Pie Box 1

by George Saoulidis

  Patty’s breath caught. She realised she had tensed up, as if she was bracing for an attack. Looking inside herself, she felt mad for feeling like that. This wasn’t an attack at her. Hector hadn’t accused her of anything. He was concerned and he had rightfully queried for something that didn’t add up. He had a right to, after all. He was her owner. She lived in his house, ate his food, used his utilities. And her income hadn’t even nearly covered her immediate medical expenses. That fucking Echidna, she’d show her next time.

  Why was she being so defencive? Hector wasn’t out to get her. He wasn’t out to abuse her. He had been a gentleman so far. And even if he suddenly turned around and became nasty towards her like she feared, it had nothing to do with this.

  She asked herself, would she ever tell him her secret?

  Perhaps, her lips answered silently.

  Perhaps. But now it was time to save Cherry.

  Bracing herself, she went downstairs to meet the men at the truck.

  DROP FIFTY-NINE

  “Whyyy can’t I come inside?” Tony whined.

  “Because you’re a leery bastard. Also, I need you out here, hacking your way into Nicomedes’ computer.”

  Tony complained through his nose and sagged on the car seat. He hugged his laptop tight. “A party full of cyberpink girls. Hot and sexy and boobily drinking their liquor. Anything can happen, anything,” he said to nobody in particular. He turned to Hector again. “You lucky bastard.”

  “Just do your job!” Hector snapped at the man and fixed his suit. His old one was ruined by the attempt on Hondros’ life, so he rented one out. Trusting that this night too would hit the fan, he opted for the added insurance cost. It didn’t fit well of course, but that was a benefit because he wore the bulletproof undersuit as well.

  The sickly neon sign flickered pink all over the place. They tried a few spots and then parked in a side street across the building, wardriving, as Tony called it, looking around for the best spot to get the building’s WiFi signal.

  “With this booster antenna I’m okay,” Tony finally said waving the antenna around and got ready, his game face on. He looked like a constipated fat kid, but in his mind he must have looked badass.

  Pickle was silent, the fleshy half of her face a complete frown.

  Hector touched her hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll get her out.”

  She forced a smile. “Yes. I hope so.”

  He turned back to Tony. “Tell me again what I need to do.”

  “You’ll go inside, act casual, enjoy the party full of Pinup Girls, you lucky bastard, and then you’ll sneak in to Nicomedes’ office. You plug in the flash drive with the Trojan, I take over, break his limited-time contract and get the girls out of there. Then you unplug the Trojan, and go home with a babe in each arm.” He mimicked kissing each imaginary girl at his side.

  With tongue.

  Patty elbowed him on the ribs.

  “Ow! What did I say now?” He grinned in delight.

  “Told ’ya not to hit him. He enjoys it.” Hector said, getting out of the truck.

  Pickle shifted away from Tony, looking sideways at him.

  “Be nice,” he told the both of them and went off to the party.

  George greeted him and opened the door. Hector could tell he was wearing the vest he tailored for him and it indeed fit well. He winked at the muscular man as he got patted down and received a sly smile.

  “I can’t help but think you’re feeling me up just a tad longer that you should, George. Buy me a drink first. I like ouzo.”

  He felt him around, patting his sleeves. “It’s this underarmour. Man, I want one too.”

  “You know where to find me.”

  The other security guy waved his wand around on his back.

  “No augs, just the veil ones.”

  “Have fun, Mr. Troy.”

  “Thank you, George.”

  He got inside the dreadful place.

  Taking the stairs to the first floor, he heard the deep bass, music that made his chest throb. Lights and people and...

  Oh, my.

  A Pinup Girl came up to him and offered a tray. “Drink, sir?”

  Hector tried not to stare, but he was a man, and she was frickin gorgeous. Gorgeous smile, gorgeous neck, gorgeous nipples. He took a glass of whiskey straight, his eyes darting at the topless woman and back to the drinks. He preferred an ouzo, but any booze was fine at this point. The girls wore nothing but high heels and some body paint with the Pinups’ logo on their buttcheeks. Plus a thong that barely registered as a clothing item.

