…………………………………………
CODE INTERCEPTED
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CRYPTO SEQUENCE INITIATED
PROCESSING
01001101 01100101 01110011 01101101 01100101 01110010 00100000 01010010 01100101 01101100 01100101 01100001 01110011 01100101 ……
001001M010101E010101S0010M
ME0101SMER RE01LEA0SE
MESMER RELEASE
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AUDIO DECODED: DATA CONFIRMED
ORIGIN - DE SADE Terrorist Cell: Subject – Psychological Unraveling Session 4
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INTERVIEWER: Name: Unknown… Code Name: Nzinga
VICTIM: Name: Unknown
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*Analyzing Background Noise
- Computer Static
- Engine Hum
- Slight Echo
- Rasped Human Breath
- Subtle Female Moans
- Low Buzz
*Extrapolation: Mobile Underground Headquarters. 84% probability of retrofitted Subway Car.
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TRANSCRIPT
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INTERVIEWER: Feel relaxed?
VICTIM: Hmm?
INTERVIEWER: At ease. Listless. Languid.
VICTIM: Like I’m floating.
INTERVIEWER: Do you think you’re floating?
(Victim Giggles)
VICTIM: No, silly. I’m tied to this table. How could I?
INTERVIEWER: True.
VICTIM: It’s an expression.
INTERVIEWER: Of course.
VICTIM: A simile. A little tricky for some of my students to understand. I feel like I’m floating versus I feel like I’m going to cum on this table. One of those is a metaphorical comparative, the other a prediction. Oh, Jesus. What are you doing to me?
INTERVIEWER: Nothing yet.
VICTIM: Soon, please. You promised you’d fuck me. Swore that you’d open my legs and tongue me while I struggled uselessly against these bindings. Then you’d fill me with experimental drugs and put me on display in a club while people fucked to electronica watching my helpless body convulse in rhythm…
INTERVIEWER: I don’t recall mentioning anything even close to that.
VICTIM: Your eyes did. Souls never lie.
INTERVIEWER: Come on strong, huh? Ok. First, let me ask you a few questions.
VICTIM: Mm-hmm. But HURRY. You can smell how much I need to be fuc-
INTERVIEWER: How did you find us?
VICTIM: How… because I wasn’t looking. Isn’t that always the way? Let me feel the tongue piercing. I bet it’s specially made, isn’t it?
INTERVIEWER: Are you a spy?
VICTIM: Yes! Punish me. I’m very responsive to a good slap.
INTERVIEWER: Increase the Cerbo-doptrium.
VICTIM: Ahhhh. Sooooo good. You know how to treat a lady.
INTERVIEWER: What’s my name?
VICTIM: No idea.
INTERVIEWER: Have you ever seen me before?
VICTIM: Yes.
INTERVIEWER: When?
VICTIM: Three years ago. Outside my window. During a storm. I still get frightened at night. Stupid. Thunder always seems to vibrate through me. Love it. When I’m awake, I’d never admit this, but the fear makes me wet. A flash of lightning cut across the sky, and you were standing there. I don’t know how. I lived thirty-two stories up without a balcony, yet… Floating like a ghost in your long black leather coat without a stitch of clothing underneath. God, your body is terrifying. Muscular like a prisoner. Like you could hold me down, and I couldn’t say no. Wouldn’t. I wanted to feel the buzz cut against my thighs and taste those tattoos and piercings, especially the ones spearing your nipples. Every night when I go to sleep. I imagine you breaking through those windows and taking me away from my life.
INTERVIEWER: How is that possible? I was visible for less than 1/10,000th of a second.
(Victim Begins to gasp).
VICTIM: Fuck me! I’ve been waiting. FUCK ME. FUCK ME. FUCK –
………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
END OF TRANSMISSION
ANALYSIS………………COMPLETE
VICTIM IDENTIFIED:
WENDY PETERSON - THIRD GRADE TEACHER – LAST KNOWN LOCATION UNIT 47385.
