Underlings (Not being updated at this time)

Underlings - 23. The Pussy Farm

Tyrone Lafayette was no longer a Hollywood actor. Hollywood didn't exist anymore. Sure the sign was still up there on the hill, but what it represented was gone. It would take a couple of days for everyone to realise it, but it was already gone.

His latest movie was pretty good; a Scorcese picture called 'The Tides Of Turmoil' in its final editing stages and scheduled for release in the spring. It was the first script he liked in a long time and the first movie he'd really wanted to be a part of. This was his moment to show the world that he wasn't just a pretty face with a heavyweight agent. Tyrone was proud of his acting in this movie and it was supposed to take his career on a different path. No one would get to see the movie. Not now.

Tyrone's mind wasn't his own anymore. Since taking the Dust, he belonged to another. He belonged to Kree. If someone prompted Tyrone, or rather ordered him, to do anything, then Tyrone would bend right over and do it. The old Tyrone, Hollywood Tyrone, had been the one that called all the shots; VIP comps to anything? No problem. That new sexy pop singer from Britain? He could get her and tap that with a phone call... He had the new Air Max trainers 6 months before they were out and he had more pieces of gold jewellery in the safe of his mansion than Lady Gaga had wigs.

He'd eaten, but he couldn't remember when, or what it was. His mind clouded when he tried to get concerned about it. He thought of his favourite pizza that he had flown over from the next state via helicopter whenever he fancied it. Things had changed rapidly and Tyrone Lafayette had been made cuckold in his own house. He was a bitch. He didn't like it and inside his head he was screaming with rage, but it was too late; he'd been given new, unpaid employment. The recession was finally catching up with him.

Since the party, his house had been bustling with people, mostly ones he didn't recognise and they certainly weren't from the industry. At some point, he'd been invited to his office to speak to the man in the mask.

The man in the mask sat at Tyrone's desk. Tyrone wanted to shoot him in the face, but a voice in his head prevented him from getting the gun out of his drawer and popping a bullet into the man's mask.

The mask spoke - a digital mouth moved and made expressions. It reminded Tyrone of a Tamagotchi he'd had as a child... a Japanese toy craze that went global; little digital pets for children to feed and play with. Tyrone hadn't got his pet through a fortnight. Even then he didn't truly care about anything other than himself.

"Mr Lafayette, it has been a pleasure to meet you. Where I come from, your story is well known, although none of that matters now. The things you were famed for haven't happened here yet and they won't. Our intervention means sadly that you will never fulfil your destiny and instead, you are destined only to work for me."

Tyrone wondered what it was he was yet to do in this alternate future. He shrugged his shoulders in defeat. He'd already worked out that his life had taken a sharp turn.

"What do you want with my house? Why are you all here?" It was as defiant as his mind would allow. He'd wanted to scream obscenities and make threats at the man with his feet on his furniture.

"It's not your house anymore Mr Lafayette. There's no such thing as ownership anymore. Not for you. You're an actor and you have a network of female friends we're particularly interested in. You will continue to extend invitations until the well runs dry."

"Why?"

"People know your face. They buy your branded aftershave, they drink your Coca Cola, they trust you. You will supply the houseguests, we will supply the product and they will provide a service to the new mankind."

"What service?"

"My people will fuck them all and impregnate those with the ability to reproduce. Then the process will be repeated over until they are too old to have children. Then they will be re-classified and fucked for our enjoyment only."

"You cannot do that!"

"We can and we are and you will. Mr Lafayette, you've already complied. Your mind is no longer yours. Get to work. We need to build up our initial stock."

"This is evil."

"This is survival."

The digital mouth stopped moving. It's expression remained blank and inhuman. Tyrone Lafayette left his office and got to work. He'd been instructed to work and his mind was ordering him to comply.

Inside he screamed for it to be otherwise. He wished that he was one of his movie characters; a Duke Delfino, a Captain Michael Ellix or a Ryan Meiyer. Those characters weren't real. Tyrone wondered what he'd do to survive if he hadn't taken the dust... Would he comply to save his skin like a coward even if his mind allowed him to make a free decision? He feared that if he had the choice and was scared like he was in that moment, that he'd still be descending his stairs to set up another party at his mansion. The real Tyrone Lafayette wasn't a hero. He was a man that wanted to live.

His friends had once called his house 'The Pussy Farm'. It was about to live up to the name.