Android Blues posted:

I am at the centre of a vast network of pulsating blue transparent tubes. My neck is corded, face arrogant. The protagonist, beaten, bloodied, faces me down.

I gesture to the turbo-syringe in my hand. Soon my urethra will be the lodepoint for all piss flow, I boast. I'll never let that happen, he rasps. You're too late, I guffaw, madly, it's already begun. Monitors flicker on around me; people lined up at urinals, expecting the "social lubricant" of convivial micturatory conversation, stalled out, not speaking to each other. A mother looks at her non-pissing baby with mute dismay. Under my skin, my urethra bulges like a trapped python. It is a girl urethra so this really is mostly happening in my midriff and it's not R-rated and we can still sell this at Best Buy. It's just creepy, like Eraserhead, I say, you're not meant to get horny from this. Please stop it, I say, grunting with dismay as I realise where my hubris has lead me. I flick all the monitors off, suddenly self-conscious, but it's too late: the unilateral piss flow is starting. I've harnessed the power of an inchoate god, and now I am hurtling in the wake of its grand chariot.