Deviation Actions

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Literature Text

The 29th of August
20:02 (GMT)

Leopard was seeing blue lights. It's water, she proposed out of nowhere, and came to that the realization wasn't too bad after all. It's the surface of a body of water, her more proper side corrected. After some thought, she came up with an alternate theory. The water is my mind. The light is the surface of my consciousness. I have been down, and I am waking up.
It was unlike any awakening she had ever experienced; neither like the gradual awareness of her surroundings of a sleepy morning, nor the rushed, immediate consciousness of a quick rise. No, it was as if she was swimming up the current of a waterfall, fighting some heavy force trying to hold her down in her subconscious – and the awareness itself was at the summit of that fall. Light blazed around her field of vision as she neared it, as if she was passing through some eerie sort of portal; then, she was merely awake, as if she had never been down in the first place.

The first anomaly in her observation was just that, however. The downtime meter told her she had been under for 80 minutes, sharp, from 13:42. Which immediately showed her the second anomaly – the time was most definitely not 80 minutes from then. A few moments later the memories of what had happened before she went down came back to her, and a base fear sunk into the back of her skull. They're using the Device! But how in the world? A few more seconds passed by and rationality gave rise to a more likely explanation: The numbers are too clean. More probably, I've simply moved 5 timezones forward. She didn't think much about the fact that there next to no ways at all to cross 5 timezones in 80 minutes by conventional means – the concept of impossibility didn't mean much to their kind, not these days.

"Impressive. I suppose her sturdiness, at least, holds true to her heritage, even if her power fails to." She didn't recognize the voice, but she could feel the breath of the speaker on her lips. Her eyes snapped open, and she was staring into a pair of gray eyes, hidden behind square sunglasses; looking down, the lips belonging to the face was barely a centimeter short of kissing her. She drew her head back in a twitching motion – it didn't help much, as she was already lying down on a not very flexible mattress. The face retreated, however, and she could finally see things properly.
The speaker was a woman – her voice had been very deep, however, so it hadn't been possible to discern it from just that – clad in a golden blouse with a long, red skirt.

"Who are you? What are you, and where are we?" Leopard spouted questions quite frantically, and while she managed to avoid asking about the Device, it would be quite obvious to anyone that knew of it that she was worried out of her mind about it. He stole it from me, he stole it from me – the mantra looped through her mind like something had broken inside her and stopped her thoughts from going any further. As she attempted to move her arms, she noticed she was restrained. "And what are these chains for?" Chains are for keeping something in place, you blindsighted idiot, she thought immediately after that, finally breaking the loop – but the expression on the woman's face when she had mentioned the chains made her worry.

"I am called Witch, these days – with those being what they are, it's probably for the better. I doubt anyone even knows what a dekatron is these days." The word meant something, Leopard realized – the way she'd said it meant it had something to do with her old name. And she vaguely recalled reading something about dekatrons while researching their kind's old society in between trips to the past, a year ago; so, the woman was also one of them. And in league with that Bee person, she thought – this wasn't certain in any way, but her gut instinct told her otherwise.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the realization that Witch's face was once more hovering very close to hers – this time with the glasses off, and leaning over her from the side. "As for the chains...well, no matter their purpose – now that you're not still as a damn corpse anymore, they sure make you look utterly delicious." And as she uttered those words, something cold touched her chest, and a tingling sensation threw itself throughout her body. Hand. It is her hand. She widened her eyes in alien realization. By code, she is groping me! What is she- At the moment the face looming above her dove, and something wet was poking, slabbing, licking her throat. Leopard did not even manage to realize what was happening – she was limp, numb, and unable to do anything but stare at the empty ceiling in terror as the sensation climbed her neck and maneuvered its way across her skin.

