Dark City - Luxury Chimpanzee Compound

“So, you’re a super intelligent monkey?”

“I wouldn’t say super.” Socrates shrugs. “I get by.”

I woke to safety. Can’t remember the last time that happened. Are there psychos wailing at the compound's perimeter? Maybe. I can’t hear them.

It’s breakfast time, and I’m enjoying some with Socrates and Slim (who’s real name is Henry). Fried goo with bacon crunch. Traditional. Henry fusses over the food and worries that Socrates isn’t eating enough. Socrates doles out pills and bitches that Henry’s been missing doses. They’re adorable.

There’s a rifle on the table. Henry shuffled out with it this morning. I was excited until I got a look at it. It’s an antique. No, that’s not right. Antiques are valuable. It’s a piece of shit.

“What happened to this gun?” I open the lever and peer down the barrel. “Where’s the rifling?”

“Kinda wore off. Been shot a few times.” Henry shrugged. “It was my Uncle Neil’s gun. He worked at the slaughterhouse.”

“Does it rattle when you shoot it?”

“Well, the bullet comes out pretty much sideways, but it’ll still poke a hole in a guy. If you’re not too picky about who it is.”

“Why have you kept this?”

“Sometimes I miss Uncle Neil.” He pulls out a knapsack stuffed with tarnished ammo. “Load’er up.”

So, we got armed and started breakfast. I apologized to Socrates and he was cool. Said questions were normal. So now I’m asking more. Really curious about this talking monkey.

“So you had a chimp mom and a human dad?”

“Ack.” Both men are horrified. “Jesus lady, we’re trying to eat here.”

“Sorry, I thought this was a cross breeding situation.”

“Why?”

I point at the kitchen wall and its angry indoor graffiti - THE BREEDING PROGRAM HAS BEEN CANCELED!!!

Socrates frowns. “It doesn’t say cross breeding.”

“Sorry. The graffiti is powerfully emotive but kinda vague. Raises more questions than it answers.”

Henry scowls. “Fuck’s sake, Soca. Tell her how to make smart monkeys before these fucking questions ruin breakfast.”

“Right, uhh…” Socrates gathers his thoughts. “Okay, let’s start with the basics. Humans aren’t that great at thinking. In most ways, they’re slightly dumber than chimpanzees. Spatial understanding, calculation, causality, memory, problem solving - they’re edged out on every metric. Humans are only smarter in one area - social learning - the ability to copy others. They crush at that. Mirroring is the human superpower. It doesn’t matter how good you are at problem solving, the dude that copies you will eventually eat your lunch.

“So, to get an intelligent chimp, you just need to boost its social awareness and everything else falls into place. Unfortunately, that’s not so fucking easy. Apes are fanatically incurious. Many have been taught sign language, but none has ever asked a question. With enough bananas you can teach them what “why” means, but they will never use it. They just don’t care what other people are doing.

“What’s crazy is that some animals do care. Like dogs. Holy shit, do dogs wanna know what you’re doing. And to be involved. Dogs are way dumber than apes, but can learn tricks hundreds of times faster. Because they’re paying attention. And want to know what’s going on. And frankly, want to be good.

“How did dogs learn social awareness? Cause wolves sure don’t have it. They only try something new if they’re starving. Definitely not looking for social cues. What happened? Obviously, domestication. But what is domestication?

“In 1958 a Russian scientist named Dmitri Belyaev decided it was utter bullshit that all domesticated animals were cuter than their wild counterparts. Why would early man, with all of his deprivations, waste time selectively breeding consumable beasts to be smaller and more adorable? Wouldn’t he rather them big and meaty? Were they chibi-fied to impress the ladies? Possibly. But there’s another possibility - maybe he was tired of getting bit.

“This was Belyaev’s hypothesis - That domestic animals were selectively bred to be friendly, and got smaller and cuter as an unintended byproduct. To prove this, his colleague Lyudmila Trut infiltrated an industrial fur farm to see if she could breed a domesticated silver fox. She had to infiltrate, because at that time genetic research was banned in the USSR, and she’d be shot if caught. So she made up some bullshit about breeding them to get better fur or some shit.

