You yawn, rub your eyes, and officially wake up.
Pond of Dead Girls
A long wintered night in the mountains north of Kyoto. You find yourself on a bicycle effortlessly ascending a wooded hill. Lining the narrow road are compact concrete houses, some with ceramic roofs the colour of lapis lazuli, others with sculpted trees and chubby stone bears framing their thresholds. As you ride, the houses begin to be separated by fields of vegetables and overgrown creeks. You hear the flow of underground streams beneath the road, the pulse of the mountain becoming louder as the evening air cools.
On your right a dark body of water appears, illuminated by golden green swirls of fireflies. You realise it must be the famous pond of dead girls. The name in Japanese suggests a gloomy volume of bottomless silt. Fine mud created from the bodies of all the infant girls who had been drowned at birth for a thousand years. A mountain stream feeds into the lake, and you notice a wooden bridge halfway between the road and the pond. A group of shadowy figures are seated on a stone bench by the bridge, a tattered white lantern casting a poignant glow upon the scene. Alighting from the bicycle, you quietly approach the party, not wishing to disturb them.
Madame.de.Clairwil, RentBoy(attrition rules!) and a young child are here.
RentBoy ponders, "How can the distributed disturbance networks best be embedded within future polycentric wargame operations..."
Madame.de.Clairwil snaps impatiently as she frigs the pretty moppet straddled on her lap, "Discussion is irrelevant! Throw yourself amongst the living dead and ask them."
The child moans.
RentBoy continues, "...considering the new threats, the unfolding of alternative grand strategic narratives, contending five-star egos within joint operations, and diminishing budget allocations?"
The child whimpers, her tiny face seeping tears. Goldilocks takes on a damp dismal droop, enhancing her tragic appeal.
Ignoring the brat, Madame.de.Clairwil cries vehemently, "*Now* is the time for contempt. There will be *no* terms and no apologies. Let these be your prime directives and all else will follow."
Seeking a more precise engagement from his companion, RentBoy persists, "How should we rebalance our Topsight GridMesh, finding a balance between manoeuvre and precision strike, in the relentless onslaught of ethno-specific insurgencies, single issue rebellions and transnational revolutionary provocations?"
Madame.de.Clairwil drones automatically, her irony lost on the buff young soldier, "Question everything. Trust no-one!"
RentBoy asks, "What are the most enduring and flexible design and operational options for increasing lethality across a range of scenarios, combat situations and enemy defenses?"
Madame.de.Clairwil yells, "Obey your thirst, officer!"
The child struggles to free herself.
Madame.de.Clairwil's face darkens, and she administers a series of harsh slaps to the child's rosy ass.
"Resistance is futile, cunt," she spits.
RentBoy's hand strays towards his awesome tackle as he witnesses the child's anguish.
RentBoy replies, "As you know, Madam, I have long been drawn to the hunter/stand-off killer paradigm. Through extending the close fight with long-range sensors and advanced indirect missile systems, the lethality of a small, light force can successfully repel an attack by a significantly larger force."
The child utters a piteous cry.
Madame.de.Clairwil savours the tot's agony. She exposes her magnificent white breast, clamping the child's mouth over it.
"Suck on this, you wretched snivelling bitch", she snarls.
RentBoy says, "I have assessed several ground-based reconnaissance, surveillance and target acquisition systems."
Madame.de.Clairwil exclaims, "A worthless exercise. Your mob's 3CI is no match for my own triple cunt intelligence, and you know it well."
RentBoy takes a small brown bottle from his pocket and sniffs slowly, rimming each nostril with a lover's tenderness.
Madame.de.Clairwil orders, "Cease your idle chatter immediately and seal those restless beestinging lips of yours over the pussy of this vexatious ragamuffin. Suck the slippery little slut dry while I poke her. We shall join forces to increase the collateral damage."
RentBoy slides his hand into his pants as Madame.de.Clairwil prepares the child's tight cunt for his attentions, forcing the girl to strike a particularly vulgar pose.
Madame.de.Clairwil groans, " Look how juicy our angel is. I can smell her entrails already. Hurry! My cunt is liquefying. It's intolerable! You must delay no longer."
RentBoy responds dreamily, "Your wish is my command, lady. One day we'll clone cunts for fucking."
Madame.de.Clairwil says, "And children for torturing. Procuring these brats is even more tedious than listening to your florid words. Now shut up and get to work before my cunt explodes! Her slit needs a massive squirt of your friendly fire."
Madame.de.Clairwil peels open the child's battery-plumped cunt lips.
Murmuring something about engagement implications of land power dominance, RentBoy proceeds to sink his face into the waiting hole of the little girl, his hand tightly gripping his rigid prick.
Madame.de.Clairwil sighs. "If there *was* a god, then surely the cunts of little girls must be heaven."