"That's quite enough, Witch. I won't allow you to ruin our guest the moment after she wakes up."
The voice sounded calm and friendly, but it cut through the paralyzing fear like a spear. Bee. So I was right. As she thought this, Witch loosened her grip and stood up again, looking somewhat annoyed – seeing her face again made Leopard cringe, but what with the chains binding her to the bed frame, there wasn't much for her to do other than to try her best to keep herself in check and hope to heavens this relief from terror wasn't just temporary. Dread expression aside, she was breathing very heavily, she realized – stress hormone, this bothersome thing! – most definitely not a good way to face her captors.
"Leopard." Bee came into her field of vision, and some of her dread was replaced with feline rage. "You," she hissed at him – her sisters would've undoubtedly gone further than that, but this wasn't the right time or place to lose one's temper. Besides, roaring had always made her hoarse for days afterward.
"Yes, me," he answered nonchalantly, and tapped his glasses with his index finger. "I captured you and had you bound in the most inescapable prison of all time. To be fair, it was mostly to keep you from intervening with my plans to use your Device, added to the fact that I'm not exactly fond of killing – but it turns out my actions were more justified than that. Your technology seems reluctant to function properly, so it seems I will need to attain some information from you regarding those parts. And if it proves necessary..." Mister Bee took a step, and then another – closing in on her helpless frame with each syllable. "I will take it by force."
Sweat was beading on her forehead. If she'd had it free, her tail would've been a straight spike up into the air, but her jailers hadn't even let that slide – it had been fastened with some sort of adhesive to the back of her suit, and felt like a rigid pole of stiffened muscle, flesh and bone pressing against her spine.

Bee was staring her in the face. By code, he is above me. ABOVE ME. Just like she was. Oh, mother! Sisters! My lady! Something – she couldn't see, her eyes had shut themselves in sheer terror – touched her hair, wandered across her head – fingers, definitely fingers – and finally took a light grip of her quivering ears. "And you. Here I thought your possessions were the only thing that could be of any interest...your kind are getting more interesting by every passing minute, you are." The fingers crawled, rhythmically touching her ears and head with what could almost be perceived as gentleness – is he petting me? What in code's name does he think I am – she opened her eyes, slowly, and found his eyes staring into hers. Big, brown eyes that held insight and knowledge at depth – big, sad, brown eyes. Why is he sad? She thought for a moment, and then her eyes widened as she remembered the statement he had made before. "I'm sorry," he whispered to her, his breath a gentle breeze on her cheeks. Oh. The first realization that dawned on her wasn't one that she had wanted to make – nor did it bode well for her future. The second was entirely irrelevant to the situation at hand. British accent.

After a moment that stretched far longer than time should allow, he rose. "It seems you've at least figured out your predicament," Bee stated bluntly. "I can see, however, that you're not quite ready to talk just yet. That," he added as he turned around and started to walk away, "will need to be changed." Just as he crossed outside the field of her vision – the door she heard open was apparently somewhere behind the bed she was chained to – a few more words echoed through the chamber. "She is at your mercy, Witch. Just don't break her. She might be necessary later on, after all."

As the door creaked and shut, the unshakable feeling of dread – which Bee's odd behavior had managed to delude for a while – sunk back into her mind and heart. And to complement it, the face of Witch once more hovered straight over hers – eyes staring into hers with a look that was so different from Bee's, it might as well have been alien. "Well, well. Where were we?" Her voice was dripping with hunger, predatory – and so were the hands that were now systematically walking across her body; unfastening, unbuttoning and unzipping everything that could be.
Leopard felt the crawling sensation of panic slowly making its way throughout her body, all in rhythm with Witch's groping fingers swiftly removing every piece of clothing on her body. A partly stifled squeal found its way up through her throat when the woman's cold fingertips first touched her bared midriff – repeated, when said fingertips started a rapid descent and took a firm grip of the tight jumpsuit-like fabric of her legwear, and then again when the whole lot of it started getting pulled downward and a thumb shifted oh so slightly and dug itself under a softly laced sheet of white and kept on pulling and pulling and it felt as if she was being peeled, and OH BY CODE-


She stopped thinking. It was her last defense, her final measure – simply cut off the mind, force every process of thought to stop, clear every unit of accessible memory, disable whatever sensory impulses might find their way in. Shut-in inside her own body, inside her own head. Pathetic, she mused to herself in the eerie darkness of her mind's corners, but there was a tone of relief to it. At least, here she was safe – safe from-

Oh no, you didn't.

