by Isaac Nasri
Troy grabs a spoon, dipping it into the soup and sipping. “Yeah?”
“I mean….it’s been a yearly thing between you and me. And I…I keep downplaying this shit, no matter how much I like what goes down.”
Alana can hear stone crack and the layer of debris tumble as she speaks. Her palm’s weight on the table lightens. She’s been holding onto this confession for years, putting it aside because of how far the comfort enamored her. As for Troy, despite holding onto those exact thoughts, wasn’t the man who was too keen and bright on such expression. However, the more she played along, the confession’s sharp eyes ascended, gazing down at the two, whispering into her ear like a savant angel offering her his insight on the future. Troy wipes the drip smoothly from his lip, motionless in his seating as he whistles.
“You actually know of this saying between—”
Troy snickers, wiping his eyes. “Trying to read a Virtual’s mind again, aren’t you?”
She sucks her teeth. “C’mon now. STOP tripping Troy.” Alana lands a hand on his lap, rocking him close. “You know exactly what’s up. Admit it. That’s what I’m talking about…you being shy.” Nevertheless, Alana witnesses Troy’s eyes seal, and he drinks his water casually, as if unmoved to what’s mentioned. “The big truth people are saying is…a guy and lady—me, can’t just be, damn friends. More we come closer…things flow to the point they start to rise and rise up. Rise. And as people, we end up…like this, you know.” Her tone softens, reaching another bass. The room rumbles as if a storm is on the brink.
“I know that from the heart, Troy. ‘Cause that’s us in a nutshell.” Alana’s hand tightens. “I been having a thing for you for a long while, by the way.”
Troy sets the cup down, and his attention falls toward her. He sighs. The room’s temperature mounts and the breeze reaches downward, ruffling her skirt and skin. Her sun shaped earrings tick.
“Even from the year I first met you, you know?” Her throat pierces. “I been usually somebody that looked up to you. This world can be so fucking nasty…you end up giving up at times.” Her cheeks redden, and her fingers curl on the table, mustering to steady her stance as the egregious memories from the past surf. More layers crumble, giving access to the ray of light with every word she spoke. “But the thing is, you actually given me a bit of hope.”
Troy’s expression softens, and he continues to stare silently. The heat in his pants swims toward her hand, bringing her closer to where her hand caresses his.
“I…I be liking getting comfortable,” she continues. Alana pants. “But…I got a remind myself of this. Why be messing around long enough with a guy I got so much heart for? Especially when you’s more than a family to me?”
Even with the expulsion of her final tormentors during the junior year of her harrowing high school, doubt and apprehension had buried like a gunshot puncture into a teenaged Alana’s heart. A foggy black and white pall inundated her view of the sunny streets she walked on. That parlous mirage shattered once stepping foot into Boston University that summer as an employee of one of the campus shops. Her hair then, jet black as a crow’s beak, was tied back, and she inserted one of the folded Terrier shirts inside the shelf. She froze upon her shop manager, bringing a fairly tall and sable-skinned human worker into the counter. Dreads knotted into a ponytail as well, the worker smiled suavely as he offered a hand. His pupil glinted. She set her quivering hand on his, carrying her many years later to the time they laid hands during the evening of her graduation ceremony. Her gown spiraled as Troy raised her hand, allowing the tip of her shoes to swirl on the ground. Heat races toward her chest to his firm abdominal muscles pressed against her body.
It didn’t matter to her that Troy was a Virtual and the procedure he has undergone then. After family, her trust and heart fell to Troy. People came and flipped for devious reasons, but the same couldn’t be said for him. She would be gullible to think that Troy was nothing more than a deep companion she adulated. Troy was more than that, and she yearned for the chance to open that cryptic door.
“See what I saying?”
Alana blinks to glass clattering on the table. She glances at Troy sinking his fork inside the soup. He chuckles gently.
“I uh…” He’s unable to proceed in his thoughts. The Virtual raises a sliced shrimp with the teeth of his fork. Troy arches his two eyebrows. “What a night.”
Troy sets a finger to her lip as he displays the shrimp at hand. Blushing, Alana leans. She seals her eyes, returning the favor with a kiss planted on his lips. Her heart accelerates as she prolongs her soft lips onto his own, creeping her nails to his face.
Thank God!
