OASIBAST

“ABWHOREHER”

by

Kevin McCray

For the seven years Stetson Gipwen and Olivion Zarby were classmates, they never actually occupied the same physical space, as he resided in Oasibast, which was on Shabdid, while she lived on the Alphature Colony, which was on Pronuit. Despite the light-years of outer space that separated their homeworlds, he faced minimal difficulty murdering her.

    Both Stetson’s and Olivion’s long-distance interaction and Olivion’s long-distance demise were made possible through the neuradact (data jack for brain-computer interfacing) they each had in the nape of their neck. They, like the hundreds of billions of other students living on habitable planets, space stations, moon bases, and outposts throughout the galaxy, used a neuradact to jack-into and attend Prime Caste Academy, a simusurr (virtual reality) educational institution.

    Such as it was for many teenagers, Stetson suffered from unrequited love. Although his scrawny build was paired with a meek disposition, what truly doomed him from ever possibly winning Olivion's affection (or any other woman he crushed on long after her demise) was negative self-perception.

    Having compared himself unfavorably to the most handsome and dynamic guys in Olivion's clique, Stetson was convinced his peculiar personality lacked the necessary uniqueness required to make him a charming alternative to her usual caliber of male suitors.

On top of the inferiority complex vis-à-vis Olivion, a crippling shyness overcame Stetson while in her presence, which, due to them having been assigned neighboring lockers, was an unavoidable happening, condemning his social phobia to be plagued daily, the stress of which, overtime, cracked and warped his mind.

    Year after year, as Stetson’s infatuation with Olivion became a fixation, he failed to utter a single word to her. Unbeknownst to anyone, the mild-mannered grandson, friend, and student grew deranged from having squandered the ample opportunities to make her acquaintance. So much so, in bed late at night, he rid himself of self-loathing by pounding his fists against his head until blacking out.

    For all the damage his shyness inflicted on his psyche, the one benefit it yielded Stetson was remaining effortlessly inconspicuous to Olivion, allowing him to eavesdrop on conversations between her and her friends. Among the mostly superfluous information gleaned was the knowledge of their simusurr hangout on FavHang (app for creating simusurr spaces). Through obsessive studying to become a fledgling hacker, he used a cloaked avatar to infiltrate the private hangout, a pergola encircled by a tropical garden.

    Stetson’s initial glee from spying on Olivion was quick to sour, as her sweet and smiley public persona was revealed to be a facade to conceal her true nature: mean, self-centered and tedious, stoking within him resentment for having felt so unworthy by——as he then profoundly considered her to be——such a substandard girl.

    Although disenchanted with Olivion’s teenage shortcomings, Stetson's obsession remained. With infatuation replaced by abhorrence, he faced no moral dilemma upon deciding to murder her.

    On the final day of the semester, Olivion was struck with a brain aneurysm. Having toiled away his free time to broaden his hacking skillset, Stetson reprogrammed her Tangihapp Consumer Pro RG-IV (console to connect a nueradact to simusurr apps) to experience a power surge. The result of which overloaded her neuradact’s synaptic connectors upon her jacking into Prime Caste Academy.

    Rendered brain-dead from Stetson’s cyber attack, Olivion’s demise was a harrowing, drawn-out experience, as her parents initially refused to end her life support, leaving friends and loved ones with no opportunity to offer her their final goodbyes. For Stetson, his revenge was marred with dissatisfaction for having failed to precede Olivion’s murder with a rebuke for——from his viewpoint——her having manipulated his entire existence to hopelessly revolve around her.

ONE

Chumba’s was on Oasibast's east end. Tonight’s staff was scheduled to be Tige Berm, bar tender and night manager; Rusrick Cringibb, cook; Norven SMV T8-V104, waiter; Tiffiana Matte, waitress; and Pykquat Catank, kitchen hand, bus boy, and dishwasher. At the last minute, Tiffiana called off, stranding Norven to wait tables alone.

    Because the night’s special was half off on all Antakian ales, Norven was overwhelmed by a steady influx of patrons. Displeased with the slow service, the dive bar's usual assortment: hustlers, miscreants, and addicts, hurled abuse while the hapless android scrambled to and fro the kitchen or back and forth from the bar between taking or fulfilling orders.

    At one point, Norven accidentally initiated a drunken brawl by mistakenly serving a bucket of sausage-stuffed cheesy poppers to the wrong table. Before the fracas spread out of control, Tige re-established order with threats of disintegration while brandishing an LX-291 Disintegrator Combat Rifle stashed behind the bar.

    Despite the shift being one ordeal after another, Norven endured. With Chumba's deserted and set to shutter for the night, all he had to do was clear a few remaining tables and he was home free, which, thanks to him having been manufactured with four arms, would be momentarily, as he could balance a serving tray on one hand while two other hands stacked it with beer bottles, glassware, plates, bowls, utensils, napkins, and anything else encountered while the fourth hand wiped up.

    However, Norven's imminent departure was in danger of being delayed, as he was forced to halt his frenetic but precise table bussing upon discovering a junkie passed out in a corner booth. He was gaunt and aged prematurely, his balding head was covered by a silver wire fishnet helmet with a spike on top, and tattooed beneath each of his closed eyes was a red triangle extending past his heavily pierced lower lip. Norven calculated the passed out junkie was likely to freak-out and turn violent if riled. The possibility of such a reaction from the straggler didn't make the android nervous, just annoyed.

    “Excuse me, sir?” Norven said gently. "We're closed." Receiving no response from the passed out junkie, Norven groaned and started rapping the corner booth's tabletop. “Sir! Wake up!" Norven said, raising his artificial voice. Still receiving no response, Norven intensified the rapping and shouted, “HELLO?!” That time the passed out junkie responded. Intent to remain put, he grunted and defiantly folded his arms. “Great,” Norven whined to himself.

    From behind the bar, Tige asked Norven, “Problem?”

    “Some deadbeat is refusing to leave,” Norven said, approaching Tige. "I hate to ask you to step in, Tige, but I seriously can not deal with another belligerent skinbag fuckwad getting in my face tonight!”

  Tige finished wiping off the bartop and said, “I’ll handle it.”

