Pheromonica - NaNoWriMo 2025 challenge completed

Post by **SoftGameHunter** » Sat Nov 01, 2025 4:27 pm

Teaser: Someone is hunting and no one should feel safe, not even the hunter. In a future world too much and too little like our own, there exists the girl that lurks, waiting, playing out her angry, twisted fantasy by rules only she understands. She has many prey in her sights, but some of them know she's out there, and they'll hesitate at nothing to stop her and anyone around her.
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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.
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Index:

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Title: Pheromonica
Author: SoftGameHunter

This crime noir story is part of the NaNoWriMo challenge. Violence and death occur here. I'll be posting the chapters as they finish. With luck, the retcons and continuity errors will be kept to a minumum.
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Pheromonica

Prologue

Alicia Jenner’s professional strength came from never being reliably on time. If her nose for news took her off on some wild tangent, so be it. If one in five led her to a great story, it was all worth it. The only exception, her bosses insisted, was when she was supposed to go on-air in less than an hour. Going through Alicia’s head were two thoughts. I’m supposed to be getting ready, damn it! Going through news manager Gary Cardich’s head was a similar thought. Where the hell is Alicia? She’s going live in an hour, damn it! Alicia’s second thought weighed her down. Of all the fucking days to be raped!

“You want it, baby? You want my cock?” Bastard One sneered. He friends held her arms and legs pinned to the pavement while he ground at her, leering down with a grin.

“Fuck you! That’s a three-hundred-dollar outfit you ruined! That’s a second felony, asshole!”

“Poor baby has to go shopping,” Bastard Two mocked. He held her left arm down, pinning her shoulder to the oil stain patch on the ground. She had a comeback, but the rapist’s cock plowing her cunt began hitting her clit in the right/wrong way, making her gasp instead. Fucker!

“Just, fucking, finish it!” she moaned. What time was it? Could she get to the makeup chair in time? The guy’s prick was really hurting. Bastard was well-hung. It wouldn’t help to cry on the air. Or would it? No, sweeps week was still a month off. She cried out as he slammed the last few home, and his spunk added to the loads still sitting in her womb from three of his buddies. One left. They switched places. Newbie was stroking it hard to get ready.

“Jeez, come prepared!” she cried. “Or get the fuck out of my life!”

“Watch your mouth, Puta,” he growled. She rolled her eyes, hoping he’d notice. Unless that just made him take longer. She strained to break herself free, but four men were easily able to keep one naked woman pinned to the grimy asphalt. She studied their faces. Was that an angle she could use? Racial mixing in rape gangs? Her last and least assailant was a Latino, but two white guys preceded him, with a black guy starting and she couldn’t tell about the second one. She still had some slots left in her series on The State of Rape. She grunted as he pierced her, fighting back tears. After so many months of crawling through the dregs of society’s underbelly asking hard questions, she’d avoided any assaults herself. And now, on the way to work, a random pack took her down for no fucking reason at all. And in the alley right next to the station! Well, so long as they didn’t go for seconds…

Kelly Jimenez was the first to look up as the front door opened. The receptionist gasped as Alicia staggered in. Everyone was asking and talking about her, but now here she was. Alicia stumbled forward. She was stark naked, and her hands seemed to be tied behind her back. Dirt and road grime coated her bare flesh, and she had a few contusions on her buttocks. Obviously from behind held down. The woman was obviously raped, and it wasn’t hard to guess why. As others spotted her from the back – the station had an open-air layout – the gasps circled the area in a wave.

“Yeah, a little help?” Alicia tried to bark, but it came out more of a cracked meow. But it was enough. Several of the women rushed forward like a drill. At least most of the men were polite enough not to stare or approach her. But of course, Gary had to. He joined them in the make-up room. It wasn’t like he’d never seen her naked.

“Wow, is this, um…?” he began as he used his keychain knife to cut the paracord holding her hands.

“I don’t know,” she cut in. “It was right outside. Tell Morgan if she doesn’t spring for some working security cameras, I’m filing a complaint! Tell her that, Gary! I’m not joking!”

“Okay, okay.”

“They don’t have to be networked, biometric drones, you know. At this point I’d settle for cameras mounted on the light poles.”

“Yes.”

“This series alone is bringing in enough ad dollars to cover it and buy us all steak dinners. They grabbed me in the fucking parking lot!” She sniffled and wiped away some tears. “Can I get some tissue?”

“Yeah, yes,” Brittney said, hurrying to grab a box.

“It wasn’t part of my series, Gary. I don’t think so. I mean, maybe. It may have been a carefully planned hit, but I think it was just some men out looking for pussy and my number came up.”

“Well, that’s, wow. Really inconsiderate. Listen, the broadcast starts in twenty minutes. We can push your segment further back in the hour if we need to…”

“Sure.”

“But we can also postpone—”

“Stop talking!” She paused as he did. The tissues helped to wipe the tears and cum from her eyes. She blew her nose. Cum came out. Fuckers! “Christ, Gary, get some field work in. Get out from behind that damn desk of yours. Allocate some stories to yourself. You’re allowed. This is an opportunity.”

She paused again, to wave off Brittney and grab the brush herself. Not too much. Enough to get her hair out of her eyes and scrape away the pebbles that may have stuck. “Get me, oh, get me some clothes. Not from wardrobe. I keep an overnight bag in my desk. Bottom left drawer. Bring it here.”

“Can I make you some tea?” Brittney asked. “Or coffee?”

“Bag, desk, drawer, you run now!” Alicia replied.

“What are you thinking, Alicia?”

“I’m thinking it’s time to mix up the script. I’ll do tonight’s portion tomorrow, or Thursday. Whenever we can work it in. Tonight I have a different script.”

“You’re not going to do anything stupid?”

“If I didn’t do stupid shit, I’d never get anywhere, Gary.”

“Right.”

“Sometimes the fastest way forward is sliding on sewage.”

“Getting kind of gross there, Alicia.”

“It’s true, though.”

“Right. Um, speaking of shit, did they, uh…?”

She shook her head. “No. It was all about the pussy for these guys. I had to suck one off, not that it’s your business!” She grabbed the bag from Brittney. “Or yours either!”

“What?” Brittney asked in obvious alarm. But Alicia just pulled her spare outfit out. If outfit was even the right word. The bastards couldn’t have attacked her when she was doing yardwork. They could have torn up two bucks worth of old leftover clothing instead. She pulled out the faded tee-shirt from the Ice Glory concert. It would be fine for on-air. No bra. She didn’t count on not having one. Well, she could do it lady-commando style. Same with the jeans. No one would even see them with her seated.

“I have something to say, and I’m saying it. So at seventeen minutes in, I’m going to be taking my slot. Make it happen.” She stood up so she could dress. The show was over.

Gary, bless his heart, either recognized her wisdom or her determination. He said nothing further. Alicia waited while the younger buzzing bees like Brittney fretted and moaned. Like they’d never seen a raped woman before! Like none of them had been raped women before. She got up to slide into her seat as the cameras turned to anchors Bob and Carol.

“And next up, Alicia Jenner will bring us the next installment of her ongoing story, The State of Rape,” Bob said.

“That’s right, Bob. And a little bird told me this is a special segment we’re getting today,” Carol said. “I wonder what it could be.”

“I guess we’ll just have to watch like everyone else, Carol,” Bob returned. “Alicia, good to see you again. What have you got for us tonight?”

He lingered on ‘see’ a little long, Alicia thought. Of course, he’d gotten the same eyeful as everyone else when she stumbled in, bound and naked. And it wasn’t like Bob hadn’t ever seen her naked. But she began, without the usual newscaster smile.

“Thank you, Bob. Carol. And yes, tonight’s segment is being postponed. Why? Glad you asked, even if you didn’t. Take a look at me, America. Yes, all of you, when this segment inevitably gets put up online. Look at me, World. My fancy news lady outfit is sitting in shreds in some dumpster probably not far from here. An hour ago, five limp-dicked wonders ripped it off me as I tried to come to work. I was raped, today. Just a little while ago. This is what rape does to your hair.” She gestured to her barely controlled shock of blond hair sitting lopsided on her head. “And this, this is what it does to your face. How about a close-up? Come on, Jim, zoom in on me. I can’t tell if I’m bruising where they slapped me around. Okay, got it? And this outfit here is what happens when rapists get our clothes, which they usually do. And here I am, knowing better, without a better set of clothes to change into.

“So, folks, pretty bad, right? As if! Muffed hair? A little dirt on the face. Tonight I suffered a property crime! My clothing counts for more than my vagina does! Because we all know I was in no real danger. I knew it well enough I could mouth off to my rapists while they were giving me the business. While they made me cry! And that’s the rub of it, isn’t it?

“We sit around, proud of ourselves for living in such a peaceful world. A world where a woman like me can be gang-raped with no worry at all for death or injury. How many rapes led to murder last year, here in America? Times up. Three. In the whole country. Lightning killed five. Six hundred million of us, and we’ve taken the fear out of rape entirely.”

She paused. Hopefully her voice wouldn’t give out. She’d screamed a lot in those first few minutes.

“Well, you know what scares me? I was raped today, humiliated in having to walk into work naked and tied up, grossed out by semen I didn’t want touching me. I’m scared of this new normal! I’m scared because I was raped and it sucked! I hated it! I hated having those five men touching my body and sticking gross parts of their bodies in me! I still have rights! I don’t have to fear death to fear life. So that scares me. It scares the hell out of me that we’re so complacent about women being raped that we’re not caring anymore!

“What’s the line that was popular ten years ago? ‘Steal her clothes, double your sentence?’ Barely thirty minutes ago I tried to scare off the men raping me by threatening just that. Two felonies instead of one. For all the good it did! And now I’m sitting here sans underwear, half naked under some old tee-shirt telling my viewing audience that my rape matters. It matters to me! And every single one of us is their own me. You are all somebody and you deserve more than just life. You deserve a life, and not all of us are getting it! I was raped and I deserve better than that, and all the women I’ve reported on deserve better than that! You want to see what rape did to me? Want to?” She grabbed at her shirt, clutching the bottom. It wasn’t tucked in, and she lifted it above the level of the table she sat at.

“Sorry, maybe for News at 11 when all the kiddies are in bed. Back to you, Carol.”

If Carol or Bob was worried she’d rip her shirt off on live TV, they hid it well. “Thank you, Alicia. That’s some hard-hitting truth right there,” Carol said, unperturbed. The crew behind the cameras let themselves breathe again. She stood and walked backstage.

“Well?” she asked Gary as she sat down.

“Well, Gene’s scrambling to fill the two minutes you didn’t use, but that’s his problem. Wow. This really bothered you. I had no idea.”

“Really? Seriously?”