The two let go softly. Nonplussed, Troy nears a hand to his lips; eyes widen in Alana’s direction like a spectator in disbelief at the scenery played on stage. On the other hand, Alana chuckles upon gazing at the share of her gloss resting on Troy’s lips. The pause breaks once she stares down at his hands lacing around her thigh, and her blood rushes. Alana raises her chin, closing her eyes in submission as Troy’s fingers lure her in. His lips land against hers smoothly, and she presses further, embracing the flakes sweeping inside.
Her body succumbs into a damp sensation. Heaving, Alana wraps her arms around the cyborg’s neck, crawling on top of him. Massaging his chest, Alana moistens her lips toward Troy’s, the only source she imbibes in the pitch-black view. The air of his breath breezes upon her. Her spine tingles to humid hands stroking underneath her pencil skirt, and she caresses her hands downward. Alana’s breasts pound, eliciting an erection in the nipples encased by her cups.
A tingle rumbles inside of her skirt, and a soft moan escapes her as Troy’s fingers danced over the surface of her midriff. As her lips juiced his with gusto, Alana’s mind speeds to the tension and the destruction she’s escaped. Bubbles crept into her view as she realized how long they’d been together, but never like this. Months of watching Troy bend to the shadows, her heart cried for the unity she always cherished. This was the Troy she knew and craved so much. She long waited for this brand hour, and nothing so satisfying can ever vanquish this alluring moment for her.
Alana jerks lightly to a bolt-on her skin. Panting, her eyes open halfway before shrugging it off and burying her lips again. She was far too mesmerized to react. She cradles Troy’s fingers, stroking one hand underneath his shirt and brushing on the bandaged area as she allowed the flakes to descend. Her hair flutters to a sultry grasp. A thunderous clap grumbles, startling and shattering her phantasm.
She wobbles, but Troy catches her in time before her back can land. Alana gulps in respite, and she holds onto his reassuring gape. She sighs jubilantly. Still, on top of Troy, Alana bites her tongue upon witnessing bare feet of hers dangling over the seat’s edge, and a heel of hers lay on the ground. Alana stretches back, aiming her nose toward the flickering lights as she brushes her hair.
Troy lifts an eyebrow, causing Alana to hold onto him as she steps down carefully and settles her foot into the heel. With the second sonorous boom, Alana realizes they couldn’t stay here any longer. Nevertheless, she was just beginning.
***
The elevator closes behind Troy as he lowers Alana’s wet umbrella. The two chortle in a moment of relief, having escaped the blitz of raindrops that riddled the streets of outside Bronx. Soak drips from his boots and fingers as he stalks hastily like a vigilant operative advancing from a storm. His bionic hand rests tight onto Alana’s own, and their feet clatter in the hall. Bubbles race in his veins and Troy’s adrenaline rises.
Not one resident beside him and Alana show face and Troy sniffs the charge, whiffing in the air delightfully. His hands were halfway wrapped, and his face still visible. When the cyborg stumbles onto Ricardo’s door unit to the left and shakes the umbrella, a soft grasp pulls him. His pupils gleam to the bonding of Alana’s lips upon him. Troy smooches to the dampness and rosy tip of her breath. Leaning back, Alana’s hands skim his back, pulling his weight until they level and press down on
his rear. He never expected this day or night at best that this relationship would reach its next level, not as he requested it by hand either.
“So close,” she says in a hushed tone. The gloss exhausted from her lips, giving them a natural pinkish hue.
Troy levels down, hearing her guffaw passionately as he plants several sensual kisses to her lower cheekbone. His finger creeps onto her toned midriff, screwing an index finger into Alana’s navel tucked.
Saliva saturates Troy’s lips. He catches Alana’s direction facing the door, and Troy grimaces at the lack of sound inside. Drawing a key from her purse, Alana waves it toward the lock but holds it in place as if undergoing a second consideration. Her thumbs curl on the key edges as she rises to gaze at the door hole. That’s when she turns her attention to Troy and purses her lips quizzically.
“You’re missing something?” Troy questions her.
His answer wasn't what he expected. Alana steps close, drawing a hand behind her rear skirt’s pockets. Troy’s hand numb to a small protected piece set in his hand, and his hair spikes to no other but a green condom inside the wrap.
Goddamn. Here we go then.
