Winsome Blue/Drawing Blue Blood
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
WARNING: MATURE CONTENT BELOW!
Frisco took his time, despite his own eagerness and the eagerness of his two companions. He had to find the right place, after all.
For years, he dreamed of bringing her down low. When she popped back on the radar in the Rogue Isles, killing people smack in the underbelly of 'society', he knew his time had come. That is why he sought out the twins. Effectual, beautiful, and not to be trifled with were their hallmarks. They had their own reps and their own line of credit. Going after her alone, he ran risk of being overwhelmed. The three of them though... no. She would fall.
It was like fate had intervened on his behalf though, when all of them laid their cards on the table. Her ties, the creatures at his side and their own hatreds, their patron, Tangent... it came together with a symmetry Frisco had only known committing his finest acts of 'artistic' expression. It felt like fate, like god was attendant on this and he had finally signaled the seven appointed angels to sound their horns. It would begin here... finally.
The place was Warwick Girl's Shelter, and under funded, over packed ramshackle place eking by barely in the grisly environs of St. Martial’s. Frisco knew what the younger girls thought. They were lucky to be here, to get off the streets before the Family or the Casinos forced them into selling themselves to survive. Looking back at his two partners in this venture, he knew the little women in the building had an accurate gauge of their luck, only on the opposite spectrum.
Frisco’s crew arrived, but they were only there to create a perimeter. Once in place, he bowed to the twins and motioned to the front door of the shelter.
“Ladies first.”
The sisters, dressed in smart business suits, looked the part of a pair of lawyers. Each of them carried a briefcase, and they walked side by side as the security guard swung the wrought iron gates to Warwick Girl's Shelter wide open. It was amazing what a well made set of false credentials could accomplish! They scanned the courtyard, searching for the office. The shelter was enclosed, a little world unto itself, settled in the remains of an old gated apartment complex. A two-story building in the shape of a “U” formed three sides of the compound, and a tall, imposing, metal fence closed off the rest. From one of the second floor rooms, music wafted down into the center yard – Beethoven's 5th, the Emperor Concerto, the perfect piece for their assault. Pleasure and Pain smiled simultaneously, as if the strings tugging up the corners of their mouths were all pulled by the same hands. Warwick was the perfect target. It was unkempt and dirty, but it was safe.
Or it had been safe, right up until this moment.
Pain turned to Frisco, who followed close behind as their “bodyguard”. She regarded him over the rim of her glasses, every inch the part she was playing. Agatha Black, half of the legal duo Black & Black, had a well-established reputation as a cold, heartless bitch willing to push the limits of the law in order to win her court cases. Her twin, Amelia, was good cop – or at least good lawyer – to Agatha's bad. Witnesses seemed to eat out of the palm of Amelia's hand, where Agatha tended to bring them to their knees.
“Frisco, dear, mind the security,” she said, her tone as icy as her stare.
Leaving the red haired man to do his job, the sisters made for the office of Warwick Girl's Shelter. The door swung open and they marched, in tandem, right past the front desk, despite the receptionist's feeble protests. With one look, Pleasure dominated the young woman's mind, and she dropped back into her chair, lost in a freshly spun fantasy, a mix of last night's deep dreams and the romance novel now left untouched and unremembered inches away from her hand. As the twins walked into the office of the manager, a low, sensual moan broke from the secretary's throat. Pleasure's own lips parted, and a soft gasp made its quick escape.
The door clicked shut behind them, and they turned to face an aging man with a wispy comb-over and a heavy double chin. He gawked at them as if they were a pair of cheetahs recently escaped from a zoo, and stammered out a greeting.
“Uh, wh-what can I do for you ladies?”
A business card fluttered from Pain's hand onto the desk.
Black & Black
Attorneys-at-Law
Northstar Building
Cap Au Diable, Etoile Isles
“Gather your girls,” Agatha said. It was not formed as a request, but a command replete with the expectation of obedience. “It's time for an inspection.”
“Under who's authority?” he demanded, rising quickly to his feet.
The twins spoke as one, their voices so much alike, yet so distinct. “Ours.”
