The Game Master Pt. 01

He thought that finding the cure to the disease that took his father would be the hard part...

Colwyn Smalley never questioned the role he was meant to play. The labels which would define him were assigned before he left primary school: genius; aloof; innovator; driven. After his father was handed a fatal diagnosis, Colwyn swore to find a cure... to save his hero.

He failed.

Haunted by his father's death, he dedicated the next quarter century to fulfilling his vow with barely a passing thought to his own happiness outside of his love for the role-playing games which gave birth to his nickname.

In place of the expected acclaim and jubilation upon revealing that he has miraculously succeeded, he encounters suspicion and corporate politics more interested in riches than saving lives. When he refuses to let his work be hoarded by the wealthy, his employers decide there's only one way to silence him. Framed, imprisoned, and left for dead, Colwyn faces a brutal reality--until an enigmatic being offers him a new path.

Gifted with the unnatural power to force those bent on doing him harm to his will, Colwyn emerges from the ashes of his former life as something far more dangerous than the unassuming, forgettable nerd his foes perceive. Just as Colwyn begins to experiment with his newfound powers, his world is again upended when the woman of his dreams appears at his doorstep. Now Colwyn must choose between getting revenge against those who wronged him, finding a way to bring his long-sought discovery to the world, or, for the first time in his life, pursuing his own happiness - a task which is soon complicated when he discovers that his biggest challenge may be in restraining his new powers, rather than unleashing them.

Packed with sensuality, sharp wit, and a provocative look at power and morality, The Game Master is a contemporary erotic fantasy about a man who sacrificed everything for his quest--only to discover that love was the prize he never knew he was searching for.

Author's note:

I've split this novel into three sections for publication here.

Make no mistake, this novel delves into some weighty subject matter. Trigger warnings for on-page violence and depression.

All sensuality (on page or otherwise) takes place between characters who are eighteen or older.

000001

"You find yourselves on the bank of an endless river surrounded by towering mountains. The air is heavy with moisture which threatens to leech the strength from your muscles. There is a light breeze blowing down the valley carrying the chill from the snow-covered mountains. The sun is low against the rolling hills surrounding you, but it's impossible to tell if it is dawn or dusk."

"What'd we do, teleport here?" Vincent Albers interjected. "How would we not know what time of day it is?"

Colwyn Smalley huffed in frustration and snapped. "Because you're just waking up. Now zip it and let me set the scene."

"My mistake," Vincent muttered with his hands raised in surrender. The gesture highlighted his size, as each of his splayed hands was the size of a dinner plate. He was also built like a small forward. Or perhaps, considering his flowing red hair and even longer beard, it would have been more accurate to compare him to a berserker. He said, "Do please go on, most revered Game Master."

Colwyn sighed, looking at the other players around the table to gain their acquiescence before continuing. He was a heavyset mustachioed man of forty-two years with close-cropped reddish-brown hair. He was wearing a mousy-colored robe he had picked up at a flea market a few years prior which he had been assured had been pilfered from the wardrobe department of a forgotten sword-and-sorcery movie. He was surrounded by a picket-line of books and crumpled sheets of paper covered in what would appear to the layperson to be hieroglyphics. He lowered his voice to a whisper and said, "The grass is stained red. A coppery smell invades your senses, but you can find no evidence of any bodies."

"I cast a spell of seeing," Ross Crantz, a slight man with blonde hair and a friendly face, declared gleefully.

"That's not a thing," Gil Stern, a corpulent man with a bushy brown beard and a ready smile, said to his indefatigable comrade with a laugh. "You have to read your damn character sheet, you ignorant wretch."

"Fine!" Ross grumbled. "I cast a..." he consulted the papers aligned before him before continuing, "a spell of detection."

"Roll dee-twenty," Colwyn offered agreeably.

Ross plucked a nearly rounded object off the table in front of him. He rolled it exuberantly and it promptly rolled onto the floor.

"Sloppy dice," Vincent and Gil announced simultaneously. "Drink!"

Ross sheepishly took a healthy swig from his cup before bending to retrieve the dice and rolling again, albeit more carefully this time. When the dice stopped rolling, he read, "Four."

Colwyn said, "Your spell reveals nothing."

Zoe, Vincent's girlfriend, looked around furtively before saying, "I don't understand what's happening." She was what less couth gamers than Colwyn's trusty companions would refer to as a virgin, as she was participating in her first game. She had a bit of wildness in her eyes as she watched the game unfold. She was of medium height with smallish breasts. Her bespectacled face was topped by dirty blonde hair which none present had ever seen worn in a manner other than a ponytail.

Vincent said, 'It's all about theater of the mind, babe. Just try to inhabit your character and act as you believe they would behave."

"But what the fuck is my character?" she huffed with frustration.

Colwyn said, "You're a lawful-neutral half-elven ranger."

"None of those words mean anything!"

Vincent said, "It was the closest to your personality. You're a fighter but you're also proficient at living off the land and tracking your foes. Your alignment means you favor an orderly society but you're not necessarily always going to side with the good guys. You're also hot as fuck, as you'll see on the second page of your character sheet."

She flipped the page over to reveal a slender humanoid female with long pointed ears and almond eyes who was quite voluptuous. She was dressed in leathers which amounted to little more than a breechcloth and halter top. She was also wearing a sword and had a short bow slung between her full breasts.

She snickered and said, "Where'd you download that thirteen-year-old's wet dream from?"

Vincent said, "Our faithful Game Master renders them on one of his super-computers."

"Oh really? I wonder what else he renders."

Vincent chuckled and said, "I find it best not to ask."

She said, "Whatever. Listen, I agreed to this nerdy shit because you asked nicely, Vinny. And because you promised to go antiquing with me tomorrow."

"And we will," he said pitifully.

"But this shit better start making sense soon or my eye's going to pop out due to sheer frustration."

Ross said, "Forget your character, what would you do in the situation Cole described?

Colwyn snapped, "That's not my name."

Ross said, "My mistake, Game Master."

Gil said, "Anyway Zoe, what would you do in this situation?"

"I'd get the fuck out of there."

"Fair enough," Vincent allowed. "Why don't we head upriver? But we should be cautious. Weapons at the ready."

Colwyn said, "As you head upriver, the smell of blood lessens but the stillness of the air is interrupted by the sound of a horse being ridden hard."

"Get down," Vincent snapped.

Colwyn continued, "You secret yourselves along the bank of the river in time to see a horse burst from the tree line roughly a kilometer from you. The rider is headed down river at what is almost literally a breakneck pace. You can see the horse is nearing the point of exhaustion. As the rider approaches, you notice that it is a youngish female human wearing torn robes which are whipping in the wind behind her."

Gil said, "Is anyone chasing her?"

"Your senses do not perceive anyone else in the valley."

Ross said, "I say we reveal ourselves. She might be in trouble." Vincent and Gil nodded while Zoe merely shrugged. Ross continued, "We approach her."

Colwyn said, "Roll dee-twelve."

"Go ahead babe," Vincent said, holding the indicated die out to her.

She rolled it and said, "Eleven. Is that good?"

Vincent said, "Usually higher is better. How 'bout it, Game Master?"

Colwyn nodded and said, "She notices you and reigns in her horse's gallop. She heads in your direction. As she approaches, you notice that her robes are more torn than you initially suspected. She is, as near as makes no difference, nude. She makes no move to cover her large, shapely breasts as she stops before you."

"Hey man, you said you'd reign that shit in tonight," Vincent muttered.

Colwyn snapped, "It's germane to the game. Now, no more side talk."

"Sorry babe," Vincent whispered to Zoe.

"It's fine," she responded. "I'm kinda curious to see where this is going. Although, considering the rendering, I think I can make some educated guesses."

Colwyn said, "That's one drink for each of you for sidebar conversations. Now, the woman dismounts and walks over to Sretaw."

"Who?" Zoe whispered.

"That's my character name," Vincent responded quietly. He then raised his voice and said, "Are you in danger, milady?"

Colwyn said, "Her eyes scan worriedly across your group, lingering noticeably on Ross's mage robes. Her manner is nervous, but her movements are both deliberate and graceful. She also makes no move to cover her nakedness despite the chill of the morning air causing her nipples to harden noticeably."

Gil said, "Is she carrying any weapons?"

"None are in evidence, but she notices your gaze and arches her back to accentuate her breasts."

Zoe said, "I approach her."

Colwyn said, "She gives you a quick once over and then takes another longer gaze. Her eyes widen as she notices your elven features."

"I continue to approach her. Does she reach for a weapon?"

"No, but she does reach out to touch you. Her movements are halting and from your vantage point you can see that she's nearly unconscious with fatigue. She rests her hand on your arm. As she does, you feel a jolt of electricity surge through your body. You immediately feel turned on. The woman smiles wanly. She opens her mouth to speak but before she can form words, an arrow strikes her shoulder. You all turn to find a large group of ogres emerging from the trees and headed in your direction."

Vincent said, "We turn to meet them in battle. Stay behind me honey and try to pick off the stragglers. Gil, see what you can do to slow them down. Ross, heal the girl."

The group all wore grim expressions as they pulled out their respective dice and prepared for mock mortal combat with the foes who had suddenly become quite real to their imaginations. Colwyn smiled inwardly at the way they lost themselves in the scene, each barking out responses to the game he had spent several weeks building. This was where he was happiest, weaving a tale of adventure and intrigue and watching his closest friends' resulting enjoyment. He had tried his hand at writing, even securing a modest advance based on a treatment he had adapted from one of his games. But he had been unable to translate the vibrancy of his games into the written word. Something about the interaction with the players brought the scenario to life in a way no other medium could match.

Colwyn had first discovered role-playing games at summer camp when he was in high school, and it had changed his life. Suddenly, he not only had an outlet for the creativity raging within him, but he also found a small group of likeminded young men. Colwyn had not enjoyed high school. The material was so unchallenging for him that he routinely went weeks without really hearing anything his instructors said. Their ire only increased when the overweight young man who spent the entire class sketching in the margins of his textbook had the temerity to ace every evaluative event. High school was also the last time when the bullies had had a noticeable influence over his life. He was never entirely clear on why they despised him so thoroughly. Unlike college, his exemplary performance had no impact on their grades. And he was certainly not competing with the bullies for the romantic attentions of his classmates from the fairer sex.

Role-playing games had become his singular distraction, first through playing them followed increasingly by running his own games. Through fifteen years of college, and more degrees than he could remember, his games were all he would allow himself for recreation. Upon what he called his final graduation and his entry into the private sector, he had found a small group of locals who now used RPGs to distract them from the demands of their careers and families. He hosted a game every Saturday afternoon at his home on the outskirts of town. He had, in fact, purchased this particular home because it had an ideal space for running a game. The Chamber, as he called it, was nearly forty square meters with a vaulted ceiling and no windows. He had covered the walls with sound dampening, dark grey paint and placed a large sturdy table at the room's center. It was surrounded by comfortable chairs which made long gaming sessions possible.

As the battle reached its conclusion with the gamers winning a hard-fought victory, the game reached a logical stopping point for the evening. The gamers began collecting their effects, placing their dice into small felt bags and filing their character sheets in carefully decorated binders. Colwyn showed his guests to the door, fighting against the discomfort he felt around others, no matter how familiar, outside of very specific circumstances. He had often marveled at how he could spend six hours with a group of near strangers during a game without feeling the tiniest bit of discomfort. But as soon as the game broke up, Colwyn felt an almost crippling level of anxiety. He saw his guests to the door because he had been raised to show certain social courtesies. He also was honest enough with himself to admit that seeing people to the door typically led to them leaving more quickly.

As he stood by the front door and saw his guests out, Vincent and Zoe smiled warmly at him before making their way towards his car. Gil and Ross hung back, looking around Colwyn's quite large, and reasonably empty house.

Gil said, "You should host a game night."

Colwyn raised an eyebrow and said, "You're quite literally just leaving a game night that I hosted."

Ross said, "He means a sports game night. The football playoffs are starting soon, and I've seen your home theater. It would look fantastic in there."

Gil said, "And who knows, maybe we can get more chicks to show up besides Vincent's girl."

000010

A message popped up in the notification area of the computer to Colwyn's left. He purposely ignored it, as he had the eleven messages that had preceded it. He had made it quite clear to the individual who was administratively responsible for him that interruptions had a cascading impact on overall productivity. He had even gone to the lengths of preparing a memo, including eleven citations and two algorithms he had invented, to make his point. His 'boss' had been unimpressed until Colwyn had published said memo in an engineering journal. This had caused a great deal of excitement at Colwyn's place of employment. He tried to ignore them, but he had been unable to avoid several meetings which had seemed to revolve around the concept of intellectual property belonging to the company. Colwyn had studiously ignored the meetings and gladly signed several papers offered to him in return for being allowed to return to the relative solitude of his office.

A knock sounded at his door, which he also ignored, but moments later his door opened and his boss entered. Colwyn had learned that the easiest path through such encounters was to pretend to be interested so he turned from his bank of monitors to face the unwelcome visitor.

"I've been pinging you all morning. What's going on? Did you forget to turn on your computer again?"

Kurt Renfro was an almost offensively handsome man of average height but above average facial structure and musculature. He had been placed in charge of the special projects division shortly after Colwyn was hired, and had quickly demonstrated a thorough lack of understanding of even the most basic elements of both science and engineering. Colwyn had early on committed the apparently severe social faux pas of pointing out that Kurt's rapid promotion to his current position was due to the fact that his grandfather had founded the billion-dollar company.

Kurt continued, "You missed this morning's stand-up. Again."

Colwyn said, "I had no blockers, which is the primary purpose of stand-ups. I'm not collaborating with anyone else, in any case. Due both to the fact that I am perfectly capable of completing my assigned tasks in the time allotted and the fact that no one else at this company has even a passing understanding of my work. That meeting serves no purpose for me, and I serve no purpose to anyone else by attending that meeting. Q. E. D. it would be a waste of company resources for me to attend said meeting. Is there anything else?"

"What?"

"Which word did you not understand?"

"You can't skip a meeting just because you don't think it will help you. What if someone else needed your assistance?"

"This company does not pay me to assist individuals whose scientific acumen matches mine when I was still in grade school. It pays me to figure out problems which no one else can even fathom."

Kurt huffed and said, "It also pays you to do what you're told. You're not in charge here, Colwyn. I don't care how smart you think you are."

"Would you like me to produce irrefutable evidence as to the level of my intellect?"

"No!"

Colwyn remained silent for a few moments as his boss fumed across from him. At length, Colwyn shrugged and turned back to his computers. At this move, Kurt stood and said, "I wasn't finished."

Colwyn sighed and turned back to face the younger man. He said, "Very well. How else may I be of service?"

"You will be at your scheduled meetings. You will be on time. You will pay attention and participate to the best of your ability."

"No," Colwyn replied simply.

"What do you mean no? You work for me. You do what I say."

Colwyn stared at the ceiling for a few moments before replying, "You can't make me, Kurt."

"Mr. Renfro."

"Kurt," Colwyn said pointedly. "This company bid for my services when I decided to leave academia. Against fifteen other companies. And I am doing exactly what I agreed to in our contract. That contract made no mention of frivolous meetings, so I choose to skip them."

"I'll fire you if you don't do as I say."

"No, you won't. If you tried, your grandfather would overrule you. And, if you somehow managed to get your way, I'd be working for one of your competitors before sundown."

"You signed a non-compete," Kurt said with a satisfied smirk.

"Which is invalidated if you fire me. The non-compete only applies if I quit."

"Damnit," Kurt muttered softly. He then raised his voice and said, "Well then you'll get a terrible review, and no salary increase."

"That is acceptable considering I already make a more than sufficient salary. Is there anything else?"

Kurt stood and left without a word, freeing Colwyn to return to his work. But he soon realized that the momentum he had painstakingly built up over the course of the morning had vanished in the wake of his boss's annoying interruption. He quickly locked his computers and haltingly left his office to head to the cafeteria. He passed countless people on his journey, some of whom greeted him by name, but Colwyn just kept his head down and kept walking. He often wondered at why he could keep countless facts, both professional and game-related, in his head with ease but he could not remember the names of people who had been introduced to him multiple times. His mother had suggested it was caused by his unwillingness to devote his attention to people during social interactions. He suspected there was some truth to this hypothesis, but that another factor was that he had subconsciously deprioritized introductions as typically yielding little to no benefit to him, so he tried to avoid them at all costs.

He arrived at the cafeteria and approached the hot line. Without speaking a word, the man behind the counter dished up his usual order: four pieces of fried chicken and a biscuit. He slid this onto his plate, offering a nod of thanks to the server, and made his way over to the salad bar. He built a salad consisting mostly of cheese, croutons and dressing with enough lettuce thrown in to keep things from sliding around.

As he built his salad, he noticed his seventh favorite coworker to look at approach. She was wearing snug fitting black pants and a regrettably voluminous ivory blouse. She had an hourglass figure and what Colwyn estimated were C-cup breasts. He watched her build her salad, noticing the way her breasts jiggled ever so slightly as she shook the bottle of dressing to extract the last few drops. She noticed his unapologetic gaze and frowned before hurrying over to the register. Colwyn appreciated the subtle outline of her boy-short panties beneath her slacks as she retreated.

After paying for his food, he made his way back to his office to eat in solitude. He ate quickly, as had always been his habit. When he finished, he carried the tray to the breakroom and set it on an empty table. He would have preferred not venturing forth, but only authorized personnel were permitted in his office and that most certainly did not extend to the cleaning staff.

Upon returning, he pulled a soda from the fridge beneath his desk and drank it quickly. The empty can joined a half dozen of its brethren in his trash can as Colwyn extracted a few wet wipes from his desk to cleanse the grease from his hands before touching his computer again. This complete, he returned to the task which Kurt had so rudely interrupted.

***

Several hours later, Colwyn again ventured forth from his office to make use of the facilities. He stopped by the breakroom on the way back to his office as he had depleted his supply of his preferred energy drink. While in the breakroom, he heard his coworkers speaking about an upcoming holiday. This intrigued him, as he had learned from experience that the building would not admit him on such days without manager approval, regardless of his belief in, or adherence to, the 'holy day' in question.

He approached the group in question and said, "When is the holiday?"

"Oh, hey Colwyn," the shortest of the three men replied. His face looked vaguely familiar, but no more so than any other coworker. "Tomorrow's Christmas Eve."

"And that is a holiday?" Colwyn replied sincerely.

"Um, yeah."

"I was under the impression that it was frowned upon to intermingle religious superstition and a professional environment."

"Keep your voice down, dude. The founder's, like, super Christian.'

Colwyn said, "Are you suggesting that one must be a Christian to work here? I noticed no such provisions in my contract."

"Of course not. But it doesn't do to bite the hand that feeds you. I'm Jewish, but I'll still take two free days off if they're willing to give them. Don't you celebrate the holidays?"

"Of course not. All of the superstitions surrounding the alleged birth of the Christian Messiah are provably false."

"What about as a kid? You must have done something then for Christmas."

"Indeed. I was instructed to not tell my classmates that Santa Claus was a fiction dreamt up by their parents to imply that they were not solely responsible for the contemptible commercialization of the holiday."

"Dude. Don't you ever just chill out and enjoy the moment?"

"No" Colwyn replied simply. "Thank you for the information."

Colwyn walked away without another word. Upon returning to his office, he opened the departmental home page to confirm that he would be forced to take the rest of the week off. This also meant that he would have two fewer days than he had projected to complete his work for the current sprint. He logged into what he thought of as his dumb laptop and pulled up the work he had completed on the first day of the sprint and ensured all was in readiness. It was completely lost on him why a multi-billion-dollar pharmaceutical company was so obsessed with erections, but that had represented the bulk of his work since he began with the company eight months prior. It seemed that the best-case scenario for the company would be to invent a pill which would cause the patient to achieve an erection instantly which would last for days and be twice as large as any erection the patient had ever experienced.

He was not so foolish as to think that their focus on this particular lane of pharmaceuticals was driven by anything other than profit. He just failed to understand why they could not make similar profits on a multitude of other areas which would actually make people healthier. To this end, he tended to spend a majority of his time working on what he termed 'special projects' as his actual assigned work was still quite elementary.

Colwyn's title was Director of Special Projects, but that was only because Nerd, which was the title he requested, was considered too unprofessional. He had doctorates in computer science and biology. He had also published papers on topics ranging from quantum computing to evolutionary predictive models. His job, and the million dollars of hardware which resided in his office, were focused on using artificial intelligence to create models which would allow the company to more accurately predict which medicines would pass clinical trials. Since he came onboard, their pass rate had tripled. But the models and algorithms Colwyn used to accomplish his job were things he had developed as an undergraduate. What he spent the bulk of his time on each day was regression testing actual medications he had developed entirely within his ecosystem of super computers. To his mind, it seemed crude to depend on things like manually mixing various chemicals and testing them against reagents when the entire job could be accomplished much faster with computers. The fact that this might be considered a misappropriation of company resources never entered into his mind.

000011

A notification appeared in the upper right corner of Colwyn's primary computer. He clicked on it and saw that something had breached his perimeter. He called up his security app and saw a small hybrid sedan sedately making its way up his driveway. He checked the time and saw that it was time for his groceries to be delivered. He made his way through the house, which involved transiting three doors and a staircase, before arriving at the front door. He opened the app on his phone to find a middle-aged woman reaching for his doorbell.

He clicked the appropriate button on his phone and said, "You can leave everything on the porch."

The woman looked around warily until she spotted the camera above the door. She shrugged and set the bags down before making her way back to her car. Once she had left the property, and Colwyn had confirmed that no other trespassers were lurking, he unlocked the door and quickly moved the groceries inside before hastily relocking the door. He carried them into the kitchen, noticing the pile of trash covering the top of his trash can as he did. He spared a moment to wonder what had become of the cleaning service which was supposed to come every Friday and handle such matters, but he then remembered that most of his neighbors were busy celebrating the fictitious birth of the fictitious Christ. He grumbled at how hard it was to find reliable service as he collected the overflowing trash and carried it out to the bin in the locked garage.

He returned to his kitchen and stowed his groceries in their designated places before grabbing a soda and heading back to the room he called The Refuge. As he passed through his bedroom, he spied his phone on his bedside table. The screen was lit up, indicating recent activity. He never took his phone into The Refuge as the shielding would prevent it from functioning in any case. He scrolled through his notifications and saw he had missed both calls and texts from his mother. He dropped into the easy chair in his bedroom as he dialed her number.

"Hey sweetie," his mother's cheerful sounding voice greeted him. "Merry Christmas."

"Hello Mother."

"Did you do anything to celebrate?"

Colwyn carefully reviewed his activities since midnight, editing out those things which he had no wish to share with his mother. Upon realizing this left very little of interest, he said, "No. How are you? How's the weather in Florida?"

"You always ask me that, sweetie. I am fine, as is the weather. How are you?"

"I am nominal. I was made to take today off work."

"Well, I'm glad. You work too hard."

"I sit at my desk all day, mother. My caloric output whilst engaged in my job is minimal."

She huffed and said, "Speaking of which, did you stick with that gym I signed you up for?"

"No. Their expectations were unreasonable."

"You've got to do something. I don't want you ending up like your father."

"I know Mother. I am trying. I purchased an elliptical and placed it in my third bedroom. I am told it is an excellent device for cardiovascular fitness ceremonies."

"Good. Aren't you going to ask me how my Christmas was?"

He said, "That would seem to be redundant at this point. It would be more expedient for you to just tell me."

"Have it your way. I accepted an invitation from one of my girlfriends at the club. I joined her family for Christmas dinner. It was lovely. But I wish you had come to visit or allowed me to come visit you."

"I miss you as well, Mother. But I am quite busy with work. I'm nearing completion on my project."

She said, "I know you don't like to travel sweetie. I also know if makes you uncomfortable to have guests. But what's the point of living in that... mansion if you're just going to rattle around in there by yourself?"

