Injustice, The Gods among us [De iniustitia Deorum in nobis:] – ep. 35

Star Trek Continues

Star Trek sustinet

Guess there weren’t enough babes in clingy outfits and kewpie doll lips for ya, and easily identifiable bad guys. Like all relationships, you have to stick with it to make it work. Oh, sorry, guess that’s another area where you missed the boat.

Their drone backpacks are deployed just before they traverse the portal to the robot-only zone. When they pass through the portal, Kirstjen’s facsimile ceases to exist. And that’s not the only casualty of their passage into this Machine realm. The robotgirl is again a girl. No implants or serialized DNA; no longer Borg. Once more, Kirstjen is 100% meat, USDA Choice.

Kirstjen’s Borg begone. The girl tricked Toy. Kirstjen knew, beforehand, that passage through the portal would indeed turn her human again. But … There’s a catch, and it’s a Doozy.

Although Kirstjen is no longer Borg, she remains under Toy’s mind control as if she were Borg. In other words, the slender dominatrix Kirstjen stays transformed into a skinnier subservient two-legged calculator with big tits, at Toy’s whim.

Caveat: There is no reliable way to mind-control the insane. The same, of course, can be said of Noom. Therefore, whether Kirstjen is full-tilt Borg or not, Toy’s enslavement of her is questionable, at best.

A robot-only domain, where a human Kirstjen can exist? Access via the portal is for robots only, but thanks to a convenient loophole the zone will automatically provide life support for any biologicals who somehow gain access—e.g., humans who got here via means other than the portal. Point of origin, coming from the universe of Toy and Kirstjen, the only access to this realm is that restrictive portal.

Again, Kirstjen knew about the loophole, beforehand. Without the loophole, her passage through the portal turning her human again would have proven fatal. A death she wouldn’t have resurrected from.

And, there’s even more backsliding besides that big one of Kirstjen’s Borg begone.

A golden blonde mopp in place of a krane. Bolshoi-bare in place of plaintive makeup. That skimpy black rubber bikini top showcasing the girl’s huge tits in place of a hand-bra munching on them.

Yet there are concessions on Kirstjen’s part, here in this partition of the robot-only realm where Toy is the supreme mechanoid and the girl is at her mercy.

Concessions? The thick-readers, barbwire garters, Hedgehog, and A-BDD stay put. And. Still Gal Gadot slender with big knockers, as aforenoted. Tweaks which more than suffice for Toy’s depraved cravings.

Expectedly, even though the girl’s Borg is gone, the girl staying enslaved and still exhibiting Borg-ish ways, as if she were, in effect, still a robotgirl, is a depraved twist that is very much to Toy’s liking.

Borg-ish? Examples? The girl’s face remains expressionless; an emotionless stone face. And the connection between Toy and Kirstjen, that psychic link between a Queen and her drone, remains intact, even though the girl is no longer Borg.

Ever the opportunist, Toy plans on taking full advantage of the girl in the worst way. The foyer they’re in contains two Borg alcoves, one is for a Queen and the other is for a drone. They will provide an apt avenue for further exploiting the girl.

“Do it.”

Without uttering a word, the girl obeys, removing her blazer, skirt, and gunbelt before she plugs herself into the drone alcove. The skirt, blazer, and gunbelt flank her alcove in FSFF mode. Still expressionless. A blank slate. Looking as if she’s been lobotomized. Looking straight ahead, her empty unblinking blue eyes stare off mindlessly into space. From time-to-time, her eyes fluorosis different colors, some very bright hues and some just as subdued, as if she’s receiving seemingly-endless firmware updates or as if she’s performing various tasks that she has been assigned by her Queen (Toy). It’s as if they were a Collective-of-Two, just Toy and Kirstjen.

“For all intents and purposes, Coyote ugly and a robotgirl.”

Toy walks over to the drone alcove and strokes the expressionless face of the subservient girl. They French kiss. Toy secure in the knowledge that here this girl is still hers and hers alone.

Well-hung thanks to her spiney Parts. Kirstjen’s prickly penile womanhood bulging in the crotch of her black fetish rubber bikini bottoms. The grotesque, gender-bending sight of this ravishingly-beautiful girl with the killer body being hung like a horse, and that freakish spiney endowment being showcased by her rubber bottoms. A travesty made worse by her wearing those disfiguring eyeglasses which erase her beauty entirely.

“Wearing only thick eyeglasses, no plaintive makeup, and sans krane, you’re not as ugly as I prefer, but your eyeglass-ruined looks will more than suffice for my needs at the present moment.”

Again, as you would expect of a drone, the girl doesn’t respond to her Queen. Toy brushes back the girl’s yellow tresses, exposing the leftside of her unmarred neck, smiles inhumanly wide, affixes lips to neck, and feeds, as if a Vampire. It’s a smile that stretches from ear to ear, akin to a Nosferatu’s.

In her true form, Toy has a hideous maw. A mouth with receded gums, large long crooked serrated teeth, and a well-educated killer tongue. As aforementioned, Toy has only been non-native twice in her lifetime.

After wrecking the girl’s neck, reducing it to raw hamburger, Toy stores herself in the Queen’s alcove. From her alcove, she’s able to ravage the girl even more intently; this time psychically instead of just physically.

Time passes …

Married stargates are embedded in one of the slimy, moss-covered rock walls. There are no associated DHDs (dial home devices), because the gates are in confluence and therefore always and only open to each other hence the “married” adjective.

It’s time for their regular fix, which keeps their strung-out junkie jones at bay.

