Part One:
	Before

	1.
	
	It was one hell of party.  The tunes were rockin', babes everywhere,
and booze and drugs were flowing like a sweet stream.  Steve Frechette was
starting to get a buzz on, as the bourbon seeped into his bloodstream.  He
was bobbing his head in time to the chainsaw guitar of "Death Angel" on
Bob's killer Technics stereo.  The walls shook with the thundering bass as
"Bored" slammed into the grinding solo.  Steven tilted his head back and
screamed "PAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!" at the top of his
lungs.
	A slamfest was in full swing in Bob's plush living room as bodies
ricocheted off other bodies, furniture and walls.  Somebody put on
Ministry's "Jesus Built My Hotrod" and the mania hit high gear.  Bob was
slamming with the rest, bouncing from wall to wall.  Steven slammed him
against the bookshelf, and trinkets fell to floor and shattered.  Bob
returned the gesture and sent Steve flying into a wall.  A mirror crashed to
the floor and shattered.  Bob laughed.  Steve smiled.
	This slinky bitch in a leather bodysuit rubbed up against Steve, and he
nudged her to the couch... putting the slam session on hold for a while.  He
joined her on the sofa and introduced himself:
	"Hi. My name is Steve. I'm the best fuck you'll ever have."
	She just smiled... her teeth pearl white in a sea of crimson.  She was
built like a brick you-know-what... her industrial-strength body displayed
to full advantage in its leather case.  She looked like a knife snug in its
sheath -- sharp, shiny, and lethal.  Her jade green eyes locked on Steve's
like twin heatseekers.  She grabbed his hand and began to suck on Steve's
index finger, her tongue flicking in lizardesque motions.  He shuddered and
she smirked as she watched his pants rise.  She continued to lick his finger
from tip to knuckle, and then kissed his palm.
	"Hi.  My name is Alyshia.  And that was the appetizer."
	Steven chatted a bit with this evening's prospective bedwarmer, asking
about her attire and her musical tastes.  She informed him she was heavily
into the hardcore underground scene and liked her music loud, fast, and
very, very hard.  Steven knew she preferred her men the same way.
	She produced a small baggie filled with pure white nose stuffing, and
placed it on the table.  She removed her razor blade earring and began to
mince the coke into a fine powder.  She snorted a line through a tightly-
rolled twenty and shook with pleasure.  
	Steven joined the festivities, and howled with excitement as the
euphoria hit -- like a fuckin' runaway train.  His mind shifted to
overdrive, thoughts flying by in a whiplash blur.  The next thing he felt
was her tongue down his throat...

	Steve and Alyshia were standing arm in arm on the front porch, the chill
night air raising gooseflesh but feeling so goddamn good.  They were still
flying high, and the party was still going strong.  Bob was inside slamming
around like a lunatic again -- his patented superball impression in full
swing.  Steve and Alyshia laughed loudly as they heard another mirror crash
to the floor inside.  Looks like another seven years bad luck for Mr.
Superball.
	The walk to the car was interesting -- the driveway had suddenly
turned into a large pancake and Steve's feet were sticking to the syrup.
	Alyshia didn't seem to mind her sticky stilettos... oh yeah, she didn't pop
that double!  Take one brain, add a little acid, and welcome to Wonderland. 
Stephen smiled at the image of the mad hatter and that whacked-out rabbit
slamming around to the tunes at Bob's party.  
	Steven fumbled for his keys, and attempted to unlock the door.  What the
hell?  Since when did this door have three keyholes?  Why won't they stay in
one place?  Steven drunkenly nudged Alyshia and mumbled that she would have
to unlock the door for him.
	Once inside the car, Steven pushed the key into the ignition.  He turned
the key, and floored the gas.  He was still in the driveway.  He floored the
gas again, and Alyshia burst out laughing.  He turned to her in confusion
and then realized the car was still in PARK.
	The drive home was underwater and Alyshia had turned into a large pink
jellyfish.  She was speaking what Steven thought was Japanese, but it was
hard to tell.  She began to growl at him, and a tentacle slithered across
the seat towards him...
	Steven yelped, and jumped back in disgust.  Alyshia returned, and the
jellyfish floated through the ceiling -- changing color from purple to pink
to blue to green to yellow.
	"I'm... having a... bad trip"  Steven mumbled.  He turned towards
Alyshia, and she was asleep.  She was also snoring -- to Steve it sounded
like the low rumbling of an idling motor.  He watched her ample chest rise
and fall rhythmically as she breathed.  She was a goddess.  What the hell
did he do to deserve this?
	The dashboard flowed onto the floor as if it were hot wax, and began to
sing.  It glowed red for a few seconds, and then gave off the smell of
honey.  Stephen smiled at the illusion, and continued to drive.  'Cid.  A
little piece of heaven.

