The essence of the mid-life crisis is regretting that you have only one life to live.

Megacles

4 Months Later - Megacles - Mega Lab

I wake up. I’m feeling pretty good. Thirsty. My car isn’t moving, so I should be home. I sit up, look out the windows. Yep, home. I slide out of the car and head for the house. I just built it. I’m 6 hours from the city, but it’s beautiful here, and dirt cheap. The location doesn’t really matter anyway. I only go to the city when I’m hungry for Candy.

The house is 20’ by 30’, two stories, with prefab walls on steel auger posts. It took me 2 months and $50,000 to build it. It’s on a little hill, next to a spring, surrounded by farmland. I love it.

The first floor is just one room. It’s my kitchen, my living room and my lab. I drink some water, and look through the fridge. Supplies are getting low, I’ll send the car out shopping later. I grab some cold pizza, throw myself on the couch and fire up my phone, my TV, and my 3D projector.

The projector makes avatar holograms of anyone who virtually visits my home, but there is no activity right now. It’s early for visitors, virtual or otherwise. Doc-Danger will be along later. We like to virtually overlap our labs so we can work together. We generally work on different projects, but it’s nice to have company. He also likes to watch me masturbate in the shower, and it’s nice to have company then too.

The 3D projector runs on software similar to my glasses. In the end, I didn't make too much money on Aspro. Rich corporations ripped off the idea and poor people just ripped off the software. I made enough to pay for my house. I have enough credit to limp along for a couple years. By then, I should have another good idea. Or, the economy will collapse. I'm fine with either.

Mr. President is blowing up my newsfeed. He's made the world crazy again. Every other link on my feed is either lambasting or lionizing him. I'm interested, but it's too early for politics and debauchery. I eat my pizza and watch clips of baby otters playing tag.

After breakfast, I check my bioreactors. Half my lab is devoted to mass producing edible algae. The mass producing part is going okay, the edible part is kinda dodgy. I grow the algae in vertical tubes, and use strobe lights and rhythmic air bubbles to trick the algae into reproducing faster. I can make more calories in the corner of my lab than a farmer can with 3 acres of corn. But, the iodine content of my algae is too high for regular human consumption. My latest attempt at a low iodine strain has resulted in a flashy, bubbly, tube of dead sludge. Fuck.

I feel the ghost of a kiss on my cheek. Doc-Danger has arrived. He looks at my dead sludge. He scans through the log on the bioreactor.

“Well, fuck.” he swears. “I thought this one was going to work.”

I fire up my pressure washer and give the tube a blast. I used to clean the tubes by hand. That seems like a long time ago.

“Your bioreactors are amazing. It’s just the algae that’s giving you problems. You could start producing cattle feed tomorrow. Those big bastards don't mind a little iodine.”

He's right. Also, I don't give a shit about feeding cows. I want tube to table.

“Mind you, it'd take years for the iodine to fuck up a human thyroid." he continues. "We could survive a nuclear winter with one of these bad boys.”

I cheer up.

“Have you watched Mr. President yet?” I ask.

“Nope, I was waiting to watch it with you. I guess he fucked up, or is a genius, or something?”

Mr. President is strong infotainment. He was a well regarded reality contestant who ran for President on a transparency platform. If secrecy breeds corruption, he would stay above it by wearing a body camera 24/7. Every second of his presidency would be live streamed. The people went for it, and he is doing it. It’s incredible. Reckless as fuck - we no longer have state secrets - but fucking incredible. I can’t stop watching it.

Various groups edit his feed down to daily highlights. There are lots of interesting highlight reels, and a few that aren’t too biased - or at least match my bias. Most reels have 2 clips for today. One has Mr. President discussing tax reform with his Chief of Staff. The other has Mr. President watching porn and masturbating. I put the first one on the TV, and bookmark the second for later perusal.

Mr. President is crossing the Atlantic in his pimped out president plane. He’s sipping a beer, and listening to his Chief of Staff, The Darkness, wax poetic on tax reform. The Darkness is a small adorable woman who habitually wears sundresses. Tax reform is the topic of the day because they are on their way to a G20 summit on international tax reform.

“The economy is in a tailspin, and tax revenue has cratered. Corporations don’t pay taxes anymore. People pay taxes if they have a job, but most don’t, because robots are better than people. And cheaper. Because jobs and taxes are the only ways to get money from rich people, money is heading towards the super rich and not coming back. Unfortunately, they don’t know what to do with it. So, they’re just buying cities and jacking up the rent, to suck up the last of the money. There’s a good chance that one dude is going to end up with all the money. That’s where we’re headed.

