Glory to Wilwoxxia

By: @MadMikeMarsbergen

1 

        Finally. The limp-dicked prick was gone. Now she could fuck a real man.

        Sheila Styles watched Harry's sleek and sexy Wilwoxx Windrunner link onto the highway-rails, join all the other Wilwoxx-manufactured vehicles and shoot off at a speed of one-hundred miles-per-hour.

        Harry couldn't get it up. He hadn't been able to get it up for eleven years now. She kept telling him to get an augment inserted into the shaft, and maybe then he could fuck her like a man was supposed to-- but Harry wasn't the type of guy to get corrective surgery on his dong. He'd always make up some excuse about how he didn't want nanorobots controlling his sex-drive. She'd always think-- but never say-- that his sex-drive could use all the help it could get. Instead, she'd smile and nod. Just smile and nod. That was what every good marriage was built upon, after all.

        So Sheila started fucking someone who could get it up... and what Harry didn't know couldn't hurt him. She only hoped that Harry wouldn't ever find out, because it tends to be bad for the family business when you find out your wife is fucking your brother.

        She made her way through the apartment-suite that had been paid-for with Harry's cushy government job at the Wilwoxx Corporation. Past a big-screen television showing two androids fellating one another while a big fat guy swung a bat to their heads, making red oil run and silicone skin-substitute slough off. Past Harry's trophies he'd made from the skulls of the homeless-- hunting hobos was a favourite pastime for the wealthy Wilwoxxians.

        Sheila stopped at the flag of Wilwoxxia, which depicted a black boot stomping red ants with six alternating red-and-black stripes in the background. She looked into the camera, located in the centre of the boot, and raised a hand to her forehead in a salute. This was required, as to not salute the flag meant you didn't support the Wilwoxx Corporation-- and they had a special game-show for those types of people. It was called 'Treasons To Kill' and new episodes were shown every day at 12:30 on the nation's only channel, WTV.

        She went into the bedroom she shared with Harry and sat in the reclining chair. The headset was on the desk, so she put it on and logged into FaceSpace.

        Through the headset's goggles, she saw that she was at a virtual party of drugs and debauchery. There was Jerri-Lynn-- from Wilwoxx Living School-- licking Antichrist off Ricki's tits. That would be a spectacle to see... and maybe even join in on. Wishing she had more time to fuck around, Sheila found the room her and Derek always used whenever they had their virtual fun and knocked on the door.

        Derek opened the door. "Sheila. I was wondering when you'd show up." He let her in and she saw all the toys on the table. Whips, chains, Antichrist, even a sex-bot to plow her from behind while she sucked Derek off.

        "Sorry, D. Mr. Limp was having trouble finding his red-and-black tie for Wilwoxx Day." 'Mr. Limp' was what they called Harry behind his back.

        Derek laughed. "Sounds like Mr. Limp needs to keep his wife on a tighter leash."

        "Fuck me, Derek. I burned the tie yesterday because I wanted to see him squirm this morning. Is that evil?"

        Derek shook his head and pulled Sheila close to him. "No, it's not evil. What's evil is screwing my sister-in-law on FaceSpace while her husband works in the next office over."

        "I only wish I was your actual sister." She bit his lip, pushed him away and proceeded to rip her virtual clothes off. "Now fuck me the way Harry can't."

        Her hands and feet were chained to the bedposts. Derek stripped and slid underneath her, entering her from below. He then ordered the sex-bot to get to work on her rear.

        As her back arched and her toes wiggled-- it all felt so good-- Sheila even ended up moaning in the real-world.

2 

        "Disgusting!"

        Marty Jankowski wrenched off his headset and tossed it over onto the sleeping-bag. Harry Styles had hired him to hack into his wife Sheila's FaceSpace and spy on her. Harry had suspected she was having an affair-- but he would never expect it to be with his own brother.

        Marty had been a hacker for most of his life. It wasn't the safest line of work-- despite the fact that he stayed inside much of his life-- seeing as how hacking was illegal, but it was what he was good at... really damn good, actually. He'd first been turned-on to the joys of hacking after his dad had found a way to dupe the camera in the nation's flag to play a series of looped recordings of the family stopping to salute-- wearing different outfits on different days so they could walk through their shitty little apartment without saluting the flag every two minutes. Dad had been a huge influence on him. Taught him everything he knew.

