Costin nodded grimly as he and Jana stared at each other for a brief and intense moment, then the wounded soldier broke eye contact and nodded in silent agreement. Bradshaw seemed to be looking into the distance as the morphine shot taking swift effect to numb his body to the pain of having lost much of his right leg below the knee. The rest of the platoon was quiet as they waited for Jana to give the word to move out.
“Zach and Magna take point,” Jana ordered as she began marching southwest, “Let’s make this quick people, we’re in the wilderness now.”
Costin and Magna moved Bradshaw under the cover of a half-destroyed overpass, and one of the other soldiers gave Costin two extra magazines. Magna offered the wounded soldier a fist bump and a silent nod before hoisting his machine gun and following Jana deeper into Old Chicago.
ACT III
Jana’s face was set on a hard edge, a grim mask of cold precision as she field-stripped her carbine with practiced efficiency in the dying light of the setting sun. Silently she laid out all of the pieces and began arranging them on the small bit of cloth she had laid on the ground on front of her. The soldier clenched and unclenched her fists as she did her best to stamp out the pre-battle anxiety that had begun to creep into her otherwise stony demeanor. She had fought in dozens of engagements since the Izrid invasion, so was no stranger to war, though on the nights before a known conflict she all too often found herself nearly overwhelmed with irrational anxiety. It was in those brief moments where Jana craved companionship. As she meticulously cleaned and oiled each piece of the weapon her mind replayed a number of such situations. She had a well-earned reputation as one of the more effective and deadly soldiers in the local resistance force, and few knew how mightily she struggled to cope with her anxiety attacks. Jana refused to show weakness in front of anyone, much less the soldiers under her command, and she often suffered in silence. Out in the ruins of the old world, surrounded by shattered buildings overgrown with flora, she felt it ever more keenly. They were days away from any relief forces, and if yesterday’s skirmish was any indication of the Izrid presence in the area, it was doubtful that if such forces did exist that they could make much difference if the situation escalated.
The thought of her squad’s situation began to eclipse her other musings, and she felt an anger rise within her. She found herself re-living the terrible events that had led them to this desolate place, hunting soldiers who had once been comrades, who had once been human. Jana ground her teeth and began swiftly assembling the weapon, her hands moving with a deadly grace. In seconds the rifle was complete and ready for action, though the usual calming effect this process usually provided was not present.
Jana set the rifle aside and began working with her ammunition. From her satchel she withdrew six magazines, each with various amounts of rounds still in place, and used her thumb to eject the rounds one by one onto the cloth. Soon she had a pile of loose rounds, onto which she dumped out the contents of two small paper boxes of additional shells. The soldier thought back to the furious firefight with the hybrids, and then further back to her brief time as a captive in Magister Cava-Rek’s compound.
She had been presented, naked, to a silent warrior who had opened the door at which the warrior herding her had stopped. The warrior had been gentle as it took hold of the binding staff and pulled her into the chambers. Like a butcher leading livestock to slaughter the warrior had shown no emotion, only deliberate activity as it used the staff to move her through the hallway and into a large living room area. Waiting inside was an Izrid the likes of which Jana had never seen, and by the way it commanded the warrior with a series of hisses and strange words she knew it to be one of the elusive ruling caste, the magisters. This one had both eyes intact, so could not be the infamous Cava-Rek that had been in MacArthur’s briefings, though it seemed a sinister enough creature in its own right.
Jana kept a silent count of the rounds as she started slotting them one by one into the magazines. Her mind racing with images of her encounter with the unknown magister. He had taken the staff from the warrior, and used it to push her down onto her hands and knees. As the magister forced her down he had begun dosing her with the alien arousal compounds, and her senses had become flooded with chemical desire. Moments later he removed the collar and in a thick alien accent told her, in English, to remain on her hands and knees. She did as she was told, and remained still, even after her arms had begun to shake from exertion and her knees became numb from pressing against the floor. The magister had continued to dose her, and while he began exploring her body he interrogated her about her time as a resistance fighter.