⬣

Standing on an upside down milk crate, Pykquat was grumbling profanities under his breath while transferring dirty plates from a bus tub filled with dirty tableware to a dish rack. When the runty bimbavor (mammalian resembling a purple and white bear cub) finished, his shaved, tattooed-covered arms slid the rack into a dishwasher and slammed its top-down hood shut, initiating a wash cycle.

    Just then, Norven entered the cramped dish room.

“There’s more?!” Pykquat shouted upon seeing Norven’s serving tray stacked with dirty tableware.

    “Afraid so,” Norven said.

    “Look ett dis shit!” Pykquat shouted, gesturing at a five-tier shelving unit storing bus tubs cluttered with dirty tableware. “I’ll be here ‘til dawn sortin’ ann washin’ awl dis!”

    Norven set down his serving tray onto a stainless steel worktable attached to a sink. “Then I would suggest less DMing and more hustle,” he said, looking at Pykquat, who was a few feet away.

    “Fuck you! I wasn’t DMing!” Pykquat shouted, gesturing at a garbage disposal, which the sink’s drain directly fed. “I got stuck uncloggin’ da garbage disposal!”

    “Oh. Well, sorry to hear that,” Norven said hastily, starting to walk away.

    “Yo! Where da fuck ya goin’?!” Pykquat shouted at Norven’s backside. “I need help!”

    “Impossible!” Norven said, spinning his frustum-shaped head around to face Pykquat. “My backup power is nearly depleted!”

    “When ain’t it, ya fucking fako-form louse!” Pykquat shouted as Norven exited through the dish room’s heavy back door, which slammed itself shut.

    Just then, the dishwasher concluded its wash cycle. Pykquat yanked up its top-down hood and shouted through a deluge of escaping steam, “FUCK DIS JOB!”

⬣

Rocking the passed out junkie, Tige shouted, “Hey! I said wake up!” The junkie grunted and wrenched away his shoulder. As Tige subdued his frustration, suddenly: the automated entry door slid open and Ellavette rushed into Chumba's. “Hey! No!” he shouted across the barroom at her. “We’re closed!”

    “I only need a minute!” Ellavette said, nervously checking the entry.

    “I said out!” Tige said, starting to approach Ellavette.

    “Please, I—” Ellavette started saying, when suddenly: Balth stormed into the dive bar. He had short hair, a bulky build, and was encumbered with a lifelong frustration impossible to renounce.

    “Ella, get the fuck out here!” Balth shouted at Ellavette.

    “No! Leave me alone!” Ellavette shouted back at Balth just as Tige arrived from behind her. His presence and much taller frame halted Balth's advance towards Ellavette.

    “Leave,” Tige said to Balth with an authority he could backup with action.

    "Step aside, fucko!” Balth said to Tige with a confidence powered by a spike of anger. "This ain't your business!"

    “I agree,” Tige said, remaining Balth's impediment to Ellavette. “But you’re not bringing your trouble in here.”

    Sizing up Tige’s resolve, Balth thought it best to focus on Ellavette. “Ella!” Balth shouted to Ellavette in a commanding manner that her past compliances assured him would again gain him control. “Let’s go!”

    “I said no!” Ellavette shouted at Balth from behind Tige’s protection. “Balth, just fuck off, already!”

    “You heard her,” Tige said to Balth. “Leave.”

    Balth drew a switchblade from his jacket’s right pocket and shouted at Tige, “Asshole, get outta my way, or I’m gonna slice you the fuck up!”

    “I’d rethink that,” Tige said to Balth without a flinch.

“Yeah? What for?” asked Balth.

“The GOA claim this spot,” Tige said.

    “Says where?” Balth asked, glancing about. “I don’t see no tag!”

    “Look again,” Tige said, flipping his right middle finger at Balth, revealing a “G” tattooed above an “O” tattooed above an “A”, instantly shifting Balth’s aggression to apprehension.

    “Last chance,” Tige said seething with an aggression he can no longer deny. “Fuck off.”

    Left with no choice but to swallow his pride and obey Tige’s demand, Balth said to Ellavette, “See ya around,” and exited.

    “Thanks,” Ellavette said to Tige’s backside.

Tige turned around to direct a scowl down upon her.

“I’m sorry,” Ellavette said. “It wasn’t my intention to drag you into that.”

Tige’s scowl remained. Unsure of how to respond, Ellavette’s nervousness led her to notice a tip jar. “Uh, here,” she said, pulling a fold of bank notes stashed within her cleavage. “For your trouble.” She dropped the money into the tip jar and asked, “We all good?”

    They were. Helping Ellavette made Tige feel a glimmer of positivity. It’s been a while since he felt such a sensation, as faint as it was. In recent years, memories of his youth have consumed him with psychic pain. He tried to convince himself he was only as terrible as he had to be to survive. But that’s not true. The satisfaction of wielding power through brute force consumed him until it hollowed him out into the broken man he was today.

    Relinquishing his scowl aimed at Ellavette, Tige moved behind the bar and punched a code into a control panel mounted on the underside of the bartop.

    Behind Ellavette, blast doors dropped between both sides of the entry door with a bang. Startled, she screamed, “Shit!”, glanced back at the fortified entry, and said to Tige, “A heads up woulda been appreciated.”

    “You can stay until I’m finished up,” Tige said. “Then you’re on your own.”

    “I’ll be fine,” Ellavette said, sitting at the bar. “Balth don’t really care about me. He just needs money.”

Without a response, Tige poured himself a shot of rum.

“Been a while since you had to throw down?” Ellavette asked, observing Tige’s hands shook with adrenaline. He downed the shot and scowled at her. “You’re right. Not my biz,” she said with an apologetic gesture.

Tige corked the rum bottle with a pound from his palm.

TWO

Ellavette dealt cards at the Majemint Casino. Besides shifts being mandatory doubles, on the whole the job was decent enough. Living off tips was the only major downside, as it left her vulnerable to the whim of degenerate gamblers. When luck showed them favor, they shared the wealth. When bad luck dwindled their chips, they made accusations. She was either a cheat who held the upper hand or a witch cursing them with bad luck.

