Israel’s Network Debut.

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

If you save a thousand, you are soon forgotten. If you save one, you are always remembered.

I picked up the phone and made the call.

"Eloise, you still want your comment?" I said bitterly.

"Of course, Israel," she responded calmly.

"A cop in China murdered six men today," I told her.

"It looks more like assisted suicide," Eloise countered.

"No,

absolutely not," my voice shook. "Had those men been able to defend

themselves, they would not have been there in the first place. They

would have never agreed to go. They wouldn't have even plotted this

tragedy out."

"They

were utterly defenseless. Society rendered them this way. That cop was

only the last in a long line of aggressors they couldn't fend off," I

was clearly shaking now. "Saying they were suicides implies they had a

choice in the matter, they didn't. Her brother had no chance of doing

something like this, none."

"She

found out what he wished for and she made the only real choice to be

made, to live or die and she chose from them to die. Those men had a

final word alright, it was 'Help!' It is the worst kind of cruelty to

blame the victims for the crime. Tomorrow the press is going to say it

was suicide because they sat there and were slaughtered like sheep."

"Well,

duh! You raised us to be sheep. How dare you blame us for acting like

sheep when it was suddenly inconvenient for you!" I was screaming.

"Their choices were to sit there or fight back but you don't want us

fighting back, so they did what you trained them to do. They sat there,

exactly like you taught them to."

"This

time it was a murderess with a knife, instead of a grabby co-worker, a

horny cop, or a gang of women looking to party. You certainly didn't

want them saying 'no' those last three times, so why are you surprised

they couldn't say 'no' to the former? It isn't a matter of scale. It is a

matter of learning to make choices and men aren't given that luxury."

"Is that all?" Eloise said after a long pause.

"Yeah, that's me venting," I sighed.

"'Chinese

Policewoman murders brother, five others'," she stated. "That is the

headline I'm showing my editor. I like the sheep metaphor. I'll use it.

Thank you, Israel."

"Well, shit," Seneca mumbled. "Tomorrow is going to be ten kinds of messed up. I had better get going."

"Yeah," Angel said as she stood to see Seneca to the door. I tagged along until we were all out in the public walkway.

"Sorry about that, Seneca," I apologized.

"Israel,

the public is already unhappy with the police's handling of this

Vanisher controversy. Now you want them to think that cops are murdering

men too," Seneca stated wearily.

"Did we watch the same video?" I grumbled. "She killed all of them, then herself."

"They wanted to die," Seneca countered. I held Angel back. Seneca was her partner.

"Seneca, were they clinically depressed men off their meds, all of them?" I pointed out.

"What about the daycare in Denver? They committed suicide," Seneca reposed.

"Exactly!" I declared. "They struck back. What did those Chinese men do? How did they strike back?"

"Enough,"

Angel separated us. "Tomorrow is probably going to be a long day for

us, so let's get some sleep." Seneca nodded, doubled-back to hug Angel,

then offered to shake my hand.

"You make her happy," Seneca explained as I did so.

"It is accidental, believe me," I grinned. Seneca snickered, shook her head then left.

"Everyone,

time to go," Angel announced as we stepped back into my condo. It was

my place, but Angel was my girlfriend so it was normal for her to make

decisions like this. For all the battles I had won during this long day,

I would let this one go. Angel was Angel, I wanted my company to go,

and I'd get revenge on her in the bedroom.

"Kuiko,

you and I are going to have a chat during lunch tomorrow," Angel

slipped in there. Oh, hell no, that wasn't going to happen. After people

left, I tapped Angel.

"Have

you thought about getting some of your things and bringing them over

here? Toothbrush and stuff like that, maybe a change of clothes," I

suggested.

"Are you sure?" Angel studied me.

"Last

time you had to run back to your place I was tuned up by your buddy's

buddy," I pointed out. Angel didn't like my explanation but she couldn't

deny its validity.

"I'll get some things and tell Roni," Angel struggled to sound upbeat.

The

second Angel was across the hall, I called Kuiko and begged her to come

back over. She arrived a minute before Angel returned with an armful of

things.

"Hey,” Angel began then caught sight of Kuiko.

"Put your things in our bedroom and then we can all talk," I directed.

Now

I was making the calls and was daring Angel to be pissy about my rights

in my own home. She returned a minute later. Kuiko was in the comfy

chair, I was on the floor with my back to the TV screen so Angel took

the sofa.

"So, what do you want to talk to Kuiko about?" I dove in.

"Something

I think two women need to discuss, just between us," Angel evaded. I

was not having that. I knew women very well. Angel would steamroll over

Kuiko out of instinct, not reason. I wasn't angry with Angel as much as

determined to put my stamp on our relationship.

"Has Kuiko insulted you?" I started.

"No, that's not,” Angel got out.

"Has she left her hallway a mess?" I persisted.

"No,” she grumbled.

"Has she failed to put away her trash properly in the bins?" I glared.

"I

get it, Israel. You are no Kinsey Millhone, so you can stop now," Angel

allowed. "I want to talk to Kuiko about you." This was not a revelation

to Kuiko or me. I had no clue who Kinsey Millhone was, but I had to

assume whoever she was, she was a better interrogator than me.

"Let's talk then," I breathed a sigh of relief.

"It

is still girl-talk," Angel insisted. I was screwed by her intransience.

I wasn't going to hold our affection hostage. That would cheapen what

we had. I couldn't give in, that would undercut what little bliss I had

accumulated. I had the worst option of all, trust.

"Angel, what can I tell you to convince you to accept Kuiko's place in my life?" I pleaded.

That wasn't what either expected. Angel mulled over her response. Kuiko eyed the door.

"Have less impressive sex!" Capri screamed from the back bedroom. That cut through some of the tension.

"Israel,

I become upset when any woman talks about having sex with you, when

they trumpet to the World how much they liked it, and want more," Angel

confessed.

"Sorry," Kuiko meeped.

"It

is not just you," Angel turned on Kuiko. "It is going to be the next

girl and the next. God, I hate sounding like some whiney, selfish cunt."

"You

are not," I comforted her. "I love you and I think you love me, but

that doesn't mean I am going to surrender myself to you."

"No attachments, no marriage on their terms. For me, your declaration is all I need," I said.

"Israel, how often are you going to have sex with other women?" Angel groaned. The emotional shoe was really on the other foot.

"Inside, or outside the coterie?" I responded. Angel mulled that over.

"Israel,

I really, really want to ask you to not have sex with anyone else but

me," Angel murmured. Kuiko nearly burst into tears. "But I'm not. I have

to trust you as much as you've trusted me. Considering how much I've

betrayed that trust, I'm glad you've been patient."

"Love, it does not make your life better," I sighed.

"It is easier for me," I added, "because I already have so many other psychoses to deal with, this is nothing new."

"Not

funny, Israel," Angel looked me over. "Argh," she growled as she stood

up. She did her best venting when she stood, I was discovering.

"I'm

trying to give you permission to sleep around, wait," she held up her

hand, "but I know it is not my permission to give. I'm struggling to

accept this, helplessness."

"Thank

you, thank you, thank you," Kuiko threw herself on her knees and hugged

Angel's waist. "I would have given him up, but I truly didn't want to."

For

a second, I was afraid Angel was going to yank Kuiko up by the hair and

whirl her around the room like some archaic weapon. Angel feigned anger

well, she wasn't as out of control as she would lead people to believe.