	Alyshia woke up about twenty minutes later, and stretched luxuriously,
yawning loudly.  She rubbed her eyes, and smiled at Steven.
	"Enjoy your little catnap?" he asked.
	"Yeah... sorry 'bout that.  I just kinda crashed.  It always happens
after a wild party.  I'm okay now, though."
	"You wouldn't believe what kind of trip I'm having.  The fucking
dashboard melted, you turned into a jellyfish, and then the car started
talking to me!  Wha-fuck?  The seat just pinched me!"
	Steve shook his head.  "This is just too fuckin' weird... I feel like
I'm dreaming."
	"I guess the seat just pinched you to remind you you're awake, eh?"
	Alyshia and Steven erupted into laughter at this, and a smile crept
across his lips.  What a fuckin' night.

	
	2.
	
	Stephen's keys jingled as he struggled to unlock his front door. 
Alyshia smiled, chuckled softly, and grabbed the keys from him.  Stephen was
in no condition to offer his thanks as his rush was still in full swing. 
The ground beneath him bulged and swelled beneath his feet as it growled
low and deep like a monster bass riff.  The grass on his front lawn swayed
back and forth as if dancing, and whispered his name in a tribal chant.  The
moon was also speaking to Stephen -- its craters opening and closing in
sync with a high-pitched voice that sounded like Pee Wee Herman on helium.
	Alyshia led Stephen through the hallway and into the bedroom.  Not quite
the way he had hoped the night would end.  She was laying Stephen in bed
all right, but it was more as a nurse than a lover.  Stephen grumbled as she
let go of his arms and he fell to the mattress.   Soon he would be in
dreamland -- of course, considering the LSD, it would be more like playland.
	Alyshia turned out the light and lay down beside Stephen.  She turned,
kissed him gently on the forehead, and whispered "Good night, lover boy." 
Stephen mumbled something else and drifted away... adrift in a sea of
psychedelia.
 
	The acid now had Stephen's subconscious to toy with -- and the images
flowed ceaselessly over his eyelids.  Kaleidoscope fragments of color washed
over the darkness as vague wisps of memory meshed with fantasy and became a
new reality.  Events torn from the fabric of Stephen's past flew by in a
confusing stew of images, sounds, and smells. 
	The grinding guitars of Stephen's first experience with slamdancing and
hardcore punk mosh.  The sight of Bruce, Stephen's pet collie, becoming a
viscous red soup as it was splattered by a speeding car.  The smell of a
birthday cake from years ago -- when the world was still as exciting and new
as it was terrifying.  All these and more --fragments of a past that
assaulted Stephen's vision with machine gun intensity.
	Stephen thrashed around like a human live wire as sweat ran down his
face.  The images continued pummeling his mind, and the sounds of the past
rang through his ears like corrosive feedback as Stephen's body began to
shake.  A low bass growl erupted from his mouth and gradually increased in
pitch and volume.
	When Stephen stood before his mother's fresh grave a second time, it was
a scream.

	
	3.
	
