The Monsters of Faggot Forest

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Warning Although the character of Robbie Byrne is thirteen years of age (WELL above Nifty's minimum age requirement) and NEVER presented as an unwilling sexual participant, I have nevertheless received feedback that he and the child-pornography consuming Burt Veribton are making my story very uncomfortable for some. Sorry, but this IS a gay horror story. I'm TRYING to unsettle people. In addition to horrifying sexual situations, I will be presenting LOTS of controversial sexual ideas that might upset people.

(M/t, drug triggers, and Lecher does some brief gross stuff with #1 and #2)

I'm writing the kind of gay erotic science fiction story that I've always wanted to read, but I've NEVER been able to find. Sorry if it costs me readers, but I intend to stick to my vision up until the very end, as Nifty WISELY advises their authors to do. I'm proud to present this latest chapter, and my personal favorite so far.

The Monsters of Faggot Forest

Chapter 7

As Tom Daggen's car turned onto the entrance road for The Ferret Forest Family Campground and Picnic Area, Mike experienced an intense wave of sadness that had little to do with his imminent bashing.

The road, which once seemed so magical to Mike, had fallen into disrepair. It looked as if someone had lifted it up thirty feet in the air, then dropped it. There were cracks all over it, and high grass was poking through, as if to boastfully announce that nature was reclaiming the attraction, and stripping Mike's inner child of an important happy memory, from a time before his mother went 'baby crazy', and he quickly went from being a son...to being a full-time, live-in nanny.

It would've been less painful had the road been completely torn up (which probably could've been done by hand, at that point) and completely removed. Instead, it was like discovering the rotting remains of a treasured, lost pet. In the weak, sickly yellow of Tom's headlights, Mike could see traces of the large painted-on paw prints that once filled the road and inspired little Mikey's delight.

"They dipped Blackie's feet in paint and let him run around on it," Mike's father always told him, in spite of the fact that Mike was never naive enough to think that Blackie's tracks were three feet across.

"There're people there!" Grant called out, sounding excessively pleased with himself for noticing the blatantly obvious pattern of crushed patches of tall grass that suggested recent tire tracks. The flattened weeds all pointed towards the park...none pointed away.

"The weather's nice, but with all the runoff and mud, who the hell would come here for sex?" Mike asked himself. "I hope it turns out to be the police, patrolling the place."

As depressing as the road was, it was spiritually uplifting compared to the huge mounted plates of rust that used to be Ferret Forest's colorful signage, filled with cartoon versions of all the animals one might encounter during their happy and carefree day at the park.

Ferret Forest was a public campground/picnic area established in 1957. It was the product of planned deforestation. The forest remained largely intact, but trees had been removed to build a "fun for kids" labyrinth of roads that led to the many clearings throughout the park, which could be used for family camping, family picnics, family reunions, and a lot of other occasions and activities involving the word "family". But when the American family started to disintegrate, so did Ferret Forest, and every year, it was managed and maintained just a little bit worse.

In the mid-seventies, naturalism gave way to naturism as stories began to circulate about men going to Ferret Forest to strip naked and wander the woods, looking for homosexual encounters. The stories, of course, led to a public outcry, which led to aggressive policing and extremely aggressive vigilantism, which led to violent murders. But over the years, the activities at the unofficially rechristened "Faggot" Forest never fully stopped. The AIDS crisis may have slowed things down for a bit, along with queer bashings, undercover detectives, public outings, gay hook- up apps., and (of course) the murders, but homosexual activity was still always to be found at Faggot Forest (if the rumors spread by heterosexuals were to be believed).

Grant let out a blast of laughter that made Kenny's sleeping face scrunch in annoyance.

"Fags must've been desperate to get in," Grant crowed, pointing at a hacksawed chain wrapped around the fence that stood open before them. "Can't keep those cocksuckers out. Bet they go through a LOT of chain here."

As they passed through the fence, Mike wished he could've examined the broken ends of the severed chain, just to check if they were still silver and completely unspotted by rust, to see if the cut was recent, but Mike wasn't allowed to speak, and if he were kicked out of the car here, thanks to the topography and thick vegetation in the immediate area, Mike would have nowhere to flee if Tom and Grant decided to attack him right there and then.

"So someone's definitely here, and they either broke in, or just drove in. And since this is the only exit, they have to still be in here, unless they abandoned their vehicle and walked back to the main road."

Tom's car pulled forward, passing through the primary parking area, the former-favorite lot of runners, cyclists, hikers, and dirt-bikers.

Mike had never seen it empty before.

"People would always complain on-line that this lot was always full," Mike recalled, his mind showing him what the lot looked like during every single one of his visits.

Once a vehicle reached the far end of the lot without finding an empty space, there was no choice for it but to drive into the park proper, find an open space along the road, and parallel park while the halted traffic behind that person fumed impatiently.

When it was time to leave, a visitor would usually find that they were sandwiched in, and had to wait until the owner of the car in front or in back of them returned to their vehicle before they could leave...unless, of course, THOSE cars were ALSO blocked in.

But even if a guest managed to extricate their vehicle without burning out their transmission or digging themselves into the loose soil, there was still the matter of Ferret Forest only having one-way, one lane roads. This was done to prevent traffic from backing up whenever people needed to cross over an opposing lane to enter or leave one of Ferret Forest's many picnic area clearings. However, all it accomplished was to force drivers further and further into the park, when all they wanted to do was GET OUT.

"You have to watch where you're going," Gary Pearson told his son on too many occasions, "or Ferret Forest will swallow you whole!"

Tom Daggen reached the end of the primary lot and headed into the park.

"Which road do we take?" Grant asked when they reached the first of many forks in the road.

"I don't know," Tom said pensively, "When you come up here, where do you usually go to get your fucking dick sucked?"

"I've never BEEN here before," Grant proudly announced. "not even ONCE!"

"Keep bragging about your parents' lazy childrearing, Grant," Mike mused to himself. "In spite of the murders, which mostly stopped before we were born, ALL kids were brought here by their families at least ONCE before it shut down! I've been here exactly eight times before tonight. Maybe if YOUR parents had done the same, you wouldn't need to go around bullying kids all the time for attention, and whatever else you get out of doing it."

Tom turned left, filling Mike with dread. Not only had Mike completely memorized the regionally-famous, tri-folded, "Blackie's Map" pamphlet when he was 6, he also remembered every aspect of the park, including its topography. Tom was heading towards Ferret Forest's stupidly planned artificial pond, which sat...stagnantly...at the top of a rise. After significant rainfall or runoff, the pond, which had no spillway, would overflow and cascade down the hill, saturating the road beneath, AKA the road ahead!

"The snow melt probably flooded the pond!" Mike thought with alarm. "Even if the paving is still in one piece, which is doubtful since it most likely washed out years ago, we're still headed into a mud pit!"

Mike quickly typed a message on Kenny's phone and nudged him gently.

"W-what?" Kenny groaned, painfully regaining his unwanted awareness. "Where are we?"

"Faggot Forest," Tom announced triumphantly, as if Kenny should be pleased at the news.

"Why?" Kenny asked, the word coming out sounding like a sob.

"Because Grant's never been here before...and when's the last time you've been here?"

"Uhhhh...I don't...," Kenny mumbled, trying to wake up in both mind and body. He started to stretch, but the pain made him jerk and stop.

Mike quickly amended his text and handed the phone to Kenny.

August 3rd. 2014 TELL HIM TO GET OFF THIS ROAD! POND OVERFLOW! MUD! BALD TIRES! STUCK!

Kenny looked at the text in confusion. When Kenny opened his mouth to speak, Mike experienced a full-body cringe. He realized what Kenny was about to do.

"August third, two thousand fourteen," Kenny recited. "Tell him to get off this road. Pond overflow. Mud. Bald tires. Stuck."

"Yeah, I'm an idiot for thinking he'd put it in his own words," Mike fumed silently.

"Fat Ass is probably right," Grant chuckled, figuring out where the information came from.

"Nah, we're good," Tom declared while emphasizing his foolhardy decision by grabbing the cigarette behind his ear and spinning it between his fingers as he brought it to his lips.

"When's the last time YOU were here?" Grant asked, twisting in his seat and glowering at Mike. "Yesterday? The day before?"

Mike pinched his lips to remind Grant he wasn't allowed to speak.

"JUST FUCKING SAY IT, FAT ASS!" Tom yelled over his shoulder, spewing smoke into the back seat and making Kenny jolt in pained surprise.

"August third, two thousand and fourteen," Mike answered coldly, choosing to answer on demand because he wanted Kenny to hear what he was about to say. "My family brought Kenny with us, like we usually did. And now, in return, HE brought ME here."

Mike watched Kenny's head lower out of the corner of his eye.

"Tom saw you," Grant suddenly announced with an oh-so pleased grin. "He saw Kenny showin' you his dick. Why'd he do that?"

Grant basked in his masturbatory cruelty and waited for Mike's response. Grant was enjoying himself. Bully that he was, he loved to watch his victims squirm, especially when the odds and numbers were in his favor.

Mike had been ready for this moment for the last twenty minutes.

"For the same reason he shoved that picture in my face...the one YOU took...of his cock and balls," Mike explained for Tom's benefit. "Kenny keeps wanting to show me his bruise so that I'll feel sorry-"

"What's he talking about?" Tom asked, turning his head towards Grant and only giving the road ahead furtive glances.

To the casual observer, Tom's reaction would've merely indicated mild curiosity...but Mike was hardly a 'casual observer'. Even in the dimly lit interior of Tom's car, Mike could see enough microexpressions to know that Tom wanted answers...now!

"Kenny asked me to take a picture of that bruise...the one that's makin' it hard for him to walk!" Grant justified with a telling amount of unneeded volume.

"Why, Kenny?" Tom asked, putting Kenny on the spot.

"I wanted...proof," Kenny explained. "Thanks to my mom, people... ...mostly at church...keep asking why I'm not nicer to her...why I do the bad things she tells them I do. I just wanted...something to show them."

Mike seethed. A lifetime of abuse had given Kenny a fear of conflict. He would do anything to defuse a tense situation, even if it meant ruining Mike's attempt to get off the hook by lifting Grant onto it instead. In the face of Kenny's latest self-serving betrayal, Mike found himself wishing once again that he hadn't come along.

"If I were you, I'd be more careful about dropping trou and letting guys film my junk, Kenny," Mike said pointedly, getting in a shot at both Kenny and Grant. "You never know who you can trust*."

"He can trust ME," Grant snarled, directing a threatening gaze at Mike.

"No one with a DICK can trust YOU!" Mike blurted without thinking, so utterly thunderstruck that he foolishly risked provoking someone who could easily beat the shit out of him even without Tom's help. "You were caught taking pictures of guys in the locker room. You almost got expell-"

"IT WAS A JOKE, FAT ASS!" Grant yelled in rage, his twitching arms indicating to Mike that he really wanted to unleash a rapid volley of alternating punches at his face. "AND IT WAS ONLY ONE GUY!"

"Still, it was kind of stupid for Kenny to ask a guy who would take naked pictures of other guys in the locker room-"

"ONE guy!!" Grant literally spat, since he was so angry that tiny beads of saliva were hitting Mike in the face. "JUST RYAN! NO ONE ELSE!"

"So if ONE GUY opened his pants up in front of me, and I DIDN'T take a photo of his package while he was doing it, why are YOU...of ALL PEOPLE...questioning MY sexuality?"

Tom snickered. How could he not, with all the hatred in the air? However, Mike could see the apprehensive looks that Tom was giving Grant. Mike's plan was working. In the same way that Craig would soon try to use Caboose to drive a wedge between Guile and Lecher, Mike was trying to divide Grant and Tom by sowing seeds of doubt concerning Grant's hetero- sexuality. If Mike played this right, the only guy getting his ass kicked in Faggot Forest tonight would be Grant.

"But hey, it's Kenny's body, he can show it to whomever he's comfortable with. If he trusts you not to post it online, like you did to Ryan Klein, whatever."

Grant remained twisted around in his seat, glaring at Mike.

Mike held Grant's gaze.

"You're so fucking fat it's disgusting!" Grant snapped, his eyes scanning Mike's body.

"Yeah, I guess you won't be taking any naked pictures of ME in the locker room, will you?" Mike said with mock sadness. "Do you know what REALLY confuses me, Grant?"

Grant said nothing. He just kept on glaring.

"After you humiliated Ryan, he got ALL KINDS OF BIG! He's a fucking MONSTER now. He's so big that when he all of a sudden came out as gay, no one had the BALLS to give him any shit about it. Hell, Coach Morgan even made him the Woodpecker's QUARTERBACK! Everyone was talking about how all the opposing teams would TARGET him on the field for being gay...and they DO! But it doesn't even MATTER! He's UNSTOPPABLE! And smart as I am, I honestly can't figure out why he hasn't paid you back for what you did to him."

"Ryan's not HERE right now, Mike" Grant snarled, making Mike shiver beneath his maroon sweatshirt. "You might wanna stop swinging his dick around."

"Speaking of Ryan's dick, what's it look like? I never saw the pictures," Mike lied. "Could you bring them up on your phone, or did they get mixed in with Kenny's...and all the other guys and THEIR cocks and balls."

"Mike.....c'mon," Kenny cautioned, although it sounded more like a plea.

"I got a problem with you, Mike," Grant hissed. "You want to know how I plan on solvin' it?"

Mike shifted his weight and leaned forward, accepting the fact that he wasn't making it out of Faggot Forest with all of his teeth intact, so now it was just a matter of giving Grant an idea as to how things would go once Mike recovered....if he recovered.

"I bet you plan on going to Ryan and offering to tutor him, or do his homework every night, or fill out his college applications, or hunt for scholarships. And if he already has scholarships on the table, you intend to suggest that you could do exhaustive research into each of the campuses, weeding out the ones located in intolerant areas, and the colleges with documented cases of anti-gay bias, particularly in the sports programs. And all you'll ask in exchange is ONE....TINY....FAVOR!"

"I CAN FUCKING TAKE THAT FAGGOT!!!!" Grant screamed, almost making Tom drive off the road.

Grant was wrong. No one could take Ryan Klein in a fight, not even Lure.

The car descended down the section of road beneath the pond. Exactly as Mike predicted, the cracked and broken road was caked with wet mud. But Mike was too distracted by the danger inside the car to focus on the danger outside.

"You're a fucking faggot, Mike, just like him!" Grant challenged. "Why don't you fucking admit it?"

"Says the guy who always finds himself in the suspicious position of taking pictures of naked guys," Mike countered. "And by the way, TOM, even though Kenny's shitty phone has a better camera than Grant's SHITTIER phone, isn't it weird that Grant used HIS OWN PHONE to take that picture? Why does HE want it? Does he want to repeat his favorite trick by trying to ruin Kenny's life, or does he want it for...'personal reasons'?"

"HE ASKED ME TO TAKE IT!" Grant justified.

"I did, Mike," Kenny whined, not liking where this argument was heading.

"Oh SHUT UP, Kenny!" Mike snapped. "You KNOW what I can DO! I see everything, including people's TELLS! I ALWAYS know when you're lying to me Kenny, just like I know that Grant is lying RIGHT NOW. I gotta admit, Kenny, I'm confused why someone as MODEST as YOU is 'COMFORTABLE' showing your cock and balls to your mom's church friends, since Grant intentionally snapped that picture before you had time to fully cover your-"

"TOM! STOP THE CAR! WE'RE FUCKING DOING THIS RIGHT NOW!" Grant yelled.

Always game for a call to violence, Tom slammed the brakes, exactly as he did back on I-147...but this time, instead of rain-slicked pavement, Tom was doing it on wet mud.

The rear end of the car slid to the left. Three of the four occupants expected the car to straighten out, but one knew that it would not. As the car's momentum pulled it forward down the barely-paved slope, it spun 180 degrees and slid backwards, out of control.

"FUCK!" Tom yelled, violently turning the wheel in every possible unhelpful direction at the absolute worst moment.

"TOM, LET ME TAKE THE WHEEL!" Grant screamed, looking through the rear window and seeing that the car was angling off of the road, towards the edge of a steep embankment.

"I GOT IT!!" Tom yelled.

Tom didn't have it!

"You have to watch where you're going," Mike heard his father's voice warn, "...OR FAGGOT FOREST WILL SWALLOW YOU WHOLE!!!!"

Jayce didn't hesitate.

As soon as the protective blister of tongue masterial opened up, he was on his feet, his arm was cocked, and he was headed straight for Lecher.

Craig was impressed. Jayce wasn't anywhere near as bulky as Craig was, but still, Jayce shouldn't have been able to move that fast, especially considering that for the last half hour or so, he'd been pretty doped up.

"Kid, I know you're mad, but this ain't the kind of fight you can win," Lecher calmly stated as he dodged Jayce's right cross, used Jayce's momentum to spin him around, and got him in a bear hug.

Jayce energetically slammed his heel back into Lecher's right shin a couple of times before crying out in pain. Jayce tried to make it look like a cry of anger, but Craig could tell the difference.

Jayce pulled his head forward, obviously preparing to slam the back of his head into Lecher's face.

"NO!" Craig hollered, rushing forward and grabbing Jayce's head. "His skull deflects BULLETS!"

"JUST GET OFF ME!" Jayce yelled, unable to dismiss his adrenaline surge and feeling deeply vulnerable from being sandwiched between Craig and Lecher, particularly since he and Lecher were naked, and Jayce could feel Lecher's penis touching his ass crack.

Craig backed away and Lecher released his hold, at which point Jayce whipped around, planted his palms against Lecher's pecs, and shoved. It was like pushing a wall. Jayce threw himself backwards, but fortunately, Craig, who'd been in enough fights during his youth to see Jayce's move coming, was able to catch Jayce as he stumbled backwards.

Jayce quickly got his balance back and prepared to launch himself forward again, but Craig stepped in front of him.

"BEFORE you try to body check him," Craig boomed, hoping that Jayce would stand down if he made his voice authoritative enough, "know that he can 'borrow' weight from that giant thing that was here before. You're not going to knock him over, and anything you do will end up with you hurting yourself!"

"Wow, I'm impressed!" Lecher beamed, doing nothing to help ease the situation. "You figured me out!"

"Yeah, I figured out where all your special comes from, DOUCHE NOZZLE!"

Craig mentally chastised himself for needlessly provoking Lecher, but apparently, he shouldn't have worried. Lecher reacted to his new nick- name by busting up laughing, so bad that he had to clutch his abs.

"Oh my God! That's so funny! And it works! It could refer to the way my mouth is a nozzle for Caboose's tongue, or how my ass is a nozzle for all of his tendrils. And it's a pre-existing insult, not one you just made up! It's brilliant!!"

Craig didn't like the way Lecher was going on and on, and how his unending laughter was starting to change, sounding more and more fake and sarcastic. Craig knew Lecher was about to do something, but he didn't know what.

"JAYCE!" Craig called out, seeing the conflict and confusion on his face. "Whatever happens, don't get involved! You're not a part of this, don't become one!"

Craig was wrong. Reality Itself's ULTIMATE WEAPON was very much a part of what was happening, although Jayce didn't know it.

"Hey Lumberjack! Lecher happily exclaimed after regaining Craig's attention with a snap of his fingers. "Do you know another way your new nickname for me works?"

"No," Craig said apprehensively.

Lecher's laughter stopped, and his smile turned into a scowl.

"Here, let me show you," Lecher grumbled.

An aqua blue-colored tendril plopped down out of Lecher's ass and came at Craig, slithering along the tongue mat like a snake. Craig didn't need Robbie to tell him its function. The aqua blue coloring and Lecher's claim that it related to the phrase "Douche Nozzle" told Craig exactly what it did.

"THE FUCK IS THAT?!" Jayce screamed, never having seen the tendrils in action while he was lucid.

"It's okay! STAY BACK!" Craig shouted to Jayce just before trying to stomp on the tendril in order to stop it. The tendril pulled out of the way of Craig's foot at the last second and started to go up Craig's pant leg.

"For FUCK SAKE!" Craig spat in annoyance, bending over and grabbing at his pant cuff to impede the tendril's progress. But the tendril hadn't intended to travel up Craig's pant leg. It was a feint, but before Craig could figure that out and straighten up, the tendril flew up behind Craig, underneath his flannel shirt (that had untucked when he and Jayce were try- ing to crawl away to safety), over top of the waistband of his briefs, under his tailbone, and straight up Craig's ass.

