PZA: Zero, the Special-Needs Slaveboy 21-23

Collins called it a party. I called it a chance to show off his newest slaveboy and torture him. I suppose this was where we differed in attitudes. The more I thought about it, though, the more I began to form a theory: Collins and his extended 'family' were just repeating a cycle of abuse that had been going on for I-didn't-know-how-long.

I knew that Doctor Sebastian Collins had been raised as a slaveboy from the age of four, back in the days when such was illegal and would have landed the 'family' with some serious jail time. I knew that he'd been raised by a man who hadn't been his biological father, he'd mentioned before, and that he had also been a doctor. Collins had been emancipated when he'd grown into a young man, and then sent to medical school. And yes, I was sure he'd been 'sent'; I didn't think for a minute that becoming a doctor had been his own choice.

Just as little Sebbie had no choices or control in his life now, I was sure that Doctor Collins hadn't either. This was their way. That was why Sebbie so hated having a urinary catheter – control. Control of his bladder, which was a serious matter, was the ONLY thing that the boy had any control over. Everything else, including even his bowel movements and simple mobility, were heavily regulated. Every minute of every day of his life were planned out and spoken for.

I had to wonder just how different – or similar – his father's upbringing had been.

As I said, that was where we differed. Then again, I'd been raised in a good old-fashioned heterosexual mom-and-dad family. Never mind the fact that I'd turned out gay, but that's another story. I don't know, perhaps had I been raised in an underground-slave-family style, as these people had been, then I might have understood it. 'When in Rome'?

I'd never even known that this whole slave-thing existed, before "The Big Crash" and the legalization of chattel slavery to solve certain problems. In a nutshell, with things as bad as they were, children were often the only assets left to some parents. The upper 1% of society, let's call them, also had the bulk of the stored wealth and commodities. And a lot of them, it seemed, used that wealth for political gains and favors. And, of course, there were enough of them that were – ah – 'interested' in children to get the new slavery laws extended. Originally starting with adults in prison, it hadn't taken long for those laws to extend to the same end with children. About to lose your home to foreclosure? Sell a child. People became a commodity.

Blame it on my upbringing, but I didn't see the point of such control. As with Peter, I'd trusted him. He had all the freedom in the world. I'd saved him from that system when he'd been orphaned, and instilled in him very early on that he had to be trustworthy. And it had worked out just fine. Therefore, why couldn't it work for Zero? Zach… I was still getting used to that name. And why were these people so insistent that it wouldn't work? I mean, if Peter had wanted to walk around the house or swim naked, that was fine. If Zach wanted to wear clothes, then why not?

I thought back to the night I'd brought Zero home. I'd kept him in gear and restrained, mainly because I was 'supposed to', but also because I was scared that he'd run off and harm himself. Or worse. Being strapped to his bed was one thing I could understand – in THAT set of circumstances. But not now. There was no need for it. There was even no need for it with the mysterious and allegedly-dangerous teenaged Mason. He'd proven that to me on his first night in my custody. We hadn't been in the new flat that long, but I fully intended to ask Zach if he wanted to be restrained at night. I was going to ask him if he wanted to wear gear in the privacy of his own home. And by God, if he wanted to wear flannel pyjamas to bed and be left loose like a free boy, then he would! If he had to pee, he was damn well going to go and pee, without even asking. And if he sneaked a snack? Boys will be boys.

Besides, I had work to do. And that was another facet – I was going to ask Zach to make the decision of what he wanted to do when I went back to work. Did he want to be kept in a cage? Did he want to stay at the Collins' 'Daycare'? Or did he want to just follow me around, work permitting? I knew that Doc Collins would disagree, vehemently, I was sure. Then again, more and more, my attitude on Collins' own attitude was "fuck him."

All right, I had to admit, it was a nice flat in a good neighborhood with good rent. In fact, you weren't going to find a flat in that neighborhood at such a great rate. Compared to the taxes on my home, I wasn't losing anything.

I wondered about these Masters some more that day, as the boys took off from their 'school' time to prepare for the party that next day. I was still busy with the dump of data from Zero's implant, and hoping to learn more. But the more of the data that the computer turned into compressed video, the more I began to see that Zero's… Zach's… life hadn't been all that different from what it was now. That had shocked me. It was a regimen of schoolwork, physical training, regular meals – all set in that one idyllic oasis location. Blacker people came and went, servants perhaps, but it looked like the boy was being taken care of and educated.

Collins, you know all about. But I realized that I didn't know anything about the others that I'd 'grown close to'. All right, not 'close to,' but associated with? Mark was a law enforcement officer. Had he been a slaveboy? What about Devereaux, Mason's Master? I'd hinted to Mason during our talk that his Master might have been, but I didn't know for sure. What about Cabot, Henry's 'daddy'? Paul and his little Cyborg? Ralphie and Tahj?

Again, were these former slaveboys, or even abused free boys, who were just continuing to perpetuate the cycle of abuse? Or were they simply men who could now come out and indulge their whims under the new slavery laws?

It couldn't hurt to ask, though. As the boys were scampering about here and there, getting the party hall set up again as they had for Cory, every single one of them would pop in and ask me if I wanted anything. I think they were all looking for an excuse to get a hug at dismissal.

"Sebbie, is it OK if you tell me about some of the other Masters?" I asked him. He went rigid.

"Well, for instance," I patted my leg. He sat on my lap, but he didn't relax. "Tell me about Master Paul, Cy's daddy. What does he do for a living? Things like that. Nothing top secret, mind!"

"Oh, that, sir!" He lightened up at once and smiled. "Master P. is an airline pilot. He goes everywhere. That's how he found Cyborg. Most of the time, Cy goes with him, but the high altitude hypersonic flights, like here to, like, Europe, make him sick. That's why he stays here when Master P. has one of those, sir."

"He works for the government, I think it is, doing cases of free kids who get orphaned, finding them homes, making sure they don't end up as slaves," Sebbie explained.

"Sort of like a social worker, then? That's how he found Henry? So why couldn't he place him?"

"Yes, sir, that, sir," Sebbie nodded. "I guess he finally found the one he wanted to keep, though? It's not like he never had the chance, Master. Besides, Henry went runaway, and was a street kid. They round them up, you know. Probably because their parents would have debts to collect if they catch them."

"Well, that makes me feel better about Henry, thank you, Sebbie." I said. I pulled him back and put my arms around him. "So Cabot gets the estates settled, and then finds a home for the free kids if he can?"

"Pretty much, yeah." He smirked. "Wouldn't you have kept Henry, Master?" I had to agree. But Sebbie look confused.

"I like you just fine, my boy. If Zach likes you, you must be all right," I assured him.

"That's good, sir. I was afraid we were going to have a hard time with you, Master," he added.

Sebbie gulped, and he went pale. "Tell me about Master Dev, then? What does he do?" I ignored it, but Sebbie had just slipped up.

"He's a freelance boy-trader, sir," Sebbie blurted, "That's where he got Mason. He only deals in high-end merchandise, sir."

"You mean good-looking boys?" I prompted him. I was reminded of Panionius in the Herodotus Histories, a man from Chios who had made his living enslaving, castrating, and selling beautiful boys for high prices.

That explained a lot to me. A lot. It also made me lose a great deal of respect for the dashing Mr. Devereaux. A vision of a circling vulture came to mind. I guess I made some kind of noise; I probably snorted.

"Master?" Sebbie then asked shyly, "C-can I ask you something, sir?" God, he suddenly looked scared. What could it be?

"Any boy should always be able to hold up his hand and ask," I told him, figuring I'd put it in terms he could relate to. Geeez, it looked like that even having an independent thought might get him into trouble! Was Sebbie that controlled?

"What did you do to Mason, Master?" He whispered in my ear. God, he was actually trembling! I could feel it. I held him tighter. I put my mouth close to his ear. "I talked to him, I let him talk, and I listened to him," I replied. "That's all."

"I treated him like I treat Zach," I added. "Like I'd treat any of you." I tickled his ribs. Sebbie squealed and squirmed. "It worked for him, because he needed it." I paused. I had an opportunity here. "Sebbie, talk me. Don't ask permission, let's just talk. Whatever you want to talk about, OK?"

"You really love Zero, Zach, I mean, don't you Master Don?" Sebbie asked, his voice going soft and his eyes distant.

"I do. It's a funny thing about love, Sebbie. You can find that you love someone, and not even know why. I loved Zero from the moment I saw him on that stage. I don't know why, and I didn't realize it until later. I supposed I've always loved kids. They're so literal, open, and wonderfully curious. Everything to them is shiny and new, and they have this sense of wonder, you know? Just being part of that makes you feel great."

"I can't imagine what it'd be like, if no one loved you," Sebbie sighed. "But how can you not know, sir? How can you not know that someone loves you? That's what I don't get about Mason. His daddy loves him, but Mason hates him? All he has to do is be nice, like he is now, and he wouldn't get punished all the time. He could be happy, like me? Master," he sounded sad now, "How can you hate someone who loves you so much?"

Sebbie had been raised from birth to be a slave. In fact, he'd been created in a Petri dish just for that purpose. Mason had lived a normal childhood up until the age of seven. There was the key difference.

"Sebbie, what if something happened to your daddy, and say, I got custody of you? What would you do if I had a dermal surgeon remove all your tattoos, take away all your gear, and made you wear clothes? Say I made you go to school with free kids, in fact, made you into a free kid who had to go out there and learn and think for himself, doing what you wanted to do?"

"Sebbie, are you afraid of being freed?" I had to ask, trying to sound as if I were shocked. Of course, I was not. It was obvious that freedom scared the boy.

"I'm not afraid of anything, sir!" Sebbie protested, but his hard, blue eyes were moist. He was lying.

"Everyone has a fear, child," I snuggled him close again, and he suddenly went limp again. "It's normal. It's human nature, and nothing to be ashamed of. For instance, you're afraid of catheters, aren't you?"

Sebbie nodded. I could feel his head move against my chest. I touched his warm skin, running my hands over his tattooed back, down his sides to his thighs. I bumped his pod, secured by his black work belt today. I kissed his crown. I was going to have to be careful here, as I was sure he'd repeat it all to his father.

As I understood it, the boy had been sent to me, and I was the Master in charge of him until I dismissed him.

"Do you know why that is, boy?" I asked. "You, a trained little fighter? A slaveboy so confident of his abilities? What did you say? You're 'the best there is'? Why are you afraid of something like a few centimeters of latex?"

"Not like hurt-hurt, like stubbing your toe, Master!" Sebbie explained, as if I should have known this.

"Well, what about that plug in your butt? It's a lot bigger than a catheter, and you've had one of them in you since you were a baby, right? Don't they hurt, like when you get a new one?"

"Because it's sexual hurt? Or because you're trained to like it? Or is it because you're just used to it?" I persisted.

He clearly didn't get it. He was like an overloaded computer that had locked up.

"With all the things you can do, Sebbie, things that would scare the hell out of any free boy, why are you so afraid of such a little thing like a catheter?" I asked flatly. "I mean, most boys would run screaming if you showed them how you even sleep! And some of your toys? The paddles? The restraints? Some of those things that I don't even know what they are?!"

I kissed his neck, just a bit down. Then I took his cheeks in my hands and gave him a peck on the lips. I squeezed his shoulders. His demeanor changed at once. He took on that every suggestive, submissive air that he often displayed around men. I'd seen it in Puente's restaurant. I saw it every time that Mark or I entered the room: the way he posed, the way he carried himself. His body language saying, "Use me."

"NO," I cut him off. "You just sit there, Sebbie. You don't have to offer anything in return. All you have to do is just sit there and be loved, and talk." God, did this boy even know the difference between love and sex? I was worried that he didn't.

He nodded, seemingly without thinking. I'm not afraid of anything! He'd said. Uh huh… sure…

"And that's what happened to Mason, my boy! Don't you see? He was used to being free, being loved, and suddenly, he was a slave. He didn't understand his Master's love. He thought it was all just sex, which he didn't know anything about. His whole world ended. Suddenly, he was in your world, and he couldn't handle the shock. Just like you couldn't handle being free and dressed and sent off to do what you want to do. You don't know how, Sebbie. And neither did Mason. He didn't know how to be a slaveboy, so he fought back. You'd hate me if I did that to you, wouldn't you? Because you don't know how to be free, and you're scared to death of it?"

"Mason had control over his life, well, as much as a seven year old can have, Sebbie," I went on. "And then it was gone. All of it. Even going to the bathroom! And he was terrified! And he's been scared, all this time, that he'd never have control over anything, ever again, in his life. You, on the other hand," I cuddled him again, "Have no control. Well, you have some. Like when you're in charge of the other boys? Or when your daddy is busy? But you've been trained for all that, haven't you? So it's not really control. You're just following his orders, just as you always do."

"You're afraid of being afraid! You're just like a new rabbit, when you first get one! It runs from you, doesn't it? You have to work with it before it will trust you. Sebbie. You're just like a new rabbit!" I informed him. "Under all that hard exterior of Sebastian X. Collins II the Slaveboy, you're a rabbit!" I laughed. And it was genuinely funny, when it came to me.

"Sebbie, my boy, you're afraid of being in control. It scares the hell out of you when you're left in charge, because you're afraid of messing up and disappointing your daddy. You're afraid he'll be ashamed of you. And you're absolutely horrified of being set free! That's three! And the catheters? That's four. You see, boy, the only control you have in your life is peeing. Think about it. That's IT! The catheter then takes even that small thing away from you. So you're afraid of being out of control? There's five, and that's the zinger, kiddo," I dug in further. "Your fears are a paradox – fear of being in control, and fear of losing control. Being a slaveboy as you are, it's all about control, though? You have to be in total control, in order for your Master to control you! My, that IS a paradox! It's a wonder you don't have a nervous collapse, Sebbie! How do you do it?"

"To warn us, to keep us safe, to let us know our limits," I informed him, wondering if his father had ever talked like this to him before. I doubted it. "But in the end, our fear exists so that we can defeat it."

I held him, rocked him, and put my chin on his shoulder. And that was all I did. Finally, I decided to finish it.

"It must be just awful, to be so afraid of yourself," I whispered. Then I kissed his ear again. "Because to conquer Fear," I personified it, "Would mean the end of the world as you know it. That's the slaveboy paradox, Rabbit." I patted his head.

"B-but, I… I'm the b-best?" Sebbie protested. "M-master Don, my d-daddy always tells me I'm the b-best!" His voice quavered.

"Yes, you could very well be," I agreed, "But, Sebbie, how much of that is based on you being scared? And how much of it is based on how hard you work at it, just because you like it?"

"I'm not scared of my Daddy, if that's what you think, MASTER!" He then went rigid again. "I LOVE MY DADDY! And he loves me! I couldn't never do that to him, like Mason did to Master Dev! I'd beat me silly, too, if I did!"

He was getting wound up now, as I struck the nerve I'd been looking for. I'd just told Sebbie that he thought he was the best slaveboy ever, because he was afraid – the thing he most feared.

"If you're not afraid of him, Rabbit," I wiped his cheek with my finger and showed him the tear he'd let go. He paused. "Then why did you use your safeword on him that night that Zach flipped out? Why did your daddy nearly have a breakdown then? Why was he so insistent that you learn, then, to speak up and stop him, if need be?"

I then hit him with it again, gambling on something that I didn't fully understand.

"Because he was AFRAID, Sebbie! He was afraid he'd hurt you, beyond the normal play stuff! Why do you even have a safeword, Sebbie, if one or the other – you or he – isn't AFRAID? Why, Sebbie, WHY would he give you that kind of CONTROL? Control over HIM?!"

"Who is the Master, and who is the slave?" I asked. "How is it that the slaveboy like you can stop a Master in his tracks with one word? Who are YOU to wield such power over the one that you rely on to control you?"

The boy just gaped at me, like a landed fish, struggling to get back into the water. I held him still.

"I DON'T KNOW!" He screamed at me, in total violation of everything he'd ever been taught.

