Remember to donate to Nifty so they can continue their great job archiving this, and thousands of other stories on their site free of charge.
First of all, an apology for the prolonged hiatus. I determined myself to be as unproductive as possible during the holidays and I was wildly successful in my mission. But now I’m back to work, albeit writing at a slower pace than usual.
As a warning, this chapter is a bit of a doozie. It’s heavy on worldbuilding and light on sexy scenes, so if you want to skip it, I guess it’s okay.
Thanks as always to the readers who have helped me with feedback and proofreading before each chapter is published. Special thanks to Jade.Indigo (also a Nifty author!) for their help and always thoughtful observations.
If you also wish to send feedback, send it to: inaccesiblecardinal@protonmail.com
Additional Author’s Note:
I'm dedicating this story to the public domain, which means I'm waiving all my rights to this work worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law.
You can copy, modify, distribute, and perform this work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking for my permission. For more information visit: creativecommons.org/publicdomain
The thick fog blocks the view of anything more than a few dozen feet away across the surface of the flat ocean, making it seem like anything could emerge from within the stark white curtain.
A metal pole suddenly pokes out the water, slowly rising above the soup-like sea before more metal poles emerge a few feet after, forming a truss underneath. As the cell tower rises and gets lost in the foggy sky it rains small water jets underneath it, making the scene feel somehow serene and meditative as the seemingly endless metal structure continues to rise in a straight line from the dark water beneath.
When the structure raises about fifty feet the silence is finally broken when the water at the base of the cell tower swells, and a massive structure emerges. Loud splashes and harrowing mechanical noises echo in the fog as the smooth, stark white submarine raises above the surface and grows so wide and tall most of it gets lost in the fog like a mythical pale creature getting ready to destroy the world.
A vertical line of light slices across a side of the ship above the waterline. The glowing thread shoots up and splits in a ‘T’ shape, drawing the contours of two large doors. A cacophony of metallic groans pierce the foggy air as the door’s massive hinges slowly open.
When the guts of the titanic beast finally lay exposed a flurry of activity spills from the inside. Dozens of women in colorful mono suits direct and supervise hundreds of robots and machines who hurry to extend a massive crane arm with an old fishing boat hanging underneath.
The shouts and frenzied actions of the crew increase as the heavy boat is placed on the water; a chaotic spectacle product of the human/machine having done this many times before. Once the fishing boat is moored and a retractable bridge connected to its side, it looks like a bath toy compared to the titanic submarine that birthed it.
Suddenly, a silence. The human crew pauses while their robots stop and hum in waiting as a line of people walks across the narrow bridge leading to the boat. At the head of the line, two figures in black military gear escort a group of naked teen boys with their hands tied behind their backs, old pillowcases covering their heads, and a chain connecting the collars around their necks.
The dock crew point and whisper among themselves as the last two figures in the line, one short and dressed in an orange mono, and one tall and wearing a blue foul weather jacket, hop on board. The figure in orange seems to notice the audience watching, waits until he finishes talking with the figure in blue, and turns and smiles, causing swoons and sighs among the all-female crew members.
On the fishing boat’s deck, the two figures in black have laid a row of empty water jugs near the stern and start to tie the wrists of the nude teenagers to the chrome metal railing. One of them, a chubby middle eastern boy with trimmed pubes, stumbles with one of the water jugs and falls, causing the taller of the black figures to get angry, grab him by the shoulders, and throw him against the railing as if he didn’t weigh a thing.
“Hey! Go easy on them!” says a fourteen-year-old Ramesh in the orange mono pushing the figure with skull-like face paint off the boy.
The broad-shouldered woman shoves his hand away “Hey! No touchie! Don’t tell me how to do my job!”
Ram takes a quick look at the old skinny woman dressed in blue typing on a smartphone, seemingly uninterested in their fight. The scrawny teenager gulps and puts himself between the curvy teen and the looming mercenary with her hair cut short.
“We should stop treating our passengers like cattle, it’s a terrible business,” he says in his characteristic accent, trying to sound cool and collected “Word spreads once these boys return to shore. If this were a regular business, our ratings would be terrible by now.”
“Ratings!?” the woman snorts. She motions at the other woman in military gear with elaborate braids “Can you believe HIM!? He’s talking as if these drones were on a FUCKING cruise trip!”
The shorter and wide-hipped woman shrugs, not wanting to get involved. Ram rolls his eyes and points at the hulking submarine.
“It WAS a cruise ship!”
The woman with the buzzcut huffs and takes a step back, unable to believe it. She turns to the old woman typing on the phone, her white hair with pink highlights tied in a ponytail.
“Boss! You can’t possibly be…!”
“Relax Lieutenant, there hasn’t been a policy change yet. This is just a pilot program to test new concepts,” she clicks her tongue and walks towards the boat’s cabin, adding in a wry tone “It’s all in the memo. Which it seems you didn’t read...”
The mercenary growls and clenches her fists. She looks at the short Indian teen standing in front of her with a barely contained smile and storms away.
The other woman finishes tying the last teen boy to the railing, throws Ram a look, and follows her. They whisper angrily while releasing the moors and straps holding the boat to the crane arm above.
Now alone with the row of nude teenagers, Ram drops his shoulders and turns to the chubby boy yet to be tied to the railing and whispers in his ear.
“You okay babe?”
The boy’s head covered by the flower pillowcase nods.
“Yes, I’m okay babe. I survived two years of this bullshit, what’s a couple more hours?”
The other naked teens nod and whisper in agreement, a few trembling in the cold fog. Ram smiles, checks that no one is watching them at the moment, and rubs their bare shoulders one after the other.
“Sorry I couldn’t get you guys some blankets. It’s chilly today.”
“Stop worrying about us babe, we’re practically back on land,” says the pear-shaped teen “You got to take care of yourself now.”
“Yeah, you still have to find a way to escape.” says another one of them.
“We’ll need your help building the Sanctuary.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” says Ram looking over his shoulder, hurrying to end their conversation before raising suspicion “Remember to listen to Mohammed in the meantime, do as he says until I arrive, and I’ll see you guys very soon.”
“You promise?” says the plump Afghani boy with a tinge of hurt in his voice.
Ramesh gulps. He moves closer as if to hug him but it's only to tie his tied wrists to the railing.
“I promise,” he whispers in his ear and squeezes his butt.
The boy’s penis jumps and starts rising. Ram smiles.
“Hey, save some of that for when we meet again,” he chuckles “We can switch so I’m the one tied up for a change…”
The teenager nods, his huge smile obvious despite the pillowcase hiding his face. Ram takes a last look at his erection, sighs, and hurries to help the others unstrap the remaining moorings.
The last graphene strap flies away and the fishing boat floats free. A flurry of activity engulfs the fog once again as the large crane arm retracts, the massive side doors close shut, and the gigantic sea monster starts sinking.
The boat’s battered diesel engine roars back to life and the small vessel throttles away as the gigantic submarine continues descending amidst loud splashes and tall water jets, looking like an island being swallowed by the ocean.
The harrowing sounds diminish as the tall, slender dorsal fin plunges last, followed by the truss of the cell tower which falls down the sky at a fast rate until its last metal pipe slides into the water with a funny ‘plop’, leaving the white fog silent again except for the echoes of the fishing boat’s engine somewhere in the distance.
“And then the little fucker said: ‘So that boys will come knocking to our doors and we can stop wasting time and money snatching them out of their beds at 2 am,’” says the woman with a buzzcut in an annoying Hindu accent sitting at the back of an electric Zodiac “Can you believe the level of BULLSHIT that comes out of this kid’s mouth? We don’t even operate at 2 am! Everybody knows the best time for a night raid is 0400 hours!”
The woman with braids steering the inflatable boat under the heavy white fog sighs in frustration.
“Dude, we’re in the same country where your daughter lives, and you’re still talking about him! It was cute at first seeing you both knock heads all day, but if you don’t apologize like I did and clear the waters between you two, this shit will get dangerous. The Boss is pretty enamored with her new pet and he’s only getting more influential.”
The woman with the buzzcut rolls her eyes and spits to the ground, hitting one of the five hogtied preteens on the Zodiac’s floor wearing old pajamas and with their heads covered with golden sacks.
“I don’t understand what people see in that twink, he’s so annoying!” she glances at the twitching kids around her feet, thinks of something, and looks at her partner with a raised eyebrow “You think he’s still angry with me?”
