That point beyond teetering on the brink.

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

"Israel, are you going to be okay?" Angel worried.

"Over

twenty thousand square feet of pretentious butch women with guns," I

joked loudly. "What could possibly go wrong for me here?"

"Angel, I think your guy is unraveling," Seneca whispered to Angel.

She

needn't have whispered. I had enunciated at a volume that resonated all

over the office space. We had everyone's attention. More importantly to

me, I located the woman, or in this case, the group of women, who

recognized me. They would be my chief opponents in this hostile

territory.

If

you run away from women long enough, you start to figure out their

hunting habits. Every coterie had a lead lioness and I could tell which

one she was. She had strawberry blonde hair and pig-tails and I swear to

God, she looked to be fifteen. Her eyes told a very different story.

They were cold, bleak and pitiless, yet with a burning fire at their

core.

She

also had dimples. I had to blink really hard, twice, to make sure my

mind hadn't sneaked some freaky mirage into my field of vision.

"I've

got him from here, officers," a solid Latina with short-cropped hair

ambushed us from the side. She was being polite. It wasn't like there

were any choices being made.

"You'll

be fine, Israel," Angel called to my retreating form. I couldn't build

myself up for a conversation before I was taken to a small room and told

to take a seat. I took in the details. The agent didn't have on a name

badge, that was meant to isolate me mentally and stop me from trying to

ingratiate myself to my captors.

This

reinforced my subliminal demons that saw women as faceless aggressors.

The room was playing into my claustrophobia. It was also soundproof,

playing against my anxiety brought about by a lack of audio stimulation.

What my tormentors must not have been counting on was that Sunday had

put me past all of this.

Hell,

I'd screwed Bethany Fremont and I thought that would never, ever happen

again. I'd done it and I'd felt fine afterwards. Dimples the Clown was

going to have to do better than this. Better yet, I knew what was

coming. First they would wreck my confidence, then they would be my

friends who only wanted to help. The blackmail would come later. My pain

would be mental, not physical this round.

I

hadn't read the Federal playbook, nor was I a master of interrogation.

They considered me a dog so they would treat me like a dog, a bad dog.

Dimples and company weren't stupid; I imagined they were actually quite

bright. Their problem was that they'd been breaking my gender for forty

years and very effectively.

The

critical difference was that I wasn't an MRA terrorist, or even a

criminal in my mind. I had nothing to feel guilty about. They had no

leverage and on a visceral level, I wasn't even afraid of them anymore,

cautious yes, but not afraid. The man walking into the room was a bit of

a surprise. He looked very well-dressed but casual, fatherly if your

father was a college professor from an earlier era.

"Hello,

Mr. Jensen, I'm Ezra Bryan," he greeted me with a smile. His hazel

eyes, ensconced behind round glasses, gave off a comforting glow. He was

my friend, just ask him. "I'm here to help you." See? "Can we talk for a

bit?" He sat down opposite me before I could respond.

"Can I see your gun and badge?" I asked politely.

"Come now Israel, men don't carry guns. Do you want a firearm?" he remained pleasant.

"Oh," I mused. He answered questions with questions. I knew that trick well. "Where did you get your degree from, Doctor?"

"Holy Cross," he conceded. "Now would you answer a few of my questions?"

I

put my hands on my thighs, lowered my chin to my chest and shut out the

room. Meditation is a technique best used in an area that is quiet and

safe. They had given me only one voice to tune out and, while I didn't

trust Dimples, I knew how this escalation would go.

I

was safe for now. When the psychiatrist Dimples has sicked on me,

realized he was losing to a guy with two semesters of psychology, he

broke form and did something you never do, he touched a survivor of

sexual assault without permission. See, he was here to find me

psychologically unsound so they could imprison me without a trial

forever.

His

problem was that you can't find someone insane if they are capable of

reasoned discourse, thus my initial words with him, but wouldn't talk to

you. Obstinate isn't a psychological disorder. It's only rude. I was

meditating, someone touched me. Since I've been sensory deprived and

touched by people who did me harm, this was bad.

I yelped and fell sideways in my chair. I ate the fear, ate the anger and kept my eyes down.

"What is wrong, Israel?" the Dumbass asked with false sympathy, offering to help me up.

I got up without his help.

"Can I see your tablet please?" I countered. I could play this 'answer a question with a question' thing too.

"I'm sorry, but that has confidential information on it. Why did you fall over?" he kept at it.

I pulled my chair around to the side of the table and took a seat.

"Israel,

this is not helping your cause. Don't you want the truth to come out?"

he smiled in that paternal style. Yes, this was helping my cause and you

didn't want the truth to come out, you Jerk, I thought.

I

put my palms on my thighs, my chin on my chest and started to meditate

once more. This time he touched me before I was all the way under.

"Israel, you are not helping yourself with this display," Dr. Bryan was getting a little touchy.

"Ezra,

what do you call a man who sneaks up on men who do not know him, who

have their eyes closed and are either meditating or asleep?" I finally

spoke.

"Aren't those some kind of perverts?" I regarded him with the closest imitation of the tone he was using on me.

"Do

you see people who touch you as being perverted?" he resumed is babble.

I put my palms on my thighs, my chin on my chest and resumed

meditating.

On

his fourth unwarranted touching, I got up and walked to the door. It

wasn't a normal door, it opened out. I guessed that was so someone

inside couldn't bar the authorities from entry. It opened which made

sense since I was six inches taller and twenty-five years younger than

their pet male shrink.

Of

course, there were two agents at the door as well. I wasn't planning to

sprint for the elevators or closest window anyway. They were across the

hallway and unhappy to see me.

"Hi," I greeted them cheerfully as I let the door shut.

"Get back inside," the African-American agent stated firmly.

"Actually,

there is this weird old guy in there who keeps touching me every time I

close my eyes and try to go to sleep," I pleaded. "Can you please help

me?" For a second, they were both confused by my request. They had this

misconception they were protectors of the public welfare.

"He's giving you a psychiatric exam," the second agent, this one of East Asian extraction, told me.

"Really?"

I doubt I was very convincing in my surprise. "I was raped repeatedly

when I was sixteen, so why on God's Green Earth would any healthcare

professional touch me without my consent or awareness?" Take that Bitch!

There is simply no right answer for that question and everyone

listening in on this exchange knew it.

Five

doors down, the portal flew open and Capri came bolting out at a dead

run with two agents hot on her ass, trying to re-write history.

"This

farce is at an end!" Capri O'Hara screamed at the top of her lungs.

Sadly, Capri was a small woman and both of her pursuers where superior

specimens in all the currently relevant categories.

"Israel,

as your legal counsel, I advise you to not answer any further questions

without me being present," she got out before they muffled her. The

damage was done. I was free, in a very, very limited legal context. This

act hadn't played out yet, though, because the next two people out the

door were Angel and Seneca.

