The Adventures of Sage Tumbleweed Ch. 01

In Adventure 1, we find our intrepid agent, Sage Tumbleweed, on the trail of the alien infiltrators plotting to exploit Earth's resources. Galactic immigration was getting out of control. Not only that, but using humankind's dimwitted senses against itself, the alien marauders secret agenda included increasing the stupidity level on a global scale. Intending to hasten the devolution of the human species, the intruders scheme to ensure rapid regression throughout every population group. The plot was sinister. Yet, a valiant few fought back against the widespread collusion of established institutions.

From multi-dimensional social media, to gluttonous consumptive exploitation, the regressive slide of humanity began decades before. In the mix of societal dementia, the divisive influence of news pundit narcissism and political psychobabble hastened the devolution of the mainstream populace. Anti-thinking became a prominent part of the degenerative effects in the gradual dumbing down of collective consensus. So far, the degradations continued unabated for years. As Agent Sage knew early on, the carrying capacity of the planet has just about reached its limit.

In short, the human race had not changed very much. For decades, the galactic pirates watched the earth closely both near and far. Noting every aspect of human interactivity, they concluded that humans would not survive another century. To quicken the extinction, the space profiteers decided to intervene by a series of nefarious intrusions. Behind the scenes, they sought to manipulate everything from domestic productivity, wealth acquisition to foreign policy. Most successful, the gluttonous consumer industry produced the best results in satiating the ignorance level of most people.

In collaboration with the treason of the oligarchs, the wealthy minority, the alien trespassers aided the conglomerates associated with what was a serious nemesis. It was called P.I.M.P. That stood for the Psycho-Institutional-Medico-Pharmaceutical industrial complex. A massive global economic network for the intentional control of mind and body of every human being on the planet. From bogus claims of "mind disease", to fake diagnoses, every possible drug contrived to manipulate the public. Nonetheless, brave warriors fought against insurmountable odds on a daily basis.

"Morning ma'am," Agent Sage, angular, fit as usual, wiry and spry as a cat, said with a salute to her commander. Tall, lanky, lithe and agile, the highly trained special operative for the Global Investigative Service (G.I.S.), reported for duty. Her perky breasts pressed against her skintight red flight suit. "It's a good day for a fight," she told her boss. Deep in the underground complex of headquarters, Sage remarked, "Even though, it's a dark cloudy day again, with thunderstorms on the way. We're good to go, ma'am."

"Ominous pretentions," the Commander offered with hint of a British accent. Her vivid blue eyes lit up at the sight of Sage. "You look good, Sage, very good." Her tone contrasted with Sage's southern twang. She brushed back a dark red curl on the side of her sculpted face that seemed chiseled from granite. "You're looking spry and fit, Agent Tumbleweed. Good, we got an early morning tip over at the botanical gardens." She motioned Sage into her office from the stark white Spartan reception area. Once inside the round shaped room, the door slid closed and the room dimmed. "Let's look at the holo-display."

"Roger that," Sage agreed and watched the blue translucent bubble form in the corner of the underground office, which in New Florida is an engineering accomplishment. Inside, the earth rotated clockwise. "I'm concerned about these events." As the light adjusted, so did Sage's multicolored cat suit. Form fitted it was water and bullet proof, and could even absorb the energy from a space blaster. "Not good, ma'am," Sage noted the red glows from different countries where stupidity was spreading. "Getting worse."

"We're on the precipice of the apocalypse," the Commander said sternly. "It's been coming, with climate changes, social infrastructure breakdowns, stupidity, etc. the human species is on its last gasp of existence. Extinction is not far behind in all this."

"Ma'am," Sage started while standing at attention. Her long auburn hair waved in the breeze from the overhead air vent. Dark brown nearly black eyes zeroed in on the U.S. territory of the revolving quadric-dimensional globe. Cute and pixie like, she went on, "Our country shows an increased level of dangerously disturbing stupidity. The virus is lethal." She took a deep breath. "It's spreading from one person to another."

"I know, it's dismal," the Commander responded and placed her crimson haired muscular presence behind her huge glassine console. A massive bodybuilder, the chief sat comfortably behind her commander center. "It's simply horrible." Her translucent aqua armchair auto-fit to her contours while she spoke. "At ease, trooper."

"Thank you, ma'am," Sage sounded off respectfully and went to parade rest. She flexed her gloved hands behind her back, always loosing up for a fight. "Our sci-lab techies tell us the virus must either be injected directly into the blood stream, or spread by body fluids." She gave her boss an admiring gaze. "They're working on the synthesis."

