I. You are now entering Blue Milk, NYC

Earlier that morning, Sarah had decided a little leakage from her nipples wasn’t going to stop her from making some money. The perverts would probably love to see blue milk squirting out of her titties, anyway. Hell, they’d probably pay extra for it.

By ten in the morning, she was selling her ass right in front of the Times Square Theater. The usual crowd was there and that made Sarah comfortable despite her knowing she could be raped or killed at any point during her shift. It was a living, though.

One of the things she loved most about the area she worked was that most of the men who hired her took her into the theaters to do their business. That meant Sarah could make money giving head while also watching a movie out of the corner of her eye. If she could get away with it, Sarah would sometimes place her head on the guy’s stomach so she could watch as much of the film with two eyes as possible. If the movie was worthwhile, she’d stay to watch the rest of it after the pervert blew his load.

On this particular morning, Sarah was trying to catch the attention of a rich-looking white guy who seemed lost but in no big hurry to find his way. She took a step into his path and jiggled her chest. “You got time to party, hon?”

“What?” he said.

“I asked if you got time to party? You know, maybe catch a movie with me, know what I’m saying?”

The man looked down at her breasts and at the blue, milky stains that were leaking through her shirt. He said, “Uh, I don’t know. What movie?”

Sarah shook her head and laughed. “You don’t get it, hon. You just get off the boat or something? Or you just playing with me?’

“I don’t know what you mean.”

She was about to give up when she thought she saw a glimmer in his eye that told her he now understood he was being offered. So she said, “You want to play with me?”

The man lifted his head up from looking at Sarah’s breasts. “Yes. I think I do.”

Sarah looked at the theaters around and took him to the one showing The Body Beneath because she had heard that was a freaky one. They walked arm in arm into the theater and took their seats. Once the lights were dimmed and the movie was on, Sarah started to unzip the man’s pants.

He said, “Wait. What are you doing?”

“You wanted to party, didn’t you?” Sarah said.

“You’re unzipping my pants.”

“That’s usually how it starts, yeah.”

The man’s back stiffened as he sat up straight in his seat. He gently brushed Sarah’s hands away from his crotch. He said, “Can I see your pussy?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” She laughed. “Sure, honey, you can see my pussy.”

Sarah looked over her shoulder to make sure no cops or peeping toms were around to make trouble. Once it was clear, she hoisted her skirt up and pulled her stockings down. She leaned back. Then she threw one foot over the seat in front of her and the other over the man’s seat.

Her hairy gash was on display.

“This what you wanted to see?” Sarah said. Normally she didn’t like to fuck in the theaters. There was too much risk of having some gung-ho undercover cop bust her. Blowjobs were so much easier.

The man said, “Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.”

He stared at Sarah’s crotch and wiggled his nose. Slowly, he moved his face down between Sarah’s thighs until he was an inch away from her snatch. He sniffed again.

Sarah said, “What are you doing down there?”

“Smells….like…..”

She frowned. “Smells like WHAT?”

The man sniffed and smiled. “Smells like…..pancakes.”

“Pancakes?”

“Yeah,” the man said. “Pancakes. And now I know that something’s coming. Something’s going to explode all over me.”

“Ew, what are you talking about? You want to jizz on yourself, you don’t need me.”

The man sat up. “But I do need you.”

Sarah pulled down her skirt and put her feet back on the floor. “This is getting weird.”

“It’s going to get worse.”

“Hey, fuck you. I’m out of here,” Sarah said, standing up and walking down the aisle. The man jumped up and grabbed her shoulder.

“Don’t go!”

“Get the fuck off me!”

The man released his grip and leaned in close to Sarah’s ear. “Please, I didn’t mean to scare you. I can still smell the pancakes, you know.”

“Fuck off or I swear to god I’m going to scream.”

“Listen,” the man said. “How about I pay you some money now and I go take you to my boss. He’ll pay you more. I promise.”

“Your boss? What kind of weird set-up is this?”

“No set-up. My boss will be quite interested in you.”

Sarah looked at the man’s face which was now filled with complete sincerity. After thinking about it, the man’s behavior didn’t really surprise her. Those businessmen were usually the freakiest and in many cases, they paid the most. If this guy said his boss was willing to play and pay, it might turn out good for Sarah.

She said, “Okay, fine. But are you sure your boss is going to like me? He didn’t even see me.”

“Oh, he’ll like you,” the man said. “Mr. Valdrott will like you just fine.”

II. Purity & Catnip

The first man was floating naked in a human-shaped aquarium that covered his body completely from the neck down. The clear, corrosive chemicals filling this aquarium were already at work, but it would be a long, long process judging by the rate of his flesh's dissolution. His screaming was cut off by an apparatus surgically attached to his throat and countless raw wires dug deep into his brain, seeing if it would turn to mush long before his body did.

Locked in chains hanging like curtains from behind their nude bodies, a second man was fused to a woman by a large metal helmet covering both their faces. The shackles on their legs gave them a bit of free movement and they jerked and pulled away from each other when shocked by mild electrical currents sent through the flowing chains, prodding them into performing a strange mechanical dance. Their bare feet slapped the cold metal floor like the legs of a clockwork spider. This spastic movement caused the man and woman to tear at their faces where the Valdrott had welded them, then secured and bolted the metal helmet in place to hold their fused flesh together.

 The gas was the worst of all. They took groups of humans and locked them in a room made of gelatinous slop. It only took seconds for one man’s eyes to roll back in his head. He would then turn and violate a twitching woman until she expired. Another man was busy clawing out his own eyeball and slurping it down like an oyster freshly shucked from a shell. The Valdrott sat crowded around the cage, ingesting catnip with strange glowing instruments, and watched this horror show as if it were fine theatre.

III. Death Rides the Deuce

Potter and Oswald walk down 42nd street, both of them digging in their pockets for loose change so they could take in a movie. Should they see The Man with Two Heads or Nam’s Angels? They can’t decide.

Oswald says, “How about Django?”

“I saw it already,” Potter says. He takes a dollar out of his pocket and also a cigarette which he lights quickly.

“I thought you quit,” Oswald says. Potter doesn’t answer him but instead drops the cigarette on the sidewalk.

Potter points to a theatre. “Let’s go in here. This is the one.”

They walk in and buy tickets to a triple feature of movies they’ve never heard of: a handful of Italian films that look bloody and incoherent.

Oswald and Potter buy popcorn and candy. They walk into the bathroom. Oswald enters a stall while Potter waits by the sink. He washes his hands three times and looks at in the mirror. “Sometimes I just feel like gutter trash,” he says to his reflection.

Then Oswald walks out holding a mess of electrical wiring, metal, multi-colored glass shards, and bits of biomechanical jetsam all fused together by a sticky substance that was not glue. He exits the bathroom and Potter says, “You didn’t wash your hands.” Oswald ignores him and continues to walk to their theatre.

They take a seat in the back row. Both notice they have missed the opening credits for the first film. They watch a killer in black leather gloves holding a razor. The killer slashes a woman, the camera moving wildly across the nude body: blood and purple lace roughly projected onto a soda-stained movie screen.

Potter nudges Oswald. He says, “Is that woman real? Or is she a Valdrott?”

Oswald sticks his hand into the contraption that is on his lap. He fiddles with a few wires. “I don’t think it matters now,” he says.

And then everything explodes… again.

THE END