"Honest to CHRIST!" Craig screamed, yanking his belt to unbuckle it, then opening up his pants to reveal his moss green briefs.

"Craig," Guile spoke up, "just stop for a second."

"No," Craig snarled. "I ain't walking out of here in front of news cameras and Timbersburg fucking COPS with wet clothes and full underwear! You're going to have to be satisfied with forcing me to strip naked and shit all over this mat. That's all you two sick freaks are going to get. SORRY!"

"Craig, let's please just talk. I won't let Lecher irrigate you unless you make it necessary by refusing to negotiate."

Craig didn't listen. He pulled his pants and underwear down under his ass and tried to grab the tendril, but it was absolutely frictionless. Craig wound the slack around his hand tightly and tried to yank the tendril out of him, but the slick tubing just spun around his palm as he pulled.

"Of course," Craig grumbled, quickly reaching down and untying his boots.

"Craig, please just accept the deal," Guile politely requested.

"I'm not. Going. To molest. My son," Craig stated with conviction, kicking off his right boot and getting to work on the left one.

"WHO THE HELL'S TALKING RIGHT NOW?" Jayce spoke up, driven nearly to the point of madness by not knowing what was happening around him.

"Jayce, please," Craig appealed, kicking off his left boot, "trust me when I say you need to NOT be a part of this conversation."

"Yeah, whatever," Jayce reluctantly agreed, in spite of his face indicating that there was a whole fuck of a LOT of things he WANTED to say.

"Craig, you wouldn't be molesting Robbie, you would be helping him through a procedure," Guile opined. "Besides, when we're done, I can make him forget EVERYTHING that happened here tonight. It'll all be missing time, nothing more, as long as he stays away from your former best friend's third eldest child...do NOT say his name right now, or Jayce will become a danger to us, and will have to be dealt with in the same way you're trying to force me to deal with YOU!"

Jayce responded to this latest addition to his pile of confusion by quietly throwing up his hands.

"Why do you keep mentioning HIM?" Craig asked while taking his pants and underwear down, exposing his flaccid, circumcised penis, with it's surprisingly crimson pubes, which contrasted severely with Craig's orange hair and beard. "What does HE have to do with ANY OF THIS?"

"Nothing," Guile lied, saving himself from explaining Reality Itself and its possible manipuation of Mike Pearson. "Just like Jayce, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and got caught up in our crap. But getting back to my offer, I have-"

"My answer is still no," Craig stated firmly, emphasizing his denial by flinging his unbuttoned flannel shirt to the ground and standing there completely naked, his magnificent, well-developed body made even more manly by his hairy chest.

Craig wasn't surprised at Lecher checking him out, but Jayce seemed unwilling, or perhaps unable, to keep his eyes averted from Craig's body. It could've been normal male curiosity (maybe Jayce had never seen a naked ginger before), but it wasn't. There was something in Jayce's eyes that spoke of wanting. As a guy whose recreational drug use was getting out of hand, Craig knew that look well. Jayce was clearly trying to suppress some- thing. Given that Jayce's hand was 'casually' covering his cock, it wasn't too hard to guess what.

Craig, however, made no attempt to use his hand to protect his modesty. He just stood there with his dick hanging and his arms at his sides, neither forward to indicate embarrassment, nor backward to indicate exhibitionistic enjoyment. Craig projected sexual neutrality, as if the three naked men were just standing around in a locker room that had run out of towels. Craig had no intention of letting Lecher see how uncomfortable Craig truly was.

"Lovin' that the carpet is darker and redder than the drapes, Lumberjack."

Craig ignored the remark. If any other male had complimented his naked body, Craig would've graciously (but awkwardly) accepted it. Lecher didn't deserve Craig's good manners.

"Craig, please don't interrupt me again," Guile sighed in irritation. "I just have one more incentive to add that may change-"

"Won't make a diff-"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LET ME FINISH MY FUCKING SENTENCE!" Guile screamed psychically, making both Craig and Jayce grit their teeth.

A yellow tendril streaked out of Lecher's ass, split into six, and wrapped around Craig's wrists, ankles, neck, and genitals. Craig guessed correctly that the tendril wasn't the one that filtered piss.

"As I was trying to say," Guile thundered, "I have one last incentive to offer you. Your son-"

"My cock isn't gonna be much use to my kid if you cook it, so this threat ain't gonna work on me....'Guile'," Craig deliberately interrupted, hoping it would provoke Guile into electrocuting him. It wasn't the best way to go, but at least Craig wouldn't be used to pervert his son more than Robbie already was.

"Fair point," Guile admitted with forced civility.

The tendrils released Craig and hovered in the air, passing loud, crackling electricity between them.

"Are you fucking kidding...HEY...WHAT ARE YOU....?!?" Jayce yelled as the tendrils came for him, wrapping around Jayce in the same way they'd been wrapped around Craig. "GET 'EM OFF OF ME!!"

"I'LL FUCKING LISTEN!" Craig offered. "DON'T KILL HIM!"

"I don't see why I shouldn't," Guile mulled, "considering that you almost asked the boy who shot out one of Caboose's eyeballs to also shoot my brain section. That wasn't very nice. Why mine, by the way, and not Lecher's?"

"Because Lecher is the biggest threat to me, but you're the biggest threat to my son!"

"Oh, I see," Guile acknowledged. "Well, I guess I shouldn't take it personal, then."

"OWWWW!" Jayce screamed, receiving a shock to his right wrist for trying to remove the tendril looped around his penis and the base of his testicles.

"Jayce, stop struggling!" Craig advised. "They WILL kill you!"

"No, we won't," Guile assured Jayce, "we can't kill anyone. Only Lure can kill."

"Why would you TELL him that?!" Lecher demanded. "You're giving up leverage!"

"No, I'm trying to shatter Craig's bullshit hero complex!" Guile countered. "He's locked into a 'Good vs. Evil' mode, based on his determination to save Jayce from a MONSTER...but we're NOT MONSTERS, Craig! We're just trying to SURVIVE!"

"You don't think you're monsters?!?!" Craig scoffed. "You attacked Jaden's SUV and tried to BURN everyone inside to DEATH!"

"WHAT?!" Jayce screamed. "WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN?! ARE JADEN AND CYNTHIA OKAY?!"

"They're okay, Jayce!" Craig reassured, so eager to attack Guile's ridiculous claim that he forgot that Jayce probably wouldn't remember the incident due to being unconscious. "The SUV sure as hell isn't, though!"

"That was a regrettable accident, and-" Guile started to explain.

"You call THAT an ACCIDENT?!" Craig asked, totally flabbergasted.

Lecher wiped his armpit, making Craig think that he was about to be rendered stupid or unconscious. But instead of flinging the sweat at Craig, Lecher just held out his hand to his right. Fog exploded from his finger- tips and drifted outward, taking on the visual appearance of a man wearing some sort of cloak.

The fog man stormed forward and got in Craig's face.

"It WAS an accident, Craig!" the fog man seemed to say, his lips matching the words that Guile was speaking into Craig's head. "When Lure tried to commit suicide by bashing our brains in, we weren't given control, at first. A mindless emergency protocol system took over and STUPIDLY mistook a retreating SUV for a THREAT! Lecher and I were given control at the exact moment you saw us drop to the ground. We would've just run away, but I noticed that your son has something we DESPERATELY need right now. I ordered Lecher to get closer so that I could examine your son. As for the mocking, that was done to provoke you into coming HERE! It was all ME, not Lecher! He follows my orders...eventually. I take full responsibility for frightening Robbie, and for demeaning you in front of your child. I APOLOGIZE, Craig!"

The fog man turned towards Jayce.

"And as far as Cynthia and your brother are concerned, SHE'S spent the last half hour with national news cameras in her face, and the destruction of Jaden's 'no-style, bitch-ass, dad-mobile' has increased its value by a few HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS...and ALREADY has a VERY interested buyer."

"Who?" Lecher asked, his face contorted in confusion.

"You KNOW who," Guile spat.

And Craig knew too, especially after laughter burst from Lecher's mouth. He seemed to be delighted that Raymond Crandal was unknowingly try- ing to profit from the aftermath of his son's suicide attempt. Regardless of Guile and Lecher's lack of sympathy towards the Crandal boy, Craig couldn't help but feel sorry for a kid who was so universally unloved that he was even hated by the monsters living in his head.

Guile's fog-based avatar turned back towards Craig.

"Craig, besides video games and his burgeoning sexuality, your son has NO interests and NO ambition beyond creatively using his body to get attention and money. But all that could change. I can alter your son's mind...SAFELY...to give him whatever interests you choose. Tomorrow morning, instead of him ordering you to open your robe and spread your legs so he can perform oral sex on you while you're drinking your morning coffee, he could be BEGGING you to take him camping, or teach him how to shoot, or take him hunting or fishing, or asking you to help him come up with a weightlifting routine so he can stop passing for a NINE year-old. He could be the perfect son for a man like you. CONSIDER IT!!!"

"I already HAVE," Craig roared, "but you won't FUCKING LISTEN!"

The "shoulders" on Guile's fog body slumped in defeat.

"I finally heard you, Craig," Guile said bitterly.

Craig braced himself for the feel of water surging into his guts, but it didn't happen. Instead, the aqua-blue tendril shit itself out of Craig and dropped to the mat. Lecher sucked it back up his ass.

"So...what now?" Craig asked, accepting his fate while also stealthily flexing his asshole repeatedly to rid himself of the weird after-feeling of the tendril's slippery departure.

"This," Guile replied.

The green tendril sped out of Lecher's ass, instantly crossed the distance between the Thrall and Craig, and sprayed Craig's asshole with a sustained blast.

"NO!" Craig hollered, reaching back and pushing his butt-cheeks together, hoping to block the spray. It didn't work. The tendril just wriggled around between Craig's mashed buns until it could spray his ass- hole at point blank range.

To Jayce's surprise, the yellow tendrils around his body suddenly unwound and dropped to the mat, where they all came together in a zipper- like fashion before disappearing up Lecher's ass.

Jayce ran towards Craig to help him, but Guile's fog body stepped in front of him. Undaunted, Jayce ran right through him, only to discover that the fog body was now a cloud around his head. Jayce held his breath and tried to wrestle the green tendril by moving his arms around and trying to gather up tendril like a fork gathering up spaghetti, but in this case, the spaghetti could think. Jayce got nowhere fast.

"GET MY GUN!" Craig yelled, pointing at the edge of the clearing where the tongue material had carried Craig's stuff.

While Jayce took off to retrieve the Glock, Craig turned around and ran at Russell Hawksmoor's discarded AR-15. While he was running, the green tendril wiggled inside of him like a sperm wiggling into an egg and let loose with another blast of its insidious spray.

"NO!" Craig cried out as his anal muscles went haywire and his legs became too rubbery too carry his weight, let alone continue to run.

Craig collapsed onto the mat in almost perfect synchonicity with Jayce, whose right ankle was grabbed, mid-run, by a hand made of tongue material that had risen up from the mat. The impact of the fall knocked the wind out of Jayce, forcing him to breathe in the Pit Fog. All thoughts of retrieving the Glock were erased from Jayce's mind, and his druggy smile returned to his face.

Neither had reached their objective.

"GET IT OUT OF ME!!!" Craig screamed, rolling onto his back and pulling his knees to his chest. Craig shoved his middle finger up his ass in an attempt to stop the endless, maddening spray, but as soon as his finger went in, the green tendril pulled out and returned to Lecher. Craig's dignity screamed at him to pull his finger back out, but all that spray had created a need for anal stimulation that was driving Craig insane. Craig frantically finger-fucked himself, something he would've continued to do even if Robbie suddenly walked into the clearing.

"Christ, that is one HAIRY ass," Lecher observed, sounding cruel, "Don't worry though, Lumberjack, I don't have a problem with hairs getting in my mouth. I actually like it...a LOT."

Several tendrils exploded out of Lecher's ass and headed west through the woods. Craig was too afflicted to notice. It was just as well. He wasn't in any condition to process the fact that someone, a cop, had just tried to execute his son, and the tendrils were on their way to protect Robbie from further attempts on his life...and to hunt.

"I'LL TAKE THE DEAL!" Craig shrieked while frantically plunging himself.

"It's too late!" Guile spat, failing to hide the anger he felt at Craig for forcing him to resort to 'plan B', which might not work. "Our mental and physical inhibitors would interpret that as you surrendering to torture! You had to agree OF YOUR OWN FREE WILL!"

Lecher raised an eyebrow.

Craig let out a scream of despair, crying out for his newfound addiction to either go away...or be fed! Lecher would've ordinarily gotten rock hard at the sound of Craig's 'mating calls', but instead, he barely noticed. Lecher was distracted.

"Wait! When Lumberjack gets Entangled, he won't be able to give consent THEN, either! How are are planning to get Robbie's Soul-Creation Energy without paternal approval?"

"I have a way!" Guile dismissed before tactically refocusing Lecher on Craig. "Now clean him out and Entangle him! His bawling is getting on my nerves."

"MAKE IT STOP!!" Craig begged. "PLEASE!! EITHER FUCKING KILL ME OR MAKE IT STOP!!!"

"Sure thing, Craig," Lecher sneered, forcing himself to put his doubts about Guile's plan aside.

Lecher fired his tongue at the mat and caused the area under Craig, from his head to his ass, to raise up, forming a platform almost three feet in height. While he was being lifted up, Craig continued to vigorously work his hole, which was now sloppy with shit.

"PLEASE...sob...HURRY UP AND DO IT!! I CAN'T...UUUUUUHHHHHHH!"

Lecher attacked without warning, grabbing Craig's hamstrings and pushing them back just far enough to expose his asshole, which was randomly shuddering and gaping around Craig's finger. Unlike the tenderness, albeit sarcastic, that Lecher had shown Jayce when he was enduring/enjoying the effects of the green tendril's spray, Lecher treated Craig like carrion, pulling Craig's finger out of his ass and violating Craig's guts with the Thrall's tongue, shoving it deep inside of Craig's guts and pulling out his shit with the ferocity of a wild animal, finally providing the required anal stimulation for Craig to experience a moment of peace.

Now that Lecher was turning Craig's unbearable ache into blinding euphoria, Craig started involuntarily moaning, adding to his feelings of helplessness and emasculation. Craig desperately wanted to dissociate from what was being done to him, no matter HOW good it felt, but something was keeping him locked in the moment, and intensifying his 'here and now'. As Craig's debasement continued, he looked away from his beseiged nether regions and focused on the reality dampening Pit Fog floating around the edges of the clearing. He reached his shit-covered hand towards it.

"PLEASE!!!," Craig cried out, "I don't want this to happen to me while I'm sober!"

"I'm not going to drug you, Craig," Guile said bluntly. "For being so proudly uncooperative and forcing me to switch to my risky 'Plan B', I want you to go through this thorough sexual debasement while experiencing a level of wakefulness that humans cannot achieve without telepathic assistance that I am all too HAPPY to provide. By the way, I have been 'recording' all of this psychically, to create an indelible memory of it that I will install in Robbie's mind. He'll probably make himself sore jerking off to it, though. Fortunately, he'll have YOU there to apply ointment to his achy peepee and kiss it to make it all better!"

"I don't deserve this, Guile!" Craig wailed.

"My lousy, ten week life might end in a few hours, Craig, AND YOU STOOD IN THE WAY OF ME SAVING MYSELF, so good luck trying to make me pity you. But look on the bright side: even if I survive tomorrow, I'll still have TWO masters to your ONE, and unlike yours, neither of mine have any interest at all in making me feel GOOD!"

"WAIT...DON'T STOP!!" Craig yelled as Lecher pulled his tongue out of Craig's ass, causing the agonizing desperation to flood back at full force. "PLEASE!!!! YOU GOTTA KEEP DOING IT!!!"

Lecher stood up, swallowed the rest of his disgusting meal, licked his lips, and stepped away, leaving Craig to once again make a fool of himself by pleasuring himself like a crazed chimpanzee. This time, however, one finger wasn't nearly enough. Craig did a crunch and jammed his entire hand up his supernaturally loosened ass, then spread his fingers and tickled the walls of his rectum, accidentally driving himself crazy by stimulating the thoroughly-sprayed, hypersensitized tissues. On a whim, secretly suggested by Lecher via Guile's telepathy, Craig drummed his fingers against his insides, creating a weird vibratory sensation that caused his mouth to drop open and loudly vocalize his enjoyment.

"UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH," Craig grunted each time he "played" his rectum for as long as he could stand it.

Craig tried to stop by looking up and imagining that Robbie was standing there watching him...as he eventually would be. However, the green mist was affecting Craig so powerfully that the idea of Robbie being there didn't bother him at all. In fact, Craig's need was so out of control that if Robbie suddenly walked into the clearing, Craig would've BEGGED and offered to PAY Robbie to run over and shove a hand into his daddy. Not only would Craig have cherished not having to do it himself, but if what he'd been hearing about his boy in the last half hour was true, Robbie would go at Craig's insides with gusto.

"They haven't even DONE anything to my mind yet, and I'm already starting to crack," Craig fretted with growing regret. "I'm a guy who's only a few sessions away from officially becoming a junkie. Why the FUCK did I think that MY will would be enough to resist what they said they're going to do to me?!? What was I THINKING?! How am I going to keep myself from fucking my kid when I can't even stop fantasizing about him putting his hand up my ass?!"

"UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Craig grunted after failing to either suppress the noise, or hold it in, sadly proving his own point.

"How's it going over there, Jayce?" Lecher suddenly called out.

In response, Craig heard a sub-human roar, as close to a lion's as a man could possibly get.

"That good, huh?" Lecher taunted. "Well, I'm going to need a little help from you. How about turning Craig out for me?"

Craig said nothing and continued simultaneously fisting and strumming his fingers to keep the anal hunger at bay. Most heterosexual men would've freaked at the news that they were going to be forced to take a dick, but after being thoroughly primed, Craig was secretly thrilled at the prospect of getting fucked.

Jayce came tearing over at full speed, startling Craig, who'd been so focused on his compulsory assplay that he hadn't looked over to see what was going on with Jayce, and why he'd let out that gutteral roar.

"WHOA, KID!" Lecher laughed, racing up behind Jayce and grabbing him in another one of his unbreakable bear hugs.

"What did you do to him?" Craig asked, trying to sound concerned about Jayce's animalistic behavior when all he REALLY cared about was Jayce's swollen cock and the intense visual target-lock he had on Craig's asshole, which was causing Craig to feel a shiver of anticipation.

"Well, in addition to the Ball Vapor, Guile's got him hopped up on either angel dust or...I dunno...bath salts or something."

"LET HIM GO!" Craig begged, going so far as to provoke Lecher into complying by saying the unthinkable. "MY SON CAN'T WATCH ME GETTING FUCKED UNTIL YOU LET JAYCE GO!"

"Whoa, NELLY!" Lecher hollered in response to Jayce throwing the mother of all tantrums. Jayce craned and bucked his hips, making his hard- on wiggle wildly in the air, in a hopeless attempt to get his cock close enough to Craig's asshole to make contact. In response, Craig's sphincter went nuts, opening and closing wildly, like chattering teeth, providing so much sensation that Craig was able to remove his hand.

"LET ME GO!" Jayce screamed, adding his voice to the chaos. "LET ME FUCKING GO!!!!!"

"Maybe, but only after-" Lecher began.

"Lecher!" Guile barked, "Let him go!"

After mumbling something under his breath, Lecher released Jayce, who grabbed at the back of Craig's legs for balance before thrusting forward and sliding effortless into Craig's loose, tension-free hole, which responded by instantly contracting around Jayce's cock, putting it in a slippery death grip.

"Yeah!" Jayce screamed, sounding completely out of his mind while he pulled and pushed against the resistance and worked Craig's hyper- charged bowels, scrambling Craig's pleasure center and filling him with an overpowering compulsion to lie there in completely submission and let Jayce do whatever he needed to do to Craig's body in order to satisy both of their Guile-induced sexual frenzies.