“Silver foxes are relentlessly aggressive. They don’t like humans, other animals, or each other, and make a spirited attempt to eat all three. Trut figured domesticating them would take hundreds of years. But after six years of only letting the friendliest males breed, she got a litter of cubs who liked to cuddle. Incidentally, they were smaller, cuter, and kept the spotted fur of juvenile foxes. Domestication. Also - and they weren’t expecting this - those foxes were smart as fuck. Social learning, baby.

“That’s what domestication is. Animals caught in a semi-juvenile state. Developed enough to breed, but stuck in a moment of hyper-awareness, where they mimic those around them. A wild animal may pass through this state, but domestic animals live there. This is interesting for two reasons. Because most animals can be domesticated in 5 or 6 generations. And some animals self domesticate, without any outside influence. Like cats. And chickens. And humans.

“Because what can a human be, but a domesticated ape?

“At the dawn of civilization, humans got noticeably smaller. In muscle and bone, but also brains. This curiosity in the fossil record was long assumed to be a degradation of the species caused by an unnatural lifestyle. Agriculture, communal living, or cooperation in general, allowed unfit individuals to breed, weakening the entire species.

“In truth, the opposite happened. First humans got smaller and weaker, then civilization started. Because wild humans were fanatically incurious and relentlessly aggressive. Dumb, bitey, bastards. Like most animals, they’d tolerate their mates, their family, and murder everyone else. Saw no value in other members of their species. They were just competition for food and mates. Chase them off. Kill’em. Do it!

“You can’t start a civilization with those bozos. They don’t want to be around people and no one wants to be around them. But a couple of weird perma-teenagers? Curious and kind - who like people and copy successful strategies? Those mother fuckers will steal your date. And make booze. And civilization. Probably in that order.

“Which brings us back to wild chimpanzees. Those crafty ass, territorial, incurious, zero sum, mother fuckers. They can learn by observation, and talk, and chill the fuck out, but they just don’t want to. But six generations of friendly can fix that, so that’s what we done.”

Huh.

“So there was a breeding program?”

“Yes, but it was canceled.” snaps Henry. “I got weird once they were smarter than me.”

“Human domestication sounds crazy. How have I never heard of this?”

“Because it’s a gross oversimplification of a questionable theory." says Henry. "Humans likely self-selected for emotional control, rather than non-aggression. Which is not domestication, but can look similar. To a point.”

“So the monkeys are either nice, or pretending to be nice?”

“Bingo.”

That explains a lot.

“I’m surprised the government let you run an intelligence uplift program.”

“They didn’t. I lied. I was an expert on primate genetics. Told zoos I was reintroducing diversity to captive populations. Told labs I was establishing genetic continuity to ensure the repeatability of their experiments. Told conservationists I was boosting numbers. Told everybody what they wanted to hear. Until they fell asleep. Then I did whatever the fuck and no one said shit. Until the chimps started talking.”

“It was a hell of a time.” says Socrates.

I guess so. “This is crazy shit. Does it work on any animal? Could you make a super intelligent whale?”

“Sure. All I’d need is a waterproof Briggs-Meyers test and a harpoon.” says Socrates. “Theoretically. I’d never actually harm an innocent creature.”

“Breeding program’s been canceled, bud.” says Henry. “Kill whoever you want.”

“Then get me a fucking boat, man! Damn whales ain’t gonna uplift themselves!”

We talk shit about aquatic intelligence for a while. Except for octopi, who may already be super intelligent? Could we domesticate them and end up with cephalopod overlords?

“They can’t fuck things up worse than we did. Tentacle take the wheel.” says Henry. “Anyway, what’s the plan for tonight? Order a pizza? Play a game? Set an ambush for a psycho?”

My ears perk up. That’s a great list.

“No.” says Socrates. “The mayoral election is coming up, and Rando’s making their platform tonight. You promised we would go.”

“Yeah, but Rando never wins. Also, Xan’s being chased by murderers. Can we not spend a minute on that?”

