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[PROTOTYPE]: Reborn	By : ShinaRyun Category: +M through R > Prototype Series Views: 3341 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: PROTOTYPE and all derivative/associated works and titles belong to Activision, Radical Entertainment, and their affiliates. I make NO PROFIT from this writing.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
Horst had been close to death before; he’d actually been crammed into a body bag at one point, given up for dead and gone. He had been in situations when a moment’s hesitation or miscalculation would have seen him dead, crushed under a Goliath’s swinging club or ripped to pieces under saturation shelling. He considered himself to be used to death’s cold hand hovering at his neck, itching to grab him by his scruff and pull him down into a darkness he would never escape.
Yet, as he was sent tumbling by a flying toolbox that clipped him with more force than a cannonball, he realized that having death so close was a bit more chilling than he was used to. It was everywhere, all around him, under his feet when he ran, above him when he ducked, surrounding him on all sides and preventing any escape. He was trapped in death’s claws, and the longer he stayed there, the closer they came to cutting him apart.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fritz fling himself away from a metal railcar wheel held in a fleshy tendril which whipped back and forth, trying to cave in his chest. Horst only caught a glimpse of his lover before he was forced to dodge away from a section of rail line that speared into the ground where he had stood. Had he not leapt away in time, it would have skewered him from his head to his toes, and it kept trying to do just that as he darted left and right. What terrified him was that he could barely think of where to go next, as each move he made only put him into greater danger and staying still meant death. Somewhere deep in the cool, logical sliver of his brain, he rationalized that this was part of the plan to kill him, to put him so off-balance and flustered that he would make a mistake.
“Fritz!” he howled as he tried to stay a step ahead of the constant barrage of thrown and swung implements, “We can’t keep this up!”
“Like I don’t know!” Fritz yelled back, rolling away from a toolbox that tried to ram him into a wall and then grunting in pain as its drawers opened and small tendrils within flung screwdrivers and wrenches at him, hitting him hard enough to make him recoil and gasp in pain. “I don’t see an end to this, Horst! Tell me you’ve got a plan!”
“I hate lying to you!” Horst yelled back, ducking as a tendril as thick as his waist attempted to clothesline him.
“So is this it?!?” Fritz roared as he tucked, sprung over another toolbox and then dodged aside as it also flung its painful contents at him, a screwdriver stabbing through his thigh like a throwing knife.
All Horst could answer with was a wordless noise of desperation, spitefully swinging his arm up to rip his claws through the attacking tendril as it swept over him. Mutating from the rat he and Fritz had shared had dulled his claws, but they still did their work well, slicing through the fast-moving, boneless mass of muscles with a sensation like four rusty knives hacking through a side of beef. They did the job, making a ragged, mangled stump of the appendage and a ruined lump of meat spurting blood and viscous fluids across the floor.
Horst expected the damage to be minimal, if even noticeable. He was caught completely by surprise when instead of resuming the attack, the walls of flesh and their many arms all froze in place, the tendrils turning as if to look at him as he paused, tense and anxious, blood dripping down his talons. In the middle of the room, the armored ball unfolded and the rat poked its head out to stare at him, sniffing at the air before tilting its head back and beginning to shriek. The sound was like a helium-loaded klaxon, rising and falling and making both the Evolved clutch at their ears and grind their teeth in pain, reverberating around the room and making the fasciae swathing the tunnel entrance ripple and waver. Even after the rat grew silent, the wobbling curtains of pinkish-red flesh shook and trembled, drawing the Evolved’s attention once the rat closed itself back up in its ball. Horst noticed, rather worryingly, that the pedestal the ball was set upon sunk into the floor, putting the armored ball low down and out of the way.
“What the hell did you do?” Fritz asked as he came to stand beside Horst, both men panting lightly, their bodies aching from having to endure their inhuman mutations.
“Nothing,” Horst muttered, claws flexing and twitching nervously. “I just cut off one of its tentacles…couldn’t have hurt it that badly…”
“Might not have had to do a lot of damage,” Fritz murmured thoughtfully as both Evolved watched the tunnel’s coverings begin to contract and expand, moving more violently as something behind it began to come to life. “Do you think anything has ever come in here like we have and survived even half as long as we have, let alone hurt it at all?”
“So what are you saying?” Horst asked, glancing sidelong at his partner. “That we might have just pissed it off?”
Fritz was cut off from answering him when the fascia contracted tightly, then bulged so far outwards that it almost appeared like another section of train car was coming through. When the thin webs of flesh burst, the source of the disturbance made both Evolved cry out in shock, leaping back ten feet to try to put some distance between themselves and their new enemy.
“Yes!” Fritz yelled as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. “You pissed it off!”
It was a Hydra, one unlike any the Evolved had seen. Its body was similar, a long, bulging tube of muscles wrapped in thin, translucent skin, with a bifurcated head like an enormous pincer that looked like it could easily cut a car in half. From beneath its head down, however, it sprouted short, flexible, two foot thick tentacles from its body, and each one ended in another, smaller head that snapped and hissed as they pushed out from the central core.
“It’s a Hydra,” Horst said incredulously as the thing slowly pushed into the room, dominating the space and extending its smaller heads to box the Evolved in. “It’s a motherfucking, multi-headed Hydra.”
“I don’t care what it is! Unless Hercules is about to pop out of the ceiling with a flamethrower and a chainsaw, we’re in deep fucking shit!” Fritz snapped as their breathing room was rapidly taken away from them, their backs to the wall, approximately half of the room completely filled with a weaving, living net of muscles and snapping pincer-jaws. “Any ideas?”
“Uhh…kill it?” Horst suggested as he got his claws up.
“Thoughts on how?” Fritz muttered, back-stepping as a gutsy tentacle-head snapped for his ankles. He swiped for it spitefully, but it pulled out of reach before he could connect, hissing in a way which made Fritz believe it was laughing at him.
“I got an idea,” Horst muttered, his keen senses feeling the wall behind them get closer and closer; they were rapidly running out of room to retreat. “Remember when I cut your arm off, and you didn’t let me ask why?”
“Yes,” Fritz said warily, not sure if he liked where the conversation was going.
“Good. Need you to do the same,” Horst said quickly as he lifted up his left arm, his right hand grabbing onto his wrist with clawed fingers.
Fritz considered asking what the hell his lover was thinking of, but decided that, if he only had a few seconds to live, he might as well live trusting the man. So without a word, he grabbed around Horst’s bicep and clenched his claws sharply, ripping down as he did so to sever the limb with a burst of blood and torn tissue. Horst gasped in pain, but acted before shock could set in, poking one of his fingers into the hand of his severed arm and deploying a dose of biobomb toxin. “I’d duck if I were you,” he grunted before he tossed the squirming, unstable mass of volatile flesh into the nest of Hydra-heads, then ducked down as close to the floor as he could, stump curled close to his chest, head down. Fritz sputtered a curse and threw himself back, peeking between his own arms as the Hydras grappled for the morsel.