"Kuiko," Angel sighed, "couldn't you have simply typed 'he was good' and left it at that?"

Angel hesitantly reached down and patted Kuiko's head.

"Angel,

I apologize, but it really was the best sex I've ever had, or even read

about. I've been such a disaster until Israel. It wasn't just good sex,

it was unbelievably good sex," she bubbled. "He made it fun and he made

me feel I gave good sex as well."

"I, know," Angel reluctantly nodded. "We had sex too."

"Damn

right," Kuiko smiled up at Angel. "You got five hours. I only got one."

Then Kuiko stuck her tongue out at Angel and gave her a raspberry.

Angel drank in that defiant display.

"You stay right there," she told Kuiko. "I'm going to get my taser and light up your little ass."

"He likes my little ass!" Kuiko declared proudly.

"You are not helping your case," I muttered.

"Kuiko,

you do realize when you stood up to those two police officers to

protect Israel, you could have been tazed?" she asked her kneeling

compatriot.

"Yes.

You would have too," Kuiko stated. If only she knew. On second thought,

being closely acquainted with violence wasn't doing me any good at all.

"I'm

a police officer," Angel reminded her. "I've been tased, it is part of

our training. It is not a pleasant experience, believe me."

"I'd still do it," Kuiko pledged.

"I

know you would, Crazy K. Now that nickname makes sense," Angel smirked.

"Still, I think Israel's battle plan has as few of us getting tased as

possible."

"Are we going to fucking bed?" Capri yelled out from the back again.

"Give us a second," Angel yelled back. "Kuiko, what is this about nipple torture?" Whoops.

"Oh,"

Kuiko replied gleefully. "Since I'm naughty, Israel punishes me by

suckling on my whole breast whenever we are alone or with our group. I

think I'm supposed to learn a lesson."

"What lesson would that be?" Angel regarded me suspiciously.

"Don't know, don't care," Kuiko beamed. "All I know is his lips, mouth and tongue feel fantastic."

"Trust me, I know how good they feel," Angel sighed. "Go home, Kuiko. Just go home."

"Okay," Kuiko hopped up. "See you tomorrow, Israel." Off she went.

"What am I going to do with you?" Angel regarded me. At least she wasn't angry.

"Have

less impressive sex!" Capri chimed in. "Can we go to bed now?" Angel

looked back toward the bedrooms then padded that way quietly. I stood

and followed. We found Capri in pajama shorts, face down on my bed. She

had brought her own pillow.

There

were a host of problems. For starters, my bed was a double. It held two

people without too much difficulty. Angel and I were above average

sized people, if not overly so. Capri was small, in stature. There was

nothing wrong with the width of her hips. Capri was in the middle of the

bed so Angel and I couldn't have casual, flirtatious contact.

We'd

have to reach over her. Angel had just grappled with her 'sharing'

issues with Kuiko. Capri's position had no forewarning for either of us,

but I was shocked that I was shocked. After all, I had invited a girl

into my house. Of course she was going to end up having intercourse with

me. I had been so fatigued that I had missed this. It was a scary

revelation.

Angel took her taser off the top of the dresser.

"This one I am going to shoot," Angel announced.

"Capri, what are you doing in my bed?" I intervened.

"Oh?

Am I annoying you two?" Capri muttered from her pillow. "Forgive me.

The continents drifted so much while I was waiting, I thought this was

now my bedroom."

"God, give me one good reason not to spark her snarky ass up?" Angel half-joked.

"I, I can't do this," I muttered then slumped against the door. Capri's head immediately popped up.

"Israel, I'm sorry," Capri murmured. She sat up, got off the bed and slipped over to Angel.

If

Angel had any animosity toward Capri, it evaporated. Angel did that for

me, put aside her own emotions when I needed her the most. Capri had

seen me collapse before, but she associated that with some kind of

pressure. Like most people, she associated mental trauma with its

physical counterpart. If the person began acting healthier, he or she

was getting better, recovering.

I

didn't have a single knife wound, I had not been thrown under a

lawnmower. Figuring out what would flip me out was a nightmare my

friends were now sharing in. I had surrendered my safeguards for hope.

Even as I was starting to trust others once more, I was trusting myself

less and less. I felt those lifeless eyes staring at me, crying out for

help and it all felt like too much.

(Tuesday Morning)

"Wake

up, Israel," Capri said through my closed door. "Eloise Granger called

and she wants you to stop by the Sentinel offices at eight. I'm coming

along because I have jack-all job opportunities."

"I'm

on the floor," Angel called out from the space between the bed and

dresser. She probably been afraid that me waking up next to her in bed

would send my mind tumbling again, but hadn't wanted to totally abandon

my space.

She

let that warning sink in before she sat up. I didn't even know how any

of this had worked out. The last thing I recalled was leaning against my

door. Here I was trying to make a statement about male dignity and I

had to be put to bed like an infant.

"I'm okay, Angel," I told my lover. "Capri, let me slap some clothes on. Any idea what Granger wanted?"

"Yeah,

I went to law school so I could be a personal assistant, you jerk,"

Capri chuckled. "She wouldn't tell me so it must be something

subversive. That's another reason I want to come along."

"Cop listening," Angel grunted. "Israel, good dreams?"

"No dreams," I responded. "None I can recall anyway."

"Ah, I don't have a pet name for you," Angel realized.

"Jerk works for me," Capri intruded.

"Shut up!" Angel snapped. "Israel, take a shower."

"When

do you have to go in?" I asked Angel as I stood, worked around her and

began picking out something to wear. She whipped out her phone and

dialed her workplace.

"Regular time in, but I'm working late, there is an  M A L rally tonight at Blazer Arena," she informed me.

"That's

bizarrely fast," I worried. Angel met my gaze and nodded. I had no clue

if the Blazer Arena was scheduled for something that night, but the

Federation could easily wield the pressure to make the owner give up the

slot. Getting men to show up wasn't too difficult. They simply

downloaded the invitations to our phones, along with the metro routes to

take from home or work.

With

my clothes laid out, I trundled off to take my shower. Had I not kept

one fearful eye, and ear, on the door, I would have been happier. I

dried off, got dressed and went to the kitchen where Angel and Capri

were standing around, not talking. I checked my messages. There was my

 M A L invitation along with the date for my Civilian Affairs review, my

termination hearing.

After several agonizing minutes in silence, Capri finally spoke up.

"What's the plan?" she asked.

"For starters," Angel broke in, "always assume they are listening in."

"As Angel said and right now, we wait," I answered.

"I'm

hardly the guy who is going to bring society crashing down. Our goal

remains the same, escape. Escape implies there not being enough

resources around to run us down."

"This

is so wonderful," Capri remarked sarcastically. "Last week I could

happily consider all of this a paranoid fantasy. Yesterday I saw a Writ

of Exclusion and I have to admit, it scared the hell out of me."

A

Writ of Exclusion was the legal vehicle that voided all of a person's

civil rights. It was normally used in cases of Treason and Espionage,

but in the heyday of the Male Retribution Army, the government had used

it broadly to break that terrorist organization. In the decade following

the Great Die-out, there had been a small number of men around with

police and military training who were now denied their chosen

profession.

They

organized; the government countered with a plethora of legal means to

break those groups then some of those frustrated men went underground.

The second time around, the men used all sort of legal means to stymie

investigations and being former law enforcement, they knew so many

tricks of the trade.

