Crimson Rain (22 page)

Holding the syringe in one hand, he pressed the button to start up the assembly line with the other. The arms began ticking and whirring as they warmed up. The belt slowly began to spin
,
and the computers started clicking and processing the data he had input.

Five…four…three…two…one.

Max pressed down the plunger and laid on the belt. There was no pain as the plasma scalpel sliced off his right arm, and then his left.

* * * *

“
My humble abode,
”
Brain said smugly as he opened the door to his apartment.

Crimson glared at the back of his head. If he could see it, he would know he was in danger. She was annoyed. Not only was he a bad, cocky salesman, but he was also arrogant about his living quarters. He clearly didn
’
t quite appreciate that she stood heads above him in every aspect, including financially. If he was trying to impress her, he was picking the wrong things and doing it poorly.

“
Oh my, you must make a lot as one of Barometrics
’
sales representatives,
”
she stated in a sarcastic, unimpressed tone.

“
I do
okay
,
”
he said as he stepped into the apartment.
“
Even if they do give me all the low level clients; thanks for changing that for me.
”

He sounded sincere to her. Perhaps he really was doing all he could.
Who cares?
she thought
. He is still an incompetent buffoon.

“
Care for any wine, scotch, beer, well, really anything… Care for something?
”
he asked as he walked into the kitchen, leaving her to shut the door.

“
Sure, why not pour me a scotch and whatever you
’
d like, big boy? I need you relaxed, no stage fright or anything that might hinder your…
performance,
”
she said, closing the door and slinking over to the couch.

She kicked off her shoes and laid on her back on the couch as Brian brought over the drinks. He had poured two scotches, both straight; his was a triple, hers a double. He sat at her feet as he handed her the glass.

“
So,
”
he began as he started to stroke her c
alves
gently,
“
what exactly do you have in mind for me tonight?
”

She slugged back half her scotch before she answered. It was good stuff, obviously meant to be sipped.
“
I was thinking you could be my slave?
”

“
Oh yeah? What would being your slave entail?
”

“
Well, first,
”
she began to say, only pausing to drink the rest of the scotch and set down her glass,
“
it would require you passing the amount I
’
ve had to drink. What
’
s wrong? Sensitive stomach?
”

He smiled devilishly and drank about two thirds of his glass in one gulp.
“
Not a problem, mistress. What else?
”

It sounded as if he had done this before; maybe he had. Maybe he was used to it. It would explain his competence, always being the slave, never being the one in charge. He tried to wear a man suit, but Crimson knew he was
only a
weak little boy.

“
Then you do what I say. I am your master. I might call you names and get a little rough; no crying, got it?
”

He nodded and finished his scotch.
“
No problem, mistress.
”

He sounds so whipped like there isn
’
t even any fight in him! I hope this doesn
’
t hinder my plan. This guy makes me sick. He is such a typical man with an extra dose of wimpy on the side. What a joke.

She stood up, reclaiming her legs from his light grasp, and pushed him back into the couch. She leaned forward
,
grabbed his jaw
,
and pulled it close to her face. She spit lightly in his face to mark him as hers.

“
Take off your clothes,
”
she demanded.

Brian didn
’
t so much as wipe any of her saliva off or even give her any form of verbal answer. He obeyed like a true slave, one who feared his master
’
s scorn.

“
Don
’
t touch, just watch,
”
she commanded again.

She pulled her dress up over her head, revealing herself to be wearing only a garter belt, some black stockings, and a black thong. She reached behind her left leg as if she was undoing the clasp on her stocking that affixed it to the garter belt.

“
Close your eyes, and don
’
t respond to my touches. You
’
re mine; you do what I say when I tell you to.
”

Brian
’
s cheeks were getting rosy. She could tell the alcohol was affecting him. He relaxed his arms and stayed in the leaned back position she had put him in. He closed his eyes like a perfect submissive.
“
It should be easy to do, master,
”
he said.

She slapped him hard across the face and he winced without opening his eyes.
“
Don
’
t speak unless I tell you. I don
’
t want a sound from you. You make me sick; you are here to do as I say and nothing more!
”

He nodded his head and kept his eyes closed, breathing softly out of his mouth. It must have taken some
self-control
to not scream when she slapped him. Crimson could hit harder than a lot of non-spliced men.

Crimson pulled a glass syringe from the stocking on her left leg where she had been fidgeting. Inside the syringe, she could see some clear fluid and a small microchip about the size of a grain of rice floating in it.

She slipped an eight gauge needle out from her right stocking and screwed it to the syringe. It looked like a spear. If Brian were to open his eyes, he would run in terror. It didn
’
t matter how submissive he was. If he saw this, he would run.