“Meanwhile, without jobs, people don’t need a house in the city, a car to get to work, a college degree, a daycare or income tax payments. 70% of their costs were to have a job. Crazy. So, they’re moving to the country, building their own houses, sharing a car with their neighbors, playing with their kids, fucking their husbands, declaring bankruptcy, and not giving a fuck.

“Where shit gets real is intellectual property. The rich own the patents for computer chips, cancer drugs, solar panels, self driving cars, A.I. doctors, super batteries, rockets, satellites, ICBM’s, and virtual reality. If you want the future, you gotta pay rent. Or, steal it.

“So, money is becoming irrelevant, and the economy is splitting in two. The rich are hoarding future tech to maintain their competitive advantage at procuring the choicest tushies. The poor are making their own future tech, or stealing it, whichever’s easier. Both sides want us to leave them alone, and fuck over the other side on their behalf. But we can't do either because we are broke. Also, we are imprisoned in bodies of decaying meat, and soon will die.”

“Okay.” says Mr President. He drinks thoughtfully.

“Okay. We’ll stop acknowledging corporate expenses spent in countries with no corporate tax. No more billion dollar expenses from shell corporations in Panama. If they charge less tax than us, we will scoop the difference. That should fill our coffers. We’ll dump the money on R&D. Curing cancer, sending monkeys to Mars, that kind of shit. Send that in an email to the G20, and turn the fucking plane around.”

Then he taps a keg, cranks the tunes, and starts dancing like a freakasaurus. I scan ahead to the live feed and nothing changes. Apparently, the presidential dance party is ongoing.

I look at Doc-Danger. He is also dancing like a freakasaurus.

“These guys are fucking genius.”

I laugh and join in. We smoke, astral project to the President's party plane, and party with the President. It’s loads of fun.

A while later, we bow out and start puttering in our labs. I brew up a few new strains of algae. Doc tinkers with metamaterials and high powered lasers. Both metamaterials and lasers control light. In theory, they can be used together to create a super hot laser. In practice, the lasers melt holes in the metamaterials. It's a work in progress.

“What do you need a super hot laser for anyway?” I ask.

“I’m trying to burn a hole in reality.”

“Neat. Why?”

“I want to see what’s on the other side.”

“I figured that. Say something less obvious.”

“Okay, you know how some people think we may be living in a computer simulation?” I nod. “Well, imagine making a program that simulated every particle in the universe. It would keep track of what the particles are made of, where they are, where they’re going, and what they do when they get close to each other. It would be a lot of information in total, but not that much per particle. I mean, it could take a fuckload of info per particle, but it would be a finite amount of info. Because, there are limits on all of these parameters. Nothing can go faster than the speed of light. You can’t place something more accurately than the Planck length. There are only a dozen different quarks that everything is made of. There are only a couple forces that particles exert on each other. So, knowing that there is a finite amount of info required per particle, and knowing how many particles you need, you could design a system to run a universe simulation. The computer would have to be bigger than the fucking universe, but you could do it. Which is really fucking fishy.

“On an infinite scale the speed of light is a brick wall. You cannot have infinite action, only finite differentials. The speed of light blocks infinity. It can’t act on us. Not infinitely fast anyway. That doesn’t prove that we are in a computer simulation, but it is caused by something.

“The universe is a construct. There is something outside of it that created and constrains it. It’s noticeable because we have no infinity. I say we hammer at the edge of reality until something gives. Hence, super hot lasers.”

“Okay, I’m in. Let me look at those metamaterials.” I say.

He sends me his math. His metamaterial lenses allow 99.9% of the laser’s energy to pass through. But, the .1% that gets absorbed is enough to melt them. Turning down the laser energy is not a viable solution - he has plans for way bigger lasers. He needs a heat resistant lens. Or, preferably, one that passes 99.9999% of the energy.

This is beyond me. It’s beyond everybody. So, I go to my A.I. library. I have a dozen open source A.I.’s, and a couple dozen stolen ones. I unleash them all. They will search for a new metamaterial and laser combination. They will attempt everything from befriending eminent material scientists, to designing custom molecules from wave equations. Each according to its ability. I code them to help each other when they get stuck, and leave them to it.

I look at Doc-Danger. In theory, he’s a genius. In practice, he blows shit up with lasers. Either way, he’s hot. I have a powerful urge to fuck him. I strip and head upstairs. He smiles and disappears. I go to the bathroom, start the shower, and turn on the haptoclone. Doc’s already sitting on the counter, eager. I soap up. Doc watches. I love him. The haptoclone thrums - it blasts ultrasoundwaves that mimic Doc’s avatar. It lets us touch over the internet. But lightly - too lightly. Fortunately, Candy is a doer, and so am I. We came up with a work around.