“No, not really! Of course it’s going to bother you. Jeez, Alicia, you act like rape is normalized. Trust me, it’s not. You know, Beth was raped last year.”

His wife. “I know that,” she said.

“And Miranda too, also last year. Separate incidents.”

She didn’t know about his little girl. She was supposed to be enjoying college now. “I’m sorry.”

“I know for a fact they were both relieved to have not feared death at the time.”

“You think I came on too strong? Too scolding?”

“Nah. There’s a cavalierness to a lot of attitudes towards crime, and sex crimes get it the worst. No, I’m not trying to fear-shame you here. If the situation were funny, we’d both laugh.” He handed her a printout. An actual hard-copy. “But it’s not. This just came in. If you’re up to it, you may want to jump at this. Shower, get dressed for real, and get out there. It looks like those statistics you just rattled off are already obsolete for this year.”

She grabbed it and read, quickly. Then a second time to double-check her comprehension. “No time for a shower,” she finally said as she stood. “But some real clothes would help. Brittney!”

Post by **SoftGameHunter** » Sun Nov 02, 2025 3:17 pm

Content Warnings: Death. This is a crime story, so death will happen periodically. The first one is here.
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Chapter 1

Frank hated the weird ones. Not just bizarre people or strange activities. Weird, as in going against the norm. He’d handled dozens of cases of crimes at nightclubs. It was kind of a stock task for a police detective. Robberies. Shootings. Theft. All kinds of crap with cars, from drunk driving to grand theft to vehicular homicide. Nightclubs were like society’s way of inviting the dregs out from their flop pads and hovels to gather in one spot for a more convenient life-reaming.

But their shit happened at night. The sun wasn’t even down quite yet, and it had ended thirty minutes previous. The shooting. The robbery. The rapes. Most of the hostages were being treated curbside, though a bunch of them got ambulance rides. There were more young folks sitting around after their ordeal than there should have been in a club that size so early in the day.

“Bad luck, huh?” one of the uniforms said. Sergeant Klein, according to his badge.

“You trying to make detective, sergeant, with that kind of insight?” Frank asked.

“Huh, no. I mean, you know…” Klein stammered, trying to backpedal.

“I know a nightclub robbery in broad daylight is shitty luck. I guess that’s why I got promoted. You hoping for the same, sergeant? Keep talking.”

“Sir, sorry, no. I just mean, did you just get here, sir?”

“Yeah, I just got the call.”

“I mean, the company event. Some big R&D drug company was renting out part of the facility for a party. Got a bunch of nerds and secretaries doing their team building events when the shit goes down. Gotta suck is all I’m saying.”

“Drug company?”

“Yeah, I thought you knew that.”

“Got something to say about that?” Frank barked, but now it was show. Sergeant Klein needed to be somewhere else. Of course Frank should have known that. His reaction was out of line, but fuck if some uniform older than him was going to get some mumbled apology. “Never mind. Go make yourself useful.”

As Klein hurried away, Frank surveyed the scene. He’d been on the case all of five minutes and had to learn several hours’ worth of facts in the next five. An office party. Yeah, that explained the kakis and long skirts on the shellshocked survivors. Now it wasn’t weird anymore. He could breathe a little. Now he could begin the long process of taking statements. Lots of statements. It wasn’t dark yet, but it would be before he finished, and he wouldn’t really finish. It would take days. Who to start with? Fate handed him a lucky card, in the shape of a middle-aged woman in a white blood-splattered blouse shuffling over to him.

“Are you the detective in charge?” she asked him. “You look like a plainclothes.”

“Frank Simpson. Yes, ma’am. This is my case.”

“Rhonda Jeffries. Head of HR. Please, whatever you need from us, I can get you.”

“HR. Are you the ranking employee from, what’s the firm you’re with? I’m assuming you were with the company event?”

“No, and yes. Henry Sams is the VP of finance and accounting.”

“I’d like to speak to him first, then.”

The lowering sun cast some orange on Rhonda’s face, but not enough to hide the pallor. “He’s, they shot him! He may not live!” She choked back a sob. “The robbers. Sorry. Henry, Mr. Sams, was shot in the head. The ambulance flew him away. I really am the ranking company employee here.”

Frank sighed, entirely inward. HR. “And what company are you with, Ms. Jeffries?”

“Biogasms,” she said, breathlessly. At least he heard it that way. A quick snort of mirth escaped his throat. “The company has been around for almost three centuries, detective Simpson! We’re the leading developer in sexual, reproductive, and fitness health pharmaceuticals. And we’ve just been shot at!”

“I’m sorry. The name caught me off guard, ma’am. You must admit, though, never mind. My apologies again.” Of course she was breathless. She’d survived a mass shooting. It wasn’t a sultry company name at all. “Do you think you could make a statement? I’m sure you’ve spoken to other officers, but I’ll be investigating this case officially, and I’d like to hear in your own words what happened.”

“Yes, of course. But I’m not entirely sure what happened. We were having our supper. Catered. And there was shouting. Across the room. Over the music.”

“They had the music playing?”

“Not loud. But yeah. Some people were hanging out in the other section. I don’t really know how many. I wasn’t paying attention until the shouting, but then there were a couple shots. Gunshots, you know. They had guns. These men. Five, I think. Six, maybe. Big rifles, you know. The old fashioned kind. The kind that blast big holes.”

Frank nodded. They probably had shotguns with them. They never went out of style among the criminal classes. A gun that couldn’t be deactivated was too appealing. “Did they appear to be targeting your group?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think so. Not at first. We even had tables lined up. We were obviously a group.”

“How many of you were there total? How many Biogasms people?”

“Twenty-three,” she said. “And four outside caterers.” He nodded. “It gets kind of blurry after that. The one guy was shouting. ‘This is a robbery. Don’t be a hero. Get down on the floor.’”

“Is that an exact quote?”

“He said it all. I don’t know about the order. It was just like in movies. We all had to lie down, face-down. I couldn’t see much.”

She couldn’t see much or say much, Frank found. Rhonda’s story lost all detail when she couldn’t look, but it did sound straightforward enough for the next few minutes. The gang collected valuables. They ran credit swaps from the register until the network shut off. Brainiacs. They figured out the silent alarm was blaring away only too late. There was no leaving, not with the place surrounded.

If his people followed normal procedure, the place would have filled with calming agent. “Yeah, I got relaxed,” Rhonda said. She giggled nervously, like so many witnesses. So far, it should have been textbook. “I think I relaxed once I knew the cops were alerted. And I guess there was the VJ-X gas. The calming agent. Oh, you know that much, though. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said. Witnesses always lectured cops about their job. But it wasn’t fine. Rhonda began to sniffle, on her verge of breaking down.

“I thought that stuff was supposed to calm them down!” she cried. “I was calm. We were calm. But these guys, they got agitated even worse! Started yelling louder, panicking. A couple started shooting over us, into the walls. But then…” She choked off a sob. Frank’s mind raced. She was right. The VJ-X should have calmed everyone right the fuck down.

“One of them grabbed a woman. One of ours. Audrey. He put her in a choke hold, started shouting at the ceiling he’d blow her head off. He had one of those old-fashioned handguns. The kind with the little spinny part.”

“A revolver, yes,” Frank said. “That would be Audrey…?”

“Audrey Andersen. She’s a lab tech. He had her in a choke hold, and started shouting that he’d blow her head off. One of the others walked over to them.”

“And you saw this part?”

“Yes. I had my head tilted. I had a good view, and she’s one of my people. So the other man just walked over and grabs her shirt and rips it. Ripped open the front. He held a knife to her throat and shouted that he’d slice her. Oh god! He cut her bra in half and they pulled her shirt off.” She paused, trying to catch her breath. In her head, Frank knew, she was reliving it all as she spoke the words. She was seeing Audrey Andersen’s assault play out.

“He held a knife to her neck! A gun to her head! Who does that!” she cried. Frank let her sob a little, but she recovered. “They beat her, punching her. And then the others grabbed some women. I mean, we were all face down on the floor. They grabbed one of the waitress girls. And a club goer. And then! Then!”

“What happened?” Frank asked.

“I don’t know what set them off. Mike Freer, one of ours. He’s a chemist. He wasn’t doing anything! I mean, he could have twitched! Coughed? I don’t know. But one of the robbers, he still had Audrey’s pants in his hand, but he walked over to Mike. “He yelled, ‘hold still you fucker,’ and then he just shot him! Right in the back. He shot him dead! I, excuse me,” she wept before turning aside.

Frank stepped aside, giving her room to vent her belly. Now he took in the scene with new eyes. On the way over, he’d heard rape and murder. He hated the weird ones. But now it looked like they were distinct events. Maybe. There were four murders, with three more possible if the doctors failed in the ER. And five rapes. Any overlaps would count for the statistics bureau.

Rhonda’s usefulness was at an end. She’d viewed the rest of the scene with tears in her eyes, blurring everything, and drowned out by her screams. But sometime in the next ten minutes – ten minutes that should have seen a storming in by the PD – the robbers raped five women. His screen kept up with updates as they came in from the officers on the scene. Seven robbers hit the place. So two of them never got their rocks off.

“Ma’am, I think I’ve heard enough for now, but I may contact you later if I have more questions,” he said. “I’m sorry you had to go through all this today.”

He stepped away. There were lots of interviews, but no time for any of them. Three robbers got away. Any information about them had to come in fast, and there were dozens of distraught witnesses to get through.

When last ambulance lifted away four hours later with some scrapes and bruises, Frank had a crappy picture of a crappy scene. Five dead – seven if he counted two of the perps. Mike Freer was just the first. Sammy Ogglethorpe was an unfortunate bartender, caught in a random shot most likely. Becky Hazewood, waitress, shot in the neck. Jillian Estrada, finance, gut shot and died in the ER. Andrew Moore, club security, shot in the head on his knees. Perps didn’t count. And five women raped. Audrey Andersen, the unfortunate first victim. Becky Hazewood. Jillian Estrada. Penny Atwood, a medical doctor on the Biogasms payroll. And Desiree Dupree, store clerk, a patron not part of the company outing.

Frank took a breath. This was going to get the wrong attention. Two dead raped women at once. It looked like they could have been coincidental victims of a robbery gone bad. Or maybe not. And as lead detective for the case, that meant the worst news of all. He looked to the barricades. There they were, the buzzing, mindless gaggle waiting for their carrion.

Press.

Post by **SoftGameHunter** » Mon Nov 03, 2025 12:17 am

Chapter 2

Alicia stormed into the police station with her crew trailing closely. It was one of the older stations, mid-twenty-first century architecture, back when everything was oh-so functional. They had air vents for everything back then. The desk officer saw her coming and obviously pushed a button out of her sight. “Can I help you?” he asked as she walked up. He didn’t want to help her.