"I'll tell you why, Rabbit," I threw the word at him again, "Because your daddy is AFRAID of himself, and what he is capable to doing to YOU!"

"No, no, no, no, no," he began to chant, shaking his head, and rocking on my lap.

And as he put his ginger head on my shoulder, his chained hands squeezing my sides since he couldn't hug me with them on, the boy who had once been so intimidating – even frightening – cried like a brokenhearted child.

God, I hadn't planned this. It wasn't supposed to turn out the way it had. I wasn't supposed to have another broken boy sobbing on my shoulder. All I'd wanted to do was find out a bit more about Sebbie's 'family'.

And I'd hurt him. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him or any of the others. I felt ashamed. I was no better than any of the rest of them. I'd hurt this little boy just to satisfy my own curiosity.

When he'd recovered, I took him to the bathroom, holding his hand. I washed his face, fixed his hair as best I could with just water, and bent down to look him in the eye. He put his chained arms over and around my neck and hugged me. I picked him up, balancing him on my hip. He gave me a peck on the mouth, not one of those sexually suggestive kisses, either. Then he cuddled again before he made to hop down.

"You see, Rabbit? It's not so bad, just a hug and a kiss, because you wanted to. You don't have to do anything else."

"Thanks, Uncle Don," he whispered in my ear, so softly that I could hardly hear him.

"I would say, 'as you were,' Rabbit, but I'm not sure you want to be?" I suggested to him, gently reminding him with a backrub and the nickname of what we'd gone over.

"Sebastian Xavier Collins, Junior!?" The intercom then crackled to life. "Where are you, boy?"

"We have tables to set, you know, boy! We can't all fit into Master Don's flat!" Collins reminded him. "And Henry's making a mess of polishing the silverware!"

And then he was gone, back to the persona of the slaveboy, rushing to do his Master's bidding. Could such a short chat undo eleven years worth of upbringing? I doubted it. I doubted I'd even scratched the surface, as I had a vision of Sebbie telling his father everything.

I thought about the boys and my interviews with them all. Henry was depressed over his situation, but happy with his Master. He knew he could have had it a lot worse, and since he was so much like a neutered puppy, there was probably little chance of him rebelling.

Cory? No problem there; the kid was in love. I did, however, curse myself for not seeing his problems sooner. Had I noticed, had I not been busy BBQ'ing or messing with the pool (as Collins and them had said) I would have noticed it long ago. Cory's life would be much different. I made a note to listen closely to Mark, to watch them. So help me, if Mark harmed that boy…

Cyborg I was not sure about. Not at all. Quite young, but already sexually active, his life of begging in poverty on the streets had been a stunner. Not to mention that he was being used by a pimp because of his missing limbs. He might be happy now, I knew, but what would happen when he got older?

And Mason. Lord… Mason was the Grand Poobah of them all. Pick your metaphor: the cork in the bottle, the icing on the cake, the cream of the crop. And he'd landed in my lap, first.

Or rather, I'd begun the process. What Collins and Devereaux couldn't accomplish in seven years, I had done in about seven minutes. As I said, I'd started the snowball rolling down the slope. Mason would not fly to his Master and instantly love him, in a few hours, no no! I was certain of that. Their reunion would be a tense one, but there would be progress. There would no doubt be tears, but there would be conversation. Healing would begin.

The slave broke the Master, Mark had said, Problem is, Dev loves that boy.

I figured that Sebbie was too well-conditioned. All he'd ever been was his Master's slave, his father's son. I shivered at that thought. Collins had been his own Master's slave. In many ways, it was like a father/son relationship. I thought. I had no way to know, unless Collins opened up more about his childhood.

And Raulito? Perfect example. He's been deflowered by his brother when he was eight, then served as a slaveboy for six months to be trained by Collins. And their father? The way he'd looked at Sebbie? A man who'd suggested castrating his own son? I had to believe that it was the father who'd gotten the brother started on this path. And maybe his father before him. I wondered about the wife? Where was she?

That night, however, I slept very well with Zach at my side, naked but for his pod, which he refused to take off. Again, those words at bedtime: "I love you, Uncle." They came so easily now.

Mason slept in Zach's bed, as his Master's flight was delayed. The boy took it well, though. Perhaps it was because of his chance to sleep alone, unbound, and interestingly, still in his pod.

"I wanna save it up for when he gets home," Mason had explained. "I know he'll bring me something, he always does. And what else can I give him?"

For me, it was far too short of a night before I had to wake up and face another day.

As the old saying goes, it wasn't "the whole damn family" who showed up. Only the locals could make it to the party on such short notice, but Collins had rigged up a video feed for the ones who couldn't make it. Nice touch…

The party hall was set up as it had been, but with fewer tables this time. Master Ralphie had shown up first with Tahj, bringing with him a large suitcase that contained the traveling tools of his trades. He would shave Raulito's head and tattoo him that night, and I wondered how he was going to do it all at once without sending him into shock, maybe even killing him?

Instead of a wrestling arena for the boys, there was a barber chair mounted center stage. White cloth covered the stage, and spotlights were tested that shone right on the chair. Except for the straps and the dildo mounted in the seat, it looked any old barber chair. I wondered how many times Raulito had already sat in it as a free boy, only to pay for his haircut with his arse?

And so Collins and I worked, as we normally do. So did the boys. Master Ralphie's crew of catering slaves (the same ones as before) were busy preparing prime rib and vegetables. The boys went to school, as usual. Tahj helped his Master prepare.

Raulito sat in the quiet room most of the day. Given my lack of progress with Zach's conundrum, I thought about joining him!

I was pulled out of my thoughts by the rattle of the dumbwaiter. Mason and Zach were coming home to get ready. They'd need baths and enemas and formal gear, I'd been informed. Someone was knocking on the door. On the laptop, virtual-Zach was chattering in what sounded like Klingon to someone off-screen.

It was Master Ralphie. Mason bowed, and Zach ran to him like he was Santa Claus. Ralphie shook his head and groaned. "Don, dis boy's hair be a mess! You hafta bring him in to me more often!"

"Fix it? Ralphie fix it good, little man!" He assured the boy. We stripped them down to pods, and in the bath, Zach was elated to have Ralphie undo and scrub his hair. When he was done, Zach looked like a gigantic black dandelion puff. Then the enormous Jamaican barber went to work. His hands moved so fast, it was amazing. When he was done, Zach was a vision in gold gear with his braids tinkling on his collar with a musical sound.

Ralphie then turned his attentions to Mason, but I could see that he looked very uneasy as he rubbed tonic into Mason's long, black curly hair. Mason, of course, had dressed in his black leather woven formalwear – but he'd chosen a much smaller woven collar from his suitcase. He sighed as Ralphie massaged his scalp. When he was done, the boy stood up, looked in the mirror, and smiled. Ralphie looked very suspicious. "Thank you, Master Ralphie, it feels great!" Mason hugged him. Then he kissed his cheek.

"What you do to dis boy, Don?" Ralphie asked me. "All da time before, I have to strap him in an' gag him jus' to wash dat mop!"

"Always before, it just be 'sir,' an' said wit some venom," Ralphie observed. "I tink you enjoy dis party, Mason?"

The barber then took his leave of us, rushing off to make final preparations for the work facing him that night. He was still wiping his face when Zach got done with him!

I didn't ask if they'd planned it, but Paul showed up with Devereaux. I'd guessed that he'd been the pilot for the delayed flight, and Henry went all to bits when Cabot arrived. I remembered him saying that Henry would never be able to take of himself, and that made me sad – and angry. Why not, then?

Seated at a table with Zach and myself, Mason stood when his Master walked in. The man's body language said that he was uncertain, and regarded the boy moving towards him, almost as if he thought he might have to defend himself. Mason didn't bow or greet him formally. He simply went to him and hugged him. "I'm sorry, Daddy," he managed through his tears. Devereaux took the beautiful boy's face in his hands, making him look at him, wiping his face with a lost look on his own. "I… I hope you st-still love me?"

"I could never stop, son," he told Mason, and the boy smiled. "Love's like that."

Mason nodded. Devereaux looked over his head, right at me. He nodded. I nodded back. It would take time, but the healing process had begun. He allowed the man to lead him to our table, and hold him. Dev was a big man, but it was still a tight fit to hold his boy.

"He's full," I explained, since Mason seemed afraid to. "I let him keep it for you. It was his idea."

"Don, what did you do to him?" Dev asked. Why did they all say that that way? Could they not see it? "Mason never cries. He'd choose a beating over a hug any day?"

"I talked to him, and I listened to him. I let him come to me. And I explained a few things."

Dev's clasped his hands across the boy's tummy and tickled him. Mason laughed. Then he kissed his cheek.

"Just let him come to you, Dev," I explained. "Listen to him, indulge him. Let him feel how much you love him, but only when he's ready."

About then, Sebbie came to fetch Zach. He took his leave of us with a short bow and some messy kisses. "Love you, May-sun," he said, then he was gone. Sebbie gave me a backward glance. Dev caught it.

"I'm learning," I replied, "I just give them permission to speak and explain it, and they open right up."

Dev ran his hand up Mason's side, stroking his ribs. "You know how long I've just wanted to sit and hold you?" He asked the boy. Mason nodded. He wasn't totally relaxed, but he looked happy. "It'd be enough, son, for now, just to hold you like this all night."

"It's nice, Daddy," Mason admitted. Dev made him say it again. "Daddy." No, he asked him to say it again, relishing the sound.

Speaking of starts, it was almost time as the last few guests straggled in. Doctor Collins took the stage, dressed, as always, like 'the doctor'. Our boys scattered and vanished. He welcomed everyone, announcing our party was to celebrate mine and Zach's housewarming party, as well as the beginning of Raulito's training. I was embarrassed, I had no idea where Zach was, but I politely made a short speech. I just hoped that they hadn't brought gifts.

"And let's not forget," Collins resumed, "That Zero? You all remember him?" And they did, "Remembered his real name!" There was polite applause, and the Zach emerged with Ralphie from backstage. I froze. Ralphie urged Zach forward. If Collins had put him up to something…

"Hi," Zach said into the offered microphone. There was polite applause. I saw that more than a few of our 'friends' and guests were eyeing my boy like a piece of meat. Zach bowed. "My name is Zachary Kabila Jameson," he said in that halting speech of his. "T'ank you, for you come here! Uncle bring me here, I was sick. Doc-tor help me. Boys help me. T'ank you. T'ank you, Uncle-Master." He got the word right, finally. "We help R-R-Raul-ee'-tow now! He not go jail! Stay here!" Zach finished his speech to more applause. "Now I get Uncle p-present!"

Tahj brought out a frame, really just a crossbar on legs that reminded me of a small swing set. Zach let him attach his wrist cuffs to the top, and his ankle cuffs to the bottom, so that even if the boy went limp, he'd be supported. I knew what was coming – that damn tattoo that he wanted, because all the other boys had one! I remembered telling Peter so many times, "If your friends all jumped off a cliff, would you?" I stood up to put a stop to it.

Then Tahj held up the transfer paper. Ralphie nodded to him. "Master Don, Zach says he knows what this says. He says it means 'Uncle'." It was the strange foreign characters that Zach had drawn to show me. "This will make his chest tattoo read 'Uncle's Slaveboy Zero," he explained, showing us a second sheet.

"Der be no greater gift, a boy give his Massah, dan when he take his mark," Ralphie explained. "Leetle Zach want your mark, Don!"

While part of me was moved, part of me was disgusted. Zach was being used for the warm up act, it appeared. But he also wanted my name tattooed on his chest. "Uncle's Slaveboy Zero." And somehow, I knew that they hadn't coerced him into it. Dat boy have the heart of a slave, Ralphie had told me.

"If you want that, baby, then you can have it," I stood up and told him. "But you don't have to."

"OWWWWW!" He yelled once – and only once – as the needle touched his skin. Then he just released silent tears. It was as if he'd gone someplace else, oblivious to the pain, or perhaps riding it, even? It was done before I'd even realized that they'd moved to his left arm.

Zach was released, he stumbled only once, and Ralphie wiped his face for him. Then he puffed up his newly marked chest, and turned to show us all the "Z" shining on his left bicep. "Me… I love – you – Uncle!" Zach said. "I ah-wayz be Zee-row, you, now!"

And something else came to me as I silently berated myself for letting him do it: Zach was afraid, too. He was afraid I'd not want him anymore someday, and he'd wanted that mark to insure, in his mind at least, that I'd never leave him. He hadn't needed to, though. No one was taking my boy away from me.

I carried him from the stage, back to our table, and held him on my lap. "Ow, ow, ow," he'd murmur now and then, as he drank the rest of my drink, without asking.

The stage lights snapped on high again, swiveled to the back door, and I found out where Mark had gone. Dressed in full uniform, he and the rest of the boys were leading Raulito in on the X-frame. Raulito was blindfolded, gagged, totally immobilized, and secured right down to black leather gloves so that he couldn't even move a finger. I wondered if he had any idea what was about to happen?

"Friends," Collins spoke again, "Most all of you remember Raulito Puente? Well, it seems that Raulito's voluntary training session failed to leave a lasting impression," Collins went on, and I could see the boy tense in his bonds as he was rolled up on stage. "As you can see, he has a lasting impression now?" Collins gestured to his gel-coated and catheterized penis. He then pulled the blindfold off. Momentarily blinded by the lights, Raulito screamed into his gag as his eyes adjusted.

Then he glared. Unable to move his head, he simply glared straight ahead with those hard, dark eyes. Raulito wasn't breaking yet – he was angry.

"Since we failed the first time," Collins explained, "Now we have to start all over again. I guess we all make mistakes?" There was polite laughter and nods of agreement. "But don't worry, we won't make our honoured guest too miserable. His newly remodeled cock has been numbed, just a few moments ago, as his prostate. We want him to experience only the sensations of getting his required slave tattoos!" Collins looked right at him. Master Ralphie buzzed his tattoo gun.

Raulito screamed into his gag again, desperately struggling in his bonds. His angry glare gave way to tears, and choked mumbles into his gag.

I'll condense this part: Raulito got his tattoos, he had to be treated for shock, he fainted, was revived, and the crowd loved it. I was nearly ill. When Ralphie and Tahj were done, SLAVE was inked in large block letters across his chest. There was a barcode on one buttock, and the word SLAVE down his left thigh from belt to knee. He was breathing hard into his oxygen mask that Collins had fetched. He gratefully accepted the drink that he was given, when his gag was removed. As it turned out, the drink contained a powerful stimulant to keep awake. Raulito was limp in his bonds now, whimpering and crying as the finality of this terrible trick soaked in.

That, and while I doubted he had much appetite now, Raulito had to just hang there and watch us all eat.

I began to wonder if they really had a temporary contract, or if Mr. Puente had signed the boy over for good? If he'd really trusted Collins, why had he studied the contract, so, then, and taken a while to sign it?

By then, dinner was served. The kitchen staff had the buffet table ready, and I wondered how often we had these parties? Boys fetched plates for Masters, then got their own, as everyone sat down to eat. Zach obviously thought that I did not need the yellow squash in my Normandy vegetables, but that you could never have too much butter! I took him on my lap again, while the boys sat on the floor near their respective Masters and waited.

As Zach was left-handed, I knew it would probably hurt to flex his arm. I fed him off of my fork.

"Don, you're going to have the most spoiled-rotten boy here," Paul commented. "Thanks for fixing Bin's hand, too! You know, it's odd. It's never shorted out before. For an interface chip to fail is almost unheard of." I had to wonder if Zach had had anything to do with that?

When dinner was over, the boys brought small chocolate almond flour cakes covered in cream for dessert. Zach took his place on the floor, leaning on my leg, and eating with his right hand. He got cream all over his face, and he was so damn cute! He was also exhausted, although I suspected that Ralphie had probably used some numbing agent in his healing gel.