Her partner sighs “I don’t know dude… You did snatch him out of his bed at 4 am…”
The shape of the fishing boat starts to materialize in the fog, the Zodiac’s engine throttles down. On the boat’s empty deck Ramesh paces back and forth practicing a speech. He notices the women in the inflatable boat approaching and throws them ropes to moor it to the back of the decrepit vessel.
“I don’t need your help!” hisses the woman with the buzzcut refusing his help to carry the hogtied boys on board. She and Ram exchange cagey stares as she puts both kids over her shoulders and, with some difficulty, manages to carry them aboard.
Ram steps back and raises his palms in a whatever-you-say kind of way. He turns and sees the Boss has just exited the cabin typing non-stop on the phone and walks towards her.
“I was thinking, should we record this for later analysis?” he says standing facing away from her “We wouldn’t even need your phone, we could use the Sergeant’s implants.”
The old woman doesn’t respond, her thumbs typing fast on a messaging App packed with emojis and chat bubbles.
Ram nods “Yeah, you’re right, it will send mixed messages if we encourage the crew to use their implants now only to ban them next year,” he takes a step away, stops, and returns “Um, but I was also thinking how the boys, I mean the drones, will probably need some kind of evidence during the introduction,” he swallows “It will only be a couple of minutes. I can…”
He stops, the old woman has just reached into her foul weather jacket and produced an old iPhone 15 with a cracked screen, all without stopping her typing on the paper-thin smartphone in her other hand.
Ram smirks and grabs the ancient device, then walks to the back of the boat where the two women in black are finishing tying the wrists of the five mumbling kids to hooks running along a cable under the gantry, forcing them to stand on their tiptoes with their arms raised high.
With the kids secured, they store their assault rifles in a hidden compartment under the deck and extract folded orange foul weather clothes to change into.
“Really? Who’s going to see us in this weather?” says Ram stuffing the iPhone in his back pocket.
The women exchange a look, shrug, and close the hidden compartment. The woman with the buzzcut then draws a massive Bowie knife and swings her arms sideways preparing herself as she walks with a smile towards the row of boys, very much looking forward to what comes next.
But then Ram steps in front of her with his palm up, asking for the knife.
The beefy woman pauses, looks back at the Boss still typing on the phone, and then at her shorter partner who can only shrug in response. She looks back at the skinny teenager and hands him the oversized blade before walking back with her palms up, mocking his earlier gesture.
“God, this is going to be a shit show…” mutters the woman with braids sliding a featureless white mask over her face when she sees Ramesh store the knife inside the deck’s hidden compartment and starts to remove the boys' golden sacks. The preteens blink in the hazy daylight and look around in fear.
“Good. That way the Boss will realize how dumb it was to listen to this twink.” whispers the woman with the buzzcut also placing a similar mask over her face.
“Dude, being a twink isn’t the insult you think it is,” she shrugs “It’s kind of sexy actually.”
“Sexy!? Him!?” hisses the other woman.
“Shhh! Look!”
Ram releases the ball gag of the last boy who seems to recognize where they are.
“Oh no! They’re going to milk us dry!” he yells.
Panic immediately spreads between the kids. They start to call for help and kick the air aimlessly, their bodies rotating under the hooks holding their wrists, making the gantry wobble.
“Whoa! Whoa! No one is going to milk you! Calm down!” Ram says raising his voice yet trying to sound calm and collected.
Yet the boys are beyond themselves and only seem to grow more hysterical.
“Quick! Kick me in the balls!”
“No! You kick me first!”
“I can’t reach you!”
“HEEEELP!”
Ram throws a glance at the Boss still typing on the phone who winces and has a pinkie finger inside her ear from the boy’s high-pitched screams. The fourteen-year-old presses his lips and stomps in front of the group of kids.
“HEY! I’ll give five grand to the first of you who shuts up!”
The boys' yells cut short. They stare confused at Ram who slides the old smartphone out of his back pocket and points at one of them with a finger.
“You! What’s your username?” he shakes his head and points at the boy’s bottoms “Never mind, they put it on your clothes didn’t they?”
The tied twelve-year-old shakes his head and yelps when Ram pulls the back of his pants revealing his butt. He scans the stitched barcode with his phone and lets the elastic snap back, then presses and slides a few buttons.
The boy starts to complain when Ram shows him a big green number on the cracked screen and he opens his eyes wide. The newest deposit on the boy’s online wallet dwarfs all the previous entries by a couple of zeros.
Ram’s smile grows as he shows the green number to the rest of the kids who stare just as bewildered. All except for a golden-haired boy wearing dirty street clothes instead of pajamas and whose fiery blue eyes keep darting between Ram and the two masked women watching them.
“It’s a trick! The wallet app is modded!” he yells “There’s no way they’ll give us money if they just want to milk us!”
The other boys nod and start to panic again. Yet Ram nods along as if agreeing with him.
“Yes! He’s right! It makes no sense, does it? Why would we break into your rooms, tie you up, and bring you all the way here only to pay you? But before I answer that,” he raises the phone for everyone to see “I’ll give another five grand to the one who answers me this: How many times a day should you masturbate for maximum sperm production?”
“Three!” blurts one of the boys right away.
“Correct!” says Ram with a big smile as he repeats the same process of scanning the barcode inside his clothing “And it takes you, what? One minute to cum each time?”
“More like ten seconds in his case…” murmurs the boy next to him with a smirk, causing one of them to giggle despite himself.
The first boy pokes his tongue out and tries to kick him with his foot, but only manages to spin in place, causing a couple more nervous laughs.
“Hey, be nice, there’s no shame in you lasting a short time,” says Ram with a laugh as he walks between the stretched preteens showing them the money transfer confirmation “Ask any of the kids at my orphanage and they’ll tell you, I was always the first one in our jerk circle to get dinner!” a pause as more of the boys giggle “Now! Who wants another five grand?” the boys nod “Who can tell me how many minutes are left in a day after you came three times and slept eight hours? Let’s be generous and say you lasted one minute each time you masturbated.”
The kids open their mouths to speak but stop. Ram waits with his arms crossed and inspects each of their faces as they try to solve the math in their heads. The blonde kid with the dirty street clothes however doesn’t seem to care, still staring daggers at the two masked women further out, the taller of whom is busy counting on her fingers.
“You!” says Ram pointing at the gold-haired preteen “Don’t you want five thousand dollars?”
The pale boy shakes his head. He looks at two women and then at the other four boys looking at him.
“Just say 957 you guys. It’s not that hard,” he says.
The other kids shout the number at the same time. Ram smiles and raises his palms.
“Good, good. But I think this one doesn’t count.” he says looking at the smart kid “How about we split the five grand uh? One thousand each. Seems fair?”
“Just give them the 1,250.” says the boy dismissively without taking his eyes off the pair of figures in military gear.
Ramesh’s smile widens. He nods and scans the barcodes of the last two kids, then sends everyone their share of the money and stands in front of the group.
“Nine hundred fifty-seven minutes a day,” he says “Sounds like a lot doesn’t it? Imagine if they were dollars. What would YOU do if someone paid you one buck for each minute you were awake?” he pauses as the boy’s eyebrows rise “Sounds cool, doesn’t it? Can you believe that’s what I make working at our Farm?”
A row of gasps, even by one of the adults.
“Dude, for real?” mutters the woman with braids elbowing her partner “Okay, I’m sold. I also want to ascend to Lieutenant.”
“Girl, not now,” grumbles the other woman looking angry at the spectacle.
“And just for your sperm?” asks one of the kids, marveled.
Ramesh laughs “No silly! For the other 957 minutes! Well, more like eleven hundred given how I barely sleep,” he shakes his head. “But this is what you could aspire to earn at our Farm if you work hard!”
“W-work?” says the boy who first recognized where they are “Like… cumming more than three times a day?”
“Stop thinking of yourselves as just your balls! You’re way more than that!” says Ram growing excited “You also have hands, mouths, eyes, and ears, but more importantly! You have this!” he pokes the forehead of one of the boys “Have you seen the news? The world is running out of people! That round hairy thing between your shoulders is way more valuable than the hairless balls between your legs!”
The kids glance at each other, confused. All except for the blonde boy who rolls his eyes.
“They don’t just want our sperm you guys. They also want us as cheap labor.”
Ram grins and points at him “Correct! But you also mentioned a KEY word there! ‘Cheap’, not ‘free’! That’s the reason why I can give you money now and still make a profit in the long run. It’s why you’ll be treated as partners, not slaves, if you choose to stay at our Farm.”
“Choose!?” says the blonde boy with a sneer “What? Do we have a choice now?”