In

retrospect, had I ever actually seen Angel in a fight before she

threatened me on Friday, I wouldn't have let her back in my condo, much

less my bedroom. I had no fist-fighting experience, but I'd seen a few

female fight movies and TV shows, things like the Power Rangers and

Black Widow: Agent of SHIELD. I was totally unprepared for the reality

of this kind of violence.

Angel

drove her fist into the lower back of the rightmost agent holding

Capri. That woman screamed, and I mean screamed, in pain before

crumpling into a whimpering ball. The agent on the left was really

quick. She tried to defend herself and deflected the first blow, later I

was told that was Angel's feint, but Angel connected with her chin

before the woman could bring the other hand up protectively.

Angel

jacked her off the ground. I was stunned the agent was still conscious.

Hell's Bells, I was stunned her head was still attached. The federal

agent had less than a second to rejoice in that fact before Angel's

other fist propelled her over Capri and down in a heap in front of my

lawyer. Seneca had no fears about her partner's combat expertise.

She

had spun around to the door that seemed to hold everybody, held up her

hand, put her other hand on her sidearm and was loudly begging everyone

to calm down. Dimples' crowd kept pouring out of the room, their hands

falling to their weapons as well. Shelia joined the mob followed by

Dimples herself.

The

agents beside me were in a quandary. I was a witness, not a suspect,

but I wasn't someone they trusted to remain sane. I had to admire their

teamwork even though it was working against me. The East Asian put her

forearm to my neck and pushed me hard against the wall next to the door.

The African-American put her hand on her taser and took up a defensive

posture.

The

only noise was the first agent's whimpers. Capri was the only one

moving, shrugging off the kinks she'd earned from the grapple and

stooping beside the second, unconscious, agent. Capri drew forth that

woman's taser.

"Put it down," the darker skinned agent warned.

"Put

it down or we will put you down, Ms. O'Hara," Dimples spoke in the

sweetest voice. I wondered if she was a Care Bear in a previous life.

Most likely 'Let the Right One in' Care Bear.

"Stop with the empty threats, you pack of weasels," Capri snapped. "Now listen the fuck up."

"One of three things is going to happen," Capri started.

"I said 'put it down'," the African-American agent stated firmly.

"You

are going to release my client so that we can talk, I'm going to taser

you and then the cunt who is assaulting my client, or you are going to

taser me," Capri finished.

"Wish granted," the agent snarled.

"You do realize that once she drops I have a clear shot at you, right?" Angel notified her.

"You don't have your taser drawn," the African-American agent stated.

"No," Angel extended her pistol past Capri. "I have my sidearm."

"Now,

as I was saying, you have three options and you lose big time in the

last two," Capri grinned like a vindictive leprechaun.

"She won't shoot," Dimples referred to Angel. "The odds of Mr. Jensen being caught in the cross-fire are very high."

"Irrelevant," Capri snorted. "Because I'm about to shoot you," she started raising her taser.

"Last chance, Lady," the agent warned.

"Do you want to know why you are fucked?"

Capri scoffed. "See these are all government issued weapons and every

time one is discharged you have to write an incident report."

"That isn't your taser. You stole it," the agent pointed out. I saw Shelia Montanyard flinch minutely.

"Hey,

FedLawBitch," Capri snorted (she was addressing Shelia, I would learn

later). "Just because my law school offered night classes doesn't mean

I'm an idiot. Bronson v. Michigan."

Only two people understood that, Shelia and Capri.

"Bronson v. Michigan doesn't apply," Shelia bluffed.

"The

Supreme Court disagrees. It has been applied two times in the past

seven years and since this is a government building, the dumb bitch on

the ground is a government law enforcement agent, and since Mr. Jensen

is a person of interest to the court,”

"Put your weapons down," Shelia conceded.

"What?" the African-American agent blanched.

"Holster

your weapon," Dimples spoke again. "While Ms. O'Hara is within her

rights to shoot you, you are not within your rights to shoot her. Do you

want to get tasered?"

"Oh,

and the cops are covered by Bronson as well," Capri waved her hand over

her shoulder. "I am an officer of the court and your two brigands were

assaulting me and keeping me from my legal duties. Go after them and

I'll nipple twist you so hard, Ms. Montanyard, your screams will make

your law school professors fall over dead in shock."

"Noted,"

Shelia nodded. She wasn't giving up so much as repositioning for the

next offensive. Before my time there was a military term tossed around

called 'Shock and Awe.’ From the look on the faces of Dimples and

Shelia, they had thought they were the French army invading Monaco only

to discover they had invaded Switzerland by mistake.

They

thought they'd spend half a day rounding up the local constabulary then

have dinner on the beach, in this case, the Federation Capital. Oh no,

they could still see victory on the horizon but beyond all predictions,

they were really going to have to work for it. Right then, the door to

my interrogation room opened and the doctor looked out.

"Is everything fine?" he inquired.

"Oh,

Dr. Bryan, I'm informing every institution on the planet that pretends

to know anything about medicine and reporting your gross negligence.

When I'm done with you, even the W H O won't use you to clean their

toilets," Capri glared.

"What did I do?" he looked around, shocked.

"You

touched a post-recovery rape patient without their consent, repeatedly,

even after he was clearly uncomfortable with it," Capri snapped.

"He is Post-recovery," the man stated.

"Were

you incapable of reading his file dating from yesterday morning in

which the police report my client having been beaten black and blue by

unnamed assailants? He didn't press charges, but it is still an open

investigation. The G E D frowns on people running around and beating up

men, so there actually is a use for those douches after all," Capri

snarled.

Dr. Bryan had this wide-eyed, stunned expression. Eventually his gaze settled on Shelia and Dimples.

"He's

not what you said he'd be," the man blathered. "His profile is all

wrong. The man is totally mad, I tell you. Give me more time and I can

prove it."

"Doc,"

I said calmly. "I suggest you exit this building as soon as possible

and hurry home before they cancel your travel voucher."

"Mr. Jensen," he turned on me desperately. "You are psychologically very ill and you need professional help."

I

just smiled. He was right. We both knew he was right, but I had trapped

him before he trapped me. A week ago, I would have snapped like a

branch in a tornado. The women around me, for good and ill, had scraped

away all the scabs and scar tissue that I'd let build up over the years

until all was left was the raw open wounds.

My

blood was on fire and my mind a hurricane of thoughts, wants and

desires. I wasn't a man grown to adulthood by continual experience. I

was shards of all of those stages of my life, jumbled together into some

slipshod construct that staggered forth from encounter to encounter.

Dr. Bryan had lost because I could be a seventeen year old survivor one

second and the man lying on the floor, laughing while Flame beat on me

the next.

Had

they given Dr. Bryan time to work on me, develop his skills to my

condition, he would have cracked me in a few days, a week at the most.

He was a psychiatrist, and most likely a good one to be working with the

FBI, and I was, in fact, insane. This was my victory. I had forced

Dimples to expend a weapon for no gain. I wasn't sure Angel would get

it.