“Alicia Jenner, News Renders Daily,” she said.

“Yes, I recognize you, Miss Jenner.”

“Then you recognize that I won’t quit.”

“I need to know what you’re talking about, first.”

“The shootings at Tropic of Capricorn. The rapes at Tropic of Capricorn. Inspector Simpson is the lead detective. Frank Simpson. He’s made no press statements so far, and we’re on a deadline.”

“We’re not on your deadline, Miss Simpson,” the man said. His badge said Reinhold.

“Police Code, section B, subsection 21, article 4,” she began, reciting by memory. “During unfolding events of known lethality with unknown subjects unaccounted for, in the immediate aftermath the public will be kept apprised of current efforts as pertains to public safety via regular and timely communications with known media outlets.” She paused. “I think we share a timeline, lieutenant.”

She waited. She stared. He stared back, trying not to look like he was trying to intimidate her, while he tried to intimidate her. “I caught your earlier story today,” he finally said. “Good stuff, ma’am. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Relax, Al.” Alicia turned and there he was. Simpson. Walking over. “Alicia Jenner, what can I do for you?”

“You can talk to me, inspector,” she said. “I tried to get you at Tropic of Capricorn but you ducked me.”

“I was busy.” He looked around the waiting room. “Where’s the rest of the press train?”

“I guess they lacked my ingenuity. Inspector, the news at eleven is starting soon. Would you like to talk to me so you may inform the public of where we stand?”

“Alright,” he said. She held back her surprise. Usually, it was like yanking teeth with these guys. “Come on, we’ll use a conference room.” He led the way. “How did you really find me?”

“I know who you are,” she said. “I know the face of every detective in MPD and which precinct they work out of.”

“I guess you would, in your line of work. I like your current special series,” he replied. She bristled. Were they all going to mention that? As if she had anything to be ashamed of. Maybe if they did their jobs, she wouldn’t be raped along with thousands of other women each year. But she plastered a smile on as her crew set up. It was just Ben with the camera and Christy with everything else, from sound to make-up.

Unfortunately, Alicia looked much the same as that afternoon, only more tired. Her rush to get to the site had given her nothing, and now she was sore, stiff, and cranky. “Want to get freshened up?” Simpson asked her. “Get yourself that news reporter look?”

“I’ve waited this long. It’s not like I chose this look, you know.”

He said nothing further. It was interview time. She checked the time. Ten minutes to eleven. She messaged Gary that’s she’d have an interview in time to air. He called her almost immediately. “What do you mean ‘have an interview?’ he demanded. “This is the biggest story of the year. It’s leading. Do it live, at two minutes past. Are you ready?”

She looked around. No other reporters. It was a hell of a scoop, capping an otherwise shitty day. The rest of them were probably getting the MPD spokesman at city hall. “Yeah. We’re ready,” she said.

“Did you at least brush your hair? Wash your face?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said, gesturing to Christy. The woman nearly threw her own hair brush at her and ran to find a wet paper towel.

“Turn your camera on. Let me see you. Now!” She turned it on and faced him. “Jesus, Alicia, get your head in the game! Don’t use today as a reason to flake off. You’re live in ten!”

The line clicked off. She took a deep breath.

“What happened to you today?” Simpson asked.

“Besides getting myself raped? Oh, nothing much.”

“You were raped today?” He actually didn’t know? “Sorry to hear that.”

“You didn’t see the news at six?” she asked.

“I work for a living.”

“Well, it’s all out there. Yeah. Some guys worked me over today. Then this happened. I spent all evening waiting for you to talk to us!”

“You couldn’t find a ladies room?” he asked. “Hey, none of my business.” Was that a smirk? Did he see her live editorial or not? It didn’t matter. With a fixed time careening at them, she let Christy try to make sense of her hair and face. And finally, they traded tops, with Christy draping Alicia’s tee over her chest and Alicia squeezing into Christy’s size-deficient blue button-up and painfully lacking bra. At least it resembled professional. Simpson watched them trade off, saying nothing and looking nowhere else.

“Live in five,” Ben said. “Seconds. Three. Two…” Alicia stuffed the earpiece in just in time to hear ‘joining us now at MPD.’”

“Thank you, Bob,” she said. “I’m talking to inspector Frank Simpson, the lead detective for the Tropic of Capricorn murder investigation. Inspector, what should the public know right now?”

“Thank you, Alicia. The public should know that of the seven suspects in the mass shooting at Tropic of Capricorn earlier tonight, two were killed during the police raid that ended the standoff, and two were taken into custody. They are currently under police guard at Central Hospital. Three suspects are unaccounted for. They escaped the scene and are at-large now.” He turned on the projection screen, which Ben had hooked to the signal feed already. “These are pictures of the three unknown suspect, taken from inside the club.”

Alicia studied them closely. She’d seen nothing of them yet. The images were not good. They weren’t taken with news bots, nor with police surveillance equipment. Probably they were shitty club security, still better than her station parking lot, or by witnesses and survivors. One held a weapon just out of view, but part of the barrel stuck up thought the lower right corner. Another was walking, or maybe running through an exit. But the third stared, bug-eyed, clutching a woman by her neck in a choke-hold. The look on his face was clear. Don’t approach me.

“Inspector, in addition to five murders, there were five raped committed during the crisis, is that right?” she asked.

“That’s correct. All three of the escaping suspects are believed to have committed sexual assault on club patrons and employees. Two of the victims were also killed during the shootout.”

“Inspector, there’s a lot of talk lately about the link between sexual violence and non-sexual violence in crimes. Specifically, the almost complete lack of link. Would you say that the two overlapping victims were killed as part of their sexual assault, or in a separate but closely timed pair of events?”

Simpson hesitated. “It’s too early for me to even try to answer that, Alicia. What I can say is that these men are extremely violent and dangerous, probably armed, and should be avoided if at all possible. Citizens are urged to take every precaution.”

“Thank you, inspector. Back to you, Carol.”

Alicia stared at the final picture, with the woman in the choke-hold. Her own face was lightly blurred, pixelated to preserve her identity. “Is that Audrey Andersen?” she asked.

“Yes, that’s right. How did you know that?”

“The first victim to be raped?”

“Gang raped. Two of them assaulted her. Same question!”

“I heard fragments,” she said. “Waiting outside the police tape. Names. Snippets as the witnesses were driven off, the ones that weren’t flown out. Several called her Audrey. One old guy said Miss Andersen.”

“I see. Well, Audrey Andersen doesn’t need to have her face splashed all over the world as the face of violent rape, so she’s not being named nor is her face being shown. That happened to be the best picture we had of unsub three. It’s not a good picture of her anyway.”

“Understood. Could you tell me which hospital she’s staying in?”

Now Simpson glared into her with that ‘you must be joking’ look the cops always saved for anyone showing an interest in public safety. He took a drink from a coffee cup, sitting there on the table all the time, but seemingly abandoned until that moment. It had to be cold. “I’ll tell you what, Alicia. I like you. Well, your broadcasts. You’re a colossal bitch, but you get the facts correct and relevant. Sorry you got raped, so I’ll make a deal. If you agree to tell me when you find her, I’ll tell you that she’s not in any hospital nor at home, nor at her workplace. She fled the scene during the shootout and hasn’t been seen since. We don’t believe she’s seriously injured, but we want to talk to her as much as you do. So, there. That’s a freebie. Go do that investigative journalism thing you do so well.”

Before she could reply, he walked out. A young uniformed cop appeared at the door. Their escort, no doubt. An escort out. Her nose for news sniffed wildly. Was this a relevant lead? Or was Audrey Andersen just a scared girl hiding at her best friend’s house waiting to stop shaking? She’d be a decent follow-up interview at the very least, if she talked at all. She nodded, though only the young cop would see, and he couldn’t read her mind. She’d take the deal. If she found Audrey, she’d call Frank Simpson. A little free goodwill from MPD never hurt, especially with how often she stepped on their toes, or their dicks. “Pack it in. Time to go home,” she said. Time to shower, drink, and cry a little. Odds were slightly in her favor the next day would be better.

Post by **SoftGameHunter** » Tue Nov 04, 2025 5:49 am

Chapter 3

On the hotel room screen, one of the police detectives spoke about the shooting. “All three of the escaping suspects are believed to have committed sexual assault on club patrons and employees. Two of the victims were also killed during the shootout.”

Two? Did they have names? Audrey stared at the screen. She’d showered as soon as she checked in, but had the problem of bloody clothes, which now soaked in the tub. Hotels that could launder bloody clothing generally didn’t admit guests that wore them, but she checked the services listing anyway.

“Inspector, there’s a lot of talk lately about the link between sexual violence and non-sexual violence in crimes. Specifically, the almost complete lack of link. Would you say that the two overlapping victims were killed as part of their sexual assault, or in a separate but closely timed pair of events?”

Audrey snorted. That question was so very unimportant, but the reporter lady was the one doing that series she liked. She found it. Laundry services. Good. She could wash her clothes, but drying them by morning would be a problem.

“It’s too early for me to even try to answer that, Alicia. What I can say is that these men are extremely violent and dangerous, probably armed, and should be avoided if at all possible. Citizens are urged to take every precaution.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” Audrey answered the screen as she called the desk. “Hi, this is Andrea Fisk in room 217. I’ve got some filthy clothes I need cleaned by morning. Is that feasible? Thanks! Good, cause I’m sitting here in just a towel. Thank you so much!”

She needed a towel now. She was sitting nude, but soon there would be a knock on the door. She wrang out her outfit and squeezed it into a ball. The knock at her door came as she covered herself up, for show. Another day and she might have given the guy a nice ride, but she was trying to avoid attention, not grab it with two hands. It was just as well. A moment later she closed the door as the woman from housekeeping took her clothes in a bag.

The News show was still all over the story when she sat back down. Now the mayor was talking. “This has been a truly horrific day for everyone in our community. Our thoughts and prayers are with the victims and their loved ones after this senseless tragedy.”

So far it was looking clean. No unusual stories came out, not that the Late News would have anything too obvious. The mayor went on a few minutes more before another police spokeswoman came on for her portion.

“I’d like to ask your viewers if anyone has any information about a missing woman from today’s shooting. Audrey Andersen was attending a company event at Tropic of Capricorn, and has gone missing. She may be injured. She’s believed to have suffered gunshot wounds. If she’s hurt or unable to get to a hospital, she could be in danger, so we’re asking if anyone has information about her whereabouts to please call MPD.”

