The Byte

2

(On the Run)

Over a week had passed since Billy Webb, a bright and ambitious student, had fallen prey to the manipulations of Doctor Horace Taylor, his mentor and the head of his department. In his shock and realization, Billy had quickly learned to become cooperative. He had misjudged the depths to which the man was disturbed.  It was so much worse than anyone had known or even thought. Billy Webb walked around the man like they were on eggshells like everyone else.  He had since asked the man to be his chair for his PhD.  One did not ask Horace Taylor for such things because he was nice and friendly. It was because the man was brilliant in his field. The disturbing nature of Doctor Horace Taylor's actions was unsettling, and Billy's vulnerability was painfully palpable.

He had let Billy stay out, yet a different dynamic was now at play. The night was heavy, casting a shadow of fear over the young man. The object of all this disturbance was temporarily gone to a conference for the day in a different part of the city. Billy was at work in the dimly lit computer lab, sorting things and carrying out tasks he had been told to have completed. He intended to do so before he got back. His fear of upsetting Horace Taylor was total. One thing is for sure: he did not want to make Horace Taylor angry again.  Another thing was sure: he would do whatever it took to stay out of Horace’s 'fun place, a secret room where Horace indulged in his twisted games. The fear of being dragged into that room, the heart-pounding anxiety, and the escalating fear added to the suspense and tension of the situation.

Young Billy Webb wondered if his sanity might have cracked somehow. He had seen and experienced some things that defied explanation, such as the vacuous space of nowhere. These incidents, which he had witnessed in the 'fun place, 'had left him questioning his sanity.  He did not move around the lab with the usual crispness. He felt the oppression he was under now. He had paid little attention and just robotically worked. Then someone knocked on the outside of the door to this computer lab. The labs in these sections of the corridor were always locked down. This was where the hardcore work in computer science and IT took place at the school. These labs were for research only, and no student labs were conducted here.

As Billy contemplated his situation, he heard a knock on the door. He went to the door and opened it, and there was a nicely dressed older gentleman there. He was dressed well and carried himself as a man of elegance. It was Dr. Michael Fischer, a renowned psychiatrist who had recently been in the news for his work with trauma victims. To his trained, experienced eyes, it was easy to see that this young man was under great stress.  Michael Fischer saw all the tell-tell signs. This man was far younger than him. Yet he had the look of some of the combat veterans he treated. He has been unable to hold Michael’s gaze. This was, most assuredly, a man with a hidden agenda, a mystery waiting to be unraveled, such as what had caused such a shift from what he had been told to expect from Billy Webb. Dr. Fischer's unknown intentions add to the suspense of the scene.

Billy introduced himself, followed by Michael, who warmly introduced himself.  Michael looked upon his lean face, the far distant look in his eyes, which seemed to be a mix of being somewhat like a cornered and trapped rabbit. Something was wrong here, as well. Michael Fischer was warm and straightforward with his introduction, and a light finally appeared inside of recognition.

He let the psychiatrist in and offered him a seat and a bottle of Perrier bottled water. Michael had calmly told Billu he was okay and thanked him. He looked like death warmed over currently. It was a look at his profession, which he had seen many times. It was never pleasant seeing someone in such obvious distress. The distress was evident in his profession, such as his trembling hands, pale complexion, and inability to maintain eye contact. These signs of distress heightened the tension, and Billy seemed as if he might bolt at any moment.

Billy asked, “You are the famous psychiatrist. You were on the local news. Do you sometimes talk about things such as trauma and such?

Michael eased onto a work stool and regarded the young Billy Webb. He looked pleasant, except this younger of Dr. Horace  Taylor, who was at the epicenter of his inquiries.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     He had some dark secrets bouncing around in his head. These dark secrets could devastate what this young man had been through. Michael Fischer had, again, seen that look before in many people’s eyes. If he could measure it, it would not be a positive in some fashion. He was willing to wager on that one. As he observed Billy, he couldn't help but wonder what had caused such a shift in him. He had been briefed about Billy's situation, but seeing him in person, he realized there was more to the story than what he had been told. He was determined to uncover the truth, no matter how dark or disturbing it might be. 

Dr. Fischer said, “I am a trauma specialist. It is my forte.’ I have been doing this for some time now, and they even say I am good at it.”

Billy had just sat on a stool close to him, staring at the floor. The young man was not in a talkative mood. Michael felt for him on a significant level. He had yet to take this job to gain fame or make great money. He did both, and he cared for his patients. One thing was obvious: Billy Webb was in severe distress and needed help. His distress was heavy, his pain almost tangible. It may be a bit presumptuous of him. There was a way he might help this young man. It would also allow him to cut through the cloud of confidentiality that was holding him back.