    Assuaging a gambler’s ire was necessary for Ellavette to make ends meet. Correctly, she accessed that most of them frequented her table not only to play Wekhadi, but to also be in the presence of a woman who wasn’t an artificially generated character existing in an artificially generated environment being transmitted via a screen, augmented reality overlay, or three dimensional holographical display, but who was real, live and in person offering direct eye contact.

    The galaxy was steeped in a communication crisis and degenerate gamblers were not exempt from feeling lonely. Thanks to the overindulgence of online attaches expressing everyone’s endless thoughts, opinions, fears, and frustrations, why waste time conversing when one could instead use their cyber-consciousness to instantly upload and register banal personal updates of friends, loved ones, colleges, and acquaintances? When Ellavette answered this question she was certain she had found herself a nitch—make gamblers feel supported and provide them with a sense of belonging through being known, valued, and understood. And that was always worth a tip, whether or not dealt a winning hand.

    After standing at a Wekhadi table for sixteen hours, Ellavette's feet were numb, her back ached, and her ears and eyes were frazzled from the flashing lights and the melodic cycling of the slot machines that bombard the casino floor. All she desired before bed was a low key environment to enjoy her favorite nightcap, a Fizz and Sour. Seeing how Chumba's was near her apartment and fit the bill, she had became a late-night regular on her journey home from the Majemint.

    Of course there’s a hurdle Ellavette must overcome before she takes her first sip from her Fizz and Sour—Tiffiana. She likes to talk, and she likes to talk to Ellavette. Normally Tige comes to Ellavette’s rescue by ordering Tiffiana to finish getting the bar ready for closing. However, that wasn’t the case tonight, as he had to put in the weekly liquor order.

    “Yeah, so, anyways, so now I gotta take care of Rosewen’s cat while she’s in the hospital,” Tiffiana explained to Ellavette. “And let me tell ya: the cat’s awful! Okay? Fucking! Awful! Like, fuckin’ mean! I’m serious! I had to lock it out of my bedroom cause it wouldn’t stop biting me! Okay? Then the god damn thing growled through the fuckin’ door all night like it wanted to kill me! Like what the fuck’s wrong with this thing?! I hate these earth animals! The city’s gettin’ overrun with ‘em. You know? Like what the fuck?! Why would anyone want one of these little creeps as a pet if this is how they are?! You know?!”

    “Maybe the cat is stressed on account of it not being used to your apartment,” Ellavette replied, doing her best to convey engagement.

    “It’s stressed?! I’m stressed! I’m at my wits end because of this fuckin’ little creep! My living room smells like piss! I got kitty litter clumps in the my carpet! Fuckin fur is everywhere on everything! Somehow the little creep got into my dresser and shredded up my jeans! All of ‘em! Fucking! Shredded! I’m about to kill this fucking thing! Okay?!”

    Just then, Norven peered in from the kitchen to yell at Tiffiana, “We going or what?!”

    “Can’t ya see I’m conversin’ here?!” Tiffianna replied to Norven as she gestured at Ellavette.

    “We’re not gonna get in! Let’s go, bitch!” Norven shouted as he stepped out of the kitchen as he held its swing door open.

    “Okay! Fuck!” Tiffiana shouted at Norven and then explained to Ellavette, “There’s this new singer performin’ at the Pure Sound Lounge. Apparently she’s not to be missed!”

    “We’re about to if we don’t hurry!” Norven shouted at Tiffiana.

    “Alright, alright, scrap frag!” Tiffiana shouted at Norven and then said to Ellavette, “See ya, Ella. I’ll tell ya the rest tomorrow.”

    “Can’t wait,” Ellavette muttered.

    Rushing towards Norven, Tiffiana shouted, “It’s always a fucking emergency with you!”

    “Not true!” Norven replied as he stepped aside as he kept holding the saloon door open.

    “So true,” Tiffiana replied as she entered the kitchen.

    Silence permeated after Tiffiana’s and Norven’s departure from the barroom. Ellavette could finally enjoy the first sip of her awaiting Fizz and Sour. She followed it up with a vape hit. As she held the hit, she closed her eyes. When satisfied with the extended, undisturbed bliss, she exhaled. Opening her eyes, she discovered Tige was behind the bar.

    “All better?” Tige asked.

    “Mm-hm,” Ellavette replied with a grin.

    Tige moved away to the cash register and then set down a handheld device he had in his possession.

    “You hear about that bombing in Dadomie Heights?” Ellavette asked.

    “Yep,” Tige replied as he started sweeping the floor behind the bar.

    “‘Yep?’ That's all you gotta say? The most privileged, most secure upperclass neighborhood in all of the city finally got its taste of trouble the rest of us have to abide and all you gotta say is ‘yep’?!”

    Tige shrugged his shoulders.

    “I guess I’m not surprised. You don't seem like the political type.”

    Tige shook his head.

    “I say good for the bomber,” Ellavette said after taking a vape hit. “Since he was steeped in debt from this corpo scum fuck’s predatory payday loans, he was condemned to private military service to die on some god forsaken planet for other corpo scum fucks. Luckily the Galactic Crusaders for Corporate Overhaul made contact. Thanks to them his death was a statement.”

    “What about the daughter of the corpo scum fuck?” Tige asked as he looked up from sweeping. “She was home too. Her death a statement?”

    “Yeah. Life’s unfair.”

    “She wasn’t even ten.”

    “Yeah, okay. That sucks. But it’s not like she was being raised to give back to the little guy.”

    “Probably not.”

    “Absolutely not. I know someone who got trapped in debt through payday loans exactly like the bomber. After he defaulted, his debt was sold off to the Terra Delve Mining Company, who shipped him to the fifth moon of Bujumjos to fight for their colonial interests. The day he got back, he stepped in front of a subway. Not long after I found out he was involved in the Platinum Quarry Massacre. My friend should’ve done like the bomber and join the Galactic Crusaders. Sure he’d still be dead, but at least it woulda been to enact change.”

    Tige shrugged half heartedly. “Maybe.”

    “You disagree? You think the Galactic Crusaders are a hopeless movement?”

    “I think it’s bullshit.”

    “How's that?”

    “They want power. They aren't in a position to run a company so instead they lead a revolt against it.”