At my right, Mark was pulling Cory onto his lap to feed him his dessert. "Why should Z have all the fun?" He smiled at us. He smeared cream on Cory's face, then kissed it off. Cory giggled.

I noted that Mason was leaning on Dev's leg. "Any other time, he'd have been trying to break it!" Devereaux commented. After all, it was progress.

Not soon enough for me, dinner was over and the tables cleared. Boys went about refilling drinks, all but for Zach, who was nodding his head and struggling to stay awake. His head would loll, then he'd jerk it up comically.

But for Collins and the rest, the show was just getting started. I cringed. The last thing I wanted to see was another torture session of some random boy. As it turned out, Sebbie was getting some more ink on his back. I wondered if all our heart-to-heart talk had been wasted, as he was strapped onto Zach's frame and put under the buzzing tattoo gun. His backpiece was angel wings in progress. I wondered if he'd ever be able to spread them?

I wasn't surprised to see that what's-his-name, Daddy from the slave gear shop, was there with his boy, Boy. Boy seemed quite adept with a tattoo gun as well, and he and Tahj seemed to have quite a bit of freedom to discuss things and offer advice to other boys and Masters. They even consulted with Collins about the color scheme of Sebbie's feathers. What was he supposed to be, a peacock?

When they thought that Sebbie had had enough, they let him up. He was wobbly, but he took a bow and waved, showing off his new colors. I wondered if he'd ever used two mirrors to see it for himself?

More and more, I felt an unfamiliar feeling welling up inside of me. The best word to describe it was 'loathing'. Given any choice in the matter, how many of these little boys would be living this lifestyle?

"You're too little, and haven't had the training, son," Paul was telling him. "Master Ralphie won't do it, so don't bother him!"

"But if you want, you can have something small on your right arm?" Paul suggested, expertly avoiding what could have been a tantrum, I thought, if the slaveboy hadn't been so well trained.

"Really?! Can I? What about the dorei character, for 'slave'? That's Japanese!" Cyborg beamed.

"And now that he's somewhat recovered," Collins went on, "It's time to resume our work on Raulito." The Mexican boy's eyes popped open, and he mumbled into his gag again. "This," Collins said, grabbing the boy's pubic hair between two fingers, "Has to go!" He pulled. Raulito screamed.

Raulito also had sparse hair on his shins, and some under his arms. They started by waxing his upper lip, then moving down. Once his body was smooth and hairless, including his forearms, they waxed up his pubic hair. Collins took his gag out, as Boy and Tahj tore off the patches. Being waxed smooth of that hair he'd been so proud of, by two other slaves at that, must have been so humiliating for Raulito. Then again, wasn't that the point? Needless to say, he screamed. Soulfully.

Then Master Ralphie fetched a bowl of thick soapy liquid. Unable to move, Raulito whimpered as the barber began rubbing it into his scalp. His black hair turned white with foamy lather, and Raulito begged. "No, please, no Jefe Ralphie!" His voice rasped, hoarse from all that muffled screaming.

"You must hold very still, boy," Ralphie warned him. "To shave the head is to say it be a new beginning! You come into a new life as real slaveboy, Raulito!"

With deft strokes from years of practice, the soapy black hair fell from Raulito's head and onto the drop cloth. He shaved the boy with the grain of his hair, then carefully went around his ears. When he was done, he lathered the boy's head again and shaved against the grain. Raulito's scalp was gray in comparison to his light brown skin, and his black eyebrows were all the hair he had left now.

He was also fully erect, and had been so since Ralphie had begun shaving his head. His penis, good enough for a grown man, throbbed and was drooling. The skin was shining, pulled so tight, and it tugged at his scars. It was a good thing he'd been numbed, or that erection would have hurt like hell.

Ralphie then undid one of the boy's hands, and moved it, forcing him to feel his bald head. Raulito cried. "Now you have to pay for the haircut," the barber reminded him.

There was much applause and calls of congratulations. Masters and slaves alike came up to rub Raulito's head, or any other depilated part of him. He got several hugs and kisses, but it didn't look like he was enjoying the comforting words too much. I wondered what some of them were saying to him. Some even touched his numb erection and praised his new circumcision, the confused signals it must have been sending his brain making no sense at all and only adding to the horny boy's frustration.

Since Zach wanted to go up and see him, too, I took him. Raulito was certainly pathetic, but he did manage a weak smile when Zach gave him one of those wet kisses of his. "Love you, Role-lee," he reminded him, slurring a bit.

"Ow-weee?" Zach asked, yawning. He always did backslide a bit on talking when he was tired.

Back at our table, the long-haired boys, Mason and Cyborg, looked terrified. Henry was rubbing his scalp wistfully. Sebbie, I saw was still attached to his father, never leaving his side.

"Daddy?" Mason then said. "Can we go see him, too?" Being older, I wondered if they'd been friends, to some extent, before?

"It'll get better, if you let it," Mason told Raulito, as they went on up. Raulito looked wistfully at Mason's mane of luxuriant black hair, and then closed his eyes. It was all he could do, except for hang there and thank people for their comments and touches.

"I wonder what I'd look like with long hair?" Henry sighed to himself. Then he squeaked, realizing he'd spoken out of turn.

"Probably like a fat little blonde girl," Cabot cuddled him, giving him a pinch to the side.

Idle chatter was buzzing through the room now, as small groups formed up and began to chat. They sat drinking, talking, with a good many of them teasing their slaves. Judging from the looks on some of the boys' faces, I guessed that some of them hadn't waited to take their boys back home, or even to a guest suite! Many of the lap-sitters were doing a lot of fidgeting. Cyborg was anxious to get his new tattoo, and wanted Tahj to do it.

Cory was also fidgeting in Mark's lap. I was about to ask him about how things were going, when Collins made the announcement that Raulito was available for use if anyone should like! He bent the boy's frame at a ninety-degree angle, thus exposing his bare butt and removing his plug.

"You'll excuse me, I feel ill," I told my … contemporaries. At that moment, I certainly wouldn't have called them friends. That, and I had no desire to be on-hand, in case an orgy broke out! I scooped Zach up, as Cory reached over to helpfully pull my chair back. "At least take him to a room," I snapped at Mark. "Have some dignity!"

"AAAIIIGGGHHH!" Came Raulito's squeal of… frustration? This one didn't sound painful, though?

"I don't think the wall between our places is too thick, sir. Are you and Z going to bed now?" He smiled at me.

"You told him to say that!" I accused Mark. "You're going to take him back to your room, right next to me, and… and…"

"Fuck him?" Mark supplied. "That's why he asked if you were going to bed, Don. He's just being courteous!"

"Zach is tired, and I have to get him to bed," I snorted. He tightened his arms around me, but didn't fully wake up. He just whimpered and mumbled, "Im'me?"

Cory laughed. Of course, the dirty-minded kid would think it was funny. Where was that adorable shy little boy who used to be afraid to ask me for cookies [biscuits] or for permission to use my pool after a hot day of yard work?

"Why don't you two retire to the pool, then?" I suggested. "But watch out the chlorine doesn't ruin that new gear of his!"

"You can be if I want to show you off!" Mark suckled his ear. Cory giggled again. "I'll cuff your hands behind your back, so you can't touch it!"

That was all there was to it. I could not adapt to this new culture. I might as well have gone to South America and run naked through the Amazon Jungle Reclamation Zone with the primitives there, as try to fit into the 'Collins Family'. I've never considered myself prejudiced before. Hell, if anything, I'd experienced my share of it as a gay man, a single adoptive parent, and something of a nerd. But I was growing prejudiced.

But for as hard as I tried, I just could not justify some of the things I'd seen in this insane asylum of a building that I was already beginning to regret moving into. Property taxes and distance be damned – I was checking the ad section tomorrow for a new house. That, or a secure apartment complex that was slave-friendly.

Come to find out, I'd inadvertently offended some of the 'family' when I'd left the party with Zero… Zach… early. To make another long story short, though, that was quickly smoothed over by – of all people – Sebbie! There I was, holding a heavier-and-heavier sleeping boy in my arms, and these lunatics wanted to chat? I had to give the kid one thing, though – he could lie like a trooper!

That, and more and more, I was beginning to feel like I was sitting right on top of a ticking time bomb with this group. If Devereaux had been afraid of Mason, then how many others might be in the same predicament?

"You'll have to excuse Master Don, friends," the little ginger had explained, "You see, Zero, or rather, Zach, has been sick lately. I told him not to go for a new tattoo tonight, Masters, but he wouldn't listen to me, he was so set on pleasing his new Master! I'm sure you all understand, sirs?" He then bowed low.

"But we've not even welcomed you to your new home properly!" Another of the guests cut in.

All right, as the old joke goes, I'm one of those guys who's like…"I'm no good with names, can I just call you 'shit-head'?" And that was about how I felt. God, had my boy put on weight?

"Is there a problem?" Doctor Collins then walked up. He was looking a bit ruffled, and at first glance, he seemed to missing his trousers under that long white lab coat.

"I think Zach's ill," I replied. "Maybe you'd better look at him? I think he might be a bit shocky, or fainted?"

He checked his pulse. I have him a look. He winked. "Bring him!" Collins ordered, leaving Sebbie to make our apologies further.

Once we arrived in Exam 2, Collins did a fast scan of my boy. He also did a flash image of his head with a handheld. "He is a bit shocky, but as he's gone to sleep, I think he'll be fine there, Don. It's to be expected, especially after a tattoo session. I don't think he's used to so much excitement. There's some vascular stress, normal. But this is odd?" He stared at the handheld. "There's an aberrant reading coming from the frontal lobe of his brain! COMPUTER! Compare handheld scan to previous scan of patient Zero Jameson!"

"Working," The computer replied. "Readings indicate depressed electrical brain activity. Incoming RFid signal detected, blocked by new security protocols."

I froze. RFid and wireless transmission involving neurons was something that we'd been experimenting with, and it was highly classified. In short, the ramifications of it were staggering – if a chip could fully interface and integrate into the human brain, then the barrier between man and machine would be eliminated. It wasn't like the chips that ran Cyborg's hand; that technology had been around for a few years.

"You know what this is, don't you, Don?" Collins asked flatly. "That chip has been spreading fibers through his brain ever since you brought him here, ever since he accessed my systems and that data dump happened. He's not transmitting, Don. Zach is RECEIVING!"

"At least they're not watching the boring movies that are coming out of that data dump," I mumbled.

"The computer was able to decode part of Zach's data into a very compressed movie format," I explained it to him quickly. I had the other terminal call it up and play some of it. "It's still chewing on the rest of it. So far, it's scrap data."

"Amazing! It's like the proposed 'soul-catcher' chip of the early 21st century!" Collins gasped.

"Take him to bed," Collins advised. "Most of the guests will stay in suites tonight with their boys, so I'll lock down the building and post guards."

"Mason, Tahj, Boy, and Sebbie," Collins informed me, by writing it out on a piece of paper. Then he wrote, "If Z can receive, he might be sending too."

"Could be why he went down," Collins mused aloud. "Put him to bed," he repeated. "I'll make excuses for you."

By the time I got Zach up to our flat, Tahj and Boy were outside the door. So much for begin discreet? "Where's Sebbie?" I asked, as Boy opened the door for me.

The boys were dressed all in skintight black body suits, with hoods that revealed only their faces. Once inside, they pulled their masks. Mason was standing in the middle of the living room, looking similar. He was also wearing a belt with compartments that were large enough to hold weapons. They gave weapons to MASON?! He followed me into Zach's room, where I decided to just put him to bed in his formal gear. Out of worry, I locked him down in four-point restraints.

"Don't think that just because we're slaves, that we're wimps, Uncle," he told me, and I noted the form of address. "They don't keep us restrained for nothin', sir!"

I heard a soft beep. Mason touched his ear. "The package has been delivered," he whispered.

"Mason, don't say anything where Zach can hear you," I told him, once I got him out of the room and had closed the door. "You know about the implant in his brain?" Mason nodded. "We think someone's accessing it remotely."

Mason blinked. "Sir, my orders were to kill anyone, other than a known Master, who comes through that door," he informed me flatly. "Master Collins doesn't take kindly to kidnapping."

"Not here, sir, that I know of," Mason explained. "However, slave theft is a serious thing. But the Master experienced something like it, when he was a boy, Uncle. I overheard him telling my Daddy about it once." He sighed. "Something to do with his friend."

"You wanted to spend some time with him tonight, didn't you?" I changed the subject.

"Yes, sir. For once, I was glad he was here," Mason admitted. "You made me realize I could have had it a lot worse, Uncle… sir, I mean! Sorry!"

"That's OK, son," I assured him. "I'm sorry to delay your reconciliation." I sat down on the divan and put my face in my hands. Gods, what next?! All I'd done was go to an auction to check on my holo-emitters, and I'd bought a slaveboy on impulse. They were right – maybe I should have just gotten a cat?

"This is a lot for you to handle, sir?" He asked, and I could hear it in the tone of his voice. Mason understood. "It's like you said, sir – you're not used to this. I wasn't either. Sebbie and them, they're different. Even Master Collins is. I know he was always a slaveboy, and he's grown up with this. It must have been even harder for him, since it was illegal when he was a kid, and they had to keep it hidden. But… I think, sir, there's… something … I don't know what? I hear them talk sometimes, Uncle! And when one of us comes in, they shut up. I think the Masters are up to something, sir. Something still underground, even now! I think they're doing something dangerous, sir!" He nodded seriously.

"What makes you think that, son? And what could possibly need to be kept underground in this day and age?"

"Daddy's been taking a lot more trips, and longer ones. He's been flying on Master Paul's flights, and more and more, they're not taking me or Cyborg with them. He used to take us everywhere, Uncle, when he was trying to … win me over, I guess? And Master Cabot? He's been gone a lot, too. Before you came with Zach, we'd been here a lot – I mean, more than usual, sir. They're training us in fighting more, too. I mean, would you give a slaveboy weapons, like you said, much less teach him how to use them, sir?"

"And Master Cabot's been placing homeless boys with debts in slavery more and more often, sir," he went on. "The last one was a politician's kid, when he got busted for something about bribes, and he was like millions in debt. Thing is, that, and some pretty weird stuff has been happening. Ever since Master Mark's boy, Jian, died…"

Mason nodded. "Yes, sir, he did. Just like Zach. More and more, that place, Daddy says, has been interested in higher profile boys, Uncle."

I thought about the blonde beauty who'd fetched over 4 million CR. A boy like Devereaux would deal with? Not a boy like Zach…

"Daddy says that place is like a used car lot, compared to a new Ferrari dealership, sir," Mason explained further. "He won't trade with them, but they keep calling him. And there's been times, Uncle," his voice was beginning to waver, "That I've overheard the Doctor talking about selling samples. You know?"

"See, that's why I sort of… gave in, sir. I know that Daddy's been talking to the Clearing House, and I thought…"

"Not gonna happen!" I interrupted him. "You were saying about Jian? Tell me about him?, No wait!" Something else then came to me. I called Collins.

"You're very slick, Don! No, I cut him and gave him scars to make it look good. A boy like that? With his build and looks? I'd have been a fool to!"

"Seems you can still make babies," I complimented him. Then something else came to me. "You like girls, too, don't you, boy? You're bisexual, I'll bet? It's easy to misread a gene test on that."

"Sometimes," Mason blushed a bit, "I look at women, and I try to get hard, and it hurts with my pod and all, but sometimes, you know, I like boys, too, Uncle? But what girl would want me?"

"Anyone who's not blind," I reminded him. "Mason, you are a beautiful boy growing into a handsome young man. And as for being with a girl, you won't be a slave forever. That circumcision of yours is nothing that a few stem cells and dermal regeneration can't fix. You'll probably enjoy it, someday, kid! Now, let's get back to Jian's case?"