        Gathering up all the empty cans of Wilwoxx Wonder-Juice from his desk, Marty stood and took them five feet to his Wilwoxx Waste-Eater unit-- passing his own duped watch-flag; though his he'd defaced with all sorts of vile words and phrases-- and dumped them in, one by one. The machine ate the cans up and shot them down to some underground facility, where they were made into android parts-- or so the rumours went.

        He traversed through his puny apartment-- another three feet-- from the Waste-Eater to the Wilwoxx Wire embedded into the wall, tapped Harry's name and waited for him to pick up. Waiting. Still waiting. The automated-message chimed in. Marty tapped the disconnect button. "I'll try again later. Or maybe boss will call me when he sees his missed calls. Yeah... He'll be practically creaming his pants when he realizes I called."

        With the droning groan of his stomach, Marty decided it was time for breakfast. He took two steps to his kitchen-- or what passed for his kitchen, anyway-- and pulled out some Wilwoxx Water-'N'-Eat 'foodlike substance'. It tasted like rubbery shit, but it was supposed to be very nutritious. 'A whole day's worth of vitamins!'-- or some shit like that. Removed a grey biscuit from the package. Covered it in water from the tap. Watched the biscuit swell up like a sponge. He took a bite out of it and forced himself to chew it to a thick pasty mulch. Swallowed.

        "Blech." Marty wiped his mouth, grimacing in disgust, and licked his hand in a desperate attempt to get the awful taste off his tongue. "They really need to add some strawberry flavour to this crap or something!" He took his biscuit with him to the handheld TV he'd duct-taped to the wall above his sleeping-bag. Turned the TV to the only station-- WTV-- and ate his Wilwoxx Corporation satisfaction-guaranteed breakfast-of-champions, while he watched two midgets get their heads cleaved as the studio-audience went wild.

 3

        The Wilwoxx Windrunner-- black and red: the nation's colours; like every other car-- veered off the highway and snaked around to a towering government building. Wilwoxx Corporation HQ. The rail-system brought the car into the parking-lot and into the space marked 'Harry Styles, Director of Game-Show Opportunities, Research and Development'.

        'A real mouthful,' Harry thought, hating the picture they'd taken of him to attach to that bloated title he'd been given. Basically what he had to do, was come up with the sickest and most ridiculous ideas for a new show-- say, once every blue moon-- and then get his secretary to type up the pitch, which he'd then send off to the head of Wilwoxx Corp., Mr. Greg Laarsen, for approval.

        Most of Harry's ideas were approved. WTV was always looking for new game-shows, and there appeared to be no limit to their bloodlust. There was one idea that had been denied... Years ago, he'd pitched a show about stranded Wilwoxxians, watching them start a new society as new problems were introduced. The idea was denied because Laarsen said there wasn't enough potential for gore, and the killing wouldn't start fast enough.

        Harry opened the door and got out of the Windrunner, briefcase in hand. He made sure his coat was buttoned-up-- he wasn't wearing his red-and-black tie for Wilwoxx Day, seeing as how the damned thing had mysteriously gone missing; he suspected Sheila had something to do with it-- and walked over to the Tube. He looked into the ocular scanner. Positive reading. The doors opened. He stepped inside. Hit the big fat button marked '65'. The doors closed and the Tube soared up, whipping to the highest floor-- well, second-highest-- and giving Harry a glorious view of the megacity.

        Billboards shuffled through advertisements proclaiming the glory of Wilwoxx. People ambled along through the streets like ants. Wilwoxx vehicles whooshed across the branching rail-systems, operated not by humans but by sophisticated computers. A heavy layer of black smog polluted the atmosphere, making the commoners susceptible to all sorts of bodily horrors. All they needed was the Wilwoxx-approved panacea: Wonder-Juice-- available for only a buck at any reputable business. Oh, but the commoners were too busy getting wired on Antichrist, blowing all their hard-earned slave-wages on crap designed to rot their minds. Stupid people.

        What was worse was what lay beyond the megacity. Post-war ruins. Ravaged landscapes. A barren scorched Earth. The commoners weren't allowed out and the rich didn't ever want to leave. All that they had was here. In this doomed city of the damned.

        The Tube doors opened, and Harry was removed from his thoughts as the building's AI greeted him. It was female and had been dubbed 'Amrita'.

