NeoMad 2064 (a Madame Le Noir Story)
ADULT CONTENT
All English translations are done as honestly as possible by a non-native speaker. However, if there are any mistakes, please feel free to comment.
21:16 Earth Standard Time
Madame Le Noir's attractive holographic receptionist flashes a pale sky-blue colour in front of me as she activates my entry code. After analysing my biometric values, she affably welcomes me back into the premises without mentioning my name. In the year 2064, biometrics is the only means of validation for access to any kind of premises.
A biometric feature is not variable, it is convenient in that it does not have to remember any kind of password and it is not subtractable. We are unique motherfuckers. If the small disadvantage of exposing your privacy to misuse by mega-companies like OmniDeo or governments is acceptable to you, this type of identification is extremely advantageous.
-All in order, officer. -the holographic projection answers me with its thick blue lips and short pink hair.
The holo-projection's exposed digital breasts sway greedily. On them, advertisements from different companies appear and disappear at breakneck speed. Her hard nipples, the size of 20 exocredits, are instead covered by two thick luminescent strips in the shape of a cross.
-Did you expect the opposite? -I smile seductively, while making a mental note to activate her skin option in the holo-sex rooms in the near future. She should call me Mr. Agent with a thick French accent while I fuck her, I repeated to myself. -Thank you, Belinda.
-Enjoy your stay, officer. -she replies as she vanishes in the blink of an eye and the entrance to the room opens with a faint click.
It stopped raining a few hours ago. Ever since the expensive environmental satellites broke down, it almost always rains. Today was the exception that proves the rule. With the stratosphere declared a protected area in the 2044 pan-terrestrial treaty, no government is obliged to fix them, nor is it profitable for them to access them. He took one last look outside before entering the infamous Madame Le Noir.
Thanks to biomechanics and artificial intelligence in recent years, sexbots are becoming more and more realistic. At first, they were female-looking and hypersexualised for a mainly male audience. Then, women and transgendered people took up the challenge and began to enjoy these pleasures as well. They don't ask for explanations, they don't complain, they give us exactly the kind of fantasy we demand. And they are not subject to any kind of outdated and abandoned morality.
Questions such as whether it is moral to sleep with an automaton, whether it can be considered infidelity towards your partner to do so, or whether we can ask anything of a sexbot given that it neither feels nor suffers, are questions left for the academics of terrestrial universities. Academics who discuss for years on end whether such services reproduce male or female roles that well-meaning modern society has been trying to eradicate for years. Academics who likewise visit these services on the sly while beating their chests in the name of morality in front of their erudite salon rivals.
Madame Le Noir's slogan was pioneering and very clear. They were only going to offer state-of-the-art sexbot sex services within their walls. In this way they avoided the prostitutes' refusal of possible sexual demands from clients, motivated by last-minute morality. There are no morally appropriate or inappropriate sexual fantasies for a sexbot. It is not fair to judge your clients by the fantasies they develop in your rooms. Moreover, the ability to customise the sexbot with all sorts of details allowed people excluded from sex by canons and stereotypes to escape loneliness, depression and possible violent behaviour. Sexual offences decreased by 63% and sexually transmitted diseases by 89%. Even so, the ÜberMenschCorp collective raised an outcry and demanded that the basic rights of all sexual robotic beings be protected, demanding that all clients have to ask the sexbot for digital consent before the act. A demand that was dismissed and ridiculed after the first Mars Artificial Sex convention in 2058. Fuck 'em.
The holographic receptionist reminds me in her erotic modulated voice that this week I can enjoy exclusive half-price packages, with the OpenFly Space hostesses' double package being a bargain to consider. I thank her for the offer, but I've already decided which service I'm going to use, as she blurs and the entrance to the venue opens with a faint click and hiss.
You may be wondering who I am and what my job is. My name is Judas Cruz, I'm a special agent with the New Madrid Department of Cyber Sex Crimes. The DCSC for short. I am also a regular client of Madame Le Noir's services for years. I break no laws by being one, and possible suspicions of my hobbies by my superiors are insured under the venue's strict privacy code. But tonight, it was the sudden death of a client in the Grozny room that brought me here.