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ASSESSMENTS:
VALUE: LOW…………………. RISK: HIGH
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EVALUATION: TOTAL ELIMINATION
Flying Dutchman – De Sade Headquarters
The automatic doors slid flawlessly open because even inanimate objects knew better than to stand in Nzinga’s way when the rage overtook her. Her locker, however, lacked any common sense refusing to release immediately. So, the warrior queen punched into the fragile metal. The frame, after years of abuse, knew to bend around her fist, and she swore at the lack of satisfaction.
“Miserable fucking pieces of shit,” she mumbled, taking off her sweat-drenched tank top. “Bout time we got some new storage.”
“Yeah,” Puck muttered a safe distance away, laying out another game of solitaire. His sunglasses reflected the low pulsing ruby light which flashed along the long cylindrical chamber. Red indicated night hours in the city above, blue the day, violet…
Violence.
“She’s literally asking for it!” Nzinga’s face burned, and she rubbed her calloused hands over the rough cut of her buzzed hair. “Does that Bitch know what she’s doing to me? Filthy fucking mouth of hers. Oh, I wanna teach her that lesson.”
She stripped off the Polytheorin pants, which, from Puck’s perspective, seemed to meld into her flesh. Though admittingly, he could now see the definition of those legs. Massive muscular thighs and marble calves could pop a man’s head like a cherry. He’d seen her do it. Once or twice, he’d been between those fleshy vices himself, trying to breathe while she pushed him further into her core. His tongue savoring the sharp bitter wonder of her taste. He knew from experience how demanding, how hungry Nzinga could be for flesh. He’d always been left gasping, pleading for air, and only allowed enough to stay alive.
“She’s not deprogrammed yet.” Puck rolled himself over to this section’s wall of many screens. He’d had them installed pretty much everywhere on the train. He hated to be far from his data stream. In case he missed something. “And she’s a strange case.”
“How come the weirdos are always the most fuckable?” the soldier stepped out of her dull grey underwear and bundled them in her palm before tossing them into the community hamper. “Soaked.”
Nzinga had to be the only person more colorful naked than clothed. Even when she wasn’t wearing the team's typical black on-night trench ensemble. Tattoos painted every inch of flesh from the collarbone down to her toes with jungle greens, tiger reds, and sunset gold. On her back, the yellow eyes of a jaguar glared down at any coward attempting a sneak attack. While on her chest, two sun gods battled the other. Their shields circled her seemingly ever-erect nipples, while the thin metal piercing gave the entire work a three-dimensional feel.
“How many more of these do we have to do?” Nzinga grabbed a bottle of water, standing within easy reach. Puck realized she wanted him to fuck her. Probably, on this table while watching their new guest. Maybe accidentally activate the intercom so Little-Miss-Sunshine would hear everything.
Sounded fun.
But he was on duty.
“I have no idea. Take a look at this. This is Ms. Wendy Peterson fully conscious.” Puck adjusted the dark shades, took a steadying breath, and his long graceful fingers caressed the keyboard. A picture of their newest occupant swelled to encapsulate the main screen. Her prim blond hair, innocent smile, and parent-teacher outfit covered a sinful body.
“She’s framed as fruitful as the free elements,” Nzinga muttered.
“What?” Puck asked.
“Othello, moron,” her fingers were running through his hair. “Thought you’d get the reference, Puck.”
“E-Lit wasn’t my thing. Now take a look at her Psi-Cortex functions,” he summoned the simulation and set it next to Wendy's face. Twisting strings of light knotted together into a single glowing orb. “Typical Drone layout, right? All the classics: social anxiety, familial pressures, binary moral evaluations. A textbook case of Network Structured Psychology.”
“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” A small buzz joined the background, like a motorized bumble bee. Puck felt Nzinga’s body tense, and she pulled his hair back slightly. Out of his peripheral, he could see her fingers coating the silver vibrator along her entrance. “Tell me more.”
