by Greg Ramsay
Bruce merely felt rage, haunted by his father's omission... I failed this species... Yes you did, you failed us all you, worthless old fuck. Were you his only comparative point it’s easy to agree with Bonerend on the worthlessness of our species... Bruce mused to himself angrily before being knocked out once more. Bruce became an attraction for all the various onlookers following them as he swore at his captors indignantly whenever he could, drawing little more than mocking laughter or faked fearful reactions.
An unknown time later Bruce awoke to the site of starved prisoners and the sound of crashing waves. He and his unwilling fellow prisoners were bound at the ankles aboard a rickety small ship that looked like it should never have been put back to sea. A large Mot with an eyepatch over his left eye, that lead their current entourage, seemed interested in Bruce, giving him a sleazy grin.
"A gift from the great one." He said before tossing Bruce his sword in pieces.
All he had was his dirty armour, broken blade, and an empty stomach. As they all screamed for forgiveness or threats borne of rage, the ship launched from the rotting pier on autopilot. Bruce quickly used his blade to cut himself free before trying to jump ship. He was met with a hail of primitive throwing weapons backed by his own physical weakness, keeping him trapped.
“Hey, Government!” A man called weakly from beside him.
Bruce turned to see a man with imposing height and jet black hair, covered in tattered rags. His piercing grey eyes stared into Bruce like blades with a strength that his emaciated body couldn’t match.
“Cut us free!” He demanded.
Weakly, an equally malnourished Bruce set about cutting them all free.
“When I find some fucking food you’ll be the first to die!” He seethed at Bruce, to his shock.
“What?” Bruce managed to ask incredulously.
“The badge on your suit is the same as that fuckhead Prime Minister that doomed us!” He said with a powerful anger apparent in his quiet statement.
“That was my father... I’m no less fucked than you!” Bruce said angrily, his minimal energy draining with every word.
“Family...perfect, when you starve to death in his place you can thank him for us all!” Bruce gave him an enraged look, too tired to bother retorting.
All his energy was used up struggling to remain upright as their vessel shook over the waves. It’s apparent his shipmates all felt similar to a degree by the looks on their faces, regardless of if they blamed him directly. At this point, any figurehead would be sufficient to suffer for his father’s slights against them all. Once more, like so many times before, he found himself hated for sharing unfortunate blood. Resigned to the familiarity of it all, Bruce focused on passing out meager food supplies left for them on the ship.
His kindness only curried favor with the girl he had helped previously, who responded with a weak smile before shoving the unknown sustenance in her mouth. When tears, rage, and improvisation did nothing to aid their situation, they traveled on in resigned silence, like lambs to a distant, slow slaughter. The horizon remained nothing but frothing choppy waves that violently showered them with shocking cold spray. Bruce vaguely made out a large land mass in the distance.
As they draw closer his new friend laughs to herself with what few tears she can manage streaming down her face. Bruce gave her a quizzical look.
“KamaGiri Island... the Death Goddess island where you will die for disobedience one day... that’s what Master used to warn when I fought his friends...Soon we die, foolish fighter.” She said to Bruce with regret in her eyes.
With the same calm certainty that filled him when they met, he said. “We won’t die.”
Bruce turned to see that the island was ringed in menacing looking jagged rock formations that eroded like claws that reached toward its shores. Blinking away spray, he could barely make out capsized and broken ships adorning some of the formations like prized catch. No one could do anything when suddenly their speed increased due to a violent tide. As if offended by their presence, the waves slammed their ship into one of the massive jagged rocks sporadically surrounding Kamagiri island. Their ship capsizes as it sank, abandoning its sea-sick emaciated occupants to the rock, coral, and rough seas that reached out like a foreboding welcome.
Clutching the hilt of his sword desperately, Bruce could do nothing but flail as his armoured body bounced along the lethal coral. His vision began to fade with his feeble attempts to swim. In the chaos, a few die. Bruce, his biggest fan, one other meek man, the woman he saved, and a lady who previously had a venomous eye for him all made it ashore on the backs of angry waves. Bruce awoke abruptly, violently wrenching up sea water as he gasped for air.