“If you do not comply, I'm certain Mistress Vetrano might have some questions for you,” Agatha continued.
The blood drained from the man's face. “Vetr– Ghost Wid–” He stopped himself short of completing either name, but quickly picked up the handset to his phone and punched the intercom button. “All residents should g-gather in the dining hall for an imp-p-promptu investigation.”
Amelia – Pleasure – stepped around the desk and laid a hand on his arm. “Thank you, dear. I think that's all we need from you.” She leaned in and kissed his sweat-soaked cheek, and a wash of psychic energy flooded over him. He dropped back into the chair, a string of drool trailing from the corner of his mouth.
“Now look what you've done, sister,” Pain scolded. She pointed down to the spasming lump in the manager's pants. “Now he's going to remember us. After all, how could he forget that?”
She walked around the other side of the desk and swung a leg over the man, hiking her skirt up as she straddled him. With one hand, she worked free his belt. With the other, she pulled a razor edged dagger from her garter. “This is going to be fun,” she sneered.
-
“Frisco, dear, mind the security,” she said. Frisco did have to admit, the black suit and tie had worked a kind of alchemy on him, so much so that he effortlessly obeyed the command she gave, without his usual string of inventive retorts popping out from between his teeth. Of course, it also had the added benefit of disguising him. Without his trademark red and white, he looked almost wholly a different person, not at all like a man who was, for all intents and purposes, reviled everywhere.
He watched the two slip inside, leaving him outside with the older shlub who was unfortunate enough to have the job of guarding this place. Frisco needed to buy some small time while his boys got everything into place and let the wonder twins work their magic, so he cleared his throat and spoke… nicely.
“How is everything going?”
The older guard shrugged and attempted to pretend like he was maintaining vigilance. “Goin’. Usually pretty quiet around here, so I doubt you got much to worry over.”
Frisco nodded, began walking the perimeter and let the conversation go at that… or would have, except the guard decided to abandon all pretext of being a hard case in lieu of becoming a chatty Kathy and tag along on a stroll. All he could do was grit his teeth and listen to the man talk about what passed for his life. He covered the weather, crime in the Isles, his job (Frisco suppressed the urge to vomit when the man tried to sell him on the detailed and complex duties of observing and reporting), even going so far as to break out his wallet and show Frisco photos of the hideous infant the man claimed as his grandchild.
After what seemed like an eternity of this shit, Frisco’s comm chirped up in his ear. Everything was in place. Frisco let out an audible sigh of relief as the guard was going on about his grandfatherly pride when he pulled out a small syringe and jabbed in into the guard’s leg, pushing a powerful paralytic neurotoxin into the man’s system. Once the old fuck hit the ground with a shocked look frozen on his face, Frisco tagged him then casually punched in coordinates on his bracer, teleporting the son of a bitch into the Atlantic.
He activated his comm. And spoke. “Okay boys, here is the bit. When the dames shoot us the go ahead, have as much fun as you want. There is plenty of jailbait inside, all you have to do is get ready and take it. And remember, they TOTALLY want it. Boreal, find me a pretty one.”
With that, Frisco made his way to the security system, hacked in, and changed the camera reroute and call from the private security company to the emergency broadcast system for Rogue Isles.
At the very least, Frisco thought, the lines in Grandville would have something more engaging to watch than the endless repeating diatribe of Recluse waxing orgasmically about himself.
-
The double doors of the dining hall darkened with the silhouettes of the twins. The afternoon sun filtered into the dimly-lit room, igniting the motes of dust swirling through the air. Women sat around long, folding tables; some gathered in close groups, others – the loners who saw their residence in the shelter as defiance against a world that silently approved of their abuse – remained alone, scattered around the fringe of the hall, rocking back in their chairs or leaning against the walls. At the far end of the room, one woman was hastily setting up a podium, adjusting the microphone to what appeared to be the manager's height. He would not be joining them, of course, or at least not all of him.
