The Hacker's Encyclopedia 1998/hackers_encyclopedia.iso/zines/extra/tanj0094.txt

Text File | 2003-06-11 | 14.8 KB | 267 lines

     OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  oOOOO OOOO.       OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
     OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" .OOOOOO OOOOOo      OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
            OOOO          oOOOOOOO OOOOOOO.    OOOO          oOOOO
            OOOO        .OOOO OOOO OOOOOOOOo   OOOO          OOOO"
            OOOO       oOOOO  OOOO OOOO "OOOO. OOOO OOOOo   .OOOO'
            OOOO     .OOOO"   OOOO OOOO   OOOOoOOOO  "OOOO. oOOOO
            OOOO    oOOOOOOO..OOOO OOOO    "OOOOOOO    OOOOoOOOO"
            OOOO  .OOOO"""OOOOOOOO OOOO      OOOOOO     "OOOOOOO'
            OOOO oOOOO      ""OOOO OOOO       "OOOO       OOOOOO

|---------------------------------------------------------------------------|
|                                                                           |
|                         There Ain't No Justice                            |
|                                                                           |
|                                  #94                                      |
|                                                                           |
|---------------------------------------------------------------------------|
                               - Squick -
                           by Eponymous Bosch

  this story is entirely ficticious.  any resemblance to characters
  living, dead or imaginary is entirely coincidental and should not
  be viewed as legally actionable, because it isn't.  besides, the
  nasty bits all take place in Simulation.  Virtual reality, you dig?
  so, the issue of consensuality doesn't even arise.  besides, it's
  only a story, right?  it's not as if i have fantasies about going
  around brain-fucking people.  really.  come on, okay, agreed, i
  read alt.sex.bestiality, i'm sick, but i'm not as sick as some of
  -you- sikfux.  really, i think you people need serious psychiatric
  attention.  besides, i -know- that you are all out to get me,
  aren't you?  bastards.

    - eponymous bosch

-----------------------------------------------------------------

  The door ground open on poorly-lubricated tracks; Beran and Dava
frog-marched their captive over to the dentist's chair which had been
crudely mounted in the middle of the room, directly below Scanner's
cameras.  He was wrapped, from his shoulders down to his knees, in a
sheath of tight black plastic.  This didn't appear to be necessary,
however, as the captive was not resisting at all; in fact, he was the
very picture of slack mindless stupidity, as if he had been sedated
or brainwiped.  Selby, who had been sitting at the Cable-TV monitor,
got up to examine the captive.  Dava proudly gestured to him;

  `Here he is, fresh from the Zurich State Correction Centre: Jules
Sangria.  He was in for Aggravated Assault, Resisting Arrest, Child
Abuse, Illegal Systems Entry, Mis-Use of Unix Systems and for
traveling the Subway without a ticket.  He only cost us fifty
credits.'  Selby raised his bushy eyebrows.

  `Mmmn.  Admirably, suitably admirable,' he said, turning the
criminal's head to one side and examining the contours of his
cranium.  `He was scheduled for termination?'  Beran nodded.  `So we
can do pretty much what we want with him, and with a clear
conscience.'

  `In fact,' Dava put in, `I think his ex-wife would probably pay
quite a bit for an advance copy of the video... if we are going to
make the sort of video that I _think_ we're going to make.'  Selby
grinned mirthlessly.

  `We are.  And, she doesn't have to pay for it... she can tape it
off the air, like everyone else, when Enzian plays it on his show.'
Beran put in,

  `I've been thinking... since most of this is going to be simulated,
why not make the active male lead a video analogue of Enzian himself?
I'm sure he'd appreciate the joke...'  Selby nodded approvingly, then
started stripping the black plastic from their captive.

  `Okay, let's get to work here. Scanner?'

  YES SIR?

  `I have a new model for you. I want real-time three-D emulation of
the upper quarter of its torso, and full stereo audio-sampling of the
procedure I will be demonstrating.'  Two of Scanner's cameras,
mounted on spider-like arms which depended from the ceiling, slowly
moved into place.  They aimed their lines of sight to a point at the
centre of Jules' skull.