Two

hours later found us in a much larger room, laid out in a comfortably

cluttered manner. It was terrain psychology all over again. Was I to

believe a federal agency as big as this didn't have clean conference

rooms for us to use? As it was, Capri and I were on one side of the

table. Angel and Seneca were on the edge of the table closest to the

main door.

That

left Dimples and company to spread out over the other half of the room.

Their body language was laid back and unaggressive, they had bought

this Indian-Italian fusion feast and they were bantering back in a

non-gender specific manner.

"What does this tell you?" Capri turned to me as she finished a forkful of garlic pasta.

"Special

Agent in Charge Enola Treyvon's (Dimples actual name) team are

man-hunters," I said as I gulped down my food. By that I meant people

who hunt males professionally. If you thought about it, male criminals

had to be rare. We all had bracelets that any woman could ask to see on

demand, thus in network, so tracing us wasn't all that hard.

Also,

if we broke the law, we had to take drugs which made committing crime

inconvenient. If we were violent, they had drugs for that too. A man

having an illegal firearm was bad, but being a woman who gave a man a

gun was much worse. Since the MRA hadn't been active in over a decade,

it didn't make sense that the Federation's chief law enforcement agency

would have tons of these kinds of specialists floating around.

I

was about to say something else when 'nothing' caught my attention. A

man has to watch where he is, how he stands, what he says, who is

listening and how the women around him are acting. It is Male Survival 1

O 1. The savannah looked safe but the bushes held deep shadows.

"They were tipped off to be here by Detective Angel Kristi," I nodded to Capri.

"You do realize that sticking your cock in a garbage disposal is a crime, right?" Capri laughed.

Angel

flinched. She was guilty after all. Seneca was glaring hate Capri's

way. The feds were being very polite about the whole thing. I turned on

Capri, mouth agaip.

"Oh my fucking God!" I exclaimed. "Let me check something out." I stood up.

"I

advise you to go with caution," Capri warned me. I walked around the

far side of the table (away from Angel and Seneca), over to the Latina

who had snared me earlier. She was sitting, but I was hardly

intimidating her. I knelt before her which finally got some sort of

reaction from the federal agents. They were attentive. The Latina was

keeping her eyes level with mine.

"Angel,"

I looked toward my lover, "she uses the same shampoo as you." You see, I

had no doubt that this agent had memorized every visual aspect me

myself, Capri, Seneca and Angel, but scent? For a second, she turned her

head to look at Angel. I backed away then stood up. "Oh sweet Lord, I

wish I wasn't right so damn much. Janice Bourne," I gulped.

See, the shampoo thing had been a total bluff.

Janice

Bourne was the protagonist in a series of spy novels where the male

characters were somewhat interesting for a change. In one, a guy

actually kills a female assassin with pruning shears. That wasn't the

relevant issue.

"They've got Cochlear implants," I clarified.

The

technology was hardly new, but it was a bit intensive and expensive so

only people like the Secret Service's Executive Protection Detail and

elite security agencies used it. Oddly appropriate, Cochlear implants

and sub vocalization were the calling card of an evil female

organization in the Borne stories.

"Wait, you mean they can talk without us hearing them?" Capri gasped.

"Bravo," Dimples applauded in a mocking way. She pushed off the glass wall she'd been leaning against.

"You

are an intelligent, gifted individual," Dimples Treyvon nodded to me.

She didn't call me an 'intelligent man' because that was an oxymoron in

her culture. 'Gifted' meant my cock was over six inches long.

"How

about I not lie to you because you eat people like me for breakfast and

I not help you because you are opposed to every principle and virtue I

hold dear?" I suggested.

"Do you want to discuss the legality of discussing my client's case while he's in the fucking

room and withholding that information?" Capri snarled as she stood.

Capri lit into Dimples, who treated Capri like she was noisy but

irrelevant. My phone rang. It was 'MW.’

“Bravo

performance, Israel. We speculate your actions will help our cause

greatly. If your needs are immediate, we will know what to look for.

Otherwise, we will keep in touch.”

I

typed, “Fine” then hit 'Send' The countdown was on. It was not lost on

me that the MW used Bravo or that in fifteen seconds this message would

vanish into the ether of the internet.

"What

did you just do?" Dimples addressed me intensely. I was boned. Outside

of the fact that she could kick my ass and or imprison me, she also was

most likely smarter than me.

"Who me?" I squeaked. It was a horrible choice of evasions. I was guilty as hell and everyone knew it.

"Give

me the phone," she beckoned urgently. I was the only one not standing

all of a sudden. I pushed against the desk so that my chair tumbled

backward.

The

only ones not stampeding my way were Angel and Seneca, Capri was in the

process of being trampled, so I rolled in the other direction. Halfway

through the roll, I slid my phone under the table. By some miracle, no

one saw that, so I was the recipient of the dog pile. I had to lie still

and let them search me. The patchwork quilt of my psyche had other

plans.

I

exploded. I screamed, cried out, lashed out and was basically consumed

by a sorority party flashback. Normal restraining techniques didn't

work. I thrashed around so hard that I dislocated my left shoulder,

tried to crack my head open on the carpeted floor and did some unhappy

things to my right knee.

I

was saved by one of Dimples' people. She was a criminal psychologist

and figured out what was happening to me. Dimples ran a tight crew. They

had me unrestrained and let me curled into a fetal ball inside a

minute, or so Angel told me. As I started to match mental commands to

movements I heard an unknown feminine voice telling others to 'give him

space.'

My

mind had been shielding me from the damage I'd received during the

wrestling match so when I tried to push up, my left arm instantly gave

way and I cried out in pain. There were a flurry of voices.

"What's wrong?"

"He's dislocated his shoulder. I can fix that."

"He needs to see a doctor."

"I can help."

"Don't crowd in, damn it."

"Israel should be taken to an actual doctor, who doesn't work for you." That was Capri.

"He's not going anywhere," Dimples stated matter-of-factly.

"Fine,"

one of the feds said, "Israel, I'm going to pop your shoulder back to

where it should be. This will hurt." At that point I realized I had been

screaming the entire time.

She was right, it hurt like hell when she did it but afterwards my shoulders shooting pain subsided to a dull ache.

"He needs to go to a hospital," Capri insisted.

"We have enough to commit him right now," Dimples replied dismissively.

"Do

you enjoy vomiting nonsense continually, or do you save it for your

demented attempts at romancing handsome young men?" Capri sneered.

"Your case is long on vitriol, but short on substance," Dimples came back.

"You think so, S A C of 'no one gives a crap'?" Capri laughed harshly.

"You

attacked my client over a phone, that's going to go over spectacularly.

He wasn't trying to evade, or fight back in any manner," she continued.

"Yet you beat the crap out of him and he didn't even have the phone on

him. It was under the table."

"He failed to obey a lawful order," Dimples sounded bored. "That's resisting."

"He had eight armed women coming at him. He was afraid. Hell, I would have been afraid," Capri countered.