    “Wow. That is deeply, deeply fucking cynical and I am one deeply, deeply cynical dame.”

    “I’m an Oasison. I don’t trust anyone vying for power. I don’t care how they dress it up—freedom, change, profits, job security—those who desire something bad enough will do and say anything to achieve it. Up to and including conning the desperate into detonating a bomb strapped to their body in an act of absolute futility.”

    “If nothing will change the corporations then the galaxy is doomed to only get worse. What do you suggest we do? Just keep taking it up the ass?”

    “You do what's necessary to secure your life. If everyone did that, shit wouldn’t need fixed.”

    “I guess that makes sense.”

    “That’s why no one does it,” Tige replied as he returned to sweeping the floor behind the bar.

⬣

Minutes ago, Ellavette bid farewell to Tige. The walk home from Chumba's to her apartment building was brief.

    As a young adult, Stetson remained meek and retained his scrawny build. The only major was the thicker lenses in his goggles. Above him, at the street corner where he stood, a holographic sign projecting the bus stop icon glowed yellow.

    His still existing Chronic shyness forced Stetson to lower his head while Ellavette approached. She paid no heed, as he posed no obvious physical threat.

    “H-He-Hello,” Stetson stammered while Ellavette strode past him.

    “Fuck off,” Ellavette replied, glancing at him, determining he was too much of a twerp to be a threat.

    Stetson looked up at Ellavette’s backside while she started striding across the deserted street. He pulled his hands from his coat's pockets. A handkerchief was in his left and a perfume bottle was in his right.

    Hearing Stetson's footsteps approaching her from behind, Ellavette spun around and then started to say, “I said f—”

    Stetson covered his mouth with the handkerchief, raised the perfume bottle, and then repeatedly pressed down on the nozzle, dispersing a mist directly into Ellavette's face. She started to choke. Her effort to walk away was stymied by dizziness. He grabbed a hold of her while she collapsed. “Don’t worry! I gotcha! I gotcha!” he said as he strained to lay her out against the street.

    Staring at Stetson, Ellavette succumbed to the knockout spray. He snapped out of his enthrallment, hurriedly looked about. No one was present. He ran a short distance to his parked van, drove it up to Ellavette, strained to load her into the back of it, shut the doors, got behind the wheel, and then drove away.

Stetson used an EMP, electromagnetic pulse to cry Ellavette’s commband.

THREE

A bell blared over the PA system. Ellavette startled awake.“Welcome!” was written on a massive electronic whiteboard. Ellavette looked to discover she was seated at a desk in the center of a deserted class room that had no other desks.

    Upon standing up from the desk, Ellavette took in her outfit, a school uniform that was identical to her own when she attended PCA over eight years ago. Outside maybe a kinky sexual encounter, she never expected to ever again don such an outfit.

    Just then, the room’s tinted windows became transparent. Upon approaching the windowed-wall, Ellavette surveyed a central courtyard surrounded by walls of tinted windows. The serene enclosure had various varieties of trees scattered about a wide open space with patches of various varieties of flowers, and a pond with an arched bridge extended across it.

    Fed up with the ambiguity she found herself steeped in, Ellavette walked up to to the class room’s door. Pressing a button on a wall-mounted control panel, the automated door slid open, revealing a high school hallway. She stepped out into it. It was deserted and windowless, as there were instead a stretch of lockers running the length of the hallway. She recognized the design aesthetic to be identical to that of Prince Caste Academy.

    Ellavette quickly came to learn she the layout of the mini imitation school was a square layout of class rooms surrounding the central courtyard. As Ellavette made her away around the four hallways, she peed into the cafeteria, the library, and the gymnasium. Upon finding herself passing the cafeteria again, she shouted down the deserted hallway, “HELLO?! ANYBODY?!”

    Suddenly, over the PA system a piercing siren blared. Ellavette covered her ears. Finally the alarm silenced. Reticent, she uncovered her ears.

    From over the PA system, a deep, menacing voice said, “Greetings, Miss MMons. This is your principle speaking. Welcome to your first day. Like the young ladies enrolled before you, by graduation you shall have received a most thorough and in-depth education on interpersonal relationships.”

    “Who are you?!” Ellavette shouted.

    “SILENCE!” the deep, menacing voice bellowed. “This is my domain! You are hear to learn, not question! You cunts are all the same! You offer no respect unless it gets extracted through fear! And trust me! You will know fear!”

    Just then, an entry door slid open and from a lecture a classroom, two tall and bulky beings crudely molded out of clay stepped out into the hallway. Struck with the intended intimidation, Ellavette stepped back from the seemingly mindless beings, who, while not having eyes, definitely had their attention focused on her.

    “Meet my friends!” The deep, menacing voice said gleefully. “They’re expert bullies! They’ll draw the fear out of you promptly!”

    The two clay-creature bullies roared at Ellavette, prompting her to flee. As they set off in pursuit of her, the deep, menacing voice cackled.

    Entering another hallway upon fleeing around a bend, Ellavette ran to a entry door and frantically pressed a button on a wall-mounted control panel, prompting a light strip to flash red, as the door was locked.

    Just then, the two clay beings ran around the bend. Ellavette fled.

    “The more you run, the angrier they get!” the deep, menacing voice warned. “Take your lumps! It’s useless to run!”

    Ellavette kept on running. Upon rounding another bend to enter another hallway, a third clay bully, laying in wait, body-checked her against a locker, knocking her unconscious.

    Just then, Abwhoreher, Stetson’s simulated reality avatar—a ten foot tall, nude brawny figure with porcelain white skin with black vertical prints similar to a tiger, and had a head shaped like a brick hammer that lacked eyes, a nose, or a mouth—phased up through the floor while approaching Ellavette, who was splayed unconscious.

    “Fear not, Miss MMons,” Adminihateher said to Ellavette while stretching his arms to scoop her up, “you still have plenty to learn before you can die.”

⬣

The last three nights had been busy due to the Ardutoi Nebula Shipwrecker Rally semifinals being broadcasted across the galaxy. With them having wrapped up last night, Tige welcomed the light customer traffic Chumba’s was experiencing tonight. For the last few minutes, he was having his ear bent by a space trucker going about the time he had to drop out of hyperspace to make an emergency landing on a planet he quickly learned was home to a cannibalistic cult intending to eat him.