Miss Goodie Two-Shoes and her tightly ordered brain vanished from the main viewer, replaced now by video of a desperate, drooling maniac. Mrs. Peterson strained so hard against the leather bindings, red marks cut into her pale skin. She thrust into the air over and over again, begging to be filled. Dancing next to the grainy black and white image were more colored strings, but these unraveled in all directions, an infinite splitting thread.
“She’s asleep here. Completely knocked out but somehow has full cognitive responses. And the brain waves are completely different. Totally untethered to any social construction. She’s free of Network tampering. Utterly unleashed.”
“Mmm-Hmmm,” Nzinga’s breath burned the back of Puck’s neck. Sharp teeth nipped one of his oversized ears, and then he felt a tongue dart inside one of his gauges. “Un… unleashed. I’m… Mmmm… following.”
“But that’s not the weirdest part,” Puck hit a single button. “These are your brain waves during the session.”
“I don’t know what these light brights fucking mean, Puck,” she leaned against him now. The weight of her body pressed against his back. Her piercing stabbed into his shoulders. She’d readjusted her arm so that instead of playing gently with his hair, it wrapped around his throat. Her entire body seemed to be vibrating at the rhythm of the shiny toy inside her.
“They’re unraveling. When she’s in this somnambulist state, she’s able to undo our Psi- Programming. If we figure this out, we might be able to free hundreds of Drones. Maybe all-”
“GOD!” as Nzinga climaxed, she squeezed Puck's throat. She lost balance, one knee giving out as the sweet waves assaulted her. She bit into his neck.
“Fuck!” she laughed, standing up. “Shit, piss, cunt, motherfucker, cocksucker, tits.” On her last exclamation, she slapped her own. “Needed that. Now repeat the last thing you said.”
Puck removed his sunglasses, his glowing scarlet eyes pulsing to the rhythm of the train.
“We might have found our secret weapon.”
The Golf Course – Hitting the Links
“Over here, Johnson! Watch your head. FOUR!”
Carl let her swing. The six-foot-two blond-haired, blue-eyed man kept himself fit. He wore a respectably tight-fitting polo with khaki shots that showed off tanned legs. He lay the driver over his shoulder, nodding in approval as the small white ball flew into the distance. He grinned pearly white straight teeth towards Johnson.
Johnson stood respectfully to the side. The six-foot-two blond-haired, blue-eyed man kept himself fit. He wore a professional black suit. He nodded in admiration as the small white ball landed on the green, approximately 54.3 yards away. He flashed straight pearly white teeth towards Carl.
“Good shot, sir.”
“Gotta get you on the green sometimes, Johnson.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Weather’s gorgeous!”
“Yes, sir.”
“When was the last time Sharyl and I had you over?”
“New Year, sir.”
“What? Shame on me. We’ll fix that!”
“Looking forward, sir.”
“Sure, sure. But ‘fraid I didn’t call you over for small talk, Johnson.”
“No, sir.”
“Had an intercept late last night. Those De Sade loons. Got their hands on a pretty valuable piece of Network property. Edna’s furious. She axed the entire research and development floor at 4:00 this morning, along with their security team. Going to be weeks before those carpets stop smelling like blood, let me tell you.”
“Sorry to hear, sir.”
“But. Lucky for you, that means some corner offices just opened up. Bout time, I say. You’ve been working hard, champ. Don’t think it’s gone unnoticed.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Yes, Sir-Re-Bob. Always say, Crisis is another word for opportunity, and I know my man Johnson is ready to seize the day. And you’re in luck. According to our intel, most of those De Sade nutters are out of the city. Only a skeleton crew protecting the target. We’ve got word they’ll have to emerge from the sewers within a few hours. Fill that hearse of a retrofitted subway car with air, water, and the essentials. You attack. Leave no one alive. Clear sport?”
