With floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the parking lot, I watch through the mirror as Rami’s shoulders find his ears again. He hurries to his pretty electric-blue two-seater and quickly lets himself in, barely aware of his surroundings before backing up and shooting out of the parking lot like a jackrabbit.
I feel like a world-class shithead, running him off like that,especially when it occurs to me that this was intense enough that he probably needed some aftercare.And maybe a safeword.
But no way am I risking a black bag on my head, waking up days later—if I woke up at all—in an ice bath with half my organs missing.
Fuck. That. Shit.
A notification goes off on my phone as I lock up the shop for the day. I’m tired and, frankly, still feel like a complete ass for how I treated Rami after we made each other come. I didn’t need to be so dramatic. I could’ve just said no, and we would’ve been cool.
That’s not true though.He’d’vebeen cool. I’d never be able to dig him out from under my skin.
“I promise I’ll be so good.”
And he was. He really, really was.
I’m not turned on by age regression, or even the barely legal shit out there. But that sound he made, like a baby nursing? As he played with my guiche? That was just the right kind of fucked up. Like he’d dug around in all of my dirtiest fantasies and come up with exactly what I wanted in the moment.
It’s a little embarrassing, having one of the best orgasms of my life come from a social media prince.
Reductive much? He’s a Harvard graduate, for fuck’s sake.
I wait till I’m in my classic Mustang Cobra, a dark-charcoal beauty with blackout lights, and get the A/C pumping before I check my phone. I need a distraction.
Like my vigilante-slash-WhiteHat friends, I keep an eye on chatter in local gun groups, receiving automatic notifications when members use either direct hate speech or their associated dog whistles.
And…fuck.
I hate it when I’m right.
Most of the gun groups I follow really do focus on safety and community, and if there’s some problematic language, it’s usually unintended: people using a turn of phrase they heard someone in their family use.
But this one account, seedyarmedandready, has had my hackles up for the last several weeks. From what I can tell, he’s a guy in his mid-thirties with a job in sales. I haven’t been able to verify his details or even find a good name to go by, but he’s trouble.
I put a tracer on him yesterday, and wouldn’t you know it? He’s ass deep in what the old timers like to call the dark web. AI has made it a far more insidious place, and the kids these days simply call itHell.
The most treacherous interactions in Hell occur within the unholy Venn diagram of conspiracy theories, AI logistics, and angry men. My mark has been following the worst of the worst. Guys who like to convince impressionable young men that America’s progressive strides are the worst thing that’s ever happened to this country.
In that vein, Hell_AI is the world’s most dangerous one-stop shop: a place where you can pick up bad ideas and the firepower to follow through on them. While federal legislation has successfully gone after many of the mechanisms that lead to mass shooter events, human trafficking, and political jackwaddery, Austin PD’s cybersecurity division is woefully unequipped to track every lone wolf with the Hell_AI app on their phone.
That’s where my friends and I come in.
As for my mark, it looks like he got his hands on a vintage high-capacity AR-15. More notifications pop up. He’s joined his chat group live.
seedyarmedandready: I’m ready to go.
ftp_txstrg: Fuck yeah, brother. You know where to go when all hell breaks loose, right?
seedyarmedandready: You know it. I’m about to make the PSF famous.
seedyarmedandready: Give me about thirty minutes and then turn on the news.
seedyarmedandready: I promise you’ll see something new.
Shit. Thirty minutes? And what’s the PSF?
I pull up my WhiteHat app and join the chat for active situations in Central Texas. I dump screenshots in the feed and ask for help identifying seedyarmedandready and whatever the fuck PSF means.
The app is run by a volunteer gang of nerds who answer to some geezer with the handle spürsfan_2020, and they’re good for this kind of shit. One of my favorite shit stirrers joins the chat and the dots next to his name jump.
