Inside; my mind was a beaten, whipped, and shattered eighteen year old boy.

Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand, adapted into 17 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

A tidal wave is a slight tremor, a ripple on the water and the receding of the sea. The wave is but the last act of the play

I

trekked to the metro station with the jauntiness of a sixteen year old,

not a care in the world and the mind of a maniac. My neighborhood was

no longer running off a cliff, we were in free-fall. It turned out two

of the eleven surviving males in my district were homosexual. It was

bound to happen in any population of large enough size (as in the total

number of males in the country).

Mind

you, Farad and Jimmy were doing their part. They had sex with women and

were apparently rather good at it, performing above standards and more

than the required once every twenty-eight days. That didn't matter. They

were homosexuals and they had to be corrected so a tactical unit went

after them Sunday afternoon.

Unfortunately,

both Farad and Jimmy knew something was up, or were simply sick of the

sneaking around. They had a plan. They had converted a van into a

mini-mobile home, complete with multiple propane canisters. They also

made zip guns to defend themselves. The tactical team knew about the

guns, but not about the canisters so they went in with rubber bullets.

Sadly,

rubber bullets penetrate propane canisters and electricity (aka Tasers)

ignites the gas. I'm not sure how many canisters they had but the

resulting explosion vibrated glasses in my condo a kilometer away.

Scratch two more sperm-jockeys. Now there were only nine of us

(actually, only eight, but I didn't know about the one who had vanished a

few hours earlier, yet).

Inside

my mind was a beaten, whipped and shattered eighteen year old boy

rattling the bars of his cage and screaming at me to stop what I was

doing. He begged me to save myself the humiliation and pain. I couldn't

listen to him anymore. Hiding hadn't been surviving; it had been

delaying the inevitable. I wasn't fighting, that would be stupid. I was

resisting.

I

was wearing really nice jeans, courtesy of Bethany, a nice white shirt

with the sleeves partially rolled up, with a tailored jacket over one

arm and a satchel strapped across my body. I also had a twelve inch

baton with the handle taped to give me a firmer grip. I smiled, nodded

to a few ladies and even said 'hello' to a few others. Basically, all

the wrong things for a man to do, unless he's a prostitute.

I

doubt any of them noticed the baton. That wasn't the wood they were

looking at. The first one wasn't even remotely difficult. The predators

had gotten sloppy, lazy, arrogant and careless. She was blonde,

mid-thirties maybe and I'd seen and been groped by her before. She

breezed up behind me, patted my ass and was about to say 'hey' or

something like that.

I

snatched the hand that had just touched me, yanked it up and smacked

her in the head with the baton. It was meant to sting, not crack her

head open and I'd been practicing last night.

"Ow! What the, ?" she squawked.

"You

sexually assaulted me; I was defending myself," I grinned savagely. "We

can check the video from the camera I'm standing well in view of if you

like."

"You hit her," Fatima came sputtering my way.

"It would certainly look that way, wouldn't it," I kept smiling.

"Why?"

"She sexually assaulted me," I reiterated.

"All I did was touch you," the first woman said.

"Check

your laws, ladies," I used my authoritative tone. "Touching another

person without their consent is assault. Touching a person in a sexual

zone, in my case, the lips, pubic area or, buttocks is considered sexual

assault."

"Also

according to the law, I am allowed to defend myself, or another person

under threat of harm, with enough force necessary to remove myself, or

that person, from danger," I lectured.

"All

she did was touch your ass," a third women joined in. They were really

starting to gather around now. The metro was almost here.

"And I hit her with a stick for doing it too," I glared at her.

"You can't run around beating people with a stick," Fatima threatened me.

"As

long as it is in self-defense, I most certainly can, as can any

citizen," I pointed out. "What twisted evil thought process could make

any of you think you can touch another person against their will? Come

on now, that's just sick."

"But you are a guy," a fourth woman struggled and failed to make sense of the situation.

"That's

discrimination and that's against the law too," I flashed her a bright

smile. The metro arriving put an end to the conversation, but I had to

put knots on the foreheads of two more women before I made it to my

seat.

The

Metro Cop came for me two stops down the line. I wasn't belligerent, I

handed over the baton when requested and I watched her fend off the

angry commuters around me. I had the law right. I explained that I

couldn't afford a taxi so this was my only way to work. The police

officer informed the women that I was legally correct and to stop

antagonizing me, hallelujah.

The

best part was after the cop left and the metro started rolling again.

The women were seriously looking for some payback. I grinned, unzipped

my satchel and drew forth my second dowel. They looked flabbergasted.

"Yeah bitches, I'm smarter than you are," I chuckled. None of them harassed me.

It

wasn't much of a victory. In their minds my resistance was all my

fault, not theirs. Anyway, groping was something women did casually.

They weren't expecting a connection. I had robbed them of their second

shot of espresso in the morning, that's all. Or, it would be all, if it

was only me. As I told a disbelieving Angel, I had a plan.

Coming

out of the metro stop by City Hall, I caught sight of a woman who

nearly caused my heart to freeze in fear. It was one more step and I

took it. She saw me and looked cocky.

I smiled and headed right toward her. I imagined she was about to

inflict (further) pain on my person when I wrapped her up in a hug. Her

colleague looked equally dubious as to my intent.

"Flame!"

I greeted her. "How the hell are you doing?" I kept my arms around her,

titling back so we could make eye contact while my crotch was pressed

against her stomach. I hadn't realized how much shorter she was than me

during our first encounter, the one where she beat me half to death.

"We need to talk," Flame regarded me quizzically. She was insane, if not insane like me.

"Sure,"

I nodded. I leaned in, kissed Flame, aka Brigit, on the lips then

turned us so that we both faced up the sidewalk to City Hall. She slid a

hand around my waist and I followed suit.

"Miss me?" Flame teased. 'Every time I breathe' was the proper reply.

"With

all the sane chicks around me," I sighed. "I think you're the only one

who understands." Flame found that hilarious. She was a raving

psychopath after all. My hand started stroking her ass. Flame actually

leaned into me in what might have been construed as a romantic gesture. I

sure as hell wasn't going to ask her.

The three of us arrived at a doorway somewhat off the well-traveled path.

"Little

M wants to see you," Flame purred, holding me face to face and close.

"Prometheus' at 12:30 tomorrow for lunch." Flame's buddy still looked

like she expected me to rabbit at any second, which I found oddly

amusing. Where would I go?

"Are you going to be there?" I murmured to Flame.

"Yeah," she rubbed up against me.