-Your colleague from the forensic unit is still in the room. You'll have to wait while he finishes. Would you like to enjoy some service in the meantime? -Layla, the exuberant automaton companion, offers.
I nod, type in her binary ID code and adjust the parameters of my sexual preferences and fantasies in my custom app. She tilts her head for a second, receives the customisations and instructs me to sit on the couch.
Layla has parameterised herself into a girl in her early twenties with short indigo hair. Her breasts have gone up two sizes, and her ass is now perkier. I like fat, unbalanced tits on a petite body. Both her clothes and make-up have been customised to an Asian goth student with a very short skirt, barely a wide belt. I can just make out her light blue underwear. Her skin tone has lightened and the pheromones in her skin give off a faint scent of vanilla.
-But, Mr. Professor, I won't make it to the next grade with this failing grade and my scholarship will be revoked. My father will kill me -Layla pleads in a thick Japanese accent as she sets a folder on the floor and nibbles on her brightly coloured lollipop -Please understand my unfortunate and delicate situation. Surely there is something in my hand or perhaps... in my mouth that I can do for you.
Satisfied with my choice, I settle back on the couch, letting her unzip the fly of my neat dress trousers with one deft hand while the other continues to hold her lollipop. Layla starts suck my hard cock. No need to parameterise anything else. I haven't ejaculated in days and I know I'll last anywhere from nothing to less. I unload on her lips as contracted, while leaving it up to chance as to what words she will utter when I relieve myself in her mouth. Barely five minutes later, Layla asks me in her honeyed voice if she'll pass the course with flying colours as she gives my reddening glans the last few licks and stops squeezing my balls. As she rises from her squatting position, she asks if she can end the simulation. I nod, pocket my flaccid, unloaded cock, and activate the tip option on the app. With a smile, as she receives proof of the transfer and the tip, she thanks me and leaves for a few seconds.
-Would you like to book a service for later, Mr. Officer? -Layla asks as she returns and indicates that I can now enter the Grozny room, where my colleague Álvaro Berasategui is waiting to share his first conclusions with me.
-Not for the moment, thank you. -I answer haughtily as I button my jacket.
Original Art by Kamen Nikolov
Room Grozny21:32 Earth Standard Time
The Grozny room is a bedroom of pink hues and luminescent graffiti. The setting is complete with soft Russian military music interspersed with subtle female gasps. Large windows show NeoMad's skyscrapers in all their splendour. A distant flash of lightning is visible in one of the windows. Soon it will start raining again. The bed is partially unmade, but the corpse of the last customer in the room is not on top of it, but lying on the floor in an impossible position.
-What's up, Alvaro? What a mess. -I greet him.
-Hello Judas. I'll transfer the full report to you in a little while. The short version? -he affirms rather than asks.
-You know the answer. -I smile. It's been many years working together and I'm bored with the technicalities.
-Cardiorespiratory failure during copulation with the automaton Xenia. The automaton, noticing the accelerated pulse and respiratory problems outside normal parameters, applied the first life-saving measures and activated the emergency call as per protocol at 20:29. Any possibility of help was too late. Time of death: approximately 20:34 -pointing to me at the obese corpse with a dishevelled face, glassy eyes, dressed only in a tattered T-shirt and riding boots.
-Who is the dead man? -I ask.
-We don't know yet. You know confidentiality is everything here. But I'll run his biometrics through the database and we'll know in a moment. I'll ask for his belongings and see if they'll help us with anything -Álvaro snorts boredly, as he leaves the room.
-I'll get a digital holographic copy of the final fuck later. They record everything here. -I confirm to my partner. I can't restrain myself from pointing out that he should lose some weight soon if he doesn't want to have a heart attack like the guy on the floor. -You're getting more and more swollen, you're a big fatso.
