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The neighborhood was nice. Ritzy. Most definitely
upper crust.
“Yo.”
Benny smirked, and rested his arms on the bars of the
‘Sun.
“I approve. Def’netly, I approve. All this from
the food they steal out of kids’ mouths.”
He winked at a pair of long, long slender legs walking
a very large, very hairy dog. Arrogant, certain of himself, of the training he
was forced to endure at the Manse he leered a hopeful smile. His teeth glittered
at the tall woman.
Just my type, Female.
“Hey, babe. Did you know that I love you?”
In the most bitter part of his time at the Manse, he
had been subdued and slightly modified. The microchip under the back of his
skull testified to this. Despite the lack of the collar he was controlled by the
conditioning. Benny was attracted to any woman ovulating. Cindy McAllen-VanTur’s
predecessor, Crazy Gracie Hylnn, took no chances with her stallion. She had to
have known that their privately funded Project would some day be confiscated by
the feds. She knew, too, that he would find a way to escape the bloated,
butter-fingered government, and prepared for that eventuality.
The woman brushed the hair from her eyes. She sneered.
A scowl of outrage crossed her face. But her eyes, so cool, so amber, strayed
over the hard body as she stalked by.
Cindy lay back in the chair, letting its automatic
adjustments lull her into a drowsy smile. At her breast was her son, Ben Wayne
McAllen. Her little hellion burped and blew a bubble of milk at his mother.
Her console flashed a silent warning. Cindy nodded at
it.
TO: MAMA CINDY,
Re: CODE NAME, YOUNG STUD.
Greylov, B. WYA, IN VICINITY OF DC.
NEED INSTRUCTION,
M. DONNELLY, Spec-AGENT J.P. (JANISSARY PROJECT)
Cindy nodded and smiled. With her right hand she
reached over Benny's son and tapped in,
PLAY BY EAR, MIKY,
LOVE, MAMA CINDY
She looked down at the child. “Your daddy's coming
home, sweetheart. I can hardly wait.” Cindy began an old nursery rhyme, one
that came to mind just for the occasion.
“Rock a bye Baby, in the tree top . . . .”
Mike Donnelly wasn't Benny, yet he did all right.
Donnelly had a very strange . . . anger . . . about the Greylov case. It
was almost as if he hated Benny, sight unseen. Should she take him off the case?
Mike was a professional, a good agent. She needed more like him. Yet, when it
came to Benny, he had that slight aberration.
With a sigh, she rocked the child on her shoulder.
Benny had been amended. Had Benny done something to someone Mike was involved
with? Nothing was proven about the sister. Not yet. Modified hormones produced
in Benny's semen often caused a woman to ovulate, proved he was with her several
days in a row.
She looked forward to gathering many young Janissaries
as her young wild stallion sowed his wild oats. The only real problem there was,
was just that wildness. His mother called it ‘dìe Springun,’ and laughed
when questioned by agents.
“All boys go through this time of life,” Anna had
said, breasts heaving under a torn blouse, fighting the pain of electrodes.
“Some even survive it to go on and become men. It's a time of trials, where
they'll question their very manhood, never realizing that manhood is as much
wisdom as it is experience.” Anna nodded and closed her eyes to the enemy of
her son and her sanity. The monitor on her exploded into the faces of the agent,
killing one and severely wounding several others. Anna should be in a collar,
should be producing eggs for the Project.
And every time they tried, Cindy’s people died. Anna
was too old, and hard as it was for Cindy to admit, too powerful to control. No
assassin sent into that cold, dark valley of Anna’s survived to tell of it,
but there were recordings of animal grunts, human shrieks of pain, ghostly, evil
laughter. Night-stalkers. Shon:gili:i.
Cindy shudder. She scowled and shoved the thought
away. Superstitious maundering. Werewolves, bah. The remnants of Leda
Melancowski’s pack of thugs, pretending to be witches or some-such, warring
against Anna’s family and all outsiders.
Eventually Benny would out grow. But Anna had hinted
at a dark side to this Springun. More than a few boys died, often by suicide.
Others went out in a blaze of glory, warriors in the end, their manhood assured
for all eternity. Cold and smiling, Anna stated Benny was on the verge of death.
On the verge of escaping the Project.
Growing pale, Cindy shook her head at the waste and
rocked the child.
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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