The result of the potent explosive going off in such a target-rich space was incredible. There was a loud, meaty chorus of crunches as tendrils snapped out of Horst’s arm and latched onto half a dozen smaller heads as well as the central body, and then an implosion which, to Fritz’s wide eyes, seemed to be made entirely of blood and gore, painting the walls and both of the Evolved in a gooey red shower. The shock wave was considerably dampened by the remaining Hydra heads, but it still threw both Evolved back to slam into the closest wall with painful thuds. Blistered sections of Hydra-flesh hit them and scattered across the room, and the pained screeching of the remaining heads made the two mutants chuckle evilly.
“Well, that worked,” Horst grunted, smirking as he watched the beast writhe in pain. The missing heads did not appear to be growing back, and the main body was bleeding and torn apart where the bomb had grabbed it.
“Yep! And you’ve still got another arm, baby,” Fritz said with a grin. “Want to see if the same joke’s funny twice?”
“Only if you tell it, sweetheart,” Horst grunted, reaching over and lining his claws up with Fritz’s right bicep. The submissive Evolved rolled his eyes and nodded, grabbing his right wrist in his left hand and snarling in pain as Horst severed his arm. He injected the biobomb toxin quickly, and then instead of simply tossing it out for the Hydra’s heads to catch, he grunted and whipped it into the tunnel that the beast had sprung from. Seemingly aware of the danger the flying explosive posed, the Hydra screeched and sent smaller heads snaking after it, disappearing into the tunnel. Horst tensed a moment, then cackled as the bomb went off and took the pursuing heads with it; contained by the tunnel, the force of the bomb must have been magnified, sending a noticeable shudder through the Hydra’s central length and making all of its remaining heads scream.
“Short fuse?” he asked a giggling Fritz, neither mutant too concerned about their missing limbs.
“Short fuse,” Fritz said with a nod, almost crying from his mirth. “Oh, that’s fun…if only I had more arms to blow up.”
“We just might,” Horst grunted as he grabbed a chunk of Hydra flesh off the floor. “Bon appetite.”
“Skol,” Fritz grunted as he picked up another, consuming it rapidly. Unlike the mutated rat from before, there was no savage pain or total cellular breakdown, though both Evolved immediately felt themselves mutate further. Unsure of what changes would come from the new DNA, they managed to shove away from each other and suffered through their bodies’ changes; Horst hoped that, since the Hydra had been close to the Blacklight rat, it might also have the precious virus in its DNA, and finally give them the genetic stability they desperately needed.
When the changes ended, he realized that he was horribly mistaken.
“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND ZOMBIE JESUS!” Fritz screamed as he stared in abject shock at his new developments, his piercing cry snapping Horst out of his own disgusted, abhorrent stupor. Both Evolved still maintained the rodent-like appearances they had been cursed with, and had each grown new pieces of inhuman flesh. Their claws had been replaced with new arms, which both recognized as the tendril-arms Heller had received after killing his own Hydra. The elastic limbs were the least of their worries; sprouting out of their backs, from just beneath their shoulder blades, a second set of extremities had grown, appearing like strange mixtures of crustacean and arachnid. Each extra arm sprouted from a thick, knotted joint on the Evolveds’ backs, arced over their shoulders on either side of their heads, and ended in a single thirty six inch-long blade. Multiple joints between crusty black sections of exoskeleton gave the disgusting limbs excellent flexibility, but despite their obvious usefulness, the Evolved could not have been more horrified.
“What the fuck, Horst?!?” Fritz roared, his face a mixture of the revulsion and dread which Horst shared. “Just…what…how?!? HOW?!?”
“Calm down!” Horst tried to say without sounding hysterical himself. He took a step towards Fritz and reached out for him, and was appalled when the right mantis-limb on his back twitched and lashed out with his arm, swiping with enough force to have taken a man’s head off.
“Just…just stay calm. And stay back!” Horst said as he backed up, keeping his distance so that he couldn’t hurt Fritz. “We won’t stay like this!”
“How do you know?!? How do you know we won’t end up like…like the fucking monsters up there?!?” Fritz asked, pointing up toward the streets high above him, one of his mantis-limbs flicking up into the air with his pointing finger.
“I…I just know!” Horst said desperately. “If we get Blacklight, we can fix this, I promise!”
“You promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die, sweetheart! We just have to get Blacklight!”
As if answering that frantic oath, the armored ball pushed up out of the floor and once again unfolded itself, the rat within appearing almost furious as it jumped out of the ball and scampered over to the moaning, bleeding Hydra. Before the Evolved could react, the little virus-saturated animal wriggled into one of the stumps of the creature’s severed heads, and in seconds, the whole beast twitched and reared as if coming back to life. Its jerky movements suggested that the rat was somehow acting as a puppeteer, controlling the massive beast from within. The Evolved tensed and brought their arms up, thinking it meant to attack, but instead, the Hydra began to slither back into its hole.
“It’s gonna run!” Horst yelled.
“No chance!” Fritz shouted, sprinting after it as it retreated, Horst quick to follow. Running with a pair of multi-jointed cleavers swinging over their heads did not help the Evolveds’ already-impaired pace, but they suffered through it and made it into the tunnel after the retreating Hydra. It backed down the service tunnel, then pulled itself through to a subway tunnel running perpendicular to the service entrance, showing its long side to the pursuers and starting to slide down the tracks.
“Where’s it going?!” Fritz asked as he closed the distance, quickly coming within reach.
“No clue, but if it gets away, we’ll never know! Use the blades! Hook into it!” Horst yelled as he leapt over Fritz and did as advised, grunting and trying to hook the new mantis-limbs into the enormous creature’s side. Fritz did the same, both Evolved quickly finding that their new arms did the job admirably, leaving their main arms free. The usefulness of this freedom became apparent as the Hydra picked up speed like some hellish train, more of its smaller heads sprouting from its body between the Evolved and its central head. Through the wriggling, snapping forest of limbs, the Evolved could see the white-hot glow of their tiny prey, sitting on the Hydra’s head like a conductor.
The Evolved advanced relentlessly, using their new tendrils to tie Hydra-heads together before hacking them apart with their brutal mantis-blades, making short work of the impediments. With nowhere to run to, and lacking the mobility to dodge when at least one of their blades was stuck into the Hydra at all times, the small, snapping heads got their licks in as well; with so much biomass to consume, though, the Evolved could easily replenish what was lost. The fight along the Hydra’s bucking back was one of attrition, the Evolved trying to kill and eat as fast as they could, the Hydra-heads trying to do enough damage to overwhelm the mutants’ regeneration. Driven by desperation, the Evolved could not be deterred, clinging on whenever the Hydra bucked its body up against a tunnel and suffering the crushing pain as best as they could. In minutes, their endurance was rewarded when, at last, they came within reach of the rat.
The rodent tried to leap off of its mount and escape, but Fritz was faster, stabbing out with a twitchy mantis-limb and skewering the glowing rat on his blade. With the rat gone, the brutally mangled Hydra shuddered to a halt, skidding along the train tracks and coming to a stop at an abandoned station on a small wave of bloody gravel.
