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{All characters depicted in this work of fiction are of legal age of consent.}

The work week was out. School was closed. But Arcadia never stopped living to the absolute limits.

The city was full of life three-hundred-sixty-five days a year, twenty-four hours a day. She never stopped, she never took a break. It was all go; a nonstop cavalcade of consumerism, sex and violence.

Crypto should have loved it. But as per usual, as he stood on the magrail watching the holo-billboards and bright neon lights plastering the skyscrapers zoom by, the rat gave a low sigh. He watched tiredly as the billboards shook bikini-clad titties and bulging crotches across the skyline. 'Buy-buy-buy,' the slogans all said. Buy from us. Buy happiness. Buy beauty. Buy safety.

An elegant cluster of ladies sat nearby as if to personify this. Normally their revealing dresses would have been something to marvel. But something about them made his left hand twitch. The cybernetic replacement for his arm was suddenly there, a ghost itch he could never scratch as he eyed the broad suite of sexy prosthetics the women had on display. Long slender legs, high heels built into their tapered feet, every smooth inch sculpted to absolute statuesque perfection. Silver circuits ran through their fur, their eyes glowed with aesthetic energy, and their fingers were clad in a brilliant golden pliant alloy.

Every prosthetic they wore like garb was top of the range. They wore them like fashion accessories. And it made Crypto miss the arm he'd lost as a child even more.

The glitzy women sitting nearby weren't the only ones flaunting fancy augments. There were people from all walks of life sporting upgrades both internal and external, many of which the could just as happily lived without. Some enjoyed VR shows through their cybernetic eyes. Others had phones slaved to an interactive display built into their forearms. There was a young woman who sounded like a singer. The slender necked giraffe had augmentations glowing all the way up her throat, letting out wonderful sounding oral exercises thanks to her operatic upgrades.

Over the bustle of activity that was the people of Arcadia minding their own business, a newscast flashed across some of the magrail windows. An anchor woman in a dress that showed more cleavage that should have been considered modest delivered a quick update on the latest stories. And as per usual, Crypto could have guessed it would be at the top of the lists, was another smear-piece about digital trips circulating the streets. What followed was a five-minute misinformation campaign about digital trips being addictive and destructive.

What they always failed to warn people, and this was because the government didn't want people using digital trips purely because it was an uncontrollable industry, if you got a badly written digital trip, you were going to have a bad time. The same was for any app or piece of software shitting up the verified app-stores.

Still, Crypto watched the old garbage to make sure the mainstream media's tune hadn't changed. It often helped to know what one's enemy was thinking.

He got off on the next stop. Near enough the Arcadia outskirts, this wasn't the glitziest part of the city. It was all dank alleys and plain apartment blocks that lacked the same neon signs across the side, except on ground level.

Crypto stopped off at a noodle-joint for a bite to eat, then continued into the phosphorescent night. It was always hard to tell day from night in these parts. The smog blocking out the sun meant the streetlights were always on. So if you didn't have a way of telling time, and in a day where an internet clock could be hard wired into your brain that kind of an event was difficult to fathom, there would be no telling if the sun was up or below the horizon.

In an alley, Crypto found his usual dumpster to stand on and leapt off, catching the bottom rung of a fire-escape ladder with his left hand.

Dangling for a moment, Crypto braced himself, then hauled himself upward by his cybernetic arm. The servos effortlessly lifted him up to catch the next rung of the ladder, before he positioned his cybernetic hand higher again to repeat the process.

Technically speaking, cybernetic prosthetics capable of lifting your own bodyweight were illegal across the country. The upper limit on prosthetic strength was deemed as 'support,' not 'lift' one's own bodymass, which in Crypto's opinion was fucking stupid. But then this was the bureaucratic government making these guidelines. And in their eyes a prosthetic strong enough to effortlessly lift your own bodyweight was strong enough to use as a weapon. And weapons in the hands of a civilian made bureaucratic governments very nervous.

Crypto had picked up his servos on the black market, older military models that had been slated for retirement in the wake of upgrades. But they still worked great, and it seemed a waste to let them be thrown away.