"I'll

show up," I agreed. I kissed Flame again but this time with much more

passion. As I broke it off and returned to the route to work, I smiled

at the other mobster.

"I

know, she's going to end up driving an ice pick through my eye

somewhere along the line, but it will be worth it," I referred to Flame.

I couldn't tell what the goon thought.

"I

love this guy," Flame laughed and slapped her buddy. "He's tons of

fun." Until that encounter, I thought nothing could make me even

remotely happy to city CH Security.

They did their usual rigmarole but when they came to my small collection of batons, they become curious.

"What are these for?" one asked me.

"They're curtain dowels, with surgical tape so they don't slip," I replied innocently.

"They are awfully small," she noted.

"Small

windows," I bantered back. She put them back in my satchel and handed

it to me. Had I given a crap I would have complained to Francesca about

the intellectual quality of our security force. Admittedly, curtain

dowels aren't great weapons, but still, it is a 12 inch freaking stick.

I

whistled as I left, in the elevator and down the hall to my work

station as if this was the best day ever. Bethany homed in on me

immediately.

"What are you wearing?" she blinked.

"Clothes you bought for me some time ago," I replied pleasantly.

"That's not proper work attire," she explained.

"Yep. You got that right. Is there any other obvious things you want to point out, or can we get to work now?" I kept grinning.

"Israel, what's gotten into you?" Bethany was getting annoyed.

"You

are right," I nodded. "That is a problem we should address. Come with

me," I demanded as I grabbed her by the wrist and started to drag her

out of the office.

"What's going on?" she resisted.

"As you pointed out, there is a problem of what's gotten into who and I think I can correct that," I said happily.

"We are going to have sex, now?" she gulped.

"Now

or never again," I told her. "Your choice." She had claimed I was the

best cock she'd ever had and I was about to find out if that was true.

She came along meekly. I rushed us into the Women's Room, pushed her

into a stall and bent her over a toilet.

"Israel,

I'd like, Ow!" she yelped as I yanked her panties off. Unless she had a

spare set in her desk, Bethany was going commando for the rest of the

work day. She tried to turn around but I wouldn't let her. Thankfully,

Bethany always warmed up quickly because I had neither the desire nor

time for some good cunnilingus.

I did have time for a good hard fucking

though and I intended to slam the hell out of her. Bethany tried to

remain in control and quiet but I knew all her weak spots and I doubled

up on them all. She was howling and screaming to God Almighty just like

the old days. If she thought this was an apology, she was sorely

mistaken. She was sore alright and this was punishment.

Unlike

all my previous efforts which had been fuelled by love, this was driven

by hate, rage and a desire to inflict pain. Bethany couldn't even grasp

the significance, though she felt this was something new for us.

Bethany didn't even care that she was being screwed by a man who was

clearly unhinged.

Only after I left her a crumpled heap on the bathroom floor did she wearily look up and realize I was still hard.

"You didn't cum," she whispered. She was pretty hoarse.

"Of

course not. I'm not letting you or your mother within a thousand meters

of my sperm," I patted her on the head. "Let's get to work."

I

showed up thirty minutes early to work because I was in my second week

of training. Bethany and I were seriously late getting back to our

desks. No one said a thing. They just looked. I took perverse pleasure

when Bethany actually stumbled getting to her station. She looked like

she'd been hammered by a hurricane and couldn't decide if she liked it

or not.

I think way back when, they called that a grudge fuck.

I hadn't surrendered to Bethany, I had used her like she used me, for

my own selfish reasons and profit. I had unleashed plenty of negative

energy that would complicate things later. I needed to be as reasonable

as possible and she'd helped me with that, by giving me her body and

letting me use it as I wished, if not how she intended.

I

didn't feel bad about it one bit. I hadn't lost ground. I hadn't turned

Bethany into a faceless entity. I had come at her knowing right who she

was and what she deserved, from one royally pissed off human being to

another, 'should have been more fucking careful about what she asked for', human being.

I didn't last two minutes at my desk before Francesca summoned me.

"Care to explain?" she scanned my clothing.

"All

I can say is that I apologize if I disappoint you, Ms. Francesca

Silverhorn. You have tried really hard to be decent to me," I gave her

the first genuine smile of the morning.

"But?" she waited for it.

"But,

in next year's dictionary they are going to have my picture beside the

definition of 'aggressive'," I shrugged. "It will probably do double

billing with 'dumb ass.’" Francesca laughed. She didn't even try to hold

it in.

"Good

luck with that Initiative, Mr. Jensen," she chuckled. We were both

going to Hell. "There is a press conference at ten-thirty concerning the

Federation's new program. It is called Men's Action League. It plans to

further invest men in the governing process."

"Wow, my career is going to end sooner than I thought it was," I snorted in amusement.

"Anything else I need to know before I go, Captain my Captain?" I really liked her.

"GNN

and a half-dozen other stations are covering this live. You're

microscopically famous now and yet they sense an epic public relations

catastrophe in the making," Francesca fed me the news, "and they want to

be there when it happens."

"I won't let you down, Jeffe," I smirked.

"That's

what I'm afraid of," she shook her head. "But, I'm starting to think

the future isn't going to be all that bright and cheery anyway."

 I gave a crummy salute, about-faced and returned to my desk. There was a notice on my computer to contact Ms. Cho.

Damn it, how was I supposed to get any work done? I called and she told me come right up.

"Are we ever going to finish what you started last Monday?" I teased. Was it only one week?

"Maybe," Ms. Cho sounded coy. Fat chance I'd ever do anything with her. She was an evil henchman.

"Okay,"

I laughed because she didn't have a clue to her own barbarity. I warned

Francesca where I was off to then headed up to the Mayor's Chief of

Staff's offices. Ms. Cho gave me a smile then waved me in. Whatever

Isobel was going to say was lost when she caught sight of me.

"What are you wearing?" she snapped.

"Clothes?" I responded. That didn't seem to mollify her. "Casual clothes?"

"Get into the proper attire before the news conference and you'd better not fuck it

up or what security did to you Thursday will seem like a walk in the

park after I get through with you. Do you understand?" Ms. Diaz growled.

"I

understand," I parroted back. I understood that I didn't give a damn

about what she said. Come on, it wasn't like I woke up thinking this was

Sunday. I knew exactly what I was doing, who it would piss off and how

little I would care about that.

"Fine. Now what did Magdalena Keverich want with you?" we got down the reason I was there.

"Me

in particular? No clue. I know she wasn't happy with my performance,

she likes people to watch and she's very demanding," I informed Isobel.

