Tower of Babylon Ch. 01: Origins

Note: The following is an adapted composite of earlier stories I have written.

Matt sat back as Norma recounted a story from the end of the old world, where the seeds of the new one were planted....

Segment 1: A Back Alley in the City at the Edge of Nowhere

Hiding the lit cigarette with his cupped hand, the big goon took a few furtive hits before flicking the only half-used butt down the stinking alleyway. His partner cracked a smile, snickering, "You afraid the boss might pop out this soon? Don't worry--he'll be in there for another good hour, at least." They were a Laurel and Hardy duo in contrasting size and shape, not that anyone remembered who the long dead comedic actors were these days.

"Shut up, fucker," shot back the heavyset man, who waved the smoke away. He adjusted his tie. "Why are we using the back door this time?"

"Damned if I know; but it's probably something that needs to be a little discreet. Even the boss has to keep up appearances." The thinner man pulled out his phone and began playing with it.

Both men were wearing the dark suits favored by high flying criminals and government security details; although it wasn't difficult to guess which service the two were in the employ. They were waiting outside the rear exit of a popular room salon and karaoke club where the rich and degenerate drank, sang bad songs, and received very personal service from attractive women.

A stretched SUV with blacked windows and no tags was idling a few meters down the alley, waiting to go as soon as the entourage was ready to leave. The boss had brought his usual cadre, even one of his wives--which was unusual for the old man.

When the door banged open, the man playing on his phone almost dropped it. He stifled a curse when he saw who it was coming out.

Platinum blond curls waved around the woman's bleached white face, high cheekbones like cut stone, as she locked her gaze on the two security men. Her black leather outfit was as severe as her expression as she crooked a finger and croaked, "Hey, give me a cigarette." The big man hurriedly pulled out his pack from inside his jacket and tapped one out for her to receive. He used a lighter to get the cigarette going once it hung on her rouged lips.

Some of the brittle tension around her eyes relaxed as she let a long breath of smoke out into the night air. She patted the man's shoulder, "I needed that. I can't believe we can't smoke inside the club. I was losing my mind." She coughed up some phlegm and spat out into the alley, and grumbled, "This synth tobacco is rough."

The three stood near the rear exit in awkward silence for moment. She killed the cigarette and tossed it aside, "Hey, we have a special package tonight. Make sure to deliver it properly. Here's the address and instructions, follow them exactly. My husband will be coming out later, we've called another car. No questions. No problems. Or it's --." She made a crude noise while slashing her side of her hand across her neck, and then stomped back into the club without bothering to check their response.

The big man knew his place and he was compensated well enough that taking crap from the client was practically baked into his pay package.

The thin man spat, "I hate that bitch. When the boss gets bored with her, then we'll see who's...well, who." His face looked like it had eaten a bad prune.

"That the best you got?" chuckled the big man. Before they could say anything more, the door banged open again. The woman returned, this time dragging another girl behind her. Pallid under the harsh sodium light over the exit door, the girl was blindfolded and chained from a collar around her neck to two metal cuffs on her wrists. She even had leg irons attached. Otherwise, she was naked except for her long, black hair that almost ran to the small of her back. Shivering in the night air, she didn't say a word.

"Here, take her, you morons," the blond pushed the girl towards the startled men. "And if you shit heads even think about getting the wrong idea..." She made another chopping motion with her hands.

The big man eyed his partner for a moment, shrugged, and picked up the girl, slinging her slight frame across his shoulder. Without further ado, the men walked to the SUV and climbed inside after laying the girl down on one of the wide bench seats. The boss's wife looked for a moment as they drove off, a lazy smirk on her face, "I'm the best mom ever."

Segment 2: A Gift with No Return Address

Bleary eyed, Paul Francis Parker rubbed his face as he finally woke up. He didn't need to check the clock to know he had missed his first morning class yet again. He groaned, kicking his bed cover aside, the dregs of the dream he'd had still churning in his mind. By the time he was brushing his teeth in the sink, he'd forgotten most of it. Someone banged on the door to the bathroom. He remembered that his friend, Sung, had stayed over, ostensibly to study, but they had gamed on the console until well past midnight.