To Craig's annoyance, he started babbling and moaning like a whore in heat, and he couldn't stop. In spite of having a moment of weakness and using his son to provoke Lecher into releasing Jayce, Craig was still trying to maintain as much composure as possible. But now Robbie would witness his daddy happily being penetrated and fucked, even BEFORE he'd been enslaved, while murmuring encouragement to Jayce and profanely letting him know that Craig wholeheartedly accepted that he was "the man" in their sexual coupling, and Craig was "the woman". Robbie would now be able to use this moment to justify his part in Craig's enslavement and mitigate any guilt he might feel, either now or years in the future. As much as Craig loved his boy, that was the LAST thing he wanted to give his child. He wanted Robbie to feel like utter SHIT for doing this to him.

"Why does it have to feel so goddamned good?" Craig bemoaned as Jayce's relentless pounding caused Craig's bladder control to fail, sending a powerful stream of piss out of Craig's dick, which arched gracefully and splattered on the mat far behind Craig's head.

"Oh, I forgot to mention, Craig," Guile spoke up while Lecher bent over and took a nice, long sip from Craig's fountain and then picked up Craig's shitty hand by the wrist and started to lick it clean, "that Robbie will have a choice between watching this moment from the outside, or the inside."

"Whut?" Craig asked obtusely, totally mesmerized by the continual back and forth sliding of Jayce's cock through his bewitched hole, as well as Craig's relaxing urinary release and the the sinful feeling of Lecher's tongue extending impossibly long and weaving between Craig's fingers.

"That means Robbie will forever be able to access this moment and experience everything happening to you right now, as if he were you, starting just after the moment the green tendril dropped you to the mat. Every sight, taste, sound, smell, thought, emotion, and sensation. You and your son will share this moment intimately. I imagine the two of you lying down naked together and Robbie making both of you relive this at the same time. How beautiful! A father and son enjoying the same sexual experience while sharing the same cock, balls, asshole, urination and orgasm. For being such a prude regarding a relatively benign, if not completely NEGLIGIBLE sexual PROCEDURE with your son, I find it fitting that you and Robbie will now connect with perverse familiarity on every POSSIBLE level. You will have NO sexual secrets and NO sexual privacy from your son! He will know you in ALL of the most inappropriate ways! You two will even share your love of meth!"

"WAIT...WHAT!?" Craig tried to yell, but Lecher took Craig's dick (which Craig was too relaxed and euphoric to bother holding), and aimed it so that Craig's piss fell into Craig's mouth.)

Craig sputtered and reflexively tightened his bladder muscles as much as he could, in spite of the relaxation he was being subjected to.

"Why are you doing that, Craig?" Guile asked. "From now on, you LOVE drinking men's piss...even your own. It's one of the many new sick, repugnant JOYS I'm generously bestowing upon you."

"But I don't...I've never..." Craig tried to dispute before realizing that Guile was right. He LOVED drinking guys' piss.

Craig released his bladder once more, and Lecher guided the last few seconds with unerring accuracy, noisily splashing into Craig's mouth and forming a pool that Craig eagerly gulped down as soon as he started "losing pressure".

"More...please!" Craig begged, inspiring Lecher, who'd finished licking the shit off of Craig's hand, to use his own hand to collect the last little bit of Craig's dribbling pee and helpfully pour it into Craig's mouth. Lecher then generously allowed Craig to suck on his fingers.

"I'm not sure you're still interested, Craig, since you seem pre- occupied with urine, but please allow me to explain how Robbie will be sharing your drug habit," Guile offered. "Since you didn't like the idea of Entangleds coming to your house to fuck you up with Pit Fog, you are now becoming an Entangled, which means that you will have your own inexhaustible supply of Pit Fog, which you will DOUBTLESSLY use to fuck yourself up on a FAR SUPERIOR VERSION of that low quality shit they sell on the streets of Johnsport. The problem is, at some point Robbie will catch you while you're...impaired...and Robbie being Robbie, he'll want in on the action. So the two of you will be getting high on Meth together, along with wantever ELSE Robbie wants to try...and whatever else he wants YOU to try."

Guile's words brought Craig out of his sexual euphoria just enough to be horrified. No matter how messed up Robbie became once he and Craig became sex partners, he would still have some sort of future. But if he started experimenting with drug effects at such a young age...or ANY age, he would have no future at all.

"Guile, I'm sorry! Please-" Craig began.

"Good-bye, 'old' Craig," Guile deliberately interrupted, as Craig had done so often to Guile.

A cone of Pit Fog rushed into the clearing and poured into Craig's nose and mouth, instantly turning Craig's first experience with passive anal intercourse into chemsex.

Craig immediately recognized the effects of what the Pit Fog was mimicking....and wholly embraced it, thereby increasing its potency. As Craig approached his enslavement, he did so while feeling....free.

"JUST LIKE THAT!" Craig gasped, no longer caring what his son would think of him as a father or a man when Robbie was lying in his place, feeling Jayce fucking the hell out of his daddy's asshole. "I'M BEGGIN' YOU, MAN! KEEP FUCKING MY ASS JUST LIKE THAT! DON'T CUM TOO FAST!!"

"Craig!" Guile mocked with fake astonishment. "Now sweet little Robbie will be forced to SAY those things when he samples this memory! It's bad enough that thanks to you, he'll also be wetting the bed!"

Craig didn't react at all as Lecher stepped up on the platform, straddled Craig's shoulders, and lowered his rock-hard prick down to Craig's lips.

"One blowjob, please," Lecher politely requested.

"I've never...I don't kn-AAAACK!" Craig choked. Another tendril, a magenta one, had suddenly entered into Craig's mouth and blasted the interior with a spray of God-knows-what. After it pulled out, the tendril drifted up and sprayed Lecher's cock in a circle, painting it uniformly magenta.

"When we Entangle someone, I usually like to start with their ass," Lecher explained over the sound of Craig's coughing and sputtering, as well as the slurping and farting noises that Jayce was forcing Craig's ass to make, "but since yours is occupied, and I hate to cut in line, I'll start with your mouth instead."

"I'm cool with getting fucked, but I don't know about THAT," Craig stated blearily, succumbing to the drugs in his brain and mouth.

"You'll know," Lecher promised with a sinister smile. "Just give it a sec."

Something was happening to Craig. The inside of his mouth felt a lot like the inside of his ass: desperate for sensation. At the same time, his eyes locked onto Lecher's cock, or rather, its magenta coloring. Chemically, Craig instinctively knew that if he rubbed his magenta coated mouth against Lecher's magenta covered boner, Craig would be richly rewarded, but that would require him to give Lecher head, and there was no way that Craig would ever-

"Jesus, Lumberjack! CALM DOWN! OR AT LEAST STOP WITH THE TEETH!" Lecher mocked when Craig lifted his head off the platform and latched onto Lecher's dick, licking and sucking like a dehydrated hamster trying to get water out of an empty sipper. "Just kidding, Lumberjack. I like the teeth. Scrape the hell out of my cock! Gnaw it like rawhide! Yeahhhhhhh."

Craig ignored Lecher's instructions and focused on rubbing Lecher's cock everywhere around the interior of his mouth. Against Craig's cheeks... under his tongue...against his tonsils...even between his teeth and lips. The contact between Lecher's cock and Craig's mouth was creating something that was soaking into Craig's gums, tongue, and palate, inflaming them in the best possible way and turning a blow job into a sex act that was more pleasurable to the person giving it than the person receiving it.

"More," Craig requested, the word sounding garbled because Craig couldn't bear to take Lecher's dick out of his mouth long enough to say it.

The magenta tendril came back, causing Craig to obediently open his mouth like a trained seal. It only sprayed Craig's tongue and lips, then went on to give Lecher's hard-on a fresh coat. When it was done, Craig engulfed Lecher and found that he consistently received the biggest jolt of satisfaction whenever Lecher's boner slid in and out of Craig's mouth while tightly clamped between Craig's lips...while also being licked by Craig's tongue.

Lecher finally received the blowjob he'd originally asked for. Ordinarily, Lecher has complete control over the timing of his orgasm, but whenever he's Entangling someone, he's got a REAL short fuse.

"Well, one thing's for sure," Lecher laughed after taking a moment to appreciate Craig frantically sucking his dick while taking Jayce's cock up his ass like a pro, "If you ever come home and find Robbie naked in bed with his legs in the air and his mouth open, you'll know exactly which memory he's sampling. Heh. Considering how many memories he's being sent home with, he'll....uh.....uh.....UH......UUUHHHHHHH!!!!!"

Lecher's muscular, squatting haunches shook violently, and Craig felt a blast of warm, sticky liquid squirt into his mouth. Craig expected to wretch, but the magenta-tainted saliva he'd been swallowing for the last few minutes had distributed magenta all along this throat. Instead of gagging, Craig's throat swallowed, again and again, until Craig's brain was able to process just how fucking good Lecher's cum tasted. After that, the powerful spurts grew in intensity and duration, and Craig eagerly drank it all down.

Unable to speak, but feeling a sudden affection for the monster that was squirting its slime down Craig's throat, Craig reached up and slid his middle finger into Lecher's asshole, determined to massage Lecher's prostate.

"I used to love it when Diane would peg me and Gary at the same time," Craig thought wistfully. "The way she worked my prostate...Christ! She could make me whine and whimper like a puppy. Hmmm, Robbie's probably doing all sorts of butt stuff if he's selling videos of himself on-line. Maybe I can get him to start fingering me. We could do it to each other, teach one another our likes and dislikes. That would be nice. I think Robbie would like that."

Craig's finger entered amongst all the deployed tendrils, so at first he didn't feel anything except slippery tubes. But then, all the tenrils pulled off to the side, and Lecher's insides wrapped around them, partitioning them off and turning his asshole from this: "O", to this "8", something that is only supposed to happen when a Thrall takes two dicks at once.

"Uh...wha'cha doing in there, Lumberjack?" Lecher asked, sounding a bit alarmed, but stopping short of ordering Craig to stop.

Craig was still nursing Lecher's spurting cock, so he didn't bother answering. Instead, he continued trying to find Lecher's prostate, but he couldn't, because Lecher's insides weren't normal. Instead of a rectum, Lecher had some sort of vagina-like tube with all sorts of strange projections all around the walls. Craig felt the various ridges, bumps, and several layers of what felt like feathers, all of them pulsing, turning, and vibrating.

"Feels nice on my finger," Craig pondered, "But it'd feel better on my fucking co...WHOA!"

The walls of Lecher's "anus" closed in and tightened, holding onto Craig's finger and refusing to let it go. Craig pulled...HARD...causing all three joints to crack...then he SHOVED...then PULLED...then SHOVED...then PULL-

"GUILE, I'M IN TROUBLE HERE! MAKE HIM STOP!!!!"

"Why? What's wrong? Please explain it to me in exhaustive detail," Guile crowed, knowing exactly what was happening to Lecher.

"LUMBERJACK ACTIVATED MY PLAN TO FIX LURE....WHILE I'M ALSO EJACULATING! JESUS, I CAN'T EVEN FUCKING THINK RIGHT NOW!"

"And yet you sound as intelligent as you always do. Can you release his finger?"

"IF I COULD RELEASE HIS FINGER, I WOULDN'T BE IN TROUBLE!!!"

"Unlike Lure, we were created to always be in complete control over ourselves," Guile pointed out, loving the fact that he was deliberately stretching out Lecher's panic. "How can you possibly not be able to release Craig's finger?"

"BECAUSE I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE IN CONTROL OF THE LURE STATION DURING MONUMENTAL MOMENTS, LIKE, I DON'T KNOW....THE ACTIVATION OF OUR LURE'S ASS CRAVINGS!!!! AND MAYBE I CAN'T LET CRAIG'S FINGER GO BECAUSE... ....I DON'T KNOW......I'M A FUCKING SEX MONSTER!!!!!!!!!!"

"Good points. Fortunately, my shitty Guile Archives have a piece of information that your shitty Lecher Archives do not. A Lure's ass cravings temporarily diminish whenever his victim cums.

"We're not talking about him having his DICK up my ass, Guile!!!!"

"Doesn't matter. Same result."

Lecher wiped his ball sweat across both Craig and Jayce's upper lips. Guile made it vaporize at a high rate. The effects were immediate.

"GAWWWWWWL!" Jayce cried out, cumming HARD, then pumping his semen into Craig. There wasn't very much, since it was Jayce's fourth orgasm in just over an hour.

Before Craig had time to reflect on being fucked to completion by another man, all the muscles in his groin locked-up and he was subjected to the best orgasm he'd ever had since the day Gary Pearson first took pity on him for being married to a nasty cunt, and offered to let Craig fuck his wife.

"Aim your dick straight up," Guile ordered Craig, who never even considered disobeying. And don't try to collect it, Lecher!"

"Craig's going to erupt like a geyser, and you don't want me to swipe it out of the air with our tongue?!?!" Lecher wailed.

"Correct!" Guile yelled to avoid ambiguity while making Jayce stagger away. "And hop off the table, out of the way, WITHOUT breaking Craig's finger!"

Lecher cursed and complied, clearing the way for several perfect, unobstructed views of Robbie's dad ejaculating five feet in the air. Two slightly less powerful, but still damned impressive squirts followed, all of them splattering dramatically on Craig's massive, hairy chest, his furry ripped belly, and in one case, directly onto his beard.

To Lecher's relief, Craig's finger fell out of his ass.

"Excellent, Craig," Guile praised condescendingly. "Now get on your knees in front of Lecher."

Craig complied.

"Do you smoke, Craig?" Lecher asked, his dick getting stuff again.

"Used to, but I started chewin' instead. Later on, I quit that, too."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a pussy-whipped bitch who did anything my wife told me to do," Craig said, repeating the lines that Guile was feeding into his mind. "Hell, the only reason I got into weight-lifting was because I had to do something to make myself feel like a man again. Hunting, fishing, guns, beer, and a pick-up just weren't getting the job done."

Lecher felt a wave of unease. If Craig's refusal to cooperate with the plan didn't matter, and Plan B would be just as effective in getting Robbie's Soul-Creation Energy, why did Guile seem so angry, and why was he being so petty and vindictive?

"Er...um...well, the boy likes his cigarettes," Lecher soldiered on, walking up and putting the tip of his cock up to Craig's lips, "so I'm guessing he'll make you want to start smoking again. Let's get you some practice."

After a moment of silent concentration, Lecher startled to tremble, and a curl of milky-white smoke emanated from his cock.

"Smoke my pole," Lecher instructed, "like a cigarette, not a cigar."

Craig pursed his lips and took a couple of quick, gentle puffs to get the smoke flowing. Afterward, he took a drag and knocked it back. Craig hadn't smoked a cigarette in years, but nowadays he was smoking things a lot stronger and more irritating to his throat and lungs, so Lecher's cum-smoke didn't cause him to cough or choke at all. In fact, it was smooth as all hell.

"Niiiiice...," Lecher mumbled, clearly getting off on what Craig was doing to him. Entanglement creates drones that go forth with an open mouth, a spread ass, and a happy heart, helping their beloved owner to acquire EVEN MORE cum (Soul-Creation Energy) for their Master. Thus, the act of making an Entangled felt very, VERY good, to encourage the Thralls to create as many cum-gathering 'worker bees' as possible.

"My stomach feels weird," Craig exhaled before taking another hit.

"That'd be the gut monsters," Lecher groaned. "They're crossing over to take a look-see."

"What?" Craig thought, stopping mid-drag.

"It's nothing to be concerned about, Craig," Guile jumped in. "Just keep smoking and I'll explain everything. You see, Lecher's cum prepares a human's mouth, throat, and stomach to ingest semen with as little contamination as possible. It also cross-dimensionally synchs your stomach with a storage tank (storage organ, actually) inside of Caboose. From now on, creatures will dimensionally shift in and out of your stomach, especially when you're sucking a dick, which I'm going to have you doing quite a LOT, Craig. Once you swallow a man's load, the gut creatures collect it before it reaches your stomach acid, and take it back to Caboose for processing. I said you didn't want to know how Entangleds send us the cum they've collected. But there is a bright side that you'll love! The gut creatures love sugar. You'll never digest another candy bar or piece of cake ever again, because the gut monsters will steal it, the piggy little bastards! You'll never have to worry about weight gain!"

"I don't understand why you guys need me to smoke, then," Craig questioned, vaguely aware that Guile's words should've sparked a major panic attack.

"Because what are gut creatures without LUNG creatures?!" Guile declared with cruel, maniacal glee. "Like your stomach, your lungs will now be a perfect habitat for dimension-shifting creatures who will fart Pit Fog and Ball Vapor, allowing ME to use YOU to seduce reluctant prey. And if anyone tries to attack you, I can either use the Pit Fog to make you violent and strong, like Jayce was when HE FUCKED YOU, or you can simply breathe at your assailant, and I'll take it from there!!!"

"Uh....okay," Craig mumbled, still not grasping the chilling significance of Guile's words.

"Try to be happier about it, Craig! I'm essentially turning you into a superhero!" Guile taunted with barely masked hatred, while also uttering words that would SERIOUSLY come back to haunt him. "Don't you want to be a superhero, Craig?! WHO DOESN'T LOVE SUPERHEROES?!?!?!"

Guile certainly wouldn't, not once Reality Itself crushed Guile's dream of fixing himself and living the life he'd been promised. That hope would die once Guile learned the horrifying secret of The Creeping Vine.

"MARK!" Officer Brian MacCrouder hollered, "YOU OUT HERE?!"

Brian chastised himself for saying something so stupid, but what the hell ELSE was he going to say?

"BY ORDER OF THE TIMBERSBURG POLICE DEPARTMENT, ALL CIVILIANS ARE ORDERED TO VACATE THESE WOODS NOW, OR YOU WILL BE SUBJECT TO ARREST AND PROSECUTION!" Brian barked, feeling a bit more powerful, and a lot less scared. Coincidentally, unknown to Brian, those were his two main reasons for joining the police force in the first place. Ironically, however, Brian's authoritative command was being directed at people who'd been rendered all but deaf by a sonic blast .

"Why isn't Mark answering?" Brian wondered. "HE ain't deaf...and all THAT took was making the entire department look bad! He'd better not be ignoring me because he's afraid to come back and face the press! And he sure as shit better not be sliced to pieces when I find him!"

"Good evening, officer."

Brian's heart almost leaped out of his throat. He spun around, unintentionally making a fool of himself as he tried to use his flashlight beam to locate the source of the greeting.

"Who's there?"

"The monster," the voice calmly replied, filling Brian with a surge of fear that he tried to dispell by asserting his authority.

"I AM AN OFFICER OF THE TIMBERSBURG POLICE DEPARTMENT, AND I AM ORDERING YOU TO LAY DOWN ANY ARMS YOU MAY BE CARRYING AND APPROACH SLOWLY WITH YOUR HANDS RAISED," Brian yelled, wishing his flashlight were powerful enough to cut through the dense fog. His visiblity was down to about six feet, and that wasn't nearly enough to stop Brian's fear-induced nausea and flu-like symptoms.

"Officer, please stop yelling, and if you wish to see me, all you need to do is close your eyes."

Brian saw a flash of light...then another...then another. It wasn't until his fourth blink that Brian realized that the light was flashing every time he blinked.

Brian closed his eyes, and instantly regretted it.

Brian was still standing in the exact same place, but the fog and trees were missing. The woods were now a massive clearing, lit by moon- light that was no longer obstructed by layers upon layers of spindly branches.

A figure in an open black bathrobe stared at Brian from about fifty feet away. The hood of the robe was raised, cloaking the face of what appeared to be a young adult male, and preventing Brian from instantly recognizing the face of the legitimate son of Raymond Crandal.

"Aw Jesus," Brian MacCrouder whined, drawing his gun, but keeping the arm loose and hanging, knowing damned well that once he pointed the gun at the thing in front of him, the situation would change in a way that might not be able to be undone. "Oh Jesus Christ...not me...not me."

"I'm sorry, Brian, but it is you."

"THIS SHIT AIN'T ME!" Brian openly bawled while opening and closing his eyes to make sure that the monster wasn't sneaking up on him while his eyes were shut. "This shit only happens to people who WANT IT TO HAPPEN TO THEM!!"

Brian raised his arm forty-five degrees, but let it drop back down. His fear was in a life-or-death struggle with his self-image, and it was pushing the man into several different emotional extremes all at once.