I made it! Bruce thought before collapsing unconscious. Some time later he coughed himself awake, blinking away the painful sunlight. Others awoke at roughly the same time, most were badly cut up or bruised from the turmoil. The man who confronted him on the ship rose with a glaring woman in tow. They eyed him spitefully as though the fault for their injuries and doomed fate rested solely on his equally weakened shoulders.
Too tired to care about the hate they directed at him, Bruce set about establishing a shelter like he'd been taught as he grew up, drilled into him by his teachers. It was the one subject Jonathan didn’t attack him over, even going so far as to occasionally backhandedly praise his ‘meek efforts at becoming a real member of society’. The others, for the most part, headed their own ways, even the girl he saved was too weary to be near him, deathly afraid of his new biggest fans. Bruce watched her disappear silently into the thickly forested island like a ghost, half-heartedly hoping she’d stay. Instead, all he could do is gather wood for a fire within an alcove formed in the joining of two massive boulders, covered overhead by mutated ginormous trees.
Hours later he got a serviceable fire going, allowing him to boil puddle water off the beach within a broken metal container. Repeated attempts finally saw his improvised stands hold a stick far above the fire for him to tie his boiling pot to. While that boils, he set about gathering strong branches to build an improvised awning over his natural shelter. Satisfied by how it looked, he fastened it together at points with salvaged weather-worn rope and carefully wove massive jungle-like leaves through the branches to complete the coverage. Bruce smiled.
Hanzo might’ve been an ass, but he sure was a good teacher. Bruce admitted to himself, albeit a bit begrudgingly. His body was tired, beaten, and sore but he knew the meager rations they’d been given on the boat wouldn’t hold, so he resolved to hunt. Blade purposefully dirtied to dull any shine its broken remains still exuded, Bruce wandered as silently through the trees as his boots allowed. To his surprise their careful military design served well for stealth even in novice use.
Which made sense to him, considering his dad was a sniper. All around him strange alien mating calls echoed through dense vegetation eerily. Despite all his years being drilled to know any animal by its sound for hunting and preservation, nothing sounded right. The more he trotted through the virgin brush, the more it felt like hours had passed. At the very least, Bruce was certain his starved urgency was so apparent, that no matter how quiet he tried to be, he’d never find anything.
A low cry like a pleading cat interrupted his doubts. From under a thick patch of foliage an animal the size of a small dog limped out. It had the nose and beady eyes of a weasel, a walking stance like a lizard and mottled grey-green fur. Its front legs looked mutilated, as if something at stomped on them so hard the bone nearly broke through. On top of that, a jagged stick had been shoved into its back.
Why the hell didn’t the asshole that did this just kill it?! He thought angrily. Taking a moment to pity the sadness in its eyes, Bruce prepped to stab it like a Mot. In that moment he was taken aback by sudden guilt he felt that stayed his hand, allowing the creature a few more feeble steps. This isn’t a Mot and it’s suffering... End its suffering and I just might survive. Reasoning with himself didn’t muster the hate he relied on so
much more than he realized when he killed before.
Ultimately after a what felt like an eternity of self-doubt and judgment, he finally ended the creature’s suffering with one violent stab through the back of the neck. Backtracking to his new home, Bruce felt a strange mix of pride and sadness. Unfortunately, those emotions were replaced with depression. Flames eked out the remaining fuel from the wood that made up his boiling stand. All of his water was gone.
Rushing to salvage the damage Bruce arrived just in time to stop the fire from destroying his makeshift awning. Dismayed, he set about skinning his only catch. Despite small differences in the arrangement and scale of anatomy for comparable creatures of that size, nature hadn’t been so bastardized as to void his teachings. I wish I paid more attention in hunting class instead of mocking the retarded simulate animal carcasses... Or throwing fake guts at Dave... Bruce mused sadly, trying not to retch from the smell. After roughly cleaning the carcass as best he could, he carved up a sharpened stick with his blade so he could hold the meat over the fire.
