Cyber Witch

by Eddie R. Hicks

  Pause, Play, Rewind. He remembered he made plans to visit them and set out to do so after a quick shower. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand, thumbing in the number to the owner of the local Pause, Play, Rewind location in New York. An old news source of Ray’s.

  The call was answered after two rings. The bearded face of a man with receding hair, wearing a jean jacket and tattoos all over his face and arms projected on Ray’s phone’s screen. There was a lit cigarette in his mouth he pulled away with his fingers to speak.

  “Hello?”

  Ray smiled at the sound of the voice. “Joel, hey long time no see.”

  “Fucking, Partington, that you?” Joel exhaled smoke.

  “Yeah man, how you’ve been holding up?”

  “I should ask you that after that article you wrote last year. You fucking made me, my business, and fellow IWs look bad!”

  “It’s the truth; you guys had some illegal psytrip stuff for sale.”

  “We didn’t know they were part of our stock! If I had, then I would have trashed them.”

  “Whatever, I’m not calling about that.”

  “What are you calling for then?”

  “I need your help.”

  “Oh, big fucking surprise,” Joel puffed his cigarette. “What’s up now? Need a new source for a smear job story?”

  “I need a telepath to poke around in my head,” Ray said. “There’s some material there I’d like verified.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  He shrugged slightly. “I don’t know, was hoping you could tell me.”

  “Does it have to do with the recent attack?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Swing by in an hour and I’ll see what I can do,” Joel said after a long pause. “This is gonna cost you know?”

  “Whatever it takes, man.”

  A ‘message ended’ flashed on his phone’s screen. He slipped his phone into his pocket and got ready to leave.

  The New York Pause, Play, Rewind establishment was in the city’s IW district, much like its LA counterpart, dead center of lower Manhattan. Coming off the high-speed train that took Ray from his hotel to the district brought him two blocks away from the establishment. The streets were devoid of the snow that fell the previous night, self-driving snowplows made their rounds hours earlier by the looks.

  New York’s IW district wasn’t like LA’s, there were fewer IWs and a lot more humans. A bit of anxiety nipped at Ray’s head as he pushed past a wall of men and women with spiked hair, mohawks dyed pink or purple, with way too many piercings in their tattooed bodies. Ripped jeans and leather jackets were the attire of choice.

  One IW man with a phone in hand and a ghetto blaster in the other glared at Ray when he caught him looking at him. “The fuck you lookin’ at human?!”

  Ray raised his hands in a please, I’m sorry motion, and moved away fast before the IW’s friend put a hex on him. Assuming one hadn’t been put on him already, it’d explain the shitty luck that had hit Ray recently.

  Loud dark synthwave music pulsed through the air when Ray got to Pause, Play, Rewind. Warlock bouncers gave him a nod, allowing him to venture deeper in. Like the LA version, the establishment doubled as a brothel. It was the perfect place to record new memories and then sell the memory spheres to those looking for a hot psytrip. He avoided the halls leading to those rooms.

  Being there brought back memories of the last time Ray had visited, and the research he was conducting on the illegal memory sphere trade. Selling telepathically recorded memory spheres to be used in psytrip encounters wasn’t illegal of course, provided the source giver gave their consent. The New York Pause, Play, Rewind had every experience you could think of, it was one of the biggest in the country, and its telepathic staff was more than willing to make you experience what other people did in the past.

  Adult playtime in the bed? First dates? Amazing adventures? They had something for everyone. And if there wasn’t, then they paid money to those that had those memories, witch or human, to come in and have a telepath record and create the memory sphere. Ever wanted to climb a mountain? Just buy a memory sphere with that encounter, and then have the telepath give you the psytrip experience and relive the experience of someone else doing that. The sights, smells, feelings, you temporarily become that person during that moment.

  It was a good business until people secretly sold under aged sex memory spheres and the like. The New York location Ray stood in was home to the biggest distribution point of that thanks to one of their employees that collected them behind the management’s back. Ray’s investigative report got those memory spheres destroyed, and the men and women behind it hunted down by local RWs.