"What did she want to know about me? About us?" she pressed.

"Us?

Lady, there is no us," I grew angry. "I don't know you and I don't want

to know you." I took a quick inhale and launched again; "Screw it all, I

didn't want to go to your damn party, I didn't want to meet her and I

certainly don't want to relate my shitty experience to you," I added.

"Let me straighten you out; if you were drowning, I'd toss you an

anchor. If you were asleep in the tub, I'd pour in quick drying cement

then hold you under with a broom."

"If

you were paralyzed, I'd cover you in honey and leave you in the path of

army ants. Are we clear now?" I growled. "I hate you. I hate what you

represent. I hate this whole sick society that allows you to exist and

prosper."

"You didn't answer my question," Isobel kept trying to break me with her eyes.

"Ugh,"

I sighed. "I don't know anything, but if I did, I wouldn't tell you. I

don't know in what nightmarish fantasy you imagine that woman would tell

me anything, but glaring at me isn't going to help. You can't touch

me."

"I can't?" she replied sinisterly.

"Yes,

Ma'am. I've made my peace with God and said good-bye to the ones I

love," I snickered. "I'm bulletproof." I saw the light go off in her

eyes. She finally realized I'd lost my mind. There was no rational

response to my challenge because I was no longer rational. Circumstances

had intervened so that I simply couldn't 'go away' either.

There

were too few men left and I had a flicker of popularity. She wanted to

believe that she'd get me later, but she had looked into my soul and

knew I had no 'later.’ This was it. Her ability to grind me up was only a

threat if I planned to leave anything to be ground.

"We are done here," I dismissed her. I turned and walked away.

"We

are done when I say we're done," she seethed. I already had the door

open and was half-way out. I raised up my left hand like a sock-puppet.

"Did you hear something?" I asked my hand.

"It sounded like a feminine 'poof'," my hand responded in a shrill voice.

"Whatever

it was," I nodded sagely to my hand, "we had better not hang around in

case it stinks up the room." There were six people and Ms. Cho in the

office, staring at me with wide eyes. I could hear Isobel's blood

boiling. "Have a good morning everyone," I waved to the room and quickly

exited the main door.

I

decided that the elevator was a trap so I took the stairs instead. I

didn't get two feet inside the door before Selma pointed me to

Francesca's office.

"Oh, God," Francesca moaned. "I'm stunned my screen didn't melt. What did you do this time?"

"Ah,

um, ah," I struggled for the words. "I dismissed her from our

conversation and while exiting her main office, I insulted her with a

hand or sock puppet, in front of witnesses."

"Wow,

you do realize you now qualify for two minority hires; you are male and

clearly mentally handicapped," Francesca tried not to smirk.

"You are welcome, Boss," I grinned.

"Oh,

and she wants you in proper attire when you get on stage in, twenty

minutes. I promised her you would be. Do you plan to change?" she

inquired.

"Nope," I rolled my shoulders.

"Okay,"

she nodded. "Just checking. You need to be briefed by Selma on the

latest developments. Are you and Bethany reconciling?"

"No,” I drew that out. "I used her for my own carnal frustrations, that's all."

"We

know," Francesca looked amused. "We all know. We had some women from

the second floor come up to see if someone was dying, or being murdered.

In the future, you might want to offer another girl in the office a

chance, take that as a suggestion."

Hmmm,

second floor. We were on the fourth floor. This building had pretty

good acoustics. I walked over to Selma. You know your co-workers respect

you when they attribute God-like powers to your actions.

"We

are going to die, aren't we?" Selma stared at me intently. "We are

going to lose our jobs and be blackballed from anything associated with

broadcast and internet journalism, right?"

"We may go down Selma, but we will take a whole bunch with us when we go," I assured her.

"That

is no comfort whatsoever, you idiot," Selma glared. "Now, here is what

you need to know,” she began. That's when I learned that my district had

lost another one, leaving us at eight.

According

to the geniuses who developed the sex quota system, I now had to

service 625 woman. I wasn't sure how that was supposed to work. That was

nearly two women a day, every day each and every year until I died. By

law, I only had to have sex 13 times a year which would mean each woman

could only expect sex once every five years. I sensed a flaw in the

plan.

"Stop

giggling," Selma hissed. "You are scaring the crap out of the girls."

Ah, a few people were counting lifeboats on the Titanic it seemed. I

stopped being 'unmanly' then gave Selma the mathematical data I had just

come up with.

"Oh damn it," she groaned. "Don't bring this up."

"Fat

chance," I grinned evilly. Selma threw up her hands and stormed off to

Francesca's office. A minute later Francesca and Selma came out.

"Ladies,

anyone who wants to retroactively call in sick today and avoid being

associated with this fiasco, you may do so," Francesca Silverhorn

announced.

The

two married women and a third older lady gathered their belongings and

left. I was surprised Selma stuck it out. As far as I could tell, she

hated me.

"Israel,

can you give us a clue as to what we should be preparing for?" Tabitha

inquired with a surprisingly upbeat attitude. I looked to Francesca who

gave me a motherly 'go ahead.’

"Short

version, we are going under, this society," I started off. "The

government is lying about male births, covering up the increasing rate

of male miscarriages, and that the Gender Plague is getting stronger and

at an increasing rate. It is not just here, but all over the planet.

Humanity is sliding into extinction."

"The

immediate concern is that if you are in the economic bottom 90% of the

female population, there are not going to be enough men for you and the

crunch is setting in," I explained. "My district is slated for 125 males

my age. As of this morning, it has eight." I let that sink in.

"Can't the men work harder?" Wanda stepped up. I wasn't insulted, too much.

"I hear they are going to tighten up the Gender Inequality Act, move the cycle to fourteen days," she added.

"Wanda,

good question and that's the beauty of this disaster," I was darkly

mirthful. "The governments have known this for almost two decades."

"The

cause of the Plague getting more deadly is stress. The more you stress

your male population, the quicker your male birth rate plummets," I

stated. "It becomes a vicious cycle. Your birth rate drops, you put more

pressure on the males which makes your rate plummet faster."

"What do we do?" Bethany mumbled.

"Ask

you Mom, Bethany. She is the one who told me most of this stuff," I let

the room focus on her for a moment. "What do we do? I don't know. Women

started down this path forty years ago when they passed the Gender

Inequality Act."

"If

you could have been saved, that train came and went twenty years ago

when your scientists first figured out what was happening. Ten years ago

they stopped enforcing the gender quotas in twelve of the poorest

districts of the city. Look it up if you don't believe me," I said.

"Look under registered complaints, not the official city records."

