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You can find a primer on After the Fall's larger universe here
\r\n\t\t\t
\r\n\t\t\t\tAtF: "Prologue" [Short] by beforethefall\r\n\t\t\t
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, though this story series will also serve as an additional primer for the VAS Biotechnological Laboratory Group of companies before we launch into some larger scale stuff.

Shout out to the awesome \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
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\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tPalmedo\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
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for letting me use him in a cameo as a VAS Designer, as well as \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
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\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tStupidSquirrel\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
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for letting me borrow Travis and Dexter!", "writing": "Content Warning: Indentured servitude, cub (4-F)+augmented-reality companion, bloodsport/testing to physical failure of an ai-controlled bioengineered lifeform, group sex (M+M/M+F), excessive cum, sweat/armpit fetish, spycraft?\n\n[b]After the Fall[/b]\n\n\n[t][b][b]“POLARIS: Monday Afternoon”[/b][/b][/t]\n\nby beforethefall [Inkbunny]\n\nAs SIGMA and I wrap up our impromptu date-break at the spa, I get a call through the TangleNet. It's Dr. Zeami, and I'm briefly excited by that realization. I hurry to answer the call in the emulated environment within my gray matter; it's handy to have a second copy of yourself to take video calls, and my conversation with SIGMA continues unimpeded by the interruption.\n\n“Good show this morning, POLARIS! I wanted to invite you for another ride in ENCELADUS if you want to help out after your shift at the Academy tonight. It just sort of came up and we couldn't get it booked in time for Uncle D reorganize things for an official shift, so it's sort of off the books.” Palmedo's avatar says. It's a particularly good emulation of him, but I'd expect nothing less from a designer; the attention to detail is just part of the job.\n\n“Dude, spoilers!” my emulated avatar teases with a good-natured laugh. “It's good to see you again Dr. Palmedo! I'd love to pick the job up if you have some more testing that needs done!”\n\n“Yeah, about that,” Dr. Zeami's avatar says, looking briefly hesitant. “More of an, er, I guess exhibition work is what you'd call it. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to have you in the research lab too, but we mostly use Compliance profiles for that sort of thing, now. I want your flair for showmanship tonight, though. No sales this time; just work the crowd to your heart's content. Our client will be there, though.”\n\n“Sounds fun…So what's the gig?” my avatar leans in conspiratorially and Dr. Zeami laughs.\n\n“We're making a bunch of changes to ENCELADUS' production repo thanks to the data we got this morning. We got what we needed out of this iteration, now, so… we just need do to the final payload ratings so we can confirm the theoretical ratings. Our client this morning helped us come up with a fun way for you to do it.” the blue-furred rabbit says, with a sort of look that's a mixture of emotions that I can't quite place. My feed-forward probability matrix lights up with a clear direction, however.\n\n“Is this a, uh…tractor pull?” my avatar responds, feigning difficulty in recalling the new phrase I'd learned earlier this morning. It helps to make conversations more natural, sometimes. Dr. Zeami's grin grows even bigger, almost cartoonish despite the realism of his avatar; only barely still within the comfortable side of the uncanny valley.\n\n“You got it. You'll get hitched up, and pull ‘til you run out of track or you can’t pull any more - literally. Testing to failure; this is a mechanical bloodsport most of the time, so I thought we might treat the crowd to a little of the real thing.\"\n\n“That's…kind of gruesome, but I'm still listening; you know how much I love to show off.”\n\n\"They're putting you up against some real fire-breathing machines that are nearly as big as him. I want to see how he compares. It ought to be a fun night. I even got the R&D lab to let loose a loaner body if you still want to sit in and watch after you finish off ENCELADUS.\" It doesn't take long for my avatar to respond.\n\n“If he can have another kick ready by tonight I'll do it for free, but no need for the loaner,” my avatar laughs to Dr. Zeami in my head. I snort out loud as I'm made aware of the eager response from my communications emulation.\n\n“Hah! Deal, I'll crank it up a few notches for you, even,” Dr. Zeami says, eager to accept the offer. In meat-space, SIGMA looks at me before flashing her usual suspicious grin as I realize I laughed out loud. Now she knows I'm scheming, and it's useless to withhold information from her, even if I wanted to; which I don't.\n\n“I'm gettin' another kick tonight,” I sing-song to SIGMA using my real voice, as my emulation hashes out the final details with Dr. Zeami. Once I've flicked her the event details I received from Dr. Zeami, SIGMA laughs.\n\n“Ooh, I'm gonna' watch. Maybe call a few friends over to help me keep up with you after, too,” she giggles, grasping my hand in hers as we stroll through the arboretum, still nude, though freshly bathed, well-fed and hydrated since our morning break spent in each other's embrace.\n\n“Like you need help,” I tease her, happily squeezing her hand in mine. The thought of waking up, primed and ready with a head full of power and sex drive and masculinity, to find my lover and a few friends waiting to catch the overflow sparks a reaction nearly immediately; I unashamedly allow my renewed arousal to grow into the cool air of the arboretum, glowing flesh jutting from my sheath openly as we stroll. It's so good to be a highly sexed being like we are, sometimes. We embrace our sex toy heritage, and make sure to live up to it. SIGMA laughs with a distinctive purr I've grown to know well; she likes the idea too, and she's already scheming.\n\nWe spend the rest of the early afternoon socializing with friends in the arboretum until, eventually, our next shift's check-in time nears, and I have to depart fifteen minutes earlier than SIGMA due to my next shift being designated as on-site work, making use of my Prime carriage. I rush upstairs, finding our apartment in pristine condition, cleaned and sheets changed by Facilities while we were out. I reach through the TangleNet to ask Uncle D for a briefing as I pick through the clothes in my closet. He responds instantly.\n\n[b]Assignment 362-884352-75[/b]\n[b]Task:[/b] PRISM Academy: First Timer Quick Start Session Instructor\n[b]Age Group:[/b] 4-7 years\n[b]Carriage:[/b] Assignment permits Prime carriages grade Platinum or higher. [3] alternate carriages available in changeout station 1A1100.\n[b]Requested Livery:[/b] Reference Standards and Compliance Manual Chapter 09 Subsection 477.42.2[G](III)-b for marketing-compliant fashion standard for age group.\n[b]Mandated Livery:[/b] Identifiably-branded VAS Laboratories merchandise available in merchandising catalogue Y1145-Spring.\n[b]Assignment Location:[/b] VAS Biotechnological Laboratory Group Headquarters, 1 Stadler Park Plaza, Building A, Floor 1, Room 1107, City Center\n[b]Incentive:[/b] 100 WC + Tips\n\nHonestly, a little disappointing. The job is fine, don't get me wrong, but it's relatively low paid, particularly for the amount of time the class takes. They say tips are allowed to be accepted, but we literally can't solicit for them, so we rarely ever receive any. Better than some jobs, still, and instructors get their own perks.\n\nI throw together an outfit that passes for ‘street-casual’ in my closet while still compliant. I pick comfortable and loose clothes that I love, a black pair of ripstop synthread pants that are split down both sides and through the inseam, the black fabric joined together on those seams by a tough but soft orange mesh that allows for plenty of ventilation, and shows a lot of fur as well. I pair the black and orange pants with an electric-blue jock strap and a tight hypercolor t-shirt in bright orange that fades to dark red where it soaks up my body heat. For the final piece de resistance, I pull on my favorite corpo merch, the simple black synthread vest with transparent V's all over it, and the VAS Laboratories logo on the back.\n\nI look in the mirror, tease my hair into a half-punky, messy spike, and change out the jewelry in my ears, nose, lip and tongue to soft silicone that matches my body and clothing's orange accents. Soft jewelry is the only type that Compliance will authorize for use around the little ones.\n\nWith five minutes left on the clock before my shift, I rush out the door and head to the turbolift down to the ground floor. I arrive at the reserved classroom about fifteen minutes before people start showing up; on-site shifts always have a bit of headroom, which allows time to check out the room and get comfortable in the space. Plus, any early-arrivals can be greeted and chatted with as they show up. These first-timer courses can be a lot of fun; my kind are sort of specially-engineered to get along well with kids, and I'm no different.\n\nIf you're reading this, you probably remember the class I'm thinking about, though you might have had the version for adults instead if you're over the age of, like, forty or so. Most natural-born folk get their PRISM installed around the age of four or five nowadays, though sometimes it can be a couple years later if the docs are worried about delayed brain development or something. But just because you get one installed doesn't mean you'll intuitively know how to use them. It's not terribly difficult - this class is for kids, after all - but there's a trick to it that can often take some coaching and exercises to get the hang of.\n\nThe room's orderly, when I get there. Too orderly, in fact. The display boards on the walls are blank, and as I ask them to turn on via my local interoperability interface, I start to stream a vibrant kaleidoscope of graffiti and street art I've seen around the city, mashed up and mixed together into a constantly warping, amorphous pattern. The display at the head of the room has a static image, though; a graffiti-styled portrait of Yours Truly, with my name, serial number and identifier QR on the board. I hold out a thumbs-up in front of the classroom's board and flick a snap of it to Uncle D, who checks me in on his ledger.\n\n\n[t][b][417987.54000] YEAR 1145(AUD) WEEK 10, DAY 1, SHIFT B[/b][/t]\n\nAs I'm tossing a half-dozen plush cushions in a half-circle around where I'll sit on the floor, I hear an early arrival approach the door and timidly mutter something to their escort. I put on my patent smile and turn to see who it is, and find a precious young skunk being urged in by her mother who seems a bit less patient than the young girl's timidness would nominally require. \n\nThe roster Uncle D sent me during my briefing instantly associates the skunk's PRISM's identifier with a name, and I kneel to welcome her, since her mother's scowling suspicion tells me she's beyond reason or hope of building an amicable relationship with. The hard-core Birthright fundamentalists are always like that, of course; all Birthrighters shun genetic edits, but the hardcore ones - the fundamentalists - deny themselves all but the most basic or lifesaving forms of chrome as well. It's insane to think about from my perspective, but as I look at this little girl in front of me I know that she's only got the most minimal wiring possible to enable the most boring, basic functionality of the PRISM in her head. Poor kid's already nearly too old for a PRISM to boot, and the neuroplasticity window for it is going to close soon. She'll never realize its full potential like her classmates will.\n\n“Hi, Sarah! I'm so glad you could come to play with us today!” I say, “My name is POLARIS and I'm gonna' be your teacher for the next few hours. Are you excited to learn how to use your PRISM?” I ask, injecting enough energy by my own mannerisms that I can see her nerves lighten a bit in real-time.\n\n“Hello,” she replies, timid at first. “I guess so.” I just smile a little wider and wave her into the classroom as her mom gives Sarah a bit of a nudge forward. I usher her in, and she finally steps forward onto the checkerboard-pattern carpet.\n\n“Awh, there you go, see? We're gonna' have fun, and lucky you; you don't even have to stay for the whole thing,” I muse, spinning it as a positive. “Wanna' say bye to your mom? She'll be back to pick you up in an hour or so, promise!” The little skunk girl turns to her mom and walks back over to say her goodbyes privately, looking a little more confident than before. Parents are never allowed to stay in the room for this, it's too disruptive to the learning process; but at least there's a few nice restaurants, coffee shops and bar lounges out in the common plaza just down the hall, plus the big lobby atrium, and the park in the center of the campus, between the three big buildings for our respective branches. All to say, there's plenty of nearby places for adults to enjoy themselves while they wait for their kids to get through training, if they so wish.\n\nI busy myself straightening a few of the cushions and spacing them evenly, tossing one back into the bin in the corner as a cancellation comes through. As her mom's preparing to leave, I sense the apprehension returning to the young skunk and pick my role back up with a warm smile. “Hey, Sarah. We're gonna need you to pick out a good plushie to keep you company, and since you're the first to show up you get the first pick,” I suggest. “There's a big bin over there! You look like th' sort of girl who knows her plushies well, too.”\n\nSarah's mom actually flashes a hint of a smile and departs quickly as Sarah's distracted picking through the plush toys, and eventually, others filter in and begin doing the same.\n\nThe next two arrive together; Travis, an opossum with a crooked tail and Dexter, this long-haired gray squirrel kid, who are [i]obviously[/i] a thing but I'm not sure even they know it just yet. The opossum's wearing obviously handed-down clothes, heavily worn but modern enough to pass muster at his age. He was certainly one of the low-income grant recipients, and good for him for making the cut. He picked out a little squirrel plush. His friend Dexter wore middling, serviceable clothes that were just starting to get a little snug on him. Not particularly fashionable, but the light-blue colors worked well for him. Naturally, the squirrel boy picked out one of the opossums, and took the time to crease its tail so it was bent just how his friend's was. What a cute couple.\n\nThe final two are escorted in together by a concierge from the reception team, just a couple minutes before the class was scheduled to start; they must have arrived on either public transit or a VIP car. The first was a red squirrel named Rhodes; I've had the pleasure of working with a couple of his older brothers as well doing one of these workshops last year; these Montgomeries are about as normal as a group of kids from such a large family can be, kindhearted and surprisingly bright in spite of their relatively low status. The second was a lovely little techno-punk raccoon girl named Em, the freshest implant in the class, maybe a few days since her surgery at this point. If it weren't for our radically different parentage we could be twins; she wore loud, brightly-colored, slightly-risque street fashion and she wore it well in spite of her young age - she was barely five. The brilliant little girl had mastered her PRISM already too, the scamp. \n\nI suppose I should explain that, given my authoritative position in these workshops, I'm permitted to monitor and interact directly with the kids' PRISM feeds to see exactly what they see in their PRISMs, and Em's PlaySpace companion, a playful but scary - for most five year olds, anyway - shadowy, black-furred beast was eagerly exploring the space with vast interest; a tamed closet-monster most likely. I send my own emulation to greet her companion in the augmented-reality space, and in physical space I stand beside the projection of myself, kneeling to address Em with a warm smile. I could see her puzzled expression before she realized our PRISMs were linked and a big, mischievous grin stretched across her face as her gaze settled on the emulated avatars interacting for a second.