THE SOLDIER FIRED HIS plasma rifle. Sweat glistened on his cheeks above the collar of his blue-and-grey European Army Corps uniform. His eyes were wide, babyish, visible markers of his prayers to see his mother. He ran through the sand, kicking up clouds of dust.

The desert extended in all directions, smothered under a red and cloudless sky like a burial shroud. There was no cover, except for large dunes dotting the sand. All the ripped and bleeding corpses of his friends were well behind him. The exploded equipment, too, and the barracks, which had burned to the ground. Ahead lay more heat, more nothingness.

And the black swarm gained on him. A cloud, it seemed: elongating, lengthening, compressing, darkening. Buzzing like an army of bees. Thousands of drones, jet-powered orbs of uniform grey, with an arm stuck out of each side, one of them ending in a pincer-like claw, the other a chainsaw blade.

The soldier dug his feet in. He pressed his rifle into his shoulder and looked down the sight. His teeth chattered. A whimper escaped from his lips. He held the trigger down, and hot blue plasma exploded from the barrel. One drone, ten, twenty, burst and fell into the sand. But the swarm was much larger than that, and incapable of fear.

A second later, the swarm became a buzzing black wall, spinning around him faster than he could keep up with. He yelled and gritted his teeth. He launched plasma into more and more of the drones, the explosions burning his lips, his eyelashes.

A drone flew out of the wall and grabbed his trigger arm with a pincer claw. In a single, efficient stroke, its chainsaw tore through his elbow. The soldier’s eyes widened. Sharp, boiling agony spread from the wound. Blood fanned around the saw, and the arm snapped loose. It flopped dead onto the sand.

The soldier collapsed onto his knees. He stared into the bleeding nub where his arm used to be. Two drones pulled his cheeks until blood poured down his chin. The flesh came away in a loud snap, exposing his full set of bloodied, gnashing teeth.

***

Mark Robinson scrolled through VideoTube, an uncensored YouTube clone: people overdosing, street fights, animals getting run over. He’d been watching them for days, his peripheral awareness overcome by a growing darkness, a psychic mould. He was a vessel for the videos. They filled him like a shadow spreading over empty space.

“SOLDIER TORN APART — DRONE WAR IN EUROPE.” The thumbnail showed the soldier firing his plasma rifle, his face contorted into a scream. Mark tapped it and watched. An hour later, he kept replaying the moment when the drones surrounded the soldier. His expression, the soldier’s, changes from “determined” into something else. His eyes widen, then soften. His mouth opens, exposing his tongue, and his head tilts back. Mark played it in slow motion, getting the impression of a man having an orgasm.

Mark could almost feel the buzzing terror that swelled in the soldier’s stomach. Imagine having to face an unbeatable force of—what? A wave, a swarm, something you couldn’t reason with. The proper emotional response was obvious: pure terror.

How could he explain the pleasure on the soldier’s face?

He watched the video again in slow motion. The soldier fires at the swarm. The swarm survives his attack and surrounds him. The soldier looks at the wall of death in horror. He raises his weapon. And then his eyes soften, his mouth opens. At that moment, something begins to jut from the space between the soldier’s legs. Frame by frame, the jut sticks out farther and farther, until it is a flagpole in the front of the soldier’s pants.

Mark paused the video. He shook his head and laughed. Unless he was mistaken, the soldier, at the moment he was faced with certain death, had grown a visible erection.

***

Aaron Nygard shoved a forkful of omelette into his mouth and washed it down with a long swill of black coffee. He and Mark sat at a booth in the back corner of the St. Lawrence Cora’s. The midday sun shone through the large windows, and the smell of bacon, eggs, and French toast filled the air. Cutlery clanged on plates. Voices, indecipherable, formed a constant hum.

“The connection between sex and death is obvious,” Aaron said. “We feel it in every moment of arousal, but also when we encounter car accidents, obituaries, and even when we enter a cancer ward. We’re unwilling to acknowledge the phenomenon because it’s not well known, but if it were, we’d see it everywhere.”

Mark slumped against the wall. Dark circles adorned his eyes from lack of sleep. His hair, unwashed, clumped together in the back, and a dry taste filled his mouth. Aaron was a friend from college, one of those “too smart for school” types who dropped out but never left studying behind. “So you’re telling me what happens in this video isn’t even shocking to you?”

“Of course not. It happens all the time, in war. Some people say stress hormones are responsible, but I disagree. It’s obvious that the presence of death is arousing.” The server refilled their coffees. Aaron smiled a thank you, took a long sip. “Did you really drag me all the way out here to get my opinion on a soldier’s hard-on?”

“I just don’t get it. I mean, I hear what you’re saying, but to me it’s just words. People do everything they can to avoid death, which they wouldn’t if it had the effect you’re describing.”

A smile crawled up Aaron’s face, making his already cold demeanour feel frostbitten. “If you’re interested in learning more, there’s a place I could take you.”

“Oh, no. I’ve made this mistake before.”

“You’re so dramatic. Look, I’ve been attending this gathering for a few weeks now. I think what you see there will be helpful to you. I mean, you came to me for answers, didn’t you?”

“Which you already gave me.”

“Did I?” Aaron leaned forward. “This goes much deeper than what I’ve told you. Much, much deeper.”

***

They went to the club around midnight, a small place just outside Kensington. Inside, orange lights made everything dreamlike. Men in trucker hats and flannel, most of them older, sat at the bar or at the few tables scattered across the floor. They drank draught beer. All of them studied the TV screens that lined the ceiling and hung behind the bar.

