He peels the muscle shirt off his back in front of the seated woman. His entire torso is covered in ink, with the exception of a stretch of bare skin above his pelvis. The woman – wearing black panties and nothing else – moves a hand up his firm body. Her fingers touch each tattoo, various women in undress.
“Who are these women…?”
“Want to meet them?”
He lifts her head and stares in her eyes. He sees fear. She tries to scream but nothing comes out. Silence. He looks down; the stretch of bare skin can no longer be seen.
Author’s Note: An ode to the bad boy; nice guys finish last but that’s what makes them good in bed.
Organic computing: casing of skin, wires mixed with veins, a beating hard drive. The IT specialist sat at the desk. He got the text at 1 am. Virus, a hungry one; it was eating everything, line-by-line, code-by-code. He looked at the tower to plug in his keyboard – flesh and metal. No holes. He missed the older models. He ran a finger over the back.
Blood trickled. He went to try again. But felt sick. He sat back. His stomach felt like it was being eaten from the inside – deep inside – at the genetic level…
Author’s Note: This idea came from reading an article about rearranging DNA to record messages and how much data could be stored in a single drop of blood.