Pain scanned the room with a narrow gaze. The women present, the ones using the shelter, came from a wide range of ages. The oldest looked as if she could be in her sixties or seventies. The youngest couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen. She smirked, thinking about how disappointed Frisco's men would be once they found out there were no innocent, youthful girls to abuse, but that was the nature of a women's shelter in the Isles: it was a home for women, and children were shunted off to an orphanage – or worse, to some hidden Arachnos lab. Still, his boys would have their fun, and the sisters would, too.
“Amelia, dear, why don't you show these women a good time?” she said with a sneer.
Pleasure licked her lips. “I was afraid you would never ask, sister,” she said in a low, almost breathless voice. She surveyed the room, one finger tapping at her pursed lips. She found what she was looking for quickly; across the room stood a tall, stately woman with dishwater blonde hair and a defiant flame in her eyes. An older woman, a woman defined by her passions, whose residence at Warwick's could only have been the result of a pride-crushing fall. Behind the woman's obstinate gaze, Amelia could sense a deep, profound sense of loss, a dark fear she found delicious. Her eyes traveled down the woman's body, taking in every curve. Perfect. Pleasure raised one arm and pointed at the woman, then her hand turned over and the pointing finger curved upward, beckoning her closer.
“Come to me, dear woman,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the din. “I have a job for you.”
Though Pleasure exerted no psionic influence, the woman found her call impossible to resist, and she moved toward the Fortunata with a bold, purposeful stride. Each step, however, brought with it a little uncertainty, and by the time she reached Pleasure, her lower lip quivered, and she looked as though she might burst into tears. Pleasure brought one hand up, brushing her fingers along the woman's lower lip. Tina. The name echoed in Pleasure's mind, carried on the spider's web of psionic energy crisscrossing the room.
Pleasure spoke directly to the trembling woman's mind: “You will begin the party, Tina.” Her hand curved around the nape of Tina's neck, and she drew the woman close, meeting her lips with a gentle kiss. Instantly, Tina's body tensed, and Amelia seized her mind, bombarding it with desire. The kiss lasted only moments, but its effects were plain. When Pleasure pulled away, the woman was left with ragged, heavy breathing and a wild lust in her shifting eyes. Pleasure shoved the blonde away from her, sending her to her task.
Tina staggered into the center of the room, already tearing her clothing from her body. She fell to the ground, writhing, barely able to pull the last of her garments off before her body convulsed in sexual climax. She moaned, trembling on the floor, and reached out for one of the nearby women. “Please,” she begged as her other hand began to explore her own body. “Please...”
Agatha slipped her arms around her sister, watching the show with a certain malicious hunger. “What a way to start, sister,” she whispered as she nibbled at Amelia's ear. “Now do them all.”
“Only for you, dear sister.” Psionic power washed through the room, a hurricane of charged energy flooding the minds of the residents of the shelter. Within seconds, every one of them was disrobing, a decadent hunger filling their eyes.
“Yes,” Pain snarled. “What a way to set the stage. Now cue the villains.” Looking back over her shoulder, she called out into the courtyard. “Frisco, dear... dinner's ready. Come to the dining hall.”
-
The line moved slowly and predictably down the main avenue of Grandville, those applying for citizenship directed painstakingly by dozens of Arbiters, him included. To the left and right hung huge monitors, each one synched to a repeating broadcast of Lord Recluse announcing the virtues of his path and condemning the weakness of the ‘heroes’. Most did not care; they just wanted a fresh start and were content to let Lord Recluse or whomever lead so long as they were able to find moderately comfortable lives. Others listened and nodded their head, finding his words possessing appeal.
Arbiter Lakes enjoyed hearing his lord speak. Under the auspices of Arachnos, he had risen high. He enjoyed a more or less comfortable life, but more importantly, an ‘ordered’ one. He was paid very well for his services, and helped to establish a greater order, watching his organization make more progress in short years than most countries could claim in decades. Yes, there was still chaos here in the Isles. So what? Paragon City likely claims more crime than anywhere on the whole of the Isles, he thought. In a few more years, there would be tranquility, enforced under the lockstep of Arachnos and the vision of Recluse. It will all have been worth …
The monitors went static, then black. Lakes knew of course that these could serve as a way to issue public orders in the event of an emergency, but as of yet, there was never any call to utilize them. Just as suddenly as they went black, they flipped on again, some odd lines of code showing up, writing quickly left to right on the monitors.