Jana had filled all of her magazines, and then counted out the dozen loose rounds into a small pouch on her tactical harness. Then she used adhesive strips to tape pairs of magazines together, end over end, so that in the middle of the firefight that she grimly expected she could change mags with lightning speed. She thought of the magister, and wondered if he had lived or died that day, hoping quietly that one day she would have the opportunity to kill him herself. The magister had spent the next several hours asking Jana questions and listening to her answers. The alien warlord would occasionally interrupt their conversation by penetrating her. Jana shuddered as she remembered the magister asking how many human lives she had taken as a police officer, and then once she answered he had stuffed her mouth with his cock. He would ask about her training as a soldier post-invasion, and listen intently to her story as he gripped her waist and squatted over her to drive his cock deep into her pussy. It had continued like this for hours, until he had fucked her in more positions than she had known existed, taking his time to converse with her as he plunged himself into her. Jana had been in a pheromone-induced haze of sex and domination, knowing from her time as a police officer that the magister was utilizing a classic method of physical interrogation. The magister had used his own body’s oily secretions to lubricate himself and was pumping his cock in and out of Jana’s ass while using his hand to work her clitoris when he asked her for details on her current mission. The tempest of alien drugs coursing through her body had already made her climax several times, and as she mewled in pleasure that tempest combined with the paradoxical loathing and allure that she felt for the magister in that moment. She nearly told him about the tracking device embedded in her tongue, and of the strike force that was due to storm the compound at any moment. She fought the urge to speak, to tell her new master what he wanted to hear while struggling to maintain a grip on her mind. The magister pulled out and grasped her by the hair, asking the question once more. It was all that Jana could do not to divulge her secret, so she fell back onto her training, and began to recite her name, date of birth, and rank in the Chicago PD. She repeated it over and over for fear that if she stopped she would compromise the mission. As she chanted her information the magister reached orgasm, and began spraying his alien semen across her face and into her mouth as she spoke. Ultimately, he had stated to her as she kneeled in front of him covered in his seed, the human race was doomed, and her mission, whatever it might be, was irrelevant when set against the might of the Izrid. Then he had left, bidding the warrior present to ensure that she had been cleaned and returned to the holding pen.
Jana slammed the first magazine into her rifle and racked the slide to chamber a round, then in a fluid motion brought the weapon to her shoulder to take aim.
Back in the compound, after the firefight with the hybrids, she had felt something, a change in her body that she could not identify. Curious, and filled with fear, she had picked up one of the Izrid weapons. At her touch it had activated, and she’d hurled it away from her in revulsion. She had turned slowly, her eyes surveying the broken bodies of hybrid women who had survived not only the sexual abuses of the magisters, but also the armed conflict with the warriors, only to be gunned down by their own human comrades. Jana had vomited then, and rushed from the compound to re-join MacArthur and her squad, keeping silent about the terrible knowledge she now possessed
.
She noticed that her aim wavered, and her arms were shaking, and then heard the scuff of footsteps behind her. She spun low on the ground and turned her rifle towards the sound, cursing herself for letting her mind wander while on sentry duty, especially this deep into enemy territory. Her sights landed upon Zach, who held his hands up and empty as he slowly walked towards her. There was a playful light in his eyes that she could not help but to notice, and she lowered her rifle.
“Is this the part where I insist that I’m one of the good guys?” Zach asked as he gently reached out and wrapped his arms around Jana’s waist.
“You could,” answered Jana as she slung her rifle away and over her shoulder so that Zach could pull her even closer into his embrace, “But I know better.”
“At least I’m on your side,” he whispered as he leaned in to kiss her ear, “That should count for something.”
Jana craned her neck up to bring her lips to the tall man who held her, pleasantly breathing in his completely human scent. The stubble of his unshaved neck and face scraped against her cheek, and she found that even this she took a pleasure in.