  Ray found Joel in the dark halls standing next to a woman with short brunette hair sitting on a lounge chair. The sides of her head were shaved and decorated with pentagrams.

  “Punctual, as usual,” Joel glanced at the time on his phone and grinned. “You must be serious about this.”

  “I’d rather not be here, and you know that,” Ray said drily.

  Joel nodded to the woman beside him. “This is Celia; she’s one of our best.” Celia smirked, sitting back in the lounge chair, arching her back to make her breasts, wrapped in a fishnet top, stick up enticingly. Ray kept his eyes averted. He still had high hopes of reuniting with Arianna. “She’ll get what you need, Partington.”

  Ray grimaced. “Of course, shall we?”

  “Payment bro.”

  Joel informed him of the cost, one thousand Alliance dollars. It was way overpriced. Joel was striking back at Ray for the exposé he wrote. As he recalled, Joel lost a lot of business for the first half of ‘81.

  With a nod, Joel had Celia stand and guide Ray to the rear rooms, the non-brothel one he hoped although Celia wasn’t dressed for that kind of service. She wore mesh stockings, and a micro skirt so short you could see half the shape of her thong and it was completely transparent. He wondered what the point was of wearing it in the first place.

  Closed doors and translucent walls lined the corridor in the hall Celia guided Ray through. He could see the shadows of people fucking, some were even bold enough to fuck next to the translucent windows, like the woman squashing her high breasts against the glass, while her partner gave it to her from behind. She winked at Ray, and then licked the glass with lust in her eyes, a ribbon of witch saliva smeared across the glass. Ray was regretting coming here. Celia had the wrong idea, he still loved Arianna.

  “Uh,” he went to speak up. “I think we’re in the wrong place.”

  “Naw,” Celia replied. “There’s only one room available, and it’s down here, hun.”

  The only free room in question slid open with a wave of Celia’s hand near a biometric scanner. Ray peeked inside. A bed, nightstand, and mirrors were all he could see. He wanted to turn around.

  Celia pushed her slender fingers against his back, preventing that. “Right this way,” she whispered.

  The door closed and she locked it. Ray was alone with Celia. She mischievously held him by the hands and pulled him to the bed where he sat on its edge. Ray yanked his hands away after she sat, keeping them to himself. This is not where he should be. Joel’s idea of revenge was cheeky.

  She sat beside him, smiling, playfully stroking her fingers across his shoulders. Blood filled his penis and stiffened it.

  Ray shut his eyes, hoping the weird mathematical numbers would appear. That’d take his mind off the situation. It did nothing but make Celia’s hands, now running a finger down the middle of his shirt, stop. One good thing came of it.

  “You need to relax a little,” she purred.

  “I just need what’s in my head out.”

  “I can’t do that when you’re like this.” He felt the bed move; Celia had stood up. He was quick to open his eyes, fearful of what she might pull next. She stood ahead of him, hands on her hips. “You gotta be calm, mellow, or the memories won’t come out clear.”

  “Sorry, I thought Joel would be
doing this.”

  A twist and lick of her lips. “You prefer men?”

  “Oh, no, it’s just—”

  A hopeful smile spread across her face. “So, you like girls then?”

  “I have a girlfriend.”

  “Is that so?”

  “So please stay away from my memories of sleeping with her?”

  Her left hand touched the side of his head while she lowered her head, it glowed white. With Celia’s eyes shut, Ray felt a surge of mind-tingling waves tickle his brain. His vision became a blur. When it recovered Celia wasn’t standing ahead touching him. It was Arianna.

  He jerked his head backward, his confused face wondering if it was the real Arianna, the imaginary one he’d been seeing since the hospital discharge, or Celia.

  “What the fuck?” he spat.