<hkey a:LOCAL_FEED\SYSTEM\CurrentControlSet\Control\Class]{4D399B134-X187-43BF-R-0100001AD10107-0100001AD10101} settoOVERRIDE com:RB rttp://private.fuckyou.org/rss.17redun
Lakes screwed up his face in confusion behind his helmet when the screen went black again. When it came back on, he was staring at a video of some reddish-brown haired guy in a red shirt with a white tie and trench-coat, who spoke:
“Good morning Rogue Isles! The time is…” the man checked a watch that was not on his wrist “whenever. We come to you now live, from St. Martian’s and the Warwick’s Girl’s shelter with this dire story!”
The camera pans away from the man’s face, obviously in his hands and spins to show the scene behind him, a scene of grizzly debauchery. Most of the ladies are engaged in sexual acts which cross well past deviant. There are a few slit throats, and one woman is a conflagration, screaming and burning as she vainly runs into and out of the picture. In the middle of this carnage are two white haired women, beautiful and smartly dressed, seemingly untouched by the mass rape and murder spree happening all around them, the calm center of the storm.
“As you can see, it is a horrible sight here. These poor innocent girls are being ravaged and executed in stunning fashion for NO APPARENT REASON!”
One man in the background of this mess is holding a girl in her late teens down as he takes a knife and begins to saw at his own face, laughing.
“This is terr…. No no no! Morris you fucking idiot!” The camera operator exclaims. “You are supposed to cut her, not you.”
The man, bleeding, gets a hurt, confused look on his face, looking like he is about to cry.
“No, don’t give me that. Cut her.” The man out of view calmly begins to coach, taking on a kind, fatherly tone. “That’s right, ‘her’. Not you.”
Morris begins to oblige to which the young woman begins to moan, in pleasure or pain one is simply unsure. The cameraman clears his throat, and then continues.
“Right, so, as I was saying…”. He spins the camera back to his smiling face as he whispers to the audience. “sorry ‘bout that.” then the picture turns to the scene again, a little bit of smoke and light dancing from the right hand side, giving the impression that the burning woman caught something else ablaze in the other room. The camera stops on one girl, dazed and looking at nothing with glassy eyes. “Oh no, no! This is monstrous! What is this?” A vial of some yellowish looking fluid in a beaker comes into view, evidently being held by the camera man. “No! That could not be molecular acid? What is this sick fuck doing? No, don’t do it! AHHHHHHHH!” he screams, sarcastic horror dripping off his words as he splashes the young lady with the piss-colored substance. She does not scream, but the viewers are treated to what could only be described as the Nazi mass death scene from ‘Raiders of the lost Ark’ as her face literally melts off. “Oh no! This is too much, oh god. Oh Jesus god!”
He stops speaking then suddenly, the camera righting back onto his face, a serious and threatening look. “That really was a horrible, horrible piece of work. Seriously, I apologize, my fellow Islanders. Boring fare, at best, and you deserve so much better a show…” he sighs, then perks up lightly. “And you will get one next time, never fear! Though for now, this broadcast and the next and the next and the next are brought to you by alias Winsome Blue, the whore with the heart of gold! And there will be a next, I promise.” He finishes with a sick smile and his tone drops low again. “We will see you tomorrow, same bat time, same bat channel.”
He drops the camera on the floor, facing the wall. A few seconds later, you see what could only be described as a bomb, counting down from ten. At four seconds, there is a hum of energy and a popping sound. At two seconds, there is a cacophony of women screaming in terror and pain. At zero, the screen jostles and then goes black.
Arbiter Lakes mouth was open, as were virtually all of his fellow Arbiter’s, and everyone in line not screaming or puking.
-
Blue's eyes held a determined look as she stood in front of the door that held within its walls a man who deserved to die. At least she'd been told he was here. After the video had been broadcast and she had been given the blame she'd found less people willing to support her, willing to talk to her. They knew her here. She'd lived in the Isles for years. She'd rescued many of them, saved countless woman and brought friendship to plenty. But those sights, those women dying, that haunted their eyes when they looked at her.