  IS THE MODEL CURRENTLY SITTING IN THE CHAIR?  I HAVE TARGETED THE
SITE YOU HAVE INDICATED.  IT APPEARS TO BE COVERED IN MANY LONG, THIN
BROWN OBJECTS.

  `That's his hair.  We'll be shaving some of it off, but you don't
have to scan that.'  Selby muttered aside to Dava, `We can do that
part from stock footage/montage/simulation.'  He cast about for the
clippers, to begin shaving; Beran held up his trusty butane-powered
soldering-iron and, with the open flame, scorched a strip from the
top of Jules' head down the back of his neck.  They all wrinkled
their noses at the stench of burning hair; Beran brushed away charred
fibers with a damp towel, exposing a slightly reddened strip of skin
which reached from Jules' shoulders up to the top of his head.  While
Dava scattered old newspapers about on the floor around the dentist's
chair, Selby hefted a large drill fitted with a tubular bit about
five centimetres across mounted on the end; with a tap of his toe,
the chair reclined, bringing Jules to lie parallel to the floor.  Was
that a flicker of consciousness he saw in the captive's eyes?
Clutching a thirty-centimetre black rubber dildo in his other hand,
Selby brought the drill up towards the top of Jules' head...


  The AnarchArtists gathered around the large video screen in their
Basel headquarters to watch that week's episode of their favourite
television show, `Enzian's Surprise Hour'.  The host, a tall, flint-
edge-faced negro dressed in German military officer's regalia, sat
behind his desk as he presented his latest offerings.

  The show was one of the most popular in the underground Cable
network; it featured videos sent in by the audience, on any subject,
usually illegal.  Snuff videos were a favourite, and it was obvious
that many of those were done with minimal special effects budgets.
`Oberst Enzian' (who styled himself after a character from Thomas
Pynchon's `Gravity's Rainbow') examined the videos before presenting
them, so that only the particularly unusual or interesting were
aired.

  `This week, friends and viewers, we have another offering from our
Anarchist Artists in Basel, Switzerland.  It's titled "squick", and
I'm sure that you'll find it as deeply moving and involving as I
did.'  A sly smile here, gleaming white teeth in a dark, african
face. `And remember: it's all done in Simulation - none of this ever
happened in reality - so it's' (and here, the studio audience joined
in, in what was obviously a time-honored tradition on this show)
`ALL COMPLETELY LEGAL!'  followed by much derisive laughter from the
audience.

  The screen dimmed as the AnA's video started.

  (soundtrack: `Death of an Analogue', by Klaus Schulze, from
                the album `Dig It')

  (yellowed, off-white letters fade up from the darkness:

