Murdersphere Mosaic [ManXMan] [BoyXBoy]

Chapter 5 Part 6 The Scarlet Letter

Dissonance surges through my mind, jangling the present, what I remembered of my pre-culled life, and my edited Atlantean past collide, and are found wantonly incompatible. I clutch at my head. This was part of the gap, the impossible schooling. I had avoided it by just not thinking about it.

"I am..." I began.

"Adopted..." The toothy figure smiles. "I know its legal, your 'father' wanted that so the cult around your real father could not steal you away through legal rigmarole."

I cannot make sense of this. I cannot make sense of my own memories. The overlay of the Audience AI, the coerced tampering of Orai, and the me that was allowed to remain behind made a nightmare of my own continuity of memory, my continuity of experience.

Instead of trying to make any sense of it, I plow forward. "You know... you know nothing of me."

"I know enough." Mojo purrs. "Like this little bit of footage, I pulled from the black internet."

The image is replaced by a picture of me, nude and in a shower. "There was a time when men were kind..."

I feel the floor drop out from under me, but I hold fast, staying on my feet by sheer force of shame. "You can't play this! Not here!"

"Of course I can." Mojo says. "How else are they to know how compromised you are. How else are they to know what you were willing to do to avoid going to the arena, except you are too damaged to be anything but monster meat!"

"Shut it down!" Captain America aka Sub-Director Rogers orders.

"We're trying!" The techs exclaim.

"Stop looking!" I yell.

I am ignored.

Even the techs' activity slows as "I Dreamed a Dream" begins. The images have been thoroughly enhanced since the last time I saw them. The candid quality presented at the awards show was discarded for sultry lights and shadows played along my skin. None of these enhancements were present in the shower when I was in it.

My eyes gain a luminous expressiveness, and the camera plays along every curved line and muscle of my wet body.

I was beautiful, but the song is edited down, and it transitions to me emerging from the shower, and Titus, with a generic handsome face interpolated over his features, and a bizarre-to-me generic Eastern European voice is waiting with clothes and a completely specious dialogue that played directly into the hopelessness with none of... the fondness... I had for Titus. Fondness that was ashes in my mouth.

"I am your type no?" Fake-Bulgarian-Titus says. "You must show what you like, 'lest you be forced to be with someone you do not."

The sex is lurid, punishing, acrobatic, and psychedelic with the overlaid Titus displaying the drug enhanced ecstasy fully, and verbally.

I could sense arousal in the room, attention is definitely held, the work seems to grind to a stop. The action does not stop, until after all of the orgasms have stopped.

"Quite an advertisement eh, my little Qadesh?" Mojo replies. "You will always have work."

"You have no right..." I begin.

"I have all the right." It says. "I have the footage, and the rights. No one believes you are sixteen. It's a legal fiction and that is all. You are twenty-thousand years old with a smattering of modern memories to make you less of an Encino man."

"Where did the memories come from?" I ask.

"You know where." He says. "Now, I've had my fun, and your valiant techs have found my sabotage. Good thing I retrieved the soul of my little face mutant patsy from you, or it would be far too easy.