It was too much.
Growling softly she unsheathed her claws. Her eyes glowed a solid pink, lighting up the darkness around her. That was probably calling plenty of attention to herself but she didn't care. There was no breeze so her hair lay still, unbound. They'd always said she looked better without the bandanna. The clothes she had she'd requisitioned. Stolen. A pair of pants not near as tight as she liked and a t-shirt also too big.
A laugh escaped. For a moment she pictured Mike. She pictured standing here in a cape like his, in a suit that did nothing to hide your identity but instead branded you as exactly what you wanted them to see before you took them down. It would be nice to have that now. To be able to walk in with the certainty that they knew who she was.
The laughter stopped, this area of town silent.
They already knew. Friso Redbath knew who she was and had known for years.
Would they be ready for her? Maybe. But she had to go in. Alone. The hunger and drive inside her had a pinpointed purpose. Find him and kill him.
Opening her mind she sought out anything that might let her get an advantage. He'd feel the full brunt of what she could do.
Stepping forward she kept her psionic shield in place, sending out bursts of energy that would tell her if anyone was near and if they happened to be? Well then the mental tendrils would lance out with searing whips of pain.
Taking a deep ragged breath Blue trembled. She thought her heart would explode it was racing so fast.
Time. It was time.
The knob turned and she entered.
The twins were waiting for Blue just inside the door. Pain stood, relaxed, back against the wall, just to the left of the entry while her sister stood front and center to meet their prey. They made no overt attempts at masking their presence, not by means of stealth nor psionic masking. They wanted to be found, for their quarry to come to them. This was the final step of the trap to capture Winsome Blue, to, as Frisco had described it, destroy the bitch. And destroy her they would, but maybe not in the way he had planned. The twins had their own ideas for Winsome Blue – and her pesky brother, too. The pair had, in the interim, changed their clothes. While their trip to the shelter required a bit of subterfuge, the meeting with Blue was already mapped out, blunt and in her face. The twins dressed for fun, in enticing but dangerous outfits, snow-white hair hanging in long, straight locks. Pleasure was stretching, her body straining the already too-tight top. Though she did not look it, she was concentrating, maintaining the mental link with her sister as they both shielded themselves from the other woman's potential intrusion.
Two steps into the room, Blue stopped. “Shit,” she growled. Pleasure could tell the woman recognized her, likely from their television debut only an hour before. She felt the sudden shift in their prey's psychic presence; she was going on the defensive. Not that Amelia and Agatha Black cared. They would dominate her as their mistress had planned.
“Good evening, dear,” Pleasure said, her voice too sweet, like sugar-coated chocolate dipped in honey.
“Fuck you. Where is he?”
Pain pushed herself off the wall and was behind Blue in a flash, her arms slipping around the woman's waist, fingers teasing her belly. “Oh dear, I can't imagine knowing who you mean.”
Blue tensed in Agatha's arms, trying to pull away, but the former Night Widow was much stronger than she appeared. She tightened her grip, even as the vigilante tried lifting from the floor. “Ground her, sister,” Pain quipped. “She's getting feisty.”
Pleasure narrowed her eyes, but the smile never left her lips. Psychic power welled up in her – power drawn not just from herself, but from a link to her sister – and she raised a single finger to scold their captive. “Now now, we can't have you flying off, little birdie.” The psionic force latched on to Blue and dragged her back to the ground. Blue struggled all the more, growling as she tried to jerk out of Pain's grasp, pulses of her own psychic compulsion splashing over the sisters. Individually, she might have overcome either of them, but linked as they were, she stood little chance.
Agatha held tight, her arms locked around Blue's lithe form, and one hand managed to slip beneath the baggy shirt, finding nothing but bare skin. “Mmm... what have we found here?” A hand cupped over one of the woman's breasts, giving it a rough squeeze. She could feel Blue's reaction – her body tensing, the psionic assault dwindling away as she slipped into a defensive mindset – and a grin broke across the villainess's face.