“Crystal.”
“That’s my boy. Wanna take a swing? See how it feels?”
“No, sir. I got me a promotion to earn.”
John grinned again, giving Carl a thumbs up. Carl returned the gesture. Both standing on the green atop Babel Tower. The artificial sun floated above their head as outside the Prismit Protective Bubble, reserved for such occasions, the storm continued to rage.
Flying Dutchman – Chamber of Pain
The hot chocolate didn’t quite soothe the building terror in Wendy’s throat. Still, it sure didn’t hurt. In reality, she expected far worse treatment. The room was comfortable, a mix between a hotel suite and a medical facility. Other than the locked door, it didn’t feel like a prison. She’d woken up naked, covered in sweat, and a little…um… rambunctious. But she couldn’t blame that on this group. Wendy had suffered from sleepwalking for years. Heck, the bindings on the medical bed were not all that different from the ones her beloved Robert installed. But that only made it more confusing. Wendy didn’t know how, when, or even why she’d been kidnapped by these terrorists. She’d heard about them on the news, of course. But murdering a third-grade teacher seemed kind of pointless, and if they weren’t going to kill her, what the heck was she doing here?
“Maybe, they want me to write their manifesto,” her doe-like eyes grew even larger as she whispered to herself. “Oh, dear.”
A sharp beep, and the door slid open. The woman who called herself Nzinga stepped in. Wendy had never seen anyone so intimidating in person before. At least six-three, buzzed blue hair, and wearing skin-tight leather pants, a crop top, and a long trench coat. All coal black.
Yet Wendy could not shake a feeling of deep familiarity. The ease did not match the present circumstances.
“What do you want from me?” Wendy tried controlling her voice.
Nzinga raised an eyebrow at the question, and the slightest trace of an amused smile crossed her lips.
“Awake now, I see.”
Nzinga walked further into the room, and the door slid closed behind her. As each footstep echoed in this bizarre room, portions of the wall slid away, revealing screens. The goon gestured for Wendy to take a seat on one of the plush cushions. Wendy obliged.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do with you, girl?” Nzinga asked, shaking her head.
“Let me go,” Wendy suggested.
Nzinga’s laugh launched an electric shiver down the teacher’s spine.
“But you worked so hard to get here, Wendy,” Nzinga nodded towards the screen.
“What are you talking ab-”
But the answer was already playing. The grainy security footage was clear enough for its purpose. Wendy saw herself leap onto a moving train, dark as night with pulsing red lights along the wide.
“Hacked that from a BBQ joint overlooking the 33rd Street bridge,” Nzinga leaned back in her chair. Wendy noticed the woman’s top riding up and the defined muscles with the slight shimmer of sweat. “This other footage is from inside the Dutchman. We’ve edited this together, but you’re welcome to browse anything you want. Not like we’re hiding anything.”
Wendy felt her jaw pop open as the images flashed across the screen. In the first clip, she punched Nzinga, who struggled to bind the wild woman’s hands. A flash as the next section began. She lying down on the bed in this very room, furiously masturbating. Next, she was bound to the medical table dry, humping the air.
“We’ve got audio,” Nzinga said. “But I thought it would be overkill.”
The terrorist leaned forward in her chair; those stormy grey eyes locked onto Wendy with passionate intensity.
“Don’t even try to blame us 'cause that’s bullshit. We know who you are, Wendy Peterson, ‘cause we occasionally spy on your husband, Robert Peterson, head of Neurobiological Research at Corr Industries.”
“He’s a marketing manager,” she said, looking at her own deranged face paused in high definition.
“No, he’s not. God, how are we all this stupid? Listen, I don’t have time for the entire fucking backstory here, so I’m gonna make it quick. Humanity almost destroyed itself about eighty years ago. Got it? Great. In the aftermath, a woman named Edna Pierce found a way to modify humanity. Physically, psychologically, and culturally. She decided on one homogenous bland-ass society. Except humans aren’t wired that way, and it takes a lot of work. But you guessed it, governments, corps, and anyone else with money to make backed the project. Fucking morons.”
