Golem demo chapter

Your first memory is laying out atop a kitchen, staring out of half formed eyes, watching a ceiling fan lazily twirl around the mounted light bulb, cigarette smoke slowly rising in a coil, as a woman scoffs over a newspaper she holds.

“The Peoples’ Observer,” she sneers the title out for a moment, before stubbing her cigarette on the cover, “Nazi filth.”

Glancing down, she jumps in shock, looking into your eyes.

“Samson! Your eyes!” Her scowl cracks into an excited smile, as she cups your face, “You’re working! It’s really working! Let me just-”

The memory ends there, and for a time, you simply don’t exist. Nothing happens. The nothing envelops and gently pulls you out into it’s eddying tide, away from the world of matter.

The endless void embraces you, and you allow it. You have no limbs to deny it, no thoughts to propose against it.

What could have been a day, what could have been a year passes, sensationless and still, before you suddenly have eyes to blink, lids lowering and opening again, as you look out at the world.

The same woman smiles at you, “There you are~” she coos softly, “My Samson. Welcome back to the world… Can you sit?”

Your back flexes- you have a back- and arms! Arms you use to push yourself upright to a seated position, swinging your legs off the table to face the woman that you know to be your maker.

“…” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, looking you up and down for a moment, “Hi.”

“Shalom lekha.” The old words pass from your tongue easily.

Her eyebrows rise, “Please tell me you don’t only speak in Hebrew.”

You switch your language, “Is this better?”

“German, good, thank God… You’d stick out even more if you were trudging around spouting off ‘ma-zal-tov’ this and ‘ze ka-sher’ that.”

“Stick out?” You repeat her words.

“That’s right, Samson,” she reaches for a piece of paper, “Having a rabbi for a dad has it’s positives, for all the downsides,” she murmurs, “Now, open wide?”

You part your lips, the paper being placed on your tongue, before it fits into a slot at the back of your throat; your mission becoming clear; protect the jews of Germany- especially this woman; Delila.

You rise to your feet, startling her back a step, as you loom over the woman.

“Protect the jews,” you nod. “And stop the Nazi occultists.”

“That’s right, big boy!” Delila grins, “But, first thing’s first… let’s see how you deal with this.”

Without ceremony, she reaches for something shiny and metal, points it at your chest- before there’s a sudden deafening crack, a jolt running through you, as something punctures your chest and blows out through your back, shattering a lamp that had been behind you.

“Well?” Delila asks, “How do you feel?”

You look down at the small hole blown through you, sticking a finger in it idly.

“Pain? Nothing? Shock?” She presses.

“Not… pain,” you inform her, “But… something.”

“Can you close it?” She asks, “Or do I need to patch you?”

“I… don’t know.”

She nods, reaching for a bowl of wet clay, pressing it into the hole, with some wet, sloppy sounds, her ample bosom bouncing slightly as she works her arms.

“There!” She sighs when she’s done, “Well… Why don’t you take a look at yourself? Admire my handiwork.”

She points you towards a standing mirror, giving you the chance to properly survey yourself.

You’re large for a man, over six and a half feet- with a bulky, strong frame. Your arms were sculpted and honed with veins and muscles, your stomach taut and showing off clay abdominals, your legs are thick like tree trunks, sturdy beneath you, and you have a manhood nearing thirteen inches and ‘circumcised’.

“Was… all this detail necessary?” You ask, looking down at the woman who’s admiring her handiwork.

“Well, I mean, the muscles make you more intimidating, I feel.”

“And the-?”

“Now, let’s see if these clothes fit you!”