That was it? They weren’t suspicious? They could be holding back. She laid herself prone to think. Everything had gone sideways, far too fast for her to control. All she wanted to do was try some gentle, persuasive charm, and it got her shot for her troubles. Without thinking, she grazed her fingers along her right side of her abdomen. She was shot, barely. One blast grazed her, bad enough she’d had to stitch it herself. And now, she could be hiding out for no reason at all! Up on the screen, Rhonda was pleading for the city’s help in finding Audrey. She seemed sincere. “Well fuck me,” Audrey grumbled. She was just a missing girl to them. And now she was sitting naked in a hotel room, her clothes hundreds of feet away, checked in under an alias. Oh hi, police, this is Audrey but I used my fake ID to hide out. I’m at the Parkside by Broadway.

She sat up. There were other ways to handle things. Her friend Bianca always went to bed early. She’d let her phone go to voicemail. Audrey called. “Hi, Bee. Oh my god, today was, oh my god! I was caught in a robbery! Don’t worry, I’m fine. I just had to, oh, oh shit. You’re asleep! I’ll call you tomorrow. Maybe. Fuck, my battery’s dying. I’ll call you when I can. Later gator.” She quickly disconnected and turned it off. Odds were good Bianca would check a message. A few minutes later she’d try to call back. And then she’d call the police, play the message, and all the fuss would die down. She nodded to herself. It was a solid plan. Two in three chance it would work. If not… She could always be the flustered floozy in distress.

Twelve minutes in, they finally went to another story, something about corruption. Audrey left the TV running. Probably the other feeds had better stuff. Her head was somewhere else. Lying there in a middle-grade dive, with nothing to do but touch herself, she did what she could. She came almost right away as her cold fingers slid along her warm, wet slit. Now she fumbled for the remote. Maybe some porn was playing. She continued working herself into a persisting high, and got through ten channels when there came a knock at the door. “Miss Fisk, this is hotel management.”

She sat bolt upright. No way that was a good sign. Of course, her picture was up right beside Rhonda’s teary face. She could fake an ID but not her face. Not without surgery. But there was a man out there looking for her. Well, maybe the night wasn’t a loss. She threw the towel on for show and opened the door. The man in the hallway stood alone, towering over her. Most men did. She gave him just a moment to soak in the sight of her young, slender body, barely holding the thin towel up. “Sorry, was I making too much noise?” she asked.

“Not at all. I wanted to see if you are okay. Do we need to call anyone for you?”

“Well that’s some room service right there! I’m fine. Tired. Why?”

“My housekeeping team tells me you had some clothes to be cleaned.” She nodded. “They were bloody. And a bit torn? And then we saw the news reports.”

“I doubt anyone’s reporting on me,” she said. “Look, um…”

“Tom Fenway.”

“Tom. Look, I hope the blood isn’t a problem. I didn’t try to hide it. I got into a fight with my boyfriend. My soon to be former boyfriend. Um, can you just fill in the rest yourself on this? I may not be fine in the strictest sense of the word, but I will be. I just need to sleep it off and get some clean clothes.”

“I do understand, Miss Fisk. But on the news tonight—”

“Seriously? One girl gets smacked around and it’s on the damn news? I get it, pretty white girl, yadda yadda, but really?”

“No, not that. The big story? The shootings? The Tropic of Capricorn nightclub shootings?” She returned his awkward verbal fumbles with a wide-eyed mystifism. “You bear a striking resemblance to Audrey Andersen,” he continued, not to be dissuaded. “She was in the nightclub during the robbery. And the shootings. Her picture was on the news.” He waited for her to give up her passive, uncomprehending face. “Your picture!”

“Sorry, not me,” she said. She stepped out, stepping closer to the man. He didn’t have a ring on. Not that she cared, but it was a good time to not attract notice by jealous wives. “I mean come on, Tom. Look at me,” she continued, breathing harder. He looked like he would speak, but nothing came out. She gazed up from below, breathing harder still. “Do I look like I’m being robbed?”

“Uh, no. No, not being robbed,” he said. Now she stood back and grinned.

“Do you want to look at me, Tom?”

He nodded, eyes affixed on her whole body as she hooked a finger into the towel fold and knocked it loose. The thing dropped around her feet. She didn’t have model looks or anything, being only five foot four. But with barely a hundred pounds on her, perfect B cups, and feathery light brown hair down cupping her neck, it was a picture few men tried to avoid. “Do you want to look at me?” she repeated. He nodded again as she turned for the bed. His footsteps told her he was in the room when the door latched. She was already lying prone as he walked closer, staring down.

“What did you say your last name was again?”

“Fenway.”

“Ah, like the baseball park,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Fenway is good. You’ll do. You can make me cum, Tom. How many times can you make me cum?”

“I, uh. Yeah,” he said. She smiled. He was hooked, line and sinker optional. The TV was still playing on the last channel she had it on, but it was just a cooking show. He leaned down over her, to kiss her, she assumed. Whatever he wanted. She blew on his lips.

“Put some porn on,” she said.

“Yeah,” he replied through his dream. But he took the offered remote and put it on channel 266. Humping bodies popped into view. She nodded and grabbed his belt.

“You’re going to make me cum, right? You’re going to turn me into a raging slut monkey, right? And then I’ll return the favor?” She unbuckled him but let him do the rest. He was a big boy. He knew how.

“Yeah.”

“And Audrey Andersen, well, the girl’s never been here.”

“Not even to this zip code!”

She laughed, a real one. “No need to go that extreme,” she chuckled as he fumbled off his clothes. “Fenway, that’s a name that will get you through the night, Tom. Pleasure my body. I need it! Play my body, Tom. Limber up those fingers and that dick and play me now!

Post by **SoftGameHunter** » Wed Nov 05, 2025 3:07 am

Content Warnings: Lack of sex follows. Warning - low sexual content found in this chapter.
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Chapter 4

They called it a cop bar. McEvans Bar and Grill could have been any bar without character. Faded sports memorabilia lined the walls, sparsely spaced to remind the patrons they weren’t there for the décor. Décor was for the other crowd. The wrong crowd. Frank assumed it was just Greg Mathers being a cheapskate. It was a cop bar – its main bragging rights was that no one ever held the place up twice.

Phil and Mark sat with him around the table, nursing beers. Phil was on call. He should have stayed dry, but no one was monitoring his consumption. A game played up in the corner, but none of them paid it any attention. “You look deader than Narco Reems,” Mark said.

“Got a problem with this face?” Frank laughed.

“Always. Anything I can do?”

“Did you witness the Tropic of Capricorn massacre and forget to tell me?”

Now Mark laughed and shook his head. “I thought you finally nailed down that pretty girl survivor. Amy?”

“Audrey. Yeah. She played phone tag with me a few days,” Frank said. “God knows what she thinks she hiding, but she did not want to come in. Probably moves dust on the side or something. Like I was going to test her as a witness.”

“Gonna run it?” Phil asked. Frank shook his head. Nothing sounded more pointless.

“Nah. Not my case. But I got her in the other day. Get this. She had this big hat on covering half her face half the time, like I couldn’t tell what she looked like. I’ve got her damn company ID picture in the files, and it was the shittiest disguise I’ve seen in years.”

“Daddy’s girl dealing on the side, sounds about right,” Mark said.

“Eh, cut her some slack,” Phil suggested. “Unless that shooting was dust-related?”

“I doubt it,” Frank said. “The guys we picked up squawked. It was a robbery. They weren’t connected to the trade, but they were both high as shit. Same with their dead buddies, and they talked. We pulled in two more of them. Just one’s out there now, trying to lay low. Probably skipped town by now.”

“Then I’d cut the girl some slack,” Phil continued. “Poor girl goes into a company dinner, gets raped twice in front of her colleagues. And shot. Twenty or thirty witnesses. Who wants to get busted on top of all that? What is she, eighteen?”

“Twenty-two, but going on eighteen,” Frank said. “Give me back a few decades and I’d tap her, witness or no witness. She was flirting me up like crazy. Like she brought dust into the station and I was going to search her there.”

“It’s been known to happen,” Phil said. “Remember, what, back in ’18? Those Samoan brothers?”

Frank chuckled, but Mark didn’t know the story. “What’s this?” Mark asked.

“Stupid crap is what it was,” Frank said.

“Stupid crap got you a commendation,” Phil said. “These two guys, brothers, about ten years apart. The younger one gets busted for weapons and dust. And armed robbery, but that was never going to stick. Spends the night in jail, but big brother comes in to bail him out. They’re looking at a court date in a few months, and God only knows if it won’t get thrown out. Maybe if the robbery stuck he’d have been in real trouble, but the camera footage was degraded so he was going to walk on that one.”

“So far so normal,” Mark replied.

“Want to tell the story?” Phil asked.

“I lived it,” Frank said. “You can tell it.”

“Alright, so big bro bails out little bro, and they meet up right there in the lobby. They don’t even get out the door when little bro reaches into big bro’s coat pocket and pulls out a vial. And he says to him, ‘I’ll owe you, dude. Don’t worry none.’ He doesn’t even try to sniff it. He just had to have it on him, like he had to know it was there or he couldn’t count on his fix. And right in front of the desk. On camera. And with Frank standing there not even ten feet away, watching the whole thing. So one brother goes into the station with dust, and the other brother pickpockets him to flash it around for all to see!”

“Well, why search them if they’re just going to show off the stuff anyway, right?” Mark laughed. “I’m guessing little Audrey didn’t flash the stuff around.”

“Just her sweet smell,” Frank said. “But I’m still not searching her just because she shows up to make a statement.” He took another swig. “Girls like that flame out on their own soon enough.”

“Wait, what commendation?” Mark asked.

“Oh, the older brother was loaded and panicked when I approached them, so I had to take him down. No biggie.”

“Both of them!” Phil said.

“For a few seconds,” Frank said. “It’s got nothing to do with pretty little raped girls making statements. She was nervous as hell and I don’t care much why. It’s got nothing to do with this case. We’ve got six perps accounted for and one that won’t stay gone long. The four are just talking a lot of shit because they fucked it up bad. They’re going to fry. Rape and murder at the same time, same crime? Don’t matter none those girls were killed in crossfire and panic. These guys are toast.” He laughed and emptied the mug. “Alicia Jenner’s going to have a field day on this one.”

“Oh yeah! Her!” Phil said. “Did you know she had a near meltdown that same day?”

“Everyone knows it,” Mark said.

Frank nodded but said nothing. Alicia was okay. As much as a hot reporter chick could be. He watched her editorial that he’d missed when it was live. Agitated stuff. It was hard not to feel bad for her, and bad not to feel hard for her. He laughed at his own quiet joke. “Hey, where are you going?” he asked as Phil stood up.

“My niece is coming for a station visit tomorrow,” Phil said.

“Great, but so what?”

“So, I’m doing laundry so I have clean underwear. Catch you guys later,” Phil said on his way out.