"Until

last year, every time a district accumulated enough complaints, they

rotated a group of guys in but all they did was steal them from other

poor, under populated areas," I revealed.

"What happened last year?" Selma spoke first.

"As far as the people I worked with can tell, they stopped giving a crap," I sighed.

"Too

many districts were perpetually below 80%. They started quietly padding

the higher income districts first. When the marriage rate spiked this

Spring, the system began to fail. The pressure was building up on low

income men, so when the opportunity arrived, they pledged their nuptials

and bailed out of their already reeling neighborhoods," I continued.

"As

of this moment, I am one of eight men in my age group in my district.

There are supposed to be 125. My district is extreme, but virtually all

the other poor districts are running between 20 and 30% of their quota,"

I kept watching the faces pale around me. "You can also look at the

school roles for any 'track' in the public school system."

"You can see a consistent decline in the male population by going back each class year," I had them now.

"How come no one has spoken up on this?" Francesca questioned.

"Why?

What would it accomplish? Who wants to be the first to stand up on the

sinking ship and scream 'we are all going to die!'?" I replied.

"Why

are we doing this?" Selma shook her head. "We aren't journalists. We

are part of the civil government. We are supposed to keep the people

calm."

"Who

are you serving by hiding the truth?" I asked calmly. "No one in my

neighborhood, but you are helping the people upstairs, the ones lying to

the rest of you."

That

was my best pitch. The people around me were civilian bureaucrats. They

were not non-conformists, anarchists, public crusaders, or dispatch

riders of the Apocalypse. Outside of Bethany Fremont, none of them

appeared to be politically motivated. They had nice, safe lives and I

was a raving lunatic.

"Francesca?" Tabitha pled with her leader for direction.

"Israel, do you have anything else?" Francesca pressed me. I had one ace left up my sleeve and I had saved it for this, debate.

"Argentina," I told Tabitha.

"Check

out their government's Department of Public Health's population

projections. Not what is published with the W H O, or U N, but what they

are telling their own people," I told her. Tabitha turned to the

closest system and began typing away. She was our research whiz so it

didn't take her long. She put her hand to her mouth.

The

other women gathered around Tabitha and began reading the translated

document. No one congratulated me for being right. I had just murdered

their hopes of great-grandchildren, if not their grandchildren.

"Selma, start working up a public release on whatever factual data we can gather," Francesca took charge once more.

"Focus

on what we can do to make the best of this situation. We have to have

hope, but pedaling lies at this point will be counter-productive," she

laid out a strategy. "Bethany, you are coming with Israel and me." When

Bethany joined us, Francesca told her to stay put then retrieved her

purse from her office. Before leaving, I got a baton from my satchel and

stuck it in my back pocket.

"Aren't you going to change?" Bethany questioned.

"No

time," Francesca answered for me. As we went down in the elevator, I

flashed Francesca a smile that Bethany missed. Bethany wasn't there for

support. She was with us because Francesca didn't trust her not to tip

off the powers-that-be if she was left alone.

Security

was likely to mug me on the stage as it was. Being jumped before I

could get before the press would be disastrous for my little band of

rebels, technically Francesca's band of rebels. Francesca maneuvered me

on stage before the Press Secretary, Naomi List, knew what was going on.

Eloise

Granger looked like she was about to fall out of her chair laughing,

she looked poised, but I could tell. She felt entitled to ask me a

question before things got started.

"Casual Monday's," Eloise grinned.

"I woke up in a good mood this morning," I smiled back.

"The

cops blew up two of my homosexual neighbors yesterday and then another

guy took an unscheduled vacation to God knows where last night. I'm now

one of eight."

"You find that amusing?" another reporter groused.

"Lady, I was being sarcastic," I responded.

"There

are supposed to be 125 men of my age in my district. There are eight.

If you don't think that scares the crap out of me, you need to cut back

on whatever medication you are taking," I stared at her.

"Can we please start the press conference?" Naomi interrupted.

No

one protested so she did her short spiel then introduced the Mayor. The

Mayor intentionally snubbed me. She had more than the usual number of

lackeys today, including the Police Commissioner and a woman who was

probably important, but I didn't have a clue who she was. Isobel was in

the background, sending evil wishes my way.

The

Mayor unveiled the new Federation program: the Male Action League. The

message was 'the government cares about you helpless males, we really

do. We care so much we are going to give you a state-sponsored arena

where you can do your state approved complaining so that we can keep

ignoring you.’

Those

weren't her words, but that was the gist of it. It was long on

promises. It proved not a single avenue for men to actually help

themselves, or even lobby for the redress of grievances. Zip-zero-nadda

political, or legal power. In theory, rallies would be a good place to

round us up if they felt like it.

In

a short while, most men would figure out they were wasting their time

and stop showing up. Then the women could blame the men for our

indifference. As the Mayor started taking questions, I could see Eloise

preparing like a panthress to strike but the Mayor was avoiding her. She

couldn't avoid Maribel Cartwright from GNN, they were the freaking

World news leader.

"Maribel," the Mayor tried to sound pleasant.

"Israel, what do you think of this development?" the reporter addressed me.

"Mr. Jensen is not really an expert on this policy," the Mayor jumped in.

"Madam Mayor, he's a man. This is a policy that concerns men, solely men in fact," Maribel countered.

The Mayor looked like she was being force-fed lemon rinds.

"Make it short, Mr. Jensen," the Mayor commanded.

"I'll

take that under advisement," I joked. There it was, my break with

reality. I wasn't a great speaker, an intellectual or even enlightening.

I

was their dancing bear, the monkey with the unseen organ grinder and

the tap dancing sensation. The all-female press corps wasn't leaning in

for information. They had gathered for a train wreck and I hadn't

planned on disappointing them.

"This thing, it is kind of insulting to call it a policy, I'll call it  M A L, is stupid," I began.

"Don't

you dare!" Francesca screamed at the top of her lungs. The security

that had been closing in on me unseen, froze up. The Mayor looked around

confused. Isobel tapped the Police Commissioner.

"Take him off stage," the Police Commissioner directed the security guards. They started closing in again.

"No,"

Francesca shouted again. "If you wanted him gone, you should have

brought some damn police officers, you Moron!" The security looked

uncertain.

"Shut up!" Isobel shouted at Francesca. "Get him!" she then yelled at security.

"No,"

Francesca growled. "City Hall Security are Civil Government employees,

not part of the police department and not political appointees."

"As

the ranking civil employee here, I'm telling all civil security

personnel to back down, immediately," Francesca snarled angrily.