"It is not always just me. As you know, I host a game every week. I've also agreed to host some kind of sports viewing party a week from today."

"That's wonderful sweetie. Are any special ladies attending?"

"I believe several females will be there. I am unaware if any of them have any special attributes."

"Well, a mother can dream, can't she?"

"I suppose. Do you have enough money?"

She sighed and said, "Of course. You send me far more than I could spend. I do have my retirement, sweetheart. You needn't dote on me so."

Colwyn stared at the ceiling, desperately wishing he knew what to say. He loved his mother and constantly fretted that he was not doing enough to help her. After the death of his father, Colwyn had assumed his responsibilities. That included ensuring his mother was provided for and wanted for nothing. He knew she would have preferred he allowed her to come visit him in lieu of the money, but he was well aware that his routines were not sufficiently inoculated against visitors under anything but the most stringently controlled circumstances.

At length, he said, "Perhaps. But it makes me happy to do so. And I fully intend to come visit you once my project is complete. I have purchased a vehicle optimized for such a trip."

"How many is that now?"

"How many have I purchased in aggregate, or how many do I have now?"

She chuckled and said, "The latter."

"Three. The daily driver, the vanity car and now the long-distance van."

"You're not vain."

"Indeed. But that car certainly is. I can admit, however, that it certainly is fun."

"Well, I look forward to seeing you no matter which car you use. As soon, and as often, as possible. And I meant what I said, I'd love to come up and visit. You just let me know when."

Colwyn smiled and said, "I will, Mother."

"Thanks for calling me back, sweetheart. I love you."

"I love you as well, Mother. Goodbye."

After hanging up, Colwyn made his way back to The Refuge where he spent the remainder of the day.

***

Colwyn greeted Vincent and Zoe at the door and collected their coats. As they proceeded through the foyer, Vincent pointed at the ornately crafted sign that hung there.

He said, "That's new."

Colwyn said, "Several of these individuals have not been here before and might not understand the seriousness of the house rules."

Vincent chuckled as he beheld the sign at the base of the stairs which declared that the penalty for climbing the stairs was death. The stairs also had several gates which one would normally use to limit the movements of dogs or small children.

"What's upstairs?" Zoe whispered as they followed Colwyn toward the media room in the basement.

"I have no idea," Vincent answered sincerely.

The media room had an enormous flat panel screen mounted on the wall. There were three rows of couches on tiers which gave everyone an excellent view of the action. There were also clearly a healthy number of speakers as each time the action cut to a commercial, the increase in volume nearly incapacitated the room's residents. The rear of the room featured a wet bar which was half covered in food.

The addition of Zoe and Vincent brought the number of guests to an even dozen. The action on the screen only partially held the attention of the attendees as the game in question was a blow-out. That left everyone to congregate around the food while they waited for the next game to start.

Colwyn contented himself to stay near the screen and away from the crush of strangers. He enjoyed the cocktail someone had prepared and handed him, along with the plate of food he had prepared, while silently hoping the next game would start before he could be drawn into an awkward conversation. His wish went unanswered, however, as Vincent dropped heavily onto the couch beside him.

He took a swig of his beer before saying, "Great party... um... do I have to call you Game Master tonight?"

Colwyn appeared thoughtful for a moment before saying, "That won't be necessary. But don't forget again during the game."

"I'll do my best. So, how long have you lived here?"

"Since July. I bought it shortly after I began my job."

"Who do you work for, anyway?"

"Renfro Pharmaceuticals."

"That huge building downtown?"

Colwyn said, "Yes, although I work at their research center north of town."

"I assume doing computer shit."

"What makes you say that?" Colwyn asked guardedly.

"Because you're the smartest guy I know. And you've got this house wired up six ways to Sunday. Not to mention the fact that I saw your laptop bag sitting in the entryway and that's some serious hardware you've got there. What'd that set you back, ten grand?"

Colwyn's initial impulse was to demur and seek an exit from the conversation. But as he considered said exit, it occurred to him that Vincent was one of the very few people in the world who might fit into the category of 'friend' for him. And he had it on good authority that friends frequently queried each other for information purely as a mechanism for making conversation.

Decision made, Colwyn said, "I couldn't say. My company provided it."

"So, what are you? Some kind of scientist? Or are you a doctor?"

"I do have a doctorate in biology, but I'm not what people think of when they use the term 'doctor'. I also have a doctorate in computer science, but I likely do not align to what you imagine when you think of a scientist. What I do is closer to engineering. I write programs which help the company improve their product by finding weaknesses which could show up during trials."

"Wow. So that laptop in there is just the tip of the iceberg, isn't it?"

Colwyn smiled furtively and said, "I have significant computer resources at my disposal."

Vincent grinned along with him and said, "I can only imagine." Vincent looked around to confirm no one else was overhearing before continuing. "Tell me the truth, you ever load up a game onto one of those bad boys? Just to see how crazy fast it can run."

"No. There are... comprehensive security measures in place which would be inconvenient to subvert."

"But not impossible?"

"No," Colwyn replied with a raised eyebrow. "Not impossible."

"So do they let you work on anything other than boner pills?"

Colwyn looked around self-consciously and said, "What... makes you think I'm working on that?"

Vincent gestured to the screen on the wall where a group of middle-aged men were involved in some sort of expedition in a car with the logo of his company's most lucrative product emblazoned on the side. He said, "Because, if football commercials are anything to go on, that's all those companies bother with anymore. I mean, seriously. You'd think that they'd already licked cancer and heart disease and boners were all that was left."

Colwyn shook his head and said, "You don't know how right you are. I agreed to this job because they promised me I'd get a chance to make a difference. My research was mired in university politics, so I chose to try the private sector instead. But all I found was more politics. Not to mention an unhealthy obsession with erections."

Vincent waved at yet another advertisement for erectile dysfunction drugs and said, "It's what pays the bills though, am I right?"

"Perhaps. But would it not also pay the bills to make medicines which actually heal people? We could release a drug which would end ninety percent of all heart disease tomorrow and the company would own Wall Street for a decade."

"You speak like you know something. Should I be calling my broker?"

"No," Colwyn said dispiritedly.

"I get it," Vincent said with a gentle nudge to Colwyn's ribs. "Mums the word."

"I do not wish to mislead you, Vincent. My company is not currently engaged in the development of such a drug."

Vincent said, "Too bad. Listen, you want another beer?"

Colwyn shook his head and watched Vincent head toward the bar. But he could not prevent the sly smile that spread across his lips or the muttered, "... that they know of." which escaped his lips.

000100

Colwyn merged onto the highway, quickly accelerating to ten percent above the posted speed limit before engaging the auto-drive function on his state-of-the-art electric vehicle. The preposterously sized touchscreen on the dash told him it would take twenty minutes to reach his destination, so he settled in to enjoy the meal he had picked up from the drive-through. He idly wondered how anyone had ever managed to eat a triple-cheeseburger while driving before the advent of self-driving cars as he carefully consumed his sandwich and fries.

He finished his meal, and carefully cleaned the grease from his hands using a couple of wipes he kept in the center console for just that purpose, before taking the conn and exiting the dual carriageway. The terrain was heavily wooded and quite hilly while not quite achieving mountainous status. He drove carefully along the unfamiliar roads until he saw a sign for the state park that was his destination.

He pulled into a reasonably crowded parking lot and quickly spotted Vincent's sedan. After parking, he collected his garbage and exited the car. Vincent raised his hand in greeting. Colwyn disposed of his rubbish and proceeded to where Vincent and Zoe stood in the midst of roughly two dozen other people.

Vincent said, "You made it!"

Zoe muttered, "How come he doesn't have to wear a costume?" Vincent's smile faltered, causing Zoe to wrap an arm around him and say, "I'm just fucking with you, sweetie. I'm sure this will be a blast. Even if you did almost certainly specifically design this costume to make it so I appear to be, at best, androgynous."

"You're in shark infested waters here, babe. Some of these guys haven't yet fully mastered how to behave in the presence of ladies."

"Meaning they'd just stare at my tits if I dressed the way Colwyn drew my character?"

Vincent chuckled and said, "Hell, I'd do nothing but stare at your tits if you dressed like that."

"But why? You can fuck me whenever you want."

"I... think we're making Colwyn uncomfortable."

A look of confusion crossed Colwyn's features, interrupting the rapt fascination with which he had been following the couple's conversation. It had begun as a thorough inspection of Zoe's costume, and a comparison of the way her body appeared in this guise compared to her appearance at their most recent gaming night. He had, of course, noticed that she was a reasonably fit female with what he suspected were B-cup breasts (having a likely relaxed shape and non-pronounced nipples) and rounded hips without benefit of a narrow waist (which probably resulted in a shapely ass if she were to dress to accentuate it). Her current costume was not nearly as flattering as the comfortable jeans and hoodie she had worn to the game, but Colwyn still thought the idea that anyone could be confused as to her gender strained credibility.

All of these musings had been thrust to the backburner upon Zoe's declaration that Vincent had the option of having sex with her 'whenever he wanted'. This idea seemed so foreign as to be alien. His admittedly limited understanding of the fairer sex included the implicit understanding that consensual intercourse was something which only occurred when a sizable list of predetermined prerequisites had been completed. And even then, it was something which, more often than not, failed to materialize. The thought that a woman like Zoe could, within the span of a single thought, express disappointment and frustration with Vincent while also confirming that he had carte blanche to her sexually was inconceivable to Colwyn.

Colwyn was snapped from his reverie by Vincent loudly clearing his throat. The latter looked at the former suspiciously and said, "Everything alright?"

"Yes," Colwyn said simply. "Tell me about the world your characters inhabit. Is everyone intended to be human or are allowances made for costumes in the name of comfort?"

"All human. This is more akin to historical fiction. Our target time period is mid twelfth century."

"But..."

"I know," Vincent said defeatedly. "Some of the weapons and armor aren't period accurate. But you get what you get with these things. I'm not interested in telling people that their armor wasn't invented for another two hundred years and risk them not coming back. Our numbers are too light as it is. Which brings us to you, my friend."

Colwyn basked in the term of endearment and said, "You expect me to join this game? This may surprise you but running around, whether costumed or otherwise, isn't exactly my forte."

"I know, but the game needs generals too. Far too often we end up running around in the woods for hours without the two opposing forces ever actually finding each other. I suspect you could improve that."

"Perhaps," Colwyn hedged. "How big is the game area?"

"About a kilometer on a side. Doesn't seem like a lot, but these woods are pretty thick. What do you say, give it a shot today? If you dig it, I can help you with a costume for next time."

Colwyn looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding and saying, "I accept. Where are my troops?"

***

"Hey man, you still with us?" Vincent asked jovially as Colwyn's head whipped around to follow a college aged woman who had jogged past them in a Lycra bodysuit.

They were walking back toward the parking lot after an enjoyable few hours of live-action role-playing. Colwyn's team had vanquished Vincent's by luring them into a battle wherein Colwyn's team, with the benefit of higher ground, was able to mount a successful defense against the superior numbers of Vincent's team. Everyone was confused when, during the post battle cool-down, Colwyn had referenced Little Round Top in relation to his strategy and instead insisted on calling it the Obi Wan tactic.

"What?" Colwyn asked distractedly, his eyes still glued to the retreating form of the jogger.

Vincent reached over and rotated Colwyn's head using the latter's chin for leverage. Zoe shook her head in thinly veiled disgust as Vincent muttered, "They hate it when you do that, you know."

"Who?"

"You know that that ambulatory piece of meat you just eye fucked was a human being, right?" Zoe snapped.

"I obviously know she is human," Colwyn responded sincerely. "Why wouldn't I?"

"How would you react if someone leered at you like that?"

Colwyn looked thoughtful for a moment before saying, "I cannot say for certain, but my first thought is to venture that I would find it satisfying."

"Argggh," Zoe growled before increasing her pace to leave the two men behind.

Vincent waited until she was out of earshot before saying, "She's got a point."

"I don't understand. I said nothing offensive; I did not touch her or even approach her. What did I do wrong?"

"You treated her like a zoo animal, is what. I get it that you may think you wouldn't mind if someone looked at you like that, but I assure you that you'd hate it."

"You act as if you speak from experience," Colwyn chuckled. "You're hardly what I would call drop dead gorgeous."

Vincent grimaced and said, "No argument here. But I am two-meters tall and look like I escaped from a show about dragons fucking. People don't stare at me like they want to undress me, they just look at me in fear. Not sure which is worse, just that they both kind of suck."

Colwyn said, "I take your point. I will endeavor to be less obvious."

"Or, you know, you could just not stare at all. What's up with you and the ladies? I'd have figured with all your toys, not to mention your paycheck, you'd be fighting them off with a stick."

Colwyn merely shrugged in response and sped up his pace. He soon caught up to Zoe. He started to reach out to take her arm but seemed to think better of it.

He said, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" she snapped.

"For my behavior a few moments ago."

"You didn't do anything to me, Colwyn."

"Nevertheless, you were offended by my behavior. And, for that, I am sorry. I will try to do better in the future."

"It shouldn't be that hard. I mean, you are an adult with full possession of your faculties, are you not?"

Colwyn only shrugged in response. They reached the parking lot moments later and Zoe angrily dropped into the passenger seat of Vincent's car. Vincent regarded Colwyn with a raised eyebrow before joining her and they soon set off. Colwyn decided to take another walk around the park's three-kilometer walking trail to test himself against Zoe's challenge.

He found it quite difficult to simply focus on the trail, or his wooded surroundings, and not on the steady stream of fit females who jogged past him. Despite the chill in the air, it was a clear day with temperatures hovering right around ten degrees. This combined with the fact that the weather in the area for the preceding several weeks had been a steady dose of cold, rainy weather meant that the park was overflowing with people hungry for an infusion of fresh air and exercise.

He decided to turn the challenge into a game. He gave himself a point every time he gave an attractive woman he passed no more than a passing glance. He lost one point every time he gave a woman a second look and lost five points if he outright stared. The volume of people gave him plenty of chances to rack up points and as he neared the halfway point of the trail, he was up by nineteen points.

As he stopped to take a drink from the bottle he had carried, he heard a groan of frustration come from behind him. He turned to see a man at least a decade his senior rubbing the back of his head and staring at the similarly aged woman beside him in dismay.

The woman fiercely whispered, "She's young enough to be your daughter, you fucking creep."

Colwyn turned to see the cause of the disturbance and his jaw dropped open. He knew immediately he would need to develop a new point penalty with respect to his game at the sight of what he could only assume was a supernatural being jogging up the trail. She came to a stop a few meters away and bent over with her hands on her knees as she breathed heavily. Her long brunette hair was restrained by a ponytail giving him a good view of her rounded, friendly face. She was short, but not unusually so; likely around one-hundred-sixty centimeters. She was wearing snug-fitting cerulean leggings which highlighted her toned legs. She was also wearing a pink hoodie which was unzipped to her navel giving him an excellent view of the snug-fitting grey tank top beneath. Colwyn instantly decided said tank top, and what he could only presume was a sports bra beneath it, was likely made of a material which was extraterrestrial in origin because it was successfully restraining what were unmistakably the largest pair of natural breasts he had ever seen, in person or otherwise.

The way she was bent over gave him a clear view of her spectacular cleavage, which was only made more alluring by the way her breasts were heaving as she fought to regain her breath. She straightened and stretched her arms over her head, which caused Colwyn to think that she was intentionally testing his resolve. She turned slowly in a circle as she took in the mountains visible from the vista upon which they stood. This gave Colwyn a wonderful view of her well-rounded ass, which her leggings did a marvelous job of highlighting.

She completed her rotation and her eyes settled upon him. She noticed his unabashed gaze and a frown settled over her features. She stalked over to him and snapped, "Can I help you?"

"I'm sorry," he stuttered.

"Why are you staring at me?"

He realized that the expected reaction when being encountered by a person who was obviously angry was to genuflect and apologize, but all he could do was continue to drink in her breathtaking magnificence. In the absence of the emotion one would expect to find in relation to embarrassment, or even shame, Colwyn defaulted to the truth.

He said, "Because you're beautiful."

"Oh really?"

Colwyn only nodded in reply as he memorized the details of her face. She had soulful brown eyes to match her hair and a dusting of freckles across her cheeks. He saw a hint of confusion warring with the irritation on her face as Colwyn nodded sincerely. But, before she could make a reply, he remembered his goal to keep his eyes to himself. He gave her a shy smile and began his trek back to the parking lot.

000101

A notification popped up on Colwyn's screen, interrupting his carefully planned activities for the day. He checked the clock and found that it was a few minutes after twenty-three hundred hours on a Sunday. He was in the Refuge, a smallish room an outsider could have mistaken for a media room on the upper floor of his house. This assumed that an outsider would ever be given access to the room, or indeed even made aware of its existence.

The Refuge was a windowless room adjacent to the master bedroom. Its only entry way was via a, he hoped, cleverly concealed panel in the closet of the aforementioned master bedroom. The room contained a state-of-the-art gaming rig, complete with three large flat-panel monitors, a gaming chair with integrated surround sound and a computer which could have comfortably managed the entirety of the American space program, simultaneously, without even breaking a sweat.

Behind the gaming rig was a rack which would have been more at home in a state-of-the-art data center. It was enclosed in plexiglass due to its custom designed water-cooled system which was powered by the array of solar panels on the roof and the well water piped in from the adjoining woods. The system had, in totality, cost Colwyn nearly as much as the house. But, he had reasoned, he had to spend the money on something.

The rack-mounted computers were tasked with managing the encryption on what he referred to as his Content, a library he had been building for over a decade which currently stood somewhere north of fifty terabytes. His hobby had started small but had grown into what he tried to convince himself was a passion. It was also his only outlet, other than his games, outside of work.

He had been in the midst of curating the downloads which had completed over the past week when the notification popped up. He reluctantly tore his eyes away from the main monitor and clicked on the pop-up. His frustration evaporated instantly when he read the content of the message. He whooped for joy and ran from the room. The screen, upon noticing his departure, immediately deactivated and the content he had been curating was immediately encrypted.

He made his way back to the bedroom and quickly showered before heading to the office. The fact that it was nearly midnight on a Saturday never entered into his mind. All that mattered was that his month's long project was finally nearing a conclusion. A tiny part of him worried about what his company's reaction to his activities would be. After all, he had instinctively hidden everything from them in the certain knowledge that, had they known about his activities, they almost certainly would have insisted he cease and desist immediately. However, this concern was displaced when he again considered how fundamentally earth shattering his project would be. Not only for the company, but indeed for the entire world.

***

Three days later, Colwyn heard a knock at the door to his office. To be more specific, he heard someone attempt to turn the handle to his office door but fail to gain entry due to the fact that Colwyn had locked the door after entering. He glanced around his office quickly, ensuring all was in order. Upon seeing nothing amiss, he keyed a command into his computer before standing and walking across the office.

He opened the door to find his boss angrily glaring at him. His boss shouldered his way past him and looked around the office suspiciously. He finally looked back to Colwyn and regarded him intently.

At length, he said, "Where have you been?"

"I don't understand," Colwyn said carefully.

"You've skipped every meeting this week."

"We've been over this. Those meetings are a waste of my time. And, by extension, a waste of company resources."

"It wasn't just stand-ups, Colwyn. You missed the meeting where you were supposed to unveil version three of your software."

"Oh," Colwyn replied with a hint of genuine contrition. He crossed to his desk and, after checking the label carefully, handed Kurt a thumb drive.

"What's this?" his boss asked dismissively.

"The results for all in-progress projects based upon the new version of the software, plus a presentation discussing what's changed and the resulting improvements to our return on investment."

Kurt turned the drive over several times in his hand before saying, "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've never given me what I asked for so easily in the past. Something's wrong."

"Is this not my job?"

"Of course it is. You've just tended to be more of a pain in the ass about it."

"Are you suggesting I should be more argumentative in the future? I had assumed you would be pleased with this," Colwyn finished, indicating the thumb drive his boss now held.

Kurt appeared to deflate and said, "No. You're right. This is great. I wish some of your colleagues had your track record."

Colwyn said, "I could do more, you know?"

Kurt appeared not to hear him and rose to walk to the door. He mumbled, "Thanks, Colwyn," before departing.

The preceding days had gone by in a flash. It had begun with an unremarkable trip to the office through mostly empty streets. Colwyn had kept to the speed limit despite his excitement. He knew well the enthusiasm of the local constabulary for issuing moving violations and had no wish to attract their attention. The trip had only been interrupted by a brief stop for some fried chicken to take into the office with him upon realizing that it would be many hours before the cafeteria at his office would open. It had been a few minutes before one in the morning when he finally pulled into his space at his office.

The notification that had begun the entire sordid affair had indicated that a program which Colwyn had built painstakingly over the course of several months, and which he had initiated the week before Thanksgiving, had finally borne fruit. Colwyn rankled at the idea of spending all of his time, not to mention his experience and intellect, trying to improve the ability of pensioners to achieve bigger and better erections. The silver lining was that the work on erection medications took almost none of his time or intellect, so he had been able to faithfully execute his assigned duties while simultaneously focusing on a passion project.

He plugged the thumb drive he had not handed Kurt back into his computer and checked the results a final time. But just like every other check he had run over the preceding eleven hours, it indicated that his program had succeeded. He had hoped that his offhand comment to his boss would have prompted a conversation which would have allowed him to organically broach the subject of his success, but his boss had been too preoccupied by his quick acquiescence to take notice of anything else he said. He sat at his desk for a few moments trying to decide how best to solve this conundrum. The solution he eventually settled upon was not without drawbacks, but he decided it was better than doing nothing.

As he approached the door to his office, he noticed his reflection in the mirror in his private washroom on the way. He suddenly remembered that he had been in this room, with breaks only to seek sustenance, for nearly a week. He had slept, albeit sparingly, on the couch in his office while he ran the final programs to complete his project. The long confinement had not improved his appearance. He currently looked not entirely dissimilar from a serial killer who had been on the run for several months. Half of his hair was sticking straight up while the other half still looked reasonably normal. His mustache also had the remnants of a meal he could not remember eating and his skin had an unnatural shininess to it.

He ducked into the washroom and took a quick shower. This, combined with changing into clean clothing, made him feel remarkably better. He was reminded of how ridiculous the company had regarded his insistence on a private washroom. But it had proven its worth time and again as he pulled stints of upwards of one-hundred consecutive hours at the office while focused on projects featuring a level of technical complexity which rivaled the workings of a nuclear power plant.

Before leaving his office, he ran a program which applied a level of encryption which he considered to be quite crude to his project files. He tried to assure himself that the encryption his work computers were capable of managing should be sufficient, but he knew he could, and should, do better. The desire was attenuated by the knowledge that the only way he could have improved the encryption was to take the files to The Refuge, which he could not do until he returned to his home.

He left his office and went in search of the person who had been assigned as his product manager. His refusal to attend regularly scheduled meetings meant he had had very little contact with his teammates. In truth, the person he chose to seek out was driven in large part by the fact that he could only recall the names of three coworkers with confidence. One of them was his boss and the second was his friend who always made sure the cafeteria stocked his preferred meals. The third was his product manager, Quinn. He had no doubt that his ability to recall her name was related, at least in part, to the fact that she was quite attractive. She was noticeably, perhaps even distractingly, buxom. She tended to wear a sour expression on her face unless she saw benefit in doing otherwise, in which case she would adopt an angelic smile which had even the highest executives stammering for their words. She had also shown an unfortunate penchant for advancing her career by standing on the shoulders of others.

He approached Quinn's office and stood silently in the doorway until she looked up with a start.

"Oh... um... Colwyn. I didn't see you there. Um... can I help you?"

Colwyn thought for a moment before saying, "There's something I need to tell you." She frowned at him briefly before making a 'get on with it' gesture. He continued, "I had this all planned out before I came in here."

Her frown deepened before her eyes widened alarmingly. She said, "Oh no."

"Huh?"

"Listen, Colwyn. I'm sure you're a nice enough guy, but I can't. In fact, there's a company policy against fraternization with those who are subordinate to you. You understand, right?"