“Gotcha now, you miserable little fuck,” Fritz growled as he lifted the squirming, squealing rat up and grabbed it in his right hand, jumping off the dead Hydra to stand on the platform. He didn’t withdraw the blade from the rat’s body, knowing all too well how quickly it might regenerate. “So how do you want to do this, Horst? Carry it all the way back to Maynard, or just eat it?”
“Do you really have to ask? Carve the little sonofabitch up,” Horst muttered as he came around to stand opposite Fritz, grabbing around the rat’s neck with one hand while Fritz held its hips. Both Evolved were panting and shaking from the fight, cut and bitten all over, some injuries partially closed from consuming and regenerating, others open and bleeding steadily down their bodies. Neither man was feeling particularly compassionate.
“Normally, I don’t like hurting animals,” Fritz growled. “But I’ll make an exception for you, ya ugly little muppet.” He grunted as he twisted the blade in the rat’s torso so that it could cut it in half, and jerked it through. Horst took the top half, Fritz took the bottom half, and both Evolved had to pause as they realized how much they had riding on the outcome of their tiny meal.
“Well…here goes nothing,” Horst muttered, lifting up his half of rat. “Cheers, sweetheart.”
“Here’s to killing James Heller,” Fritz answered, taking a deep breath and then taking the rat in a bite. Horst did the same, managed to step ten feet back to keep some distance between them, and then without a sound, both Evolved blacked out and collapsed.
Even if the station had been choked with monsters, the unconscious men would have been left alone as their bodies underwent drastic cellular change. The Blacklight virus ran rampant through them, overwhelming the stagnant Mercer virus and burning it out of their bodies, not just purging it from them, but eradicating the old, decrepit virus entirely. With every cell that was cleansed and replaced, the process moved more quickly, their bodies seething and twisting limply as they were completely remade. When it was over, they settled, the new virus calming and seeming to take stock of its new symbiotic forms, throbbing dully within them as they slept.
Fritz woke up first, sprawled face-down on the dirty platform, his grey denim field coat resting familiarly over his torso, his arms loose on the ground before him. Blinking his blue eyes slowly, Fritz noticed that his normal hands were in place, not claws or tendrils; just his regular, normal, human hands…without a thick layer of rat-fur over their backs.
“Oh, gods,” he breathed after a moment, rolling onto his back and sitting up, lifting his hands before his face. They were back to normal, in every detail. His hands, the ones he was used to seeing, the ones that knew how to strip an M4 in thirty seconds and which knew their way around a prostate. He pressed his palms to his face, and let out a quiet sob when he felt his features as they should have been, completely normal, completely him. He rubbed over his head and felt his normal crop of trimmed-short blonde hair, not the mess of greasy fur that the rat DNA had given him.
Warily, he shoved a hand beneath the waistband of his black fatigues, and collapsed back onto the platform with a long, slow sigh as he felt exactly what he expected to find.
“Ohhhhhh, yeah…the kid is back,” he breathed out, grinning, giggling, and feeling a bit high from the sheer sense of relief he felt. The nightmare was over. He wasn’t going to devolve into a mindless monster. He finally had the virus which would make him into the ultimate predator. He was finally, truly, evolved.
Fritz stayed where he was, hand comfortably wedged between his cock and his thigh, until he heard stirrings of sound across from him; in the time between his own wakening and Horst’s, he had realized that the extraordinary senses he had acquired from the rat had not entirely diminished. Looking over at his lover, he saw Horst stand up and perform a bodily examination similar to the one Fritz had given himself. He smiled when he saw that Horst’s first priority was to check the same area where Fritz’s right hand was happily nestled.
Glad beyond measure that his loins were back in their usual arrangement, Horst walked over to where he saw Fritz was lying, chuckling under his breath as he saw his lover’s hand under his pants. “Cozy in there, sweetheart?” he asked, hands in the pockets of his jeans.
Fritz smirked and looked up at Horst, giving his loins a squeeze and a shift that drew his lover’s eyes. “Why don’t you come down here and find out?”
“Later, I promise,” Horst said with a smile, reaching down to offer Fritz a hand up.
“Definitely going to hold you to that,” Fritz grunted as he accepted the hand and stood, frowning lightly and holding onto Horst’s hand once he was on his feet, turning it over and looking up his arm. “That’s weird,” he muttered. “Your marks are gone…you’re not glowing anymore.”
“Hmm?” Horst hummed, looking down and realizing that his lover was right. A cursory glance at Fritz’s back revealed that his long, wing-like lines were also gone, making the two mutants appear almost…normal. “Hmm…must be an effect of the Blacklight virus. We’ll have to ask Maynard.”
“Speaking of which,” Fritz said, pulling out his phone. “You want to call the old bat, or shall I?”
“Put him on speaker,” Horst said with a nod. Fritz did, and within seconds of dialing, the call was picked up.
“Are you cunts alive?” In the empty terminal, Maynard’s creaky, irritable voice echoed loudly. Fritz knew that he’d undergone some serious trauma when he found himself happy to hear it again after his ordeal.
“Alive, well, and freshly infected with Blacklight,” he answered.
There was a long pause on the other end, silence holding until Horst grew worried that the old man might have suffered a heart attack. “Nixon?”
“I’m here! Here, just…give me a moment. Go suck each other off or something while I adjust.”
“Well, he’s not dead,” Horst muttered with a shrug. Fritz just rolled his eyes, his usual irritation at the old man’s casual rudeness starting to come back to him as Horst continued. “Take your time with your colostomy bag, we’re just sitting here with the holy grail of virology coursing through us.”
“Oh, do shut up. Get back to me as soon as possible…if you’ve still got your Blackwatch disguises, then just radio the bridge guards and make your way across. Otherwise I’ll have to call in transport for you.”
“We don’t need the publicity,” Fritz said with a shake of his head. “We’ll take the bridge.”
“Good. Then I’ll see you shortly, assuming that you don’t die.” The line went dead, and the two Evolved were left staring at each other before shrugging helplessly.
“He might grow on you,” Horst offered as they started walking out of the station.
“So might cancer, doesn’t mean I want it to,” Fritz said sullenly. Horst just chuckled, then grinned and curled an arm around Fritz’s shoulders to pull him in close, kissing his temple warmly.
“Know a way to cheer you up, sweetheart.”
“Do tell,” Fritz said, leaning into the embrace.
“Why don’t you call for-“
“Darwin! Zombie Christ, how did I forget?!” Fritz said almost gleefully, running ahead of Horst to get back onto street level. Horst followed behind quickly, amazed by how much stronger he felt as he ran. It wasn’t so much a feeling of physical strength, although there was a fair bit of that; he felt healthier, like he could breathe without choking and hunt unimpeded. The Blacklight virus, he realized as he mounted the stairs leading up to NYZ, had given him immunity to the effects of the Mercer virus’s degradation.