“You always have a choice,” says Ram with a smile standing next to the Zodiac “If after listening to the many working opportunities and valuable skills our Farm has to offer you’re still not interested, you can hop back on the boat, and I promise I’ll personally take you back to shore.”
The tall woman takes a step forward, alarmed. But the shorter one puts a hand in front of her, stopping her.
“Bullshit!” the fair-skinned boy sneers.
Ramesh smirks as if remembering something from his past. He moves closer to the malnourished eleven-year-old boy and speaks more quietly, yet still loud enough for the rest to hear.
“I was just like you, you know? Scared and angry and wanting nothing more than revenge against the scary monsters who came from the dark,” he snorts and points at the two women behind him “And they’re right there! The same two who captured ME are my coworkers now! You think I haven’t thought about revenge ever since?” he suddenly gets serious “But here’s the thing, that urgent feeling you have in your stomach right now? It’s not revenge, it’s disappointment. You feel angry at yourself for knowing this was going to happen and not being able to stop it when it finally did. And that anger won’t go away if you could somehow shoot them.”
The boy’s blue eyes, angry and spiteful as Ram speaks, brighten in recognition for just a second. The Indian teen smiles and takes a step back to speak to the rest of the boys.
“Did you feel powerless, useless when you heard them coming in the dark? How did you feel when you realized the adults of your group home —the ones who swore to protect you —gave up without a fight and allowed them in?” he smirks “All your lives you’ve been waiting for the moment you’ll start producing sperm, and now that the time has come, it has finally dawned on you that there’s NO plan for you afterward! This is as far as the adults needed to pretend to care about you before they kicked you out the door the moment you’re no longer fertile!”
A silence. The damp, foggy air swirls quietly, interrupted only by the splashes of water against the hull and the taps of the Boss’s fingers on the phone.
Ram walks back to the Zodiac and leans on the chrome railing.
“If you want to return home now that’s fine. It’s cheaper for us to take you back now than to try —and fail — to contain smart and skillful boys like you who just want to escape and are only worth a few milliliters of sperm a day. But before you do, ask yourselves this,” he raises three fingers “First, how will you sleep tonight knowing how easy it was for us to capture you?” he lowers a finger “Second, will the adults in your life —in case they haven’t collected your insurance money and bailed on you already — do anything to make you feel safe when you return?” he lowers another finger and walks to stand in front of the boys “Third! If you are the only person you can count on in this world, wouldn’t you want to invest in yourself? Get as many skills, experience, and money as you can so you never have to sleep feeling scared ever again?”
He lowers the last finger and puts his hands behind his back.
“So, who wants to return home?”
Another long silence. Ramesh squeezes the iPhone in his hands as he waits for a whole minute for a kid to speak up. Even the blonde boy stares at the floor, deep in thought.
The teenager glances at the Boss still typing on the phone and breathes in relief. He turns on his heel and taps the beefy arm of the tall woman.
“See? Soon you won’t need to carry them on board.”
The masked mercenaries exchange a look, the shorter one shrugs. They walk towards the kids and cut the zip-ties holding their wrists. Then after a brief explanation and some complaints, they wait for them to remove their hole-riddled clothes and put them inside a large golden sack they throw in the ocean with a weight tied to it.
Ramesh watches them with a satisfied smile. He turns and stands next to the Boss facing away from her.
“I thought we were picking just four today. Where did they find the smart-ass with a yellow head?”
The Boss sighs without stopping her typing “No clue. Field Specialists get creative when it comes to earning their mission bonus. They probably saw an unguarded drone at the last second and…”
A shrieking scream and the sound of bodies landing on the wooden deck. The Boss and Ram turn and see the naked blonde boy who has just tackled the muscular woman to the ground.
“Fuck! Get off me!”
“You shouldn’t have touched her!” the boy yells punching her head with his small fists, knocking her mask off. He howls furiously when the other woman comes from behind and lifts him by the armpits and he shifts to kick her with his bare feet.
The Boss smirks, amused by the scene. Ramesh hisses and immediately runs to help the woman with braids immobilize the screaming boy who, despite his small size and thin build, manages to land a few punches and kicks on them in his ireful flailing, causing her mask to fall off too.
“Stay there!” barks Ram at the other four nude boys huddled on the floor watching the commotion with scared faces, unsure whether they should participate in the mutiny.
On the ground, the woman with the buzzcut blinks repeatedly and stands up, shaken but unharmed. She smiles as she watches the Indian teen struggling to tie the blonde boy’s wrists back on the cable beneath the gantry.
“Just passengers on a cruise ship uh?” she says spitting on the ground.
“SHUT UP!” yells Ram as he tries to shove the ball gag back on the kid’s mouth.
“Wait,” says the Boss in a bored tone typing on the phone.
Both Ram and the woman with the buzzcut look like they’re about to complain when the Boss silences them with a killing glance. Ram takes a step back and lets the white-haired woman stand in front of the red-faced eleven-year-old standing on his tiptoes with his arms held high, the contour of his ribcage visible, and his tummy pulsing with rapid breaths.
“You okay dude?” whispers the woman with braids as the two adults move aside to guard the other boys.
“Yeah, I’m used to it by now,” mutters the taller woman readjusting her padded forearms. She sees one of the nude boys on the floor staring at her and hisses like a cat. He looks away.
“You shouldn’t have touched her!” the blonde boy yells for the thousandth time hanging under the gantry, little droplets of saliva spraying from his mouth.
“Who is ‘her’?” says the Boss without stopping her typing.
The woman with the buzzcut raises her arms “Boss! This drone is just talking trash! You know how they get when they…!”
She stops, the Boss has just raised a finger indicating her to shut up. The almost seventy-year-old woman pockets the phone and steps closer to the enraged adolescent.
“Who did she touch?” she repeats with narrowed eyes, drawing his attention.
The boy hesitates and wets his lips, eyes starting to water “M-my little sister! She heard dogs outside and went out our family tent to see if they had found food. She returned just when… S-she tried to protect me!” his voice breaks, he turns to the two women and scowls “You shouldn’t have slapped her! She’s just nine!”
“Oh shit…” the woman with braids whispers, face growing pale.
The woman with the buzzcut looks just as terrified, slowly walking backward until she stumbles against the boat’s railing. But then she chuckles and forces a smile.
“B-Boss…! You can’t possibly be taking this drone’s word seriously!”
“Who slapped her?” says the Boss taking a step back and, with surprising speed given her age, reaches into her foul weather jacket and draws a gun, aiming it at the women.
“WHOA! WAIT!” the woman with braids yells raising her palms. Her partner meanwhile stands frozen in place like a deer in the headlights.
“Who slapped her?”
“T-the big one! She was smiling when she hit her!” barks the naked preteen.
The Boss sniffs and aims at the head of the woman with the buzzcut. Puts her finger on the trigger.
A figure suddenly steps in front of the gun’s iron sights. The Boss sighs and aims away.
“Step away boy,” she says in a bored tone.
“You can’t shoot Lieutenant Garcia for doing her job,” says Ram trying not to stare at the barrel of the weapon “You’ve seen how difficult it was to contain this drone, just imagine two of them fighting at the same time with the same ferocity. I’m sure if we review the Sergeant’s implants we’ll confirm it was the only way to complete her mission.”
“YES! Oh my God he’s right! I have it all here!” yells the woman with braids tapping her temples.
The Boss’s gun aims back at the woman with the buzzcut, even when it has Ram’s head on the way.
“That’s an explanation for why the Lieutenant hurt a little girl, not an excuse why I shouldn’t blow her brains out in consequence.”
“Yes, you’re right, but think what that would do to our turnover rate.”
The old woman tilts her head, suddenly interested. Ram wets his lips.
“You’ve seen the numbers; hiring is getting more difficult and expensive as the war gets behind us and the remaining veterans grow older. Recruiters are scratching under rocks to find new Field Specialists with sufficient qualifications,” he waves at the woman with the buzzcut pressed against the railing “How are we going to replace a colossal butch like her? These latest recruits are even weaker than me! Most have never been shot at, let alone killed anyone.”
The tied eleven-year-old who had been lost in their conversation so far suddenly jumps back to life and starts demanding her execution again. Ram rushes to silence him with the ball gag and this time the Boss doesn’t stop him.
“I don’t care if this raises employment dissatisfaction a few percentage points. You wrote the employee handbook, you know what it says about hurting little girls.” says the Boss with the gun held firm, yet her finger straight on the resting position.
