“Who are you?” inquired Steven, his nose flushed to a dark hue by her headbutt.
The fact that her face was no longer ensnared by the hood struck her more harshly than the effects of the cold water, the removal of collar and smothering sheath unexpected and frightening for it meant she was no longer traceable by her owner. The detachment from the rule of her Mistress made her soul go numb with horror, the feeling of abandonment, of surrender to unpredictable forces terrified her. Kirsten suddenly longed to be on her leash again, to feel the safety and protection of the officer’s ownership. Until this moment she had not realized how much she needed the discipline and slavery provided by the Mistress.
“We deactivated that little toy and left it behind before taking refuge in this hidey-hole. Seeing as you had a radio, we thought it best to find out just what you had reported before we continue with our objectives,” stated the man with a smug snarl.
Looking down to her shoulder she saw that the sections of her armor were gone. A quick peer into the dark spotted the pile nearby. The impacts to the shoulder pad had not penetrated, merely stunned the joint. Only one bullet had clipped the flesh and the black skin had sealed over once more, making her groan inwardly at the realization that another deep organic barb had been latched into her flesh by the suit. She moved the wound against the chains and felt that while it was still a little tender, her mutant ability had virtually healed it. The glance was detected and alerted them to her concern at the suits regeneration.
“What the hell is this stuff?” interrupted Anna, pinching the skin and finding it firmly affixed to her.
“What are you? Some sort of assassin for the Stalkers?” questioned Gary, her silence infuriating him. “Well? Come on, say something bitch!” he shouted, darting forward to place a slap across her cheek, her face whirling aside as the connection echoed down the tunnels.
The strike drew out a shadow of her compliant nature in the face of discipline and caused her to respond.
“Kirsten,” she whispered, the words bringing the group to silence, their outraged tempers cooling suddenly as it became apparent she would respond to them.
“Why did you attack us?” asked Steven, sitting down and looking over her with a deep puzzlement as Gary backed up, rubbing his palm as he found that Kirsten’s skin was not as weak as it appeared.
“I was told to,” she insipidly replied.
“By who?”
She looked down and regarded her trapped body, unable to confess just what she was and who had reduced her to it. In front of the Mistress she would readily perform any indignity, happily accept humiliation and debasement but now, removed from her proximity, all her embarrassment and shame were at impossible new levels.
The fang-toothed leader looked to the awaiting giant and nodded. Settling behind her he locked his arms about her torso to pin her down as the wiry man tugged a transparent plastic bag from his jacket and shook it open.
“You will tell us, mundane,” warned Steven, and indicated for Gary to begin. “We have gotten information from your kind before. You spineless bigots are all the same - gutless and weak when you are not backed up by your fellows.”
The bag slipped over her features and was drawn back, smothering her breath and cutting off all access to air. Straining against her bonds, she bucked within Paul’s grip, fighting to get free as oxygen was denied and the heat of suffocation began to well across her features. Spasming, she craned her mouth wide, seeking to find a vent to access a breath as her lungs burned.
Spots darted upon her gaze, the distorted vision of the cave being twisted as consciousness began to falter and tumble into the icy clutches of black out.
The bag flew off and she inhaled deeply, the sudden coldness of the cave banishing the ardor of her fight and leaving her wheezing and spluttering in recovery.
“How did you find us?” demanded Anna, stepping out beside Steven.
Kirsten could not admit to her slavery, but by confessing to her origins she might be able to placate them slightly.
“I’m a mutant, I can see your auras,” she rasped weakly.
“What?” exclaimed Steven, unable to believe what she had said.
The hold about her torso slackened suddenly with the shock and the others were momentarily taken aback.
“A mutant? Not a mundane? But you were helping the Stalkers! You filthy traitor I’ll…” accused Gary, moving forward and raising a fist to strike her. One of Anna’s hands stopped him and shoved him aside.
“Why!” she spat, her face contorted by rage and tears of suppressed emotion.
“She’s a Hound, that’s why,” Steven grimly reported, causing Kirsten to hide her ashamed stare.
“I thought that was all bullshit!” reputed Gary.
“So did I, but I guess it’s not such an impossible fable as we would’ve liked to think.”
“They use you to hunt mutants? Your own kind? How? What makes you do it? Money? Freedom?” asked Anna with animus, unable to fathom how one could conduct betrayal on such a grand scale.
Kirsten made no reply, she was unable to answer their questions. Steven nodded and the bag dropped into place, hauling back and denying her respiration. Jerking, she sucked at the impermeable barrier, fighting the hold, desperate to end the interrogation with an admission but unable to fail the Mistress, her indoctrination too deeply ingrained to fade in the face of such adversity. Kirsten steeled her resolve. She had willingly undergone worse at the hands of the one she loved. This was amateur hour and these enemies of her owner would not break her.
Once again, on the verge of unconsciousness she was set free to lounge weakly in the giant’s grip and recover her lost breath with crooked gasps.
“This is useless and we don’t have time for it. Anna, you’ll have to go in,” advised Steven.
The woman seemed hesitant, unwilling to undertake the task demanded of her.