Wendy found she believed every word. It was impossible. Crazy. But even as she shook her head aghast, she knew these were no lies.
“Didn’t take long before Edna used her technology and personal army to absorb the entire complex. After all, she could design the perfect bureaucrat, craft the model politician, assemble an entire line of corporate stooges. And no one noticed. Now she’s everywhere. Every TV show reinforces the signal; each book contains subliminal messaging. Fuck, I’ve been fighting it for years and I haven’t been able to remove the conditioning completely. Never met anyone who did. Till last night.”
Wendy couldn’t help but notice how close their faces were. And those slightly parted lips.
“All of us who escape start to develop side effects. I’m a lot stronger than I should be and a lot more intense. My buddy conducting this ride is hooked into the machines on a deep fucking level. And you… we don’t know yet. But when you’re asleep, something undoes the phycological process not only in you but everyone around. And when you’re awake… it reinforces it.”
“Oh, dear,” Wendy nodded, unconsciously moistening her own lips. “I have been very bad.”
The world blurred, and Wendy closed her eyes. Her chest gently rising and falling. Nzinga gently nudged her shoulder.
“World to Wendy. You up?”
Wendy’s eyelids shot open, a cruel, mischievous grin on her face.
“For you? Always.”
Nzinga didn’t have the will to resist. Not again. Wendy’s soft pressing lips invited all the savage pent-up passion imprisoned by this sterile world. Nzinga tore away the cute poka dot dress, destroyed the beige safe bra, and bit into the heaving, warm breasts. Wendy’s moans hit like a literal drug. Every nerve inflamed, Nzinga’s throat seemed to constrict and she could only manage short rasping breaths, hardly capable of supporting the torrent of profanity tumbling from her engorged tongue.
“Fucking bitch, I’m gonna make you squirt. Beg for me.”
Wendy was ready.
“Please! Fuck my soaked cunt. I’ll do anything for you, Mistress. I’m your squealing little whore. Open me up! But Pleeease fuck me!”
Nzinga thrust three fingers into Wendy’s drenched core. The fighter had never felt anything like this. Not to brag, but she prided herself on getting her partners off: men, women, and everything around and in between. Wendy was different. Whatever Nzinga did push Wendy further into endless waves of pleasure. And the pretty little housewife dragged the killer for the ride. Flashes of orgasmic explosions robbed Nzinga of temporary consciousness. The walls began to melt as flashing purple lights flew about her head. Nzinga found herself naked, the tattoos moving along her flesh: kissing, biting, and urging her to feast more upon the writhing, burning woman spread before her. The smell of sex, Nzinga’s and Wendy’s both coated the room and soaked into their skin.
Now Wendy braced on all fours, her round full ass pressing against Nzinga's muscular stomach. The prisoner brayed like an animal, arching and thrusting backward, forcing her queen’s fingers ever deeper. The middle digits curved and beckoned within Wendy, driving her harder. The thumb circled the asshole before slowly pushing inside.
“Deeper! Split me open, Queen. I wanna gush for my Mistress. I wanna soak you!”
“Jesus! How often can you cum?!” Nzinga felt the body under her convulse again.
“Again… I’ll do it again!!”
She did. Nzinga never felt stronger, more powerful. She could destroy this woman. Leave her a puddled mess on the floor. Ruined.
“AGAIN!”
Wendy’s face lay to the side; her cheek pushed into the tile. Her full breasts crushed onto the floor. Her legs spread as far as they could while still keeping her jiggling ass displayed as high as possible. Nzinga's fingers on her right hand were saturated, soaking wet. While the other struck out, leaving red handprints on those newly blushing cheeks, just to watch them ripple.
“Thank you, Queen!” Wendy screamed, “THANK YOU!”