Volt chimes in on my cochlear implant. The mayor has the authority to reprogram the police drones. We should figure out the mayor thing.

Dang. I cough. “I gotta talk to the mayor anyway. Or something. We can shoot people tomorrow.”

That decides it. They doll me up with some anti-facial recognition make-up and a few streamers to muddle my outline. I am now stealth. Anarchy. We pile into my truck and head to Mayor Rando’s Platform Meeting. He’s got a plan to change this city. Or will soon. I guess.

The meeting’s in a small civic auditorium with a real AA vibe. Cheap chairs, cheap coffee, cheap crowd. There’s a dozen people on stage, a dozen in the audience, and a chalkboard crowded with sloppy planks - problems people hope Rando’s campaign will address. Anyone can add a plank, and defend its relevance on stage.

Some are poignantly pertinent:

* The Sleepers are Dying

* Wakers Are Being Arrested

Others are important, but less immediate:

* We Can’t Leave

* I Woke And I’m Broke

Some may be shit posts:

* Everything Is Fine

* Make Things Worse

* Overthrow Big Cheddar

There’s a person on stage for each plank. They’ve got name tags indicating which plank they’re defending. Hello, My Name Is Can’t Leave.

Henry grabs a crummy coffee and shuffles into the audience. Soca scrawls Cure Orphan Diseases on the chalkboard, slaps on a nametag, and hops on stage.

A big man with a clipboard writes Socrates on a ballot and stuffs it in a jar labeled Mayor Rando. Huh. I ask what’s up.

“We choose our candidate for mayor by lottery. If you propose a plank, your name goes in the jar.”

My phone vibrates in my pocket. Add a plank! Being Mayor would put you in charge of the police drones!

I’m skeptical. Don’t know this crowd. “So, to get in the jar, I add a plank?”

“If you want. Or you can just add your name. I don’t give a shit.”

I back away slowly. Sit next to Henry. We’re here to support Soca. Let’s see how this goes.

Soca’s ass barely hits his seat before he’s up and pulling out his notes. “Good man.” Henry whispers to me in an aside. “Informal groups often perceive people who talk a lot as leaders. Soca’s gonna put them on blast.”

“Hello.” says Socrates. “We need to cure orphan diseases. Let’s add it to the platform. Thank you.” He sits.

Henry looks pained. “That could have been a little longer.”

“What’s an orphan disease?” asks a young woman with a weird hat, facepaint, and a name tag that reads Sleep Death.

“Oh.” Socrates stands again. “It’s a disease that no one is trying to cure. No treatment. No research. Some don’t even have names. No one is looking after them. They’re orphans.”

“Okay.” says All Fine, a big, buff, bro. “They a problem?”

“If you’ve got one, yeah. Which you will eventually. Immortalis cures aging diseases, which is great, but it also gives you longer to develop something weird. Inevitable death. Unless we research the cures now, before we’re sick. Then death is less inevitable.”

Woke’n’Broke - a disheveled, old dude in pajamas - shakes his head. “Staving off inevitable death sounds very expensive. Who’s gonna pay for it? Also, where the fuck is my money? I had lots but somebody emptied my accounts when I was asleep.”

There’s an awkward pause. Eventually, Sleep Death illuminates him.

“You lost your money to a combination of the Necessities Bylaw and the Owed Debt Bylaw. One prohibits the withdrawal of essential services from sleeping people. The other allows essential service providers to garnish the assets of sleepers who are in arrears. You fell asleep, but kept using electricity, heat, water, food, insurance, internet. They charged you for all of that.”

“I lost my house! My stocks! My cars! I’m in debt now! There’s no way water and salty oatmeal cost that much!”

All Fine sniffs. “Prices are set by supply and demand. There’s very few people willing to work at maintaining the city, so expenses are high across the board. You would have been notified of any price changes.”

“Notified? You bastards robbed me in my sleep!”

“You’re lucky we didn’t let you starve. If you want your stuff back, get a job.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Or don’t.” says Toss Cheese. He’s a dapper, older, gentleman. “You weren’t using any of that stuff anyway.”

