They Are Worth Your Tears
Dressing Room, Block A, Flynt County Performance Training Program Campus
1 Everett Square, Ford's Valley, Terranova
9/15/2101, 1315.20 American Time
"Now's your chance to vote, Terranova!" BoobTube's Hannah Chen squeaks, shifting her long legs to show off a flash of thonged pootie underneath her short pink skirt.
"What do you think," she asks, as David Harris stretches and rises from the coldwire chamber,"Robyn and her gang should do to Teresa first? Remember, Teresa is a hardened sexual predator, linked romantically to schoolteacher Mary-Kate Walton, the woman singlehandedly responsible for the rape of nine-year old Jacob Sipe, the murders of two National Policemen-including Jacob's father Garrison-the principal of her school, and the commander of the TSID's Special Victims Unit."
David rocks on the balls of her feet, bouncing a little bit, just to see her boobies go up and down like a couple of bowls of jello, before she walks over to the full-length mirror, where the other girls are already preening themselves, tossing their hair about, feeling on themselves, the usual things zeds are supposed to do, but try to deny they do.
This one on its way to them now's no different.
Not at all, even though it'll try and say it is.
They all do at first.
"-each vote you cast will auto-debit your MoneyCenter account $5.99 Terranovan Standard Currency with a limit five votes per account," Chen continues rambling on, as David grabs his boobies, holding those 42DDs up as high as she can, pursing her lips in a pouty little O, before she exhales:
"We just can't help what we are, bay-bay."
"...uh, uh, pootie-poo," Desiree Poteet says, grabbing Jami's hair, forcing her back down across the teenage girl's lap.
"You don't get up 'til we say we're through with you," she barks out, slapping the ten-year old girl's bare butt hard with her open hand.
"Should know that by now," Desiree then tells her, as she keeps whaling away on her,"you made us do this to you 'nuff times, y'lil' bitch."
Jami bites down on her lip, knowing what's coming next, Desiree holding onto her hair to keep her from moving.
"All you zeds are the same," she says, sticking her fingers in, one at a time. "All y'all think you're so effing smart at first."
"Then," she adds, as she balls up those fingers,"all y'all eventually...."
Aboard the Commonwealth Forces Ship Unbroken
Landing Pad 819, Commonwealth Forces Base New Seattle, Big Sky
9/15/2101, 1818.36 Zulu
...learn better.
Commander Jamilinne Sipe spits out the f-word an instant before the bot damn near makes her spit out her frickin' teeth, the captain of the Commonwealth Forces Ship Unbroken ducking and rolling out of the way, the bot's right leg sweeping over the top of her head.
"Screw this," Jami spits out, drawing her Palmer/Walker LP077 laser pistol from its holster, a single 250 gigajoule snap shot vaporizing the bot instantly, scorching the surrounding bulkheads in the crew deck gymnasium.
"That's cheating," that miserable bonesmoking, black bastard has the nerve to remark from behind her.
"Second frickin' place is death," Jami spits out, not bothering to look at the son of a bitch, as another training bot waddles up to take the place of the one she's slagged.
"We all die sometime," Reverend Robert Cheney tells her.
"Some deserve it more than others," Jami tells him....
"...I just don't know what to tell you, Captain Sipe," Doctor Wildgoose tells her Daddy and Avery, the orderlies dragging Jami-wearing a brief grey PTP uniform skirt and matching push-up bra-into the dayroom. "We've tried everything, and, there's just no correcting the underlying pathology."
Daddy snorts.
"What a effing surprise," he remarks. "The most expensive frickin' quack my money can buy, and you can't even make her right."
Leering at the thirteen year old girl, Daddy adds,"guess it's back up to me, then, isn't it?"
"I'm sorry to say that it is, Captain," Doctor Wildgoose agrees,"A regimen of tough love, practiced by the male role models in Jamilinne's life, will be more effective in breaking your daughter of her victim-state mindset and accompanying sexual deviancy. I'll have a list of required paraphenalia and a suggested treatment plan uploaded to your Link, before you leave...you'll find the treatment options I suggested include simple household chores, as well as plans for making her room a more secure and structured enviroment...that shouldn't be too costly, any of the local contractors should be able to do the necessary remodeling."