-Why don't you fuck off a bit more, muscle boy, and fuck your fucking mother? -he smiles.
The automaton Xenia follows the conversation standing with her gaze fixed on me. Passionless, but what else could I expect. She still has the physical specifications indicated by the deceased. Caucasian woman with short ivory hair, large emerald eyes, fiery lips, small breasted, mile-long legs encased in white lace stockings. Dressed as an orbital nurse in a gown open to the hips.
-For a nurse you weren't much help today. -I commented with cruel irony. Any details I need to know?
-Unfortunately not, Mr. Officer. Would you like me to return to my standard physical appearance to facilitate your investigative work? We are here to serve you. -she replies in a neutral voice. We do whatever the client asks us to do. You know that well, Mr. Officer.
-Yeah, that's not necessary. You're a model... Penelope? -I ask convinced.
-Yes, officer. You are very perceptive.
Xenia is an Advanced Penelope model, identical to the student who gave me a blowjob earlier. State-of-the-art sexbots. Capable of adopting a wide variety of physical aspects and incapable of applying pain unless the client parameterises and confirms that additional application at a high cost. The touch of their skin is warm and three times more delicate and welcoming than that of a real woman. Her sexual organs are capable of adapting to the most diverse cocks, from the tiny (like the late fat man's) to the titanic to give that extra superiority to the client and make him think he is the fucking boss. The standard factory appearance of a Penelope is that of a Caucasian woman, short jet-black hair, 5'7", trans-European voice without an accent.
Álvaro re-enters the room to tell me that he has finished and that he will transfer the report to me later. He will leave, as he still has work to do in the department. They'll pick up the corpse in a while, he tells me. I tell him I'll stay a while longer, ask a few more questions and try to visualise a first copy of the last living customer service.
-May I be excused, Mr. Officer? -Xenia asks me. Miss Edén would like to talk to you in your office to finalise some details. Would you come with me to the turbo lift, please?
-Yes, of course. What identification code do you have?
-ID XE1001001, but Xenia is sufficient.
-Don't take any more clients until I tell you to. -I order her.
-As you wish, Mr. Officer. There may be some additional costs for exclusivity.
-Until I'm done with you, Xenia, you are evidence of the crime and the last sexbot who was with the deceased. I hope Madame Le Noir understands this demand.
-Of course, Mr. Agent. Forgive me for being so bold. -she replies in her honeyed voice.
I nod complacently. Actually, I'm done with her, but I want to fuck her afterwards. It turns me on in a big way to fuck the same automaton as the dead guy. I'll parametrize her in the guise of receptionist Belinda.
Clarissa Edén's Office
22:04 Earth Standard Time
The penthouse of Madame, who owns the place, is lit in reddish tones, but of ample proportions. She stands smoking while watching the swirl of Hoover taxis from the window. Private transport is a luxury hardly anyone can afford in the year 2064. She is a woman of the cloth. And the fact that she is human makes her, in her imperfection, all the more ravishing. I find her cinched in a tight black suit of doom as she takes a leisurely drag on her cigarette. She enjoys smoking, briefly closing her eyes with each puff. Each puff of cigarette smoke is a sexual statement. She wears an unnecessary see-through mackintosh, but it enhances her attire as an unattainable woman. Explosive breasts. Platinum blonde hair, apparently freshly washed. Her delicate neck is adorned with a wide Venusian silver necklace. She is barefoot. Her bare feet drive me crazy. Her table is clear except for several holo-screens with constant images of the place, an overflowing ashtray and a half-empty bottle of Brandy from the best distillery on Jupiter's south pole.
-Please come in. -Miss Edén begs me as she prepares a drink with a trembling hand. A tremor imperceptible to anyone but me. May I offer you a drink?
-Thank you, but I don't drink. -I say.
-May I call you Judas? Yes? You're a terrible liar. I wouldn't have got so far in my business if I didn't know how to read people. You drink a lot. So do I. More than we should. -she drains his glass.
-I prefer Agent Cruz, unless I can call you Clarissa. -I reproach her.