He opened the door as Sung stumbled inside, cursing, "Hey, why did you lock the door? I really have to go." Sung had gotten smashed, so Paul wrinkled his nose from the stench of stale beer.

"I told you the damn latch is busted. We're late again by the way. Never going to graduate at this rate."

"Why the hell are you even bothering. The world is fucking ending," Sung admonished as he began urinating into the toilet bowl.

Paul kept the brush in his mouth and slammed the door as he exited, "Come on. I don't want to see that."

From inside the bathroom, Sung shouted, "Why? You jealous? You're never going to snag that raging hot girlfriend with your prudish attitude, my friend. Get some while there is still a market."

Ignoring the personal jibe, Paul exclaimed, "That's bullshit, this is the fourth economic crash in the past ten years, we'll ride it out just like we always do."

"Trust fund cum stains like you never have to worry. For the rest of us, shit's hitting the fan, I'm telling you. My relatives have gone turtle already and they keep telling me to leave town for their hole in the ground."

"So, why the fuck haven't you gone yet?"

There was a loud farting sound from the bathroom. Sung was now taking a shit. He yelled, "Have you met my relatives? I'd rather risk it out here."

Paul angrily sat down on the couch, still brushing absently, as he eyed the mess on the coffee table. The room was a shambles. It took him a long moment before noticing the large box in the middle of the room.

"That wasn't there last night," he mumbled. Maybe there had been a delivery in the morning. He shook his head, went to the kitchen sink and rinsed his mouth. He drank down some tap water, then went back to look at the box. "Probably more junk from my father."

He scowled. He'd told them he was no longer accepting anything from the family. Grabbing it with both arms, he meant to throw it out.

"Damn it, this is heavy," he panted. Giving up, he sat down on the floor, rubbing his bed hair. A sound came from the box, making him sit up. He grabbed a knife from the coffee table and used it to cut the packing tape off the top. After hesitating for a moment, he flipped it open, took a long look, and then just as quickly closed it again.

"Shit."

Thinking furiously, he grabbed the box by its edges and tried to pull it to his room. It was too heavy. He switch to pushing it, and after some effort, it began sliding on the floor which was made of some fake wood finish, so once he got momentum going it wasn't too hard. When it got to the door to his room, it wouldn't fit. Sweating, he cursed. He could hear Sung washing his face in the sink. He had seconds before his friend would be coming out.

As best he could he tipped the box over, ripping it in the process. He didn't stop to wonder how someone had carried in such a fragile, cardboard box into his apartment. The object inside tumbled into the room with a thud. Frantically, he kicked the wrecked box into the room and shut the door, just as Sung walked out of the bathroom.

"What's going on?" Sung asked. "What was all that noise?"

"Ah, just cleaning up a bit," Paul said, sweat pouring from his forehead.

"Oh ya, there was a box here this morning. You put it in your room already? I was wondering what it was. Let me see."

"Sorry. Family stuff. It's just clothes and junk from the folks," he lied.

"Oh, a care package. Cool. All I got was a box of ramen noodles, and not even the nice ones. Did you get any good food? Maybe some meat?" Sung asked eagerly.

"Oh, tell me you got some galbi or something? I was born to the wrong blood line, fuck. We only get chicken and even then they complain the prices are inflated."

"No, no meat. That would spoil," he stammered.

Sung frowned, "No, you moron, they'd send it vacuum sealed or in an ice chest. Like smoked salmon. Oh man, I'm salivating."

"You've got an overactive imagination. All I got was some old clothes I left behind," he insisted.

Sung finally gave up and went to the refrigerator, "Aw, you don't even have any more beer. You're worse than I am. Not even enough to make a sandwich in here. Come on, let's go get some breakfast. We can still make it to the diner, then head to the next class."

"Hey, I've got to take a shower, clean up, and some errands to run. I'll catch you later," he pushed Sung out the door.

"Come on, you need to eat. You're thin as a rail, Francis," Sung giggled. He always did when he called Paul by his middle name. "Ya, ya. Your mom named you after her favorite Beatle and her favorite Pope, even though she wasn't even born when they were around. You're all twisted up name wise, you half-breed," Sung laughed. "See ya, in class."