"There are," he adds,"three very important things you must do to ensure the success of this therapy...."
...she flinches at that memory, at the three "very important things," Avery and Daddy had been so very dilligent in doing to her, the training bot taking advantage of her inattention to fire a punch aimed for her throat, Jami sidestepping the punch at the last moment, kicking high and hard to take the bot's head off its shoulders.
Which would've been it, had the bot's brain(and its lidar and sonar systems)not been in its heavily-armored torso, this being a variant of the standard MARVN combat bot which served as support for the ship's Legionnaires.
The headless automaton now circles, matching Jami move for move, each looking for an opening.
She almost forgets the preacher man's in the gym with them, till he speaks up again:
"I suppose you're right, Jami."
"What the eff do you want?!" Jami screams, jumping off the deck, as the bot's leg sweeps where she had been, the captain of the Unbroken cartwheeling over the bot, landing behind it, her nofohaz-the one given her when she'd been knighted sixteen years ago-in her left hand, its obsidian grip cutting into her bare palm, the blade-a single, long-chain crystalline carbon molecule 81 centimeters in length-easily slicing through the back of the bot, severing its chest and shoulders from its legs.
She wishes she could do the same to that miserable black son of a bitch.
"Well?!" she asks, rounding on him, the tip of the Anazazi-crafted blade pricking his chin.
"You want me to forgive you?!" she adds. "Forgive you for having me sent to that effing Phoenix Center, to get raped and jazzed and every damn frickin' thing else, so they could cure my 'pathology?!'"
"Fine!" she spits at him. "I forgive you! I forgive you, 'cause you're about to frickin' die and burn in Hell anyway!"
"Does that make you feel better?!" she asks, her body trembling, the nofohaz edging closer to Reverend Cheney's throat. "I know it's supposed to make me feel better, forgiving all the pedos and sickos who did what they did to me."
"Oh, wait," she adds, voice dripping with sarcasm,"I forgot, I'm the pedo and the sicko who made everyone do shit to me, so I'm supposed to ask their forgiveness."
Aboard the Commonwealth Forces Ship Unbroken
Landing Pad 819, Commonwealth Forces Base New Seattle, Big Sky
9/15/2101, 1821.00 Zulu
Robert Cheney sighs, his breath rattling in progressively-clogged lungs.
"I suppose I deserved that," he says.
"Y'think?!" Jami screams at him, not moving that effing blade away from his throat, the aging preacher not wanting to think about how effortlessly the clearcarbon blade of the Anazazi sword can cleave through his neck.
The sixty-year old man thinking about it anyway, reflexively swallowing a lump in his throat, before telling her:
"You've never seen men go jocritter hunting, have you?"
"What the eff does that have to do with anything?!" Jami demands, Cheney continuing:
"They go out when the suns go down-gives the Kentucky and the kike they'd been swilling down their throats to work-smashing through the woods in SUTs with huge floodlights on them, shining the damn things on jocritter hogans, making them freeze up, scaring the beejesus out of 'em...hunters don't kill all of 'em at first, just a couple with las shots-usually babies or old ones- just enough to scare and scatter the rest...you can smell their fear something awful...it gets the hunters off, while giving 'em time to get on jetboards and run 'em down, playing with the poor creatures like a fish on the hook, uploading the hunt to YouTube, so everyone else can get off on it live in 256-bit true color."
He pauses a second to cough up another glob of bloody blue phelgm, before he adds:
"They don't use lasers or even massdrivers on the rest...too quick, not enough suffering, not nearly as much as you get when you shoot 'em down at close range with frag rifles...the resulting shrapnel wounds burn and bleed out more slowly, why a lot of Marines used 'em during the war, the one in '69, I mean, maybe 9YW too, I wouldn't know 'bout that firsthand."