	With a twinge of nervous anxiety fluttering through her stomach, Dr.
Lynn Malcolm entered the conference room.  She closed the heavy oak door
behind her, and seated herself in her plush leather chair.  She sighed, and
opened her briefcase.  She removed a folder containing a project she was
heading, and cleared her throat.  She waited patiently as the rest of her
research team strolled languidly into the office.  The tension increased
tenfold as the ominous presence of the department head passed before her
eyes.
	The project was not going well, to say the least.  The test chimp, "Bob
1", as he was affectionately referred to, had begun to exhibit borderline
psychotic tendencies.  During the past three weeks, he had become
increasingly agitated when subjected to standard test stimuli -- it seemed
all of the work Lynn had gone through for the past six long years would go
down the tubes.
	The project was designed to determine if an organic computer chip could
be mated with living tissue, in the hopes that it could be used to control
undesirable behavioral patterns.  They began with white mice, and found
limited success in test subjects as the "robo-mice", as they were coined,
showed a marked improvement in the maze test.  They were effectively
"programmed", as the implant received binary instructions and sent them
along to the brain.  Dr. Malcolm's mind raced as she observed the results,
imagining the applications for Alzheimer's and other brain injury cases. 
The faulty sections of the human brain could be "patched" with the gallium-
oxide chip, creating a cohesive whole that would be as good as, if not
better than, the original.
	There were many kinks to be worked out in the chip, but the
possibilities were staggering.  Now all she had to do was convince her boss
that the program was still worth pursuing.  The hospital was hit hard by the
recession, and the board of directors was itching to cut "unnecessary"
programs.  Lynn's job was to convince the department head that her project
was not in that category.
	Bob Collier, the head of St. Christopher's research department cleared
his throat and straightened his conservative tie before beginning.  He was a
large man, with basset-hound-like jowls, and he had a thunderous voice that
boomed through the room as if he were speaking through a megaphone.
	"I called this meeting today because the board of directors has been
breathing down my neck again.  Unless someone here can convince me
otherwise, you can consider it the end of future funding from St.
Christopher's.  Now, can we start with a status report on the current state
of the project?
	Dr. Malcolm, shall we begin?"

	Lynn's heart was racing at this point, and she clumsily rearranged the
stack of papers in front of her.  She flipped through them and found her
notes.  She scanned them for a few seconds, inhaled deeply, and began:
	"As you all are quite aware by now, we are  working on the implantation
of a gallium-oxide chip -- an organic computer, if you will -- into the
living brain of animals.  The trials with mice were quite successful,
accuracy and speed in the maze test improved over two-hundred percent when
the implant was activated.  We moved on to rabbits from there, and the
programming was equally successful.
	After the implant, the rabbits lost all desire to mate -- even when
placed in a cage directly with a member of the opposite sex.  The computer
inside the minds of these creatures completely counteracted all instincts
concerning procreation.  The program was a smashing success.
	We moved on to chimpanzees from there, and we reached a bit of a ... a
snag."
	Dr. Collier's ears perked up at the mention of this, and he moved
forward in his chair.
	"Oh?  What sort of problem did you encounter, Dr. Malcolm?" he asked.
	Lynn's eyes fell to the floor for a second, and her eyes flew over her
notes.  She cleared her throat, and nervously fidgeted with the papers
before her.
	Finally, she said: "We've created a monster."
	
	
	4.
	