Both Woke’n’Broke and All Fine scowl at this anti-materialist sentiment. Can’t Leave - another sloppy old guy in pajamas - uses the lull to butt in.

“Is that why we can’t leave the city? Is there another bylaw?”

“There’s no bylaw that allows shooting people in the face.” says Toss Cheese.

“Currently.” says Make Worse - a small, adorable, older woman.

Toss Cheese gives her a nod. “Yes, it’s not legal to blow people away, currently. But, to answer your question, we don’t know who has the city surrounded or why we’re trapped here.”

“What the fuck!” snaps Can’t Leave. “How can you not know that?”

All Fine shrugs. “They haven’t made any demands. Not a communicative bunch. Feel free to go out and ask hard questions.”

“Use drones! Call the outside world!”

“Drones don’t come back. No one outside has answered our calls for a hundred years.” Toss Cheese shrugs. “It’s a pickle.”

That is not taken as an acceptable answer, and the debate devolves into chaotic bitching about the sorry state of the city and who’s to blame for how bad it’s got. There’s a few good points for who’s to blame - the sleepers who ignore problems and the wakers who profit off them - but I’m not hearing a lot of solutions. Or at least solutions that match the problems.

People are dying - from disease or neglect - and are trapped - in prison, poverty, or a collapsing society. And the prevailing plan is to pretend this is normal. If you don’t like that, then figure it out on your own. Because some people are doing fine, and if you’re not, maybe you’re the problem.

Socrates is still standing, waiting for his turn to talk. He looks very small and upset. It occurs to me that he’s the youngest person here, probably by a wide margin. Henry looks sour. He didn’t want to attend. I can see why. Humanity’s something of an embarrassment. Soca hangs his head. A sad little man with Orphan scrawled on his chest.

Aww, fuck it.

I lurch to the chalkboard and add Psychos Want Me Dead to the list. Stomp to the stage with Psycho written on my chest. The Big Man gives me finger guns and adds my name to Mayor Rando. Anarchy.

Most of the debaters pause at my entrance. Except Woke’n’Broke, who’s still on about who pays for what. I settle next to Soca and give Broke a blast. “Yo! We’ve heard your question. Shut the fuck up and listen to the answer.”

That gets all attention on me, which I transmit to Soca by looking at him intensely. He realizes everyone is waiting for him to speak, has a nano-freak-out, then clears his throat. “Ahem. Yes. Well, orphan disease research doesn’t require money so much as bodies. And attention. I mean… we gotta wake some people up.”

There’s a strained silence.

“Go ahead.” says All Fine. “Nobody’s stopping you.”

There’s another strained silence. Toss Cheese looks around, then decides to fill it. Natural leader.

“There’s no law against waking people. Have at ’er. Pound on doors. Give them a shake. Or cut their power. There are laws against that, but no one’s enforcing them. Chop down the right utility pole, and you can wake an entire neighborhood. Two guys with chainsaws could wake half this city in a night.

“But they won’t start researching orphan diseases. They’ll just fix the poles and go back to sleep. Why would you expect anything different? There were orphan diseases when everyone was awake. We didn’t do shit about them then, why would we now? It’s the same with poverty, injustice, and death.” Toss Cheese shrugs. “The big sleep is a red herring. It hasn’t changed anything. We’ve always ignored our biggest problems.”

“Until they get real deadly.” Make Worse smiles and shoots finger guns. “Food for thought.”

There’s a long silence as everyone takes this in. I stare at Toss Cheese. One of these things is not like the others. I don’t necessarily agree with any other debater, but most have worldly concerns. Toss Cheese wants to change a dream for a different dream.

“Why do you want to overthrow Big Cheddar?”

“He’s stealing all the money so he can stay in power forever. Also, he makes everyone around him miserable.”

“Seems like we’ve got that going on here as well.”

“Nobody cares about here. I mean, present company, but not enough to win an election.”

“Is that not a bigger problem?” asks Soca. “That people care more about their dreams than the real world?”

Toss Cheese shrugs. “I’m not sure that’s solvable. People have always cared more about dreams, and we’ve never lived in the real world.