    Little did Tige know while enraptured with the space trucker’s anecdote that when Doraphine MMons approached the bar and addressed him that his carefree night was about to be upended.

    “You Tige?” asked  Doraphine, with no qualms about interrupting the space trucker.

    “Yes,” said Tige. “How can I help you?”

    “My names Doraphine,” said Doraphine. “Ellavette’s my sister. When was the last time you saw her?

    “About a week,” said Tige.

    “You haven't heard anything from her?” asked Doraphine.

    “Nothing,” said Tige. “My contact with her is strictly through here at the bar.”

    “Yeah, well my contact with my sister is everyday,” said Doraphine sharply. “I haven't heard from her for over a week.”

    “You think something’s wrong?” asked Tige.

    “Yes,” said Doraphine. “Ella’s ex, Balth, it has to be him.”

    “Been him what?” asked Tige.

    “What do you think?” snapped Doraphine. “Probably fuckin’ abducted her or Killed her——or both.”

    “You contact the authorities?” asked Tige.

    “First thing I did,” says Doraphine. “Without any evidence suggesting he abducted her, they refuse to question him. I want you guys to deal with it.”

    “Me?” asked Tige, taken aback. “No. That’s a job for a p.i., not a bartender.”

    “I can’t afford a private investigator,” said Doraphine. “Look,” she said, softening her tone. “Ella told me about you, how you bailed her out of trouble with Balth. You’ve already dealt with him. You can make him tell you what he’s done to her.”    “No,” said Tige emphatically, shaking his head. “What happened before between them happened here. That made it my business. Whatever’s happening between those two outside here has got nothing to do with me.”

    That positive feeling Tige felt from rescuing Ellavette from Balth was absent. Getting dragged into this sort of trouble instead made him angry. He’s dolled out enough violence. Him going after Balth would surely initiate violence.

“This is serious,” said Doraphine. “Ella needs you. Balth’s beat her up before. Him killing her wouldn’t be that huge of a leap.”

    “Find someone else,” said Tige, deploying some of his anger in hopes of ending the conversation.

    “Wow,” said Doraphine, her hard edge personality reviving. “Ella talked you up to be halfway decent. It seems I’m just as dumb as her to have believed that.”

    Tige said nothing. His stance was final. No amount of guilt could penetrate his anger.

    “Forget it,” said Doraphine. “You’re just as fucked as everybody else in this hellhole city.”

    “Good for you, son,” the space trucker says to Tige following Doraphine storming out. “Don’t be no sucker. Women are only too eager to drag us men into their troubles. Believe me.”

    The space trucker’s sentiment were not words of comfort for Tige.

⬣

Later that night, just before close, when Ellavette should’ve arrived on her way home from the casino, she hadn’t yet again, like the previous eight nights. Tiffiana and Norven took note. Tige was in mood for them to unwittingly guilt him, so he slipped in the dish room where Pykquat was raging on about the need for a new garbage disposal.

⬣

Eight days have passed since Stetson abducted Ellavette and trapped her within his diminutive version of High Caste Academy’s sprawling virtual reality cyber school layout.

    The regret over failing to confront Olivion before murdering her, has kept him motivated through the years it took to first afford and then construct a simusurr space that offered him total control. Since it’s completion, it’s had ample use.

    Like Stetson’s previous female victims, he’s been using the VR school to torture Ellavette psychologically, emotionally, and physically as what is the lead up to her eventual execution.

    Through a variety of “educational games”, Stetson and his virtual clay-form bullies Torm, Ruff, and Inti, have chased, attacked, and psychologically tortured Ellavette until she was run ragged, replacing her need to survive with the desire to instead beg for a quick death. Unfortunately for her, the pleas have yet to be granted.

    Yesterday, after being chased around and around the same four locker-lined hallways over and over, the floor literally shifted beneath Ellavette’s feet, plummeting her into a dungeon cell. The impact of the fall shattered her legs, leaving her to suffer without end while Stetson listened on. His pleasure ceased only when her voice became hoarse and unable to utter anymore wailing.

    Today’s torture session has again left Ellavette being chased through the hallways. The difference, however, is an opportunity for relief, or so Stetson claimed. To achieve it, she must acquire an access card from one of the three bullies pursuing her.

    Without any sort of weapon, this was an impossible task. Improvisation was required. This was not a foreign skill to Ellavette. She was born in the outlands. After her parents were murdered when their outpost suffered an assault by a local warlord, she and her sister, Doraphine, did what it took to afford what was quite possibly Oasibast’s most cramped, rat-infested, apartment.

    Ellavette and Doraphine were teenagers with little education and in desperate need of one if they wanted any chance at living a halfway decent existence. To afford rent, food, and High Caste Academy’s tuition, they turned to fencing while remaining unaffiliated with a gang or crime organization, a dangerous operation as the gangs and crime orgs want their cut. Ellavette told herself if she could manage that, she could manage to get a key card.

    But would the key card work? If it did, would she find relief or instead flee directly into a trap? She didn’t know and she didn’t care. She was exhausted, but on top of that, she was pissed, and really wanted to kill one of Stetson’s clay bullies, if possible.

    Running down one of the four locker-line hallways for the umpteenth time, Ellavette had the bright idea to check the many, many lockers for any item she could use as a weapon, even if only provided by Stetson as a morsel of false hope for building her up only to break her down all the more—a form of torture inflicted upon her several times too many since being entrapped. But whether a weapon of some sort would be of benefit was not revealed, as locker after locker she hurriedly opened was bare.

    The PA system blared a siren alarm with a single but piercing wail, which Ellavette had come all too familiar with. As expected, it was followed by an announcement from Stetson’s deep, menacing voice. “Very good, Miss MMons, but you’re getting ahead of yourself! The only weapon you’ll acquire today will come from your imagination! Todays lesson: brains over braun, Miss MMons! Brains over braun!

    “FUCK YOU!” Ellavette shouted in no particular direction.