"Just go," Brian squeaked. "Just...just...go......please?"

"No."

"WHY THE FUCK NOT?!?!?!?!" Brian screamed, tears flowing down his cheeks. "THE FUCK I EVER DO TO YOU?!?!"

The gun raised up and pointed at Guile...unsteadily.

"The trees are still there, Brian. If you shoot-"

"I KNOW THE FUCKING TREES ARE STILL THERE!!! BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK sob I'M SUPPOSED TO FUCKING DO RIGHT NOW!!!"

"Did you read Cynthia Keim's statement?"

"Y-yeah," Brian said, performing an act of emotional whiplash by instantly calming down and becoming negotiable out of a sense of self- preservation.

"Then I think you know exactly what I want you to do right now."

Brian gave the monster a look of astonished revulsion, which was made almost funny by his closed eyes.

"Can I...can I...?" Brian started, unable to figure out how to word his request.

"You may take a moment to compose yourself. I will not make a move, eyes open or eyes shut, until you're ready."

Brian reluctantly holstered his weapon and wiped the tears from his closed eyes, never losing sight of the monster. Then he momentarily took off his hat and scrubbed his dry, appropriately straw-like hair before fumbling around in his pockets for his vape pen.

"Can I take a couple of pulls?"

"As long as you promise to think about Malawny Hollow while you do it."

Guile expected Brian to ask why, or at least give him another weird look, but surprisingly, Brian just followed the order. After a few more puffs, Brian put the pen away and reached down to unzip his fly and fish out his penis.

"This is what you meant, right?" Brian asked just before his fear caused his brain to cross its signals, causing Brian to accidentally start urinating. "My....cum, I mean."

"Yes."

Brian continued urinating.

"Just g-g-give me a second," Brian apologized, "I didn't m-m-mean to s-s-s-start....* "

"That's okay. Take your time."

Brian inhaled a few times, like he was going to say something, but he kept exhaling the thought. Finally, as he was squirting out the last few spurts of piss, he found his voice.

"Why all this? Why tonight? I had...had the window down, the air was warm...I felt...good, I was supposed to meet someone later. A girl. We've been talking online. We were going to...you know."

Brian wiggled his drippy dick to indicate what he and his date intended to do, which was strange to Guile, since Brian had avoided saying an embarrassing word by performing an infinitely MORE embarrassing gesture. Guile felt Brian realize the same thing, which in turn caused Brian to feel stupid and self-conscious, which in turn caused Brian to experience a fit of childish rage.

"BUT YOU HAD TO COME HERE AND START SMASHING UP CARS, BRINGING DOWN TREES, AND ABDUCTING PEOPLE.....RIGHT AT THE FUCKING EDGE OF OUR FUCKING JURISDICTION!!! AT THE ONLY PART OF THIS ROAD THAT DOESN'T HAVE FOUR LANES!! AND NOW IT'S FUCKING IMPASSABLE AND INACCESSIBLE!! IT'S A TOTAL FUCKING MESS!!"

Brian was apparently under a considerable amount of stress.

"AND THEN YOU GO AND DEAFEN EVERYONE, AND BECAUSE I PUT IN EARPLUGS BEFORE YOU DID IT, I GET GUILTED INTO COMING IN HERE...WITH YOU AROUND... TO LOOK FOR A GUY WHO JUST DISGRACED THE WHOLE DEPARTMENT!! SO THEN THIS FOG SHOWS UP, AND MAKES ALL THE IDIOTS WITH AUTOMATIC RIFLES START ACTING LIKE BIGGER ASSHOLES, AND WOMEN START PUKING THEIR GUTS OUT! AND ALL OF OUR COMMUNICATION EQUIPMENT WON'T WORK, AND EVERY TIME WE TRY TO COMMANDEER A CELL PHONE OR LAPTOP, IT FUCKING STOPS WORKING!!!!"

Brian took a second to glare at the monster and catch his breath through clamped teeth.

"I JUST GOTTA KNOW, DID ALL OF THIS SHIT...WORK OUT FOR YOU?!? ARE YOU BETTER OFF NOW? DID YOU GET WHAT YOU WANTED?!"

"No," the monster admitted sadly. "After all this, I am no better off than when the night began. Honestly, all of this chaos has worsened my situation immeasurably, and the fact that you know nothing about Malawny Hollow beyond the official story has only added to my growing hopelessness. However, IF I USE YOU TO CREATE A PORNOGRAPHIC DOCUMENTARY FOR A THIRTEEN YEAR OLD BOY, AND CREATE EVEN MORE CHAOS FOR THE TIMBERSBURG POLICE BY USING YOU AS BAIT FOR THE COP WHO MIGHT HAVE THE INFORMATION I WANT, WHO KNOWS?! MAYBE THIS WILL WORK OUT FOR ME...AND MAKE ME BETTER OFF...AND GET ME WHAT I WANT!!"

Brian heard a whistling noise and suddenly felt the warm evening air on his shoulder. Something had sliced through his uniform, and five layers of t-shirts, from his wrists to both sides of his neck.

"WAIT...I'LL STRIP DOWN...I'M NOT RESISTING...I'M NOT RESISTING!" Brian screamed, terrified that the monster would slice off his dick. He shoved his dick back inside his pants and clasped his trembling hands over it.

But Guile was tired of Brian's emotional back and forth, and demonstrated this by slicing Brian's pants from waist to cuffs, but intentionally missing Brian's underwear. Those would be needed.

"Drop the pants," the monster ordered.

Brian dropped the sliced material that used to be his uniform's pants, leaving him standing there with nothing but his hat, underwear, and socks and shoes.

"I-I-I was afraid you'd cut it off," Brian explained nervously while reaching into the fly of his underwear and pulling his penis back out.

"Push them down to your ankles."

Brian complied. He didn't have any defiance left. All he had was fear.

Brian and the monster stared at Brian's penis, which was in the process of shrinking to the point that it looked like a circumcised version of Robbie's.

"Wiggle it...like you did a minute ago, and don't stop," Guile commanded, partly to demean Brian by making him once again experience the embarrassment that the gesture had caused him a moment ago, and partly to establish who exactly was in complete control over the situation.

Brian did as Guile ordered, but he opened his eyes. He didn't care where the monster was, as long as he didn't have to look at it.

He'd completely surrendered.

"Vape," Guile instructed, since Brian was too scared to ask for permission, "but do it while you masturbate."

Without commenting, changing his expression, or closing his eyes to see where the monster was, Brian retrieved his vape pen with his left hand while using the thumb and middle finger of his right hand to uselessly rub his terrified, ice cold, two inch dinkie.

"I'm thirsty," Lecher growled, since Guile didn't think he could sound as manacing.

"I'M....TRYING!!!!!!!!" Brian yelled once more, his scream stretching out into a bawling wail. "I CAN'T DO IT LIKE THI-I-I-I-S! I CAN'T D-D-D-D-DO IT! IT W-W-W-W-WON'T GET H-H-H-HARD!"

"Then I will assist you."

Brian let out a scream at the feeling of snakes all over his body, followed by garbled nonsense that was appropriate for his present state of mind.

Tendrils were flying out from between the trees and invading Brian MacCrouder's body. He felt them sliding around everywhere.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" Brian screamed as one of the snakes squiggled up his shrunken penis and several more squeezed through his asshole. The cry was cut short, however, by the tendril that went into his mouth and down his throat.

Seized by irrationality, Brian tried to turn and run back to the road, but he was tripped up by the underwear around his ankles. Brian fell to the ground, at which point the fog attacked, pouring into his lungs.

"WHY ME?!?!," Brian thought, just before Guile turned the Pit Fog in Brian's body into something that would make his upcoming ordeal a bit less distressing.

Coincidentally, anyone who'd ever been pulled over by Officer Brian MacCrouder, or had the severe misfortune of dialing 911 and having him show up, ALSO tended to ask themselves: "WHY ME?!?!"

The thing wearing the form of Kenny Miller's dead grandfather scowled as it trudged angrily through the woods, cursing every step.

"I'm gonna yank that mental meatball right out of that boy's head and STOMP it to death!" Andrew Miller seethed.

The threat was heartfelt, but empty. Reality Itself was weak, due to expending a massive amount of energy to maintain its awareness and physical presence (long past the time it should've let go of both), as well as fighting to keep the regional temperatures in the upper seventies. The strain was enormous, and kept Reality Itself from solving its problems in a much more direct and satisfying way. Its power needed to be rationed if it was going to achieve its objective before sleep was no longer optional. So instead of allowing its body to dissipate, and recreating it at the Thrall's feeding area...or transforming into a much stronger form, like the secret one it was holding onto in case of emergency, the time-worn (but energy-efficient) carcass of Andrew Miller dragged itself forward, thinking hateful thoughts as he stepped in muck and pushed small branches out of his way.

Just like Lure, Andrew Miller was on a mission that had to be carried out that very night, and his inability to achieve his goal was driving him insane. Also, the two incompetent genetic abominations that thwarted Lure's plans were now endangering Andrew's as well, which was HILARIOUS, since Lure's and Andrew's objectives WERE THE EXACT OPPOSITE!

The guardian of the Earth's biosphere, who'd been given the ridiculously unsuitable name "Reality Itself" by its enemies, was, in its natural state, a series of automatic responses to the only sort of extra- dimensional incursion that the Earth ever faced: microscopic. However, one day, hundreds of years ago, HORRIFIC, MONSTER-COVERED MONOLITHS ripped through the dimensional fabric and reached across to the Earth!

Earth's guardian didn't have an appropriate "automatic response" to deal with this unimaginable, nightmarish situation, so with the exception of destroying a few of Master Morgan's proto-Fingernails, Reality Itself proved to be even less effective at its job than the Thralls' Emergency Survival Protocols.

The guardian of the biosphere needed to evolve...so it did...but evolution takes time. In this case, it took hundreds of years.

The previous year, on February 2nd., the Earth's guardian achieved a brief period of hyper-intelligent sentience, and used that time, along with its ability to perceive potential future outcomes, to come up with an audacious plan that would hopefully deal a major blow to the invaders. It put the plan in motion and allowed its exhausted, nascent sentience to dissipate and rest.

When Reality Itself's recharged awareness re-formed six weeks later, it discovered that on March 1st., its plan fell apart. Not only that, but it had put all life on Earth in horrible jeopardy.

Another plan was thought up and put in motion before Reality Itself went back to sleep. It was a complex plan, one with way too many moving parts, but each time Reality Itself woke up to check on it, things were still progressing just fine.

But now, the defective Guile not only managed to save the life of Robbie Byrne, he'd also succeeded in figuring out that Reality Itself was trying to keep the Crandal boy away from Ferret Forest. Guile needed to be dealt with, before he figured out Reality Itself's primary objective.

Fortunately, Reality Itself had already thought up a contingency plan. It would "lure" the Guile to the perfect mental battleground, where he and Reality Itself would engage in psychological warfare. Afterwards, if Andrew failed to defeat the Thrall by besting the Guile mentally with the help of The Creeping Vine, he could turn his attention to the Lecher and destroy the Thrall physically, by assuming the form of an UNSTOPPABLE POWERHOUSE....named Ryan Klein.

"HELP!!!" the cop screamed after two minutes of 'OFFICER DOWN!' and 'OFFICER IN NEED OF ASSISTANCE' yielded no results.

Robbie looked down at Officer Mark Pudroolen and smiled in victory. Mark didn't seem to notice.

"He's not looking at me," Robbie thought. "Can't he see me?"

"Officer Pudroolen can't see OR hear you," Guile confirmed. "I'm screening you again."

"Why?"

"Because until we figure out what to do with him, I want this Timbersburg cop to serve and protect me by lying there, terrified, on the wet ground...in the dark...with piss-soaked pants and the knowledge that a human-sized spider is possibly getting ready to pounce on him at any moment. As a taxpayer, it is my right."

"We don't pay taxes, Guile," Lecher informed him.

"No, but we're hopelessly shackled to a ghastly, disfunctional family that DOES....although thanks to some tricky accounting, they don't pay as much as they should."

"They should ALL pay," Lecher grumbled, "starting with Lure."

"How come his radio isn't working?" Robbie asked, redirecting the conversation towards things that he was interested about, instead of allowing Guile and Lecher to continue dropping clues about themselves. Robbie didn't have his father's intellectual curiosity.

"I've been screening it to increase Officer Pudroolen's feelings of isolation and helplessness...and because its squawking is annoying me."

"If I light up, will he smell it?" Robbie asked as a formality, since he'd already pulled out another cigarette and was lighting it at that very moment.

"No," Guile replied.

"Not that I care," Lecher piped up, "but your OTHER cigarette is still smoldering right over there."

"Yeah, but I dropped it," Robbie reasoned.

"You dropped a cigarette right after you sucked off Officer Klempernick," Guile pointed out, "but you smoked THAT one."

"Well, yeah, but it only touched the ground for a few seconds. THAT one's been sitting there for a couple of minutes."

Guile examined the cigarette. It was still perfectly fine.

"I see," Guile lied.

"You and your dad....always dropping your guns and cigarettes," Lecher grumbled. "You two aren't actually FROM this area, ARE you?"

"I've lived here all my life," Robbie defended, having no idea what Lecher was getting at, "my father, too."

"To his credit, Lecher, the boy smokes both tobacco and pot, he desires to have sexual relations with his father, he flirts with pedophiles, and he gave oral gratification to a member of law enforcement. Robbie is CLEARLY a native of this area, possibly even more-so than any member of the local indigenous population. Thank me for standing up for you, Robbie."

"Uh....thanks?" Robbie offered, completely baffled and just going along with what Guile was saying...just like Guile wanted.

"You're quite welcome, Robbie," Guile said graciously. "Now if you wouldn't mind, I need you to suck off this cop for me."

"Um...I don't...think I can," Robbie confessed.

"What, you forgot how?" Lecher teased, prodded, and challenged, as he was created to do. "YOU JUST LEARNED HOW TO BLOW A COP TEN MINUTES AGO! Christ! You can't train these Gen Z kids to do ANYTHING!"

"I don't like him!" Robbie snapped. "He's too.....he's kinda..."

"You don't find him manly," Guile assisted. "He's the sort of guy that every gay man would sell their souls for, but he's not old enough nor rugged enough for you."

"Yeah....sorta," Robbie hedged, even though Guile had completely nailed his objections."

Guile muted an unhelpful comment from Lecher.

"Robbie, this probably won't make any different," Guile began, knowing goddamned well that it would make all the difference in the world, "but if you give him a blowjob, you will fuck with Officer Pudroolen's head FAR more than you did to Officer Klempernick."

"CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?!?!" Officer Pudroolen screamed again. "OFFICER DOWN!"

"I don't want to 'fuck with his head'," Robbie raged, "I want to slap him across the face, like he did to ME, and I want to do it LOTS of times!"

"Go ahead," Lecher and Guile said in unison.

Robbie parked his cigarette between his lips, acting all tough, and stalked over to the paralyzed cop. He squatted down next to Mark's head and raised his hand, looking like he was about to swing his arm like a golf club, and Mark's head was the ball. But instead of backhanding the oblivious, wide-eyed, scared policeman, Robbie just stayed locked in that ridiculous pose.

Robbie trembled with rage and indecision.

"Bok...bok...bok...buh-CAW!!!!" Lecher instigated.

To his credit, Robbie didn't let Lecher provoke him into doing it. Instead, he straightened up and walked back to where he'd been standing, completely unaware of the many tendrils that were now floating behind his back.

"Why would sucking his dick hurt him?" Robbie thought at Guile while taking a drag.

Four of the tendrils -black, brown, beige, and navy blue- positioned themselves just inside the legs of Robbie's shorts. Another tendril, a plum-colored tendril, rose up and stayed just behind the nape of the boy's neck, patiently waiting to perform it's monstrous task.

"Lecher, do it now!" Guile instructed, "Remember, start with his ass!"

"Guile, put us in hyper-time," Lecher insisted nervously.

"What...NOW?! I JUST GAVE YOU AN ORDER!"

"But you said from now on you'd go into hyper-time, so I could ask questions."

"I ONLY SAID THAT TO TEACH YOU A LESSON!" Guile screamed.

"JUST THIS ONCE, I PROMISE!" Lecher pleaded, not wanting to revisit the last time Guile made a point about Lecher's reluctance to immediately carry out instructions.

Lecher was supremely pissed off at Guile...but he was also scared of him. Before tonight, Guile was just sort of...there. He didn't say much, except when he and Lecher bitched behind Lure's back. But tonight, after Lure's suicide attempt, when Guile was put in charge of all the Thrall's thought processes, he'd started to change. The change took a minute to kick in, but as soon as Lure coughed up "blood", and it looked like the Thrall's last few hours were being reduced to only a few minutes, Guile stepped up. However, it was only after Guile discovered that he and Lecher were being attacked by Reality Itself that Guile really started to assert him- self.

Lecher had no idea how things would play out, but even if he and Guile survived tomorrow's meeting with the Master, and even if Lecher's newly-activated craving for a cock up his ass also afflicted Lure when he awoke, Lecher couldn't imagine Guile simply giving up power and going back to being nothing but an ignored voice in Lure's head.

"Even if I don't die tomorrow morning, it'll only be a temporary reprieve," Lecher bemoaned. "Lure and Guile will tear each other apart, and me along with them."

"FINE! We're in hyper-time! What TRIVIAL concern keeps you from obeying my routine request?" Guile growled.

"I thought you were just going to have Robbie jerk this guy off and make him cum into Baby Blue! I didn't know you wanted me to shove tendrils into the boy! WE CAN'T TOUCH KIDS! You're gonna get us PUNISHED! I won't be able to TAKE IT!"

Guile forced a vision into Lecher's mind. In it, a young hispanic male was bathing a baby boy, washing beneath his foreskin.

"The older male, the baby's brother, was a Thrall at the time of this incident," Guile explained. "You'll note a lack of agony."

"But I thought..."

"The only time we get punished for physical contact with a boy under the age of sixteen is when we're doing it to for feeding-related reasons."

"Oh," Lecher replied skeptically, "so that memory was created AFTER the decree was put in place, then?"

"Yes," Guile asserted, in spite of having no earthly idea. The memory was just a useful fragment, with no time stamp.

"But if I shove the navy blue tendril up his dick, won't that be interpreted by our internal monitors as a 'feeding-related reason'?"

"No, because we won't be using it to crank up his semen production, we'll be using it to temporarily prevent Robbie from oozing pre-cum, or accidentally ejaculating and spilling his golden seed upon the ground."

"But what if the navy blue tendril touches his semen?"

"Lecher, the navy blue tendril is NOT a feeding tendril. Only Baby Blue can absorb semen.

"Yeah, but....this all feels kind of....trial and error. I mean, you could've had me snake Baby Blue into Robbie's mouth and taken at least a little bit of Klempernick's cum, but you didn't. Robbie wouldn't have even felt it."

"So?"

"Well, it's like you were experimenting, seeing if it was safe for us to be in Robbie's mind while he was drinking cum. And now, I'm getting the feeling that you're experimenting again, seeing if it's safe to invade Robbie for non-sexual purposes. You don't know what you're doing, you're just sticking OUR toe in the water, and seeing if something swims along and bites it off!"

"That isn't what I'm doing," Guile lied. "I already know that my plan will succeed."

"How CAN it?" Lecher objected. "You said it yourself: Craig could only accept the deal while acting of his own free will...BUT NOW HE HAS NONE!!"

"The Master doesn't care if a man has free will, only that he keeps his son quiet!" Guile insisted, riding high on a veritable tsunami of bull- shit. "If we use Pit Fog to secure an agreement, the father might not keep his word once it wears off and he starts thinking it over. However, a father who is Entangled CANNOT go back on his word. It's a simple premise. Even YOU should understand it!"

"But according to my Lecher Archives, Guiles have been trying to find loopholes in the Masters' decree for years. Wouldn't Entanglement be the FIRST thing they'd try?"

"Because THEIR Masters never implemented OUR Master's exception regarding paternal consent!" Guile groaned with feigned exasperation while congratulating himself for INSTANTLY coming up with an answer so believable that Guile had to remind himself that it was only a hopeful, high-stakes gamble.

