Horror · Sci-fi / Fantasy

Sex: Busier Than a Three Legged Cat Trying to Squeeze Blood From the Tip of an Iceberg by S.T. Gulik

“Hedorah appeared in a doorway above them, trying to carry a rifle and two briefcases while lighting a cigarette. He got it lit, but dropped one of the briefcases on his toe.
“Fuck! Goddammit. Hi, guys.” He grabbed the other case, situated everything, and hobbled down the stairs.
Emma poured coffee from a pot that looked like the Death Star into a crystalline mug that changed colors as it heated up. “We finished your gun, but I’d like to go on record saying this is a terrible plan.”
Max took a small sip. “Mm, nice coffee.” He took a bigger sip and set the cup on the coffee table. “The plan sucks, but we have to do something. Wait a second, when did I tell you the plan?”
Hedorah set his load on the table. “You’re trying to temporarily disinfect one person from a distance. It’s gotta be Hawk. What do you think he’s going to do when he snaps out of it?”
“No idea, but it’ll be televised.”
Emma cocked her head. “See, that’s not a plan. Why don’t you let us help you make one?”
“Thanks for the offer, but plans haven’t worked out for me lately.”
Emma rolled her eyes.
“Really, we don’t have time to plan. At the rate shit’s going, we’ll all be dead or drooling by tomorrow night.”
“Are you sure you aren’t just falling for the Media© hype?”
Max pulled out his phone and showed them the squiggly-thing video. “This is what’s going on outside of your comfy little money-bubble.
“That’s new. What happened after that?”
Hedorah listened to the rise and fall of the abomination with the curiosity and enthusiasm of a five-year-old, but didn’t quite freak out until he heard about the Teleluvvies.
“Oh my god, please tell me you bagged one of those.”
“Of course not. I didn’t want to go near those things.”
Well, can you go back and get me one? Please?” Hedorah was so excited his eyes were shaking.
Max wanted to punch him for being so predictable. “Fuck no. Weren’t you listening?”
“Dude, they’re mind wipers. That means remote neural manipulation!”
Max glanced through the purple angora curtains to make sure there weren’t any extra-dimensional creatures surrounding Emma’s house. “From the looks of it, there wasn’t much to manipulate, but yeah.”
“That’s not supposed to be possible. Especially not selectively. The implications, I mean, it’s not blowing my mind, it’s fucking carpet-bombing carpet-bomb factories in my head. If I could figure out how it works, I could do anything. Imagine learning every language in under a minute. Psychic meshing means shared experience. The sexual potential alone—you have to capture one.”
“In the entirety of my life, I don’t believe I’ve ever meant no more than I mean no at this very moment. No.”
“Don’t be a dick.”