-Then let's respect the formalities, -she corrects me. You'll have some questions that I can't answer, as this place has some... special characteristics. That doesn't mean that I won't collaborate with you and your department, as far as I can, without violating the identity of my clients. A clientele that you have been a part of for some time now, agent Cruz.
-I want to see the recording of the deceased's last service. -I order her without further ado.
-We'll send it to you as soon as we've decoded it. Anything else? -she says, sitting down at the table and crossing her legs. She is pure sin. She crushes the cigarette in the half-smoked ashtray and lights another. She blows the smoke in my face.
-Who was that? -I insist, trying to look away from her legs.
-A regular, good at paying and bad with the girls. His appetites were particular, too explicit and too expensive. Madame Le Noir will miss his exocredit transfers, but not him. I don't like this kind of clientele. He is better off dead. He liked too much to arrive and then push the limits with desires not previously contracted with my girls.
-Rejoicing over the death of a client is unprofessional as well as clumsy, Miss Edén, and it puts you in a very awkward position in front of me.
-You know better than anyone how this world works. Are you going to arrest me for having an opinion? You wouldn't be the first person who can't deal with my outspokenness. Mr. Well-Dead was never treated badly here or denied any service. Investigate, ask all you want. -she says lasciviously, as she fleetingly pinches my right trouser leg with the toes of her right foot. A second later, she rises uneasily from the edge of the table again.
She seems in a hurry to finish the conversation. She finishes her drink and heads back to the window, frowning as she checks one of the screens.
-Anything else? I have some business to attend to. I expect you to be equally respectful of the confidentiality of these premises in your investigation. We don't need a bad name. If you need anything else, don't hesitate to call me on my private intercom.
I am closing my digital notebook. I can't stop wanting her, fucking her on the table. It's an animal thing.
-I thank you for your time, we'll meet again. -I finish as I rise from my chair.
-I hope so. You know where we are. You know the many advantages of being our client. We appreciate the discretion,. -she smiles as she escorts me to the turbo lift, hanging from my forearm, delighted to be able to end the interview.
She smells the way I like my women... forbidden fruit. I don't let me see her perfect feet. She doesn't walk, she slides. I have a huge erection.
As I exit the turbo lift, Xenia waits patiently for me behind the door, cross-legged on a nearby sofa. She stands up and smiles at me with her perfect teeth. Before she can comment, I send her the settings. The automaton tilts her head and nods. She shows no surprise at my request.
-Please escort me to a room. -Xenia begs me. Or would you prefer the Grozny room?
-The Grozny room is fine.
Original Art by Tony Skeor
Headquarters DCSC
23:52 Earth Standard Time
Madame Le Noir
8:46 Earth Standard Time
10:41 Earth Standard Time
Epilogue
¡Many thanks to Luis Fernández for this collaboration and all the ideas!23:52 Earth Standard Time
I have just arrived at my ramshackle office and switched on my laptop, when a succession of blips announces a multitude of new messages in the inbox. I dismiss most of them as spam and sex offers from single Russian women near my flat. I select the message from the forensics department. It's the digital recording of Boris Stanislavski's last shag. We already have a name. I watch Boris's last ten minutes on the face of this existence with rapt attention.
The recording begins with Xenia entering the room while Boris has already undressed and is sitting on the bed. The time at the bottom left shows 20:19 in the evening. She has parameterised herself as an orbital nurse and seems to say something inaudible to him. I regret more than ever that the videos have no audio. Boris puts on a pair of riding boots and slaps Xenia. Then he leans back on the bed and signals unmistakably for her to suck him off. Xenia complies unabashedly as he grips the back of her neck tightly and grins a wicked grin. The rain on NeoMad also hits the plexiglass windows hard. He slaps her again and throws himself on the floor. She straddles him and starts to ride him. 20:21. Boris grabs her buttocks viciously. He seems to shout something. She looks up, closes her eyes and seems to moan. He starts to stretch and pick up her legs. Xenia increases the speed of the ride and he cums voraciously inside her. 20:23. The automaton gets up shortly afterwards. Boris sits up awkwardly and pounds her several more times. He says something to her with a reddened and angry face. The sexbots don't deny any sexual service if it has been contracted, the client can even improvise his "cravings" or demands with the app immediately. I gather he calls her a whore. 20:25 He hits her again with extreme violence. Xenia endures the blows without complaining with her arms folded behind her back. The Russian, minutes after venting not only his frustration, puts his hands to his chest. 20:28. He collapses on the bed. 20:29. She uses the intercom in the room and appears to make a call. The video cuts out.