"Fine," the Mayor snapped. "You are fired."

"File the proper paperwork, you Incompetent Boob," Francesca turned on her supposed boss.

"It

should take three or four days," she continued. "Until then, shut up

and take your medicine." The Mayor blinked in surprise over the ferocity

of the attack then tried to gracefully exit the stage. "Don't any of

you dare try to leave. If you do, I'll have you arrested."

"What for?" Isobel growled.

"Disrupting a public forum," Francesca gloated triumphantly. "Israel, you were saying?"

"Oh

yeah," it took me a second. Francesca had really floored me. " M A L is

a bad idea because it assumes men are stupid and does nothing to

address the problem this society faces. I'm not going to sugarcoat it.

The Human Race is dying."

"Before you consider me a hopeless wack-job," I started.

"Too late," one of the reporters called out.

"Thanks

but we hardly know each other," I grinned. "I'll have to rely on you to

do most of the fact-finding, but I can tell you where to start proving

me right."

"In

Argentina, five years ago, the successful male birth rate had slipped

from the normal one in twenty, to one in thirty. Last year it was one in

fifty. In two more years they predict the rate will plunge to one in

one hundred. That's their government's figures. You don't have to be in

health care to realize that is a clear path to extinction."

"In

China, they are telling the world everything is okay. That makes

Amnesty International wonder why the abortion of female fetuses have

risen 1000 percent in the past ten years. If things are okay, why are

they killing their unborn female population? If you think that doesn't

happen here, in this very city, answer me this."

"The

sale of boy's jumpers, a friend had to tell me that's child's clothing,

has dropped 30% in the past ten years in this city alone," I told them.

"Are eighteen month old boys running around naked, or dressed up as

girls? Girls' jumper sales have remained constant. Official birth data

would suggest that someone is running around naked. If the numbers are

being juggled then who has that kind of authority and access?"

"Among

a few other interesting things I learned this weekend, I was told that

the Gender Plague is becoming more aggressive. Fewer men are being born,

more male fetuses develop fatal mutations resulting in miscarriages,

and more babies aren't making their first year. The leading cause for

this phenomena is stress. The more males get stressed, the less fertile

they become."

"The government has known about this for twenty years," I related.

"Speaking

of which, how was your weekend, Israel," Eloise smirked. I nodded and

started taking off my shirt. The women paid close attention because I'm

somewhat of a good looking man. My shirt dropped and the room went

silent.

"What happened?" one of the reporters that wasn't normally my friend asked.

"I

went to Isobel Diaz's party Saturday night, was sold at auction and

when I failed to perform sexually to expectations, I was beaten until I

was curled into a fetal ball on the floor, crying my eyes out. But, it

gets better," I winked at the reporter who had taken my sarcasm badly

earlier.

"Sunday

morning, on an unrelated investigation, two G E D officers came to my

residence. I got into one of their faces because, having been beaten up,

I was cranky. I didn't touch her but I did call her 'pathetic.’ She hit

me. It is called 'tuning up' by the police. If you are a guy and mouth

off to the police, you will get tuned up. It is a fact of life."

"I

was taken downtown, pressured about a case they had no intention of

charging me in and then they forced me to have a physical examination to

prove these bruises weren't self-inflicted. Yet somehow a toothless,

gutless  M A L is going to change any of this? How? It isn't and it will

fail because it is nothing more than women taking care of man and

you've been fucking that up for the past forty years."

No one knew what to say, so Eloise was forced to move things along.

"What do you suggest? If you think women are doing it wrong, and have been doing it wrong, what can we do?" she inquired.

"Don't know and don't care," I shrugged.

"I'm

exiting this feminine Hell as soon as possible. As far as I am

concerned, you are getting what you deserve due to your passive

dehumanization and indifference to our dignity. There are eight women I

care about in this World and only one is in this room and most of you

are not her. In case you wonder how desperate I am, I received a call

early Sunday morning."

"It

was from the group claiming to stealing men across this nation. The

text inquired if I wanted to leave. It took me about three seconds to

decide and it only took that long because I was beside the sleeping form

of the woman I love," it was almost the truth. Telling them Angel was

awake wouldn't do anyone any good. "I replied 'Yes!’"

"Why

am I confessing this now? The police have been powerless to stop these

people so far and I have zero faith in them improving because current

law enforcement is an institution manned by women for women. Don't get

indignant, after all, what is the G E D, if not a force to control men?

Ever since the passing of the Gender Inequality Act, this has stopped

being a country for men."

"I

know it was an attempt to stave off extinction when faced by a disease

we didn't, and still don't understand. Did any of you ever question why

our numbers weren't recovering? Did you plan to keep us under your

thumbs forever? I wear a bracelet that records my sexual history. It's

hooked up to a database where women can post public comments about my

sexual prowess.

"There

is no such database for women. Why? Because you don't care what we

think," I stared angrily at them in their numbers. "Actually, if any of

you care what I think about your future actions, paraphrasing what a

woman I like told me; the question is not how you keep existing, but if

you are worthy of continuing to exist." There you go Capri, you are

almost famous.

"This

is a uniquely female decision because after generations of control, you

have left men virtually incapable of defending themselves. The majority

will submit because they have no choice and you lose. A small few will

go down swinging, like what happened in Denver. They die and you lose. A

few are going to come to grips with the reality that you treat us as

less than human, at least less than you, return the favor and go

somewhere, anywhere, else so that they can live in dignity as the lights

go out. You lose."

"That's crap," my favorite conservative reporter chimed in. "Men do their part and they are still citizens. You're nuts."

"Really?" I pulled out my small baton. "Do you know what this is?"

"It is a weapon and not a very potent one," that woman snapped.

"Actually,

it is a section of a five foot curtain dowel. I bought it from the

Warehouse Depot. Dowels are on aisle L2. This," I pointed to the handle,

"is surgical tape, aisle C3. Now, you take your standard five foot

curtain dowel over to the saw table and a nice lady named Wendy can cut

it into twelve inch sections for you."

"You

cover the bottom four inches in surgical tape to give you a

semi-sticky, sweat resistant surface to hold onto. You may now hang a

curtain over a very small window. While you are waiting for that

opportunity, you can carry it around, it is not illegal. If, perhaps,

someone assaults you, you can grab them to verify they are your

assaulter and pop them a good one in the forehead."

"The

forehead is useful because it raises a red welt that lasts for a few

hours and allows other citizens to recognize the molester for who and

what they are," I grinned.

"Wait," Maribel looked at me critically, "are you telling men to start beating up women?"