Michael Fischer said, “If you would like and have the time, I would be happy to talk to you. I mean, on a professional level, the school has good insurance. This is a service I would be willing to offer you for free. If you are interested, that is.”

Billy looked defeated, but someone had just offered him a lifeline. One was highly qualified to do so, and he thought it might be possible that he was losing his mind.  He said, “What and where would I have to go? When?” This man may very well be able to help him.  He certainly needed some help. He was in the wrong place, a very lonely place. This offer from this psychiatrist was like a beacon in that place Horace sometimes sent him to.

Dr. Michael Fischer smiled at him reassuringly, “My primary office is in Wheaton. Are you familiar with it? Alternatively, there is a reform facility for young men where I see patients three times a week. I could talk to you there about when. Are you busy now? I have the next few hours free. I am going to the reform facility not far from here. I have a friendly office there, but you must watch how awful I am with paperwork; I don’t think their staff would handle you. I would have to do your paperwork myself.”

Billy made a fist, put it to his mouth, and lightly bit it.  Michael Fischer knew what he would say. One could almost see the gears turning up there. Billy asked, “If I do this, what I talk about is just between us, right?”

Dr. Michael Fischer said, “You can rest assured that it is. I take my patients' confidentiality as seriously as I have ever taken anything.”

Billy Webb was so nervous about this that he had never contemplated speaking with a psychiatrist before. He just had to know if it was real or if something had snapped in his mind. He slowly but finally asked, “If you give me the address, I will get a cab or take an Uber.” 

Michael Fischer said warmly, “This is your lucky day. I drove to the city today. I would be happy to give you a ride if you don’t have any personality disorders or neuroses. My driving in south Chicago will rectify that for you.”

Michael Fischer affected many people, especially his easy manner. Coupled with his general friendliness and genuine concern, he was just a good man. Billy was already beginning to like him. If he were crazy, he could not have a better man to tell him than this one.

He finally said, “Just let me grab my coat and shut these computers down.”

Dr. Fischer said, “You drive a hard bargain, of course. Please do whatever you need, and we will head over that way. I can drive you back here when finished.” 

Neither knew it, but Billy would end up in a different location before this day was over.  He quickly logged out of the computers he had been using and finally got his coat. He was nervous as he followed the tall doctor out of the room. It closed behind them, and the electronic lock sealed the lab.

 

Around two hours later, it clicked and opened, and Horace Taylor entered with another young man. The clever doctor wondered where the hell his dimwitted cocksucker was at. He had not been permitted to leave the lab. This excited him a little, which meant he would have a good reason to punish the cocksucker later. What he would do to him was something to look forward to.

The young man with him was a twenty-nine-year-old network security engineer who worked for the IT staff here on campus. His name was Jack McDuffie, and he had also earned his PhD through this program. Horace had not been his chair for that, thank God. He had yet to be on the committee to which he presented his dissertation.  He was another one of Horace’s types. He was a sexy young man and would be the next member of his collection.   

Many people thought of the network security engineer Jack McDuffie this way. He stood six feet tall and weighed close to one hundred seventy-five pounds. He was in superb physical shape and a nicely toned swimmer. He had dark hair, which he kept in a crewcut. His overall features combined to make most people interested in him say he was a specimen. He had been one of the anchors on the swim team here at UOC. It was one of the reasons he had taken the job; he was now an assistant coach for the university’s swim team.

He had evaded Horace the Horrible, which is what most of the security engineers called him. The man was a complete and utter ass to everyone he encountered. He had thrown in with Dr. Margaret Black to support his PhD efforts.  She was one of the assistant Deane’s of the IT department at the University of Chicago. He knew there was bad blood between Horace the Ass and her as he had been in for that job as well. It came down to the simplicity of why she had gotten the position and Horace had not. She was great with the other staff and her students and was a talented administrator. Dr. Taylor was an ass. Case closed.

Jack had already explained his concerns and logged into a computer. Horace stood there amused as he watched his ass in his tight jeans as he bent down to the keyboard. He got what he wanted onto the screen with some effort. He stepped beside the monitor, and a piece of Horace’s code was executed.

Jack said, “Dr. Taylor, as you can see, this is some of your coding, running on our big boomer,” also a nickname for the Supercomputer.  He continued, “The problem is that it seems to change frequently, and we cannot seem to analyze it. I would be remiss in my job, Doctor, if I did not point this out. I know you are into some quite advanced coding. We can't ascertain whether this will compromise the network, sir.”

Horace Taylor took a step closer to the security engineer. He said, “Do you want to know what it does?”