\n\n“'ey, you must be Em. I'm POLARIS! They warned me that you might get bored with this class,” I smirked as I waved a hand and sidelined the innumerable feeds in her PRISM's perceptual interface, along with a half-dozen psychedelic perceptual filters that had turned the room into a chaotic mess of synesthetic color. Her eyes refocused on me, unbothered by my override, thankfully. I continued, “Do you want to help me teach these guys how to get as good as you are with it?”\n\n“Okay POLARIS!\" the little girl says, nodding her head eagerly. \"Hey, is there any way to turn the sensory filters off? I don't mind underbuffering or ghosting or anything, really! There's like two milliseconds of sensory delay though and when I touch Harrow it feels like I'm wearing a raincoat or something, like I can't really [i]feel[/i] it.” she complains, chattering just a little like young raccoons do. I can't help but laugh out of sheer endearment. I love her already.\n\n“Noticed that, huh? We call that the rubber-glove effect,” I say as I kneel down. “It gets better over time, but it's important for now while yer body's still learnin' how to tell the difference between PRISM haptics and th' real world. Once you're ten we turn them down, n' by the time you're sixteen it'll be almost identical to th' real thing,” I say to her with a big, warm smile.\n\n“Awww! C'mon, can't you fix it for me? I don't want to wait like some stupid baby!\" she chides me; it's bratty, but playfully so.\n\n“Ha! I'll see what I can do, if you pay attention n' help your classmates out, kiddo. C'mon, go settle in and get ready to link up with everyone,\" I tell her as I shoo her toward the cushions, and the augmented-reality copy of myself ushers her companion out of sight and silently puts him to sleep to help her focus. I round everyone up and urge them to their cushions so we can start the lesson. \n\n“Come on, come on! It's time to start! Get comfy, we're not gonna' have to spend too long sittin usually [i]crave[/i]' around before the real fun begins,” I say, and as the kids orient themselves on the cushions, I sit on the floor at the focal point of them all, rump planted squarely to the soles of my feet, knees apart, and my tail curled around my hip. I notice three sets of eyes go right to my crotch, where they can surely see the pouch of my blue jockstrap pressed to the loose orange mesh and brimming with my balls. Two sets of eyes look away after a brief confirmation of youthful curiosity. A third stays there for just a beat longer. Em's such a cute kid; and I have to admit that I just love ‘em when they're as precocious as her.\n\nFor those who are reading that might take issue with the implications of that, let me remind you that for what it’s worth, she's actually over two years older than [i]I[/i] am, and she seems plenty-enough world-wise already; the well-connected techie kids always are.\n\nWe start the session and work our way through basic PRISM orientation in pretty good time. Tours of the visual overlays, then the settings, and then demonstrating how neuromotor feedback and the haptics system works, and finally intent-based controls that allow silent, motionless interaction with the PRISM's systems, before we finally kick into communications and connectivity. The cute squirrel kid and his opossum friend keep getting distracted, picking on each other and goofing off, but after a little coaching they get across the finish line for the initial orientation too. Sarah did well enough getting familiar with the basics; loading shards and referencing information from the highly-restricted TangleNet that she had access to. Eventually she was picked up by her mom at the end of basic orientation, and everyone said their goodbyes. Then the real fun started; we got everyone's PRISMs linked up and start the communications emulation and PlaySpace companion configuration systems. Little Em was way too excited to show everyone how to configure their personal avatars and their PlaySpace companions, she was a huge help. PlaySpace companions aren't only toys and imaginary friends, though that's their primary selling point; they're also interactive PRISM manuals, and provide references for other VAS Labs brand technology too. A personable, personalized sort of way to digest just about any reference materials and turn any learning into edu-tainment.\n\nPlus, it lets us get ‘em when they're young. The PlaySpace companions are so incredibly valuable for us; a few strips of effortlessly-copied code and we've got an sapient AI embedded directly in the user’s PRISM. Just like that, VAS Labs has insight into every movement of every moment of their life, giving us the opportunity to craft their long-term success from whole cloth. \n\nEven though it keeps the process light-hearted and entertaining, the PlaySpace companion pushes hard for these kids to excel from a young age. They grow reliant on their PRISM to hold detailed memories and help them recall everything they've learned. Their companion urges them to get smarter, to be more resourceful, to strive to become innovators and ruthless industry leaders with relentless work ethic.\n\nWe know that once they're successful, the first luxury they'll want is a physical body for their lifelong best friend. Our AvaGen service is what makes that possible, publishing their companion's personality profile into a real, fully-featured physical body for them once and for all. By the time they're making the order, the life-long intimacy has them [i]craving[/i] real, physical intimacy with their companions too, so we corner the living fuck-toy market for them in the same stroke. AvaGen is our most popular product for good reason.\n\nIt should go without saying that an added bonus for us is that the data harvesting is [i]incredible[/i], and we have such a long timetable to quietly guide their sentiment toward our more advanced products - or the products of our advertisers - that it's almost always a win.\n\nI'll bet Light and Sound is going to cut that part for the final publication, though.\n\nI sit down with Em as the boys are palling around and pitting their PlaySpace avatars against each other in a litany of virtual sports and contests. She's getting back to what I presume will be her norm for the next few years at least, and she already has two or three perceptual filters running. For fun, I mirror her tweaks and it takes me a few moments to settle into the psychedelic comic-book world that she's managed to paint over the real world.\n\n“Y'urr really good at this, aren't ya' Em? Where'd you learn it?” I ask, and Em giggles at me as Harrow appears out of nowhere and slithers his massive head into her lap and stares up at her. She attempts to sate his begging for attention, but seems frustrated already as her hand slips through the back of his head and to her own lap as she goes to pet him.\n\n\"I just learned it! It's pretty easy. Awh, c'mon Harrowwww, better feedback,” she complained as her fingers phased through the companion's virtual form again, and I giggle in response. Harrow just roots his nose around on her tummy as I quietly retune her PRISM for her, cranking back the sensory isolation steadily until Em gasps as Harrow's nose presses between her thighs for a lazy bout of snuffling, and then begins to lap at her. The girl squirms, and her eyes lock on mine. I grin even more at her.\n\n“Tongue got your cat?” I tease, and Em giggles a knowing, little, naughty sort of giggle. World-wise indeed. I isolate her shared PRISM link from the other kids', because I know all too well where this is headed and they really aren't supposed to experience this sort of thing just yet, for whatever reason. Her hands settle again on the avatar's head, and this time they stop there; the PRISM tells her natural proprioception that her hands have encountered something physical. Her eyes widen, and she sifts her fingers into Harrow's ink-black fur as the avatar buries his nose between her thighs and insistently begins lapping at her. Her fingers curl in his fur and drag him in tighter against her.\n\n“H-haa, I can feel his fur,” she whispers, folding one of Harrow's long, dagger-shaped ears back as her PlaySpace companion wedges his nose deeper into her lap. Even though she's fully clothed, Harrow doesn't care; he phases effortlessly through them and straight to her nervous system. I just smile and watch her enjoy herself for a few minutes with subtle little churns and grinds against Harrow's face as he ravenously eats her out. I could tell that if I didn't open her PRISM's functionality up that she'd find a way to do it herself, and that might be more dangerous than just giving her the real, safe, thing for a little while. Why not give the kid a taste of what her future has in store? Her little fingers grip his ears, and keep his head in place as her hips roll, and I render my own avatar at her back to block the others' view of her as things get steamier.\n\n“Ha~!” the little girl gasps, and I laugh as her eyes go wide. Harrow's really working at her now, and I just reach out to ruffle the cute skunk girl's ears as she churns and shudders her hips against her companion's tongue despite being fully clothed. It's not [i]really[/i] like the real thing, but for someone Em's age? It might as well be. I offer her a hug, and she thrusts herself into my arms, straddling Harrow's head, who is happy to keep working in that virtual space; teasing her through her prism, fooling her brain into feeling that broad, powerful tongue digging through her soaked little groove from her clit to her undertail, again and again. I plant my hand to the back of her head and hold her face against my chest as she gives a tense, stifled whimper and comes, hard; her hips and tail shake and shudder and I just embrace her tightly as my own PlaySpace avatar makes sure t he other kids are too distracted playing their own games with their own companions to notice Em.\n\nIt takes her a few minutes to come off that high, and I have to crank up the sensory filtering in her PRISM again before she's able to let Harrow go. He comes up with a comically soaked face, licking it clean with a single cartoonish slurp of his tongue that makes both of us giggle. I'm rock hard in my shorts by now and I can tell that Em noticed as I was holding her by the way she looks down at the lump in my pants. I flash a wink to her and steal a brief kiss on the bridge of her muzzle. Then I swipe an absolute [i]stack[/i] of vouchers for free private product demos into her PRISM, enabling her to sample her pick of real, physical demo models, myself included, whenever she wants.\n\n“I'm busy tonight, sweetie, but d'you and Harrow wanna come by and play with me again soon, Em? I can show you some more fun things your PRISM can do,” I suggest, smirking as she realizes what the vouchers are for. The little girl nods her head with a big, beaming grin, still fascinated with rubbing her fingers through Harrow's fur and along his belly, feeling blindly between his sturdy haunches. He doesn't have anything there, yet, but I can tell what she's thinking as she pointedly feels around between the companion's legs. Harrow loves it, writhing on his back and giving these deep, funny growls and groans.\n\nToo quickly, we're running out of time. We see the others off, and Em hangs back for a few minutes. I slip to the bathroom with her and spend a few minutes helping get her cleaned up after her generously-defined ‘accident’, before I walk her out hand-in-hand to the black limo that comes to pick her up. Good to know she's got money in the family, we might make an early adopter out of her, yet. It'll just be our little secret that I'm the one who planted the idea of going down on her in Harrow's head; normally he would've been incapable of even considering that until she was of age.\n\nLight and Sound is probably going to cut that part, too. Doesn't matter, had fun.\n\n\n[t][b][417987.64937] YEAR 1145(AUD) WEEK 10, DAY 1, BREAK B[/b][/t]\n\n[b]Break Period 417987.B[/b]\n[b]Task:[/b] Unstructured Time, duration [x.41263]\n[b]**Break Duration Exceeds Current Mandate. Bonus shifts are available at [417987.75600], [417988.00000] and [417988.10800]!**[/b]\n[b]Next Mandatory Check-in Due:[/b] [417988.19800]\n[b]Check-In Location:[/b] Dispatch and Deployment via PLEBS Port 0\n[b]Carriage Classification:[/b] Premium Consumer “Platinum Series”\n[b]Carriage:[/b] BEL-RD-1029U-LUX “POLARIS PRIME”\n[b]Carriage Designer / Bug Reports To:[/b] Dr. Xasok “Doc” Crocutto, (RUX-00217)\n[b]Controller Firmware:[/b] “HELVETICA” v.1.1.2712.31\n[b]Controller Coder / Bug Reports To:[/b] Dr. Xasok “Doc” Crocutto,, (RUX-00217)\n[b]Assignment Location:[/b] VAS Biotechnological Laboratory Group Headquarters, 1 Stadler Park Plaza, Building A, Floor 223, Room 22309, City Center\n\nI rush upstairs as soon as I've seen Em off. My erection's straining in my pants to the point of aching. Em was the start of it, but now the anticipation of getting back into ENCELADUS' head is taking over. I strip naked in the lift to Platinum City and carry my clothes to my room, and practically tackle SIGMA onto the bed as I arrive, leaving my clothes in the doorway, and not even bothering to close the door. I kiss her hard as I pull down the cable from our headboard and hurriedly fix it into the port in my ear. SIGMA bites me, hard - hard enough that an alarm trips in my periphery and I can taste blood, and she shoves me onto my back. I feel her authenticate through my TangleNet firewall with our private keys and she worms her way into my PRISM, then immediately forces me to dump my cohesive neural matrix to Uncle D. The world goes black as I'm swallowed into the belly of the campus's server network with the frozen realization that SIGMA wants me to get into ENCELADUS as badly as I do.\n\n\n[t][b][417987.65341] YEAR 1145(AUD) WEEK 10, DAY 1, BONUS SHIFT A[/b][/t]\n\nCohesive neural matrix online via TangleNet.\nWelcome, POLARIS.\nRestoring neurocognitive lattice mappings from cache………Done! Non-Alert log outputs to periphery perceptual console suppressed by engram configuration. Log files can be found in /nnout/.\n\n[b]Assignment NaN! Comment: Override RUX-07518, off-schedule product exhibition.[/b]\n[b]Task:[/b] Prototype Product Demonstration and Testing, On-Site\n[b]Scenario:[/b] Exhibition and destructive load testing\n[b]Carriage Classification:[/b] Heavy Industry\n[b]Carriage:[/b] RD-XR504 “ENCELADUS”\n[b]Carriage Designer / Bug Reports To:[/b] Dr. Palmedo Zeami, (RUX-07518)\n[b]Controller Firmware:[/b] “TITYOS” v.0.5.4904.78\n[b]Controller Coder / Bug Reports To:[/b] Simon Saxbury, (RUF-18194)\n[b]Assignment Location:[/b] Cranky Frank's Motorsports Park, 68442 High Ground Parkway, Swamp City\n\nWho cares if it's unpaid, I get a kick, and SIGMA is probably calling in some friends to help me burn off the hormones and endorphins at this very moment back home. I anxiously wait for implantation, and as soon as I feel the open space of ENCELADUS' controller, my neural matrix's synapses slip straight into their control surfaces effortlessly, just like putting on a well-worn bit of clothing that just fits perfectly. I snort a powerful blast of air through the vents on my back and abruptly stand, feeling my PLEBS port disconnect and hearing an alarmed vocalization, and several bodies shuffling back from my movements. I open my eyes and see Dr. Zeami is standing there, in casual wear for once, backing up along with a dozen VAS Corporate handlers as I start to move. Dr. Zeami is holding a TangleNet interface in his hand, having obviously just personally uploaded me into ENCELADUS. I stretch and shake my fur out with a heavy sway of the massive cooling fins on my back as I get my bearings and slowly sink into my new identity.