As he heard Fritz’s piercing, beckoning whistle echo through the city, and felt the ground begin to shake as his lover’s obedient pet came crashing along the streets towards him, Horst let himself believe that things were starting to look up.
~             ~             ~             ~             ~
Far from the viral hell of New York, in the dark corridors of Blackwatch’s command center in Washington D.C., a Gentek correspondent and a veteran DX-soldier escort marched side by side. The soldier carried a briefcase handcuffed to his thick wrist, and was only armed with his high-caliber sidearm, which combined with his clean battle armor to amount to a dress uniform. The Gentek correspondent was dressed in a black suit with the white company logo sewn over his left breast, a small file case clutched tightly in his hands. Neither spoke, only showing their IDs to security guards as they made their way to the head office of Blackwatch’s operations.
Upon entering the relatively spartan office, the DX-soldier saluted. “General Rooks, sir. Master Sergeant Reynolds reporting.”
General Douglas Rooks looked up from the paperwork he had been reviewing and raised an eyebrow, lifting a pair of reading glasses from his sharp nose. He had not aged particularly gracefully, his already-intimidating features wrinkling and toughening until his face looked like a flinty, chipped bust. He gestured with his glasses towards the Gentek employee , speaking in a low, almost weary growl. “And your friend is…?”
“Doctor Roger Clarke, general,” the Gentek correspondent said with a small nod. “Here to help explain what I can.”
“Explain what?” Rooks asked critically.
“This, sir,” Reynolds said as he lifted the briefcase. Rooks gestured towards his desk and Reynolds set it down while Clarke fished out a key, unlocking it from the soldier’s wrist before opening the case itself. It didn’t hold much, just half a dozen images and a brief field report.
“General, I’ll assume that you’ve seen the footage of the fight ten years ago, between the biologic meta-humans, Alex Mercer and James Heller, yes?” Clarke asked.
“Of course,” Rooks muttered, reaching in and pulling out the pictures before spreading them over his desk.
“Then you know that after defeating Mercer, Heller proceeded to wipe out almost all of the visible infection in NYZ, yes? And that prior to the fight, Mercer himself dispatched all his known comrades in an insufficient attempt to amplify his power?”
“I’m well aware of what happened, doctor. I was stationed in NYZ at the time,” Rooks growled as he narrowed his eyes at the pictures. Most were not of great quality, taken, he guessed, from gunbox cameras. “Exactly what am I looking at here?”
“A problem,” Clarke said simply.
“Technically, sir, we believe there to be two problems,” Reynolds elaborated, leaning over the desk and pointing with two thick fingers at the subjects photographed. “We have reason to believe that Mercer’s soldiers might not all be dead.”
“Bullshit,” Rooks spat, standing up straight and glaring at the two.
“If only it were so,” Clarke said with a sigh, opening his file case and withdrawing a narrow touchscreen tablet. A lengthy password typed across the screen brought up a bit of recorded sound. “This was taken from the black box of a helicopter which went down in the Testing Area inside NYZ. Please listen carefully, as this copy has been set to wipe itself after being played.”
Rooks made a gesture to proceed, and Clarke hit the play button. The sound quality wasn’t great, but understandable.
---“Two bogies, street level. Targets seem to be wearing some kind of armor. Possibly biologic. Match the description of squad seven’s reports; these are them. Engage, engage.”--- There was a pause, and sounds which Rooks immediately identified as missiles flying and detonating, then gunfire. ---“Targets hit. Targets still moving. Up, up…holyshit, it’s jumping at-Jesus, it’s got claws! Get us back, goddamnit! Red Crown, do you copy? These things are too fast for us, drop in the Grenadier!”--- More silence, broken by a sharp, clearly-frightened voice. ---“Mother of god, they killed it! The Grenadier is dead, repeat, Grenadier is dead! Wait, what are they…oh, fuck my life, they’re eating it! Wait, not eating it, but…they’re absorbing it? Fuck if I know! Line us up for a shot, I’ll take it…wait…FUCK! They have guns! Where the fuck did they get guns! Red Crown, these things have guns growing out of their fucking arms!”---
The recording played on and ended quickly, with a sound Rooks remembered quite clearly as a helicopter crashing. Finished, the tablet let out a tiny puff of smoke before Clarke put it away, waiting in silence for Rooks to speak.
“When-?”
“Earlier today,” Clarke answered. “Do you understand what this means?”
“I am very aware of what this means, doctor,” Rooks muttered, hands clenching to fists and pressing hard to his desk. “Who else knows?”
“No-one, but if word gets out to the rest of the DX’s,” Reynolds spoke up, “They’d remember. Most of ‘em were in NYZ for the second infection, some of ‘em from the first. Hard to forget those fuckin’ things.”
“Indeed,” Rooks growled. “Might not be a bad thing, letting them know what they’re fighting.”
“Shall we spread the news, then, general?” Clarke asked. “And if so, what exactly should the news be?”
Rooks did not look up from staring at the pictures, a vein slowly standing from his bald head as he spoke. “Inform every Blackwatch soldier within NYZ of this new danger, and instruct them of the following: they are to continue acting as normal. They are to report anything suspicious as they usually would, they are to continue policing the Red Zone as best as they can, and to go about their duties normally. They are to make only one exception: should they encounter these new dangers, they are to leave them the hell alone.”
“Leave them alone!?” Reynolds bellowed, blinking in surprise. “General, I-!”
“Did I stutter, soldier? I sure as fuck did not,” Rooks snarled icily. “If you were there, you should remember that there wasn’t a single damn thing we could do to stop these bastards. I don’t recall ever seeing one of these things dead, unless Heller or Mercer killed it. Going after them is suicide and a waste of resources.”
“Something has to be done about them, though,” Clarke said calmly. “How do you plan to get rid of this menace?”
Rooks sighed and stood up straight, adjusting his coat and cuffs. “That’s above your pay grade.”
“I have top secret clearance, general,” Clarke said warily. “I know about Project Succubus. What could possibly be over my head?”
“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to have Sergeant Reynolds crush your skull. And then I’d have to blow his brains out for hearing what I said,” Rooks said as he gathered a few things from his desk into a small briefcase. “All you need to know is that we have officially been pushed to the point of desperation and will respond in kind.”
“Desperation, sir?” Reynolds asked.
“Yes, sergeant. Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Rooks said firmly. “If there are any gods at all, they will forgive me for the measures I’m about to take. You have your orders; see to them,” he snapped.
“Sir,” Reynolds said with a nod and a salute.
“General,” Clarke said as he turned away.
Alone, Rooks collected the photos and slid them into his case, thinking grimly as he stomped out of his office. Between the radio transmission and the pictures, and his own experiences with the superhuman mutants who had become the greatest plague on his life, he could see no other possibility than what he feared was true: Alex Mercer’s legacy lived on. Rooks did not know why they had come back after a decade of silence, nor did he care. He only knew that if they wanted to come back, and stain the world with their unwholesome and inhuman presence, then he was going to fight them with everything he had. Fire, he thought to himself as he neared the command center’s hanger, was needed in order to fight fire.
