Tosha picked up the pills and Dilly, shaking her head. “Men. And we’re supposed to be the weaker sex?”
After placing the pills back in the bottle, she grabbed her iPhone, dialed a number with an out-of-state area code. A woman picked up after two rings.
The voice said, “Name and last four.”
Tosha sat on her side of the bed by the nightstand lamp. “Tosha Conrad, 2319.”
Tosha could hear the sound of keyboard tapping. The voice then said, “Subject name and last four.”
“Robert Johnson, 1182.”
“Serial number of product.”
Tosha raised the Erectz bottle under the light. “640-75627-921.”
“One moment.” After a short pause, the voice came back to the receiver. “Got it. 500 milligrams. Status of dependency.”
“Pupils dilated, approximately 7 to 8 millimeters. Dependency of product achieved. Incubation to product approximately 38 days.”
More tapping on the keyboard. “Excellent,” the voice said. “After eleven years it appears we are finally on track for our targeted gestation period. Unusual symptoms?”
“Yes,” Tosha replied. “Sleep walking and a hallucinogenic reaction shortly after waking up at approximately”—she checked the alarm clock—“11:20p.m. Pacific time. Also, it seems at 500 milligrams the product unlocked some unusual cerebral activity. Subject exhibited premonition and clairvoyant abilities during R.E.M.”
“Are you saying he was able to predict the future while asleep?”
“I’m not sure, but based on his vision, he somehow became aware of our operation. The details were almost accurate, but not in a literal sense. Enough to make me concerned. We want to control the subjects through dependency, not give them heightened awareness, so we may need to lower the dosage. I’ll provide a full report tomorrow.”
“Got it.”
“Also, I’ll need a crew to canvass Area 33 to locate the subject. Subject ran into the neighborhood holding a fake unit he thought was real. Very delusional, extremely dangerous. Another dose of the product should calm him down. I don’t think he understands just how much he knows about our operation, so we need to deal with him quickly before he has a chance to know the real truth.”
“Crew is on the way.”
“Good.” They hung up.
Tosha took in a deep breath, then eased it out. “Almost there.”
Another experiment had wrapped up, this one taking five years. It nearly took that long before the Sisters felt ready to push the product on another subject again.
Tosha raised the bottle, smiling, flashing back to the early days of testing previous subjects with less than favorable results. One subject stood in the middle of a highway chanting The Little Teapot song. Another tried to blow up the Golden Gate Bridge with baking soda, battery acid and a lighter. They all became forever delusional from high dosages of the product, victims of their own made-up fantasies. But dependency had failed. The operation needed addicts, not paranoid nutcases. No dependency, no control, so back to the drawing board.
But finally, a subject named Robert Johnson showed the necessary signs of dependency the moment Tosha showed him the five diamond-shaped pills. Despite his subconciousness deciphering a real operation—more than likely a fluke of the brain—Tosha knew her and the Sisters were that much closer to putting the true weaker sex in their proper place through mass distribution of the product. The male brain and penis shared one wavelength, so with the right dosage, control should be like a walk in the park.
While easing back in bed, Tosha flicked on the television. A CNN correspondent discussed the latest sports scandal involving molestation charges at a Division 1 school. News reports scrolling underneath the correspondent showed the latest updates on a politician’s sexual assault case. Details of the war brewing in the Middle East followed.
Just another news tally of the obvious—actions of the male species were the root of it all. They were nothing more than pig-headed two-minute cum-fucks only good for one thing really—carrying the seeds of reproduction. But the Sisters were not only close to perfecting a product that would render men the equivalent of crackheads—under the guise of an erectile enhancement pill—the sisters finally had a breakthough in duplicating male sperm. Being one-track minded dickheads—literally—Tosha knew they would gobble up the product like chocolate-covered raisins. And with the male species’ necks wrapped in dog leashes and the Sister’s ability to create “baby juice” in a tube, the only thing they could do is kiss the ground a woman spat on.
Tosha loved the new path her and the Sisters were laying. Time to flip this world on its head and take it back. Fuck men. We will own them like the pets they truly are.
The cellphone buzzed. Tosha checked the text. “Subject apprehended.”
Tosha smiled. She had a good feeling she would be reading more messages like that. It was only a matter of time.
To be continued...
* * * * *
About the author:
James W. Lewis is a novelist and freelance writer published in several books. His novels are SELLOUT and A HARD MAN IS GOOD TO FIND, both available now. After spending twenty years in the Navy, James retired from active duty and is now completing his studies in Kinesiology. He also is part-owner of the publishing company The Pantheon Collective. You can find more of his work at www.jameswlewis.com and www.pantheoncollective.com.
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