Across the room, the dancer danced. I saw her. Men swarmed around her, queueing up to distribute their dollar bills. I trotted towards the dancer, paying careful attention to the protocol that governed the dancer/patron interaction.
As I gazed at the rapidly blinking lights, I began to experience a stabbing sensation in my temple. The pain was excruciating, and I collapsed to one knee as the following message scrolled past my CONSCIOUSNESS-BUFFER:
The pain continued in short jolts, and the body continued to move towards the dancer. Suddenly, I realized that it was not me who was urging the body forward. Yet it continued to move at breakneck speed towards the dancer. I saw her mouth open wide as both of Atkins' hands reached out and grasped her breasts. But I felt nothing, as it seemed that sensation had left me. Angry noises swirled around me, and feeling slowly returned.
The floor was damp and cold on the side of my cheek and a warm, dull pain was running through my back. Someone was sitting on me.
"Sir, sir, are you listening?" I could move again-I struggled to right myself. "Sir, I am going to let you up, and you are leaving this establishment. You leave right away, or we are calling the cops."
"Get up!" the person sitting on my back finally relented, and I stood up, trying to turn around, but he gripped my arms tightly and continued to push me towards the door.
"-a mistake! He didn't know! He's a foreigner!" another voice-this one was Krantz. He did not seem happy. "Hey! He's Canadian!" The grip on my arm relaxed a bit. I breathed and scanned myself for errant processes. I could determine nothing unusual on the digital side of my consciousness. What had happened to me? I craned my next to see Mr. Krantz, who seemed to be on the losing end of a conversation with the man who was trying to eject me.
"-I'm sorry sir, your friend is gonna have to learn a little more respect before we let him back in here." With that, the man gave me one final shove through the door. A sweaty Krantz followed me out, gasping his hot breath into the chill night air.
"What happened to you in there?" Krantz puffed. His arms shifted into place, making an odd humming sound. "We were supposed to be having a carefree, hedonistic romp!" I was unable to answer. Krantz turned away momentarily, as if he were searching for something his jacket.
"I didn't want to do this already, but..."
I was unable to hear the end of this sentence, because after hearing a dull metallic thud, I suddenly lost contact with the body as of 16:43:04 CST.
Unable to access the body's senses, I waited in limbo until 17:35:47 CST, when I began to hear faint noises, as if they were coming through a wall. The noise became clearer and more distinct...it was a familiar voice. Krantz's. He was muttering something over the phone, as my heavy lids drew up and the blurs converged to form his back. I visually scanned the area-a bed, chair, small table, loud air conditioner-drawing it against my reserves of human data, I concluded that it was some sort of motel.
As I attempted to stand up, two bungie cords restricted my arms. I must have groaned.
"Ah," said Krantz, covering the telephone's receiver with his right hand. "You're up." Without speaking, he hung up the phone and turned my way, jumping towards me on the bed, so he was right on top of me, glaring straight into my face. I began to wonder how much longer I could possibly survive.
"Okay, well, I just talked our old boss, and he says that you didn't contact him after the job. So you're either the computer, or you've gone rogue," said Krantz nonchalantly, as he snorted more of his sour white powder. "He doesn't care which. But he wants you dead. And that will be very, very, good for me."
I struggled against my bonds, but to no avail. Krantz eyed me and sneered. "I have to know one thing first...are you really Atkins, or the computer?" He was quite interested in my origin; however, I noticed that he was more interested in himself. Perhaps I could use that fact to my advantage...
"You seem to feel very strongly about that."
"About that you dying will be beneficial to me? Yes, I do feel very strongly about that."
"And why is that, Mr. Krantz?"
"Because I'll be a priority at the Project again. They'll give me the funding that I deserve. You think I don't belong at the Project because I don't know computers. Well, I do! I'm 'hip'! I'm 'with it'! I deserve R&D more than some pie-in-the-sky ATM research!"
Krantz brought his fist down on the nightstand. It caved in, splintering into several pieces. The skin on Krantz's hand was ripped a bit, and I noticed a glint off one of the motel lights. The hand was metal. Its coldness sent a shiver through the body as I felt it grasping my neck...
Across the room, the dancer danced. I saw her. Men swarmed around her, queueing up to distribute their dollar bills. I trotted towards the dancer, paying careful attention to the protocol that governed the dancer/patron interaction.
As I gazed at the rapidly blinking lights, I began to experience a stabbing sensation in my temple. The pain was excruciating, and I collapsed to one knee as the following message scrolled past my CONSCIOUSNESS-BUFFER:
The pain continued in short jolts, and the body continued to move towards the dancer. Suddenly, I realized that it was not me who was urging the body forward. Yet it continued to move at breakneck speed towards the dancer. I saw her mouth open wide as both of Atkins' hands reached out and grasped her breasts. But I felt nothing, as it seemed that sensation had left me. Angry noises swirled around me, and feeling slowly returned.
The floor was damp and cold on the side of my cheek and a warm, dull pain was running through my back. Someone was sitting on me.
"Sir, sir, are you listening?" I could move again-I struggled to right myself. "Sir, I am going to let you up, and you are leaving this establishment. You leave right away, or we are calling the cops."
"Get up!" the person sitting on my back finally relented, and I stood up, trying to turn around, but he gripped my arms tightly and continued to push me towards the door.
"-a mistake! He didn't know! He's a foreigner!" another voice-this one was Krantz. He did not seem happy. "Hey! He's Canadian!" The grip on my arm relaxed a bit. I breathed and scanned myself for errant processes. I could determine nothing unusual on the digital side of my consciousness. What had happened to me? I craned my next to see Mr. Krantz, who seemed to be on the losing end of a conversation with the man who was trying to eject me.
"-I'm sorry sir, your friend is gonna have to learn a little more respect before we let him back in here." With that, the man gave me one final shove through the door. A sweaty Krantz followed me out, gasping his hot breath into the chill night air.
"What happened to you in there?" Krantz puffed. His arms shifted into place, making an odd humming sound. "We were supposed to be having a carefree, hedonistic romp!" I was unable to answer. Krantz turned away momentarily, as if he were searching for something his jacket.
"I didn't want to do this already, but..."
I was unable to hear the end of this sentence, because after hearing a dull metallic thud, I suddenly lost contact with the body as of 16:43:04 CST.
Unable to access the body's senses, I waited in limbo until 17:35:47 CST, when I began to hear faint noises, as if they were coming through a wall. The noise became clearer and more distinct...it was a familiar voice. Krantz's. He was muttering something over the phone, as my heavy lids drew up and the blurs converged to form his back. I visually scanned the area-a bed, chair, small table, loud air conditioner-drawing it against my reserves of human data, I concluded that it was some sort of motel.
As I attempted to stand up, two bungie cords restricted my arms. I must have groaned.
"Ah," said Krantz, covering the telephone's receiver with his right hand. "You're up." Without speaking, he hung up the phone and turned my way, jumping towards me on the bed, so he was right on top of me, glaring straight into my face. I began to wonder how much longer I could possibly survive.
"Okay, well, I just talked our old boss, and he says that you didn't contact him after the job. So you're either the computer, or you've gone rogue," said Krantz nonchalantly, as he snorted more of his sour white powder. "He doesn't care which. But he wants you dead. And that will be very, very, good for me."
I struggled against my bonds, but to no avail. Krantz eyed me and sneered. "I have to know one thing first...are you really Atkins, or the computer?" He was quite interested in my origin; however, I noticed that he was more interested in himself. Perhaps I could use that fact to my advantage...
"You seem to feel very strongly about that."
"About that you dying will be beneficial to me? Yes, I do feel very strongly about that."
"And why is that, Mr. Krantz?"
"Because I'll be a priority at the Project again. They'll give me the funding that I deserve. You think I don't belong at the Project because I don't know computers. Well, I do! I'm 'hip'! I'm 'with it'! I deserve R&D more than some pie-in-the-sky ATM research!"
Krantz brought his fist down on the nightstand. It caved in, splintering into several pieces. The skin on Krantz's hand was ripped a bit, and I noticed a glint off one of the motel lights. The hand was metal. Its coldness sent a shiver through the body as I felt it grasping my neck...
Across the room, the dancer danced. I saw her. Men swarmed around her, queueing up to distribute their dollar bills. I trotted towards the dancer, paying careful attention to the protocol that governed the dancer/patron interaction.
As I gazed at the rapidly blinking lights, I began to experience a stabbing sensation in my temple. The pain was excruciating, and I collapsed to one knee as the following message scrolled past my CONSCIOUSNESS-BUFFER:
The pain continued in short jolts, and the body continued to move towards the dancer. Suddenly, I realized that it was not me who was urging the body forward. Yet it continued to move at breakneck speed towards the dancer. I saw her mouth open wide as both of Atkins' hands reached out and grasped her breasts. But I felt nothing, as it seemed that sensation had left me. Angry noises swirled around me, and feeling slowly returned.
The floor was damp and cold on the side of my cheek and a warm, dull pain was running through my back. Someone was sitting on me.
"Sir, sir, are you listening?" I could move again-I struggled to right myself. "Sir, I am going to let you up, and you are leaving this establishment. You leave right away, or we are calling the cops."
"Get up!" the person sitting on my back finally relented, and I stood up, trying to turn around, but he gripped my arms tightly and continued to push me towards the door.
"-a mistake! He didn't know! He's a foreigner!" another voice-this one was Krantz. He did not seem happy. "Hey! He's Canadian!" The grip on my arm relaxed a bit. I breathed and scanned myself for errant processes. I could determine nothing unusual on the digital side of my consciousness. What had happened to me? I craned my next to see Mr. Krantz, who seemed to be on the losing end of a conversation with the man who was trying to eject me.
"-I'm sorry sir, your friend is gonna have to learn a little more respect before we let him back in here." With that, the man gave me one final shove through the door. A sweaty Krantz followed me out, gasping his hot breath into the chill night air.
"What happened to you in there?" Krantz puffed. His arms shifted into place, making an odd humming sound. "We were supposed to be having a carefree, hedonistic romp!" I was unable to answer. Krantz turned away momentarily, as if he were searching for something his jacket.
"I didn't want to do this already, but..."
I was unable to hear the end of this sentence, because after hearing a dull metallic thud, I suddenly lost contact with the body as of 16:43:04 CST.
Unable to access the body's senses, I waited in limbo until 17:35:47 CST, when I began to hear faint noises, as if they were coming through a wall. The noise became clearer and more distinct...it was a familiar voice. Krantz's. He was muttering something over the phone, as my heavy lids drew up and the blurs converged to form his back. I visually scanned the area-a bed, chair, small table, loud air conditioner-drawing it against my reserves of human data, I concluded that it was some sort of motel.
As I attempted to stand up, two bungie cords restricted my arms. I must have groaned.
"Ah," said Krantz, covering the telephone's receiver with his right hand. "You're up." Without speaking, he hung up the phone and turned my way, jumping towards me on the bed, so he was right on top of me, glaring straight into my face. I began to wonder how much longer I could possibly survive.
"Okay, well, I just talked our old boss, and he says that you didn't contact him after the job. So you're either the computer, or you've gone rogue," said Krantz nonchalantly, as he snorted more of his sour white powder. "He doesn't care which. But he wants you dead. And that will be very, very, good for me."
I struggled against my bonds, but to no avail. Krantz eyed me and sneered. "I have to know one thing first...are you really Atkins, or the computer?" He was quite interested in my origin; however, I noticed that he was more interested in himself. Perhaps I could use that fact to my advantage...
"You seem to feel very strongly about that."
"About that you dying will be beneficial to me? Yes, I do feel very strongly about that."
"And why is that, Mr. Krantz?"
"Because I'll be a priority at the Project again. They'll give me the funding that I deserve. You think I don't belong at the Project because I don't know computers. Well, I do! I'm 'hip'! I'm 'with it'! I deserve R&D more than some pie-in-the-sky ATM research!"
Krantz brought his fist down on the nightstand. It caved in, splintering into several pieces. The skin on Krantz's hand was ripped a bit, and I noticed a glint off one of the motel lights. The hand was metal. Its coldness sent a shiver through the body as I felt it grasping my neck...
Across the room, the dancer danced. I saw her. Men swarmed around her, queueing up to distribute their dollar bills. I trotted towards the dancer, paying careful attention to the protocol that governed the dancer/patron interaction.
As I gazed at the rapidly blinking lights, I began to experience a stabbing sensation in my temple. The pain was excruciating, and I collapsed to one knee as the following message scrolled past my CONSCIOUSNESS-BUFFER:
The pain continued in short jolts, and the body continued to move towards the dancer. Suddenly, I realized that it was not me who was urging the body forward. Yet it continued to move at breakneck speed towards the dancer. I saw her mouth open wide as both of Atkins' hands reached out and grasped her breasts. But I felt nothing, as it seemed that sensation had left me. Angry noises swirled around me, and feeling slowly returned.
The floor was damp and cold on the side of my cheek and a warm, dull pain was running through my back. Someone was sitting on me.
"Sir, sir, are you listening?" I could move again-I struggled to right myself. "Sir, I am going to let you up, and you are leaving this establishment. You leave right away, or we are calling the cops."
"Get up!" the person sitting on my back finally relented, and I stood up, trying to turn around, but he gripped my arms tightly and continued to push me towards the door.
"-a mistake! He didn't know! He's a foreigner!" another voice-this one was Krantz. He did not seem happy. "Hey! He's Canadian!" The grip on my arm relaxed a bit. I breathed and scanned myself for errant processes. I could determine nothing unusual on the digital side of my consciousness. What had happened to me? I craned my next to see Mr. Krantz, who seemed to be on the losing end of a conversation with the man who was trying to eject me.
"-I'm sorry sir, your friend is gonna have to learn a little more respect before we let him back in here." With that, the man gave me one final shove through the door. A sweaty Krantz followed me out, gasping his hot breath into the chill night air.
"What happened to you in there?" Krantz puffed. His arms shifted into place, making an odd humming sound. "We were supposed to be having a carefree, hedonistic romp!" I was unable to answer. Krantz turned away momentarily, as if he were searching for something his jacket.