Another rasping sigh, before he concludes:
"Anyway, that's the way they're doin' your sister in law, hunting her down like a scared animal, playing with her, shooting dice for her fate like the British did to Christ at the Tower. YouTube's tracking her now, along the banks of the Winnpegosis, heading towards New Whitehorse."
Jami lowers the sword in her hand, whispering,"son of a bitch."
"Aren't-" she starts to ask, Cheney telling her:
"Most of our people weren't lucky enough to be killed, when the Gnats, the TSID and the Third Shock Army came calling...and most of us still alive and free are themselves too busy trying to stay that way to even think of lending a hand."
"We got comfortable in the last ten years," he says, the bitter truth,"and lax, while our enemies grew stronger and harder in their determination...now, we're paying the price."
"Just frickin' great," Jami snaps, shaking her head, as she finally sheathes her nofohaz.
"Basically," she adds," the hajjies aren't in a position to do jackshit for themselves, let alone for Michelle, huh?"
"We'll try," Cheney tells her,"but...."
"Fat frickin' lot of good that'll do them," Jami tells him
"Fat frickin' lot of good," she adds, an instant before she violently wheels about and drives her fist into the nearby bulkhead.
Along the banks of the Winnpegosis River
Charles County, Terranova
9/15/2101, 1338.11 AMT
"Yeah, bay-bay, show us that stankin' ass!" voices scream from the trees at Michelle Thorn Sipe, as she staggers through the brambles and undergrowth along the banks of the river.
She's out of breath, her skirt, stockings, legs, and feet cut to ribbons by stickers, thorns, and sharp rocks, the soles of her feet throbbing and bleeding, her legs itching from a million scratches, her chest on fire from having to gasp for air so much in the cold of a September day(night now that second sunset has come and gone), her body shivering from the sweat fogging up her glasses and stinging her eyes.
Definitely not in proper uniform now, she muses, as she keeps running...a branch tore her uniform skirt loose and scratched up one of her boobs a few moments ago(to the amusement of everyone watching this online), another pulling off her Aunt Jemima uniform headscarf, while her dress uniform pumps and their ridiculous heels are in someone's dumpster back in Owensboro.
"Order of pootie on two," a voice shouts from a speaker nailed to a tree somewhere,"they're gonna scatter, smother and cover it real good when she get to Witch's Titty!"
At the same time, she hears the whirring servos and digitized growling of the HOUNDS, less than a hundred yards behind her, give or take, but holding back.
Waiting for just the right moment to jump me, she thinks, trying not to, shuddering at the thought of being sent offworld, to Witch's Tit...growing up on Diablo....
"...by order of the Texoma-Halliburton Department of Judicial Affairs, Texoma-Halliburton Offworld Facility #6718 Diablo," says the man in the grey suit, as SpecForces goons drag the frightened, half-naked eleven-year old girl down the hall past him ,"acting upon the opinion issued by the Medical Office, Department of Human Capital, Texoma-Halliburton Offworld Facility #6718 Diablo, 15 December, 2081, Associate A187D250B, job category number 001, associate in training, is hereby registered as a sex offender and consequently convicted of rape and aggrivated child moles-"
"We didn't do nothin'," Michelle screams,"we didn't do nothin', she was my frieahahahahahahahahahah!"
"-and reassigned to Texoma-Halliburton Offworld Facility #267," the man continues talking, even as Michelle lies there, peeing and crapping herself, screaming her head off,"Lord Jim and redesignated job category 990, penal indentured labor, for the remainder of her natural life."
"These proceedings," he added,"are ....."
...had been bad enough, with the Archipelago asteroid LordJim and the strip club in Owensboro where Garry had bought and married her worse still, but she's heard stories 'bout what went on at the Union's Maximum Security Penal Facility on Witch's Tit...hell, she's seen every last episode of Girls of the Prison Planet, and those who told the stories said those shows didn't tell the half of it, the right-wing liberal media elites wouldn't let them....
Son of a bitch!