    Just then, Torm, one of Stetson’s virtual clay-creatures, rounded the hallway’s bend, and with a monstrous roar, leapt before Ellavette, and began to swing its thick hands at her. Managing to dodge, Ellavette was granted a makeshift weapon—a locker door. After Torm’s fist missed Ellavette, it punched through the back of a locker Ellavette opened. As the clay-creature roared while trying to wretch its fist free, Ellavette slammed the locker’s door shut, severing Trom’s crudely molded clay arm in half. Provoked by rage and survival, Ellavette used the weight of body to shove away the clay-creature, swung open the locker, grabbed a hold of the ensnared severed fist and forearm, yanked it free, and used it to bash the clay-creature to the ground. With it rendered dazed, Ellavette yanked the keycard hung around its neck.

    As Ellavette rushed towards the nearest door, Stetson’s voice blared over the PA system. “Not so fast!” Just then, a tremor rocked the hallway, flinging her forward against the door. The impact crashed her back against the floor.

    “My apologies for the crash, but I can’t make it that easy!” Splayed back-flat against the floor, Ellavette’s dazed eyes looked ahead at the looming PA intercom built into the hallway’s ceiling. “You’re knack for mounting a resistance continues to exceed all previous graduates. Well done. It amuses me so. SO GET UP, BITCH! CLASS AIN’T BEEN DISMISSED!”

    Just then, monstrous roar carried down the hallway. Ellavette swiveled her head. What she saw was Ruff, one of Stetson’s other virtual clay-creature, charging its thick molded legs towards her. Just then, another monstrous roar! Ellavette looked down the opposite end of the hallway. Inti, Stetson’s third virtual clay-creature, was inbound like its bully counterpart.

    Ellavette rallied her mettle. An instant later she was back on her feet. Ruff and Inti were nearly upon her. Flanked with no where to run, Ellavette’s only hope was the key card. Her concern whether it would or not was cut off by her swiping of the key card across the door’s control panel. A red strip turned green. Success! A jab to the control panel activated the door to slide open. Ellavette rushed into a classroom, spun around to jab the control panel, causing the door to slide shut, just as Ruff and Inti arrived. As she locked the door with a swipe from the keycard, the barrier between her and them muffled their roars.

    Ellavette examined the classroom. Like all the others it had a single desk designated exclusively for her smack dab in the middle. Just then, through the door, a spike punched through it, as Ruff transformed its hand. Fingers that belonged to Inti reached in and roar, started to pull apart the door.

    Ellavette looked about, desperate for a strategy. She saw the door that led to the school’s central courtyard. With the use of the keycard, she rushed through it.

    The central courtyard was deserted. Ellavette looked back at the door. Just then, it shifted to match the school’s exterior wall.

    Stetson shouted something. She looked up. Saw Abwhoreher, Stetson in virtual avatar form float down and land before her.

    “Greetings,” the voice of Stetson’s virtual avatar spoke through its faceless head.

    “Cram your greetings straight up your ass, dickweed!”

    “Take it easy. Enjoy the reprieve. I promise it won’t last much more than a moment from now.”

    “I don’t want no reprieve! I want to fuck you up!”

    “Your wish is my command,” Abwhoreher responded before a simple gesture activated a holodisp(lay) interface to float before him. From a few inputs with a finger, a sword suddenly sprouted hilt-first from the grass laid between him and Ellavette.

    “‘Fuck me up’, as you put it, and freedom shall be yours, Miss MMons.”

    “Bullshit!”

    “Absolutely.”

    Enraged, Ellavette drew the sword from the grass, and with a war cry, she swung the blade at the mid thighs of Stetson’s ten-foot tall virtual avatar. No damage was inflicted. The blade phased right through. The momentum of the whiff nearly toppled Ellavette as she prevented herself from spinning around.

    Stetson cackled. Angry as she was, Ellavette knew better than to be played a fool again.

    “Try again! This time put your back into it! Come on! Show me what you got, you

stupid bitch!”

    Ellavette discarded the sword. “So like what? You such a fuckin’ pyscho fuckin’ loser back in school you couldn’t get laid?! Well boohoo! That shit ain’t got nothing to do with me!”

    “DO NOT BE DISHONEST!” Abwhoreher bellowed, stomping his foot towards Ellavette, who took a fearful step back. “All you whores are the same! You see past a man like me unless you’re after something! That’s all you do is take! Scheme and take! Once you gained what you want, it’s on to the next dupe! You only stop taking when a man takes control! It’s what all you stupid cunts need! This is for you, YOU STUPID FUCKING BITCH! But like the others, you refuse to learn what’s good for you! I thought you were better! You had the potential to smarten up, but I see now it’s futile to waste another second on your stubbornness! Death is all that remains to spare other the dupes from your deviousness!”

  Just then, Abwhoreher’s arms stretch towards Ellavette. Upon snatching her, they retract, drawing her in to bash his head against her face. With her head dazed and her busted face gushing blood, Ellavette had little recognition of the curved sword blade that protruded out of Abwhoreher’s non-genital crotch, skewering her from between her legs to between her breasts.

    Immediately Ellavette awoke in a narrow, conic prison cell within the center of a classroom. The realization she was not dead, but rather alive and caged within a cell she was all too familiar with, was the breaking point. The fear and rage that coursed through her for the previous few hours was broken down and reformed into tears and despair.

    At the top of her lungs, Ellavette demanded to be killed already. Her pleas were met with Stetson’s cackling booming from out of the PA system. He continued until her screaming was doused and her legs caved, slumping her down onto her knees, exhausted from the hysteria.

    Stetson informed Ellavette that when her spirit was sapped and pled to be taught subservience towards a man would she die.

FOUR

Tige was lying awake in bed. The sun had only just risen. He awoke about an hour earlier, started thinking about last night’s conversation with Doraphine. He was left with regret over how unsympathetic he was. How unconcerned he was for Ellavette’s well-being. The guilt for declining to help find her had sunk in.

    Tige got dressed, put his long hair in a ponytail, and put on a pair of dark shades he kept on his kitchen counter, and departed to check whether or not Balth had abducted Ellavette or worse, killed her.

  Tige parked his hovercar, a TBD MAKE AND MODEL, outside a cluster of dower apartment blocks. Much of Oasibast was dangerous. This particular neighborhood, TBD NEIGHBOR, was particularly dangerous for Tige. TBD GANG claimed the area. If they caught word that an SK, or, in Tige’s case, a former SK, had wandered into their territory, their reaction would not be kind.