I rewind the recording and watch it again. A second time. And a third. I make a call to Madame Le Noir. I leave a voicemail and make an appointment first thing in the morning. We have been lied to.
Original Art by Dangiuz (Leopoldo D´Angelo)
8:46 Earth Standard Time
The holographic image of Madame Le Noir's receptionist, Belinda, activates with a faint flicker as I activate my entry code. It's raining again. I hate rain. A sound advertisement behind me, dropped from an air-zeppelin, announces miraculous solutions for impotence. I dry my glasses with my tie.
-It's good to see you again so soon, Mr. Officer. -Belinda greets me with her attractive short pink hair and ample breasts exposed. Miss Edén is waiting for you in her penthouse. Medea will escort you to the turbolift. Would you like to select my skin again today, agent? We are here to serve you.
I smile slightly, but don't answer the question. As soon as I walk through the door, the automaton Medea awaits me, dressed in a beige suit jacket and trousers that further enhances her dark auburn skin. Her green eyes welcome me and the click of her high heels accompanies me down the central corridor of Madame Le Noir. We don't exchange a single word until we reach the turbo lift. She asks me if I want her to wait for a later service in a lounge. I shake my head and go up to the penthouse.
Clarissa Edén is waiting for me half naked on the terrace. The rain is sliding down her smooth skin. She's wearing only a thin bathrobe that, clinging to her storm-soaked body, enhances her extraordinary figure even more. Her nipples look as if they could tear through the dressing gown at any moment. A delicate tuft of blonde hair crowns the valley between her legs. Barefoot again, just the way I like it.
-So, Agent Cruz, what's the urgency? Or have you simply been unable to fall asleep thinking of me? You wouldn't be the first. -I confess I find this really charming.
She turns and approaches me, takes a cigarette from his table, takes a puff and looks at me with his perfect grey eyes.
-Are you here to stop me or to fuck me?
-I don't know yet. -I reply, as I push her back against the table, pull the back of her dressing gown aside and penetrate her from behind.
She moans in pleasure as she continues to smoke. I grab her hard breasts and my fingers play with her nipples. She has a perfect pussy. My swollen balls hit her vaginal lips over and over again. She repeats endlessly for me to fuck her like the delinquent she is. That she deserves to be fucked by a cock like mine, only with a cock like mine. I know she's lying to me, but I don't care. It turns me on to be in charge, that SHE knows who's in charge.
-I'm cumming, officer. -she notifies me under low moans. Cum inside. I've been sterilised since I was 16. Take all your frustration out on my sex. Come on!
I unload inside her without warning, grabbing her breasts and biting her neck. Her pussy can't absorb all my cum, and it slides down her legs and ends up next to her ankles in two puddles of sperm. There it mixes with the ash from her cigarette in a pasty greyish proof of the crime.
Original Art by Dangiuz (Leopoldo D´Angelo)
9:38 Earth Standard Time
We're lying on the floor, her head resting on my sweaty chest and playing with my nipples. I activate my Pad and show Eden the recording the forensics department sent me last night.
-The recording is manipulated. -I tell her as I stand up and look at her questioningly -The night of Boris's death, it didn't rain for a few hours, but on the recording it's pouring. Did you know that? Did you know the recording was manipulated?