"But I don't report to you. I report to Kurt."

"I'm sure you mean Mr. Renfro. And I know you report to him. But I am the product manager over some of the projects you work with, so it's kind of the same thing."

"I disagree."

"Ok, look. Maybe you don't report to me, but I still won't go out with you. I'm sorry, Colwyn. I'm just not interested."

Colwyn cocked his head in confusion and said, "You thought I was asking you to go on a date with me?"

"Weren't you?"

"No," he replied simply.

"Oh, then forget I said anything."

"I'm afraid that will be quite impossible."

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Quinn began fidgeting with her keyboard, not quite typing but just noisily tapping her nails on the keys as she looked at anything in the office except for her guest. For Colwyn's part, he simply stared at her in rapt fascination as he tried to understand her discomfort.

Finally, she slammed her laptop closed and said, "What?"

"Pardon?"

"Why did you come in here? I doubt it was to chat. Didn't you say you needed something?"

"Indeed. I'd like to add something to the current sprint."

She looked confused but answered quickly, "I'm not sure that will be possible. We're pushing things as it is and have no spare capacity."

"You misunderstand. This is work that's already completed but it wasn't part of our Q one roadmap. Something I've been developing on the side and just today completed."

"Why wasn't this on our roadmap?"

"Because no one thought it was possible," Colwyn replied simply.

He could see the goosebumps rise on her arm as she slowly asked, "What did you do?"

Colwyn shrugged and said, "Invented a cure for two of the five most lethal forms of heart disease."

000110

"Dude, this is awesome!" Gil shouted over the hundreds of decibels pouring from the stage.

"Do these guys get paid by the note?" Ross shouted with an irrepressible grin on his face.

"Hardly," Colwyn replied.

They were at a local concert venue watching a progressive metal band from New York that had rose to prominence during the early nineties. Colwyn considered them a reasonable substitute for his true favorite band and always made sure to attend whenever they played within driving distance of his home. Not only were they master musicians, whose musical proficiency rivaled his own level of technical expertise, but they also considered it a personal affront to ever play for fewer than three hours. They were currently on their third encore and had yet to play their biggest hit.

Colwyn had off-handedly mentioned the show during the latest gaming night and Ross and Gil readily invited themselves along. He had welcomed their company as he always felt a little out of sorts at the feeling that he was in the extreme minority attending a concert alone.

"Fuck," Ross uttered as the show ended. "How long was that song?"

"The album version is twenty-three minutes," Colwyn replied. "But they lengthened the solos in the third and seventh movements this evening, so I suspect it was closer to thirty."

Gil said, "Dude, these guys are my new favorite band."

Colwyn said, "They are quite good. I rate them as my fifth slash second favorite band."

Ross cocked an eyebrow and said, "Come again?"

"My fifth favorite overall and my second favorite among bands still actively touring."

"How many times have you seen them?"

"Eleven," Colwyn replied immediately.

"Wow," Ross gushed.

Colwyn said, "That's nothing. I've seen my favorite band forty-seven times."

Gil said, "How is that even possible?"

"I've seen every show within five-hundred kilometers since I first discovered them as a teenager. Once, a few years ago, I saw them seven times in thirteen days."

"But, why? Don't they just play the same thing every night?"

"Not necessarily. But even if they did, I would still have done it. It's hard to explain, I just feel like I need to see them as much as possible while I still can. After all, they're in their seventies now and I'm sure they won't tour forever."

Ross nodded and said, "No doubt. Hey, you never said how you managed to score seats in the front row of the balcony."

Colwyn said, "I wrote a program to bombard all of the ticketing websites the moment tickets go on sale to ensure I get the best possible seats."

"Doesn't that cost a fortune? I mean, how many tickets do you have to buy to ensure you get the best ones?"

"Typically between seventy and one hundred."

"Jesus!," Gil exclaimed. "That must have cost... what... ten grand?"

"That's a reasonable estimate. I never actually check."

"How many did you manage to resell before the show? Hopefully you didn't lose your shirt."

"I didn't sell them," Colwyn replied simply. "I gave them away."

"To who?" Ross said in awe. "I mean, besides us."

"I give them to high school band directors in the area so they can offer them to interested students."

"That's great, man," Gil said sincerely. "Anybody else know how magnanimous you are?"

Colwyn shrugged and said, "Not if I can help it."

They made their way out to the parking lot with reasonable ease, no doubt made easier by the fact that the crowd was mostly made up of similarly aged individuals to themselves and nearly devoid of excitable youngsters. As they walked, Colwyn's companions began looking around suspiciously. As the doors to Colwyn's self-described 'vanity' car, a hand-built six-hundred-fifty horsepower British grand touring coupe which had cost him a quarter-million dollars, Ross finally gave voice to his thoughts.

He said, "What happened to all the chicks?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, normally when we go to concerts there are tons of chicks there. Chicks dig live music of all kinds. But it seems like, with a few notable..."

"And old," Gil supplied.

Ross continued, "exceptions, this show was a sausage fest."

"I'd never noticed," Colwyn said briefly.

"What's up with you and the ladies?" Gil said loudly before looking sheepish and lowering his voice. "Sorry, my ears are still ringing a bit."

Ross said, "I told you to wear earplugs."

"Anyone want to stop for a bite on the way home?" Colwyn asked as though impervious to the ongoing conversation.

Gil said, "Come on man. We've been hanging out for a while now. We're friends, right?"

"I would like to think so."

"So spill. We know you're into chicks, based on the way you run the games and your renderings. You got a special lady in your life who's just embarrassed to meet your nerd friends?"

"No," Colwyn answered simply.

"Come on man, you gotta give us more than that."

"Why? I know nothing of your romantic entanglements."

Ross said, "I'm currently between girlfriends. Last one turned me in for a newer model last month. But there's a cute girl who works the check-out at my local bodega who I think wants to audition to fill the opening."

Gil said, "Bullshit! That chick wouldn't give you the time of day. So that's this delusional maniac sorted. As for myself, my divorce was finalized eight months ago after four years of marriage. I'm not yet ready to wade into the morass of dating but I've been thinking about it more recently."

"So now you go, Colwyn."

"Before I started my current job, I spent the last fifteen years attending three different universities."

"That's great. What I wouldn't give to go back to my college days."

"I spent all my time in the lab, or in the library."

"What about RPG's?"

"And that," Colwyn allowed. "But I was quite busy. I had little time for casual dalliances. It was not as if there was a bevy of females vying for my attention in any case."

"But you must have had some girlfriends," Ross said carefully. "I mean, Gil here looks like somebody wrapped a ham in a union suit, and crammed the whole thing in a food processor, and he was still swimming in pussy in college."

Colwyn nodded and said, "There was one. We met in a text-based online RPG and formed a friendship. After several months of only interacting in the game, she asked me to call her. That went well and led to longer, more explicit, phone calls. She eventually suggested we meet in person. She lived in Kentucky, and I drove there to meet her for a party she and her housemates were throwing."

"Don't hold out on us, dude. Did you score?"

"Yes," Colwyn replied simply.

Gil said, "And... then what?"

"I went home the next day as planned. When I arrived, I saw an email from her indicating she did not wish to correspond further."

"That's cold, dude. Did she say why?"

"She implied the coitus was unsatisfactory. I am forced to take her word for it as I have no basis for comparison."

An uncomfortable silence descended over the vehicle which impacted Colwyn's passengers far more than him. His romantic history, such that it was, was a matter of fact and thus not subject to feelings or emotions. He had long ago come to grips with the events of that weekend after realizing that constantly obsessing over 'what if' would only lead to madness.

Ross said, "Dude, you can't let one cold-hearted chick knock you off the horse for good. You've got to get back out there. You're a nice enough guy, and you've certainly got this chucklehead beat in the looks department. And he managed to find someone who was willing to not only let him fuck her, but she also let him marry her. Besides, you're, like, legit rich. You should just show up to happy hour in the local watering hole with your paycheck stub tucked in your shirt pocket. You'd be basically guaranteed to score."

"If you say so," Colwyn replied without emotion. "Looks like we're here."

Gil said, "Don't take him too seriously, Colwyn. Just do what makes you happy, and the rest will sort itself out. And, seriously, thanks for taking us along tonight. This was a blast."

Colwyn watched them walk to their car before setting off, the conversation already fading from his mind as he looked forward to returning to his Refuge.

***

The door to Colwyn's office opened without warning. He looked up in irritation to find Kurt, Quinn and three other people who looked familiar, but whose names he could not recall, entering the office. Kurt took a seat across from Colwyn while the others stood loyally behind him like some sort of corporate Praetorian guard. Kurt regarded Colwyn coolly for nearly a full minute before he finally spoke.

"It would seem that perhaps our 'pointless meetings' were important after all."

Colwyn said, "How do you mean?"

"Well, I understand you've been working on things which weren't part of this sprint's committed work."

"I met all my commitments."

"Perhaps," Kurt allowed. "But if you had excess capacity then you could have helped out the other teams instead of wasting time on a fantasy."

"My work is not a fantasy."

"Your work, as you call it, is to do what you're told. I'm pretty sure that, at least, is in your contract."

"As I said, I did what I was told. I just did this as well. What exactly has she told you?" Colwyn asked indicating Quinn with a nod of his head.

"Some bullshit about a miracle drug."

"As I said, it is real."

"Even if it were, which I'm sure it isn't, it is irrelevant. Our job is to test marketable products, products which align with our corporate objectives."

"What about making people better, helping them live longer? This medicine could save millions of lives."

"It would never pass trials."

Colwyn smirked and said, "Have you forgotten? That's why your grandfather hired me: to ensure your products would make it to market. I guarantee this would pass with flying colors. As for your precious corporate objectives, this medicine would make this company trillions. Your grandfather, perhaps even you, would go down in history alongside Salk, Hilleman, Turing, Kahn and Cerf."

"Who?"

"Who, indeed," Colwyn responded ruefully.

Kurt huffed and said, "This is all pointless. You are to turn over any and all materials related to your unapproved work immediately."

"To what end?"

"So that they can be studied, of course. If our researchers find merit with your ideas, we'll put them on our roadmap."

"Your researchers wouldn't know the first thing about my work. They're too busy obsessing over erections."

Quinn snickered at this, causing Kurt's face to redden with rage.

"Nobody likes a smart-ass, Mr. Smalley. You're in over your head on this one. Hand over everything related to this project, as you call it."

"What if I say no?" Colwyn asked snidely. "It's not like you would fire me only to have me hand this to one of your competitors."

"Indeed. This is Ms. Decimus and Mr. Meridius from legal. They have assured me that, should we find it necessary to terminate you for cause, any and all work you've performed while in our employ would belong to us. Including this formula of yours, and your precious algorithms."

"I developed those before I came to work for you. They belong to me."

One of the lawyers piped up to say, "You may hold the patent on the original source material, but the current version of any programs you worked on since starting belong to us. We're free to use them however we see fit."

"You see?" Kurt interjected nastily. "You're not as smart as you think you are. Now, hand everything over to Mr. Crowe here. After that, you'll need to sign the papers Ms. Decimus has which state that you have turned over all copies."

"I won't let you bury this, Kurt," Colwyn said angrily.

Kurt pulled out his phone and typed on it briefly before continuing. He looked back up at Colwyn and said, "In a way, I'm glad you said that."

Colwyn noticed a flash out of the corner of his eye and turned to find a splash screen on his monitors indicating he had been locked out of his computers. He looked back at Kurt, who stood with flourish and glanced around the room as if to ensure everyone was watching.

Kurt smiled widely at him and said, "I'm afraid you've left me no choice except to inform you that you're fired. Effective immediately. Now, get the fuck out of my sight, you obnoxious lard-ass."

000111

Colwyn spent a dozen minutes collecting his personal belongings, after the team from the IT department had absconded with his computers. He tried not to smile at the knowledge of a complete backup of his work sitting on his home server, protected by a level of encryption his now-former employers had no hope of ever understanding. As he packed, he received a lecture from the legal department's golems about all of the trouble he could get in should he ever share anything he worked on while in the company's employ with any outsider. Colwyn did not even pretend to listen to them, much less acknowledge them. He knew they held no power over him. After all, he had never actually shown anyone at the company any of the formulas he had invented. And they would have a great deal of difficulty getting any use out of what they found on his computers since even the encryption available to him at work would have been beyond the capabilities of most governments to break.

By the time he reached the front door, he was in a better mood than he had been in days. Their firing of him would be challenged in court and he was certain he would win. After all, he had done everything asked of him. What court would decide that doing extra work was a fireable offense. This was still the home of toxic capitalism and he lived in a red state that was constantly touting the value of hard work. He was sure his lawyers would be victorious. He also knew that once his lawsuit was decided in his favor, he would then be free to take his talents to any pharmaceutical firm in the world. And he would be in a position to insist that they take his invention to market.

As Colwyn was led through the lobby, he noticed a woman who looked vaguely familiar. Realization dawned when his eyes scanned down her body. As he took in her impressively voluptuous figure, he realized it was the woman he had seen on the walking trail at the park. She walked right up to him, an inscrutable expression on her face. He regarded her with undisguised interest, taking in the way her ivory colored silk blouse and black slacks highlighted her curviness despite their looseness.

He smiled at her awkwardly as she came to a stop, not wanting to admit that he did not have the first idea who she was, or even anything about her beyond her undeniable good looks.

She grimaced and said, "We're going to miss you around here," before leaning in to hug him tightly.

He was too stunned at her actions to do anything other than stand awkwardly. A tiny part of his brain screamed for him to wrap his arms around her. But, before he could act, she took a step back and stared at him darkly. Her gaze shifted down to his crotch. His gaze followed hers, wondering what could possibly have drawn her attention.

"Asshole!" she spat before she slapped him and turned to stomp away.

Colwyn stared at her departing form in shock as his hand rose to assuage the sting on his cheek. He started to follow after her, but the company security guards blocked his path. They did not say a word, merely pointed in the direction of the parking lot. He nodded numbly and proceeded through the rotating door into the brisk January air. He walked into the parking lot in a daze, so much so that he failed to notice the pair of police officers standing near to his car. They made their presence known the moment he clicked his key fob.

"Colwyn Smalley?" the larger one thundered.

Colwyn whipped around to face them, nearly dropping his box of belongings in the process. This small victory was quickly invalidated as the smaller cop yanked the box from his hands and dropped it on the ground. The larger cop took a step back and rested his hand on his pistol. Colwyn said, "What is the meaning of this?"

The smaller cop snapped, "You're under arrest."

The larger cop started Mirandizing him, but Colwyn ignored him and looked to the cop who was handcuffing him. "For what?"

"You'll have to take it up with the DA. They just told us to bring you in."

By this point, the rights reading had concluded, and Colwyn was forced into the cramped back seat of the squad car. As they pulled away, he looked forlornly at his box of belongings resting on the ground beside his car and wondered how things had gone so disastrously, so quickly.

***

The trip to the police station passed in silence, more because of the baffling encounter with the beautiful stranger than because of the rights that had been read to him. The police officers seemed content to ignore Colwyn completely, leaving him alone with his thoughts. The woman's reaction had seemed in line with what one would expect had he developed an erection in response to her closeness. And while he was honest enough with himself to admit that, due to circumstances, he was hardly an objective eyewitness, he genuinely believed that his only response to her actions had been surprise. As he thought about it, he realized she had not actually gotten close enough to him to detect a physiological response on his part, even had he had one.

His thoughts were interrupted when the squad car came to a stop in a subterranean garage. The officers pulled him roughly from the car and led him through the bowels of what he could only assume was the local police station. He soon found himself before a desk with a bored looking, bespectacled bald officer seated at it with another, much more imposing, officer standing behind him.

The former spoke without looking up. "Strip."

Colwyn looked around, finding much to his dismay that there was no one else in the room to whom the man could have been speaking. He said, "Pardon?"

"Lose the clothes, Smalley," the larger officer rumbled in a voice which seemed to come straight from the pits of hell.

"On what grounds?" Colwyn asked with a noticeable tremor in his voice.

The smaller officer said, "Because I said so. Now, are you going to cooperate, or shall I bring some officers in here to do this for you?"

Colwyn inspected the expressions of both officers hoping to find some hint that they were joking. Finding none, he sighed and reached for his belt.

Less than a minute later, the larger officer said, "We don't have all day, Smalley. You got ten seconds to wrap this shit up."

"Or else what?" Colwyn snapped, his irritation at being made to remove his clothing in front of others showing through.

A buzzer rang behind Colwyn. He looked up to see the smaller cop withdraw his hand from beneath the desk, a large smile spreading across his face. He said, "Don't say we didn't give you a chance."

The door behind Colwyn opened and two noticeably attractive female officers entered. Before Colwyn could speak, they shoved him against the desk and began forcefully removing his clothing. He heard his shirt rip several times as they tugged it off.

"Why we always got to get the ugly ones?" the first one asked.

"Because we're on probation," the second one replied nastily.

They tossed his clothing on the desk as they removed it. Colwyn hoped they would grant him the dignity of retaining his t-shirt and boxers but was quickly disappointed as they wrenched the former over his head.

"What's the matter?" the smaller of the two female officers asked. "You allergic to treadmills?"

"More like addicted to cheeseburgers. Glad we thought to grab gloves."

They yanked his shoes and socks off, placing them on the desk along with his pants. Before Colwyn could manage to object, they snatched his boxers down.

"Oh my God!" both women exploded simultaneously.

The largest of the officers leaned forward and chuckled nastily. The desk officer craned his neck before shrugging and saying, "See something new every day. Thank you, officers. That'll be all."

The two women left. But, as the door closed behind them, Colwyn could hear one of them saying, "I didn't know they could be wider than they were long."

"I'm not sure you can use the word 'long' to describe it. No wonder he's named Smalley," the other one replied.

Colwyn growled, "You'll pay for this. You had no right to do this to me."

The seated officer said, "Add two counts of threatening a law enforcement official to the tally."

Colwyn groaned but remained silent. The officer started to go through his clothing, reading off the items he found for the larger officer to notate on his clipboard. Colwyn just hoped the whole ordeal would end quickly so he could get his clothing back, even though any chance of retaining his dignity was gone forever. He tuned out the officer's dull monotone as he listed off the contents of Colwyn's pockets until he heard a significant change in his tone. Colwyn looked down to find the officer holding a smallish plastic bag filled with what appeared to be some sort of powder.

Colwyn started to protest that he had never seen the bag before, but the officer cut him off. "What have we here?"

Colwyn said, "That's not mine!"

"That's what they all say. Get the scale."

The larger officer opened a desk drawer and extracted what looked for all the world to be a kitchen scale. They weighed the bag, and then the larger officer examined it more closely. Colwyn expected him to wet his finger and sample the substance, as he had seen in countless movies. But instead, the officer merely manipulated the powder within before saying, "Probably heroin."

The seated officer said, "Four point two grams. That's five years minimum."

"But that's not mine!" Colwyn protested.

"Sure it isn't. Let's get this over with."

Two hours later, Colwyn was seated glumly on the floor of a blissfully mostly empty holding cell. He had been given an ill-fitting set of prison fatigues. He had yet to speak with a lawyer despite the fact that, following the humiliating scene while being booked, all he had said to anyone was that he wanted his phone call. When he had been brought to his cell by one of the officers who had stripped him, she had told him that they were only required to give him a phone call within the first twenty-four hours. With respect to the lawyer, she had only mentioned that they had yet to interrogate him.

As he tried to stave off the depression threatening to overwhelm him, he gave some thought to the bag of drugs the buxom woman had planted on him in the lobby of his former company. He had not felt her do it, but Occam's Razor allowed no other explanation for how the drugs came to be on his person. The only explanation he could work out for why she had framed him was the way he had gaped at her when he first saw her on the walking trail. He wondered if it had been her intention for him to spend so long in prison for, what seemed to him to be, a relatively minor offense.

This train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of a diminutive man who was prodigiously tattooed and expending a lot of energy screaming at the pair of officers who were escorting him. Colwyn watched with rapt fascination as the officers used increasing levels of force, first to force the man into the cell and then to extricate themselves from his grasp. At length, they succeeded and slammed the door shut on the man. They laughed at his threats as they departed.

All the other prisoners in the cell pointedly looked elsewhere as the man's wild eyes scanned around the cell. Colwyn followed suit, but this did not prevent the man from approaching him menacingly. He began their conversation by slapping Colwyn in the back of the head.

"You're in my seat boy."

Colwyn looked around to find several other open benches. This only caused the aggressor to strike him again.

"Fine," Colwyn huffed before getting up.

He started to take a seat on an adjoining bench, but the man said, "Did I say you could sit?"

"Why would I need permission to sit?"

"Because you're in my house now, boy?"

Colwyn felt a jolt of fear course through him as though he had been electrocuted. He warily walked across the cell, as far from the small, angry man as possible. He kept his eyes on the floor, but he also did not take a seat, on a bench or otherwise.

001000

"Colwyn Inigo Smalley, you've been charged with grand larceny, conspiracy, extortion, and possession with intent to distribute. How do you plead?"

Colwyn looked helplessly over at his court appointed lawyer, whom he had only met moments prior. He had been denied his requested phone call until about twenty minutes before the arraignment. And, when he called, his lawyer had been indisposed, forcing him to leave a message. The meeting with the public defender had consisted of little more than advising him to plead not guilty, and keep his mouth shut otherwise.

Colwyn looked wearily up at the judge and said, "Not guilty."

His lawyer began, "Your honor, Mr. Smalley is a respected member of..."

The judge interrupted to mutter, "Could have fooled me."

Colwyn could not entirely blame the judge for his assessment. His night in the holding cell had been nothing short of a nightmare. He had managed to avoid sodomy only through the timely arrival of the guards to take his tormenter to his own arraignment. Despite this silver lining, Colwyn still bore the signs of significant brutalization and suspected he looked very much like a hoodlum.

Before Colwyn's lawyer could resume, the judge said, "Bail is denied," and banged his gavel.

Colwyn looked helplessly at the lawyer, who only shrugged his shoulders and said, "I'll try to get in touch with your lawyer. Just keep your mouth shut if they try to interview you."

Colwyn was led away by the bailiff and soon found himself on a bus headed out of town. He cautiously looked around and was pleased to find the man who had made his life a living hell for the previous sixteen hours was not present. But he had learned better than to be too hopeful. The blind eye his jailors had turned to his aggressor told him plenty about the type of people he could expect to find in county lock-up.

Arrival at the prison began a long series of dehumanizing, but mostly forgettable, experiences. By the time night fell, Colwyn was led to a cell by a guard who only snickered in response to his question about when dinner would be served.

His cellmate was a balding man who was slightly taller than him and had a severe underbite. His cellmate took one look at Colwyn and said, "Thank goodness."

For his part, Colwyn just quietly took a seat on his bunk and tried to ignore his surroundings. The silence lasted for all of ninety seconds before his cellmate took a seat next to him and brightly said, "I'm Eric."

Colwyn remained silent, closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall and tried to pretend as though the last thirty-six hours had never happened. Unfortunately for him, his cellmate was persistent and refused to grant him any peace.

Eric said, "I heard you ask about dinner. You just missed it. But I got a couple candy bars if you want one."

"What's it going to cost me?"

"Listen man, I get it. I remember my first night in the joint. I know what you're going through. I'm not trying to trap you or anything. Just being friendly."

Colwyn sighed and stuck his hand out. "Colwyn."

"Nice to meet you."

"Why did you give thanks when I arrived?"

Eric reached into a box near the back of the cell and extracted a candy bar, which he handed to Colwyn. He settled back next to Colwyn and said, "Heard I was getting a cellmate today. Was afraid it would be a darky. Rules is rules, but I wasn't really in the mood to get in a fight today. So I'm glad you're a white fella."

Colwyn closed his eyes again, his appetite gone before he even took a bite. He said nothing, but inwardly he was screaming about how it seemed impossible that his situation could get any worse.