The orgasm hit Nzinga like a sniper’s bullet. Wendy had not touched her once. Not a single kiss had been reciprocated. Still, the trained warrior collapsed with the overwhelming force of it. A pleasure so intense and traveling so fast she lost control of every limb, kicking out and flailing as in the midst of a stroke. Instinctively, she grabbed the piercing on her chest and twisted the nipples, hoping it might stop the tide. But no good. The pain, mixed with the all-consuming pleasure, triggered another surge that started at her sore breasts and robbed her of any breath.
The world seemed different now. She’d only felt close to this once before. She’d tried some Acido Hallucinogens at a rave once. But that didn’t even come close. The train twisted around her; the air froze and then steamed in the moments between eternity.
“Wow,” Nzinga muttered.
“Nzinga! Nzinga!” Puck’s voice seemed to come from inside her bones. Or maybe the walls?
Oh, right. The intercom.
“What the fuck!” He sounded so upset. Maybe he should get fucked; that always helped. “We’re under attack, Nzinga! They’re burning through the Second Compartment. Hurry.”
“Oh…” Nzinga muttered. The words floated in the air about her and burst like bubbles. “That’s no good. On my way, Robin Goodfellow… heads up. Not sure if it matters. But I think Wendy might have infected me or something… Cool.”
Nzinga went to stop the bad guys, not bothering to lock the door behind her.
Flying Dutchman – Death Row
“Good work, fellows,” Johnson said as the red beam cut through the last lock. “Keep this up, and it’s bonuses for the group.”
“Thanks, Boss,” said Agent Robinson, a six-foot-two blond-haired, blue-eyed agent who kept himself fit. “Now let’s go kill those Rebs.”
“All right!” Agent Jackson nodded in enthusiastic agreement. “Never work a day doing what you love.”
Nzinga heard the three stooges up ahead. Reality still sort of bent and flowed, but she’d gotten enough focus to track them down.
“Came a long way to die, assholes,” she yellowed down the corridor.
The three stopped mid-step. One took off his sunglasses, a confused unblinking stare plastered on his face.
“Um, ma’am. Do you intend to fight naked?”
She looked down and saw her fabulously nude self. A few tattoos waved back.
Nzinga started to laugh. The entire thing was ridiculous.
“Knew they were crazy,” Johnson said. “But not like… actually nuts.”
“Makes our job easier,” said Agent Robinson, who walked towards the trained killer without a care in the world. “Nzinga, right? Gosh, I’m going to be famous.”
He swung. Agent Robinson could punch a hole in solid concrete. They all could, as part of their special enhancements. The human skull didn’t stand a chance.
Neither did he.
Nzinga caught the wild swing and kicked out the agent’s feet from under him. Her fist balled, launched, crushed his windpipe, and returned to a defensive position by her face before the dead man even hit the ground. It did, however, cause the world to spin a little.
“Well…” Johnson let out a cheerful laugh. “Unarmed but still dangerous. Ok, approach vector two. And be careful, buddy.”
The pair of agents advanced. Nzinga had trouble focusing on them as vaporous duplicates of the invaders flowed from the original confusing her as to where the danger lay.
Still, when the younger of the two blond bimbos went to grab Nzinga, she brought her knee to his stomach and heard the air flee his lungs. Then she took his face gently in her hands before head-butting the fool. He went down.
But in that time, Johnson struck. He’d been doing this much longer and knew how to press an advantage. He worked her body, attacking her ribs and stomach with furious blows. She’d mutated into a strong she-devil, no mistake. But nothing could stop the cause of righteousness. He threw a right hook, caught her on the jaw, and watched her slide down against the wall onto the floor.
“Any last words?” He asked.
“Go fuck yourself,” and she aimed her kick between his legs.
The Agent gasped, sputtered, and almost blacked out. The throbbing pain expanded with every breath. Still, he could tell she didn’t have much fight left. If he could only…
A blue-focused ray of light cut above his head. He saw the second member of the terrorist cell running in their direction. As backup got closer, the bitch was getting to her feet. Johnson realized he was very much alone.