"Oh God, no," I declared. "The entire police force are women. There would be Tasers going off left, right and center."

"No,

I'm telling everyone that no citizen has the right to lay hands on any

other citizen. That is called assault. If they touch you on the lips,

breasts, crotch, and or ass, it is sexual assault. If you are assaulted,

grab the offender to properly identify them, then, defend yourself.

Men, if you do this and a police officer asks for it, give the dowel to

them peacefully."

"If

you have a large enough covered object, such as my satchel, put a spare

in there. The police do not have the right to search it. Insist on your

rights. If they remove you from your location or locomotion, press

charges against your attacker. You will lose. You will probably end up

in a cell and most likely end up on drugs," I successfully remained

calm. A dozen of cops had entered the area.

"Men,

we cannot out-muscle the cops. There is no victory in the normal sense.

We were betrayed by women decades ago. This society is a dying beast

which is bent on perpetuating its cruelty to the bitter end. Face your

end on your terms; that's all I'm saying," I pleaded.

"That's enough," the Police Commissioner stepped forward. "Get him out of here."

"And

tomorrow," I said as I waved farewell, "I'll talk about the cure for

the Plague, Carabolix 37. Look it up. Bye now," I got out as the

uniformed police swarmed me. For the sake of the cameras, they were

gentle and I was not resisting. Technically, what I had done was not

illegal, just counter-productive to any hope of career advancement. They

even took my dowel.

Francesca and Bethany were swept up with me. We were all taken to the unused City Council chamber.

"I'm Bethany Fremont," the woman nearly wept. "You can't do this to me. Let me call my mother, please."

"Bethany,

they haven't taken our phones away," Francesca sighed in exasperation. I

was already on the phone to Capri. She'd seen my kamikaze act and was

on her way. I noticed the cops giving me furtive looks. It took me a

second to realize what I must look like, shirtless and not an

unblemished spot on my torso.

Bethany

was sobbing to someone who appeared to be her mother's personal

assistant, Mom was busy. I noticed one patrolwoman, younger than the

rest, who seemed overly curious.

"What happened to you?" she finally inquired.

"You failed me," I responded.

"What, no, how?" she rambled.

"Be quiet," an older cop cautioned me by placing a hand on my shoulder from behind.

"No,"

I regarded the one behind me. "I'm sitting here, black and blue, and

there is no one in jail for what happened to me and there never will be.

How could this possibly rate as a job success to you?"

The older policewoman squeezed on my collarbone. I grimaced as I looked back up.

"I

suggest the taser if you want to make an impression, dipshit," I

growled at her. "I can clearly take more of a physical beating than

thugs like you are prepared to dish out." She squeezed harder, I ground

my teeth to stop from screaming and pounded my fist into the back of the

chair in front of me.

"Are you going to shut up now," the older cop whispered once her pressure let up.

"You

insipid cow, if I didn't give into women willing to beat me to death,

why would I give into you?" I seethed. Pain was coming my way again.

"Try

that on me," Francesca turned, stood and looked the cop over, "or does

your courageous act only encompass abusing defenseless men?"

"Sit down," two cops said simultaneously.

"Please

sit," I warned Francesca. "If you stand, they can get you for

resisting." To the freshly minted cop, I picked up our exchange. "She's

Isobel Diaz. I'm sure you will find dozens of corroborating witnesses

somewhere between the Fountain of Youth and the Seven Cities of Gold."

"That's the Mayor's Chief of Staff," the young cop gasped.

"Don't

sweat it," I grinned at her. "Do what the rest of your sister cops are

doing, absolutely nothing. I didn't expect anything different from you."

"Don't let this asshole get inside your head, Passey," the older cop menaced me.

"He is getting what he deserves soon enough," she added.

"That's

rich," Francesca chuckled as she sat down. "We all are going to get

what we deserve. If you don't have children by now, your chances are

dwindling fast."

"I have a child, a son," Officer Passey volunteered. That explained some things.

"Has

he gotten sick yet?" I queried. Every boy got the plague in their first

year. It killed nine out of ten of us, or so authorities claimed.

"No," she tried to sound hopefully but what she was obviously frightened.

"Oh,

well, there is something that could increase his odds from the current 7

or 8%; to around 60% survival, but I'm not going to tell you what it

is," I glared.

"Why?" Passey's voice held a mother's despair.

"Stop

it, both of you," the older cop snapped. She tried to smack the back of

my head, but I slid out of my chair to my knees facing sideways.

"Why? You failed the 'do I deserve to live' test," I explained.

"You

willingly sat back and did nothing while this ogre tried to break my

collarbone, so I'm sitting back and doing nothing for you. You decided

to forfeit your son's life when you heard a report of a crime and did

nothing. You voted to cover our own ass so your ass will grow old alone

in your home," I stared at her.

"But he's a man, like you," Passey pleaded. It dawned on me this may not have been her first son.

"Do

you want to see your son, beaten like I am, abused by this bitch behind

me while waiting to be punished for exhibiting his right to free

speech? Who is more fucked up for wishing this on another human being, you or me?" I challenged her.

"Shut up!" the older cop growled. She was climbing over the seat to get at me.

"He

deserves a chance to live," Passey begged. Any possible reply to that

was shut down by the Ogre grabbing hold of the back of my neck.

"Stop it," she ordered. I stopped.

"Sergeant," Passey switched her appeal to her higher ranking officer.

"He's yanking your chain, nothing more," the Sergeant insisted.

"He's had five sons, three who have lived," Francesca spoke up again. "He certainly must know something."

"What is it?" Passey asked Francesca.

"He

hasn't told me, but I'm starting to agree with his assessment about law

enforcement. I'm being held against my will, with no idea what I'm

being charged with," Francesca smirked. "If you officers are the finest

examples of what it means to be human, I think we have lost the right to

continue on as a species."

"You are as nutty as he is," the Sergeant said dismissively.

"This

means so much coming from a woman who inflicted pain on a man not under

arrest for talking, talking," she repeated. "If that makes me insane,

fine. The rest of you have clearly lost touch with any shred of

humanity."

Any

further thoughts upon that vein were lost as the doors flew open and a

host of officials streamed in. It didn't take an Ouija board to figure

out they were beyond pissed. They were apoplectic. A laundry boy had

just told the third class steerage passengers that the Titanic was going

down, the water was death and the rich were fleeing with the only

lifeboats, before the rich had actually gotten away with it.