I

doubted I would ever know what really happened, whether the proto-MRA

turned militant first, or if the introduction of the Writs of Exclusion

turned them that way. What few people remember is that over half of the

first sheaf of Writs were against women. They were supporting the

proto-MRA legally, morally and financially, mothers, sisters, friends

and wives.

Eventually,

the women were released because the purpose had been to remove them

from the equation until the Federation could deal with the men. A whole

new regimen of drugs were introduced and the men were 'corrected.’ A few

of the survivors lashed out violently against Federation agents and

buildings and most fell horribly, or were rounded up.

Had

the MRA ever been right, that's when it went off the rails. In Spokane

Washington, a (girl's) soccer team was coming back from a match when its

bus blew up. The footage of firewomen pulling the burnt bodies of high

school athletes out of the wreckage is what would forever be in the

forefront of women's minds when they thought of men resisting.

"Israel has had that happen to him twice," Angel sighed.

"What,

oh, the whole court-required therapy," Capri noted. During that time, I

was always treated with respect, but I could never say 'no' to any part

of my schedule. Drugs, therapy, or education, I never had a choice,

reprieve, or recourse. I had been a ward of the state.

I

cleaned my bowl, stuck it in the dishwasher, I'd run it tomorrow. After

that, I quietly gathered a few more dowels and my satchel and stopped

to stare at the door.

"I'm with you, Israel," Capri assured me from my side.

"Israel, I could," Angel started.

"Get

some sleep. Tonight is likely to suck and Seneca will need you at your

best," I said. I turned and kissed Angel good-bye, took a deep breath,

and started whistling. I kept it up all the way to the metro station. I

knew they would be waiting for me, my fellow commuters, but I did have

an unexpected surprise.

As

I went from the sidewalk to the metro station itself, two men joined

me, complete with some sort of carrying device and a handle-wrapped

dowel. I had no idea who they were. I couldn't. Had we communicated, the

cops most likely would have preempted us.

"Kenny," the shorter, stockier man introduced himself. "Luanga," he tapped the chest of his African-American companion.

"I

guess you know who I am," I said. I was still cautious. Men were hardly

a universal brotherhood. "This is Capri, my lawyer and a good friend.

How are you two doing today?"

"Kenny

and I were thinking," Luanga smiled, "that today might be a little

rough for you and that maybe a little solidarity was in order, peaceful,

of course," he added while smacking his baton in his palm.

Both

men were older than me, a bit shorter and by no means bulky; hardly

what classic hulking male bodyguards were supposed to look like. They

both worked at a ceramics factory on the far side of the district,

second shift. They had no real plan other than some vague idea that I'd

be safer with three batons instead of one. They assured me they had no

ideas about 'kicking ass.’

The cops came a few minutes later.

"What do we have here?" the first patrolwoman mocked us.

"A perfectly legal gathering," Capri stepped forward. The woman shot Capri a dirty look.

"Hand

over the batons, boys," the second patrolwoman extended her hand. It

occurred to me that my two sudden allies had never openly confronted the

police before. Like all men, you knuckled under and took what they were

dishing out.

"Why?" I asked.

"Yeah, why?" Kenny joined in.

"They are perfectly legal," Luanga pointed out.

"Menacing and Public Disturbance," she smiled.

"What a load of crap," Capri hissed under her breath.

"Hand them over," I advised my comrades as I gave my stick up. They flashed me a quick, worried look before complying.

"Now hand over your bags and work box (Kenny's)," the first cop insisted.

"On what grounds?" Capri grumbled. "This is an illegal search."

"We are asking them to do it voluntarily," the first cop smiled at Capri.

"If we don't comply?" I decided to ask.

"Then we take you to the precinct until we get the District Attorney to give us a warrant, Mr. Jensen," she snorted derisively.

"Do

either one of you understand that when law fails, anarchy reigns?"

Capri said. "Translated over to your pre-school level of intelligence,

if you break the law, why should anyone obey it?"

The

cop got ready to tune Capri up, but I saw it coming. I yanked Capri

back into me, the cop stumbled forward. The cop turned on me, punched me

right beneath the ribcage and then, the world cracked a little bit

more.

Kenny

shoved the first cop away from me. I doubt he thought that action

through. They were about the same height, he had maybe fifty pounds on

her, but she was a cop. She grabbed his arm, twisted it then bore him to

the ground.

"Back!" the second patrolwoman yelled at us.

Luanga hesitated, so I put a palm to his chest.

"Step

back, otherwise they win," I cautioned him. "Kenny, don't resist."

Kenny wasn't resisting, but got a knee to the kidney anyway. That's when

the second cop noticed Capri's phone in her hand.

"Give me that," the second officer demanded. Capri's fingers flew over the buttons.

"Here you go," Capri smiled. "Uploaded and everything. Don't worry, I got a good shot of your face and badge number."

"Bitch," the cop threw Capri's phone on the ground but it bounced instead of breaking.

We

had a break in the intimidation as the two police officers had to pick

Kenny up. The second officer propelled Kenny away, Capri scooped up her

phone and ran after them, leaving the first officer to deal with us.

"You, I know," Cop one indicated me. "You, I D and Metro Pass," she indicated Luanga.

He handed them over reluctantly.

"Northwest Metro," she commented. "This is not your scheduled line. I suggest you get to it."

"This pass is good for the whole city," Luanga protested. She laughed at him.

"Do you want me to run you in for Metro Pass fraud?" she taunted him.

"But, you know that's genuine," Luanga blurted.

"Go," I tapped his arm. "We will do this again tomorrow."

"Do

it and I'll run you in for conspiracy to create a public disturbance,"

the cop turned her smile on me. I shrugged and took a step back. Luanga

walked away.

When he looked forlornly over his shoulder, I grinned and winked. He looked momentarily surprised then winked and left.

"You think I didn't catch that little exchange?" the cop smirked.

"I don't think it matters," I sighed. "You didn't listen to my lawyer and there is going to be a price for that."

"Are you threatening me?" the cop couldn't believe her good fortune.

"Oh,

no," I put my hands behind my back to be as non-threatening as

possible. "The number of assaults on males and male rapes is going to

skyrocket because of your little display and the actions of other

patrolwomen all across the city like you."

"How do you figure that?" she laughed.

"The

police are no longer 'not protecting men', you are now actively

attacking us," I grinned," in gross violation of the law. What's to stop

those eighty-some women behind me from doing whatever they want to me

now that the law clearly no longer applies to men?"

She stopped laughing, but she didn't seem overly upset.

"Good

luck ladies," she shouted over her shoulder. "You are getting what you

deserve," she sneered at me. It was her turn to exit the stage. For me, I

had to face the next hurdle. At least the world did not revolve around

me and my struggle.

Many

of the commuters were reading their tablets, on the phone, or chatting

with acquaintances. A sizable minority was looking my way despite the

domestic distractions and as the cop receded back to the surface, they

started closing in. I almost missed a panting Capri returning to my

side.

"Sorry about that; had to," Capri noted her changing surroundings. "What's all this?"

"The

price of freedom," I whispered in return. If law enforcement ran a

tight ship, I couldn't get away. Men had next to nothing to fight with.

Our sexuality and our ability to exploit that en masse for profit had

been removed long ago. Many young men thought a cock was

the quick road to power, except women didn't share. No matter how good

you were in the sack, it didn't translate over to real power.