  That didn’t seem to please some men, it seemed, so they pulled even that down and got a nice, uninterrupted view of waxed pussy. The Pinup Girl had to smile back at them and said nothing as they laughed.

  What a shitty group of people! Hector wasn’t a prude, he could appreciate a striptease or a bordello as much as any other man. But this wasn’t what these girls had signed up for. They’d been promised Jugger matches and fame and adoring fans, and what they got was being treated like meat by a bunch of disgusting men. And some women also, he noticed, which made his brain hurt with questions. It seemed being an asshole was a unisex trait.

  You know, like having one was.

  Hector was seriously reconsidering his plan here to make connections. The more he got to know these people, the more he wanted to get as far away from them as he could. He looked around, trying to find a normal person to talk to. Oh, there was an owner, lying back on a couch in the corner. He seemed norm-

  Nope. He had a blonde ponytail bobbing up and down between his legs. He was getting a blow job, full of drugs.

  Hector just leaned on a column, staying out of the way, and felt like high school all over again. He drank some booze, and winced. Expensive whiskey, but he never enjoyed it that much.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” a familiar voice said from behind.

  Hector turned around casually, but he couldn’t keep his smile from showing. This was priceless. He looked down at the short man. “Hello, Nicomedes. Nice party. So many tits.” He pointed around. “And pricks,” he pointed at him.

  Nicomedes’ face morphed from a bitter mask into a gleeful one.

  What was the fucker up to?

  “Nevermind. I’m glad you’re here. I bet you’ll just love the dodgeball game.”

  Hector shrugged. “Sure, whatever. How many more tits can it possibly have than this?”

  “Oh, plenty. But the attraction is, that it will have a pair you seem to be quite fond of.” Nicomedes smiled and showed his whitened teeth.

  DROP SIXTY

  Cherry covered her cooch with her hands. The others stripped her down and tried to comfort her, but nothing made her feel better.

  “Here, wear these,” a redhead Pinup said and threw her a pair of protective goggles. Cherry tried to catch it, then realised her cooch was showing again, so she covered it back, and the goggles fell and she fumbled for them. The girls giggled at her and whispered stuff amongst themselves, pointing at her.

  Cherry wanted to die.

  They pushed her out to the training grounds, along with another naked Pinup. She too was short and fast, definitely a qwik herself, Cherry’s analytical mind told her. They had spoken briefly the other day. She was a week older than eighteen, a brunette, and had asked the other girls for advice on how to cut her hair. They told her to leave it long and dye it blond. She had shrugged and just made a ponytail.

  What was her name?

  Bella. Right.

  Cherry stumbled into the training ground, covering her boobies and her cooch. The owners were gathered all around, laughing and drinking. They were standing around in tall tables that were placed inside the training area as if it was an event at some hotel. Nicomedes, her owner for the evening, announced the dodgeball but she didn’t hear a word.

  Her ears drummed, all she could hear was her heartbeat. She turned back for some sympathy from the others.

  Nothing.

  If
anything, she felt they wanted her to fail.

  “Dodge, bitch!” one of the girls called out and the others chanted the same.

  That’s when she saw it. A machine across the training floor, looking like a scary version of those tennis throwing thingies.

  It whirred into life, like a monster breathing and flexing its muscles.

  Thub.

  It shot something at her and her heart pumped even harder.

  Time stopped, just for her, as it did when she wanted to.

  She turned her body about forty degrees and arched her back. The ball shot through the air a few centimetres away from her and it gleamed as it zoomed past, reflecting in a warped, curvy perspective, the room and the lights and her startled face.

  A ball bearing.

  It struck the back wall, breaking into the concrete bricks that someone had placed there, shattering them with immense force.

  Cherry turned around, her eyes wide.

  Thub.

  The machine fired again.