  “I’m still here,” the Arianna ahead of him said with a voice that sounded like Celia. “It’s just a mental projection. You’re seeing what I want you to see.” Celia looking like Arianna took a step backward, running her hands up along her body, still dressed in the fishnet and micro skirt grab, only it was Arianna’s body. “So how do I look? This is how your girlfriend looks, right?”

  More blood hardened his penis. “Spot on.”

  “Like Joel said, I’m good.” She quickly leaped back to the bed, sitting to his right, and ran a hand down his arm. “Good, you’re getting relaxed.” The same hand that grabbed his arm pulled him to the bed with her. “Lay with me, it should make the connection better.”

  Part of Ray wanted to panic. The other part told him Arianna was back and kept his nerves in check. It’s all part of the process to find the real Arianna and get his life back to normal. He convinced himself that over and over as she climbed over his body, breasts that looked like Arianna’s dangling over his face from the fishnet top.

  His penis wanted to break out from his trousers. Celia’s hand grabbing the lump that formed on his pants confirmed that. She giggled. “You’re so cute.”

  Ray looked to the locked door, wondering what would happen if the real Arianna bolted through. He sighed. “Can we just skip this part and get this over with?”

  Celia cocked her head to the side, making a disappointing glare he figured. “Sure you don’t wanna?”

  “No.”

  “She’ll never know, and neither will your brain. And you know Joel ripped you off right?”

  “I’m aware of that, he knows I’m desperate.”

  “Get your money’s worth then.” Her head lowered enough to feel the heat of her breath on his neck. “You could fuck me. I don’t mind, you’ve paid more than my usual clients do.”

  He felt the moisture from her lips next, press against the side of his neck. She was on top of him, her technique was good, he couldn’t feel her enhanced breasts squashing against him. It felt like Arianna’s chest, as did her skinny hips, and hands forcing his head to face her. Another kiss met him, an open-mouthed one on his lips. His penis was in pain, being crushed against the fabric of his clothing. He only knew of one approach to stop the torment. He didn’t reach for that idea.

  This wasn’t Arianna. He was not a cheater. He overpaid for a memory extraction and got this, a dancer and telepath that wasn’t taking no for an answer as she dry fucked him to the sound of the synthwave music.

  All part of the process. Joel’s process to get new memory spheres to sell. Ray could see it now, new memory sphere for sale, reluctant journalist forced to fuck a hot witch. If Ray wanted it gone, he’d have to pay more.

  He got swindled.

  Ray had to resist Celia, but how he couldn’t figure out. She was every bit like the real Arianna. She got into his head and pulled out everything he loved about her, applying it to the mental veil. Arianna’s smell, her looks, her touch, his strong need to be with her, reality and fantasy became a blur. It’s no wonder witches put most human sex workers and the porn industry out of business. Who could compete with powers like that?

  Celia pulled her lips away from his, wincing. “No dice, huh?”

  His sleeve removed a layer of excitement sweat from his forehead “I’m sorry, you’re great and all, but my heart belongs to her, not the projection of her.”

  “All right fine,” Celia said, climbing off him. “Where do you wanna start?”

  Ray sat up. “Yesterday evening at JFK airport.”

  She stared at him astonished. “You mean when the attack went down?” He nodded. She sounded astonished. “You were there?”

  “Yep.”

  Eyes shut, head looking down, both white glowing hands holding the sides of Ray’s head. Celia went into a trance, reaching into Ray’s memories, the service he overpaid for.

  His world turned into a flash of light. When it came back, he was standing with Celia, back in her normal form. They stood in the airport, hours before the attack, when Ray first arrived, watching the flight status screens.

  He grinned. Progress at last. “Okay perfect, capture everything. I need to review everything in more detail.”

  JFK airport appeared just how he remembered it. Ray and Celia were invisible forces to those around them. They watched Ray from that time scope out the two shadowy men, the African guy, and the tall pale lanky man, and then later, the other group of shadowy men. Men who were all unregistered IWs.