"His resistance meant we were unable to retrieve any relevant data from his mobile device," Dimples stated.

"What did you find out?" Capri grinned.

"We

have his keystrokes but not the text he was responding to. There was no

evidence he even had a call three minutes ago which implies secretive

communications," Dimples said. "That's espionage."

"You

are going to take 'nothing' to court? Your wet dreams about what might

have been in that text have no legal significance, Agent Treyvon," Capri

smirked. "He has confirmed he is talking to the 'Vanishers' and that he

wants to go with them, but that's not illegal. He has not stated a

desire to avoid the Gender Inequality Act in any way."

"No man who has vanished has complied with the G I A," Dimples challenged.

"How is he to know that?" Capri bit back. "That information is not readily available."

"He

can't be bright and sane when it is convenient for you then damaged and

delicate the next when it is suddenly inconvenient," Dimples explained.

"Review

your mental health statutes," Capri glared. "Israel remains a

functioning member of society in that he holds, or held, a job, he

maintains a dwelling and he is not a threat to himself or others. Being

annoyingly inconsistent isn't his problem, or the courts problem. It is

your problem. He is not required to help you do your jobs."

"We can compel testimony," another FBI agent informed us.

"That's

nice, Nancy Drew," Capri turned on her. "You are going to both declare

the nature of the 'Vanisher' criminal conspiracy in a manner I can

review, and grant my client immunity?"

"He will be charged with contempt of court," the woman retorted.

"Where did you get your law degree?" Capri asked politely.

"The University of Quebec," the agent stated proudly.

"Well

then, you should know that it is a matter of official record that my

client has been in communication with 'said' criminal conspiracy," Capri

started sedately then,

"So how in the fuck are

you going to separate this communication, which you want to know about,

from the criminal conspiracy in a manner that doesn't abuse my client's

Fifth Amendment Rights?" Capri snapped angrily. "Holy Mother Mary,

Israel do you have pheromones that turn most smart girls into drooling

idiots?"

"Uh,"

I groaned as I righted my seat and sat down. "I can do you one better.

Dimples, your team is the best in its field right?" I wheezed. We

waited. She didn't like being called Dimples.

"The very best," she finally stated.

"Yet you've learned exactly what since bringing me in?" I stared. "I typed 'Fine.’"

"Angel

and Seneca are lowly Metropolitan cops, not one of you hot shot feds.

Seneca, what would you have done?" I kept my eyes on Dimples. Seneca

hesitated.

"I would have said, 'Israel, please tell me what that call was about?'" Seneca said.

"And I would have answered honestly. Why?" I continued.

"You love Angel, I'm her partner so helping me helps her," Seneca reasoned.

"Even though she's betrayed me, and you and I don't like each other at all?" I kept going.

"Yeah, pretty much," she mused.

"And that ladies," I smirked at Dimples as I addressed her group, "is why you are losing."

"You

are striding across the landscape like some modern day titans and I'm

nothing but a scrap of trash beneath your feet. Your problem is that I'm

not trash. Men like me are your genetic future and we think your feet

stink. Oh, you were all nice and friendly thirty minutes ago. You gave

us this nice, cluttered room that wasn't an oppressive, business-like

setting."

"You fed us and were practicing all those little body language skills and word usage you were taught in whatever fucked-up

male psychology classes you took. The second I had something you

wanted, and I didn't snap-to like that pet lizard, Dr. Bryan, you

pounced," I berated them, "without an ounce of concern for my physical

and mental well-being."

"Despite

all of you knowing what I've been through in my life," I grumbled. "You

chose to use my weaknesses against me, to harm me, and you still have

pipe dream that I might be coerced into helping you. Wake up! You are

the villains of this piece. You are beating up on the weak and helpless.

You are not out to rescue men. You are simply trying to give women a

few more cocks to fuck before this sad parody of life comes crashing down."

"Mr. Jensen, could you please tell me what the text message was?" Dimples asked me.

"I'm

not really feeling talkative at this moment. I'm a bit weirded out. I

need to freaking unwind, Angel, can I have sex with Agent Dimples?" I

turned to my lover. She blinked, but the surprise wasn't hers alone. I

was moving way past the profile they had painted me into.

"Can

I think about it?" Angel looked me over. Sadly, we were not telepathic.

"I'm not comfortable with you having sex with Special Agent in Charge

Treyvon."

"Okay, Angel," I acknowledged. There was silence for half a minute.

"Detective Kristi, could you explain something to me?" the agent who had freed me earlier spoke up.

"What do you want to know, Special Agent Fraklos?" Angel answered.

"What is the dynamic between you two?" she questioned.

"We

love each other. He doesn't want to become attached to me because he

sees that as a form of codified possessiveness. Instead, if he is going

to do something that might cause me emotional turmoil, he consults me

first. It is called compassion and it is something I've never asked for,

he gives willingly and another reason for me to love him," Angel

explained.

"But

you betrayed him," Fraklos pointed out. "You have betrayed him

repeatedly. We are here because you revealed something he told you in

confidence, yet, he remains loyal. How do you figure that?"

"See, that's why you are in trouble," Angel regarded the feds.

"Yes,

I betrayed him, but he knew I would relate everything he told me

because he respects the fact that I am a Metropolitan Detective. He

hates my profession, but he loves me despite that, not because of it,"

Angel grinned then looked at me. "I get it Israel, I finally get it. For

the rest of you, Israel's been kicking your asses, all day long."

"He

even kicked your ass over the phone and I have to believe that was

totally unrehearsed," Angel added. "What did Ms. Montanyard say? He was

waiting for the Material Witness warrant at City Hall. He knew what he

was saying, what you would do and he didn't get it from me. Israel

Jensen, a man who nearly collapsed when he stepped off the elevator, is

making a mockery of your sparkly little asses, and I wouldn't have

thought him capable of it either."

"I

apologize Israel," a tear tracked down Angel's cheek. "I should have

never doubted your love for me. I'll really work on it. Oh, you can have

sex with Enola, if you still want to."

"Nah,

I was joking about that. She's the polar opposite of Zuiko. I mean,

sure they both have only had sex twice in their lives, but Dimples

doesn't want to have sex," I mused.

"Are you sure?" Angel inquired.

"It is in the eyes," I noted. "I barely register on her radar. I don't do it for her."

"Mr. Jensen, would you please tell me what was on the text message," Dimples repeated.

"There is not a single reason I can think of to tell you," I stared back.

"Detectives

Kristi and Poole, please go to the main conference room and wait for

your next assignment," Dimples commanded. Angel and Seneca dutifully

stood and left. Capri snickered and dropped her head to the table with a

loud 'thud.’

"That

was so totally counter-productive," Capri mumbled playfully, "I really

can't find the words to capture its essence. Israel?"

"Everything

is right with the Game Plan, Boss," I snickered. "I was able to tell my

love good-bye, I had a nice lunch and I think there is a nap in my

future."

"I'll wake you if something intelligent happens," Capri raised her head and smiled at me.