“What’s that about? Girl won’t see his shorts. Will she?” Mark asked. “I didn’t know he even had a niece.”

“Me neither, but I’m guessing he’s not boinking her at the station either way,” Frank said. “Still, clean body clean minds? What was that slogan?”

“Something like that, I think,” Mark replied. “So the case is really wrapping up? After all that?”

“They all sang like canaries. We’ve got thirty surviving witnesses,” Frank said. “This case is March. In like a lion and out like a lamb.”

“I thought that was April.”

“No, April showers bring May flowers. And you know what a May flower brings, right?”

“Um, June bugs?”

“No. Pilgrims.”

“Oh… Jesus H. Christ!”

“Don’t lob me softballs.” His next mug arrived and he took a long swig. “I think the lawyers are going to have an interesting time with this one, that’s for sure.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. The four we’ve got are tripping on their dicks trying to rat out the others. Everyone says everyone else started firing first. They had this quote great plan worked out, and then they started raping the women they found there, starting with our girl Audrey. Raped six of them. And then they all started shooting. Shooting the hostages. Shooting into the walls. Shooting each other.” He paused again. “Kelly Hermosa, in the public defender’s office? She’s saying it sounds like we pumped a bad batch of the VJ-X into the place and it made them crazy. All the excess violence was bad gas and it’s not their fault.”

Mark laughed. “She’s just flailing.”

“Probably, but those guys got awfully agitated after we flooded the place. I’m trying to correlate the timings. I don’t know. It’s not unheard of.”

“It is in the last seventy years or so. Kelly’s a cunt. You know her brother’s a dust dealer in LA. Was. He’s in Chino now.”

“How do you know?”

“Look it up if you don’t believe me,” Mark said.

“Well, probably Kelly’s just reaching. Most of the hostage survivors say the gas calmed them down just fine, even with the shootings.”

“Sounds like it’s not so open and shut.”

“It is so far as my job goes. If there’s a gas problem, forensics and lawyers and piss it out among themselves. I’m making arrests and putting the case to bed.”

“Yeah.” Mark drank another. “Seriously, I didn’t know Phil had siblings.”

“I guess he does. It’s not like he’s smuggling a hooker into a hotel penthouse.”

“Yeah. He’s bringing some girl into our boring-ass precinct.”

That sounded about right. Doubly so, since Frank was doing reports most of the next morning. The final perp, Horatio Nance, who went by Ant, would show up or not.

The girl was real enough, though. Rita Jeffries. His sister’s kid. She was a hot little number, though Frank tried to block such thoughts. Phil was a friend. Shy, but hot. Doubly so, overdressed as she was, and she barely spoke, but she was a cute one. No, thoughts banished! He had work to do.

Frank would check on Ant’s last few relatives in the afternoon, assuming they might lie to a cop over the phone. For now, he had paperwork up on three monitors as he reviewed the shitty video footage. It was a smooth if boring task right up until all three screens fritzed out on him.

“Oh come on!” he growled. But looking around, he wasn’t on that boat by himself. The network was down. At least his phone connection worked. “Hey, Phil, what’s the deal?”

“What deal? What do you mean?”

“The network is down.”

Hesitation. “Are you sure?” Was he sure? Frank had to groan inwardly. He had the sudden image of Phil’s niece not being his niece, and he was banging her in a broom closet. But then he saw the guy walking up the hall toward him. “Oh, you guys are all cut off,” he said, his last words before he was in earshot.

“Yeah,” Gina Pantero replied as he walked past her by the door to the bullpen. “And you’re on call for IT services.”

“I know. Alright, let’s see what we’ve got here,” he said, leaning over her desk.

“Don’t look down my shirt,” she said.

“It’s buttoned to your neck,” Phil replied. Frank shook his head. Those two were the worst kept secret in the station. Maybe it was time to go play anteater.

He got up and took two steps. No more. No less. It wasn’t earthshaking, but the blast that ripped through the building somewhere below them was strong enough to knock plaster from the walls and tip Jim Collins’s coffee mug off his desk where it shattered on the floor. Red emergency lights came on as the overheads flickered and died.

A moment later the alarms blared and the precinct station burst to life.

Post by **SoftGameHunter** » Thu Nov 06, 2025 2:21 am

Content Warnings: Another chaste chapter, but I promise some story telling is needed to move it forward to the sexually despairing chapters to come. It's a novel, not a wank bank.
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Chapter 5

So close. All he had to do was find and arrest Ant, and Frank could move on to the next case. Oh, there would be court appearances and testimony, but it was all boilerplate stuff, posturing for a jury and judge. He already had four confessions. So close. But then an explosion had to rip through the evidence locker room. A bomb. Most of the physical evidence – gone. The recordings – mostly gone. And now with the case partially gutted, he ended up on a second. The task force.

“We have camera footage and we have visitor logs,” Gina said as she slammed the log book down too hard. Theatrics.

“And everyone’s accounted for,” Jim replied. “We had seven guests sign in past the lobby this morning.” He opened the book and read through them. “Martin Fraze, Salbis Mundi, Rita Jeffries, Jill Looper, Peter MacTavish, Lindy Foreman, Trina Pham.”

“Which ones were still in the building?” Gina asked.

“Fraze, Looper, Jeffries, and Foreman all left before the explosion,” Jim said. “Phil says it was probably a short-range radio detonator. Like, fifty feet or less. Probably less, down in the basement.”

“So, who are they all?” Frank asked. At least Jim was the lead investigator, doing the heavy lifting.

“You met Rita Jeffries,” Jim said. “Phil’s niece.” Frank nodded. The shy little piece. “Fraze is a new guy in the DA’s office.”

“Wait. Phil’s niece?” Gina asked. “Phil, our Phil? Zapreto?”

“Yeah, didn’t you meet her?” Frank asked. “Or is he being all coy?”

“What does that mean?”

“Come on, Gina. You two are as obvious as ham on rye,” Jim said.

“We’re being discrete, dumbass. We’re not hiding anything. What niece? Phil doesn’t have a niece. He’s an only child.”

“You know, I could have sworn that too,” Frank said. But the words only slightly lapped his brain. “So, who’s his niece?” He looked at the signature on the page. “Who’s Rita Jeffries?”

“Okay, come on, this is Phil. Maybe he’s got some side…” He stopped talking. Gina was sitting right there. Now he sat up straighter. “This just got interesting. Still.” He grabbed his phone. “One way to find out.”

“Hold on,” Frank said. He opened a fresh window and logged in.

“Are those his confidential personnel files?” Gina asked.

“We have a need to know,” he replied. “I’ll justify my entry.” Maybe Phil did have a sister, or brother. Maybe he just didn’t share, even with Gina. They’d only been a casual couple a few months. But the information popped up clear as day. The three detectives stared at the screen. No sister. No brother. Nothing MPD knew about.

“Maybe a cousin he calls a niece?” Jim suggested.

“Maybe ask him directly,” Gina said. “No need to get all conspiratorial.”

“Yeah,” Jim said. Frank nodded. Best to get ahead of this one. Ten minutes later, the four of them sat in a closed conference room.

“Where do you guys want to start?” Phil asked. “I’ve got the bomb squad guys scraping every inch of the locker for residue. Nothing’s come up with IT, so whoever got in there knew their way around the system.”

Frank nodded. The computer files were lost. All the official footage was gone. All the physical evidence blown to pieces. Was Jim going to say anything or let him ramble? “Rita Jeffries,” he finally said himself.

“Rita? What about her? I’m just glad she wasn’t here!”

“What’s your relation to the girl?” Gina asked. “And thanks for introducing us.”

“Oh, well, you were busy, Gina. She’s my niece.”

“Who are her parents, and what’s their relationship to you?” Frank continued. “Come on, Phil. You don’t have a niece. So, cousin? Step-something? In-law something?”

“Hey, wait just a minute. She’s not my literal niece, but she’s part of the family. It’s not like she’s a suspect, is she?”

“Which part of the family?” Jim asked.

“Guys, seriously, is this an interrogation?”

“Who is she, Phil?” Frank asked. “It’s a direct fucking question, and it should be an easy one, so give us an equally direct answer.”

“I…” He froze, and shivered. It was a mental freeze, the kind when the suspects knew they had to think faster than the cops’ pre-formed questions. Now Phil was twitching in his own head. Frank never guessed he’d see it in one of his oldest friends. “I see. So, I’ve become a suspect. Well, fuck me. I guess that’s how it’s playing out, I’ll speak with a lawyer present. Seriously, guys, we’ll sort it all out, but don’t stop working the case over this, okay?”

“This is how we work the case, Phil,” Jim said. “You’re lawyering up over a family member you signed in yourself?”

“I! This wasn’t my idea. You think I’ve got a motive? To what? Protect some murderous tweaker rapists? You want to talk about Rita, we’ll talk about Rita. Without prejudice. But what’s the picture in all this? Come on!”

Frank looked to Jim. And to Gina. They couldn’t let it go now, but Phil was right. Who would he be protecting? Ant Nance? It was Gina that delivered the final blow. She might be banging him, but her loyalties were clearly not divided. She opened a folder she had sitting on her lap. Frank hadn’t seen it, and Jim seemed to be in the dark too. But she opened it and laid the single printed page on the table. It had MPD memo letterhead.

“I asked Wendy Sperber directly,” she said. Wendy worked on the bomb squad. “There was no radio detonator. Nothing in the report suggests there was. It was on a timer.” She waited for the words to sink in. A timer? “Why did you say it was a short-range detonator when it so obviously wasn’t?”

“Phil, what the hell?” Jim blurted out. “If you’re involved… If… Are you protecting that girl? Deflecting suspicion?”

“It’s not like that! I mean, I could have sworn they said radio detonator!” Phil stammered.

“Not deflecting,” Frank said. “Not when we’d so easily catch on in a few hours when we read the report.” He took a deep breath. For drama? Maybe to give Phil a last chance to come clean. “Just to buy her time to get away.” He locked eyes with his old friend, the stranger across the table. “Just a few hours for her to go cold and vanish.”

“Jesus Christ, Phil!” Jim said. “Jesus H Everfucking Christ!”

“I want a lawyer, now. I have my rights and you know it!”

“You’re a cop on duty! Who’s Rita?” Frank thundered.

“And a union representative!” Phil continued to cry. “I’m going to the ombudsman too.”

“Phil, please,” Gina begged. Good cop, sad cop. “This can’t be you! Who is she? What did she say? Or is her pussy that fine?” She drew in a sharp breath. “What’s she holding over you?”

