Enduring Company

By DX

Copyright, 10/2025, all rights reserved.

Having no where to sit, I stood by the window in the drably, tiny apartment.  From my advantage point I could just about see the alley below and the bored constable left to guard it.

The rest of the view was a dilapidated brick wall.

Above, I could hear the distant chug of steam engines on the Airship Goliath as it sailed high over the city, and in my own tedium I calculated its speed and arrival to the air-station against my watch.  It was a half minute late, but factoring current weather, no surprise.

Chastity Bates; however, was a full minute early.

She burst frantically into the room, her skirt fluttering, and dove under the bed.  She retrieved her case, flung it open on the bed, and immediately began scooping out her clothes from the dresser and piled them in.

“Ahem,”  I said.

Her eyes flashed with surprise.  They were stunningly huge and warm like chocolate morsels.  Her hair was blonde and filled with soft curls tucked neatly beneath her pinned hat.  She had a sweet, button nose, pinch-able crab apple checks and round, puffy lips in a startled gape.  She was petite, and elegantly dressed in silk and satin.  Her bustled skirt was just high enough to show off her buttoned boots, and her Spanish leather corset served up her pendulous breasts, distractingly large on her small frame, which her short bolero jacket couldn’t hide.

She was sweet, innocent, and disarmingly beautiful; excellent traits for a viperous villain.

“I am a private inquiry agent…”  I began.

In a practiced move she slipped her hand into the hidden pocket of her corset, retrieved a pistol, cocked it, and raised to fire, her face tightening as she pulled back the trigger.

Mrs. Velt sprang from behind the door.  She seized Bates’ wrist in her iron grip and pointed the gun down to the bed.  Bates struggled fruitlessly against Mrs. Velt’s Amazon strength, but yielded when Mrs. Velt prized the gun from her hand.

Mrs. Velt handed me the gun.  It was a fully pressurized Lucan Mk IV short barrel, capable of launching three, five millimeter iron balls at nine hundred feet per second in quick fire.  It was a tiny pistol, and very deadly at the short range we were at.

Continuing, Mrs. Velt spun Bates to face her, then without leave shoved her hand into the exposed valley of Bates’ bosom, and ignoring the woman’s squeak of surprise and indignation, retrieved the Eastern fist dagger we already suspected to be there.  

Spinning Bates again, her face now crimson from the intrusion, Mrs. Velt burrowed her way under the woman’s skirt and bustle and retrieved a Spenkat trench scatter gun and handed it off to Miss Pett who had been waiting in the corner of the room.  Finishing her task, Mrs. Velt ran her hands over Bates’ body, then arms, and located a flex knife disguised as a humble promise ring; an excellent tool for cutting the ropes or picking locks one finds on one’s wrists.

Gathering up all the weapons and tools, Mrs. Velt stepped back and took a post blocking the door.

Recovering from her assault, Bates casually glanced around the room to see if there was anyone else she failed to notice when she ran in.  Regaining her decorum, she slowly rolled her shoulders back, and let her soft eyes challenge me.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,”  She said, her voice like syrup.  “or the details of the warrant signed by a Magistrate that allows this intrusion to my private domicile.”

“My name is of no consequence.”  I proclaimed defiantly.  “As for a warrant, admittance was legally attained when I paid the landlord your back rent.”  I explained, slipping the pistol into my pocket.  “You will get a receipt for any confiscated items at the conclusion of our talk.”

“Quite forward of you to think I want to talk to you.”  She said, her pillowy lips firm.

I glanced out the window.  “If you would like, you can spy on the constable in the alley, then check on his comrades now guarding all the egress points of this fine establishment.”  I mentioned, offhandedly.  “You might want to go speak with them in regard to strange intruders in your apartment.”

Her cool demeanor was betrayed by the slight pallor on her cheeks.

“No?”  I queried, my eyes hardening.  “Then allow me to continue.  I have been hired by a Lord, his name to remain anonymous, to observe you and report my findings to the Service.  I suspect the reason you seem keen to rapidly change abodes is your street contacts have already warned you of their newly inspired investigation into your recent accounts.”

She tilted her head and laughed lightly.  “You’ve seem to have mistaken me for some scoundrel.  I’m merely an actress.  My agent has procured a new gig for me out of country.  My booked airship leaves momentarily.”