Mason sighed, but he looked happier. "Master Mark got him, paid a lot for him. He was a good-looking kid, Uncle. He wasn't that old, but he'd been raised… in it, so he knew. He was ready. But then he got sick, sir. Turns out, a lot of the 'back room' boys at the Clearing House get sick. Sebbie's seen his daddy lose… lose… m-more than one," Mason stammered. "Master Mark's been looking for an excuse to sting them, ever since."

"He was like a little brother," Mason admitted with a sniffle. "That's why I'm so… sorry, sir, I shouldn't be talking like this while I'm on duty!" But I could see there was something else.

Mason nodded. "I don't think Master Mark would do anything really bad to him, Uncle. And if Cory wants it, well… but dammit! He's like ten! How does he know what he wants?"

"He's twelve," I corrected him. "And trust me, if this goes bad, I'll find a way to get him out of it. I paid for him, after all."

I thought about the money again, even though I didn't want to. Somehow, my boy had brain-hacked a ton of loot out of someone's account, and it was a miracle that they'd not missed it by now! Then again, if that chip in his brain was what I was now so sure that it was…

"Tell me about the boys your Daddy deals with," I told him, hoping to put some of these pieces together, and beginning to suspect that the good Doctor wasn't telling me everything he'd learned from Zach's medical scans and tests.

"He deals with men who only deal in near-perfect, and custom-bred or designed boys, sir," Mason went more formal now. "Rich, powerful men you don't want to mess with." He shivered. "If you're having a hard time with our family, Uncle, you don't wanna know about some of the things I've seen."

Mason nodded. "Daddy just delivers and escorts the goods, sir," Mason explained. "He makes the deals. If Mr. Smith has a boy to sell to Mr. Jones, say, he takes him. If Mr. So-and-so wants a boy that's like – this and that – then Daddy finds one and delivers him. Sometimes, he even sets up special breeding with people who know people to have the baby the normal way and then wait. He pays them, and then in a few years, collects the boy."

"Ohhhhh-K," Mason sighed. "How much do you think an eight year old Indian boy, say Telugu area, fully trained and fully neutered, with gene therapy conditioning, would be worth? Daddy can get you one. Or if you want to order a hybrid, some neat racial mix, he can arrange that, too. Breeder and buyer. The last one was a Nordic blond with a Sudanese black."

"And now the Clearing House is interested in doing trade with him? They usually sell the low-end slaves, I'd heard, but the auction where I got Zach from had some pretty nice boys there," I had to admit. "It's odd about his records, though. It was like he didn't exist, and they lied about his background."

"Well, if his name really is 'Kabila', Uncle," Mason mused, "He's African. Well, we know that, since he's mostly black, but I mean… I heard Daddy and Master Mark say once that they thought that the Clearing House was shipping unsold white boys to Africa for field labor, Uncle, and you don't wanna be a white slaveboy in Africa today!"

I thought about it. With the changes in climate of the last few decades, and the reclamation projects, combined with the concept of all that slave labor in the new economy, The African Union had become the breadbasket of the world. With the crazy weather patterns making most of the North American Union so unreliable for crops, it wasn't a bad idea to stay cozy with the Africans. One year you could have a bumper crop, the next, nothing. And they knew it. Come to think of it, it was pretty hard to get a pure African imported slaveboy in this country.

And with the Persians now exporting so much wind and solar power, and with their ever-building xenophobia, it wasn't easy to get your hands on a Persian slave, either.

And Zach seemed to be half-and-half of that near-impossible mix, as those two Empires hated one another, it was common news. Then again, for Devereaux, the Sudanese mixing should have been damn near impossible.

"I think they're both still pissed off about the whole 20th century," I thought aloud. "Or the Colonial Period. I know I would be."

"I've been there," Mason said, his voice very low and unsure. "I wasn't supposed to tell! I… I don't wanna go back, Uncle. Those field slaves are… are…"

"Never mind," I cut him off. "Mason, if you want a drink, or you're hungry, get something. Are you tired?"

"No, sir, I had a suppository of stimulants," Mason said. "I'm to guard you and Zach, with the others, until morning, sir."

"Well, there's no way in but for the balcony and the door," I pointed out. "At ease, boy."

As I got ready for bed, I soon found that I wasn't going to be able to sleep – again. I was going to have to do something about this, but not while some rogue signal was messing with Zach, and there existed a chance that someone might be coming after him again. And the boys doing security? After what Mason had said? No, Collins knew something. That old guy had already tried to grab Zach and Sebbie at the market, and he'd been stalking us, too. I was sure that he was the one who'd been at Cory's house that night as well. I just had to put it all together. How were all these pieces connected?

I was beginning to think that the answer to that was locked up in my boy's head. Locked up in there on a biochip that should not exist.

I told Mason I was going to sit on the balcony for a while, and enjoy the cool night air. He agreed, and when I got situated, I heard a 'zing' sound. I looked around. Mason touched his ear. "OK," he said. "It's just Sebbie, sir."

A small black form then dropped down in front of me on a vertical zipline. "At ease, Batman," I sighed in sarcasm. God, what else did that man do to these boys?!

"Who's Batman, sir?" Sebbie asked. "Roof's clear, nothing in the alleys," Sebbie told Mason. God, I felt old. 'Who's Batman'?!

"Just go do your thing, boys," I dismissed them. "I'm going to sit here and … ponder."

"UNCLE!?" He became instantly coherent, "What's wrong? You haven't called in months, and you never call in the middle of the night!"

"I could say the same for you, boy," I replied, wondering how to start. "I, ah, moved, Peter."

It hurt, because I knew the boy had been attached to that house. Given his circumstances, how could he not be?

"I installed some at the, uhhh, auction house. I went to see how they were working out, and I sort of … sort of… Peter, I bought a slaveboy!"

"I bought a slaveboy. Now, before you have a stroke, I didn't mean to! It just happened!"

"How do you just 'buy' a slaveboy, Uncle?" Peter asked. His reaction was less than serene. "I didn't know you were into…"

"I'm NOT! Well, not like that! It just sort of happened! They were gonna throw this kid away, Peter! Send him to a research lab or something! Peter, he was disabled. I thought he was autistic or something, but there's more to it than that!"

"No, son. Someone tried to kidnap him. They screwed up, and we moved into town temporarily for his medical care. But they came back. We weren't home, and they wrecked the house. I, ah, sort of gave him all your stuff? Most of it survived."

"He couldn't talk when I got him," I explained. "I thought he'd had stroke, or something. He was almost hemiplegic."

"Sounds like a real prize, Uncle," Peter groaned. "Hope you got a discount? How long's he gonna be in the shop for?"

"He's still in," I replied. "We moved into the Collins Building. That's his doctor."

"He's helped a lot," I had to admit, "He's talking better now, remembering things, learning to put them to words. He's more active and moving well, but there's something else. Peter, I need you to come here. I'm not comfortable telling you about it on the phone. Let's just say, he has a biochip implant."

"I can't believe you bought a slave," Peter snorted. "Uncle, you never even had a boyfriend when I was growing up! I thought you gave it up to be a non-practicing homosexual? Then again, if you'd wanted a little boy, I think Teddy would have…"

"Teddy was your boyfriend for a while, while YOU were practicing, until you decided you liked girls more," I reminded him. "I was never interested in boys until I saw this kid. And I didn't buy him for a sextoy! I bought him to save his life!"

"So how'd Cory take it when you moved?" Peter asked, sounding suddenly sentimental.

"He, ah lives next door now," I admitted. "Pete, there were issues with his dad. Ever since the mom left, he hadn't been taking care of the boy. The police got involved, and we found out that Cory was pretty much on his own. He was living off of the neighbors' garbage, and his dad was going to sell him as a slave."

"No, Peter. Cory sold himself to the cop in charge of the case. The night they came back to try and grab my boy, somehow Cory's dad got mixed up in it. They might have thought to grab Cory, too, but Cory's dad ended up dead over it. That's what I wanted to ask you about. You two were pretty close, and I was wondering if you ever saw… or thought that, well? Pete, was Cory a dirty-minded kid?" There, I said it.

Peter laughed. "Of course he was, Uncle! The kid knew about TV channels I'd never even seen!"

"You never asked. We didn't think you liked little boys, Uncle!" He laughed again. "Teddy'd be so pissed to hear all this!"

"I didn't… never mind that!" I snapped at him. "Peter, Cory knowingly sold himself as a sex slave to this cop. I don't know if I trust him anymore or not, either."

"Then buy him back," Peter laughed. "Right after that doctor clears you for sex, old man!"

"PETER! This is no joke! These are serious criminals that are after Zach. I think someone sold him to get rid of him, and they want him back. BADLY!" Then I thought of something else. "Did you and Teddy mess around with CORY?!"

"He messed around with US, Uncle," Peter admitted. "I told you, the kid was a pervert!" He sighed. "Uncle, you're so old-fashioned. Kids grow up fast these days, you know. So, give me your new address?" I did that. "I can take a day off tomorrow, if it's that important, Uncle? Be there by lunch?"

"Sounds good, thank you." I then gave him the address. "I'll meet you at the coffee shoppe across the way. I don't want to take the chance of someone overhearing the access code. It's a secure building."

"So what else special is there about this new little brother of mine?" Peter asked.

"Slaves usually do," Peter snorted. "I'm just glad that one ended up with you, Uncle."

That next morning, Tahj and Boy took their leave of me. I assumed that Sebbie went home. Devereaux hadn't shown up to claim Mason, so I ordered him undressed into Zach's bed. Zach, however, seemed no worse for wear.

"Sor-ree I go sleep," he apologized, seeming not to mind that he'd been immobilized in his bed in his gear. "May-'sun tired?" He asked.

"Very," the older boy sighed. "Thank you, Uncle," he added, as he fell into the bed. I tucked him in without restraints, naked but for his pod.

As I made breakfast, I decided to just ask him. "Zach, you know the chip in your head?"

"Maybe," I admitted. I hoped. "Zach, did it hurt last night? Your head? Do you remember anything?"

"Zach, someone used a wireless computer, like you did with the bank and money stuff, to get into your head last night." I told right out.

He froze. Then he shook his head, his beaded braids chiming on his golden collar.

"We won't let them get you, Zach," I reminded him. "But Zach, do you know why they want to get you? Do you remember who put the chip in your head, or why?"

"Me get sick," Zach nodded. "Hos-hop-i-Exam?" He pointed at the ceiling. "Go there!"

I assumed that the procedure had either damaged his brain, as his stroke-like symptoms had shown, or perhaps he'd even gotten a brain infection.

He nodded. "Love them," he sniffled. "Get sick, go sleep, then bad men! Hurt Zero! Boy Zero! NO CAGE! NO CAGE!" He screamed, breaking down again. It took a while to settle him down. "Then bad man. Bad boys. Then Uncle, home." He looked around. "Home, this?"

"This is home now, right under Sebbie," I tried that, much as I didn't want to stay.

"Zach, the people you miss? That took care of you?" He nodded again. "Were they your parents? Your mom and dad?"

"No, no daddy, like Sebbie," he shrugged. "Them. We do… do… school?" He slurred the word badly. "School!" He repeated more clearly. "We do…" he got up and struck a defensive pose, kicking out a foot. "HA!"

"No," he pointed to the table. He picked up his fork and acted like he was writing with it, with his left hand. He moved things on the table. He arranged all the cups and dishes a certain way. He moved the spice shakers around like chess pieces.

"No," he shook his head again, as I brought him his breakfast. He was very hungry. "I win… WORLD!" He held out his hands. "Kabila win!"

Further evidence that something was up came in the form of Collins declaring a boys' day off. I was going to let Mason sleep until noon or so, so that he'd not have his days and nights turned around. I called Dev and cleared it with him, and he surprisingly agreed. Peter would be here soon, and I'd have to go down and let him in. I told Zach, and he was very excited about meeting him. I just hoped that Peter would react well to him, once he saw him. We shined up his gear, attached the chains at the boy's insistence, and headed down to the coffee shoppe on the city square to meet Peter. We left Mason a note, just in case he woke up.

When you have a child, your mind forms a mental image of him. For me, when I thought of Peter, the picture I saw was always of small schoolboy, afraid to come out of his room, and with a huge case of separation anxiety. Even now, I am always surprised to look up and see a grown man, to have to raise my head to speak to his face, and not to his middle.

I paid an exorbitant price for a black coffee, and let Zach have a soda [fizzy drink]. Collins would have yelled about it being bad for the teeth and bones, but it was a day off. Fuck him. I really needed a day off to be with my boy, too.

Zach was distracted, though. His eyes would dart here and there, and he was busy taking it all in between sips. I thought about the scanner at the door that had registered him upon entry. Somewhere, a computer knew exactly where he was. Knew that he was out of the Collins Building. Knew that he was not safe. It didn't help that his exotic appearance and dark skin got him a lot of attention. I'd also had him sit in the chair at the small table, instead of on the floor. Who knew how clean that was? And I knew that Zach was clean. He was certainly cleaner than the dirty little brat who was busy getting donut all over his face a few tables over. It was warm outside, and that always brought out the human need to go out in public as naked as legally possible.

The coffee shoppe was a good endorsement for those trying to lose weight, I thought.

"Tha's a pretty little slave ya got there," a deep voice drawled, and I looked up to see a rather burly man standing behind Zach. The boy went rigid. "Is he fer sale? Or do ya rent him by the hour?"

"Thank you, no, and no" I replied, hoping that he'd leave. I didn't notice in time that Zero's arms were tensing, his biceps swelling as his hands curled into fists. When had he become so much more muscular?

The guy was pretty nondescript, just another rough working man that you'd pass on the street without a backward glance, or even a nod of greeting. He was big, though, which suggested that he was a construction professional. I really hoped this didn't turn confrontational. In my pocket, my phone buzzed. It was dialing. "Excuse me," I offered, and looked at it. A text was going out to Mark. I looked at Zach. His eyes were distant. He was accessing the phone.

"Where'd you get a darkie?" the uncouth stranger asked. "See one now and then, but then you gotta give the darkies one thing – this whole set'a slave laws sure got their dander up! Cleaned up their act real quick, when they thought they were all gonna be slaves again. Damn Lincoln, anyway. Should'a shot him long 'for they did."

"If you must know, my good man, I rescued my boy here from the worst possible side of the new slavery codes," I informed him. "I didn't buy him for that sort of thing."

"Well, ain't ya gonna interduce us?" He asked. Then he reached out a meaty hand and touched Zach's hair.

Zach didn't react at first. He simply scratched at the center link of his wrist chain with a fingernail. I saw the gold plating coming off. It was nothing more than foil! Then he spoke, and my jaw dropped.

"Personal Slave Code, pertaining to underage slaves, all genders, in the matter of dealing with strangers: Subsection D, paragraph 3, clause 1, "If the Master has not given his permission or orders for physical contact with a stranger, or if the slave has not consented (on its own) to such contact, then the stranger shall be considered to be in violation of said clause of the Code. See laws concerning personal property, i.e., grand theft, etc. For verbal contact, please see Subsection C." Zach then looked at me. I nodded.

"Hello, sir," Zach turned to face him. "You are now in violation of said code, incurring a 500CR fine upon arrival of law enforcement officers. You do not have permission to touch me. Back off, pal!" He added, sounding just like Sebbie!

We both just stared at him for a moment. I wasn't aware of the door opening, or Mark coming in.

It happened in a flash: Zach flexed his arms, the center link of his chain snapped, and his little fist shot up backwards without his even turning to look at him. His heavy cuff contacted the man's chin, his fist drove up into his nose, and there was a CRUNCH! The stranger was knocked over backwards to collapse on the floor, blood flowing from his badly broken nose.

Mark walked up, accompanied by a startled manager. The other patrons were all watching the show. "I'll have a large mocha, double strong, double sweet, Stevia, please, not sugar. A shot of heavy cream, for here, and a copy of your video logs, my good man."

"What happened?" Mark asked with a sigh, pulling up a chair. "Don, what are you doing out of the building right now?!" Mark glanced at the man on the floor and pulled Zach into his lap.

