The Falls Before Her

Chapter Two: Global Conference

A global conference was held via the internet, though static and poor service from several countries compromised the quality of it. This occasion wrought omens that asserted the ominous confirmation... The beginning of World War 3.

Sagmi-Repliques rushed past the large metal doors with "CONFERENCE CHAMBER" engraved on the surface. They plastered campaign flyers across the windowed corridor and the porous, concrete walls.

A monitor looped a clip of Raymond standing on a platform in front of a large group of men, above the busy-bodied AIs. Over and over, he said, "It has come to our attention that some of you wish to entertain and practice ancient, traditional customs. We understand your concerns and hear you. It's not our way of life.

"Governor Ronaldo Craveis has implemented a new law that will—essentially—shift the way we handle procreation during this time of existential crisis. Do not fret my brothers... men of our nation... We shall overcome all odds. Lest we forget: Men are the future!"

Raymond waved to cheering men. Hecklers booed nonsupporters holding posters that read: "Bring Back Tradition! Women are Our Future!"

However, this campaign ran for decades.

Raymond, and others before him, scrutinized and quashed the idea of bringing women to the forefront in the pursuit of repopulating the state of Florida.

This was true for the rest of the world; but now, global scientists and historical international archeologists reneged on certain laws within the Male Reproductive Procurement Bill.

As U-R-T-3-2-2-1, the lead Sagmi AI, entered the conference room, voices roared from the ceiling speakers. She sauntered toward Raymond, who sat in a polished, leather chair before a projector screen.

Various boxed screens with tiny-faced men from different nations filled the white space. Many of them shouted in their native tongues: English, Mandarin, Spanish, Hindi, French, Arabic, Russian—the failed fruition of the Tower of Babel.

On mute, Raymond chuckled along, rubbing his chin as the kerfuffle escalated. He turned to U-R-T-3-2-2-1, eyeing her exposed bust and curved waist. "Report?" he asked her.

"Protocol MG39 has been executed," she replied, handing him a file. "Eriq Valor: Terminated. Wallace Kelp: Terminated. Quentin Salvs: Term—"

"Good, good. And the defectives?"

"E-S-H-3-0-1-5: Terminated. G-I-Z-2-9-4-3: Terminated. G-A-R-1-3-6-9: Terminated."

He nodded and then placed the file in a garbage chute next to his desk. He pushed his chair back, motioning U-R-T-3-2-2-1 over.

She'd done so while unbuttoning her blouse, revealing a strapless bra. She set the top aside on his chair. Raymond examined her breasts before spinning her around and grazing his fingertips along her spine.

She twitched and moaned.

He grappled the back of her neck and pulled her close, his lips pressed against her ears. "I don't care about that protocol." He tore her slacks off. "You're pathetic, but I only keep you around since you excel at one thing..."

She turned around. Void of emotion.

"I want reports on N-I-N-3-2-0-0," he stated, "got that?"

Her body stiffened, and her eyes glitched for a moment. "Inquiry: Name task for covert protocol."

Raymond tossed her blouse and sat back down. He fiddled his thumbs and stared at her, amused. "Waters Probe."

Her eyes fluttered. "Will that be all?"

"For now." He rolled his eyes and waved her off, scoffing. "Find yourself a dressing cabinet. It seems you've embodied the common AI, Har10T."

U-R-T-3-2-2-1 bowed, then left more naked than she arrived.

Caught up with her bouncing posterior, he brushed his palm against his crotch then grasped his bulge.

Urtur, a Sumerian woman who visited him during his slumber, looked much like the AI he insulted. She was young and pregnant, wearing wooled skirts and beaded necklaces in some dreams. In others, she was flat-stomached, naked, and under him.

When Urtur called out to him, the only name she spoke was Gishkim. It delighted Raymond to hear such an ancient name. Every time he released himself in her, he'd wake up on top of U-R-T-3-2-2-1. "f*****g AIs," he'd yell before choking U-R-T-3-2-2-1 and f*****g her again.

Just yesterday, he dreamt of making love to Urtur in front of a flower that salaciously whispered in his ears, begging him to entangle his member with its pulsating stems. The dream went as fast as it came, with U-R-T-3-2-2-1 swiveling her hips around his c**k. Coolant dispersed from her vaginal walls, making her labia glisten turquoise. Her moans forced Raymond to thrust harder—faster—until she glitched from overheating.

Raymond smiled and stroked his c**k while reminiscing over the memories. That is... until a photo of a florescent plant graced a few screens and snapped Raymond out of his m**********n session. Reluctant, he zipped his trousers, entranced by the unusual plant. Its four petals crinkled at the edges, and the stems in the center pulsated.

"We've been monitoring these dying plants for almost a hundred years," Dr. Whitman said. "There's no doubt that a primordial version dwells within an ancient ruin."

"What's the identification of said plant?" Prof. Lionel asked.

"Well, it goes by many names," Whitman replied, "but we've discovered artifacts from around the globe that indicate the name: Tiza Jasmine."

Raymond perked up.

"This could lead to war!" chimed in the German President, Gerhard Kaiser.

"You're one to talk!" exclaimed the Polish leader, Ambrozy Krol.

While madness brewed the possibility of war, Raymond dashed across the room to a filing cabinet. He opened the middle drawer and pulled out a journal. The bindings were falling apart, and the scorched edges of papyrus gave away its inception date. He scoured through it then tossed the ancient book aside and pulled out a broken clay tablet with cuneiform texts and an image of a flower.

The flower Dr. Whitman and other scientists have shown.

"If it's a race they want," Raymond mumbled, smirking. "They've already lost."