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At His Service, Of Course	By : Darkrogue Category: +A through F > Brain Dead 13 Views: 9633 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Brain Dead 13 or the characters involved, and I ain’t making any money, here. Apologies to the creators for this holocaust of wrong. Here be squicky material, so be ye warned.

Chapter List
- 1
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Author’s Note: I’ve been sitting on this for years, thinking it was too long for what it is, and besides, what kind of sick $#@& writes something like this? Me, apparently. These are the thoughts I take to bed each night.
Considering the dearth of BD13 fanfic, I may as well post this squicky, silly slice of slash. Story is complete, though I will be posting in chapters, as it is rather long. Some of the language and references are dated, as it takes place in the 1990s. Also, the characters often speak and act in cartoonish ways--because they are cartoons, of course!
Additional Warnings: Slash, M/M, Monster-on-human squick
Apologies in advance.
Chapter 1: Tough Customers
Lance Galahad, Computer Genius
At your service!
That’s what his stenciled tool bag from Computer Town read. Now it lay open on the floor next to the mainframe he’d recently repaired. It wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was he.
Some genius.
Lance hung sore and exposed in his bonds. He was all but naked, now, his pants, shirt and jacket viciously torn from his skinny frame to lie in shreds along the floor near where he hung roped to the ceiling. Only his red sneakers and trusty hat remained intact and in place.
Not good, Lance. Not good at all…
He shifted for some tolerable position on his feet. But it wasn’t easy with his arms bound high above his head, fastened to some beam above.
His skin stung, thanks to the whipping he’d recently suffered.
Caught.
Wacky disembodied scientists. Hook-handed homicidal hunchbacks. Ha! Such clichés inhabited the video games to which he devoted countless nights, but he’d never thought he’d live it.
Nervously Lance gazed along the wooden floor of the room where they’d imprisoned him in this madhouse of a castle—the same room where he’d fixed the computer. Now that network hummed, the monitor black. Light spilled in through a couple dirty floor-to-ceiling windows, and his eyes scanned in vain for the nearest escape. A wide wooden staircase curved up to a door, apparently the only way out. But it wouldn’t matter, unless he could somehow wriggle free of these ropes.
Lance wasn’t used to feeling helpless. His heart pounded, mind racing back to the bizarre events that put him here.
Me and my big mouth, he thought with a groan.

***
His first mistake was accepting a late-night house call to a spooky castle in the middle of nowhere. The second warning should have come in the form of the short, squatty imp-like creature who’d answered the door.
Whatever he was, he was an ugly little sucker: green, hunchbacked, piggy little snout. Bulging yellow eyes, massive under-bite, jutting chin with sharp yellow teeth. He also wore hooks where his hands should have been. Sharp hooks. Looked dangerous.
Now, Lance had played plenty video games, but he’d never seen anything like this. A butler, maybe? An imp? A goblin? A troll? Lance shrugged. He was bizarre enough, but he’d seen weirder in Earthworm Jim, after all.
“Hiya, pal,” Lance cheerfully sang without hesitation before stepping inside. The computer itself was a model of every cliché he’d ever seen in old sci-fi movies: twelve feet tall and surrounded by equipment straight out of Vincent Price flicks.
Man. Must be ancient. Old TI, maybe. Oh, well.
He moved in, attacked the computer, appraised the problem. Within seconds he had the network up and running.
Naturally.
Ha! Lance, you genius!
But as he scribbled the bill with his pad and pencil, the monitor flashed. Tubes glowed. Thick hanging wires vibrated. Tesla coils crackled and hummed. Condensers spiraled with green light. There came a villainous laugh, and onscreen popped his unorthodox host: a disembodied brain, floating in a watery tank.
Huh. Now there’s something you don’t see every day!
The brain called himself Dr. Nero Neurosis—yeah, he could talk. He balanced on an undulating stem, and his eyes squinted and glared, flaring between malevolent glee and deranged wrath.
Lance should have kept his mouth shut. But how could he, with the ‘megalomaniac’ vibe so obvious? If ever there was an entity that screamed ‘mad scientist bent on world domination’, this fellow was it, crazy lab equipment, maniacal laughter and all. And like most evil geniuses, he had the ego to match. Lance discovered this after vocalizing his suspicions, and exposing his host’s mediocrity.