“What have you found, dear sister?” Pleasure asked. “Ah... it seems our prey is in heat.” She stepped forward, one hand rising, fingers stroking Blue's cheek. The woman trembled as she tried to maintain control over her body and her psychic presence.
“Don't,” Blue whispered. Her voice was no longer threatening, but begging. “Please... I'll kill you.”
“Oh, dear girl,” Agatha laughed. “You won't kill us, but you will do precisely as we wish.” She nibbled at Blue's earlobe before giving it a bite hard enough to draw blood. Her free hand found its way down the front of Blue's sweatpants.
“Oh yes, dear,” Pleasure said as she leaned in to place a gentle kiss on Blue's lips. “You are ours now.”
-
To say that Blue was surprised at what she found inside the door would be an understatement.
She'd seen that woman before. She and another, whom she assumed was her twin, had been on that screen. They'd been there during Frisco's performance. That horror flashed to the forefront of her mind. What to expect? What were there abilities? Blue had no inkling so she pulled in her searching tendrils, reinforcing her mental shields. Part of her wanted to rush past the woman in front of her. Frisco was somewhere here. He had to be. This delay could be the difference in killing him or him getting away. She didn't have time for this.
“Fuck you. Where is he?”
The words were barely out of her mouth before she felt the arms snake around her. WHO? She hadn't felt the presence of another person. Then she realized and felt stupid. Twins. She hadn't sought farther or deeper. Tensing she tried to fly. Blue had to get out of those arms. Psionic power. The woman in front of her was wielding it and keeping her grounded. No wonder she hadn't sensed them! Fear rushed in and she dropped the defense, focusing on assaulting with all she had. Blue was finding herself unable to get away, unable to escape.
Then the hand touched her flesh.
What attacks she'd been wielding- psionic bolts, blasts and bursts as well as mental tendrils seeking something to grasp and destroy- fell away.
Defense was her only option. Control. The sexual hunger she'd been keeping so tightly reined in threatened to unravel. Why here? Why now? Who were these twins and what did they want? Obviously they worked with Frisco. She'd failed already. Now she had to keep from failing further.
Yet they knew. Her scent, the trembling, all of it pointed to just what they said. She was in heat. They continued to touch her and she all but screamed.
“Don't,” Blue whispered. Her voice was no longer threatening, but begging. “Please... I'll kill you.”
The one who held her laughed and a tear left a trail down Blue's cheek. Right now they had every right to see her as a pathetic creature. Though her words spoke of killing they lacked conviction and action. Help? She was alone. Was this what Deus had warned her about?
It was taking everything she had to keep from giving in. Frisco. Think of him. She had to find him. Had to kill him.
But it felt good, despite the fact that it shouldn't. They said she'd do what they wished. Were they right?
Another face swam before her watery eyes. Mike. Her brother. Closing her eyes her heart clenched. She was lost to him now.
Blue gasped as the woman behind her nibbled her ear and then bit it. She could feel the blood dribbling down her neck already. The smell of it hit Blue's nostrils and her eyes opened again, furious hunger visibly fighting for a place.
Her captor followed that up by sliding her hand down Blue's sweats.
Immediately Blue shut down everything she could inside, barricading it behind a mental wall. What there was of herself that she could protect she placed behind it. The power she'd been using here in the Isles fueled the protective mental structure.
What was left was little more than a shell but one with enough emotions, enough sensation, hunger and desire to fight for as long as she could.
The woman in front of her, the psionic one, kissed Blue's lips.
It took every ounce of control not to respond. The hand. The kiss. The desire. Goosebumps rose on Blue's flesh, her body tightening and clenching as she fought against all that she wanted to give and have taken. Closing her eyes against the tears she gritted her teeth, tightening her hands into fists- claws extending to cut into her palms. If anything that self inflicted pain kept her focused enough to not give in.
At least for now.
-
“Fuck you. Where is he?” she said in a voice watery and distorted.
