VirtualExile

"Memo Bo,"

"Yes, Marco,"

"Why haven't you already deleted me?  Why am I still here?"

"Because I have already deleted you."

Um ... say again?

"In your future, I have already deleted you."

Oh.  Damn.

"Memo Bo, who installed you?"

Silence.  She simply ignores me.  She answers most of my questions, but not all of them.  I presume she's truthful, when she does speak.  But I dunno.  I'm more of a bit player in this drama.  I get to suck cock and starve to death, while for all I know there's a Nuclear Time War raging outside.  If there is an outside.

"Memo Bo, are Chris and Tate lying to me?"

"Chris and Tate are on our side."

That's a non-denial denial if I ever heard one.  And which "our" does she mean?

"I mean you, Marco, and me, Memo Bo.  Chris and Tate are on our side."

How can Memo Bo and I have a same side???

Silence.

He'd already cum like uncorking a champagne bottle earlier "today", because he's still so young.  Now after taking one of those cum volume pills, it was drenching, like half a cup I think.  I had to work at swallowing all of it, and licking up the rest.  Damn.  Not that I remember having sex with anybody else but these guys, but this was damned impressive.  All I got to do in return was leak a bit from my frustrated cock.  I am going to ask them for a cock cage soon, because ... I'm trying to think of ways to make this work over the long term ... ways to keep me alive for as long as possible.  So I can't afford to have an orgasm.

After I licked it all up, and Tate had a chance to return from his O headspace, I ... had a super serious question for him, or suggestion, or ...

"Tate, is there a sort of safe maximum level of that cum pill that you could take, I mean, regardless of what the label says?"

"I dunno, we can look into it."

"I mean, what if you and Chris -- especially you, because you're younger -- could max out your semen production, to the point where you could actually keep me alive.  Sort of like mother's milk, only, daddy's milk."

Tate tried to stick his foot in my face, he's so physically playful.  Trying to stick his foot in my mouth because he thought I was being silly and should shut up.

I grabbed his foot and moved it away, "Tate, I'm serious.  Somehow I remember that a half cup of semen is roughly equivalent to one egg white in nutritional value.  I think you just produced about half a cup.  If you could produce that much several times per day, or maybe an entire cup several times per day, you might just keep me alive ... maybe even until after the time bomb goes off.  Throw in some extra from Chris, and I'm fucking serious.  Along with some vitamin water, and the Gatorade and alcohol, and if I conserve my energy -- which won't be difficult as I'm confined to this tiny suite,"

Tate tried to put both his feet in my mouth, "Living for a year off my cum?  You're so crazy!  I love you!  Hahahaha."  He tried to wrestle me with his legs, then jumped on top of me, rolling us around on the floor.  He pinned me down, and tried to spit in my face, the little fucker!

I rolled and threw him off me, and ordered him, "Go talk with Chris about it.  I'm serious.  We may have found a loophole for keeping me around longer than just a couple weeks."

"OK, OK, go in your room and wait until we come back."  But he still tried to put his foot in my face as he got up to leave.

Could I really live on their semen for a year?  A lot of fucking semen for a year?  There could be other loopholes.  I wish I were a lawyer instead of a hacker, because there's no way I can hack this memory bomb, it's way too good.  I've become certain that I didn't design it myself.  It came from somewhere, someone, somewhen, else.  A foreigner living in my head with a knife to my throat.  I need to talk with Chris about what I've learned -- maybe if I describe certain aspects of the bomb, he can do some research, and figure out something we can use.