“Yes, but it doesn’t specify corrective measures for each infringement,” says Ram behind her “It’s one of the many improvements I was going to suggest for next quarter, and I’m certain for cases like these we’ll adopt a two-strike system. A maximum penalty from the get-go would make a Field Specialist’s job too difficult,” he moves slightly closer to the Boss’s ear “Especially once we enter the other market we’ve been talking about… Lots of little girls to navigate there.”
The Boss clenches her teeth as she lines her iron sights between the closed eyes of the woman with the buzzcut who seems to be praying. She wrinkles her nose, growing furious again, and puts the finger back on the trigger.
She lowers the weapon.
"Fine. You've been employed of our Farm for many years and HR likes it when I reward loyalty," says the old woman with a sigh. She takes the paper-thin phone out of her pocket and rolls her eyes "AND your daughter promised mine to come to her birthday party. It's all she talks about lately…"
Both women drop their shoulders and breathe in relief. The woman with braids seems like she’s about to faint and sits on the floor. Meanwhile, the woman with the buzzcut joins her palms in front of her and bows.
“Thank you, Boss, thank you! You’ll never hear another complaint about the way we handle little girls,” she says with crying eyes. Then she meets eyes with Ram and, after a half-second of hesitation, bows in his direction as well.
The Boss nods and starts typing on the phone, already dismissing the whole incident. She turns towards Ram and hands him the gun.
The woman’s eyes pop open.
The fourteen-year-old doesn't even hesitate, he immediately points the weapon at her and starts firing.
The naked boys put their hands on their ears and scream in horror along with the woman with braids as the gun blasts bullet after bullet as fast as Ram can pull the trigger, which in his case means the pistol becomes fully automatic.
Seventeen deafening explosions later, the boat's deck is covered in white smoke and left in stunned silence as the shot’s echoes fade in the distance. When the damp sea air clears the woman with the buzzcut is nowhere to be seen, her body long ago having fallen back into the water.
The woman with braids jumps and leans on the metal railing with a horrified expression. She sees an immobile body floating face-down and leaps into the water.
In the silence that follows her splash only the sound of the gun clicking can be heard as a hyperventilating Ram keeps pressing the trigger with teeth clenched and eyes wet, still staring at the spot where the woman used to be. The Boss suddenly snatches the gun out of his hand.
She throws a glance at the terrified blonde boy with a mouth gag and raises an eyebrow as if asking if he’s satisfied. The naked boy squirms and nods fast.
“Remind me to add these bullets to our travel expenses,” she tells Ram in a bored tone as she slides the empty magazine out and pockets it inside her blue jacket.
The scrawny teenager closes his eyes and exhales, his shoulders dropping as if being relieved from a years-long burden “Under what category? Travel amenities?”
She reloads the gun with a fresh magazine.
“No. Mental health consumables,” she says holstering the weapon “I have some feedback on the spiel you told these drones, your income numbers are all over the place. But overall, the pilot program is going well. Good job.”
She extracts the phone and types as she walks back to the boat's cabin, closing the door behind her.
Ram presses his hands to his face, still struggling to control himself as his breath slowly goes back to normal. He slides his hands down and smiles at the four preteens looking at him with bulging eyes.
“So, who wants breakfast?” he says with a smile.
The boys stare speechless at him until they hear a tap on the fiberglass hull of the fishing boat. Ram raises a finger asking them to hold that thought for a moment and heads to the side of the vessel.
Below he sees the woman with braids swimming in place holding her partner floating face up with a face pale and an aching expression from the multiple impacts on her body armor.
Ram winces, walks back, and produces a big plastic net from an auxiliary footlocker. He rolls it over the side of the boat for them to climb back.
Before turning his attention back to the kids, he meets eyes with the injured woman below who stares at him with a questioning look.
"No," the Indian teen says, deadpan “We’re not even. Not yet."
Dead traffic lights held atop long and sturdy metal poles poke out of the water at a flooded intersection. A purple racing boat with tacky religious images painted on the bow comes to a stop under one of the rusty traffic signs and idles its engine as if waiting for its turn to cross the abandoned avenue.
“So if this is 30th North that means this one should be…?” murmurs a shirtless Ramesh on the boat’s driver seat reading a wrinkled paper map.
Other than the hurricane-proof traffic lights and the conspicuous ‘straightness’ of the river they’re navigating, it’s hard to tell this used to be a metropolitan city buzzing with activity. Dense mangrove roots and patches of endemic vegetation have covered most of the man-made structures around the intersection, leaving the few utility poles and sun-bleached billboards yet standing as surreal reminders of a past era. Like the drive-thru sign of a Taco Bell standing in front of the thick vegetation with a cheerful message under its logo written in interchangeable acrylic letters now barely readable after decades under the sun.
AS LONG AS THERE ARE TACOS IT’S NOT OVER
The snapping sound of a camera shutter. Rebecca lowers the vintage device with a gun-metal finish and rolls the film forward, eyes narrowed from the glare of the sun on the six-foot deep carpet of saltwater covering the city.
The twelve-year-old girl puts the camera’s strap over her head and around the collar of her oversized lavender shirt, letting it hang in front of her flat chest. She reaches into the shirt’s breast pocket, takes out her sunglasses, and taps their rim. She pouts when she sees the ‘no signal icon’ and tucks the glasses back into her pocket.
She raises her analog camera and looks around for something else worthy of a picture. After some searching, she bites her lip and snaps another photo.
Carolina blinks from being caught off guard, one hand holding up her grey baggy t-shirt with an old UN slogan across the front and handwritten names all over; her other hand deep inside her tight denim shorts, the only pair in Rebecca’s luggage she was able to fit into.
“What about our promise?” says Becks with a grin winding the vintage camera, very much enjoying the view.
The eleven-year-old girl with Miguel’s MAGA hat slides her hand out of her shorts and shakes her head “No, no! I wasn’t…!” she stops herself “I never break my promises, I was just finishing my disguise. Here.”
The eleven-year-old hands Rebecca a rolled-up sock. The black girl frowns, not understanding what she’s supposed to do with it. Caro points at her denim shorts and the conspicuous new bulge at the front.
“Hiding your boobs isn’t enough. You’re also, um, missing something down there…”
Becks raises her eyebrows and nods, finally getting the sock’s purpose. She unbuttons her dress shirt, revealing a makeshift binder around her chest, and giggles as she slides the rolled-up sock inside her blue boy shorts and tries to mold it under the elastic fabric to resemble a penis.
“It looks so funny tucked there, it kind of presses against my clit. Hey, do you have a larger sock? I feel if I were a boy I would be bigger...” she looks at Caro’s puzzled expression and laughs “I’m kidding! Don’t look at me like that…”
Caro rolls her eyes and inspects Becks’ outfit with her head tilted.
“You’re still missing something… Ah! I know,” she removes her red cap “Here, this will help complete your look.”
“Oh! It has a pocket inside, neat,” says Becks inspecting the old hat. She reaches into her camera case and puts a couple of spare film rolls inside, then presses the hat on her short afro and spins in place “There, do I look sufficiently masculine now? Oh, wait! What are we going to do if something sexy happens and we’re the only boys without a boner?”
Carolina facepalms and shakes her head, making her short platinum hair fall over her face. She pushes it away with a hand.
“Don’t worry, I doubt anything ‘sexy’ will happen where we’re going. I’m more worried about whether there will be food.”
She looks over her shoulder at the shirtless Ramesh on the driver’s seat still busy comparing the rusty street signs poking out the water with the indications of the paper map.
Becks buttons up her lavender shirt and nods, quite hungry herself. She bites her lower lip and raises the vintage camera to take a photo of the focused twenty-year-old ‘hunk’ silhouetted against the afternoon sky looking like a modern version of Rodin’s The Thinker.
“If the boys of the place we’re going are as hot as he is, then maybe it’s a good thing I can’t get a boner.”
Carolina frowns and waves a hand in front of Becks’ face.
“Hey, I’m serious about our promise! What’s the point of disguising ourselves as boys if you’re just going to try and fuck them? It will get us into trouble and make it harder to find Miguel!”
Rebecca drops her shoulders and groans.
“I know, I know! It’s just that…” she motions at their surroundings “There’s nothing to do here! There’s no people, no signal, and I only got this to keep myself busy,” she wiggles her camera “Our promise made sense right after I was gangbanged, but I’m starting to feel horny again!”
Carolina frowns and scratches her head, trying to think of something. She steels herself and steps in front of Rebecca to hold her by the shoulders.
“Okay, how about this? If you keep our promise then I promise you an entire day of sex at the end of this adventure. You’ll have more orgasms than you can count."
Becks eyes open wide. She smiles and stares at the horizon with unfocused eyes, enraptured by the idea.