***

Nine days later, Colwyn was a shell of his former self. His skin had an unnatural shininess to it due to his refusal to enter the showers after a near assault on his third day. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot due to the fact that he had not slept more than two consecutive hours since his arrival. He had also had very little to eat, only managing to keep one meal in four from being stolen.

He had finally met with his lawyer on his third day in prison, but that meeting had offered little in the way of hope. His lawyer was committed to doing everything possible to get him exonerated, but the evidence against him was not insignificant. His company's inability to decrypt anything on his computers was, in the eyes of the district attorney, proof of Colwyn's guilt. With respect to the planted drugs, the attorney said she would attempt to find the woman in question, but he could tell she expected to fail considering all Colwyn could give her to go on was a rough physical description. He did not even know if she worked at his company, or if she was just there to frame him.

He had, in his estimation, drawn the attention of at least three different gangs although the reason for their attention varied. One wanted to hurt, perhaps kill, him due to what they presumed to be his affiliation with the white supremacist gang to which his cellmate belonged. The second was a smaller group who seemed bound and determined to sodomize him, although he could not tell if their objective was their own sexual gratification or if they merely sought to brutalize him for some other reason. The third was the aforementioned white supremacist gang for his refusal to join their ranks.

Colwyn was sitting in the prison yard as the guards refused to let him remain in his cell during the hour allotted for exercise. He had carefully selected a spot from which he was in full view of at least seven different guards and where no one could approach him from behind. He watched wearily as Eric approached him, purposefully ignoring his cellmate as the latter took a seat beside him.

Eric picked up a small pebble and aimlessly tossed it before saying, "We can offer you protection."

"No," Colwyn replied simply.

"You can't avoid them forever, Colwyn. Sooner or later, they're going to catch you when the guards aren't watching."

"Perhaps," Colwyn said sullenly. "But I'd prefer that to..."

"To what?"

"To selling my soul."

"What's the big deal? Answer me honestly, how often do you actually interact with non-whites?"

Colwyn sighed, wishing his delusional cellmate would just go away, or perhaps even get abducted by aliens. He snapped, "You know what? I do believe in segregating people."

"Now we're getting somewhere."

"Indeed. We should have three classes in this country segregated by intelligence. As someone with an IQ of one hundred and ninety seven, I would be in the highest class. We'd handle all major decisions and enjoy freedom from all but the most basic laws required for a functioning society. The middle class would handle all tactical decisions and enjoy a level of freedom which exceeds what most citizens enjoy today. You would, of course, be in the lowest class. You would be denied the right to vote or own property, but you would still be more free than most non-whites in today's society under our expert guidance. What do you think?"

"Don't say I didn't give you a chance," Eric said as he hefted himself to his feet. He ambled slowly away as he muttered, "Fucking asshole."

Colwyn stayed where he was until the horn sounded which indicated he could return to the relative safety of his cell. He ignored his cellmate's return, laying on his bunk while he carefully watched and listened to the stream of fellow prisoners flowing past his cell. He thought ruefully of how he had always joked, albeit to himself, that he would greatly enjoy prison as an opportunity to catch up on years' worth of reading while enjoying the absence of responsibilities. The reality was so much worse than he could have ever imagined. His days were spent in constant vigilance against acts more horrible than he could imagine, and which seemed to lurk beyond every corner and within every shadow.

***

"Jesus. You look terrible. What'd they do to you?" his lawyer gasped as Colwyn was led into the meeting room.

He was unsurprised at her reaction. He had been in and out of the infirmary with frightening regularity since his arrival two weeks prior. The most recent visit was for a slash to his face curtesy of a sharpened toothbrush. The guards had forced Colwyn to shower and the crowd that had awaited him there was like something from a nightmare. The only thing that prevented Colwyn from being injured worse was the fact that the rival gangs had ended up fighting with each other over who got to assault Colwyn first.

"They framed me and arranged to have me thrown in prison."

"About that," she said with a frown. "They've set your trial date."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Typically. The problem is that it isn't for another three months. The judicial calendar is pretty backed up right now."

Colwyn sank back into his chair, his breath whistling slowly out from between his clenched teeth. He shook his head slowly and said, "I can't last that long in here."

"I know it seems grim. I've filed for an earlier date. I've also filed an appeal of your denial of bail. Hopefully one, if not both, will find a sympathetic ear and we can get you out of here."

"And, if they don't?"

"Then you'll be here until the trial."

"Did you find the woman?"

She blew out a long breath and said, "I'm afraid not. I put my best investigator on it, but without a name there's not much we can do. We did, however, come across something else."

Colwyn cocked an eyebrow in response but refused to allow himself to get his hopes up.

She continued, "Your company intercepted my investigator. He wasn't breaking the law, so there was nothing they could do to him. But they did have a brief conversation with him which I am duty-bound to relay to you.

"If you agree to turn over all of you research, and fully decrypt all of the computers which you worked on while in their employ, and sign both an NDA and a document stating you will never again work in the pharmaceutical sector; then they will agree to drop all charges."

"Can they even do that? I thought in a criminal case, the state brought the charges. They weren't even there when I was arraigned."

"Technically, you're correct. But they're the biggest company in town. I suspect if they tell the DA to drop it, he'll be inclined to take their suggestion."

Colwyn sighed and said, "No deal. They're probably lying. Even if I agreed, they'd have no incentive to keep their word after I give them what they're asking for. Besides, why would the DA agree to drop the drug charge unless they admit they arranged for it to be planted on me. But even if it was all on the up-and-up, I'd still tell them to fuck off. I can't allow my work to be buried. It's too important."

"How do you know they were involved?"

"I do not believe in coincidences."

"Indeed. I wish I had better news, but please believe we're doing everything we can."

Colwyn merely grunted in response before climbing to his feet. His lawyer appeared about to say something else, but instead she just sighed in frustration and watched him leave.

He headed back in the direction of his cell, keeping an eye out for potential traps. But, as he rounded the final corner, he heard an alarming sound behind him. He turned around, fear coursing through his body, to find three members of the gang which stood in direct opposition to the white supremacist gang.

"Time's up, klan man," the shortest of the trio said.

"I'm not affiliated with them," Colwyn protested weakly. "I told them I wanted nothing to do with their brand of hate."

"That's not what I heard," the largest of the three muttered. "I heard you've sworn yourself to them."

"That's a lie!" Colwyn shouted, hopeful to attract the attention of the guards.

"Prove it."

"You can't prove a negative," Colwyn snapped derisively.

"Always the smart college boy. Thinks he's better than us. Well you're about to learn a real important lesson, college boy. One you'll never forget."

Colwyn's only saving grace was that the first blow that landed knocked him out.

001001

Colwyn woke slowly, due in part to what he felt was a totally justifiable lack of interest in rejoining the catastrophe his life had become recently. The first sensation he had upon regaining consciousness was a level of pain he had never before experienced. Even a car accident when he was in his early twenties that had resulted in several days spent in the hospital paled in comparison. He took a moment to give each of his limbs a quick check, ensuring each was at least nominally functional, before he risked opening his eyes.

A quick glance around informed him that he was not in his cell. The cleanliness, and brightness, of the place briefly made him wonder if he was even still in prison. He began to hope the entire affair was the result of a particularly horrific dream. Or, in light of the unfamiliar surroundings, perhaps the result of a medical emergency which led to a prolonged coma where the medicines he was being given had caused terrifying hallucinations.

This line of thought was brought to a halt when the door opened and Colwyn saw, and heard, what were unquestionably the telltale signs of the prison outside the door. He regarded the man who entered with suspicion, wondering if he was the mysterious warden whom his fellow prisoners so frequently discussed in such worried tones.

The man took a chair that was in the corner of the room and pulled it over to the end of the bed in which Colwyn resided before taking a seat. He regarded Colwyn intently with piercing blue eyes which seemed to see right through him. He was dressed unusually for a prison, at least in Colwyn's estimation. He wore a white three-piece suit which was slightly rumpled in a way that denoted someone nearing the end of a particularly long day. He carried an antique looking cane and wore a bolo tie, which paired well with an apparent age of at least sixty. His thick white hair had a touch of wildness to it which, paired with the morning sun backlighting him, appeared not unlike a halo topping his mustachioed face.

The silence stretched between them as Colwyn studied his companion until at long last the newcomer broke the silence. "You have a fascinating mind, young man."

Colwyn considered this for a moment before saying, "Pardon?"

"You heard me," the stranger replied with a grin.

Colwyn acceded the point by nodding before saying, "Perhaps, then, you could elaborate."

"Most humans, especially in the modern era, have minds which remind me most of an aviary. Just a constant hive of frenetic, unrelated activity. In part, it is due to the evolutionary changes brought on by the advent of the internet. It is also a response to the ever-increasing potential for your remarkable minds. For many, their capacity far outstrips their abilities, and they end up filling up the excess with mindless drivel."

"So?"

The man merely smiled before continuing, "But your mind is, by comparison, like an operating theater. When you concentrate, all of your considerable brainpower is focused on a singular task. This is not altogether uncommon in your species. Most higher functioning humans have it. For some, it is fundamental to their profession. For instance, fighter pilots or racecar drivers. For others, it is what makes them some of the most infamous men in history. But I've never before encountered it to such a degree. So, as I said, quite remarkable."

Colwyn frowned and said, "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing," the man answered simply. "The real question is, what do you want?"

"To get out of here."

"Obviously. But... what do you want?" the man repeated.

"To share the medicine I invented with the world."

"What do you want?"

"To make it so no more sons lose their fathers to preventable illness."

"And then?"

"Then... nothing," Colwyn answered with a shrug. "That's all I've ever wanted."

"Not ever, son. Just since you lost him."

"Perhaps," Colwyn allowed. "What of it?"

"I make no judgements. I find your actions to be quite admirable. My point is... you have worked your entire adult life toward a singular goal. To the exclusion, with a couple notable exceptions, of all other goals or desires. And now you've achieved that goal."

"Hardly. I was thrown in prison for my efforts. And it is not as if things are trending towards my speedy release. I have no doubt my former corporate overlords are willing to expend a good deal of energy keeping that formula from ever seeing the light of day."

"Let us set that aside for a moment," Colwyn's companion said with a discernable twinkle in his eye. "If you'll indulge me."

"I've got nowhere better to be," Colwyn said with a wave at the bed in which he lay. "I'm not sure I could get up right now if I wanted to, which I don't. Perhaps it is reckless of me, but this is the first time I've felt even a measure of peace since this whole ordeal started."

"Were you able to secure your freedom, what would you do?"

"I would find someone who would agree to bring my formula to market."

"Why not simply give it away?"

Colwyn frowned and said, "I assure you, it's not the money. It's just the way our system works. My formula is far too complex for just anyone to manufacture it. Unfortunately, there's no way around the fact that some pharmaceutical company is going to have to produce it in order for people to be able to buy it legally. But I would ensure that the price could be kept as low as possible."

"How?"

"For one, it would be in the contract. Both that they agreed to charge a fair price and the fact that I brought them the medicine fully formed. As the contract could be a matter of public record, this would prevent them from claiming a need to charge exorbitant prices based on research and development costs. I would also retain the patent, and only grant them license to manufacture it. This would make it clear that, if they cross me, I'll just go to one of their competitors. It's not perfect, but it's far preferable to no one getting it."

"Then what? And I don't mean your desire to make more medicines using your remarkable talents. I mean, then what for Colwyn Smalley?"

Colwyn shrugged and said, "I don't know. It seems like potentially saving millions of lives should be enough."

"Of course, son. You are already poised to go down in history as one of the great humanitarians. But that will be true rather or not you ever give a thought to your own happiness."

"I'm happy. Or, at least, I was before I was wrongfully imprisoned."

"Were you?" the stranger asked, his deep blue eyes showing an intensity, and a sadness, Colwyn had not noticed previously.

"I have my games. I have friends, albeit not many. I have my Content. I have a great house, awesome cars, all the latest gadgets."

His companion sighed and said, "I'll grant you your friends, and by extension your games. But be honest, do those other things truly bring you happiness? Or are they just the objects you use to distract yourself from the loneliness?"

Colwyn opened his mouth to object, but he found he could not form the words. As he thought about all of the things with which he had filled his life, he could not remember a single moment of happiness which they had promulgated. Even the thrill of acquisition, that moment when he obtained something long sought after, had faded over decades of being able to possess, as near as makes no difference, any thing he desired. His house; his cars; his gadgets; his Content: they were all just things that got added to the pile of possessions. During the quiet moments in prison, when the fear had receded enough for him to reflect, his thoughts never went to his stuff. They went to simpler things like a desire for companionship, or even something as simple as listening to music.

At length, Colwyn said, "Most impressive." The stranger quirked and eyebrow in question. Colwyn continued, "I would have thought it unlikely you could make my situation bleaker, but you have managed it. Congratulations."

"I'm not trying to further depress you, son."

"I wish you would stop calling me that. I am not your son. And you are most certainly not my father."

"Indeed. But would it help if I told you I am here at his request?"

"You knew my father?" Colwyn asked hopefully.

"Know. In fact, I am here at his behest."

"Preposterous."

"How so?"

Colwyn grimaced and said, "My father has been dead for decades."

"Indeed. But how is that relevant?"

Colwyn huffed and said, "That is a stupid question."

"Meaning, how could I be here at your father's request if he's been dead for twenty-six years?" Colwyn glowered at the unnervingly calm man before him in response. But his companion only grinned in response before saying, "Let's make this an exercise for the class."

Colwyn thought for a moment before saying, "The most likely hypothesis is that you are the mysterious warden. You are aligned with my former employers. To that end, you hope to leverage my current situation, along with readily available information about my personal history, to convince me to hand over my work."

The man chuckled and said, "Occam's Razor isn't infallible, young man. Let's try it this way. Change your parameters to include the assumption that I speak the truth."

"Impossible," Colwyn replied quickly. "If I throw out the most fundamental data point, then I'm just guessing."

"Treat this as one of your delightful games then. What class of character would I be, if you assume that I speak the truth?"

"I don't allow immortals or demigods. At least I don't allow people to play them."

"Again. Quite remarkable. Never before have I encountered someone who was able to grasp my true nature without some sort of proof."

Colwyn quirked and eyebrow and said, "I did not say I believe you. I merely stated what sort of creature you would have to be, were you telling the truth. An assertion which I have most certainly not accepted."

"Indeed," the man said with a slight bow. "Perhaps a demonstration would be in order?"

Before Colwyn could speak, he felt a wave of what he could only describe as energy pass over him. He looked to his companion in shock, only belatedly realizing that the pain which had been coursing through his body since waking was gone. He bit back the question that sprang to his lips as ridiculous. It was obvious what had happened to him, and who was the cause. At length, he said, "Why?"

"Because I have a soft spot for good people who sacrifice themselves for the sake of their fellow humans."

"I hardly intentionally sacrificed myself," Colwyn replied. "It is not as if I asked to be thrown in prison."

"Not true. They gave you an out. They offered to make all this," he gestured to their surroundings, "go away."

Colwyn said, "They were lying."

"Perhaps, but that's not why you said no. Also, that's not the only sacrifice you've made. You spent decades doing little else other than work on this formula. It's been so long since you sought any true measure of happiness for yourself, you've forgotten when you stopped looking."

"So?"

"So, that's incredible. And all too rare. But, to bring it back to your current predicament, it's also commendable."

"I appreciate you healing me," Colwyn allowed. "I don't suppose you could also do something about convincing the cretins who put me here to reconsider?"

"I've done you one better," his companion said as he got slowly to his feet.

"How's that?"

"To put it in terms you're most familiar with, you have leveled up. You're now much better positioned to, as you say, convince those responsible for your incarceration to reconsider. I have no doubt you'll use this gift to fulfill your life's work. But, to bring things back to your father for a moment, don't forget to spare a bit of your considerable brainpower toward your own happiness. He is incalculably proud of you, Colwyn. Indeed, the only thing that could make him prouder would be if you found someone who made him as happy as you and your mother made him."

"My mother?"

"You were, and are, the thing about which he's most proud. But she was the great love of his life. He wants you to know that happiness."

Colwyn's eyes filled with tears. He could only nod in response, inwardly dedicating himself, as he had so many times in the past, to being worthy of his father's love. He took the corner of his sheet and wiped the tears from his eyes. But, as he looked up to question his strange companion, he found that he was very much alone.

001010

Colwyn spent the remainder of the day in the infirmary. He decided he had no motivation to inform his caregivers, mostly other prisoners who had received a highly sought-after assignment to the largely undemanding job, of his miraculous recovery. It was not until that evening when the doctor arrived and asked why Colwyn was there that anyone noticed all his cuts, bruises and broken bones had healed.

He spent the time trying to understand what had occurred to him. Occam's Razor clearly indicated the only reasonable explanation was that he was completely fucking insane. Either for dreaming up the entirety of his captivity or, more likely, for dreaming up both the severity of his wounds and the conversation with his bizarre visitor. His rational brain rejected this, claiming that he was fundamentally incapable of having such a vivid dream. Not to mention the fact that he had no basis, either in reality or in fiction, for the conversation that had occurred. His rational brain argued this made the possibility that the entire encounter was a figment of his imagination unreasonable. Despite these arguments, by the time he was released he had almost fully convinced himself that the conversation was nothing more than a particularly vivid hallucination.

He made his way carefully back to his cell, ruefully thinking that he had been careful the last time as well. This led, inexorably, to him wondering if he had been attacked at all. He could only conclude that either the attack had also been imagined, or he had only sustained injuries from which he had already healed. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he yelped in surprise when he walked into his cell and Eric popped to his feet.

"How are you already back?"

"I got better," Colwyn grumbled in response.

"That can't be. I heard the Brotherhood worked you over something fierce. I'm surprised they didn't kill you. How are you already better?"

Colwyn did not dignify his cellmate with a response. Instead, he climbed into his bunk and tried to forget the entire affair. Eric, however, was not so easily dissuaded. He shoved the bunk, causing it to clang against the wall.

When Colwyn looked at him, he said, "You got lucky this time, is all. Next time, they'll finish you off."

"Why?" Colwyn snapped. "Why does everyone in this godforsaken place have it in for me?"

"We don't. We're willing to welcome you with open arms. As are the Patroclusians, although I think you'll find their embrace to be a bit different from ours."

"But why does the Brotherhood care about me?"

"Because they think you're with us."

"But I'm not!" Colwyn whisper shouted.

"Perhaps. But you soon will be. They're just trying to prevent us from becoming too powerful."

"That's insane. Even if I would consider it, which I never would, their strategy is as likely as not to have the opposite effect of what they desire. By driving neutrals into the fold with their enemies, they hurt themselves."

"Unless they kill you first," Eric pointed out. "Why risk it? Just join us."

"No. Just leave me alone."

Without a word, Eric shrugged and walked out of the cell. It was another hour until the doors would be locked. During the afternoon hours, the inmates were permitted to mingle in the common area outside the cells under the sometimes-watchful supervision of the guards. Colwyn kept a vigilant eye on the door to his cell, but otherwise tried to calm his mind.

***

The next few weeks passed peacefully for Colwyn. His bizarre hallucination remained top of mind, occupying much of his waking thoughts despite his desire to forget the whole affair. He had more time to think because, inexplicably, the other prisoners had stopped bothering him for the most part. He continued to be extremely careful to keep himself out of the most vulnerable situations. There had been a few instances where he was certain they had cornered him. But, in each case, his seeming attackers had disappeared as soon as he noticed them.

His relative joy at being left alone was tempered by the fact that the motions his lawyer had filed had been denied. This left him with the certain knowledge that he would be stuck in prison for at least two more months. And that was if he were found innocent. The lawyer's estimate of his sentence should he be convicted was between seven and twenty years.

Colwyn had just finished staring at what would have been the worst tuna casserole he had ever experienced, were it not for the fact that it was served every Tuesday, for the requisite amount of time before he was permitted to dispose of it uneaten and return to his cell. As he made his way through the dim corridors, he heard a suspicious noise in the shadows. He turned to look closer and saw the leader of the group referred to as the Patroclusians, a man named Zeus, emerge.

"What do you want?" Colwyn asked worriedly.

"Oh, honey. You know what I want."

"Why can't you leave me alone?"

Zeus grinned wickedly and said, "Because I don't want to. You've got a pretty mouth. It'll look even better wrapped around my cock."

"Never," Colwyn muttered as he backed away. He quickly bumped into another man who grabbed his arms and forced him to his knees.

Zeus approached him and slid a shiv from his pocket. He said, "Now be a good boy, or I'll slit your throat." He unzipped and pulled his cock from his pants, stroking himself lewdly as Colwyn looked on in horror.

Colwyn closed his mouth, clenching his jaws together as Zeus approached. He felt the sharpened blade of what had once been a plastic comb against his throat. He lashed out, punching his aggressor in the knee with the palm of his hand. The blade of the shiv left his throat, the wounded man grunting in pain. He tried to yank his arms free from the man holding him on his knees, succeeding in elbowing his captor in the groin.

"Fuck," his captor gasped before kicking Colwyn in the kidney.

Colwyn crumpled to the floor in agony.

Zeus limped over to him and kicked him in the stomach. "You're going to pay for that. First, you're going to service me. Then, you'll service Pete. Then, I'm going to fuck you proper for fucking up my knee."

"That's not happening," Colwyn spat at him.

"Oh, yes it is. Because the next thing you do that we don't like, I'm going to take this here knife and cut your tiny cock off."

Colwyn recoiled; his mind overwhelmed by terror. He was forced back into a kneeling position and felt the blade at his throat once more. He clenched his jaws closed and shook his head violently. He felt wetness on his throat where the shiv had pricked him. This sent his terror spiking even further, but the sight of the monster before him smiling wickedly coalesced his thoughts, calming the maelstrom of fear that had threatened to overwhelm him since the Patroclusians first appeared.

"Stop," he growled.

Zeus continued to stare at him evilly, but he stopped moving in Colwyn's direction. A look of confusion spread across his face as his eyes skipped from Colwyn to his co-conspirator.

Colwyn shared their confusion, if not their disappointment. Zeus's cock was only centimeters from Colwyn's face. He tried to pull away, but Pete's hands held him firmly in place.

Pete said, "What are you waiting for, man? We ain't got all day and I still gotta get mine."

"I can't," Zeus said through clenched jaws. His face had broken out in sweat. His muscles were rippling along his arms and chest, as though he were pushing against an immovable object.

Pete said, "Then I'll go first." He shoved his companion out of the way and began unzipping his pants.

"Stop," Colwyn repeated. Both for lack of a better idea and in an attempt to better understand what was happening. To his genuine surprise, Pete's movements also stopped. Colwyn found himself sandwiched between two men, both of whom were literally shaking with effort. He stood carefully and took a step back.

Zeus spat, "I don't know what the fuck is going on, but this ain't over. We're gonna get you good, tubby. Ain't nowhere in this place you can hide from us. And next time, we'll bring plenty of friends for you to service. You're gonna curse the day you was born by the time we're through with you."

As Colwyn took a step back and took in the sight of the two rapists shaking with effort, their now flaccid cocks hanging limply from their open zippers, he began laughing despite himself. It started as a small chuckle but grew quickly as the frozen men became more enraged. He took a moment to collect himself, despite the still imminent threat. Blowing out a long breath, he reviewed everything that had happened and tried to come up with a theory. He discarded the most obvious hypothesis as patently ridiculous but, even after several moments of concentration, he could come up with nothing else which aligned to the available evidence.

The scientist in him took over at this point. After all, the only logical thing to do once a hypothesis is formed is to test it. He carefully said, "Zeus, pick up your left foot."

Zeus complied immediately. He then shouted, "What the fuck?"

Colwyn smirked in spite of himself and said, "Pete, punch Zeus in the nuts."

Pete complied, causing Zeus to curse and double over in pain. Pete said, "Dude, I'm so sorry."

Zeus said, "I don't know what kind of shit you're pulling here, Smalley. But you better get a good look at my face. Because the next time you see it, I'm going to fucking kill you."

