If you can take the time, please review the previous pages of Singularity Dex, a new (currently) fictional novel that I am working on. As always, thank you for your time and consideration.
At 39 years old, Dex was living the dream. Sure, his love life could be better, but there's plenty of people that had three ex-wives. One thing is for sure, there is a definitive freedom in loosing all your worldly possessions.
He actually knew that last one wouldnt go the distance though. About two months into the marriage, he had taken her to the tattoo shop for some ink work. "Number Three" had chosen to go with a full side piece of tribal with the seven deadly sins worked into the art. The artist was one talented behemoth, he worked the lines so well that you only read the deadly sins if you knew what to look for. Otherwise it simply looked like tribal art, it was beautiful and geniously put together.
Her ink had taken three six hour sessions to complete and it was magazine worthy, literally. She and Todd (the tattoo artist) wound up on the cover of "Inked magazine". As a wedding gift to one another, they had agreed that Dex would get his tat as soon as hers was done and she had convinced him to go big. He decided on a matching tattoo, but within the tribal work his would instead read the seven cardinal virtues. Similar to the relationship, the tattoo was painful, expensive, and involved being uncomfortably close to Todd, but Dex loved the tat. Wisdom, justice, temperance, fortitude, faith, hope, and love; it went from the back of his neck, wrapped around his right arm as a sleeve, continued down his side and ended at his waste line. He took the divorce in stride, just like everything else in life. Just another thing man.
After that last break up, he decided to move to Biloxi, Mississippi. It took him all of a day and a half to get a job as a bacarat dealer at one of the best casinos in town, and the toke rate was phenomenal. He would clock in at around 35-40 bucks an hour, the best part was that he would only have to work three days a week. Life was looking good. With a new two bed room apartment right on the beach, he couldn't help but to hit the motorcycle shop and pick up a new ride. Smiling from ear to ear at 35 miles an hour rumbling all the way down Beach Blvd.
Anyone that rides motorcycles on a regular basis knows that eventually they are going to take a spill. It's never a matter of if, but a matter of when. They accept that fate because they are just a little crazy, some more than others, and there is absolutely nothing that compares to "being one with the road". That is, until you actually become one with the road. It was Daxs' turn about 8 months after he moved to Biloxi.
This was the first time Dexs' broken body lay mangled on the pavement, of course it wouldn't be the last, but it was touch and go for 14 days in ICU with severe head trauma, complete loss of his right arm (the Justice part of his virtues tat), and several broken bones including a shattered right pelvis and an extruding right color bone. According to the doctors, Dex was lucky to be alive. Unfortunately, when he awoke in the hospital it was clear he had complete amnesia. He was not fully aware of what had occurred or what was currently occurring when a man in a black Armani suit came into his hospital room.
"Mr. Stevenson." The man sounded early like Smith from the Matrix series. "Although you find yourself I'm this unfortunate situation, we have taken the liberty of drawing up all the paperwork that was discussed."
Dex had no idea what he was talking about and the pain shooting through his entire body. He knew that all he had to do was press the red button and he would drift back into Oblivion. The Smith clone raised his hand in a sign to hold on a second. "Mr. Stevenson, Dex, we simply need for you to sign this form and we can make you new again. It may be difficult for you to understand but this is in your best interest. The Enochian Corporation will even foot the entire bill, which by the way is considerable all ready. You realize that you had no insurance, right Mr. Stevenson?".
Dex couldn't speak but made a signal like signing with his working left hand and was handed a pen. He signed whatever it was and the pressed the button to be quickly ushered into the comfortable painlessness that is current best friend moraphine.
Smith put the paperwork in his briefcase, walked out and nodded to the four men in the lobby that were not wearing black suits. They were in jeans and white polos that had a dark red letter on the sleeve and the collar in the shape of an odd looking E. It was actually closer to a backwards three.
"The papers are signed gentlemen. Get the transport ready." Smith walked to the elevators without looking back.