“General, will you be flying today?” a pilot asked once he came in. Rooks maintained a small jet for when he needed to get somewhere in a serious hurry, and he didn’t even break his stride as his pilot spoke, nodding and grunting affirmatively.
“Where to, general?”
“California,” Rooks growled as he climbed up the ladder into the rear seat of the jet, the case sitting on his lap as he strapped in.
“California, sir? Hell of a long way,” the pilot chatted as he got into his seat and warmed up the small craft. It was based off of the same model of VTOL that the Evolved had hijacked in Seattle, but much smaller and much, much faster.
“On the contrary,” Rooks sighed as he settled in, trying to clear his mind as the thrusters whined up to power, “The road to hell is surprisingly short.”
~             ~             ~             ~             ~
The flight from D.C. to California took only four hours, largely due to supersonic flight across most of the continent. Rooks would have slept through it, were his mind occupied by anything less important than what he was about to do; as it was, he spent most of the flight on his phone with the people he was going to meet, working through hours of codes to prove that he was who he said he was and that his business was official. He had the pilot land at a small airfield in Lompoc, where an unmarked car and driver were waiting for him. He ordered his pilot to refuel and be ready to fly back to D.C. within three hours. Leaving the man with un-asked questions, Rooks climbed into the car and was driven in silence to his destination: Blackwatch Secure Outpost, Vandenberg, formerly Vandenberg Air Force Base.
It was an entirely different kind of complex than the Seattle fort that Horst and Fritz had overrun, with security in greater force than the Korean DMZ. Spotlights watched the car approach, and more than one fifty DX soldiers in combat frames stood guard as it entered, rightfully wary. It took Rooks half an hour of screening and bio-testing before he made it inside the main complex of the outpost, where he was met by an ancient man in a doctor’s coat, bearing only a ID card with his name, access codes, and a Gentek symbol. Beside the hexagon-caged ‘G’ of Gentek, the coat was sewn with a small black cross; a remnant of the original project that the man had worked on.
“Dr. Lewis,” Rooks said with a sigh. “It’s been a while.”
“No shit, Rooks,” Dr. Reginald Lewis II said wearily, rubbing his deeply wrinkled brow. Whereas Rooks looked like Father Time had taken a chisel to his face, he appeared to have taken a chainsaw to Dr. Lewis. “Well…suppose that gets the pleasantries out of the way. Only two reasons for you coming here, Rooks: you want to kill it, or you want to release it. Get the feeling you didn’t come here to kill it.”
“It’s a dark day indeed,” Rooks sighed, eyes casting down. “Do you think any kind of recovery will be possible when he’s finished?”
“It,” Lewis corrected, the bent, nearly-broken doctor shuffling ahead of Rooks, leading him into the complex. “Not he; it. I beg you not to make the mistake of anthropomorphizing it…for the sake of my dwindling sanity, please.”
“As you wish, doctor,” Rooks said as he followed the old man down stark white corridors broken up only by security cameras and black-uniformed DX-soldiers. “You didn’t answer me.”
“Because it is a question I cannot answer,” Lewis wheezed. “It is beyond any human ability to understand. I can only say that once you release it, things will change. I cannot say how much they will change, I can only say that they will change for the worse.”
“That might not be possible,” Rooks said grimly.
“Douglas, believe me,” Lewis said as he opened an armored bulkhead door with his hand over a scanner, “Things can always get worse. And it is the harbinger of all that can be made worse.”
Rooks held his tongue as the doctor led him deeper in, past more armored doors and through security checkpoints until they arrived at a door which made Lewis pause. He turned to face Rooks, face lined by more than just age, eyes devoid of any human ability to feel; his work had robbed him of his humanity long ago.
“Rooks, know this. If I open this door and you let that thing out of its box, I will take my cyanide pill. I say this not to deter you, but to let you know that if there is anything you wish me to know, now would be the time.”
“If anything comes to mind, I’ll tell you on the other side,” Rooks said quietly. “If things go wrong, I won’t be far behind you.”
“I’ll save you a seat in hell,” Lewis said as he opened the door. There was a hiss of air and a radiating coolness as the door swung open; it was thicker and more heavily bolted than the vault door at Fort Knox. Within it was a room built of tungsten plates two feet thick, forming an impenetrable metal box twenty feet to a side. It was entirely featureless, except for a smaller box in the middle of the room made of a transparent material developed specially for this one purpose. Rooks knew from reading the original plans for the elaborate prison that the smaller box was the stronger of the two, able to hold together even if the entire complex crumbled atop it. It was lit from beneath by lighting in the floor, and from what Rooks could see, it had no air holes at all.
“How does it breathe?” he asked Lewis.
“It doesn’t,” the old doctor replied. “Or eat, or sleep. It just exists, and thinks. For five years it sat in the middle of that damn box and did not move a single muscle. It drove three men to suicide trying to monitor it, and another when it stood up.”
“Hmm,” Rooks muttered before approaching the box. “Can it talk?”
“Yes,” Lewis said as he twisted the face of his watch until it popped open; beneath it was a tiny blue capsule. “See you later, Rooks.”
Rooks did not respond, leaving the old man to his suicide. He did not flinch when he heard Lewis collapse on the floor, just kept marching towards the glass box with its lone prisoner. From a distance, the thing inside the box looked like a human male, with a recognizably human muscle structure beneath its dusky, completely hairless skin; it even had human features which made it appear to be a conglomeration of racial details, simultaneously reminding an observer of different nationalities while clearly fitting in no pre-made mold. It was sitting in the exact center of the lit floor with its legs crossed and its hands on its knees, completely naked, as still as a corpse; coming around the side of the box, Rooks saw that it had no nipples, genitals, or fingernails or toenails. It was quite believably a thing, rather than a person, and Rooks knew its name.
“Pariah.”
The thing in the box opened its eyes and tilted its head up at Rooks, staring at him as if he did not exist. Rooks had seen men get eaten alive and ripped apart in the hands of monsters, but feeling those utterly inhuman eyes boring into him made him pine for a Brawler; that, at least, he understood. Those cold, grey, alien eyes were beyond him.
“I’ve come to release you,” he said after a moment to gather himself. The thing in the box just stared at him. Rooks took a deep breath and clenched his hands tightly.
“I need you to kill these men,” he said as he reached into his briefcase, pulling out the best picture he had of the two mutants and pressing it to the box’s wall. Pariah shifted its grey gaze from Rooks to the picture, and then back to Rooks, and then it spoke. When it did, Rooks immediately wished that it hadn’t.
“If you let me out,” it said in a voice that gave Rooks the same gut-wrenching shudder as nails scratching over a chalkboard, “You doom humanity.”
“Humanity is already doomed,” Rooks muttered, taking the picture back. “I’d like to at least choose the vehicle for its doom myself.”
“Then release me,” Pariah intoned, “And tell me where to go.”