With that done, he built a new, better fastened boiling stand with his remaining rope and more careful consideration for what he’d been taught. Ultimately, his first day ended with one victim and a gratefully quenched hunger. Weeks passed for Bruce slowly, thanks to the sheer monotony and unpredictability of a survival situation. Of note, a few nights he could hear what he assumed were predatory animals scouting his camp, but the fire held them at bay. It could do nothing to halt the hollering of what few people joined him but they seemed content to maintain a distance.
His fire failed a few times which filled him with a fearful isolation unlike he’d ever felt. Violent post-apocalyptic rains nearly collapsed his awning. Otherwise Bruce’s island life wasn’t too bad. Being careful to bury the remains of his various hunts far from his camp fixed the predator issue. Though he couldn’t confirm it, he chose to believe urinating around his camp boundary was also useful.
One morning after he’d discarded his armour behind a careful pile of leaves to bathe in the waves, he noticed a person approaching in the distance. Thankfully, he was still clothed by a padding-type layer that looked like a modern longsleeve shirt and pants combo that appeared seamless. As she drew closer, he could see it was the venomous, dirty-look bitch that left with the man who swore vengeance on him.
“Please help, Zane’s become abusive...I... stole this for you.” A dead ferret-looking thing hangs by the tail from her outstretched hand.
Bruce could see a similar jagged stick protruding from its back. Figures. He thought to himself cynically. her, He eyed her, careful not to be obvious about it, but he can tell she’s well-muscled and fed. Idiot even has some of her mini spears on her! Glad I avoided everyone else thus far. Bruce scoffed at her signature improvised weapon before turning to look at her tear-streaked face.
Wearily, Bruce weighed his options, “I don’t need the food, nor do I believe someone as strong as you needs my help. I decline.” He stated matter-of-factly.
Can’t underestimate anyone, especially not one who previously openly hated me. This one’s no damsel. Bruce stood cautiously, grabbing his rusting blade to make a point. She left angrily but less so than he imagined. That night as he sleeps, she returned, pinning him down before shoving some vegetation in his face.
Bruce struggled in vain, his muscles still quite malnourished. Briefly, he recognized the scent of the plant before being rendered unconscious once more. He woke up with his hands tied fast to a massive tree. The guy who threatened him is there with a sleazy, self-righteous smile.
“People like you are why we’re trapped on this hellhole, why my baby sister was killed!” The man named Zane roared, his already imposing figure made an even more striking impression when less malnourished.
“I DIDN’T FUCKING KILL ANYONE, I ALREADY TOLD YOU THE ARMOUR IS MY FATHER’S!” Bruce yelled while struggling against his rough restraints.
“And I’m telling you you’ll have to suffer in his place.” Zane informed him while leaning close to his face with a dark tone.
Zane smiled mockingly when Bruce feebly tried to head butt him. Eyes filled with righteous rage and a vengeful smile, his female partner pushes Zane aside.
“I know the perfect way to start.” She said with menacing excitement as she aggressively stripped his ragged liner pants off him. Exposed and shocked, Bruce is at a loss for words for a moment. She yanks her rags off her reveal her scabby, scarred, lean body before viciously fondling his cock.
“No don’t!” Bruce demanded, his voice filled with shocked anger.
Laughing the girl mounts his forced erection, riding him violently with fire in her eyes. “YOUR FATHER SOLD ME TO BE A TOY FOR COUNTLESS FREAKS! Remember how it feels so you can describe it for him in vivid detail. Take in every bit of me!”
Grunting Bruce struggled with everything he had but his lower body is pinned worse than his now raw wrists.
“Stop!” Crying, all Bruce could do was squirm his legs weakly. To add to his helplessness, Zane stomped hard on his shins, trying to break the bones.