"Capri, thank you for showing up today. You know there is nothing I can do for you," I sighed.

"When

bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall one by

one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle," Capri quoted.

"That was from an Englishman from long, long ago. In this case it should

be 'bad women.’"

"Do you really believe me that this whole, sick society needs to trundle off to extinction?" I inquired with deep curiosity.

"I've

spent my life until now competing with the women around me, never

really thinking about men that much, except hoping to get lucky along

the way. I never thought about a gender divide, much less an impassioned

struggle by men to be free. Until I met you, I thought we were equals.

After witnessing my gender's ugly underbelly, I'm a believer in your

cause, Israel," she patted my arm. I didn't flinch one bit.

"I apologize for ruining your life," I patted her back. "Want to move in with me?"

"Sure. I'm about to be homeless, penniless and friendless," Capri shrugged. "Solving one of those three problems won't suck."

"You are going to make your disbarment incredibly easy, Ms. O'Hara," the Latina smirked.

"Oh,

for the love of God, shut up!" Capri groaned. "If all you are going to

say is stupid crap, just be quiet. I can live with my client as long as

we aren't having sex, you dipshit. If every word out of your mouth is an

insult to female intelligence, keep your yap shut." The agents remained

outwardly calm.

I

would have still cautioned Capri about bearding the monsters in their

cave, but it looked like she was having too much fun. That was when I

realized she understood. None of us were getting out intact. Oh, we may

walk out into the sunlight today, but there was no coming back from this

for her, or me.

Francesca

and now Capri, I didn't understand it. I was grateful, but I couldn't

wrap my mind around women who had sacrificed everything, if not for me,

for a cause they had no experience with. In the final analysis, Kuiko,

Aniqua, Venus, Samantha and Roni made sense. Their future prospects were

bleak.

So

was Angel’s, but her profession gave her an out that her economic

status couldn't provide. Capri was clearly very talented and should have

gone far in the legal field. She could have secured a male, and her

genetic destiny. Francesca was at the top of her game. She was at the

cusp of power. The odds were good she'd succeed. Even if not, she'd live

well.

She

had thrown it all away for me after being in my life less than one

week. For a second, it all came apart. If I had had sex with my first

girlfriend, I would have missed the Aurora Slasher. If I had met someone

like Capri, Kuiko, or Angel in college instead of Bethany. If I had

progressed to my first job with Francesca as my boss, I would have gone

for her.

"Israel?"

a hand brushed my cheek and it was wet. "Israel?" Capri repeated. I'd

been crying. I looked into S A C Treyvon's eyes and saw triumph.

"You will never understand," I chortled at Dimples.

"You are not that complicated, Mr. Jensen," she responded.

"Then why was I crying?" I challenged her.

"It

doesn't matter. You've done well to get this far, but in the end you

are still a fractured little boy in a basement wondering why you can't

get your girlfriend pregnant. A few more taps and you'll come apart,"

Dimples stated her beliefs as fact.

At

first, Dimples eyes retained that smug, superior glint. It took a few

seconds to realize that mine wasn't a smile of a man collapsing. I was

laughing at her on the inside. I was laughing at Flame and Little M as

my body was being bruised and battered because for all their power, they

couldn't save themselves and I now knew Dimples was in the same boat.

Only

Dimples knew that I was one step ahead again, she didn't have her text

and her ploy to remove Angel had backfired. By sending Angel away, she

had removed that point of leverage. Once Angel was out of sight, she was

beyond my concern. Bethany had forced me to collapse my world down into

a tiny sphere where my sole concern was myself.

That

was not something I had totally abandoned. Like the seventeen year old

in therapy, or the man laughing through the pain, a shard of my

post-Bethany world was part of the Frankenstein of my soul. A few

seconds ago, my mind had betrayed me and I had cried in public for no

real reason. Now, another facet raised up a wall that stymied S A C

Treyvon.

Best of all, I was keeping my mouth shut.

"Can

we talk about the first message then," Agent Fraklos asked. She was

playing the 'nice' one now because she had provided me physical comfort.

They were talking behind our backs again.

"Israel, until the FBI qualifies the scope of their investigation for us, I don't advise you to respond," Capri suggested.

"Wait, I should give them something," I argued with Capri. She smirked at me.

"Can I have my phone back?" I asked Fraklos.

"Sorry, but no; our technical people need to look it over," she apologized.

"Okay, the screen glowed green and the letters were black. There were a lot of them," I recalled thoughtfully.

"Are you trying to be clever?" another agent sounded bored.

"No, I was trying to raise my morale, and it worked. How about you Capri? Feel better?" I asked.

"Oh, loads," Capri grinned.

"You are going to stay here until you give us the answers we need," Fraklos tried to sound reasonable.

"Ugh,"

I grunted to Capri. I got up and began rifling through some boxes until

I found something that looked dreadfully boring, but not insanely so.

I

took a big handful and returned to my seat. Capri slouched in her

chair, clearly flipped her tablet to something besides my case and began

reading.

"Very

amusing Mr. Jensen," Dimples broke the silence. "You will break. Close

proximity to all these women, the stress of confronting us, you will

crumble and you know it."

I looked up at her, nodded to acknowledge that I'd heard her flap her gums then resumed reading.

"Israel, you should think about all the women's lives you're negatively impacting," Fraklos started again.

I had to think about that for a second; to talk or not talk?

"How so?" I inquired. "Whose life am I negatively impacting?"

"Detective

Kristi for starters. What about Venus Marlowe or Roni Azari? Things are

not going to go well for them in this investigation," Fraklos said

compassionately.

"What

about Kuiko Sano? Weren't you going to have sex with her tonight?"

another agent asked, as if reading my phone logs was a perfectly normal

thing to do.

"Still am," I nodded her way.

"Not

too likely. You are being obstinate so they could be in custody for

some time," Fraklos said. "Jobs and housing could be at risk as well as a

permanent criminal record. You can help them."

"What? What are you talking about? Do you mean the people you are going to fuck over

because you are all a bunch of frustrated bitches? That's a rather

pathetic attempt at coercion, Special Agent Fraklos," I noted.

"Seriously, I'm a man. You've spent your lifetimes making sure I can't

do shit. What would make me believe anything has changed?"

"How about the fact that you've betrayed your species?" the Latina asked, again, they were all so reasonable.

"That

argument is a bit too late, Agent 'Whoever the Fuck You Are'," I

grinned. "Why, after a lifetime of discrimination, do you suddenly want

me on your team?"

"Special Agent Sosa," she responded, "and you have only been isolated in your own mind."

Capri snorted in amusement at that.

"Really?"

I perked up. "Cool. Let's go to your apartment then. I've got a real

Zen to break into your place, slap you around a bit because you weren't

obsequious fast enough and then you'll let me ass-rape you because

you'll lose your job if you don't."