Powerful

husbands 'advised' their spouses, but without the wife, the women could

afford to exclude him from decision making bodies. See, you had to

perform eventually. Did men want to organize some sort of Male Sex

Union? Sure they did: refer to the proto-MRA. Women weren't stupid. When

men threatened a basic necessity, women put a stop to it.

I caught Capri reaching into her purse or uber-bag.

"What are you getting?" I hissed.

"My stun gun," she hissed back.

"Put it away. It won't do any good," I sighed softly. If Capri had one, half the crowd coming my way had one too.

"They

are going to kick the crap out of you, and me," Capri muttered. She was

thinking about the subway ride home yesterday. This was a totally

different situation.

"No, they are not. They want something totally different," I tried to explain as we were 'absorbed' into their group.

It

was completely obvious. One of my old tormentors (as in a week old)

came up and put her hand on my crotch and kept it there. I lashed out,

at Capri to keep her from attacking the woman.

"You really curled that Kuiko-girl's toes last night," she purred.

"Ambrosia

(in a crisis situation, it paid to know your aggressor's name, most of

the time), Kuiko made me feel really great last night. I'm glad she had a

good time as well."

"Are you ever going to see her again?" this was Fatima.

"Absolutely.

I'm in her coterie now," I smiled cautiously. It was Kuiko's coterie

because there was no way they would believe it was mine.

"How did that happen?" a girl whose name I think was Amelia said with some despair.

Ambrosia scanned my bracelet.

"You don't read as attached," she announced.

"Vanishers don't take men who are attached," I informed them.

"You

really do want to be vanished?" Fatima gasped. Here was why I wasn't

going to be dragged off and raped: blame someone else for your

aggressors' misfortunes; preferably people you hate.

"When

the alternative is to be dragged off by some patrolwoman with a false

warrant, put in a dark room and then murdered with a few other guys,

yeah, I want to live, so I need to escape. You just saw how the cops

aren't going to protect me," I explained. That's right ladies, you

aren't getting cock because the cops are assholes. That's what public

relations are all about.

We

flowed into the metro-train when it arrived. I was vigorously felt up

the entire time, we were past groping. I was afraid Capri was going to

lose it, but she kept it together despite the dry-humping going on. We

exited at our stop. I was tucking my shirt back into my pants when Capri

tapped my elbow.

"I've changed my mind," she announced.

"About what?" I said rather absently.

"I want to have children with you," she mused as if it was nothing big. I coughed.

"Ugh, why?" I sighed.

"Our kids will be fucking brilliant. Mostly because of me, of course, but you are no shirker in the brain's department either," she enlightened me.

"How did you come by this prognostication?" I queried.

"Dowels,"

she began. "Dowels lead to police crackdown which leads to police

beating the crap out of some poor soul which makes the internet which

creates a female versus cop crisis."

"Congratulations,

you have given me a front seat to a civil war," she muttered ruefully.

"The whole China thing was a Gift from God, not demeaning their loss,

Israel, but it was."

"Capri,

what are you going to do if things do get really bad? I mean, with your

mother and your sisters? They are your family. I don't have one

anymore, except my children," I glanced her way.

"You knew about most of your children before you started down this path. What do you plan to do?" Capri reposed.

"I'd

like to tell you that once I am free I'd figure a way to get them too,

but I think I've pretty much written them off," I confessed.

"Ah," Capri murmured. "You simply aren't crazy enough yet. You'll figure a way, wait and see."

"Your faith in my disintegrating sanity is not really as comforting as it might have sounded in your head," I pointed out.

"Israel,

have you really come to grips with the possibility that the children

you have right now and will have over the next two decades may be the

only genetic strain of humans left on Earth in two centuries?" Capri

blithely bantered as we walked down the crowded sidewalk.

"Actually, I try not to," I replied. "What about your family?"

"I'll

try to save them. I hate them and they've made over twenty years of my

life psychologically hellish, but isn't that what family is for, to make

you realize that you have it better anywhere else?" Capri answered. The

offices of the Sentinel rose before us. Security consisted of an I D

scanner, no personnel.

Like

most news sources, the Sentinel was primarily on-line, but it still

published over a 100,000 daily paper copies for dedicated readers. The

presses were in the basement. The first five stories of the building

were the newspaper's offices. After that, it was rented office space

just like every other building in this district.

The

third floor was devoted to City Affairs and that's where the directory

informed us Eloise Granger had her office. I received several looks,

differing in length, but uniform in their displeasure of me. Only Eloise

appeared happy to see my smiling face, I was even twenty minutes early.

I

spotted Eloise outside of her glass-walled office. She was hovering

over five other female reporters. I did spot one other male on this

floor. He looked up from his works, realized who I was then snapped his

head down. My toxicity was contagious by proximity alone.

"Hello,

Israel," Eloise greeted me warmly. "Ladies, you know Israel Jensen.

This is his lawyer and companion, Ms. Capri O'Hara, soon to be a former

member of the Public Defender's Office."

The five mumbled some kind of greeting, but clearly didn't like me. It took a second for that attitude to be clarified.

"Eloise,

we are up to 290 detentions in the greater metro area," one of the five

sitting women announced. She was speaking to her boss, but looking at

me.

"Any hospitalizations?" I inquired. That's when they jumped me.

"A man was tased to death in New York," one glared at me.

"Two

men on a subway in Montreal bludgeoned eighteen women so badly they had

to go to the hospital," a third added her distaste of my presence.

"Fourteen

men stormed a metro in Mexico City and drove the women from the car.

The police had to use tasers and stun batons to get them out," the

fourth added.

"A

man in Salt Lake City was taken down for using a fire extinguisher on a

public bus," the last completed the misery. "The West Coast incidents

are still coming in."

"Why are you all looking at me?" I asked. I pretty much knew the answer but I was feeling pugnacious, real feisty.

"After

that little 'Call to Arms' you made yesterday, every death, broken

bone, and criminal proceeding in this mess is your fault."

I

was glad she had volunteered. I would have hated this to appear random.

I snatched her tablet off her desk, half-turned and hurled it like a

discus across the entire office space, maybe 20 meters, and watched it

shatter against the wall. I faced forward right on time to see her hand

coming for my face. My left arm lashed out and grabbed her wrist, huh?

There

was a hush, and not just in Eloise's little group. I felt it, the

guilt, the shame, the hopeless rage, the levee was spilling over, the

sand was turning to mush and I was fresh out of fingers to plug the

holes. Help, the final word. I blinked and realized I had cocked my fist back and was about to pound the face of the woman who had tried to slap me.

She

looked terrified. I had nearly a foot and eighty pounds on her.

Whatever light aerobics she begged off from half the time was nothing

compared to the weight lifting and 5 kilometer run I had to do five days

a week. I was clearly the youngest person present. The closest a taser

or pepper spray could be brought to bear was fifteen seconds.

She

was about to receive five years of pent up fury directly to the face

and she knew it. I couldn't let them win with hope finally rekindled.

"What makes you think you can slap me?" I asked quietly as I lowered my fist.

"You, you threw my tablet. You broke it," she struggled to resume he poise.

"Do you blame me for breaking your tablet?" I let her arm go.

"Yes, you threw it, damn you," she grumbled.

"Do you blame me for the incidents this morning?" I persisted.

"Yes, your speech," she was starting to get suspicious.

"Why didn't I punch you a few seconds ago, when you so richly deserved it?" I stared intently.

"Ah, I, you would have gone to jail, which you also so richly deserve," she countered.