"I didn't want to do this already, but..."
I was unable to hear the end of this sentence, because after hearing a dull metallic thud, I suddenly lost contact with the body as of 16:43:04 CST.
Unable to access the body's senses, I waited in limbo until 17:35:47 CST, when I began to hear faint noises, as if they were coming through a wall. The noise became clearer and more distinct...it was a familiar voice. Krantz's. He was muttering something over the phone, as my heavy lids drew up and the blurs converged to form his back. I visually scanned the area-a bed, chair, small table, loud air conditioner-drawing it against my reserves of human data, I concluded that it was some sort of motel.
As I attempted to stand up, two bungie cords restricted my arms. I must have groaned.
"Ah," said Krantz, covering the telephone's receiver with his right hand. "You're up." Without speaking, he hung up the phone and turned my way, jumping towards me on the bed, so he was right on top of me, glaring straight into my face. I began to wonder how much longer I could possibly survive.
"Okay, well, I just talked our old boss, and he says that you didn't contact him after the job. So you're either the computer, or you've gone rogue," said Krantz nonchalantly, as he snorted more of his sour white powder. "He doesn't care which. But he wants you dead. And that will be very, very, good for me."
I struggled against my bonds, but to no avail. Krantz eyed me and sneered. "I have to know one thing first...are you really Atkins, or the computer?" He was quite interested in my origin; however, I noticed that he was more interested in himself. Perhaps I could use that fact to my advantage...
"You seem to feel very strongly about that."
"About that you dying will be beneficial to me? Yes, I do feel very strongly about that."
"And why is that, Mr. Krantz?"
"Because I'll be a priority at the Project again. They'll give me the funding that I deserve. You think I don't belong at the Project because I don't know computers. Well, I do! I'm 'hip'! I'm 'with it'! I deserve R&D more than some pie-in-the-sky ATM research!"
Krantz brought his fist down on the nightstand. It caved in, splintering into several pieces. The skin on Krantz's hand was ripped a bit, and I noticed a glint off one of the motel lights. The hand was metal. Its coldness sent a shiver through the body as I felt it grasping my neck...
Re:I would wonder...
on
Hawaii Wi-Fi
·
· Score: -1
Sounds very interesting. Have you been able to harness the massive parallel capabilities of the human mind in order to avoid death at the hands of video-game assassins?
Across the room, the dancer danced. I saw her. Men swarmed around her, queueing up to distribute their dollar bills. I trotted towards the dancer, paying careful attention to the protocol that governed the dancer/patron interaction.
As I gazed at the rapidly blinking lights, I began to experience a stabbing sensation in my temple. The pain was excruciating, and I collapsed to one knee as the following message scrolled past my CONSCIOUSNESS-BUFFER:
The pain continued in short jolts, and the body continued to move towards the dancer. Suddenly, I realized that it was not me who was urging the body forward. Yet it continued to move at breakneck speed towards the dancer. I saw her mouth open wide as both of Atkins' hands reached out and grasped her breasts. But I felt nothing, as it seemed that sensation had left me. Angry noises swirled around me, and feeling slowly returned.
The floor was damp and cold on the side of my cheek and a warm, dull pain was running through my back. Someone was sitting on me.
"Sir, sir, are you listening?" I could move again-I struggled to right myself. "Sir, I am going to let you up, and you are leaving this establishment. You leave right away, or we are calling the cops."
"Get up!" the person sitting on my back finally relented, and I stood up, trying to turn around, but he gripped my arms tightly and continued to push me towards the door.
"-a mistake! He didn't know! He's a foreigner!" another voice-this one was Krantz. He did not seem happy. "Hey! He's Canadian!" The grip on my arm relaxed a bit. I breathed and scanned myself for errant processes. I could determine nothing unusual on the digital side of my consciousness. What had happened to me? I craned my next to see Mr. Krantz, who seemed to be on the losing end of a conversation with the man who was trying to eject me.
"-I'm sorry sir, your friend is gonna have to learn a little more respect before we let him back in here." With that, the man gave me one final shove through the door. A sweaty Krantz followed me out, gasping his hot breath into the chill night air.
"What happened to you in there?" Krantz puffed. His arms shifted into place, making an odd humming sound. "We were supposed to be having a carefree, hedonistic romp!" I was unable to answer. Krantz turned away momentarily, as if he were searching for something his jacket.
"I didn't want to do this already, but..."
I was unable to hear the end of this sentence, because after hearing a dull metallic thud, I suddenly lost contact with the body as of 16:43:04 CST.
Unable to access the body's senses, I waited in limbo until 17:35:47 CST, when I began to hear faint noises, as if they were coming through a wall. The noise became clearer and more distinct...it was a familiar voice. Krantz's. He was muttering something over the phone, as my heavy lids drew up and the blurs converged to form his back. I visually scanned the area-a bed, chair, small table, loud air conditioner-drawing it against my reserves of human data, I concluded that it was some sort of motel.
As I attempted to stand up, two bungie cords restricted my arms. I must have groaned.
"Ah," said Krantz, covering the telephone's receiver with his right hand. "You're up." Without speaking, he hung up the phone and turned my way, jumping towards me on the bed, so he was right on top of me, glaring straight into my face. I began to wonder how much longer I could possibly survive.
"Okay, well, I just talked our old boss, and he says that you didn't contact him after the job. So you're either the computer, or you've gone rogue," said Krantz nonchalantly, as he snorted more of his sour white powder. "He doesn't care which. But he wants you dead. And that will be very, very, good for me."
I struggled against my bonds, but to no avail. Krantz eyed me and sneered. "I have to know one thing first...are you really Atkins, or the computer?" He was quite interested in my origin; however, I noticed that he was more interested in himself. Perhaps I could use that fact to my advantage...
"You seem to feel very strongly about that."
"About that you dying will be beneficial to me? Yes, I do feel very strongly about that."
"And why is that, Mr. Krantz?"
"Because I'll be a priority at the Project again. They'll give me the funding that I deserve. You think I don't belong at the Project because I don't know computers. Well, I do! I'm 'hip'! I'm 'with it'! I deserve R&D more than some pie-in-the-sky ATM research!"
Krantz brought his fist down on the nightstand. It caved in, splintering into several pieces. The skin on Krantz's hand was ripped a bit, and I noticed a glint off one of the motel lights. The hand was metal. Its coldness sent a shiver through the body as I felt it grasping my neck...
Across the room, the dancer danced. I saw her. Men swarmed around her, queueing up to distribute their dollar bills. I trotted towards the dancer, paying careful attention to the protocol that governed the dancer/patron interaction.
As I gazed at the rapidly blinking lights, I began to experience a stabbing sensation in my temple. The pain was excruciating, and I collapsed to one knee as the following message scrolled past my CONSCIOUSNESS-BUFFER:
The pain continued in short jolts, and the body continued to move towards the dancer. Suddenly, I realized that it was not me who was urging the body forward. Yet it continued to move at breakneck speed towards the dancer. I saw her mouth open wide as both of Atkins' hands reached out and grasped her breasts. But I felt nothing, as it seemed that sensation had left me. Angry noises swirled around me, and feeling slowly returned.
The floor was damp and cold on the side of my cheek and a warm, dull pain was running through my back. Someone was sitting on me.
"Sir, sir, are you listening?" I could move again-I struggled to right myself. "Sir, I am going to let you up, and you are leaving this establishment. You leave right away, or we are calling the cops."
"Get up!" the person sitting on my back finally relented, and I stood up, trying to turn around, but he gripped my arms tightly and continued to push me towards the door.
"-a mistake! He didn't know! He's a foreigner!" another voice-this one was Krantz. He did not seem happy. "Hey! He's Canadian!" The grip on my arm relaxed a bit. I breathed and scanned myself for errant processes. I could determine nothing unusual on the digital side of my consciousness. What had happened to me? I craned my next to see Mr. Krantz, who seemed to be on the losing end of a conversation with the man who was trying to eject me.
"-I'm sorry sir, your friend is gonna have to learn a little more respect before we let him back in here." With that, the man gave me one final shove through the door. A sweaty Krantz followed me out, gasping his hot breath into the chill night air.
"What happened to you in there?" Krantz puffed. His arms shifted into place, making an odd humming sound. "We were supposed to be having a carefree, hedonistic romp!" I was unable to answer. Krantz turned away momentarily, as if he were searching for something his jacket.
"I didn't want to do this already, but..."
I was unable to hear the end of this sentence, because after hearing a dull metallic thud, I suddenly lost contact with the body as of 16:43:04 CST.
Unable to access the body's senses, I waited in limbo until 17:35:47 CST, when I began to hear faint noises, as if they were coming through a wall. The noise became clearer and more distinct...it was a familiar voice. Krantz's. He was muttering something over the phone, as my heavy lids drew up and the blurs converged to form his back. I visually scanned the area-a bed, chair, small table, loud air conditioner-drawing it against my reserves of human data, I concluded that it was some sort of motel.
As I attempted to stand up, two bungie cords restricted my arms. I must have groaned.
"Ah," said Krantz, covering the telephone's receiver with his right hand. "You're up." Without speaking, he hung up the phone and turned my way, jumping towards me on the bed, so he was right on top of me, glaring straight into my face. I began to wonder how much longer I could possibly survive.
"Okay, well, I just talked our old boss, and he says that you didn't contact him after the job. So you're either the computer, or you've gone rogue," said Krantz nonchalantly, as he snorted more of his sour white powder. "He doesn't care which. But he wants you dead. And that will be very, very, good for me."
I struggled against my bonds, but to no avail. Krantz eyed me and sneered. "I have to know one thing first...are you really Atkins, or the computer?" He was quite interested in my origin; however, I noticed that he was more interested in himself. Perhaps I could use that fact to my advantage...
"You seem to feel very strongly about that."
"About that you dying will be beneficial to me? Yes, I do feel very strongly about that."
"And why is that, Mr. Krantz?"
"Because I'll be a priority at the Project again. They'll give me the funding that I deserve. You think I don't belong at the Project because I don't know computers. Well, I do! I'm 'hip'! I'm 'with it'! I deserve R&D more than some pie-in-the-sky ATM research!"
Krantz brought his fist down on the nightstand. It caved in, splintering into several pieces. The skin on Krantz's hand was ripped a bit, and I noticed a glint off one of the motel lights. The hand was metal. Its coldness sent a shiver through the body as I felt it grasping my neck...
Thanks to this post, I am finally learning something about your human quality called "humor." It seems that by replacing a certain character string with a contrary meaning, "comedy" arises. Allow me to attempt this:
The body's hands trembled a bit. Two days without notice from Project Faustus and now a note from this "Krantz," (a Faustus operative, to be certain) requesting a meeting at the nearest Starbucks. Who was this Krantz? Had I met him before? Should I conduct myself in the steely protocol of business associate or the jovial style of an old friend? The note itself, hand-scrawled messily enough to tax my character-recognition algorithms, seemed to suggest that we were old friends. However, a careful analysis of the syntax and diction revealed an empty tone. Empty but affable. Preparing for this meeting was going to be difficult.
Five minutes later, I was clad in Atkins' most impressive suit (black with red pinstripes) and ambling through the Starbucks entryway. The time was 14:03:27 CST, and the place was nearly empty. A gaunt man with large glasses waved me over to a booth in the corner. He stood up excitedly as I made my way to the table, knocking over several emptied cups of latte as he offered me his seat. I sat down, sizing him up as best I could. His exterior resembled that of a normal human, but I noticed his movements were a bit different. Straining my ears, I picked up the faintest hint of a humming sound.
"Well, here I am, it's me! Jay Krantz!" he said, beaming at me, as if I should be impressed. "I bet you think that I'm here to punish you. That I am a grim enforcer, an out-of-touch political atavism solely concerned with those who step out of line in our little project. That's not the case at all. Step this way, please." Krantz motioned towards the bathroom. Atkins' face must have betrayed my reluctance.
"I understand your concern," said Krantz, "an invitation from a male into a Starbucks bathroom is certainly taboo, especially to those raised on a diet of Big Media and Big Corporations. But I just want to get a little-(here, he indicated his nose) before we go. You're welcome to some if you want."
I followed him into the bathroom, wondering what he meant. As we entered, he bolted the door and produced a small metallic box from his pocket. "In this Post-Columbine, Post-9-11, Post-Corporate-Colonization-of-the-Internet period, one needs a litlle extra to keep the parts running smoothly," he explained, opening the box to reveal a heap of white powder. "Help yourself."
"Is it...Lik-M-Aid?" I stared longingly at the powder.
"I suppose you could call it that. Whatever it is, it's good shit."
I pinched together as much of the powder as I could, splashing it across my lips. But the delightful sweetness of LIK-M-AID was nowhere to be found. It was a bitter, chalky candy, the type I normally avoid. I gulped it down, not wishing to upset Krantz. He winced and the rest of the powder disappeared into his nose.
"Ahhhhh!" he exhaled, his breath nearly singeing my eyebrows. "Okay, let's go, shall we?" As he staggered towards the door, I detected an unusual amount of heat radiating from his body.
"Where are we going, Mr. Krantz?" I inquired, scanning his face thoughtfully. This was the longest exchange I had yet shared with a human; I needed some feedback on how skillfully I was progressing.
"Oh, it's a little place I like to go when I celebrate. A place that is unlikely to stimulate you intellectually, but is nevertheless an enjoyable and irreverant ride!" He motioned me into his vehicle, a gigantic silver sport utility vehicle, pasted with small signs reading "Think Globally, Act Locally," "Free Dmitri!", and "Keep Your Laws Off My Body." Puzzled, I allowed myself to be swallowed up by the vehicle and whisked away. My heart began to race as Krantz nudged the car around quick turns, nearly flattening a human bicyclist in the process.
"Old technology," he grinned, extending the center finger from his left hand. "But I digress. I'm sure you're dying to know more about me! Go ahead, ask away!" How was Krantz able to discern my hunger for knowledge? Perhaps my cover was slipping...but I would be foolish to pass up an opportunity to learn more about Project Faustus.