"How

does that sound, Sister-in-Equality, because every bit of that has

happened to me in the past seven days," I knew my grin had grown

brittle. "You want me to show solidarity with you, then show some with

me. Prove to me how the world will be a better place if I help?"

"How can we do that?" Fraklos kept being so damn caring and polite.

"Repeal

the Gender Inequality Act and disband your branch of the FBI and every G

E D across the Federation," I responded in the same kind tone.

"Non-negotiable."

"How do you suggest we do that?" Fraklos said after being respectfully thoughtful. Capri began giggling.

"How long are you going to let this charade go on?" Capri didn't look at me but I knew she was talking to me.

"You

will know it when you see it. I have a date at six, but I should be

home by seven so figure out what you want to eat," I chatted amiably.

"You may want to forestall those dinner plans," Dimples smirked. "We have business to take care of."

"Nope,"

I mocked her. "I imagine you are very bright but you haven't been right

about me once today. You don't know what's going on and until you

figure out what is happening, you can't beat me."

Dimple

let her dimples grow a tiny bit. She had gotten me to start talking, to

open up and she was going to exploit that to get what she wanted.

"The

male birth rate is declining and it spells the end of the Human Race,"

Dimples said as if she was agreeing with me. I snickered.

"I

can fully understand you not listening to me, but you aren't even

listening to yourself," I pointed out. "The vanishings are not causing

the male population collapse, they are a result of it. Someone knew

about this whole Big Lie and set events in motion before either you or I

arrived on stage."

"At

this point in the game, it is not a question of curing all the men,

only a select few. Now, that doesn't help anyone in the room, except

maybe me," I sighed, "because the rest of you don't seem to be part of

the survival plan. And best of all, I can't even save Angel or Capri and

I like both of them, a lot."

"With

us," Fraklos said, "you could be more than only another sperm donor. We

could really help. This doesn't have to be a long slide into oblivion."

"Oh,"

I chuckled. "I took care of that this morning. There is not going to be

a long slide for you folks. The women you've been treating like some

fascist proletariat are going to storm the barricades."

"Israel," Capri interrupted. "Fascist and the proletariat are opposing political positions."

"Whoops,"

I snickered. "PR degree, not Political Science. Anyway, instead of

looking at a slow population decline over the next one hundred years, I

expect you to reap what you sow."

"You weren't telling the men to rise up in rebellion, you were telling the women," Fraklos muttered.

"Damn

right," I laughed. "You were mocking me, on the inside, thinking I was

asking men to take up arms against their oppressors. In fact, I was

telling some dateless, mid-thirties grocery worker that you bitches in

power were responsible for all her woes. Men are weaponless and afraid,

but women, women are looking for someone else to blame for their

misfortunes."

"In

case you missed it, you are going to be in that group they are going to

lynch; everyone in this room that has tits and isn't Capri," I pointed

out. "You don't get to pass on this misfortune to the next generation."

"You would want to inflict that pain on your own gender?" Fraklos questioned.

"I was rendered incapable of helping my fellow man long before I was born," I told them.

"What

has inspired this totally anarchistic view? Certainly there is

something in this life you find worth saving?" Fraklos persisted.

"There is what I can do and what I want to do. I want this Society to end, but not for the reasons you think," I sighed.

"What would that be?" Sosa took her turn.

"What do you think, Capri?" I asked my lawyer.

"Nap time," Capri advised. I gave her a thumbs up, crossed my arms on the table and rested my head at their crux.

"I

understand alright, Mr. Jensen," Dimples acknowledged. "Special Agents

Sosa and Vabishi, take Mr. Jensen to an observation room and keep him

under guard. We'll resume this discussion tomorrow morning."

"Don't sweat it," Capri yawned. "I'll come at them with a Writ of Habeas Corpus ASAP."

"Let them peddle this cockamamie case before a judge," she smirked.

"It

is scheduled with Judge Alissa Gunson at 4 pm," Dimples stated. "We

predicted your course of action and took the appropriate measures."

Capri glared at her.

"Capri?" I worried.

"If

I file for change of court, they are no longer bound by the 'quick and

speedy' hearing bit. It could take a week before I could schedule a

different judge. Gunson upheld a mother's right to pimp out her underage

son. She's about as sexist and mysandristic as they come," Capri filled

me in. "She has an eye on the next Federation Supreme Court opening."

"All part of the plan, Boss," I patted Capri on the back.

"Look

me in the eyes," Capri demanded. I turned, she put her palms on both

cheeks and looked deep into my eyes. "Good. You are just the normal

crazy, nothing exceptionally wacky going on. I won't leave the

building."

"Thanks, Capri," I stood for my latest minders to take me away. "This won't take long."

"You are mistaken, Mr. Jensen," Dimples commented dryly.

"What will you bet me?" I laughed.

"You are going to lose," Dimples rolled her eyes. "What do you suggest?"

"If

I don't get to have sex with Kuiko sometime in the next 24 hours, I'll

tell you everything I know," I promised. "When I win, and I will win,

you will be Capri's male intern for 24 hours."

Dimples

waved me off dismissively. I didn't amuse her. She wasn't the kind of

girl amused by monkeys throwing poo, or males fighting for their lives.

"I'll

take no response as a 'Yes, challenge accepted, Mr. Jensen'," I called

out. I got no response as I was led away. It would have been very human

of my guardians to talk to me. I was taken up one level and stuck into

what was clearly an observation room, including the mirrored wall on one

side. They even had two bottles of water on the table. The four chairs

looked possibly comfortable.

I

waited around five minutes. There was no clock in the room and my phone

was long gone. Once I felt my keeper had gotten comfortable, I noticed I

was getting sweaty. They'd jacked up the temperature on me. I took off

my shirt, climbed up on the table and crossed my legs. The table wasn't

long enough for me to stretch out on.

I laid out, rolled my shirt into a small pillow and closed my eyes. A minute later-

"Mr.

Jensen, please get off the table, put your shirt back on and resume a

normal sitting posture," a feminine voice spoke over the intercom.

"I don't understand," I said without opening my eyes.

She repeated her orders.

"But I would like a nap," I yawned. "Can I have a bed brought in?"

"No, now get off the table, get dressed and sit down."

"But

I don't want to," I mumbled. I'd secretly wanted to tell a woman that

for years. You can't appreciate how precious that statement is unless

you've lived a life devoid of real choice.

"Get

off the table or we'll make you," the voice was beginning to sound

annoyed. I didn't move until the door opened and two agents walked in.

They weren't Dimples' people. I got off the table and complied. They

glared then left. I counted to one hundred then repeated my actions.

"Mr. Jensen, get off the table," the voice snapped.

So

the circus continued until I had two agents permanently stationed in

the room with me. This made the whole heat thing amusing from my point

of view. I had on my shirt, which I left open, while the agents were

sweating like pigs in their jackets. The fact that they weren't drinking

my bottled water told me my paranoia had been warranted.

"Are you going to behave if we leave you here?" one agent finally cracked.

"Are you going to believe me if I lie to you?" I grinned.