But then she shakes her head "You can't possibly promise me that! How would you even...?"
Caro draws a cross on her chest "I swear to God, and that's not something I say lightly. As I said, I never break my promises, and neither should you!” she raises her extended pinky finger “So, promise?"
Becks sighs and looks with a conflicted expression at the sexy Indian man at the driver’s seat and the wild vegetation and rusty ruins around them.
She drops her shoulders and curls her pinkie around Caro’s "Okay, I promise... No sex until we find Miguel..."
Caro smiles wide and pecks Becks’ cheek with a kiss. Then she realizes what she just did and takes a step away, pretending it didn't happen.
“Hey, this promise also applies to you!” says Rebecca raising an eyebrow.
Carolina rolls her eyes “It was just a kiss. You don’t have to worry about me having sex anytime soon.”
Ramesh finally deciphers where to go next and puts his mirrored sunglasses back on. He turns on his seat and waves at the two barefooted girls haphazardly dressed up as boys chatting non-stop.
“Hey! What did I tell you!? Keep an eye out!”
“Kay!” say the preteens at the same time returning to their positions on the two back seats of the boat’s cockpit looking over the sides.
The racing boat’s engine throttles back up and it takes a slow left turn at the flooded intersection, cruising at a slow pace along the six-lane ‘river’ dotted with small man-made islands grown over the rooftops of sunken cars overrun with cordgrass and schools of small fish that swim away when the tacky purple vessel zig-zags between them.
Another shutter snap from Becks’ camera. She smiles and lowers the red cap to shield her eyes from the sun. But then she notices something behind the tall vegetation and hurries to roll the tape forward.
“Look!” she yells looking through the eyepiece.
Caro and Ram turn around are momentarily taken aback by the glimpsing view behind the tree foliage. A 300-feet-tall slender tower stands in the distance flanked by the ribbons of a red, white, and blue roller coaster that seems to float in the air from the glare of the sun hiding the thin spokes supporting it.
Ramesh makes sure there are no obstacles ahead and removes his sunglasses to take a better look. He smirks from the thought that by the next century — if there are even people by then — these amusement park rides will probably look like the ruins of some alien civilization. And possibly regarded as such.
“Ok kiddos, this is the part where it gets dangerous. Stay sharp and let me know if you see anything out there. And I do mean anything.”
“Dangerous?” repeats Caro “But you said you knew the people who live here.”
He shrugs “I do. That’s the problem.” he leans on the driver’s console to start a long speech “You see, back in…”
“Mister!” scream both girls pointing ahead.
Ram turns and sees a net of small hexagons as wide as the road has just emerged out the water and pulled taught. He slams the throttle handle down and turns the boat’s wheel to the side, but it’s too late.
The purple vessel hits the net at an angle and stops abruptly, launching Ram and the girls sideways. Becks and Caro hiss in pain from being piled one over the other on the cockpit’s floor while Ram quickly recovers and hurries to reverse the engine.
The throttle handle explodes just before his fingers can touch it, followed a fraction of a second later by the supersonic thunder of a superconducting bullet flying past. The engine stalls and stops.
“Don’t move or I’ll turn you into Otai!” yells the heavily accented voice of a boy somewhere in the mangroves.
Loud splashes around the boat followed by a high-pitched scream by Rebecca. Two armed figures have just jumped out of the water and slid inside the cockpit like Navy Seals storming a pirate ship if it weren’t for the fact that besides their weapons and underwater gear these ‘soldiers’ are completely naked.
Becks screams again and curls next to a wide-eyed Caro as the tallest of the figures, a skinny teenage boy with brown pubes and skin reddened by the sun, aims his submachine gun at them seemingly about to fire.
“It’s just a camera! We’re not armed!” yells Caro forcing Becks’ hands off her vintage camera.
The dripping wet teen spits the air regulator of his Scuba gear and smirks. He turns and sees a ginger boy with an old astronaut helmet who has just slid inside the boat with great difficulty. The teenager waves him to hurry the hell up and hands him the submachine gun.
“Shoot them if they move.”
The nude freckled ‘astronaut’ nods and hurries to put the strap of the Uzi over his shoulder and points it at the girls.
“Y-you heard him! Don’t move!” he yells in the distinctive voice of a late preteen or early teenager, his vocal cords wavering between the high-pitched sounds of a boy and the husky tones of an adolescent.
The girls nod and sit with their backs pressed against the boat’s transom with their palms up. Caro takes a glance at the boy’s sparse red pubes, then at the reflective golden visor of his astronaut helmet, and looks down at the floor.
Meanwhile, Ramesh smiles wide as he lays under the driver’s console with his palms up speaking with a soothing voice at a hairless black kid with a mask and snorkel gunning him down with a comically large assault rifle and attached grenade launcher he seems a little too eager to fire.
“Hey, little buddy, what you got there? What year is your AR rifle?” he says to the nine-or-so-year-old boy.
“RAWRRR!” yells the bald kid.
“Don’t shoot him yet Raptor, wait until I find them,” says the scrawny teen removing his diving mask and air tank, revealing a mess of fine brown hair underneath. He opens Rebecca’s suitcase laying on the wet floor and turns it upside down to inspect its contents.
“Rawrrr…” gurgles the small boy impatient, readying his weapon of war.
“I said not YET! Do you want Father Santiago to get angry at you again?”
The kid’s twitching motions stop immediately. His hold of the massive weapon becomes firm and certain, making Ram’s smile falter as the barrel aligns straight between his eyes.
“Whoa buddy, easy…”
Carolina sees Ram struggling to communicate with the kid, gulps, and looks at the yellow reflection of herself on the helmet of the ginger boy guarding them. For some reason, the only question inside her mind is how freckled his face is. Does he have a strip of freckles over his cheeks and nose or are they spread all over?
She wets her dry lips and notices Becks staring wide-opened at the submachine gun and grabs her shoulder to comfort her.
“Hey! Didn’t you hear me!? Don’t move!” yells the wet preteen in his characteristic broken voice.
“I-I know! It’s just…!” says Caro raising her palms “Go easy on her okay? It’s her first time being gunned down.”
The boy lowers the Uzi slightly “‘Her’?”
“Dedos! I can’t find them!” yells the naked teen rummaging Rebecca’s luggage. He extracts a Mickey Mouse dildo from between the laced clothes, snorts, and throws it away “Frisk them! See if they’re hiding them in their underwear like last time!”
“Um! Uh…!” mutters the boy uneasy, his body slightly bent and legs together as if suddenly self-aware of his nudity “Y-you! Stand up!”
Caro nods and whispers words of comfort in Rebecca’s ear before rising from the wet floor with her palms up. The nude astronaut visibly gulps and motions her to stand facing away from him.
Carolina obeys and waits with her arms raised as the boy of her same height puts the small-caliber machine gun over his shoulder and starts patting the sides of her baggy t-shirt with both hands. Caro looks down her body and frowns when she notices the ring and pinkie fingers of his left hand are of a darker shade than the skin of the rest of his pink body. Then she yelps when his other hand gropes her butt squeezed tight inside her small denim shorts and search inside her pockets.
The eleven-year-old presses her lips and looks up, trying to distract herself as the boy’s soft fingers finish exploring her butt and slide between her legs, forcing her to spread them slightly. The boy’s other hand suddenly reaches inside her t-shirt and touches the soft skin of her tummy, causing her toes to curl.
She looks down and notices Becks biting her lower lip as she watches them. Caro rolls her eyes and gesticulates a silent: “It’s NOT like that!”
Rebecca raises an eyebrow and mouths a silent: “You promised.”
The boy’s hand between Caro’s legs cup her fake penis and squeeze it. He drops his shoulders and sighs, his suspicions finally confirmed.
“What are you two doing here!?” he whispers behind Caro “You’re going to be raped silly once they realize who you are!”
“Oh! It’s fine, we’re used to it…” says Becks dismissively.
“What?” say Caro and the boy at the same time.
“Hey! What are you doing!? Have you finally got the gays!?” yells the lanky teen opening the access hatch to the boat’s blazing hot engine “You found them!?”
The red-haired boy immediately moves his hands off Caro’s groin and right breast and raises his submachine gun.
“N-no! They’re clean!” he says taking a step back, a small erection bouncing between his legs. He motions at Caro to sit but raises a hand to stop Becks who is about to stand up.
“No! Stay there!” he hisses looking over his shoulder “Just keep quiet and I promise we’ll be gone soon.”
“But don’t you have to frisk me too?”
“Shhh!”
The black girl pouts and slumps back on the wet floor with her arms crossed.