Despite the apparent power he had over them, Colwyn recoiled in fear at the hatred in the man's eyes. He had little doubt Zeus would make good on his promises. He also had no way of knowing how long this strange influence over them would last. His first impulse was to think of some way to arrange for their demise. He discarded this immediately, however, as he knew he could not bring himself to be a party to someone's death, no matter how deserved. The next thought that popped into his head seemed much more fitting, considering the circumstances.

Without a second thought, he narrowed his eyes and said, "Drop the knife."

Zeus did so, but the rage in his eyes only increased. He said, "I'm going to..."

"Shut up," Colwyn snapped.

Zeus's lips continued to move, but no sound came out. For the first time, Colwyn saw a hint of fear behind his eyes.

Colwyn said, "Gentleman, we're going for a walk. You will walk in front of me and not look back for any reason. When we reach the common area, you will act as if nothing is wrong. I want you to approach Officer Carlity non-threateningly. When you reach him, I want you to both punch him in the face as hard as you can. After that, you will calmly dare him to discipline you. All right, let's get going."

Colwyn followed close behind them as they navigated the close corridors between the mess hall and the cell block. As the noise level rose close to the cells, he hung back. Merely staying close enough to observe the action.

He watched as Zeus and Pete made their way across the common area; greeting a few of their fellow Patroclusians affably along the way. As they approached Officer Carlity, unquestionably the cruelest of all the guards, Colwyn could see their muscles tense. The officer noticed their expressions and rested his hand on his nightstick. He sneered at them, supremely confident in the knowledge that no prisoner would ever dare break the rules around him. Especially considering his penchant for enthusiastically meting out discipline with the aforementioned nightstick.

Colwyn had the satisfaction of seeing fear briefly cross the sadistic officer's features before a pair of fists crashed into his chin. A cheer instantly rose from the prisoners, preventing Colwyn from hearing what Zeus and Pete said to Officer Carlity. But his lips turned up into a smirk when the officer lofted his nightstick like a medieval sword before bringing it crashing down on Zeus's head. Pete quickly received a similar treatment. Colwyn shortly began to feel a tinge of guilt as the officer continued to thrash them, but other officers quickly arrived and pulled their comrade away before he could kill anyone.

Colwyn shrugged and headed into his cell filled with the knowledge that he had much to consider.

001011

"Dude!" Eric exclaimed as he entered their cell. "Did you hear about Zeus and Pete?"

Colwyn, as was his habit, remained silent as he sat motionless on his bunk.

"They're getting transferred to maximum security. Apparently, they're both getting ten years added to their sentence. Seems harsh, if you ask me. The beating they got should have been worth at least a nickel. I wonder what the hell possessed them to attack a guard, especially Carlity. That guy's a fucking savage."

"Good riddance," Colwyn muttered.

"There's more where they came from, you know. You still need our protection. Now more than ever. Word's out they were looking for you right before they went berserk. Talk has already started about how maybe you were involved."

Colwyn only grunted in reply. His cellmate eventually shrugged and left, allowing Colwyn to return most of his attention to his thought exercise. He wished beyond anything for a computer to help him focus his thoughts and record his findings. He had quickly realized just how reliant he had become on electronics to keep track of details and was having to relearn the memory tricks he had honed as an undergraduate. He had instantly rejected the idea of writing anything down. He knew very little about what had happened to him, but he had realized immediately that secrecy was essential. Part of him was disappointed that Zeus and Pete had been transferred as it prevented him from determining just what they remembered of the experience. It was however, a very small part. Mostly, he was quite pleased with their fate.

He had not tested his newfound ability since the incident with Zeus and Pete. He knew knowledge was essential, but he was also painfully aware of just how costly recklessly seeking that knowledge could be. He had, therefore, been trying to come up with scenarios that would allow him to do small scale testing without placing himself in more danger than the simple reality of being a prisoner already foisted upon him.

He knew he needed a place where he could be one on one with a test subject, and where no one could observe either visually or aurally. His first inclination had been to use Eric as a guinea pig when the cells were closed. He had in fact been about to begin his first test when the men in his neighboring cell began discussing an almost certainly fictional sexual liaison. Their whispered words had been crystal clear to Colwyn's carefully listening ears and proven that a cell was a lousy place for his experiment. The showers were similarly ill-suited, despite the ambient white noise, due to the close quarters and frequent crowding. He ultimately decided on the exercise yard even though he knew it was unlikely that his experiment would escape the guards' notice. He only hoped that since no one but his subject would hear anything, that suspicions would not be raised.

Equal to his concern over being discovered was the crippling fear that his abilities had faded since the attack. Perhaps, he allowed, the gift bestowed upon him by the mysterious stranger had been a one-time thing, similar to a potion in his games. He therefore had to design his testing, at least the first test, to give him every possible opportunity to escape should he discover that he was once again a helpless prisoner.

His solution to this problem was just as unsatisfactory, and ultimately necessary, as his decision about where the test should take place. He would have preferred to leave his cellmate out of this entirely. But the unfortunate truth was that there were no other prisoners who had been as, if not friendly, then non-antagonistic toward Colwyn.

The following day, Colwyn surprised his cellmate by following him into the exercise yard at the appointed time. Typically, Colwyn had to be forced outside by the guards. He sought out his typical spot leaning against an interior wall equidistant from two watchtowers. He took a seat and watched Eric carefully. After a few moments, Eric seemed to notice Colwyn's eyes on him and ambled in his direction.

"You look different. Finally decide to accept our offer?"

Colwyn said, "No. Can you take a seat?"

Eric shrugged and sat under Colwyn's watchful gaze. He said, "You really should. Join us, I mean. The Brotherhood is watching. They're definitely going to think you're with us now. So why not just give in to the inevitable?"

Colwyn shook his head briefly before saying, "Why did you sit down?"

"Because you asked me to. Why?"

"Would you have sat down here normally?"

"Um... no. I usually sit with the rest of the fellas. You know that."

"I mean, did you notice anything unusual which caused you to sit here?"

Eric said, "You're being weird, dude," as he got to his feet.

Colwyn said, "Where are you going?"

"The hell away from you. Fucking weirdo."

"Don't go," Colwyn said, a bit louder than he intended.

Eric instantly stopped and turned to look at Colwyn in confusion.

Colwyn looked around worriedly to see if anyone had noticed his outburst, but it seemed no one was paying them an undue amount of attention. He said, "Can you sit back down?"

"What the fuck is going on, Colwyn?" Eric stammered without making a move in Colwyn's direction.

"Fascinating."

"What's fascinating?" Eric asked with rising panic in his voice.

"Keep it down," Colwyn whispered.

"What did you do to me?" Eric whispered fiercely.

"Nothing. Sit down."

Eric immediately dropped to a seated position, his eyes widening in fear.

Colwyn said, "Calm down. Everything is fine."

The fear faded from Eric's eyes, and he sighed deeply. A goofy grin spread across his face. He said, "Thanks man. That's much better."

"Glad I could help. Can you tell me how you were feeling before?"

"Freaked out, if I'm being honest. How did you do that?"

"That's not important. Just tell me what went through your mind each time I spoke."

Eric said, "I'll do my best."

Eric's best turned out to be woefully insufficient for Colwyn's needs. By the time the horn rang signaling the end of the exercise period, he knew little more than he had when Eric started talking. Colwyn believed his cellmate was trying his best, but an unfortunate side-effect of an education that ended in primary school was that Eric was woefully unprepared to communicate effectively. Colwyn was, however, able to add several corollaries to his working hypothesis which he intended to test as soon as possible.

As he returned to his cell, Colwyn realized he was exhausted despite the early hour. He managed to trudge through dinner, a required event to give the guards a chance to steal the inmates' meager possessions unobserved. But upon his return, he fell onto his bunk and immediately slipped into a deep sleep.

***

"Afternoon everyone," Colwyn called out as he entered the showers.

He walked over to the sink and turned on the water, glancing around the room as though he had not a care in the world. It had been six days since he ran his first true test, and he rejoiced at everything he had discovered. He intended today's test to be his last before he started plotting his escape. Or, as he called it, his campaign to convince the powers that be of his innocence. But he knew he needed a final test to discover if his abilities could work on multiple people at once. He regretted the necessity of the locale, but anywhere else would put him in too close proximity to the guards.

Colwyn felt more than saw the first inmate approach him. He turned to see a man roughly his height whose allegiance to a long-dead despot was permanently emblazoned on his chest. The man grinned wickedly and cracked his knuckles.

Colwyn calmly said, "Stop."

The man came to a halt momentarily, before he seemed to surge forward once more. Only the panicked expression on the racist's face kept Colwyn from losing his focus. The cause for the man's resumption of movement became clear as two men behind him came into view after inadvertently knocking him over.

Colwyn smirked and looked at the man on the left before saying, "Punch him."

"Who?" the man asked.

"Him," Colwyn said, pointing at the third aggressor.

The second man shrugged before punching the third in the gut. Colwyn was quickly forgotten by both as they devolved into a fistfight.

Colwyn turned to find four more men advancing on him. He said, "Stop."

The second man from the right stopped, but the rest sped up their advance.

"Stop," Colwyn yelped.

An additional man stopped, but the remaining two quickly reached Colwyn and grabbed him by the arms. They sneered at him mercilessly before taking turns punching him in the stomach.

Colwyn gasped, "Let me go."

The man on the right immediately released him whereupon he fell to the floor after the other captor's grip faltered.

This brought Colwyn face to face with the initial racist attacker. He scrambled backwards, narrowly avoiding the grasp of the men who had punched him.

Colwyn called out, "Everybody stop!"

He was quite dismayed to discover this did nothing to slow the attack. Panic threatened to overwhelm him at his inability to control the attackers, but he retained enough of his wits to attempt to analyze the situation. However, before he could begin to formulate a new working theory, a foot collided at a high rate of speed with his ribs. All the breath fled his lungs. The pain focused his thoughts, and he realized his mistake.

He glared at the man who had kicked him and wheezed, "Punch yourself in the balls."

Without hesitating, the man complied. He then doubled over in pain. Colwyn looked to the next closest prisoner who was just getting to his feet.

"You!" Colwyn said pointing at the man to make certain there could be no confusion. "Kick him," Colwyn again pointed for the sake of clarity, "in the knee."

Colwyn's instructions were carried out as he got to his feet. Every time a prisoner moved in his direction; he instructed the next closest prisoner to take them out. This continued until only one prisoner was standing other than Colwyn. Colwyn instructed that prisoner to remain motionless. He then approached each prisoner and carefully instructed them to forget everything that had happened in the preceding five minutes. The only exception was the racist who had advanced on him initially. This man Colwyn instructed to seek out a guard for the purposes of confessing to beating the other men up in the shower.

Colwyn sought his leave as he tiredly replayed the scene in his mind. He considered the experiment a success, despite the injuries he had sustained. He now felt he had the necessary knowledge to move into the operational phase of his plan. He made it to his cell, despite his injuries and the fatigue which had descended over him following the incident in the shower. He had realized over the course of his testing that any use of his abilities sapped his strength, but he had never experienced the effects so vividly.

Eric entered the cell as Colwyn fell into bed. The former said, "Dude, you don't look so good."

"Fucking showers," Colwyn grunted.

"We could have..."

"It was one of your goddamned brethren who started it."

"Still... wouldn't have happened if you had joined."

"Listen to me," Colwyn gasped as he felt consciousness slipping away. "Stay right there."

Eric looked around briefly before pointing to where his feet had stopped just inside the door of the cell before saying, "Here?"

"Yes, right there. Don't let anyone come in the cell under any circumstances."

"What about the guards?"

"Anyone! Just stay there and keep anyone from bothering me while I get some rest."

Eric opened his mouth to reply, but Colwyn was unconscious before his cellmate made a sound.

001100

Colwyn awoke to find Eric swaying on his feet at the entrance to their cell in the early morning gloom. He was eerily bathed in a warm red glow which must have come from the emergency lighting in the cellblock's common area. He glanced at the clock outside his cell and saw that it would be another hour before sunrise. He felt a momentary twinge of guilt at making the man spend the last nine hours rooted in place, but then he remembered the vile things Eric's gang espoused.

He whispered, "Thank you for standing watch. Feel free to get some rest."

Eric collapsed on the spot with an audible groan. Simon climbed from his bunk to help his erstwhile protector into his own bunk. Once his cellmate had passed out, Colwyn saw to his own ablutions before returning to his bunk to begin final planning.

To his mind, his plan had several notable flaws. All of these stemmed from the fact that his abilities only worked on one person at a time, and he had to be within easy earshot for them to work. He supposed it was possible for it to work over the phone, but that was not something he was in a position to test.

He was broken from his scheming by the horn sounding which signaled the beginning of the day. He gave Eric's shoulder a shove, not wanting to be responsible for him getting punished for sleeping in. Eric grumbled as he got up and went to splash some water on his face.

He said, "I'm fucking beat. I hope you enjoyed your beauty sleep. I should pound you for that."

"I really appreciate it," Colwyn replied sincerely. "Tell you what, I'll stand watch tonight."

"What the fuck for? I'm not the one who is refusing our protection."

Colwyn merely shrugged in response, eliciting another groan from Eric.

Soon enough, the cell doors popped open, and they filed toward the mess hall. Colwyn tried to hang back so he could get one of the guards alone, but Eric sullenly pushed him forward until they reached the mess. As they walked Colwyn rubbed his eyes in frustration as everywhere he looked, he saw a red haze. He collected his tray upon reaching the mess hall and took a seat off by himself. He toyed with the idea of refusing to stand when breakfast ended, trying to think back if he had ever seen another prisoner hang back on purpose. With each moment that passed, his frustration grew. The need to get a guard alone was on his critical path. None of his other plans could be put into action without that happening.

Colwyn's ruminations were interrupted by a firm, but not damaging, blow to the back of the head. He turned to find a trio of the Patroclusians, including their new leader who was grinning evilly at Colwyn. The trio closed in around him and rubbed their crotches lewdly.

Colwyn looked at their leader and said, "You will return to your table, taking these two cretins with you, and you will never interfere with my business again."

The two lackeys snickered at what they assumed was Colwyn's futile gesture, but their expressions turned to shock when their leader spoke. "Let's go boys."

They followed him obediently, but Colwyn could hear their fiercely whispered questioning as they retreated. However, before they could take more than a handful of steps, a voice rang out over Colwyn's shoulder. "Stop right there."

Everyone within twenty meters froze instantly and watched Officer Hannson, head of the guards, stroll into the mess hall. He walked right up to the Patroclusians and growled, "You ladies causing trouble?"

"No... no sir. No trouble here."

"How 'bout it, Small Dick. These inmates bothering you?"

"No sir," Colwyn replied meekly. "They were just leaving."

"So it would seem. Can't imagine why. Sure seemed like they had anything in mind other than leaving you be when they walked over here. My guess is you threatened them with something."

"No sir."

"Are you questioning my judgement?" Hannson asked, leaning down until he was nose to nose with Colwyn.

"Of course not."

"Are you calling me a liar?" Hannson snapped cruelly.

Colwyn sat mute and tried not to think about what Hannson had had for breakfast which, from Colwyn's perspective, certainly seemed as though it had consisted, at least in part, of very cheap whiskey.

"Someone just drew work detail, Carlity," Hannson said over his shoulder to his dutiful lackey, who made a notation on his clipboard.

Hannson gave Colwyn a fierce glare before strutting through the remainder of the mess hall as though he were a conquering hero. Colwyn's stomach dropped at the prospect of being drafted onto the work crew. It meant hard labor until sundown, which was bad enough on its own. But it also meant he would be in close quarters with other prisoners and guards for the entire time, meaning he would have no chance to put his plan into action.

He anxiously glanced around, desperately looking for a way out, but all he saw were a roomful of prisoners who were, with three exceptions, giving him the look universally understood as 'better you than me'.

Officer Carlity said, "On your feet, Smalley."

Colwyn stood up slowly and fell in line behind the other three. A quick glance over his shoulder told him a pair of guards was close behind him. He sullenly followed the group until they reached a bus which they were instructed to board. It was an ancient contraption, likely more replacement parts than original at this point. Colwyn always knew when the bus was coming or going due to the huge plume of black smoke emitted from the relic.

A guard pushed Colwyn toward the door. He saw no choice but to board as he was surrounded by a half dozen guards. As he climbed the steps, panic-induced inspiration struck. He bent over and whispered, "Snap the key off in the ignition," to the driver.

He took a seat moments later and watched several more morose-looking prisoners climb onto the bus. At length, the door to the bus was closed and a guard waved the driver forward. Nothing happened for several moments except for the expressions of the guards growing more confused.

At length, Officer Carlity banged on the door to the bus. Upon being granted entry, he had a terse, whispered conversation with the driver which ended with the former saying, "Why the fuck did you do that?"

Both heads turned in Colwyn's direction. Carlity stood slowly and said, "Smalley!"

Colwyn got to his feet and said, "Yes sir?"

"Get the fuck up here!"

Colwyn obliged and approached the front of the bus. As he did, he heard Carlity snap, "Don't think you've heard the end of this," to the driver.

Colwyn exited the bus and found himself surrounded by a phalanx of guards.

Carlity angrily muttered, "Apparently Small Dick here convinced our dumb fuck of a driver to break the key off in the ignition." He gestured at the most mild-mannered, and seemingly human, of the guards and said, "Take him to solitary. The rest of us will find something else for these maggots to do."

As Colwyn was led away, he inwardly rejoiced at his good fortune. At long last he would have a guard alone and get his chance to put his plan into action. He was so excited that he failed to notice that the guard he followed was surrounded by a pale-blue glow in spite of the dimness of the corridor. As soon as they were out of earshot, he said, "You will take me to the warden."

The guard chuckled and said, "You seem like a decent sort, Smalley. But you don't call the shots here."

Colwyn was too stunned to respond. This was the first instance of his new ability failing him. None of the normal impediments were present. His intended target could clearly hear him; there were no distractions or other people around to muddy his intention; he was not too tired. It made no sense. He thus did what any reasonable scientist would do: he re-ran the test.

"You will take me to the warden."

"Yeah. I heard you the first time. Still not happening. Why'd you talk to the driver, anyway? You had to know it would get noticed."

Colwyn changed tactics slightly and said, "Even if I did, why would it matter?"

"Have you already forgotten the 'you shit when I tell you to shit' speech you got when you got here? Everything is against the rules unless he tells you otherwise."

Colwyn could hear the derision for the cruel lead guard with every syllable his escort spoke. As he considered that, he remembered something else he heard during their welcome 'speech': The warden was, as far as they were concerned, the Almighty. Nothing happened without his say-so. This included, to the best of Colwyn's understanding, which prisoners went to solitary.

Colwyn said, "Why am I being sent to solitary?"

"Because he said so."

"Shouldn't that be up to the warden?"

"Why are you so dead set on seeing the warden? I can promise you he won't go lighter on you than Captain Nightstick did. In fact, he's as likely as not to add a few weeks onto your time in the hole."

"Be that as it may, it is a violation of my Eighth Amendment rights to punish me in this fashion. Especially for something which none of the guards witnessed. It is all hearsay. I insist that you allow me to take my appeal to the warden."

The guard came to a halt before saying, "Didn't you hear me? If you take this to the warden, he'll go medieval on your ass."

"Perhaps. But right is right and I have no other recourse."

The guard shrugged and said, "Your funeral. Come on."

Colwyn's jubilation at achieving his goal lasted almost one full second before the memory of his complete failing to use his newfound ability on the guard popped up into his consciousness like a particularly malignant prairie dog. Despite the terror that ran down his spine, he steeled his resolve telling himself that, come what may, he was going to commit himself fully to securing his release.

"Last chance to avoid a world of hurt," the guard muttered as they entered a part of the prison Colwyn had never seen before. It looked more like academia than a prison, complete with past-its-prime furniture and offices overrun with paper. Colwyn was led to an office at the end of a corridor which was under the protection of a secretary. As he drew closer, Colwyn realized she was, without question, the most beautiful woman in the history of the world. His jaw dropped open and he moaned audibly as he memorized every detail of her body.

She sighed and said, "Let me guess. Hasn't seen a woman in a few years?"

The guard chuckled and said, "Hardly. He's only been here about a month."

"Well, I'm sure we'll have the benefit of his company for a long time to come if he keeps eye fucking the warden's daughter like that."

This brought Colwyn out of his stupor, his eyes widening in terror before he quickly averted his gaze.

She guffawed and said, "Works every time."

Colwyn glanced nervously back at her, this time seeing her more objectively. She was, without question, comely. It would not even be a stretch to call her attractive. But, as the conversation taking place around him sank in, he realized just how devastating of an impact his imprisonment was having on him.

He said, "I'm here to see the warden."

The guard added, "He wants to appeal Officer Carlity's decision to send him to solitary."

"Did you inform him of the inherent risks of said action?"

The officer nodded knowingly.

The secretary shrugged and said, "Another one bites the dust." She picked up her phone and, after waiting a moment, said, "A prisoner wishes to speak with you regarding administrative punishment." She listened for another moment before hanging up. She looked up at Colwyn and said, "You may enter."

Colwyn nodded severely before approaching the door. As he entered, his eyes fell upon the warden who was seated behind a desk which likely rivalled most pick-up trucks for both size and mass. The desk suited the warden and was perhaps even chosen to make the prison's supreme ruler appear slightly less catastrophically overweight. The warden regarded him as though he were considerably less appealing than finding a cockroach swimming in a half-finished drink.

He clicked his tongue as one would to get a pet's attention. When Colwyn met his eyes, he pointed to the spot before his desk. The closer Colwyn came to the desk, the more terrified he became. It was, a recently disused portion of his brain pointed out, very much like the environment he tried to describe during the finale of one of his games.

When Colwyn came to a stop, the warden thundered, "What do you want?"

Colwyn took a deep breath before saying, "I want you to contact the district attorney and convince him to come here as soon as possible. When he arrives, I want the two of you to arrange for my immediate, irrevocable and completely legal release."

The warden stood up menacingly, towering over Colwyn despite the several meters of ludicrously oversized desk between them. The look of anger on his face nearly caused Colwyn to lose control of his bodily functions. He scowled at Colwyn for several moments before reaching down to snatch the phone from the cradle. Colwyn awaited the squadron of guards he was certain were about to flood into the room to carry him bodily to the solitary confinement chamber where he would spend the rest of his days.

At length, the warden spat into the phone, "Get me the district attorney."

001101

"Listen, I'm not saying I won't do it," the DA whined after he had tossed back the equivalent of several shots of bourbon. "I'm just saying it's going to be a huge pain in the ass. Maybe a little bit of recognition, on your part, of the effort involved, not to mention the hit to my credibility and integrity, wouldn't be totally out of place."

Colwyn glared at him from across the conference table in the room adjacent to the warden's office and said, "You wrongfully imprison me for over a month; and you want me to feel sorry for you?"

"Well... yeah."

Colwyn groaned and said, "How long is this going to take?"

"To rebuild my sterling reputation as the protector of this community? Who knows. Months? Years? If the press gets word of this, I could be voted out this November. Then what? Go back to the private sector? I'll be ruined."

"How long until I can leave?" Colwyn seethed.

"Oh, right away. I already contacted one of my lackeys to file the dismissal but realistically you can leave as soon as I say you can."

"Then let's go."

"Wait a minute," the warden boomed.

"Sit down," Colwyn snapped. The warden sat down so quickly the chair beneath him groaned mightily in protest. Colwyn continued, "You will not protest my release in any way. Furthermore, you will not consider my release in any way unusual or noteworthy. You will also arrange for someone to meet me with my effects on the way out. Any questions?"

The warden shook his head angrily and picked up his desk phone to make the necessary arrangements.

Colwyn turned to the DA and said, "Let's go."

The DA shook his head in frustration and led Colwyn out of the office, the strangled protestations of the warden following in their wake. The DA led him to an elevator which was met at the ground floor by a guard carrying a cardboard box filled with everything Colwyn had had on him when he was arrested. The DA led him out through a surprisingly paltry number of guards and into a meager parking lot.

