Matthew wanted to ask Lukas why they were going to South America, but it happened again.

A sudden shift.

And he was standing, naked, in a forest. Green light dappled by the thick forest canopy. The calling of birds, bizarre and unreal. He was in a clearing, in a rainforest, and underneath his feet was a carpet of decaying leaves. And he wasn’t naked, no, not naked. He had a leather cord around his waist, and hanging from it, at the front, a little rectangle of chamois, far too small to cover anyone’s gear.

He looked down and lifted it, tremulously. Underneath it, it was just like Lukas’, a firm, hairless mound, without a scar. Gently, he stroked his fingertips over it, and felt pleasure, yes, but where was his cock, his balls. He reached back a little, between his legs, and felt the piss-hole they had made for him, just like Lukas’.

He felt his mouth wobble a little, his lips collapse inwards as he felt. How had this been done to him? And where was he?

He let go of the rectangle of fabric and looked around him. He had the impression, briefly, that someone was watching him, and instinctively, he put his hand back, to see what was covering his arse. Another little rectangle, no bigger than the one at the front. Hardly big enough to cover the width of his crack, and not long enough to cover it anyway.

At his hip, there was a knife, slung into the cord around his waist, as though he was Tarzan, into its own little sheath. And now, as Matthew turned, he realised there was something on his shoulder, something slung over his back, across his chest, something that he was so used to feeling that he hadn’t even noticed it.

He pulled it over his head and held it out in front of him. A bow, and a quiver of arrows. Was he playing some sort of game?

He heard a crackle of something in the underbrush, and surprising himself, he turned with lighting rapidity, crouched, and pulled an arrow into the bow. He held it still, his eyes locked on the place where the noise had come from.

Silence.

How long had he been doing this? he started to wonder. And then he saw it. Something that looked like a large rat, snuffling in the undergrowth. Instantly, he relaxed, but his arm didn’t move.

‘I’ve got him,’ someone said, a voice inside him. And another answered,

‘Finally.’

And Matthew knew, without having to be told, that they were talking about his movements, about controlling him, for now, for the first time since the device had been implanted, his limbs were refusing to do what he wanted, and not only refusing, but doing something else, while he watched.

His arm stretched the bow back, and his head, as though someone was inside it, looked carefully along the sight.

And it was this, this “pleasure”, that they were referring to, of having him there, and conscious, while they controlled him.

He aimed – against his will, drew back – against his will, and fired – against his will.

He missed, breathed his own sigh of relief and stood up.

‘This is going to be fun,’ someone said.

And others laughed.

Matthew ignored them. He turned, turning back toward the centre of the clearing, and stopped. Lukas was there. He had his bow held up, and an arrow pointed at Matthew. He was dressed just like Matthew was, the little rectangle of chamois, the knife, the bow and arrow, and he was slightly mud-stained, his hair a mess, as though they were children, playing some elaborate game.

Matthew froze, and for a moment felt real fear, but Lukas relaxed. He lowered the arrow, and Matthew stepped towards him. He wanted to put his arms out and hug Lukas, but Lukas didn’t move.

‘Have you seen him?’ Lukas said, his voice low, barely a whisper.

‘Who?’ Matthew said, stepping toward him and keeping his own voice low. Lukas looked so sexy, dressed like that, and all mud-stained, like he was a savage, though his lips were still violently red.

‘Turner.’

‘Turner?’

Lukas frowned. And then he turned his head suddenly. His body went rigid, and he stared for a moment, at a sound Matthew hadn’t even heard. Slowly, he turned back to Matthew.

‘Have you seen him?’ he said.

Slowly, Matthew shook his head, looking closely at Lukas’ face. Lukas didn’t seem to be himself. Didn’t seem to be there.

‘Who is he?’

‘He’s a teacher.’

Matthew frowned as he remembered the name. Turner. Who they had – castrated and…like Lukas and he had been.

A shiver passed through Matthew’s body.

There was movement on the far side of the clearing, way back in the trees, so slight that Matthew was surprised that he had seen it, but he had. The passing of something.

He turned, in unison with Lukas, and the two of them, like animals, stretched toward the sound. They sidestepped, their bows angled downward, across the small patch of sunshine in the centre of the clearing, and toward the space where they had seen the patch of movement. It was like an elaborate dance, and one Matthew didn’t know the steps to, though he moved, and danced it as well as Lukas without knowing how.

On the other side of the clearing they stopped. There was a path here, an animal path of sorts, leading into the jungle. They sniffed the air together, and then Lukas, taking the initiative, trotted forward and along the path, following some barely detectable scent.

Matthew’s body turned, and he followed without his will being engaged, trotting along the path silently, behind Lukas, and looking at Lukas’ pale arse, barely covered by its rectangle of fabric.

It was almost dreamlike. Matthew had no responsibility. No need to care. His body was moving without his will. Someone was doing all the work for him. And he was like a child, sheltered.

Lukas came to an abrupt halt and Matthew collided with him, feeling the emptiness in his groin pressed up against Lukas. Lukas held his hand up, silencing him, and then, very slowly, he began to walk forward again.

There was the sound of a stream, getting closer. They stepped along the path, sidestepping, the birds above them screeching and crying as the sound of the running water grew closer.

Matthew caught the flicker of sunshine on water, and then again, they were stepping into something that was almost a clearing, though this one was made by a stream. In unison, Lukas and he lifted their bows and pulled an arrow back into them. They sidestepped, and emerged out of the jungle.

Ahead of them, bending over the stream, was the figure of a man. A large man, hairy, and dressed just like them. Matthew could see his hairy arse and legs, he was squatting, and scooping water into his mouth. On his back was his quiver of arrows, and at his waist, his knife. He was bald, and wore glasses on his face.

Suddenly, he turned, and stood.

He was frightened, and he froze.

Lukas released an arrow and it went wide, narrowly missing the poor man’s head. Matthew had his arm raised, but he knew he didn’t want to do it. He struggled, and at the last moment managed, somehow, to send his arrow wide. He breathed a sigh of relief, and then watched in dismay as Turner flinched, struck from behind. The point of an arrow emerging from his chest. He clutched it, and winced.