<span style="font-size: 15px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#00ff00">(Miren Banes post)</span></span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 22px"><br/>
The Puppeteer's Game</span><br/>
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</div><br/><br/><br/><br/><i>Gaberial looked across each of the monitors with his arms folded. The sound wrapping around the ceiling, flowing across the floor boards, and sinking within the acoustically carved burms within his inner ear was exactly what he perceived Beethoven most likely felt centuries ago. Gaberial’s masterpiece composition of his own making, witnessed upon 80 inch holo screens, showed what he called, the human story of thrashing and laborious sweat. Yes sweat. The ping and pang from internal hatred, manifesting itself into a physical fist worthy to be noted as a fascinating observation in rebellion, becoming a frustrating final act of contrition before the sinews within their hand muscles relax, and their re-introduction towards total fealty begins. Gabriel breathed heavily as the subjects suspended in their VR chasses heaved under pressure, sweat dots forming from their foreheads only to fog their exhibit windows in perspiration inspired fog. Gabriel would speak into a communicator that was patched in to each VR set and began his dictations to encourage his captors into what he would call, their salvation from the chaos the galaxy gave like cotton candy to children at a carnival. This was like a shot of adrenaline to his very soul as he stood up, entranced by the sounds of surrender and with his arms stretched out, and his eyes closed, envisioning himself to be an orchestra conductor by swaying one hand around in short figure 8 patterns as if guiding a pretend stick towards his players. </i><br/><br/><br/><br/>“That is right my pets….” He said, “This is the true voice of reason. Why fight? Why grip on to things that are no more?<i>Relax</i>. What’s the harm in letting yourself go from the dreary and predictable world according to rules…<i>regulations…a time clock</i>….a dictator’s orders<i>you never wanted to follow anyway? …David then picked up a remote control device and engaged the hormone serum... </i>“So we will just dine upon these vices which we’ve been told were forbidden and from the forbidden fruit --- we --- like Adam and Eve will convene our ties from Eden…. and welcome ourselves to Prime.”<br/><br/><br/><i>What the four captive women were seeing was something far different. </i><br/><br/><br/>Prentis engineered this whole thing from his twisted genius, the perfect system to break the will of his captured bounty, able to remake their entire identity into whatever he felt like. It alwatys started the same way, an uncooperative and downright hostile kidnapee would first be painstakingly taken to the slave holding pens where they were stripped of whatever they had and put into a special skin tight jump suit. The jump suit was a flexible material that closely hugged to the body and within the fabric was nanotechnology with an incorporation of pain and emotion receptors that were also planted for each part of the body. The suit and its nanites would regulate microscopic skin probes to inject various chemicals into the blood stream to push for the desired result. It was a potent system of imagery and chemicals called Recepticators and they were an integral part to win over the unwilling.<br/><br/><br/><i>The Garden</i>, as he lovingly called it, was a large enclosed facility with heavy brackets attached to mechanical arms from which a single VR pod was attached to; when the captor was sufficiently broken in and changed, the pod would be plucked and then dropped into a vacuum tube situated in the middle of the floor, depositing the new slaves down the shoot where he or she would be sent to their preparation stage to be shipped out like cattle.<br/><br/><br/>The process was simple enough, a technician would hook them up into one of the VR simulators, ensure the suit was in its proper place made easy by pre-outlined markings to guide a not so savvy Play Tech and they were done. The rest was in the hands of VR trainers, individuals that were used to guide the captive into their intended role and flush the fight from their spirit, delivering a fresh courtesan for the galactic trade market. There were a few combinations for this as some would be auctioned off by visiting space pirates, traders, or run of the mill space farers, while others would be sent to their new owners that lived on the station. Gabriel had prized VIP specimens that were made for special purposes beyond the slave trade as he used his tech to bend rivals at their knees, send sabotaged people back to where they came, or make examples for the hell of it because he simply could and would do so to his black heart's content.<br/><br/><br/>Hey boss…” there was a voice as the hiss to an automatic blast door opened, “We have some interesting information for you,”<br/><br/><br/>“Oh…” he said as he put down his headset “And what could be just so important as to disturb a work of art at the moment if you haven’t even begun to pay attention?!?” He snapped with a wild and crazed look as if he was just torn away from a powerful aphrodisiac and now was expected to go cold turkey.<br/><br/><br/>“Understood… but intelligence boys from the Gemini sector was going through the Federation traffic and it would seem… they found the Carrrie Grayson dump…”<br/><br/><br/>“So they found our beautiful work in New Chicago tantalizing did they?” He asked with a bit of excitement “Very good….very good… lets go see what we have. I have such fond memories of her…<i>well…and her partner anyway….”</i><br/><br/>Gaberial got up from his station and let the programs play themselves out as he fixed his silk black shirt that was neatly tucked into a pair of dark grey dress pants, sporting high gloss loafers as they clacked along a grated metal cat walk towards another viewing room. In the closed in communications room there was a holo-feed of a late breaking Galaxy-wide news story as he sat down in an office chair to watch.<br/><br/>“Well look at that…,” he said as he marveled at the news feed.<br/><br/><br/><i>New Chicago Police report that a gruesome murder-suicide had taken place at Grayson Tower where philanthropist Mark Grayon, his wife Sherry Grayson, and two daughters one of which was the recently brought back Carrie Grayson that authorities said had been kidnapped and taken prisoner for what had been several months, have all been found murdered. Galatic News does not have any further information for you at this time as the GBI Officials have since arrived on scene to take over the investigation…</i><br/><br/>Gaberial simply smiled…<br/><br/>“And… that should stir a perfectly good nest of possibilities….” He said as he tapped his chin, “Sorry Carrie… but your father just couldn’t shut up when he had the chance,” before he turned to another suit clad collogue that was also watching while leaning up against a wall. “Dallas…have we gotten any word from our contacts in New Chicago about the need to replace a training tech? I had given the order a few days ago and haven’t’ heard anything back --- this slowness and incompetence is becoming an annoyance,”<br/><br/>“ I’ll check up on…”<br/><br/>“ You’ll be a fucking corpse by mid-night unless I see better action from you,” Gaberial cut in as he turned towards him, “ Now kindly fuck off and figure it out as you were hired to do --- is that clear enough?”<br/><br/>“ Yes – no problem boss,” he said cooly with a slight eye of disdain and hatred.<br/><br/>“ I love that look by the way Dallas,” he said, “ It’s the look of a productive hate. You should wear it more often… it sends chills up my spine. Just remember at any given moment, you could very well pull that piece out that’s tucked in your belt line and I would so marvel at getting blown away by a skillful gunmen but you’ll have to be quick,”<br/><br/>“There’s no need for all that…”<br/><br/>“Well then what the fuck is wrong with you then?” he snapped as he gripped his chair, “Be a professional. This business requires professionals. Got it? Good ---<i>be gone</i>. Take a few of the whores if you want --- whatever it takes to get you in fucking gear,” as he waved him off.<br/><br/><i>“Now…” he said as he arose and fixed his shirt, “Back to my lovelies…”</i>