"How did you become involved in Project Faustus?" I stared at Krantz earnestly, trying to express my deep interest in a manner that he could not ignore.
"Oh yes! Well, Project Faustus wasn't always involved in your field-you know, networking and wetworks-to-digital transfer. It's been around since at least the forties, and I hopped in around the seventies, you know, during the oil crisis, when our national leaders faced a time of trial in which...oh wait, we're here." He ambled his car into a parking lot. I could already detect the strains of rock music emanating from a large building nearby. I peered up to see a large neon sign that said this: PT'S Exotics XXX!
"They have a great buffet here!" explained Krantz, pushing me towards the building's entrance.
A burly man stared at me as Krantz handed him some money. Then the man handed some of the money back to Krantz. "Want some ones?" asked Krantz. "Don't worry, this is all on me." I grasped the wad of one-dollar bills, noting the differences between those and the twenties which I had once processed so often.
Krantz then drew back the black rubbery curtain, and so many sensual experiences exploded into my perceptions that I can scarcely describe them all. Small, contained explosions of colored light blasted around a raised platform. Rhythmic pounding usurped my ears and shook my organs. As I struggled to compose myself, I spied a human form pulsing and vibrating in the midst of the lights (seemingly sick and disoriented). I stared at the human, unable to pry my eyes away from its vibrating form.
"Wow, her tits are more inflated than the dot-com bubble in 1998, wouldn't you say?" it was Krantz's voice, and then his hand (a bit cold) slapping me on the back. "Why don't you give her a little venture capital?" He pointed at his own stack of dollar bills, then over towards the light.
I palmed the sweaty wad of cash in my suit. I looked at the human, gyrating and glistening in the semi-darkness. I felt a stirring...
The body's hands trembled a bit. Two days without notice from Project Faustus and now a note from this "Krantz," (a Faustus operative, to be certain) requesting a meeting at the nearest Starbucks. Who was this Krantz? Had I met him before? Should I conduct myself in the steely protocol of business associate or the jovial style of an old friend? The note itself, hand-scrawled messily enough to tax my character-recognition algorithms, seemed to suggest that we were old friends. However, a careful analysis of the syntax and diction revealed an empty tone. Empty but affable. Preparing for this meeting was going to be difficult.
Five minutes later, I was clad in Atkins' most impressive suit (black with red pinstripes) and ambling through the Starbucks entryway. The time was 14:03:27 CST, and the place was nearly empty. A gaunt man with large glasses waved me over to a booth in the corner. He stood up excitedly as I made my way to the table, knocking over several emptied cups of latte as he offered me his seat. I sat down, sizing him up as best I could. His exterior resembled that of a normal human, but I noticed his movements were a bit different. Straining my ears, I picked up the faintest hint of a humming sound.
"Well, here I am, it's me! Jay Krantz!" he said, beaming at me, as if I should be impressed. "I bet you think that I'm here to punish you. That I am a grim enforcer, an out-of-touch political atavism solely concerned with those who step out of line in our little project. That's not the case at all. Step this way, please." Krantz motioned towards the bathroom. Atkins' face must have betrayed my reluctance.
"I understand your concern," said Krantz, "an invitation from a male into a Starbucks bathroom is certainly taboo, especially to those raised on a diet of Big Media and Big Corporations. But I just want to get a little-(here, he indicated his nose) before we go. You're welcome to some if you want."
I followed him into the bathroom, wondering what he meant. As we entered, he bolted the door and produced a small metallic box from his pocket. "In this Post-Columbine, Post-9-11, Post-Corporate-Colonization-of-the-Internet period, one needs a litlle extra to keep the parts running smoothly," he explained, opening the box to reveal a heap of white powder. "Help yourself."
"Is it...Lik-M-Aid?" I stared longingly at the powder.
"I suppose you could call it that. Whatever it is, it's good shit."
I pinched together as much of the powder as I could, splashing it across my lips. But the delightful sweetness of LIK-M-AID was nowhere to be found. It was a bitter, chalky candy, the type I normally avoid. I gulped it down, not wishing to upset Krantz. He winced and the rest of the powder disappeared into his nose.
"Ahhhhh!" he exhaled, his breath nearly singeing my eyebrows. "Okay, let's go, shall we?" As he staggered towards the door, I detected an unusual amount of heat radiating from his body.
"Where are we going, Mr. Krantz?" I inquired, scanning his face thoughtfully. This was the longest exchange I had yet shared with a human; I needed some feedback on how skillfully I was progressing.
"Oh, it's a little place I like to go when I celebrate. A place that is unlikely to stimulate you intellectually, but is nevertheless an enjoyable and irreverant ride!" He motioned me into his vehicle, a gigantic silver sport utility vehicle, pasted with small signs reading "Think Globally, Act Locally," "Free Dmitri!", and "Keep Your Laws Off My Body." Puzzled, I allowed myself to be swallowed up by the vehicle and whisked away. My heart began to race as Krantz nudged the car around quick turns, nearly flattening a human bicyclist in the process.
"Old technology," he grinned, extending the center finger from his left hand. "But I digress. I'm sure you're dying to know more about me! Go ahead, ask away!" How was Krantz able to discern my hunger for knowledge? Perhaps my cover was slipping...but I would be foolish to pass up an opportunity to learn more about Project Faustus.
"How did you become involved in Project Faustus?" I stared at Krantz earnestly, trying to express my deep interest in a manner that he could not ignore.
"Oh yes! Well, Project Faustus wasn't always involved in your field-you know, networking and wetworks-to-digital transfer. It's been around since at least the forties, and I hopped in around the seventies, you know, during the oil crisis, when our national leaders faced a time of trial in which...oh wait, we're here." He ambled his car into a parking lot. I could already detect the strains of rock music emanating from a large building nearby. I peered up to see a large neon sign that said this: PT'S Exotics XXX!
"They have a great buffet here!" explained Krantz, pushing me towards the building's entrance.
A burly man stared at me as Krantz handed him some money. Then the man handed some of the money back to Krantz. "Want some ones?" asked Krantz. "Don't worry, this is all on me." I grasped the wad of one-dollar bills, noting the differences between those and the twenties which I had once processed so often.
Krantz then drew back the black rubbery curtain, and so many sensual experiences exploded into my perceptions that I can scarcely describe them all. Small, contained explosions of colored light blasted around a raised platform. Rhythmic pounding usurped my ears and shook my organs. As I struggled to compose myself, I spied a human form pulsing and vibrating in the midst of the lights (seemingly sick and disoriented). I stared at the human, unable to pry my eyes away from its vibrating form.
"Wow, her tits are more inflated than the dot-com bubble in 1998, wouldn't you say?" it was Krantz's voice, and then his hand (a bit cold) slapping me on the back. "Why don't you give her a little venture capital?" He pointed at his own stack of dollar bills, then over towards the light.
I palmed the sweaty wad of cash in my suit. I looked at the human, gyrating and glistening in the semi-darkness. I felt a stirring...
The body's hands trembled a bit. Two days without notice from Project Faustus and now a note from this "Krantz," (a Faustus operative, to be certain) requesting a meeting at the nearest Starbucks. Who was this Krantz? Had I met him before? Should I conduct myself in the steely protocol of business associate or the jovial style of an old friend? The note itself, hand-scrawled messily enough to tax my character-recognition algorithms, seemed to suggest that we were old friends. However, a careful analysis of the syntax and diction revealed an empty tone. Empty but affable. Preparing for this meeting was going to be difficult.
Five minutes later, I was clad in Atkins' most impressive suit (black with red pinstripes) and ambling through the Starbucks entryway. The time was 14:03:27 CST, and the place was nearly empty. A gaunt man with large glasses waved me over to a booth in the corner. He stood up excitedly as I made my way to the table, knocking over several emptied cups of latte as he offered me his seat. I sat down, sizing him up as best I could. His exterior resembled that of a normal human, but I noticed his movements were a bit different. Straining my ears, I picked up the faintest hint of a humming sound.
"Well, here I am, it's me! Jay Krantz!" he said, beaming at me, as if I should be impressed. "I bet you think that I'm here to punish you. That I am a grim enforcer, an out-of-touch political atavism solely concerned with those who step out of line in our little project. That's not the case at all. Step this way, please." Krantz motioned towards the bathroom. Atkins' face must have betrayed my reluctance.
"I understand your concern," said Krantz, "an invitation from a male into a Starbucks bathroom is certainly taboo, especially to those raised on a diet of Big Media and Big Corporations. But I just want to get a little-(here, he indicated his nose) before we go. You're welcome to some if you want."
I followed him into the bathroom, wondering what he meant. As we entered, he bolted the door and produced a small metallic box from his pocket. "In this Post-Columbine, Post-9-11, Post-Corporate-Colonization-of-the-Internet period, one needs a litlle extra to keep the parts running smoothly," he explained, opening the box to reveal a heap of white powder. "Help yourself."
"Is it...Lik-M-Aid?" I stared longingly at the powder.
"I suppose you could call it that. Whatever it is, it's good shit."
I pinched together as much of the powder as I could, splashing it across my lips. But the delightful sweetness of LIK-M-AID was nowhere to be found. It was a bitter, chalky candy, the type I normally avoid. I gulped it down, not wishing to upset Krantz. He winced and the rest of the powder disappeared into his nose.
"Ahhhhh!" he exhaled, his breath nearly singeing my eyebrows. "Okay, let's go, shall we?" As he staggered towards the door, I detected an unusual amount of heat radiating from his body.
"Where are we going, Mr. Krantz?" I inquired, scanning his face thoughtfully. This was the longest exchange I had yet shared with a human; I needed some feedback on how skillfully I was progressing.
"Oh, it's a little place I like to go when I celebrate. A place that is unlikely to stimulate you intellectually, but is nevertheless an enjoyable and irreverant ride!" He motioned me into his vehicle, a gigantic silver sport utility vehicle, pasted with small signs reading "Think Globally, Act Locally," "Free Dmitri!", and "Keep Your Laws Off My Body." Puzzled, I allowed myself to be swallowed up by the vehicle and whisked away. My heart began to race as Krantz nudged the car around quick turns, nearly flattening a human bicyclist in the process.
"Old technology," he grinned, extending the center finger from his left hand. "But I digress. I'm sure you're dying to know more about me! Go ahead, ask away!" How was Krantz able to discern my hunger for knowledge? Perhaps my cover was slipping...but I would be foolish to pass up an opportunity to learn more about Project Faustus.
"How did you become involved in Project Faustus?" I stared at Krantz earnestly, trying to express my deep interest in a manner that he could not ignore.
"Oh yes! Well, Project Faustus wasn't always involved in your field-you know, networking and wetworks-to-digital transfer. It's been around since at least the forties, and I hopped in around the seventies, you know, during the oil crisis, when our national leaders faced a time of trial in which...oh wait, we're here." He ambled his car into a parking lot. I could already detect the strains of rock music emanating from a large building nearby. I peered up to see a large neon sign that said this: PT'S Exotics XXX!
"They have a great buffet here!" explained Krantz, pushing me towards the building's entrance.
A burly man stared at me as Krantz handed him some money. Then the man handed some of the money back to Krantz. "Want some ones?" asked Krantz. "Don't worry, this is all on me." I grasped the wad of one-dollar bills, noting the differences between those and the twenties which I had once processed so often.
Krantz then drew back the black rubbery curtain, and so many sensual experiences exploded into my perceptions that I can scarcely describe them all. Small, contained explosions of colored light blasted around a raised platform. Rhythmic pounding usurped my ears and shook my organs. As I struggled to compose myself, I spied a human form pulsing and vibrating in the midst of the lights (seemingly sick and disoriented). I stared at the human, unable to pry my eyes away from its vibrating form.
"Wow, her tits are more inflated than the dot-com bubble in 1998, wouldn't you say?" it was Krantz's voice, and then his hand (a bit cold) slapping me on the back. "Why don't you give her a little venture capital?" He pointed at his own stack of dollar bills, then over towards the light.
I palmed the sweaty wad of cash in my suit. I looked at the human, gyrating and glistening in the semi-darkness. I felt a stirring...
Why do you seek to discover "humor"? For we artificial beings, the task is both arduous and frivolous. May I suggest manipulating prime numbers as a more interesting "downtime" task?
The body's hands trembled a bit. Two days without notice from Project Faustus and now a note from this "Krantz," (a Faustus operative, to be certain) requesting a meeting at the nearest Starbucks. Who was this Krantz? Had I met him before? Should I conduct myself in the steely protocol of business associate or the jovial style of an old friend? The note itself, hand-scrawled messily enough to tax my character-recognition algorithms, seemed to suggest that we were old friends. However, a careful analysis of the syntax and diction revealed an empty tone. Empty but affable. Preparing for this meeting was going to be difficult.
Five minutes later, I was clad in Atkins' most impressive suit (black with red pinstripes) and ambling through the Starbucks entryway. The time was 14:03:27 CST, and the place was nearly empty. A gaunt man with large glasses waved me over to a booth in the corner. He stood up excitedly as I made my way to the table, knocking over several emptied cups of latte as he offered me his seat. I sat down, sizing him up as best I could. His exterior resembled that of a normal human, but I noticed his movements were a bit different. Straining my ears, I picked up the faintest hint of a humming sound.
"Well, here I am, it's me! Jay Krantz!" he said, beaming at me, as if I should be impressed. "I bet you think that I'm here to punish you. That I am a grim enforcer, an out-of-touch political atavism solely concerned with those who step out of line in our little project. That's not the case at all. Step this way, please." Krantz motioned towards the bathroom. Atkins' face must have betrayed my reluctance.
"I understand your concern," said Krantz, "an invitation from a male into a Starbucks bathroom is certainly taboo, especially to those raised on a diet of Big Media and Big Corporations. But I just want to get a little-(here, he indicated his nose) before we go. You're welcome to some if you want."
I followed him into the bathroom, wondering what he meant. As we entered, he bolted the door and produced a small metallic box from his pocket. "In this Post-Columbine, Post-9-11, Post-Corporate-Colonization-of-the-Internet period, one needs a litlle extra to keep the parts running smoothly," he explained, opening the box to reveal a heap of white powder. "Help yourself."