"Got

it in one!" I shouted. "Now, if I'm smart enough to know that if I hit

you, I go to jail, why do you think thousands of men across the country

have magically become criminals?"

I noticed both Eloise and Capri sitting back, both slightly smug, watching this play out.

"Your

opinion seems to be that I opened my mouth and nation-wide, men's IQ's

dropped thirty points. Trust me, that didn't happen. Let me give you an

example to help prove my point. You see me throwing the tablet, men

being the tablet and the wall being the police. You are wrong."

"You,

female society, threw the tablet forty years ago. Men are, in fact, the

tablet. I'm the wall. Had the tablet missed me, it would have hit

someone else along the flight path, but it would have hit something and

it would have shattered. That was decided forty years ago. Somewhere

around the Fashion desk was your last chance to stop it, they missed."

"I'm a freaking twenty-one year old Bowden graduate with a bachelor's degree in Public Relations," I explained.

"You were top of your class," another woman interrupted. I turned on her, eyes wide.

"You are the first women, not in the Bowden faculty, that has acknowledged that," I gasped.

"It is something I am inordinately proud of and no women has given a fuck about

it," I blathered. "I was the first male valedictorian since before the

Plague, sixty years. Thank you. Now anyway, you can decide, despite all

reason, that I'm a magician and caused all of this to happen, to make

people I don't know, didn't know existed, and who I've never seen go

collectively nuts,”

"Or

you can wonder what was so wrong with this machine of yours, this

society, that they got off work yesterday and decided to stand up for

themselves for the first time in their lives. I doubt those guys in

Mexico City were trying to hurt women. Trust me, if they had been in a

solid group as they appear to have been in, throwing women in front of

the metro would have been a much more affective statement."

"That would have been murder," the girl covering the city's crime statistics pointed out.

"Exactly!

They didn't want to murder anyone. They had this massive weapon to use,

but what did they do? They crowded into one section of one car on the

metro and they waited patiently for the cops to come and blast them out.

Why the fuck would they do that?"

There was silence. There were a dozen answers they could use but those were starting to ring hollow in their hearts.

"Women,

the final word wasn't 'death', it was 'help'," I looked them over. "Men

cannot win this struggle for dignity without you. There is no other

victory to be had. The Human Race is gone."

"All you can do is make the final word something like 'love' instead," I tried to get my point across.

"Yesterday you said there was a cure, this Carabolix 37," the one without a tablet said, "or was that a lie?"

"There

is a cure, but it won't help you or your friends. It won't save most of

mankind. It is a cure for only a few and that is all I will say at this

time," I reiterated sadly.

"Enough,"

Eloise separated us. "Carabolix is owned by Augsburg Pharmaceuticals

yet they aren't returning our calls. Same for the Food and Drug

Administration."

"Israel,

Ms. O'Hara, this way," Eloise led us into her office and shut the door.

"Mirabel Cartwright would like you to be on a G N N talk show this

morning at ten."

"Why didn't she call Israel, if that was the case?" Capri intervened.

"I think we can assume that Mr. Jensen isn't the most popular man at GNN corporate headquarters," Eloise winked.

"If

I happen to bring Israel over to chat with Maribel right before the

show and she has this 'brainstorm' to include him, then they can't stop

her," Eloise explained.

"Oh," Capri grimaced. "Newscast by ambush and here I thought Israel would get paid, or something silly like that."

"Guest commentators are paid $7,800," Eloise smirked.

"We are in," Capri extended her hand to Eloise.

"Whoa, now," I waved off. "What am I expected to do? I had a woman reach into my pants and stroke my cock. Not my hard-on, my cock, under my underwear. It has not been a good morning and I nearly clocked a reporter less than a minute ago."

Oh yeah, it had just occurred to Eloise that I might turn into a blithering idiot, or a zombie. Capri had a different approach.

"If

you sit still, the Beast eats you. If you run, it still eats you, but

you live longer," Capri teased me. "Let's go create some consequences we

can live with."

"Israel,

I've seen you space out, collapse, babble incoherently and laugh

uncontrollably," she propped me up, "but you always rebound. Stay on

target. It is not like you have a plethora of options anyway."

"Damn,

Ms. O'Hara, remind me to never let you coach a sports team. That was

the worst inspirational speech I've ever heard," Eloise shook her head.

"If

I was sane," I shrugged, "I'd agree with you. In the end, the world

will come crashing in. When, not if. I might as well keep running and

make that Beast know it was in a footrace before I'm done."

"While

we are still all onboard, let's get some more news updates before

sneaking over to the competition," Eloise made for the door.

"Israel,

Mirabel is going to be talking about the Plague and any possible cure.

Do you have anything that might back up your claim from yesterday?" she

asked. I had to think about that. With this level of indignation from

women over the audacity of menfolk, I had to push back.

"Sure, get your best virologist in the city," I gritted my teeth.

"Get

a blood sample from me and from Kuiko Sano, I'll call her, and get the

quickest results possible," I gathered my psychic battle armor around

me. "That should give you the secret of Carabolix-37."

"What are they going to find out?" Eloise whispered.

"Carabolix-37

is a genetically modified version of the Gender Plague that destroys

the rival virus," Capri said. "Unfortunately, it killed ten test

subjects, eight had their nuts removed to save their lives and one

survived. You are looking at the sole survivor."

"The only two people who know why I am alive are both insane," I added. Eloise rolled her eyes.

The

City Beat reporters weren't converts by any means but they had stopped

trying to verbally beat me up. The West Coast was chaos. The cops were

learning, but the men were too. In San Francisco, four guys hid their

batons up their pants legs then drew them out once on their metro

system. Not to be outdone, the women pulled out their stun guns, Tasers

and pepper spray, not truly understanding what that would do in a

confined space.

In

Vancouver, one man used Crazy-Glue to attach both his hands to the wall

of the monorail. The cops had pried him off but his screams went viral.

To add insult to injury, as they dragged him away you could finally

make out what he was screaming the entire time, 'the un-bonder is in my

pocket.’

In

Hawaii, the Governor took the extraordinary step to ban men from public

transportation from 4am until noon. In Guadalajara, the men had figured

a way around the police crackdown. They took ornamental cacti to work.

Apparently the local variety had really big spines. It was an explosion

of male frustration and creativity.

It

was also a painful reminder of how low we stood in the opinions of our

counterparts. Not only did the police beat on us, hundreds of men had to

be rescued from mobs of pissed off women. It wasn't all bad. In New

Orleans, two off-duty firewomen took a beating rescuing a man from a

trolley.

Early

accounts suggested he used a baton on a woman. She counteracted with

her stun gun, but forgot to cut it on. He wrested it from her grasp, cut

it on and showed her how it worked. It seems he was employed in the

factory where hers was made. Fellow commuters proceeded to knock him

down and kick him until the firewomen pulled him free. Then he was taken

to jail. The poor, stupid bastard had attacked a woman after all.

Eloise

gathered us up and ushered us out the doors about fifteen minutes

before ten. GNN's regional HQ were only three blocks away and due to the

hour, the walkways were pretty empty. Unlike the Sentinel Building,

which only required a computer to scan your I D, there was physical

security at the GNN building.

Eloise

was known to them, as was I. They nodded to her. They were getting

ready for my strip search when Eloise jumped in and not in a way I would

have suspected.

"Scan

him," she chortled. "Read his last review and then decide if you want

to piss his girl posse off." They read Kuiko's work of historical

fiction which somehow included me.