-Of course I did. -she confirms - I just hoped you wouldn't notice. Boris was a fucking pig, a murderer and a rapist. He's as good as dead. But I didn't give the order to alter the recording, nor to kill Stanislavski. The question you should be asking yourself, Mr. Agent, is... If Boris was killed... who did it and why?
She stands up, lights a cigarette and reaches for a glass to pour herself a drink. She takes a puff and thoughtfully exhales the smoke.
-Who sent you the recording? -she asks curiously, as she pulls up her panties.
-You -I answer without hesitation, only to open my eyes and correct myself -Álvaro Berasategui, the forensic scientist. It can't be, he's my friend.
-You don't know anything about Álvaro Berasategui, officer. Nothing -Edén angrily reproaches me -Haven't you ever wondered why he always arrived at crime scenes first? He's been taking the law into his own hands for years. Active member of the "defunct" ÜberMenschCorp? hah, defender of the rights of automatons... hah. Bullshit. I've indulged his "appetites" on my premises for months, but he's gone too far. He's gotten careless and compromised us. And worst of all, he's lost his mind. He is increasingly aggressive even towards my girls. He insults them, berates them for letting themselves be subjugated by scum, that they are whores for not refusing when their programming doesn't allow it. He's started to extort me, he says he's going to kill me for being a slut, that I must sleep with him if I don't want everything to come out. He's out of control.
-I'm going to stop that bastard. I'm going to... -I exclaim, upset. I haven't been able to think straight for a few hours.
-You don't need to look for him. He's here. Waiting for a Dutch businessman to finish screwing Medea and Jason in the Beijing room. Crouching to apply his misguided justice. Kill him, kill him for me, love. -Edén begs me.
I finish dressing and reach for my regulation ionic weapon. I don't even remember carrying it. I'm confused. I feel its cold touch. It's loaded. I'm going to blow Berasategui's fucking head off. She lights another cigarette and gives me a long kiss on the mouth.
-Don't be long, you're not done fucking me for the day. -Edén promises me, as she calls the turbo lift.
I head for the Beijing room, ready to enforce my justice this time.
10:02 Earth Standard Time
I kick open the door of the Beijing room to the shout of "Police Department". The Dutch businessman, who was being penetrated by the automaton Jason while Medea was sucking him off, cums with fright.
-I didn't do anything! I paid, damn it! -he shouts angrily at me.
I look around. Nothing. There's no one here except the automaton Jason, parameterized as a Roman gladiator, Medea as a vestal and a frightened businessman. Out of the corner of my eye I see Álvaro fleeing to the outside terrace through an open window. He's carrying a narcotic ionic weapon. I stop him. He doesn't stop. I go out onto the rainy terrace after him. The prevailing wind almost knocks me over and throws me into the void. The businessman peers curiously behind me out of the window. Berasategui turns in his flight and fires two shots. I manage to avoid the impact of both shots by throwing myself to the right of the railing. In doing so, both shots hit the Dutchman, blowing his head off, like someone blowing a pile of flour off a table. He falls half out of the window and ejaculates one last time. In the distance I hear Medea make an emergency call.
-Álvaro, stop, dammit, let's talk! -I shout at him, as he seems to stop in exhaustion. The overweight and the diet I've told him so many times to go on has taken its toll.
-What the fuck do you want to talk about, Mr. Officer? -You've sold out like everyone else, sold out like every other fucking slut in here. For a handful of ex-credits and a fucking shag. You have no morals. Have you already fucked Edén? Son of a bitch. He cheated on you too, like he cheated on me.
I don't know what you're talking about. Nobody manipulated me. I raise my gun and ask him to drop his. He laughs and takes off again. He shoots another window, enters the Bilbao room where he interrupts a sadomasochistic session with old car batteries and buckets of water. He pushes the automaton Samir out of the room and rushes to the turbo lift. God, he's looking for Edén. As he reaches the elevator, I see in the light that he has reached the penthouse. He's going to kill her.