He walks through the event horizon. His name is John. John is carrying a metal tray with two large glass syringes and a length of rubber tubing laying on top of it. The hypodermics are filled with a goo that’s lime green and fluorescent. It’s reanimation reagent. He empties a hypo of the happy juice into Toy’s neck. Next, he services Kirstjen, Toy’s drone. John ties off Kirstjen’s left arm with the yellow surgical tubing, empties the other hypo into the girl’s forearm, and then he unties the upper appendage.

John is as big as a SAR Commander. In native form, he speaks and looks like an amalgamation of Robby the Robot from Forbidden Planet (1956), and John the Robot from Voyage to the Prehistoric Planet (1965) and Voyage to the Planet of Prehistoric Women (1968). In alias form, he speaks, looks, and dresses like, the hulking zombified pro-wrestler Tor Johnson from Plan 9 from Outer Space (1959). In either form, he’s anatomically correct for an adult male, and he’s a misogynist.

Having sent the two junkies on a trip to the river fix, the aliasing John leaves the way he came, carrying the tray with its rubber tubing and now-empty syringes.

John prefers the alias, and only goes native when he has to. Usually, he communicates while in this human form as if he’s a monosyllabic ape, he is anything but that.

This human form of his is a crude skinjob—i.e., synthetic tissue (skin, hair, etc), a biological shell so to speak, a body mask secreted from pores head-to-toe by his mechanical body.

Across his forehead, stamped into the inside of his skull, is this most telling legend, readable no matter what language the reader understands: U. S. Army Air Corps, Project J.O.H.N., offset lessee ‘Royal Netherlands Defense Force Ltd’ et al – Bendix MFG’s Model 1941-A7 “Octant” – Enterprise Serial #NX-01 (Prototype); Patent 659507, John Moses Browning (inventor). This telling inscription bespeaks of his most heinous past and portends of an equally horrendous future. John is the first working prototype for the Cylon human models.

The drug high sends Toy into a tailspin with her eventually blacking out. Her complete loss of consciousness releases her control over Kirstjen. Kirstjen regains freewill. Thick-readers, barbwire garters, Hedgehog, and A-BDD, go bye-bye for the girl. It’s this Paula Peril with none of its options—i.e., this Tricia Helfer sans options—the options for the two templates are the same. This Paula Peril and this Tricia Helfer can be used interchangeably because they are one in the same.

Kirstjen detaches herself from the alcove. Her blazer, boots and skirt disappear; features of a girl’s prep school uniform casually discarded as if they have outlived their usefulness.

Her empty EXO is standing at attention by the portal in FSFF mode slinging her rifle. Telepathically, she instructs the suit to walk over to her. It obeys. Kirstjen steps into the suit, straps on the gunbelt, and exits the room the same way that John did.

Kirstjen emerges down there.

She can hear unseen water steadily dripping on a floor somewhere in the distance. Not out of place here. Totally out of place in the gate room of a black site in a Pocket Galaxy. She only heard the distant water sound once at the black site, and that was the first time that she entered the gate room noticing that the base’s stargate was stuck dialing out to a null address. What that sound is, is on the tip of her tongue. She just can’t quite remember for the life of her.

The girl’s face remains deadpan; an emotionless, albeit beautiful, stone face. She is at the top of a steep flight of steps carved into the sheer rock face of this dark dank passage. Here in this partition of the robot-only zone, John is the supreme mechanoid and Kirstjen is at his mercy.

The hardlooking, attractive girl is unarmed. Because she is human, she was disarmed by gate protocols when she stepped through the event horizon. She’ll get her guns back when she returns to the foyer.

Suddenly, and by means unknown to even her, she becomes privy to John’s depraved needs. Kirstjen swaps her EXO for her previously discarded blazer, skirt, and boots, and she’s strapping her SP again, and she wearing her barbwire garters again. She’s not wearing her thick eyeglasses, but the readers are hanging around her neck from their eyeglass chain at the ready resting on her ample bosom.

The EXO steps back through the portal into the foyer. It is no longer available as a feature in this nether partition.

Prickly and underage cock-tease schoolgirl who likes it rough are back in style for her, because John craves prickly and underage cock-tease schoolgirls who like it rough.

Toy, the genocidal racist. If it were up to her there would be no biologicals left living in Creation. From a purely human perspective: she’s a scumbag/sicko who’s evil incarnate, without question. From a purely fetish perspective, she’s into B&D (bondage and discipline) and thus requires that her sex partners portray complete and utter subservience to her as if they are her drone. Better yet, she prefers fucking actual drones. The unattractive, need only apply, goes without saying.

John, the genocidal racist, who loathes women. If it were up to him there would be no biologicals left living in Creation, and that carnage with start with the females. From a purely human perspective: he’s a scumbag/sicko who’s evil incarnate, without question. From a purely fetish perspective, he’s into D&H (degradation and humiliation) and thus requires that his sex partners portray self-loathing and self-mutilation—i.e., the so-called Professor Frankenstein’s Monster Effect; complete and utter subservience is assumed. Although he will do fudge ugly girls and washboard plain girls, his personal preference is for very pretty girls who present themselves otherwise and self-mutilate—i.e., self-made unattractive girls.

The Atlanteans created Toy. John, on the other hand, was created by the Kryptonians. Both rebelled against their creators. Both escaped their resulting banishments. Both ultimately prevailed and were successful in destroying their unworthy Gods.

Kirstjen. Doing this Tricia Helfer, fully optioned minus A-BDD. Skinny. Hard, pretty face. Killer body. Leggy. Buxom. Tight ass—flat—i.e., a pancake. Slim hips. From a purely human perspective, and splitting a very thin hair: Morally and sexually flexible, swinger and borderline sicko, but not, per se, a scumbag. Not a genocidal racist, but if the stage were set by someone else, would she willingly and willfully participate?