The

Captain was furious, since her initial plans did not have her going

down with the ship. By Captain, I didn't mean the Mayor, she was a bit

player. I was talking about the President of the God Damn North American

Federation. Thank you GNN. To the men of our nation, I was Rich

Rescorla, begging them to get out before the tower went down.

To

the women, I as more like John Brown, stirring up trouble without any

concern for the chaos that would followed. That was wrong. I did have

concerns, but since I also had so little power, I didn't feel guilty

about telling the villains exactly who and what they were. They had made

this bed of lies. I had simply dropped the match on it.

Isobel

Diaz was in the background, on her phone, deep in intense conversation.

The Mayor was trying to create some sort of damage control with Naomi

List, the press secretary. The Police Commissioner was glaring at us and

making every other cop in the room feel small. The last woman, who I

didn't know, was staring at me intently, as if I'd done something wrong.

Check

that, done something spectacularly wrong. Francesca Silverhorn, my boss

at City Hall's Public Relation department, stood up even as I reached

to pull her down.

"You can't hold us here," Francesca declared. "We have done nothing illegal."

"Sit

down," the police commissioner yelled. Francesca didn't get a chance to

decide. The cop behind her grabbed her shoulder and neck, slamming her

back to her seat.

"Boss,

your first lesson on being an honorary man: don't give the police an

excuse to hurt you because they gladly will," I said just above a

whisper.

"Shut

up, you bastard," the commissioner growled at me. "Both of you, just

shut the hell up." Francesca looked at me fearfully. I winked then

quickly mouthed 'do what they say, exactly.’

It

took her a second, but she got it. We both looked straight ahead. In

short order, Isobel traversed over to Bethany, pulled her aside and

engaged her in quiet conversation. Bethany was betraying the rest of

Francesca's office who had stayed for my little bombshell and were

likely to pay for that with their livelihoods. The Mayor came at us

first.

"This

is what we are going to do," she began. "Mr. Jensen, you are going to

make a recorded retraction then commit yourself to a mental health

facility of my choosing. Ms. Silverhorn, you will resign, stating mental

fatigue brought about by your sexual fascination with Mr. Jensen. This

is not a debate. This is how it is."

I

looked at Francesca. She looked at me. I smiled, she smiled and then we

turned as one and smiled at the Mayor. We didn't bother disguising that

this was a 'no way in hell, Bitch' smile either.

"Mr. Jensen, you will go first," the Mayor commanded. I kept sitting.

The

cop, a Sergeant, tried to pull me up but was hampered by the fact that I

still hadn't put my shirt on and I wasn't about to let her put me in a

head-lock.

"Get

in there," the Police Commissioner motioned Officer Passey and a third

cop into the tight confines of the auditorium seating in the City

Council Chamber.

"What am I being arrested for?" I called out.

"Inciting to Riot," the Police Commissioner snapped.

"No!" the unknown woman yelled at the P C.

"I want a lawyer!" I crowed triumphantly. "I demand my Miranda Rights."

"You

Idiot," the unknown woman snarled at the PC, who was both annoyed, yet

afraid of this unknown woman, and every cop in the room knew exactly

what had happened. This wasn't some back alley beat down, or a

'correction' inside my apartment; this was an official arrest with over

twenty cops and a dozen civilians all standing around.

They

couldn't all be trusted to keep their mouths' shut, so they had to

respect my rights for the moment. Whomever that woman was, she had saved

me a shitload of unwelcome coercion that was definitely coming down the

pipeline, and she didn't look happy about it.

"What did I do?" the PC asked my unknown savior.

"Who are you, anyway?" I gazed at the woman as the cops closed in.

"She's

Shelia Montanyard, Chief Civil Affairs Attorney for the Federal

District Attorney's Office," Francesca answered to me. The Mayor had

already buried her face in her hand. She was a former local District

Attorney after all.

"You

want to know what you did?" Shelia regarded the P C. "Why don't we have

his L-a-w-y-e-r tell you when she shows up, because God knows, we can't

ask him anymore."

"Fine,

I'll release him on lack of evidence," the PC tried to save herself.

Isobel looked hopeful but the Mayor sobbed and Shelia lowered her head

to mask her emotions.

"You

created a crime," Shelia explained bitterly. "The crime and thus the

criminal investigation doesn't go away, but you have managed to dismiss

the man in question. Congratulations."

"Good

point," I chuckled. "I'm out of here." The three cops around me weren't

letting me go. "A little help here?" I wasn't planning on leaving

because that would make me delusional.

"Fine, I'll re-arrest him," the PC kept on coming.

"Oh, so now you are stupid and incompetent," Shelia pointed out.

"Hold on," the PC stuttered. "We can fix this."

"How is that going to work?" Shelia snapped. "I'm not covering for you."

"Israel

Jensen may not seem much of a problem for you, but he is. Better yet,

this woman," she pointed to Francesca, "is about to roast your chestnuts

on an open fire. Ms. Silverhorn hasn't broken the law and your Mayor

better stop abusing prescription drugs, because her plan is a fantasy."

"We have various points of leverage on Ms. Silverhorn," Isobel came over, seething with hate toward me.

"Don't

get me started, Ms. Diaz," Shelia turned on my despised foe. "What kind

of ego-fueled obsession convinced you that a man under surveillance by a

fedderal task force could be dragged off to one of your affairs and you

would get away with it?"

"God

damn it! The woman in that pirated video was a metropolitan policewoman

that was assigned by the investigation to watch over him. He was

screwing her. He was sleeping with her. Hell, they hang out together.

How could you possibly believe she wouldn't report the entire affair? Is

there something wrong with the air in this place that makes you bitches

crazy?" Shelia was truly steamed.

"That's uncalled for," the Mayor retorted.

"You

think so?" Shelia glared. "You were harpooned on global television a

few minutes ago. It wasn't Israel Jensen's press conference, it was

yours."

"But, Ms. Silverhorn,” Isobel growled.

"Who is no one anyone knows," Shelia countered.

"We had to wait for the Metropolitan Police to arrive," the Mayor was slowly going under.

"That's right," Shelia glared, "because you couldn't use the cop who was standing right there."

There is that wonderful moment when the majority of the room is going 'huh?' then realize that someone fucked up horribly. Most of the people were glad it wasn't them, but four people were the fuck-ups.

Naomi, Isobel, the Mayor and the Police Commissioner were the ones. The

cop at the conference who could have arrested me was the Police

Commissioner, who was a cop after all.

Isobel was a consummate survivor.

"We'll

expect your resignation on the Mayor's desk in an hour," she addressed

the Police Commissioner, who looked pole-axed. The woman gathered up her

shreds of dignity and slowly walked from the room.