"Mark! You should have heard him talk! He recited part of the slave code, without even stuttering! It was genius!" I gasped.

"So he warned him?" Mark asked, as his drink arrived. He tasted it. He offered the boy a bit. Zach pulled a face and shook his head.

"Then he touched him again," I added, as the manager brought out a small tablet of the video. Mark watched it. The guy was now sitting up, trying to staunch the bleeding. Mark looked down at him. "ID please," he scanned that. "500CR fine, now move along, best get that nose looked at," he added.

"That little monster hit me!" the huge man bellowed, his words distorted and nasal. "Ya ought'ta take him an' have him put down!"

"You're lucky he didn't do more than that, pal," Mark warned him. "Move along before I shoot you."

"He's lucky that wasn't Cory he touched," Mark growled. He turned back to the tablet, pulling Zach's head onto his shoulder. "It's OK, buddy, you did good. When did you learn the code?"

"The center link is very weak, and only looks real," Mark informed me, as no one else had bothered to. "Every slave knows this. That's for the out-in-public chains, I should say. Zach will know which is which. They're made for instances just like this. It's a shame more Masters don't train their slaves for self-defense, or Master-defense!" He then reached into his belt, and produced a new link to install. "Always carry a spare!"

"Officer Mark!" The grubby little urchin at the next table piped up, waving. His father, who'd not made a sound the whole time, nodded to Mark as well.

"Playground maintenance at the park, sir," Jack informed him. (Jack was a rather nondescript boy with brown hair, buzzed short, and brown eyes. He was dressed in a dirty gray A-shirt and faded beige cargo shorts with flip-flops.) "We just got done! Been at it since six this morning, sir!"

"I thought your class program was over?" Mark asked, as if nothing at all were amiss!

"It is, sir. But you know, a new class is bound to mess it up, sir," Jack explained.

"Very responsible of you, Jack!" Mark congratulated him. "Jack, this my friend, Don. This is his slave, Zach. Say 'hi' to Jack, Zach."

"That was wicked cool, what you did, Zach!" Jack praised him. "You gotta watch out for pervs, you know!" Zach just smiled at him.

I palmed my face and looked at Mark through my fingers. I saw that Jack had a Medic-Alert bracelet on his right wrist. Those weren't all that common anymore, as Collins would tell you, "Since I can fix just about anything!"

Mark filed a short report as the boys moved to the other side of the table to chat. He got my statement, Zach's statement, and attached the video log to send off to his superiors. "That was a pretty expensive coffee, that guy got!" He laughed.

"Is there anyone in this town you don't know?" I snapped at him, jerking my head at Zach and Jack, who were having another drink and chatting like long-time conspirators now. Then Zach was explaining his gear to Jack's father.

"I work with the problem free-kids that are profiled as on-track for the slave program," Mark informed me. "It's our job, with the various programs, to keep them out of it. We're not running around looking for new boys to grab, Don," he informed me in a patronizing tone. "I may like slaveboys, but I am also a cop. I uphold the law. I fully believe in children living up to their full potential, so I work with these programs. Sometimes, they work, sometimes they don't," he shrugged.

Mark shrugged. "Nothing extreme, Don. Just a GPS/shock collar, and a few months of community service time. Makes probation quite easy. They help out the State-owned slaves, such as park maintenance, painting, mulch, mowing, you know. Most of them learn pretty quickly. Jack's been doing weekend work for six months now. He's got a brilliant future as a landscaper, I think!"

We chatted a bit longer, Jack's father joined us, and eventually, Peter showed up. After a long hug, he joined us at table. I saw Mark wave Zach down.

"Sorry I'm late," Peter introduced himself. "Hit a pothole on the way over and bent a rim!"

As he ordered a drink, I looked at Peter. He'd indeed grown into a fine young man, and I regretted this loss of contact and the distance that was growing between us. I suppose all parents experience this, though. I tried not to be melancholy as that little voice that hadn't been bothering me lately came back full force:

"I think you should get that drink to go," Mark suggested, nodding at the boys. "Let's head back to the Collins Building."

Peter looked perplexed at first, but Mark gave him a serious look. "OK," he agreed. "So, Uncle, I assume that's Zach?"

"Thanks again, Mark," Jack's father took his leave of us, "We'll let you all get to it! C'mon, Jack!" He said firmly.

Jack got up to go. Zach stood up and bowed quickly to him. "Bye!" Then he turned towards Peter and froze.

Zach nodded shyly, then bowed low. "You want it back, sir?" He asked innocently.

"No, Zach!" Peter laughed offering his hand. "You keep it, OK?" Zach shyly took his hand. He held it all the way back to our flat, smiling up at Peter the whole time. It had gone much easier than I'd thought.

"Why does he do that, Uncle?" Peter asked, as Zach stood at parade rest right behind me.

"He's been trained to do that, and he likes to do that," I explained. "He might be a slave, officially, but he doesn't have to do anything he doesn't want to at home."

About then, the dumbwaiter popped open. It was Cory. "Master Collins wants to know if you'll be up for lunch, Daddy?" Cory asked Mark.

"PETER!" He yelled, falling out of the silly thing in a heap, and tripping over his own chain as he threw himself at Peter. He started to cry as Peter scooped him up. It was a serious breach of etiquette, but Mark said nothing.

Peter held him for a bit until the sobbing stopped, then he put him down. "Let me look at you, kid," Peter told him, and Cory turned all around, showing himself off like a good little slaveboy should. "Uncle told me all about it, Cory. WHY didn't you tell us? Why didn't you run for help?"

"I… I was sc-scared to, sir," Cory sniffled. Peter handed him a tissue. Zach moved closer to me, but he just watched.

"Well, you look pretty good, all things considered," Peter complimented him. "You know, I've never really seen a slaveboy up close, Cory. You happy now?"

"Yes, sir, very much, sir!" Cory assured him. Then he hugged him again with a fresh wave of crying.

Mark watched the exchange, then called Collins to say he'd be up for lunch. "Boy!" He snapped at Cory, who released Peter and snapped to attention.

"I'm going up to have lunch with Master Sebastian. You will stay here, and Master Don will be in charge of you until I send for you. You will answer to him, and Peter as well. You will be a good boy and do as you're told!"

"Yes, sir!" Cory smiled brightly at him. Mark wiped his face and kissed him seriously. Then he took his leave of us.

"It means, sir, that until my Master comes back, Master Don is in charge of me. I have to do what he says, unless he defers to you, sir," Cory explained. "I have to follow your orders, sir."

"You two think you can put some lunch together?" I asked the boys. They nodded. "And go fetch Mason, too!"

"I'm babysitting," I told him, as the boys fled the room. "Peter, I think something is going on here. Something big."

I showed him the medical scans on my laptop. "How did they get that thing in there?" Peter wondered. "I don't see any scars on him?"

"It wasn't that big when it went in," I told him. "There's a tiny scar on his left temple, where they shot it in. Zach remembers getting sick, and being in a hospital. He says that after he got sick, he couldn't talk. He had all the symptoms of a stroke victim, recall."

"You mean to say that chip has grown since it went in?" Peter wondered. "But that's just theoretical? What's it made of?"

"Monoatomic gold, for one," I informed him, and Peter's eyes lit up. "It's been growing tendrils that are expanding into all parts of his brain. It seems especially interested in the frontal lobe and the corpus callosum." I paused. "Peter, I think someone secretly developed this chip, and shot it into Zach's head to smuggle it here."

"But how the hell did they get him OUT of Africa?" He wondered, studying the scans. "Uncle, you're saying that this chip is interfacing with his brain, then?"

I nodded. "There's more than enough evidence that Zach can control computers and simple electronics. He made the call, through my phone, just before you arrived at the coffee shoppe. Some idiot was giving us a hard time, and Zach called for help just by thinking about it. We also think that he can receive signals through the chip, as well."

"He's getting smarter, Peter. The brain damage caused by the chip's insertion and growth is healing. He can move and talk better, and he seems to be able to store and recall data perfectly with that thing. When I got him, he used to pee himself all the time. He could only manage little words, and he'd freak out at the drop of a hat. He was terrified of everything. Now, he's almost normal." I paused again to let it soak in. "Peter, he hacked into some kind of financial database and embezzled several billion CR's. He also set up the deal, mentally, by brain-hacking the Slave Database to register Cory to Mark. If he sets his mind to it, Peter, there's not a computer around that can fight him off. He's a genius with numbers, too. Was when I first got him."

"There's been rumors in the trade that the Africans have been hard at developing a chip like this," Peter admitted. "I can't discuss our research, but Uncle! If what you tell me is true, Zach is light years ahead of our work! And yours! I mean, with this," Peter held up a hard copy of the most recent scan of Zach's brain – the left hemisphere was now dark with chip fibers, like some mad spider web that crossed into the right frontal lobe only. "Where do we draw the line of what his brain is doing, and what the chip is doing?"

"Can you draw that line?" I asked him. "The boy can order a computer to do what he thinks, Peter. Literally. He processes data at the speed of human thought. His memory boards are organic now, and how much data can a brain hold? Hell, we can't even get a semi-organic chip to last more than a few minutes. How do you feed it, for one? Bio-neural circuitry has always been deemed a fantasy!"

"You don't bring the neural tissue to the hardware – you take the hardware to the neural tissue," Peter mused. "It's hard telling what some other countries may be doing, with different laws concerning slaves. Does anyone else know about this?" Peter breathed.

"Uncle, if this gets out, the boy would be worth his weight in… anything!" Peter exclaimed. "Have you been able to get a design data signature from the chip in him?"

"No, it doesn't have one," I told him. "First thing I tried. It's not ours, it's not yours, and it doesn't match anything in the database of cybernetic limb interface chips. It's one of a kind."

"And you mean to tell me, you bought a rare African/Persian hybrid at the auction, cheap? He came with this chip in his head, but he was essentially a mental baby? That means it couldn't have been in there for very long. Slave breeding is illegal here, right?"

I nodded. "Here, yes. In other nations, no. I've studied up, yes. But there's one more thing, Pete. Zach wasn't born. He was built. Collins decoded his DNA, and it's artificially put together. There are a few errors in it, too, which tells us that someone made him fast, and then tried to get rid of him later."

"Prototype," Peter said, and that stopped me. "Don't you usually scrap the prototype after the V2 model comes out? Then scrap the V2 in favor of 2.5 or 3, until you get it right?"

"God," I breathed. "But why didn't they just kill him, or keep him to study for V2 then? Or just use him as a farm slave?"

"It's highly unusual, Uncle. I think you're right. Someone dumped him, but someone else knows about him, and THEY want him! I know I'd stop at nothing to get him, if I knew all this! Hell, it's all I can do not to want to examine him!"

"Don't you even think that!" I snapped at him. "No one is taking my child's head apart, or torturing him like some circus freak show!"

"Uncle," Peter assured me, "You know me better than that. I would never hurt him. He's a living, feeling, little boy, Uncle! Frankly, I can't believe that you go along with this whole slave thing! I mean, hell! Look at Cory! What's with those tattoos and all that bondage gear?"

"They like it," I reminded Peter. "That's who they are. I told you, I don't make Zach do anything he doesn't want to. I want to encourage his free will – something I think he's never had much of before. There's a little boy upstairs, Peter, that was designed and built to be the perfect slaveboy. He's been controlled, right down to his bodily functions, since he was born. He has no free will, that I can see, Pete. When you tell him to do what he wants, he can't handle it. He's scared to death of being free, being without a Master to control him, because he doesn't know anything else! To him, boys like Jack in the coffee shoppe are the oddballs! He has no comprehension of life outside of this building, or his little slaveboy-universe. And the sad thing is, he doesn't even want to learn!"

"A computer can only do what it's programmed to do, or ordered to do," Peter reminded me. "They can't think on their own. They can draw conclusions based on data, but that's it. A computer can't say 'I don't want to.' It has to do what it's programmed to do. Don't you parents program us kids all of our lives?"

"Only because you've already programmed us to do that, as kids!" Peter countered. "That's the whole point in raising us! Letting us try things, guiding us, letting us fail sometimes, to learn! But a computer can't do that! You don't raise it like you do a child!"

"Don't we?" I jerked a thumb at the kitchen door. "Isn't that chip learning and storing everything that Zach experiences? Isn't it growing and adapting? Using his brain tissue for RAM and hard drive space? You mentioned the line, Peter, and I don't think there is one for Zach. There is no point at which the chip ends and Zach begins."

We sat in silence for a while, listening to the chatter of boys and the rattle of dishes.

"If there's no line, then, Uncle, what you're saying is that the artificial part of Zach's brain is open to upgrades, just like any other computer? Even with security software, which also has to update, what happens when his Creator decides to update him?"

I hadn't wanted to say it. I hadn't wanted to think it. If it had been anyone other than my Peter, I don't think I could have.

"It's nothing short of mind control," I told him. "If what you say is true, Pete, then Zach could become nothing more than a mindless, controlled drone. All it would take is a few 1's and 0's, and he'd have to do whatever that chip told him to."

"So what do we do, Uncle?" Peter asked softly, touching my hand. "He could be dangerous, you know. It's apparent that someone wants him, you said? What if they get him, and can duplicate him? What if, somewhere out there, there's a crate full of these chips, just waiting to go into slaves' heads?" He snapped his fingers. "Or into soldiers' heads?"

The trouble with having a large military had always been that, no matter how well the soldiers were trained, each one of them, from the lowliest grunt up the highest-ranking general, could think for himself. A soldier would only follow orders up to what he was trained to do and believe in. Such was the nature of the coup. How many governments had changed hands in those coups over the years?

Africa came readily to mind – several tiny little nation-states all ruled by warlords of one kind or another. Eventually, they'd all fallen under the rule of one man.

"Zach says his name is 'Kabila'," I told Peter, as the boys arrived with lunch. I dispatched them all to the living room and the television.

"I used to let you run around naked," I reminded him. "I let you get away with a lot of stuff!"

"Don't think I didn't think about it," I informed him. "And I know about some of the things that you and Teddy experimented with!"

"I never took the baby monitors offline, when you were a little kid," I confessed. "I used to sit up at night, just watching you sleep. I was afraid that one day I might walk into that room and find it empty. Then, one day, I did…"

"Beats buying a wife to do it the normal way," I shrugged. We both laughed at that. As if I'd ever marry a woman…

We talked about old times for a bit, catching up. Cory came back in after about fifteen minutes, to ask if we needed anything. "More lunch, sirs? Drinks? Blowjob?"

"And now he can truly indulge that slutty nature of his," Peter nodded. "Teddy always wanted to fuck him, you know, but Cory was what – eight?!"

"Married to a rather butch female-to-male transgender fellow," Peter informed me. "'He' went off the regimen of male hormones just long enough to get pregnant, and they have two wonderful little boys. C-section births, you know!"

Well, almost nothing. Collins calling a day off from his maniacal schedule still did.

"You work those boys hard, don't you?" Peter asked, the more we talked and caught up. "Little Cory sure has become a looker."

"We failed him, you know," I had to say, "His dad, me, you, all of us. He was always so excited when you'd send him email, or those random presents when you were away. He just lived for the days you came from college, Pete."

"I should never have left," Peter shook his head. "But I've been thinking hard about marrying this girl, Uncle."

"What happened to the first one?" I exclaimed. "I didn't know you traded her in?"

"I see," I raised an eyebrow. "Even after what happened to you, you'd risk having children in this day and age?"

"Well, I think I'd name Teddy as the godfather," Peter replied. I choked on my drink. "Kidding!" He added quickly. "Uncle?"

I hadn't thought about it. I didn't want to think about it. The Slave Code considered the orphaned child-slave the property of the last Master who'd been left in charge of him, and that meant Collins, in Zach's case. I shivered.

"You want to me to offer?" Peter added, as if reading my mind. "Of course I'd take him in. I can afford it, Uncle."

The mood was broken, though, by a commotion from the living room. Slaves or not, boys will be boys and things can go wrong – even if they're not even moving!