She turns her ankle, and she slides down the riverbank, almost into the water, the YouTube camera helo dipping down low to catch her slipping on the silt and mud in the process of regaining her footing, as the HOUNDS get that much closer to her.
Now, she's covered in mud, those watching her online not missing that at all, the speakers erupting with references to mud wrestling....
"...you're a dirty-azz bee-yatch!" the blond stallion screams in her face, as she pins the sixteen-year old girl down in the stinking mud, the cheering of everyone watching this on- and offline a deafening roar, the stallion Rebel-yelling, as she thrusts herself....
...which only bring back more unpleasant memories for her, as she manages to climb and crawl her way back up the riverbank, hobbling painfully on her sprained ankle, as a HOUND lunges towards her, its jaws snapping shut this freakin' close to her.
It just keeps coming after her, it and a whole hell of a lot more besides, the Gnats bursting through the woods behind them, Michelle gritting her teeth, as she keeps running.
Port 33
Charles County, Terranova
9/15/2101, 1841.66 Zulu
"Vote yes now," YouTube's Rachelle English says breathily,"if you want Tactical Units 57 and 184 to end their chase at this point, and vote no, if you're not ready for them to capture the dangerous sexual predator and child killer Michelle Sipe, who has been linked romantically to schoolteacher Mary-Kate Walton, the woman who murdered her husband and sexually abused her nine-year old son Jacob."
"Remember," she adds, after showing the online audience a bit of knickers underneath the short skirt,"each vote will automatically debit your MoneyCenter account $5.99 Terranovan Standard Currency, with a limit of five votes per account."
Captain Eamon Fitzpatrick utters a rude word, one of the few in Gaelic he's remembered from his childhood in the very first of the First Colonies, the fifty-eight year old former Commonwealth military attaché then stretching himself in the sofa in the wing-in-ground effect rig's living space as he feels it slowing down.
"We here, Commonwealth," the holo of the rig's driver, Jemal "Poolstick" Bryant, says from directly over the HV projector, the Haziri adding, after a rude word of his own:
"Best you stay hid or jump out the back, they got Marines and SpecForces hep'in the Gnats out."
The chimp abruptly cuts communications, Fitzpatrick checking the Palmer/Walker laser pistol he's got snugged underneath his left armpit, praying to God he doesn't have to use it, the veteran Commonwealth Forces Legionnaire feeling the rig decelerate and maneuver its fully-loaded 227 metric ton mass in for a landing at one of many ports dotting the Winnpegosis between New Whitehorse and Columbus Two, the rig and its thirty-meter trailer gently settling onto a landing pad with barely a thump.
A moment later, he hears Bryant hollering "man, I got a permit fo' that gun, it right here on my PPR!"
Another voice replies,"well, it ain't current."
"It good fo' ten y-" Bryant says, the other voice interrupts,"it ain't current. Don't blame me for your failure to comply with the law, driver."
"There's some other discrepancies on his PPR as well," a third voice says. "His fingerprints and DNA don't match up to what we got on fi-"
"Maaan, that just some bull-" Bryant says, the second voice barking out,"insubordination to lawful authority's an act of treason under the-"
"The Articles of Union say I gots freedom-" Bryant insists, the second voice snapping out,"we are at war against the zeds, the Commies, and their Conspriacy. Don't you dare quote me some damn right-wing liberal Republican BS that don't mean a goddamn thing under those circumstances."
The second voice then gets to the heart of the matter:
"Now, you can let me auto-debit your account for the gun, the inaccurate PPR, and the disorderly conduct, or we can just burn you right here and n-what is it, Corporal?!"
"There's someone back in the back, Gunny; scanners are pickin' him up plain as day."
"Bring his ass up front," the Gunny orders, at the same time Fitzpatrick moves for the door, reaching it at the same time four Terranovan Republican Special Forces Command thugs step through it into the rig's living quarters.
"Hullo, mates," Fitzpatrick says calmly, holding his hands out, as he speaks in his normal voice.