“I’m not stopping you.”  I said cooly, and fished out my note pad.  “A moment, please, while I write out the receipt I promised you.  For reasons of personal safety, your weapons will be handed over to the Service.  You can reclaim them there.”

Her eyes stabbed me brutally in the chest, but the flicker of her gaze softened like a cloud passing by.  “You’ve gone to all this trouble to see me, it would be rude not to hear you out.”

I feigned surprise.  “Oh, I thought you were in a hurry.”  I continued scribbling.  “Well, if you insist, I’ll keep it brief.  You are an intelligent woman.  You know what you’ve done.”

She put up her hands defensively.  “I’ve done nothing.  I’m a simple actress.”

I flipped a few pages in my book.  “Lady Gantry, Lord Michael, Lady Velma…”  I looked up.  “Shall I go on?”

Her lip quivered as she gave a slight smile, but ice wouldn’t melt on her tongue.  “Whatever you’ve heard, I promise is hearsay and inadmissible in court.”

I flipped another page.  “Bank of Mann.  Bank of Ledshire, Fellows at Harbor.  I imagine their records are admissible in court, and support the testimony of your victims.”

“Enough.”  Her face darkened as she tried to hide her simmering rage.  “State your proposal.”

I let her wait as I finished writing out her receipt.  I then ripped it from my book and dropped it into her open suitcase.  “To be clear, all of my information has been reported to Service.  To be curt, you’re facing the gallows.  Fortunately, you are pretty, and the magistrate is loathed to send a beautiful woman to endure the short drop.”  I winced at the thought.  “Leaving you to dangle, kicking, gasping for air… for such a long time.  As long as twenty minutes or more, so I’m told.  It must feel like an eternity.”  I shuddered.  “Ghastly!”

I watched her swallow nervously as the image of the creaking, tightening rope around her neck flashed before her eyes.  “Is gloating part of your assignment?”  She said, her will shaken.

I nodded an apology.  “Please overlook my self-righteous air.  I just want to lay out all of facts.  In regard to your case, and a good solicitor, life imprisonment at Brentmore is a possible sentence.”

The color ran away from her face and Miss Pett stepped forward ready to catch her should she faint, but she recovered.

“Forgive me for distressing you.”  I flipped through my note pad.  “I see Brentmore is familiar to you.”

“Four years.”  She said, her voice raspy.  “Turning the crank.”

I was curious.  “I’m unfamiliar with that term.”

“It isn’t a term.”  She explained.  “I was sentenced to four years turning a crank.”  Darkness swelled under her delicate eyes.  “Every day, for fifteen hours a day, I turned the crank.”  The weight of her tone was heavy and distressed.

“And what did the crank operate?”  I asked.

“Nothing.”  She said darkly.  “It wasn’t connected to anything.  I just had to turn it, with a trustee standing there to watch me… to make sure I did it.”  She blinked away the memory.  “Two of us: me turning the crank, the trustee watching me turn the crank.  For four years.”

I decided to press on.  “A life sentence, if you’re lucky; however, Banishment to the Colony is also an option.”

The horror on her face flashed as if I had slapped her, but I went on.  “And based on the list of your victims, I wouldn’t be surprised that Banishment is the preferred sentence.  You wouldn’t be around as a continual reminder to the victims.  Out of sight, out of mind, as they say.”  My eyes were cutting.  “It’s not that you never imagined being caught, you’re too clever for that.  It’s just that you thought your victims would never subject themselves to the public embarrassment of a trial, and you would have been right, but you got too greedy, and the list too long.  Now the names shrink on the page, lost in the grand scope of it.”  I flipped through my book.  “You gambled the stolen fortunes in the casinos, or on expensive wines and sex slaves from the Continent.”  My lip twisted at the foul thought.  “The debauchery!”  I didn’t relent.  “I imagine the public will demand your Banishment!”

She shook her head to scatter the specters filling her eyes.  “So I take it you’re here to offer… an alternative?”

I gave a slight nod.  “I am, but it may not be preferable.”

“Anything!”  She said too quickly.

I put up a hand to stop her.  “Know it will be most uncomfortable, and quite humiliating.”

She gave a half smile of relief.  “Don’t be over-concerned with my public standing.”  Her smile became curious, and she glanced back at the two women behind her.  “Are you…?”  She motioned.  “All four of us?”

It took several seconds to figure out what she was suggesting, and my face sagged, abashed.  “No!  Nothing of the sort!”