"Behave or we'll chain you to the chair," she threatened.

"But I'm not a criminal," I stated. "I'm a witness."

"What you are is a mouthy little slut," she growled.

"Wait, are you hitting on me?" I blinked.

"No," she declared a tad too quickly.

"Pity, because I really like physically fit chicks," I mused. "They are, delicious."

My

fear must not have been showing in my eyes and I was already sweating,

so that didn't matter. Only the food in my stomach was threatening to

ruin my act.

"I'm on the job, you asshole," she snapped.

"What? Are either of us going anywhere until three-thirty?" I grinned. "You are stuck in here with me anyway."

"Do

you imagine you are somehow irresistible?" she sneered. "Your body

looks like it belongs on a hospital bed, not a hotel mattress."

"Are you suggesting that any man who goes to bed with you has to have a high pain tolerance?" I joked.

Her retort, long in coming, was cut off by Shelia Montanyard and Dimples coming into the room.

"Leave,"

Dimples commanded and the two agents beat feet quickly. I got up and

made for the door as well, I was insane after all. Dimples put a hand on

my bare, sweaty chest.

"No?" I pleaded as I feebly tried to move past her.

"Sit down, Mr. Jensen," Shelia snapped. "This is a National Security matter."

"Can

I at least have something to drink?" I inquired. The two women glance

at the water bottles. "I was thinking of something from a drinking

fountain. For some reasons, those two agents, even when dying from

dehydration, wouldn't drink those, so color me suspicious."

The fire in Dimple's eyes grew in intensity.

"They

have a mild sedative that is meant to keep you calm," she said. My

sense of accomplishment from gaining her recognition of my intelligence

was lost in the new way she regarded me. I had suddenly become

noteworthy in her estimation.

"The room is secure, Ms. Montanyard," Dimples said.

"Mr. Jensen, sit down," she commanded. I did so. I was still reeling from Dimple's look.

"Tell

me all you know about Carabolix 37," Shelia demanded. I had won! Capri

and I were walking out of here. I was going to have sex with Kuiko. I

was going to repay those who had stood by me, and I was still off my

rocker.

"No, first I,” I got out.

"Mr.

Jensen, I have a Writ of Exclusion which pretty much suspends your

civil rights for the extent of my investigation," Shelia threatened.

"Your only means of egress from this calamity is to be immediately

forthright and honest about what you know."

Shelia presented me with something on her tablet that was written in far more legalize than I could handle.

"I want my lawyer," I glared.

"You don't have the right to counsel anymore, Israel," Shelia corrected.

"We're done then," I shrugged.

"Very

well, we'll extract what we need the hard way," Shelia remarked. She

stood up and she and Dimples got ready to leave. At the door, Dimples

turned and studied me. Shelia noticed and stopped just outside in the

hallway.

"What is it, Mr. Jensen, Israel?" Dimples wondered.

"What are you talking about?" Shelia asked Dimples.

"He's

known everything we were going to do to him. He's been one step ahead

since, surveillance would suggest Sunday afternoon," Dimples kept

drinking me in. "So, what is that you know that we've missed?"

"You

both agree that I'm insane, right?" I nodded to Dimples. She came back

into the room and, to keep her whole 'National Security' mystique,

Shelia was forced to follow.

"Yes," Shelia said, "you are clearly unhinged."

"What are you going to give me, or inflict on me, to make me talk that doesn't shatter my psyche first?" I grinned.

They both blinked.

"You

can win. I'm at your mercy. You have all the power in the world and all

I have is the mind you have been kicking holes in for the past five

years," I related. "The only problem is that you are likely to flush any

knowledge you need down the drain first."

"Do

you want to take that risk?" I smiled. Shelia said nothing and Dimples

was her normal, cipher-like self. I am hardly the kind of guy who cracks

highly successful legal minds on a regular basis. Yet, there was

something Shelia wasn't telling me, a fear cloaked deep inside her

imagination. It was the fear of death.

I took a chance.

"You've

lost all forty doses, haven't you?" I whispered. Sure, I knew that

twenty had probably ended up in me, but Delilah Fremont had told me she

had the other twenty. Still, that wouldn't cause a panic unless,

"All the research data is gone too," I mumbled. What had the good doctor done?

"What do you know about it?" Shelia moved delicately all of a sudden.

"Capri O'Hara," I demanded.

"This is a National Security manner," Shelia reminded me.

"You

mean the same 'nation' that just voided my civil rights?" I spat

angrily. I stood up and my chair flew back. "Face it, when I was finally

using your rules to defend myself successful, you ladies got pissed, so

you changed the rules so what little defense I could muster was

removed. I hardly give a crap about anything you want, need, or

require."

"Welcome

to my world, Enola and Shelia," I growled. "What you want is now

dependent on my good will, and your ability to earn it."

"No,"

Shelia shook her head, stood and left. Dimples followed. I sat back and

waited. They had stolen my hope, my love, my health and my sanity at

one time or another.

I

wasn't suicidal. I didn't need to be. They were out to destroy me and I

was alright with leaving the blood on their hands and souls, not mine.

Thirty minutes later, they sent Angel in.

"Hey,

Israel," she greeted me tenderly. "They tell me you need to cooperate.

That you can help create all those changes you want to see happen. Right

now you need to help them."

"What

do you want me to do?" I replied with a tinge of hope. She pulled a

chair around until we were knee to knee and face to face.

"Let

go," she smiled. "Let this society die. Don't let us take another shred

of your spirit to prop up a creation that doesn't deserve to be saved."

I could imagine the collective groan rising up from the other side of

the glass.

"I need a favor," I quietly asked Angel.

"I'll try," she smiled compassionately.

"Tonight,

when we go to bed, could you keep the noise down?" I winked. "I'm

letting Capri move in today and I'd hate to keep her awake."

The

light in Angel's eyes glowed. God knows how many devices were examining

and recording us, life in a fish bowl, as she had described it. Here

she was, living my paranoid rantings.

"Hey, now," Angel flicked my nose. "Who said you could get a live-in woman that wasn't me?"

"Just because you are the best woman that has ever lived doesn't mean you can tell me what to do," I reminded her.

"Yes, yes, it does," she corrected me.

"You are not going to let me live free, are you?" I leaned into her.

"You are free to do whatever you want, Israel, as long as I'm free to stop you," she laughed.

"Peace, peace," I raised one hand in appeasement. "I'll take my partial victory and be quiet."

"Good boy," Angel hugged me. "Good boy."

There

was their conundrum. I didn't hate women. Evidence showed I liked quite

a few in fact. Yet, I hated the Beast, the collective soul of this

society to the point where I could shed those passionate ties in order

to see the terrible monster brought down.

They

came and took Angel away. Some indeterminate time later, I was camped

out on the desk, trying to get some sleep, when Capri, Shelia and

Dimples came walking in. I sat up and looked at them, shirt still off

and my ass still on the desk.

"They tried to expel me from the building," Capri informed me.