Alana winks an eye as if flattered by his unexpected surprise. How did she find this, Troy didn’t know. Holding her hand, the cyborg’s two eyes circulate rapidly, piercing a holographic vision behind the door. Within the obscure and darkish room, two members rest inert, with one of them supine inside one of the two bedrooms. A cool cloud sweeps over his chest.
Troy lets go of her hand, nodding toward Alana, and the color rushes on her face. He seals the condom inside his pocket. Ecstatic, she darts her key on the lock, unlocking the door. She didn’t wait for the door to open completely once Troy sees her turn around and he taps both hands at her backside. He maintains a stance toward her weight lunging on top of him, and her legs cross over his spine. Troy espouses her damp breath pounding on his face and her hands cradling his cheeks with avidity.
Storming inside hurriedly while lightly kissing Alana, Troy drops the umbrella softly on the ground. He gyrates, closing in toward the hanger, and the two manage to hang their bags abruptly on the hooks before proceeding. Liberated, Troy thrusts his lips with zeal, forcing his tongue to knead upon hers. Purple flares swarm like fireflies in his vision. His dopamine burgeons with each breath he embraces as Alana’s hands raise away his shirt. Her fingers claw away the bandage’s fabric plastered around his torso, gaining Alana access to his abdominals.
Nearing the vacant bathroom, the muscles in Troy’s bionic limbs ignite, and with each stroke of his hand, the buzz sweeps over untrammeled on Alana’s skin. Firm to the biting sensation, Alana raises her arms, allowing the Virtual to slide away her top easily. The cyborg’s world turns oblique, overshadowed by digital clouds and Alana’s groans hushed by the locomotion of Troy’s rim at the center of her soft breasts. A zip echoes, followed by a soft grasp whisking onto his burning phallus. His footsteps lead into a damp atmosphere, and the door slams, sealing him inside. The faint noises of the two sleeping humans fall mute in the dark.
Chapter 24
Wayne stalks over to Curtis’s chair, drawing closer to the error pending on the hacker’s laptop. The Director frowns as he gets closer to the message.
Source: Not Found
“No success,” Curtis informs. Despite being in his late twenties, the hacker’s smooth chin and fixed jawline gave him the appearance of a salubrious nineteen-year-old man. His voice carried a high-pitched edge, and a pencil rests on top of his left ear. The technologist twirls in his seat, shrugging a shoulder to Wayne’s chagrin.
The printers behind Wayne drum imminently in the drab computer room.
I can’t believe it.
“Are you sure you located the enemy’s servers, Curtis?” Wayne asks. Ice thickens in his throat as he spoke, and he looks away for a short duration. Today was the 27th, and the Jaguars of Apollo have emphasized the fatalities they wished to carry with this cyber-attack. He was confident that Curtis knew what he was doing when crafting his counter-virus, HIT, to revert the malware. Wayne was well assured his efforts were doable enough for the staff to maintain their sanity. That is, until he came upon this issue. The impact of such a failure spreads a cold shiver down his spine. How was he supposed to explain this to the Secretary of Defense?
“I did—I DID exactly that, Director.” The young man beckons his hands in diffidence in an effort to alleviate the Director. He speaks at a rapid pace. “The enemy’s ID….access keys….you name it. But I uh…I’m clueless myself.” Curtis takes the pencil out of his ear, rubbing it in between his lips. “Wish there was another way. I’m so sorry, Director—”
Wayne gestures a hand somberly, curtailing the supplications. He retreats to the desk and drops on the seat. He stares grimly at the water in his cup, and the liquid vibrates. The Director quenches it, but the refreshment does little to placate his worries. Wayne sets the cup down, enduring an ache inside his temple. He found it challenging to wrap his head around the notion that malware couldn’t be existent for the Central Intelligence Agency to crack on the enemy database. They were setback.
Nevertheless the issue, a lightbulb beams on top of his balding head, leading him to speculate on an aberrant hypothesis. Wayne’s hand rests on the rusty knife, and the device pierces on his palm like a snowball crystallizing in the freezer after many hours have passed. If the virus couldn’t be detected in the base systems, then this meant that the virus has been implanted into a spot where not even the most savant code-cracker can divulge.
The virus…could it be inputted inside the NI of a Virtual?!
An evocative diamond bead on an operative’s head flashes on the cup’s glassy exterior, but Wayne shakes the cup. The Director arches his shoulders, releasing air out of his nose. His thumb leans on the dull edge.