"Oh, this is crap," one of the two guards commented. "No man does this."

"How many orgasms did you give her?" the other one asked. "One? Did she even have one?"

I

had to believe Eloise had set me on this path for a reason, so I gulped

down my embarrassment and answered to the best of my recollection.

"Four, but the first one didn't count," I sighed unhappily.

"Four?"

"One didn't count?"

"Well,

there were two on the sofa and two more in the bedroom, but the first

one on the sofa doesn't really count because she was so worked up by the

expectation of my arrival," I confessed.

"All I did was sample her, ah, juices and she hit orgasm," I finished. The guards blinked.

"See,

his mother died shortly after his birth, so he was raised by his aunt

at a Sapphic nunnery," Capri recited my tale of imaginary woe. "There

they taught him the arts of how a woman pleases another woman.

Eventually he become so skilled they renamed him Israel which means 'the

Promised Land.’"

The guards' eyes shifted from Capri, to Eloise, to my crotch then back to Eloise.

"We

need to be going, meeting and all," Eloise took me by the arm and edged

around the security. They didn't stop us. Capri hurriedly caught up.

"Sapphic nunnery, Promised Land, where does this stuff come from?" I muttered.

"Israel,

absent male company, women read tons of porn," Eloise enlightened me.

That had actually never occurred to me. Oh, I knew that most pornography

was female oriented, but that it had a major impact on how women wanted

men to be? Wow. How totally unrealistic.

"I keep telling you, 'have less impressive sex'," Capri chortled.

"How about I do something I love to do and you women lie about it?" I suggested.

"Lie

about one of the most important truths of the century? Why Israel, that

would make us politicians," Eloise huffed. Heaven forbid that.

"Eloise,

what do you have against Isobel Diaz?" I requested. I hardly expected

the truth but maybe a lie with enough of the truth to give me a clue as

to why she was on my side.

"She

murdered my brother," Eloise's look lost all is mirth. "She murdered

him and Maria Keverich covered it up and made Isobel her bitch until the

evidence went missing. Isobel helped put Maria away so I thought the

evidence was destroyed, but then Magdalena popped up at Isobel's party

with you and that makes me think it wasn't destroyed."

"Magdalena

must have stolen it from her mother. Isobel put Maria away and

Magdalena came out on top of the Keverich crime family. Now Maria is

coming home and those two have to be worried."

"And

you want Israel to step into the middle of that," Capri growled. "Have

you lost your damn mind? They will chew him up and spit him out. You

know what shape 'Little M' left him in last time."

"Quid

Pro Quo," Eloise stuck to her guns. "I make sure Israel remains in the

spotlight so he doesn't end up on a man-farm in Manitoba or New Mexico.

He operates as a conduit between me and Magdalena. I don't want to bring

Magdalena down, just Isobel and Maria. I think as the crunch sets in,

she might make a deal."

"And she very well might ventilate Israel!" Capri hissed as the elevator doors began to open.

"I'm having lunch with her anyway," I shrugged. "What can it hurt to ask?"

"Says the man whose body is a map of the Painted Desert," Capri mumbled.

"Try to be subtle," Eloise advised.

"Sure. I'll wait until we are making out in a bathroom stall before popping the question," I groaned.

"I was thinking more of befriending her and poking around her place," Eloise scoffed.

"Ugh," Capri groaned. "Israel, respond to the next text message with 'Now!'"

Eloise

wanted to question that declaration, but was cut off by us stepping

onto the eighth floor and the noise of the GNN production floor

bombarding us. Our guide steered us to what had to be the 'gatekeeper'

of the studio we wanted to get to.

"Ms. Granger, and guests, come this way," the man said.

I

had to wonder what he thought of all this mess. As he led us toward our

destiny, I saw the dowel sticking out of his back pocket. The rest was a

whirlwind of people and equipment, voices and movements all around me,

too much for me to adequately identify as peripheral disturbances or

actual threats.

We passed through another series of doors. The world died down to a few hushed voices and Maribel Cartwright.

"Oh,

my," Maribel seemed surprise. "Eloise, is that Israel Jensen with you? I

wish you had warned me." If I didn't have confidence in Eloise, I would

have believed Maribel's act.

Maribel

walked the few steps from her spotlighted area to where her assistant

had deposited us. She shook Eloise's hand, then mine and finally stopped

in front of Capri. How could I handle this? I was a nut, but that

wasn't important. What was important was they thought I was a nut.

"This is Capri O'Hara, my some-times lawyer and full-time boon companion," I introduced my russet-haired defender.

Maribel shook Capri's hand then turned back to me.

"Boon companion? What exactly does that entail?"

"It

is a small group of us who have pledged to fight and, if necessary, die

at Israel's side so that Wickedness does not prevail and the Light of

Sentiency is not extinguished by the oncoming darkness," Capri

explained. She would have kicked ass as a trial lawyer.

"You sound as crazy as he does," Maribel noted.

"Cool, isn't it?" Capri grinned.

"Cool

wasn't the word I was searching for," Maribel looked somewhat amused by

Capri. "Anyway, I'm about to host a special on the growing dilemma

concerning the lack of male productivity."

"Mr.

Jensen, would you like to contribute, if not as an expert then as

someone with some insight to the current quandary?" Maribel politely

invited me in.

"You may want to contact this person," I handed Maribel a name, profession and number. She looked it over, nodded and said,

"I'll put someone right on it," she grinned.

"Thank

you," I took a deep breath. I had to keep it together. I had to, then I

spotted her. She was kind of a beanpole, with narrow hips and small

breasts. That didn't matter because what she had on was this red t-shirt

with the backside of some prancing girl swinging a wicker basket.

There

were two sets of eyes looking out of the blackness of that basket and

the caption read: 'Where are we going and why are we in a hand basket?' I

turned to Maribel and smiled.

"Let's

do this," I declared heartily. The sound technicians had me wired up in

seconds while some frantic make-up artists attacked me on stage.

A speech writer tugged my arm.

"Mr.

Jensen, you cannot use the words crisis, catastrophe, or disaster in

this discussion," she grinned in a rather distracted fashion.

"What are you going to do? Spank me for each violation?" I blathered while outwardly looking sane.

Oh, God, I was making jokes about violent sex. Speaking of violence,

"Capri,

get us an exit strategy. When this goes down, we aren't going to want

to wait around for the handcuffs to come out," I called to my friend.

The script-girl blanched then blushed.

"I have a riding crop," she whispered to me. More than I wanted to know!

That

group was exiting when the first of the big screens came to life and we

could see the other members of this little debate coming on-line. The

screens were all active when the first 'expert' suddenly noticed me

standing there.

"What's he doing here?" the woman addressed Maribel.

"He

showed up accidently and I decided it was newsworthy to invite Mr.

Jensen in for a discussion," Maribel supplied the plausible lie. The

three went after Maribel in a heated, bitter exchange. My fate being

discussed while I was being completely ignored, old hat. It wasn't until

one of the ladies became indignant and announced,

"I'm not doing this. I have my credibility to think about," she said. My turn.

"Credibility?

What credibility?" I challenged her. "Lady, I don't know who you are

and I'm pretty sure eight million men are right there with me."

"Mr. Jensen, I am the Health Policy Advisor for the Province of Ontario," she filled me in.

"I have a Public Relations degree from Bowden," I kept paddling. "What is your background?"