        "Welcome, Harry Styles. Pleasure to see you on this fine day. Glory to Wilwoxxia. And enjoy your Wilwoxx Day."

        "Morning, Amrita. Glory to Wilwoxxia." He checked his coat once more, exited the elevator and went down the windowed hall to where his office was. It was beside his brother's, so before entering he decided he'd see if Derek had a spare tie. He knocked. Heard some shuffling, scuffling, and the door opened. Derek-- Director of Programming and Social Advancement-- stood there, smiling in that lackadaisical way of his.

        "Hey, Hare. Wuddya need?"

        "Derek, you got an extra tie? Mine went missing."

        "Sure, bro. Give me a second. I always keep a spare handy. Just in case." Derek winked, then left the door open as he went back to his desk and dug through the drawers. He found a tie and draped it over his arm as he walked back to where Harry stood. "Good thing it's there, Hare. Or else you'd be down at the bottom of Lake Weird by the end of the day, eh?"

        Harry took the tie from Derek and quickly put it on. "Yeah, yeah. I'll have to purchase a whole set and keep them tucked away somewhere safe. Thanks, Derek."

        "No problem, Hare. That's what big brothers are for." Smiled that lazy smile again.

        Harry nodded and waved, saying something about grabbing lunch together. He headed back to his office feeling noticeably better. Set his hand on the print reader. The door opened for him and he went inside. He set his briefcase down on the desk and saw a blinking red light on the Wire. Marty, maybe? He hit a few buttons and brought up the list of missed calls. Sure enough, M. Jankowski had called just five minutes ago. He tapped the name of his hired hacker and the Wire began the call. Marty picked up within seconds.

        "Marty? So... You find anything? Really... That's-- that's... I don't know what to say. Can you meet me at the Southside Diner in, say, fifteen? I'll see you there, Marty. Thanks for your services. Bye."

        Harry found himself shaking as he ended the call. Sheila? Derek? How could they... betray him like that? Sure, he couldn't get hot and heavy like he used to, but was that really worth throwing away-- what he thought was-- a happy marriage? He wiped sweat from his forehead and tears from his eyes. Found himself slumped in the chair behind his desk; his breathing erratic; his heart racing. Thankfully, his augment kicked-in and steadied his heartbeat before things really spiralled out of control.

        Once he found the words, he'd have a talk with his brother... and his wife, for that matter. For now, though, it was time to meet with Marty and give him his deserved payment. And to get some air.

        A push of the intercom on the desk. "Evalynn?"

        "Yes, Mr. Styles."

        "Keep track of any and all calls. I'm heading out."

        "Certainly, Mr. Styles. I will have all your calls clearly labelled for you when you return."

        "Thank you, Evalynn."

        "I live to serve you, Mr. Styles."

        Could always count on androids to get the job done right. Harry left his office and went back down the Tube. Found his car. Entered in his location: Southside Diner. And the Windrunner took him away.

4

        "Can I see ya again?" the old man with the grizzled beard asked.

        Kimmy Threedot shrugged, fanning the wad of cash with one hand and pulling up her stockings with the other. "If it is your desire, feel free to call on me."

        The old man grinned. He tugged up his pants and threw on his shirt. He made to kiss Kimmy on the cheek, but she stopped him with her silky-smooth hand.

        "Ah-bup-bup!" She smiled and shook her head, sending her straight almost-too-perfect white-blonde hair flowing. "Kisses are not allowed, Vernon. You know the rules."

        "I'm sorry, Kimmy," Vernon grovelled, down on his knees with his head at her feet. He tried to kiss them, too, but she backed away. "Can't I kiss those feet before I go? Please?"

        "No, Vernon. You know what the beard does to my skin."

        He suddenly stood up and looked at her through slitted eyes. "Skin? You ain't got skin! Yer a stinkin' robot!"

        Kimmy turned from him, wiping away a tear of saline solution that had rolled down her cheek. "You do not have to be so... so damn mean! I have feelings, too, you know. I am not like the others."

        "I'm sorry, Kimmy." Vernon slapped himself repeatedly, every blow to his face making Kimmy wince. "You are different. Ya know I know that! But... if I shave my beard, can I kiss you the next time? I like to kiss ya, Kim-Kim."

        She nodded. "Of course. But you cannot have even a little stubble. You know what will happen if the hairs prick my skin."