I watch Doc as I rinse off. I enjoy him enjoying me. Eventually he disappears, so I set the shower to a warm fog, close my eyes and concentrate. I trigger my post hypnotic suggestion. When I open my eyes, Doc is in the shower with me. When he touches me I feel hot, firm, electric awesome.

I’d bought the haptoclone with my 3D projector. It was supposed to make virtual buttons, something tactile so you touch type and not always be looking at your hands. I took it apart and frankensteined it with Aspro as part of my quest to get pervy over the internet. It was pretty cool, but it didn’t really work for sex. The ultrasound caused bruising if you turned it up too high, so you could never touch anybody firmly enough to get them off. Which didn’t keep Candy and I from driving each other crazy with ephemeral pussy tickles.

I’d hit a wall on the technical side, so Candy started to experiment with self hypnosis. Raging orgasms ensued, God bless her. Results vary from person to person. We haven’t had a lot of luck with an authentic fuck feeling, but we have ways to get the job done.

Penetration is sadly too dangerous with ultrapowerful ultrasound, so we take turns licking each other. I am grateful and happy.

Afterwards, we chat for a bit, then say goodbye. Doc fades out. He'll be back tomorrow. I dry off, turn off the haptoclone, concentrate away my self hypnosis, and head downstairs for dinner. I forgot to send the car for groceries, so I have more cold pizza.

After dinner I roll a joint, grab some beers, and head outside. I enjoy country living for a beer or two, then astral project to Candy's club.

The club has mutated since Candy bought it. It's still legally a strip club, but it operates as a makerspace for high-tech perverts. The clientele is still boozy awkward dudes, but now they bang away at laptops and show off their code. Honestly, I think they are happier now. Brian still puts out amazing food, and the caffeine is comped. Candy keeps the strip club license so they can have models, and demos, and experiments. And because she likes to walk around naked sometimes.

I pull up a virtual booth, and scan tonight's activity. The Dream Team has had tremendous success with VR induced lucid dreaming. It's loads of fun, but it's a solitary adventure. Until they can get quality feedback from the user (who’s asleep), they can't use it for a mutual sex experience. Which is a bummer, because it's a top shelf masturbation machine. Really feels like they are close to the answer.

The Hardwire Team is electrocuting rat brains to make them orgasm. Nothing I see there makes me happy. Thankfully, they're a virtual team - Candy doesn't allow surgery at the club. I block them.

Team Teledildonics is making another piston driven rubber lover. They have penetration down in a way I envy, but the rest of their experience is as sexy as an industrial accident. Still, nice bunch of guys. And, it’s fun to watch someone get strung out on their latest invention. I wander over and chat them up a bit. I ask if they have ever built exercise equipment that gets you off (an idea I had while fucking my mattress). They laugh - my aversion to exercise is well known - and say they will see what they can do. When is their new creation being demoed? Would I like to participate? I couldn’t possibly, too shy. But not too shy to watch, when is it?

We have a few more laughs, then I let them get back to work. I check in on Team Ultra. They're working on adding heat to the sound holograms using an infrared laser scanner. It will aim like an old CRT TV, heating only what's touching the hologram. Pretty cool.

Candy is my last stop. She's interviewing users of her latest post hypnotic suggestions. The hypnos effect everyone differently, so she requires a lot of feedback to refine her process. About 20% of people find her hypno-hapto’s intense and enjoyable. 50% feel no effect. The other 30% get weird results - belief without sensation. Like they have a strong desire to obey, but lack the ability to do so. Sounds distressing, but apparently it’s quite refreshing.

I observe quietly until she’s done. Then we sit and drink and smoke and gossip. We talk about how awesome Mr. President was today, and laugh when we realize we watched different clips. Brian joins us, and later Isaiah does too. I invert my feed, so now it looks like my friends are with me down by my little stream. We get goofy. After a while the boys leave, and Candy starts to dance. I’d run out of things to say anyway. I watch her. She’s beautiful. She starts to undress and whisper my hypno triggers. The saucy minx. I let her have her way with my mind. When she lays down I dive in. It occurs to me that she’s still at the club. She has an office. She also has a stripper stage. Fuck. I invert my feed. Yep, I’m eating out my girlfriend on the stage of a packed club. Lots of cheering. Oh well.