Chapter 9 Judgement
Judgement
The sound comes first.
Not the bells. No, not this time. Instead, there’s a hiss of cooling metal. A sigh, almost human. My eyes flutter open, and it takes me a moment to adjust to the warm light. The factory is long gone. Everything is quiet.
The snow is no longer falling, and I can’t tell if I’m dead or if this is me actively dying. And if so, is this what it feels like, the moment the machine stops, and you realize you were the robot all along?
Devoid of humanity.
Of compassion.
Is this the miracle of Christmas that’s clawing its way up my throat, splitting its way through my soul?
Swallowing me whole with cheer, I shake my head.
“Get it together,” I mutter, clutching the side of my head as I sit up.
The ground beneath me is not tiles, but glass.
Beneath it, the furnace still burns, orange and endless.
Ash floats in the air like lazy snowflakes begging to live.
The table from earlier stands before me—polished wood, three boxes stacked neatly on top.
The words past and present are crossed out in thick red ink.
Only the future remains unchecked. Neno appears behind me again, startling me with the silence that only death can manage.
This time, his form flickers in and out.
Young Neno. Older him. All blend.
Glitching like a virus needing to be expelled from the game, he turns from human to shadow. His coat is gone, and in its place hangs something more ceremonial, dark and heavy, stitched with silver threads that catch the dying light.
“This is the part where you make your case,” he says calmly. My brows knit together as I wet my plump lips. “My case?”
He nods once, slow and deliberate. “Every man begs at the end, Mr. Porter. Even the ones who swore they never would. What would you beg for?” He arches a thick brow, closing the distance between us, the bulge between his legs pressing against the white silk that covers his lower half.
Neno looks ethereal—a beautiful ghost of retribution—as he grows closer to me. I want to laugh, maybe cry. Shit! I might do both, but my throat is too raw for any sounds, and my eyes are all cried out from the years spent isolated in my own grief.
“There’s nothing to beg for,” I rasp. “You’ve already killed me.”
He tilts his head, confusion clouding his features. “Killed you?” Neno tsks, shaking his head as his hand glides up my bare torso. “You did that long before I ever showed up.”
With a snap of a finger, the sound crisp and loud, the glass beneath us lights up, turning into a screen. Scenes play like home videos, people I recognize only by the way their mouths shape my name. Emily, clutching a box of toys as she escorts out the previous workers. Friends of hers, I’m sure.
The driver from sector B, frozen stiff in his truck.
Mouth wide open, lips chapped and frosted.
Eyelids open and glazed over, staring into the nothingness.
Another scene plays out, a woman begs to see her father, and I give my clear dismissal.
I look away, my heart beating frantically within the confines of my ribs, each beat a reminder of the pain.
Of mine.
Of theirs.
Of all of it.
My vision clouds, my eyes stinging with warmth as something fills them. When a tight pinch pulls me from my spiral, I bite down the moan—the scream his touch elicits from me, his candy cane breath brushes against my skin.
“Fuck, Mr. Porter, we could have had it all,” he croons against my skin, his warm and wet tongue slowly gliding up my cheek, lapping away at my tear. “Your anguish tastes delectable, Toy King. ” Neno takes a deep inhale. “You turned people into inventory, even me.”
A moan rips through the air. Neno’s on top of me, his delicate hands splayed out on each of my pectorals, as I piston my hips upwards.
“Why?” he whispers in my ear, nipping the sensitive flesh, my dick twitching from the sensation. “Was it greed? Fear? Or just easier to forget about compassion?” Nip. “Love?” Nip.
Each soft bite sends tingles down my body and heat to my core. I open my mouth to speak, but the feeling of his lips against my skin has me lost to the pleasure that only he provides. My body recognizes his, bending to his command. I was always a sucker for Neno.
“Hard work pays off, buddy.” My father’s mechanical voice has my eyes fluttering open, the loop has more tears streaming down my face, and Neno moans at the sight of it.
The sound continues with painful loops, mocking me until I can’t stand it.
I slam my fist against the glass, but the image beneath me doesn’t break.
One of me, the day I found Neno’s dead body being pulled from the lake.
Officers later called it a suicide, Neno killed himself Christmas morning, holding a printed version of the email I sent him hours prior.
I shudder at the sight, still the image doesn’t change…
doesn’t break. For a moment, it remains the same until it fades, changing into a memory of a small boy standing in front of his father, mimicking his stance as he gently pats his head.
“Hard work pays off, buddy,” he repeats again.
“Stop it,” I snarl, but the scene won’t fade, the feel of Neno’s lips wrapping around my bulbous crown has me losing my mind. My eyes roll to the back of my head when his heat envelops me as the scene shifts to the car accident. Christmas life changed for me the moment the magic ceased to exist.
“Stop,” I whisper, unsure if I want the images to stop or his mouth from taking me deeper. His tongue is twirling around my shaft as if he’s lapping the tastiest treat. My fingers dig into his scalp, and his response is teeth scraping against my soft flesh. We both groan in unison.
“Say it, Devon,” he says around my length, letting the saliva pool at my base before slurping it up. The sound draws my balls tight, “say it.”
I look up, trying to focus on anything but this, even though it’s impossible. I feel him everywhere, and when I focus back on him, for the first time, he’s no longer smiling—he looks sad.
“Please,” I whisper.
“Please, what?”
“Please make it stop.”
He nods once, and the smallest mercy comes with his mouth descending onto my cock. The image vanishes, dissolving into blinding lights, his tongue swirls and laps. My hips thrust to fuck his greedy mouth before he stops. A low chuckle rumbles through his lips.
“Please,” I beg, because I’m desperate to feel anything but this despair that has taken hold inside me. “I can change, please.”
“Okay, Devon, I can help,” he finally says after a moment of silence. “But you’ll have to pay for it.”
I aggressively shake my head, “Anything. Just name the price.” His hand wraps around my cock, one long stroke up, and then he pushes back, with it the foreskin.
The sound of my arousal fills the space, the sound blending perfectly with my ragged breathing.
“What’s the price?” I finally choke out, or maybe whimper.
He leans closer, our noses brushing, his breath ghosting my skin. “What you took.”
Bright lights flicker before flooding into everything, and when they dim, I’m standing in the town square of Jollytown, but the people are gone. Only snow remains piled against shuttered windows. The billboard still looms overhead, the big bold words:
WELCOME TO JOLLYTOWN—HOME OF PORTER TOYS
Except the smiling family is gone, in their place, only one figure stands beneath the Christmas tree. Me.
Neno’s voice follows from somewhere behind the snow. “You wanted forever, Devon. Here it is.”
The wind carries the echo of the factory slogan, warped and weathered, now dripping with finality:
The world folds in on itself. The snow, the billboard, the tree—all sucked backward like film in reverse until there’s nothing left but the ringing of bells.
DING !
DONG !
DING !
DONG !
DING !
When the sound fades, I’m back where it began—back in the dorm where it all began, my hand smoothing out the curls on Neno’s head as he lies on my lap. His eyes were sheepish and full of adoration as he intertwined his fingers with mine.
“I love you, Devon,” he whispers, kissing each one of my digits. Warmth spreads through me like a wildfire, and I relax into the memory, wishing I could remain in this moment and cherish it forever.
My lips begin to open, to say those eight letters I know he longs to hear, but then he dissolves into sand, the room shifting and turning, leaving me gasping for air—for a fucking break for god’s sake.
And when it stops, I’m back at the cabin. The world has gone quiet, leaving nothing but a blanket of white. The grandfather clock strikes once… twice…
“Welcome back, Toy King, it’s Christmas morning,” Neno says with a smile, “Feliz Navidad, Mi amorcito.”