    Seeing how it was still early, there was no activity besides an older woman walking her TBD ALIEN DOG, an alien dog with TBD FEATURES. Tige had texted Doraphine while he rode the elevator to his apartment’s parking garage. When approaching the entrance of the tower Doraphine had said Balth lived in, Tige’s guilt was diminishing. It had all but vanished after having used his wristband device to override the lobby entrance’s lock and found himself having reached the thirty-ninth floor with but a few steps remaining till Bath’s apartment door.

    Balth had also awoke early. Unlike Tige, it wasn’t over guilt, but over anxiety. He gambled away his rent money a few days previous. Attempts to collect some sort of interest free loan have proven impossible to obtain. The sound of knocking on his door was not a welcome interruption to his ruminating.

    Balth went to the peephole. The distorted sight of Tige stimulated a confusion almost instantly overridden by with rage.  Bakth’s leather jacket hung nearby. He grabbed his switchblade from its interior pocket, and concealed it his hand.

    Tige realized he didn’t bring a weapon. He was so distracted with wanting to do right by Ellavette, it never even occurred to him until now that Balth may be displeased to find him showing up at his door, by passing the outside buzzer, to instead knock directly on the door. He loosened up his stance and fortified his nerve. Was Ellavette dead? Did Balth murder her? Tige cleared his mind of questions as the automated door to Balth’s apartment slid open.

    “The fuck you doing at my door?” Balth angrily asked Tige.

    “Where’s Ellavette?” Tige replied with an even tone, hoping to keep things between them civil enough.

    “How should I know. The bitch ain’t mine no more. What the fuck you doing here, questioning me about her?! Get the fuck outta here, fuck-o!”

Relax. I don’t want trouble.

  To bad—you found it! Balth drew his switchblade. Well versed in deploying it, he slashed at Tige. He barely managed to dodge. Balth wasted no time. He immediately went in for the kill. Fairing much better coming up against Balth’s lunge, Tige dodged by swiveling his torso. He instantly snapped into action. This wasn’t his first knife either. As if a matter of routine, he twisted Balth’s wrist without deliberation.

   The switchblade dropped from Balth’s grip as he bellowed. The anger of Tige’s youth surged in him. Suppression is no substitute for working on one’s self to purge them of rage. Then operating without thought, but rather the instinct to kill, Tige kicked out Balth’s legs, slamming him back-flat against the hallway’s filthy, treaded and frayed carpet.

    Upon the whimper Balth released after Tige stomped his stomach, Tige regained reigned in his rage to restart of the conversation. “Where is she?!” Tige screamed down upon Balth.

    “I don’t know!”

    “Liar!”

    “Honest! I swear to god! I don’t fuckin’ know! I haven’t seen that fuckin’ bitch for months!”

    The rage inside Tige demanded to be let loose again on Balth, but he denied it, as Balth welled with tears and reeked of terror, stoking Tige with shame for having reduced the man to such a pathetic state. Tige stepped over Balth to enter and make a quick check of his apartment. Ellavette was no where to be found inside the sorrowful abode.

    Tige made a quick and silent exit, hoping to never encounter Balth again. The sting of shame from having committed violence left him wanting to return home, but his investment was to deep. Ellavette was somewhere. He was set to find her. He just prayed it wouldn’t require him to have to harm anyone else.

⬣

The Majemint was on the riverbank of Oasibast’s central district. Tige drove over to the casino to question the staff. One of Ellavette’s fellow card dealer’s pointed him in the direction of Paidie, a waitress who often commiserated with Ellavette over their mutual penchant for getting involved with users and abusers.

    Paidie joined Tige at a table in the main bar area. On account of how dour he carried himself, she figured him to be a cop before even he questioned her about the last time she saw Ellavette.

    “I haven’t seen Ella since early last week,” said Paidie. Her answer received neither a reply from Tige nor a change in his nuetral expression. “I texted her a few times,” Paidie felt compelled to divulge, “but she didn’t reply. It’s not like her to ignore me.”

    “Any other employee to talk to Ellavette outside work?”

    “Amo-Den,” Paidie answered, pointing at Amo-Den, an uptight, husky man wearing a reflective, silver vest embroidered with the Majemint logo while walking ariund the casino floor, observing the few earlyriser gamblers present. “I know he tried to contact her.”

    Tige twisted in his seat to take a look back at Amo-Dem. “Who’s he?” asked Tige.

    “The pit boss,” Paidie answered. “After two no-shows he tried calling Ella to fire her. I’m pretty he never heard back from her. He—“ just then, a sharp whistle interrupted Paidie. She looked at Amo-Den, who indignantly tapped on his wristwatch in an overly animated fashion. “I gotta get back to work,” Paidie said to Tige, rising from her seat. “If there’s any way I can help, let me know.”

    “Real quick,” said Tige, rising from he seat. “Balth, Ellavette’s ex, he been hassling her lately?”

    “No, actually,” said Paidie. “He’s been leaving her alone. Probably because of you.”

    “Me?” asked Tige.

    “Yeah,” said Paidie, smiling with a hint of attraction for Tige. “You’re that bartender, right? Boy, Ellavette loves you. She really talked you up after setting Balth straight. That was good of you. This city needs more of that.”

    The shame returned to Tige as he watched Paidie walk away to tend to an elderly gambler at a slot machine.

⬣

Walking back to his Elev TL3, Tige was compelled to take an invasive approach to finding Ellavette. That would required Zink, a hacker employed by Tige’s former gang, the GOA (Gripz of Argyle). Argyle was the neighborhood where Tige was born and raised. Since his father was a part of the founding crew, Tige becoming a Grip was a forgone conclusion.

    The GOA began operating a protection racket for local businesses, expanded to control more neighborhoods, added drug distribution to their enterprise, and then, upon Arsen’s (Tige’s cousin) ascension as leader of the GOA, the gang moved into black market dealing, a risky direction to take, as it required stealing from facilities belonging to the galaxies most dominating corporations, which were widely and rightly feared because of their practices to ensure omnipresence.