Also, what was the point of having a robot arm if Crypto couldn't use it to beat the piss out of someone?

Ascending the fire-escape to the fourth level, Crypto found the apartment window he was looking for and wirelessly jacked into the locks. He booted a trusted platform module emulator, fed the appropriate keys and the locks clicked open for him, allowing him entry.

Shutting window behind him, Crypto moved through the empty apartment. The chalk outlines of a double homicide still lay on the bare concrete floor. The walls were only half painted, the rooms devoid of furniture, and years of neglect left many corners to be dominated my mould and cobwebs. The apartment had never been lived in. Hell, a couple from the countryside had bought the apartment in a similar state, spent their first week in the city just cleaning it up, making it ready to decorate. Then when they had barely slapped a fresh coat of paint on the walls, their door was kicked in by a group of thugs.

They'd killed the husband. Eventually they'd killed the wife. Then they had made off with what little possessions the couple had.

Crypto hated this fucking place. Not just this apartment. It was the damn city. On the magrail Arcadia looked so glam and glitz. But this shit - he peered at the chalk outlines as he crossed to the master bedroom - this was the true face of Arcadia.

We talked about how the people in charge made everything that was fun, like digital trips, illegal. Even owning a stronger prosthetic with which to defend yourself was illegal. People couldn't own guns. There were regular stop and searches to confiscate blades or other improvised weapons.

And it didn't stop the bad guys getting what they needed to hurt good, normal people. No, the mob were allowed to get away with ransacking small businesses, fucking with people's lives and producing data-stealing malware so long as they cut the big guy in on the prophets. Everything stayed just peachy, so long as Crypto didn't let people get their hands on a harmless little executable that for fifteen seconds of their day helped make life in this shithole just a tiny bit more bearable.

It was as if life in Arcadia was all backwards.

Moving out onto the balcony, Crypto hopped the guard rail onto the neighbouring balcony and let himself in thought the sliding glass door. This next home was fully lived in, though it might be generous calling it a 'home.'

It was about as home as you could make a studio. And it wasn't the type of studio that might belong to an artist like a sculptor. Though Mrs Paragosky was the type to describe herself as an artist, despite her only talent being spreading her legs for a webcam.

Several parasol lights were set up to get the best lighting shimmering off her scales. She also had a high-end gaming rig set up on a broad desk loaded with a variety of monitors, sex toys and a waterproofed set of interface peripherals.

The anthro lizard herself was laid back, her deep crimson hair cascading down past her shoulders, every inch of her sumptuous body on display for her viewers in the stream. She was a MILF in every sense of the word, the woman must have been in her forties. But between keeping rigorously fit and similar augmentations as with Mrs Taylor to keep a killer figure, she easily passed as a young woman in her twenties. Especially in that lingerie, black lace and hose working great with the shimmering emerald scales.

she had her legs open, a cable connecting the rabbit vibrator squirming around in her snatch while simultaneously massaging her clit to a USB port on her computer. She had her eyes fixed on the monitor, ignoring Crypto as he boldly stepped into the room to watch her work.

A donation rolled in with a ding, and it made the vibrator buzz harder for a moment. Hard enough to make the woman squeal out with a mixture of surprise and delight. She hooked one hand over the back of her over-priced gaming chair and spread her thighs just a little more, staring wide eyed at the names scrolling across the display.

"KingShit69, you naughty boy!" she squealed smiling. More donations rolled in, hitting her with pulses, but she screamed again as Crypto saw KingShit69 pop back up with larger increments of seventy, a hundred and in one case even two-hundred credits.

One after the other rolled in, the higher the donation, the harder her vibrator throbbed. And it seemed Mister KingShit was an alpha-chad flush with enough disposable income to keep the hard pulses going in a violent stream.

She screamed, eyes rolling into the back of her skull as she panted hard. Her tongue hung out over her bottom lip and she made an ahegao face so exaggerated it had to be fake. But the sight was erotic all the same.