“Next time, sweetheart.” And he ran full speed in the other direction: ducking, weaving, and praying.
Nzinga knew at least four ribs were broken; they sang inside her stomach. She felt Puck fly before her, chasing the demon man. He’d taken the shape of a bird. Was that new?
“I’m losing myself…” she muttered.
“Nzinga?” A quiet murmur offered from the doorway. “Are you ok?”
Wendy stood still in the torn polka dot dress, but this was a different person. The concerned, sweet expression of their prisoner had returned as she watched her captor slowly melt into her own mind.
“What did you give me?” the words bubbled from Nzinga’s lips.
“Shhh,” Wendy said. “It’ll be okay.”
She had no reason to think so. But the same certainty which had told Wendy to trust the solider earlier insisted she followed her instincts. She knelt next to the warrior queen and hugged her close. Wendy kissed the sweaty injured forehead. Nzinga's entire body relaxed.
Wendy lay Nzinga against the wall and began. Her fingers lovingly caressed Nzinga’s sides while her lips forged a trail along her collarbone. The warrior’s breathing steadied as she took in full breaths of air. She really was the most beautiful woman Wendy had ever seen. She took advantage of the partially open lips and allowed herself a mouthful.
“So nice,” Nzinga hummed.
“Shhhh,” Wendy said. “Relax. Enjoy.”
Wendy lay the Amazon against her own body. She continued to greedily but gently kiss those adorable, obliging lips. The teacher continued to caress and even tease her tired lover. Finding paths along the jungles of her skin. She saw Nzinga’s legs begin to widen.
“Of course,” Wendy said. “You’ve earned this.”
She placed two fingers against Nzinga’s lips, who eagerly licked and wet the offered digits. Not that she needed the help. Wendy found her new friend’s opening already slick and desperate. She slid in the two and allowed her thumb to play at the engorged little nub.
“I’ve never done this before,” Wendy admitted as Nzinga gasped.
“Well, don’t stop now.”
And she didn’t. Wendy slowly, gently, but firmly coaxed one shivering murmur after another from Nzinga. Her hot breath warmed Wendy’s cheek.
“Can I have one more? Please.” Nzinga sounded so contented.
“Ok, now lean back.”
Nzinga adjusted, pushing herself against the wall and letting Wendy get a better angle. The one-time prisoner salivated this close to the hot core. Her tongue gingerly at first but then, with the same firm, gentle authority, began its work.
“Oh, God! I’ve wanted this… ever since that night at your window. How… how are you possible?”
She buckled further into Wendy’s face trying to get her to pick up the pace. But Wendy knew better and only did so gradually.
“Jesus!”
“Faster!”
“Please… PLEASE”
“No!! I can't! Wait!! It's too much!! I… Oh, FUCKING GOD!!!”
Wendy felt the warmth coat her face. When she looked up, she saw Nzinga fast asleep with a contented look on her face.
“Can I say welcome to the crew?” The amused voice emerged from behind Wendy. She turned to find a long-haired man in goggles and a silly grin. “Name’s Puck. Mind if I check on our girl?”
He kneeled next to the pair, checking her pulse and looking at a small tablet with flashing lights and colors. “Fascinating. I don’t know what you do, but it’s something far out. Nzinga’s fully healed. And… with a little bit of an extra cycle of Psy-Energy. Looks like you're contagious, Wendy.”
“Oh?” she said. “What’s that mean?”
“No idea,” Puck grinned. “But we’re going to find out. And when we do? The whole world's gonna change.”
Wendy looked down at the satisfied expression on her Nzinga’s face and felt the same sense of connection that seemed to bind them. She squeezed the sleeping woman’s hand before turning to Puck.
“Well, guess I’m going to need a cool nickname too.”