He’d called him ‘average’.
Mistake.
The brain had quickly taken it upon himself to correct Lance’s error. Positively not average, Dr. Neurosis had angrily lectured him on his superiority, his intellect, his slave terminals and their capabilities. But when he’d revealed his master plan with such fanfare, Lance couldn’t help but finish his sentence.
“I will…” Neurosis announced with a flourish.
“Rule the world?” Lance guessed, grinning at his host’s visible deflation.
But he hadn’t expected the tantrum that followed.
“Fritz!” the brain screeched at that hook-handed imp. “Kill him!”
Uh-oh.
From that moment, it seemed, the entire castle had come alive, all bent upon destroying him. Worst of all was Fritz, with his impossible store of murderous weapons he could conveniently attach to his hooks: Swords, chainsaws, harpoons, bombs, missiles, flamethrowers.
At first he’d managed to outwit, outrun. But at some point, his luck had failed, and his world had slipped. One moment he was running for his life and dodging witches, rugs, ghosts, statues, plants. Next thing he knew, that freak had pounced on him from above, sending the two of them bouncing down a staircase.
Then, everything went black.
After that, he only remembered waking. His arms had felt numb, drained of blood. Groggy, he lifted his head, eyes clearing. His lean body strained upright, his arms stretched high from a length of rope fettering his hands to a beam somewhere above.
O-kaay, Lance. How to get out of this one…?
Again that monitor blipped to life, and there was that brain, floating in what Lance could only describe as a jar.
I wasn’t dreaming? Oh, man…
"Well, what have we here? A dope on a rope. Ha-ha-haa! So our visitor has a name! Lance Galahad.” The brain mocked, speaking his name like a joke’s punchline. “I do hope you’re comfortable.”
Lance frowned, shifted. “I don’t make a habit of hanging around, pal. A nice sofa and a bowl of munchies might do the trick, though.”
Dr. Neurosis scowled, at least as close as a brain could come to scowling. “Impudent sack of viscera! Fritz!”
Lance saw movement, and that hook-handed freak scuttled from the shadows, a sadistic gleam in his bulging yellow eyes. He looked like a fat little beetle in executioner’s garb—and suddenly the last thought unsettled him.
Fritz waddled near, circling behind, and Lance’s gaze followed as far as his head would swivel.
He smirked, brow wagging. “Hiya, freak…” he remarked, but before he could finish, those hooks raked down his back, shredding his clothes. Lance gasped, the reality and danger of his situation striking him like an anvil. Somewhere in the cloud of his thoughts he heard that brain laugh (how did he laugh without a mouth?). Next thing he knew, he was exposed and vulnerable, all strips of his modesty flung aside in tatters, his baseball cap and red sneakers alone unsavaged.
“Fritz!” Dr. Neurosis’s gleeful voice echoed in his ringing ears. “Let us have some fun with our impertinent guest before termination. Extend him a proper welcome.”
Lance didn’t know what he meant, but he soon found out. Donning a bullwhip appendage (was there any attachment those hooks didn’t have?), the imp called Fritz had lashed him for his master’s amusement.
“Shred his pitiful hide! Make him dance!”
And dance he had. He’d never known he could move with such vigor! The first blow jolted him alive, and his nerves sang under the whip’s sting.
“Beg my mercy, inferior one!” Neurosis gleefully prompted, at some point.
“Or what?” Straining, Lance met his eyes in bold challenge. “Or you’ll summon your super-secret heat ray?”
Shocked, the brain faltered and blinked. “How did you know I had one of those?”
Really? No way! Oh, man…Lance groaned.
When it was over, he hung defeated, trembling and sweating.
“Not so cocky now, are we, young insect?” that brain taunted.
Through blaze of pain, Lance managed a smirk.
“I’ll bet you wish you had hands right about now,” he shot back, smartly.
“Insolent fool!” Dr. Neurosis lurched, incredulous that this wisp of skin would defy him, even now. “Your tiny mind cannot comprehend the foe you’ve earned! You will rue the day you dared mock Dr. Nero Neurosis!”