The teenager with reddened skin closes the engine hatch and groans in frustration. He stands in front of the shirtless Ram still locked in a staring contest with the boy with the giant assault rifle.
“Okay, I’m not looking inside that engine, I got to prepare dinner when we’re done here. Where are they?”
Ramesh’s eyes flicker side to side as he thinks fast “I’m not sure kiddo… It’s hard to remember with a gun pointing at my face.”
The bony teenager groans again.
“Look mister, we can do this the right way, or the FAST way. Give us your nanos and we’ll let you go with just a warning,” he motions at the purple vessel around them “I’ll admit you almost throw us off with this old piece of junk, but how about next time you try to cross our territory you use a boat that wasn’t used to smuggle microchips during the war? You think we’re stupid?”
Ram’s eyebrows raise. He meets eyes with Carolina who shakes her head, also learning about this for the first time.
The twenty-year-old smiles and shrugs like a child caught red-handed.
“Well kiddo, I guess I can’t refuse such an offer, I also want to return home and prepare dinner,” he starts to sit up “And I’ll be happy to give you our nanos, but first...”
The teenager groans louder, impatient to finish this. He motions at his younger partner watching over the two girls.
“Shoot one of them.”
Rebecca’s eyes pop open, her pout replaced by shock. Caro meanwhile keeps staring at her reflection on the boy’s golden visor, baffled by the calm expression of the kid with short platinum hair in the distorted image.
“Um! Okay? B-but which one…!?” says the boy aiming back and forth between Becks and Caro, his small erection quickly deflating.
“I don’t know Dedos, whichever you want! The ugly one!”
Carolina rolls her eyes as if tired of finding herself in the same situation over and over. But then she frowns when the boy points his Uzi at Becks.
“Hey! What are you doing!?” she hisses.
‘Dedos’ points the gun back at her “Oh! S-sorry! I thought…”
“Ah! But before you shoot me, can I see your face?”
“Uh?”
“Please? I just want to confirm something.”
“Um…”
“No! Wait! Don’t shoot her!” says Rebecca all of a sudden placing herself in front of the gun.
“Hey! I’m trying to help you!” says Carolina pushing her away.
“But you still got to rescue Miguel and have his babies!”
Caro blinks “Who said ANYTHING about me having Miguel’s babies!?” she shakes her head “And besides, if he shoots you I’ll be the one raped silly, and I would rather DIE than go through that again!” she turns to the boy and makes a face as if asking him to forgive Becks behavior “So, about your face…”
“Dedos! Come on!” yells the tall teen growing annoyed.
“Um!”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you!” says Ramesh all of a sudden, “I thought you boys wanted our nanos. How are you going to take them if they’re spread all over the floor?”
Everyone stops and looks at him. Ram’s smile widens.
“Pretty cool uh? It’s amazing what you can get away with these third-generation nanobots. Everybody goes crazy searching for the little yellow boxes and COMPLETELY ignores the two ‘mules’ walking right under their noses,” he points at the girls “They didn’t even ask their names when we went through the airport! Who would suspect two cute girls would ever participate in such a heinous business?” he motions at the girly clothes spread over the floor.
The three preteens make an ‘Ooh’ sound and nod to themselves in sudden understanding. Yet the brown-haired teen doesn’t seem to buy it. He reaches behind his air tank and extracts a big cooking knife which he spins expertly in his hand.
“Well, isn’t that convenient? You think that story will stop me from just slicing their throats and draining their blood?”
Ram’s smile keeps firm “No, no, be my guest, that will work just fine. But have you ever tried to filter nanos that have been diluted in a large volume of liquid? Particularly one that COAGULATES when exposed to air?” he smirks, “I thought you needed to prepare these boys dinner. I’m guessing you meant doing it today.”
The teen clenches the knife and curses under his breath. He glances at the sun with narrowed eyes and scratches his head.
“Hey! Are you slap dancing or why is this taking so long!?” yells the boy with the heavy accent still in the trees “I’m starving up here!”
“Chef? What’s our move?” says the freckled preteen growing uneasy under Caro’s piercing stare, her eyes somehow able to see his face under his reflective visor “Do I still have to shoot one of them?”
“RAAAAWR!” yells the small boy with the assault rifle after hearing the word ‘shoot’. He looks back and forth between the pale teenager and Ram as if searching for their approval to start firing.
Ramesh smiles at the overly excited kid and shrugs.
“Hey, don’t look at me. Ask him,” he says motioning at the scrawny teen.
All eyes converge on the fifteen-or-so boy. He drops his shoulders and groans.
The mechanical snap of a camera shutter. The three naked boys sitting at the back of the racing boat with their weapons at their sides frown, confused about what just happened.
“Hey! What did you do?” yells the ten-or-so Polynesian boy resting his arms on the tripod of a portable railgun as tall as him. He elbows the ginger tween next to him with the submachine gun over his lap and the astronaut helmet still on his head “Didn’t you search them!?”
“I-I did!”
“Then what the kefe did he just do!?”
“RAWR!” growls the black hairless boy gleefully as he prepares his assault rifle.
“Oh! No, no, it’s okay! It’s just a camera,” says Rebecca sitting backward at one of the cockpit’s seats, her wrists tied together by a mess of ropes and knots.
The young sniper frowns, skeptical of her claim. He stands up and walks with uneasy steps towards her from the motions of the racing boat underneath him as it glides across the sunken parking lot of the amusement park.
“Gimme that!”
The black twelve-year-old tries to resist but gives him the camera once Caro sitting on the plastic chair next to her puts her tied hands on her shoulder and shakes her head.
The boy raises the device, sticks out his tongue, and zigzags back, his tattooed buttocks wiggling as he walks.
“This doesn’t look like a camera. It looks like something you put up your ass,” he says sitting between the two other kids and turning the heavy device in his hands “Hey Raptor! Cut it! No shooting yet!”
“Rawrrr…” grumbles the feral child disappointed. He rests his gigantic weapon back on the floor.
The young Pacific Islander tries to make the analog camera fit on different places of his electromagnetic rifle. He looks at the black girl watching him anxious and then at the Asian girl next to her staring with an enigmatic face at the freckled tween with the astronaut helmet.
The Polynesian boy smirks “You know what? I think this fits your gun Dedos, you can have it. See if it helps improve your aim.”
He hands him the camera and laughs. The bald boy laughs as well but in an unnatural manner. As if imitating the sound rather than genuinely laughing.
Dedos recoils in the way social outcasts do when put under the spotlight. He looks at the girls watching him and puts the camera’s strap over his neck so it hangs securely in front of his chest.
Becks breathes in relief and turns to sit straight on the plastic chair. Caro smiles and nods at the ginger preteen who recoils again, only now for a different reason.
“Mata! Raptor! Come over here!” yells the boy with messy brown hair and reddened face piloting the boat, his cooking knife working as a replacement for the busted throttle handle. He points at the shirtless Ramesh sitting next to him “Blow his head off if he keeps talking! I’m SICK of his voice!”
Both kids jump excitedly and carry their massive weapons to sit in front of Ram pointing their guns at him. The twenty-year-old sighs and leans back on his chair. He looks at the two kids and moves his tied hands over his mouth imitating a zipping shut motion. The boys chuckle.
Becks taps Caro’s shoulder and directs her attention to a rusty roller coaster that has emerged from behind the thick vegetation with pieces of a fighter jet hanging inside one of its loops. Both girls stare amazed at the post-apocalyptic sight and jump when Dedos kneels between them with the visor of his helmet raised.
“We’re almost there! Remember this if you don’t want to get raped!” he whispers hurriedly “It’s not enough to look like a boy, you got to act like one!” he points at Caro “Don’t sit with your legs so close together!” he points at Rebecca “Lower your voice when you talk!”
“Oh! Yeah, okay!” Becks coughs and speaks at a lower pitch “Like this?”
The boy shakes his head “No! Too forced!”
“How about this?” says the girl in a husky, more natural tone. The boy nods. But then she thinks of something and touches Carolina’s leg while imitating his broken voice “Hey dude, let’s spit roast some pussy!”
“Hey! I don’t speak like that!” says Dedos standing up and hurrying back to his place. But a second later he kneels behind Caro and adds “Wait, do I speak like that?”
Caro shakes her head “No, she’s kidding… Thank you by the way.”
“Oh! You mean this?” he points at the camera hanging from his neck “It’s nothing.”
Caro smiles and shakes her head “For letting me see you,” she points at his green eyes and freckled pink cheeks under the astronaut helmet.