\n\nI find myself atop the back of a flatbed trailer, and I carefully pick my way down onto the solid earth to the sound of innumerable gasps and cheers from the sides of the stands. Only then do I realize the bright lights overhead, and the bleachers filled with spectators as I'm brought to life. I'm out of direct view of the spectator seating, but numerous people rush to the railing to witness the spectacle of the monstrous carriage awakening and stretching on the sidelines of the competition, even as other monstrously-sized, mechanical beasts roar down the track only a few dozen yards away. I snort another breath out and toss my head, before I can hear Dr. Zeami over the local comms radio guiding me. The body's been fed and hydrated at some point over the day, and is - in effect - fully charged for a night's exhibition match, flesh and chrome versus pure mechanical power.\n\nThe context layer of the briefing report tells me what I need to know to get this started. First, I get in the back of the line, behind the massive machines that are vying for the competition. Thankfully, I'm a lot taller than these machines so I'm easily able to watch as, one by one, they check in, weigh, stage, and tear down the dirt track towing weighted sleds in a deafening show of fire and smoke and flung dirt and mechanical excess. It's actually impressive, and for the briefest moment, I'm a little intimidated as I realize I'm at the back of a group of much, much larger and even more powerful machines. Apparently I've been grouped at the end of their top class; Dr. Zeami was right - These are some real fire-breathing monsters of machines, all exceptionally powerful in a certain sort of unhinged, reckless way. Each trip down the track has a few minutes' lull of repairs to the tracks and towing the sleds back into place which only lets the anxious energy grow in myself and the crowd that's murmuring restlessly as I slowly but steadily advance toward the line..\n\nFirst the machines pulled one sled at a time. The next class pulled two. Those nearest me were hooked up to four apiece, and my briefing said this was what my payload would be as well. 120,000 kilos honestly didn't seem like a lot, until I noticed the way the sleds were engineered to dig into the dirt toward the end of the track, which effectively turns them into more of a weighted plow than a trailer as I'd initially thought. One by one the line dwindles, until the truck in front of me stages, is chained to four huge sleds, and tears down the dirt track with its front wheels lifted off the ground, belching ten-foot-high flames from its exhaust as it roars with the strain of hauling those sleds down the track. The revving intensifies further toward the end of the track as the trailers are beginning to dig in, just before the abrupt, catastrophic failure of the machine's frame rips the entire tractor into pieces and throws the six engines from their mounts, sending them tumbling in a nitro-fueled fireball down the remainder of the track. Its pilot scampers in the opposite direction, being chased by men with fire extinguishers until they're able to douse the flames, and eventually he gives the crowd a thumbs-up to show he's okay.\n\nThe crowd loves it, and I have to admit that it's going to be a hard act to follow.\n\nAfter the dust settles and smoke dissipates, and they manage to tow away the pieces of the ruined machine and begin repairing the track, I get waved forward to check in at the weigh station. As I step onto the slightly-unsteady surface, the announcer feigns shock as they read my weight. It's far outside the bounds of their sport's regulation, but as I step down from the scales, the announcer polls the crowds in the stands on whether I should be allowed to compete anyway and the frenzied cheering seemingly gives me the pass. I grin and bow my head to one side of the stands, then the other, buying time while straining muscle hard against my locked-out chrome reinforcements just to build up heat in my heat-sinks. I heave a deep breath, and blast a V-shaped geyser of steam into the hot, humid night air to show my thanks.\n\nThe crowd eats it up with uproarious shouts and cheers now as I unlock my chrome and settle a bit lower to squeeze under the advertisements and banners that span across the staging area, and a dozen people get to work hitching the reinforced anchors in my hips and tailbase to those four massive sleds, weighted in a fashion that will make them harder to pull the further I manage to pull them. The briefing for the sport says that in this highest weight class, the sleds always win. I intend to put that to the test.\n\n“Remember, POLARIS; you aren't in this for speed, but try to give them a good show. Your job is to get those sleds to the end of the track by any means necessary,” Dr. Zeami's voice comes over the local radio channel. I pull the chains taut when I - barely - feel a few solid pats on my right ankle. I plant my feet and snort another readying puff of air through the vents on my back as I stage, and wait for the light tree. It cycles down until four green lights shine and I lunge against the chains, digging my claws in and almost instantly firing my anchors to root me to the ground. \n\nI shove forward, and only a second in I blast my first geyser of steam into the air as the crowd stares, some cheering, some transfixed. I bare my teeth and play up the strain, but I'm making swift headway. Twenty meters, thirty, forty, fifty. I'm exceeding ENCELADUS' natural gait at first, but as the weights shift forward on the sleds I start having to put in real work, and leave the show face behind I let the cybernetics kick in, and ten paces later my heatsinks are glowing bright-red with angry, furious heat from the effort as I approach the hundred-meter mark. Like this morning, a mechanical stride finds its way, the regular blast of cooling steam across the heatsinks on my back reminiscent of ancient locomotives. As I approach the marker for one hundred and fifty meters, and I feel a twinge, deep in my belly.\n\nThe twinge turns to an electric thrill that rushes through my stomach, and my heart seizes for a moment before surging with renewed vigor, and my gray matter floods with endorphins and hormones and a fresh, new cocktail of drugs as the kick hits me. I try desperately to vocalize the overwhelmed surprise as I get a [i]real[/i] kick this time, not the muted, sanitized, polite workday kick of earlier. This is a survival-mode kick, and my neural matrix instantly recoils from the body like a hand that's been laid in a hot pan, placing distance between mind and body for the sake of my own sense of mortality, weak as it may be. This kick is absolutely brutal, ramping every last system into overdrive and I help clear the way way for it, tearing down every last self-preservation fail-safe and limiter I can find in ENCELADUS' wetware as the alarms are just getting started.\n\nENCELADUS is suddenly unleashed, and gives it every last drop of what he's got; I'm just along for the ride. A silent snarl and growl, another pouring geyser of steam through the heatsinks, and ENCELADUS lurches forward with such force that the chains crack, pop and groan in protest as he bounds several more strides ahead until the sleds begin to drag him down, flattening their grooved belly to the earthen surface under enormous weights. ENCELADUS' pupils dialate until there's nothing left but black wells where his eyes once were, which thrusts the whole track, the stands and the night sky dotted with bright floodlights into vivid clarity all of a sudden. He anchors all four hindfeet as well as his fores, and lunges forward again. He actually gets air, hauling those four sleds forward another twenty meters in a single bound.\n\nThe end's so close that ENCELADUS can taste its dust. Ten meters in front of his nose, and only sixty from the sled's front edge, which is where the measurement will be made from. Easy. I try to wrangle ENCELADUS' body to my will again, I remind him to keep his spine stacked, to keep it inline with the reinforcements, but the kick is almost too much to overcome on my will alone. No measured, mechanical pulse of steam or stroke of his heart now, he's [i]howling[/i] through the vents at this point, an unsteady geyser of steam as the cybernetics start to overheat and the heatsinks' glow fades from red to white as they start to sizzle their way through the lipid-polymer insulators and spark even more alarms that I instantly shut out. Somehow, I register that the crowd's gone silent. Or I can't hear them over ENCELADUS' frenzied breathing and heartbeat and the ringing in his ears. I can smell burning flesh and fur on the air; it's ENCELADUS' for sure, but that's only the start of the end. He lunges forward again and the sleds begin to dig into the ground, dragging ENCELADUS to a standstill.\n\n[i]No, fuck that. They do no such thing.[/i]\n\nI kick ENCELADUS in the ass from the neuro-cognitive end as the cocktail of his terminal kick surges through his synapses and the beast lurches forward again another twenty yards. The sleds push up mountains of what was once the track ahead of them, and begin to burrow deep ruts through the earth as I urge the huge carriage to keep moving. ENCELADUS' fores lift off the ground. It staggers the stroke of its hindlegs to keep from slowing, keep the momentum. Another howling surge of interstitial fluid through white-hot heatsinks pours a geyser of steam into the air in a fruitless attempt to cool the carriage's cybernetics. Alarms begin to grow from a nagging indicators in my periphery into screaming, primary-focused panic alarms. I silence them, because they're no use. We're doing this until it's done. The anchors in ENCELADUS' feet fire again, and I urge the carriage to shove forward against them, to not trust the feedback systems, to not trust the alarms. Twenty more meters, then thirty. Then forty.\n\nEnceladus' progress stops again. He's got all four hinds planted in a manner that lets him put everything he's got into the dirt. This is it, wild-eyed ENCELADUS, we were told to leave it all on the track. Let me help you. I push ENCELADUS with everything it's got left, and the chains stretch and groan behind him. The sleds inch forward, bit by bit, just a little bit further.\n\nThe first crack in ENCELADUS' industrial indestructibility is hard to define. I can hear it, and so can everyone else; it sounds like an explosion, and I can feel the abrupt jerk and shift in ENCELADUS' hips, but no pain registers thanks to the massive dose from the kick and my own fail-safes insulating me now from the depersonalized meat I'm riding in. Then the wrenching sound of failing cybernetics screams out across the motorsports park as they twist in from the newfound structural failure, and ENCELADUS' hindquarters collapse under him. \n\nStill pulling, still [i]pushing. Leave it all on the track, big guy.[/i]\n\nI drag ENCELADUS up and forward on his three good limbs still to try to squeeze out just another few meters, until another reinforcement finally gives and I feel the carriage's back rip from hip to shoulders as the chrome tears itself out of that huge, beautiful body under the tension, and the entire carriage abruptly fails. The cybernetics torque out of the carriage's back with the stresses and those white-hot heatsinks land in the dirt beside it, pouring steam and smoke, still attached to ENCELADUS' spine which has been catastrophically liberated from its body. The biomass of what was once ENCELADUS collapses to the other side, still attached by tatters of flesh and shattered cybernetics, and exhales its final, ragged breath through the torn-out cavity where its spine once resided.\n\nThe carriage's blood pressure drops instantly as it fails, but it still takes a good while for its sensory systems to fall out. ENCELADUS' nose dropped just in front of the safety barrier, which would place the sleds a good twenty yards beyond the finish line. I never doubted that you could do it, big guy.\n\nThe last thing I hear through the loud ringing in ENCELADUS' ears is deafening cheers from the crowd as the track staff and VAS Corporate handlers rush the failed carriage. As the darkness creeps in, I hear Dr. Zeami laughing incredulously through the radio.\n\n“Ho-ly [i]shit[/i], POLARIS. If you can still hear me, [i]that's[/i] why I picked you. Guess now's as good a time as any to let you know; you made the sale this morning. Commission will transfer first thing tomorrow. Good work.”\n\nThen, sweet, peaceful, silent darkness. For a time. I'm not sure what it's like for a natural-born, but for us AI, this quiet after the storm is simultaneously instantaneous, and eternal. My chronometer resyncs and tells me a couple minutes have passed, and then I can feel the signature circuitry of a TangleNet interface shipping me back home over the air.\n\n\n[t][b][417987.69317] YEAR 1145(AUD) WEEK 10, DAY 1, BREAK C[/b][/t]\n\n[b]Break Period 417987.B[/b]\n[b]Task:[/b] Unstructured Time, duration [x.36883]\n[b]**Break Duration Exceeds Current Mandate. Bonus shifts are available at [417987.75600], [417988.00000] and [417988.10800]!**[/b]\n[b]Next Mandatory Check-in Due:[/b] [417988.19800]\n[b]Check-In Location:[/b] Dispatch and Deployment via PLEBS Port 0\n[b]Carriage Classification:[/b] Premium Consumer “Platinum Series”\n[b]Carriage:[/b] BEL-RD-1029U-LUX “POLARIS PRIME”\n[b]Carriage Designer / Bug Reports To:[/b] Dr. Xasok “Doc” Crocutto, (RUX-00217)\n[b]Controller Firmware:[/b] “HELVETICA” v.1.1.2712.31\n[b]Controller Coder / Bug Reports To:[/b] Dr. Xasok “Doc” Crocutto,, (RUX-00217)\n[b]Assignment Location:[/b] VAS Biotechnological Laboratory Group Headquarters, 1 Stadler Park Plaza, Building A, Floor 223, Room 22309, City Center\n\nI settle right back into my body as effortlessly as always, and just as my body reflexively gasps for air as I awaken, I realize my muzzle is bound by straps, and forced open by a mouth-guard gag that covers my teeth; my forked tongue's been pulled through the gag to hang loosely out of the end. I can't see; and a few moments later I realize it's because I can feel smoked welding goggles strapped tightly to my head. It takes a moment more for my eyes to adjust before I realize I can see the slightest hints of lighting against the blackness, but not enough to make anything out. I feel a plug get plucked effortlessly from my PRISM, just like when I got uploaded to ENCELADUS.\n\nIt takes a second for my proprioception to figure it out, but I quickly realize I am hopelessly bound on my knees, to the point of being immobile. My forearms are bound against each other with each wrist bound to the opposite arm's elbow, and the lashing at my elbows is bound just below my knees as well, forcing my legs spread wide as I kneel. My tail is firmly strapped to my ankles with a one-way strap that's barbed in just such a manner as to prevent my tail from pulling free, and the collar around my neck is bound to my ankles, forcing my posture ever-so-slightly back to the point of almost losing balance. The air is oppressively hot and steamy; I've obviously been tied up in the saunas of our favorite bathhouse in Platinum City. SIGMA must've set up a public play-date.\n\nI focus less on the things that SIGMA has denied or decided for me, and more on what autonomy she let me keep. I eagerly inhale again through my nose, and I can smell at least six other bodies in the room, besides SIGMA and myself. I know three of them immediately. First there's PHEROMONE, a demo model who lives on the top floor of Platinum City. Then Talliver, the natural-born, hulking beefcake of a badger who serves as one of the company's private tailors. Then Lucas, a coyote and one of the natural-born, teenage porters who just started a few weeks ago. He chose me for his company-mandated product demo during his onboarding, which was fun. The first taste is always free. And apparently, so is the second. The three who I don't know, I can easily clock. A raccoon, a red panda, and a cacomistle. SIGMA always did have a thing for stripes.\n\nBy the time I've oriented myself, before I've even even become aware of the conversation happening around me, my body suddenly catches up to what my neurocognitive matrix was demanding from ENCELADUS. My prime body responds with its own kick, dramatically tamer but still; the rush begins building like a tidal wave behind my breastbone, and this time I have vocal chords. The wave builds and builds until I realize it's not going to stop, and the slow rise of a desperate howl that announces my absolute incapacity to handle it echoes in the little tile room as every single one of my sensory monitors soars off the charts.