	Lynn explained the devastating failure with "Bob 1", and the look on her
face said it all.  She had videotaped one of the trails and she removed it
from her briefcase and walked over to the VCR to play it.  Dr. Collier sat
with a look of disbelief as he watched the scene unfold before him.
	Lynn sat before a computer terminal, and "Bob 1" sat crouched in his
cage munching on a banana, the electrodes sticking out his head like a
bizarre antenna.  He absently scratched his back, and then continued eating. 
He looked like a rather content chimp.
	Lynn reached forward and flicked the terminal on, and waited for the
training program to initialize.  She then leaned forward, and began typing
instructions.
	The cameraman zoomed in on the screen:
	"BOB, STOP EATING" she typed.
	"OK. SENDING..." the computer replied.
	"Bob 1", suddenly grunted and dropped the banana.  He looked down at it
longingly for a second and then stared at Lynn.  He grunted again.
	Lynn then instructed Bob to flex his fingers, sit, stand, and then turn
left.  He followed the instructions perfectly, his only complaint a quiet
grunt and a slight twitch in his left arm.
	Bob clapped his hands at Lynn's command, and then grunted loudly.  The
twitch in his arm had become a constant tremor.  When Lynn tried to get him
to stand again, the grunt became a howl.
	He began screaming at Lynn, and violently ripped the wires from his
skull.  He yelled again and began to punch himself in the chest repeatedly,
cursing and yowling loudly.
	Within the cage, "Bob 1" was trembling with rage, his eyes seething with
an anger bordering on the demonic.  He suddenly threw himself at the cage,
and began to roar at the camera.  He pounded the floor of his prison --
repeatedly smashing the bottom with his fists curled so tightly his
fingernails had cut into his palms.   Blood dripped from his hands and he
pummeled the steel bars again, screaming in rage with every hit.  
	Suddenly, he collapsed.  His eyes fluttered closed, opened for a
second, then closed again.  The anger was gone, replaced by sadness and
intense confusion.  The monkey shuddered, and then drifted off to sleep.
	The tape ended.  Lynn removed it from the machine, and seated herself
again.
	
	The boardroom became oppressive at that point as Lynn and the other
members of the research team sat waiting for the guillotine to fall.  Lynn
prayed that her project would not end up in a basket -- its future dying as
the revolutionaries had during the French Revolution.  She knew her approach
was innovative and at times reckless... but the payoffs if she succeeded
would be mind-boggling.
	Dr. Bob Collier sat deeply immersed in thought, as he mused and stroked
his beard absently.  For what seemed like hours, he said nothing -- looking
from doctor to doctor with disappointment surfacing in his normally cold
eyes.  He stared at Lynn for a few moments, seeming to search for a reason
to give her another chance.
	"I have reached a decision.  Before I let you all know what it is,
however, I'm going to tell you why.
	In the beginning, I did not know what to think of the project.  Nothing
of the sort had been done before, so I felt like a lawyer working on a
difficult case without the aid of a precedent.  The more I learned of what
success could mean for the future of brain injury treatment, the more
confident I became.  And now this...
	I'm sorry, but I am going to have to recommend that the program be
dropped."
	This was greeted with an uproar, as a babble of voices assaulted Dr.
Collier with objections.  He shook his head sadly as he listened to the
various excuses and pleas.  Curiously, Lynn was silent.  It seemed that the
shock of what had happened had left her speechless.
	Lynn slowly stood, and looked about the room.  Her eyes met Dr.
Collier's, and she locked on as they were missiles.  Her hands were shaking,
and her face was sending off waves of rage.  Her cheeks flushed as she began
yelling at the head:
	"I HAVE SPENT THE LAST SIX YEARS OF MY LIFE WITH THIS PROJECT!  Now, you
want to just dump it because the hospital wants to trim a few bucks from its
budget?"
	She grabbed her folder and shook it violently, "My blood and sweat are
in these pages!  Don't you understand what that means?"
	Lynn started to calm down a little, and sat back down.  She paused for a
few seconds, and then continued:
	"Please, you've got to give us another chance.  Please."  

	Dr. Collier sat in stunned silence for a few minutes, and fidgeted with
his tie for a few seconds.  He ran his hand thoughtfully through his beard
again, and then sighed loudly.  His eyes locked with Lynn's, and he spoke:
	"All right, Dr. Malcolm.  One last chance.  Report back to me in three
months with more successful ape trials, and you'll have your funding."
	Lynn whispered, "Thank you." and breathed a huge sigh of relief.
	
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