Benedict, Troy and CAN sat around a small red table. The decor behind them was black. They were a little jet-lagged after returning from their stud ranch on earth. The three were dressed in dapper black suits and black ties, their white shirts contrasting with the red of their skins. Their faces were normal, though slightly cartoonish and small red horns protruded from their foreheads. It had taken the consumption of three hundred Mono17 trips each to get to this particular status. Benedict nursed a Cold Filtered, Troy sipped his Absolut and Coke and CAN gazed at his Bourbon and Pepsi on the table. They looked slightly bored; unaffected by the pounding music in the background and the naked women dancing nearby. They had been dealing for years now, amassing millions. They had heard through the grapevine about J and were expecting him soon. As horribly evil as they were, they had a certain style and calmness that outdid other demon-possessed users, who usually died within the first week. A week of psychotic and violent actions.
Benedict, Troy and CAN had gained their strengths through measured doses of the stuff over two years. There was certainly nothing short of an evil and warped glint in their eyes, but they kept it under wraps most of the time. Their powers were mildly psychic (they could read fear) but mainly based on a degree of super-strength. They could of course be killed, but it took a lot of doing. They knew J of The Jizzbuckets and had him pegged as a new recruit. A remixed version of ‘Pretentious’ came on and they boogied casually.
**********
The mess hall in Trak Penitentiary was scary. Very scary. It was full to the hilt during dinnertime, some inmates preferring to hang off rafters while they ate. Put into an existential context, the grass really was greener on the other side. J was in the C Section of the mess hall. Even the mess hall was set into six different sections for criminals. C Section housed murderers, drug dealers, copyright violators and those who were innocent. J sat next to a four-legged freak who described himself as a political prisoner.
“Damn politicians made sure I was put away ‘cause I knew too much.”
“Knew too much?” asked J, surprised that the man even bothered to talk to him.
“Yeah I knew about sexual deviancies of thirteen politicians.”
“They put you away for that?”
“Well that and for murdering all them kids.”
“The name is J, anyway,” J said as he extended his hand.
“Max LaFever’s the name,” replied the man, “Christianity and sexual deviancy is my speciality. Hmmm... Say, would you like to swap that Alabama Hot Pocket for my Boston Pancake?”
After swapping the food, J decided that this man was not worth talking to due to his moral-driven respect for twelve year olds and moved over to a spare seat next to Rodrigo.
“Hey again, bro. Meet da crew. Everyone, dis be J, one trippin’ muddafucka.”
“Hey bud,” said one guy.
“Can ya get me a ho?” asked another.
“I don’t specialise in garden tools,” said J.
“Fuck dat bitch shit man, we wanna get some Mono” added another.
J looked at all the men around the table and was stunned to see that so many white guys all talking Jive as if they were black. A number of them were obviously Scandinavian and two of them were unmistakably albino.
Rodrigo had had his thing lanced.
“If...” J ventured, “we had a riot then perhaps the possibility of escape would increase.”
“Word up,” said Rodrigo.
“I dunno. Ah kinda likes it here,” said one.
“Get fucked,” said J with a terrifying glare.
“Okay,” he said and moved to another table.
The rest of the men agreed that perhaps a riot would be the most productive move of the day.
“But first,” said Rodrigo, “I gotta go buttfuck someone real bad.”
Inflict Kafe Gavani On The World
  
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