10:28 Earth Standard Time
As the turbo lift doors open, I see Berasategui pointing his gun at Edén's head. He has a tight grip on her neck. I can't risk a shot without running the risk of hitting her. At her feet lies Xenia, languidly dropping chips from her belly in a pool of yellowish liquid. Eyes open and dull. I deduce that he stepped between the coroner and Eden, and took her out.
-Álvaro, let's talk. This doesn't have to end like this! -I beg him.
-You've been manipulated, Judas. From the beginning. Haven't you realised that this Madame Slut has been parameterised from the start to make you like her? The way she dresses, the barefoot detail, the shared drinking and smoking addiction like you, her fucking smell. She's an Artemisia model automaton. The only model ever had built so sophisticated. The previous owner of the place had it designed to succeed her when she died. Every customer's preferences are recorded in Madame Le Noir's database, for fuck's sake. You've been coming here for years. They know all about you, your tastes. You were going to do the dirty work of getting rid of me! -All the sexbots are equipped in their sexual organs, in their mouths, even in their fucking asses with a drug that makes us more submissive, that increases our dependence on them. We think we want them when in reality, it's all a lie... a fucking lie, just like her...
I look at Edén, begging her with my eyes to tell me if it's all true. She smiles and kisses Álvaro on the hand that is holding her neck.
-Love -asks Edén -kill the meddling agent. Kill Cruz. You know that I belong only to you.
Berasategui nods complacently.
Original Art by de João
Edén lovingly unclasps my former friend's hand and kisses him again.
-Love, let me kill him. -Edén takes the ionic weapon from him and points it at me. Berasategui is beside himself with joy. At last, she belongs to him body and soul. He begins to speak.
-Clarissa, my love, we'll get out of this. We'll say that he killed them... all of them. That he was mad. I'll take the rap for him. You know I've always wanted only you and not your fucking automaton sisters. You always smell the way I like you, the way you dress, you're always so... -Berasategui opens his eyes and realises his extreme clumsiness as he underestimates Edén and watches in horror as she has now stopped aiming at me and is aiming at him.
-Son of a bitch. You've killed one of my sisters. Did you really think that a fatso like you could arouse the slightest interest in me? How stupid. You and your goddamn cult of hypocrites. Jump! -She orders her. Jump out the window!
-You piece of shit. I'm not going to jump. You'll have to kill me. -he braces himself, planting himself in front of her. He spits in her face, grabs the barrel of the gun and puts it in her mouth. He closes his eyes.
That's Álvaro's last mistake, closing his eyes. I throw myself at him and with a strong push, I knock him backwards and he stumbles. He loses his balance and rushes with his arms outstretched like a loving mother's request for a hug through the window. Without uttering a single scream, he bursts to the ground like an overripe tomato, 800 metres below. Not a single citizen stops. Suicides were commonplace in the year 2064, and even more so in NeoMad.
I briefly lean out of the window and confirm to Edén.
-I'll fix it. -I say. We'll say that he killed the Dutch businessman and that, consumed by guilt, he threw himself out of the window, after threatening you. I have a friend in video analysis, Franz Wildberg, who will help me alter the recordings if there are any. Don't be afraid, no one will know what happened here.
I hear the sirens of the airships coming in, confused in the rain, approaching Madame Le Noir's doors. Edén has knelt down in front of me and was giving me the blowjob of my life in the meantime, is she manipulating me? I don't know anymore, nor do I care. I finish my cigarette and cum on his lips. Things are going to be fine. I'm sure of it.
I was arrested with Wildberg before a year had passed. I never confessed my relationship with Clarissa Edén and covered it up. I was in love with her. I was sentenced to an outer prison planet. I will be taken there by the prison ship Nox Aeterna.
Original Art by Tony Skeor
Safe creative 2201210304676
My soundtrack for Madame Le Noir 2064
J2 featuring Blu Holliday - I will survive (Epic Trailer version)
Måneskin - I wanna be your slave
Thanks Valentin@ to give me the chance of this collaboration. Of course the good parts are all from you and all the mistakes and boring stuff from my side :)
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