  Cherry flinched but it wasn’t going for her. The other qwik got the ball bearing right in the face and fell down like a sack of meat.

  Blood pooled away from her head.

  “Too slow!” the owners booed.

  Cherry couldn’t believe it! She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry out, she-

  Thub.

  Cherry dodged the ball bearing, touching the floor with her fingers. No time for decency, she let everything show. Daddy would understand.

  Thub.

  Cherry sidestepped and the ball bearing crashed the brick behind her, raising a cloud of smoke and concrete debris.

  She stared down at the dead qwik. She felt something wet on the sole of her foot and went “Eww!” when it came back bloody.

  Cherry wanted to roll up into a ball and cry. But her instinct told her it wasn’t the time for that. She had to survive, first.

  She had to be qwik.

  Ignoring her drilled-in instinct to bring her forearms in a blocking position, she braced herself for the next shot.

  Thub.

  She dodged on time, but she slipped on the red blood. It was a glancing blow and the owners cheered. The ball bearing rocked her insides, striking bone and cracking it, sending a wave of pain up her nervous system. She could see the blow in slow motion, too late to avoid it, her skin rippling outward as it carried and absorbed the force of the impact.

  Thub.

  She raised her foot and wiped it in a smooth motion, then slapping it back on the floor, she dodged on time.

  Thubthubthub.

  Her heart pumped like crazy, each heartbeat feeling like a hammer on her broken rib. She glided on the floor as if this was a dance number, and she avoided all three. The ball bearings shattered the bricks and brought the top half of the makeshift wall crumbling down.

  The owners cheered.

  Thub. Thub.

  She darted right, dodged, and got a direct ball bearing on the shoulder. She cried out in pain and the owners went wild. Glancing at it, the bruise was already painting itself outward from veiny red to sickly yellow.

  She hated them. Why were they so mean to her? All she wanted was to design her own dresses and now they-

  There was someone familiar up there. Dark and bearded, full of angles. Hector. His face was not like the others. Theirs were drunk and horny and ecstatic. His was rigid and set firmly into a scowl. It was like a close up of the Dark Night, the comic book she liked to draw from. Face full of cross hatching lines. A frown that could stop you dead in your tracks.

  Thub.

  She dodged, absent minded, still watching him, maintaining eye-contact.

  Then she remembered she was butt-naked! Gosh, what a shame. She covered her cooch.

  DROP SIXTY-ONE

  “I don’t give a shit, Tony, do it now!” Hector hissed into his phone.

  “But they’ll know we hacked into their system,” Tony complained.

  “Let them know. Do it. Now.”

  “Fine.”

  Thubthubthubthub.

  The machine that spat out ball bearings rotated and started firing in a wide arc. The owners screamed as the ball bearings tore through glasses with expensive booze, clothes made of expensive fibres, and soft tissue of expensive plastic surgery.

  Everybody ran for their lives. Hector just positioned himself at an angle where there was cover, it’s not like the machine moved about from its firing position.

  All these people were so fucking soft. How can you get to be such an asshole and not get a tiny bit of street-smarts?

  Hector enjoyed the panic, but he had a goal in mind other than trashing Nicomedes’ party.

  An owner was holding a Pinup waitress as a human shield, while she shrieked at the top of her lungs. Her face had gone red from the effort, as well as her neck and the top of her exposed breasts. Hector kicked the man away and grabbed the topless Pinup, covering her with his own body and carrying her away from the line of fire.

  Glass shards flew everywhere.

  A couple of stray ball bearings struck him on the back of the leg. He knew it’d hurt afterwards, but he was fine for now.

  “Stay down,” he told her and she whimpered, her mascara ruined. But safe.

  Hector ran down the stairs and got to Nicomedes’ office. He waited for a few endless seconds, completely exposed in the corridor while waiting for Tony to hack the door open. It finally clicked, the automated servos rolling the security pins away. He got inside, didn’t turn on the lights. The glow from the street was enough to see in there. He fumbled with the flash drive and plugged it in. “It’s in.”