She nodded.  “That did seem to be a little too easy.”  She peered at me through lidded eyes.  “We could you know.  Maybe as a little…”  She licked her lips as she chose her words.  “warm up to this task of yours.”

My face tightened and I felt the heat on my cheeks.  “No!  Forgive my candor, but there is no coitus copulatio, or actus venereus involved.”  I calmed myself.  

She waited a moment, then asked.  “I’m sorry, did you mean no sex?”

“Yes!  No sex!”  I admonished, nodding to the two other women in the room.  “Mrs. Velt and Miss Pett are chaperones to insure there are no solicitous shenanigans.”

“Solicitous shenanigans?”  She mocked.  “Mr. My Name’s Not Important, you’ve already established I have no money, so what else is there?”

I took a breath to calm the rattle of my nerves.  “Endure the company of my Lordship for a time until he is done with you.  You’ll be chaperoned at all times during.  Once he is done with your company, we will see you to the border and discharged, where I’m sure your wiles and cleverness will see you through customs and out of the country.  If you maintain discretion, you might evade capture and expedition back here.  If anything, you’ll have a fair head start.”

She squinted.  “Endure his Lordship’s company?”  She was expectedly skeptical.  “No sex?”

“No sex.”

“For how long?”

“I can’t say.”

“And what is it I do?”  She pressed.

“Nothing.”  I replied.  “You endure his company until he discharges you.”

She glanced back and Mrs. Velt and Miss Pett, then back at me.  “And then you take me to the border…”  Her eyes studied me.  “and let me go?”

“That is the proposal.”  I said, nodding.  “I will provide you with pocket money for small occurrences to ease your travel.”  I put forth dismissively.

Her head dipped as she tried to hide a slight smile.  She then looked up, her poker face fully entrenched.  “A hundred Crowner… for traveling expenses.”  She put out her hand to shake on the deal.

This was a test.  The amount was clearly absurd.  If I agreed she would know it was all a lie and the plan was to release her into the waiting arms of the Service, or just straight to a shallow, unmarked grave.  

Instead of shaking her hand, I almost spat up a laugh.  “Don’t be silly!”  I barked.  “I had meant to offer a little ease to your task, but if you wish, p’raps you could make a deal with the constable downstairs and see if he has a hundred Crowner to give you.”  I let my anger show.  “No?  Then let us be serious.”  I reached into my pocket and retrieved my purse.  I pulled out some coins and shifted them in my hand to line them up.  “Five Fipen.  Enough to book steerage on a train, a humble meal, and a canteen of tea.”  I slid the coins into her open suitcase.

She tried to dismiss the offer, but her desperation was clear.  “Ten Crowner and I’ll be so far gone you’ll forget I existed.”

I turned my purse over and dropped the last coin into my palm.  “A half Crowner.”

She nodded to her case, and I dropped it in.  A brilliant smile flashed on her face.  “Now, let’s go see this Lordship of yours!”

I held up my hand to stop her.  “His Lordship will have you dressed appropriately.”  I motioned to Mrs. Velt and Miss Pett.  “The ladies will assist you.  I will have my back turned, of course, to protect your honor while you are prepared.”

Her smile dimmed.  “Then we are to do this now?”  She signed.  “Fine, the sooner the better.”  She slid off her jacket and began to undo the buttons on her blouse.

Quickly, I turned my back.  To my unexpected surprise I could see Bates’ ghostly reflection in the dirty window.  I watched Mrs. Velt slip out of the room as Miss Pett helped Bates’ unlace her corset and step out of the ring of her skirt.  By the time Bates was down to her shift, Mrs. Velt returned carrying a wooden casket, manhandling the large, awkward thing with ease.

It was six feet long, two feet wide, and eighteen inches deep.  It was made of stout, heavy oak, stained and polished, with shinning brass caps protecting the corners and edges.  In Mrs. Velt’s powerful arms it looked light, but the sound it made as she set it down in the corner of the room demonstrated its solidity.

Astounded, Bates could only openly gawk as Mrs. Velt removed the lid.

It was an audacious, bordering on gaudy, frilly purple, grey, and pink dress filled with an excessive amount of lace, bustles, and pleats.  Black patent leather button boots rose to mid thigh, ending at the hem of the swelling skirt.  The shiny leather corset would display Bates’ lovely curves, while serving up her copious breasts admirably, with a hole at center mass to focus stares at her cleavage, before slipping up to a lace edged collar.