On the TVs, a young woman, a soldier in the European Army Corps, drags a pair of legs by the ankles. The rest of the body has been blown off. In its place are ground meat and grey, dusty intestines. The woman loses her grip and falls into the sand. She gets up, her tear-streaked face contorted from grief. She grips the ankles and pulls. Guts spill from the legs’ waist as if from a tipped-over compost bucket.

A wave of activity spread through the room. An old man at the bar whipped out his penis and pulled on it with a gnarled, arthritic hand. One fellow bent another over the table, ripped his pants off, spat on the man’s anus and entered him.

Soon, the room was filled with groups of one, two, three or more, engaged in sexual activity. The smell of shit and bodily fluids became a thick miasma. On the TVs, a sobbing man leans against a brick wall, cradling a severed head. Quick cut to a drone shoving its chainsaw arm into a woman’s mouth. Blood and teeth fragments explode from the wound until the saw rips through her brain stem.

Aaron took a shot of whiskey, tore his pants off and propped one leg on a table. He reached one hand around his thigh and fingered his anus while he masturbated with burning fury. He bit his lower lip and rolled his eyes. The dry smell of rectum snuck into Mark’s mouth.

Aaron shoved another finger into his anus. Ejaculate shot from his penis as if from a lanced cyst. It landed on the table with an audible splat.

Cut to a man bleeding from his eyes.

***

“I can’t believe I’d never noticed it before,” Mark said. “The way a body bursts after it’s been shot—it’s an ejaculation. One of the men in those videos exploded all over a woman’s face. Her expression followed the same pattern I’ve seen in porn films, a mix of surprise and elation, followed by disgust.”

Aaron sucked on his cigarette. They were standing just outside the front door of the club, under an orange light that cast a dreamy glow. He exhaled a cloud of smoke. “And how did that make you feel?”

“It’s hard to say. I guess I mirrored her own feelings. I was surprised, I was aroused, and then there was this swelling disgust…”

“The disgust was your conscience, which is more or less vestigial now. It’ll go away with time. What else did you see?”

“With legs, there’s a vaginal cleft where the thigh meets the perineum. It’s more pronounced during rigor mortis. Or that’s how it seemed to me. I had a strong fantasy as well, where I crawled in through the screen and fucked the dying soldier. I’ve always been a pacifist, though, so… I dunno. I’m confused.”

“You became a pacifist so you could repress your desires. Now that you know what you want, I expect your pacifism to fade away.” Aaron threw his cigarette in front of him and crushed it with his shoe. A cold breeze dragged a plastic grocery bag across the sidewalk. “If you want my advice, you should run with the momentum you have. You’re so close. You only need to go a little further.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Aren’t you?” Aaron leaned in until their noses almost touched. Mark smelled the whiskey and tobacco and wanted to kiss him. “I would guess there’s a video you’re interested in watching again. Or am I wrong?”

***

The soldier on the TV stares into the bleeding nub where his arm used to be. Two drones pull his cheeks until blood pours down his chin. The flesh comes away in a loud snap, exposing his full set of gnashing teeth.

The video ends and starts over.

Mark slumped in his chair, eyes red from staring at the screen. His pants rested around his ankles; his penis, erect, lay against his waist. It spoke to him; it wanted him to touch it. Its desire was so loud, Mark wondered whether, if he stopped paying attention, his hands would find the organ of their own accord. He imagined himself staring over a precipice, at the bottom of which was a writhing orgy of blood. All he had to do was let himself fall, and he would slide gently into the mass of flesh. Instead, he gritted his teeth and held himself back.

On the TV, a drone grabs the soldier’s trigger arm. It brings its chainsaw through his elbow. The soldier’s eyes widen. Sharp, boiling agony spreads from the wound. Blood fans around the saw, and the arm snaps loose. It flops dead onto the sand.

Light burst from Mark’s urethra and filled his testicles. His prostate pulsed to the sound of the video. Every sperm, every ounce of seminal fluid, played at 24fps. His twitching erection was in 4k. The audio for his breathing was 28kbps. He’d been lagging, and the effect was cybersickness, but now the bandwidth seemed to have caught up. No more stuttering, no more buffering. Vomit fell from his mouth. It cascaded warmly down his neck and onto his bare chest. But a deep, comfortable pleasure swirled in with the nausea.

Mark stroked his penis.

***

Mark woke the next morning to the sun pressing painfully against his eyes.

On the other side of his apartment, Aaron stared out the window at the city beyond. Aaron looked good: His eyes were clear, without dark circles around them. His skin was colourful, and his hair was clean. He wore a blue button-down and khakis, along with a pair of new, beige boots.

“Sleep well?”

Mark tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. Vomit, shit, and semen were caked all over his naked body and the couch. “What are you doing here?”

“A new video drops in half an hour. I’m going to the club for the premiere, and I thought you’d want to join. A whole platoon took itself out after going two weeks without food or water. ‘Mass suicidal psychosis,’ they’re calling it. They say it’s the best one yet.”

“Maybe I should shower first.”

“Why? I think you’ll like it better this way.”

Maybe he would. He was a new man now, and he had stains from the baptismal bodily fluids to prove it. When he walked into the club, they’d see the crusted semen, the vomit. They’d know he’d degraded himself for the violence in those videos, to make room for the videos in his soul, just as they had. They were a community of believers, united in the degradation of themselves in service to a higher cause: that of the broken bone, the bleeding orifice, the screaming victim.

Mark’s empty stomach twisted. Bile rose into his mouth.

He got off the couch.

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