  Ray in the past checked in and passed the security checkpoint when the IWs used whatever powers they had to bypass it. He watched as he went into the washroom stall, hacked the cameras, and made a call to Arianna. The whole thing played out like a movie, right down to the attack.

  An Asian man with a nanite infused katana and ponytail stood next to a shattered window looking out to the runway where the tall IW was pushed out of. His katana glowed indigo as he snapped his fingers, stepped through a blurry rift and vanished. Ray in the memory playback found Arianna seeking cover. The two were embracing moments later as she murmured strange words.

  Celia stepped ahead, studying Arianna and Ray intensely from the recollection. “You know she’s a witch, right?”

  Twenty-Three

  Estrella

  Piper found parking in an overcrowded eight-story parking lot, right at the top level. It gave a nice view of holographic advertisements lined up along the buildings ahead, mostly advertising new fashion trends, smartwatches, and some new flavor Coca-Cola had been pushing for the last two months.

  A glass-covered walking bridge carried the two across the drop between the eight-story parking garage and another building. That too had a few ads on it. Down below were the streets, traffic lights, and cars zooming back and forth, as pedestrians on the sidewalks walked to or from the various establishments. Nobody seemed affected by the IW attacks, not even when a news broadcast played from one of the larger screens in the brightly lit commercialized jungle.

  The block was crammed with the new smart hologram advertisements Yoshida rolled out. They were ads that spoke to people as they walked past, telling them what they should buy and where to get it. Every ad was customized as they pulled up your personal profile, accessing your everyday activities in the world. One facial scan and a dip into Yoshida’s database, and the holograms knew exactly what you came out to shop for or how to use fear to make you spend money on stuff you don’t need.

  Men were informed where to find those perfect shoes that would make any woman fall for them. Women were advised how their bodies should look, and how much better looking they’d be with a particular fashion trend, hair spray, and breast augmentations.

  When Estrella faced an ad, they informed her that the Alliance Star was offering a subscription discount. That data harvested likely from her recent searches. Piper’s custom ads directed her to a new lesbian witch nightclub that had opened.

  The corporations of the world worked hard to harvest data on people’s personal lives, sell it to the highest bidders, and then use that data to exploit them. True freedom and privacy were a myth.

  The NC gauntlets the two wore caught the stares of three w
omen with shopping bags in their hands in the orange and yellow neon glow. A man and a woman, no older than seventeen, sat at the edge of a bench, their lips locked in a wet make-out session. The woman’s arms were around his body, and the man’s hands were inching down her leather shorts. Estrella envied the girl. She never had anyone kiss her like that. She wondered what it would feel like.

  Following Piper’s lead, Estrella arrived at an ice cream parlor. The scent of fresh dairy hit her the second she entered. She didn’t need to run an environment scan to know it was the real deal, regardless of what the screens above the order table said.

  Piper approached to order. “Two rocky road bowls please.”

  The clerk nodded, keying in her request on the computer. “Soy or synthetic?”

  A half-smile spread on Piper’s face. “The real shit.”

  The clerk returned the gesture.

  As promised, Piper paid for the two bowls of rocky road ice cream. One heaping spoonful of the desert told Estrella’s tongue that what she ate was against the law. Not that she cared, she hadn’t had real ice cream since childhood, and it was a one-time deal. The two came to sit on the hood of Piper’s car together, legs crossed, a bowl of ice cream in hand, and eyes gawking at the big cityscape touched and brightened by never-ending hologram signs and neon colors.

  Estrella looked at her bowl of ice cream, now half-finished. “You know this is illegal, right?”

  Piper snorted. “No shit,” then did that smile that made Estrella flush. “My body getting leased out to the LAPD has its benefits. The original ice cream place got shut down for serving ice cream produced from milk, harvested from a real cow. So, the people that ran this place bought the space out, rebranded it under a new name, and kept the real ice cream a close secret.”

  “Hard to imagine police raiding an ice cream shop.”