The next morning, a briefcase was delivered by courier to my door. According to the attached letter, there was an arrangement for the drug testing representatives to look the other way on some medium-level boosters. Nothing too extreme, and not the terrifyingly side effect-ridden growth drugs, but still new territory to me and definitely not anything I had encountered in the clean circuits. In short, this was my first time cheating. Olson may have been good, but the difference was narrow enough that boosting would almost certainly tip the balance in my favor.
Slice was a common enough drug that I had at least heard of it before. Simple injections for a few days before a fight. This caused a gradual increase in energy in reaction speed, until the user reached a highly enhanced state, ready to rage his way to a win. Fortunately, the only real side effects were amplifications of what happened anyway when testosterone and its merry fellows ran high. Temper, sex drive, and so forth. Wait a minute.
I was certain from the moment it crossed my mind that this was no coincidence. Plenty of other boosters were a lot more focused, causing something more along the lines of a mechanical, emotionless speed-up, rather like overclocking a computer. In fact, Slice was one of the few still on the market that had any impact on libido besides a reduction.
After last night, it was uncomfortably clear that her control no longer entirely relied on her position in the syndicate. My body had not forgotten the overwhelming heat of her touch, my eyes had not forgotten her dangerously beautiful curves and musculature. If any of what I had heard about Slice was true, it would become completely impossible to keep those feeling on the back burner after even one injection. After the full suite of ten, whatever sexual notions were floating around my mind before would reach an intensity approaching the real thing. I would have been painfully naïve not to expect that she would use that overdriven desire to push me to still further levels of emotion-fueled power.
Gritting my teeth a little, I undid the clasps and opened the case. Five small vials and a few needles. There was a small piece of paper explaining the obvious dosage, suggesting that I get down to business on the spot, all in sterile, medical language. Shrugging, I picked up one of the little bottles. Considering my previous experiences, this was going to be downright painless. I didn't mind needles, and this was neither a knife to my throat nor a boot on my back.
To my surprise, there was another piece of paper underneath the vial's spot in the case. Setting aside the needle I was hefting, I pulled it out by the corner. This was not another set of instructions. It was a small picture, clearly not digital. The exact method didn't interest me. The image, however, was not one that I could readily turn away from.
I recognized her instantly. A brief ripple of despair passed through my mind as I felt a barely perceptible stirring within my pants. I was captivated even by an image on paper. In my defense, this was not only the woman who had come to wield an unnerving power over me, pulling invisible strings of fear and lust- this was her as I had never seen her before, actively showing off her impossibly desirable body.
I had never seen her in heels. Somehow, the standard flat combat boots had always seemed more than enough. The sight of her muscular yet incredibly feminine legs encased in practically skintight black pants seemed to make lace-up heeled boots more than appropriate. She was tantalizingly attractive without trying, somehow. Perhaps the fact that it was her added to the appeal. After all, she had, seemingly without a trace of effort, reduced me to such servilities as "Mistress" and countless other reminders of my lowered position. Against all common sense, that drew me to her more powerfully than I had ever been drawn to anyone else.
I don't even remember what she wore besides the boots and pants. That was more than enough. The usual supremely haughty and confident expression, the same sunglasses and elegant ponytail. However, there was one more thing that stood, out, probably the most important:
"You just felt yourself get hard, didn't you? You're already essentially my slave, don't bother resisting it. I know. Put this picture somewhere you'll see it every day. My little reminder of how much you need me. One more thing- don't even think about touching yourself to let off the stress. That's an order."
She was brief, but I could easily fill in the blanks. This was intended to amplify the powerful lust that was inevitably going to build over a few days on enhanced hormones. Now, I was locked out of my only possible method of retaining some semblance of restraint. I knew better than to think I could seriously consider disobeying at this point. The old defiance roared as before, but its protests fell on deaf ears. Her command, as much as I hated to admit it, as much as it tormented me to acknowledge the fact, was simply irresistible.
Grunting with frustration, I set down the picture and picked up the needle. A few seconds later, I felt a warm rush as the first dose of Slice entered my vein. I had been planning to work out anyway. Within a few minutes, I decided to start early. Something unnatural in my mind was pressing on my body, impossible to ignore, demanding release, demanding action. As I headed out the door, I took one last look at the photo. Her smirking, perfect face seemed to show itself again and again every time I blinked.
A few hours later, I found myself home again, muscles hot and exhausted. Unexpectedly, my body still, somehow, seemed to crave more. I could feel my heart pounding at a noticeably fast rate. This was after only the first injection.
Inevitably, the picture caught my eye, right where I had dutifully placed it on the wall. The anger and frustration of obedience still stung, but that feeling was swept aside by her unexplainable influence. Once again, I could feel the blood rushing downwards just from one look. No other image, no other woman could do that to me. That much I knew for sure, Slice or not. In that moment, I would have done anything for even a slight touch.
I remembered that the injections were twice daily. Loading the needle with the rest of the first bottle, I shot into my arm again. I wondered how I could possibly be able to sleep after more of this.
I must have managed, somehow, to let go of consciousness for a few hours. I woke up to the early morning light, vaguely aware of an intense hardness as half-remembered dreams swirled through my mind. I felt slightly intoxicated, as if my thoughts were caught in thick, heavy mud. The only exception was a burning desire for more exertion, the same need as before. My heart apparently felt the cue, accelerating for the trial that was inevitably soon to come.
Letting my eyes drink in the tantalizingly small picture for a moment, I remembered the morning injection. From that point on, the remaining days seemed to run together, progressively less and less cohesive. I remember very little from that time, save for a powerful urge to fight and an even greater need for the attention that only she could give. I wanted her body more than anyone could have ever desired anything, it seemed. Water, air, everything simply crumbled before that need.
As I loaded a needle with the first half of the final vial, I heard a knock at my door. Somehow, in my overdriven, half-mad state, I managed to get up and answer the summons, resisting the strong urge to simply attack whoever had intruded. I found myself looking instead at two serious men, one of whom held what was clearly a tranquilizer gun.