"Presently, there is no cure," the Commander reminded Sage. "People grow stupider by the day, especially the politicians. They are the worst. Second to them, it spreads like wild fire through academia in particular. That green slime is a blood borne pathogen; self-generated mutations cause a person to babble all kinds of bogus conjecture."

"Not only that ma'am, but with the collusion between the invaders," Sage offered reverently, "and P.I.M.P., the breeding experimentations continue."

"Yes, the breeding, it's the hybrid program. So far, we have not been able to prove the conspiracy. But, credible intelligence from comm-central theorizes the invaders want human drones, like sheep and cattle." The commander took in a long breath. Her huge chest rose and fell with each exhale. Sage smiled at the view and admired the massive implants. "Alright then, you need to follow-up on your investigation at the gardens."

"Roger that, ma'am and another tip just came in," Sage said seriously. "Communications center advises a credible lead at the Botox Organic Gardens." Her big round eyes animated her oval facial features. "A reliable tip I think."

"A good tip of something is always good," the commander jested with her. Broad shouldered, brawny and tanned golden brown, the commander strolled strongly to her compu-chef-toast-matic. In seconds, steaming organic coffee appeared. With long fingers, she retrieved the brown recyclable cup. "Coffee, Agent Tumbleweed?"

"No thank you ma'am, I'm anxious to get back on the cases at hand." Sage admired those long fingers that could reach deeply into various things. "And, no doubt about it, chief," Sage said with a smirk. "Good tips are hard to come by."

"You betcha, Sage," the commander said eyeing her agent up and down. "Your suit fits very nicely." The commander eased back to her console. Her skintight black one-piece pantsuit fit like a glove. The soft latex composite stretched tightly over ample pubic mound and accentuated the crease. "Too bad we don't have time for a joust in the gym."

"Yes, ma'am, regretful," Sage said with anxious admiration. "Last time, you won two falls out of three and I had to submit to your dominating expertise."

"It was terrific for both of us," the commander answered with an appreciative tone. "I enjoyed doing you, and you enjoyed getting it. All very pleasurable training, but, and I do emphasize the butt, you get a rematch of course. You are a viable operative in so many ways. Things could go bottoms up for you. And, with the rules of ground fighting practice, winner picks the strap-on." She gave Sage a wink and a nod. "I was lucky in our last bout. Nonetheless, until next time. You're one of my best agents be careful."

"Thank you, ma'am, it's an honor to work under you," Sage replied with a sly grin. "In all humility, I don't mind a good pegging when the game fairly played."

"Anyway, to move on, we've been getting good information from our crime stoppers network, and the skillful efforts of the communications center," the Commander acknowledged. "Okay, get over to Botox and check things out." She hesitated for a moment. "Again, be safe, Agent Tumbleweed. Intel reports suggest recent Alien abductions confirm your earlier suspicion. Experimentations are escalating."

"Roger that, boss, I'm on it," Sage quickly left and headed for the Gardens.

"Agent Tumbleweed," the Commander stopped her. "Be careful, keep in mind that P.I.M.P. controls most of the resources and funding at Botox Gardens."

"Of course, commander," Sage answered respectfully.

With her hydro-jet-car refueled in the underground complex, Sage shot through the exit tunnel like a guided missile. Once outside the launch tube, the delta-winged car-craft transformed. Wingspan unfolded and the sleek red, white and blue aerial vehicle raced into the heavy sky borne traffic flow. With ease, she flew comfortably to her target. As a combat tactical flyer, she could maneuver cleverly in and out of the traffic flow.

The aerial congestion was at its worse. It was that time of year, when gaggles of tourists and flocks of visitors herded their way to the gulf coast. Now a thin strip of an island, New Florida boasted of floating hotels and sunken gardens. At BOG or Botox Gardens, anchored barges, connecting bridges and winding planked walkways linked experimental labs, flowering arbors, and artificial gazebo reefs. A mesmerizing explosion of colors greeted arriving guests, as well as staff and faculty of the massive research center.

Leveling off at six thousand and sixty-six feet, Sage angled through the afternoon traffic with skillful maneuvering. In minutes, she hovered over the vast confines of the huge botanical gardens and landed in the multi-level parking tower.

"Greetings, Agent Tumbleweed," a male version android security officer met Sage at the landing port. "I'm your liaison from P.I.M.P. security services."