“Humans live in an isolation pod built of our own assumptions. We can only see what we think is there. Most see Big Cheddar as the biggest obstacle to their happiness. Seems crazy from here, but who are we to judge their slightly different isolation pod?”

Soca holds his head. “The dream isn’t real.”

“It’s where everyone is. Makes it more real than here.”

This absurdist exchange takes a lot of the wind out of the meeting. People are itching to go. We arrange another meeting to finalize the platform and discuss campaign tactics. Everyone files out.

I figure Cure Orphan Diseases will get in the platform, but I’m not sure how that helps. If Mayor Rando wins, it will end up as a job posting in a city where no one works. Also, Mayor Rando never wins.

Walking back to the truck, I see a bent silhouette lurking in the distance. My perfect night vision shows an off kilter drone smiling at me. Gunmetal and gaunt, like a Bright City industrial. It’s the first time I’ve seen that design here. An unsettling interloper, but it does nothing but watch us walk past. World’s worst spy drone.

“They only prefer dreams because we’ve let reality go to shit!” blurts Socrates. “That’s what I should’ve said. Fuck! Why do I always think of good comebacks too late?”

“That’s how it goes.” Henry blocks us from getting in the truck. “Nope. I’m not taking you mopey bastards home to mope up the place. Fuck off and have some fun. Blow off that steam. Here, take the shillelagh.” He tosses me his cane. Peels off in my truck.

He stole my truck. Dang. Though, he did give me an electric beat stick. We start walking. I take a small courier from my pocket and toss it up. Let Volt get some air.

I eye the wooden utility poles and the power lines they hold overhead. "Could two guys with chainsaws really wake half the city?"

"Nah." says Soca. "Cutting the power would kill the WiFi network, but people would just switch to cell towers. They have battery back-up. Trusties would have the power back on before anyone woke up."

"So you'd have to kill the cell towers too?"

"Sure, but there's thousands of them, and they're defended by police drones. Which, granted, aren't that effective. But they can slow you down and give away your location. The Trusties are cowards, but some of the sleepers are psychos. You wouldn't wake too many before somebody fucking killed ya.

"The only fast way to kill the dream is to attack the data center that houses its servers. But it's right beside a warehouse that stores thousands of police drones. So you end up slowed down and dead. Again. Same problem only faster."

I nod. "You've thought about this."

"Little bit." Soca says glumly. “Two people can't wake the city, and nobody else will help. I don't know why not. It's all going to shit.”

“Yeah..." I shrug. "They don’t wanna ruin democracy with too many people.”

“The fuck?”

“Come on kid, you’ve noticed all the Wakers are fucking rich, right?”

“Yeah, the Trusties, cause they’re stealing life savings for salty goo.”

“Sure, but I didn’t pay for my truck. You live in a fucking mansion. I don’t know who’s shoes I’m wearing. We’re all looters in a quiet riot. If everyone wakes up, the party’s over.”

“But we’re all fucked.”

“Yeah, there is that.” I sigh. “Anyway, what do you do for fun around here? I’m usually asleep by now.”

Soca gives a sly little grin. “Ever try No Thought? It’s Daoism in a bottle.”

We knock over a drug store. Get geared. Snacks, smokes, and No Thought. I briefly look at the directions on the bottle:

* The past is a delusion, the future never comes, all we have is this moment.

Fair enough. Let’s get present.

We take a generous dose. Wander the empty streets. “How will I know if it’s working?”

Soca throws a fistfull of smokes at a tree. They rise with stop motion jerkiness, until a dark goth cloud of crows explode out like flip book with missing pages to snatch them from the air.

“Ah, nevermind.”

One of the crows bobbles his ciggie. I toss it back to him.

“Merci.” It flies off.

“I’m beginning to think those aren’t drones.” says Volt. “Friends of yours?”

“Maybe.” Soca shrugs. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“Communication is very important. Those birds aren’t telepathic.”

Soca sighs and nods. “You make a good point. I’ve fucked up enough relationships with insecurities and assumptions. I’ll talk to the birds.”

