Little Bit

By Angelique Voisen

After losing all his limbs and his ability to shift, defective werewolf and soldier of fortune Jimi Ny is ready for retirement. To pay for his augmented arms and legs, Jimi is given one simple task—assassinate his former mate, renowned cyborg maker Gepetto and destroy his latest creation Pino-173.

Any excuse to end the life of a soulless machine disguised in a human meat suit is good enough for Jimi. Chancing upon Gepetto’s corpse, Jimi is thrust into a complicated game where Pino is the grand prize and he soon understands why. An AI program doesn’t issue commands to Pino’s body. Pino’s a new breed of cyborg, capable of feeling pain and pleasure, joy and sorrow. He’s more human than Jimi can ever be.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight Publishing
• Release date: Dec 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9781772336108

Angelique Voisen

Angelique Voisen writes LGBTQ erotic romances and likes experimenting with different sub-genres. Her stories are often set in exotic settings and may include blades, fangs, kinky magic systems, and happily-ever-afters. Visit Angelique at www.angelvoisen.blogspot.com

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Published by Evernight Publishing ® at Smashwords

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2015 Angelique Voisen

ISBN: 978-1-77233-610-8

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Stephanie Balistreri

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To my readers, I hope you enjoy Jimi and Pino’s story. To Evernight Publishing, for giving this story a home.

LITTLE BIT

Naughty Fairy Tales

Angelique Voisen

Copyright © 2015

Prologue

Pino

Glaring white lights bleached the room entirely of color. The longer I lay there on the hard metal table, the faster the cold seeped into my shivering skin and bones. The leather straps that held my limbs in place felt tighter somehow, slowly cutting off my blood circulation.

Around me, I heard the soft patter and click-clack of nervous footsteps—neurosurgeons wearing around the operation room. Louder still, I heard the gentle hum of the surgical blades whirring inches from my ribs, and panic briefly rose inside me.

Then I heard the click of a button and the blades stopped. Not again. A moment of blessed silence arrived, before the quiet was punctured by voices rising and falling on either side of me, debating my fate.

Hurry it up already. Biron is waiting for me.

Why are you stopping, Dr. Fernandez? One scientist asked.

Their faces became blurry outlines to me, because it’s easier to disassociate myself from reality. To me, they’re reduced to faceless judges and executioners. They hold my fate in their hands, but not without my consent. I signed the contract on the dotted line, and surrendered my body and soul to these men. Their hesitation failed to inspire much confidence, but butchers are only good for one thing.

We cannot keep cutting into these candidates randomly and expect to hit the jackpot. We are not playing space lotto, another said.

Have you suddenly grown a heart, Dr. Smith? asked the first voice.

Our superiors would not be happy at the number of wasted resources we are required to mention in our report. We shall wait for Dr. Gepetto to arrive. I am notified his shuttle has just docked on the landing strip.

Someone snorted. He calls himself a doctor? What does a cyborg maker know of the brain?

We will wait.

Beside the logo of Happy Inc., the largest pharmaceutical conglomerate in the Happy Ever galaxy, the neon green lights of the digital clock on the wall flashed another zero. Another hour passed. I blinked several times in disbelief.

Numbers do not lie. They tell me it’s been over twenty hours, a full day of surgeons discussing the impossible—extract a human brain from a dying body and implant it inside a machine.

The stuff of science fiction and fairy tales had finally come true, if they would ever get around to stopping talking and start doing. A breathing tube stuck down my throat prevented me from speaking. If I regained control of my mouth I would remind these men, supposedly the best cyber experts and neurosurgeons in the galaxy, that time wasn’t a luxury.

Not for me at least, but I’m only a prop. Candidate 173.

Outside the makeshift experimental site, two thousand sick and starving volunteers dragged their feet through the barren red soil of my dying planet, the twin suns scorching above them. They’re essentially dead men walking. Expendable and replaceable. Yet, after one hundred and seventy-two failures, the men of Happy Inc. finally stop. Perhaps Happy Inc. isn’t drowning in space credits as they would have liked us to believe.

Somewhere in the room, a machine whined in warning. A red light flashed on the large screen facing the operating table. Five words appeared on the screen repeatedly and the doctors began to scramble.

Organ failure at ten percent.

The countdown begins. Finally.

We will need to start cutting, or throw this one away.

A surgeon slid a needle filled with anesthetic into the vein in my left arm. The surgical blades whirled again, and I wondered why the sound no longer filled me with disquiet.

My homeworld, Planet Egis, existed on the fringes of the galaxy. Filled with red sand and nothing to mine but iron, my people were dirt poor, barely able to carve out a living.

A boy born with a genetic illness, with a physically weak body unable to pick up the pickaxe and hammer, had nothing to offer. A burden. My tribe exiled Biron, my lover and childhood friend, and me when we came of age. Together, Biron and I used up what little credits we had to cross the red wastes of Egis and reach Happy Inc.’s experimental site.

They claimed to be doing medical research, to extend the human lifespan since humans were the most short-lived race in the galaxy. Eternity.

Deep down, every single Egis volunteer including Biron and I, knew the truth. We all came here to do one thing—to die, because we lacked the courage to do it ourselves. It was easier to delude ourselves into thinking we came here to become a medical miracle, a chance to become the first immortal.

Biron had been Candidate 172. Looking at him, skinny, tall, dark-haired, black-eyed, and dressed in rags, was like looking into a mirror. He could have passed for my brother, like any other Egis folk. No small wonder these soft pink and overweight Happy Inc. hotshots didn’t bother seeing us as separate individuals.

Before he entered these doors, I clutched at his hand, and pleaded with him with my eyes to reconsider. I still remember the way he leaned his forehead against mine, the texture of his wet tongue licking away my tears. The peaceful look in his eyes told me enough.

Biron gripped my shoulders, grinded his throbbing erection against my trousers, and kissed me the way he fucked me. Rough, filled with heat and need, and hard enough to draw blood. I could taste the salt of my tears on his lips.

I will see you on the other side, Pino.

Sleep began to take me when I vaguely heard the doors of the room open. Brief commotion ensured. More debates, heated words flavored with complicated scientific terms I couldn’t comprehend, much less pronounce. My eyelids drooped. My mind began to wonder what the afterlife would be like, when a face parted from the featureless masked horde of executioners. A handsome young face, but the soul contained in those eyes was old and haunted.

Dr. Gepetto, reputedly the galaxy’s best cyborg maker. Before he snapped on disposable gloves, Gepetto did the last thing I expected. He ran callused fingers over my shaved head, and even through the haze of drugs, it was hard to forget the texture of his fingers, or the faint smell of mint that clung to him. He picked up my file, licking his lips. Gepetto said my name, giving me back the identity my executioners took from me the moment they slapped a number on me.

Sleep now, Pino, my poor child. When you wake, it will no longer be in this weak and frail mortal frame, Gepetto murmured. My ears caught every syllable clearly, drowning out everything including the hum of the machines and the voices of the neurosurgeons. I will make you a real body.

* * * *

I floated in a sea of