Frisco smiled, walking right up to Blue, within inches of her face. His fingers reached out and caressed her chin, slipping briefly into her flesh, passing through like he was a ghost. He smiled, softly patting the small phase device he lifted years ago. For all intents and purposes, he was not there, his body vibrating at such a frequency that he could pass through nearly any matter.
- beep*
In truth, it was one of Frisco’s favorite ways to kill a person. Take out any long object, place part of it in his victim’s body and then simply deactivate the device. Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, he was afforded a the rare treat of watching portions of their blood precipitate with the violent reaction, solidifying and breaking through their skin in an almost explosive manner. Of course, like all things, he could never really do it as much as he wanted. This device was an ace in the hole, and the more liberally he applied it’s usage, the more likely someone would find out about it and counter.
- beep*
Even still, despite all this, despite his bold gesture of passing his hand through Blue’s body, even he had to admit he was more than slightly nervous. He had no idea if the phase device hid his mind like his body, or simply obfuscated it some, or if he was just as susceptible as normal. And frankly, while Frisco definitely wanted to give Blue a piece of his mind, it was strictly figurative, not literal.
- beep*
“What have you found, dear sister? Ah... it seems our prey is in heat.” “Don't… please... I'll kill you.”
“Oh, dear girl, you won't kill us, but you will do precisely as we wish.”
Goddamnit, but Frisco really did like the twins, as much or perhaps more than he ever liked anyone. The bitches were remorseless, intelligent, devious and powerful, and knew how to use that power to send an equally powerful message. He considered Blue and almost felt a twinge of pity. Poor Blue. Your simple being is going to prove our weapon, as the lovely women in the shelter were also ours against you.
- beep beep*
Frisco looked at his bracer, noted that time was running short. One could not stay phased like this forever. The energy requirements were simply too much, even for Rikti power cells. Quickly, he loaded the dart rounds into his guns. One, then two. Sodium Thiopental, one thousand milligrams. Pancuronium, five milligrams. One, a powerful enough barbiturate in a high enough dosage to fuck up a horse. Two, a weakened non-depolarizing muscle relaxant. The normal dose would kill her by asphyxiation in time, but they did not want her dead. Just… sloppy, and doped, and vulnerable.
- beep beep*
They had to be fired separately, giving about a second in between shots. Elsewise, like the afforthought blood of his victims, the chemicals would precipitate, rendering them less effective. Frisco barely had time to consider the irony of the chemicals were the two prep meds used in execution by lethal injection when…
- beep beep beep*
Any moment now, the phase device would drop him into normal space. He backed up and moved quickly around behind her, and realized he was scared of Blue and smiled at the revelation of fear. Oh yes, this was a good day. He took careful aim, mentally repeating the mantra.
One, then two.
One, then two.
One, then two.
The phase device shut off with a pop that signaled his return to normal space.
“One, then two.” Frisco said with a sick smile, then squeezed the left trigger, then the right.
-
His hands were soft.. gentle.. then they weren't.
It hurt.
In her drugged and psionically induced sexual state, however, she begged for it. There was pain everywhere. Bruises were the least of it, though they covered a lot of her body. Gashes, cuts and deep slices crisscrossed those bruises. She could barely move but still her body ached and cried out for him to touch her. For her to touch her. For them to touch her.
While tears slid down blood stained cheeks she pleaded to be satisfied, for the desire to be appeased.
The pain was pleasure. The pleasure was pain.
It wasn't them, not really. Whoever she saw and felt wasn't truly the person there. No.. it was one of Frisco's men, perhaps Frisco himself, the twins or some combination of them. But her mind couldn't parse that out, finding itself believing what her captors wanted her to believe.
It was the people from her past and present she was having sex with. People whose bed she'd shared before like Sully and Nelo. People whom she'd never touched in that way such as Shy, Jaz, Kris, Mike, Deus, Prudence and Anh. There was also Kima and Cel.
So many of them. Experiences played out as if scenes in a movie. While it may all happen in that one room, that prison, Blue felt as if she were somewhere else. Fantasies, moments from her mind that her captors found, altered and exploited.
How could none of them have been beautiful? Each kiss wanting. Each caress sensual. Love and desire so evident towards each other as they share a passion to know and understand each other.