“Good. Good.” Volt’s chibi form winces. “Did I overstep there? I probably shouldn’t tell you what to do.”

“No, it’s fine. I needed to hear that.”

“I shouldn’t meddle, but open honesty is such an easy fix. Xan recently blew a mating opportunity because she failed to articulate her desires. It was hard to watch.”

“Understood.”

We march down the street for a bit.

“You can be too honest.” I say. “But if we’re going there, I wasn’t actually trying to breed. I just kinda wanted to touch a dick.”

“Xan’s been dickless for a while now. It’s a sensitive issue. We’re trying to get through it.”

“Well, honesty is important. It’s one side of the equation. The other side is listening. Asking questions. Paying attention. Not letting your assumptions drown out what’s actually happening. People want a partner who finds them attractive and is kind to them. But the conditioning of the patriarchy is not easily set aside. I wasted many opportunities trying to be cool and tough. Performative nonsense. If I’d daydreamed instead about giving compliments and support, and resolving differences calmly, I may have developed the instincts to actually attract and keep a mate.” Soca shakes his head. “I can’t believe I fucked it up so bad. The whole premise of the breeding program was being nice and non-violent. It wasn’t exactly subtle.

“Also, many species use musicality to attract mates.”

“We should start a band.”

“Mouth is getting dry. I think the drugs are kicking in.”

“They’re just kicking in now?”

“Let’s get a drink.”

“Can we get coffee with cheese in it?”

“No.”

“I only drink semen.” chirps Volt.

“That’s making the cheese coffee sound better, but I was thinking alcohol.”

“Should you guys be mixing drugs?”

“In my experience, yes.”

“Fuck yass, let’s do all the drugs! What’s next?”

“Beer is the world’s oldest and most popular alcoholic drink. Nailed it in one.”

“Are you a salesman for beer?”

“Beer doesn’t need a salesman. It just needs a place to be.”

“I know where it be! Follow me!”

I take them to the Trustie bar where I was attacked. We enter to baleful glares from mesomorphic man-babies. They’re clearly pissed as I saunter to the bar and liberate a few beers, but they do nothing. Neither do their taser faced dogs. My new camo is highly effective. And not easily removed. There’s also the blatant risk of electrocution.

We help ourselves to many drinks. Perform a bacchanal. Run wild with drunken revelry. I laugh, and sing, and dance tauntingly before my enemies. Come at me. I dare you.

“You’re an amazing dancer.” says Volt. “You just disappear.”

“I can also change into things while dancing. Look, I’m a monkey!”

“What? How?”

“It’s uncanny.” says Soca.

“Now I’m a robot. Now I’m underwater. Now I have to pee. Where the fuck is the bathroom?”

We search, but it’s elusive. The other patrons aren’t helpful. Eventually find an alley. Good enough. There’s a click as the door locks behind us. Dicks.

I am carefully retying my pajamas next to a pile of e-waste, when I notice there’s bugbots crawling all over it. “Hello, little guys. Hey Soca, what are these things?”

“I dunno. I know they eat anything left alone for too long.”

“They’re semi-autonomous upcycle bots.”

I give Volt a bleary look. “That’s an interesting guess.”

“No guess. They have a readme file.”

“They have WiFi? Bluetooth? You can talk to them?”

“Yes.”

“Could you pilot one?”

“Like Jiminy Cricket? Sure.” One of the little bots stops chewing and waves at me.

“Could you pilot all of them? Like a drone swarm?”

“Hmm. That’s interesting. Wanting a poor man’s panopticon?”

“No. Something for defense. I’m tired of getting chased, and those buggers can chew metal.”

“Alright. The implications are ghastly, but I’ll give it a go.”

The bugbots congregate in a burbling mound of obsidian beetles. They skitter, skitter, boil, and bubble. Stewing up a killer drone or something like it. Hopefully, hopefully, hopefully.

The mound defines with creases, and ridges, and unfolds up, up, up, until I’m looking at a low-res black mirror of myself. Complete with tentacles. A glass darkly. Sweet.

Soca is baffled. “How?”