Paul had curly hair and an olive complexion such that people thought he was either Italian or even Greek though he had nothing of either. His biological father was a shady magnate and head of a syndicate that operated in much of the region. The elder Parker had suddenly converted and made connections with some religious freaks but he was still the same old reprobate and thug. Paul's mother had been one of his mistresses, of mixed background though apparently mostly Japanese or so she claimed. She'd passed when he was young so he had been raised by his father's entourage. Once he'd turned eighteen, Paul had tried to get as far away as possible but his father had blocked him from traveling overseas. He could not totally escape his father so this college town was the best he could do.

Paul finally closed and locked the front door, making sure Sung wasn't going to burst back in claiming to have forgotten something. He paused for a moment, and then slowly made his way to his bedroom. When he opened the door, he saw that he hadn't been imagining things.

She lay there helplessly, chains binding her. Her eyes were open, but did not seem to be staring at anything in particular. Her mouth had a gag tightly binding it. Paul knew it was some sick joke by his estranged biological father.

"Hi, I'm sorry my father has put you through this. I'll get you out of the chains, but I'm going to have to touch you in order to do that, I'm sorry," he announced.

Shaking out the remains of the box, he found a set of keys on a giant metal ring straight out of an old cartoon. He carefully began unwinding the various links and detached the cuffs, lastly unhooking the metal collar around her neck. He tried to avoid looking at her naked body.

After he managed to release the gag, she coughed, letting drool hit the floor, but didn't say anything. She absently rubbed the welts on her wrists and slowly sat up. She was strikingly beautiful, Paul realized. Her looks were exotic but difficult to place. Was she a mutt like he was?

Nervous, he found an extra comforter from his closet and wrapped it around her. He said, "You can put on one of my shirts. My pants won't fit you, but you're welcome to try one out anyways. Then you can go home."

The girl finally seemed to come to her senses. She shook her head violently, tossing the blanket aside. On her knees, she bowed until her head touched the floor, speaking "This is my home...master."

"Wait, wait. I don't know what's going on, but whatever they have over you it can be fixed."

"No. If you are not pleased with me, the mistress has said I would be severely punished," she insisted. She was calm, but her voice wavered.

"The mistress? You mean my step-mother?" he scowled. "I knew it. She's even worse. This sick scheme is right up her alley. Even more reason I can't accept this." He began rummaging for a shirt.

"You don't understand. Didn't you read the letter?" the girl continued.

"Letter?" He asked.

"They sent one with me," she said, looking around. He followed suit, crawling on all fours until he found an envelope that had slipped near the foot of the bed. He tried to ignore her soft skin when it brushed up against him.

Reluctantly, he opened it and pulled out the hand written letter directed from the family he tried to disavow.

"Dear Son, First Born, and Scion of the Parker Family,

Here is a gift for you from your esteemed patriarch. She is your toy to do with as you please as your personal possession. Do not worry, all details have been taken care of for you, enjoy with your Father's blessing. He has deemed that you need to be properly trained in the duties of the Family in order to be worthy as its successor. This includes the proper deflowering of a woman, something you have as yet failed to do. Father does not expect you to take a wife nor bear an heir, yet; he merely wishes for you prepare fully for your future duty with this little token.

I understand your strange ethical concerns. Be assured that she has volunteered for this service. If, for some reason, you are not satisfied, you may return her to the proper place where matters will be handled--you need not know the details.

As you can see, you bear a responsibility now, for your first, personal subject's future.

Choose wisely,

Your Dearest Mother,

Angelina Romero Parker"

Cursing, he crumpled up the letter and tossed it aside. "This is insane. What kind of veiled threat was that last part? She's trying to guilt me into accepting this bullshit. We need to go to the authorities."

She shook her head somberly, "The authorities work for your father. It's much too late to change any of that. My family is being well compensated, so I am happy with my choice."

"Financial coercion is not free will," he shouted. "We'll go to international authorities."

She shook her head, "There are no international powers anymore, not any who can reach here. Just enjoy the gifts that have been given to you, there are so little left these days."

"How can you be so calm?"

She gazed at him with clear eyes, her hands folded on her knees as she continued to kneel before him. He couldn't help but admire her breasts as they hung as if calling out to be grasped. Paul had to fight the sudden burst of desire.