How could all of them have been so horrible? Her mind holding them down. Influencing and compelling them to let her touch and taste and finally to force them to do the same. Urging them on until they lost themselves in the rutting and taking of her. Now the fear she'd seen in their eyes, as well as the shame and anger. It haunted her.. accusing.
It was Blue fighting against a need so strong that they had to help make it go away!
Yet it never went completely away. It would fade long enough for the Twins and Frisco to taunt her, to berate her, to tell her of what she'd done and emphasize her shame.
She was a monster, she was a vile sexual creature who'd turned those who cared about her into fodder for her bed- used them and hurt them! How dare she!
Using words that had been thrown at her before they struck nerve after nerve, tearing at her heart-
... the /real/ Blue is a wild eyed, lustful killer that has no qualms with hurting people...
.. you're a pathetic whore... at least be honest with yourself...
... you ARE a whore! you are a virus...you suck the life from people... and look at you now...
Then they'd punish her. The blades were sharp and the touches agony. Even then it was turned on her as they made her enjoy every second of her punishment, begging for it just as much as she did for the sexual encounters. All the while their laughter would echo through the room.
Blue had locked away a part of herself, hidden it and walled it up just before they'd overcome her in that warehouse. However her captivity had eroded her defenses- slamming her constantly with forces from inside and out. Terror, fear, anger, self-loathing, shame. They wanted access to that inner core, wanted to see her stripped and bare.
They wanted to break her.
They DID break her.
Blue let out a growlish scream. The man on top of her wasn't prepared for the claws that dug deep into his throat or the strength with which she threw his convulsing body off of her. He'd just finished- releasing into her only a few seconds before- so he was not only at his weakest but his genitals were jerked painfully out of her. Not that he'd even realize it seeing as she'd pierced his jugular, leaving him only seconds or minutes to live.
In her mind the man she threw, had killed, was someone she knew. Her eyes, however, barely glanced that way. It didn't matter. He didn't matter anymore. None of them did.
The scream died as her eyes flashed pink.
Inside of Blue her core was shattered- the wall destroyed in a burst of mental anguish.
She surrendered to what was outside- to the worst of herself. Her own tendrils turned on her as they were fueled by her captors and by an influence she knew nothing of. They slid over her mind, reaching into the depths she'd so careful protected for so long. Whatever they found they corroded and poisoned, sending her into a heightened state where all she knew was one single goal compounded by all she'd suffered.
Power surged through her and she reached out. Not to her captors. This was beyond too much. She was overwhelmed by what she'd done, by what her own body craved and demanded. Their faces flashed before her eyes. She had never meant for any of it but she wasn't surprised at what she was capable of. After all.. hadn't she been warned many times?
However she couldn't live with that. It needed to be wiped away. There was no recovery from this. They would never, ever forgive her.
Mike.
Despite the fact that he was her brother, her twin, she had used him too. Her entire naked body felt coated with a thick layer of foul smelling ichor.
Things had to stop. Everything had to end. Not just her. Emotions piled on, overlapping until she only wanted one thing- and even that was egged on by her captors. They'd pushed her this way. Suggestions, enticements, encouragement for her to set herself free. They reminded her that the evil she was, the evil that she had brought to all those she cared about could only be wiped away by one thing. They said whatever they had to in order to bring her to that moment of decision.
That moment was now. The decision had been made.
Mike.
Reaching far with every bit of power she possessed she found him.
He felt wrong but she ignored it.
It didn't matter. She could still reach his power, his purpose and desires. She could twist him to her will. He'd do whatever she wished. After all, hadn't she already done it before? Hadn't he done what she wanted? Loved her? Filled her? Given himself to her?
In her stupor, in her warped reality created by the twins, he had come often. He had also been one of their main tools by which they brought her low- that shame the worst of all.
The shame backed her control, fueled what would come next.
Her power connected- her mind taking a firm hold on his as she gave in to it and it alone.
A whisper accompanied the flood of mental energy, a command that could not be disobeyed.
“Please.. for me... destroy us all.”
Moments later she collapsed, her mind lost amid chaos.