At the top was the doll’s head.  It had big, perfect bow lips in mild surprise, and expansive safire eyes.  The surface was perfectly smooth and polished, like ceramic.  It was coifed with a scarlet wig that flashed iridescently.  At its crown was a tiny purple top hat with a trailing ribbon for a hat band.

It was almost comical.

Transfixed, Bates took down the head and examined it.  “You want me to wear this?”  She found it opened into two halves and she noted the interior was completely smooth and austere.  She looked at me.  “How do I see?  Or breathe for that matter?”

“All that will be seen to.”  I said.

She weighed it in her hands and found it only slightly heavier than air.  “What is this made from?”

“Ah!  That is a newly discovered material harvested from the ocean; woven seaweed fibers we call Sea Silk.  It looks like silk, feels like silk, but far stronger than silk, and a little more expensive than silk, so it won’t take the fashion world by storm.  It also has no elasticity, so it doesn’t stretch in the least, so its wearability is very specific, but when layered together with an epoxy harvested from oyster shells, a hard version is made.  Less than a quarter inch will stop a bullet.”

She held up the mask to her face and found it would fit her entire head perfectly from crown to chin.  She tried to open her mouth but found it impossible.  She then handed it to Miss Pett.  “Whatever conversation his Lordship wishes to have will be one sided.  I won’t be able to speak or hear a thing in that doll’s head.”

“Which will suit his Lordship.”  I finished.  “Shall we begin, Miss Bates?”

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Copyrighted 10/2025, all rights reserved.  Story may not be reproduced without written author consent.

A Premature Inheritance

By DX

Copyrighted 1/2001, 1/2025, all rights reserved.

 Her black gloved hands sparkled with expensive and gaudy rings as she shook the doctor's hand. "It was a most beautiful ceremony. Howard would have loved it." Her eyes smiled flirtatiously from beneath her black veil. "Had I not known better, I would have sworn he was dead."

 The doctor nodded to the compliment. "Everything to your liking, Angela?"

 Angela smiled. "Worth every penny. A minor investment with huge payoffs. The reading of the will is tomorrow." She laughed breathlessly. "That's when they officially turn over everything to the weeping widow.”  Her eyes flashed.  “And I will be weeping.”

 "I'm just glad we can be of service. Would you like to see the final results?"

 "Is he here?" Angela looked amazed.

 The doctor nodded. "Right this way." He motioned her to the bookcase. He pressed a hidden stud and it silently slipped aside and exposed the entrance to the lab. 

 The room was cluttered with medical equipment and machines whispering secrets to one another.  Monitors flickered mindlessly, and filled the room with eerie light.  In the center of the room, strapped to a vertical slab, was a woman. 

 The doctor presented her like a game show host. "Here's Howard!"

 Angela's eyes were wide with surprise as she lifted her widow's veil to get a better look at the image of perfect beauty. Large, ozone blue eyes nested in long black lashes peered straight ahead, longingly, lovingly. Her doll like face and near non-existent nose were smooth and sculpted. Her full, oh so kissable lips of dark blood glistened in the sterile light. Her delicate swan neck poured like cream into her expansive, oversized breasts which were perched atop a tiny breath wide waist that, if it was not for the heavy boned corset, she would have simply folded in half. Her callipygous hips were balanced on her long, long legs that disappeared into tiny, tiny feet.

 Angela suddenly realized her mouth was open in aghast and closed it. She could not believe this was her pudgy, balding husband. She felt positively ugly, and patted under her chin with the black of her bejeweled fingers. "Schedule me for a chin tuck, would you?"

 The doctor’s face flickered with confusion then he smiled. "You are perfect the way you are." The doctor then regarded Howard. "And besides, it’s not plastic surgery. Don't get me wrong, there is major reconstructive surgery involved. Since you said it was our discretion of the disposal of Howard, we decided on our most popular sex toy model."

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A Linda Doll

by DX

Copyrighted 1997, 12/2024, all rights reserved.

A chubby, metallic bronze Rolls Royce rolled its way slowly and quietly down the rain washed street. It crawled gently over the spring cracks in the old asphalt as it rumbled past the old vine encrusted wall and up into the driveway, past the wrought iron gates that almost magically swung open in welcome. 

With the lightest of touches, Linda steered her Rolls down the wavy red brick driveway, slowing to a stop at the steps of the manor. It was every bit as impressive as she had imagined. 