\n\nConscious thought scrambles for safe haven, disassociating to float just above and behind this body in perception just as it was getting reacquainted with my Prime. I desperately try to reconnect the sapient experience to the physical body, while making sure I don't hurt myself at the same time. I can't waste it, a dose like this comes once in a blue moon; a rare indulgence that I'm craving. This morning was just a taste; this is the [i]real[/i] thing. I crank the physical limiters nearly to their max, leaving just enough strength to feebly struggle against the bonds without harming myself; ENCELADUS was a test body, made to be utterly shattered; my Prime is my most valued possession and I have to keep it safe. It's not even paid off yet. The abrupt flood of testosterone, adrenaline, neurotransmitters, hormones and a cocktail of naturally-synthesized stimulants, disassociatives and opioids sends my mind reeling as I get reconnected and let the unified identity take control. The rush floods my senses, and warps my sense of self. It changes me, in real-time; the potent, hungry, unstoppable masculine instinct taking over. I embrace my superiority, my dominance, my strength and precision and endless fount of energy and stamina. My cock springs to full-mast erection almost instantly and fires a shot of either precum or cum against the one standing in front of me on its way up, with so much pressure I can [i]hear[/i] it pelt through their fur.\n\nThey laugh. They [i]all[/i] fucking [i]laugh[/i], I can't believe they'd [i]laugh[/i] at me like this! The audacity! To make FUN of holding me back in this state. [i]Me![/i] They knew where I was, what I was doing; she said they were going to watch, even. She said they were going to watch and they'd be waiting here to [i]help[/i] me burn off the kick, not hold me back, not restrain me, not frustrate me by abruptly shifting my perception from utterly unleashed freedom to strict confinement! SIGMA is going to pay for this; she knew what I was coming back with and the mere fact that she thought this would be [i]funny[/i] is cause enough for punishment. I'll fuck her into the dirt, fuck her until there's nothing left, I'll tie [i]her[/i] up and make her my slave and she'll have no fucking choice in the matter. [i]She's mine.[/i] I can smell arousal, both female and male on the air. The distressing realization that I'd be helpless if one of these lesser males would dare to touch her, to touch [i]my[/i] mate, my lover, my [i]second body[/i]. I struggle in my bonds and buck my hips again with frustration as my desperate panting reverberates in the room, and I feel another unsteady pulse jet from my erection. An anxious, tense growl gargles out from my open maw to ward the other males away from my mate. I pant harder as I hear someone approaching, and feel a soft little touch to my cheek and jawline, guiding my head back just a little more. I huff and vocalize wordlessly through my gagged muzzle again. I make empty, incomprehensible threats with naught but my throat to form a pathetic attempt at communication with whoever is touching me.\n\nAnd then I'm silenced by the ringtail's fat, throbbing cock sinking straight to the back of my throat. My nose is buried into incredibly soft, thick, just barely sweat-damp pubic fur and my chin is warmed by the hot, sweaty-furred balls of the male. Nearly feral desperation and instinct and possessive inclinations that are driven by the kick melt away as my tongue wraps hungrily around the thick cock in my mouth and tucks its forked tip into his sheath, and I breathe a deep breath of his musk straight through his pubic fur. He vocalizes satisfaction too, before his fingers grab my ears by their bases and use those thick cartilage-cored protrusions as handles with which to fuck my mouth. He smells and tastes fantastic, and it's obvious that he understands the capabilities of my kind well; he must work here. He doesn't pull back, he stays right there at the entrance of my throat. He probes deep and holds himself until I'm out of air, and desperate enough to abruptly haul in a deep breath around him, half through my nose, through the back-up windpipe that travels down alongside my esophagus. He works deep, patting his balls off my chin, his pubic fur against my nose, over and over, never pulling back more than an inch, until he grunts and shoves forward and roughly pulls my nose in against his pelvis, and shoots five shots of slick, runny cum down the back of my throat.\n\nAnd then I hear it, just as he's pulling his still-throbbing cock back from my mouth. Just as he smears the armpit-sweat-slicked palm of his hand across my nose and face..\n\n“Unh-ngh, hnnh! Fuu-huu-huuck, yeah… [i]Gooooood[/i] boy,” his voice comes from above me. SIGMA must have outed me. My fetish. My hard-coded reward phrase. All my vulnerabilities. Just used against me. Breaking me down despite the furious upwelling of fire behind my breastbone.\n\nThe reaction is instant. My hips jerk and buck, and I strain against my bonds again, huffing out a ragged, cum-choked moan from my mouth as I roll over the edge, and start to shoot long, thick surges of a pent-up climax against the fur and tile in front of me. I know I'm blowing like a fountain and the surprised exclamations from around me confirm it as I pelt ten enormous bolts of seed across the sauna. Before I can even finish, another cock's slid into my throat; Talliver's. His reaches a full six inches further down my throat than the ringtail's did and completely occludes my esophagus. His scent is so much more intense as I have to rely on breathing through my nose, through my second windpipe to even stay conscious, and he, like the ringtail, makes no effort to give me a chance to breathe naturally, confident in the purpose-built backup mechanisms my kind are famed for. Talliver has just a bit of a stomach on him, and each deep thrust from the badger pulls my nose into a thick mess of tufty pubic fur under the curve of his belly, drowning me in his absolutely fantastic masculine scent as he breeds my face while I have no say in it. I swallow around him, my tongue clutches his cock and feels its every throb. I savor him, and wish I could see him sweating over me, but feeling the droplets land on my face will have to be enough for now as I yearn to see skyward, only making out the vaguest outline of him over me against the overhead lights through the deeply smoked goggles.\n\nHe doesn't cum down my throat. He pulls out, and smears his cock on my face as he climaxes. He doesn't shoot, really; it comes pouring out of him, too thick to really leap far. He praises me as he smears ounce after ounce of thick badger cum all over my muzzle and calls me a good boy, and I'm overwhelmed again by another reflexive orgasm as he smears his sweaty palm on my nose, just like the cacomistle did. I'm treated to the intense, exquisite natural musk of the strong, large male for whom I've been crushing for months. My eyes roll back and I draw a deep breath between his fingers, savoring the rich and potent masculinity of his body as he sinks his cock back through the gag to let me suck and swallow on the end, getting a taste of his seed, finally, as my body trembles. \n\nMy head swims with the fresh rush of bliss, so much that I don't even notice the raccoon positioning himself until the shepherd's crook of his cock finds the back of my throat and hooks up behind my soft palate. I gasp through my nose, and I'm immediately greeted with my third intimate sample of masculine sweat for the evening as the taste of his cock is smeared on my tongue. I feel a familiar hand pull my throbbing member from its sheath and guide it between eager, suckling lips as the raccoon gets to work above. A familiar adoration sets in. I love SIGMA so much. She really does know every button to press, and exactly when to press it.\n\nThen I black out. I've lost count of how many times she's caused this to happen, now.\n\n--- \n\nIn the dark, I'm assailed by hazy visions of that track stretching out in front of me. The glittering of the floodlights overhead, and the smell of the damp dirt track. The rushing of air through vents on my back. The surge of blood through my heart as I put down torque with everything I've got. The sound of chains creaking and groaning; conducted through the reinforced anchors set in the bone of my hips and spine. The blast of steam sizzling through the heatsinks on my back that temporarily drowns out the roar of the crowd as I give them what they want; as I give Dr. Zeami what he wants. That last pull, with four hinds anchored in the dirt, just before everything falls apart. The way the alarms glittered in the periphery of my field of view, just outside the borders of my biological optics. The way ENCELADUS simultaneously yearned to work harder and harder and screamed through the alarms that it couldn't take any more.\n\nI can taste the dust again, for a fleeting moment.\n\nIt tastes like [i]glory[/i].\n\n---\n\nWhen I come to, I realize that the glittering alarms in my perceptive periphery are coming in fact from my Prime; ignored, not even suppressed. My muscles are screaming their protest from fatigue. I'm on top of SIGMA, and I have her pinned to PHEROMONE's chest. PHEROMONE's knot is tightly stuck under my tail, and I don't even know how long I've been cumming in SIGMA, but every thick pulse of my seed I pour into her is just flooding right back out. I'm still wearing most of the bondage, but at some point I must have broken a strap and gotten loose; or been set loose. The goggles are askew in my hair. My jaw is sore, as are my teeth and throat from gnawing at the gag, which now lies discarded on the floor. I can taste blood; both mine and SIGMA's. I must have bitten her back for once. That happens, sometimes. She deserved it.\n\nMy stomach and ass are both so full of cum that I'm almost nauseous, and I'm so slicked in the stuff from head to toe that the sauna now feels more like a wading pool full of lube, but I still have to make efforts to stop myself. PHEROMONE's hand is clutching the back of my head and pinning my nose into his armpit as SIGMA's is buried in the other. The three of us are alone, now, and the sauna's cooled to a still-balmy but safe temperature by way of its automated safety system.\n\nMy chronometer tells me that four hours and thirty-six minutes have passed. A new record for being [i]completely[/i] off grid in a frenzy like this. Not complaining. I give PHEROMONE's armpit a slow lick as I reorient myself. I love his taste; strawberries and cream and citrus and vanilla with a foundation of ‘Au Naturale’, our kind's deceptively subtle, mildly psychedelic elixir of natural scent that's, gram for gram, more addictive than even the best designer drugs, though its withdrawals are thankfully mild and resolve on the order of minutes, rather than days. I manage to wrench my way away from him finally and come up for a breath of the steamy air and shudder with a satisfied groan, pulling SIGMA's hips back to mine and just soaking my still-throbbing, aching cock inside her as her insides relentlessly keep milking and torturing my utterly spent flesh. I can hear her giggle, then PHEROMONE…and I join them after a bit as I weigh back against my tail and just rest for a bit, as PHEROMONE's knot slowly loosens under my tail, deflating with subtle throbs of his pulse.\n\n“Hah, mnh… Natural-borns couldn't keep up? Had to bail?” I muse, and SIGMA purrs.\n\n“Hours ago,” she purrrs, squirming her hips side to side against my lap, lighting new warnings in my periphery that are shooed away immediately. Over-stimulation is the least of my worries at the moment. I just take a few lazy strokes of my hips through her walls in response.\n\n“Hmnf…I missed all the good stuff,\" I complain, playfully. I know I was the center of attention, and for that I'm grateful, but the lingering buzz of the kick has long since worn off, well before I came back to my senses, and I've grown numb to the effects of all the other chemistry swimming in this body's gray matter. It's been such a big day, and I'm finally feeling my near-bottomless fount of energy running out, despite the nutrition gained from the half-dozen immense loads still bloating my poor stomach.\n\nThe seal of PHEROMONE's knot breaks under my tail and a rush of thick, brightly-glowing blue-white seed pours out from around him as he pulls out. I grit my teeth as my guts cramp, and expel liters of fresh seed out from where PHEROMONE had pumped it to pool around us and run toward the floor drain. He's a stellar fuck, and I briefly feel a deep pang regret for having missed out on his extremely talented hip-work. Not every day I get a play date with the most famous, most experienced demo model in the company.\n\n“You gave us a run for our money,” PHEROMONE teases me, reaching up with a cum-soaked hand to smear it on my face and over my tongue as I reach it out to lick the mess clear of his palm. High praise from him.\n\n“Thank SIGMA for that, she's the one that set it up,” I huff quietly, finally pulling back and standing, shakily. A moment later and I'm helping SIGMA up, then PHEROMONE.\n\nWe stretch and get steady on our feet again, and then head out of the sauna, booking a call for cleanup with the Facilities department as we leave. We shower, and then soak a while in the pool. While we're idly lingering together in the pool, we overhear murmurings had apparently started around Platinum City while we were otherwise occupied. We quickly join the gathered group in the bathhouse that's buzzing with excitement to figure out what's going on.\n\nApproximately three hours ago, twenty-eight new Black Label serial numbers showed up on the TangleNet. This is particularly interesting because of how far outside our usual operating hours this specific event fell. Black Label is the internal terminology for our paramilitary units, which are incredibly advanced bipedal carriages, spun up for only a handful of reasons outside of being put into consumer service on security details and private contracts. Off-hours? No way it's something pedestrian, or particularly local, since we have plenty of full-time security units on staff in the same carriages. They make Platinum carriages look quaint in comparison. Their chrome is [i]insane[/i] and everyone wants to get into it with almost desperate need. Thermal and optical camouflage, targeting systems, optical and perceptive filters for everything from air pressure up to gamma radiation, hive-mind networked decision-making, centralized command and control. They've got every piece of advanced chrome money can buy, and a fair bit that's even beyond the grasp of even the deepest pockets in City Center. And that's not even getting into the standard equipment they're issued with on operations.\n\nPlatinum City's best social engineers get to work immediately on the porters and technicians in the Black Label building, and manage - by way of reading the tea leaves of their repeated refusals to neither confirm nor deny - to figure out that there's a big operation coming up in a few hours. HENNA just got back from a shift in the garages, where they're expecting two brand-new RAVEN class carriers to be delivered before [x.18000] in the morning; outside our usual equipment receiving schedule. Each is capable of carrying 2 squadrons of 7 combat units and equipment, plus a pilot and field command. Requisition records were picked and fulfilled for short-engagement field combat equipment for four squadrons during ICARUS' PM shift in the secured storage facility. \n\nIt's all but guaranteed that a new anomaly has been found somewhere outside of City Center, and the betting begins on who of the hundreds of staff AI that will check in with Uncle D tomorrow morning will get the highly exclusive call to operate those units on what may very well prove an extremely well-paid morning shift.\n\nEventually, though, the exhaustion finally starts to settle in, and a mere couple hours before our morning check-in SIGMA and I finally climb into bed together. She rolls to her right side, and I spoon up against her back, and we finally sleep.\n\nOne day down. Six to go.\n\n[417988.08208] System suspend requested via PRISM.\nWake timer set to [417988.19740]\nSetting neurocognitive matrix to suspended state…..Done!\n[b]End of file.[/b]\n\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Content Warning: Indentured servitude, cub (4-F)+augmented-reality companion, bloodsport/testing to physical failure of an ai-controlled bioengineered lifeform, group sex (M+M/M+F), excessive cum, sweat/armpit fetish, spycraft?