For a brief moment, Sage eyed the logo. The shield, or coat of arms, was royal purple, with a gold triangle in the center. Within the triangular shape, a circle with black outline was subdivided into three curved parts. Inside each third, was a red rose. The P.I.M.P. conglomerate, known for its symbolism in global marketing, existed behind a maze of hidden agendas and multiple purposes. Sage remained suspicious at all times.

"How nice, I had no idea my arrival had advanced warning," Sage said sarcastically to the handsome well-built drone. For a moment, her dark eyed gaze skimmed the hunky robotic features. "You're looking very good in that black leather uniform. Ball cap with P.I.M.P. logo, skin suit, form fitting of course, and rocket pistol."

"Yes, ma'am, I'm an upgrade from the previous models," he replied. "Thank you, for the compliment. I'm at your service, whatever you may desire.

"Anything?" She posed with a sly hint. "Hmm, let me think about it. Are you anatomically correct, with all the latest features?" Sage wanted to know.

"Yes, ma'am," the security humanoid answered. Standing at attention, he bowed slightly to her. "At your service ma'am, how may I assist you in your inquiry?"

"I need to scan your I.D. number," Sage said and whipped out her comm-link unit.

"Of course, ma'am, as you wish," the android responded with a positive slant in his even tone, smooth and articulate. He unzipped his skin suit. "Underside of my penis."

"Naturally, or artificially, depending on one's proclivity," Sage added, sucked in a breath and cautiously leaned forward. "Pull it out. What size are you?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answered obediently. "Flaccid state six inches, with girth of three point five inches." The robot slowly pulled out his penis from inside the tight fitting pants. Erect status is expandable depending on interest of others. On average, eight to ten inches in length, with an average girth inflation of five point six inches."

"Expandable, you say?" Sage let out a long sigh. "Wow, nice, very nice." Gingerly, she held the penis while the robot remained passive. Her handheld unit scanned the underside of his penis. "Geezus, good sized balls too. You're well-equipped."

"Thank you, ma'am," he responded demurely. "Ample fluid supply as well."

"Uh, no doubt," she said and momentarily held onto his penis. "Nice."

"Please, Agent Tumbleweed," he offered in a friendly manner. "Feel free to examine me further. I'm at your complete service during your visit here." The replicant, as real as a human could be, maybe even better, perhaps superior, sucked in a breath and let the oxygen invigorate his operational systems. "I undergo regular physicals here in the labs."

"Hmmm, perhaps you could show me that later," she said and noted the blast pistol he had strapped to his hip. "I see you have the latest plasma pistol."

"Yes, ma'am, state of the art," he answered with a hint of confidence.

In a matter of seconds, the green tinted readout flashed on her scanner, reflecting information available in the G.I.S. data base. Confirmation was quick. Her android liaison was authentic and duly registered with the HR division of the massive corporate empire. An employee of the security division with the global empire, 4-Q-6-9 was assigned to the gardens research facility with a high level of clearance.

"Okay, I think that'll do for now, maybe later," Sage said admiring the huge penis and glancing up from her scanner. "4-Q-6-9, right? How about I call you Q-9 for the time being. Or, if you prefer, 4-Q. Wait, I kinda like that, 4-Q, has a ring to it."

"Affirmative, Agent Tumbleweed," 4-Q said with a hint of friendliness.

From the helipad parking area, they took the sidewalk conveyor to the main complex and passed through three scanning checkpoints. Security cameras panned and tilted and examined anyone who came and went from the gardens. Upon entering the expansive silver domed complex, a festival of flora and fauna blossomed in every direction. As though the Garden of Eden created a pristine and majestic biosphere, the inner was breathtaking.

"Wow," Sage muttered and gulped a deep breath. She enjoyed the intake of exotic aromas and stimulating primal scents. "Geezus, this is intoxicating."

"Affirmative, Agent Tumbleweed." The robot gently touched her shoulder in a comforting way. "Much has evolved since your last visit, is that correct?"

"Yes, I'm sure your records have a notation as to the last time I visited," she said.

"The array of visual cultivation," the android started to explain, "along with the aromatic accentuations, combined with aural attunements, enhance at least three parts of the sensory networks. Later, by touch and taste, primal sensuality reaches deeper."

"I can certainly appreciate that," Sage agreed and nodded.

"We've had no complaints, in fact just the opposite," the bot told her.

"Oh, I bet, I can feel the effects immediately," Sage noted quickly. "Very hypnotic, a near trance state can be induced very easily. One might say sensual enslavement."