With a feeling like someone had doused her with cold water and electrocuted her at the same time, Leopard heaved a breath as she attempted to raise her head – as if she had been under water. Sensory data stormed her mind – her entire body was shaking violently and covered in sweat, Witch was sitting on top of her chest, stark naked, and she was as well – unsurprisingly her breath and heartbeat were running in tandem to some mad rhythm, like the beat of some absurd techno tune.
Her first observation was simply: Oh, fuck. The second was, maybe the particular explicit used in that sentence isn't the most appropriate in the current situation. And finally, realization caught up with her in the third: She forced me out. That's not supposed to be possible. Stammering somewhat – more from shock than due to the fact that she had a person on her chest; Witch was unbelievably light of weight – she voiced this concern. "H-ho-how did you do th-that!? It-it's not sp-supposed to be p-possible!"
Witch gave her a sinister smile, but more surprisingly so did a patch of air right next to her, which seemed to have transformed into some ghastly green clot of sheer madness. Something – most definitely not a hand – wormed itself around her stomach and hips; the sensation of something that was not quite there squirming across the skin of her back sent shockwaves throughout her nervous system. "I am," Witch declared, "a witch, after all. Things that aren't supposed to be possible is what I deal in, kitten." A sharp squeal sounded through Leopard's throat when Witch's firm hand gripped her tail – her face was red with shame, but she couldn't help but let out a small moan as that hand started wandering up towards the tailbone's base. "And now, a final touch." As Witch's finger connected to the precise point where spot-furred tail met naked skin, a jolt of magic surged throughout Leopard's body; it wasn't her magic, though, not even remotely similar. Analyzing the code as it flew through her head, it seemed needlessly complex – and yet, so remarkably primitive that it was impressive it could even serve some sort of function. But very obviously, it did.

In an instant as the magic surged and settled in the neural cords of her body, every single sensation – emotional, sensory, thoughts – was amplified to a multitude. Simply the feeling of her own sharply drawn breath was so ecstatic, yet gruesomely painful, that she almost fainted; the rest of it probably would've made her, were it not for the fact that the magic seemed to block that part as well. She stared at Witch, eyes and mouth wider than the abyssal crater of a smoldering volcano – and the same sinister smile from two separate directions met her again. "I know. Cliché, isn't it. But very effective."
A thrashing autumn storm of sensations flooded her as Witch went from just sitting to lying prone on top of her – in a mad attempt at keeping her thoughts intact, she observed that the woman was quite a bit shorter than herself, albeit a lot more well-endowed; Witch's breasts were pressing against her own, and their lips were not even an inch apart.

And then – as if it had been intentionally delayed so as not to have it mix in with the rest of the vortex of sensory impulses – she felt. A white, burning spark of heat, spreading throughout her thighs – one point of contact, amplified over and over again until its mere existence seemed to sear her body and eat it whole. And the soft words of the woman atop her, spoken so close, she could almost make them out just from feeling the air touch her lips - "You know what comes next."
Sharp, hissing breaths. One by one, every movement of every single fiber of muscle involved; moment by moment. Inch by inch. She looked into Witch's unyielding eyes, sheer terror encompassing her entire being. "So you could at least do me," the words whispered on, "one, little, favor."

The world was vibrating before her eyes, without moving a single step. Time was still, without stopping a single clock. And from every single direction, every single point in the room, came a voice that was not of this world, or any world or time she had ever seen or imagined – a voice that smiled with a sinister guise, a ghastly green hue hanging in the air like an envoy of the voids beyond death itself.


And she screamed – with every last fiber of her lungs.
Chapter, 7, and the MR@S adventure continues...

Not much Mertvaya in this one, though - in fact, none at all. There was supposed to be originally, but I felt this was getting a bit too long to be just part of a chapter - so, we will get to that part in the next installment.

As for the content. Well. Imagine carefully. ^^

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