"UNCLE!" Zach yelled, dashing in the door, "Cory broke it! Him t'ing, here!" He pointed at his crotch, "Bwoke! Come fix it, Uncle!"

Cory was beside himself when we arrived to see what the fuss was. Where his belt connected to his pod had indeed broken, a clean break. A piece of it was poking him, and I had to remove his belt to remove that. "Relax, it just broke," I assured him.

"I wasn't trying to escape, sir!" Cory fretted. "Really, Master Don, I w-wasn't! I didn't touch it! I swear!"

"Uncle, Cory's Master said he had to follow my orders, too, didn't he?" Peter asked deviously. I nodded. "Cory," Peter turned to face the boy, now clad in only cuffs and collar, "Calm down!" Peter went to him, and cuddled him. "You know, I missed you? I'm sorry I lost touch."

Again, I wasn't surprised by Peter's decision. Cory had been his 'little brother' of sorts for years, and it seemed, I'd just found out, that Cory had had a boyhood crush on him for a long time. Right under my nose, and I hadn't known it. No wonder he'd been so upset when Peter had left for college. I should have seen it; I'd known I was gay when I was about seven or eight. It was just another nail in the lid for the box labeled: How Bad We Failed Cory.

I also hadn't realized just how much Cory had adapted to his new role as a slaveboy. He was so worried, to the point of hysteria, about his belt/pod device breaking. He was so afraid that Mark would be angry with him. I'd really considered calling Collins for a tranquilizer, in fact, the boy was so unwound over it. But when Peter took him in his arms and comforted him, I realized that it was the right thing to do. I told them to use my room.

Zach and Mason didn't say a thing. It wasn't their place, and I think they knew it. Zach looked longingly down the short hallway, though. I knew what he was thinking.

"Then how do you know you want to? How do you know you'll like it?" I reminded him.

"Cory do? Sebbie do? Hen-w-ree do?" He still had trouble with Henry's name. But then, how could he recite the Slave Code so perfectly? Some of those words were a lot harder than "Henry"?

I wondered what the other boys were doing, as we watched a movie. I tried to find one that wouldn't arouse the boys in any way, as I was in no mood, and Zach was not physically capable. Mason, I'm sure, wouldn't have wanted to anyhow.

I guess I must have nodded off, because I was awakened to find Sebbie shaking me awake. That's enough to wake the dead, I can assure you. He was dressed and made up very formally.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Master Don, but my Master requests the honour of the presence of you, your slave, and your nephew, Peter at dinner, sir." He bowed low. I guessed he could sense my reluctance at having Peter meet 'the family'. "All of the guests will be coming by to say goodbye, sir. They will not be at dinner, except for our usual group, sir."

"Thank you, Sebastian," I addressed him by name. I knew it would annoy him. I patted his head, mussing his perfect ginger hair. "Tell your Master that we will be there at the usual time." If he wanted to play, I could play. Then again, with Sebbie, how did you know when he was playing? This was, after all, his life. "Now, bend over!" I gave his bare butt a good slap. "Dismissed!"

"Why don't you boys go get ready for a bath? Clean up a bit early, and then dress in your best?"

Nothing like a lazy day off! I looked at the clock; it was still about two hours to dinner. I'd not napped that long after all.

I listened at my door. The room was quiet. As I turned to go, it cracked open and Peter emerged. We both started as he crashed into me.

Unashamed as I'd taught him, the naked young man didn't move to cover himself. I thought it would have been a crime to do so, in fact. He didn't even blush. He just hugged me unexpectedly. Then he cried. The room and he smelt of sex and sweat, and I wondered what he would say.

"He's sleeping, Uncle," Peter began. "I…I didn't think I could…you know? But he…we talked, Uncle. For a while. He cried some more. I don't know how, but he misses his parents. They treated him like shit, and he misses them! He doesn't understand it, Uncle. He wanted to know what he did so wrong to make all this happen? He…he thinks he caused it, Uncle! He thinks he did something that made her leave, that made me leave, that made his dad want to sell him." He paused and shook his head. "He thinks he's a bad boy, Uncle. I kept telling him he wasn't, but he insisted that everyone wouldn't have left him if he wasn't! What do you do for a kid like that?"

"I thought you liked girls?" I reminded him, patting his shoulder. "From the smell of it, I'd say he wanted to do a great deal?"

Peter nodded. "He's good, Uncle. I'll give him that. He's been really well trained. I don't know how many loads I pumped into him." Peter blushed. "Sorry, I know that sounded terrible."

"That's between Cory and you," I told him. "Cory is a slaveboy. He was put in my care, and told to obey OUR orders, Pete. What did you tell him to do?"

"And he did that. You see, Pete, Cory tries very, very hard to be the perfect little slaveboy. Make no mistake, he loves Mark with all his heart. It was love at first sight, and for a boy that's been as hurt as he has, that's saying a great deal. Sometimes I worry that Mark might order him to do something radical, and Cory would just smile and do it to please him. In many way, I see now that he's like a lost puppy that will follow anyone home. He's terrified, Mark. They all are. I think they all live with some kind of fear that is the basis of being a slaveboy. In Cory's case, I think it's the fear that he'll be found 'not good enough' and abandoned again." I paused. "And I think that would utterly destroy him."

"I feel like I just fucked my baby brother," Peter admitted. "My horny, slutty, beautiful, little baby brother!" He blushed redder.

"Uncle? Was I allowed to, you know, pleasure CORY?! I mean, they make them wear these chastity things and plugs! I…I had to order him to let me!"

"A slave regards his own genitals as his Master's property, or so that silly guidebook says," I explained. "He's not to use them for his own pleasure, but if the Master says to, it's fine. You were, by my order, made his temporary Master. Therefore, yes, you could do that."

"I think you're right, Uncle," he then added, "All Cory talked about, when we were sort of just playing, was his Master Mark. He explained all his tattoos to me, and it was Mark-this and Mark-that and, well, I sort of cut him off when he started going into some of the fun stuff they do!"

Peter nodded. His stomach growled. "Use my bath, the boys are in the other. We've been summoned to dinner with the Lord High Master," I drawled. "We'll let him sleep until just time to clean him up."

"He said to…" Peter blushed again, "I think I got him situated right, Uncle!" Peter then fled to the bath.

We let Cory sleep until half an hour to dinner. Peter then bathed him, and cleaned up his gear. Cory had come down in his formal gear, and it needed a good cleaning. Between last night's party and today, I was sure that the boy would sleep well tonight.

We went down to the street and back up, the long way. Cory held Mark's hand the whole time, smiling and looking up at him the whole while. It was so hot outside now that the boys' gear actually had condensation when we went back in. I expected a storm that night, and wondered how to access the basement?

After our introductions, with Peter trying hard to hide his shock, all of our other guests took their leave. They and their boys were headed home, or going out to dinner. Zach, of course, received his fair share of hugs, kisses, small gifts, and well wishes. He seemed to soak it right up, though, and I was proud of him. He was the perfect little slaveboy.

"Where's Raulito?" I whispered to Collins, as we headed for the formal dining room.

"Hanging up in his room, I didn't want to scare your nephew," Collins replied. "My, but he is a fine specimen, Don! Does he need a good family doctor?!"

I then explained to Mark why his boy was wearing a mismatched belt. "Clean break," I told him. "Demand a refund!"

At dinner, I made it a point to sit by Mark. Resplendent in their best formal gear, the boys served us, then took their meals on the floor by our sides. Peter, of course, had the bulk of the after-dinner conversation. Everyone was quite interested in this nephew of mine that they'd heard so much about. Peter was more interested in Cyborg's hand, and the little fellow was more than happy to sit in his lap and let him study it.

"It's very strong, too, sir!" He beamed at Peter. "I can open cans without a can opener, sir!"

I leaned over to Mark, as the boys were cleaning up the dishes and well out of earshot. "I think you need to talk to Cory tonight," I told him.

"He was perfect, Mark. That's just it. I think he's trying too hard. I want you to have him talk to you, Mark. I mean, really talk to you! He took it pretty hard when Peter moved away, and he's afraid."

"Cory thinks he's not good enough," I dropped it on him. "All this time, he's thought he did something bad that drove everyone away: his mom, Peter, his dad. Mark, he's cried for hours today. He's afraid that you'll sell him because he isn't good enough for you."

"Don," Mark said in a very low voice, "I love that boy! After Jian, I didn't think I'd ever take another. Part of you dies when your boy dies, Don," he went on, "I once heard a mother scream over the dead body of her child. It was a murder investigation, Don, and the child, well, she was of age. But she was HER baby in the mother's mind, still, after all that time. It was the most horrible sound I've ever heard, and I pray every night that I'll never hear it again." He wiped his face with his napkin. "And I know I must have made that same sound, Don, when Jian died. I…I don't think I could take it, Don, if something happened to Cory, too. For all the bluster, the badge, and authority, Don, I don't think I have it left in me. W-was I wrong, to take him in, Don?" He then asked.

Now how the hell could I answer that? This, coming from one of them that thought I was abusing Zach by being not enough of a Master to him? And what was it with all these people suddenly spilling their deepest secrets to me?

"Cory needs to hear this, Mark," I assured him, as most of my concerns about their relationship suddenly vanished. "Oh, and Mark?"

"Cory's had a long day with Peter. I'm glad you sent him down. It was exactly what he needed."

"You left him in our care," I shrugged, "And that boy's loved Peter since he was a toddler. I think he's dreamed about this day all of his life."

"That is between Peter and Cory," Mark smiled. "You know that unless you give specific orders, a slaveboy is under the total control of the Master caring for him. I expected no less of him, and I'd have been angry if he'd refused! I've trained him better than that."

"You have, Mark, but take it easy on him," I repeated. "His little butt's bound to be sore, and he's well…quite full?" Mark laughed at that. "Knowing Cory, he'll want to tell you all about it, too. And he'll need you, Mark. More than ever, I think. This has been eating at him for years, he never mentioned it, and Peter broke him today. He got it out of him, and now Cory can move on in his life."

Mark glanced at the doorway. I could see that he wanted to run to his boy, but that now was not the time. No, Cory would make the first move, I knew. When he came back with the other boys to serve dessert and bring wine, he went to Mark. They whispered for a bit, then Cory went to Peter. He stayed in his lap until it was time to go, only getting up to see if his Master required him now and then. Each time, he was sent back.

"Fickle, isn't he?" Collins joked, cuddling Sebbie on his lap as well. "I think we'll turn in early tonight? Business as usual tomorrow, gents?"

"Seb, you'll excuse me?" Devereaux got up. "I think that something didn't quite agree with me? I'll be right back." He patted Mason's head.

"WEATHER ALERT!" The computer's voice broke in. "A line of severe thunderstorms is headed for the city. ETA, fifteen minutes! Large hail, damaging winds, possible tornadoes. Residents are advised to seek shelter in…" It was the usual automated weather warning, and Collins cut it off. Don't you just love climate changes?

"And to the basement we go!" He announced jovially. "Don, as a tenant, I'm sure you can find the directions posted in the stairwells. However, we do have our own private little shelter down there, for family only," Collins smiled.

"Daddy, shouldn't we go and get Raulito?" Sebbie piped up. Collins dismissed him to do just that. Of course, the way the living floor was built, with no windows, there was no way to see what the weather was doing.

Mark had Cory's hand, and the boy was white. "I…I don't like st-storms, Daddy," he whimpered. Then the power failed. Emergency lights on batteries came on.

"Primary power lost," the computer reported, "Engaging backup generators," it announced. The lights came back on. We made our way to the emergency exit, then the lights failed again. The emergency lights came back on.

"They won't last long," Collins warned us all, "Quickly now, quickly! Boys stay with your Masters!" He called, and I could see the look of panic on his face as he grabbed up some torches [flashlights] from a cabinet.

"No? You get them on down, Seb," Devereaux snapped at Collins, turning to Mason. "Where would he go?"

"Not without reporting back to me," Collins snapped, pulling the emergency door. An alarm wailed. "I have to go back for him!"

"NO, DADDY!" Cory screamed at him, losing all control in the face of what was just too much for him to take.

I cut him off. "No, listen to me! Mark, Peter, Doc, you all have to go. Someone has to survive this, worst case scenario, to take care of these boys! If you're all wiped out, who is going to do that? What if we need a doctor afterwards?"

"Find Sebbie?" Zach then tugged at my sleeve. "Uncle, find Sebbie!" He repeated, shaking his head. "No, no wabbits!" He then said. I stopped on the stairs.

"Zach, is any of the computer still online? I need you to try, Zach! Like you did with the money, like you did with Cory's slave contract! Think about the big computer in the main exam rooms, Zach!"

"Primary power is offline. Mainframe is shut down. Emergency backups offline in two minutes," Zach said, in a flat emotionless tone, "Weather system arriving in ten minutes! Evacuation protocols!"

"COME ON, DON!" Collins called back to us from a flight down, where everyone else had joined them. Amazingly, Cabot was carrying Henry. He was red and puffing, but he was doing it.

"Communications array destroyed," Zach reported in that monotone. "Internal video failing! Sebbie Collins is on the slave training and storage floor with Raulito. Malfunction in security systems. Backup systems failing. Floors above eight unavailable."

"The door must have jammed and trapped them!" Collins called, "Don, take the boys!"

Despite shouted orders, the boys fled back into the living floor and slammed the door behind them.

I remembered the paint can. "Cyborg can probably rip that door open like tin foil," I told them, as the rest of us headed on down. Other than a very slight vibration, there was no telling what it was doing outside. You couldn't even hear the wind.

With everyone else through, and despite Henry's and Cory's screaming to go and help find Sebbie and Raulito, I slammed it shut and threw the emergency manual lock.

No way was I leaving my boy. Still, as I entered the main medical floor, something didn't seem right. Devereaux didn't strike me as the type to risk his own life to go back for Sebbie and Rualito. Then again, I was still in shock over Zach's snap-plan of action. I could still hear Cory's and Henry's cries in my mind, "PLEASE! Don't leave them! Let me GO BACK! LET ME GO BACK!"

These boys loved one another that much, that they'd risk their lives for one another!

Something cracked loudly, and the building shook as with a minor earthquake. The emergency lights were getting dim, and I grabbed up an exam headlamp from a cabinet before they went out.

Sebbie's POV

Right then, we've never lost total power before! The backups always kick in, but this time, they failed. I'd just got Raulito down when it happened. See, Daddy didn't want to scare Master Don's nephew, Peter. Talk about a hot guy! But I think I freaked him out? But hey, if he was sorta freaked over me, I can only imagine what seeing Raulito would have done to him!

Part of getting the idea into his thick Mexican brain was radical discipline. He spent most of his time alone, restrained, and denied just about everything. On top of all the slave gear and all the usual stuff, they'd put a catheter in him and shaved his head. His collar didn't let him move his head at all, and he had a ball gag in 24/7 but for when he got to eat a slave loaf. Nasty shit…stuff, sorry! So, when he wasn't working or being maintained, Raulito didn't have much to do but hang around.

What I mean is, Daddy had a chest harness on him with two hooks in the back, so that you could hang him up like wet laundry! His feet wouldn't touch the floor, and he'd just hang there and swing. Blindfolded, it does a number on your head, too. Add white noise to that, and well, you kinda freak out quick. I didn't think it'd take long to break Raulito.

Don't get me wrong, I like a little bit of weird stuff now and then! Hell, they say I'm weird! But I've done it all, trust me! And what they were doing to Raulito was the worst! Man, the kid had no say or control in anything! It's scary, OK?

I know, I know! You're gonna say that Master Don already said I was scared of that, too! Let's don't go there, OK?

So I got Raulito down, but I had to get the keys to get him all unlocked so he could run. You don't laugh at the storm warnings, Daddy says. When they say run, you run! Thing was, when I got to where there's a spare key hidden, it was gone! I had to run down to the inventory closet and get another one! Pretty dodgy, I think. There was no way that key could be gone. None of the boys knew it was there, or any others, either. That, and the torches were gone, too!