    Whenever the GOA sought to pull off a heist, Zink was brought in to exclusively deploy his hacking prowess for two purposes. The first was to extract information (floor plans, employee itineraries, security protocols, etc.) from whatever location throughout Oasibast the gang was targeting. The second was to override any security systems (sensors, surveillance, and robotic guards). If anyone could help Tige track down Ellavette, Zink was them.

    Within minutes of texting Zink, Tige’s commband (communication wristband) chimed and displayed a projected message that read, “sure come over”. The chime and message were only heard and seen by Tige’s  augmented ears and eyes.

    Zink’s set-up was on the top floor of a warehouse the GOA protected. Most of it was storage. Zink’s walled-off area had several large mainframe computers encased in a cold room, a work station with state of the art computer setup, and a luxurious living space, which had a dance floor and access to a private, rooftop patio equipped with a full length swimming pool.

Walking back to his Elev TL3, Tige was compelled to take an invasive approach to finding Ellavette. That would required Zink, a hacker employed by Tige’s former gang, the GOA (Gripz of Argyle). Argyle was the neighborhood where Tige was born and raised. Since his father was a part of the founding crew, Tige becoming a Grip was a forgone conclusion.

    The GOA began operating a protection racket for local businesses, expanded to control more neighborhoods, added drug distribution to their enterprise, and then, upon Arsen’s (Tige’s cousin) ascension as leader of the GOA, the gang moved into black market dealing, a risky direction to take, as it required stealing from facilities belonging to the galaxies most dominating corporations, which were widely and rightly feared because of their practices to ensure omnipresence.

    Whenever the GOA sought to pull off a heist, Zink was brought in to exclusively deploy his hacking prowess for two purposes. The first was to extract information (floor plans, employee itineraries, security protocols, etc.) from whatever location throughout Oasibast the gang was targeting. The second was to override any security systems (sensors, surveillance, and robotic guards). If anyone could help Tige track down Ellavette, Zink was them.

    Within minutes of texting Zink, Tige’s commband (communication wristband) chimed and displayed a projected message that read, “sure come over”. The chime and message were only heard and seen by Tige’s  augmented ears and eyes.

    Zink’s set-up was on the top floor of a warehouse the GOA protected. Most of it was storage. Zink’s walled-off area had several large mainframe computers encased in a cold room, a work station with state of the art computer setup, and a luxurious living space, which had a dance floor and access to a private, rooftop patio equipped with a full length swimming pool.

    The first floor of the warehouse was a textile mill. The floor manager ushered Tige to a private elevator that lead directly to Zink’s. After exchanging pleasantries, Tige briefed Zink on Ellavette’s disappearance, and Zink got to work. With his brain augmented with cybernetics, he could upload and analyze information near instantly. In addition, his hands, wrists, and arms had synthetic muscle upgrades, permits him to type at an uncanny speed between seamlessly shifting from four different keyboards while viewing and manipulating ten different touchscreen monitors arranged around him. The first thing he set-out to accomplish was to trace the current location of Ellavette’s commband. However, he failed to receive a response. That meant it was either deactivated or destroyed.

    The best Zink could do was pinpoint the last known position of Ellavette’s commband: four blocks from Chumba’s. Tige was unsettled by the thought of her having been abducted mere minutes after conversing with him. In all the months she had been coming in for last call, after all their conversations, a burgeoning friendship, maybe even more, it never once occurred to him to drive her home. Why would it? She could handle herself. She was a tough woman. It woulda been an insult to do so. That thought failed to hold sway before he completed it.

    No live trace wasn’t a positive sign. Zinc spared Tige from stating the obvious, and instead searched the unclaimed, unidentified corpses database registered through the city morgue. By uploading an image of Ellavette’s drivers license, four matches returned. Although none were Ellavette, all four had an uncanny resemblance to her (and Olivion): bleached blonde hair, a Chelsea haircut, high cheek bones, and a pointy chin.

    Zink pulled up information on the four blondes. Each had since been claimed and identified. The first victim, Cobee Owon, ranging back four years ago, was abducted and gone missing for twenty weeks (length of a semester at Prime Cast Academy). When her corpse was found in a dumpster, her neuradact and synaptic connectors were removed. According to the coroner’s report, the cause of death was a brain aneurysm. The other three abductees, Agalule Ceyemi, Marzia Brunsho, and Leobella Tienam shared the exact length of abduction, removal of brain-computer implants, and cause of death. Zink posited the synaptic cpu’s were removed to prevent the authorities from using them to trace back where their abductor held them captive.

    Tige was sure they were onto something. Zink agreed. The question was did the four dead women and Ellavette share a connection outside of matching features? And if so, could it help locate Ellavette?

    Zink compared the financial transactions of all five women. One match was made: Aromatic Madame, a perfume boutique. Not a great lead, seeing how it was found in the shopping district, a popular destination for most Oasisons, regardless of economic standing.

    Zink looked into the Aromatic Madame. It was owned and operated by Stetson Gipsen, a ninth generation nonnative Earthling, thirty-three years of age. The previous owner and operator was Harlee Gipwen, his grandmother and legal guardian. Stetson had no criminal record and paid his taxes. He made a modest income and resided in an apartment above the shop. He wasn’t married and had no dependents. Scouring his financial transactions, tracing his movements around Oasibast through his commband, and checking the history of his online activities, nothing about Stetson was suspect. In fact it was pathetic. All evidence suggested he was a lonely young man who’s life centered around operating the perfume shop.

    “This isn’t a life, it’s a presentation,” Tige said.

    “Why would a schnook like this go through all the trouble to curate a fake online presence in the off, off, off chance he’d ever be looked into?” Zink asked.

    “Because, if nothing else, everyone fills their life—or absence of a life—with some sort of activity,” Tige said. “Whatever he does to get pleasure, he’s hiding it.”

    With a few speedy hand gestures on a touchscreen monitor, Zink brought up the corner’s reports on the four abducted women. “Those missing neuradacts I mentioned,” Zink said. “The coroner’s reports on all four stated they were removed cleanly, with minimal damage to each of the brains. That’s not a quick thing to do. That takes patience. How’s that for a hobby?”

FIVE