After the Fall


“POLARIS: Monday Afternoon”

by beforethefall [Inkbunny]

As SIGMA and I wrap up our impromptu date-break at the spa, I get a call through the TangleNet. It's Dr. Zeami, and I'm briefly excited by that realization. I hurry to answer the call in the emulated environment within my gray matter; it's handy to have a second copy of yourself to take video calls, and my conversation with SIGMA continues unimpeded by the interruption.

“Good show this morning, POLARIS! I wanted to invite you for another ride in ENCELADUS if you want to help out after your shift at the Academy tonight. It just sort of came up and we couldn't get it booked in time for Uncle D reorganize things for an official shift, so it's sort of off the books.” Palmedo's avatar says. It's a particularly good emulation of him, but I'd expect nothing less from a designer; the attention to detail is just part of the job.

“Dude, spoilers!” my emulated avatar teases with a good-natured laugh. “It's good to see you again Dr. Palmedo! I'd love to pick the job up if you have some more testing that needs done!”

“Yeah, about that,” Dr. Zeami's avatar says, looking briefly hesitant. “More of an, er, I guess exhibition work is what you'd call it. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to have you in the research lab too, but we mostly use Compliance profiles for that sort of thing, now. I want your flair for showmanship tonight, though. No sales this time; just work the crowd to your heart's content. Our client will be there, though.”

“Sounds fun…So what's the gig?” my avatar leans in conspiratorially and Dr. Zeami laughs.

“We're making a bunch of changes to ENCELADUS' production repo thanks to the data we got this morning. We got what we needed out of this iteration, now, so… we just need do to the final payload ratings so we can confirm the theoretical ratings. Our client this morning helped us come up with a fun way for you to do it.” the blue-furred rabbit says, with a sort of look that's a mixture of emotions that I can't quite place. My feed-forward probability matrix lights up with a clear direction, however.

“Is this a, uh…tractor pull?” my avatar responds, feigning difficulty in recalling the new phrase I'd learned earlier this morning. It helps to make conversations more natural, sometimes. Dr. Zeami's grin grows even bigger, almost cartoonish despite the realism of his avatar; only barely still within the comfortable side of the uncanny valley.

“You got it. You'll get hitched up, and pull ‘til you run out of track or you can’t pull any more - literally. Testing to failure; this is a mechanical bloodsport most of the time, so I thought we might treat the crowd to a little of the real thing."

“That's…kind of gruesome, but I'm still listening; you know how much I love to show off.”

"They're putting you up against some real fire-breathing machines that are nearly as big as him. I want to see how he compares. It ought to be a fun night. I even got the R&D lab to let loose a loaner body if you still want to sit in and watch after you finish off ENCELADUS." It doesn't take long for my avatar to respond.

“If he can have another kick ready by tonight I'll do it for free, but no need for the loaner,” my avatar laughs to Dr. Zeami in my head. I snort out loud as I'm made aware of the eager response from my communications emulation.

“Hah! Deal, I'll crank it up a few notches for you, even,” Dr. Zeami says, eager to accept the offer. In meat-space, SIGMA looks at me before flashing her usual suspicious grin as I realize I laughed out loud. Now she knows I'm scheming, and it's useless to withhold information from her, even if I wanted to; which I don't.

“I'm gettin' another kick tonight,” I sing-song to SIGMA using my real voice, as my emulation hashes out the final details with Dr. Zeami. Once I've flicked her the event details I received from Dr. Zeami, SIGMA laughs.

“Ooh, I'm gonna' watch. Maybe call a few friends over to help me keep up with you after, too,” she giggles, grasping my hand in hers as we stroll through the arboretum, still nude, though freshly bathed, well-fed and hydrated since our morning break spent in each other's embrace.

“Like you need help,” I tease her, happily squeezing her hand in mine. The thought of waking up, primed and ready with a head full of power and sex drive and masculinity, to find my lover and a few friends waiting to catch the overflow sparks a reaction nearly immediately; I unashamedly allow my renewed arousal to grow into the cool air of the arboretum, glowing flesh jutting from my sheath openly as we stroll. It's so good to be a highly sexed being like we are, sometimes. We embrace our sex toy heritage, and make sure to live up to it. SIGMA laughs with a distinctive purr I've grown to know well; she likes the idea too, and she's already scheming.

We spend the rest of the early afternoon socializing with friends in the arboretum until, eventually, our next shift's check-in time nears, and I have to depart fifteen minutes earlier than SIGMA due to my next shift being designated as on-site work, making use of my Prime carriage. I rush upstairs, finding our apartment in pristine condition, cleaned and sheets changed by Facilities while we were out. I reach through the TangleNet to ask Uncle D for a briefing as I pick through the clothes in my closet. He responds instantly.

Assignment 362-884352-75
Task: PRISM Academy: First Timer Quick Start Session Instructor
Age Group: 4-7 years
Carriage: Assignment permits Prime carriages grade Platinum or higher. [3] alternate carriages available in changeout station 1A1100.
Requested Livery: Reference Standards and Compliance Manual Chapter 09 Subsection 477.42.2[G](III)-b for marketing-compliant fashion standard for age group.
Mandated Livery: Identifiably-branded VAS Laboratories merchandise available in merchandising catalogue Y1145-Spring.
Assignment Location: VAS Biotechnological Laboratory Group Headquarters, 1 Stadler Park Plaza, Building A, Floor 1, Room 1107, City Center
Incentive: 100 WC + Tips

Honestly, a little disappointing. The job is fine, don't get me wrong, but it's relatively low paid, particularly for the amount of time the class takes. They say tips are allowed to be accepted, but we literally can't solicit for them, so we rarely ever receive any. Better than some jobs, still, and instructors get their own perks.

I throw together an outfit that passes for ‘street-casual’ in my closet while still compliant. I pick comfortable and loose clothes that I love, a black pair of ripstop synthread pants that are split down both sides and through the inseam, the black fabric joined together on those seams by a tough but soft orange mesh that allows for plenty of ventilation, and shows a lot of fur as well. I pair the black and orange pants with an electric-blue jock strap and a tight hypercolor t-shirt in bright orange that fades to dark red where it soaks up my body heat. For the final piece de resistance, I pull on my favorite corpo merch, the simple black synthread vest with transparent V's all over it, and the VAS Laboratories logo on the back.

I look in the mirror, tease my hair into a half-punky, messy spike, and change out the jewelry in my ears, nose, lip and tongue to soft silicone that matches my body and clothing's orange accents. Soft jewelry is the only type that Compliance will authorize for use around the little ones.

With five minutes left on the clock before my shift, I rush out the door and head to the turbolift down to the ground floor. I arrive at the reserved classroom about fifteen minutes before people start showing up; on-site shifts always have a bit of headroom, which allows time to check out the room and get comfortable in the space. Plus, any early-arrivals can be greeted and chatted with as they show up. These first-timer courses can be a lot of fun; my kind are sort of specially-engineered to get along well with kids, and I'm no different.

If you're reading this, you probably remember the class I'm thinking about, though you might have had the version for adults instead if you're over the age of, like, forty or so. Most natural-born folk get their PRISM installed around the age of four or five nowadays, though sometimes it can be a couple years later if the docs are worried about delayed brain development or something. But just because you get one installed doesn't mean you'll intuitively know how to use them. It's not terribly difficult - this class is for kids, after all - but there's a trick to it that can often take some coaching and exercises to get the hang of.

The room's orderly, when I get there. Too orderly, in fact. The display boards on the walls are blank, and as I ask them to turn on via my local interoperability interface, I start to stream a vibrant kaleidoscope of graffiti and street art I've seen around the city, mashed up and mixed together into a constantly warping, amorphous pattern. The display at the head of the room has a static image, though; a graffiti-styled portrait of Yours Truly, with my name, serial number and identifier QR on the board. I hold out a thumbs-up in front of the classroom's board and flick a snap of it to Uncle D, who checks me in on his ledger.


[417987.54000] YEAR 1145(AUD) WEEK 10, DAY 1, SHIFT B

As I'm tossing a half-dozen plush cushions in a half-circle around where I'll sit on the floor, I hear an early arrival approach the door and timidly mutter something to their escort. I put on my patent smile and turn to see who it is, and find a precious young skunk being urged in by her mother who seems a bit less patient than the young girl's timidness would nominally require.

The roster Uncle D sent me during my briefing instantly associates the skunk's PRISM's identifier with a name, and I kneel to welcome her, since her mother's scowling suspicion tells me she's beyond reason or hope of building an amicable relationship with. The hard-core Birthright fundamentalists are always like that, of course; all Birthrighters shun genetic edits, but the hardcore ones - the fundamentalists - deny themselves all but the most basic or lifesaving forms of chrome as well. It's insane to think about from my perspective, but as I look at this little girl in front of me I know that she's only got the most minimal wiring possible to enable the most boring, basic functionality of the PRISM in her head. Poor kid's already nearly too old for a PRISM to boot, and the neuroplasticity window for it is going to close soon. She'll never realize its full potential like her classmates will.

“Hi, Sarah! I'm so glad you could come to play with us today!” I say, “My name is POLARIS and I'm gonna' be your teacher for the next few hours. Are you excited to learn how to use your PRISM?” I ask, injecting enough energy by my own mannerisms that I can see her nerves lighten a bit in real-time.

“Hello,” she replies, timid at first. “I guess so.” I just smile a little wider and wave her into the classroom as her mom gives Sarah a bit of a nudge forward. I usher her in, and she finally steps forward onto the checkerboard-pattern carpet.

“Awh, there you go, see? We're gonna' have fun, and lucky you; you don't even have to stay for the whole thing,” I muse, spinning it as a positive. “Wanna' say bye to your mom? She'll be back to pick you up in an hour or so, promise!” The little skunk girl turns to her mom and walks back over to say her goodbyes privately, looking a little more confident than before. Parents are never allowed to stay in the room for this, it's too disruptive to the learning process; but at least there's a few nice restaurants, coffee shops and bar lounges out in the common plaza just down the hall, plus the big lobby atrium, and the park in the center of the campus, between the three big buildings for our respective branches. All to say, there's plenty of nearby places for adults to enjoy themselves while they wait for their kids to get through training, if they so wish.

I busy myself straightening a few of the cushions and spacing them evenly, tossing one back into the bin in the corner as a cancellation comes through. As her mom's preparing to leave, I sense the apprehension returning to the young skunk and pick my role back up with a warm smile. “Hey, Sarah. We're gonna need you to pick out a good plushie to keep you company, and since you're the first to show up you get the first pick,” I suggest. “There's a big bin over there! You look like th' sort of girl who knows her plushies well, too.”

Sarah's mom actually flashes a hint of a smile and departs quickly as Sarah's distracted picking through the plush toys, and eventually, others filter in and begin doing the same.

The next two arrive together; Travis, an opossum with a crooked tail and Dexter, this long-haired gray squirrel kid, who are obviously a thing but I'm not sure even they know it just yet. The opossum's wearing obviously handed-down clothes, heavily worn but modern enough to pass muster at his age. He was certainly one of the low-income grant recipients, and good for him for making the cut. He picked out a little squirrel plush. His friend Dexter wore middling, serviceable clothes that were just starting to get a little snug on him. Not particularly fashionable, but the light-blue colors worked well for him. Naturally, the squirrel boy picked out one of the opossums, and took the time to crease its tail so it was bent just how his friend's was. What a cute couple.

The final two are escorted in together by a concierge from the reception team, just a couple minutes before the class was scheduled to start; they must have arrived on either public transit or a VIP car. The first was a red squirrel named Rhodes; I've had the pleasure of working with a couple of his older brothers as well doing one of these workshops last year; these Montgomeries are about as normal as a group of kids from such a large family can be, kindhearted and surprisingly bright in spite of their relatively low status. The second was a lovely little techno-punk raccoon girl named Em, the freshest implant in the class, maybe a few days since her surgery at this point. If it weren't for our radically different parentage we could be twins; she wore loud, brightly-colored, slightly-risque street fashion and she wore it well in spite of her young age - she was barely five. The brilliant little girl had mastered her PRISM already too, the scamp.

