Warning: This submission contains extreme violence and ends in a cliffhanger. If you can't stand cliffhangers, you might want to wait until after the next submission before you catch up. There is so much that happens in the next couple of chapters that it would be very difficult for me to avoid them. Besides that, I have a sadistic streak when it comes to torturing my characters and my readers. ;-)
I *think* that there will be two more submissions after this one, nine in all.
Please don't forget to vote. I'd also love to hear your comments.
*****
Chapter Eleven
Unread messages: 2,342.
Dylan suppressed a groan.
This frickin' job is impossible!
When he'd first been selected to train as an investigator for CorpSec, he'd been so excited.
God, was I naïve back then!
Every day more and more messages arrived. There was no way he could keep up; at the end of his shift, he always just deleted whatever messages he hadn't gotten to—messages that he should have handled. He wondered how long it would be before his boss figured that out. He'd complained about the workload and been threatened with demotion if he couldn't keep up.
He tried. He would have worked overtime to complete is work if it had been allowed. He knew if he were demoted, he'd lose his lovely apartment in Zonesee, and his girlfriend, gold digger that she was, would surely leave him. But if he were caught deleting important messages, he'd be lucky if he weren't reprogrammed for garbage collection or sent to the front line as a foot soldier. He shuddered. He'd just have to work faster—that's all there was to it.
In a near panic, he scanned through the list, deleting every message he thought he could possibly get away with.
Down to 1,842.
Then he started at the beginning again, handling each one as quickly as he could. By early afternoon he was down to 1,200.
The next one was a mod alert that had come in at 18:02 pm the evening before.
Shit!
Shouldn't this one have gone to the emergency guy on duty last night?
He quickly opened and scanned the message. According to the tracking records, Raeden Dearborn had partially morfed on the street in Zonei. Fingers flying, he looked up the mod's info and breathed a sigh of relief. He was a broken one.
How the hell did he manage to partially morf?
There hadn't been any mod sightings reported in the last twenty-four hours—he wouldn't have missed that. Those came in as high alerts, flashing red with a corresponding alarm sound.
He scanned the vital statistics that had come through. Sometimes other events could appear to be a partial morf, such as a body's last gasp before death took it. Maybe he just hadn't gotten to the alert about the mod's death yet.
He looked up Raeden's current data feed, surprised to see that he was still alive. His vitals were normal and he was still in Zonei.
Okay, odd. But do I really have time to investigate this?
He'd already scanned Raeden's info. After he'd lost his mate, he'd gone down the path of booze and drugs like so many other broken mods. If he was hanging out in Zonei, he was, no doubt, still an addict. Surely what had happened last night was just a precursor to his death throes and not a partial morf.
Shit, I've already spent way over my allotted time on this message. If I was erring on the side of caution, I'd send someone to investigate, but I don't have the frickin' time for that.
Dylan pressed the delete button and went on to the next message. This one was a report that a Professor Henry Wilders had gone on a radio talk show and insisted that the Corporation was manipulating history (
well, duh!
) and that they were systematically changing or eradicating certain written works. He had cited an extensive list, which included everything from George Orwell's
1984
to academic papers about government theory that had been written in the previous century, before the corporations had put a stop to such things.
Dylan groaned aloud this time. He would have to actually do something about his one. He looked up the current location of the erstwhile professor.
*****
Kim had been in a giddy fog all day.
It's a damn good thing I can do my job in my sleep,
he thought, smiling to himself. He couldn't stop thinking about Raeden and what they had done the night before. The big mod had been gentle and loving and oh so sexy. Kim shivered as he remembered the feel of that hot, hot mouth on his cock.
Raeden had looked at him with wanting, he was sure of it. Just before he'd kissed him senseless, Kim had seen the raw need in his eyes. Now that Raeden had been weaned off the drugs and alcohol, his eyes were an amazing shade blue, almost like the ocean on a summer day, or how Kim imagined it to be: deep indigo blue. Raeden had looked at him with powerful emotions churning in his fathomless, blue eyes—and then he'd kissed him.
Kim's toes curled as he remembered the kiss. It was his first, and what a kiss it had been! Kim had never dreamed that having another man's tongue down his throat could be so erotic. His body had flushed with heat and he'd almost orgasmed right then, just from a kiss.
He adjusted his cock in his pants and brought his focus back to the computer in front of him.
Damn, I need to quit thinking about Raeden before someone notices I've got a stiffie.
Still, he couldn't stop his mind from drifting back to the evening before. After Raeden had blown his mind with an incredible blowjob, they'd lain tangled together and Raeden had stroked his skin tenderly. The closeness had been almost unbearably euphoric after so much time alone.
Kim heard himself sigh and brought his attention once more to his work. His message board was flashing. He clicked on it and the bottom dropped out of his stomach.
His boss wanted to see him at the end of his shift.