She bowed as she stepped from the door, her wide brim sun hat catching the morning sun, blocking out the skin aging rays. She glanced at the gardener working in a patch of white popping flowers as he dropped a sack of peat moss from his shoulders.  Linda marveled at how the sun rippled across his glistening back. She could not imagine a wrinkle on that body. 

"Good morning, Mrs. Abrams. The doctor will be right with you." 

Linda turned and looked up the short steps, her near opaque sunglasses saving her from squinting, hoping to avoid crows feet in the corners of her eyes. Nurse Magilacutty (why did that name sound so familiar?) stood in the door way. Her crisp, starched uniform was a brilliant white. Simple, stoic, yet it emphasized the shape of her body. Her heaving bosom and wasp waist billowed into curvaceous hips. Her micro-skirt ended there, covering nothing yet hiding everything. Her white stockinged legs poured like cream into her white 4 inch pumps. 

Linda made her way up the short steps carrying her bubble of regality about her. Nurse Magilacutty bowed slightly in a submissive gesture. "Is there anything I can get you? A light breakfast perhaps?" 

Linda looked at the nurse's porcelain face framed by escaping wisps of hair, black and shining like wet tar that spilled from her tiny cap. Her deep brown eyes and long, long waving lashes blinked attentively. Her lips of ruby posed in a delicate bow. 

Linda snorted. "Yes. A rusty scalpel and five minutes alone with your face." 

Her tiny ruby lips smiled politely. "Will there be anything else?” 

Linda sighed and looked back at the gardener working in the sun. " Yes. I want him on a large silver tray with a bottle of chocolate syrup." 

Nurse Magilacutty blushed scandalously. "What would Mr. Abrams say?" 

Blushing? Linda thought. What a pure and wonderfully honest reaction... ‘I should have brought my own scalpel.’  She thought. 

"Why would I care what he thinks? I have his Rolls, I have his money, and I have his undying love and adoration.  Next you'll have me in the same room with that slug." She looked up at the nurse's perfect face. "A bourbon in a highball glass, splash an ice cube in, swish it about for thirty seconds, not twenty eight, not thirty two, then rescue it and bring it here. The drink that is. Do as you will with the ice cube. I'll be watching the flower show." Linda looked out to the garden and marveled how the gardener’s jeans could cling so tightly. 

"Excuse me Ma'am." The nurse said. "But alcohol is not advised before the procedure. We do have some fresh squeezed orange juice." 

Linda looked back at the nurse and her so damned pleased to serve you smile. "Throw two fingers of vodka in there and fail to rescue the ice cube." 

The nurse smiled and with a bow and a turn, went inside. 

Linda watched her hip sway down the hall. The nurse had been one of the deciding factors to get the procedure done. Her mind reeled when the doctor told her the nurse was forty-two. 

"Let me guess," She asked skeptically. “You transplanted her brain into a sixteen year old body and the trigger got stuck on the silicon gun?" 

But the doctor took out her high school year book. 

Linda's eyes grew wide and the doctor only smiled. "No brain transplant." 

Now, Linda wandered into the long main hall of the manor and looked at the mannequins that stood like statues of armor. There were six of them. Six different ones than what were there when she first saw the doctor, but no less amazing. They were perfect, almost like humans frozen in time. Four women, two men. Gowns, tuxedo's, evening-wear, bathing suits. They were perfect humans in every way. 

She looked up to the first one. Poised on her pedestal, her hands in her scarlet hair, ready to open it to a spring breeze, her expression of joy was almost inspiring.  She heard the doctor enter, but she could not look away from the face before her. The deep green eyes shone like a wet jungle leaf.  Her skin was ivory smooth and without blemish. Her lips, looked tasty and inviting. 

She turned quickly at the doctor's approach. "That's what I want doctor. I want perfection. I want to be the fantasy of every male. I want to be irresistible. I want to be an object to be fought over in silly boyish wars like Helen of Troy. I want to be on that pedestal. I want to be worshiped as Cleopatra or Katherine the Great." 

The doctor looked so young and blonde with a male model's casual stance. Like a Ken doll, fresh out of the plastic. He smiled. "You are already all that Mrs. Abrams." 

She tightened her fists. "I want it to last. I don't want to worry about sleeping on one side of my face too long or smiling too much or hiding from the sun like a vampire. I don't want to grow old. I want immortality." She looked up at the exquisite mannequin.   "And I want bigger breasts." 