The boy’s grip on the plastic seat tightens. He notices his two darker fingers less than an inch away from Caro’s shoulder and moves them away.
“Y-you’re w-welcome…” he babbles in a higher pitch than usual, then realizes how he sounded, blushes, and shuts his helmet’s visor down.
Carolina giggles and moves a lock of platinum hair aside with her finger. Rebecca watching from the other seat rolls her eyes.
At the front of the boat, Ramesh is busy making funny faces to entertain the two kids, their heavy weapons long ago left forgotten on the floor. While they laugh he looks ahead and sees they’re approaching the remains of an M1 Abrams tank lodged against a faux-Moroccan building atop which a small crowd of about a dozen boys and teens in various stages of undress have started to gather.
His expression darkens and he takes a deep breath.
“Here we go…”
The racing boat slides to a stop next to the rusty armored vehicle. The older boys in the crowd throw ropes to moor it in place while the younger ones keep guarding the operation with stern faces and a variety of weapons all-too large for their small bodies.
Whilst the long purple vessel is secured Ram’s eyes dart rapidly between the many unknown faces of all shapes and colors watching him. Yet just when he meets eyes with a blonde teen with blue eyes who raises his eyebrows in sudden recognition ‘Raptor’ jumps over the bow of the racing boat and waves the assault rifle over his head.
“RAWRRR!” yells the small naked boy triumphantly as if he just brought the carcass of a whale or mammoth he hunted by himself, causing the crowd to cheer and clap. Ram smirks and returns his sight to the crowd looking for the blonde teen, yet he’s nowhere to be seen, apparently having run away already.
Pleased by the crowd’s reaction, Raptor steps back on the boat’s cockpit and presses his rifle between Ram’s bare shoulders, forcing him to stand up. ‘Mata’ jumps and joins him with his long weapon.
The twenty-year-old rolls his eyes and allows himself to be paraded by the hairless black kid and his Polynesian friend, causing yet another round of cheers by the crowd.
“This place is bonkers!” whispers Rebecca to Carolina as a loud, elaborate procession forms around the shirtless Ramesh as he steps out of the purple vessel like a celebrity at a convention. A few boys jump inside the boat’s cockpit and hurry to loot whatever they can find, completely ignoring the —arguably more important — prisoners sitting at the back, grabbing instead the girly clothes and luggage spread on the floor which they raise over their heads and carry behind the crazy parade.
“No, I think this is just how the world used to be,” says Caro looking around the rubble and flooded remains of a fearsome battle that seems to have occurred at this amusement park long before the ocean swept in, leaving behind a whimsical mix of cartoonish commercial buildings broken and blackened by artillery barrages and aggressively overrun by the endemic vegetation.
“Dedos!” says ‘Chef’ turning the boat’s engine off and stepping out the driver’s seat with the boat’s keys in hand “I have to help make dinner, watch over those two until we figure out how we’ll extract their nanos.”
“Oh! Y-yeah, OK!” says the boy with the astronaut helmet standing up, causing the submachine gun and the bulky camera to bounce all over his small nude body.
The skinny teen takes one look at him, groans, and spins the cooking knife in his hand.
“Are you sure you can handle this?”
“Yes! Yes, I got this!” says Dedos cocking his gun and pointing at the girls who immediately play along and stand up.
Chef frowns, not entirely convinced, but then sees the loud crowd moving away and hurries to step out.
“Don’t screw this and I’ll see you get some pants from the next air drop!”
“Thanks, Chef!”
Once the teen is gone the ginger boy drops his shoulders and sighs in relief. He lowers the gun and passes the vintage camera to Becks who thanks him and immediately jumps out of the boat and climbs over the Abrams tank to take a photo.
“Why do you suddenly trust us?” says Caro motioning at his submachine gun “Aren’t you worried we may try to escape?”
The boy positions the submachine gun so it hangs in front of his penis. He shrugs and motions at their surroundings “And go where?”
The camera shutter clicks. Rebecca lowers her tied hands and rolls the film forwards as she watches Ram surrounded by a forest of pistols, rifles, shotguns, and a few crossbows pointing all in his direction as he’s taken along a series of makeshift bridges and walkways across the flooded and war-ridden amusement park.
“Guys!” she yells excitedly at Caro and Dedos “Come on!”
“What’s that?” asks a boy of about thirteen wearing one of Rebecca’s polka-dotted dresses as she hurries to change the camera’s film.
“Um, it’s something that goes inside my ass,” she says in a low-pitched voice as she puts the empty cartridge inside the MAGA hat and puts it back on her head. The boy frowns and opens his mouth to speak but he changes his mind and looks back at Ramesh flanked by the two small kids with the railgun and assault rifle diligently aimed at his head.
The trio stands alone at the bottom of a yellow staggered staircase leading to a small auditorium in the cartoonish shape of a Mosque with a few walls missing and decades-old Christmas decorations. Around them, a semi-circle of about fifty teens and boys stand in waiting, chattering excitedly about the spectacle that seems about to begin.
Up the staircase and out their sight one of the auditorium’s doors open. Ramesh breathes deep, getting ready for what’s coming next, but then the blonde teen from before appears at the top of the stairs, throws Ram a look, and hurries down the stairs to whisper in the ears of his peers, the news spreading like wildfire.
“That’s him!?”
“I thought he was taller.”
“Just imagine what Father Santiago is going to do to him.”
“Won’t he be angry we didn’t kill him already?”
“How long will this take? I’m hungry.”
Carolina takes her eyes off the crowd and notices one of the makeshift bridges connecting the roofs of two flooded buildings is made out of blue pallets held together with carbon tape. She frowns and seems to recognize more structures in the distance. There’s a greenhouse with decorative LED strips and rows of plants in pots shielded under rows of solar panels.
She wets her lips and whispers to the ginger boy with the astronaut helmet standing next to her.
“All you boys escaped from this… ‘Farm’ place?”
The boy hesitates and raises the golden visor of his helmet.
“No, not all of us, some come from even worse places,” he says in a whisper. Then looks at Raptor and sighs “And some didn’t even need to escape...”
She nods, thoughtful. Then glances at Ram looking like a sacrificial tribute at the bottom of the stairs and gulps.
“And this ‘Father Santiago’… He’s a priest right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So that means Ram will be okay right? You boys are Christian.”
The boy sighs and points behind them at a reddened pole with stains around its base standing in front of a wall riddled with vines and old bullet holes.
“So were the people who stormed this place.”
“Shh! Here he comes!” says a kid amidst the murmurs.
The boy’s whispers stop, the sound of dress shoes echo at the top of the staircase.
Ram looks down at his tied wrists, smirks, and looks up at the slender figure at the top of the stairs in an impeccable and form-fitting black shirt, suit pants, and a clerical collar.
"Hey babe..."
"Hey…" says the young middle eastern priest under his breath, not quite believing it. He pushes his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose and descends the stairs with two fingers sliding along the ornamental handrail, all without taking his eyes off him.
“You’ve lost some weight,” says Ram smiling.
“Yeah, it seems you found it,”
“Hey, I couldn’t just leave it there. You want it back?”
“Not particularly…” says Mohammed walking rapidly towards the shirtless Indian man with a quivering smile.
The boys look at one another, confused. They were promised a massacre and now it seems the men are about to kiss.
Ram’s smile widens as the sexy priest closes the distance with his hands reaching towards his face. He closes his eyes and tilts his head slightly, lips starting to pucker.
A fist slams against his cheek with such a force his whole body turns sideways and he almost lands on the floor, his knee stopping the drop at the last second.
“You dare smile after what happened!? You're a monster…" says ‘Santiago’ shaking his aching fist.
The boys gasp in surprise. The two kids guarding Ram raise their massive guns.
“Can I turn him into Otai now?” says ‘Mata’ excitedly.
“RAWR!”
Ram blinks and carefully stands up rubbing his burning cheek with his tied hands, his vision blurry and head spinning.
"Look babe, I know I promised I would meet you soon. But in my defense, I..."
"I don’t mean THAT! I’m talking about what you DIDN’T do!” says the twenty-year-old combing his curly hair off his face with a hand “What!? Do you think just because we're offline I wouldn't hear the news!? You should've CRACKED her head like a melon when you had the chance!"
Ramesh’s eyes open wide "Oh! You mean that..."
"YES that! There’s a carrier strike group searching for her submarine and YOU had her right in your hands for Christ’s sake!"
Another round of gasps by the boys from hearing him cursing. They glance at each other with a worried expression, never having seen their leader act like this before.
Then as if illustrating his point, the Afghani priest steps closer, grabs Ram's head with both hands, and joins his lips with his.