“I know it’s difficult and I know it’s hazardous but we’ve no alternative. We’ve got to know what she’s reported and we’ve got to know now! And we don’t have the time to force it out of her.”
Drawing in a deep breath of commitment and resolve the woman knelt down before Kirsten and stared at her with an unblinking and fixed glare. Confused, Kirsten frowned and then suddenly felt an intruding presence in her thoughts. The slimy fingertips of psychic tendrils were probing at the barriers of her mind, seeking weak points as they tried to slither in through the cracks. Instinctively gritting her teeth, Kirsten scowled and applied her willpower with as much commitment as she could muster, trying to force out the barrage of slithering trespassers.
“She’s fighting me. I need you to distract her,” the woman certified.
The bag dropped and commenced its denial, diverting her full mental concentration with the calamity of suffocation. Desperately she tried to hold off the woman’s entry but as her senses started to scramble from asphyxiation and the panic of imminent death arose with ever-greater force, the walls of her mind collapsed and the woman charged in with reckless force.
Kirsten unleashed a yowl of complete agony and indignation, the feel of her very mind being violated and the pain of another consciousness rampaging within her skull was more than she could possible bear.
“I’m in,” the woman announced with elation and immediately broke into wheezing chokes, clutching her chest with a few arms as the others waved in the air. “Get…g…get the…b…bag…” she spluttered, her face going red with strain, her eyes rolling back.
“Take the fucking bag off! Anna’s in there too you idiot!” yelled Steven and with a sudden shocked yank the plastic was tugged off.
Kirsten gasped and used her first breath to cry out as she was horrendously defiled on a level beyond intimate. Lines of red wound down from her nose, her mind groaning under the pressure of housing the consciousness of two entire beings. Anna started to breathe more easily, the effects of empathic suffocation gone because by sharing Kirsten’s mind she had unwittingly shared her orde
al.
Kirsten shuddered and twitched as her body was flicked into activity by careless footfalls upon her persona, new trickles of crimson weaving out from her tear ducts, nostrils and ears, her synapses bulging under the cargo of two psyches using it as a battleground.
Unable to stop or even resist, Kirsten gurgled and winced as her memories were opened like books and flicked casually through, the woman scooping up the images for perusal before dropping them recklessly back from where they had been gained.
Anna’s face dropped from one of intense strain and determination to a mask of utter horror. Her visage screwed up with her desperate bid to pull free of the opened nightmare and she let out a piercing shriek. Her myriad hands shook and clasped her head as she fell back, the link to Kirsten’s mind a difficult thing to break with any speed now that she was so deep within it.
“Anna! What is it?” shouted Steven, grabbing the woman and holding her as she writhed and screamed, entering convulsive fits of shock.
“Shit! She’s killing her!” yelled Gary, looking from one to the other with dismay. “We’ve got to fucking kill her!” he decreed, and yanked his pistol out. Cocking it he took aim at Kirsten’s spasming form. The giant released her and dove aside as he saw that Gary’s rash execution might well hit him instead.
“No!” roared Steven and swung himself onto his feet, kicking upward into Gary’s wrist as the trigger was pulled. The firearm blared and punched a hole in the wall just above Kirsten’s quaking and bound body.
Steven grabbed the mutant by the lapels and slammed him to the stone, holding him in the air as he snarled his words. “You dozy prick, Gary. They’re sharing minds! Kill her and you’ll kill Anna for sure!”
Casting the man aside he dove back to try and assist the wailing woman, ignoring Kirsten and the hateful look from Gary as he collapsed onto the floor and clutched the pistol with new intent. The barrel started to rise towards Steven and then stopped as a machine gun was distinctly cocked. Looking up he saw Paul swing the weighty firearm around so that he was looking directly down the massive caliber barrel. The threat was obvious and without word Gary slowly set the hammer back and holstered the pistol. Paul refused to copy the motion and ensured he kept Gary under his aim.
The woman’s mind was hauled back out of Kirsten, dragging at her psyche with thorny barbs, the rash exit ripping at her soul with voracity, making Kirsten imitate the woman’s shrill keening hollers and push the chains to their utmost tolerances.
The agony grew more intense, filling Kirsten’s mind with lightning arcs and incoherent splashes of woe, the havoc in her skull leaving her a psychological mess. As the last of the invading mind tore free she sagged into an indolent heap, beads of sweat running down her face to mingle with the blood the assault had brought forth.
Anna was submerged in a similar state of shock and recovery, her comrades helping her upright.
“What happened?” asked Gary with intrigued concern, trying to cover up his moment of possible treachery.
“She hasn’t told of our plan,” whispered the woman, looking at Kirsten with a sense of grief, having seen the methods of her indoctrination. The entire ordeal of her isolation and capture and punishment had been imparted in mere seconds, crammed into an intense burst that both of them were forced to live through.
“Anything else?” inquired Steven, looking slightly puzzled for a moment as he saw that Paul was keeping his heavy weapon trained on a rather anxious looking Gary.
“Sarah’s dead. Maria is being turned into a Hound in the lowest level of the base by that officer Gary saw.”
