tryst before anything fatal happened. I knew that compromising pictures would be all that it would take to make Shithead back off. But the hotel's key card system was on a different server and Tiffin Ellerian was already in control by the time I got the door unlocked.

Overconfidence is the nerd's fatal flaw and I'd cut it too close. They'd been in such a hurry that they'd even left the lights on... I hated myself.

All I could see of Becks was her face, contorted in a mask of delight, and her bare arms and legs, which were tightly locked around Shithead. The room was full of wet slapping sounds and the smell of sex. She was yelling, "Oh Jesus!! Fuck me!! That's it!! Yesssss!!"

My wife's toes with their brightly painted red nails were curled in ecstasy and she was making repetitive grunting noises, like the little-engine-that-could chugging up that allegorical hill. Her arrival at the top was marked by a shriek, accompanied by a series of deep groans of intense satisfaction. Then, she appeared to pass out.

I had been recording all of the action. But then I saw that Shithead had put his own phone on the bedside table and was recording it too. Since his recording was also streaming to MY cloud account, I had the entire thing in glorious 1080p from two different angles.

I didn't need my phone now, so I put it on the dresser and began to slow clap. It took a second for the clapping to register because Shithead was busy inseminating my wife. Eventually however, it dawned on him that somebody else was in the room. Startled, he rolled over and glanced behind him.

His look of astonishment and horror was almost worth the pain. He tried to leap to his feet. Instead he caught his legs in the covers and tumbled off my wife, landing face-first next to the bed. It would've been priceless comedy if it wasn't such a profound tragedy. Becks was lying there bathed in sweat, legs spread absurdly wide, dead to the world. It was an utterly degrading sight.

Shithead stumbled awkwardly to his feet said. "GIVE ME THAT!!" I was back to recording. He knew that he was in deep kimchee. I laughed and said bitterly, "I'll give it to you at your Article 134 hearing." Then I added a sarcastic "Sir!!"

I spun on my heel and strode out the door and down the hall toward the elevator. Shithead rushed panicked into the hall. Then he realized that his shrunken cock, coated with their mutual juices, was waving in the breeze. I turned and recorded THAT sight for posterity. He shouted frustrated, "Fuck!!" and returned to the room.

I took the elevator to the lobby and bought myself a beer in the hotel restaurant. Rage is a purifying emotion. It burns out the weaker ones like indecision and self-pity. It also carries you along through impossible situations, like losing your happy life. I had a plan, and I started to take the steps necessary to get my manhood back.

The first thing I did was dox Shithead's financial information to a few choice Darkweb message boards. That was roughly equivalent to tossing a yummy goat into a pool full of piranhas. I was guessing that his financial position would change radically in the next five-or-ten-seconds courtesy of the Onion Router and the denizens of The Silk Road.