As they exited the parking lot, the DA took a call which gave Colwyn a moment to relax. The effort it had taken to convince both the warden and the DA to act decidedly against their own nature had nearly broken him. He felt as though he had run back-to-back marathons, except of course had he tried to run even a tenth of that distance he was quite certain his heart would explode.

The DA's insincere exclamation announcing their arrival at the impound lot pulled Colwyn from his stupor. He turned to see the DA give a small shooing motion with this hand, clearly believing that he had at long last served his purpose.

Colwyn sighed and said, "Not yet. You will enter. You will arrange for my vehicle to be released immediately and at no cost to me. When you leave here, you will return to your office and ensure that all charges against me have been dropped. You will send official notice to that effect to me. Once complete, you are to forget we ever met other than to retain the memory that I was, and am, innocent. Do you understand?"

"Fine," the DA huffed. "Let's get this over with."

***

Colwyn awoke in a state of extreme disorientation. He was in a place where there seemed to be a total absence of light. His other senses were of little additional help. His only sensation was that of extreme comfort. He briefly toyed with the idea that he had discorporated from sheer exhaustion and was now comfortably resting on the cloud that would be his home for the remainder of eternity. He quickly discarded this thought when he began to notice that there was a faint smell which struck him as unfamiliar. Several moments of concentration revealed that the alien smell was in fact the scented wax warmers his cleaning ladies insisted upon deploying to make the house smell 'clean'.

He reached out to take in his surroundings by touch and decided he was on what was undoubtedly the softest leather couch in the known universe. He took a moment to luxuriate in the softness, a marked departure from the one-inch-thick mattress which he had slept on while in prison. His hand brushed across a small, plastic object. He took hold of it and recognized the shape as a remote for the television. It took several tries before he got it on, but as it came to life the room filled with the soft light from the screen's welcome menu.

He made his way through the enormous, and mostly empty room without so much as a single set of bars interdicting his progress. Upon reaching the row of switches, he turned on the room's lights. He gasped at the space, suddenly feeling a touch of agoraphobia at the vaulted ceiling and sparse furnishings.

He quickly retreated to the relatively smaller space of the kitchen, which was still several times larger than his cell had been. He had the horrifying thought that perhaps the reason for the scented warmers was spoiled food. He checked his rubbish bin and found it empty. His pantry and fridge had also been expunged of all expired food, leaving them barren.

This realization left him suddenly feeling ravenous. He could not remember the last time he had eaten, and his meals for the last month had been considerably below the standards to which he had become accustomed. A check of his watch informed him that it was the middle of the night, leaving him few options in the suburban enclave in which he resided. He grumbled to himself and decided to tide himself over with a few frozen meals which his cleaning crew had helpfully not discarded. After putting them in the microwave to heat, he took a moment to assess his situation.

He had arrived home in a near catatonic state. It had taken him three tries to correctly enter the passcode to gain entry to the house. He had not even stopped to determine if all the doors and windows were properly secured. He had simply trudged to the closest serviceable piece of furniture upon which to pass out, whereupon he had succumbed to unconsciousness. This recollection led him to give the house a quick once-over to ensure all was in order. The only thing he found out of place was a note from his cleaning ladies on the table in the entryway which asked if he still wanted them to continue on the same schedule considering how long he had been away. His first inclination was anger at them not feeling his prolonged absence suggested something might be amiss. But then he recalled that it was not at all uncommon for him to be absent when they cleaned, he in fact preferred it that way. And he certainly had extended periods in the past where he spent nearly every waking hour at work.

This line of thought led him directly to wondering if any of his friends or family had grown concerned at his extended absence. He found his box of belongings just inside the front door and retrieved his phone. He plugged it in and waited what seemed like an unusually long time for it to build up enough charge to reluctantly activate. As he stared at the somnolent device, mentally demanding its resurrection, he heard a ding sound from the kitchen. He followed the sound to find his meals had absorbed sufficient kinetic energy as to be edible.

He took the plates and made his way to his Refuge in the certain knowledge that his carefully constructed sanctum was just what he needed to cleanse the weeks of imprisonment from his mind. He found the Refuge to be untouched and a few programs he had written for just this purpose informed him no one had tried to access the system, or indeed even entered the room, during his absence. As he ate, he cycled through the thousands of notifications which awaited him. Most were of little consequence, merely informing him of automated jobs which had run successfully or downloads which had completed, but a few demanded his attention.

Five hours later, he had not moved from his spot before his computer. During his imprisonment, his system had downloaded several terabytes worth of content demanding his attention. He was still in the process of curating said content when he heard the distinctive sound of his stomach growling.

Upon emerging from his Refuge, he noticed that not only had dawn broken, but it was also quite late in the morning. He proceeded numbly through the house only to discover again that he was poorly provisioned. He scooped up his phone, which had finally built up enough charge to power on, and found he had a surprising number of missed calls and messages. There were the usual glut of spam calls and texts, but he was genuinely surprised at the number of times his mother and his friends had tried to contact him. He quickly dialed his mother, taking a calming breath in preparation for the expected onslaught of guilt she would heap upon him.

"Hey honey," his mother's exuberant voice greeted him with a not insignificant amount of background noise. "I was just thinking about you. How are things?"

Colwyn was at a momentary loss for words. It had been well over a month since he had last spoken to his mother. In that time, he had missed five calls and eleven texts from her. And she had greeted him the same way she always did. He wondered if she had forgotten all those missed connections, or if he was typically so focused on his own activities that going a month without speaking was nothing new? Additionally, he pondered, if she was unaware of anything unusual happening, was there truly any benefit to truthfully answering her question? He had a quick glimpse of just how guilt-ridden she would be upon finding out he had spent a month in prison while she had been none the wiser. He knew there was nothing she could have done, but he highly doubted that would be her assessment. She would, as likely as not, convince herself that, had she rushed to his aid, she could have secured his release much sooner than he had done on his own.

He made his decision instantly, "Things are fine, mother. How are you? How's the weather in Florida?"

He could hear a laugh in the background as she said, "Great, on both accounts. When are you coming to visit?"

"Soon, I think. I will have plenty of free time."

"Why," she asked, the mirth in her voice fading. "What happened?"

"You would call it a good news, bad news type of situation. I finished my project. And I lost my job."

"What? Why?"

"I assume you are asking about the latter and not the former?"

"Of course. What happened? Do you want me to come up there?"

He smiled at her unfailing love for him. "No. You don't need to come up here. They were unhappy that I was working on my project, even though I also did everything they asked."

"So, now what?"

"It is not as if I have to work for money. I believe I will take some time to answer that question. And, as I said, perhaps I'll pay you a long overdue visit."

"Well, I'd of course love to see you. I just can't imagine what those chowder heads you work for were thinking."

"Worked for. Past tense."

She sighed and said, "Of course. Are you sure you don't want me to come visit?"

"Yes, mother. Quite sure."

"How are your friends? Any new ones of the female persuasion?"

"My friends are well. And no new ones to report, of any gender."

"Well, my offer stands, honey. Anything you need, I'm on a plane right away."

"I genuinely appreciate it mother."

"I love you," she said with a smile which the audio-only medium transmitted with perfect clarity.

He returned the smile and said, "I love you as well, mother."

001110

"Oh. My. Goodness," Vincent exclaimed after Colwyn opened his front door. "It's a Jen You Wine apparition."

"Pardon?" Colwyn asked curiously.

"Well I was certain you'd been carried bodily into heaven, considering the way you vanished without a trace and stopped taking my calls."

Colwyn ushered him inside without a word. He had called Vincent shortly after speaking with his mother, and after reading and listening to increasingly worried texts and voicemails from his gigantic friend. He had spent all day occupying himself with activities which had typically made him happy. But it all felt empty to him now. His mother's mention of his friends had planted the seed that perhaps what he needed was to see a friendly face.

He led Vincent into the living room before coming to an awkward halt in front of the couch. He glanced up at his friend, making note of the curious way the hallway lights seemed to combine with the fading light outside to outline him in a soft green glow. He turned to look at his guest sheepishly before slumping onto the couch.

Vincent said, "You don't know what to do if we're not having a game night, do you?" Colwyn shrugged but remained silent. Vincent dropped onto the couch before continuing, "Don't sweat it, man. And I was just fucking with you about going silent on me. At least... mostly. Where you been, man? You look great. Have you lost weight?"

"It was not by choice."

"Aliens," Vincent offered with a knowing nod.

"Prison."

Vincent guffawed and said, "You're shitting me!" But his smile disappeared when he got a look at Colwyn's expression. He said, "Oh fuck. You're not shitting me. What happened?"

"I was doing unapproved work at my place of employment."

Vincent scowled and said, "They don't put you in prison for that."

"Apparently they do if you invent a medicine which could save millions of lives every year."

"I thought you were a computer nerd."

"I am a computer nerd. But, as I told you, I'm also a biologist. Not to mention a bunch of other degrees. I write programs to test pharmaceutical formulas. It seemed a waste of all that work to not also allow those programs to come up with some formulas of their own."

"Ok. That's... I mean... what kind of medicine did they come up with?"

"Cures for two of the five most lethal forms of heart disease," Colwyn replied simply.

"And you think they put you in prison for that?"

"I know they did. I was arrested for grand larceny, purportedly for theft of company resources. They also arranged for illegal narcotics to be secreted on my person so they would be discovered after I was arrested. They offered to arrange for my release if I handed over all my work and agreed to never again work in the industry."

"Fuck. So, I assume you gave them what they wanted since you're out."

"Not exactly. The DA just finally came to his senses." Colwyn disliked misleading his friend, but he had promised himself that no one could ever know about his abilities. He had read far too many stories where the hero's downfall could be traced back to poor operational security.

"Are you going to sue for wrongful imprisonment?"

"Honestly, I'm just glad to be out. It was... unpleasant."

"Jesus. I can only imagine. Are you ok? Did they do... anything?"

"They tried. But I was fortunate and always managed to get away. As I said, I'm very happy to be free."

Vincent leaned back for a moment before clapping his hands together. He said, "We're going out. My treat. Sky's the limit."

"Where will we go?"

"Where do you like to go?"

Colwyn quirked and eyebrow and said, "Other than my house?"

"Yeah. Where do you go for fun?"

"Work," Colwyn answered simply.

"Dude. We've got to broaden your horizons. Come on."

***

"Hockey?" Colwyn asked suspiciously as they entered the arena.

"Hell yeah," Vincent proclaimed proudly. "It's the best: completely bonkers contests; completely unpredictable game where you couldn't possibly care about the outcome; and spectacular people watching." He gestured to a group of young coeds walking past as he finished speaking.

Colwyn watched them with keen interest, once again acutely aware of just how few women he had encountered over the last month. Vincent led them to their seats along the back row of the lowest section of the arena. He settled back in his seat and watched the frenetic activity happening out on the ice as the teams warmed up. He felt a tap on his shoulder after he tensed up for the fourth time at what he was quite certain would be a career ending collision between two players. He looked over to see his friend offering him a cup of beer.

"Relax," Vincent said reassuringly. "They do this for a living. Besides, you should prepare yourself for when the game starts, and they start actually trying to kill each other. Just think of it like one of your games. It's not quite gladiatorial combat, but its close."

Colwyn took a healthy sip of his beer and settled back into his seat. He extracted his phone from the pocket of his cargo shorts. He pulled up a rules document for professional hockey and began to ingest the high points. The roar of the crowd when the puck dropped pulled his attention away from the rules which put any role-playing game he had ever heard of to shame for baffling incomprehensibility and unnecessary complexity. He put his phone away and tried to enjoy the freedom of going wherever he pleased, whenever he pleased. The sight of the thousands of fans around him enjoying the athletic contest drove home for him just how easy that freedom had been to take for granted.

He jolted in surprise when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked up to see an attractive young woman looking at him expectedly. She gestured to the empty seat beside him, and he sheepishly stood to let her and her also attractive friend pass.

As he sat back down, he was nearly overwhelmed with the awareness of the woman who was separated from him by mere centimeters. She was wearing blue jeans and a rough approximation of a hockey costume, which his research had indicated was to be referred to as a sweater. But where the men on the ice were wearing voluminous long-sleeved shirts covering their shoulder pads, the woman to his right was wearing a tight-fitting short-sleeved shirt with a deep-v cut with only a black bra beneath it, judging by the strap which peaked along her left shoulder. She also had long brunette hair which she wore down. Her blonde friend was dressed in leggings and an almost comically oversized hockey sweater.

As the game progressed, Colwyn had difficulty keeping his eyes on the ice rather than the beautiful woman to his starboard. Every time he caught movement out of his peripheral vision, his eyes were immediately drawn in her direction. This effect became more pronounced when she leapt to her feet in apparent response to the home team's relocation of the puck into the netted enclosure which the opposing team was responsible for defending. Her leap caused the woman's modest breasts to heave mightily against the valiant efforts of both her shirt and her bra to keep everything in place. As she bounced with jubilation, her breasts continued to jiggle alluringly until she regretfully retook her seat.

Following the celebration, the woman got into an animated debate with her friend about the perceived suitability of the player who had scored the goal as a genetic donor for their hypothetical progeny. During the process of making a particularly animated point, her friend leaned forward to glare at her companion. The movement caused the hockey sweater she wore to shift so that a hint of her cleavage came into view. Colwyn watched with rapt fascination; his eyes glued to the increasingly plunging neckline of her sweater. 'Just a little bit further' he pleaded mentally. He groaned inwardly as the woman leaned even further forward, bringing the frilly pink upper edges of her bra into view for a brief moment.

He heard the woman seated next to him say, "Um... maybe next time you wear a game-worn jersey, throw on a tank beneath it."

Her friend looked down before squeaking audibly and tugging her sweater into place to cover herself.

Colwyn sighed happily and returned his gaze to the game.

A short time later he heard a voice call out from the aisle behind them. He turned warily, a spike of terror flooding his body at the unexpected thought that he would turn to find a guard standing there. Instead, it was a quartet of younger people, two representatives from each gender. They began speaking loudly, using terms of endearment, to the two women beside him. Judging from what he could overhear, the two groups had seen each other recently, but the emotional content of their words would have instead suggested that they had been separated for several lifetimes. The crowd roared with anger in response to what the announcer said was a penalty being assessed to the home team. This caused three members of the standing quartet to lean forward so as to more effectively communicate their elation at being reunited. The one member of the quartet left standing was a woman who was particularly well endowed. She was wearing a low-cut top covered by a hoodie with a lowered zipper. One of the seated women shouted at her, to which she responded by shrugging her shoulders and pointing at her ears. The seated woman with the pink bra shouted for her to come closer.

'Lean down and join the conversation,' Colwyn pleaded silently.

The woman shrugged and bent at the waist to begin conversing with her long-lost acquaintances. Her breasts surged forward, only remaining constrained by the tiniest of margins. But Colwyn could see a hint of areola along the edge of her tank top.

"Sweet Jesus," Colwyn heard Vincent breathe behind him. He tore his eyes from the woman's barely covered mammaries to glance at his friend who, it quickly became apparent, had also noticed the buxom woman's posture. "They must have captured the boob fairy sneaking into her house one night and tied it up in the basement for a fortnight."

Colwyn smiled in response before turning back to the group to his right to find that the standing quartet had wandered away and the seated women were once again paying close attention to the game.

As the game neared its conclusion, fans started to trickle toward the exits. The home team had scored only once compared to the visiting team's five goals. Vincent tapped him on the shoulder and glanced in the direction of the parking lot questioningly. Colwyn shrugged in response, and they were soon exiting the arena.

Upon transitioning from the reasonably warm air of the arena to the nearly freezing air outside, Colwyn said, "That was very enjoyable. Thank you for taking me."

"Anytime. I was glad to do it. And we don't have to wait for something terrible to happen to you to hang out."

Colwyn nodded in response, but he was acutely aware of how much, for want of a better word, fun the game had been. This stood in stark contrast to how he normally spent his days: either in his office or his Refuge. He had always cherished his alone time. His computers expected nothing of him. There were never any awkward exchanges or unreasonable expectations. But the easy repartee with Vincent, not to mention the joy he picked up in overheard conversations throughout the course of the night, brought one undeniable truth into sharp focus. No matter how much satisfaction he got from building programs so powerful they closely mirrored self-awareness, or from building a Content library capable of catering to his every whim; they never made him smile.

001111

Colwyn awoke late the next morning after a fitful night. The fear which consumed him upon waking was thankfully brief, due in part to the fact that he had slept with several lights on to avoid disorientation after his slumber. He made his way into his Refuge and spent a few hours curating his Content. He emerged feeling somewhat more energized, but still weary.

He rapidly saw to his ablutions before heading down to his kitchen. He got as far as carrying the carafe of boiling water to his coffee press before being reminded of the fact that he had no perishables in the house. And, while it was true that he still had coffee beans, his personal definition of the drink 'coffee' included a healthy addition of heavy cream.

"Must go shopping," he grumbled to no one in particular.

He collected his belongings and hurried out to the garage. He chose the coupe for today's trip despite its appalling inefficiency. He suspected this purportedly subconscious decision was due, at least in part, to the fact that he had never driven the coupe to work and thus his former employers were unlikely to recognize it.

He reveled in the feeling of freedom as he pulled onto the highway and put his right foot down. The car surged forward, quickly eclipsing one-hundred kilometers-per-hour before he eased back to a more reasonable speed. He cranked up the stereo and thumped the steering wheel in a very poor impersonation of his favorite progressive-rock trio's legendary drummer. Before he knew it, he was pulling into the parking lot of his preferred grocery store.

He collected his cart and began wandering aimlessly through the store. Typically, his store stops were optimized for minimum time spent among the masses and involved a shopping list document on his phone, organized by aisle for no wasted effort. As he made his way down the cereal aisle for the fourth iteration, this time remembering to pick up some actual cereal, he realized his cart contained many of the foods he typically purchased, but nothing which he actually had any desire to eat. As he gave some thought to what he should get, it occurred to him that he could not remember the last time he had eaten a piece of fruit which had not already undergone some kind of preserving process. He made his way in the direction of the produce department, his mouth almost literally watering at the thought of a fresh banana.

Upon arriving at his destination, he heard a woman's gravelly voice rise above the classic rock playing softly on the store's speakers. "Why the fuck can't you stock some goddamned peaches? How fucking hard is that?"

A harried looking middle-aged man whose ball cap emblazoned with the store's logo did little to hide his baldness shrugged his shoulders and said, "They're a summer fruit. We won't get them in stock until at least June."

"Did it not occur to you to order enough last June so that you'd still have them in stock now?"

"But they would have gone bad months ago," the man replied as though trying very hard to not call the woman an imbecile.

She huffed, "Dumb fuck," before turning away and stomping in Colwyn's direction. It was at this point that he noticed that she was wearing a top which was so low cut, he could plainly see the bottom curve of her unnaturally rounded breasts. She came to a stop, her eyes on the paper she held. Her scowl deepened before she turned back to the hapless produce clerk to say, "What about oranges?"

The clerk pointed at a shelf behind her wordlessly.

She swung around and looked in the indicated direction before saying, "Those? They look like shitty wannabe oranges. I want real oranges." She strutted right up to the grocer, throwing her shoulders back and thrusting her chest out lewdly. Colwyn felt great kinship with the man as his gaze heroically stayed above her shoulders. She sneered at him and thrust her chest out further, bringing a hand up to run along her sternum between her breasts in an effort to attract his stare.

Colwyn glared at her spitefully and thought, 'why don't you just take your tits out and be done with it?'

Her other hand rose and she pulled the deep-V of her shirt apart, allowing her bra-less breasts to spring free. They barely bobbled before coming to a rest high upon her chest. Her nipples crinkled noticeably in the cool air of the produce section.

The grocer retreated a few steps as he fumbled in his pocket for his phone.

The woman shrieked, "How dare you!" at the grocer.

"I didn't..." he stammered, dropping his phone as he tried unsuccessfully to avert his gawking gaze.

Colwyn was nearly as unmoored by what had happened. The events of the previous evening at the hockey game had been noteworthy, but he had ultimately managed to write them off as coincidences. He conceded this event could also be a coincidence. The hateful woman had certainly been trying to use her impressive assets to gain the upper hand. He supposed it was within the realm of possibility that she was capable of shoving her tits in someone's face for the sole purpose of making them uncomfortable. But the look on her face suggested something beyond pure anger. She was also perplexed, and perhaps even scared.

He was caught between fleeing the scene before anyone suspected his involvement and running further tests to ascertain the degree to which he was culpable. The decision was made for him when she slapped the grocer hard enough to knock him to the floor.

Colwyn sighed and thought, 'now you've done it'. He glanced around to confirm that no one else had yet noticed the scene taking place. He thought for a moment before chuckling to himself.

The woman turned to glare at him and said, "And you? What kind of man are you to not come to a lady's aid?"

'Do jumping jacks' Colwyn replied in his head.

The woman immediately complied, putting the work of her plastic surgeon to the ultimate test.

'Stand still and put your tits away' Colwyn instructed.

The woman came to a halt and painstakingly shoved her breasts back into her top.

Colwyn instructed, 'meet me at the coffee shop next door in thirty minutes... and stop treating retail workers like shit. And apologize to that man'.

He picked up the bananas he had come in search of as she began to apologize to the man who would likely not forget this day at work for a long time.

***

Colwyn made it back to the coffee shop just in time after hurrying home to get his groceries into the appropriate storage devices. When he entered the coffee shop, he found the woman tapping her foot impatiently. She had not yet noticed him, so he took a moment to examine her more carefully. She was roughly his age and had the look of someone who had been born genetically predisposed to slenderness without actually going to the effort of staying in shape. She was deeply tanned despite a facial structure which suggested northern European heritage. As he looked at her, he noticed she also had magenta haze surrounding her similar to what he had noticed with several of his fellow prisoners.

He concentrated harder on that glow which seemed to cause it to intensify. He also noticed that a hazy hexagram appeared over the junction of her thighs. He focused on it and was shocked to find it expand to cover her chest as it split into two equal triangles. The right triangle turned deep red, and the left turned blue.

At this point, she noticed his gaze and stomped over to him. "What the fuck happened back there?" she demanded loudly.

"Lower your voice," he whispered.

She opened her mouth as if to protest, but all that came out was a whispered, "Go fuck yourself." Her eyes widened in surprise. She said, "What the fuck did you do to me?"

"Sit. What can I get you to drink?"

She glared at him hatefully, but at length whispered, "A half caramel, half vanilla decaf latte with nonfat milk, two shots and caramel drizzle on top."

"What? That's at least two contradictions in a single beverage. You know what, I've got a better idea. I'll be right back."

He returned a few moments later holding two cups. He set one in front of her and took his seat.

She tasted it daintily before slowly nodding. "What is it?"

"It's called coffee with cream and sugar. Enjoy."

She took another sip before saying, "Why am I here?"

"You tell me."

"I just felt like I needed to be here, right now. After that insane scene at the grocery store, I was ready to be literally anywhere else. I suppose here's as good a place as any."

"What happened at the store?"

She huffed and said, "That shitty clerk refused to give me even the faintest hint of customer service. You saw him. On top of that, he just would not stop staring at my tits. Don't get me wrong, I know they look fabulous. I can see you trying to sneak a peek at them now. But this guy, he was just gaping at them. And then he did something, I don't know what, that caused a bit of a wardrobe malfunction."

"You're suggesting the grocer was responsible for your breasts being exposed?"

"Of course. How else would it have happened?"

Colwyn shrugged and said, "Your top is quite low cut, and you're obviously not wearing anything beneath it. Perhaps, in the midst of your angry gesticulating, they simply fell out."

"Not these sweater puppies," she said confidently. "No flabbiness here. Just fantastic firmness. I could have done cartwheels, and nothing would have happened. No, I'm quite certain that skeevy prick was to blame."