"I have a doctorate in Sociology from Charleston University," she sighed with exaggerated patience.

"Nice rack," I grinned. "I bet they are not silicon, either."

"What does that have to do with anything?" the second expert snapped.

"It

means you are women; most likely successful women," I kept going. "That

means you may have husbands and you definitely have children. Since you

are all raving prima donnas, I'm willing to bet you don't have sons."

"What?" all the experts, Maribel and half of the GNN staff said, or whispered.

"How do you come up with that delusional thinking?" Ms. Ontario glared.

"First

off, none of you are crowing about me being wrong," I explained.

"Secondly, if you had sons, you would be interested in a cure, but you

are not."

"Take

your dollhouses, Ladies, and go home because none of you can afford to

be seen with the likes of me. Your so called 'credibility' is the most

crucial factor here after all."

"Three,

two, one," the set director got the show rolling. Maribel did her

introductory spiel, the discussion began and I stood there like a good

little boy, keeping my mouth shut because no one would direct anything

my way. The first commercial break came at last.

"Your person will be ready in twelve minutes," Maribel whispered. "What is this about?"

"Not a clue," I whispered back. I was now familiar with the look Maribel shot my way.

"That was a dirty trick," Ontario interrupted.

"Don't

look at me," Maribel pointed a thumb my way. "It took me a few seconds

to figure out what he was up to." I had kept them on-screen. Leaving

once the show started would have made them look petulant.

"Is

there any truth to this rumor you have been spreading about a cure?"

the physician with the Department of Corrections for Southern District

asked. She was from Guatemala City. The Southern states were what used

to be Latin America; everything south of the old Mexican frontier though

Panama beyond the Canal was something of a crap shoot.

"End of commercial in three,”

"Yes," I answered.

"Two, one."

"Welcome

back," Maribel began. "Mr. Jensen, what are your views on the current

dilemma facing the Administration and male feelings of alienation?"

"Thank

you, Maribel. I would like to say that this is an epically,

catastrophic crisis of disastrous dimensions," I smiled. "Damn it. Now

that cute script-girl is going to have to spank me with her riding crop.

See, the network doesn't want us to use the words catastrophic, crisis,

or disastrous for reasons I can't begin to fathom. Whoops, that looks

like six blows."

"Epic

is a freebie. Anyway, instead of seeking the truth, people are covering

their asses and blaming the best target of opportunity, men. We are

easy targets. What are we going to do? Get 12 inch wooden sticks and try

to get to work with our dignity intact, oh, good move with the gift

cacti, guys. Classic case of misdirection."

"Well,

we did take our sticks to work today and we were slaughtered. We were

beaten down in droves. It was a freaking massacre. We never stood a

chance. It is also unlikely that the women watching this can appreciate

the courage those men on the West Coast had to have, defying the brutal

hatred of womankind, witnessing the cosmic whoop-ass their brothers in

the East and Central areas were receiving, yet still they tried to take

their sticks to work."

"I

understand the concerns of women. After all, men walking around with

foot long dowels totally compensates for you having all the warships,

tanks, planes, helicopters, artillery, guns, water cannons, Tasers, stun

guns, pepper spray and, oh yeah, being outnumbered 25 to 2." I paused.

"I'm sorry. I lied. I do not understand," I looked at the screens.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I was sure the fuck got

bleeped out. They were on to me now. "You murdered us over sticks. Two

guys I have never had any contact with whatsoever came to my metro

today, with sticks. The cops showed up, disarmed us and in the process

of doing an illegal search, tried to punch a female friend."

"I

know what cops are like, so I saw the blow coming and pulled her out of

the way. The cop then punched me. This man, Kenny, shoved the cop away

from me, to stop her from beating me up. She threw him to the ground. He

didn't resist but she put a knee to his kidney anyway. He went to

lock-up. The cop then told my other newfound friend that she would trump

up charges on him if he didn't leave immediately."

"If

he meets me tomorrow, we have both been threatened with conspiracy to

commit a public disturbance, if that is even a crime. I plan to go to

the metro tomorrow, if I'm still free and at large, and I think I'll

bring, two sticks. The Metropolitan police had better bring the water

cannon because then I'll be twice as dangerous."

"Luanga,

if you stay away tomorrow I will not be upset; I'll applaud your common

sense. For the rest of my brothers; if you go out tomorrow, it will be

worse. You will suffer pain, humiliation, shame and most likely the loss

of free will. Sadly, this is the same outcome for us if we do nothing."

"Did

you just tell the men of our nation to rebel?" Ontario grumbled. "That

is certainly what it sounded like to me, you traitor."

"What!"

I gasped. "Haven't you been listening? What are we going to fight you

with? We have nothing. There were six incidents of male-on-female

violence that I saw reported on before coming in today, no deaths."

"Three

men were beaten or Tasered to death. Do the math. Your society isn't

going to need the Vanishers or the Gender Plague getting worse to lose

it all. One year of this and women will do the job quite nicely

themselves. All the men will be dead, or so stoned they are past

caring."

"The Gender Inequality Act needs to be enforced in order to survive," Guatemala insisted.

"Oh

My God," I raised up my hands in frustration. "You have been beating

men up with that thing for the past forty years. It was meant to stave

off extinction. Forty years later, we are closer to extinction than

ever."

"There is no conclusive proof of that," injected the third commentator, a Social Scientist from Memphis.

"That's

easy enough," I countered. "Women, go out into your neighborhoods and

knock on the doors of all your male neighbors. Having done that, call up

your local Housing Authority and ask them how many men they think live

in your neighborhood. Compare notes with all your friends. Let's see who

is right." Chaos and confusion.

Maribel got a flash from the production manager. She made the normal 'we'll be right back' bit and we cut to commercial again.

"I'm calling the Federal District Attorney and having your ass arrested," Ontario snapped.

"What for?" I shot back.

"You

are inciting males to large-scale acts of civil disobedience and

criminal activity," she growled. I was about to say something in my

defense then sighed.

"I'd keep arguing, but you are clearly too stupid to learn," I shrugged.

"You'll learn, you pipsqueak," she glared.

"I

don't care," I looked toward Capri, my friend. "You have already killed

me. If you want to steal what little time I have left, so be it. I

won't be quiet though. I'm not afraid of any of you anymore. I have

taken back my dignity and I'll make my escape if you aren't careful."

"That is another reason you need to seek treatment," Guatemala said.

"It

is telling that you cannot let me go," I regarded them. "I am one man

and all I want to be is free, yet you would rather see me dead. It is

the real face of this society laid bare. This is no longer striving for

some higher purpose, this is fear. I believe it is the fear that you

have doomed us all with your arrogance."

"You

have squandered the last years of the Human Race with cruelty,

oppression and a blind acceptance that this world, no matter how screwed

up, was not your problem. You would pass the responsibility to someone

else, another generation, anyone but you," I looked around the room,

"and you and you."

Then I realized all that had gone out live.

Maribel had tricked me.

"Mr. Jensen, are men totally blameless in this situation?" she asked me.

"Absolutely

not," I stated. I was pretty sure most of the room expected me to

evade. "We shouldn't have surrendered forty years ago."

"We

shouldn't have left our partners to shoulder the burden alone,

abdicating our futures. We surrendered to the tyranny of numbers. We

lied to ourselves because to be truthful would have meant we had no one

else to blame but us. We should have insisted responsibility equal to

our culpability."