She hid the syringe behind her back with her left hand and leaned down, placing her right hand on his chest. She began kissing and licking his thighs sensually and worked her way up to his neck. She scratched him across the chest and bit his right ear at the same time.

“
This might hurt a little,
”
she whispered, now tilting his head back with her right hand.

He tried to nod, but her grasp kept his head from moving. Before he even knew he was in danger, she had shoved the needle through his right nasal passage and past the sphenoid bone. The needle entered into the brain and in one flawless, liquid motion, she had injected the chip.

He barely even flinched. In a matter of minutes,
“
Brian
”
wouldn
’
t exist. He would still call himself that, but he would be nothing more than a mere minion under Crimson
’
s electronic command.

The chip upon contact with cerebral spinal fluid extended tendrils and entangled itself all throughout his brain into every lobe. The tendrils even wrapped around the brain stem. His every thought, every function, was now under her command, but he wouldn
’
t even know it when he came to. When he awoke, he would barely remember a thing.

Crimson slipped back into her dress, disposed of the syringe by hurling it out a window onto the street, and poured another scotch. She sat on the couch
,
sipping it until the chip had completely done its job and he awoke to her scowling at him, tapping a foot impatiently. She was fully dressed when he came to. He was naked and apparently still ready for some much promised action.

“
What was that?
”
she asked, seeming to be annoyed.

“
What happened?
”

“
That is exactly what I was asking you. I slap you once, start to mess around with a little foreplay, and you pass out on me? How much did you have to drink?
”

Brian smacked his lips, tasting his mouth.
“
Ugh, I don
’
t remember, but it tastes like a lot.
”

“
Figures, you
’
re drunk,
”
she said, standing, still sipping scotch.

“
Why are you dressed?
”

“
Because you can
’
t perform,
”
she said, finishing her scotch and leaving the empty glass on his kitchen counter.

“
Sure I can! I
’
m awake again. I
’
m sorry I passed out, but… Look! I
’
m still good to go,
”
he exclaimed, looking down at his swollen member.

“
I
’
ve seen bigger on schoolgirls, not impressed. Also, passing out while I
’
m kissing on you
really
doesn
’
t do it for me. I
’
m out of here. Think about me when you go into the office tomorrow. You
’
re useless, but I still need your company. I don
’
t see a point in trading you for some other rep
. In the future
,
however,
try to do your job
better
than your attempted trysts and we will have no issues.
”

“
But—
”
he started to say, but she was already out the door.

Crimson stood in the hallway waiting for the elevator, giggling like a little girl.

* * * *

The machines stopped whirring and humming. The conveyer belt had gone to standby. The job was finished. The last ten minutes of the process was extremely painful for Max because the anesthetic boost had completely worn off, but he kept himself from flinching throughout.

He climbed out from under the robotic arms, careful not to smack into any of them and break any of the delicate working parts. He felt lighter. He looked over to the starting point of the belt where his arms lay on the floor, lifeless. There was barely any blood anywhere; the plasma scalpels were great at stopping blood loss as they cut.

There was still a haze of smoke and a sickening smell of burned skin, blood, muscle
,
and bone in the air. As the device cut, it vaporized the tissues. No matter how precise and accurate it was, there would always be that to deal with. It would be centuries before every vaporized particle of Max was scrubbed out of the room.

He was beginning to crash. All of the energy boosts were wearing off. Even though it had been a success, his body had suffered a large albeit controlled trauma. He staggered over to the mirror to investigate. He liked what he saw.

It
’
s clear they
’
re fake; everyone will see that, but I was working on a tight time frame so I
’
ve
got to cut myself a little bit of slack. They look good. I know they
’
re at least fifty times more powerful than they were before. Steadier than any flesh and bone. Perfect, lethal, stable, powerful. A nice fit indeed.

Max
’
s legs began to buckle. He was tired and sick of fighting it. He flopped down onto the ground and curled up into a fetal position. He took two deep breaths and then was fast asleep. The other project he had in mind would have to wait.

* * * *

From the time Crimson had left her home to now had only been roughly four hours. She figured even though Max was roaring and ready to do something when he awoke, that he would surely have found something to keep himself entertained. She rode the private elevator to her home and stepped off.

She smelled something bizarre in the air. She couldn
’
t quite put her finger on the scent, but it made her a bit nauseous. She felt something was amiss. She proceeded with caution in the direction of the smell. It led her
toward
the lab.

This isn
’
t good. I hope he hasn
’
t made some chemical weapon that will kill us all. What is that smell anyways? Burned hamburger and wom
e
n
’
s perfume? I hope it goes away or else Max is getting a serious lashing.