"Guile, are you sure this will work...honestly?" Lecher asked in spite of knowing how ridiculous it was to solicit honesty from a Guile. "I mean, you're being downright EVIL to Craig for not accepting your deal, and Guiles aren't supposed to do that!"

"Don't you mean 'Lumberjack'?" Guile shot back. "And 'yes', a properly made Guile who's connected to a willing, non-psychotic Lure is always chill, analytical and in complete emotional control, but since I WASN'T properly made, and my Lure is a VENGEANCE-CRAZED NUTJOB.....!!!"

"NO! You're not redirecting THIS conversation, Guile! Are you ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN that an underaged boy can be Churned safely if his father's consent is coerced through Entanglement?!

"My Guile Archives contain six well-documented, post-decree cases of Entangled fathers being successfully ordered to agree to allowing their underaged boys to be fed upon by Thralls," Guile claimed, his facts even shakier than his sentence structure.

"Well, can I see those cases?" Lecher asked. "I'd feel better about all this."

"And I'd feel better if you showed me whatever files YOU'RE hiding from ME. Just like Lure was paying attention to my 'tricky phrasing' and 'glaring omissions', I've been paying attention to YOURS. I don't know how you're doing it, but you're keeping things from me. Things that didn't really matter to me until TONIGHT! Give me everything you have! NOW!"

"Uhhh....what?" Lecher lied with such ineptitude that Guile found it as embarrassing as it was insulting. "I don't know what you're talking about. You have access to everything I've got, even all the Thrall physical data that Guiles can't even understand. You've got EVERYTHING!"

"Then I guess there's nothing else to say," Guile said in an airy tone that made it quite clear that Guile didn't believe Lecher, "except that I'm about to remove us from hyper-time, and you'd better DAMNED well invade the boy as soon as I'm done."

"What?!" Robbie yelped at the sensation of the beige, black, and brown tendrils slithering up his shorts and raiding his pooper. "What are you guys do-?"

A childish squeal filled the night air as Robbie dropped to his knees and was consumed by the intense, fizzy sensation of shit being violently liquified by a high powered multi-directional jet of warm liquid that was blasting his insides.

"Don't mind me, Cop-sucker, I'm just gettin' you ready for your hot date with your dad," Lecher explained. "After changing your diaper for years, I'm betting the guy has had enough of your shit. He doesn't need it getting all over his dick. I would've asked permission before sticking stuff up your ass, but I didn't think you'd even notice, since none of the tendrils even touched the sides goin' in! Damn, I've never used the black tendril to plug an asshole this WIDE before! "

Robbie wasn't listening; he'd completely tuned Lecher out. Robbie loved assplay, and even under the best of circumstances he was only capable of focusing on one thing at a time, so naturally Lecher's babbling was ignored in favor of the white water rapids going on up Robbie's butt.

Whenever Robbie had a moment alone, and he wasn't masturbating and/ or dildoing himself in his room, he'd toke up, go to his basement, and hook up a sliced section of hose to the faucet of the washtubs. Then, after making the sloped concrete floor comfortable by running hot water over it, he would adjust the water temperature, lie his stoned ass down, and shove the hose up his ass, filling himself, then forcing it out, filling himself, then forcing it out. In no time at all, Robbie would become so loose that he could just hold the hose in place and feel the water simultaneously flowing in and out of him. It was wonderful.

But THIS was SO much better!

"Do you like it, Robbie?" Guile asked with feigned enthusiasm.

"Fuckin' LOVE IT!!!!" Robbie squealed, oblivious to the fact that he was kneeling in mud. "Keep doing it!"

"You're the boss!" Lecher called out, HIS enthusiasm being REAL, as Guile had been right about there being no pain...for this experiment, anyway. Hopefully the next experiment would be equally pain-free."

All the fecal matter in Robbie's bowels was gone, liquified by the brown tendril and sucked out by the beige. Robbie needed to remain distracted, however, but extended use of the brown tendril's fecal dissolver isn't advisable, so Lecher quickly replaced the brown tendril with the water-blasting aqua blue tendril, and the beige tendril with the impure water-filtering light yellow tendril. And to make things a lot more fun and turbulent inside Robbie's black tendril-plugged anus, Lecher added the compressed air-dispensing maroon tendril and the olive-green suction/ exhaust/gas-filtering tendril.

Now it was a party.

"Robbie?" Guile asked after the boy's energetic shrieks of enjoy- ment died down, and it was possible to get his attention and hold it for a few seconds.

"WAIT! JUST ANOTHER MINUTE!!!" Robbie begged.

"We're not shuttin' down the water park just yet, Cop-sucker," Lecher explained. "You still got about five minutes. We just wanted to know if you wanted to get high while you enjoy 'em. You've inhaled enough fog for a brief trip into orbit. Whadduya say?"

"YEAH....GREAT!" Robbie exclaimed, far too young and naive to figure out that Guile and Lecher don't do anything without an ulterior motive.

"Ohhhhhhhhh FUUUUUUUUCK!" Robbie gasped in wonder, realizing too late, but caring too little, that whatever Guile was doing to him, it was accomplishing a hell of a lot more than just making him high. Robbie's perceptions shifted, and suddenly he was staring at the inside of his colon, watching what was being done to him. The sight and the sensations merged into one, taking Robbie on a lovely mind-trip.

"Robbie," Guile instructed in a hypnotic tone, "would you mind taking your penis out? I know you urinated recently, but your bladder might have refilled enough that you might accidentally relax too much and..."

Guile stopped talking, because it was no longer necessary. Robbie's hands had already drifted down, fumbled distractedly with the front of his shorts, and mindlessly exposed himself.

"Robbie?" Guile asked.

"Huhhhhhh?" Robbie responded a conspicuous amount of time later.

"I'd like to show you something...and YES, it will be added to the memory collection I'm making for you.

"Whu-?" Robbie asked after an image shimmered into view. Even if Robbie had been stone sober, his mind still would've had problems under- standing what he was seeing, in spite of watching LOTS of porn. A hairy, muscular, red-headed man was lying on his back on some sort of reddish-pink table. His legs were being held up and spread by a black kid who was fuck- ing him...ferociously. The kid looked a lot like Jayce Harris, but his face was so twisted up and scary that it was hard to tell.

"Izzat my dad?" Robbie slurred, trying to look at the red-headed man's face, but his features were obscured by a lean, naked, white kid who was squatting over the man's face. The man's head was elevated and moving around between the boy's thighs.

"It might be," Lecher speculated, pretending to be uncertain, "Just keep focusing on it."

A navy-blue tendril slipped into Robbie's foreskin, located his pee hole, and dove straight in. At the same time, a plum-colored tendril jumped up Robbie's nose. Both were designed to be unfeelable while traversing male reproductive systems and sinus cavities, respectively. And as far as Robbie didn't know, both tendrils were functioning absolutely perfectly.

The navy blue tendril traveled up Robbie's urethra until it veered off into his vas deferens. At that point, the tendril split apart into a multitude of mini-tendrils that traveled to Robbie's bulbourethral glands, prostate, seminal vesicles, epididymis, testes, etc., completely invading Robbie's reproductive system and temporarily shutting it all down.

The treasure chest was sealed shut. No more "gold coins" would be "falling out".

"Yep, that's your dear old dad," Lecher proudly confirmed as the image zeroed in on the lunatic expression on Craig's face as he frenetically worshipped the young man's generous endowment with his mouth and tongue. "Pretty soon, he'll be doing that to YOU."

"Siiiiiiick!" Robbie drunkenly responded.

"Extremely!" Guile agreed. "But I'm going to have your father doing shit to you that'll be a LOT sicker!"

"Liiike whut?" Robbie asked, his cognitive processes slowing down considerably.

"Well, I know you like shoving hotdogs up your butt and leaving them there for a while."

"Uuuuuh huuuuuh," Robbie confirmed.

"Well, you're going to have to use something edible for lube, like butter or bacon grease, because from now on, your dad's favorite food is hotdogs that have been cooked by his son's core temperature and shat directly into his mouth."

Robbie started to giggle uncontrollably.

Lecher would've made a joke about condiments, but Guile's continuing vindictiveness towards Craig wasn't a laughing matter.

Unnoticed by Robbie, the navy blue tendril pulled itself out of his penis, withdrew, and floated up to another tendril, a rust colored tendril. Looking very much like a sexual act, the end of the rust tendril opened up, and the last few feet of the navy-blue tendril inserted itself inside to begin the remote sterilization process. Then it was done, the navy blue tendril would seek out Officer MacCrouder, whose screened body was lying thirty feet away, and replace the vermillion sounding tendril that was dutifully stimulating Brian's uretha. Instead of stopping Brian's semen production, however, the navy blue tendril would supercharge it, making Brian feel as if the insides of his groin were being...churned.

"Izz dad okay doing that?" Robbie asked, concerned about the intensity of his father's face. He almost appeared unwilling, and that bothered Robbie. When he and his dad got around to acting out Robbie's bizarre sexual games and role-playing, Robbie didn't want to feel that his dad's 'true self' still existed, trapped behind his own eyes. Robbie wouldn't have as much fun making his father act like baby...crawling around on the floor, sucking his thumb, peeing and pooping sporadically, and nursing Robbie's penis to orgasm...if Robbie thought for one second that his father's baby tantrums were actually REAL tantrums.

"Don't worry, he's into it," Guile promised. "We just gave him some special drugs to make him SUPER into it."

"Siiiiiiiick," Robbie repeated, compulsively skinning and unskinning his incestuous erection.

"Robbie, would you like to masturbate?" Guile offered.

"Yooo sed I'm not s'posed-" Robbie slurred.

"It's okay," Guile assured. "You're allowed."

Robbie's right hand reached down and started jacking. In spite of the Pit Fog slowing down Robbie's thinking and making him sound and act like a hard-core stoner, he managed to pleasure himself as if he were stone cold sober.

Thoroughly distracted by drugs and one of his favorite activities, Robbie was happily oblivious to the undetectable plum tendril up his nose, and the ghastly things it was doing to him.

"Izz my dad swallowin' that kid's cum?" Robbie asked vacantly while he fapped. "Who izz that kid?"

"The kid is ME, Cop-sucker," Lecher snarked, "and yeah, your daddy's suckin' it right out of me, faster than I can squirt it. I can feel the suction in my nuts. Me and Guile gotta get him under control, or the first time he gives you head he's gonna suck out your balls, that filthy, fucking cum pig!"

"That'z ser'ously you?" Robbie mumbled, unable to reconcile the horrific thing that attacked him in the pickup with the handsome (but NOT Robbie's type) young man who was smiling with his head tipped back, apparently REALLY getting off on the carnal attention he was receiving from Robbie's dad.

"Of COURSE that's me," Lecher said in mock anger. "What...you think I always walk around looking like a giant bat? Besides, look at the tendrils coming out of that kid's ass! That's obviously ME!"

Robbie had another question, but it vanished from his mind, a casualty of the Pit Fog, as well as the fact that Robbie Byrne's brain was being reprogrammed. While Robbie watched in stunned silence as his dad took a dick in both ends, the plum tendril got as close to Robbie's brain as possible, and split apart, exactly as the navy-blue tendril had done in Robbie's vas deferens. But then, something very different happened: the resulting tendril filaments shifted out of phase with Earth's dimension, and just close enough to the Masters' dimension that the filaments could travel freely through Robbie's brain without damaging it. The filaments moved in a jerky fashion as they stopped, sent out pinpoint bursts of mind- altering telepathy from their tips, and sought out the location of their next 'surgical strike'. The tendril filaments made thousands of such stops in the span of five minutes, and Robbie never had the slightest idea that he was being violated in a way that even HE wouldn't approve of.

"Guile, if we're moving on to Plan B, there's no reason for you to alter the boy. I don't understand what you're doing in there," Lecher said, trying not to sound too accusatory. "Since Craig didn't accept the deal, you don't need to install a memory dam that'll probably crack and eventually burst because of all the mental connections he's made between Mike and us."

"I'm adding the interests I tried to entice Craig with," Guile partially-truthed.

"But...Craig didn't accept the deal," Lecher disputed. "Why are you going to reward him with that?"

"Because in case Craig fails to get custody of Robbie, there needs to be more to their father/son relationship than just sucking and fucking, especially once Robbie begins to tire of Craig and desires to move on, as he certainly will. Robbie MUST routinely spend time with his father so that Craig can breathe Pit Fog in his face and get at Robbie's penis. I don't just want the S.C.E. Robbie has now, I want all he'll EVER generate!

"I hope we live long enough enjoy our investment in him," Lecher sighed. "Um...what else ya doing in there?"

"If you must know, I'm also making Robbie sexually versatile. He doesn't like to fuck...but soon he will, and we'll have a second way for Craig to receive Robbie's 'payload'."

"So...," Lecher not-so-casually badgered, "anything else you're doing to Robbie?"

"Yes, I'm making him ultra-secretive about our existence, his father's changes, and I'm boosting his sex drive considerably for the next hour and change."

"You ARE experimenting!" Lecher accused. "Why else would you need Robbie to have multiple orgasms?"

"Lecher," Guile chastised after figuring out the perfect amount of derision to use, "Robbie's going to be getting fucked by a large number of men. Even HIS libido isn't THAT big. If he tries it without my help, he'll quickly find out that his eyes are bigger than his asshole.

"I'm still not sure about this party, Guile. We have control, but if the military shows up, like Officer Scarecrow said they were going to, they might bring shit we can't deal with."

"Noted," Guile dismissed.

"I could speed things up by making a ramp out of our tongue, like that Thrall did in that memory I showed you earlier.

"That Thrall was being stupid!" Guile spat. "So much of that semen was needlessly contaminated during its trip down that 'slide'. He should've taken the time to do it right. In addition to you and Robbie, we'll also have several new Entangleds helping out. And Craig, of course."

"How about we leave Lumber.....Craig out of this, and let him be exclusive to Robbie?" Lecher asked, just to gauge exactly how much TELLING anger Guile had for Craig. "Aren't we ruining his life enough."

"No," Guile said flatly, indicating that the subject was not up for debate.

"It would help me get over my fear that you're making him suffer for not accepting the deal and forcing us to choose Plan B. If either plan will work, why punish Craig for something meaningless?"

"How many times over the past ten weeks have YOU taken joy..."

"On second thought, Guile, let's not have this conversation if you're just going to deflect my concerns with both-siderisms."

"I thought it would be preferable to frying your brain-section again and making you crawl and beg for forgiveness."

Guile regretted the words instantly, but it was too late to take them back.

"Officer MacCrouder was right," Lecher acknowledged miserably. "After all this turmoil, we aren't better off and we didn't get what we wanted. In the end, this was just what I thought it was from the very beginning: you just wanting something fun to do until the Master comes and kills us."

"This conversation is pointless. I've chosen a course of action, and we're GOING to see it through," Guile stated with authority.

"No, I quit. Craig ruined your plan, and you're making a 'Hail Mary' play based on nothing but high hopes."

"MUST I reintegrate us back at the feeding area so we can have a re-play of our previous duel?" Guile groaned.

"No. I want you to kill me. I'm done. I've dealt with Lure's bull- shit, YOUR bullshit, and I think I want to die before I have to deal with our shitty Master's bullshit."

"Are you sure? You'll be begging for your life before I've even STARTED."

"Probably. Just ignore it and get the job done," Lecher instructed.

At that moment, Guile realized exactly how defective he truly was. He had no idea how to deal with this situation at all, except to make a truly awful deal...and worse, tell the truth.

"I have no idea if Plan B will work. I've been through my Guile Archives, and at no point can I find any references to a Thrall of Ladislav Kaschak being punished for draining a male under the age of sixteen, but because my archives are so woefully incomplete, I just might not have them. Given that our Master is such an asshole, and would never institute a rule he did not personally agree with, I believe the risk is worth taking. Therefore, I hereby ORDER you to Churn and drain Robbie Byrne!"

"AND I REFUSE!" Lecher snapped. "KILL ME!!"

"Since you're too stupid to understand what I've just done, allow me to explain that I've made myself solely responsible for any consequences pertaining to draining Robbie. Your inhibitors will NOT punish you for following a direct order from your Guile that is contrary to the Master's wishes. That falls on ME.

"Maybe, but if the Master factors that in as a reason to Uninthrall us, it'll affect me too!"

"So you'll die LATER, instead of RIGHT NOW!"

A long pause followed, and Guile patiently waited for Lecher to present additional demands....until the waiting became unbearable.

"If you stop asking me to kill you, I promise that I'll never try to replace Caboose unless we BOTH agree that it's absolutely necessary."

"NO LOOPHOLES!" Lecher snapped. "And you can't EVER attack my brain-section, EVER!"

"You certainly are fickle tonight," Guile noted. "But 'yes', no loopholes, and I'll never psionically attack you ever again, unless ordered to do so by the Master or Lure.....whose decision to have me do so will not be inspired by me or the result of my manipulations."

"AND I ABSOLUTELY REFUSE TO FEED ON ROBBIE BYRNE, BUT I ALWAYS DO WHAT MY GUILE ORDERS ME TO DO!!"

"I thought we already covered that."

"I'm just covering my ass. My archives describe the pain, Guile. I'm not going through that...ever!"

But in a few hours Lecher would go through that pain, compliments of one of the many monsters of Faggot Forest. And when that ordeal ended, Lecher would find himself trapped in a familiar room, a room cursed by the dream of a god who was inspired to spawn a nightmare. Lecher would look around in panicked confusion, seeing things that made NO sense, and he would wonder if HIS nightmare was only just beginning.

A goofy smile crept across Robbie's zoned-out face. His father's holographic sex tape was sending him into orbit, forcing him to stop masturbating for fear that he would cum before his daddy did. Between watching his father swallow endless amounts of cum and seeing him violently finger fuck the kid supplying it, Robbie wanted to spend all eternity edging while watching it.

Jayce Harris stopped rabbit-fucking Craig, and instead began slamming against his ass in a series of slow, violent, desperate thrusts.

"He's cummin' inside my dad," Robbie realized, instantly bringing him close to a hands-free orgasm of his own. But it was the sight of his father ejaculating a series of cum geysers that truly pushed Robbie over the edge.

For the first time in a long time, Robbie wanted to be just like his dad.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhh fuuuuuuuuuuuuck," Robbie groaned, unable to hold out any longer. He rubbed himself too fast, and should've ruined his orgasm, but Guile's temporary sexual modifications ensured that none of the orgasms Robbie experienced that night would be anything less than mind-blowing. Robbie's uncontrollable shuddering got so bad that it caused him to pitch forward, forcing him to catch himself by planting his left palm in the mud.

"Smooth move," Lecher snarked at Robbie, who wasn't listening.

Robbie let go of his sagging penis and promptly forgot about it, too far gone to notice that his orgasm had been dry. He did absently rub his right hand against his hairless chest, presumably to check for sticky goo, but when he didn't encounter any, he just deliriously turned his attention towards pulling his left hand out of the mud and shaking it off.

Meanwhile, Lecher turned off Robbie's internal spa and suctioned the water out of his ass and his lower intestines. Also, the plum tendril pulled itself out of Robbie's nose and withdrew back to the rust tendril, where it was allowed to cut in front of the other tendrils waiting to be sterilized. The plum tendril was late. It should've been up Brian MacCrouder's nose minutes ago. The plum-colored tendril, which up until then had only been used by the Thrall to upload and install endless instructions into the newly-Entangled, would soon be used to temporarily adjust the thinking of the confused men (like Buck Hammond) who were drunkenly tromping through the woods, led on by the telepathic promise of higher highs, the rowdy company of their fellow men, and multiple deep and fulfilling occurrences of sexual release.

"NO!" Robbie protested sloppily at the sudden lack of turbulence in his bowels. "Li'l longer! 'Nother minnit!"

"It's not over yet, Robbie," Guile assured him. "We're going to do something else to you that will make you feel even better!"

"Mem'ry?" Robbie slurred, fighting his mental haze to try to make himself understood. "Mem'ry?"

"Of course, Robbie. You can relive this experience any time you like, as either your dad or yourself. AND you can make your father relive it along WITH you. Wouldn't THAT be fun?!"

"Dope!" Robbie exclaimed, momentarily confusing Guile, who almost responded by increasing Robbie's dosage.