***
Oh, he was ruing it, all right.
What a mess you’ve got yourself into, Lance. When will you ever learn? Ma always warned that smart mouth of yours would land you in trouble.
Now he was in trouble. Big trouble…
What would Solid Snake do? Glancing up at the ropes trussing his hands, he hopelessly twisted and tugged. No use. His puny muscles were no match for these thick bonds.
Giving up, he slumped with a miserable sigh. What had he expected? He was a computer repairman, not Dirk the Daring or some other dashing hero from one of his beloved video games.
Maybe I should’a spent more time in the gym. Any time. Any gym.
What would they do with him?
Humbled.
His heart skipped when a door creaked, spilling a crack of light over him.
Fritz.
***
From the top of the stairs, Fritz considered with hatred the lanky human hanging in his ropes. This brazen ass had cheerfully waltzed into the castle with a swaggering walk and wagging tongue. Such a bony, spindly clown of a creature! His nose was too big, his hands were too big, his feet were too big. He was revoltingly friendly, he chattered incessantly and cackled like a loon. Even that mop humans called ‘hair’ was an arrogant mane of sassy red under an impudent, mocking cap. Worst of all, he had stupidly insulted his master.
Now he hung in his ropes like a present, and Fritz couldn’t wait to open him up.
Literally.
One swift hook from gullet to gut would do the trick, expose those tasty innards.
Although Fritz couldn’t speak the languages of men, Dr. Neurosis had taught him enough human words that he could understand, even internally articulate his hatred. He didn’t know how old this so-called Lance was in man years. He looked young, twenty at most. Just when humans are at their stupidest. However old this kid was, he had moxie. And that was dangerous and infuriating.
Fritz snuffed, saw red. Something about this clownish goof’s swaggering manner triggered his most murderous impulses, and he couldn’t wait to plant his hooks in that grinning skull.
Most of all, he couldn’t wait to feast.
Mouth watering, he bounced down the stairs and waddled closer to inspect displayed flesh, hung as if on meat hooks for his scrutiny.
Mmm. Fritz smacked. Looked tasty. A nice meal, this one. Not much meat on his bones, but that was easily compensated. The Iris twins specialized in human cooking. Those witches could probably have him on a platter in no time with an apple in his mouth and basted in yummy glaze. Or roasted on a spit and drizzled with gravy. Or steamed, with a squeeze of lemon and a side of beetles.
Or he could always just devour him live and raw.
Meat was always sweetest when the blood was still warm.
“So, pal, what’s the plan?” the human interrupted his thoughts, and there was apprehension in his voice. But there was also that swagger, that singsong tone that made Fritz so violent.
Ignoring him, Fritz crept closer. Yellow eyes rolled up presented skin, pulled taut and helpless, exposed to him. The lashing he’d dealt had brought the blood close to the surface. Oh, he hadn’t broken the skin (though he could have if he’d wanted to), but the whipping had stimulated blood just beneath, a warm and copper scent mingled with mild perspiration.
Ahhh…
A taste, just a sample…
Fritz’s long, slithery tongue rolled outward and slurped up a stretched flank.
The human lurched in surprise.
“Ah!” Lance gasped and twisted, confused and a little worried by the unexpected contact. “Hahaha! Hey! Stop…s-stop! Ha-ha-ha-ho-ho-ho!”
The slithering tongue slicked a path from ribcage to armpit, sending the prisoner into a squirming dance before dropping away to leave behind a path of saliva along hip and flank.
Sweet. Tasty. Mmm.
Although he trembled, that human’s cocky demeanor remained unbroken as he met yellow eyes in sneering defiance.
“How’s it taste, freak?”
Fritz frowned, and was about to introduce him to the business end of his hooks when another scent tempted his nostrils. Something musky, dank and different, with a twist of sweet spice. Curious, he maneuvered round, following that scent, until his snout came level with the swelling flesh of human buttocks.
Mmm. Taste that…
Gently those hooks slid cold, sharp points along the curves of the prisoner’s ass.
“Hey! What the…oh!” Lance’s voice choked as cold steel kissed his crack and slid inward, parting flesh. He wriggled, shuffled.