“It counts for everything,” she breathed as she kissed him deeply, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders and gripping the back of his jacket.
Jana had not been overly interested in men once the Izrid invasion shattered the world. Her husband, Damian, had been killed during the initial orbital bombardment that had crippled the already war-weary human armies that were spread across the planet engaging in their own petty conflicts. Damian had been a good man, right up to the end. They had been married only two years, having met when his company had been awarded the IT contract for her division. First he fixed her computer, and then he asked her out for a drink. A direct man, both in his demeanor and in his actions. The same could be said of the man in her arms, this soldier named Zach. While Damian lay buried under tons of concrete and debris somewhere in what used to be downtown Chicago, Zach was right here and very much alive. He had that same directness, a certain simplicity of desire and action as Damian had, and from what she had seen of him Zach was as good a man as one could find in this post-apocalyptic hellhole of a world.
Jana’s hands moved out and around Zach’s shoulders and pulled down his jacket, revealing the muscled physique that lay waiting underneath his black tank top. Her hands slid under the tank top to trace down his rippling abdomen and then below the belt to his swelling manhood. With a few sensual strokes Zach’s member throbbed in her hand and she used the other to unbutton his trousers and set it free. Jana took a knee as she continued to work Zach’s cock, and the soldier looked up at him as she ran her tongue down the length of his shaft. Zach’s eyes burned with desire as he ran his hand through the soldier’s hair, and put his free hand over hers as she placed it on his thigh. After a few more passes with her tongue the man’s cock was wet with her spittle and lightly bouncing in time to his rapid heartbeat. Jana looked up at Zach and they locked eyes. The soldier found herself even more aroused at the look of simple desire in his eyes, devoid of the cruel darkness that emanated from the magisters. Jana smiled and then began taking him into her mouth, bobbing her head back and forth, each time pulling his cock further down her throat.
Jana had known Zach since the beginning of the resistance, and though there had been little in the way of initial attraction, she’d seen him fight bravely. Like everyone she knew, Zach had lost someone close to him, a girlfriend who had died of one disease or another in the filthy chaos that had swallowed the city during the dreadful months before MacArthur had organized refugee escape routes, sanctuary in the countryside, and formed the local armed resistance. While he had not caught her notice during years of fighting together, she found herself seeking him out after the bloody battle at the Izrid compound. That night they were intimate, a desperate affair of tearing clothes and raw animal need. After her sexual ordeal with the Izrid she had been desperate to find human companionship, and nearly any man would have done. Thankfully Zach was someone she knew, and though he was certainly not husband material, he was enough of a good man to meet her needs. Until the magister used its diabolical technology upon her, Jana had not been with a man since her husband. Something about her experience with the magister had re-awakened a hunger in her, and though it disgusted her that even now, nearly a week later, she could still recall the events in vivid detail. When the battle was done she needed a man, a human man, to fuck her brains out and help her feel human again.
As Jana sucked Zach’s cock she felt a new feeling stirring within her, a sort of rage that somehow felt like it burned so hot it was clean. A pure hatred of the Izrid that blossomed so fully within her that she became even more aroused even as her self-loathing reached its zenith. The aliens had treated her like property, like a plaything to be toyed with, experimented upon, and ultimately discarded. Then the resistance killed them all, because they were no longer human. Not Izrid. Not human. Just outcasts. Jana gasped as she pulled the bulging member from her mouth, and stood up as she gently pushed Zach back a step.
Zach watched with a mix of surprise and desire as Jana stripped off all of her clothes, right down to her boots. In moments she was completely naked, standing barefoot before him, striking a pose as powerful as it was alluring. All that remained was her rifle, still slung across her back. She stared at him, her eyes boring into his. In her mind’s eye Jana saw herself killing Lysa, Morgan, and their warrior. She saw this, and then saw herself slitting her own throat. The Izrid had turned them all into monsters, and they all had to die. What little doubt she’d entertained about her actions in the compound, the betrayal of the hybrids, yesterday’s skirmish, all vanished in an inferno of wrath. Purge the filth. Wipe the slate clean.