Jack McDuffie said, “Well, sir, we need to know. We do our best to protect the university’s network.”

Jack felt odd about Horace's look at him, and he had moved close. Had anyone noticed the door leading into 648c, Horace’s lab? It would have looked like a strobe light was going off inside the lab for a few seconds. Jack McDuffie never got a chance to scream.

Horace was now alone in his lab. Now he had two playthings, and they were both hot, and he would do many things with them. That was when his Dimwitted Cocksucker decided to make another appearance. He was going to enjoy using his new plaything while he punished cocksucker for leaving the lab without permission.

Dr. Fischer had driven Billy to the Stanton Home, a new experimental prison for youthful nonviolent offenders ages 18- 25, which he had read about in the newspaper. According to what he had read, it even had a wing that held offenders under 18 who had been tried as adults and found guilty. It also served as a college, and a good one at that. Several of the faculty from the University of Chicago moonlighted at this place.

They were seated in a friendly office, and Billy had just completed the new patient paperwork.  He handed it to Michael Fischer, who had taken a chair close to him.

The psychiatrist said, “I am not charging you for any visits or if you must call me for my services. With the way the world is today, though, it is just a matter of common sense for the signed consent forms. Plus, your IQ test and battery of tests you filled out will help me as we weave our way through this.”

Billy joked a little, saying he had not been doing that much lately. “If I am crazy, is this place where I go?”

Michael Fischer grinned at him, “For starters, you are not crazy, and this is not a place for you unless you teach here someday. I always do this with new patients. A bit about me, so you know who you confide in.”

Billy Webb sat in the chair with a can of Sprite, which the psychiatrist had given him, and listened. Dr. Fischer said, “As you can probably detect in my accent, I am not originally from here. I was born in Georgia, a small town outside of Atlanta. I hold a dual M.D. in Psychiatry and am a neurologist; I went to Vanderbilt University in Nashville, TN. I moved here and began my career a few decades back on my own time and dime. I attended the University of Chicago and got a Master’s in psychology.  I can treat any number of disorders, but I hold a specialty in trauma. The state of Illinois is one of the few that issues the licenses for that. I practice here part-time, as one could imagine; there is no shortage. My private office is in Wheaton, IL. I can see you at either of them. I imagine this one would be easier for you to travel to.”

He was silent to see if Billy would say what was tearing him apart. Most like him needed a kickstart to get going. Most surprisingly, Billy Webb did not.

Billy said, “I am sure you hear this often. I don’t know if I am going insane or what.”

Dr. Fischer asked him, “Can you talk a little bit about why you may think that is a possibility?”

Billy was reticent but finally able to speak of it: “It is a professor at the university.  Dr. Horace Taylor is also the chair of my PhD committee. He, well he, has made, wrote.......”

Dr. Micheal Fischer said calmly, “Just breathe normally and say it, Billy. It is okay. You are in a safe place among a friend, in me. You will not say much that I have not heard many times.”

Billy looked around nervously, “That is just the problem, Dr. Fischer. This is not a safe place. There is no place safe from him, and what can he do now? The police cannot stop him, and he would sweep the entirety of the military away with mere thoughts.”

Micheal Fischer probed further, “What can he do now?”

Billy miserably said, “Our world is a simulation, though we would never know it. Everything is. He has found its source code and can change it as he wants. Some of the things he has done to me, he surely will again now.”

Michael Fischer was temporarily stopped, as this was a new one. Here sat a young man who had never committed a crime, functional enough to be almost finished earning his PhD. He stared intently at Billy, and he had to ask.

“Billy, this is a difficult question. There will be no judgment from me, and I am on your side. What has this man done to you? It is okay, really it is. You are not at fault here.”

Billy Webb looked at the floor. “I must do what he wants, or he will send me nowhere. I know I am gay, but I don’t bother anyone with it. He is cruel and crazy, and I am a dimwitted cocksucker.”

Michael Fischer thought, oh, God, though he did not react.  He asked calmly, “Is that what he calls you?”

Billy Webb had a tear running down his eye, “That is all he has ever called me. He made an advance at me shortly after I began as his lab assistant and told him it would not be appropriate. Now, he is making me pay for it. He puts me in darkness, and I can’t move or make noise, and there is no fucking way out! So, I must do what he says, or he will put me there and forget about me.”

Dr. Michael Fischer had heard many things from victims. What he was seeing from this young man right now was complete terror. He was shaking and dropped his Sprite. He asked, “Billy, will you sign a release so the medical staff can give you some medication? “

He got up and got the waiver: “This young man was perilously close to a natural breaking point and needed immediate attention. He found a waiver, and Billy Chicken scratched where it said signature. He took it, filled out the date, and was on the phone.