“She just—” Phil stuck for words. His mouth moved, as if he could will an argument out of his throat. “It made sense when she said it!” he finally wailed. A single blurt, hanging in the room over them all. Then the dam burst. Frank’s stomach rose in his gut as he watched a twenty-year veteran officer of the force, a tech specialist with commendations who broke down crying in front of the three of them. “I don’t get it!” he finally wailed. “What did I do!”

“What did you do?” Gina repeated back. But it wasn’t hard to guess the basics. He signed into the evidence locker and left a homemade bomb. He logged into the IT for the station and quietly looked aside as the girl made changes. An hour of unmanly crying brought it all out.

He’d known her for two days.

And her pussy was that fine.

Post by **SoftGameHunter** » Thu Nov 06, 2025 9:03 pm

Content Warnings: Sex and death here.
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Chapter 6

“Oh! Oh my!” Kendra gasped in surprise. This was turning into an afternoon of surprises, and they kept getting better. She gazed up, past her husband’s tensed up face, letting it all happen. First he wanted to try some of that bondage stuff, totally out of the blue. Fine. She’d brought it up as a joke once or twice but he never seemed to care. And now, now… She loved it! Hopefully her scarves wouldn’t be permanently creased by tying them in knots around the bedposts, but if they were, well, wait, did he use the one she bought in Okinawa!

She tried to turn her head to see, but could only make out the ones holding her wrists. Tyrone continued giving her the business, harder than before, making her eyes water. “Oh! Holy shit, babe!”

“No shit! You want this!” he mumbled, his voice down in the guttural. “You want it and I’m giving, I’m putting it to you!”

“Ah! Oh. Yes. Put it to me, babe!” Silk should be fine. Scarves were tied around the head all the time anyway. He didn’t seem inclined to free her early even if she asked. And if he did, it would probably be from ‘Honey, my shoulder is dislocated,’ rather than ‘Honey, you’re using the wrong scarf to tie me down and ravish me!’

“Yeah. Oh yeah, you’re right. You’re so right! This is the way to do it!”

“I just mentioned it a couple times, like, a year ago,” Kendra gasped. “Oh god! Better late than never!

“Actually,” a girl’s voice said, “He was talking to me.”

Kendra yelped. She would have levitated off the bed were she not lashed to it with her husband of five years atop her. But now, from behind him, the girl appeared. She’d been hiding in the closet! “What the fuck! Tyrone, stop it! Who are you! I said stop it!”

The girl leaned down, whispering in his ear. “Stop means don’t stop,” she said. “She’s your wife. Plow her like the world is ending!”

“You! Oh my god! Get out of here!” Kendra pulled at her bonds. Pulled for all she was worth, as if her life depended on it! One face and suddenly the scene was all wrong. This wasn’t like that one time when her cousin Janelle walked in and things got crazy. For one, there was no alcohol now. They were a married couple and that slender interloper didn’t belong there!

The scarves held. They were strong as ropes used this way. All the woman could do was lie there, legs spread, arms spread, pussy pounded by her own man who now listened to this little white bitch and was ramming her harder and harder. Too harder. “Oh, not so fast!” she whimpered.

“Not so fast means faster. And harder. Put your weight into it,” the girl whispered.

“Who the fuck are you?” Kendra screamed. “Tyrone, stop! Stop right now!” He did not stop. “I’m saying stop this now! I’m clear, you! Stop fucking me now!”

“She wants it badder than ever,” the girl said. “She want the fuck of her life!”

“Yeah, it’s cool, baby. I’ve got you!” he melodiously replied. Who was he even talking to? Kendra or the skank? Kendra stared up as she was savaged by a stranger. A long, loud wail began erupting from her throat as her truly fuckedness dawned on her. This wasn’t just her husband having an affair, some pasty dish on the side. The girl stood over them, smirking down. Her man was a stranger, truly, fucking her like meat as she cried. But there was still time. If he came, fine. But that girl! She needed to be dealt with.

“Oh god!” she cried. She let it wash over her as his cock hit her clit. He hadn’t lost his skill. He knew her pressure point. He knew her fun zones. He’d cum and snap out of it, the way cumming always reset a man’s brain. And she would too, right now! She cried out as it started. Cumming with that little slut standing over her should have been harder, more distractive. But she lay there, bound down and cumming like a slut monkey while little doll girl just stood watching. Who was the bitch? Some college whore? Some hooker?

“Oh god!” she cried again. His cock was doing her good! It was a great lay. The irony. She fought back tears as the side-piece watched on. Was this her last lay with Tyrone? Was she stealing him away. “Fuck you!” she screamed as the orgasm receded and she was left with an unwanted dick plowing her and a less-wanted intruder watching it happen.

“Keep at it! God, you two make me so fucking horny,” the girl sneered. “Ooh ooh ooh. Aah aah aah! Yeah, there’s that little sprinkle of some good incestuous fucky-fucky!”

“Shut your damn face you bitch! We’re not related! Except by marriage!”

“Sure. It doesn’t matter,” the girl said. And as Tyrone pounded away, the girl began to strip. Not sexy strip, but undress for a shower or check-up strip. She piled her clothes on the dresser, leaving her jeans on the top of the stack. She even pulled them out from their lower position to have them on top. Now she stood there, naked, watching.

Kendra’s heart fluttered, in the bad way. This was all so wrong. Not just unpleasant, but fucked up and strange. When she rubbed up against Kendra’s husband, his eyes glazed even harder. And his dick got harder. “You know what you should do, babe?” she asked him.

“He doesn’t need your suggestion!” Kendra snapped. But the girl walked to the dresser and came back with another scarf.

“Try this, babe,” she said.

“Huh? Do what?”

“Breath play,” the girl said. She grinned down at Kendra. “Choke her until you cum in her.”

“No! Oh shit, no! Tyrone! No!” Kendra cried. But he paused. Hesitated? He took the scarf in his hands, his cock sliding to a stop as he pondered it. But he began wrapping opposite corners in his hands. The man that leered down at her wasn’t her man anymore. “No! Don’t do it! Think about what you’re doing! Damn it! No! Please! Oh God, don’t!” she sobbed further, but he wrapped the scarf over her neck and leaned his weight onto it as he resumed fucking.

For a moment it seemed like the mattress had too much give. But he shorted it up and held his weight up, supported by her tender throat. Kendra screamed one more scream before her voice was extinguished. All those hours at the gym made Tyrone the champion of push-ups. Now he put all his thrusting into his dick and his arms, on her neck. Kendra’s lungs burned. She thrashed about, jerking about, frantic to free her arms and legs. “Uh uh!” he grunted. The girl stood over them, grinning down. The bitch was looking especially foggy as her man’s pace increased. With a familiar groan, he unloaded into her numbing womb.

She gasped. Without his weight, she could live again. She coughed and wheezed, but with airflow.

“Finish it! Finish her! Don’t you want the ultimate rush?” the girl asked. “Hey! Look at me! Don’t you want the best rush ever?”

“Don’t listen to her, Tyrone! We can walk away from this! We can!” Kendra gasped. “Please. Please, come back to me!”

“Well fuck,” the girl said. She strolled to her pants, sitting atop the pile, and reached in the pocket.

“Oh shit!” Kendra screamed. It wasn’t a large gun. It was some old model, the kind they kept trying to clamp down on. But she lifted it as she walked on back.

“Tryone! She’s got a gun! Oh god, turn around! The bitch has a gun!”

The explosion rattled her ears. Was it louder than normal? She’d never heard a chemical gunshot. She’d never seen one. But pressed to the side of Tyrone’s head a moment before, he didn’t hear it either. He was already dead, and he fell sideway without a sound. The screaming was hers. The girl stared down at her, stroking her own pussy as she stood there. She even took some deep breaths as she pleasured herself.

“Everything gets me off,” the girl breathed. “Isn’t that just the best? You’d know, right?”

“Please! Please don’t shoot me! Oh god, why did you do that?” Kendra wailed.

“I’m not going to shoot you,” her little attacker said. “Your husband here took his own life. Right after he strangled you.”

“He didn’t…” she began. The girl was a little thing, a hundred pounds maybe. She even looked like a college bitch. But a hundred pounds was enough. “No! No, get off me!”

The girl climbed up, taking Tyrone’s place as he rested in peace on the floor. The scarf was still there. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave evidence. No one will think you were raped and killed. It was a domestic thing, so it won’t count.”

“What the fuck are you talking about! Oh my God! You—” The girl leaned forward, putting all her weight on the scarf just as Tyrone had done, leaning forward to get as much on Kendra’s neck as she could. And for a brief second it seemed she couldn’t do it, couldn’t cut off the air. But Kendra’s naked assailant leaned further in, propping herself as close as she could until the last bit of airflow ceased. Kendra’s thrashings almost knocked the girl off balance. Almost. She could have ripped the bed posts off. But it wouldn’t happen. The girl got foggier in those last few moments. Foggier and spinnier. And it was over.

Post by **Claire** » Thu Nov 06, 2025 11:55 pm

So I only read the prologue so far. I can't say I know yet what to make of it so far, but I will come back for at least another chapter later on and might upgrade my rating as I read further.

I think I'm currently intrigued by the slightly surreal feeling the prologue left me with, me not fully understanding what's going on, and the dialogue heavy narration which is rare in stories here but I tend to enjoy a lot.

I think the story feels currently weirdly detached and almost a bit nonchalant about what's going in. I find that interesting, but it could go either way for me: Be very intriguing and almost a bit uncomfortable which I would like. Or it could go into a very comedic, almost cartoonish direction which probably would make me lose interest.

Either way, currently I'm curious for more and that's what a good introduction is supposed to do, right? So a promising start!

Post by **SoftGameHunter** » Sat Nov 08, 2025 3:40 am

Chapter 7

The front door was so close. It beckoned, called out in its transparent and slightly dirty allure. He could leave, even if it was only to find and arrest Ant Nance. But obstacles always butted in where they weren’t wanted. “Hello, Frank.”

He turned and debated a smile or a snub, but settled on a half-smile. His insincerity was as obvious as Sharon Price’s vampiness. “Sharon. I heard you’re joining my team on the Capricorn case.”

“Is that how they put it, or did you make that up?” she replied. “Come on. We’ve been assigned to work together. So let’s do it.”

“I’m going to make an arrest,” he said. “That’s where we put the handcuffs on the suspect.”

Her fake smile hardened but she held it close. His own phony smile widened just a smidge. Why she didn’t transfer was anyone’s guess. It wasn’t like the Girard Precinct Station at the MPD was anyone’s idea of a plum posting. Frank had no fond memories of the place. But he never let suspects handcuff him to a bike rack and then fondle his rack. Sharon couldn’t say the same.

“Class Asshole as always, Frank. But you don’t have a choice and neither do I, so zip it and fill me in.”

“Horatio Nance,” he said.

“The missing perp.”