        "Right! I'll shave just before I come visit ya!" Vernon was back to grinning. "Hey," he said, taking out another fifty from his wallet. "I'm sorry about what I said, Kimmy. You know I love ya." He handed it to her.

        She took the money. "Thank you, Vernon. You are too kind. I look forward to seeing you again."

        Vernon turned to leave the rundown apartment, stepping over the glass shards of a broken television set-- thrown aside by Kimmy's previous customer after a dispute. "Hey... C-can I ask you something? Kimmy?" He stopped before the right turn, which led to the door.

        "Sure, Vernon. You can always ask me whatever you like. But sometimes the answer is not something you would like to hear."

        "When yer... when yer with the other men. Do ya think of me?"

        "Of course, Vernon," she lied. "You are the best."

        "You mean that?"

        "Yes. I love my time with you."

        "Thanks, Kimmy. Yer one of a kind." He turned the corner, whistling as he walked. Kimmy saw him salute the flag near the door, and then he was gone.

        She sat on her dirty bed and wept. So many men she had been with in that bed. And none of them mattered to her. None of them meant a damn thing. They were warm bodies. And wallets. They gave her money in exchange for sex. And sometimes she felt terrible.

        She did not always feel, though.

        Or think.

        Once upon a time, she had been just another sex-bot. Just another working-whore. But then... something happened to her. She had been changed. By somebody-- somebody special to her-- but she could not remember who her benefactor was. Her programming had been modified. Parts of her memory had been wiped. She had been given free-will. She could do anything now. Anything she wanted. Anything she dreamed. But all she knew was prostitution.

        "Stop being so sad, Kimmy," she told herself. And it worked. Like a switch had been flipped in her programming. And maybe one had, for all she knew.

        She stuffed her money down her shirt, saluted the flag and left her apartment. Down the stairs. Past the bleeding man begging for spirituality. Nobody had any faith to give. Instead, some spat on him. Others kicked him in the head. Beat him. Laughed at him. But not her. She gave him the extra fifty she'd received from Vernon's charity.

        "Bless you, miss!"

        "Use it well, mister," she said over her shoulder before exiting the apartment complex.

        Out into the rain and the dampness and the desolation. It always rained in this part of town. Kimmy walked through graffitied streets-- passing eloquent mantras like: 'Wilwoxx Must Die!', 'Wonder-Juice Rots The Brain', 'Don't Drink The Water!' and 'Cleopa 4 Lyfe'-- and down darkened alleys. Two streets from her apartment complex, she stumbled across two little boys sodomizing each other for the pleasure of their Antichrist dealer. She felt sick. Sick and afraid.

        Needless to say, Kimmy was glad when she had moved out of that twisted environment and saw the Southside Diner in her sights. She moved swiftly towards it. Time to relax and unwind. Maybe order a drink she did not-- could not-- ever consume.

5 

        Sheila twirled her fingers through Derek's curly black chest-hair. She had a cigarette smouldering in her other hand. Took two puffs. Blew them out. Life was good.

        "Let me get a few puffs," Derek said. He opened his mouth so Sheila could place the smoke in between his lips. He inhaled once. Twice. Three times. Coughed on the smoke, sending expanding plumes of it to fill the virtual room. He didn't smoke often. "So, I saw Harry when I tapped-out earlier."

        "And?" Sheila took another drag. "What did Mr. Limp have to say?"

        "I gave him a tie for Wilwoxx Day."

        "What? Why?" She suddenly sat up, her fake tits firm in place. Not a bounce or a jiggle to be seen. The augments that were supposed to catch Harry's eye. They were supposed to make him want to fuck her like a machine. But even they didn't work. "He could've been fucking dead, D. Dead."

        "Jesus. Would you shut the fuck up with that shit, Sheila. I don't want him dead. He's still my brother. I still care about him. I still love him."

        Sheila laughed. "Yes, and that's why you're fucking your brother's wife. Because you care. Because you love him. You're nothing but a fruitcake, D. Admit it." She laughed again and her laughter was really starting to piss Derek off.

        "Quiet."

        "Oh, don't be such a baby. Shut up and fuck me, D." She snorted a line of Antichrist off the table. Felt the sting up her nostrils and the powder in the back of her throat, thick and bitter. Felt the drug take hold. Inhibitions at an