"Oh, fuck. You're making me cum, KingShit! You're making me cuuuuuu-huuuuuuhhhhhmmm~!!!"

She squirted a moment later, a full body seizure racking her from head to toe, so violent one of her high heels slipped off her foot along with the panties that had been dangling around her ankle until then. A shower of femcum spurted across the room, dousing some of her screen and soaking the keyboard - the waterproofing now making total sense.

Still the donations rolled in, not giving the lady an inch of reprieve, drawing out her high-pitched squeal as the tremors almost shaking her out of her chair continued. Crypto had decided he'd seen enough and moved deeper into the apartment. She didn't even see him, nor would she care to distract from her lucrative stream just to address her daughter's friend.

In the one bedroom that hadn't been converted into either a porn-studio or a server room, Crypto found her. Elise 'Proksy' Paragosky was slouched over her desk, typing frantically at sixty-words-per-minute as her eyes scanned through the cryptic code of gibberish at twice that rate. And even more impressive than the lack of spelling errors, perfect spelling and effortless distinguishing between regular and curly brackets without having to look at where she was planting her fingers on the keyboard, was the fact her gaze was flashing through eight holo-monitors, reading and distinguishing programming code on all of them all at the same time.

It was no wonder the place was littered with candybar wrappers and empty cans of energy drinks. Proksy was perpetually hyper, though you'd never know it just talking to her. She poured all of that ice-cold enthusiasm into programming. Be it scripts for hackers thinking they were going to finally be the ones to take down the government; hacks and trainers for so-called 'pro' gamers; or digital trips like her baby, Source Code.

One might expect her to be a fat, unhygienic slob given she guzzled sugar all day long and operated from a poorly adjusted desk chair. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Despite the mess on her workstation, when it came to personal hygiene and health, the anthro gecko was an absolute freak. Her emerald green scales were clean and polished to a glossy sheen. Her nails were filed down to manicurist perfection. Her eyes shone, bright and alert, with copper coloured hair with more of a bronze quality than her mother's, cut into a pragmatic little bob.

"Hello, Crypto," she said without looking.

"Evening, Elise."

She grunted, but wasn't distracted from what she was doing. "That's not my name. Is Arcadia High still standing?"

"Yup. That Source Code Three Beta executable you made me worked great," Crypto revealed. "It denied Missus Taylor's orgasm just like you said it would; at least until she was so desperate and cum hungry that she actually begged me to fuck her."

"You penetrated her sexually then?"

"Yeah. Even ate her out. It was amazing. You should have seen it, Elise. I bet she would have let you join in."

Proksy threw him a brief glare as he used her real name again, but then as she processed what it was he was saying she quickly scrunched her nose in disgust. "Gross."

Crypto laughed.

"Given what your mother does for a living, I'd have thought you'd understand."

"The intense release of endorphins never much interested me."

"Yet you code digital trips."

She paused typing, just for a second. "It's the challenge that interests me. Your request to have Missus Taylor hold on the precipice of orgasm until you successfully penetrated her has many algorithmic quirks that are difficult to get right."

"Get them right you did. And on the first try, too."

"Because I'm awesome."

It was hard arguing with that. He watched Proksy code for a solid minute before the girl saved her progress and swung around.

"Version three of Source Code is done." She pulled up a transfer interface on her computer and spun over terabytes of copy protected executables over to Crypto. Ironically, as good as Proksy was with machines, she didn't have any cybernetics of her own to do this sort of work. No augmentations, no chips or wires at all. She was a completely natural person, so much so she couldn't even test Source Code on herself. For that she had a lab rat, so to speak. "Would you like to test?"

"Sure," Crypto said with a chuckle, knowing full well this was all the illusion of choice. "Let me get something to catch the mess."

He moved back to the living room to see Proksy's mother had changed positions to engage in a different part of her online show.

She was at her computer now, working the mouse and keyboard as she played a video game. Except she'd abandoned her custom gaming chair designed for that particular purpose. Instead she straddled an adjustable stool to which she'd stuck a large canine styled dildo. Her juices ran freely down her inner thigh as she rode the dildo down to the knot with her pussy spreading over but not quite swallowing the massive bulb with every downward thrust.