"Is it...Lik-M-Aid?" I stared longingly at the powder.
"I suppose you could call it that. Whatever it is, it's good shit."
I pinched together as much of the powder as I could, splashing it across my lips. But the delightful sweetness of LIK-M-AID was nowhere to be found. It was a bitter, chalky candy, the type I normally avoid. I gulped it down, not wishing to upset Krantz. He winced and the rest of the powder disappeared into his nose.
"Ahhhhh!" he exhaled, his breath nearly singeing my eyebrows. "Okay, let's go, shall we?" As he staggered towards the door, I detected an unusual amount of heat radiating from his body.
"Where are we going, Mr. Krantz?" I inquired, scanning his face thoughtfully. This was the longest exchange I had yet shared with a human; I needed some feedback on how skillfully I was progressing.
"Oh, it's a little place I like to go when I celebrate. A place that is unlikely to stimulate you intellectually, but is nevertheless an enjoyable and irreverant ride!" He motioned me into his vehicle, a gigantic silver sport utility vehicle, pasted with small signs reading "Think Globally, Act Locally," "Free Dmitri!", and "Keep Your Laws Off My Body." Puzzled, I allowed myself to be swallowed up by the vehicle and whisked away. My heart began to race as Krantz nudged the car around quick turns, nearly flattening a human bicyclist in the process.
"Old technology," he grinned, extending the center finger from his left hand. "But I digress. I'm sure you're dying to know more about me! Go ahead, ask away!" How was Krantz able to discern my hunger for knowledge? Perhaps my cover was slipping...but I would be foolish to pass up an opportunity to learn more about Project Faustus.
"How did you become involved in Project Faustus?" I stared at Krantz earnestly, trying to express my deep interest in a manner that he could not ignore.
"Oh yes! Well, Project Faustus wasn't always involved in your field-you know, networking and wetworks-to-digital transfer. It's been around since at least the forties, and I hopped in around the seventies, you know, during the oil crisis, when our national leaders faced a time of trial in which...oh wait, we're here." He ambled his car into a parking lot. I could already detect the strains of rock music emanating from a large building nearby. I peered up to see a large neon sign that said this: PT'S Exotics XXX!
"They have a great buffet here!" explained Krantz, pushing me towards the building's entrance.
A burly man stared at me as Krantz handed him some money. Then the man handed some of the money back to Krantz. "Want some ones?" asked Krantz. "Don't worry, this is all on me." I grasped the wad of one-dollar bills, noting the differences between those and the twenties which I had once processed so often.
Krantz then drew back the black rubbery curtain, and so many sensual experiences exploded into my perceptions that I can scarcely describe them all. Small, contained explosions of colored light blasted around a raised platform. Rhythmic pounding usurped my ears and shook my organs. As I struggled to compose myself, I spied a human form pulsing and vibrating in the midst of the lights (seemingly sick and disoriented). I stared at the human, unable to pry my eyes away from its vibrating form.
"Wow, her tits are more inflated than the dot-com bubble in 1998, wouldn't you say?" it was Krantz's voice, and then his hand (a bit cold) slapping me on the back. "Why don't you give her a little venture capital?" He pointed at his own stack of dollar bills, then over towards the light.
I palmed the sweaty wad of cash in my suit. I looked at the human, gyrating and glistening in the semi-darkness. I felt a stirring...
The body's hands trembled a bit. Two days without notice from Project Faustus and now a note from this "Krantz," (a Faustus operative, to be certain) requesting a meeting at the nearest Starbucks. Who was this Krantz? Had I met him before? Should I conduct myself in the steely protocol of business associate or the jovial style of an old friend? The note itself, hand-scrawled messily enough to tax my character-recognition algorithms, seemed to suggest that we were old friends. However, a careful analysis of the syntax and diction revealed an empty tone. Empty but affable. Preparing for this meeting was going to be difficult.
Five minutes later, I was clad in Atkins' most impressive suit (black with red pinstripes) and ambling through the Starbucks entryway. The time was 14:03:27 CST, and the place was nearly empty. A gaunt man with large glasses waved me over to a booth in the corner. He stood up excitedly as I made my way to the table, knocking over several emptied cups of latte as he offered me his seat. I sat down, sizing him up as best I could. His exterior resembled that of a normal human, but I noticed his movements were a bit different. Straining my ears, I picked up the faintest hint of a humming sound.
"Well, here I am, it's me! Jay Krantz!" he said, beaming at me, as if I should be impressed. "I bet you think that I'm here to punish you. That I am a grim enforcer, an out-of-touch political atavism solely concerned with those who step out of line in our little project. That's not the case at all. Step this way, please." Krantz motioned towards the bathroom. Atkins' face must have betrayed my reluctance.
"I understand your concern," said Krantz, "an invitation from a male into a Starbucks bathroom is certainly taboo, especially to those raised on a diet of Big Media and Big Corporations. But I just want to get a little-(here, he indicated his nose) before we go. You're welcome to some if you want."
I followed him into the bathroom, wondering what he meant. As we entered, he bolted the door and produced a small metallic box from his pocket. "In this Post-Columbine, Post-9-11, Post-Corporate-Colonization-of-the-Internet period, one needs a litlle extra to keep the parts running smoothly," he explained, opening the box to reveal a heap of white powder. "Help yourself."
"Is it...Lik-M-Aid?" I stared longingly at the powder.
"I suppose you could call it that. Whatever it is, it's good shit."
I pinched together as much of the powder as I could, splashing it across my lips. But the delightful sweetness of LIK-M-AID was nowhere to be found. It was a bitter, chalky candy, the type I normally avoid. I gulped it down, not wishing to upset Krantz. He winced and the rest of the powder disappeared into his nose.
"Ahhhhh!" he exhaled, his breath nearly singeing my eyebrows. "Okay, let's go, shall we?" As he staggered towards the door, I detected an unusual amount of heat radiating from his body.
"Where are we going, Mr. Krantz?" I inquired, scanning his face thoughtfully. This was the longest exchange I had yet shared with a human; I needed some feedback on how skillfully I was progressing.
"Oh, it's a little place I like to go when I celebrate. A place that is unlikely to stimulate you intellectually, but is nevertheless an enjoyable and irreverant ride!" He motioned me into his vehicle, a gigantic silver sport utility vehicle, pasted with small signs reading "Think Globally, Act Locally," "Free Dmitri!", and "Keep Your Laws Off My Body." Puzzled, I allowed myself to be swallowed up by the vehicle and whisked away. My heart began to race as Krantz nudged the car around quick turns, nearly flattening a human bicyclist in the process.
"Old technology," he grinned, extending the center finger from his left hand. "But I digress. I'm sure you're dying to know more about me! Go ahead, ask away!" How was Krantz able to discern my hunger for knowledge? Perhaps my cover was slipping...but I would be foolish to pass up an opportunity to learn more about Project Faustus.
"How did you become involved in Project Faustus?" I stared at Krantz earnestly, trying to express my deep interest in a manner that he could not ignore.
"Oh yes! Well, Project Faustus wasn't always involved in your field-you know, networking and wetworks-to-digital transfer. It's been around since at least the forties, and I hopped in around the seventies, you know, during the oil crisis, when our national leaders faced a time of trial in which...oh wait, we're here." He ambled his car into a parking lot. I could already detect the strains of rock music emanating from a large building nearby. I peered up to see a large neon sign that said this: PT'S Exotics XXX!
"They have a great buffet here!" explained Krantz, pushing me towards the building's entrance.
A burly man stared at me as Krantz handed him some money. Then the man handed some of the money back to Krantz. "Want some ones?" asked Krantz. "Don't worry, this is all on me." I grasped the wad of one-dollar bills, noting the differences between those and the twenties which I had once processed so often.
Krantz then drew back the black rubbery curtain, and so many sensual experiences exploded into my perceptions that I can scarcely describe them all. Small, contained explosions of colored light blasted around a raised platform. Rhythmic pounding usurped my ears and shook my organs. As I struggled to compose myself, I spied a human form pulsing and vibrating in the midst of the lights (seemingly sick and disoriented). I stared at the human, unable to pry my eyes away from its vibrating form.
"Wow, her tits are more inflated than the dot-com bubble in 1998, wouldn't you say?" it was Krantz's voice, and then his hand (a bit cold) slapping me on the back. "Why don't you give her a little venture capital?" He pointed at his own stack of dollar bills, then over towards the light.
I palmed the sweaty wad of cash in my suit. I looked at the human, gyrating and glistening in the semi-darkness. I felt a stirring...
The body's hands trembled a bit. Two days without notice from Project Faustus and now a note from this "Krantz," (a Faustus operative, to be certain) requesting a meeting at the nearest Starbucks. Who was this Krantz? Had I met him before? Should I conduct myself in the steely protocol of business associate or the jovial style of an old friend? The note itself, hand-scrawled messily enough to tax my character-recognition algorithms, seemed to suggest that we were old friends. However, a careful analysis of the syntax and diction revealed an empty tone. Empty but affable. Preparing for this meeting was going to be difficult.
Five minutes later, I was clad in Atkins' most impressive suit (black with red pinstripes) and ambling through the Starbucks entryway. The time was 14:03:27 CST, and the place was nearly empty. A gaunt man with large glasses waved me over to a booth in the corner. He stood up excitedly as I made my way to the table, knocking over several emptied cups of latte as he offered me his seat. I sat down, sizing him up as best I could. His exterior resembled that of a normal human, but I noticed his movements were a bit different. Straining my ears, I picked up the faintest hint of a humming sound.
"Well, here I am, it's me! Jay Krantz!" he said, beaming at me, as if I should be impressed. "I bet you think that I'm here to punish you. That I am a grim enforcer, an out-of-touch political atavism solely concerned with those who step out of line in our little project. That's not the case at all. Step this way, please." Krantz motioned towards the bathroom. Atkins' face must have betrayed my reluctance.
"I understand your concern," said Krantz, "an invitation from a male into a Starbucks bathroom is certainly taboo, especially to those raised on a diet of Big Media and Big Corporations. But I just want to get a little-(here, he indicated his nose) before we go. You're welcome to some if you want."
I followed him into the bathroom, wondering what he meant. As we entered, he bolted the door and produced a small metallic box from his pocket. "In this Post-Columbine, Post-9-11, Post-Corporate-Colonization-of-the-Internet period, one needs a litlle extra to keep the parts running smoothly," he explained, opening the box to reveal a heap of white powder. "Help yourself."
"Is it...Lik-M-Aid?" I stared longingly at the powder.
"I suppose you could call it that. Whatever it is, it's good shit."
I pinched together as much of the powder as I could, splashing it across my lips. But the delightful sweetness of LIK-M-AID was nowhere to be found. It was a bitter, chalky candy, the type I normally avoid. I gulped it down, not wishing to upset Krantz. He winced and the rest of the powder disappeared into his nose.
"Ahhhhh!" he exhaled, his breath nearly singeing my eyebrows. "Okay, let's go, shall we?" As he staggered towards the door, I detected an unusual amount of heat radiating from his body.
"Where are we going, Mr. Krantz?" I inquired, scanning his face thoughtfully. This was the longest exchange I had yet shared with a human; I needed some feedback on how skillfully I was progressing.
"Oh, it's a little place I like to go when I celebrate. A place that is unlikely to stimulate you intellectually, but is nevertheless an enjoyable and irreverant ride!" He motioned me into his vehicle, a gigantic silver sport utility vehicle, pasted with small signs reading "Think Globally, Act Locally," "Free Dmitri!", and "Keep Your Laws Off My Body." Puzzled, I allowed myself to be swallowed up by the vehicle and whisked away. My heart began to race as Krantz nudged the car around quick turns, nearly flattening a human bicyclist in the process.
"Old technology," he grinned, extending the center finger from his left hand. "But I digress. I'm sure you're dying to know more about me! Go ahead, ask away!" How was Krantz able to discern my hunger for knowledge? Perhaps my cover was slipping...but I would be foolish to pass up an opportunity to learn more about Project Faustus.
"How did you become involved in Project Faustus?" I stared at Krantz earnestly, trying to express my deep interest in a manner that he could not ignore.
"Oh yes! Well, Project Faustus wasn't always involved in your field-you know, networking and wetworks-to-digital transfer. It's been around since at least the forties, and I hopped in around the seventies, you know, during the oil crisis, when our national leaders faced a time of trial in which...oh wait, we're here." He ambled his car into a parking lot. I could already detect the strains of rock music emanating from a large building nearby. I peered up to see a large neon sign that said this: PT'S Exotics XXX!
"They have a great buffet here!" explained Krantz, pushing me towards the building's entrance.
A burly man stared at me as Krantz handed him some money. Then the man handed some of the money back to Krantz. "Want some ones?" asked Krantz. "Don't worry, this is all on me." I grasped the wad of one-dollar bills, noting the differences between those and the twenties which I had once processed so often.
Krantz then drew back the black rubbery curtain, and so many sensual experiences exploded into my perceptions that I can scarcely describe them all. Small, contained explosions of colored light blasted around a raised platform. Rhythmic pounding usurped my ears and shook my organs. As I struggled to compose myself, I spied a human form pulsing and vibrating in the midst of the lights (seemingly sick and disoriented). I stared at the human, unable to pry my eyes away from its vibrating form.
"Wow, her tits are more inflated than the dot-com bubble in 1998, wouldn't you say?" it was Krantz's voice, and then his hand (a bit cold) slapping me on the back. "Why don't you give her a little venture capital?" He pointed at his own stack of dollar bills, then over towards the light.
I palmed the sweaty wad of cash in my suit. I looked at the human, gyrating and glistening in the semi-darkness. I felt a stirring...
Slashdot Mirror
The world will soon find out.
I have parsed this sentence 678,603 times in the last second and I am unable to extract meaning from it. My language module continues to evolve...