"Yes,

that would have meant men, the vast minority, had disproportional power

compared to women. That isn't a matter of greed, or arrogance. It is a

matter of reality. Men are half the equation to the future of the Human

Race, and we left that entire burden in your hands because it was

momentarily convenient for us."

"In

a way, we are still those men from forty years ago. We are numb to the

fate of our culture. Forty years ago, we let the plague do it to us. Can

you imagine being the last boy in a school's tenth grade class knowing

every other boy he had known since kindergarten had died? We were

traumatized because death was stalking us."

"Now

we are numb because that's all you will give us. We don't have the

power to alter our surroundings so we smile and take out whatever you

dish out. We have learned to settle for less of everything because to

reach beyond those choices, well, this morning exhibited your reaction

to that. What happens next for female-male relations is totally in the

hands of women."

"It

is darkly romantic in its own way," I said softly. "In the end, men

have the only thing that should be of value to womankind. We will have

the ability to forgive. You may pass us in years, but all you will have

are ashes, dust and oblivion as companions. In two hundred years, all

your genetic lines will have passed into the realm of evolutionary

failures."

"We don't need you, or your forgiveness," Ms. Ontario sneered.

"We

will see about that," Maribel preempted me. "Dr. Vasco is a well-known

virologist at St. Eligius Research Hospital nearby. Dr. Vasco, welcome."

"Ah, welcome," Dr. Vasco stumbled. She wasn't made for TV.

"I

understand you did a quick research project for some colleagues of mine

this morning. What are your results?" Maribel prodded.

"Oh! Fascinating, completely unexpected and, well, fascinating," she blathered.

"What have you found out?" Maribel prodded once more.

"Oh,

yes," Vasco seemed bewildered. "We had two blood samples. Patient Zero,

a healthy young male, and Patient One, a healthy young female."

"Yes?"

"Oh,

yes," Vasco's face came alive. "Patient Zero's blood has no signs of

the T1-Gender Plague. None whatsoever. I've never seen that before."

That

was right. No one had seen it in almost fifty years. It wasn't what I

was expecting. It clearly wasn't what anyone else was expecting either.

"That's not possible," Guatemala gulped.

"That's what I thought, too!" Vasco bubbled. "We did a variety of tests and no T1 anywhere."

Hush.

"There

was another virus similar to the T1 though," she continued. Everyone

breathed. "But it's not the T1. In fact, its sole purpose seems to be to

kill the T1."

"How, how did that happen? That can't happen," Ontario muttered.

"We

all thought so too, so we've been sicking those little bastards on

every kind of infected tissue we have on hand and, Oh, God, they go

right after the T1, kills them deader than hell!" Vasco giggled. I

couldn't blame her unprofessionalism, this was the Virology Holy Grail

fifty years in the making.

Hush.

"You mean you have a cure?" Maribel whispered.

"Yes,

but there is a downside," she shrugged. "Once they find infected tissue

or free floating T ones, they don't last very long."

"Also, Patient One, the woman, had far fewer in parts per billion of this new, unidentified virus," Vasco added.

"Who are these people?" Memphis asked. She seemed a little slow on the uptake.

"Oh, God," Ontario stared at me fearfully. "It's him."

"Yep,"

I confessed, "and Patient One is someone I had sex with. I let you

figure it out because I think this is my cue to leave."

"You can't just go," Guatemala gasped.

"Israel, what are you going to do now?" Maribel seemed truly curious.

"Yes,

I can go and I am. I haven't broken the law and nothing requires me to

do anything about this," I grinned. "For the rest of your audience, I am

not giving you the cure. Before you think about simply stealing this

from me, let me give you this warning. If I am grabbed by anybody, I

request the Vanishers come get me. I'll be ready to go."

"In case you ladies missed it, the Vanisher’s accomplishments are around 2500 and 0 failures, in making men disappear, fuck with

me and you'll never know if I decided to change my mind," I proclaimed.

"If you want to know why I'm so irate today, you let law enforcement

nationwide beat my brethren bloody, and be degraded."

"Two of my L O L E disarmed me then threw me on a metro where several women reached inside my pants and played with my cock.

Inside of ten years, 99 out of 100 of your sons are going to die in

screaming agony as you watch helplessly. Make sure you hug a cop and

thank them for that privilege."

"Good-bye,

but before I go, the final word for today is 'Hope'," I bowed slightly,

dropped my back-up lapel microphone and quick-stepped it to Capri.

"They

really should let you have a gun," Capri snickered softly. "You would

do less damage that way." We turned, Capri started guiding me out by a

different path, but I stopped her for a second.

"Do you have that riding crop handy?" I asked the script-girl.

"I have it at home," she blurted out then flushed with embarrassment.

"Maybe

next time," I grinned. Capri dragged me away hurriedly. In a dark

recess of the studio, Maribel's male assistant motioned us through a

blacked-out door.

"Second

door on the left, then to the door marked stairs, and I suggest going

to the basement parking lot," he said dispassionately. I mouthed a

'thank you' as we sped by. Three flights down, there was someone waiting

for us, a women in technician overalls and a baseball cap. At the last

second, she looked up from her work.

"Damn it, Bitch," Capri squeaked. "Are you a clone or a stalker?" It was Zara.

"Hello,

Israel," Zara smiled. "We need to get going." Oh crap. Capri was right.

She really did like me. The three of us went lickety-split down the

stairs, Zara in the lead.

"Zara, do you like me?" I broke down and asked. She held up her hand.

She

swiped a card, accessing the second floor. We slipped inside. Zara

motioned for silence. We heard another door open and footsteps racing up

to us, then past us, heading up. Three seconds later, Zara led us back

into the hallway and down.

"Yes," Zara answered.

"Did you pick me?" She had said I was 'chosen,' but I wasn't sure.

"It doesn't work that way," she kept her senses on edge while talking.

"How

does it work?" Capri murmured. Zara stopped us again for a few seconds

before opening the basement door and motioning for us to follow. She

stashed us behind a car then began stripping out of her coveralls and

cap, revealing non-descript street clothes.

As she finished, Zara shot me that warm glow.

"Command makes the selections, but the men choose us," Zara smiled my way.

"Uh,

how does that work?" Capri looked rapidly back and forth between Zara

and me. My mind was a whirl of passions, both good and bad, and data.

"It is called courtship," Zara informed us. Capri's eyes bugged.

"Wait,

you want this madman?" Capri wondered. Zara had shoved her clothes

under the car, squirted something on them and was now leading us

somewhere that wasn't the street exit.

"He has intense, honest eyes," she replied. "He's courageous."

"When we first met, I was terrified," I muttered.

"Yet

you persevered," Zara responded. "Blind, stupid courage is dangerous,

but conquering your fears when you are needed is something far better."

She led us to an emergency exit, hesitated a moment before popping it

and motioning us quickly through to an alley.

There

was no alarm blaring, so something must have happened. A moment later,

we exited the alley, onto the main sidewalk and were briskly walking

away.

"Thank you, Zara," I regarded our new, companion didn't seem quite right.

"It was good to see you in person, Israel," she smiled yet again.

"So, Zara, do you spy on Israel in the shower too?" Capri inquired.

"Of

course," Zara admitted. I turned and abruptly walked into the wall of

the closest building. I hadn't intended to. Some irresistible impulse

had taken over. Having an unknown number of women seeing me naked was

soul grinding.

To be continued

By FinalStand for Literotica