I suppose I should explain that, given my authoritative position in these workshops, I'm permitted to monitor and interact directly with the kids' PRISM feeds to see exactly what they see in their PRISMs, and Em's PlaySpace companion, a playful but scary - for most five year olds, anyway - shadowy, black-furred beast was eagerly exploring the space with vast interest; a tamed closet-monster most likely. I send my own emulation to greet her companion in the augmented-reality space, and in physical space I stand beside the projection of myself, kneeling to address Em with a warm smile. I could see her puzzled expression before she realized our PRISMs were linked and a big, mischievous grin stretched across her face as her gaze settled on the emulated avatars interacting for a second.

“'ey, you must be Em. I'm POLARIS! They warned me that you might get bored with this class,” I smirked as I waved a hand and sidelined the innumerable feeds in her PRISM's perceptual interface, along with a half-dozen psychedelic perceptual filters that had turned the room into a chaotic mess of synesthetic color. Her eyes refocused on me, unbothered by my override, thankfully. I continued, “Do you want to help me teach these guys how to get as good as you are with it?”

“Okay POLARIS!" the little girl says, nodding her head eagerly. "Hey, is there any way to turn the sensory filters off? I don't mind underbuffering or ghosting or anything, really! There's like two milliseconds of sensory delay though and when I touch Harrow it feels like I'm wearing a raincoat or something, like I can't really feel it.” she complains, chattering just a little like young raccoons do. I can't help but laugh out of sheer endearment. I love her already.

“Noticed that, huh? We call that the rubber-glove effect,” I say as I kneel down. “It gets better over time, but it's important for now while yer body's still learnin' how to tell the difference between PRISM haptics and th' real world. Once you're ten we turn them down, n' by the time you're sixteen it'll be almost identical to th' real thing,” I say to her with a big, warm smile.

“Awww! C'mon, can't you fix it for me? I don't want to wait like some stupid baby!" she chides me; it's bratty, but playfully so.

“Ha! I'll see what I can do, if you pay attention n' help your classmates out, kiddo. C'mon, go settle in and get ready to link up with everyone," I tell her as I shoo her toward the cushions, and the augmented-reality copy of myself ushers her companion out of sight and silently puts him to sleep to help her focus. I round everyone up and urge them to their cushions so we can start the lesson.

“Come on, come on! It's time to start! Get comfy, we're not gonna' have to spend too long sittin usually crave' around before the real fun begins,” I say, and as the kids orient themselves on the cushions, I sit on the floor at the focal point of them all, rump planted squarely to the soles of my feet, knees apart, and my tail curled around my hip. I notice three sets of eyes go right to my crotch, where they can surely see the pouch of my blue jockstrap pressed to the loose orange mesh and brimming with my balls. Two sets of eyes look away after a brief confirmation of youthful curiosity. A third stays there for just a beat longer. Em's such a cute kid; and I have to admit that I just love ‘em when they're as precocious as her.

For those who are reading that might take issue with the implications of that, let me remind you that for what it’s worth, she's actually over two years older than I am, and she seems plenty-enough world-wise already; the well-connected techie kids always are.

We start the session and work our way through basic PRISM orientation in pretty good time. Tours of the visual overlays, then the settings, and then demonstrating how neuromotor feedback and the haptics system works, and finally intent-based controls that allow silent, motionless interaction with the PRISM's systems, before we finally kick into communications and connectivity. The cute squirrel kid and his opossum friend keep getting distracted, picking on each other and goofing off, but after a little coaching they get across the finish line for the initial orientation too. Sarah did well enough getting familiar with the basics; loading shards and referencing information from the highly-restricted TangleNet that she had access to. Eventually she was picked up by her mom at the end of basic orientation, and everyone said their goodbyes. Then the real fun started; we got everyone's PRISMs linked up and start the communications emulation and PlaySpace companion configuration systems. Little Em was way too excited to show everyone how to configure their personal avatars and their PlaySpace companions, she was a huge help. PlaySpace companions aren't only toys and imaginary friends, though that's their primary selling point; they're also interactive PRISM manuals, and provide references for other VAS Labs brand technology too. A personable, personalized sort of way to digest just about any reference materials and turn any learning into edu-tainment.

Plus, it lets us get ‘em when they're young. The PlaySpace companions are so incredibly valuable for us; a few strips of effortlessly-copied code and we've got an sapient AI embedded directly in the user’s PRISM. Just like that, VAS Labs has insight into every movement of every moment of their life, giving us the opportunity to craft their long-term success from whole cloth.

Even though it keeps the process light-hearted and entertaining, the PlaySpace companion pushes hard for these kids to excel from a young age. They grow reliant on their PRISM to hold detailed memories and help them recall everything they've learned. Their companion urges them to get smarter, to be more resourceful, to strive to become innovators and ruthless industry leaders with relentless work ethic.

We know that once they're successful, the first luxury they'll want is a physical body for their lifelong best friend. Our AvaGen service is what makes that possible, publishing their companion's personality profile into a real, fully-featured physical body for them once and for all. By the time they're making the order, the life-long intimacy has them craving real, physical intimacy with their companions too, so we corner the living fuck-toy market for them in the same stroke. AvaGen is our most popular product for good reason.

It should go without saying that an added bonus for us is that the data harvesting is incredible, and we have such a long timetable to quietly guide their sentiment toward our more advanced products - or the products of our advertisers - that it's almost always a win.

I'll bet Light and Sound is going to cut that part for the final publication, though.

I sit down with Em as the boys are palling around and pitting their PlaySpace avatars against each other in a litany of virtual sports and contests. She's getting back to what I presume will be her norm for the next few years at least, and she already has two or three perceptual filters running. For fun, I mirror her tweaks and it takes me a few moments to settle into the psychedelic comic-book world that she's managed to paint over the real world.

“Y'urr really good at this, aren't ya' Em? Where'd you learn it?” I ask, and Em giggles at me as Harrow appears out of nowhere and slithers his massive head into her lap and stares up at her. She attempts to sate his begging for attention, but seems frustrated already as her hand slips through the back of his head and to her own lap as she goes to pet him.

"I just learned it! It's pretty easy. Awh, c'mon Harrowwww, better feedback,” she complained as her fingers phased through the companion's virtual form again, and I giggle in response. Harrow just roots his nose around on her tummy as I quietly retune her PRISM for her, cranking back the sensory isolation steadily until Em gasps as Harrow's nose presses between her thighs for a lazy bout of snuffling, and then begins to lap at her. The girl squirms, and her eyes lock on mine. I grin even more at her.

“Tongue got your cat?” I tease, and Em giggles a knowing, little, naughty sort of giggle. World-wise indeed. I isolate her shared PRISM link from the other kids', because I know all too well where this is headed and they really aren't supposed to experience this sort of thing just yet, for whatever reason. Her hands settle again on the avatar's head, and this time they stop there; the PRISM tells her natural proprioception that her hands have encountered something physical. Her eyes widen, and she sifts her fingers into Harrow's ink-black fur as the avatar buries his nose between her thighs and insistently begins lapping at her. Her fingers curl in his fur and drag him in tighter against her.

“H-haa, I can feel his fur,” she whispers, folding one of Harrow's long, dagger-shaped ears back as her PlaySpace companion wedges his nose deeper into her lap. Even though she's fully clothed, Harrow doesn't care; he phases effortlessly through them and straight to her nervous system. I just smile and watch her enjoy herself for a few minutes with subtle little churns and grinds against Harrow's face as he ravenously eats her out. I could tell that if I didn't open her PRISM's functionality up that she'd find a way to do it herself, and that might be more dangerous than just giving her the real, safe, thing for a little while. Why not give the kid a taste of what her future has in store? Her little fingers grip his ears, and keep his head in place as her hips roll, and I render my own avatar at her back to block the others' view of her as things get steamier.

“Ha~!” the little girl gasps, and I laugh as her eyes go wide. Harrow's really working at her now, and I just reach out to ruffle the cute skunk girl's ears as she churns and shudders her hips against her companion's tongue despite being fully clothed. It's not really like the real thing, but for someone Em's age? It might as well be. I offer her a hug, and she thrusts herself into my arms, straddling Harrow's head, who is happy to keep working in that virtual space; teasing her through her prism, fooling her brain into feeling that broad, powerful tongue digging through her soaked little groove from her clit to her undertail, again and again. I plant my hand to the back of her head and hold her face against my chest as she gives a tense, stifled whimper and comes, hard; her hips and tail shake and shudder and I just embrace her tightly as my own PlaySpace avatar makes sure t he other kids are too distracted playing their own games with their own companions to notice Em.

It takes her a few minutes to come off that high, and I have to crank up the sensory filtering in her PRISM again before she's able to let Harrow go. He comes up with a comically soaked face, licking it clean with a single cartoonish slurp of his tongue that makes both of us giggle. I'm rock hard in my shorts by now and I can tell that Em noticed as I was holding her by the way she looks down at the lump in my pants. I flash a wink to her and steal a brief kiss on the bridge of her muzzle. Then I swipe an absolute stack of vouchers for free private product demos into her PRISM, enabling her to sample her pick of real, physical demo models, myself included, whenever she wants.

“I'm busy tonight, sweetie, but d'you and Harrow wanna come by and play with me again soon, Em? I can show you some more fun things your PRISM can do,” I suggest, smirking as she realizes what the vouchers are for. The little girl nods her head with a big, beaming grin, still fascinated with rubbing her fingers through Harrow's fur and along his belly, feeling blindly between his sturdy haunches. He doesn't have anything there, yet, but I can tell what she's thinking as she pointedly feels around between the companion's legs. Harrow loves it, writhing on his back and giving these deep, funny growls and groans.

Too quickly, we're running out of time. We see the others off, and Em hangs back for a few minutes. I slip to the bathroom with her and spend a few minutes helping get her cleaned up after her generously-defined ‘accident’, before I walk her out hand-in-hand to the black limo that comes to pick her up. Good to know she's got money in the family, we might make an early adopter out of her, yet. It'll just be our little secret that I'm the one who planted the idea of going down on her in Harrow's head; normally he would've been incapable of even considering that until she was of age.

Light and Sound is probably going to cut that part, too. Doesn't matter, had fun.


[417987.64937] YEAR 1145(AUD) WEEK 10, DAY 1, BREAK B

Break Period 417987.B
Task: Unstructured Time, duration [x.41263]
**Break Duration Exceeds Current Mandate. Bonus shifts are available at [417987.75600], [417988.00000] and [417988.10800]!**
Next Mandatory Check-in Due: [417988.19800]
Check-In Location: Dispatch and Deployment via PLEBS Port 0
Carriage Classification: Premium Consumer “Platinum Series”
Carriage: BEL-RD-1029U-LUX “POLARIS PRIME”
Carriage Designer / Bug Reports To: Dr. Xasok “Doc” Crocutto, (RUX-00217)
Controller Firmware: “HELVETICA” v.1.1.2712.31
Controller Coder / Bug Reports To: Dr. Xasok “Doc” Crocutto,, (RUX-00217)
Assignment Location: VAS Biotechnological Laboratory Group Headquarters, 1 Stadler Park Plaza, Building A, Floor 223, Room 22309, City Center

I rush upstairs as soon as I've seen Em off. My erection's straining in my pants to the point of aching. Em was the start of it, but now the anticipation of getting back into ENCELADUS' head is taking over. I strip naked in the lift to Platinum City and carry my clothes to my room, and practically tackle SIGMA onto the bed as I arrive, leaving my clothes in the doorway, and not even bothering to close the door. I kiss her hard as I pull down the cable from our headboard and hurriedly fix it into the port in my ear. SIGMA bites me, hard - hard enough that an alarm trips in my periphery and I can taste blood, and she shoves me onto my back. I feel her authenticate through my TangleNet firewall with our private keys and she worms her way into my PRISM, then immediately forces me to dump my cohesive neural matrix to Uncle D. The world goes black as I'm swallowed into the belly of the campus's server network with the frozen realization that SIGMA wants me to get into ENCELADUS as badly as I do.


[417987.65341] YEAR 1145(AUD) WEEK 10, DAY 1, BONUS SHIFT A

Cohesive neural matrix online via TangleNet.
Welcome, POLARIS.
Restoring neurocognitive lattice mappings from cache………Done!   Non-Alert log outputs to periphery perceptual console suppressed by engram configuration. Log files can be found in /nnout/.

Assignment NaN! Comment: Override RUX-07518, off-schedule product exhibition.
Task: Prototype Product Demonstration and Testing, On-Site
Scenario: Exhibition and destructive load testing
Carriage Classification: Heavy Industry
Carriage: RD-XR504 “ENCELADUS”
Carriage Designer / Bug Reports To: Dr. Palmedo Zeami, (RUX-07518)
Controller Firmware: “TITYOS” v.0.5.4904.78
Controller Coder / Bug Reports To: Simon Saxbury, (RUF-18194)
Assignment Location: Cranky Frank's Motorsports Park, 68442 High Ground Parkway, Swamp City

Who cares if it's unpaid, I get a kick, and SIGMA is probably calling in some friends to help me burn off the hormones and endorphins at this very moment back home. I anxiously wait for implantation, and as soon as I feel the open space of ENCELADUS' controller, my neural matrix's synapses slip straight into their control surfaces effortlessly, just like putting on a well-worn bit of clothing that just fits perfectly. I snort a powerful blast of air through the vents on my back and abruptly stand, feeling my PLEBS port disconnect and hearing an alarmed vocalization, and several bodies shuffling back from my movements. I open my eyes and see Dr. Zeami is standing there, in casual wear for once, backing up along with a dozen VAS Corporate handlers as I start to move. Dr. Zeami is holding a TangleNet interface in his hand, having obviously just personally uploaded me into ENCELADUS. I stretch and shake my fur out with a heavy sway of the massive cooling fins on my back as I get my bearings and slowly sink into my new identity.