"How does it feel to be a cockroach?" I joked.

"Cockroach? I felt like a male cockroach. How much worse could it get?" she snickered.

"Enough levity, we need to get started, Carabolix 37. What do you know?" Shelia pressed as she took a seat.

"I need to go to the bathroom," I evaded.

"Why?

You haven't," and Shelia gave up. "Fine. Agent Treyvon," she directed

the S A C. Whoops, it just occurred to me that there probably weren't

any Men's rooms on this floor. We were in 'Women with Weapons' country,

men not allowed.

"I

have several conditions, no debate," I related as I slid off the table

and loosely put my shirt on. Shelia was about to debate the point so I

rushed my first one out. "I want everyone who was with us at lunch in

this room when I get back." See, I had a new plan. I was sure if I had

told Angel what it was, she would have quietly let me heal up so she

could beat me black and blue all over again.

"This is a National Security issue, Mr. Jensen," she started.

"Your

complaint has been noted and disregarded, Ms. Montanyard. Get it done,"

I snapped. Once upon a time, I might have been a male protagonist

making a crucial decision. In my world, I was most likely a deranged

villain ordering a depraved underling to do something so idiotic a

five-year-old would normally decline on the fact that it was so stupid.

Whatever

else was going through her mind, arguing with a mad man wasn't on

Shelia's agenda. I went to the bathroom with Dimples while Shelia did

what she needed to do. Dimples and I remained non-communicative until I

was washing my hands. When I looked up from rinsing off, Dimples was

suddenly in my space.

I

hammered the terror back into its cage with desperate strength. Dimples

reached out, placed her hand on the base of my neck and shoulder then

slowly brought it up to my jawline. It wasn't sexual as much as

exploratory. I fought back with what I had on hand. I put my hands on

her hips and languidly brought them up her sides.

When

my palms had settled beneath her underarms, I leaned in, until our eyes

were only a few centimeters apart. I closed mine, took a deep

inhalation then opened my eyes once more. I lifted her gently to the

side so that I could move past her.

"You are no Angel," I murmured to Agent Dimples and exited the room.

"I'm not trying to be," she mused.

"Good for you. Ready to be a male office intern for Capri?" I jibbed.

"Of course," she came right back. I stumbled.

"Damn it!" I declared. "You and Shelia need to stop it. Just once let me zing you and get away with it."

"No," she stated. "Besides, you won, I lost. I'm big enough to admit it has happened, once in my lifetime."

"Conceited much?" I groaned.

"Everyday." Dimples bantered. "Psychotic much?"

"Only when I see women who think they are better than me," I volleyed.

"So, all the time then," she mused.

"Pretty much," I agreed.

"Tell me something," Dimples took me by the elbow right before I returned to our room.

"Does my lawyer need to be here?" I replied.

"You decided," Dimples nodded. "Why did Bethany Fremont share you with her sorority?"

"Ha," I laughed. "I had to ask her that, too. See, Bethany thinks she wins, she always wins."

"Touché," Dimples said before opening the door for me.

As

our 'discussion' began, a few ideas began to press forward from the

fog. First off, Delilah Fremont, why probably brilliant in her field,

was hardly God-like. Shelia was holding out on me some crucial

information. I also owed my freedom to the fact that the Aurora Slasher

had OCD.

Last

point first; the Aurora Slasher (I never use her real name because I

begged, pleaded, and cried out that name for 87 days because my very

life depended on it) always cleaned up my area with those little white

plastic bags, every, single, day. The results being that whatever the fuck she used on me was in a landfill somewhere and not in a police lab.

"Let's exchange information," I began.

"That's not how this works," Shelia shook her head.

"Listen

and listen good," I glared at her. "I didn't put all these seriously

smart, well-armed women in this room because I find it remotely

satisfying to push people around."

"I

believe violence is women's work. Since I only want the proper people

killed, I've recruited smart women to do my bidding," I added. Okay,

everyone reaffirmed their view that I'd totally flipped out, except

Capri. She kept faith. "Now, I've been injected with Carabolix 37. I

know where the other nineteen vials kept at St. Jerome's are too."

"Where are they?" Shelia inquired politely.

"No,

that's not how it works. Tell me something I don't know," I struggled

to not tremble. It took me a moment to realize this wasn't fear, it was

excitement.

"We need those nineteen vials to ascertain they are some sort of cure," Shelia gave in.

"Tell

me something I don't know. The ones at Augsburg Pharmaceutical's

research facility and the project notes are gone. If they weren't, I

wouldn't be here," I stared. "What that does make me wonder then is what

I am doing here? Tell me something I don't know." There was a long,

long pause. Shelia really should have spoken sooner.

"Children!" Capri yelled. "You have children." She was busily working on something. Shelia remained impassive.

"I know I have kids. I have sixteen kids," I reminded her.

"No,

you have five 'post-Bethany' kids," Capri grinned wickedly at me. "One

girl and four boys, all alive, though the youngest is only three months

old."

"Even

if the youngest dies," Seneca gasped, "that puts his survival rate at

66%." The chance my sons had of surviving the plague.

"Israel,

you've had twenty-three kids in twenty-one years," Capri grinned. "The

next woman who says you are not doing your part, I'm going to punch her

in the ovaries."

"Oh

my God," I gasped. "I need a gun! I need a gun!" Responding reasonably,

no one handed me one. Maybe it was because I was a man. Maybe it was

because I had no training. Maybe it was because they were all mistresses

of their sanity.

"We can issue you a taser if you feel threatened," Special Agent Fraklos suggested.

"No,

no, I need a gun," I insisted. "I want to walk around with a pistol

pointed at my nuts and say 'one more step and the human race gets it!'" I

giggled then fell out of my chair, giggling.

"If

this man really holds the future of the human race in his ball sack,

I'm swallowing my gun now," Agent Sosa remarked. Women were allowed to

joke about suicide.

Shelia stood up and looked over the table until she could meet my eyes.

"Where

are the other nineteen doses, Mr. Jensen?" she requested calmly. I

waved off a reply until I could resume my seat and composure.

"Give me something first. That's the deal," I reiterated.

"When

your children were born, they, like all children, had their amniotic

fluid tested. They were all born with an unknown anti-body in them. By

age one, those anti-bodies were all gone," she related. "Those

anti-bodies were registered, but never studied. The first such anti-body

was discovered five years ago."

"What

am I missing here?" Capri questioned. "If you have the evidence from

Israel's case and the amniotic fluid, why do you need him?" Seneca saved

the day.

"If the fluid has an unknown contaminant, it is destroyed," Seneca gulped.

"And

since the Aurora Slasher was never prosecuted for the kidnap and rape

of Israel, the evidence in his case would have been scheduled for

destruction a few months ago," Angel added.

I had been rendered a rare and precious commodity by acts of bureaucracy.

"Yet, you are sure it is me," I couldn't put the last piece together.

To be continued

By FinalStand for Literotica