"I want to test my temporary enhancements to Robbie's sexuality," Guile told Lecher privately, although Robbie was far too scrambled to pay attention anyway, "so instead of pulling the black tendril out of Robbie, try to arouse him with it."

The black plug that pressed up against the interior of Robbie's sphincter narrowed and lengthened, breaking the waterproof seal (that had kept Robbie from experiencing a considerable amount of anal leakage), and causing Robbie's relaxed hole to let out a long, slow, flappy fart that Robbie didn't have the presence of mind to acknowledge. When the plug completed its reversion back into a black strand, the thickness of a standard clothesline, there was only 6 inches inside of Robbie. The boy would require a LOT more than a mere six inches.

"Huh?" Robbie grunted and his mouth dropped and rounded in moronic amusement as he reverse-shat several feet of thickened black tendril that Lecher had caused to grow millions of tissue-like projections resembling fish fins, each of which gave Robbie's asshole a fluttery kiss as they flew inside.

"Whuzzat?!" Robbie yelled with a boy's tendency to use too much volume whenever something exciting happens to them.

"Don't mind me, Cock Cheese. I'm just helping you with your nasty personal hygiene," Lecher explained. "I thought I'd start by flossing your asshole."

For a split second, Robbie's mind came back into focus just long enough to realize that there was a tube sticking up his nose. He reached up to touch it, but the string up his ass suddenly pulled taut and Robbie's jacuzzi-loosened anal muscles couldn't stop him from pooping out a pinball- sized piece of shit...then another...then another. Robbie twisted around and saw that it was actually a black set of anal beads that was being pulled out of him.

"Bet you thought you needed a diaper, didn't you?" Lecher teased. "Well, too bad! We've only got ONE diaper, and Guile's already using it!"

"Very funny," Guile said in a tone that made it quite clear that it was not.

"By the way, you and me are playin' tug o'war, AND YOU SUCK!"

Robbie felt another two 'pinballs' pop out before his gummed-up thought processes realized that he was supposed to fight back. Robbie clenched as hard as he could, but Lecher easily scored another three points. It was hard for Robbie to win a contest that kept rewarding him for losing.

"Yeeesh," Lecher 'Lechered', "Yore so loose that yore daddy ain't gonna feel SHIT! Tie a goddamn board to his ass to keep him from FALLING IN!"

Robbie let out a couple of yuks, not because of what Lecher was saying, but because of the silly way he was saying it...and because in spite of the terrifying way the evening started, Robbie Byrne was having the greatest night of his life...and the best parts still hadn't happened.

Nor had the worst part.

"MULTIBALL!!!!!!!!" Lecher screamed.

Robbie fell forward again and planted BOTH hands in the mud at the feeling of the black string of pinballs being pulled out of him much faster, making Robbie's sphincter buzz, and sending vibrations all through Robbie's loins, making the boy get hard once again.

"MMMMMmmmmmmMMMMMmmmmmMMMMMM...!!!!!" Robbie groaned continually while the string of pinballs was pulled out of him, only stopping long enough to draw breath, and when Lecher had to 'reload' by stretching the string of anal beads back into a featureless tendril and snaking it back up inside of Robbie.

"Next go around, I'm thinking about making those balls as big as POOL balls," Lecher bluffed, "maybe even BOWLING balls! Hell, your father needed the green tendril in order to gape enough to fist himself, but you-"

"MEM'RY!! MEM'RY!!" Robbie yelled, desperate to be heard before Lecher's words disappeared from his pickled short-term memory.

"Don't worry, dear Robbie," Guile calmed with a hint of evil, "I wouldn't think of depriving you of seeing your father's most humiliating moment, any more than I'd prevent your father from henceforth having recurring hyper-lucid dreams of what's happening to his darling baby boy at this very moment."

Robbie's childish and sex obsessed mind had no understanding of why every guy didn't share his views concerning physical and sexual openness, so he wanted to dispute Guile's use of the word "humiliating". However, Robbie knew that his words weren't working right, so for once in his life he didn't seize an opportunity to express himself, choosing instead to just let it go and concentrate on the drugs and rectal stimulation.

Robbie happened to look up at his father's sex hologram and see that he was on his knees, still sucking Lecher's dick. All of a sudden, Craig exhaled thick, milky smoke. Robbie's tripping mind didn't know how to interpret what he was seeing, so it flashed back to several months prior, when Robbie recorded himself ejaculating into a clear plastic cup filled with water for one of his fans.

"Izzy unnerwadder?" Robbie mumbled before being caught off guard by another one of Lecher's wicked 'pinball flosses'.

"Of course not, silly," Guile chuckled, delighted to show Craig's son the sight of his father indulging in sleaze, and humiliating himself in the process, whether Robbie saw it that way or not. Guile would of course get an even more intense thrill out of watching Craig penetrate Robbie, but this would do for now.

Guile finally understood the vengeful enjoyment that Lure got out of assembling his Entangleds in the basement of the lake house every couple of days and forcing them to do unspeakable things with one another...and then afterwards ordering Guile to intensify their subsequent feelings of shame, guilt, and helplessness to unbearable levels.

"Izzy smokin'?" Robbie babbled after Craig put his lips back on the tip of Lecher's dick and appearing to take a long, deep drag.

"You got it in two," Lecher snarked. "You'll receive your mandatory Gen-Z participation trophy in the mail."

"Yes, Robbie," Guile confirmed, "Our cum is actually a mind-control fluid that must be swallowed, inhaled, and 'administered rectally' within a limited time for the process to work correctly."

"Why?" Robbie asked, in spite of already forgetting what Guile just said.

"Because monsters will be frequently appearing and disappearing in and out of his lungs, stomach, and rectum, and they're very fussy about their accommodations. Also, semen is very easily contaminated, so we must ensure that your father's mouth, throat, airway, and rectum are specially prepared.

"Uhhhhhh...okay," Robbie muttered, once again distracted by a 'flossing'. Lecher hadn't increased the pinballs to the size of pool balls, but Robbie could tell they'd gotten a little bigger.....not that he minded.

Guile nullified the psychedelic compound in Robbie's system, but Robbie didn't notice that he was sobering up, because what he was witness- ing at that moment was something far trippier than anything Guile could whip up. Robbie watched as his dad got down on all fours, just like Robbie, except for the fact that Craig was supporting himself with his hands instead of his forearms. Robbie quickly lifted himself up, doing what his dad was doing.

"Looks like you got a little shadow, Lumberjack," the Lecher in the porno commented.

Robbie's heart almost stopped when the image turned, and Robbie was face to face with his dad. Robbie turned his head away. He wasn't ready for this.

"Relax, Robbie. It's okay," Craig chuckled. "You're my son, and I'm your father. We can be around each other when we're naked."

"You never let me see you naked before," Robbie grumbled, looking up, but keeping his eyes locked on his father's.

Without missing a beat, Craig lifted himself up onto his knees and exposed his erect penis.

"TA-DAAA!" Craig flourished by pulling his cock down and letting it spring back up, over and over, making Robbie giggle...and comfortable enough to devour his daddy's body with his ravenous eyes.

But there was something Robbie had to know.

"Dad, you're not mad, are you?" Robbie asked, nervous as hell.

"About what?" Craig replied, honestly confused.

"If you were mad at me, you'd tell me, right?" Robbie inquired, still worried that his dad's real feelings were silently glaring at him from behind his eyes.

"Oh, I understand," Craig said after a pause. "Guile told me what you're worried about, and there's no part of me that wishes I were, you know, "free". I'm perfectly happy with the arrangement. After all, you can only control me when it comes to private sex stuff. You can't make me drain my bank account or masturbate in public, or things like that, so I'm good."

Robbie felt a smile form on his lips.

"I wanna see you masturbate right now...and REALLY get into it!" Robbie ordered.

Without missing a beat, Craig reached down and started stroking it. At first, it looked like Craig was just going through the motions, but soon his cock rose even higher, and his breathing deepened. More telling, his left hand reached up and started massaging his nipples, and his eyes rolled upwards. That's when the moaning started.

"Calm down, Craig!" Guile ordered. "Robbie, we need to finish the process. You can play with your dad later."

Craig reluctantly got back down on all fours. In spite of Guile's countermand, Craig still looked like a tightened spring of sheer lust. However, all that tension released when Lecher mounted Craig and shoved his dick inside him.

Craig let out a groan that no father should ever allow himself to make in front of one of his children, even if they're male.

"Yeah, FUCK ME!" Craig yelled before following it up with a few cowboy hollers and profane encouragement, heedless of his son's presence, albeit 'televised'.

"As soon as Lecher is done squirting our special semen all around your dad's rectum, the process will be complete," Guile explained. "You could watch this moment later, or even experience the whole thing...later. We really should be getting you to our feeding area."

Robbie didn't answer. He just stared at the image of his daddy getting fucked...and started to jerk off.

"Can I ask him questions?" Robbie blurted. "I want to just ask a few questions...right now!"

"Um, sure," Guile agreed reluctantly, "but just a few."

"Dad, before Jayce, did a man ever fuck you?" Robbie asked eagerly.

"No," Craig groaned.

"Did you ever mess around with a guy?" Robbie asked hopefully.

"No," Craig replied to Robbie's disappointment.

"If you want to learn all of your father's sexual secrets, you're going to have to learn not to ask 'yes' or 'no' questions, Robbie," Guile advised. "Craig, tell Robbie the closest you've ever come to having a gay experience."

"Gary Pearson," Craig announced, making Guile want to retract the question. "When he and I would fuck his wife together, he'd accidentally touch me once in a while. I always thought it happened a little TOO often, but he was my friend, and he let me fuck Diane even if he wasn't home, so I'd just turn a blind eye to it. One night we all smoked some meth, and while I was sleeping it off, I felt him giving me a blowjob. I kept fading in and out of consciousness while he kept getting me hard, then letting me get soft. I liked it...and I blew like a motherfucker...and Gary never knew I was sorta, sometimes awake...but I felt weird about it. Still, I didn't want the friendship to end, and I didn't want anything to change, and no one else would do meth with me, and I liked fucking Diane, so I just accepted that whenever I spent the night with Gary and Diane, Gary was going to take advantage of me while I was passed out. So I made it easy. I lied and told them I preferred to sleep between them, because I wanted to sleep with Diane away from Gary...some bullshit about wanting to have her all to myself when I stayed over. But the truth was, I didn't want Gary to wake Diane when he came around the bed to molest me. Also, I always smoked enough to put me out, so I wouldn't wake up while Gary was messing with me. And if Gary ever 'accidentally' touched my dick, or pretended to be fucked up while we were both naked so he'd have an excuse to hug me, or rested his hand on my ass while I fucked his wife, I just shut my damned-"

"DAD...WATCH ME CUM!" Robbie commanded, his thirteen year old brain utterly overloaded by watching his father getting fucked while telling a SHOCKING story full of homoeroticism and family secrets.

"Jesus FUCKING CHRIST, I'm FUCKING CUMMING!" Robbie screamed, wanting to make his parentally supervised cumshot as taboo as possible.

Craig collapsed onto the mat, pulling himself free from Lecher's cock on the way down.

"DAD?!" Robbie yelled at the screen, fighting to ignore the climax that was making him violently shake and shudder. "DAD?!?!"

"Please calm down, this is normal," Guile lied through his fucking non-existent TEETH. "It happens all the time."

"IS HE OKAY?!" Robbie shouted, sounding on the verge of tearful panic. Robbie glanced down at his twitching dick and momentarily wondered why he wasn't ejaculating, but then quickly redirected his attention back towards his father's unconscious body. Lecher had gotten down on top of Craig and was continuing to fuck him. "WHY ARE YOU STILL DOING THAT?!"

"Lecher has to finish the procedure, Robbie. And as I told you, this is all perfectly normal."

It absolutely wasn't.

Guile's remote point of view continued to affirm Craig's well-being to his son, but over at the feeding area, a different aspect of Guile was freaking out about the possibility that Craig, AND GUILE'S PLAN, might now be dead.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO WRONG?!" Guile accused Lecher.

"Besides flying and murder training, Entangling is all Lure ever has me DO!" Lecher hissed. "I DIDN'T DO A GODDAMNED THING WRONG!!!!"

"Well then let me rephrase my question: If you were a being capable of knowing the complete physical status of every potential victim in his immediate vicinity, what would you say is the matter with Craig?!"

"Hmmm, let me think," Lecher growled, irritated that he was still in the throes of orgasm, but instead of enjoying it, he had to put up with more of Guile's bullshit. "I would say that Craig's problem is that the telepath-"

"I AM NOT A TELEPATH!!!!!"

"...in the immediate vicinity is assuming that Craig's problem is physical in nature....WHEN IT FUCKING ISN'T!!!!!"

Guile didn't reply. Instead, Lecher watched as tentacles of mental energy reached out from Guile's brain section and entered Craig's head, Entwining both minds.

"This is impossible!" Guile blurted after a minute, once again interrupting Lecher's orgasm.

Lecher pulled out of Craig's ass, making a slurping noise. He was just about to clean his junk with the peach-colored tendril when he remembered that it had been sent to Robbie's location, along with the water dispensing aqua-blue tendril.

"Of course," Lecher muttered.

"Craig's gone!" Guile announced, withdrawing the mental tentacles.

"So now we can't get at Robbie's Soul-Creation Energy and call the Master before Reality Itself's Probability Residue fades away, leaving us with no proof of its involvement," Lecher grumbled. "Great. I get to die in a few hours with my pubes full of santorum, and my balls sticking to my legs."

"I don't mean he's dead, I mean he isn't really here. Craig is being projected outside of his body," Guile fretted. "like the way I'm pro- jecting your extra point of view to Robbie's location."

"But Craig is human," Lecher reasoned. "Only you and I have a projectable consciousness."

"No, Lure can do it, too," Guile contradicted.

"What? Why hasn't he ever projected before?"

"Because the only time he can do it is when he surrenders control over his body to US. When he does, to spare him the annoying disorientation of riding around inside his own body while it's being 'puppeted' by us, Lure's consciousness makes me liberate his awareness from the Thrall so he can float around freely until he chooses to come back, re-enter the Thrall, and force us to relinquish control."

"But Craig isn't a Thrall, he's just an Entangled, one of our drones. How can HE project? He doesn't have a Guile...all HE'S got are monsters phasing in and out of his rectum, stomach, and lungs," Lecher disputed. "Wait...until Mike kicked our ass, you kept viewpoints inside each of the Entangleds, in case there was ever an opportunity for you to make them solicit a victim. Maybe you lost control over one, and IT'S projecting Craig."

"No," Guile spat. "Although YOU can only manifest ONE spare point of view, to aid in tendril coordination, I can separate into DOZENS. And unlike yours, which must reintegrate in order to 'compare notes', MINE are always in constant communication. I am incapable of creating a 'rogue point of view'. If I were projecting Craig, I would KNOW IT!"

"Then why not manifest your 'DOZENS' of points of view and go LOOK for Craig? However this happened, he shouldn't be able to roam further than YOU can, right?"

Guile sighed. The instant that Craig was fully Entangled, his monsters soaked up all of his Soul-Creation Energy and took it back to Caboose. Now, seconds later, Guile was forced to waste some of it to create a spectral search party.

"Power in...power out...power in...power out," Guile complained as he sent almost fifty duplicates of himself floating out into the fog.

"Guile?" Lecher asked, adopting a serious tone. "Do you think Reality Itself had something to do with this?"

"Before tonight, I would've laughed at you for saying something like that. But now, I don't know. My meager Guile Archives don't include ANYTHING concerning it demonstrating psychic abilities, but then again, they also don't include a single incident of it acting intelligently.

"So what do we do now?" Lecher asked nervously.

"What ELSE? We continue acting as if all is normal, stall Robbie for a little bit longer, fuck with the police before they start fucking with us, and hope that I can find Craig and put our plan into action before something comes along that we can't deal with."

"How long will my dad be asleep?" Robbie asked while slipping off his muddy right shoe and balancing awkwardly on his left foot as he tried to step out of his shorts and underwear, one leg at a time, without stepping down and getting his sock all wet and dirty. It was funny to watch, considering that his muddy hands, arms, and knees had already gotten the rest of his clothes filthy.

"We'll let him sleep until we arrive at the feeding area," Guile said, sidestepping the question.

Robbie draped his clothes over a low-hanging branch and then tied his laces back up. Robbie was now naked except for his shoes and socks. Guile told him to do it, and Robbie never bothered to ask why. If he had, Guile would've told him anything except the truth: Robbie needed to be distracted until his father's mind could be located. Guile was flooding Robbie with Benzos, but they could only do so much to quell Robbie's anxiety concerning his father.

"I need you widen your stance," Lecher instructed.

"I don't know what that means."

"It means 'spread your legs farther apart', and don't EVEN tell me you don't know what THAT means!"

Looking like he was imitating a bow legged sumo wrestler, Robbie replanted his feet so wide that he seemed to be on the verge of falling over.

"This wide enough?" Robbie giggled, amused by his own childishness.

"Yep," Lecher confirmed.

Robbie heard a high-pitched, metallic whistling sound.

"What was that?" Robbie asked.

"Nothing. Grab your dick by that tiny elephant trunk you call a foreskin, and pull it. And while you're doing it, pinch your sack and tug it down, as far as you can."

"Like this?" Robbie asked as he followed Lecher's orders.

"Yep."

More metallic whistling followed, along with a sudden glint of silver in the air.

"All done!" Lecher announced as a peach-colored tendril came out of the woods and squirted goop at Robbie's hands and knees.

"HEY! WHAT'S THIS?" Robbie cried out, trying to rub the stuff off, causing it to foam up and bubble like a shaken can of soda, while also clinging in place.

"It's soap," Lecher claimed, in spite of the fact that the only similarity between the goop and soap was that they both cleaned skin. "Cum vampires use it so we won't smell like YOU. We get a lot more dick when our victims don't need to breathe through their mouths."

"Where's it going?" Robbie asked, noting that the 'soap' on his hands wasn't running down his arms or dropping onto the ground. It seemed to be foaming into nothingness as Robbie used it.

"Back where it came from," Guile replied without elaboration. "The dirt, oil, dead skin cells, and everything else just falls to the ground. I'm honestly surprised that you're not creating a circular pile of those substances all around you. If it happens, step over it so you don't trip and fall and get dirty again, or we'll have to start all over."

"Okay," Robbie responded to the unsatisfactory answer and un-funny remark while rubbing the orangish, frothing goop on his knees, more to watch it fizz than to actually get clean.

"If you'd like, Lecher could give you some more, if you'd like to bathe more thoroughly, Robbie."

"No, I'm good," Robbie claimed.

Robbie wasn't. He'd gone days without bathing...as he usually did.

"I'm tempted to squirt some straight up your foreskin so it'll blow up like a balloon," Lecher threatened.

"No, don't! Seriously!" Robbie said, pinching his foreskin shut. "HEY, WHAT'D YOU GUYS DO TO MY PUBES?! Fuck! Now it's gonna itch like crazy when they grow back in!"

"Pubes don't itch when they grow back," Lecher lied. "That's a suburban legend. Besides, now you'll be able to keep your fans interested for a little while longer. Tell them you're nine."

"People already know I'm thirteen!" Robbie snapped, angrily wiping clipped orange hairs off of his crotch. "And there's no WAY anyone would think I'm only NINE!"

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...yeahhhhhhhhh, suuuuuuuure," Lecher tormented.

"You're an asshole!" Robbie grumbled, angrily looking down at his baby-smooth crotch. Robbie's sicko fan base loved how young Robbie looked, but HE didn't. Otherwise Robbie would've been cultivating a wider audience by shaving his crotch himself. "It's bad enough that-"

A black hand floated over and placed a cigarette up to Robbie's flapping lips. Robbie didn't question it. He just clamped down, orally accepting the offering whose sole purpose was to shut Robbie up. The red tendril (the one that melted the tires of his dad's pickup) appeared and kissed the tip of the cigarette, lighting it. At the same moment, the black hand rotated around and gave Robbie the finger before instantly losing its shape, snapping back into the form of the black tendril, and zipping off between the trees.

While Robbie took a puff, Guile took advantage of Robbie's silence to redirect the boy towards another distraction...and experiment.