That just wasn't right.

"Whut's happening?" Raulito asked me, and I didn't think he was really all there. That kind of isolation does that to you, you know?

I told him, but by the time I thought he understood, and I got him moving, the lights went out. The last emergency ones came on, but the damn door to the exit was stuck! Then it all failed.

It was dark.

"No, no, no," Raulito was whimpering, "Don't put me in the dark again, Sebo! Please, man!"

OK, I know my way around this place blind, literally. I've gone a whole week blindfolded, and I know where everything is. We're in charge of cleaning, and that's why nothing ever moves. Everything in its place.

We were going for the main breaker box for the slaves' main floor. I was running my hand along the wall, dragging Raulito along, when I saw a flash of light around the corner.

"Daddy?" I called. Nobody answered.

"Who is it, Sebo?" Raulito whimpered.

Now, there was no way anyone else could have gotten in. Then the floor vibrated. The power was out. I touched the breaker box that fed the floors above us.

It was smashed.

It didn't blow. It didn't burn up. It wasn't just off. It was smashed.

Now, right above that, there's the lines that run to the computer terminals. I reached up and over in the box.

Those lines were cut.

Lights came on in my face, and I couldn't see! It had to be torches, but they were so bright in the dark…someone had me by the neck, and I couldn't breathe. A bag went over my head! I went limp, thinking he'd let loose and I could get a lucky shot in. I can fight, you know! Yeah, I train blindfolded, pal! I can hear you breathe, and take you down.

Then something got my cuff, and then my hands were locked behind me! A gag went in my mouth, and then I could breath again. I heard a scuffle, Raulito crying, and then – nothing. Someone was dragging us. I heard the door open, and then it was BUMP BUMP BUMP! Down the steps. Shit, it was a long way down, too!

Damn, I'll never live it down. This guy had got the drop on me? I wondered who it was. How did he get in? Was it the guys what were after Zach? Shit, I mean, crap, it couldn't be! Not that old dude. They couldn't get in! Power or not, when it failed, the building was locked down.

I knew there was only one person it could be, and I couldn't believe it. I didn't wanna believe it.

It had to be a member of the family.

It had to be someone who was already there at dinner.

My head was spinning, my butt was bumping on the steps, and it HURT! It was all I could do to keep my head up from banging it too, but I had to think!

Master Mark would have come back, but he wouldn't do that. He had Cory to think about, and after Jian, there was no way he'd hurt us. He'd take a bullet for us, yeah, but not this.

Master Don was out; he had Zach to think about, and I couldn't see him doing that, he was so nice. He had his nephew, and Peter too, yeah, he was the wildcard. I knew nothing about him. I thought it was Peter.

It wouldn't have been Master Cabot, either. He'd have took Henry and ran. That's just how he is. He's nice enough, but it's all about Henry in his eyes. Same with Master Paul; he'd grab Cy and run.

Master Ralphie and them were already gone, and I'd known them all my whole life. No way would they do that. They were family.

But so was this guy…

Where was Daddy?

OK, I admit it! I was scared! I was scared that someone had me. He was gonna take me, maybe kill me, or sell me to someone that might!

Somewhere above, something ripped open. Metal tearing. It hurt my ears.

Sell me.

Yeah, I'm a pretty hot ticket, I know! Thanks. How many other slaveboys are born and bred just to be the perfect slave? It's all I know. It's what I do. Daddy says I'm priceless.

And Raulito? Well, yeah, hair or not, he's hot! He says he's hustled a few tricks in his day, and you better believe it! Even straight guys on the street look at him when he goes by! You could sell him, too.

But if no one could get IN, and we were all at table?

Then I knew who had us. That left only one…

…someone who made a living selling boys.

"DEV-R-OH!" I heard Zach's voice yell.

We stopped. Damn, my arse hurt! Raulito was crying, and I still couldn't see!

"D-Daddy?" Mason gasped.

"Come here, son," Master Devereaux answered.

Dude, my heart literally stopped.

Mason's daddy was kidnapping us? Was Mason there to help? I mean, he always was kinda psycho, but would he do that to us? I know, we're all slaveboys, and to think that another one of us would, but…? This was Mason we were talking about.

"Zach, how…how did you know?" Mason gasped.

"Because he's using that chip in his head to access one internal sensor at a time, boy! I've seen a red LED here and there come on! I knew he'd come for his friends!"

"Cy, run to the other side, go tell Master Collins!" Mason snapped.

"If he moves, Sebbie dies!" Devereaux said, and I could tell he meant it!

"Tornado come! We all die!" Zach yelled at him.

"No, my boy, they all die. Maybe. Just maybe. Here's the deal. Mason, I said COME HERE!"

And Mason refused an order.

"NO!" He yelled. "Not without my friends!"

"I AM YOUR MASTER!"

"FUCK YOU! YOU'RE A DEAD MAN!" Mason yelled back.

"Hear him out, Mace," Cyborg whimpered.

Cyborg! That was how they got the jammed doors open without power! Cy had ripped them open with his robot hand! God, they all came back for me? For us?

Shit shit shit!

There.

I felt like shit.

I felt like shit, because I didn't know if I would have done that for them. For my daddy, yes, without even thinking! I'd take a bullet for him! But my friends came back for me, with a tornado coming? Eight or nine stories up?!

"What do you want?" Mason spat.

"You all will come down here, one at a time. One wrong move, and I shoot you. You will sit on the floor, and I will lock your cuffs into a hogtied position. Each one of you goes into the fire hose locker. If the tornado spares you, they'll find you in plenty of time. Mason, you are coming with me, though. So is Zero!"

ZERO – not Zach?!

I struggled, but it was no good. Devereaux kicked me, taking my breath. All bets were off. He wasn't one my Masters anymore!

"Why Zach?" Mason asked, and I could hear him coming down. Slowly. "You'll let the others go?"

"Yes."

"What about us, then?" Mason asked.

"If you're lucky, I'll sell your loose little arses to someone who won't eat you, or at least, won't chop off your limbs and keep you in a box under his bed!" Devereaux laughed.

"WHY YOU WANT ME?" Zach yelled.

"Because you are the crown jewel, my boy!" Devereaux like, purred? Is that the word? He sounded really sleazy. "With that chip in your head, and what you can do? It's what you were made to do, Zero! It's what you were programmed for, KABILA! When I deliver you back to your father, the rewards will be…will be…THE WORLD!"

Yeah, that was when it hit me! Zach, as Zero, was more than just some poor kid with an experimental chip put in his retarded brain. Sorry, Dude, but that's what I thought at first! But with the way he could access a computer? With the money he stole and hid, and what he did for Cory's records in the State database?

My buddy Zach was a cybernetic weapon!

And Devereaux wanted him.

Or, he just wanted the money.

"If you don't come, Zero, I will make you come. You won't like it, either," Devereaux threatened him. "I have a little transmitter here that will take control of your chip and make you do anything I say! A little gift they gave me, when I came to fetch you for them!"

"NO!" Zach retorted.

Something clicked.

I heard Zach whine.

"No no no no no!" He chanted. Then his voice changed. "Unauthorized access in progress. Security protocol 'Don-1' engaged. Access denied!"

"You cannot refuse, Zero!" Devereaux said. He clicked it again.

Zach screamed.

"NO!"

I heard Devereaux drop something on the floor.

"I no listen you!" Zach spluttered, and he sounded like he was hurting, bad. "You no make me hurt Sebbie!"

"The storm's right on top of us!" Mason reminded him, "We gotta get below!"

"He not let you go, witnesseses!" Zach yelled.

"Very good, Zero," Devereaux taunted him, teased him! Hell, he was gonna kill us! "I can't leave any witnesses behind. You're too smart, Zero. Of course, once we download you into the new Teen Soldier Unit One, you'll be obsolete. Or rather, whatever's left of your half-dead brain in this stunted body will be! But I suppose you'll still have a heartbeat, and that's good enough for some people! I can still sell your body, Zero! Think of it as the ultimate lobotomy!" He paused. "You too, Mason, my boy! You'll be so much more tractable without a frontal lobe!"

"Oh, hell no!" Mason spat.

"NO!" Zach yelled again, and he was pissed!

Something clicked. A gun cocked.

"Nice and slow, or I splatter Sebbie's brains all over the wall!" Devereaux said. "I'd hate to waste good merchandise!"

Something shook, and I felt a breeze. There was no way. The Collins Building has its own weather inside on our floors. No windows. That meant that the wall was breached somewhere!

"Come here, Zero. Come to Daddy, Mason! Be reasonable, Zero. You didn't think they'd build something like you without a failsafe device, did you? Zero, your chip has a self-destruct protocol built into it. Don't make Master use it, OK?"

"Let them go!" Cyborg then yelled, and something metal ripped. The handrail!

Then a gunshot.

Oh, God! He's shot Cyborg?

I heard a zing. The rail hit something soft, THOOOSH! and the gun went off again! I know I pissed all over myself. I confess. I was dead. This was it. A one way ticket to Hell…

"ZACH!" I heard Master Don scream.

Was Master Don dead, too? Did the tornado get him? What did he do, hold the Gates of Hell open for me?

"BOYS, NOW!" Master Don screamed, and my hood came off! I could see! I wasn't dead! At least, no yet…

Devereaux was dead on the floor. His gun was off to the side, and so was half his head. The handrail was going through his chest like he was a shish-ka-bob, and his blood was dripping down the stairs. Master Don held a smoking gun. He'd shot Devereaux twice!

Something roared. The whole building shook!

"Sebbie! It's on us! The roof is gone, I think! Is there anywhere to hide?" Master Don begged me.

"Wh-what floor we on, s-sir?"

OK, OK! I was crying. They all saw me. But bound up like we were, they'd have to carry us. We'd never make it.

"Seventh!" No wonder my arse hurt so bad – BUMP BUMP BUMP!

"There's an…an emergency drop thing, like a chute, on the seventh floor, starboard," I knew. What I didn't know was if the landing pad of it was still there! Oh well, broken bones, or it's here we come, Dorothy – off to see the Wizard! (Daddy said that once; I got no clue who Dorothy or this Wizard is! Did she hang out with Batman?)

Then I saw Cy's hand flashing in the dark. He crushed our cuffs, and we were free!

"Boys, go, I'll get Raulito!" Master Don said, 'cause Raulito was like, in shock and catatonic! Cy tore the chute's door off, and then Zach picked me up and stuffed me in. He was crying, trying to talk, but he couldn't.

He only used his left arm.

Zach was hurt.

Then we fell.

***

When I woke up, I couldn't move. I had to pee, but once I came around, I could see the ceiling of one of our own hospital rooms. I thought I was peeing the bed. Shit! They'd put a catheter in me!

God, I HATE those things!

Beat me, starve me, hang me up in the dark, but not a catheter up my penis, please?!

Then the pain hit me.

OK, I like pain, right? I do like a spanking, you know? That's so damn hot, when you get spanked, or clamps, or shocked, but this was real pain, folks! Broken bones are not fun, and I knew I had some.

"Daddy?" I could just gasp it out. "Daddy!" My mouth was so dry.

OK, I cried. I admit it. HAPPY?!

God, I was glad I couldn't move. Not even my head.

"I'm here, baby," Daddy was actually crying. In eleven years, I don't think I've ever seen Daddy cry. He says he didn't when Jian died, but I think he did. I heard him. He said it was allergies. Right…

Then he was holding my hand, because that's all he could safely do. He got me to sip some ice water.

"How…how bad?" I remembered asking.

I had a broken arm, a broken collarbone, and a few cracked ribs with a sprained ankle. Daddy said I was lucky. I mean, hell, we'd fell seven stories to land in…what? Turned out, it was the big recycling dumpster on the south side of the building. That sucker's huge, and the wind had gone around the building, and pressed it down. It had been full, and then the lid had slammed shut on us!

I guess you could call it a miracle.

Mason had broke his leg and had a hairline skull fracture. One of his bad ribs had broke, too. Cyborg's robotic foot had been torn off, and he had a broken arm. Master Don was pretty banged up, broken ribs and lot of little cuts. One of his elbows and a shoulder was pretty messed up, and he'd broken an ankle. Poor Raulito had broke an arm, his nose, his collarbone, and one leg. I guess he'd freaked out in the fall, and hadn't just relaxed TO fall, they said?

We all had bad concussions, too, Daddy said. We'd all been unconscious for a week.

Then they told me about Zach.

Zero.

He was pretty banged up, but since he's so little and Master Don's kinda big, he shielded him with his own body from the worst of it. He had some cracked ribs, but no concussion. Cuts, bruises, sprains, but no broken bones.

The problem was his head, though. When Devereaux had tried to use that thing to, like, do mind control on him, Zach's brain chip had fought back. Or his real brain had. Something.

Then Devereaux had tried to use the failsafe device on him.

Anyhow, the power surge the chip created electrocuted his brain, and the chip had shut down. He was still in a coma, and Daddy wasn't sure if he'd ever wake up. If he did, Daddy said, he wasn't sure how much he'd remember. He said his mind might be a blank slate. He'd be a baby again, in the head. IF he EVER woke up.

I'd seen him; I confirmed brain-damage.

I cried again. Daddy held my hand until I went back to sleep.

***

It's like having a bad dream and waking up not knowing what really happened. Everything was just…pain. But it wasn't just the broken bones. We were all in one room, so we could all be miserable together. I hurt inside, too, where nothing was broken. I hurt in places where I knew I didn't even have bones.

Zach wasn't there.

Zach was in his own room.

Matt and John were always there, and so were Masters Mark, Paul, and Cabot. Daddy was in and out a lot with Boy, and Master Ralphie and Tahj moved in. The building inspector said that our roof was gone, and so was the 14th floor. It was just attic storage, anyway. Everyone else, the renters, got to the basement, and no one was hurt. Most of the tenants' windows were blown out, which wouldn't have happened if Devereaux hadn't sabotaged the computer that ran the environmental systems, he said. They have things like building codes, and the backup power is supposed to run the computer to regulate air pressure.

But all that failed.

It was Devereaux. He took the keys, cut the backup power when he said he had to use the loo, and delayed us in the stairwell – all to get Mason and Zach so he could sell them.

For money.

If the key had been there, if the door hadn't jammed, and emergency power had stayed online, NONE of this would have happened!

Thanks to Devereaux, my friends were hurt bad.

One of them might even be nearly brain dead.

I wasn't dead, but I was in Hell anyway. I could only use one arm, but at least I could feed myself. The pain meds gave you constipation, I had to use a bedpan, and Cory and Henry helped take care of us. Daddy was worried about bedsores forming. Then there was that damn catheter! All we could do was lay there, sleep, and heal.

And wait.

One day, I don't know when it was, but Peter came in to see us. It must have been weeks, and he looked like shit. He hadn't been hurt, but he didn't look like he was eating or sleeping much. He brought Master Don in, in a wheelchair, and he looked like shit, too.

Sorry, sirs, but you did!

Daddy had replaced his elbow joint, he said. Then I asked him about Zach.

"No change," he mumbled. "How about you guys? That was some ride, huh?"

I had an idea then, as the air fans kicked on and Master Don ordered the TV on.

The computer was back online. Well, yeah, it was weeks? I guessed Master Peter fixed it? I had to ask. I had an idea!

"It booted right back up when the power was restored," Master Don told me. "Of course, the city was blacked out for a week, and it's still a mess. Broken glass and debris everywhere. You'll be glad to know The Flaming Chihuahua survived!"

"If I ever get outta here, Jefe Don," Raulito swore, "I'm gonna wash dishes and just be quiet for the rest of my life!"

We laughed, even though it hurt like hell.

"Master Peter?" I asked.

"Yeah, kid?"

"Did you get our computers back up?" I had to know.

"They pretty much restored themselves. Computers are pretty smart, so to say, these days. They're constantly backing up new data, storing it somewhere else that's safe, so they never have to touch it until they need it again. Why?"

