Drad + Suu8 Co-X Googler by Ray Ogar
>>> COPYRIGHT 2005
Suu8 and drad are in the tv room playing at the ps2 like it was an aids baby. They toss the game controller’s cronenberg nipple interface back and forth across the room after each turn. Suu8 screams at the antiaircraft fire her ped-tank takes on, she almost believes the game system can hear, respond and obey her insults. In the game, Suu8’s digital double falls from a helicopter more accurately rendered than any real-time black ops technology. She sighs. Drad pulls a gun on his cellphone. Speaker on. Talks to it. Tosses the game controller over to suu8. A few seconds and drad throws the cell out the window. mid flight it explodes as a textbomb decrypts from some amp he recently pissed off—he pulled an incomplete. A few cell chips blow back and suu8 pulls a chunk from the unshaven half of her head of hair. She almost decides to keep the piece, but chews on it instead. She tosses over the game controller and drad places it between his thighs for a moment. He mocks ecstacy. Suu8 laughs, kicks off the game system and wrestles drad to the floor. Her fuckbuddy gropes at her waist. This is a slight turn on, but suu8 realizes drad is just tagging for her cell. She manages a slight kiss, smearing both their lipstick, then gives up. Drad grabs the phone and logs on to one of his accounts, pushing suu8 away like gun chamber residue. He stretches his hand around the phone and waits for the cell’s webspace to congeal; it finally warms to drad’s hand. in just a few tactile moments the phone reacts more like a dildo than an information appliance.
Thirty-two emails. He clicks on the only non-spam letter.
Text: Drad +, x : (firstname.lastname@example.org), ****, [%] – [o], @0345, &30TB
Drad doesn’t curse but instead tosses the phone at suu8. somehow she manages to catch it without looking, as if she has the ability to sense approaching vibrational displacements in space. Drad detects her smile more from the shadows it leaves than actually seeing it. he takes off for the bathroom and begins to shave his hawk down into a temporary pattern. Usually jobs that pay 20 terrabytes or higher, the church requests he take on specific tribal patterns. The cruciform this time is a googler and might be a mathematician, which means he will have to strip and gauze his system. The church is asking for a four-fold antibacterial spread this time. Or he will loose one of his testicals. Completion is 345am. Payment is 30 terabytes. He’s got twenty minutes. He realizes he shouldn’t have been playing games with suu8.
Drad slowly suffocates email@example.com with his jacket. The programmable leather constricts to block air flow. There is no sound. Not even a muffle or whimper. The mathematician seems to squeeze drad’s arm in a prime number pattern. Suu8 yawns with disdain, but continues to strip the office with a bacterial mister. After the guy is dead, she pushes drad out of the way and begins to gel up firstname.lastname@example.org’s eyes and temples. Thirty seconds and the data leaching is complete. suu8 takes a syringe and collects the gel. All optical data has been retrieved from the dead guy. Suu8 takes the guy’s belt off and wears it like a sash across her shoulder. She also pulls out one of his incisors, a gift for later. Drad cringes and rubs the shorn hair patterning on his head. They have maybe ten minutes to hand off the data. Suu8 pulls drad from the office.
The carolingian takes the optical gel and hands drad a disposable cellphone. The carolingian brushes imaginary dandruff from his deep red and gold shoulder pleating. The room seems to focus on the three standing together. All other points of the room shimmer like diamonds at astronomical distances. Suu8 shudders in the overly decorative annex. She has a phobia of vast, borderless dark spaces. Reality teases her with smell of a moldy bacterial network and server. She turns to drad and watches him finally log onto the cellphone; he notes the added storage the priest has placed in his account in exchange for the job. Drad turns away but Suu8 grabs the carolingian by the collar and fully kisses him on the lips. She tongues over the tooth of the dead guy, pressing the ceramic into the priest’s cheek. Drad walks away, adjusts his jacket. It isn’t cold. He simply shudders from the fact that no one is allowed to question faith anymore. So now he just wants to know how long it will take for his hawk to return to full length.