The woman had hid Kirsten’s involvement, for while she knew that Kirsten had no choice in her actions, the others were not so appraised and would not have understood. Anna knew full well what had happened and could not allocate blame to the captive because she knew that if she had been drawn through the same program, then she would have assuredly been broken by it as well.
“Then we get going immediately,” snapped Steven, helping Anna up onto her feet where she wiped sweat from her brow and straightened her clothing.
“What about this whore?” sneered Gary with contempt, nudging Kirsten’s enfeebled form with his boot.
“Fucking kill her,” uttered Paul without any visible emotion, turning his wandering aim from Gary onto Kirsten’s body. Kirsten closed her eyes and went cold with absolute mortal jeopardy.
“No!” spat Anna, stepping out before him to block his shot.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you, Anna? She pickle your brain in there? This is a traitor! She’s worse than fucking KGP! Let’s kill her and go get Maria!” declared Gary, falsifying his uncharacteristic concern so he could exorcise some of his fury with murder.
“No! We aren’t going to kill her!” she protested, unable to voice why, affected by the same uncertain shame that had kept Kirsten silent. With desperation she turned to Steven, her eyes marked with welling tears, her expression filled with conviction and imploring. “Please, Steven, tell them.”
The feral mutant was visibly startled by the request. Unsure of what had happened in the psychic war between them he knew his comrade well enough to know she possessed information of sufficient strength to warrant this stay of execution. Trusting her instincts he relented.
“Leave her here. We’ll decide what to do with her later,” he decreed.
“Thank you,” sighed Anna, relaxing a little and looking over her shoulder to Kirsten.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” said Gary with alarm.
“She’s valuable to the KGP. If this goes wrong, a bargaining chip like this might be handy. Now shut the fuck up! You were the one who almost killed Anna! So you’re the last son of bitch who gets to say who lives and who dies around here, so check your shit, we leave! Now!” he stated with intolerant gravity.
There was urgency in Steven’s voice, a sense of panic that had arisen since Gary had first mentioned the officer and had exploded to new levels since hearing that she was in the base.
“Bitch!” scorned Gary as he looked at Kirsten and then trudged off down the tunnel with a huff of irritation.
Chapter Thirty
“Time for a little game, slave,” stated the Mistress, her mood a little lighter, her hidden concerns either gone or well concealed.
Thick cuffs were applied to Maria’s wrists and the manacles were locked behind her back before cord was wound around her elbows, drawing the joints together into a rigid and painful clinch. Further thick restraints were sealed to her ankles and her thighs, the leather bands connected to their opposite by a short hobble chain, the links confining her to an awkward shuffle.
“On your knees, slave,” hissed the Mistress, causing Maria to obediently wilt and receive a latex hood, the garment being tugged down over her head. The tight embrace slipped to her neck and as it was straightened the revelation that the sheath bore only one aperture became apparent. The hole lay at her mouth and spewed forth a two-meter tube of flimsy rubber and as she was released she found that any attempt to lift her head from a stooped posture caused the tube to kink and cut off her breath.
Standing in darkness, hobbled and twisted, Maria yelped and straightened, abruptly denying herself air as she shrieked with the sudden jolt of pain into her flank, the welt bringing a wash of suffering.
“I can see you felt that one, slave. Are we ready for more?” she questioned somberly, her dark temperament still in force, causing Maria to wonder just what had happened on the mission. Had the other Hound failed her? Escaped? Been killed in action?
The bullwhip snaked out again, cracking with a thunderclap and making her swirl and drop onto her side, squashing the tube beneath her. Writhing, she tried to straighten, seeking breath through her only route.
“No time for rest, slave. Come on, up we get,” she said, the stress lurking in her voice showing that something was troubling the woman, something of enough consequence that she was going to try and ease her mental anguish by transferring it to Mari
a in a physical form.
Another weal was painted upon Maria’s wriggling form and with a stifled squeak she regained her knees and keeled over, shaking to free the twists from the pipe and suck in a massive breath. It immediately flew out as a cry, her back being subjected to a sudden flogging, the severity of the leather tendril cursing her skin and leaving deep livid weals.
Reacquiring her feet she stooped and kept her route to the air open, her howls vibrating the pipe as the whip continued to sing and eat into her physique, the mordant tip snapping and searing the soft flesh amidst nova bursts of intense woe.
Dancing at the command of the flicking tip she was whipped around the room, her abuser pacing throughout the interior, keeping her distance, letting the merry tune of the weapon lap at the slave and keep her in spry activity. Any rising jolt snapped the pipe shut and cut of her respiration, increasing her panic.
After merciless volumes of abuse, actual purpose was placed into the blows, the lambasting scourge guiding her out of the room and into another where she connected sharply with a strange contraption.
“Here we are, slave,” she commented and instantly the attack ceased as the woman approached to take hold of the mask, using the trunk-like projection as a reign. Maria was lounged against the side of the mysterious device, recovering from her straits when the grip curtailed her breath, making her obey quickly lest it cut off her respiration completely.
The embrace of the inverting frame that had spread-eagled and confined the trained Hound was enforced upon her senses. The open trammels still lay poised on the metal, willing and ready to grab at her as the Mistress played upon the buckles, the metallic titter of the chiming restraints echoed in Maria’s ears.
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