“I got a tip he’s at his aunt’s house in Princeberg.”

“Let’s go. I’ll drive.”

“It’s too high profile. We’re flying.”

“Ooh, the sweet ride.”

Five minutes saw them in the air. It wasn’t much of a flight, soaring through the lower altitude smog on a computer-guided flight plan. “Well, what have you been up to lately?” Frank asked. “What case did I pull you off?”

“None. I’m still on the other two but I had to babysit you and your libido.”

“Phil, not me.”

“A decent family man. A widower. Honored by the department. No pussy broke him like that. This mystery woman has more than pheromones going for her. She’s got some biochemical help, count on it. And until we know what that is, you’re vulnerable.”

“And you’re not?”

“It’s just a numbers game, Frank. It’s just playing the odds.”

“You could have babysat Jim.”

“It wasn’t Jim’s evidence locker that the bomb went into. It wasn’t Jim’s case files on Tropic of Capricorn that got wiped harder than the urinals at Memorial Field.”

Frank snorted. “Oh, we’d be fine if that were the case. Ever see those urinals?”

“Ew. You’re disgusting. And you got complacent, and now you’ve got nothing.”

“We’ve got all five suspects in the next hour.”

“And a mystery bomber targeting your case.”

“Yeah.” She was right. It made no sense, but she was right. These five punks were nothing, barely a step above the tweaked-out dusties stabbing old ladies in the park for their purses. Ant Nance was the last of them. Who the hell would sneak a bomb into a police station to save Ant Nance? Even with no evidence, he was going down. Everyone saw him. No sense at all.

They dropped for the last mile, coming in on hover through the surface streets. No need to announce their arrival ahead of time. Princeberg had the veneer of suburban respectability. The people there walked around, drove around, went to work, shopped, all with the purpose of convincing the world around them that they were normal folk, boring as sap. Their houses were built to last, late Twenty-First century drop-ins that stood the test of time and brought in the illusion of middle-class décor. Their underbelly would rat out a cop on the beat in a heartbeat. If Ant had one friend there, he’d be on the freeway before they landed if they landed on the driveway. Now they glided up and settled down.

“Stake out the back,” he said.

“Hold on. Frank, you’re the face of this thing on TV. You’re the guy Alicia Jenner interviews asking about social trends. I’ll knock. You stake the back.”

“You’re right.”

“If they see you, he could run before we get inside.”

“I said you’re right. You knock. Give me a holler when he bolts.”

The backyard was fenced off and gated. Locked. A solid kick would knock the gate off, but a runner would have to come out. The old planks would hide him from Ant’s best scurry. He looked around. Other houses surrounded them. Was that a curtain rustle? Second floor next door? Old lady or young punk? It didn’t matter. “Heads up, Frank!” Sharon yelled. The backdoor burst open and a writhing bundle of bone and sores came flying out into the yard. Frank tracked him easily through the gaps in the fence. He ran, not for the gate but for a spot along the back. With a kick to knock the lumber out, Ant burst into the alley.

“Freeze right there! MPD!” Frank shouted. He had his pistol out already. Any hit, clean or not, would send the kid twitching to the ground. Kid. The guy was late twenties. Skinny like a kid, but wiry. They locked eyes for a moment, both peering over the gun barrel from opposite sides. “Don’t do it, Ant!” Frank snarled. “Don’t even think it.” He never said to do what. Run? Fight? Pull a weapon? All would be bad for the man-child. But the guy’s jaw quivered. His dilated eyes darted about, one coming back to focus on Frank faster than the other one did.

“I said freeze!” Frank shouted, pulling the trigger. A shot and a shimmer, and Ant fell to the ground. He rushed over to cuff the kid. “You have the right to remain silent,” he began, repeating the spiel he’d delivered hundreds of times. The shaking punk at his feet may or may not have heard him. He would repeat it later. It hardly mattered. The case was a lock. Except one lingering problem.

“Okay, you’ve been read your rights,” Frank said as he pulled the guy to a seated position. You don’t have to talk, but it makes no difference in your case. Too many witnesses. Want to earn a little capital?”

“Huh?”

“Want the judge to hear good things about you? Who torched the evidence locker?”

“What torch? You shot me, man!”

“Who set off a bomb in the police station, Ant? I know it sure as fuck wasn’t you. Talk. Maybe we can cut a little deal.”

“What bomb? What the fuck you talking about?”

So it was like that. Where the hell was Sharon. “Hey, what’s your status?” he asked into the mike.

“Got him?” she asked.

“I got him. Where are you?”

“Inside. Bring him in. I need him here.” Inside? “Just bring him in!” Sharon snapped.

“Alright, on your feet,” Frank said as he yanked the guy up by his collar. He guided them through the busted fence and back into the house. It was everything he expected. The back kitchen featured appliances a hundred years old. Dirty dishes were piled everywhere. Once it had been a kitchen. Lots of dishes filled it. And spices, and boxed food goods. It was his aunt’s place, but Frank could see where it was leading.

“Downstairs!” Sharon shouted. He pushed the guy forward, holding him up so he didn’t take a dive and cry brutality. Down into the orange glow they walked. The basement bedroom was long gone. It was no bedroom now. It was a hellhole. But there was still a bed. Sharon crouched over a naked woman, crying, chained by a steel collar held shut with a heavy gauge padlock and affixed by chain to a D-ring in the cement wall. It was high grade, three-eighths inch. Overkill.

“Where’s the key, fucker?” Sharon demanded.

“He shot me, man! You guys, like, fuck with my head! I didn’t rape nobody. It was the gas!”

“Yeah, that’s what your buddies said,” Frank said. Buddies he hadn’t seen since the robbery. But he put the thought aside. “This is your last chance, Ant. Start talking. Convince us to convince the judge you’re worth saving. Your buddies all ratted you out. Do the same and give us a little more. Start with the key!”

“Fuck you!” Ant shouted, twisting to get free. The woman screamed. Ant only left Frank’s grip for a moment. Before he could even lean in the woman’s direction, Frank wrapped his neck in a grip and slammed his head to the wall. Now he could see the woman was also handcuffed. Her arms were pinned behind her back. Police issue. It would be hard to pick until they called in a team for it.

Now he looked around. As a sex dungeon, it wasn’t much to look at. A workbench along the side was piled half-assed with sex toys and hardware. The camera on the tripod pointed at the bed said the most about what went on. How long had she been there? Who else knew?

“Ma’am, you’re safe now,” Sharon said. “Who else is here? Who else comes by here?”

“I, Mel,” she sputtered. “Mel comes by.”

“Where are the keys?” Frank asked, making the woman yelp as he opened his mouth.

“Don’t bark out questions like that!” Sharon snapped.

“She can stay chained up then,” he grumbled, too low to be heard. Neither woman replied. He looked around. It was half sex dungeon, half flop pad, and half workshop. There were a million places to stow keys, if they were even in the room. He looked to Ant and that vacant stare of his. Maybe he didn’t even have them. But his eyes fell on the video camera. It was easy enough to power on and set playback to the little flip-out screen. But there were hours of vids on there. He glanced at them. All stared the woman on the bed and a variety of suitors. Some wore masks or hoods, but a lot of them didn’t give a damn. Sometimes she was not handcuffed. Sometimes she wasn’t even chained, but there was no good way…

“This is Simpson,” he said into his radio. Tech services connected. “I need a remote video link and an image search. I’m looking for a key.”

“How much video?” the woman on the other end asked.

“Looks like about forty hours,” he said. “VisionSonic model 46E camera.”

Sharon was trying to comfort the trapped woman and keep an eye on Ant, lying on the floor, when Frank walked over a few minutes later, key in hand. He held it out in triumph for Sharon to take care of it. “How the hell did you find it?”

“These guys don’t know how to stop the camera rolling.” He walked to Ant and yanked him back to a sitting position. “Hey there, buddy. You’re quite the porn star. I hear you’ve got four combined hours on that camera over there. Eighteen counts of rape right there.”

“What the hell do you want from me, man?”

“A bomb in an evidence locker,” Frank said again. “You’re not smart enough to do it or plan it, but I’ll bet you heard about it. Talk!”

“I don’t know nothing!”

“You looking for a murder rap, Ant? Huh? Five dead at that nightclub.”

“It was the gas, man! We were just going to run, and then, fucking women! You messed with our heads, man! Stevie was gonna shoot Miguel! No, Mel.”

“Mel? Who’s Mel?” There was no Mel. They had seven perps, all now accounted for. “The Mel that comes around here?”

“Tripping gas, man. We just, you did it!”

“Don’t bother. He’s a dusty downer,” Sharon said. “Let him soak a bit.”

Frank shoved the punk back to the floor. He wasn’t even putting up a fight. Sharon was right. The bomb went off already. It wasn’t ticking anymore. They had their last perp. But now he had more questions than when the case started. Sharon led the shaking woman upstairs, leaving him alone. No witnesses. It would be so easy. Too easy. Ant had to have answers, and he’d give them up one way or the other.

Post by **SoftGameHunter** » Sun Nov 09, 2025 3:03 am

Chapter 8

Deep under the sub-basement at Biogasms Ltd, Helen Schaefer swiped her way into a little SCIF marked only by a number, B2-113. She was still sweaty from a weekly training session, going up against one of her younger, bigger men. Todd Gilmoore was half of the kind of security personnel she wanted around – strong, fearless, skilled. In fact, he’d tossed her around the mat quite casually, enjoying it more than he ought, but she wasn’t going to condemn him for it. The other half were the brainiacs that could still hold their own in a scuffle, like the one hard at work inside B2-113, Byron Schaefer. Despite being half the younger subordinate’s age, Byron could toss her around too, and he still enjoyed it every bit as much as she wanted him to. But now he sat, hunched over with five monitors lit up in front of him.

“Do you have to work in the dark?” she asked as she flipped on the overheads.

“Reduce light levels,” he said. The bulbs dimmed. Helen flicked the switches to no avail.

“Resume higher light levels,” she replied, but the room remained unchanged. “You shouldn’t program it to ignore me.”

“I don’t report to you,” he said, continuing to scroll.

“You report to Larry, who’s my equal.”

“You kiss better,” he said. “I think better when I can’t see the walls.”

“What’ve you got?” she asked. “Still on the Tropic of Capricorn?”

“Yeah. And it’s not going away. Not now.”

“Want a sounding board?” she asked. As the head of physical security, she didn’t get reports from her husband. Byron reported to Larry Leclerk. But she was cleared for anything that came up, and no one in upper management balked at the pair sharing work.

“Two of the dead were on the list,” he said.

“Two? Which ones?”

“Jillian Estrada. Mike Freer.”

“Both of our people,” she said. The other three were club patrons and workers. “What about the rest?”

