Archive | September 2018

Bad Things Happen Bingo: Hitter (V)

Sep6

Count: ~571
Chara(s): A Hitter (OC)
Pairing(s): N/A
Fandom: Org Fic – Fae Apoc xover
Prompt: Communication Cut Off

This continues a series of stories taking place in my universe, Fae Apoc, at the time just before the aforementioned apoc.  Portals are opening up to one other world at that time, and in this story, well, they happen to open up into a whole BUNCH of worlds. 

And from those worlds, a bunch of poor soon-to-be-victims-of-bad-things who bear some resemblances to fandom characters happen to slip through some portals.  And then bad things happen to them, because that, after all, is the name of the Bingo.

Content warnings for the series: violence, death, bondage, capture, drugging, visions. For this story: violence, wounds 

“All right.  So we’ve got him right where we want him.  He’s going to freak out just about now, yes, you’re a genius, yes I am, and there he goes running for the warehouse.  You got him, my man?”

“Got him.”  The hitter was perched on top of a stack of crates.  He had a long slash on his left side that he was ignoring – his t-shirt was acting as a bandage and it wasn’t that deep, not enough to slow him down – and a bruise that was threatening to close one eye shut.  but this fucker? Yeah, he could take him down without thinking twice.

“All right, and here he comes.  He’ll be on you in three, two-” Continue reading →

The Whisky Tango Foxtrot

Sep4

Written to Sauergeek’s prompt to my new “WTF?” Prompt Call.  

I am picturing this as the same era/world as The Trouble With… (Chickens, assignments, ferrets, and so on)

It wasn’t, exactly, a dance.

That is, it was never a dance that would performed in high society, in the dance halls of the Dames and Lords.

It was a dance that was born out of too much whisky, the sort of stuff that ambitious university students brewed in the abandoned dormitories.  It was born out of the awkward one-woman-to-ever-seven-men ratio that was common on the University campus – especially those sections where students were brewing bathtub hooch and coming up with interesting ways to “Age” it without getting caught.  And it was born out of one woman’s very determined urge that, if she was going to be in experimental sciences, she was going to get dances, no matter what her uncle said on the matter.

It was neither a tango nor a foxtrot, but it was face-paced, steamy, and done best when more than a little intoxicated.  It was something like a square dance, except that it was done with one woman at the heart of eight men.  And it was quickly declared against the rules by the university, illegal by the government, and immoral by two different churches.

It was so wildly popular that before she graduated, the young woman responsible for the craze wrote an anonymous tell-all book, the sales of which funded her experimentations for the next fifty years.

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Thimbleful Thursday: Zonked

Sep3

I think the best warning for this one is: This creeped me out.  No body horror but brain horror.

“We have an agreement.”  The woman’s smile was fake.  “You signed the papers, the money has been deposited, and you are ready to comply.”

“Yes.”  Tepha nodded shortly.  “You have my thumbprint.  You have my consent, and I’ve seen the money in the account.”  She put down her Access – the cheapest possible one, but it did show her things like bank accounts.  She’d done the three swipes necessary to take the account out of her name.  She couldn’t touch it anymore, and that was important.

“Good.  Now, I know you’ve probably heard some things about the Procedure.  Half of those are lies and the other half… well. You’ll find out soon enough.”

Considering the things Tepha had heard, that was not remotely comforting.  

It didn’t need to be.  She wasn’t here for comfort.

She sat down in the chair the woman indicated.  She closed her eyes.

“We can’t sedate you for this part, but don’t worry.  Most people lose consciousness very quickly.”

She didn’t know if that was a good thing.  She knew – if half the rumors were true – that nothing was the same after you’d been Zonked.  She knew – if even a quarter of the rumors were true – that it wasn’t reversible.

None of that mattered.

The wires attached to her head.  The pill set on her tongue, a wafer that tasted fakely of fruit.  She felt it dissolve. She felt a sudden jolt of pain. And then…

Then she felt nothing.

“There we go.”  The woman removed the wires and waved her hand in front of Tepha’s face.  The eyes tracked. There was no expression.

“Good.”  The woman nodded.  “Stand up and go through the blue door.  Follow the instructions you are given.”

Zonked people were cheaper than robots, could often still handle independent thought, and the price of feeding and housing them was minimized by their lack of want.  If the woman found them creepy… feeling was not part of her job description either.

The woman who had been Tepha did as she had been told.  There was nothing in her to suggest any desire to do otherwise.

Written to July 19th’s Thimbleful Thursday prompt: Zonked Out

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