The shirtless man freezes alongside the rest of the boys watching and two girls disguised as boys, one of which smiles wide and snaps a photo.
Santiago/Mohammed breaks the kiss for a moment and smiles, awed.
"How did you escape after THAT? She must've been pissed!"
"Oh, like you wouldn't imagine..." says Ram with a smile.
"I would've loved being there when it happened…"
"You were in a way..."
He raises his tied hands and slides the slender priest under his ripped arms. He kisses him again, hungrily taking in his past lover who grabs his neck and meaty shoulder and reaches up standing on his tiptoes.
As their public make-out session prolongs the older teens in the crowd smirk or rolls their eyes while the younger ones make faces of disgust, the young crowd growing anxious about what they’re supposed to do now.
A dinner bell rings in the distance, causing the boys to jump and run away excitedly, leaving only a few left behind.
“Rawr…?” says the black boy with the assault rifle as he watches the boys leaving and his ‘prey’ being devoured already. He drops his shoulders, devastated.
The Polynesian boy with the railgun taps his shoulder trying to cheer him up. He motions him to follow the rest. The two nude kids hold hands and walk away with their heavy weapons over their shoulders.
Carolina looks around the thinning crowd now composed of only a few teens with rifles keeping guard and a few younger boys teasing one another about their erections as they watch the kissing couple. She looks at the ginger boy with the astronaut helmet who struggles to hide his erection behind his submachinegun and then at Rebecca who bites her lower lip as she tries to line the perfect shot of the two hugging adult men framed by the falling sun.
Caro’s eyebrows crumple. She takes a step forward, looks at the teens with guns to make sure she’s not doing something forbidden and taps Ram’s arm.
"Um, mister? What about our mission?"
Ram waves a hand to shoo her without breaking his kiss with Santiago. But then the flustered priest pulls back and smiles at Caro.
“Oh? Hello, little one. Are you one of these ‘mules’ I keep hearing about?”
“No, that was some BS I came up with to avoid getting shot,” says Ram “Although now that I think about it, it could be a way to disrupt the smuggling industry.”
“I think you’ve disrupted enough industries babe…”
Ram smirks and leans in for another kiss “Oh, I still have a few disruptions left to do…”
“Mister!?” says the Asian tween louder.
"Yeah, yeah, this won't take long." says Ram between kisses, then looks around at the boys left “Babe, I’m guessing we don’t have to do it with people watching us anymore.”
“No, no babe, don’t worry. I have a room to myself now,” he wiggles his eyebrows “Want to see?”
"Oh! Can I go too and take some photos?" asks Becks excited.
"NO!" shout Caro and the two men in unison. The black girl jumps.
"Aw, this place sucks..."
"And you're darn wrong to think this won't take long," says Santiago with a mischievous grin grabbing Ram's tied wrists. He looks around, sees the boy with the astronaut helmet seemingly waiting for instructions, and points at Caro and Becks "Release them and take them to the mess hall, then show them where they'll be staying for the night,” he motions at the older teens “Make sure our guests get whatever they need during their stay. They're family while they're here, understood?"
The boys nod and put their weapons over their shoulders. Carolina opens her mouth to complain but Santiago is already pulling Ramesh towards the stairs leading up the whimsical auditorium.
“Hey, what about me? I’m also hungry,” says Ram as he allows himself to be guided by the smiling priest.
“Shh, don't spoil the moment babe. I’ll feed you something alright…”
Caro follows them with her eyes, astonished by being dismissed so easily. She turns to speak to Rebecca, but the girl has run to talk with the row of armed teens.
“Hey guys! Wait! Can you return to where you were for a moment? Yeah, just for a second,” she says in a husky voice while waving her camera “Oh! And can you hold your rifles like you were doing a moment ago? Yeah, like that…”
The eleven-year-old drops her shoulders, resigned. She feels a tap on her shoulder and sees the boy with the astronaut helmet pointing at her tied wrists.
“Um… Do you want me to…?”
“Ah! Yeah, yeah, go ahead,” she says raising her arms.
The boy’s hands hesitate before grabbing her wrists, his fingers soft and warm to the touch as he starts to untie the mess of knots.
“So… No nanos on your blood right?”
“Ah! N-no, sorry. I’m just a regular boring girl. Um, I mean boy.”
He nods “Yeah, just remind me to tell Chef before he sees you and tries to drain you.”
“Y-yeah, good idea!” she says with a nervous laugh.
They both giggle, then as the boy struggles to untie the knots Caro keeps staring at his unevenly colored fingers, debating herself whether to ask him about them.
He notices her stare and looks up with a questioning look. She looks away and watches the yellow rays of sunlight poking between the old roller coasters and charred horses of a tilted carrousel.
The boy follows her line of sight and seems to finally gather the courage to ask.
“So… If you’re not here to smuggle nanos, why are you here?”
“Ah! Um…”
“Are you looking for this ‘Miguel’ guy? Is he like…” he gulps “Your boyfriend or something?”
The girl’s eyebrows raise. She opens her mouth to speak when a mechanical clicking sound stops her. Both preteens look to their side and watch Becks grinning as she lowers her vintage camera.
“Hey lovebirds, think you can hurry up? I’m starving here and we’re the only ones left.”
She points around to show the whole area is devoid of people, then walks away to snap more photos. Caro returns her attention to the boy.
“And no, I mean, yes. Well, we’re not looking for him directly,” she shakes her head “We’re looking for this other person we think he’s with. Ram said people here can help us find her,” she points at the bridge made out of blue pallets “But now I’m wondering if Miguel was here.”
The boy shrugs “Probably. Lots of boys come here, it’s one of the few places where we can be safe.”
“Ah! You knew him?” she says growing excited.
He shakes his head “No, I’ve been here less than two months and no boys have left the Sanctuary since then. Do you have a photo? Everyone uses nicknames so I don’t think his name will be enough if we ask the others.”
“Ah…! No, I don’t have a photo of him,” then adds to herself, astounded “God, I don’t have a photo of him…”
“Oh, it’s okay. You can check at the Tower,” he points behind him at the 300-foot tall cylinder “Before leaving Father Santiago takes a photo which you must take to the shrine at the top of the Tower and rappel back to the ground,” he moves a finger tracking a barely noticeable steel wire connecting the tip of the tower to a location beyond the trees “If Miguel was here his photo should be at the shrine. We can go after dinner if you want. Oh! But you have to hurry, it’s not safe to climb it at night.”
“Ah, okay! Um, but why should I be the one to hurry? Won’t you be there to help me climb?”
The boy laughs “Of course not! I’m scared of heights,” he loosens the last knot keeping her wrists together and slips the rope away “There! Better?”
Caro nods and rubs her reddened wrists, her eyes looking anxious at the slender multicolored structure under the deep blue sky.
The ginger boy points towards the mess hall and walks by Caro’s side as Rebecca —with her wrists still tied — follows them snapping photos of the flooded amusement park.
“By the way, good job on acting like a boy. At times I forget you aren’t one,” he says looping the rope in his hands.
“Ah! T-thanks.”
“Just remind your friend to be more discreet,” he looks over his shoulder at Becks lining a photo of them walking “I can feel her staring at my butt.”
Caro giggles “I think she would do that even if she were born a boy.”
They laugh, the boy suddenly snaps his fingers remembering something.
“Oh shoot, I gotta tell Chef before he sees you!” he walks faster and points at the rubble of a building by the next bend “Follow this track and go to your right. I’ll catch up there, Ok?”
“Kay!” say both girls at the same time. The boy smiles and closes the golden visor of his helmet before hurrying ahead. Caro follows his wiggling pink butt and moves a lock of hair off her face, her insides tingling.
“Hey! Remember our promise!” says Becks coming up next to her.
Caro rolls her eyes “I told you! You don’t have to worry about me.”
Rebecca raises an eyebrow and bites her lower lip, not believing a word. Caro elbows her away and Becks giggles.
The eleven-year-old rubs her reddened wrists as she walks. She sighs and notices on her side a wall punched by a tank shell with the faded remains of an elaborate graffiti painting with 17 stars around the near-perfect circular hole.
WE WON!
She stops and glances at the cylindrical tower behind her, then back at Rebecca further down the road.
Caro takes a deep breath and turns on her heels to face the towering structure once painted in red, white, and blue stripes.
“Hey! You ‘coming?” yells Becks.
Carolina yelps and turns on her heels again.
“Yup!”
To be continued…
CC0 1.0 - No rights reserved - inaccesiblecardinal@protonmail.com