She tossed her long, fine hair to the side and cocked her head as if aware of the battle within him.

"You have to choose, master," she said.

"Look, stop that."

"I can't. I made a solemn vow, and I mean to keep it."

"For crying out loud!" he exclaimed. "This is insane. I have class to attend. What? Are you just going to hide in my room all day?"

"I could go with you, if you wished."

He sighed. "Well, I'm sure you're hungry, so let's go get some breakfast. Maybe I can think of something while we eat." He tossed her a t-shirt. She ignored it.

"I'm sorry, master. I was instructed to never wear clothes again," she bowed her head.

"You can't go out like that, we'll get arrested."

She shook her head, "I sincerely doubt that."

"You're kidding me. People will talk."

"You do know that when you're father took control of the syndicate, he received obeisance from all the local gangs and politicians across the country. The people of the city know, and those who don't will merely be ignored, or reminded of their place. The media will not report anything and any outsiders will be...handled."

"You seem to know a lot about this stuff," he said, suspiciously.

She looked wistfully into the distance as if remembering something. "I was on the other side, once, but we lost. I'm okay with it all now. My father was not regular people either. He was very powerful in his own right until things went very wrong. It's all history now," she said sardonically. She never explained in any more detail, and Paul realized it was better if he didn't know.

Paul couldn't imagine how this composed, beautiful, woman could have ended up here, like this. He sighed, "Well, what do I call you? I haven't given up, just trying to be make sense out of this insanity."

"You can give me a name, my old one doesn't matter these days," she smiled.

He had no idea, rejecting several names that bubbled into his mind, but her black hair and poise reminded him of a cat so he helplessly suggested, "Cathy? Or just Cat?"

"That will do," she nodded.

"Either way, you can't go out like that. I'll buy something you can have for lunch too and come back. Wash up and stay here. Don't open the door to anyone. I'll lock the door on my way out."

She bowed, "Then, please hurry back master."

Segment 3: The Prisoners of Desire

She clenched the end of a jade cigarette holder in her bleached white teeth, displeased with the report from the security man. She rasped, "It's still early, so just keep an eye on them for now."

He bowed, sweat on his brow, and retreated from the chamber quickly, thankful for the reprieve. Scowling, Angelina Romero tapped some ashes from the cigarette into the crotch of a bound woman who squealed through her gag as she swung upside down from the ceiling. She tightened the clamps that spread the hapless woman's labia apart with weights attached to long string across a series of pulleys.

With her arms tied tightly behind her back, the swinging woman was totally helpless and naked except for the straps that bound her and held her to a suspension rig.

On a wide divan, another person lounged, observing quietly. Dressed casually in a floral printed shirt and comfortable slacks, the man was fairly young and stout with a shock of short-cropped blonde hair and droopy eyelids that partially hid the sharp grey irises underneath.

"Care to take a turn, sweetie?" the older woman offered, caressing the suspended girl's welt-marked buttock with her long, blister-red fingernails.

"The view is good enough," he shrugged with apparent disdain. "You shouldn't be smoking in here. Are you sure your husband is OK with this little game you've set up?"

"He expressly commanded it, my darling. It's about time the boy grew up and learned his place in the hierarchy. I told him that coddling the little brat was making him look weak, so he agreed to get his education sped up. Oh, and this is my turf, so I make the house rules here, fuck the smoking regulations."

"It's too bad the only son of the most powerful man in the country is such a weakling. I'd be tearing the town up if I were in his shoes," he sneered as Angelina walked around, slapping the victim in her sensitive areas until her naked skin was as red as her fingernails.

"Jealousy is unbecoming, Muller. So, what do you think? Shall we share this little treat after lunch?" she licked a finger and rubbed the woman's clitoris with the tip.

The hanging woman swayed and shivered.

"Of course, but work comes first. There is a new sample waiting for induction in the waiting room. She's the wife of a business man who has a degenerate gambling habit. Sadly, he couldn't settle out his remaining balance after a bad run at the tables. The woman has a fine pedigree so we're going to put her into the trade in compensation. You know, the usual," Muller handed her a vanilla portfolio.