“They’re very sticky and flexy. Grippy and bendy.” Volt tests her hive body. Moves like me. Moves like an athlete. Ripples like a reflection in a pond. “They may have been designed to make movable structures. Is that what upcycle means?”

“Fucked if I know. Can you fight? ”

“Dunno. I’m pretty soft and weak.” She shrugs. “Let’s find out.”

The dark me approaches the bar door. Jiggles the locked handle. A few bugbots detach and skitter across the door. They chew through the rubber weatherstripping and into the bar. A second later, it unlocks with a click.

Inside, the Trusties have a taser dog hooked up to a laptop and are programming furiously. They quake in horror as Volt slides towards them, sinuous and stuttering like a stop motion snake. Or maybe everyone’s moving normally, and I’m on wild drugs. Hell of a show either way.

“Can I pet your dog?” Volt’s hand dissolves the drone’s head. The tasers are spared upcycling and passed back to me and Soca. As we tuck them into our pockets, Volt’s multitudinous eyes scan the Trusties.

“I’m sensing hostility in the room.”

“Yes, it’s delicious. Feed me.”

“Shall I take pre-emptive measures?”

“No. The little fish, I throw back. Let them find a new wardrobe.”

We liberate another beer as the Trusties pound out. We run this city.

“That was easy.”

“Yeah, we’ve been trying too hard. Should’ve got wasted first thing. Now that we’ve lubricated our brains, we only have good ideas.”

“Speaking of hard, we’ve solved our penis problem.”

Dark Me grows a mighty, bumpy, phallus. It looks at me with dozens of eyes.

“Do you think I’ll fuck a dick you found crawling in the trash?”

“Oh, I don’t think.”

“Obviously we’ll have to sanitize it. Also, where the fuck is Henry? He should be here.”

Soca shakes his head. “He’s already been out once today. He’ll need to rest.”

“Balls. Let’s wake someone to fix him.”

“It’s not that easy. Nobody in the city knows how. I’ve checked.”

“Then I guess we’re going on a road trip.”

“What? How? Why?”

I take a professorial aire. “Having recently conquered this city, I grow weary of it. Let’s expand the empire. The outside world has had a hundred years to develop. They probably have floating buildings and shit. We’ll duck out, rob a pharmacy, or download the internet, or kidnap an immunologist, or something. In and out. Bing bang boom.”

“What about getting shot?”

I scoff. “We are stealth. We eat dogs. It’s like Dune. As long as you dance, the worms can’t see you.”

I do a little jive. Volt loses me. Soca shrugs. We steal another truck and head to the border.

“Should we just keep driving?”

“No.”

“Maybe? Could be a long walk.”

“NO! The stealth protocols necessitate dancing. The truck can’t dance. So we must dance without it.”

“Fine. Let’s do this.”

We bust a move across no man’s land. Tentacles a jiggling. We are stealth. The empire will expand. There’s a hard poke to my chest. A puck of meat explodes out my back. Hear a bang.

Volt and Soca flip. Run around like crazy people. Another bang, and Volt’s head explodes. We may be under attack.

I snag Soca with my good hand and lay us prone. To disadvantage ranged attacks. Also, feeling a little woozy. Volt grows a new head, and shakes her fist at the woods. Loses her fist. She’s slimming down. Wants to shield us, but this body isn’t magnetically reinforced metal. Shots just blow through, spraying geysers of bug guts.

“What do we do?” asks Soca.

“Stop the bleeding. Apply pressure to her wound.” Volt morphes to a Gieger tumbleweed. “Ima killa dog.”

Escher's nightmare rolls off. W00t. That dog’s toast. Soca fusses over me to no avail. I’m fine.

Volt’s back. Now a funhouse version of me. She’s burned through some mass. “This is so fucked. I should be deleted. How’s the bleeding?”

“Uh, good. None. She must be on No Bleed.”

“What? Fuck!”

“That’s good, right?”

“She’s on a triple dose of Regen. Has seven comorbidities. No Bleed will fucking kill her!”

I give a single finger gun. “Super powers, bitches.”

My super vision fades to black.