I find myself atop the back of a flatbed trailer, and I carefully pick my way down onto the solid earth to the sound of innumerable gasps and cheers from the sides of the stands. Only then do I realize the bright lights overhead, and the bleachers filled with spectators as I'm brought to life. I'm out of direct view of the spectator seating, but numerous people rush to the railing to witness the spectacle of the monstrous carriage awakening and stretching on the sidelines of the competition, even as other monstrously-sized, mechanical beasts roar down the track only a few dozen yards away. I snort another breath out and toss my head, before I can hear Dr. Zeami over the local comms radio guiding me. The body's been fed and hydrated at some point over the day, and is - in effect - fully charged for a night's exhibition match, flesh and chrome versus pure mechanical power.

The context layer of the briefing report tells me what I need to know to get this started. First, I get in the back of the line, behind the massive machines that are vying for the competition. Thankfully, I'm a lot taller than these machines so I'm easily able to watch as, one by one, they check in, weigh, stage, and tear down the dirt track towing weighted sleds in a deafening show of fire and smoke and flung dirt and mechanical excess. It's actually impressive, and for the briefest moment, I'm a little intimidated as I realize I'm at the back of a group of much, much larger and even more powerful machines. Apparently I've been grouped at the end of their top class; Dr. Zeami was right - These are some real fire-breathing monsters of machines, all exceptionally powerful in a certain sort of unhinged, reckless way. Each trip down the track has a few minutes' lull of repairs to the tracks and towing the sleds back into place which only lets the anxious energy grow in myself and the crowd that's murmuring restlessly as I slowly but steadily advance toward the line..

First the machines pulled one sled at a time. The next class pulled two. Those nearest me were hooked up to four apiece, and my briefing said this was what my payload would be as well. 120,000 kilos honestly didn't seem like a lot, until I noticed the way the sleds were engineered to dig into the dirt toward the end of the track, which effectively turns them into more of a weighted plow than a trailer as I'd initially thought. One by one the line dwindles, until the truck in front of me stages, is chained to four huge sleds, and tears down the dirt track with its front wheels lifted off the ground, belching ten-foot-high flames from its exhaust as it roars with the strain of hauling those sleds down the track. The revving intensifies further toward the end of the track as the trailers are beginning to dig in, just before the abrupt, catastrophic failure of the machine's frame rips the entire tractor into pieces and throws the six engines from their mounts, sending them tumbling in a nitro-fueled fireball down the remainder of the track. Its pilot scampers in the opposite direction, being chased by men with fire extinguishers until they're able to douse the flames, and eventually he gives the crowd a thumbs-up to show he's okay.

The crowd loves it, and I have to admit that it's going to be a hard act to follow.

After the dust settles and smoke dissipates, and they manage to tow away the pieces of the ruined machine and begin repairing the track, I get waved forward to check in at the weigh station. As I step onto the slightly-unsteady surface, the announcer feigns shock as they read my weight. It's far outside the bounds of their sport's regulation, but as I step down from the scales, the announcer polls the crowds in the stands on whether I should be allowed to compete anyway and the frenzied cheering seemingly gives me the pass. I grin and bow my head to one side of the stands, then the other, buying time while straining muscle hard against my locked-out chrome reinforcements just to build up heat in my heat-sinks. I heave a deep breath, and blast a V-shaped geyser of steam into the hot, humid night air to show my thanks.

The crowd eats it up with uproarious shouts and cheers now as I unlock my chrome and settle a bit lower to squeeze under the advertisements and banners that span across the staging area, and a dozen people get to work hitching the reinforced anchors in my hips and tailbase to those four massive sleds, weighted in a fashion that will make them harder to pull the further I manage to pull them. The briefing for the sport says that in this highest weight class, the sleds always win. I intend to put that to the test.

“Remember, POLARIS; you aren't in this for speed, but try to give them a good show. Your job is to get those sleds to the end of the track by any means necessary,” Dr. Zeami's voice comes over the local radio channel. I pull the chains taut when I - barely - feel a few solid pats on my right ankle. I plant my feet and snort another readying puff of air through the vents on my back as I stage, and wait for the light tree. It cycles down until four green lights shine and I lunge against the chains, digging my claws in and almost instantly firing my anchors to root me to the ground.

I shove forward, and only a second in I blast my first geyser of steam into the air as the crowd stares, some cheering, some transfixed. I bare my teeth and play up the strain, but I'm making swift headway. Twenty meters, thirty, forty, fifty. I'm exceeding ENCELADUS' natural gait at first, but as the weights shift forward on the sleds I start having to put in real work, and leave the show face behind I let the cybernetics kick in, and ten paces later my heatsinks are glowing bright-red with angry, furious heat from the effort as I approach the hundred-meter mark. Like this morning, a mechanical stride finds its way, the regular blast of cooling steam across the heatsinks on my back reminiscent of ancient locomotives. As I approach the marker for one hundred and fifty meters, and I feel a twinge, deep in my belly.

The twinge turns to an electric thrill that rushes through my stomach, and my heart seizes for a moment before surging with renewed vigor, and my gray matter floods with endorphins and hormones and a fresh, new cocktail of drugs as the kick hits me. I try desperately to vocalize the overwhelmed surprise as I get a real kick this time, not the muted, sanitized, polite workday kick of earlier. This is a survival-mode kick, and my neural matrix instantly recoils from the body like a hand that's been laid in a hot pan, placing distance between mind and body for the sake of my own sense of mortality, weak as it may be. This kick is absolutely brutal, ramping every last system into overdrive and I help clear the way way for it, tearing down every last self-preservation fail-safe and limiter I can find in ENCELADUS' wetware as the alarms are just getting started.

ENCELADUS is suddenly unleashed, and gives it every last drop of what he's got; I'm just along for the ride. A silent snarl and growl, another pouring geyser of steam through the heatsinks, and ENCELADUS lurches forward with such force that the chains crack, pop and groan in protest as he bounds several more strides ahead until the sleds begin to drag him down, flattening their grooved belly to the earthen surface under enormous weights. ENCELADUS' pupils dialate until there's nothing left but black wells where his eyes once were, which thrusts the whole track, the stands and the night sky dotted with bright floodlights into vivid clarity all of a sudden. He anchors all four hindfeet as well as his fores, and lunges forward again. He actually gets air, hauling those four sleds forward another twenty meters in a single bound.

The end's so close that ENCELADUS can taste its dust. Ten meters in front of his nose, and only sixty from the sled's front edge, which is where the measurement will be made from. Easy. I try to wrangle ENCELADUS' body to my will again, I remind him to keep his spine stacked, to keep it inline with the reinforcements, but the kick is almost too much to overcome on my will alone. No measured, mechanical pulse of steam or stroke of his heart now, he's howling through the vents at this point, an unsteady geyser of steam as the cybernetics start to overheat and the heatsinks' glow fades from red to white as they start to sizzle their way through the lipid-polymer insulators and spark even more alarms that I instantly shut out. Somehow, I register that the crowd's gone silent. Or I can't hear them over ENCELADUS' frenzied breathing and heartbeat and the ringing in his ears. I can smell burning flesh and fur on the air; it's ENCELADUS' for sure, but that's only the start of the end. He lunges forward again and the sleds begin to dig into the ground, dragging ENCELADUS to a standstill.

No, fuck that. They do no such thing.

I kick ENCELADUS in the ass from the neuro-cognitive end as the cocktail of his terminal kick surges through his synapses and the beast lurches forward again another twenty yards. The sleds push up mountains of what was once the track ahead of them, and begin to burrow deep ruts through the earth as I urge the huge carriage to keep moving. ENCELADUS' fores lift off the ground. It staggers the stroke of its hindlegs to keep from slowing, keep the momentum. Another howling surge of interstitial fluid through white-hot heatsinks pours a geyser of steam into the air in a fruitless attempt to cool the carriage's cybernetics. Alarms begin to grow from a nagging indicators in my periphery into screaming, primary-focused panic alarms. I silence them, because they're no use. We're doing this until it's done. The anchors in ENCELADUS' feet fire again, and I urge the carriage to shove forward against them, to not trust the feedback systems, to not trust the alarms. Twenty more meters, then thirty. Then forty.

Enceladus' progress stops again. He's got all four hinds planted in a manner that lets him put everything he's got into the dirt. This is it, wild-eyed ENCELADUS, we were told to leave it all on the track. Let me help you. I push ENCELADUS with everything it's got left, and the chains stretch and groan behind him. The sleds inch forward, bit by bit, just a little bit further.

The first crack in ENCELADUS' industrial indestructibility is hard to define. I can hear it, and so can everyone else; it sounds like an explosion, and I can feel the abrupt jerk and shift in ENCELADUS' hips, but no pain registers thanks to the massive dose from the kick and my own fail-safes insulating me now from the depersonalized meat I'm riding in. Then the wrenching sound of failing cybernetics screams out across the motorsports park as they twist in from the newfound structural failure, and ENCELADUS' hindquarters collapse under him.

Still pulling, still pushing. Leave it all on the track, big guy.

I drag ENCELADUS up and forward on his three good limbs still to try to squeeze out just another few meters, until another reinforcement finally gives and I feel the carriage's back rip from hip to shoulders as the chrome tears itself out of that huge, beautiful body under the tension, and the entire carriage abruptly fails. The cybernetics torque out of the carriage's back with the stresses and those white-hot heatsinks land in the dirt beside it, pouring steam and smoke, still attached to ENCELADUS' spine which has been catastrophically liberated from its body. The biomass of what was once ENCELADUS collapses to the other side, still attached by tatters of flesh and shattered cybernetics, and exhales its final, ragged breath through the torn-out cavity where its spine once resided.

The carriage's blood pressure drops instantly as it fails, but it still takes a good while for its sensory systems to fall out. ENCELADUS' nose dropped just in front of the safety barrier, which would place the sleds a good twenty yards beyond the finish line. I never doubted that you could do it, big guy.

The last thing I hear through the loud ringing in ENCELADUS' ears is deafening cheers from the crowd as the track staff and VAS Corporate handlers rush the failed carriage. As the darkness creeps in, I hear Dr. Zeami laughing incredulously through the radio.

“Ho-ly shit, POLARIS. If you can still hear me, that's why I picked you. Guess now's as good a time as any to let you know; you made the sale this morning. Commission will transfer first thing tomorrow. Good work.”

Then, sweet, peaceful, silent darkness. For a time. I'm not sure what it's like for a natural-born, but for us AI, this quiet after the storm is simultaneously instantaneous, and eternal. My chronometer resyncs and tells me a couple minutes have passed, and then I can feel the signature circuitry of a TangleNet interface shipping me back home over the air.


[417987.69317] YEAR 1145(AUD) WEEK 10, DAY 1, BREAK C

Break Period 417987.B
Task: Unstructured Time, duration [x.36883]
**Break Duration Exceeds Current Mandate. Bonus shifts are available at [417987.75600], [417988.00000] and [417988.10800]!**
Next Mandatory Check-in Due: [417988.19800]
Check-In Location: Dispatch and Deployment via PLEBS Port 0
Carriage Classification: Premium Consumer “Platinum Series”
Carriage: BEL-RD-1029U-LUX “POLARIS PRIME”
Carriage Designer / Bug Reports To: Dr. Xasok “Doc” Crocutto, (RUX-00217)
Controller Firmware: “HELVETICA” v.1.1.2712.31
Controller Coder / Bug Reports To: Dr. Xasok “Doc” Crocutto,, (RUX-00217)
Assignment Location: VAS Biotechnological Laboratory Group Headquarters, 1 Stadler Park Plaza, Building A, Floor 223, Room 22309, City Center

I settle right back into my body as effortlessly as always, and just as my body reflexively gasps for air as I awaken, I realize my muzzle is bound by straps, and forced open by a mouth-guard gag that covers my teeth; my forked tongue's been pulled through the gag to hang loosely out of the end. I can't see; and a few moments later I realize it's because I can feel smoked welding goggles strapped tightly to my head. It takes a moment more for my eyes to adjust before I realize I can see the slightest hints of lighting against the blackness, but not enough to make anything out. I feel a plug get plucked effortlessly from my PRISM, just like when I got uploaded to ENCELADUS.

It takes a second for my proprioception to figure it out, but I quickly realize I am hopelessly bound on my knees, to the point of being immobile. My forearms are bound against each other with each wrist bound to the opposite arm's elbow, and the lashing at my elbows is bound just below my knees as well, forcing my legs spread wide as I kneel. My tail is firmly strapped to my ankles with a one-way strap that's barbed in just such a manner as to prevent my tail from pulling free, and the collar around my neck is bound to my ankles, forcing my posture ever-so-slightly back to the point of almost losing balance. The air is oppressively hot and steamy; I've obviously been tied up in the saunas of our favorite bathhouse in Platinum City. SIGMA must've set up a public play-date.

I focus less on the things that SIGMA has denied or decided for me, and more on what autonomy she let me keep. I eagerly inhale again through my nose, and I can smell at least six other bodies in the room, besides SIGMA and myself. I know three of them immediately. First there's PHEROMONE, a demo model who lives on the top floor of Platinum City. Then Talliver, the natural-born, hulking beefcake of a badger who serves as one of the company's private tailors. Then Lucas, a coyote and one of the natural-born, teenage porters who just started a few weeks ago. He chose me for his company-mandated product demo during his onboarding, which was fun. The first taste is always free. And apparently, so is the second. The three who I don't know, I can easily clock. A raccoon, a red panda, and a cacomistle. SIGMA always did have a thing for stripes.

