By Manna Francis
There are not any undesirable men or solid men. There are just higher men and worse men. one of many worse men is Val Toreth. In an international during which torture is a sound a part of the investigative strategy, he works for the research and Interrogation department, the place his colleagues could be extra harmful than the criminals he investigates. one of many larger men is Keir Warrick. His small company, SimTech, is constructing a "sim" method that locations clients in a completely immersive digital truth. A minnow in a murky and hazardous pond, he's purely commencing to realize what percentage compromises will be required for fulfillment. Their house is the darkish destiny dystopia of recent London. A totalitarian forms controls the eu management, sharing political energy with the firms. the govt. makes use of violence and the numerous divisions of the dreaded division of inner safeguard to keep up regulate and weigh down resistance. the firms struggle between themselves, utilizing deadly strength below the euphemism of "corporate sabotage," uniting basically to withstand makes an attempt by means of the management to increase its impression over them. Toreth and Warrick are extra usual enemies than allies. yet mutual allure and the struggle for survival can create not likely bonds.
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He got up and went off to the bathroom, whistling. Warrick watched him walk across the room, muscles sharply defined under smooth skin. First thing tomorrow, he thought, I’m finding the gym at the university and signing up. Having an office job was clearly no excuse. Then the implications of the thought sickened him. Just like any other job. Except Toreth’s job left him adept at knowing how far to push, how much pain to use and how to read the response to it. And, God, he’d loved it. Loved every minute of it, knowing who and what he was.
All his preferred positions were on top, in charge and in control. He didn’t get off at all on the idea of being tied up. Except that Warrick had done far worse than just tie him up and he had enjoyed it. He had to admit that to himself, much as it didn’t mesh with his cherished self-image. Absent-mindedly, he topped up his glass, caught a spill that ran down the neck of the bottle and licked his thumb. Would sucking a disembodied finger feel real? Probably. Everything else had been very real. Kissing disembodied lips would be extremely peculiar, although it would solve the problem of noses getting in the way.
Absolutely fucking perfect. ” He got up and went off to the bathroom, whistling. Warrick watched him walk across the room, muscles sharply defined under smooth skin. First thing tomorrow, he thought, I’m finding the gym at the university and signing up. Having an office job was clearly no excuse. Then the implications of the thought sickened him. Just like any other job. Except Toreth’s job left him adept at knowing how far to push, how much pain to use and how to read the response to it. And, God, he’d loved it.