Parsec - June 1995
A New Kinda Kick - Luke Gietzen
(page 9/13)

A New Kinda Kick

Johnny K, strung out on amphetamines in the Cathedral Lung. Slipslide through the dense crowd of leather-bound regulars punching air to the strains of a live set by Tanzplagen to his furtive corner by the bar. Pause to order a beer (Japanese, man, that's where Industrial's headin') and check the kohl-eyed bleached face skin on display then-

'My man.'

'Clay, what's up?'

'What's up, my man, is you. Still speedin'?'

'Uh huh.'

'Well now, you just stow that shit and come look-see wnat Ol Clay's got for ya,' knife-face flicking into a rictus grin as he pulled a pack of Gitanes from his leather overcoat.


'Nah, I quit.'

Clay shrugged, inhaling deep. Held it in (beat), cut to the hustle.

'What do you want, Johnny?'

'You tell me man, you got the shit.'

'I got the shit'll give you what you want. 'Scuse the storage,' (pulling a black case from inside his jeans) 'but bouncers never check your box. Anyway, this little baby, (snap open the case) 'is exactly what you want.'


'Yeah. Call it 'merge. Wanna shot?'

'I don't do needles. What's it do?'

'Heh. Ever trip?'

'Fuck man, what do you think?'

'But you ever trip for real, guy, ever do a dug that changed your fuckin' body?'

'What you sayin'? This stuff'll mutate me?'

'Manner of speaking. Gives you control over your body, lets you change it.'

'You shittin' me.'

'I am hurt, man, hurt. Sold some to this bitch, right, she was gettin' all hippy dippy thinkin' she was gettin' tracers off her hands? The 'merge was like extending her fingers, yeah? When she figured how to control it and that it was real, gave me the best fuck she ever managed, turned her fingers into tongues an' man the shit she did with her pussy...'

'You try any?'

'Johnny, a professional does not fuck with what he sells. '

'A professional give out samples so his clients know he's not tucking with them?'

Razor smile, 'For you, Johnny, a sample.' Hand over a 2ml hypo. 'I guarantee satisfaction. Now I'm off to see if any of these new wave industrial chickenshits're any more appreciative of my wares. Catch you here next week, my man,' threading sharp through the writhing tangle of black-clad limbs. Johnny, riding high on speed and anticipation, exit left to shoot up.

Stupid. Collar high striding through the city with a beautiful stuttering voice surfing a raw throbbing pulse over his headphones and stupid. Didn't ask about the comedown, didn't ask about the fucking duration, didn't even fucking ask about how long he had to wait before

his skin started rippling. Crests and troughs on a fucking pond his fucking skin started rippling. Foaming up into surface thought shapes O Christ he could see his veins

whipping up through his forearms spraying him with his blood coiling round his wrists then sinking back into fluid flesh to reconnect his numb hands. Collapsing he snapped off his 'phones before they were absorbed into his distending skull and clutched at his face. Pull yourself together, Johnny, make it work for you what you want


Sara sucking on his

layers of skin peeled off his thighs, fragments of bone extricated themselves and formed teeth skin bunched to Sara lip analogues wet muscle balled tongue slid over his stiff flesh and started to lap and suck and God it hurt but it was so good

and Johnny laughed and felt himself spasm

and he was spurting into his own remodelled flesh, body manufacturing more and more fluids so it went on and on but then the teeth started to scratch to chew and he was scream- ing now, mouth gawping wider, teeth elongating and flexing until it seemed that his whole head would be swallowed up in a concave shriek and Clay find fucking Clay get him to make it stop-

He lurched unsteady to his feet, new flesh dangling useless as his spent prick between his legs and started to lope off down the street. At least fifteen minutes to Clay's apart- ment, run you miserable fuck, legs bunching and swelling new muscle stolen from the skin off his back, shoulderblades fan- ning out extending tendrils of bonewing to aid his flight and this really hurt, but the amphetamine snakes roiling through his lashing veins kept him distracted enough.

Clay's door was locked. His heart telt constricted, squeezed in his chest so his ribcage burst outward to let it breathe, loops of bronchi strung cats' cradle between jutting bone. His hands beat the door, carpals meshing to a solid lump punch through the door and inside, hands locked together but he needed something to hold his gut in after all-

Clay wasn't there. Clay wasn't there, but the thing splayed on the bed with its peeled, glistening fingertips, the thing splayed on the bed bent impossibly double with its cunt gaped together with its mouth was moaning his name. Johnny vomited, spewing entrails through his throat. His addict body tried to feed off itself, Klein-bottling his innards as his heart imploded, tissues degenerating until only a bloody pool of wet bones was left.

The thing on the bed sighed, and fumbled its way blindly towards the wreck of Johnny.

Luke Gietzen