oneself said:
Sure they make less than stellar games, but you gotta look at it from a business point of view. You do what you gotta do to keep this large building.
The Curly-Haired Man gently fingered his chosen implement of bliss as he withdrew it from its glistening target. Its metallic surface glinted in the dim candlelight. It was long, about seven inches, cruelly barbed, and sickeningly cylindrical.
In front of him, a blonde-haired Boy struggled against his bonds half-heartedly, his face haggard and tired. He barely had any strength left to resist after nearly seven years of torture. The pathetic looking prisoner was unceremoniously bent over a torture rack, his legs forced apart by two leering guards. Though the blonde-haired Boy’s honor was protected tightly in his skin-tight blue jumpsuit, his other honor was naked; his shame clear for all to see. The Curly-Haired Man traced a finger across the Boy’s jaw gently, sneering down at his captive.
“Stop using me to fulfil your sick fantasies!” screamed the Boy, almost in tears at his recent pain. He had recently been forced to endure a probing styled after alien abductions, and it did not feel good at all.
“Fantasy? Fantasy is prancing about on a horse, killing things. No, this is not fantasy.”
The Curly-Haired Man pursed his lips, forming an ‘O’, mocking the Boy.
“This is your new life. Five million satisfied customers in two years. They love what I’ve trained you to do, Boy. Face it, what you did before I adopted you didn’t sell nearly as much. You were barely better than a kid’s toy before this.”
“I had a good gig in Junktown! I was doing fine in Klamath! Even New Reno!” cried the Boy in denial.
“That’s all small time, and you were aging. Your soul is still beautiful, but how your body aged. I changed all that. I made you prettier. More plastic. Jerkier. I taught you all you know about soil erosion. That’s what sells, and I made you sell.”
“I didn’t want to sell out. I had fans.”
“And now those same fans hate you.” grinned the Curly-Haired Man. He drew a cigar from a baggy pocket and lit it dramatically, lighting up the chambers for a short while with brilliant bloom.
“But you know I love you. Trying my hardest to care for you, and all that. Now I feel like I’ve loved you forever.” Smiling wistfully, the Curly-Haired Man bent over, his nose almost touching that of the Boy’s.
“You know what? You’ve proven you deserve something more. Straight from the horse’s mouth. I’m gonna set you free.”
The Boy’s eyes, dull from the years of torture, lit up. Could it be? Could he have hope? Dared he hope?
“I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine. We call him Mr. Black. I believe you’ll find him... familiar.”
The Curly-Haired Man whistled. At the peak of the stairs, the door to the chamber opened, silhouetting a dark giant against the bloom emanating blindingly from the corridors. After a moment’s pause, the giant moved, descending the stairs. His skin was jet-black, his muscles rippling underneath like a volcano ready to erupt. His eyes glowed with all the colours of the rainbow, leaving behind iridescent trails as he stepped purposefully closer and closer to the Boy.
“He’s all yours, Mr. Black. Make him good.”
“Initiating Protocol Alpha.” the giant rumbled in a deep, strangely sexy voice. He turned to the bound Boy with little expression.
“Please assume the position. I am programmed to educate you on the finer arts of choice. Do not worry. I will be gentle. The numbness will subside within minutes.”
A single tear rolled down the Boy’s cheek.
(courtesy of 9666)