“New York,” Rooks said as he stepped back from the cage, its walls hissing and slowly lifting up around its lit base. He had already ordered the release before stepping through the door; it had just taken time for the full process to go through. Pariah did not move until the unbreakable transparent walls were pushed entirely up by the metal pistons supporting them, lifting the bottomless box seven feet up. Only once the pistons slowed and stopped did it move, standing up slowly and stepping out onto the tungsten floor with two long strides. With nothing between himself and the inhuman thing, Rooks felt a shudder of horror strike through him; he had stood before James Heller on several occasions, and not once during those times had he felt such utter revulsion. Anger, certainly; disgust, acutely. But standing before Pariah made him want to peel off his own skin from the sheer, hateful loathsomeness of the thing.
Mercer had once been human. Heller had once been human. Pariah no longer even attempted to imitate humanity.
“Are you regretting this decision already?” Pariah asked, its lips turning up in a smile which was both mockingly familiar and utterly demonic. Rooks’ answer was a simple one: understanding that he had opened Pandora’s Box and allowed evil to roam freely, the old general simply drew his pistol from its holster, put the barrel to his temple, and decorated the tungsten floor with his brains. The non-human thing didn’t even blink at the loud, echoing report.
“Fitting,” Pariah said before stepping over to Rooks’ body. He merely walked through the mess of scattered pink tissue and absorbed the still-warm body in the blink of an eye, its own body reforming seamlessly into that of General Douglas Rooks, briefcase and all. It was not worried about an alarm being risen; anyone watching would most likely be dead, in the process of killing themselves, or going too insane to successfully alert the compound. Pariah simply walked out to the car that Rooks had been driven in, allowed the driver to wordlessly take him back to the airfield, and then approached the waiting pilot.
“Came back sooner than I thought, general. Hell of a long way for an hour’s work.”
“But such work,” Pariah said with a grin that made the pilot shudder. “Let’s go.”
“Back to D.C., sir?”
“No,” Pariah said as he climbed into the back seat. “New York.”
“New York? Jeez…not my place to ask, sir, but…what the hell do you need to do in New York?” the pilot asked as he strapped in.
“Oh,” Pariah sighed, “Just going to see my nephews.”
~             ~             ~             ~             ~
“So, will it work, doc?”
Maynard rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, turning from his computer screen to glare at Fritz. The Evolved, and an ecstatic Darwin, had made it back across the bridge and into the Gentek fortress without difficulty. They had been in Maynard’s lab for an hour, the Evolved both hooked up to various machines so that Maynard could extract the Blacklight formula, Darwin sound asleep in the lab’s only pen. The work was going well, and Maynard was sure that they would have the original Blacklight formula soon…or at least, they would if Fritz would let go of the one subject which seemed to occupy his mind.
“Fritz,” Maynard said as calmly as he could, “At this moment, I am trying to reverse engineer DNA which, to a lesser geneticist, might as well be a 4D hypercube. It is some of the most challenging work I have ever done, unraveling the work of a genius more than a decade old. I am almost at my wit’s end trying to make sense of your DNA, so if it’s not too much trouble, I’D APPRECIATE IT IF YOU SHUT UP ABOUT YOUR GODDAMN DOG!! I don’t know if he’ll be able to get Blacklight just from eating a sample! Throw him one of your fucking arms, see if it takes! Better yet, throw him your tongue, so that I’ll have ten fucking seconds of peace and quiet to work!” If he’d had a table within reach, the old scientist would have flipped it over in his rage, but instead, he could only turn back around and try to focus on his work.
“I’m sure that Darwin will be able to accept Blacklight, one way or another,” Horst said calmly, stretched out on the floor with half a dozen wires and tubes leading from his chest and arms to Maynard’s machines, taking blood samples, nerve readings, and ultrasounds of his body, feeding the old man data. “Nixon might be onto something. Give Darwin one of your arms, see if he gets anything from it.”
“Rather not get blood all over the good doctor’s lab,” Fritz said teasingly, sitting on an examination table, legs dangling over the edge. “Wouldn’t want to make a mess for him to have to clean up.”
“Note to self: never work with a gay couple ever again,” Maynard grumbled as he typed away, sitting back after a moment with a monumental sigh. “Alright, the algorithms are set…all we have to do now is wait. If there’s something to be found, this will find it.”
“Thank you, Nixon,” Horst said, genuine gratitude in his voice. “Once we have the formula, we can infect you and then start making tracks.”
“None too soon,” Maynard muttered, turning in his chair and leaning his head back, staring at the ceiling. “I must say, boys, this has been the most fun I’ve had in years. Lining Blackwatch up for a swift kick in the short-and-curlies almost makes me feel alive again.”
“Just wait until you’re one of us,” Horst said with a chuckle. “Diving off the Empire State Building…punching infected apart…running faster than you can drive…life is good on this side of the line.”
“And I shall be crossing over soon,” Maynard growled with a confident chuckle. “Though,” he added, looking over at the two Evolved, his tone becoming more serious, “There’s something I need to clarify, on that topic.”
“Oh?” Fritz asked suspiciously.
“Nothing to get your panties in a wad over,” Maynard grumbled, “Just…order of operations, really. I believe that I’ll need to be infected first with the Mercer virus, or at least, the formula of virus used to turn you into Evolved rather than into standard infected.”
“Why would you want that to happen?” Fritz asked, still suspicious.
“Because Blacklight will kill him,” Horst answered simply. “What was it, a 96% mortality rate during the first infection?”
“99%,” Maynard said lowly. “Whereas Mercer was able to pick and choose exactly who he wanted to become Evolved, via his Mercer virus.”
“Ahhhh, I get it,” Fritz said understandingly. “A preliminary infection to give you a resistance to Blacklight.”
“Exactly. I trust that won’t be a problem for you two?” Maynard asked hopefully. The Evolved, however, could only glance at each other and shrug.
“Honestly,” Horst explained, “We’ve never infected anyone. Alex explained to me that it had to do with coding the infection specifically to a target’s DNA, but I’m not sure how we could do that, given that neither of us really knows how to expel the Mercer virus at will…or, for that matter, if we even can since we’ve taken in Blacklight.”
“Hmm…that’s troubling,” Maynard muttered, hands lifting up to steeple before his wrinkled face. “I suppose that it could be attempted artificially…hmph! And I sure as hell would rather trust my own work than yours, gentlemen…yes, I think that coming up with my own preliminary infection would work better.”
“I agree,” Fritz said, to the stunned silence of both Horst and Maynard. “We’re pretty good when it comes to combat and the like, and Horst is the best geneticist I know…but this is your playground,” he said with a gesture around the lab, “And your obsession. So I’m with you on this one, it should be your own work.”
“Erhem…quite right,” Maynard said, taking his turn to be suspicious of the suddenly-agreeable Evolved. “Believe I’ll just get to it now...?”
“Excellent! Then you don’t need us,” Fritz said happily, jumping off the table and pulling off the various data-feeds attached to his body before grabbing Horst by his collar and starting to drag him along the floor.