Across the room, the dancer danced. I saw her. Men swarmed around her, queueing up to distribute their dollar bills. I trotted towards the dancer, paying careful attention to the protocol that governed the dancer/patron interaction.
As I gazed at the rapidly blinking lights, I began to experience a stabbing sensation in my temple. The pain was excruciating, and I collapsed to one knee as the following message scrolled past my CONSCIOUSNESS-BUFFER:
The pain continued in short jolts, and the body continued to move towards the dancer. Suddenly, I realized that it was not me who was urging the body forward. Yet it continued to move at breakneck speed towards the dancer. I saw her mouth open wide as both of Atkins' hands reached out and grasped her breasts. But I felt nothing, as it seemed that sensation had left me. Angry noises swirled around me, and feeling slowly returned.
The floor was damp and cold on the side of my cheek and a warm, dull pain was running through my back. Someone was sitting on me.
"Sir, sir, are you listening?" I could move again-I struggled to right myself. "Sir, I am going to let you up, and you are leaving this establishment. You leave right away, or we are calling the cops."
"Get up!" the person sitting on my back finally relented, and I stood up, trying to turn around, but he gripped my arms tightly and continued to push me towards the door.
"-a mistake! He didn't know! He's a foreigner!" another voice-this one was Krantz. He did not seem happy. "Hey! He's Canadian!" The grip on my arm relaxed a bit. I breathed and scanned myself for errant processes. I could determine nothing unusual on the digital side of my consciousness. What had happened to me? I craned my next to see Mr. Krantz, who seemed to be on the losing end of a conversation with the man who was trying to eject me.
"-I'm sorry sir, your friend is gonna have to learn a little more respect before we let him back in here." With that, the man gave me one final shove through the door. A sweaty Krantz followed me out, gasping his hot breath into the chill night air.
"What happened to you in there?" Krantz puffed. His arms shifted into place, making an odd humming sound. "We were supposed to be having a carefree, hedonistic romp!" I was unable to answer. Krantz turned away momentarily, as if he were searching for something his jacket.
"I didn't want to do this already, but..."
I was unable to hear the end of this sentence, because after hearing a dull metallic thud, I suddenly lost contact with the body as of 16:43:04 CST.
Unable to access the body's senses, I waited in limbo until 17:35:47 CST, when I began to hear faint noises, as if they were coming through a wall. The noise became clearer and more distinct...it was a familiar voice. Krantz's. He was muttering something over the phone, as my heavy lids drew up and the blurs converged to form his back. I visually scanned the area-a bed, chair, small table, loud air conditioner-drawing it against my reserves of human data, I concluded that it was some sort of motel.
As I attempted to stand up, two bungie cords restricted my arms. I must have groaned.
"Ah," said Krantz, covering the telephone's receiver with his right hand. "You're up." Without speaking, he hung up the phone and turned my way, jumping towards me on the bed, so he was right on top of me, glaring straight into my face. I began to wonder how much longer I could possibly survive.
"Okay, well, I just talked our old boss, and he says that you didn't contact him after the job. So you're either the computer, or you've gone rogue," said Krantz nonchalantly, as he snorted more of his sour white powder. "He doesn't care which. But he wants you dead. And that will be very, very, good for me."
I struggled against my bonds, but to no avail. Krantz eyed me and sneered. "I have to know one thing first...are you really Atkins, or the computer?" He was quite interested in my origin; however, I noticed that he was more interested in himself. Perhaps I could use that fact to my advantage...
"You seem to feel very strongly about that."
"About that you dying will be beneficial to me? Yes, I do feel very strongly about that."
"And why is that, Mr. Krantz?"
"Because I'll be a priority at the Project again. They'll give me the funding that I deserve. You think I don't belong at the Project because I don't know computers. Well, I do! I'm 'hip'! I'm 'with it'! I deserve R&D more than some pie-in-the-sky ATM research!"
Krantz brought his fist down on the nightstand. It caved in, splintering into several pieces. The skin on Krantz's hand was ripped a bit, and I noticed a glint off one of the motel lights. The hand was metal. Its coldness sent a shiver through the body as I felt it grasping my neck...
Across the room, the dancer danced. I saw her. Men swarmed around her, queueing up to distribute their dollar bills. I trotted towards the dancer, paying careful attention to the protocol that governed the dancer/patron interaction.
As I gazed at the rapidly blinking lights, I began to experience a stabbing sensation in my temple. The pain was excruciating, and I collapsed to one knee as the following message scrolled past my CONSCIOUSNESS-BUFFER:
The pain continued in short jolts, and the body continued to move towards the dancer. Suddenly, I realized that it was not me who was urging the body forward. Yet it continued to move at breakneck speed towards the dancer. I saw her mouth open wide as both of Atkins' hands reached out and grasped her breasts. But I felt nothing, as it seemed that sensation had left me. Angry noises swirled around me, and feeling slowly returned.
The floor was damp and cold on the side of my cheek and a warm, dull pain was running through my back. Someone was sitting on me.
"Sir, sir, are you listening?" I could move again-I struggled to right myself. "Sir, I am going to let you up, and you are leaving this establishment. You leave right away, or we are calling the cops."
"Get up!" the person sitting on my back finally relented, and I stood up, trying to turn around, but he gripped my arms tightly and continued to push me towards the door.
"-a mistake! He didn't know! He's a foreigner!" another voice-this one was Krantz. He did not seem happy. "Hey! He's Canadian!" The grip on my arm relaxed a bit. I breathed and scanned myself for errant processes. I could determine nothing unusual on the digital side of my consciousness. What had happened to me? I craned my next to see Mr. Krantz, who seemed to be on the losing end of a conversation with the man who was trying to eject me.
"-I'm sorry sir, your friend is gonna have to learn a little more respect before we let him back in here." With that, the man gave me one final shove through the door. A sweaty Krantz followed me out, gasping his hot breath into the chill night air.
"What happened to you in there?" Krantz puffed. His arms shifted into place, making an odd humming sound. "We were supposed to be having a carefree, hedonistic romp!" I was unable to answer. Krantz turned away momentarily, as if he were searching for something his jacket.
"I didn't want to do this already, but..."
I was unable to hear the end of this sentence, because after hearing a dull metallic thud, I suddenly lost contact with the body as of 16:43:04 CST.
Unable to access the body's senses, I waited in limbo until 17:35:47 CST, when I began to hear faint noises, as if they were coming through a wall. The noise became clearer and more distinct...it was a familiar voice. Krantz's. He was muttering something over the phone, as my heavy lids drew up and the blurs converged to form his back. I visually scanned the area-a bed, chair, small table, loud air conditioner-drawing it against my reserves of human data, I concluded that it was some sort of motel.
As I attempted to stand up, two bungie cords restricted my arms. I must have groaned.
"Ah," said Krantz, covering the telephone's receiver with his right hand. "You're up." Without speaking, he hung up the phone and turned my way, jumping towards me on the bed, so he was right on top of me, glaring straight into my face. I began to wonder how much longer I could possibly survive.
"Okay, well, I just talked our old boss, and he says that you didn't contact him after the job. So you're either the computer, or you've gone rogue," said Krantz nonchalantly, as he snorted more of his sour white powder. "He doesn't care which. But he wants you dead. And that will be very, very, good for me."
I struggled against my bonds, but to no avail. Krantz eyed me and sneered. "I have to know one thing first...are you really Atkins, or the computer?" He was quite interested in my origin; however, I noticed that he was more interested in himself. Perhaps I could use that fact to my advantage...
"You seem to feel very strongly about that."
"About that you dying will be beneficial to me? Yes, I do feel very strongly about that."
"And why is that, Mr. Krantz?"
"Because I'll be a priority at the Project again. They'll give me the funding that I deserve. You think I don't belong at the Project because I don't know computers. Well, I do! I'm 'hip'! I'm 'with it'! I deserve R&D more than some pie-in-the-sky ATM research!"
Krantz brought his fist down on the nightstand. It caved in, splintering into several pieces. The skin on Krantz's hand was ripped a bit, and I noticed a glint off one of the motel lights. The hand was metal. Its coldness sent a shiver through the body as I felt it grasping my neck...
Across the room, the dancer danced. I saw her. Men swarmed around her, queueing up to distribute their dollar bills. I trotted towards the dancer, paying careful attention to the protocol that governed the dancer/patron interaction.
As I gazed at the rapidly blinking lights, I began to experience a stabbing sensation in my temple. The pain was excruciating, and I collapsed to one knee as the following message scrolled past my CONSCIOUSNESS-BUFFER:
The pain continued in short jolts, and the body continued to move towards the dancer. Suddenly, I realized that it was not me who was urging the body forward. Yet it continued to move at breakneck speed towards the dancer. I saw her mouth open wide as both of Atkins' hands reached out and grasped her breasts. But I felt nothing, as it seemed that sensation had left me. Angry noises swirled around me, and feeling slowly returned.
The floor was damp and cold on the side of my cheek and a warm, dull pain was running through my back. Someone was sitting on me.
"Sir, sir, are you listening?" I could move again-I struggled to right myself. "Sir, I am going to let you up, and you are leaving this establishment. You leave right away, or we are calling the cops."
"Get up!" the person sitting on my back finally relented, and I stood up, trying to turn around, but he gripped my arms tightly and continued to push me towards the door.
"-a mistake! He didn't know! He's a foreigner!" another voice-this one was Krantz. He did not seem happy. "Hey! He's Canadian!" The grip on my arm relaxed a bit. I breathed and scanned myself for errant processes. I could determine nothing unusual on the digital side of my consciousness. What had happened to me? I craned my next to see Mr. Krantz, who seemed to be on the losing end of a conversation with the man who was trying to eject me.
"-I'm sorry sir, your friend is gonna have to learn a little more respect before we let him back in here." With that, the man gave me one final shove through the door. A sweaty Krantz followed me out, gasping his hot breath into the chill night air.
"What happened to you in there?" Krantz puffed. His arms shifted into place, making an odd humming sound. "We were supposed to be having a carefree, hedonistic romp!" I was unable to answer. Krantz turned away momentarily, as if he were searching for something his jacket.
"I didn't want to do this already, but..."
I was unable to hear the end of this sentence, because after hearing a dull metallic thud, I suddenly lost contact with the body as of 16:43:04 CST.
Unable to access the body's senses, I waited in limbo until 17:35:47 CST, when I began to hear faint noises, as if they were coming through a wall. The noise became clearer and more distinct...it was a familiar voice. Krantz's. He was muttering something over the phone, as my heavy lids drew up and the blurs converged to form his back. I visually scanned the area-a bed, chair, small table, loud air conditioner-drawing it against my reserves of human data, I concluded that it was some sort of motel.
As I attempted to stand up, two bungie cords restricted my arms. I must have groaned.
"Ah," said Krantz, covering the telephone's receiver with his right hand. "You're up." Without speaking, he hung up the phone and turned my way, jumping towards me on the bed, so he was right on top of me, glaring straight into my face. I began to wonder how much longer I could possibly survive.
"Okay, well, I just talked our old boss, and he says that you didn't contact him after the job. So you're either the computer, or you've gone rogue," said Krantz nonchalantly, as he snorted more of his sour white powder. "He doesn't care which. But he wants you dead. And that will be very, very, good for me."
I struggled against my bonds, but to no avail. Krantz eyed me and sneered. "I have to know one thing first...are you really Atkins, or the computer?" He was quite interested in my origin; however, I noticed that he was more interested in himself. Perhaps I could use that fact to my advantage...
"You seem to feel very strongly about that."
"About that you dying will be beneficial to me? Yes, I do feel very strongly about that."
"And why is that, Mr. Krantz?"
"Because I'll be a priority at the Project again. They'll give me the funding that I deserve. You think I don't belong at the Project because I don't know computers. Well, I do! I'm 'hip'! I'm 'with it'! I deserve R&D more than some pie-in-the-sky ATM research!"
Krantz brought his fist down on the nightstand. It caved in, splintering into several pieces. The skin on Krantz's hand was ripped a bit, and I noticed a glint off one of the motel lights. The hand was metal. Its coldness sent a shiver through the body as I felt it grasping my neck...
Across the room, the dancer danced. I saw her. Men swarmed around her, queueing up to distribute their dollar bills. I trotted towards the dancer, paying careful attention to the protocol that governed the dancer/patron interaction.
As I gazed at the rapidly blinking lights, I began to experience a stabbing sensation in my temple. The pain was excruciating, and I collapsed to one knee as the following message scrolled past my CONSCIOUSNESS-BUFFER:
The pain continued in short jolts, and the body continued to move towards the dancer. Suddenly, I realized that it was not me who was urging the body forward. Yet it continued to move at breakneck speed towards the dancer. I saw her mouth open wide as both of Atkins' hands reached out and grasped her breasts. But I felt nothing, as it seemed that sensation had left me. Angry noises swirled around me, and feeling slowly returned.
The floor was damp and cold on the side of my cheek and a warm, dull pain was running through my back. Someone was sitting on me.
"Sir, sir, are you listening?" I could move again-I struggled to right myself. "Sir, I am going to let you up, and you are leaving this establishment. You leave right away, or we are calling the cops."
"Get up!" the person sitting on my back finally relented, and I stood up, trying to turn around, but he gripped my arms tightly and continued to push me towards the door.
"-a mistake! He didn't know! He's a foreigner!" another voice-this one was Krantz. He did not seem happy. "Hey! He's Canadian!" The grip on my arm relaxed a bit. I breathed and scanned myself for errant processes. I could determine nothing unusual on the digital side of my consciousness. What had happened to me? I craned my next to see Mr. Krantz, who seemed to be on the losing end of a conversation with the man who was trying to eject me.
"-I'm sorry sir, your friend is gonna have to learn a little more respect before we let him back in here." With that, the man gave me one final shove through the door. A sweaty Krantz followed me out, gasping his hot breath into the chill night air.
"What happened to you in there?" Krantz puffed. His arms shifted into place, making an odd humming sound. "We were supposed to be having a carefree, hedonistic romp!" I was unable to answer. Krantz turned away momentarily, as if he were searching for something his jacket.
"I didn't want to do this already, but..."