"You don't need bigger breasts." 

"Can you do it?" She looked at him. 

"Breasts, yeah, that's easy." 

"I mean…”  She barked, flustered.  “You know!" 

"Mrs. Abrams. I can take years from your body and then let you keep them for the rest of your life. My process has shown to extend life beyond the average span and let you keep your beauty. Better than Russians in a Yogurt commercial." 

Nurse Magilacutty silently entered the room with a glass of glowing orange juice on a silver tray. Linda scooped it up and took a gulp like it was a shot of whiskey. She glowered at the nurse. "Next time you pour vodka, take a half step closer to the glass." She looked to the doctor. “Let's go." 

She followed the doctor through the long, maze like halls to his office where Mrs. Ratchett greeted them (another familiar name). Linda didn't look up at the majestic beauty and her historical Victorian nurses uniform, she only handed her the orange juice glass, headed to the examination room, stepped behind the curtain and stripped her clothes, donning her hospital smock. While Nurse Magilacutty folded and hung Linda's clothes, Nurse Ratchett escorted her to the operating room and sat her up on the white covered table. 

"I'm sure Mr. Abrams will be pleased at the new you." Ratchett made small talk. 

Linda looked at the demure face of Nurse Ratchett and could only think of War posters with a black cloaked nurse maternally cradling one of the injured boys as the American flag rippled behind her. She was a pin up girl in white. 

Linda became cross. "Why does everyone want me to please my husband? He and I have an agreement. He gives me money and I let people call me Mrs. Abrams to my face." 

Any snappy retort would have crashed Nurse Magilacutty's little brain but Nurse Ratchett only smiled. "Then why are you doing it?" 

"For me of course, who else? If I can divert the funding that feeds a small African Nation so construction workers can break their necks gawking a second look at this face and body then I'll do it in a heart beat. Me, me, me... and perhaps my new boyfriend." 

"I see. If men have mistresses, what do women have?" 

"Escorts, and I'll be opening up a service with very exclusive clientele; me." Linda scooted a little on the table to peer out the window. "And I think I see my first employee now." 

"Well, he does like working with his hands." 

"Honey, It’s not his hands I'm after." 

The doctor coughed politely as he entered the room. “Let's get this show on the road." He said stepping behind Linda. "Look forward please. You'll feel a slight pinch." There was more than a slight pinch at the base of her neck as a shard of ice pushed in. 

"Ow! How would you like a slight pinch?” Linda went to rub the growing ball of cold on her neck, but Nurse Ratchett held her hands and placed them in her lap. 

"Hold still for a moment." 

Linda glared at her. "You hold still Miss Red Cross. Why don't you duck out and get us some doughnuts and coffee. Make mine a 'Kahlua'. 

The Doctor stepped in front of her, quickly shinning a light in her eyes "Just keep looking forward." He turned off his light and held out his hands. "Squeeze my hands." 

Linda took a grip still staring ahead. She could see part of the garden and the bronze of her Rolls as it pealed out of the driveway with Nurse Magilacutty behind the wheel.  "Where is she taking my car?" 

"She is going to wreck it." The doctor answered matter of factly. 

"I know that, but where is she taking it?" 

"Squeeze my hand. To some cliffs up the coast." 

Linda's anger flared. "Not funny. I don't like people driving my car." 

"Squeeze my hand." 

"I Am Squeezing!" 

Without effort, the doctor slipped his hands out of her limp grip. Nurse Ratchett and the doctor eased Linda down onto the table, laying her flat on her back. Linda could only barely mumble, "What is going on? 

"I'm sorry about your car, Mrs. Abrams, but it was the best way to explain your 'death'. You should not drink and drive." 

Linda could feel cold wrap around her neck like a strangler's hands. She felt her limbs relaxing and ignoring her commands to move. "I... I'm paralyzed!" 

"Something like that. The shot I gave you arrests a section of the synaptic gaps in the dorsal cortex canceling out voluntary movement. That's the group of nerves in your spine that allows your brain to give orders to your body. Soon, this area of nerves will die completely." He took a sharp probe from the tray at his side. "Reflexes..." He poked her in the bottom of her foot and her leg jerked slightly. Still work. Your breathing and heart rate will slow to an almost catatonic state."

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Copyright 1997, 12/2024.  All rights reserved

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