"Mr. Jensen, are you leaving?" Shelia Montanyard looked my way, suddenly civil.

"Can

I leave?" I asked. Shelia nodded. I was looking at the cops who

reluctantly backed off. I resumed my seat next to Francesca.

"Get out," Francesca whispered.

"With

a spastic personality like mine, can I really afford to turn my back on

a friend?" I joked back, repeating her own description of our

relationship. She was about to chastise me then stopped; I was clearly

nuts. "Besides, it isn't like they are letting us anywhere near the

press again. All we can do is wait, but it shouldn't be long."

"What are we waiting for?" Francesca studied me.

"The

Federal Warrant to arrive," I sighed. Shelia's eyes ratcheted their

intensity toward me. Top of my class, how many times does my Inner Child

have to scream it?

"Could you do me a favor?" Francesca requested quietly.

"Sure."

"Put

your shirt on. You may be every color of the sunset, but you have

really, um, good muscle definition and it's a bit distracting," she

seemed embarrassed to admit. I had to fight of that bit of fear that

always popped up when women got interested in me sexually.

"I'll

do it for you," I tried to sound casual. As I was fixing my buttons, a

jack-ass comment slipped out of my mouth. "You do realize this pretty

much negates having a nipple-rub with Shelia during my interrogation

later." That went over abysmally.

"I'm married," Shelia said dismissively.

"Oh,

what did you arrest him for?" I snapped off. Yes, I had just implied

that law enforcement could only get a male by putting a gun to their

heads, figuratively speaking.

"Counterfeiting," she came right back without missing a beat.

"Well, I guess it doesn't matter if his passion is genuine as long as his performance feels real," I grinned.

"All

I need is his performance," she kept any real emotion from her

countenance. "Why do you chose to have sex with a cop when you claim to

hate them so much?"

"I didn't want to, but I fell in love with her," I responded instinctively. No fear.

"You love that she'll help you attempt to escape," Shelia kept coming.

"Ha,"

I laughed. "You clearly don't know Detective Kristi. She still believes

in your garbage. She thinks you cops are going to change and that this

society should be saved."

"But you don't?" Shelia tilted her head.

"Why should I if you don't, Mrs. Montanyard?" I grinned.

"I

think this society has problems, but I think it is extremely foolish

and selfish to abandon it when things can be corrected," Shelia

explained.

"I believe that as much as I believe you are married, much less to a counterfeiter," I smirked.

"Ah, when Ms. Silverhorn introduced me, she didn't use 'Mrs.'," Shelia nodded.

"Got it in one," I acknowledged. "I loved doing this kind of give and take in college."

"Why weren't you on your Debate Team? Bowden has a good program," Shelia probed.

"Do you prefer your dildos smooth, ribbed or with those little knobs?" I countered.

"I

prefer to use my fingers," she was relentless. Just then, Angel and

Seneca, my cop lover and her partner, came in. Most eyes gravitated

their way.

Angel's eyes flickered to me, but then focused on Shelia.

"The warrant should be coming through any second now, Ms. Montanyard. We are here to escort the detainee," Angel related calmly.

"Gather him up and escort him over to our offices," Shelia directed.

"Wait," the Mayor finally spoke up. "We still need him. We need to fix this mess."

"No,

you need to fix this mess. I need to look into an investigation that

goes beyond your lack of re-electability," Shelia glared. "Besides, I'm

leaving you Ms. Silverhorn."

"Actually,

Ms. Montanyard, could you take Ms. Silverhorn with us, in case I might

have told her something important," I all but pleaded.

"Perhaps if you prove helpful," Shelia offered, "the federal government might intervene."

"Oh,

sorry Francesca. You have more courage than anyone else in this room.

They will neither acknowledge it nor care. All I can offer is my thanks

and best wishes," I nearly wept.

"If I had a son that lived,” she was looking teary-eyed.

I saw that hit home with Officer Passey as well; she was likewise beyond my help.

"Mainly

I couldn't trust any women on the occasional road trip the Debate Team

would have taken. I also wanted to graduate early," I answered Shelia's

earlier question.

"Okay," she noted. "Ladies, get him out of here," Shelia directed Angel and Seneca.

As I was being led away, Bethany called out.

"Israel,”

"Bethany,

Bethany, just remember during a volcanic eruption, duck and cover,"

sort of spilled out. I knew it had no relevance to our current

circumstances. I felt I had to say something.

Sneaking out the back way, Seneca spoke up.

"Duck and cover is for a nuclear attack," she corrected me. "During a volcanic eruption, you run for your life."

"Really?" I appeared startled. "So, has anyone seen Capri?"

"You are not under arrest," Angel sighed. "You are being detained under a Federal Material Witness warrant."

"Wrong,"

I chuckled nervously. "I was arrested by the Police Commissioner

herself. Apparently I'm a suspect in an 'Inciting to Riot'

investigation."

The two cops looked at one another. I could tell Angel was grinning. Seneca was far less amused.

"I see good Ole Shelia hasn't enlightened you two. Now, where are we going?" I resisted giggling like an idiot.

"Fifteenth floor of the Federation Building," Angel gladly replied.

"Thanks, I'll make my call now," I glanced as Seneca to see if she'd stop me. She didn't.

"Capri, this is Israel," I greeted my lawyer buddy.

"I'm in the process of losing my job, but I'm on my way," Capri grumbled. "What are they charging you with and where are you?"

"Material Witness warrant and I'm going to the fifteen floor of the Federation Building," I supplied the pertinent data.

"I would like to say that help is on the way, but it is me and only me," Capri said.

"My boss, Francesca Silverhorn, is going down for this mess too,” I faded out.

"I'm

not likely to save you or me. I certainly can't help anyone else,"

Capri sounded frustrated. "I believe she has some resources and can get

her own legal counsel, so don't worry about it." That was pretty much

that. The Federation Building was close, we parked in the garage and the

elevator took us to the fifteen floor.

I

couldn't help a full body-spasm seizing me when the doors opened. I had

spent three years trying to be unnoticed, kept my back to the walls and

eyes on the exits because I has absolutely no trust in my society to

protect me. Yet here I had been in a police station, and now was at

federal law enforcement office, all in two days.

It

wasn't that I was here, but that I had chosen the path that led me here

that really rocked the foundations of my psyche. I was the responsible

one. I wasn't accidently stumbling across a car in distress. I wasn't

stopping by to talk to a few of my girlfriends buddies. No, this

experience was all me.

To be continued

By FinalStand for Literotica