“Uh…what should we do?” Curtis asks with uncertainty.
“No other options left,” Wayne says. He sighs. “In two minutes, I will get in touch with Craig at the Pentagon.”
Wayne had no choice, as reluctant as he was. Hiding will only be detrimental to the Department of Defense and federal branches. His goddaughter, Soriana, floats in his mind like a maverick flag gliding over the forest trees, and his jaw stiffens. The two haven’t engaged in two days. The troops were still in place nationwide. Whatever havoc comes their way, they weren’t going anywhere.
***
The clashing of scrap and metal beats like drumsticks inside the dojo’s chamber. Eva’s hair whooshes as she tilts her body to an incoming star. Fanged stars arch in between Hai’s knuckles, and Eva bears her sight toward the meticulous motion of her partner’s hands. He flings his arm freely. The shurikens spiral toward her like a band of dragonflies. Their crooked razors bolt toward the cyborg, but to no avail, all movement decelerates.
The air in the dojo plummets, and Eva’s blood rushes. Her body lightens, disintegrating into vapor once the first star passes. She constructs herself until the last four come forth. The Virtual evades like a specter, letting the ninja stars bypass her temporary mist until the moment she reappears and staggers to a steely edge ricocheting to the side of her bionic shoulder. Eva looks over her, observing the number of shurikens planted on the wall. She nods.
“Impressive,” she approbates Hai.
Eva had little to veil in her gray collared halter top tucked in her camouflage pants. She’s been awakened many hours ago since recuperating from the input of the Infernal Python. Eva strolled like a silent cat into the studio, using the last remnants of her time in sharpening her clarity and harnessing Hai’s practice inside the dojo. Meanwhile, Felix rests on top of one of the statues, eyes sealed and head lowered.
Eva steps aside, allowing Hai to reach a hand, and the ninja stars shake. They yank from the wall and magnet simultaneously into his grasp.
“I wanted to say,” Hai mentions. The helm erases from his head, giving air to his eyelashes. The last shurikens attach in his clutch, and his mouth opens. “I
’ve located a suspicious drone coming forth into the city during your recovery.”
She frowns and gazes at the question until her interface buzzes. Hai catches Eva’s attention, bringing forth a wavy but sunny scene revealing camouflaged aerial debris floating on the city’s bay. Eva pinches her chin, struggling to discern this situation.
Where did this even originate?
“Doesn’t seem aligned with us,” Hai says aloud, blindly answering her concerns. “So I shot it down from a distance.”
The digital view deletes from her vision, returning her back into the dojo, and she steps on the floor. Eva spots Felix glide toward Hai’s shoulder, and the bird croaks at her as if acknowledging the cyborg in his esoteric tongue. Eva gives a suave smile.
“This Violet Garden reality you talk about,” Hai says. “I’m trying to imagine, but I’m not like you. Deep.”
“I just happen to be a visualizer, perhaps it came down since I draw so much.” Eva raises her hand, witnessing her bionic fingers motion gently. She holds her tongue to the damp purple and yellow dye trickling down to her palm before concealing the sight with her right hand.
“Not as often now. Violet Gardens isn’t just…another simulation reality, Hai.” Her voice reaches an emphasis that draws Hai’s gaze. “This IS our reality. The future. So much we’ve lost to these regulators we can finally get back. I know what and how these regulators think. I know what KILLS them inside. Not even their military can stand a chance.”
Hai looks across his shoulders before beckoning toward Eva. His hand swings dully.
“Oh.” The cyborg’s helm conceals his head again and his breath taps against the visor. “Ottoman’s expecting you in the Cyber Room.”
***
Ottoman escorts Eva into the vacant Cyber Room. She frowns upon a chair twirling and a bead of dust floating above the cerulean lightings. Humming with the cigarette tucked between his lips, Ottoman sets his fingers onto the keyboard stand, activating the computers before setting his thumb on a large flat key. A slot cracks open to where the large key once stood, and an object in the shape of a fragile remote ascends. Eva turns halfway to see the door close automatically, leaving the two alone in the room. She takes a deep breath, vividly spotting a butterfly over the top of her nose, and its iridescent wings sparkled. The ultimate day has finally arrived as promised, and Eva had nothing to hide. Why would she? What else was there for her to lose at this point?