[All characters in this work of fiction are over 18]
*
Tomlin was doing his job.
He moved through the local police, his fresh cover identity and disguise elements keeping him innocuous as he picked through the hotel room that had been annihilated by the maddened Agent Heretic the night before. The police were certain it was a gang issue, and they were half right. At any rate this level of certainty made sure they weren't looking quite as hard. So they didn't give him much notice when he found a cell phone under an upended couch and slipped it into an evidence bag. Excusing himself in perfect Spanish, he went to the bathroom, and emerged Agent Heartbreak again, walking out of the building as though heading out for a night on the town. When he got back in the car, he cut open the evidence bag. The phone was definitely Heretic's. He'd either discarded it or it had fallen out of his pocket during the initial massacre. Accessing the last message received by that phone before Heretic lost his mind, Tommy opened a folder and found a small video file.
"Oh, jesus..."
His own phone rang, and he dropped the one he was holding as he fumbled for it.
"Heartbreak here," he answered.
"I know where Heretic is going, we've got to get there before he does," came Crucible's voice. "Balleraphon is rounding up local assets."
"Yeah?" said Tomlin, looking at the video again. "He's going to have to catch up. We have to go *now.*"
---
--Day 3--
Edwina Bradshaw was starving. Warm rain fell on her desiccated skin. She stumbled through a forest, craving and mindless. She ran into trees, tripped in holes, and still the unholy hunger made her rise again to continue stalking the dusk landscape. Something to eat was nearby, warm and alive, but it was always just out of sight, faster than she was in her weakened state. She could barely move her arms. Her legs were stiff. Every move exhausted her further and blurred her vision, but still she had to obey the agonized craving deep in her belly. She felt weaker and weaker, until her legs seized up. She fell forward, her arms landing in front of her, no help in breaking her fall. With a dim desperation, she tried pushing dried leaves and dirt into her mouth...
Then she crossed the border into being conscious.
Still far from being "awake," she was aware of the familiar feeling of having been cleaned and put back together. It was a sterile sensation.
She could barely force herself to remember the last two days. So she didn't try. But there was a burning sensation in her abdomen that hammered on the door to her attention in a way that was getting harder and harder to ignore. She twitched.
The twitch told her a great deal.
Still no clothing. Not even shoes this time. Her wrists and ankles were held immobile by something less soft and forgiving than the first day. She had straps over her upper thighs that didn't give at all. She was on her back again, but not flat. She was draped over something, either lengthwise over a cushy table, or an ottoman, or some other unholy piece of rape furniture they'd conjured from some dark place (probably the internet). She wasn't gagged or blindfolded, but she couldn't see anything either. It was just dark. No mask, nothing intruding her orifices, just restraints and a firm, curved surface.
And the burning. Oh god, it was still there.
Her subconscious had a strange way of twisting the sensation into a dream about being a zombie, but suffice it to say now that the nightmare was over, the truth of it was she had less of an interest in gorging her mouth right now.
She squirmed, moaning in frustration, pulling on the thick cuffs containing her limbs and holding her unceremoniously open. No, no, no, she thought, make it stop. I'd straddle a cactus right now.
In fact, with the spines picked off, those ridges might not feel too bad...
Something touched her, and she squeaked. Something hot and gooey. It dripped, from a good height it seemed, onto her clitoris. Feeling every millimeter of its journey, her body tensed as the drop slithered off her hood, down her lips and over her hole, and carelessly oozed down her ass and onto whatever it was she was tied to. It felt like this wasn't the first, and her whole area was covered in some slick substance. While a great deal of what was running off of her was surely her own juices, it felt like the thick liquid had been leaking onto her for hours, maybe explaining the "warm rain" in the dream.
This was confirmed when another drop fell on one nipple about a half minute later, then later on the other, creeping off her protruding breasts and down her sides, joining between them, or mostly just rolling down the slope of her inverted body to her shoulders and neck.
It smelled nice. Like "there are chemicals and/or hormones in this" nice.
She squirmed, and a pool of the stuff that had accumulated in her bellybutton, which was at the apex of her body's curve, spilled out onto her side and down to her hips. It was...tickly. It was slowly filled again by a steady march of drips that didn't cause too much suffering by themselves, but were a whole new assault when her bellybutton overflowed, or spilled when she struggled too much.
She tried to moan in despair. Instead she giggled madly. Her body hungered for attention, preferably from a woman. She realized the latter part with chagrin. They'd tied her mind in a bowknot yesterday. And not in any amateur way, either, she had trouble even remembering what male anatomy looked like, let alone male attention. She had an easier time remembering sensations of lesbian sex, which she had to remind herself she'd never had before. The Chinese massage oil torture wasn't helping. Come to that, the stuff coating her body wasn't consumer-grade either. She'd seen (and experimented with on lonely weekends) clitoral sensitizer lubricant, which had made blood surge into her intimate tissue, and gave a delightful sensation when she accidentally smeared some on her nipples in her excitement. Now she was slathered in something industrial-grade, the kind that could end up on the black market for a good price. Every drip on her skin was a brand new one, and their trail down her body to all parts of her each drew absolute focus. It was warm, soft, slick, tingly, fragrant, and evil.
She wasn't doing well. After what felt like about a day and a half (but was only a half an hour in reality), she was halfway between weeping and maniacally tittering to herself. So she screamed out loud when the lights came on. It wasn't even great lighting, it was dim, warm spot lamps only illuminating her body, and cat shadows on a small dark room. Over her own breathy whimpering, she heard heels approaching.
Her eyes adjusted and first, she saw the apparatus above her. They looked like IV bags, only they had eyedropper nozzles on them, and the hoses came from the top, feeding more of the evil, rosy stuff into them, and onto her. Second, she saw the woman enter the room. It was the same one, the only one that ever spoke to her. Slender, Asian (Chinese, she gathered), lab coat tighter than it had to be, checking something off a tiny notepad and checking her watch. She took her time finishing as she came to a stop standing over Dongle, who as it turned out was fairly low to the ground, and only rose up to about the woman's waist at most.