"Robbie, I just realized that Lecher and I started stuffing tubes up your butt before I answered your question about why it would be traumatic for Officer Pudroolen over there if you were to open up his pants and give him a blowjob," Guile strategically apologized. "That was very rude of us."

"That's okay," Robbie dismissed, his thoughts focused on his missing pubes and his atypical concern for his father's welfare, "I don't really care about that any-"

"Officer Pudroolen is afraid he's turning gay!" Guile blurted.

"He's WHAT?" Robbie responded with a scrunched, disbelieving face, taking Guile's bait.

"It's true," Guile said honestly.

"IS he gay?" Robbie asked contemptuously, being so certain of his OWN sexuality that he couldn't CONCEIVE of someone, particularly an adult, not being able to figure out THEIR sexuality just as easily.

"No, not even slightly."

"Then why-?!" Robbie began.

"Because nature gave him unusually touch-sensitive skin," Guile interrupted, stopping Robbie's infantile rant before it could start, "and tied it into his autonomic nervous system, particularly the area that regulates sexual arousal."

"I don't under-"

"What that means is that Officer Pudroolen hates even shaking hands with men, because even THAT makes him feel weird, and he's ended friendships over guys thinking it was funny to caress his exposed flesh just to watch him clamp his teeth and shiver while he secretly fights against the resulting unwanted feelings of sexual arousal."

"Why doesn't he just shut up and enjoy it?" Robbie demanded to know.

"We'll arrange for a girl to rub your nipples and slide her hand down your pants," Lecher threatened. "THEN you'll understand."

"Ew."

"ACTUALLY," Lecher spoke up, taking back the psychic 'talking stick', "Mark had gay experiences as a child, as a lot of young hetero- sexual males do. When Mark was eleven, a prepubescent neighbor boy named Ethan noticed how ticklish Mark was, and how he kept bugging his parents for back rubs. Driven by his nascent homosexuality, Ethan convinced Mark to come over when his parents were out of the house by offering to give Mark a back rub. Mark accepted, and over the following days, Ethan used back rubs and tickle challenges to eventually get Mark's pants off. After Mark got used to Ethan touching his legs and thighs, the boy DARED Mark to take off his underwear and let him tickle Mark's "nuts" and "wiener". The thing was, as Mark found out later, Ethan had always had a secret agenda. Although Ethan had started masturbating by that point, Mark, in spite of being years older, hadn't. But although Ethan was ahead of Mark in that respect, he was too young to produce sperm, and THAT was something Ethan was VERY eager to witness someone do in front of him. So when Ethan was tickling Mark's genitals, he switched to caressing them, instead. Mark didn't know what was happening, so he just lay there quietly, hyponotized by what Ethan was doing to him. Mark knew some things about sex, but not enough to link it to Ethan's focused activity between Mark's legs. Within moments, Mark experienced his first climax, and he stared in confusion at the thick white pee running down his shaft. Mark quickly left and vowed NEVER to go back...a promise that lasted an agonizing twenty four hours. He let Ethan do it to him again, and again, every day after school. Gradually, other boys were brought into the 'secret society' and Mark found himself being 'used' by them as well. Mark enjoyed it, but only because the right wing hadn't yet screamed their hateful, cherrypicked and weaponized version of Christianity into his head, leaving him with a bad case of regret and self-loathing that would form the basis of his own version of Christian- ity, which sees nothing wrong with snatching someone else's ear protection for personal use during a Pilot Fish scream."

"What's a Pilot Fish?" Robbie asked.

Guile grumbled to himself and hoped that Robbie paid attention to the REST of what he'd been saying.

"A horrible, disgusting, Frankenstein-level experiment that never should've been carried out," Guile explained. "It's considered a ghastly abomination in at least TWO dimensions, and probably all the rest as well. We have one, and it's a nelly queen that falls to pieces and shrieks at the slightest boo-boo."

"HIS name is Caboose," Lecher growled, "and Guile just agreed to NEVER let anyone hurt HIM ever again!"

"Very well," Guile said, glibly making a promise that would have deadly consequences, "but only after we hold a proper christening for the beast. Robbie, would you mind bashing Lecher's pet monster over the head with a champagne bottle for us?"

"No one's hitting Caboose over the head with a champagne bottle, Guile, especially since you just promised to never let anyone hurt him ever again, SUCKER!"

"Very well, but it's bad luck to not have a proper christening. Don't blame me if we suddenly start having a string of statistically unlikely misfortunes."

"So let me get this straight," Lecher segued back to the subject of Officer Pudroolen. "The cop who bitch-slapped Robbie is lying over there, scared and TOTALLY PARALYZED, and Robbie doesn't want to make a complete ass out of the pig by tickling him until he squeals? Gimme a minute. If Robbie won't do it, I'LL come up and do it myself."

"NO!" Robbie yelled, still not quite ready to see Lecher in the flesh yet, even if he was a lot less scary-looking now. "I can do it!"

"Robbie, it's okay to admit that you're not good at tickling," Guile said with feigned sincerity. "If you can't do it very well-"

"I CAN TOO!" Robbie defended, flinging away his cigarette butt because he didn't want to risk making himself look stupid by flicking it wrong. "I'm a GREAT tickler! I used to tickle my dad all the time!"

"And he stopped letting you tickle him because of your roaming hands," Lecher pointed out. "But tonight, you can order your dad to strip down, lie on the bed, and keep his arms and legs wide open while you drive him out of his mind. Why not get a little practice in with the paralyzed cop lying right over there?"

Robbie looked towards Officer Pudroolen, who'd begun calling out for assistance again. Guile felt the cop's helplessness start to affect Robbie in a predatory way.

"The stuff I'm gonna do to him...are you going to let me keep it? Add it to my collection?"

"Absolutely," Guile confirmed. "You'll be able to relive it as either yourself OR Officer Pudroolen."

Robbie's eyes widened at the thought of tickle-torturing HIMSELF!

"Now get the fuck to work, Cop-sucker!" Lecher prodded.

Naked except for his shoes and socks, the little redheaded boy walked through the nighttime fog to go sexually assault a police officer.

The five cops quickly made their way through the foggy darkness in search of two of their own.

"BRIAN!!!" Officer Tracy Rogers called out, despite the fact that no one in the group would probably hear him if he yelled back. Brian's ear- plugs didn't protect him as well as Mark Pudroolen's stolen noise reducing head set, but they'd nevertheless protected him far better than the other officers' palms and fingers. Tracy hoped that neither the weak, muffled sounds nor the ringing in her ears was permanent.

"You dumb cunt!" George Klempernick thought angrily. "That fucking thing is still around, and you're giving away our GODDAMNED POSITION! If one of us gets suffocated to death by a tongue wrapped around their nose and mouth, it fucking BETTER be YOU!"

"Why did I agree to join the search?" Officer Kevin Wright asked himself for the umpteenth time since the group entered the woods. "Trempson was about to volunteer! He always volunteers! SO WHY THE FUCK DID I BEAT HIM TO THE PUNCH??? Is something wrong with me? Am I losing it?!"

"This is so fucking insane!" Officer Joe Prender grumbled, also confused as to why he willingly agreed to come along, "We can't hear SHIT, we're all dizzy and in pain, none of our phones are working, our radios aren't functioning, we don't have proper ear protection if that noise starts up again, AND THERE'S A FUCKING MONSTER IN THESE WOODS! We shouldn't be out here! We should be at the hospital, getting shot up with painkillers and having doctors treat our hearing loss before this shit becomes fucking PERMANENT. This whole thing turned into a total clusterfuck. Let the damned military deal with this, whenever the hell they GET here. They said they were taking over, so WHERE THE FUCK ARE THEY?!?"

"Tracy better show me some REAL appreciation for going along with this," Officer Tyler Whitlock mused. "I don't even like Brian or Mark! Tracy's GOTTA know I'm only doing this so she stops cutting me off. Maybe I can guilt her into coming over and partying with me and George again. She likes coke. I'll get my hands on some, and we can spend all night doing kinky shit to her, just like things used to be. She keeps saying she wants to work on her marriage, but she's always checking out the fresh meat at the precinct. None of those guy look HALF as good as I do, and NONE of them are as buff as I am. She's slipping again. It's only a matter of time until she cracks."

"Well that's interesting," Guile pondered. Originally, he was going to have all the male cops put their guns to each other's heads and threaten to kill one another if Tracy didn't give Guile the information he wanted. It was a weak hand, since Guile couldn't actually kill any of the officers to make a point or demonstrate his seriousness. Fortunately, Tyler Whitlock just dealt Guile a much better one, with two aces and lots of face cards.

George suddenly held up his fist, indicating that the group should stop. Tracy followed the light from his flashlight with her eyes and let out a gasp of surprise at the distant sight of pasty white flesh, made almost luminescent by the high-intensity beam and the scattering effect of the fog. In spite of the figure not being jet black, for a fleeting moment, Tracy thought she was staring at the back of the monster. Cynthia Keim used the phrase "naked vampire" in her statement, and the emaciated thing stand- ing between two oak trees, displaying its freakishly prominent spine and ribs, certainly could pass for an undead corpse.

But a split second later, Tracy saw that it wasn't naked after all. It was wearing white briefs that, unsettlingly enough, blended into its skin. It was also wearing a hat.....a police hat.

"Brian?" Tracy called out, to George's further annoyance. "You okay over there?"

Without turning around, Brian raised his right hand as if he were being sworn in, and awkwardly used it to motion the group closer.

Instantly, George and Joe hurried to find cover, drew their weapons, and used their flashlights to sweep the immediate vicinity as best they could, while keeping an eye on Brian. Tyler and Kevin joined in, shamed that their training and instincts hadn't kicked in as quickly.

They'd walked into a trap.

Tracy had a different opinion, and disregarded the men's actions as panicky and unnecessary. As she approached Brian, deliberately keeping her body in the way of the male officers' lines of fire, she heard the muffled sound of Joe barking commands at her, as usual. Tracy raised her right hand exactly as Brian did, but her hand signal to Joe was altogether different.

In spite of the terrible way Tracy dealt with Robbie Byrne, she was actually a compassionate person, so much so that she was routinely dispatched to calls involving sexual assault. Those experiences led her to believe that Brian's partial nudity, his unwillingness to turn around and face his fellow cops, and his lifeless hand signal were signs that he'd been violated and traumatized. Cynthia Keim's statement, which Tracy was now taking FAR more seriously, said that Jayce Harris was rendered comatose while being attacked for his semen. If the same thing happened to Brian, and he remained fully conscious while a horrifying creature somehow extracted semen from him against his will, Brian was doubtlessly in a state of deep shock.

"Brian, it's Tracy," she said softly, unable to hear herself in order to gauge if she was speaking loud enough to be heard, "we need to go now. It's not safe here."

Brian's only response was to lean his head back and shift his weight, drawing Tracy's eyes down to his hips. Movement drew her eyes even further down.

Something was squirming around inside the back of Brian's under- wear.

Tracy's compassion was instantly replaced by self-preservation. She took a step back from Brian...diagonally, opening him up to incoming fire. Before she could take another step, Brian spun around and faced her.

Tracy screamed.

In the beam of Tracy's flashlight, Brian's face was horrific. It was slack, with his mouth hanging open and his eyes almost totally rolled back in his head. But that wasn't the scariest part about Brian's appearance.

The front of his body was covered by snakes.

As Tracy's brain struggled to fight through her terror, she realized that the snakes were actually undulating tubes. There was one going up Brian's nose, and another going down his throat. Another tube, colored pink, separated into five tubes near the end of its length, with two of the tubes looking as though their ends had melted onto Brian's nipples like wax. The third tube appeared to have melted into Brian's belly button. Whatever the fourth and fifth tubes were melted against was unknown, as they, and a lot of other colorful tubes, had gone into the fly of Brian's underwear.

Brian's genitals were making use of the fly hole as well, his erect penis and loose ballsack hanging out, completely exposed, yet mostly hidden from view. Brian's penis was covered down to the base by a powder blue tube, which itself was partially obscured by close windings of a dark green tube. Alarmingly, another tube, orangish-red in color, had entered a hole in the side of the powder blue tube, close to the tip of Brian's penis, which Tracy assumed meant that it had gone up into Brian's urethra. Brian's scrotum looked as though someone painted it lime green, but it was actually covered by the end of another tube, which was somehow causing Brian's sack to tighten, with a testicle shrink-wrapped against each side of the base of his penis, but then instantly relax into a pair of low hangers before beginning the process anew. Tracy had never known a man's scrotum to transition so quickly. Her husband's balls never did that, nor did Tyler's, George's, or any of the other lovers Tracy had taken before and during her marriage.

"If I pull these tubes out of Brian, will they tear him up inside?" Tracy wondered, way out of her depth. The Timbersburg P.D. barely provided enough normal training for its officers, let alone PARAnormal training. "And can they attack me, or even KILL.....*"

"Believe me, I KNOW how this sounds, but the thing has a red cord up his...ass. It moves around on its own, like a monkey's tail. He curled it up and made it get really hot, like an old electric stove burner, and threatened to use it to burn my face." ***************************************************************************

Tracy froze. The "tubes" invading Brian's body had to be like the "cord" Cynthia described, which meant that they'd come from the monster, and it was therefore probably near.

Tracy motioned for the other officers to come over while she used her flashlight to visually trace the tubes back to their source. To her relief, the tubes stayed far apart from one another as they trailed off into the fog, implying that they didn't converge into the monster anywhere close-by.

But no matter how far away they did converge, it wasn't far enough.

Tracy turned towards the male officers to find out why they hadn't come over. Her blood ran cold at the sight of the four men lying unconscious on the ground, their bodies surrounded by a localized patch of much denser fog.

"UUUUUHHHHHHHHH!!!!!" Brian suddenly groaned, loud enough for Tracy to hear him, just before his legs suddenly buckled. He lunged for Tracy and wrapped his arms around her shoulders to keep from falling.

Ordinarily, Tracy could've supported Brian's light, lanky frame. But in addition to becoming dead weight, Brian was wailing in apparent ecstasy and spasming wildly. Brian was in the throes of an uncontrollable orgasm, and in his frantic, delirious attempt to keep from falling to the ground, he was threatening to drag Tracy down with him.

"BRIAN, GET OFF ME!" Tracy demanded, unable to support him any longer, weak as she was from Brian's orgasm debilitating her and affecting her in ways she really needed to discuss with a psychiatrist. As good as she could be at her job, her tendencies towards promiscuity made her employment in a police department widely known for its environment of toxic masculinity into a marital minefield, one in which she'd already taken far too many 'explosions' already.

Burt Veribton decided to act, but not because he gave a shit about the Timbersburg police. He was actually delighted to be filming the skinny cop with the boyish face being used so cruelly to terrify the female cop, and Burt was practically salivating in anticipation of watching whatever the semen monster had in store for the four unconscious cops, all of whom gave off the same cocky, asshole vibe as every other Timbersburg pig that Burt ever had the misfortune of dealing with. As for Tracy, Burt laughed out loud at how she haughtily dismissed the male officers' precautions with her middle finger, only to scream like a helpless little girl when Brian spun around.

Burt had to admit that although he still hated the redneck, gun- toting monster hunters who'd put him in danger of being arrested for possession of child pornography, Burt's opinion of monster hunting itself had definitely improved.

But now the fun was over. Burt HAD to make sure that Andrew would be happy with Burt's video, and that meant doing more than just recording a few minutes of long shot, easily debunkable, night vision footage. Burt needed to push the limits of his "Mr. Cellophane" power and take some risks if he was going to document this phenomenon to the old man's satisfaction.

Burt pulled Brian's convulsing form off of Tracy and hauled him over to a patch of moss. After forcing Brian onto his back, Burt retrieved his camera and flashlight, and stood over Brian, recording him as his non- stop orgasm forced him to shake, thrust, babble, and make faces that Brian probably would not want uploaded to the internet and accessible to anyone who wanted to see it. Too bad.

"It's not enough...it's not working!" Burt thought angrily. "It's great jack-off material, but even though I'm filming sexual things, I'm not supposed to be making a goddamned PORN!"

"TYLER! WAKE UP!" Tracy yelled, jarring Burt's already frayed nerves.

Burt ignored Tracy's shrill attempts to wake the other officers and knelt down next to Brian, awkardly holding his flashlight under his chin so that he could manipulate the whooping, endlessly climaxing, young cop's genitals...something that ordinarily would've excited the HELL out of Burt, but now only served to SCARE the hell out of him.

"Dammit, I don't want to touch those things all over him, but I HAVE TO! All of this looks so fake... so STAGED! If people end up not taking this seriously, Andrew will probably be pissed, and he won't keep up his end of the deal...OR HE'LL DO WORSE! But if these...strands...are part of the monster, will he feel me touching them? Will it be like vibrating a spider's web? Will the monster come running? Will my Mister Cellophane power protect me if he does?"

Burt looked at Brian's boner and immediately cringed at the vermillion strand. As someone who recently had to have surgery to correct a urinary stricture made infinitely worse by the scar tissue created by the traumatic insertion of a catheter up his penis during an appendectomy, Burt didn't even want to THINK about what the vermillion strand was doing inside Brian's urethra.

Burt summoned all of his courage and reached down to gently push the cop's erection against his belly to get a better view of the lime-green coating on his rapidly expanding and contracting scrotum, but as soon as his palm made contact with Brian's penis, Burt wanked his hand away in surprise. At first, Burt thought he received an electrical shock, but through some brief testing, he discovered that the dark green strand wrapped around the officer's shaft was vibrating.

"Because the monster wants cum," Burt deduced, "I'll bet that the rest of it, the part going into his fly, is up his asshole, stimulating his prostate."

While keeping the flashlight under his chin, Burt took a few deep breaths of fog for a little blast of "gas courage", then set his camera down and dug around for his pocket knife.

"Jesus, his orgasm's been going on for over a minute," Burt mused while carefully bunching up the underwear material on Brian's left and right sides (safely away from the strands) and sawing through it. Once finished, Brian carefully lifted the loose fabric of the front of the cop's underwear and gently pushed his cock and balls back through it, so as to disturb the strands as little as possible.

Now, not only was Brian even MORE naked and helpless, he was also being sexually exploited by two agents of two opposing supernatural forces at the same time.

Burt held the cop's rigid, vibrating prick out of the way so that he could film Brian's scrotum as it repeatedly cycled from a floppy pouch to a wrinkled rock.

"I wonder how much time I'd serve for doing this," Burt pondered while repeatedly filming himself putting his finger into the loose skin just to see and feel Brian's scrotum tighten around it, briefly trapping it. "Sexual assault plus invasion of privacy...of a cop...in a corrupt jurisdiction. I'd probably never see the light of day again."

Burt noticed that Brian's cock wasn't twitching, which meant that in spite of his amazingly protracted orgasm, Brian probably hadn't started ejaculating yet. Burt reached up under the cop's balls to apply pressure to see if the cop was pulsing, but he felt something strange. The flash- light revealed that the fourth strand of pink was covering Brian's taint.

"I'd better straighten up," Burt chastised himself, realizing that he was surrendering to the drunkening effects of the fog and allowing him- self to indulge his perversions. "Since I can't film through this powder blue tube covering his dick, it doesn't matter if he's ejaculating. He obviously WILL...SOON, since that's the damned POINT of what the monster is doing to him! And whenever the cop does cum, if I do anything to constrict the flow, the monster probably WILL come running to get me!"

Burt used his anger at himself to fuel his frustrating struggle to flip Brian's thrashing body onto his stomach while tucking his boner against his tummy to keep from breaking it. Afterward, Burt straddled the officer's lower back, immobilizing him while Burt worked the fingers and thumb of his left hand into Brian's crack and spread his quivering butt- cheeks apart to achieve an excellent filming view of his asshole, which indeed had been invaded by the vibrating dark green strand, as well as the fifth pink one, which must've been melted against his prostate.

"WHAT-?" Burt yelped as Brian forcefully flipped himself back over and simultaneously separated his knees while pulling them towards his chest, looking like a very cooperative adult baby waiting to be diapered.

Burt retrieved the flashlight from under his chin, scooted around in front of Brian, and aimed the light and camera directly at Brian's junk just as the pink "taint covering" lifted away from his body and flowed back together like water, becoming just another part of the strand. The other pink strands did likewise and were all yanked into the foggy darkness. All but the powder blue strand did the same thing.