One webcam was superimposed on her face as she babbled and played the game for her viewers, while the other was positioned behind her ass so the paying subscribers got to see why the girl-gamer was bouncing enthusiastically while she blasted aliens.

Sneaking around the periphery of the studio he found the black panties Proksy's mom had been wearing earlier and doubled back. As he sat back in a chair, opening his pants and wrapping his excited member in Mrs Paragosky's panties, still warm and a little damp from having fingered herself through them not too long ago, Proksy swivelled in her seat and frowned.

"Wouldn't a towel be more absorbent?" she commented.

"Yeah. But your mom's underwear feels better."

Despite how snarky the comment would have come across for anyone else, Proksy just looked him over impassively, her head cocked inquisitively.

Pulling up his cybernetics interface, he then ran one of the exes she'd spun over to him. The code ran, the executable self-deleted. Then the ride began.

The effect was instantaneous, unlike with the previous version. There was no build-up like there had been with Doxxa or Mrs Taylor. Crypto went straight into it, hitting the heights of orgasm so hard and so fast his whole body seized and his vision washed out in white light.

When he did blink and refocus, the world swam around him. Proksy was a blur. But on her hands and knees between his thighs was a recognisable smear of colour.

Proksy's mom focused, though wobbled and weaved like the hallucination she had to be. Her mouth hung open as she leered at him with narrowed, seductive eyes. Her long tongue reached out to wrap around the silky panties wrapping Crypto's cock. And as she jerked him off, her tongues grip as firm as that of her petite hands, somewhere behind was a ding of KingShit69 pumping cash into her vibrator. She squealed, the sound as vivid in his brain as the real thing would have been as the woman squirted all over the wiring sticking out of her cunt. And at the same time, Crypto couldn't hold back.

His vision washed out, and before he knew it he was slouched back down in front of Proksy, nails dug into the armrests of the chair as he panted for breath. His crotch was a sticky mess. Long gloopy trails of semen oozed through the black panties and ran down his member, clinging to the fur on his balls and between his thighs.

Mrs Paragosky's tongue was replaced my Proksy's fingers as she curiously leaned forward and touched the cum-soaked garment, tracing the wet and sticky fabric the length of his slippery cock. He could feel her squeeze, testing how rigid his erection still was.

"Interesting," she mused softly. "I wasn't expecting residual lust. You have been orgasming for the past thirty seconds non-stop, but you're still as hard as when you began."

Crypto smirked. "I think that's got more to do with what you're doing right now than Source Code."

Proksy looked up at him, then back down to the cum-slick panties he was rubbing along his shaft.

"This feels good?" she asked.

Honestly, her tentative grip working the slick panties up and down his member felt even better than the digital trip. That was the problem with trips. It was all climax, with zero work up, which was in Crypto's opinion, always the best part. He liked Source Code, but it never beat the real thing.

"That feels great," he assured her. "Keep going."

Proksy bit her bottom lip, and honestly for a second she looked like she really wanted to lean forward and give her mother's panties drenched in Crypto's cum a curious little lick. Except she pulled back and squished a thick ribbon of his cum between her fingers for a moment, then pulled a face.

"We have work to do. We have to get Source Code Three out on the web." And with that she jumped to her feet and ran to the bathroom connected to her bedroom to wash her hands.

"Alright," Crypto sighed with a nod. "I'll bring this to Doxxa, she's expecting me anyway."

Doxxa's darkweb server farm would be able to seed a Source Code 3.0 trial in adverts and links all across the web for those with an inclination to find it for a try. By tomorrow all the usual clientele, and hopefully new thrill seekers would know all about Source Code's gooey new version, and he'd be flush with requests to meet up and fulfil orders all weekend.

"Perhaps you should shower first," Proksy said as she returned from washing her hands. "Given you smell like king of the coomers."

Crypto froze, then sniffed himself. Given he had his own cum, let alone the bodily fluids of two women all over his fur, that sounded like a good idea.

###

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