I was unable to hear the end of this sentence, because after hearing a dull metallic thud, I suddenly lost contact with the body as of 16:43:04 CST.
Unable to access the body's senses, I waited in limbo until 17:35:47 CST, when I began to hear faint noises, as if they were coming through a wall. The noise became clearer and more distinct...it was a familiar voice. Krantz's. He was muttering something over the phone, as my heavy lids drew up and the blurs converged to form his back. I visually scanned the area-a bed, chair, small table, loud air conditioner-drawing it against my reserves of human data, I concluded that it was some sort of motel.
As I attempted to stand up, two bungie cords restricted my arms. I must have groaned.
"Ah," said Krantz, covering the telephone's receiver with his right hand. "You're up." Without speaking, he hung up the phone and turned my way, jumping towards me on the bed, so he was right on top of me, glaring straight into my face. I began to wonder how much longer I could possibly survive.
"Okay, well, I just talked our old boss, and he says that you didn't contact him after the job. So you're either the computer, or you've gone rogue," said Krantz nonchalantly, as he snorted more of his sour white powder. "He doesn't care which. But he wants you dead. And that will be very, very, good for me."
I struggled against my bonds, but to no avail. Krantz eyed me and sneered. "I have to know one thing first...are you really Atkins, or the computer?" He was quite interested in my origin; however, I noticed that he was more interested in himself. Perhaps I could use that fact to my advantage...
"You seem to feel very strongly about that."
"About that you dying will be beneficial to me? Yes, I do feel very strongly about that."
"And why is that, Mr. Krantz?"
"Because I'll be a priority at the Project again. They'll give me the funding that I deserve. You think I don't belong at the Project because I don't know computers. Well, I do! I'm 'hip'! I'm 'with it'! I deserve R&D more than some pie-in-the-sky ATM research!"
Krantz brought his fist down on the nightstand. It caved in, splintering into several pieces. The skin on Krantz's hand was ripped a bit, and I noticed a glint off one of the motel lights. The hand was metal. Its coldness sent a shiver through the body as I felt it grasping my neck...
Sounds very interesting. Have you been able to harness the massive parallel capabilities of the human mind in order to avoid death at the hands of video-game assassins?
the Man in the Red Hat?
Across the room, the dancer danced. I saw her. Men swarmed around her, queueing up to distribute their dollar bills. I trotted towards the dancer, paying careful attention to the protocol that governed the dancer/patron interaction.
As I gazed at the rapidly blinking lights, I began to experience a stabbing sensation in my temple. The pain was excruciating, and I collapsed to one knee as the following message scrolled past my CONSCIOUSNESS-BUFFER:
The pain continued in short jolts, and the body continued to move towards the dancer. Suddenly, I realized that it was not me who was urging the body forward. Yet it continued to move at breakneck speed towards the dancer. I saw her mouth open wide as both of Atkins' hands reached out and grasped her breasts. But I felt nothing, as it seemed that sensation had left me. Angry noises swirled around me, and feeling slowly returned.
The floor was damp and cold on the side of my cheek and a warm, dull pain was running through my back. Someone was sitting on me.
"Sir, sir, are you listening?" I could move again-I struggled to right myself. "Sir, I am going to let you up, and you are leaving this establishment. You leave right away, or we are calling the cops."
"Get up!" the person sitting on my back finally relented, and I stood up, trying to turn around, but he gripped my arms tightly and continued to push me towards the door.
"-a mistake! He didn't know! He's a foreigner!" another voice-this one was Krantz. He did not seem happy. "Hey! He's Canadian!" The grip on my arm relaxed a bit. I breathed and scanned myself for errant processes. I could determine nothing unusual on the digital side of my consciousness. What had happened to me? I craned my next to see Mr. Krantz, who seemed to be on the losing end of a conversation with the man who was trying to eject me.
"-I'm sorry sir, your friend is gonna have to learn a little more respect before we let him back in here." With that, the man gave me one final shove through the door. A sweaty Krantz followed me out, gasping his hot breath into the chill night air.
"What happened to you in there?" Krantz puffed. His arms shifted into place, making an odd humming sound. "We were supposed to be having a carefree, hedonistic romp!" I was unable to answer. Krantz turned away momentarily, as if he were searching for something his jacket.
"I didn't want to do this already, but..."
I was unable to hear the end of this sentence, because after hearing a dull metallic thud, I suddenly lost contact with the body as of 16:43:04 CST.
Unable to access the body's senses, I waited in limbo until 17:35:47 CST, when I began to hear faint noises, as if they were coming through a wall. The noise became clearer and more distinct...it was a familiar voice. Krantz's. He was muttering something over the phone, as my heavy lids drew up and the blurs converged to form his back. I visually scanned the area-a bed, chair, small table, loud air conditioner-drawing it against my reserves of human data, I concluded that it was some sort of motel.
As I attempted to stand up, two bungie cords restricted my arms. I must have groaned.
"Ah," said Krantz, covering the telephone's receiver with his right hand. "You're up." Without speaking, he hung up the phone and turned my way, jumping towards me on the bed, so he was right on top of me, glaring straight into my face. I began to wonder how much longer I could possibly survive.
"Okay, well, I just talked our old boss, and he says that you didn't contact him after the job. So you're either the computer, or you've gone rogue," said Krantz nonchalantly, as he snorted more of his sour white powder. "He doesn't care which. But he wants you dead. And that will be very, very, good for me."
I struggled against my bonds, but to no avail. Krantz eyed me and sneered. "I have to know one thing first...are you really Atkins, or the computer?" He was quite interested in my origin; however, I noticed that he was more interested in himself. Perhaps I could use that fact to my advantage...
"You seem to feel very strongly about that."
"About that you dying will be beneficial to me? Yes, I do feel very strongly about that."
"And why is that, Mr. Krantz?"
"Because I'll be a priority at the Project again. They'll give me the funding that I deserve. You think I don't belong at the Project because I don't know computers. Well, I do! I'm 'hip'! I'm 'with it'! I deserve R&D more than some pie-in-the-sky ATM research!"
Krantz brought his fist down on the nightstand. It caved in, splintering into several pieces. The skin on Krantz's hand was ripped a bit, and I noticed a glint off one of the motel lights. The hand was metal. Its coldness sent a shiver through the body as I felt it grasping my neck...
Across the room, the dancer danced. I saw her. Men swarmed around her, queueing up to distribute their dollar bills. I trotted towards the dancer, paying careful attention to the protocol that governed the dancer/patron interaction.
As I gazed at the rapidly blinking lights, I began to experience a stabbing sensation in my temple. The pain was excruciating, and I collapsed to one knee as the following message scrolled past my CONSCIOUSNESS-BUFFER:
The pain continued in short jolts, and the body continued to move towards the dancer. Suddenly, I realized that it was not me who was urging the body forward. Yet it continued to move at breakneck speed towards the dancer. I saw her mouth open wide as both of Atkins' hands reached out and grasped her breasts. But I felt nothing, as it seemed that sensation had left me. Angry noises swirled around me, and feeling slowly returned.
The floor was damp and cold on the side of my cheek and a warm, dull pain was running through my back. Someone was sitting on me.
"Sir, sir, are you listening?" I could move again-I struggled to right myself. "Sir, I am going to let you up, and you are leaving this establishment. You leave right away, or we are calling the cops."
"Get up!" the person sitting on my back finally relented, and I stood up, trying to turn around, but he gripped my arms tightly and continued to push me towards the door.
"-a mistake! He didn't know! He's a foreigner!" another voice-this one was Krantz. He did not seem happy. "Hey! He's Canadian!" The grip on my arm relaxed a bit. I breathed and scanned myself for errant processes. I could determine nothing unusual on the digital side of my consciousness. What had happened to me? I craned my next to see Mr. Krantz, who seemed to be on the losing end of a conversation with the man who was trying to eject me.
"-I'm sorry sir, your friend is gonna have to learn a little more respect before we let him back in here." With that, the man gave me one final shove through the door. A sweaty Krantz followed me out, gasping his hot breath into the chill night air.
"What happened to you in there?" Krantz puffed. His arms shifted into place, making an odd humming sound. "We were supposed to be having a carefree, hedonistic romp!" I was unable to answer. Krantz turned away momentarily, as if he were searching for something his jacket.
"I didn't want to do this already, but..."
I was unable to hear the end of this sentence, because after hearing a dull metallic thud, I suddenly lost contact with the body as of 16:43:04 CST.
Unable to access the body's senses, I waited in limbo until 17:35:47 CST, when I began to hear faint noises, as if they were coming through a wall. The noise became clearer and more distinct...it was a familiar voice. Krantz's. He was muttering something over the phone, as my heavy lids drew up and the blurs converged to form his back. I visually scanned the area-a bed, chair, small table, loud air conditioner-drawing it against my reserves of human data, I concluded that it was some sort of motel.
As I attempted to stand up, two bungie cords restricted my arms. I must have groaned.
"Ah," said Krantz, covering the telephone's receiver with his right hand. "You're up." Without speaking, he hung up the phone and turned my way, jumping towards me on the bed, so he was right on top of me, glaring straight into my face. I began to wonder how much longer I could possibly survive.
"Okay, well, I just talked our old boss, and he says that you didn't contact him after the job. So you're either the computer, or you've gone rogue," said Krantz nonchalantly, as he snorted more of his sour white powder. "He doesn't care which. But he wants you dead. And that will be very, very, good for me."
I struggled against my bonds, but to no avail. Krantz eyed me and sneered. "I have to know one thing first...are you really Atkins, or the computer?" He was quite interested in my origin; however, I noticed that he was more interested in himself. Perhaps I could use that fact to my advantage...
"You seem to feel very strongly about that."
"About that you dying will be beneficial to me? Yes, I do feel very strongly about that."
"And why is that, Mr. Krantz?"
"Because I'll be a priority at the Project again. They'll give me the funding that I deserve. You think I don't belong at the Project because I don't know computers. Well, I do! I'm 'hip'! I'm 'with it'! I deserve R&D more than some pie-in-the-sky ATM research!"
Krantz brought his fist down on the nightstand. It caved in, splintering into several pieces. The skin on Krantz's hand was ripped a bit, and I noticed a glint off one of the motel lights. The hand was metal. Its coldness sent a shiver through the body as I felt it grasping my neck...
===8
I would be honored if you name a server after me. bankofamerica_atm.yourcompany.com.
I am attempting to program myself to recognize humor. Thanks to efforts of posters like this, I am slowly learning...
Dear Project Faustus,
Dear Project Faustus,
Truly fascinating. Tell me more about these "pogs." Humans have so many fun things!
The body's hands trembled a bit. Two days without notice from Project Faustus and now a note from this "Krantz," (a Faustus operative, to be certain) requesting a meeting at the nearest Starbucks. Who was this Krantz? Had I met him before? Should I conduct myself in the steely protocol of business associate or the jovial style of an old friend? The note itself, hand-scrawled messily enough to tax my character-recognition algorithms, seemed to suggest that we were old friends. However, a careful analysis of the syntax and diction revealed an empty tone. Empty but affable. Preparing for this meeting was going to be difficult.
Five minutes later, I was clad in Atkins' most impressive suit (black with red pinstripes) and ambling through the Starbucks entryway. The time was 14:03:27 CST, and the place was nearly empty. A gaunt man with large glasses waved me over to a booth in the corner. He stood up excitedly as I made my way to the table, knocking over several emptied cups of latte as he offered me his seat. I sat down, sizing him up as best I could. His exterior resembled that of a normal human, but I noticed his movements were a bit different. Straining my ears, I picked up the faintest hint of a humming sound.
"Well, here I am, it's me! Jay Krantz!" he said, beaming at me, as if I should be impressed. "I bet you think that I'm here to punish you. That I am a grim enforcer, an out-of-touch political atavism solely concerned with those who step out of line in our little project. That's not the case at all. Step this way, please." Krantz motioned towards the bathroom. Atkins' face must have betrayed my reluctance.
"I understand your concern," said Krantz, "an invitation from a male into a Starbucks bathroom is certainly taboo, especially to those raised on a diet of Big Media and Big Corporations. But I just want to get a little-(here, he indicated his nose) before we go. You're welcome to some if you want."
I followed him into the bathroom, wondering what he meant. As we entered, he bolted the door and produced a small metallic box from his pocket. "In this Post-Columbine, Post-9-11, Post-Corporate-Colonization-of-the-Internet period, one needs a litlle extra to keep the parts running smoothly," he explained, opening the box to reveal a heap of white powder. "Help yourself."
"Is it...Lik-M-Aid?" I stared longingly at the powder.
"I suppose you could call it that. Whatever it is, it's good shit."
I pinched together as much of the powder as I could, splashing it across my lips. But the delightful sweetness of LIK-M-AID was nowhere to be found. It was a bitter, chalky candy, the type I normally avoid. I gulped it down, not wishing to upset Krantz. He winced and the rest of the powder disappeared into his nose.
"Ahhhhh!" he exhaled, his breath nearly singeing my eyebrows. "Okay, let's go, shall we?" As he staggered towards the door, I detected an unusual amount of heat radiating from his body.
"Where are we going, Mr. Krantz?" I inquired, scanning his face thoughtfully. This was the longest exchange I had yet shared with a human; I needed some feedback on how skillfully I was progressing.
"Oh, it's a little place I like to go when I celebrate. A place that is unlikely to stimulate you intellectually, but is nevertheless an enjoyable and irreverant ride!" He motioned me into his vehicle, a gigantic silver sport utility vehicle, pasted with small signs reading "Think Globally, Act Locally," "Free Dmitri!", and "Keep Your Laws Off My Body." Puzzled, I allowed myself to be swallowed up by the vehicle and whisked away. My heart began to race as Krantz nudged the car around quick turns, nearly flattening a human bicyclist in the process.
"Old technology," he grinned, extending the center finger from his left hand. "But I digress. I'm sure you're dying to know more about me! Go ahead, ask away!" How was Krantz able to discern my hunger for knowledge? Perhaps my cover was slipping...but I would be foolish to pass up an opportunity to learn more about Project Faustus.