Fritz felt the human twist in protest, heard the whimper of distress. Grinning, he nosed his way in. Lance felt the creature burrowing, sniffing, snorting, and then something slick and cool brushed his opening.
Wh-what …? He gasped. Wet wormy flesh prodded, testing. The budlike entrance twitched in response.
“H-hey, now…”
A cautious nudge, and that slimy muscle slipped past his tight, guarding ring, and entered.
“Oh!” Lance’s green eyes popped wide, the mortification of it spreading a hot flush across his skin. Gulping, he squirmed in his bonds as that wet tongue slithered past his defenses. His limbs tightened and strained as the intruder snaked deeper, coaxing open his virgin sphincter.
“N-noo!”
Lance twitched. Hooks latched round his thighs, held him in place. Sharp steel threatened to rip tender flesh and he froze with a gasp. He gulped, helpless to that awful monster tongue worming inside. Like a living snake that slick appendage ventured further, tasting, spreading him. Sloppy warm flesh prodded inner walls, nudging, demanding purchase in his reluctant passage, his whimpering protests be damned.
With dismay he felt his unwilling channel quiver, relent and open.
“Yaahh!”
To his horror, his body surrendered, spreading to receive the slobbering intruder. At once he felt open, exposed and dirty. When he’d come to fix a computer, the last thing he’d expected was that he’d be taking a monster’s tongue up his tail. But here he was, dangling from the ceiling, writhing and whimpering between a freakish pair of hooks.
Fritz clutched tender thighs, hook-points digging just enough to serve as a warning as he relished the tang, unlike any he’d savored before. But his ministrations were distressing to the human, and that was the most satisfying thing of all. Grinning evilly, he rooted deeper, extending his long tongue for a more thorough sample.
“Oh…ohhh!” Another inch, and Lance felt his passage surrender fully and open to accept inspection of his most private depths. His guts relaxed and spread until he was speared to the hilt upon that reptilian tongue.
Lance’s throat filled with saliva. Impossibly long, that wet, wiggling snake tickled his prostate, his bowels.
“Ah!”
Humiliated.
Burning with shame, he realized he was trembling, straining against his ropes.
His belly tingled. His anus twitched around the slick appendage, and he was dancing on that tongue just as he’d danced at the end of that lash, no longer knowing if he hoped to escape or encourage the violation.
He felt his opening contract and flutter. That tongue plunged deeper into his helpless, twitching cavern, brushing his prostate and sending a shudder through his core. Suddenly his belly tightened. His balls spasmed and boiled. His own protests grew muffled. Straining limbs tensed, toes curled. He cried out, and for a moment his world exploded in a burst of crackling light.
As the sparks fizzled and died, he hung limp, and for a long time the only sound in the room was the sound of his gasping.
Lance’s mind circled back. The slimy invader withdrew, slipped out with a wet slurp. Now empty, he whimpered. His spinning head cleared. Panting, he grew aware of his own mess on his thighs, the floor. At the realization of what had just happened, he groaned. His head hung, his stretched form sagging in shame.
Fritz observed his captive’s slump of defeat with gleeful satisfaction, the taste of him still lingering on his snakelike tongue. How the human drooped there, his auburn hair flopping limp, his hidden face a mess. Fascinated, Fritz marveled at the sudden shift. Not even the lash had broken him, but Fritz’s own actions in those few short moments had successfully wrecked the prisoner. How such a simple act of tasting him had so utterly devastated the cocky young man! And how interesting the response! How he’d twisted and groaned, almost as in pain…but the finale had been the most interesting of all.
Fritz didn’t know much about humans, but he knew of pleasure…that kind of pleasure. Through all this man’s whining complaints, something else had seized him, and judging from the mess he’d made, that something wasn’t all bad…though he doubted the fool would admit it. Now he hung slack, red locks shielding his face.
Subdued, and silent.
Much better.
Pausing, Fritz considered his prisoner. He should probably feed it, at least. Keep him nourished, maybe even plump him up for Fritz’s ultimate consumption. And why not? What other purpose could he serve?
What did these miserable creatures eat, anyhow?
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At His Service, Of Course