"Would you care to meet the chief scientist and curator?" The 4-Q inquired.

"That would be vital to my mission," Sage acknowledged.

Using shorthand encryption, she made an immediate notation as to her suspicions about the gardens. Sage indicated in her comm-link the probable narcotic inducements to the visitors within the complex. Prolonged exposure could reduce resistance and gain compliance for whatever experiments the corporate empire desired.

"This way, we'll take the turbo lift to the underground complex," 4-Q advised.

"I'm anxious to meet the reclusive Dr. Domina Schlagenwhip," Sage told him.

"Yes, ma'am," the bot stalled for a moment and beckoned Sage to enter the aqua-bubble transporter. Then he quickly snapped to attention and added, "The Baroness Dr. Schlagenwhip is world famous and our benevolent administrator."

"Her reputation precedes her," Sage added with a touch of disdain. On her handset, while riding the crystal translucent bubble, she pulled up the dossier on the Baroness. "Uh huh, Dr. Schlagenwhip has quite a resume' foreign and domestic." Part of the digital file had the official stamp of UNIPOL, the agency that replaced Interpol. "Yep, multiple nominations for a noble prize, of which, those have been withdrawn."

"I would not know of the political implications," the android commented. He abruptly changed the discussion to, "Here we are ma'am, the lower 7th level."

"I'm feeling a little dizzy," Sage said as she blinked a few times. "Out of curiosity, are the employees affected by the aromatic atmosphere? I mean how are they protected?"

"By regular scans, health exams and inoculations," 4-Q answered.

"Of course, how silly of me," Sage replied with a chuckle. "What the fuck? I'm an idiot," she whispered under her breath. "I didn't take an immunity pill, the all-purpose antidote for field agents. You name it, you're protected from it."

"No problem, Agent Sage, we can help with that," 4-Q smiled boyishly. "Here was are." He pointed as mechanical doors slid open to the lab tunnels. "Watch your step."

"Oh fuck, here we go," Sage commented wryly in a mild stupor.

"Ah, the amazing Agent Sage Tumbleweed," the doctor greeted. "Welcome to my laboratory," her thickly accented tone hailed. "Please, do come inside."

"Dr. Domina Schlagenwhip, your fame is well documented," Sage countered with slant that held close to the edge of condescension. "An amazing environ you've made."

"Thank you, my dear, I appreciate your visit to my lair," Dr. Domina replied.

Rigid as an iron rail, tall, angular and thin, the Doctor possessed a ruggedly dangerous attractiveness. Cold as the artic, her tanned complexion reflected her inner darkness, along with mysterious thoughts that hid behind blue eyes under close cropped blond hair. Outfitted in a black leather suit and cape, matching gloves and spiked heeled boots, the Baroness projected a medieval characterization of landscapes drenched in blood.

"I've got good news for you, doc," Sage taunted bravely. "You're wanted in several countries." Sage took a step toward the much taller scientist. "Make no mistake, I will bring you in and expose whatever the fuck you're doing here with that alien menace."

"Oh please," the Baroness said with a yawn. "Spare me the melodramatics. Seize her," she order 4-Q. "Take her sidearm, the comm-link and restrain the bitch."

"Fuck you, witch," Sage blurted. "We're going to expose you." She struggled as best she could against the powerful grip of the robot. Tightly, electronic restraints secured her wrists behind her back. "I'm warning you, Dr. Schlagenwhip."

"Sorry, my little slut," the doc began with a snarl. "You will be fucked, literally and figuratively. And, I do mean fucked a lot. We need a good female specimen for the latest experimentations. You should note, by special arrangements with your intelligence community, I'm here working on behalf of your government. Your welcome."

"We'll see how long that lasts," Sage disputed with her, but slurred her words.

"Your sacrifice will be duly appreciated. Take her to the red lab," Dr. Domina ordered the bot. "I want her stripped, washed and examined in every crease and crevice. While you are getting her ready, you may fuck her for practice and preparation."

"Affirmative, my Doctor Domina," 4-Q answered obediently.

Inside the red lab, Sage was shoved roughly into a glass enclosed shower stall. Her restraints disappeared. Completely naked, a mist flushed inside and she slumped backwards against the crimson tiled wall. Just above her pubis a thin strip of dark hair contrasted with her closely shaved vagina. Water ran down the slim curvatures of her skin, and over the dragon tattoo of her left leg. A piercing with a small gold ring through her navel glistened, as the warm mist spewed a cleansing wash from head to toe.