“Where are you going?” Maynard asked warily.
“To fuck on the desk in your office,” Horst called out casually as Fritz dragged him along. “Objections may be reported to 1-800-NOT-1-FUCK-2-GIVE.”
“I hope you get syphilis from a paperweight,” Maynard grumbled as he turned back to his work, grateful that he’d had the foresight to install effective soundproofing in his office, as well as in the lab it covered. In the paper-strewn, cluttered workspace which served as a front for the old doctor’s secret laboratory, neither of the Evolved could care about soundproofing or prudence. Fritz released Horst so that he could sweep the desk clear of clutter while Horst shut the door behind them, then checked to make sure that the front door was locked, his back to his lover.
“Is it going to be like this once Mercer comes back?” Fritz asked quietly as he pressed himself to Horst, his arms coming around Horst’s waist and his chest flush to Horst’s back, murmuring in his ear.
“Do you mean, are we going to be fucking exclusively in dark, quiet, out-of-the-way places, eh?” Horst asked as he rested his hands atop Fritz’s, turning his head slightly to look back at his lover. He grinned and shook his head after a moment of silence, turning around slowly in Fritz’s arms and wrapping his own about Fritz’s back, pulling him even closer. “No…not at all. Long before humanity goes extinct, I want to take you to all the places in the world where they beat men to death just for being gay, and plow you like a field for all to see.”
“Uganda, here we come,” Fritz said with a leer, his hands sliding up Horst’s back to grab onto the taller man’s shoulders.
“Followed immediately by a shag in the Kremlin,” Horst said with a wink as he brought one hand down to cup Fritz’s backside, his free hand sliding up to squeeze at the back of Fritz’s neck. “And then a few hours of 69-ing over in Topeka.”
“Ooooh, that one’s going to be fun,” Fritz growled, stepping back and dragging Horst with him before falling backwards over the cleared desk. Horst caught himself before he was pulled into a head-butt with his lover, his hands sliding free of Fritz’s body and slamming flat on the desk’s top, looming over Fritz’s body and grinning thinly.
“Not as fun as this is going to be,” he growled as his clothes melted into his body, revealing every inch of his lean, trim form. The marks which had glowed while infected with the Mercer virus were now only visible as faint scarring, on both his own body and on Fritz’s. The submissive Evolved stripped himself naked with barely a thought and let out a hot, excited rush of breath as he dug his fingers into Horst’s shoulders, clear blue eyes turning dark with desire.
“Why won’t it be as fun as this, love?” he murmured curiously.
“Because of these,” Horst rumbled as he flexed his shoulders, his eyes narrowing and a grunt of exertion filtering through his grit teeth as he deployed the additional limbs which the Hydra had given them. The Blacklight virus had changed more than just the appearance of the Evolved; it had improved their power and their already-dangerous mutations immensely. What slithered out of Horst’s back were not crude, alien crab-arms tipped with cleavers. They were thick, inky black tentacles shot through with sanguine red streaks, mildly slick with a faintly red slime and tough as industrial-grade rubber. The Evolved had discovered the changed, more attractive mutations while en route from the Red Zone to Maynard, finding them to be easily retractable and concealable, and considerably more useful than the twitchy, rudimentary arms they replaced. Fritz had immediately seen their potential in combat, as autonomous rear-guards and longer-reaching weapons; Horst had immediately seen their use in more sordid activities. He hadn’t thought that Fritz would put him in a position to experiment with them so quickly, but since he had…
“What are you going to do with those?” Fritz asked a little dubiously, his hands sliding off of Horst’s back.
“Just a little trial run to see if they’re as handy off the battlefield as you think they will be on it,” Horst said with a smirk as he willed the tentacles down. They were much more intuitive than the snap-happy mantis-arms, while simultaneously being much more controllable; it was easy, therefore, to wrap the tentacles around Fritz’s wrists and arms and push them up above his head, pinning them to the desk. With Horst’s own hands free, he could reach down, grab beneath Fritz’s knees, and lift his legs up off the floor, spreading them around his hips.
“Ahhh,” Fritz said knowingly, grinning as he wrapped his legs around Horst’s waist, suddenly understanding. “How very ingenious of you, my love.”
“Test their resistance,” Horst suggested as he slowly stroked back and forth along Fritz’s toned thighs, leaning his head down to press a wet kiss to Fritz’s right leg before nibbling on the muscular flesh lightly. “See how well they can hold you. It’d be pretty crappy bondage if you could just jerk yourself free.”
“True,” Fritz murmured, eyes shutting and his chest arching up as Horst kissed and stroked him, the dominant Evolved knowing just how to touch him to make him squirm. He clenched his arms and strained at the tentacles holding him, increasing his struggle incrementally until he felt their grip begin to slide. “I’d give them an 8 out of 10…better than much else we’ve used, for sure.”
“Then I see no reason not to take advantage of them,” Horst growled, smirking as he flexed the tentacles even tighter around Fritz’s arms and pushed his legs further apart, then lifted them up so that Fritz’s knees were forced over Horst’s shoulders, his feet dangling on either side of Horst’s body. Not stopping to answer Fritz’s questioning look, Horst ducked down and practically inhaled his lover’s half-flaccid cock and smooth balls, his lips sealing tightly around both and his tongue lathing powerfully between them.
“Hnng! Horst, what….AH!” Fritz cried out as his lover began to suck messily around his loins and dug fingers sharply into the undersides of his thighs. The position pushed his cock tight to the roof of Horst’s mouth and let him feel the drastic differences in texture there, while his balls were forced beneath Horst’s slurping tongue, getting juggled by the powerful muscle’s motions. His legs tried to curl tightly together as the barrage of sensations overwhelmed him, but his calves hit the trunks of the tentacles pushing up from beneath Horst’s shoulders and could only curl tightly against Horst’s back. “That’s…fuck, baby, that’s good!”
Horst responded with a growl and a tighter suck, his cheeks closing in around his lover’s balls and his head tilting to let Fritz’s quickly-filling cock push deeper into his mouth. As he gave Fritz’s junk a thousand-kisses cleaning, he slipped his hands down Fritz’s squirming legs and took two eager handfuls of the man’s rear, groaning quietly around Fritz’s cock at the feeling. There might have been better asses, more famous asses, but he couldn’t care any less, because Fritz’s ass had one quality which no other in the world possessed.
Fritz’s ass belonged to Horst.