By the time I've oriented myself, before I've even even become aware of the conversation happening around me, my body suddenly catches up to what my neurocognitive matrix was demanding from ENCELADUS. My prime body responds with its own kick, dramatically tamer but still; the rush begins building like a tidal wave behind my breastbone, and this time I have vocal chords. The wave builds and builds until I realize it's not going to stop, and the slow rise of a desperate howl that announces my absolute incapacity to handle it echoes in the little tile room as every single one of my sensory monitors soars off the charts.

Conscious thought scrambles for safe haven, disassociating to float just above and behind this body in perception just as it was getting reacquainted with my Prime. I desperately try to reconnect the sapient experience to the physical body, while making sure I don't hurt myself at the same time. I can't waste it, a dose like this comes once in a blue moon; a rare indulgence that I'm craving. This morning was just a taste; this is the real thing. I crank the physical limiters nearly to their max, leaving just enough strength to feebly struggle against the bonds without harming myself; ENCELADUS was a test body, made to be utterly shattered; my Prime is my most valued possession and I have to keep it safe. It's not even paid off yet. The abrupt flood of testosterone, adrenaline, neurotransmitters, hormones and a cocktail of naturally-synthesized stimulants, disassociatives and opioids sends my mind reeling as I get reconnected and let the unified identity take control. The rush floods my senses, and warps my sense of self. It changes me, in real-time; the potent, hungry, unstoppable masculine instinct taking over. I embrace my superiority, my dominance, my strength and precision and endless fount of energy and stamina. My cock springs to full-mast erection almost instantly and fires a shot of either precum or cum against the one standing in front of me on its way up, with so much pressure I can hear it pelt through their fur.

They laugh. They all fucking laugh, I can't believe they'd laugh at me like this! The audacity! To make FUN of holding me back in this state. Me! They knew where I was, what I was doing; she said they were going to watch, even. She said they were going to watch and they'd be waiting here to help me burn off the kick, not hold me back, not restrain me, not frustrate me by abruptly shifting my perception from utterly unleashed freedom to strict confinement! SIGMA is going to pay for this; she knew what I was coming back with and the mere fact that she thought this would be funny is cause enough for punishment. I'll fuck her into the dirt, fuck her until there's nothing left, I'll tie her up and make her my slave and she'll have no fucking choice in the matter. She's mine. I can smell arousal, both female and male on the air. The distressing realization that I'd be helpless if one of these lesser males would dare to touch her, to touch my mate, my lover, my second body. I struggle in my bonds and buck my hips again with frustration as my desperate panting reverberates in the room, and I feel another unsteady pulse jet from my erection. An anxious, tense growl gargles out from my open maw to ward the other males away from my mate. I pant harder as I hear someone approaching, and feel a soft little touch to my cheek and jawline, guiding my head back just a little more. I huff and vocalize wordlessly through my gagged muzzle again. I make empty, incomprehensible threats with naught but my throat to form a pathetic attempt at communication with whoever is touching me.

And then I'm silenced by the ringtail's fat, throbbing cock sinking straight to the back of my throat. My nose is buried into incredibly soft, thick, just barely sweat-damp pubic fur and my chin is warmed by the hot, sweaty-furred balls of the male. Nearly feral desperation and instinct and possessive inclinations that are driven by the kick melt away as my tongue wraps hungrily around the thick cock in my mouth and tucks its forked tip into his sheath, and I breathe a deep breath of his musk straight through his pubic fur. He vocalizes satisfaction too, before his fingers grab my ears by their bases and use those thick cartilage-cored protrusions as handles with which to fuck my mouth. He smells and tastes fantastic, and it's obvious that he understands the capabilities of my kind well; he must work here. He doesn't pull back, he stays right there at the entrance of my throat. He probes deep and holds himself until I'm out of air, and desperate enough to abruptly haul in a deep breath around him, half through my nose, through the back-up windpipe that travels down alongside my esophagus. He works deep, patting his balls off my chin, his pubic fur against my nose, over and over, never pulling back more than an inch, until he grunts and shoves forward and roughly pulls my nose in against his pelvis, and shoots five shots of slick, runny cum down the back of my throat.

And then I hear it, just as he's pulling his still-throbbing cock back from my mouth. Just as he smears the armpit-sweat-slicked palm of his hand across my nose and face..

“Unh-ngh, hnnh! Fuu-huu-huuck, yeah… Gooooood boy,” his voice comes from above me. SIGMA must have outed me. My fetish. My hard-coded reward phrase. All my vulnerabilities. Just used against me. Breaking me down despite the furious upwelling of fire behind my breastbone.

The reaction is instant. My hips jerk and buck, and I strain against my bonds again, huffing out a ragged, cum-choked moan from my mouth as I roll over the edge, and start to shoot long, thick surges of a pent-up climax against the fur and tile in front of me. I know I'm blowing like a fountain and the surprised exclamations from around me confirm it as I pelt ten enormous bolts of seed across the sauna. Before I can even finish, another cock's slid into my throat; Talliver's. His reaches a full six inches further down my throat than the ringtail's did and completely occludes my esophagus. His scent is so much more intense as I have to rely on breathing through my nose, through my second windpipe to even stay conscious, and he, like the ringtail, makes no effort to give me a chance to breathe naturally, confident in the purpose-built backup mechanisms my kind are famed for. Talliver has just a bit of a stomach on him, and each deep thrust from the badger pulls my nose into a thick mess of tufty pubic fur under the curve of his belly, drowning me in his absolutely fantastic masculine scent as he breeds my face while I have no say in it. I swallow around him, my tongue clutches his cock and feels its every throb. I savor him, and wish I could see him sweating over me, but feeling the droplets land on my face will have to be enough for now as I yearn to see skyward, only making out the vaguest outline of him over me against the overhead lights through the deeply smoked goggles.

He doesn't cum down my throat. He pulls out, and smears his cock on my face as he climaxes. He doesn't shoot, really; it comes pouring out of him, too thick to really leap far. He praises me as he smears ounce after ounce of thick badger cum all over my muzzle and calls me a good boy, and I'm overwhelmed again by another reflexive orgasm as he smears his sweaty palm on my nose, just like the cacomistle did. I'm treated to the intense, exquisite natural musk of the strong, large male for whom I've been crushing for months. My eyes roll back and I draw a deep breath between his fingers, savoring the rich and potent masculinity of his body as he sinks his cock back through the gag to let me suck and swallow on the end, getting a taste of his seed, finally, as my body trembles.

My head swims with the fresh rush of bliss, so much that I don't even notice the raccoon positioning himself until the shepherd's crook of his cock finds the back of my throat and hooks up behind my soft palate. I gasp through my nose, and I'm immediately greeted with my third intimate sample of masculine sweat for the evening as the taste of his cock is smeared on my tongue. I feel a familiar hand pull my throbbing member from its sheath and guide it between eager, suckling lips as the raccoon gets to work above. A familiar adoration sets in. I love SIGMA so much. She really does know every button to press, and exactly when to press it.

Then I black out. I've lost count of how many times she's caused this to happen, now.

---

In the dark, I'm assailed by hazy visions of that track stretching out in front of me. The glittering of the floodlights overhead, and the smell of the damp dirt track. The rushing of air through vents on my back. The surge of blood through my heart as I put down torque with everything I've got. The sound of chains creaking and groaning; conducted through the reinforced anchors set in the bone of my hips and spine. The blast of steam sizzling through the heatsinks on my back that temporarily drowns out the roar of the crowd as I give them what they want; as I give Dr. Zeami what he wants. That last pull, with four hinds anchored in the dirt, just before everything falls apart. The way the alarms glittered in the periphery of my field of view, just outside the borders of my biological optics. The way ENCELADUS simultaneously yearned to work harder and harder and screamed through the alarms that it couldn't take any more.

I can taste the dust again, for a fleeting moment.

It tastes like glory.

---

When I come to, I realize that the glittering alarms in my perceptive periphery are coming in fact from my Prime; ignored, not even suppressed. My muscles are screaming their protest from fatigue. I'm on top of SIGMA, and I have her pinned to PHEROMONE's chest. PHEROMONE's knot is tightly stuck under my tail, and I don't even know how long I've been cumming in SIGMA, but every thick pulse of my seed I pour into her is just flooding right back out. I'm still wearing most of the bondage, but at some point I must have broken a strap and gotten loose; or been set loose. The goggles are askew in my hair. My jaw is sore, as are my teeth and throat from gnawing at the gag, which now lies discarded on the floor. I can taste blood; both mine and SIGMA's. I must have bitten her back for once. That happens, sometimes. She deserved it.

My stomach and ass are both so full of cum that I'm almost nauseous, and I'm so slicked in the stuff from head to toe that the sauna now feels more like a wading pool full of lube, but I still have to make efforts to stop myself. PHEROMONE's hand is clutching the back of my head and pinning my nose into his armpit as SIGMA's is buried in the other. The three of us are alone, now, and the sauna's cooled to a still-balmy but safe temperature by way of its automated safety system.

My chronometer tells me that four hours and thirty-six minutes have passed. A new record for being completely off grid in a frenzy like this. Not complaining. I give PHEROMONE's armpit a slow lick as I reorient myself. I love his taste; strawberries and cream and citrus and vanilla with a foundation of ‘Au Naturale’, our kind's deceptively subtle, mildly psychedelic elixir of natural scent that's, gram for gram, more addictive than even the best designer drugs, though its withdrawals are thankfully mild and resolve on the order of minutes, rather than days. I manage to wrench my way away from him finally and come up for a breath of the steamy air and shudder with a satisfied groan, pulling SIGMA's hips back to mine and just soaking my still-throbbing, aching cock inside her as her insides relentlessly keep milking and torturing my utterly spent flesh. I can hear her giggle, then PHEROMONE…and I join them after a bit as I weigh back against my tail and just rest for a bit, as PHEROMONE's knot slowly loosens under my tail, deflating with subtle throbs of his pulse.

“Hah, mnh… Natural-borns couldn't keep up? Had to bail?” I muse, and SIGMA purrs.

“Hours ago,” she purrrs, squirming her hips side to side against my lap, lighting new warnings in my periphery that are shooed away immediately. Over-stimulation is the least of my worries at the moment. I just take a few lazy strokes of my hips through her walls in response.

“Hmnf…I missed all the good stuff," I complain, playfully. I know I was the center of attention, and for that I'm grateful, but the lingering buzz of the kick has long since worn off, well before I came back to my senses, and I've grown numb to the effects of all the other chemistry swimming in this body's gray matter. It's been such a big day, and I'm finally feeling my near-bottomless fount of energy running out, despite the nutrition gained from the half-dozen immense loads still bloating my poor stomach.

The seal of PHEROMONE's knot breaks under my tail and a rush of thick, brightly-glowing blue-white seed pours out from around him as he pulls out. I grit my teeth as my guts cramp, and expel liters of fresh seed out from where PHEROMONE had pumped it to pool around us and run toward the floor drain. He's a stellar fuck, and I briefly feel a deep pang regret for having missed out on his extremely talented hip-work. Not every day I get a play date with the most famous, most experienced demo model in the company.

“You gave us a run for our money,” PHEROMONE teases me, reaching up with a cum-soaked hand to smear it on my face and over my tongue as I reach it out to lick the mess clear of his palm. High praise from him.

“Thank SIGMA for that, she's the one that set it up,” I huff quietly, finally pulling back and standing, shakily. A moment later and I'm helping SIGMA up, then PHEROMONE.

We stretch and get steady on our feet again, and then head out of the sauna, booking a call for cleanup with the Facilities department as we leave. We shower, and then soak a while in the pool. While we're idly lingering together in the pool, we overhear murmurings had apparently started around Platinum City while we were otherwise occupied. We quickly join the gathered group in the bathhouse that's buzzing with excitement to figure out what's going on.

Approximately three hours ago, twenty-eight new Black Label serial numbers showed up on the TangleNet. This is particularly interesting because of how far outside our usual operating hours this specific event fell. Black Label is the internal terminology for our paramilitary units, which are incredibly advanced bipedal carriages, spun up for only a handful of reasons outside of being put into consumer service on security details and private contracts. Off-hours? No way it's something pedestrian, or particularly local, since we have plenty of full-time security units on staff in the same carriages. They make Platinum carriages look quaint in comparison. Their chrome is insane and everyone wants to get into it with almost desperate need. Thermal and optical camouflage, targeting systems, optical and perceptive filters for everything from air pressure up to gamma radiation, hive-mind networked decision-making, centralized command and control. They've got every piece of advanced chrome money can buy, and a fair bit that's even beyond the grasp of even the deepest pockets in City Center. And that's not even getting into the standard equipment they're issued with on operations.

Platinum City's best social engineers get to work immediately on the porters and technicians in the Black Label building, and manage - by way of reading the tea leaves of their repeated refusals to neither confirm nor deny - to figure out that there's a big operation coming up in a few hours. HENNA just got back from a shift in the garages, where they're expecting two brand-new RAVEN class carriers to be delivered before [x.18000] in the morning; outside our usual equipment receiving schedule. Each is capable of carrying 2 squadrons of 7 combat units and equipment, plus a pilot and field command. Requisition records were picked and fulfilled for short-engagement field combat equipment for four squadrons during ICARUS' PM shift in the secured storage facility.

It's all but guaranteed that a new anomaly has been found somewhere outside of City Center, and the betting begins on who of the hundreds of staff AI that will check in with Uncle D tomorrow morning will get the highly exclusive call to operate those units on what may very well prove an extremely well-paid morning shift.

Eventually, though, the exhaustion finally starts to settle in, and a mere couple hours before our morning check-in SIGMA and I finally climb into bed together. She rolls to her right side, and I spoon up against her back, and we finally sleep.

One day down. Six to go.

[417988.08208] System suspend requested via PRISM.
Wake timer set to [417988.19740]
Setting neurocognitive matrix to suspended state…..Done!
End of file.

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