He frowned and said, "You will not blame him."

"Who then?"

"Yourself. You were trying to use your breasts to make him uncomfortable and it backfired. Now, please go. You're giving me a headache."

She stood and strutted from the shop, leaving Colwyn in peace. He sat and slowly enjoyed his beverage while his thoughts threatened to spiral out of control. His abilities clearly extended beyond the spoken word. This alone would have been cause for weeks of careful study. But even more baffling was the strange vision he had seen superimposed upon her when he entered.

He let his gaze wander across the room. Upon casual inspection, the shop's other patrons appeared unremarkable. There was a young woman near the window typing on a laptop which was flanked by a stack of textbooks and a coffee cup. There was a middle-aged man with an open laptop in front of him, staring up at the ceiling and mumbling. A mother of two sat as though in a catatonic fugue, her children playing on the floor beneath her table while she slowly sipped her beverage. A smartly dressed man was tapping his fingers on the counter while he waited for his drink to be delivered. Behind the counter, a pair of female dreadlocked suburban youth argued about who would make the aforementioned beverage as each stole glances at the impatient man.

As Colwyn focused on each in turn, he noticed distinct differences. The student had a lime green aura surrounding her. The finger tapper had a deep red aura while the mother's aura was light blue. The author had an olive aura whereas the baristas were light blue and dark pink, with the one who had won the argument possessing the latter color. He additionally noted that the children beneath the table seemed to be without aruras.

Colwyn tried to silently test his abilities on each, using innocuous commands like scratching one's nose or tugging one's ear. He noticed that his command was followed instantly by the impatient man and the triumphant barista. The author and the mother followed his commands, but it took more effort on his part to achieve that result. The student and the second barista seemed immune to his abilities.

He tried to formulate a theory based upon these findings, but he knew he had not yet developed a sufficient sample size to form a hypothesis. His instincts told him the way the star he had perceived with respect to the woman he had caused to reveal herself had broken in two was critical to gaining understanding. But all he had to go on at this point was the generalized theory that his abilities worked better on reds than greens. He looked forward to improving this theory and developing an enhanced terminology with which to describe the phenomena. In his head, he was already writing the thesis he would almost certainly never publish. Colwyn concluded his experiments by causing the impatient man to return to the counter and leave a tip.

As he stepped outside, he noticed a woman yelling on her phone on the sidewalk in front of the auto repair shop adjacent to the coffee shop. He focused on her for a second, purely to see if this newfound ability to see people's auras extended that far. But as he looked at her, he realized she was the woman who had framed him for possession of heroin with intent to distribute. He began walking in her direction at a constantly increasing velocity.

010000

Colwyn arrived at the parking lot gasping for breath. He came to a halt with a row of cars between himself and the mysterious woman. She was still shouting into her phone. Now that he was close enough, it was evident that she was having an argument which involved money. She was also quite upset based on the tears streaming down her face.

She hung up the phone and shouted, "God dammit!" before growling in frustration. She stared skyward for a moment before murmuring, "I'm trying. I really am. It just shouldn't be this hard all the time." She then sighed mightily before turning to head back inside the auto repair shop.

Colwyn had been prepared for anger, perhaps even a physical confrontation. But he was most decidedly not prepared for a woman who was nearly broken from frustration. He had little experience dealing with the trials and tribulations others experienced. As often as not, he was unaware of other's emotions. He had learned long ago that it was far simpler to focus on his work. On the few occasions where someone had confided in him, including once when one of his TA's had broken down in tears about some sort of relationship crisis, he had helpfully directed them to the closest counselor who was trained to deal with such situations.

He was still trying to decide on how to approach this situation when the front door of the shop slammed open. The mystery woman stomped out and climbed into a decades old sedan that appeared to be on the verge of undrivable. The hood was more rust than paint; the tires were all made by different manufacturers; the window was spiderwebbed from multiple impacts; the headliner hung down low enough to brush against the headrests; the muffler hung so low it only missed contacting the tarmac by inches. But all of this paled in comparison to what happened when she started it. The parking lot filled with a screech which would have made a dark elf jealous and a plume of black smoke large enough to obscure the front of the shop belched from beneath the engine bay.

She drove away slowly, like a well past their prime superhero trying to escape after hurling a smoke bomb at the floor. During her exodus, Colwyn had felt rooted to the spot he still occupied in the parking lot. Try as he might to force himself to confront her, his legs and vocal cords refused to cooperate. But with her departure, whatever strange force had held him in place vanished. He quickly made his way inside to find a pair of what he referred to as guy-dude-bros snickering to each other behind the counter.

He heard the one on the right say, "You ever see a bigger pair of gazongas?"

"Not in person. Shame she didn't take you up on the offer to give her a discount if she'd make it worth our while."

"I said make it worth my while. You're on your own. In any case, I suspect she'll be back. That beater won't make it ten miles before it runs out of oil again. I bet I get at least a hummer for my trouble when she comes crawling back."

"Unless you're at lunch, in which case I'll gallantly offer to actually fix the fucking thing, so long as she gives some tender loving care to my fucking thing."

Their laugh reminded Colwyn of an eighties movie his dad had adored, and which he had discovered had aged catastrophically poorly due to multiple instances of the heroes committing sexual assault. He strode up to them, taking a moment to verify their auras were of the reddish variety.

The one on the left turned his direction and said, "We're closed. We open tomorrow at seven."

Colwyn said, "Tell me about the woman that just departed."

"She's got the biggest titties..."

Colwyn sighed and said, "What is her name?"

"Big Tit Heidi," the other man replied before giving his companion a high-five.

"What does your computer say her name is?" he growled.

"He just told you, dude," the first man snickered.

Colwyn took a deep breath to calm himself. He glanced around to ensure there was no one watching before saying, "You," he focused his will on the man on the left, "will punch him," he focused on his companion, "as hard as you can in the forehead. And you will let him."

The first man dropped into a fighting stance, reared back, and swung with all his might. As his fist connected, both men howled in pain with one dropping into his seat to hold his head in his hands while the other shook his now almost certainly broken hand in agony. Colwyn took a step back in mock horror in case they were being surveilled remotely.

After the injured men's wailing dropped to a reasonable volume, Colwyn said, "You will tell me the name that is printed on her license. Also, you will give me any contact information you have for her."

Colwyn left the shop moments later, having instructed the misogynist twins to erase all evidence of his visit before themselves forgetting his existence. In his hand, he held a card with the contact information for one Heidi Boyd.

***

Colwyn arrived home with a strategy for tracking down the mysterious Heidi Boyd already fully formed in his head. He had done a bit of toying with the kind of searches for personal information which popular search engines would have their users believe were impossible, but he had never had cause to really put those skills to the test. His plans were quickly forgotten, however, when he saw a car parked across the street from the end of his driveway. As he approached, the car quickly started and pulled away before he could get a good look at the driver. He quickly braked and craned his neck around to try to see the license plate, but the car had already turned the corner.

He pulled into his garage and rushed into the house, carefully locking all doors behind him. He hurried up to the Refuge, first ensuring that his systems were running and appeared to be unmolested. He then logged into his system and pulled up his surveillance program. Within moments, he knew that no one had entered the property. He could see a portion of the car on one of his feeds, but not enough to make an identification. And the car had unfortunately been one of the more ubiquitous variants of inexpensive imported sedans.

He leaned back in his chair and tried to calm his racing mind, but he could not shake the feeling that the car he had seen was no coincidence. He had heard nothing from his former employer since his release, but he had little doubt that they were aware of his freedom. He had been expecting some kind of entreaty from them, even if it were something as relatively benign, at least by way of comparison to wrongful imprisonment, as a civil suit. But the shadowy figure in the suspicious car now gave way to a whole new realm of things to worry about. Perhaps his old company would consider, in the vernacular of the movies of his youth, playing rough.

The buzzing of his phone broke this train of thought. He looked down to see that Ross was calling. His initial inclination was to ignore the call as they were not scheduled for a game night until the coming weekend. But he then remembered how enjoyable the hockey game had been and recalled that he had resolved to reconsider the value of human interaction.

He picked up the phone and said, "What mark does Gandalf carve into Bilbo's door, and why?"

Ross muttered, "Fuck, I don't know. Hang on."

There was a muffled exchange in the background before Gil came on the line and said, "In the book or the movie?"

"Why?"

"Because in the book, it's the runes for bee and dee along with the symbol of a diamond. But in the movie, it's the rune for gee. Because apparently someone thought he was signing his fucking name rather than marking the house for the dwarves."

"That answer is... acceptable."

"Fucking nerd," Gil said as he handed the phone back to Ross, but the admiration in his voice was unmistakable.

Ross said, "Hey man, we're headed out to have a few drinks and maybe grab something to eat. Wanted to know if you wanted to come along. I mean, assuming we passed your test."

"Will they have daiquiris?"

"I bet they could make them, although I can't imagine why you'd want one in the dead of winter."

Colwyn nodded to himself and said, "Send me the address."

***

Colwyn was enjoying his third daiquiri at a table in the O'Shenanigans where he had met Ross and Gil. After his first drink, he had allowed the undeniably attractive bartender to convince him to try what she called a 'real daiquiri' which eschewed the use of a blender and he had become an instant convert. He had, in truth, chosen a daiquiri initially because it was the only alcoholic drink he had ever remotely enjoyed. But the heightened version of the drink was forcing him to rethink his stance on a wide array of cocktails. The bartender had told him his next drink would be something called an old fashioned, which he remembered his father drinking.

The last handful of hours he had spent at the bar with his friends had not disappointed. They had had no agenda other than spending time together. He had learned more about the pair during the course of the evening than he had gleaned from months of weekly game nights. They had met in primary school and been inseparable ever since. Colwyn greatly enjoyed their repartee and found himself being jealous of only being able to share a fraction of the fellowship they enjoyed.

They had invited him to an athletic-adjacent competition the following weekend involving paint which had somehow been convinced to assume a spherical shape. The details seemed very nebulous, but they insisted it was great fun.

As the bartender delivered their drinks, she glanced up and muttered, "God dammit."

Gil looked up warily and said, "What is it?"

"Looks like Miles found himself a new victim."

This prompted Colwyn to look around to find a man and a woman entering the bar together. The woman was of indeterminant ethnicity with long, straight black hair worn in a pony tail and the kind of comfortable curviness which suggested she likely was frequently surprised at just how beautiful people considered her to be. The man was of average height and weight, with the first hint of male-pattern baldness evident in his widow's peak and a crooked nose.

Ross said, "I thought he was in prison."

"So did I," the bartender responded. "I'll bet his buddies got to the last girl he dated and convinced her to drop the charges. Wouldn't be the first time."

"Asshole," Gil mumbled.

Colwyn whispered, "What did he do?"

The bartender grumbled, "Just bounced his girlfriend off the wall of the bathroom about twenty times," before she returned to the bar in time to greet the couple with decidedly less enthusiasm than she had shown Colwyn and his friends.

Colwyn noticed the man ordered a pitcher of nearly see-through beer, but only one glass. The woman he was with frowned in confusion as they sought out a table in a dark corner of the bar.

Shortly, the trivia contest which was Ross and Gil's true reason for patronizing this particular establishment began and Colwyn lost track of the couple. They fared modestly in the contest, answering all of the history and movies questions flawlessly but flailing at anything pop-culture adjacent.

As the game neared its conclusion, Colwyn heard the man who had drawn the bartender's ire shout incoherently. He turned to see the woman he was with slap him across the face and stand as if to leave. The man grabbed her arm, obviously causing her pain, and pulled her back down next to him. He then savagely backhanded her.

Colwyn stood and took a step in their direction before he felt a hand on his shoulder. He glanced down at the hand, and then followed the adjoining arm to find Ross staring at him with concern.

"Don't do it, man. That guy is a fucking animal. Gil's calling the police now."

Colwyn said, "Don't call them yet. I think I can talk some sense into him."

"That guy doesn't talk unless it's with his fists," Gil whispered fiercely. "I've seen him take on three dudes and wipe the floor with them."

"Trust me," Colwyn replied with a crooked smile before heading in the direction of the disturbance.

010001

"You look lost," the man spat angrily as Colwyn approached the couple.

Colwyn paused briefly to check the man's aura, realizing that he had assumed it would be red. He smiled at the realization that his fears were unfounded and considered his next step. This thought exercise was invalidated when the man leapt from the table and punched him in the cheek.

"You made a big fucking mistake, tubby." He turned to his date and sneered, "You should be thanking him, you mouthy cunt. He's gonna take part of your beating."

Colwyn was grateful for the opportunity to collect himself after the blow which, prior to his stint in prison, would have certainly incapacitated him. As it was, he was merely severely stunned. But, as the man grabbed him by the collar and reared back his fist, Colwyn managed to stammer, "Don't hit me!"

The man's arm paused long enough for him to grin maniacally and say, "You fucking pussy. Can't even pretend to be a man convincingly." His menacing sneer faded as he realized that even though his arm was still cocked back as if to deliver the knockout blow, he had failed to successfully execute the 'punch Colwyn in the face' maneuver. He opened his mouth to deliver what Colwyn suspected would be yet another venom-filled screed.

Colwyn beat him to the punch, calmly whispering, "Shut up."

The man's mouth snapped closed, and he looked around in confusion.

Colwyn spared a glance at the man's battered companion but saw that she was sobbing into her hands. He turned back to her date and whispered, "You won't move a muscle until I tell you otherwise." Colwyn then turned his hips, clenched his fist, and hit the man as hard as he could in the solar plexus using the bottom of his fist. He heard breath woosh from the man's lungs satisfyingly, but his attacker-turned-victim appeared otherwise unharmed. Colwyn then whispered, "Fall on the ground and roll around as if in excruciating agony."

The man obeyed, screaming loud enough to draw the stares of the bar's other patrons.

Colwyn bent down and said, "You will stay there as if grievously injured until I have departed the building, whereupon you will rise, leave all your cash on the table, and stagger out of the bar. Once outside, you will forget everything that happened here tonight, but you will drive to the police station and confess to every act of aggression you have ever committed against a woman prior to this evening." He then raised his voice and said, "Let that be a lesson to you."

A cheer went up throughout the restaurant, especially from Ross and Gil who were clapping wildly from their spots at the bar. Colwyn turned to the woman and said, "It's ok. He won't hurt you again."

She looked up to reveal tears streaming down her cheeks. A bruise was already starting to form beneath her left eye. She looked at Colwyn in confusion until she heard the pitiful wail of her erstwhile companion at his feet. She said, "What did you do?"

"I hit him," Colwyn answered, both for lack of something better to say and because it happened to be the truth.

"Why?"

Colwyn's mouth opened and closed wordlessly several times before he managed to say, "Because he deserved it."

She regarded her abuser for a moment before looking up with awe in her eyes. "That's incredible!"

Colwyn murmured, "Glad I could help," before he took a step back toward the bar.

"Wait!" she exclaimed. "Take me with you."

"Why? Are you injured?"

"What? Oh, I'm fine. The risks you take when you walk on the wild side. Sometimes, the growly alpha male types turn out to be legit assholes."

"I assure you you're quite safe from him now."

"Oh, I know that. If you hadn't intervened, I was about to give him a face-full of mace. But he was my ride. Come on, buddy. You already did the hard part. I promise to be a good passenger. And if you play your cards right, I might even show you just how appreciative I am to you for standing up for me."

"Very well," he replied, more from a wish to depart gracefully than from her incomprehensible offer. He walked over to the bar, the clicking of her heels following in his wake.

"How in the fuck did you do that?" Gil exclaimed.

"Do what?" Colwyn asked with not entirely feigned humility.

Ross said, "You took Miles out. What did you say to him?"

"I told him I wanted to be her champion."

"Seems like things worked out better for you than the Red Viper," Gil observed.

"But that still doesn't answer the 'how'."

"Prison changes a man," Colwyn offered somberly.

"My hero," the woman he had rescued breathed from quite close behind him.

"I suspect he won't be making trouble here anymore," Colwyn concluded. "On that note, I believe I'm going to call it an evening. Thank you for inviting me, gentleman. I had a splendid time."

"Night," they uttered in amazed unison as Colwyn strode out of the bar, the woman he had rescued following eagerly in his wake.

***

"Holy shit, is this your car?" the woman gushed as Colwyn clicked the fob to unlock the doors to his coupe.

He bit back the sarcastic answer which nearly escaped his lips, reminding himself that she had undergone a trauma which he understood much better after his recent incarceration. Instead, he merely nodded and climbed into the driver's seat.

"How much did it cost?" she breathed as she ran her hand along the hand-stitched leather of the center console.

"Too much."

"Is it fast?"

"That question is irrelevant without a basis of comparison."

"You know what I mean," she responded without rancor.

"Indeed. I suppose 'yes' is the answer you seek. It is certainly capable of a higher top speed than my other vehicles."

"Show me."

"No."

"Come on. How about if I take my top off?"

"I have had three alcoholic beverages this evening. And, while that was over the course of two point four hours which should mean I am well below the legal limit, I have no wish to temp fate. I was recently an unwilling guest of the state and I have no wish to experience more of their hospitality."

They sat in silence for a moment as Colwyn tried to work out the most diplomatic way of asking the woman where she meant for him to take her.

Before he could speak, she blurted out, "Are you gay?"

"What?"

"Well, back in the bar I basically suggested that I'd exchange sexual favors for a ride, and you didn't react. Then, just now, I offered to take my top off and again you basically ignored me."

"I'm not ignoring you."

"Do you think I'm ugly?"

"Of course not," he stammered.

"What then?"

"I did not intervene with any expectation of recompense."

"Doesn't mean you don't deserve a reward."

He gripped the steering wheel tightly in frustration and said, "I find your behavior baffling."

"Why do you think I was with him? I get off on a man taking control. But he crossed the line when he hit me."

"Obviously."

"So," she continued, "in addition to getting off on a man taking control, I really get off on a man standing up for someone in need. And I really, really get off on a man fighting to protect his woman. My panties never had a chance."

"But I am..."

"Gay?"

"No. But..."

"But nothing. It's up to you... I just realized I don't even know your name."

"Colwyn."

"That's very noble sounding. I like it. I'm Paula. It's a pleasure to meet you Colwyn." She stuck out her hand, which he took with trepidation. She snickered and said, "As I was saying, it's up to you. But, if you're up for fooling around, I'm certainly willing and eager."

"Why?"

"I already told you."

"I meant why would you debase yourself with someone like me?"

She gave him a once over and said, "What do you mean? You're a man. A rather manly man at that, if I do say so myself."

"I am not in possession of any physical attributes which the females of our culture find desirable."

"Listen, I get it. But I like big guys, that piece-of-shit at the bar notwithstanding. And I dig the whole mustache look, not to mention that I love how it feels on my lady parts. Listen, this isn't about me feeling indebted to you. I mean, I do, but that's not why I want to sleep with you. Like I said, I'm just super turned on by what you did back there. I'm kinda wondering what other surprises you might be hiding."

Colwyn sighed and stared up through the sunroof as he tried to decide if he was having a particularly vivid hallucination related to a scene straight out of his Content while strapped to a cot back in the prison infirmary. The only other reasonable conclusion, that everything was precisely as it seemed and this remarkably beautiful woman was quite sincere about desiring an intimate liaison with him, seemed even more implausible. Everything he had done, and every interaction he had had, for the last decade pleaded with him to drop this woman off at the closest bus stop and hurry to his Refuge. But recent days had suggested, with surprising frequency, that his ingrained habits were the cause of, rather than a respite from, his unhappiness.

He said, "Where do you live?"

"Are you turning me down? Or are you suggesting we go back to my place to see if I can out scream my asshole upstairs neighbor who thinks she's a porn star?"

"I have yet to decide, but I am leaning toward the latter."

"Yay! Do you have any condoms?"

"No..." His breath caught as he tried to find the words to explain how long it had been since he had had a consensual intimate encounter. This train of thought led inexorably to the memory of the encounter with Zeus and Pete in prison. He was rescued from spiraling into melancholy by Paula's cheerful voice.

"That's cool. We can stop on the way and pick some up. If the store's empty, maybe we can try some on to make sure they're not too snug."

Colwyn chuckled despite himself, but he was quickly reminded of multiple scenes from his incarceration and the melancholy came rushing back. He stared sullenly through the windshield, unwilling to meet the gaze of his effusive companion.

"Hey, where'd you go?" she asked worriedly.

"Perhaps I have made a mistake. I will take you home."

She frowned before saying, "How long has it been?"

"Your question is without referent."

"Don't go all thesaurus on me. You know what I meant."

He sighed and said, "Two years."

"That's not so bad."

"On Jupiter," he muttered.

She sighed and said, "Well, I'm not sure how long an earth year is compared to one on Jupiter. But, based on the expression on your face, I'm guessing it's a lot shorter."

"Indeed. But..."

"I know. That wasn't what made you clam up. I just wanted to get that out of the way. I've slept with my fair share of guys, Colwyn. And I've seen all manner of penises. The one thing they all had in common was: the one's that did the most for me were attached to the guys I liked the most. And I like you a lot."

"I appreciate the sentiment but..."

She reached out to lay a hand on his arm and said, "Let me finish. I know it's easy for me to say 'don't sweat it' when I've never dealt with the ridiculous importance men place on the size of their equipment. And it's hardly better for me to ask you to trust me when we literally just met. So why don't we just head back to my place, and we'll see how things go? No pressure. We can just hang out and have some drinks."

He muttered, "I doubt my behavior continues to align with what you find desirable."

"Don't be so sure. What matters is how you behave when the chips are down and its time to man up. Nothing in the world wrong with taking a deep breath during the quiet moments afterward."

He sighed and started the car. He said, "Where to?"

She gave him her address, pointing out an apothecary that was on the way. As they got under way, she said, "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Yes," Colwyn replied tersely.

010010

"This is it," Paula said as she led Colwyn into her apartment. "It ain't much, but its home."

Her apartment was larger than he had expected after she had spent most of the drive downplaying her domicile. There was only one bedroom, but the rooms were larger than he had remembered from his days of apartment living while in school. It was also cleaner than he could ever remember his apartments having been. He nodded approvingly from the spot in her entryway where he suddenly felt rooted.

"Come on in," her retreating voice implored as she disappeared into the bedroom. "I'm going to get changed, if you don't mind."

"I am your guest."

"There's beer in the fridge if you'd like one. Feel free to get comfortable. I'll be out shortly."

He made his way over to the room containing a sofa and an entertainment center, taking a seat on the former. Nervous energy radiated off him in waves. His left foot was practically bouncing of its own accord. He glanced around for any clues which would tell him more about Paula. The coffee table between the couch and entertainment center contained an ashtray, and the room had a vague acrid smell to it. A laptop which was roughly three years old, based on the inputs along the side and the labels beneath the keyboard, joined the ashtray on the coffee table. The end table had a drawer which was partially open. He peaked inside and saw a well-worn e-reader and a clear plastic bag containing what appeared to be dried, shredded leaves. He saw something purple in the drawer and opened it slightly wider to reveal a vibrator. He closed the drawer quickly and looked up to ensure his snooping had gone unnoticed.

To his chagrin, Paula was standing in the doorway with a mischievous smile on her face. "Busted. The benefits of living alone. You can rub one out wherever you want."

His jaw dropped open, preventing him from making a reply. His mind rewound what she had said upon entering, trying to grasp how he could have misinterpreted her so grievously. He clearly recalled that she indicated she intended to 'get changed'. He had expected her to emerge in pajama pants and a hoodie. Or perhaps even some yoga pants and a tank top, considering she kept the temperature quite warm in her apartment. He had even briefly fantasized about the possibility that she would emerge in demure but sexy lingerie. But he had been wholly unprepared for her to emerge wearing not so much as a wristwatch.