  “Niiice,” Tony said over the phone. “Oh, man, he has nudes of the entire team! I’ll be such a boss if I share these- Ow! Ow! Okay, Patty, calm down. Typing here. Ow! Need my fingers. Hacker here, need my fingers. You’re crushing my livelihood. Thank you.”

  Hector looked out the door. People ran down towards the exit, so he pushed it open just a centimetre. George’s heavy steps went past the door and up the stairs. He sighed in relief. He hadn’t noticed him.

  “Tony, are we done?”

  “A minute.”

  “I don’t have a minute.”

  “A minute!” He could hear him typing frantically.

  Hector put his eye in the gap and peeked out the corridor. A mess, a bloody mess. He couldn’t help but enjoy trashing Nicomedes’ party. But that was for later, he needed to get out first. George may be a buddy, but he was a professional and he didn’t want to get on the receiving end of the 30.4 centimetres of bicep circumference he knew for a fact the man had.

  “Done!”

  Hector grabbed the Trojan and peeked through the door. There were people down the hall, but he could fake it. With a swift turn he was out the corridor and walking away as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

  “Oh, fuck. This is bad,” Tony said over the phone.

  “What?” Hector whispered.

  “It’s not a limited-time contract. Nicomedes has got their paramone, permanently.”

  “Hephaistos’ balls, man! Fuck. What now?”

  Silence for a second.

  “Now, you have to get the owner hashes from Nicomedes himself.”

  DROP SIXTY-TWO

  Hector crossed the street and got back inside his truck. He gripped the steering wheel and turned the ignition on. It was one of the old ones that needed you to press a button. He liked retro stuff like that.

  “Are we leaving?” Patty said flatly.

  “Yes,” he said, not looking back.

  Tony stayed out of this argument, sitting quietly in the passenger side.

  “Okay,” she said in the same flat tone. He could feel her eyes boring into his back.

  He sighed, then pressed the button again and the engine turned off.

  He hit his forehead on the steering wheel, attenuating each syllable. “What the fuck do you expect me to do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “This isn’t my world. I’m not
a part of these fucking people with their business smiles and their disgusting vices. I’m just a guy who likes to make armour. I didn’t ask to get your paramone, it just fell on my lap. I told you from day one that I’ve got no clue about all this cyberpink shit.”

  “I know.”

  The guests left the party. It was ruined, after all. Hector saw them scurrying away like rats leaving a sinking ship. Rats dressed in expensive clothes, half-drunk, half-high, with female comfort assigned to get their minds off tonight’s mess.

  “It’s all mired in shit, everywhere I look. This entire business. I can’t even sit down anywhere, every chair feels sticky, that’s how filthy this entire thing is. I’m just a guy. I can’t save every damn girl in the world.”

  “Nobody asked you to,” Patty said, her voice breaking.

  Hector raised his head up, and saw that annoying blinking neon sign again. It grated at his soul.

  “My fucking back hurts, I got bruises all over, and that’s not counting the fresh ones, I suddenly have to share my fucking house with a stranger, and here I am, rolling in shit for yet another stranger! What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I here?”

  Patty said nothing.

  Hector turned back in his seat.

  She looked away, out the window. She touched her face and kept it hidden.

  “Tell me.”

  “Tell you what, Hector?”

  “Tell me what you want from me.”

  “Nothing.”

  Hector squeezed the steering wheel, feeling furious. This was just like an argument with his ex. So. Damn. Infuriating. Just say what’s on your mind, for fuck’s sake!

  He panted for a couple of minutes, calming himself down.

  “Look, I’m just a guy. Yes, I wanna help. I’m pretty sure I saved Cherry’s life just now, with Tony’s hack, of course. So we’ve done our good deed for the day. Yay. Now can we go home?”

  “Of course,” Patty sniffled.

  “Oh for fuck’s-” Hector stopped himself and his knuckles went white. “There’s a dead girl in there. Dead. How are they getting away with this?”