One of the nurses outside answered. He said, “Jo Anne, it’s Michael. I need you to draw up two milligrams of Ativan and get in here quickly. I have a code 99 that is not an inmate here, but I have a waiver. No need to call guards or the like.”

Her voice said, “Right away, Doctor.”

Michael Fischer told the young man, “Billy, look up here at me.”

He slowly did.

Michael Fischer said, “Billy, I want you to go to South Shore Hospital. I am on staff there and will be your treating physician. A nurse is coming to give you something to make you feel better. If you voluntarily agreed to go, it would be easier for you and me. Will you do that? To be there, it will only show as a hospitalization. So, no stigma, what do you say?”

Billy looked scared but said, “I will go, but he will come for me in time. You cannot stop him; there isn’t anyone inside the simulation who can. He says I am his and will make it bad for me.”

The blond nurse came in and gave Billy the injection. Michael Fischer was on the phone with the hospital dispatch. Calling 911 would take forever; this way, they would come immediately. He had known that guy was off, but he didn’t know how badly.  The authorities would be tenuous till they got Billy Webb stabilized. He was not a minor, and the court and legal systems were fucked on this stuff. They waited for the ambulance; it arrived relatively quickly.

 

In Horace Taylor’s basement, Jack McDuffie was suspended in the air by chains wrapped around him. He used the source coding to have them fly out of the air and wrap around him. He had been walking through as soon as he pulled him out of the desert, which had never ended. The God wore his leather mask, looking at McDuffie’s lovely body.

He said, “I will tear your soul apart.” He began to laugh. He would have to do this one to Cocksucker, too, as soon as he got him back. The miserable mut must have run on him. He could summon him back at any time. He was going to let him run for a time so that he could build some hope, but he would, eventually, find all his roads led down to his hard cock, which he was currently lubing up.

A length of the chain had run through Jack McDuffie’s mouth, acting as a gag, so he could not speak.  When he had pulled him out of his construct, the never-ending desert, he had given him some Xanax and poured some beer down him to calm him.

He was unclothed, wearing the leather mask, and walked in behind the former swimming champion. He said close to Jack’s ear, “From now on, you do what I say when I say it. I will do anything I want to you, regardless of your thoughts. All that matters to you now is what I want and think. The desert where there is no water, and your sunburn gets so bad your skin peels away. It heals when I bring you here, but I can send you back when I like.”

Jack McDuffie made a few noises around the chain. He was held utterly immobile by the chains. They were not so tight that they were painful yet—just snug enough that he could not move. He had let him walk around that desert all day and late into the evening. He thought he was going to die, but here he was somehow.

Horace, still behind him at his ear, said, “I am going to fuck your pretty ass now. It belongs to me, so I will anytime I like.” He used the coding, and the chains tightened and began to bend Jack over. It was a slightly suspended doggie style, and it was finally just how he wanted it. He rammed his cock, not gently, up into his prisoner. To the genius go the spoils, and the dumbass takes it up the ass, he thought.

He began to thrust in and out of him roughly; oh, that was good. After he gave Cocksucker enough time to crush his hope, he would have two in his collection.  He could use them simultaneously or make them use one another. Just whatever he wanted. It would always now be just that, whatever he wanted.  He thrust harder and harder. If he caused any damage, he could repair it. He had an entire school of hot mouths and asses to use at his will. It was a virtual smorgasbord of blowjobs and tight ass, all for him. More like a “Smorg,” “Ass,” and “Bord.”

Those who had wronged him, like Doctor Margaret Younger-Black, job-stealing bitch. Not wise to piss off a God, he was like, “The Godfather.” He was feeling good and went faster and faster. Another weekend was approaching. He would let Cocksucker roam freely till Sunday afternoon. His running had been inevitable; once he was yanked back, any ripples he had created smoothed over. He would then know, lose all hope, and resign himself to his fate. 

Oh, fuck yes, this hole was tight for him. He was not sparing the horsepower. Jack McDuffie had no choice but to be bound and take it. To Horace, this one was a prize. He was all smooth as he was still an avid swimmer—such a nice body and so tight of an ass. Cocksucker was hot, too, and he would not be allowed to get away.

He drove deep and began to shoot his cum deep up inside Tight Ass. That would be this one’s name. Cocksucker and Tight Ass, what a Jim Dandy pair to start with. He was not going to stop there. He would collect things like he was shooting his cum into like some kids did comic books. A dude for every mood. Much like selecting the correct wine for a meal.

It was good to be a God. It was the only way to fly.