“Ahhh STOP YOU FUCKS, FUCKING STOP...please!”
Bruce pleaded, his anger giving way to a deep, dark desperation unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Zane bears his cock, masturbating to Bruce’s suffering while making sure he can’t look away.
“Please, I’ll do anything...just stop...” Pleading does nothing but feed their self-satisfied, mocking laughter.
Noticing this, Bruce gave up on begging, trying his best to deny them the tears that flowed from his eyes. Lost to any hope, Bruce submitted physically, staring at the folded seal adorning the top of his suit liner with pure resentment before trying to look away. Zane forced his head first to his rapist then to his exposed hard cock. Bruce’s eyes went blank as he tried to disappear in the recesses of his mind. With a gesture his rapist had Zane get her something from her pocket.
“Yes Mistress.” Zane whispers, briefly leaving Bruce’s view to fulfill her unspoken request.
She uses the plant he brought to scrape Bruce's legs. Poison barbs seared in his skin, leaving him screaming in pain as tears streamed from his face despite his indignant refusal to give her that satisfaction. Bruce snapped back to his horrid reality, to witness the greedy moans and sweaty thrusts of her used up, disgusting body. After a seemingly endless hell, Bruce could feel his body betraying him right before her violent abuse forced a painful orgasm from him. Depressed detachment wasn’t enough to stop him from hearing disgusting moans before hot slime squirted all the way down the side of his head.
“Welcome to the life of a slave.” Mistress seethed with a cruel vengeful sneer. Zane laughed proudly.
“How’s it feel to be my bitch, Government? It’ll only hurt till predators come to eat you alive.” He exclaimed.
Mistress checked his bindings one last time before giving him a final cold smile and leaving with Zane in tow like a loyal dog. Bruce was left aching, his whole body violated by her wretched slime and Zane’s. All he wanted to do was die, though choice felt lost to him. At least his attackers had ensured his slow painful death was a certainty. All that was left to was wait, while cursing his father, cursing the presidency that had doomed him to this hell. Screaming away the last of his energy, Bruce broke into an unintentional bout of psychotically sad laughter.
Chapter 5 – Torture or Strengthening?
A while later, exposed, broken inside, and waiting for mutant wolves or anything to kill him, Bruce suddenly saw something covering him. Blinking away tears he noticeed a familiar fabric draping his lower half right as someone cuts him free. The girl he saved looked at him with a profound sense of sad understanding. A new fear in him forced him to back away from her. She took a step back and sat until he recognized her, respecting his pained weariness.
When he didn't warm up to her, she bowed as a slave would and wordlessly leaves, returning with a dead mutated rabbit skewered by a hand-made arrow. All Bruce could think about was what happened,
judging himself immediately for hating her over gender and visible superficial commonalities. For days, this process repeated, her taking care of him wordlessly, maintaining her distance, respecting him. Eventually the fear that pushed him away from his only ally gave way to tears so strong he let her hold him while she hummed a tune vaguely familiar to one his mother always used on his father. In time, he was able to take her to his shelter, attempting to provide for her in return, but still could’t stay near her too long.
Unfortunately, their shipmates noticed their position in time, due to frequent fires. Among them, the girl that filled him with a death wish imparted by her filth. His new friend barely spoke so, reading the fear in his eyes, she merely grabbed him by the hand and silently led him away into the bush, far from their overt rage at not finding his dismembered or starved corpse. Driven by a mix of rage and respect, Bruce allowed himself to be led far through the inhospitable jungle into a hidden cave system, masked by carefully arranged thick foliage, that emerged into a small, shrouded clearing. Within, they find a moist water-worn cave that serves as a tunnel to a makeshift house that appears old...very old.
"Come." The girl whispered, almost nervously like her voice will hurt her.
Knocking on the door a wiry, strong older woman with the eyes of a seasoned fighter answered, noticing the girl first.