Horst’s hands dug tightly into Fritz’s supple flesh and spread his cheeks apart slowly, gradually letting his lover feel the stretch, air teasing over his smooth skin. Fritz groaned and tilted his head back at the pressure, his eyes closing, his arms straining against the tentacles holding him down while his legs clenched against Horst’s shoulders, pushing his hips off the desk. Horst growled and pulled his head up and off of Fritz’s groin at the thrust, saliva-slick balls falling with heavy plop’s against Fritz’s taint, a hiss of breath shuddering out of Fritz’s mouth as Horst dragged his teeth teasingly along his lover’s pulsating, rock-hard member. A nibble around Fritz’s crown earned Horst a sound that was half of a whimper and half of a moan; a finger pressing tight to Fritz’s exposed pucker earned him a small gasp. “Horst…” Fritz breathed, alternating between gritting his teeth and panting lightly as the dominant Evolved purposefully worked him up. “Quit teasing me…”
“What’s the matter with my needy…little…bitch?” Horst muttered slowly, dragging out the syllables and punctuating each word with a slow, deep bite on Fritz’s left inner thigh, leaving red teeth marks in a dotted line leading to his groin. “Getting too horny already, from just a little playing?”
“Fuck me, Horst…don’t fuck with me,” Fritz growled, trying to push his torso up off the desk before the tentacles around his arms forced him flat again. The tentacles’ tips were pointed, and began to slither menacingly across the taut skin of Fritz’s neck as Horst breathed coolly over the bites he had laid.
“I wouldn’t dream of fucking with you, sweetheart,” Horst murmured as he pressed his finger tighter to Fritz’s backside, feeling the tight flesh clench, quicker, and then give slightly, already growing slick with natural lubricant. “But when I’ve got your body laid out so nicely, you can’t expect me not to want to play with it, eh?”
“You-hrrk!” Fritz tried to say before the tentacles sliding around his neck began to tighten over his throat. “Horst, what…gaak…?!”
“Shh, shh, shh,” Horst murmured, grinning and slipping a hand from Fritz’s ass up to his cheek, stroking it softly and testing a finger against the tentacles choking his lover. “Push out your own tentacles whenever you want to stop…but give this a minute, first. I know you, sweetheart,” he said with a predatory grin as he pushed his stiffened thumb and index finger against Fritz’s neck, aiding the tentacles in cutting off his air. Fritz’s head pressed harder to the desk and he glared at Horst, but between his legs, there was a noticeable stiffening to his already-hard member, precum beginning to ooze from his tip copiously.
“Ooooh, my sweet little cumslut likes it,” Horst muttered, releasing his hand to let the tentacles do the work of choking Fritz. He forced them to relent for a moment to let him speak, the man gasping and growling as he strained at the restraints.
“I don’t-!”
“Your cock disagrees,” Horst growled back, grabbing tightly around Fritz’s cock and squeezing around his turgid head, precum squirting out between his fingers.
“Fuck!” Fritz cried as his hips jerked up into the crushing grip, panting and trembling as he held himself up on his shoulders on the desk, his legs straining against Horst’s shoulders and back. “I can’t…I can’t..!”
“Can’t admit you like it when I choke you?” Horst asked as he smeared hot precum down Fritz’s shaft and pressed a finger deep into his ass, his narrow, hard fingertip finding Fritz’s prostate with practiced ease and pressing into it.
“Nnngh! N-No,” Fritz muttered, shaking his head. Horst knew how to tell the difference between his lover protesting to something he’d done, and losing himself to confused passion. This was the latter, making Horst smirk and twist his finger over Fritz’s prostate as the tentacles began to tighten around his throat once more.
“I’ll just give you some time to think in silence until you’re ready to tell me yes,” Horst said almost sweetly. He willed his eyes to switch to thermal vision, and loved how Fritz’s body showed up as almost uniformly yellow-white with escalating heat. Even so, he could make out the contours and textures of his lover’s muscular body flexing, clenching, cramping and contorting on the desk, his neck and face going particularly hot as the tentacles tightened and turned his gasping moans into raspy gurgling. Growling, his own mind beginning to loose sense as it focused entirely on dominating the man beneath him, Horst pressed his free hand to Fritz’s chest and curled his fingers into tight claws against the man’s dusky skin. “Mine,” he rumbled lowly before ripping his hand down in sharp, clawing swipe that made Fritz strain harder at his restraints and almost drew blood.
Horst couldn’t help but wonder if Fritz would mind bringing their claws into bed, as well as their tentacles. From the way the man’s cock jerked and visibly pulsated from the clawing, Horst had to believe that the idea might at least be met with curiosity instead of revulsion.
Thoughts on sex to come were replaced by a need for sex in the moment, making Horst reach down to grip his own steely, dripping member and squeeze it tight as he added a second finger to Fritz’s backside, stretching him, twisting the digits together and scissoring them apart to loosen him for the brutal pounding that both men craved. “My little slut wants to feel me fucking him all the way up to his skull, eh?” Horst muttered as he almost flicked his fingertips off of Fritz’s prostate; he was almost willing to bet that a few more of the same could bring Fritz to a quick orgasm, judging by the way he thrashed and gasped out shaky groans at the feeling. Though it was difficult to do with his head pressed tightly to the desk and his neck bound, Fritz managed to nod at his lover’s question.
“Lemme hear you say it,” Horst hissed, loosening the tentacles enough for Fritz to speak again, his heat-seeking eyes boring into his lover’s. “C’mon…”
“Want it,” Fritz choked out, gasping; Horst loved watching him speak, his face a fluttering array of white and yellow as he panted. “Want you to take me…to fuck me ‘till I break…”
“With pleasure, my gorgeous bitch,” Horst snarled, snapping the tentacles tight around Fritz’s neck once more and pulling his slippery fingers free of the man’s rear, rubbing them vigorously over his twitching cock to slick it quickly. He gave Fritz half a moment to adjust, and then cock and pucker were pressing tightly together before Horst thrust in roughly. He had left Fritz tighter than usual, and almost yelled as his lover’s ridiculously close rings squeezed down on him; he felt a return of the gratitude which always came from feeling his lover’s natural, slippery excretion coating his flesh, since without it, Horst was certain that even his superhumanly strong phallus would suffer. As it was, he managed to fit himself into Fritz’s trembling rear with only half a dozen semi-careful jerks, and then he grabbed tightly at Fritz’s hips and began to slam-fuck him into the desk.
Even while being strangled, Fritz’s cries and screams put Maynard’s soundproofing to the test as Horst ravaged him, his arms locked out against the tentacles holding them down and his legs crossing over Horst’s back. His chest burned where Horst had clawed at him, and the initial pain of being so quickly stretched and penetrated was forced to fade by the gut-wrenching pleasure of feeling Horst dominate his ass. It was a merciless, bruising, violent pounding that he knew would make him weak on his feet for an hour afterwards, and which would have turned a human lover into pulp and shattered bones.
It was just the kind of sex that Fritz craved, and which Horst knew just how to do.
Blinded by heat and inhuman passion, locked in the throes of their favorite romantic congress, neither of the Evolved could even begin to think of what was coming for them. As Horst blitzed thrusts into his lover which filled the room with the slap of colliding flesh and the squish of wet penetration, he couldn’t begin to conceive of the terror which would soon befall him. Fritz’s mind was too full of pain and ecstasy to think of the miserable turn his life would soon take.
High above them, cruising faster than the speed of sound, Pariah could readily guess.
- 11
- 12
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[PROTOTYPE]: Reborn