“I want you to fuck me soldier,” ordered Jana as she stood before her lover, her words prompting him to shed the remainder of this clothes and begin walking towards her as he stroked his cock to life, “I want you to throw me onto the dirt and fuck me like a goddamn cave man.”
Zach was a simple man, a direct man, and when someone as beautiful and deadly as Jana Cruz gives orders they are followed. He had risked his life dozens of times at her command, and this mission was no different, even if light-years more pleasurable. He did as he was bidden, and grasped Jana by the shoulders.
“Yes sir.”
Jana winced in pain as Zach flung her to the ground, the bulk of the rifle digging into her back. She embraced the feeling, and focused on the contours of the rifle as it pressed against her even more painfully as Zach pounced on top of her. The muscular soldier drove his cock into Jana’s waiting pussy and began savagely pounding her, slamming her hips into the ground over and over as she pushed up towards him. As they fucked Jana reached out with her arms to pull up fistfuls of dirt and then smear them across Zach’s back, arms and chest. While he continued to relentlessly fuck her, Zach used one hand to keep himself steady and the other to pull up his own fistful of dirt. Jana moaned as her man, her human man, spread the dirt across her chest and stomach. She moaned again as he plowed into her, and she lifted her legs to drape them over his shoulder so that he could gain more thrusting leverage.
His cocked worked into her like a piston driving an engine, and Jana felt as if, for in this brief moment, she was Eve and he was Adam. As he pounded her pussy Jana imagined that they were in the Garden of Eden, the first two humans, not this blasted wasteland, and her not an abomination. Jana ran a dirt-crusted hand across Zach’s face, leaving a muddy smear that made him look like a primitive warrior of ancient history. She felt the orgasm build deep within her, and began bucking against him harder and harder as she moaned at the intensity of it. Zach ran his own hand across her face, smearing more dirt on her, and it was that act that sent her over the edge into a screaming orgasm. She did not care if her cries alerted the Izrid, or her hybrid enemies, or the gods themselves. She felt human again, for a brief moment, and she screamed in her defiance.
ACT IV
This Warri
or looked up at the sky as he heard the voice of a female screaming. His ability to sense the nuances of the human voice were limited, though he had no difficulty in detecting the Izrid undertones in the sound. There was death in that voice, a battle cry woven into the pleasurable exaltation. This Warrior turned his head to see that the hybrid Lysa had awoken too, and her face was turned to the sky. They looked at each other then, and a grim understanding passed between them. Their ability to communicate with body language and subtle expression had exponentially increased in these recent cycles, and silently they acknowledged that they could flee no longer. The hybrid that hunted them would soon run them to ground, and battle was inescapable.
This Warrior knew that Lysa desired to fight, to make a stand, and this knowledge excited him. Since their escape This Warrior had found himself staring at Lysa several times during their journey, and it seemed to please her that he was as unabashed in his gaze as he was. This Warrior had never felt such an intimate and certainly not such a sexual bond with another warrior, even within his own brood. It was as if the male to female relationship that had formed between them, quite by circumstance, had transformed into a legitimate bond he had shared with no other. There had been Tara, who was his first, and he suspected that to be the primary reason he felt close to her, even after her death, the novelty of the experience still held a kind of power in his primitive mind. There was also the hybrid Morgan, who was now his magister and brood bearer, even if such caste titles did not suit her still-human understanding of the Izrid concepts. Yet Lysa, being a hybrid of the warrior caste, felt more familiar than even Morgan. Something in their shared warrior caste genetics that made being around her so pleasantly complex. There was an intimacy that they shared that This Warrior seemed not to have with Morgan, despite their having bred.
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