                          SQUICK

  the  AnarchArtist's  logo  appears  below  the  letters; the
  divided circle  within another  (which looks innocent  until
  the viewer realises  that it's a stylised penis grasped by a
  hand,  viewed from the front).  the  letters  and the symbol
  both fade  after  five seconds, and a tiny  spot  far in the
  distance grows until it reveals itself;  a gleaming leather-
  and-chrome  dentist's chair,  illuminated from  some  hidden
  source  far  above.   the  naked  figure  of a young man  is
  strapped to the chair, reclining, his feet pointing off into
  the  darkness,  his  head  (secured  to  the  chair  with  a
  bewildering  array of leather  belts)  facing the camera.  a
  strip of hair  about seven centimetres wide  has been shaved
  from his head in a sort of inverse Mohawk,  and a bright red
  lipstick  cross  has  been  drawn,  where the  fontanelle is
  situated,  on  the  top  of  his head.   his steel-grey eyes
  flash,  peering  anxiously  from  left to  right  within the
  limits of  his confines.  from  behind the camera's point of
  view  appears  the  figure  of a tall,  lithe,  naked negro:
  Enzian.    the  figures  have  a  smooth,  flowing  quality,
  indicating  that they are being realised within  a  computer
  simulation;  the  slightly  halting  movements  and gestures
  which   accompany   real  humanity,  missing  from  standard
  computer  simulations,  are  the  mark of a master animator.
  from  nowhere,  an  overly  ornate mechanical drill appears,
  draped  with  pneumatic   cables,  switches  and  dials; the
  evilly-glittering  drillbit  is  hollow,  and  as  wide as a
  person's  wrist.  the  drill swings  through a dramatic arc,
  orienting  on  the  subject's  skull;  Enzian moves smoothly
  behind  the  drill  (which,  while  trailing  cables,  isn't
  actually  connected  to  anything  else  in the simulation),
  squats down and grins, exposing his startlingly white teeth.
  he slides his hand along the shaft of the drill,  flicks the
  chuck with its obscenely sharp bit,  and the drill hums into
  motion.   within seconds,  the drillbit is a  shining silver
  blur. the young man glances up nervously.  Enzian steps back
  and the  drill's  body  rotates  dramatically  through three
  hundred and sixty degrees,  the end  of the drill-bit coming
  to rest mere inches from the young man's skull. Enzian rests
  his  hands  on  the  drill  casing  and  eases  it  forwards
  slowly...   the   camera  view   draws  closer  as  the  bit
  approaches... the bit touches the skin and plunges forwards,
  tatters of skin and blood flying in all directions  (none of
  it  spatters  the  camera lens because,  of course,  this is
  taking  place in Simulation;  there  are no chunks of flying
  flesh,   but  merely  digitally  rendered  objects  in  some
  mainframe's voxel-space). nonetheless, the young man screams
  and shudders,  his head turning to the right slightly as the
  drill  meets more resistance,  digging  into the bone of his
  skull;  the  drill  whines as if in disappointment,  changes
  gear  and  digs in harder.   the  tone  drops  an octave and
  Enzian  presses  it forward again;  suddenly,  as  the drill
  penetrates the skull,  the tone rises sharply. the automatic
  gears  throttle  back,  and Enzian draws the drill away from
  the fist-sized hole which has been gouged in the young man's
  head.   as blood streams from the edges of the wound, Enzian
  slides  a  lever up the shaft of the drill,  which pokes the
  ragged red-grey disk of skin,  skull and dural matter out of
  the hollow bit. it falls downward and vanishes, spinning, in
  the Simulation.  the brain itself is exposed, grey-pink with
  red streaks,  pulsing  slightly.   the table tips back a few
  more  degrees,  bringing the subject's head  within range of
  Enzian's crotch.  Enzian is standing,  clutching  two  hand-
  grips which are mounted at the  head of the chair; he pushes
  it  back  slightly  and  massages  his  erection  with slow,
  assured motions.  with one hand wrapped around the base,  he
  squeezes,  forcing  blood  into  the  head,  making it swell
  almost  to  the size of a tennis-ball.   a  droplet of clear
  fluid at the very tip glints in the light from above. Enzian
  carefully  draws  the subject closer,  bringing  the swollen
  head  of  his  penis towards the hole,  aimed at  the divide
  between the  left and  right hemispheres,  and then suddenly
  plunges it in,  with a wet,  `squick!'  sound.   the subject
  shudders  and  gives voice to an  inarticulate  cry.  Enzian
  slowly withdraws,  accompanied by an obscenely moist sucking
  sound,  and  plunges  in again,  to the hilt.  the subject's
  tongue protrudes slightly,  and his eyes are pointing in two
  different directions  as Enzian begins pumping slowly,  then
  with increased vigor; tiny droplets of perspiration gleam on
  his chest.  with each stroke, fresh rivulets of blood stream
  down  the back  of the subject's head,  and at the height of
  each inward stroke, Enzian's balls slap into these trickles,
  spraying  red  droplets in all directions.  the frequency of
  the  strokes increases slowly,  until Enzian is slamming his
  lean, dark body against the subject's firmly fixed head with
  impassioned  fury,  a  ragged gasp accompanying each thrust.
  blood  begins to trickle from the  subject's nose,  just  as
  Enzian roars,  grinds his  hips against the chair and comes.
  He throws his arms out and floats backwards,  as if in free-
  fall,  trailing  a  glittering arc of pearly droplets.   the
  subject's jaw flexes once,  and the red fluid that now pours
  from his nostrils is mixed with threads of white.


  Selby patted Dava on the back companionably.
  `Bingo.'



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