He immediately corrected his prior assumption that she was likely somewhat ignorant of how people perceived her level of attractiveness. Her body was sleek, yet curvy, in a way which suggested a great deal of time and effort had been expended toward that objective. Her long, slender legs gave way to hips wide enough to make her appear almost wasp-waisted. The junction of her thighs showed no hint of pubic hair below her flat, yet supple belly. Her full breasts were rounded in a way which highlighted their naturalness without a hint of sag. She had let her hair down and it nestled comfortably below her shoulders, framing her effusively friendly face.

She quirked an eyebrow and said, "What is it?"

"You said we would watch a show."

"Totally. What are you in the mood to watch?"

"But you're naked."

She smiled and said, "Strictly speaking, I am nude. Not naked."

"Pardon?" he asked, feeling increasingly unmoored by the second.

"Nude means you're not wearing clothing. Naked implies you're nude for a reason."

"But why are you nude?"

"Are you complaining?"

He stammered, "No?"

"I hate wearing clothes. I like to be nude, or naked, when I'm at home. Why do you think it's so warm in here?"

"I hadn't... I mean... I don't know."

"Does this," she gestured to her body as though she were a gameshow co-host unveiling a prize package, "make you uncomfortable?"

"No," he said reflexively.

"Great," she replied as she sank down onto the couch next to him. "What should we watch?"

She powered on the screen and connected to a streaming service. When the app finished loading, she looked in Colwyn's direction for input, but he had been unable to tear his eyes from her magnificent breasts.

She smiled tolerantly and said, "Would you like to touch them?"

"I um... I'm not sure how to answer that question."

She snickered and said, "Meaning you want to but think you're supposed to say no." Before he could respond, she reached for one of his hands and placed it on her right breast.

He gasped at the sensation of her nipple hardening beneath his palm.

She grinned and said, "Feel better?"

He sighed and started to remove his hand.

She said, "That's it? You don't want to play with my nipple a bit? Stop acting like you're going to offend me. It was my idea, after all. Here," she swung her legs up onto the couch and laid her head down in his lap before switching his hand to her left breast. "What's your favorite show?"

"I, um, don't really watch television."

"Mmm..." she moaned as his hand squeezed her breast ever so slightly. She clicked the button to start a program, but he could not tear his eyes from her body. Her legs moved lazily against each other causing the lips of her pussy to open ever so slightly. She slid her hand up along his arm to stroke his bicep. He stroked her hair with his other hand, causing her to nuzzle her head against his hardening cock.

She said, "Methinks you were unnecessarily modest, sir."

"Pardon?"

"Well, something is certainly trying to punch a hole in the back of my head." Colwyn started to shift his hips, but she quickly added, "I wasn't complaining. Do you like the video I chose?"

Colwyn looked up to see a woman fellating a man while he held her head firmly between his hands. Every time the man pulled back; a stream of saliva flowed from her mouth before she eagerly begged to be allowed to continue.

"That's so fucking hot," Paula breathed. She snaked her hand over her head to stroke his groin through his cargo shorts. "You should do that to me. Fuck, I'm so goddamned wet just thinking about it." Her other hand traced down her body before arriving at the junction of her thighs. She began to lazily rub her clit as she sighed in pleasure.

Colwyn swallowed heavily before saying, "I am not comfortable with the thought of doing that to someone. It seems dehumanizing."

"But look how into it she is. She's as turned on as he is. See?" She gestured at the screen, which now featured a close-up of the woman's pussy just before the man thrust into her for the first time.

"Perhaps. But that certainly isn't real life. I happen to know that performer is a lesbian in her personal life."

"How in the hell could you know that?"

"I... um... read it somewhere."

"Holy shit! Are you into porn? That's pretty hot. What's your favorite genre? Gang bangs; BDSM; DP; anal?"

He shook his head and said, "Forget I said anything."

"But why? I'm laying naked next to you on the couch rubbing my pussy and your cock at the same time while I talk to you about what turns me on. The least you could do is reciprocate."

"You're right. It's just so ingrained to believe that some subjects can never be discussed, regardless of the situation. You've been nothing but open and honest with me, and I owe you the same. As far as Content is concerned, I suppose I would say I am most intrigued by, for want of a better phrase, mouth stuff."

"Now we're talking," she said excitedly. "Give me more specifics."

"It is a litmus test, of sorts. Unless one is a truly gifted actor, which is uncommon in porn, one cannot hide their feelings whilst going down on someone. Frequently, two people can be engaged in doggy style or cowgirl and seem as though they're scarcely aware of the other's existence. Just moaning and uttering the same three nonsense phrases repeatedly while their groins slam together. But if someone is performing fellatio or cunnilingus, it is much more intimate. It is easy to differentiate between someone who is going through the motions versus someone who is truly trying to give pleasure. When someone goes down on a woman they're obviously into, you can see how eager they are to taste her and how anxious they are to bathe in her essence."

"Fuck," Paula breathed. "I so want you to go down on me right now."

"Ok," Colwyn said simply as he carefully leapt to his feet without dislodging her. She yelped when he started to get up, but that turned into a moan as he came around the coffee table and got to his knees.

He settled between her thighs and inhaled deeply to savor her aroma. From his vantage point, he could see the proof of her excitement on her outer lips. He leaned closer, marveling at the way she filled his senses.

She whispered, "Don't tease me."

He ran the tip of his tongue along her seam and relished the first taste of her. She swiveled her hips, forcing her mons onto his waiting mouth. He needed no further encouragement and dove in with gusto. He licked slowly along her pussy using the full width of his tongue, giving her clit a gentle flick when he reached it. She opened her legs wider and ran her fingers through his close-cropped hair. He sucked her clit between his lips and teased the tip with his tongue. A low, guttural moan escaped her lips causing him to glance up at her face which was a picture of ecstasy.

He continued pleasuring her clit until she gasped, "I'm so fucking close."

He thrust his middle finger into her soaked opening. Her moans turned into a litany of, 'fuck' and 'yes'. He added another digit and sped up the flicks of his tongue on her pleasure bud. She screamed incoherently and her legs snapped closed around his head. Her hips bucked repeatedly off the couch, taking him along for the ride as her pleasure soaked his face. He could not help but enjoy her orgasm, despite his confinement. The way her breasts heaved as she thrashed in pleasure, combined with the look of bliss on her face, was the most erotic thing he had ever seen.

Her thighs released him when her pleasure receded. She looked down at him gratefully and whispered, "That was pretty fucking good for a guy who's been out of circulation for a quarter century. Come here."

He shuffled along the floor beside the couch until he was even with her. She reached out to take his face and pulled him closer.

He said, "I should go clean up."

"I don't care if you taste like me, Colwyn. I actually really fucking dig it. Now kiss me like you mean it."

He leaned down and met her lips. Her tongue hungrily demanded entry to his mouth. Her moan filled his mouth along with her tongue. She fisted her hands in the hair at the nape of his neck. He cupped her breast, tweaking her nipple to her obvious approval. He felt her hand blindly questing for his groin.

She broke the kiss gasping. "I want to suck your cock. Get on the couch."

He obeyed and she was quickly on her knees between his legs. She licked along the seam of his zipper, nibbling at the engorged flesh straining for freedom beneath the khaki fabric. She unbuckled his belt and opened the front of his cargo shorts. She hummed contentedly as she licked along the outline of his cock within his boxer briefs.

She looked up at him and whispered, "I'm going to worship your cock with my mouth. I'll fuck you with my face until you explode onto my tongue. I want to swallow every drop. Is that what you want?"

He could only nod dumbly.

She grinned evilly at him as she pulled down his boxer briefs. When her gaze dropped to his cock, she breathed, "Oh my God."

Colwyn sighed dejectedly and said, "Shit. I should have known better."

"Oh, honey," she chuckled. "I meant that in a good way."

"How, exactly."

"Your cock is phenomenal. I've never seen one so wide. It's like a fucking soda can." She snickered before continuing, "I guess it really is like a fucking soda can. Or it will be soon. How in the name of all that's sacred and holy does that monster fit inside a person?"

"You're not..."

"Fuck no," she said as she wrapped her hands around his manhood as though she was measuring him. "I'm amazed, and a little scared. But I'm certainly not disappointed. Just don't think less of me if I can't get my mouth around it."

She wiggled her jaw back and forth a few times before wrapping her lips around the tip of his cock. She swirled her tongue around before focusing on the seam along the underside of the head of his manhood. She pulled his hands up and placed them on either side of her face, nodding at him fiercely as she took him further into her mouth. He caressed her face but held off on forcing her. She shrugged and forced herself down until her lips kissed his pubis.

She pulled back, taking a deep breath before gasping, "Your cock is my new favorite thing."

She dove back in, taking him to the root in a single move. He groaned loudly as his hips bucked of their own accord. She hummed loudly around his cock and the pleasure was clear in her eyes.

"I'm close," he gasped.

She reached up to fondle his balls as she began bobbing her head enthusiastically.

"Almost there..." he whispered hoarsely. "Almost there..."

She pulled back until just the head of his cock was in her mouth and began stroking his length as she sucked eagerly.

His muscles locked under her ministrations and pleasure he had never even dreamt was possible overtook him. His hips bucked uncontrollably as he erupted into her mouth. Countless spasms of pleasure washed over him, each one accompanied by another burst of his seed. Paula continued to lathe the underside of the head of his cock with her tongue, coaxing even more from him. His last vision before he passed out was of his cum streaming down the sides of his cock as Paula looked at him in awe.

010011

Colwyn awoke moments later to find the room empty. He heard a cabinet close in the kitchen and glanced in that direction with what felt like drunken detachment. He quickly tucked himself back into his boxer briefs and zipped up his shorts. Moments later, a delightfully naked Paula returned to the room holding two glasses of water. She took a seat and handed him one of the glasses.

She grinned and said, "Figured you could stand to rehydrate after that performance," before taking a sip of her own water.

He winced and said, "I did indicate that it had been a while."

"Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. I'd say impressed would be closer to the mark. Is it always like that?"

"I'm not sure how to answer that. If you're asking if that... amount occurs when I perform a manual override, the answer is a definitive no."

"What about when someone else is doing the work?"

"I don't remember. In any case, I was a teenager then. Hardly a valid comparison."

"You know what this means, right?" she began seriously. "We're going to have to design a series of tests so you're better prepared for the next lucky lady who graces your bed."

"But I thought we..."

"I am not girlfriend material," she said quickly. "I like you Colwyn. And I'm looking forward to fucking you, hopefully more than once. But you need a woman who's interested in you for more than just sex. I've got what my college roommate calls a whole subscription worth of issues. It doesn't bother me much. I happen to like my life. But I am honest enough with myself to know that I would make a shitty partner."

"I see."

"Hey, don't sweat it. We're gonna have fun together. Speaking of which... what can I do to convince you to take a bit of control. It's such a huge fucking turn on for me."

"That's easier said than done with me, Paula."

"Why? You just tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it."

He sighed wearily and regarded her intently. He had mentally catalogued every square centimeter of her stunning body, but he had yet to concentrate on her aura. When he did this, he was perplexed to find that she had an aura which was undeniably burnt orange. He focused further, and the star broke into the expected two triangles. The one on the right was a light pink shade and the one on the left was a flat grey. He cursed himself for not experimenting more as this insight into her aura told him precisely nothing.

He groaned in frustration and said, "But what if you don't want to do it?"

"Then I won't."

"What if it isn't that simple? I sometimes have an unusual effect on people when I tell them to do something."

"How so?" she asked as she began to toy with the button on his shorts.

"I can be unusually persuasive."

"That sounds promising. Try me. Tell me to do something."

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this, Paula."

"Why the hell not?" she asked in genuine confusion. "I think it sounds fucking awesome."

"Because you couldn't say no. There's no safe word in this scenario."

"You mean like even if you told me to jump off the balcony, I'd do it without a second thought?"

"Exactly!"

"That's so fucking hot."

"I disagree. Can we talk about something else?"

She bit her lip and said, "What if I gave you a list of things I was, not only comfortable with, but eager to try? Come on, Colwyn. You've just described my ultimate fantasy, and now you're going to snatch it away? That's hardly gentlemanly. What if we arrange a trade?"

"How so?"

"What's your ultimate fantasy? The freakier the better."

"I could make you abandon this line of conversation."

"Fuck! You're making me so wet right now." She slid a hand down her body to the junction of her thighs. "Wanna see?" His breath caught as she extracted a finger slick with her arousal and raised it to her lips. "Yummy," she breathed. She grinned at his reaction and said, "Is that one? Would you like to watch me go down on a girl? Or perhaps have a threesome? That could be arranged. What else? Have you ever tried anal? I'd have to do extensive pre-game to accommodate you, but I'd be willing to give it a go."

"How?"

"How would I pre-game? Oh, it's easy. I've got a dildo the size of a..."

"No. I mean: how would you arrange a..." he paused, unable to continue and looked away in frustration.

"Arrange a threesome? That's easy. I'd just call my upstairs neighbor."

"The one who you described as an asshole who you wanted to out scream?"

"That's her. We'll frequently get together if neither of us have any company for the evening. I think you'd like her. She's even freakier than I am. And she's way into butt stuff. Perhaps even too much. She's got this strap-on she likes me to wear which uses so much power you have to plug it in."

"But why would she be interested in me?"

"Because she's like me, Colwyn. She likes fucking. It doesn't always have to be about finding a soul mate. Sometimes, you just want to feel good. And we'll make her feel good. It really isn't more complicated than that. Want me to call her?"

"I don't know..." he hedged.

"Our friend here certainly seems on board," she whispered sultrily as she stroked his hardening cock through his cargo shorts. "Listen. I'm sure it will come as no surprise that I've had sex with lots of people."

He shrugged in response.

She continued, "This isn't the first time I've rung her up to propose we share a guy. Unless it was shark week for her, or she already had a guy of her own, she always said yes. Enthusiastically. She even said yes once when she already had a guy and we had us a fun little orgy. My God, that was a hell of a night. My point is, I know she'll be down. And I know we'll all have a blast. Especially if you hold up your end of the bargain."

Colwyn still had misgivings about her proposal, but he could not deny that he was tempted. He felt a bit like Faust, offered everything he had ever fantasized about. He felt it likely that Paula was not the devil, especially considering that he was confident the devil did not exist. But he could not help but wonder at this baffling turn of events. For decades, he had toiled in isolation in pursuit of his lofty objective. Then, upon realizing his goal, he had been thrown in prison and brutalized. He gazed at Paula's spectacular body, and remembered how her mouth had felt on him. He smiled inwardly and decided that perhaps the order of events had just gotten mixed up in his case. Rather than indulging in excesses and then being punished, he had gotten the punishment portion of the agenda out of the way first. He figured, in this light, it only made sense to also get to experience the thing for which he had already been punished. He also recalled, although he was honest enough with himself to admit that the recollection was entirely self-serving, that he had always been aware in the past when someone was obeying him against their will. He was confident, mostly, that he had sufficient self-control to keep from truly hurting anyone.

He allowed himself to smile and said, "Very well. We'll give it a try."

"Wait. Can you tell me to do something first? I want to see how this works."

"Like what?"

"I can't tell you what to tell me to do, Colwyn. It has to be something you don't think I'd normally do."

"I don't know you well enough to know that. In any case, I believe you mentioned something about a list."

"No physical damage. Spanking is fine, but only on my ass. Don't hit me otherwise. No choking, or really any kind of suffocation. Um... I think that's it."

He frowned and said, "There must be more. Things you're opposed to... um... sexually?"

"Like what? I already told you I'm into girls. I obviously like deep throating. I'm fine with anal. What else? No bodily fluids other than the obvious. Ass play is fine so long as everyone cleans up first and you use a new condom before you switch. I think that's pretty much it."

"Seems so reasonable when you put it like that."

She smiled brightly and said, "People are so fucking afraid to fucking talk about fucking. I just don't get it. It's no wonder people don't have better sex. They won't just come out and say what they want. So, how 'bout it? You down for a freaky threesome with me and my neighbor?"

"How about you give her a call and, if she's game, you can go down on me while we wait for her."

"Sure. But don't ask. Fucking command me. Lemme find my phone."

Paula's neighbor, Whitney, let herself into the apartment a few moments later to find Paula loudly deepthroating Colwyn while he cradled her face in his hands.

He regarded the newcomer for long enough to verify his suspicion that her aura matched Paula's. Physically, she was quite attractive. She was of roughly the same height as her neighbor but had very pale skin and mousy brown hair. She was curvy without being buxom, possessing smallish breasts and alluringly curvy hips. She also had thick hair which covered the entirety of her pubic area while leaving her mons hairless.

Upon seeing the scene in the living room, she gushed, "That's what I'm talking about," with a surprisingly high-pitched voice and quickly began shedding her clothes. She knelt down next to Paula and said, "You weren't kidding! How do you fit that thing in your mouth?"

Colwyn reached out his hand and said, "Colwyn. Pleasure to meet you."

She shook it somberly and said, "Whitney. You have a remarkable penis. I can't wait to have it in my ass."

Colwyn smiled shyly and looked down to Paula, "Perhaps you could help Whitney get in the mood." Paula gave him a disapproving look, so he sighed and mock-growled, "Go down on her."

Paula's frown turned into a smile. She turned to her friend and pushed her back onto the floor before diving between her legs. Paula lapped Whitney's pussy loudly, causing the latter to gasp in pleasure. Paula's hand traced back between her thighs and began to rub her clit.

"Not yet," Colwyn declared. "You only get to feel good if we allow it."

A happy whimper emerged from Paula, somewhat muffled by Whitney's pussy.

"Whitney, do you want her to lick your ass?"

"Fuck, yes," Whitney gushed.

"Do it, Paula. Lick her pretty asshole."

Paula pushed Whitney's hips up until the latter's legs were flipped up over her head. She pulled Whitney's cheeks apart and began teasing her asshole with the tip of her tongue.

Whitney squealed, "Oh yes. Just like that."

Colwyn watched with rapt fascination as Paula pleasured Whitney's asshole with increasing enthusiasm. Whitney reached up and began rubbing her clit eagerly as her breathing quickened.

"Not yet," Colwyn whispered. "I think you should come over here and swallow my cock."

Both women eagerly disengaged and crawled in his direction. Paula whispered, "You're doing great, baby. I'm so fucking turned on, I'm about to explode. Keep it up."

They reached him together. Paula took him into her mouth while Whitney bathed his balls with her tongue. He watched in amazement as they eagerly pleasured him. Their eyes were filled with lust and the room was filled with the sounds of their combined efforts.

Whitney said, "I want a turn," and pushed Paula aside before engulfing Colwyn's throbbing member.

Colwyn gasped, "Stop! It's too much." They both dropped back onto their ankles and pouted at him. He said, "I just need a minute."

Whitney turned to Paula and kissed her lasciviously, their tongues performing a sloppy ballet as they fought for dominance. Whitney grabbed Paula's head and forced her to the floor without breaking their kiss. She then made her way down to Paula's pussy, stopping briefly to lavish praise upon her breasts. Whitney knelt between her neighbor's thighs and lapped hungrily along her slit. Paula threw her head back and moaned loudly, pulling Whitney's face even closer and guiding her ministrations.

Colwyn watched the scene, barely able to believe such a thing was even generally possible, much less happening to him. Whitney shook her ass lewdly as she ate out Paula. Her arousal was obvious even from several meters away.

Colwyn got to his feet and divested himself of his shorts and boxers. He grabbed a condom from the box Paula had placed on the coffee table and sheathed himself quickly. He slid the head of his dick along Whitney's gushing seam, earning a sigh of pleasure from her. He slowly slid into her, luxuriating at the sensation of her inner walls accommodating him.

"Fuck, Colwyn," she whispered into Paula's pussy. "You feel so fucking good."

He grunted in response as he began to slowly thrust into her. The sight of her supple ass jiggling each time he bottomed out, combined with Paula's ecstasy as Whitney pleasured her, nearly did him in. She looked up at him pleadingly. He thought briefly before saying, "Ride my cock while she eats you out."

He pulled out of Whitney and laid back on the carpet. Paula scrambled up to his midsection. She pulled the condom from him and deepthroated him briefly as Whitney retrieved another one. They worked together to sheath him again before Paula straddled him and positioned him at her entrance. He grasped her hips and thrust into her velvety depths in a single thrust.

"Fuck!" she screamed. "So good."

She leaned back, placing her hands between his knees, and began riding him exuberantly. Whitney knelt beside him and leaned down to pleasure Paula's clit each time she bottomed out. Colwyn tapped her thigh, and she obligingly straddled his face. He drank deep of her heady nectar, causing her to crush her pussy into his mouth. He focused on the task at hand, both in hopes of lasting longer despite Paula's best efforts and because he was enraptured by the juxtaposition between Whitney's smooth mons and her long, thick pubic hair.

He began to feel more than hear, due to Whitney's clenched thighs, Paula's impending orgasm. Her inner walls were rippling eagerly along his shaft and her thrusting was becoming increasingly erratic. He reached down to grasp her hips, thrusting deeply into her until he heard her scream in pleasure. Wetness bathed his groin as she spasmed against him. He could feel Whitney's eager tongue lapping up the evidence of her lover's pleasure as Paula shakingly rolled to the side.

Whitney rolled off him as well. She flipped around to come face to face with him. She removed the condom he wore with a smile. She kissed him deeply as her hand stroked his throbbing cock. "My turn," she whispered. She said, "Paula, honey. Where's your lube?"

"Beside table," Paula replied sleepily. "End table. What-not drawer in the kitchen. In my purse."

"Thanks honey," Whitney cut her off with a chuckle. She reached over to the end table and extracted a bottle of lube. She applied a liberal amount to his cock. She grinned and said, "Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," he whispered hoarsely.

He got to his knees and lined up behind her. She reached back and positioned him at her puckered star before slowly pushing back against him using almost imperceptible movements.

"Jesus, that's big," she panted as the head of his cock was enveloped.

"So tight," he gasped.

He felt a touch on his shoulder and heard a whispered, "Forget about me?"

He leaned over and accepted an eager kiss from Paula. As they broke the kiss, he said, "Of course not. I was just letting you recover."

"Don't," she breathed.

"Sixty-nine with her."

"I want more."

"Are you sure?"

"I want everything. Everything."

She kissed him once more before scrambling beneath Whitney. He could see the smile in her eyes before he thrust into her neighbor.

"So full," Whitney moaned into Paula's pussy as Colwyn bottomed out. He felt Paula's mouth capture one of his balls and nearly lost control. He thrust back into Whitney and heard a whimper from Paula. He knew what she wanted. Knew with perfect clarity.

"Please," she implored.

He pulled out of Whitney and said, "Swallow my cock."

Her moan of contentment filled the room as she swallowed his cock. The sound of Whitney wetly pleasuring Paula's clit only added to the eroticism. Paula released his cock with a gasp. He drove back into Whitney's ass.

"So fucking hot," Paula murmured before focusing her attention again on Whitney.

Colwyn continued to alternate between Whitney's ass and Paula's mouth. With each rotation, the moans of his companions grew louder, as did their ecstatic pleading that he continue.

He felt himself nearing the point of no return just as Whitney's ass clenched around him and she collapsed onto Paula, her moans of ecstasy filling the room. Colwyn was helpless to do anything but follow her into bliss. He erupted into her ass with a growl of pleasure. He then pulled out and countless additional eruptions of his seed coated her ass and pussy. He fell back against the couch as his pleasure receded. He looked down to see Paula's pleading eyes peaking out from beneath Whitney's creamy ass.

"Clean her up," Colwyn gasped. "And don't forget to save some for her."

Paula moaned in pleasure before she began to eagerly lick his cum from Whitney's pussy. She then slid out from beneath her lover before sloppily sharing his seed with her. Paula then made her way back down Whitney's body to lasciviously lick his seed from her ass. Colwyn nearly came again when Paula tongued Whitney's ass lewdly, scooping up a dollop of his seed before swallowing demonstratively.

"So fucking hot," she breathed before moving back to kiss Whitney once more.

The Game Master

by Jake Lazarus

Copyright © 2022 Jake Lazarus

All rights reserved.

This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the author (except for the use of brief quotations in a review).

This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, business, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.