"Now I guess he just cums into the powder blue strand and...NO!"

Burt jumped up and got the hell out of the way. A yellow strand, whose final four feet looked like a cat o' nine tails, rocketed out of the darkness. It's twenty or so tips touched various points along Brian's abs and taint. Six strands went up the cop's ass, after which Brian lowered his legs and stretched out.

In a few seconds, Brian let out a primal scream of release while performing what looked to be a powerful, but involuntary, abdominal crunch. More crunches and "soul grunts" followed each time his cock pulled down- ward. Burt, who frequently had to wear a back stimulator, figured out that the yellow strand was using electricity to force Brian's muscles to contract...HARD, enhancing the intensity of his ejaculatory spurts.

Burt would've liked to film more of the process whose name, unknown to him, was called "Churning". Unfortunately, he was interrupted by the sound of Officer Tracy Rogers, yelling her head off.

"GET OFF OF ME!!!" Tracy demanded in an authoritative cop tone, before her pitch went much higher and her confidence much lower, "STAY AWAY FROM ME!!!!"

Burt got to his feet and ran over, solely for the purpose of filming the attack. Once he was close enough to negate the layers of fog between him and the action, Burt simultaneously pointed his flashlight and raised his camera into position to find that the female Timbersburg cop was engaged in a heated struggle with...a violet ribbon.

The ribbon wrapped around the woman's ankles, bringing her down, before tying up her wrists. Sadly, from Burt's point of view, anyway, the ribbon didn't also gag her.

A strand streaked past Burt, waaaaay too closely, and headed straight into Officer Roger's right ear. There was a flash of turquoise light, momentarily enabling Burt to see the woman's skull, quickly followed by Tracy's highest pitched scream yet. Seconds into it, however, the strand ventured over and flashed inside of Tracy's other ear. The screaming stopped, due to Tracy's sudden lack of consciousness.

"Looks like things are about to get even more interesting," Burt noted, disregarding Tracy entirely and focusing his attention on the bubbles of light that were now approaching from the east, coming out from behind trees and bathing the immediate area with illumination.

There was another turquoise flash, and another. Burt turned and saw that the four fog-gassed cops were now all on their feet, standing side-by- side, zombie-like, while the strand creating the flashes, fittingly also colored turquoise, went from ear to ear, creating more 'skull flashes' and doing whatever the hell it was supposed to do.

The strand up Brian's nose pulled out and slipped inside another strand for a few moments, then exited and went straight up the nose of the young, surfer-looking cop called Tyler. After a moment, the process repeated until all four of the other males cops had been invaded nasally and the strand returned to Brian's sinuses.

A series of silver glints filled the air, and before Burt even had time to speculate about what had just happened, the uniforms of the four male cops unexpectedly fell apart and slid down their bodies, leaving them naked except for their hats, socks, and shoes, just like Brian.

All four men were in serious need of fluffing, so Burt turned off his camera, set it down next to his suddenly-unneeded flashlight, and walked over to provide that service, free of charge.

Joe Prender and Kevin Wright were middle-aged men whose bodies were quite fit for guys their age, in spite of Kevin having a small tummy bulge. Burt wasn't attracted to either man, but their shriveled genitals were so childlike that Burt coldn't resist handling them until they weren't. Neither cop objected to (or even reacted to) Burt's touch. They both just stared off blankly into space while Burt massaged the two men's balls and penis until they drooped and hung low and heavy.

"I know why the monster wants THESE guys," Burt informed Tracy's unconscious body while moving on to the young, gorgeous, well-built Tyler Whitlock and the huge-muscled, masculine, tattooed nazi...and molesting the hell out of them, determined to coax both men fully erect, "but I have absolutely no idea what use it could have for you. If it tries to kill you, count on me to be precisely as helpful as the Timbersburg Police De-"

"I KNOW YOU'RE HERE!" Brian MacCrouder announced, striding towards Burt.

Burt panicked. The monster was clearly speaking through the cop, and he sounded ANGRY!

"I'M SORRY!" Burt pleaded, lowering the camera and offering it to the lanky, naked cop, who scared Burt just as much as a three hundred pound powerlifter. "TAKE IT! DESTROY IT! I DON'T EVEN CA-!"

"STOP PLAYING THESE STUPID GAMES AND SHOW YOURSELF!" Guile screamed through Brian's mouth, realizing the futility of the demand. If it had never manifested in front of a MASTER, it certainly wasn't going to address a lowly Guile. "THERE AREN'T ENOUGH CHAINSAWS IN THE WHOLE FUCKING WORLD TO PREVENT ME FROM FINDING OUT WHAT YOU DID AT MALAWNY HOLLOW!!"

Burt breathed a sigh of relief that although the monster could sense Burt, it couldn't see him or zero in on his location. The unfocused swiveling of Brian's head served to confirm Burt's theory. Burt grabbed his equipment and ran a short distance away, crouching behind a tree in case another "silver glint" happened...and accidentally sliced off Burt's head.

The monster inside Brian MacCrouder knelt down and closely examined the genitals of the four naked cops, then looked down at Brian's.

"SHIT!" Burt thought. "It knows I touched them!"

"I don't see any Probability Spasm Residue," the monster grumbled to no one, "but I felt...something. NO, I DIDN'T IMAGINE IT! I'm sure that Reality Itself is here, watching us."

*************************************************************************** "I can honestly tell you, Burt Veribton, reality itself is depending on you!" ***************************************************************************

"That can't be a coincidence, both of them using that same phrase," Burt realized. "The monster has to be talking about Andrew."

The possessed body of Officer Brian MacCrouder walked over to Tracy Rogers, followed by the other four officers. Burt was afraid that something was going to happen that he definitely didn't want to film, but instead, the naked male bodies all came together and formed a bizarre configuration.

"What the fuck?" Burt exclaimed.

Burt considered himself a gentleman, and always tried to avoid using that word (tonight notwithstanding), but sometimes, like when you watch five naked cops forming some sort of human pyramid, no other word will do.

*************************************************************************** ***************************** FLASH FORWARD ******************************* ***************************************************************************

"MICHAEL!!! LURE AND I AREN'T STRONG ENOUGH TO DEFEAT THIS THING WITHOUT LECHER, AND CABOOSE IS DYING AND TAKING MOST OF OUR POWERS WITH HIM! AND ONCE WE DIE, THE THREE OF YOU ARE ON YOUR OWN! YOU HAVE TO TELL ME WHAT YOU DISCOVERED IN LECHER'S FILE!"

"What's Fake Andrew saying to it?!" Mike asked, baffled at the strange noises coming out of the old man's mouth. "Is he trying to calm it down?! What's he doing?!"

"HE'S THREATENING TO STOP PROTECTING IT UNLESS IT PAUSES ITS ATTACK ON THE REST OF YOU AND...no-no-no-no-no...IT'S COMING FOR ME, MICHAEL!!! SHITHEAD'S BEEN ORDERED TO PUSH ONE OF ITS CLAWS INTO THE LEFT SIDE OF LURE'S SKULL! I FINALLY KNOW WHAT REALITY ITSELF WANTS, AND HE'S TRYING TO KILL ME BEFORE I CAN CALL MY MASTER TO COME AND CLAIM IT!"

"What DOES he want, Guile?!"

"SOMETHING THAT CAN MAKE REALITY ITSELF PAY FOR WHAT HE'S DONE!"

Fake Andrew looked into the car and made brief eye contact with Kenny, snapping him out of shock.

"You're not him!!" Kenny screamed, going absolutely nuts with rage. "Stop wearing my grandpa's face!!!"

"Kenny, NO!" Mike yelled as Kenny suddenly lunged over and opened Mike's door, choosing to exit on the non-monster side of the vehicle.

"He killed him!!" Kenny wailed in anguish as he flung his body across Mike's lap in a suicidal attempt to abandon the minimal remaining protection of the sedan and go confront the thing that ruined Kenny's life just as callously as it destroyed Lure's.

Guile had summed it up perfectly.

"You say you care about life, but you sure as SHIT don't care about LIVES!" Guile had clapped back at Reality Itself when he revealed his cruel reason for creating homosexuals. But apparently, even heterosexuals were not immune to being crushed under the heel of Reality Itself's monstrous good intentions.

Mike tried to use his hands and bulk to stop Kenny, but since Mike was now covered in Grant's blood, all Mike accomplished was to body paint Kenny red and turn him into a greased eel. Mike's hands slid uselessly across Kenny's back, ass, and legs as he wriggled his way out of the car and fell onto the edge of the road, re-introducing his healed flesh to scratches and bruises. Without missing a beat, Kenny was on his feet and moving, scraping and cutting his bare feet on the broken concrete as he sped at his grandfather's killer.

Mike got out too, leaving only Tom, who stared stunned and afraid through the smashed windshield at the monsters of Faggot Forest. He hoped, in spite of what had just been done to Grant, that he'd be okay if he just stayed where he was and quietly pretended that everything happening around him wasn't real. It was a stupid tactic that wouldn't have saved Mike, Kenny, or any of Tom's other intended victims that night...and it wouldn't save Tom, either.

While Kenny engaged Fake Andrew in a hopeless quest to avenge his grandpa and defend Andrew Miller's memory, Mike found himself watching what were probably the Thrall's last few moments. The monster had the Thrall in multiple bear hugs, and all of his formerly terrifying and deadly tendrils were limp and lifeless, hanging uselessly out of his ass and spread out all over the bloody road.

"MICHAEL, PLEASE HELP ME!" Guile begged. "I DON'T WANT TO DIE! TELL ME HOW THE CREEPING VINE DOES THE THINGS HE CAN DO! I CAN'T PROTECT YOU AND KENNY FROM SHITHEAD AND REALITY ITSELF UNLESS I HAVE THE CREEPING VINE'S POWERS!!!!!"

"Glaring omission, Guile!" Mike hissed, "If I save YOU, I save your Lure! That's not going to happen! YOU SHOULD'VE ACCEPTED MY DEAL!!"

"WHY?!?" Kenny bawled over and over at the thing that wasn't his grandfather while punching Fake Andrew repeatedly. To his credit, Reality Itself let the grieving grandson vent, emotionlessly allowing Kenny to beat his frail body instead of wasting what little power he had left by trans- forming back into Ryan.

In the end, though, Kenny was accomplishing nothing. He couldn't possibly punish Reality Itself for what he'd done to Kenny and the REAL Andrew Miller. All Kenny was doing was pushing Reality Itself to the limits of his patience.

Mike had to help Kenny, but there wasn't anything......unless..."

"SHITHEAD!" Mike screamed at the titanic beast, who turned and glared at Mike hatefully upon hearing the English translation of the name Guile had mockingly bestowed upon it.

"MICHAEL, GET AWAY FROM SHITHEAD!" Guile shouted while Lure's PTSD kicked in and made him painfully twist his head out from beneath the claw that had been a quarter inch away from slicing Guile in half. "IT'S MIND IS TOO ALIEN! THE FEEDBACK COULD KILL YOU!"

Mike looked into Shithead's massive eyes and concentrated harder than ever before.

"NO!! IT'S A BAD PLAY, MICHAEL!" Guile shrieked. "IT WON'T WORK!! JUST GRAB KENNY AND RUN AWAY! STAY OUT OF THE OPEN!! USE THE TREES FOR COVER! GET TO THE MAIN ROAD AND FLAG DOWN THE POLICE OR THE MILITARY! EVEN SHITHEAD WON'T DARE ATTACK YOU IN FRONT OF CAMERAS AND WITNESSES! IT'S YOUR ONLY CHANCE!!! RUN, MICHAEL!!! RUN!!!!"

End of flash forward and Chapter 7

TENDRIL GUIDE- The "Intended" Uses.

Pink

Purpose - Sends pulses of erotic energy to the male nipples, navel, taint, and prostate. Part of the Churning process.

Special Features - The end can split into five separate tendrils with the same thickness as the base. Also, the tips can momentarly liquify to spread out and cover their target area.

Red

Purpose - Creates heat to warm victims.

Special features - Tendril is "ribbonable" to a width of approximately an inch and a half to be able to "mummy wrap" part or all of victims in cases of severe cold.

White

Purpose - Absorbs heat to cool victims

Special features - Tendril is "ribbonable" to a width of approximately an inch and a half to be able to "mummy wrap" part or all of victims in cases of severe heat.

Maroon

Purpose - Dispenses air stored within the Pilot Fish's air bladder (storage tank) for emergency breathing situations, including smoke, gas, and immersion in liquids. Also used to prevent victims from choking while being Churned.

Special Features - Tendril can be widened for use as a high-pressure air hose.

Vermillion

Purpose - The tendril is inserted into the penis of a victim, where it will move and continually change its exterior to stimulate the urethra. Part of the Churning process

Special Features - Its tip expands to fill and stimulate the bladder.

Peach

Purpose - To bathe the Thrall and clean up victims post-feeding. The tendril spits a gelatinous substance that clings to human and Thrall skin. When rubbed, the gel froths and removes dirt and oils, pushing them away from the skin, at which point they will either fall to the ground or drift away.

Orange

Purpose - A powerful acid that dissolves a variety of ropes and other bindings, but does not affect Thrall skin. Can even be used to weaken metal bars, given time.

Rust

Purpose - Remote sterilizer. A hollow tendril that sterilizes other tendrils when too far away from the Thrall to conveniently fully retract and use his internal sterilizing processes.

Light Yellow

Purpose - The intake for the Pilot Fish's internal water bladder (storage tank). Filters and purifies water, including urine and sea water.

Special Features - tendril can widen for use as a high pressure water suction hose.

Yellow

Purpose - To conduct the Pilot Fish's bioelectricity for the purpose of muscle and prostate stimulation. Part of the Churning process.

Special Features - Separates into multiple strands of the same thickness.

Gold

Purpose - Used to transfer a Thrall's collected Soul-Creation Energy into his Master's avatar ("Fingernail").

Mint Green

Purpose - Dispenses a spray that temporarily removes all friction from a surface. Used as a lubricant for human-to-human sexual contact. (Unnecessary for Thrall-to-human contact as Thralls can adjust their skin's friction levels as a function of their limited shape-shifting abilities.)

Green

Purpose - Dispenses Anal Fixation Spray - Sprayed on the outside and inside of the anus, as well as interior anal tissue. Enables Lecher-controlled adjustments in anal elasticity and sensitivity (both standard and erogenous). Creates a desperate need in the victim for tactile, penile, or lingual stimulation of the affected areas. Desire reaches a dangerous level of mania if a nearby penis, finger, tongue, etc. has also been treated with the spray.

Olive

Purpose - The intake for the Pilot Fish's internal air bladder (storage tank). Functions like the light yellow tendril, but instead of filtering contaminated water, this tendril filters air, providing the Thrall with an inexhaustible air supply.

Special Features - tendril can widen for use as a high pressure air suction hose.

Lime Green

Purpose - Hyper-stimulation of the testicles and epididymis. The mouth of the tendril widens and completely engulfs the scrotum, applying rapid temperature fluctuations and various other forms of stimulation, both earthly and unearthly, to further increase the amount of semen released during Churning.

Dark Green

Purpose - This tendril can vibrate at variable intensities along its entire length. During standard feedings, it can be used to stimulate the penis, testicles, and/or prostate. All three are vibrated during the Churning process.

Special Features - Tendril is "ribbonable" to a width of approximately an inch.

Turquiose

Purpose - Healing of prey to conceal accidental injuries during feedings. Produces a flash that creates a "safe space" for specially designed microbes to cross over and quickly aid in the healing of external human injuries without being attacked by the anti-extradimensional incursion forces of the Earth, AKA Reality Itself.

Baby Blue

Purpose - Instinct-driven, semi-sentient, mostly-independent, additional intake for the Pilot Fish's Soul-Creation Energy extraction organs. Used for stealth feedings, remote feedings, pre-cum collection, or any situation in which the Thrall cannot submit to receptive anal intercourse.

Special Features - Tendril widens to engulf penises and its rim can thicken to create "lips". Also, Baby Blue has minor taps to the Pilot Fish's air intake and output systems, allowing it to create internal suction/air pressure to simulate oral sex.

Aqua Blue

Purpose - Hydration of victims. This tendril is the variable-pressure output for the Pilot Fish's water bladder (storage tank).

Special Features - Tendril widens to create a high-pressure water hose.

Navy Blue

Purpose - To either massively increase a victim's semen production or prevent a victim from leaking or ejaculating semen. Tendril enters a victim's urethra undetected and proceeds to the vas deferens, where it splits apart and seeks out the various components of the reproductive system it wishes to affect.

Violet

Purpose - Mobility of the Thrall. Tendril extends and constricts with a great deal of power, enabling a Thrall to elevate or lower himself from tree limbs in order to hide. Since this is no longer necessary in the modern era, and useless in an urban environment (especially since screens have rendered this form of concealment obsolete), Thrall's use this tendril to bind victims in S&M situations, or in conjunction with the shape-shift- ing black tendril to fashion an AMAZINGLY effective, highly-controllable grappling hook.

Lilac

Purpose - UNKNOWN These archives are incomplete and do not contain any information regarding the purpose of the lilac tendril, nor any incident in which a Thrall of Master Ladislav Kaschak of the Tethered Ones has ever used it.

Plum

Purpose - To hardwire an Unentangled human male brain to a Guile in order to broaden the Guile's focused, "hunt-oriented" telepathy (Entwinement), turning it into a very weak form of TRUE telepathy, enabling the Guile to puppet one individual male, upload large amounts of information, and create substandard memory dams that in some cases successfully prevent a victim from being able to identify the Thrall, his methods, and/or abilities. Like alien abduction memories, however, these memories tend to resurface and are able to be recovered via hypnosis.

Special Note - Although unauthorized, Guiles have found ways to use Pit Fog effects to weaken the resistance of male minds sufficiently enough to enhance the plum tendril's influence, thus allowing them to make permanent changes to weak-willed minds, as well as take temporary control of moderately large groups of weak-willed men for feeding purposes.

Magenta

Purpose - Dispenses Oral Fixation Spray - Sprayed on the tongue and all around the interior of the mouth. Creates a desperate need in the victim for stimulation of the sprayed areas. Desire reaches a dangerous level of mania if a nearby penis, finger, tongue, etc. has also been treated with the spray. The afflicted male will to anything to get the sprayed object into his mouth

Special Features - Once the victim has ingested Magenta contaminated saliva, nausea is suppressed, and anticipatory retching becomes a need to compulsively swallow.

Brown

Purpose - Slides unfelt into a human male's rectum and, when used carefully and with restraint, undetectably liquifies feces.

Beige

Purpose - Slides unfelt into a human male's rectum and sucks up liquified feces, taking it to a specialized organ within the Pilot Fish that strips out any undigested nutrition and sends it into the Thrall's bloodsteam to nourish the "Earth-side" parts of his physiology.

Black

Purpose - Anal stimulation of prey and the application of Ball Sweat. The black tendril is capable of very precise shape-shifting, FAR superior to the Thrall's (Pilot Fish's) tongue, whose shapes much be very basic. Unlike the tongue, the black tendril can create keys, screwdrivers, brushes, wrenches, bottle openers, anal beads, all manner of cutting surfaces, a hand, etc. However, most shapes cannot extend too far away from the central axis, and cannot involve very much mass.

Special Features - The black tendril can form a grappling hook, and the violet tendril has the most powerful retraction. Used together, the Thrall can scale most buildings extremely quickly.

Silver

Purpose - Defense of Thrall and removal of obstacles to escape, such as tall grass and tree limbs. The silver tendril is a hyper-fast, indestructible wire that can increase or decrease the sharpness of its leading edge. It can reach out offensively, or surround the Thrall defensively with a hyperkinetic "slice field" that even bullets can't get through.

Special Note - Only a Lure, or whoever is manning the Lure station, can order it to kill.

Clear

Purpose - To provide light to ease and comfort victims. The clear tendril can be separated into light-producing bubbles that move in accordance to the Guile's wishes, illuminating the area designated by that Guile. As the light produced is extradimensional, the Earth dimension naturally destroys it, but cannot do so instantly, so a "light pocket" is formed, one that cannot be seen by anyone not inside the pocket. By distributing the bubbles and increasing their intensity, the "pocket" can be made larger.