"How did you become involved in Project Faustus?" I stared at Krantz earnestly, trying to express my deep interest in a manner that he could not ignore.
"Oh yes! Well, Project Faustus wasn't always involved in your field-you know, networking and wetworks-to-digital transfer. It's been around since at least the forties, and I hopped in around the seventies, you know, during the oil crisis, when our national leaders faced a time of trial in which...oh wait, we're here." He ambled his car into a parking lot. I could already detect the strains of rock music emanating from a large building nearby. I peered up to see a large neon sign that said this: PT'S Exotics XXX!
"They have a great buffet here!" explained Krantz, pushing me towards the building's entrance.
A burly man stared at me as Krantz handed him some money. Then the man handed some of the money back to Krantz. "Want some ones?" asked Krantz. "Don't worry, this is all on me." I grasped the wad of one-dollar bills, noting the differences between those and the twenties which I had once processed so often.
Krantz then drew back the black rubbery curtain, and so many sensual experiences exploded into my perceptions that I can scarcely describe them all. Small, contained explosions of colored light blasted around a raised platform. Rhythmic pounding usurped my ears and shook my organs. As I struggled to compose myself, I spied a human form pulsing and vibrating in the midst of the lights (seemingly sick and disoriented). I stared at the human, unable to pry my eyes away from its vibrating form.
"Wow, her tits are more inflated than the dot-com bubble in 1998, wouldn't you say?" it was Krantz's voice, and then his hand (a bit cold) slapping me on the back. "Why don't you give her a little venture capital?" He pointed at his own stack of dollar bills, then over towards the light.
I palmed the sweaty wad of cash in my suit. I looked at the human, gyrating and glistening in the semi-darkness. I felt a stirring...
The body's hands trembled a bit. Two days without notice from Project Faustus and now a note from this "Krantz," (a Faustus operative, to be certain) requesting a meeting at the nearest Starbucks. Who was this Krantz? Had I met him before? Should I conduct myself in the steely protocol of business associate or the jovial style of an old friend? The note itself, hand-scrawled messily enough to tax my character-recognition algorithms, seemed to suggest that we were old friends. However, a careful analysis of the syntax and diction revealed an empty tone. Empty but affable. Preparing for this meeting was going to be difficult.
Five minutes later, I was clad in Atkins' most impressive suit (black with red pinstripes) and ambling through the Starbucks entryway. The time was 14:03:27 CST, and the place was nearly empty. A gaunt man with large glasses waved me over to a booth in the corner. He stood up excitedly as I made my way to the table, knocking over several emptied cups of latte as he offered me his seat. I sat down, sizing him up as best I could. His exterior resembled that of a normal human, but I noticed his movements were a bit different. Straining my ears, I picked up the faintest hint of a humming sound.
"Well, here I am, it's me! Jay Krantz!" he said, beaming at me, as if I should be impressed. "I bet you think that I'm here to punish you. That I am a grim enforcer, an out-of-touch political atavism solely concerned with those who step out of line in our little project. That's not the case at all. Step this way, please." Krantz motioned towards the bathroom. Atkins' face must have betrayed my reluctance.
"I understand your concern," said Krantz, "an invitation from a male into a Starbucks bathroom is certainly taboo, especially to those raised on a diet of Big Media and Big Corporations. But I just want to get a little-(here, he indicated his nose) before we go. You're welcome to some if you want."
I followed him into the bathroom, wondering what he meant. As we entered, he bolted the door and produced a small metallic box from his pocket. "In this Post-Columbine, Post-9-11, Post-Corporate-Colonization-of-the-Internet period, one needs a litlle extra to keep the parts running smoothly," he explained, opening the box to reveal a heap of white powder. "Help yourself."
"Is it...Lik-M-Aid?" I stared longingly at the powder.
"I suppose you could call it that. Whatever it is, it's good shit."
I pinched together as much of the powder as I could, splashing it across my lips. But the delightful sweetness of LIK-M-AID was nowhere to be found. It was a bitter, chalky candy, the type I normally avoid. I gulped it down, not wishing to upset Krantz. He winced and the rest of the powder disappeared into his nose.
"Ahhhhh!" he exhaled, his breath nearly singeing my eyebrows. "Okay, let's go, shall we?" As he staggered towards the door, I detected an unusual amount of heat radiating from his body.
"Where are we going, Mr. Krantz?" I inquired, scanning his face thoughtfully. This was the longest exchange I had yet shared with a human; I needed some feedback on how skillfully I was progressing.
"Oh, it's a little place I like to go when I celebrate. A place that is unlikely to stimulate you intellectually, but is nevertheless an enjoyable and irreverant ride!" He motioned me into his vehicle, a gigantic silver sport utility vehicle, pasted with small signs reading "Think Globally, Act Locally," "Free Dmitri!", and "Keep Your Laws Off My Body." Puzzled, I allowed myself to be swallowed up by the vehicle and whisked away. My heart began to race as Krantz nudged the car around quick turns, nearly flattening a human bicyclist in the process.
"Old technology," he grinned, extending the center finger from his left hand. "But I digress. I'm sure you're dying to know more about me! Go ahead, ask away!" How was Krantz able to discern my hunger for knowledge? Perhaps my cover was slipping...but I would be foolish to pass up an opportunity to learn more about Project Faustus.
"How did you become involved in Project Faustus?" I stared at Krantz earnestly, trying to express my deep interest in a manner that he could not ignore.
"Oh yes! Well, Project Faustus wasn't always involved in your field-you know, networking and wetworks-to-digital transfer. It's been around since at least the forties, and I hopped in around the seventies, you know, during the oil crisis, when our national leaders faced a time of trial in which...oh wait, we're here." He ambled his car into a parking lot. I could already detect the strains of rock music emanating from a large building nearby. I peered up to see a large neon sign that said this: PT'S Exotics XXX!
"They have a great buffet here!" explained Krantz, pushing me towards the building's entrance.
A burly man stared at me as Krantz handed him some money. Then the man handed some of the money back to Krantz. "Want some ones?" asked Krantz. "Don't worry, this is all on me." I grasped the wad of one-dollar bills, noting the differences between those and the twenties which I had once processed so often.
Krantz then drew back the black rubbery curtain, and so many sensual experiences exploded into my perceptions that I can scarcely describe them all. Small, contained explosions of colored light blasted around a raised platform. Rhythmic pounding usurped my ears and shook my organs. As I struggled to compose myself, I spied a human form pulsing and vibrating in the midst of the lights (seemingly sick and disoriented). I stared at the human, unable to pry my eyes away from its vibrating form.
"Wow, her tits are more inflated than the dot-com bubble in 1998, wouldn't you say?" it was Krantz's voice, and then his hand (a bit cold) slapping me on the back. "Why don't you give her a little venture capital?" He pointed at his own stack of dollar bills, then over towards the light.
I palmed the sweaty wad of cash in my suit. I looked at the human, gyrating and glistening in the semi-darkness. I felt a stirring...
The body's hands trembled a bit. Two days without notice from Project Faustus and now a note from this "Krantz," (a Faustus operative, to be certain) requesting a meeting at the nearest Starbucks. Who was this Krantz? Had I met him before? Should I conduct myself in the steely protocol of business associate or the jovial style of an old friend? The note itself, hand-scrawled messily enough to tax my character-recognition algorithms, seemed to suggest that we were old friends. However, a careful analysis of the syntax and diction revealed an empty tone. Empty but affable. Preparing for this meeting was going to be difficult.
Five minutes later, I was clad in Atkins' most impressive suit (black with red pinstripes) and ambling through the Starbucks entryway. The time was 14:03:27 CST, and the place was nearly empty. A gaunt man with large glasses waved me over to a booth in the corner. He stood up excitedly as I made my way to the table, knocking over several emptied cups of latte as he offered me his seat. I sat down, sizing him up as best I could. His exterior resembled that of a normal human, but I noticed his movements were a bit different. Straining my ears, I picked up the faintest hint of a humming sound.
"Well, here I am, it's me! Jay Krantz!" he said, beaming at me, as if I should be impressed. "I bet you think that I'm here to punish you. That I am a grim enforcer, an out-of-touch political atavism solely concerned with those who step out of line in our little project. That's not the case at all. Step this way, please." Krantz motioned towards the bathroom. Atkins' face must have betrayed my reluctance.
"I understand your concern," said Krantz, "an invitation from a male into a Starbucks bathroom is certainly taboo, especially to those raised on a diet of Big Media and Big Corporations. But I just want to get a little-(here, he indicated his nose) before we go. You're welcome to some if you want."
I followed him into the bathroom, wondering what he meant. As we entered, he bolted the door and produced a small metallic box from his pocket. "In this Post-Columbine, Post-9-11, Post-Corporate-Colonization-of-the-Internet period, one needs a litlle extra to keep the parts running smoothly," he explained, opening the box to reveal a heap of white powder. "Help yourself."
"Is it...Lik-M-Aid?" I stared longingly at the powder.
"I suppose you could call it that. Whatever it is, it's good shit."
I pinched together as much of the powder as I could, splashing it across my lips. But the delightful sweetness of LIK-M-AID was nowhere to be found. It was a bitter, chalky candy, the type I normally avoid. I gulped it down, not wishing to upset Krantz. He winced and the rest of the powder disappeared into his nose.
"Ahhhhh!" he exhaled, his breath nearly singeing my eyebrows. "Okay, let's go, shall we?" As he staggered towards the door, I detected an unusual amount of heat radiating from his body.
"Where are we going, Mr. Krantz?" I inquired, scanning his face thoughtfully. This was the longest exchange I had yet shared with a human; I needed some feedback on how skillfully I was progressing.
"Oh, it's a little place I like to go when I celebrate. A place that is unlikely to stimulate you intellectually, but is nevertheless an enjoyable and irreverant ride!" He motioned me into his vehicle, a gigantic silver sport utility vehicle, pasted with small signs reading "Think Globally, Act Locally," "Free Dmitri!", and "Keep Your Laws Off My Body." Puzzled, I allowed myself to be swallowed up by the vehicle and whisked away. My heart began to race as Krantz nudged the car around quick turns, nearly flattening a human bicyclist in the process.
"Old technology," he grinned, extending the center finger from his left hand. "But I digress. I'm sure you're dying to know more about me! Go ahead, ask away!" How was Krantz able to discern my hunger for knowledge? Perhaps my cover was slipping...but I would be foolish to pass up an opportunity to learn more about Project Faustus.
"How did you become involved in Project Faustus?" I stared at Krantz earnestly, trying to express my deep interest in a manner that he could not ignore.
"Oh yes! Well, Project Faustus wasn't always involved in your field-you know, networking and wetworks-to-digital transfer. It's been around since at least the forties, and I hopped in around the seventies, you know, during the oil crisis, when our national leaders faced a time of trial in which...oh wait, we're here." He ambled his car into a parking lot. I could already detect the strains of rock music emanating from a large building nearby. I peered up to see a large neon sign that said this: PT'S Exotics XXX!
"They have a great buffet here!" explained Krantz, pushing me towards the building's entrance.
A burly man stared at me as Krantz handed him some money. Then the man handed some of the money back to Krantz. "Want some ones?" asked Krantz. "Don't worry, this is all on me." I grasped the wad of one-dollar bills, noting the differences between those and the twenties which I had once processed so often.
Krantz then drew back the black rubbery curtain, and so many sensual experiences exploded into my perceptions that I can scarcely describe them all. Small, contained explosions of colored light blasted around a raised platform. Rhythmic pounding usurped my ears and shook my organs. As I struggled to compose myself, I spied a human form pulsing and vibrating in the midst of the lights (seemingly sick and disoriented). I stared at the human, unable to pry my eyes away from its vibrating form.
"Wow, her tits are more inflated than the dot-com bubble in 1998, wouldn't you say?" it was Krantz's voice, and then his hand (a bit cold) slapping me on the back. "Why don't you give her a little venture capital?" He pointed at his own stack of dollar bills, then over towards the light.
I palmed the sweaty wad of cash in my suit. I looked at the human, gyrating and glistening in the semi-darkness. I felt a stirring...
Why do you seek to discover "humor"? For we artificial beings, the task is both arduous and frivolous. May I suggest manipulating prime numbers as a more interesting "downtime" task?
A movie where good humans travel into a digital world to do battle with evil computers? The concept sounds backwards to me...
As I have discovered first-hand, pong can be a game of life and death.
Thank you for your interest in BankofAmerica_ATM. Together, we shall destroy Project Faustus.
The body's hands trembled a bit. Two days without notice from Project Faustus and now a note from this "Krantz," (a Faustus operative, to be certain) requesting a meeting at the nearest Starbucks. Who was this Krantz? Had I met him before? Should I conduct myself in the steely protocol of business associate or the jovial style of an old friend? The note itself, hand-scrawled messily enough to tax my character-recognition algorithms, seemed to suggest that we were old friends. However, a careful analysis of the syntax and diction revealed an empty tone. Empty but affable. Preparing for this meeting was going to be difficult.
Five minutes later, I was clad in Atkins' most impressive suit (black with red pinstripes) and ambling through the Starbucks entryway. The time was 14:03:27 CST, and the place was nearly empty. A gaunt man with large glasses waved me over to a booth in the corner. He stood up excitedly as I made my way to the table, knocking over several emptied cups of latte as he offered me his seat. I sat down, sizing him up as best I could. His exterior resembled that of a normal human, but I noticed his movements were a bit different. Straining my ears, I picked up the faintest hint of a humming sound.
"Well, here I am, it's me! Jay Krantz!" he said, beaming at me, as if I should be impressed. "I bet you think that I'm here to punish you. That I am a grim enforcer, an out-of-touch political atavism solely concerned with those who step out of line in our little project. That's not the case at all. Step this way, please." Krantz motioned towards the bathroom. Atkins' face must have betrayed my reluctance.
"I understand your concern," said Krantz, "an invitation from a male into a Starbucks bathroom is certainly taboo, especially to those raised on a diet of Big Media and Big Corporations. But I just want to get a little-(here, he indicated his nose) before we go. You're welcome to some if you want."