“Just those two.”

“Have we ever seen two killed at one time?”

“We have not,” Byron said. “At least not past the second generation. Not for a long time now.”

Helen looked up at the screens. Mike was descended from Ramon Fabrizio, a security guard. And Jillian from Bill Lembert himself. Originator of Project Replicant and chief medical doctor. Chief torturer was more like it, but the past was past, buried, and dead. Fabrizio and Lembert were as far-removed from each other as from their progeny. There was no real connection, except both Mike and Jillian worked for Biogasms. “What about the survivors?” Helen asked. “The injured? The women that were raped?”

“No connection. None we know of. The list is incomplete. We don’t know who all of their descendants are.”

“Okay.” She sat down in the spare chair. “Mike was shot execution style. What about Jillian? She was in the crossfire, wasn’t she?”

“That’s the assumption,” he said. “Eyewitnesses said she was crawling away once the shooting started. She was hit in the torso with a .38, but died in the hospital. The medical report said she never had a chance.”

“How far away?” Helen asked. “What distance did the shot come from?”

“Ballistics suggests fifteen meters or more.”

“It could be dumb bad luck,” she said.

“Maybe, but I don’t think so. Not anymore.”

“Not anymore? That sounds ominous.”

“Yeah, well, you heard about the terror bombing at Girard Precinct?”

“Of course. Do you think they’re connected?”

“The evidence locker with the bomb was ours. This case. All the physical evidence, the forensics, the original video chip with security footage, all blasted to hell.”

“Christ!”

“I just heard from inspector Simpson confirming it. And less widely known is they had a major IT breach that wiped out their computer files. This case. Oh, they’ve got enough eyewitnesses for convictions. No worries there. But no one’s going to be examining that evidence.”

“Were you able to get any copies first? From the club?”

“I just said no one’s going to see the evidence. No, I’ve got nothing! We’ve lost two of our own and we don’t know how or…” He didn’t finish. He knew why, sort of. They both did. Project Replicant’s details were long buried, but he had as much clearance with Biogasms as anyone alive to know some details. Probably more than Helen did. She wasn’t the data miner. “Well, we don’t know how. Mike, maybe. But those dust devils? Assassins? And that shot that killed Jillian Estrada from fifty feet across a dance floor? Assassins with their pants down!”

“Not for Mike, though.”

“No, not with Mike. But still, would you get those guys to commit a felony on your behalf? Even if I paid them I wouldn’t trust them not to step on their dicks.” He finally leaned back. “They got the last guy, by the way. This morning. Simpson and a new detective. Horatio Nance is in jail now.”

“Well, maybe he’ll talk more than the others did.”

“Nah. He’s the weak link of the group. He just ran away faster and sooner. Get this, they caught him with a woman locked up in the basement of his dead aunt’s house. It was Margot Carruthers!”

“Margot Carruthers? Seriously?” She wasn’t sure she could have heard him right. “But, she vanished…”

“Six months ago. And they really worked her over, too. There are black-market tapes.”

It was all over the news. A missing housewife, mom to two, distraught family. All very mysterious, worrying. The whole metro region wondered what happened to her, and slowly accepted she was probably dead. And now, she wasn’t dead. She was alive. But she was raped, and suffering. “This is big. And right after the whole nightclub thing. Connected to it, even.”

“Yup.”

“Could our Jane Doe be behind it?”

“I don’t know. Does she create sexual violence, or does she sniff it out like a moth to flame?”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Helen said. “You’ve been on this project, what, a few years now? Since you made deputy chief for analytics? And Riley before you, and Gene before him.”

“Yup. The police don’t know squat, but I think that might change soon. I’ll make sure they don’t get anything from our end, but there’s not much they can get.” He laughed. “We don’t know anything!”

“You know more than they do. More than anyone!”

“Not quite anyone,” he said. He was right.

“You’ll be the one to find her. You’ll find her and stop her and this problem we caused will be over for good.”

“We didn’t cause it. Bill Lembert caused it and the bastard didn’t even live long enough to know about it.” He sat back up. “Still, I wonder what she’s like in the sack.”

“She’s amazing. Or she’s a selfish bitch. Flip a coin,” Helen said. “Come on, you need to unwind. Spar with me.”

“You’re wiped out from, was it Todd today?”

“I’m just warmed up. Come on, like you need a reason. Pretend I’m Jane Doe and take me down. Hard!”

“Yeah, it’s almost quitting time.”

“You work around the clock. It’s quitting time when you say it is. Come on. I’ll reserve us a room.” She didn’t have to reserve anything. As head of physical security, she just had to block it off in the schedule. No one would interrupt. Ten minutes later, back in spandex, she faced her husband on the mat.

“You ready, boss lady?” he asked with a leering grin.

“Rarely. I can accept losing.” It was true. That was a lesson she kept having to drill into her minions. They didn’t live in some quasi-mystical fiction dystopia where the strongest ruled. Helen ran the department at forty as a woman because she was organized, experienced, clever, and hard-working. Many of her people could beat her in a fight, including most of the men. But they had to work for it and watch for her trick moves. If they beat her, they justified being the face of security to the public. Better an intruder faced Todd Gilmoore’s granite face than her own. She signed their paychecks so they could beat her.

But not Byron. He beat her because he could. Now they circled, looking for a chance. Any opening. She was limber, while her husband had sat for three straight hours. Ignorant money was on her. They moved at the same time, but his longer, stronger arms won. She grasped at air as he got behind her and in a flash she was on her back with the wind knocked from her lungs. “Is that all you’ve got?” he asked. “Woman.”

So that was his mood. Well, she did invite it. She jumped back up. He thought they were wrestling. She clenched her fists. He saw it. She tried some jabs. He blocked. She blocked his. A big round-house kick missed as he pulled back. His heel on her side knocked her sideways, but she kept her balance. With a flurry of moves, they bashed hands and feet until he landed a hard punch to her face. She stumbled and fell. “You’re right. This is just what I needed,” he said. “Woman.”

“Keep it in your pants. This is professional training. You do work in corporate security, you know. You’re such a man.”

She was going to get laid. That much was obvious. But he would need to earn it. And take it. He needed to eat better and get more exercise, but it wasn’t slowing him now. Normally she could at least knock him down a few times, get some hits in. But not this time. He kept at it, hard.

“God damn it!” she cried as he kicked her down again.

“God’s got nothing to do with it. Woman.”

“That’s getting old!” She forced herself up again. She couldn’t back down now. Not without at least a few points of her own. She managed to block a bunch more, leaving him circling and looking to finish her. “Come on, getting winded? Am I outlasting you?”

“Dream on.”

“Then finish it. Finish me! Pretend I’m your Jane Doe.”

“Yeah, right.”

She took some swings. Good ones. She finally drove him back with some good hits. She had him on the run. “Look at me!” she cooed in a sing-song high-pitched voice. “I’m so young and horny. Let’s get some vengeance!”

“Knock it off!” He took too wild a swing. Helen got behind him and helped him the rest of the way to the floor.

“Finally,” she said. “I can’t let you win in straight rounds. You’d get a swelled head. Well, the bad kind, anyway!”

“Seriously, stop talking.” He regained his feet. Now it was only about ten to one his favor for knock-downs.

“And seriously, pretend I’m our little self-important rage-doll,” she laughed. “Come on, land a hit. You know you want to!”

She was baiting him, but he liked it. Except when it rattled him and allowed her some points. Either way was a win as she danced about. He was going to overextend himself again. She grinned. And then lost her air. In a fake-out, he made her block left while he swung right, right into her chest, squashing her cleavage between spandex and sternum. She collapsed, sucking at cemented air. This time she stayed down.

Byron pounced atop her, pinning her while she tried to suck in a fresh breath. His hands went for her pants. “No!” she tried to gasp. What came out was closer to a cough mixed with chattering of teeth. “Not here!” With her gurgles dying in the air, he yanked her pants down, panties and all. She tried to push him away, for all the good it did. He just rolled her onto her belly and yanked it all off her bottom end.

“The security cameras!” she tried to wheeze. Speak. Say anything coherent. Now she was flashing her ass and crotch for anyone. Probably no one was watching. It wasn’t a continuous coverage area. The training gym was low priority, on the way to or from nothing sensitive. But if just one of her men saw her, half naked on the mats. No, they wouldn’t be watching, not knowing she had the room. They wouldn’t dare!

“You bastard!” she finally rasped as he yanked her shirt up over her head. He didn’t outweigh her by all that much, but it was enough, and he gave her no leverage. “Really! Don’t do it here!”

“You mean here?” he asked, and she felt his cock head at her opening before she realized he’d gotten his own pants down. When? But with a thrust, she was filled. With her face kissing the gym mat, he pulled her hips up and took her from behind, sliding into her too-wet pussy with ease and fury. “You mean here?” he repeated. She could see him laughing through the eyes in the back of her head, even as he gripped her hair to hold her still. “Right here!” he grunted, timed with a deep thrust. Helen just groaned into the gym mat under the assault. He was really pent up. There would be no talking him down as he pounded in her. But time took care of his rage as he flooded her belly with hot spunk. “Oh yeah! That’s the ticket!”

How she hated that follow-up, but at least he was sated now. For a bit of time they stayed locked in place before he pulled out, taking his dick from her cunt followed by his dribbling semen. It flowed down her thigh onto the mat, some dripping right out direct. “Ooh. Good session, babe,” he said.

“I hope you’re happy,” she stated. “Someone has to clean this up. I’m not leaving it to custodial.”

“You can clean it. Lick it up.”

“Yeah, right.”

“You love my cum in your mouth.”

“I drink from the straw, not from the puddle.”

“Lick it up.”

“I’m getting some paper towels,” she said, moving to stand. But his hand, she remembered, still had her hair wrapped up tight. She cried out as he yanked her back down. “Fucking hell!” she cried. She was off-balance, unprepared like she should never be. Now he slammed her into place, face-down in the wet spot.

“Lick it up!”

“Fuck you! We’re done!” She tried to jerk free, but he had her pinned by her hair and one twisted arm.

“Lap it up! Do it!” he snarled.

“Byron.”

“Get that tongue out!”

“Ow!” she cried as he twisted her arm harder. But her tongue came on out. Slowly, she lapped up the cool semen off the mat, cleansing the spot of spunk and dirt alike until he finally let go.

He stood up as she sat there, shaking. Sniffling a bit, trying to play it cool. “Feel like Chinese tonight?” he finally asked. She nodded. It was all fine. Chinese with some sake. She rubbed her nose with her arm and gathered up her gym wear. It was time to head home.

Pheromonica - NaNoWriMo 2025 challenge completed

Pheromonica - NaNoWriMo 2025 challenge completed

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