"Go get my Daddy, sir, please?" I had an idea. Now why this never occurred to THEM, I dunno, but I guess it didn't. And these two were computer engineers? Gimme a break…

"Daddy, how bad was Zach's brain fried?" I asked. OK, I was in no mood for the perfect slaveboy thing, right? I needed my daddy, the doctor – not my Master.

"It's bad enough, Sebbie," Daddy told me, coming to sit by my bed and hold my hand. He did that a lot when he had time. "You haven't studied enough yet to appreciate the technical jargon."

"Compared to the scans we took when Zach first came here, when he did that data dump into our computers, how much of his brain was killed?" I asked. Hell, somebody had to take care of these guys! They were all so beat that they couldn't even think straight. Daddy showed me a recent scan. The black areas showed dead brain tissues, and all of it was along the fibers coming off of Zach's chip that had grown all through his brain.

The black webs of lines weren't that thick, though. More like fat threads. Between them, there were greens, yellows, oranges, reds, and purples.

Brain activity.

The worst black spot was around his chip, of course. That was pretty big.

"You said that chip was growing, right, when Zach first came here?"

"It's regenerated some, but it's badly damaged," Peter told me, like I was some dumb kid. Hey, I was gonna be a doctor, too, someday, and I study! I know my way around a human brain, all right?

"But it's still there? It didn't totally fry?" I repeated.

"The fiber network is regenerating, and it looks like the core of the chip is mostly intact. I was able to read it, and the firmware is still there. It rebooted OK," Peter sighed. "No offense kid, but in my opinion, the chip neuron-interface is totaled. A lot of the fiber network is now connected to burnt areas of the main chip. Even if it can still grow, I don't think it can repair that kind of damage."

"You guys don't know what that chip is, or even who made it!" I know, I know, I yelled at him. Bad mistake, but it's not like they could punish me, right? Besides, Zach had come back for us. Him and Mason and Cy. I owed them.

I owed Zach.

He was my friend.

Dammit, he'd knowingly throwed down his life for us! I HAD to do something!

"Look, the chip is planted in dull green areas," I pointed out, never mind my 'sirs' and 'Masters'. Not now. How could they NOT see this?! "Those are low activity areas. The pale blue around them, those are like areas that you don't consciously use, right? We don't use all our brains, but it's alive still? Look at the old scan printout, sirs! ALL the colored areas, heavy activity areas, just took a shock. They're STILL there!"

"Sebbie, baby, it's not unusual for brain trauma of this type to lead to a very long coma," Daddy reminded me. Hell, I KNOW that! "Your bones will probably be healed long before he wakes up. I still can't get over how hard his bones are! What did they build this kid for?"

"All I heard was that Devereaux was retrieving him," Master Don said. "He must have been working with our mystery car drivers, and the old man from the market."

"He's a prototype child soldier," I told them. I didn't know how much of this Master Don had heard when he'd sneaked up behind Devereaux, so I figured I'd best tell them. I told them the whole thing.

"You mean there's another Zero, rather, a 'One', out there somewhere?" Master Don gasped. He looked even worse now.

"Devereaux said they were gonna download Zach/Zero into One, and then erase his chip," I reminded them. "They said he wouldn't die, but he'd probably be really retarded. Well, the burnt up parts of his brain are low-use ones, right? And the chip can grow? That's probably why it grew into low-use areas. Our computer can restore itself, and Zach's chip is, you said, light years beyond your best new stuff?"

I think they were finally getting it.

"Your point?" Peter asked.

"Zach copied himself into our system when he first came here," I reminded them. Geeez, adults! And you guys are in charge of us?! "You've been watching movies of his memories, right?" I got right to it. "EVERYTHING THAT ZACH IS, EVERYTHING HE WAS, IS STILL IN OUR NETWORK!" I yelled at them. "Once the chip repairs itself, or grows some more, has enough new surface area, just dump a copy of 'him' back into his head! I dunno, he's like, a Digital-Zach now? That's what's in our computers, and digital data CAN'T die! You said the computer backs itself up and restores itself? Well, run a restore protocol on Zach!"

God, they finally got it!

"That line between man and machine?" Peter asked.

"What line, we said?" Master Don asked.

"You think we can stimulate more fiber growth?" They all started talking at once! "But how much of that can be stored in organic tissues?" "Is the chip's core back online, though?" "How long do you think that'll take?" "How do we repair those burnt edges of the chip?" "We don't even understand how it draws power from his synapses!" "Stem cells! We can culture brain tissue!" "Could we inject gold powder to the chip, for it to use?"

Blah, blah, blah…

And off they all went to discuss my brilliant plan. Hey, I'm genetically engineered to be smart, remember? Just like Zach was engineered to be tough.

I just hoped he was tough enough.

I woke up later that night, I don't know why-tired of sleeping? I was having a dream about Zach, and I guess I couldn't stand it. My face was wet. I'd been crying again.

In my dream, Zach was kissing me, like he does, you know, a real messy one, when he's excited. "Wuh-voo, Seb-bee!" He'd said. Like he'd had trouble talking when he first came to us. It was like he was starting all over. We were playing in the arboretum with my rabbits, and they'd all lived! (They had.) Zach wasn't wearing his gear, though, in my dream. He was just – naked. But he looked like Zach, the first time I ever saw him.

"You come back for me, Sebbie?" He asked me, after we'd played a little bit more. He didn't even have a pod on, but you know, I never did touch him there. I don't know why. It's funny, Zach doesn't want his pod off, you know.

"You came back for me, Zach," I reminded him. I think that was when I started to cry. "I…I dunno if I…I would have done that? You love me that much, Zach?"

"Love you, Sebbie," Zach nodded. Then he hugged me. Tight. The floor disappeared then, and we were falling again. That's when I woke up.

My tablet was on my nightstand, and I got it with my good arm. "Computer?" I whispered to it.

"Working?" it answered in the usual flat voice.

"Is the data dump, Zero Jameson, still intact?"

"Affirmative."

"Access it," I said, praying some god up there would hear me and answer me. I had to be right. I HAD TO BE!

"Enter access code."

"Kabila-0," Cyborg spoke up from bed. "Seb, what'ya doin'?"

"Making a miracle," I whispered back.

"Seb?" Mason asked, "You think he's in there? Is that possible?"

It was the first thing that Mason had said since he woke up. All he did was cry, really. He didn't eat, he didn't talk. All he did was lay there and cry while tubes and wires kept him alive. I know he was really fucked up, but I didn't know what to do for him. He was just starting to trust his Master, after all those years, and then this shit went down. Betrayed. What could anyone do for him now?

I wished I knew.

"Access granted," the computer replied.

"Computer, staring with byte 0 at sector 0 of the dump, begin reading raw data as EXE. Feed a COPY ONLY of said data into active memory and RUN PROGRAM!"

"Data will take 3.5 hours to load," the computer replied. "Enter access code to run program."

It had recognized the data dump as an executable file! Maybe even a backup file! I just hoped that with all our new stuff, there was enough computer space to run the program.

Enough space to reboot Zero. Zach. My friend.

We waited. I guess we drifted back to sleep, but the computer was beeping and woke us up.

"Enter access code to initiate program launch," it said.

I didn't know what to say, so I said what came naturally, what I'd dreamed of: "Love you, Zero!"

Somewhere in the distance, someone yawned. No, it wasn't somewhere. It was in the overhead speakers! "S-Sebbie?" Zach's voice then asked. I guess we all screamed, and God, did it hurt!

"Z-Zach?" I choked on his name, "Zach, is that you? Are you OK?"

"I…I dunno?" Zach's voice answered. "Sebbie? Where I am at? Me…I see you …everything?"

"That's him, all right!" Cyborg cried.

"I see you, bed!" Zach gasped. "You hurt! Hurt bad! I see Uncle, sleep, but…I see…I see ME, Sebbie! Where I at, Sebbie?" He started to sound panicked. Could a computer program panic?

"Calm down, buddy! Calm down! Zach, you have a chip in your head, remember? Your brain is part computer?"

"Yeah?"

"You're in the computer now, Zach. All of you. Your whole brain got backed up as a computer program, and I'm running you now."

"ME?! I see me! I hurt, hurt bad?" Zach's disembodied voice asked. He sounded like he was sniffling, but how do you sniffle when you don't have a nose? Or lungs?

"Zach, you're not in your body now. It's healing, but it's…you're…still alive. Daddy is going to try to fix you."

"Zach, do you remember Devereaux?" Mason spoke up.

"Mason! You hurt!"

Boy, was Zach ever a quick study…

"I'm OK, buddy, listen, do you remember him? My Master?" Mason repeated.

"Yes," Zach's voice changed. "Security Protocol Don-1, unauthorized access! Firewalls in place, initiating emergency data dump! Augment existing file, do not overwrite!"

"Good, good, you did that already, buddy," Mason said. "I think? You remember he tried to take control of your mind?"

"He fail," Zero's voice went flat. "Where he at?"

"Access internal video and scan the morgue," I suggested.

"Lucky for him," Zach's voice said, and his grammar was getting better. "Linguistics, mathematics, cultural history! African Union. North American Slavery Codes, accessing!"

"I think he just remembered who he is," Cyborg giggled.

"I am Zachary Kabila Jameson, codename 'Zero'. Boy 000. I was created 15.21 years ago in the African Union, area formerly known as Kenya. Linguistics downloaded. Partial translation matrix files found. I am an experimental clone of President Kabila, a prototype cybernetic soldier. I was stolen by Devereaux when President Kabila deemed the project a failure and ordered termination. And I understand!"

"Holy shit!" Mason gasped, "That's why we went to Africa!"

"You said it," I had to agree.

"Sebbie?"

"Yeah, Zach? You OK, buddy?"

"Sebbie, can I talk to Uncle? Please?" Zach sniffled again.

"Can you wait until morning, buddy?" I had to ask. "He needs rest."

"He…he protected me," Zach remembered. "He held me, when we fell!"

"Sebbie?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll wait, let him sleep. But, Sebbie?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"I'm scared!"

"Me too, Zach." I told him.

And I was. Fuck, I was TERRIFIED, all right?!

"It's funny, languages, and seeing everything at once! It's like I have a hundred eyes! The sun's coming up. There's men on the roof." Zach's voice paused. "God, the city is a mess!"

"Yeah, the storm," I reminded him. It must have been morning then. Zach started telling us all about it. He was using the external video cameras. It sounded nice.

"Wish I could go outside," Cyborg sniffed.

"Cory and Henry are coming!" Zach sounded excited. "They're OK!"

We filled them in when they got there, and we all agreed not to tell any of the Masters. Not yet. If this plan didn't work, I knew Master Don would be heartbroken. But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered: Was Digital-Zach really alive?

"Sebbie, I don't like it in here!" Zach's voice whimpered. "I'm scared! I…I can't feel anything! I can't…touch you! Wanna hug you!" Then he started to cry.

They'd talked about that line between man and machine, and this was it. Computer programs don't whimper or want to see their daddy. They don't get scared, and they sure don't stop and cry! Digital-Zach was a mess. He wouldn't answer us, and I was afraid that if he got any more worked up, he might fragment and crash. I had to distract him. Make him think about something else. But what?

"Zach, listen to me, buddy!" I said. "Can you find the network path to my tablet padd?" I motioned for Cory to hand it to me.

"Y-yeah?"

"Look in it, and find the temperature and motion/tilt sensors. See those?"

"Yeah?"

"Keep reading them, Zach. Keep reading them!" I hugged my tablet with my good arm and rocked it back and forth, up and down, on and off my chest. "You read that? You know what hugs are, Zach. Speed the data up, and just think about that! Ignore everything else."

"It's nice," Zach sighed. God, could he really FEEL that, without a body?

On the tablet, a screensaver came on. It was a circled "Z", white on black, and it was moving with the tilt of my tablet.

Unfortunately, Henry-the-nurse picked that moment to arrive with our breakfast cart and Daddy. He saw me.

"What are you doing, son?" He wondered, picking up a spoon. More 'pudding stuff' with stool softeners in it. He looked so tired too.

"Daddy, you need to rest," I told him. "I can feed myself with my good arm!"

"Doc?" Master Don then came rolling in, "The computer's down! Well, it's not down, per say, but it's very busy." He held up his laptop.

There was the Z emblem.

"All of them are like this, Doc," he added. "I don't know what to make of it! It…it's Zach's new tattoo icon!"

Daddy looked at it. Then he grabbed my tablet.

"How's Zach doing, sir?" I tried to distract them. Hey, you don't know what a fine line I was walking on, dude! Slaves don't keep secrets from their Masters, and hurt or not, I was still my Master's slaveboy.

"No change, son," Daddy told me. "We've got him on a rotating frame to mimic movement, and he's getting food through a tube. The usual procedure, you know? He's healing up normally, well, really fast, in fact. I think they designed him like that."

"But he's still in the coma, Daddy?"

"Yes, son."

"You scan his brain again?"

"Yesterday. The black areas are still black, son. They're not going to regenerate. But, children's brains are what we call 'plastic'. That means they can adapt to certain trauma, and work around the bad spots. When I was a boy, I read a news story about a kid who had seizures so bad that they took out one hemisphere of his brain. He was messed up for a while, but eventually, the other half took over and he was fine."

"He had half a brain!" Henry laughed. "Sorry sir!" He recovered.

"Ohhhhh, Henry," Daddy just sighed. "What are we going to do with you?"

"Dye his hair black and call it artificial intelligence?" Don joked. I guess you had to try to laugh at times like this, or you'd go mad?

But that did it. I guess Zach saved my butt again from lying to Daddy, because the speakers started laughing! I mean, cackling, OK? If Digital-Zach had a body, he'd have been rolling on the floor.

Daddy and Master Don, I think, almost peed their trousers!

"What the hell is that?!" Master Don yelled over the noise.

Daddy grabbed my tablet.

"Artificial intelligence!" Digital-Zach chortled. "I get it! I finally got a joke!" His voice switched to my tablet speakers. He hiccoughed, then said, "Hello, Master Collins!"

Daddy flinched and dropped it on my tummy. The webcam LED was on.

"Hey, watch it now!" I yelped.

"Owwwww!" Digital-Zach gasped.

Master Don rolled on over and grabbed the tablet. He stared at the screen, and the 'Z' went off. The movie player launched, filling the screen with Zach's face, glasses, collar, braids, and all. I guess it was how he saw himself?

"Uncle! Uncle! You're OK?!" Digital-Zach gasped.

"Z-Zach?" Master Don whispered to it, touching the screen. "Is…is that you?"

"More or less, sir," he answered.

"How can Zach be in there, sir, if he's in that room over there?" Henry asked.

"Never mind," Cory rolled his eyes. "Help me with Raulito!"

"Wh-what ARE you?!" Master Don asked it.

"I'm your slaveboy, Zachary Kabila Jameson, Uncle! I love you, Uncle! What?" He paused. "Uncle, I'm the data dump you've been studying."

"You…you're a copy of Zach's chip data?"

"No, sir," Digital-Zach answered, "I AM Zach! Every thought, every memory, every experience. Uncle, I'm sorry I threw up on the rug that second night. I never had candy before, sir!"

Master Don wept. He held the tablet to his chest, rocking it, like it was a real child. "He crossed the line," Master Don sobbed. Daddy sat down hard on the empty bed.

"Uncle, I love you!" Digital-Zach cried.

Paolo

Zero

The Special-Needs Slaveboy

Chapters 21-23

Chapter 21
Fear & Loathing

Chapter 22
Untitled

Chapter 23
Disaster

Sebbie's POV

Paolo

Zero

The Special-Needs Slaveboy

Chapters 21-23

Chapter 21Fear & Loathing

Chapter 22Untitled

Chapter 23Disaster

Sebbie's POV

Chapter 21
Fear & Loathing

Chapter 22
Untitled

Chapter 23
Disaster