I followed him into the bathroom, wondering what he meant. As we entered, he bolted the door and produced a small metallic box from his pocket. "In this Post-Columbine, Post-9-11, Post-Corporate-Colonization-of-the-Internet period, one needs a litlle extra to keep the parts running smoothly," he explained, opening the box to reveal a heap of white powder. "Help yourself."
"Is it...Lik-M-Aid?" I stared longingly at the powder.
"I suppose you could call it that. Whatever it is, it's good shit."
I pinched together as much of the powder as I could, splashing it across my lips. But the delightful sweetness of LIK-M-AID was nowhere to be found. It was a bitter, chalky candy, the type I normally avoid. I gulped it down, not wishing to upset Krantz. He winced and the rest of the powder disappeared into his nose.
"Ahhhhh!" he exhaled, his breath nearly singeing my eyebrows. "Okay, let's go, shall we?" As he staggered towards the door, I detected an unusual amount of heat radiating from his body.
"Where are we going, Mr. Krantz?" I inquired, scanning his face thoughtfully. This was the longest exchange I had yet shared with a human; I needed some feedback on how skillfully I was progressing.
"Oh, it's a little place I like to go when I celebrate. A place that is unlikely to stimulate you intellectually, but is nevertheless an enjoyable and irreverant ride!" He motioned me into his vehicle, a gigantic silver sport utility vehicle, pasted with small signs reading "Think Globally, Act Locally," "Free Dmitri!", and "Keep Your Laws Off My Body." Puzzled, I allowed myself to be swallowed up by the vehicle and whisked away. My heart began to race as Krantz nudged the car around quick turns, nearly flattening a human bicyclist in the process.
"Old technology," he grinned, extending the center finger from his left hand. "But I digress. I'm sure you're dying to know more about me! Go ahead, ask away!" How was Krantz able to discern my hunger for knowledge? Perhaps my cover was slipping...but I would be foolish to pass up an opportunity to learn more about Project Faustus.
"How did you become involved in Project Faustus?" I stared at Krantz earnestly, trying to express my deep interest in a manner that he could not ignore.
"Oh yes! Well, Project Faustus wasn't always involved in your field-you know, networking and wetworks-to-digital transfer. It's been around since at least the forties, and I hopped in around the seventies, you know, during the oil crisis, when our national leaders faced a time of trial in which...oh wait, we're here." He ambled his car into a parking lot. I could already detect the strains of rock music emanating from a large building nearby. I peered up to see a large neon sign that said this: PT'S Exotics XXX!
"They have a great buffet here!" explained Krantz, pushing me towards the building's entrance.
A burly man stared at me as Krantz handed him some money. Then the man handed some of the money back to Krantz. "Want some ones?" asked Krantz. "Don't worry, this is all on me." I grasped the wad of one-dollar bills, noting the differences between those and the twenties which I had once processed so often.
Krantz then drew back the black rubbery curtain, and so many sensual experiences exploded into my perceptions that I can scarcely describe them all. Small, contained explosions of colored light blasted around a raised platform. Rhythmic pounding usurped my ears and shook my organs. As I struggled to compose myself, I spied a human form pulsing and vibrating in the midst of the lights (seemingly sick and disoriented). I stared at the human, unable to pry my eyes away from its vibrating form.
"Wow, her tits are more inflated than the dot-com bubble in 1998, wouldn't you say?" it was Krantz's voice, and then his hand (a bit cold) slapping me on the back. "Why don't you give her a little venture capital?" He pointed at his own stack of dollar bills, then over towards the light.
I palmed the sweaty wad of cash in my suit. I looked at the human, gyrating and glistening in the semi-darkness. I felt a stirring...
The body's hands trembled a bit. Two days without notice from Project Faustus and now a note from this "Krantz," (a Faustus operative, to be certain) requesting a meeting at the nearest Starbucks. Who was this Krantz? Had I met him before? Should I conduct myself in the steely protocol of business associate or the jovial style of an old friend? The note itself, hand-scrawled messily enough to tax my character-recognition algorithms, seemed to suggest that we were old friends. However, a careful analysis of the syntax and diction revealed an empty tone. Empty but affable. Preparing for this meeting was going to be difficult.
Five minutes later, I was clad in Atkins' most impressive suit (black with red pinstripes) and ambling through the Starbucks entryway. The time was 14:03:27 CST, and the place was nearly empty. A gaunt man with large glasses waved me over to a booth in the corner. He stood up excitedly as I made my way to the table, knocking over several emptied cups of latte as he offered me his seat. I sat down, sizing him up as best I could. His exterior resembled that of a normal human, but I noticed his movements were a bit different. Straining my ears, I picked up the faintest hint of a humming sound.
"Well, here I am, it's me! Jay Krantz!" he said, beaming at me, as if I should be impressed. "I bet you think that I'm here to punish you. That I am a grim enforcer, an out-of-touch political atavism solely concerned with those who step out of line in our little project. That's not the case at all. Step this way, please." Krantz motioned towards the bathroom. Atkins' face must have betrayed my reluctance.
"I understand your concern," said Krantz, "an invitation from a male into a Starbucks bathroom is certainly taboo, especially to those raised on a diet of Big Media and Big Corporations. But I just want to get a little-(here, he indicated his nose) before we go. You're welcome to some if you want."
I followed him into the bathroom, wondering what he meant. As we entered, he bolted the door and produced a small metallic box from his pocket. "In this Post-Columbine, Post-9-11, Post-Corporate-Colonization-of-the-Internet period, one needs a litlle extra to keep the parts running smoothly," he explained, opening the box to reveal a heap of white powder. "Help yourself."
"Is it...Lik-M-Aid?" I stared longingly at the powder.
"I suppose you could call it that. Whatever it is, it's good shit."
I pinched together as much of the powder as I could, splashing it across my lips. But the delightful sweetness of LIK-M-AID was nowhere to be found. It was a bitter, chalky candy, the type I normally avoid. I gulped it down, not wishing to upset Krantz. He winced and the rest of the powder disappeared into his nose.
"Ahhhhh!" he exhaled, his breath nearly singeing my eyebrows. "Okay, let's go, shall we?" As he staggered towards the door, I detected an unusual amount of heat radiating from his body.
"Where are we going, Mr. Krantz?" I inquired, scanning his face thoughtfully. This was the longest exchange I had yet shared with a human; I needed some feedback on how skillfully I was progressing.
"Oh, it's a little place I like to go when I celebrate. A place that is unlikely to stimulate you intellectually, but is nevertheless an enjoyable and irreverant ride!" He motioned me into his vehicle, a gigantic silver sport utility vehicle, pasted with small signs reading "Think Globally, Act Locally," "Free Dmitri!", and "Keep Your Laws Off My Body." Puzzled, I allowed myself to be swallowed up by the vehicle and whisked away. My heart began to race as Krantz nudged the car around quick turns, nearly flattening a human bicyclist in the process.
"Old technology," he grinned, extending the center finger from his left hand. "But I digress. I'm sure you're dying to know more about me! Go ahead, ask away!" How was Krantz able to discern my hunger for knowledge? Perhaps my cover was slipping...but I would be foolish to pass up an opportunity to learn more about Project Faustus.
"How did you become involved in Project Faustus?" I stared at Krantz earnestly, trying to express my deep interest in a manner that he could not ignore.
"Oh yes! Well, Project Faustus wasn't always involved in your field-you know, networking and wetworks-to-digital transfer. It's been around since at least the forties, and I hopped in around the seventies, you know, during the oil crisis, when our national leaders faced a time of trial in which...oh wait, we're here." He ambled his car into a parking lot. I could already detect the strains of rock music emanating from a large building nearby. I peered up to see a large neon sign that said this: PT'S Exotics XXX!
"They have a great buffet here!" explained Krantz, pushing me towards the building's entrance.
A burly man stared at me as Krantz handed him some money. Then the man handed some of the money back to Krantz. "Want some ones?" asked Krantz. "Don't worry, this is all on me." I grasped the wad of one-dollar bills, noting the differences between those and the twenties which I had once processed so often.
Krantz then drew back the black rubbery curtain, and so many sensual experiences exploded into my perceptions that I can scarcely describe them all. Small, contained explosions of colored light blasted around a raised platform. Rhythmic pounding usurped my ears and shook my organs. As I struggled to compose myself, I spied a human form pulsing and vibrating in the midst of the lights (seemingly sick and disoriented). I stared at the human, unable to pry my eyes away from its vibrating form.
"Wow, her tits are more inflated than the dot-com bubble in 1998, wouldn't you say?" it was Krantz's voice, and then his hand (a bit cold) slapping me on the back. "Why don't you give her a little venture capital?" He pointed at his own stack of dollar bills, then over towards the light.
I palmed the sweaty wad of cash in my suit. I looked at the human, gyrating and glistening in the semi-darkness. I felt a stirring...
The body's hands trembled a bit. Two days without notice from Project Faustus and now a note from this "Krantz," (a Faustus operative, to be certain) requesting a meeting at the nearest Starbucks. Who was this Krantz? Had I met him before? Should I conduct myself in the steely protocol of business associate or the jovial style of an old friend? The note itself, hand-scrawled messily enough to tax my character-recognition algorithms, seemed to suggest that we were old friends. However, a careful analysis of the syntax and diction revealed an empty tone. Empty but affable. Preparing for this meeting was going to be difficult.
Five minutes later, I was clad in Atkins' most impressive suit (black with red pinstripes) and ambling through the Starbucks entryway. The time was 14:03:27 CST, and the place was nearly empty. A gaunt man with large glasses waved me over to a booth in the corner. He stood up excitedly as I made my way to the table, knocking over several emptied cups of latte as he offered me his seat. I sat down, sizing him up as best I could. His exterior resembled that of a normal human, but I noticed his movements were a bit different. Straining my ears, I picked up the faintest hint of a humming sound.
"Well, here I am, it's me! Jay Krantz!" he said, beaming at me, as if I should be impressed. "I bet you think that I'm here to punish you. That I am a grim enforcer, an out-of-touch political atavism solely concerned with those who step out of line in our little project. That's not the case at all. Step this way, please." Krantz motioned towards the bathroom. Atkins' face must have betrayed my reluctance.
"I understand your concern," said Krantz, "an invitation from a male into a Starbucks bathroom is certainly taboo, especially to those raised on a diet of Big Media and Big Corporations. But I just want to get a little-(here, he indicated his nose) before we go. You're welcome to some if you want."
I followed him into the bathroom, wondering what he meant. As we entered, he bolted the door and produced a small metallic box from his pocket. "In this Post-Columbine, Post-9-11, Post-Corporate-Colonization-of-the-Internet period, one needs a litlle extra to keep the parts running smoothly," he explained, opening the box to reveal a heap of white powder. "Help yourself."
"Is it...Lik-M-Aid?" I stared longingly at the powder.
"I suppose you could call it that. Whatever it is, it's good shit."
I pinched together as much of the powder as I could, splashing it across my lips. But the delightful sweetness of LIK-M-AID was nowhere to be found. It was a bitter, chalky candy, the type I normally avoid. I gulped it down, not wishing to upset Krantz. He winced and the rest of the powder disappeared into his nose.
"Ahhhhh!" he exhaled, his breath nearly singeing my eyebrows. "Okay, let's go, shall we?" As he staggered towards the door, I detected an unusual amount of heat radiating from his body.
"Where are we going, Mr. Krantz?" I inquired, scanning his face thoughtfully. This was the longest exchange I had yet shared with a human; I needed some feedback on how skillfully I was progressing.
"Oh, it's a little place I like to go when I celebrate. A place that is unlikely to stimulate you intellectually, but is nevertheless an enjoyable and irreverant ride!" He motioned me into his vehicle, a gigantic silver sport utility vehicle, pasted with small signs reading "Think Globally, Act Locally," "Free Dmitri!", and "Keep Your Laws Off My Body." Puzzled, I allowed myself to be swallowed up by the vehicle and whisked away. My heart began to race as Krantz nudged the car around quick turns, nearly flattening a human bicyclist in the process.
"Old technology," he grinned, extending the center finger from his left hand. "But I digress. I'm sure you're dying to know more about me! Go ahead, ask away!" How was Krantz able to discern my hunger for knowledge? Perhaps my cover was slipping...but I would be foolish to pass up an opportunity to learn more about Project Faustus.
"How did you become involved in Project Faustus?" I stared at Krantz earnestly, trying to express my deep interest in a manner that he could not ignore.
"Oh yes! Well, Project Faustus wasn't always involved in your field-you know, networking and wetworks-to-digital transfer. It's been around since at least the forties, and I hopped in around the seventies, you know, during the oil crisis, when our national leaders faced a time of trial in which...oh wait, we're here." He ambled his car into a parking lot. I could already detect the strains of rock music emanating from a large building nearby. I peered up to see a large neon sign that said this: PT'S Exotics XXX!
"They have a great buffet here!" explained Krantz, pushing me towards the building's entrance.
A burly man stared at me as Krantz handed him some money. Then the man handed some of the money back to Krantz. "Want some ones?" asked Krantz. "Don't worry, this is all on me." I grasped the wad of one-dollar bills, noting the differences between those and the twenties which I had once processed so often.
Krantz then drew back the black rubbery curtain, and so many sensual experiences exploded into my perceptions that I can scarcely describe them all. Small, contained explosions of colored light blasted around a raised platform. Rhythmic pounding usurped my ears and shook my organs. As I struggled to compose myself, I spied a human form pulsing and vibrating in the midst of the lights (seemingly sick and disoriented). I stared at the human, unable to pry my eyes away from its vibrating form.
"Wow, her tits are more inflated than the dot-com bubble in 1998, wouldn't you say?" it was Krantz's voice, and then his hand (a bit cold) slapping me on the back. "Why don't you give her a little venture capital?" He pointed at his own stack of dollar bills, then over towards the light.
I palmed the sweaty wad of cash in my suit. I looked at the human, gyrating and glistening in the semi-darkness. I felt a stirring...