"Holy shit," the leader of the Yanker fire team is quick to deduce,"you're a freakin' Com-"
"Yes, I am," Fitzpatrick replies, before he bashes the Yanker right in his unhelmeted gob with an uppercut, lashing out with a kick to take one of the other three, the Commonwealth soldier hearing the whirring of two activated chainblades, one of which swings in an arc where his was a moment before.
Fitzpatrick reaches in his right sock, pulling out the sgian dubh which has served as a Commonwealth Forces officer's sigil of command for six and a half decades, the veteran Legionnaire remaining in a crouch as he jams the triangular-bladed dagger through the crotchplate of one of the remaining two Yanker trogs, at the same time he grabs the sword arm of the last trog standing, bending it in a direction it wasn't meant to bend in.
Even through the powered Kevlar/Spectra weave of the tiger-striped Land Warrior armor, the fag boy feels it when his arm snaps, Fitzpatrick taking the still-active chainblade from the Yanker's now-useless fingers.
Just as Gnats, Marines and more fag boys come through the door, Gunny smiling, as he remarks,"this is gonna be worth more than the fi-"
It's at that point Fitzpatrick becomes aware of voices screaming over the InterWeb for the Yankers to "kick his goddamn Commie ass!"
The rig's plasma jet whines high, as it kicks in at full power, Fitzpatrick holding on tight to something, as the force of abrupt acceleration knocks the trogs to the deck.
Port 33
Charles County, Terranova
9/15/2101, 1346.84 AMT
Jemal "Poolstick" Bryant pushes the rig's plasma jet to the firewall, bulleting it out of its assigned landing spot, aiming it straight for the hydrogen tankage at the center of the port, bullets and beams bouncing off the bumperfield, as the rig plows through everything at 2.5 times the speed of sound.
With one hand on the driving controls, Bryant reaches under the dash with his free hand, jerking out fiber-optic cabling until he's sure he's disabled the rig's connection to the IW, even as alarms howl all throughout the cab, as the steering controls go slack in his hands...with the rig disconnected from the InterWeb, its computer and fly-by-wire controls are now permanently offline, with no way to steer it away from the hydrogen tanks.
Commonwealth finishes tasering the last of the Gnats, Marines and fag boys who'd been hassling them, the wrinkly snobo changing out of his clothes into the suit of Land Warrior armor that's the closest to fitting him.
"What about you?" he asks.
"I ain't going up with this damn thing, if that what you asking," Bryant, rising up out of the driver's seat, remarks, finding the monkey with armor closest to his size and changing clothes as quickly as he can.
The rig's about a good ten or twenty yards from the hydrogen tanks, when Bryant begins checking the M33 laser rifle's fiber-optic cable connection to his armor's backpack antimatter reactor, checking it again after that, wanting to make damn sure it works when he uses it.
Commonwealth's already checked his weapon out, slinging it over his right shoulder, gripping the handle and the trigger tight, as Bryant walks past him, towards the back.
"They's a hatch on the side of the rig," he tells him. "Jump out it first, and I'll catch you."
Along the banks of the Winnpegosis, 150 yards from Port 33
Charles County, Terranova
9/15/2101, 1347.01 AMT
A fireball rumbles up out of the forest, a wash of hot air knocking Michelle onto her hands and knees, as everything rattles and rumbles all round her.
She crawls up onto her feet, stumbling her way back into a run, buildings and WIG rigs becoming visible the closer she gets to where the fireball erupted, the rumbling of the explosion finally giving way to the growling of the HOUNDS drawing closer to her with every passing second, along with the screams of the Gnats behind them and the catcalls of those watching her online.
"The votes are in, Terranova," Rachelle English's voice says from one of the speakers,"and it's been decided. Michelle Sipe, you are to stop where you are and allow the National Policemen pursuing you to take you into custody."
"Not hardly," Michelle gasps, stumbling forward, Rachelle's voice telling her,"Terranova has voted, now, it's time for you to...."
"...accept responsibility for your actions!" Sergeant McGraw yells in her face, at the same time he grabs the eight-year old girl's hair, pulling her head back as far as it will go, backhanding her with his free hand.
"Ain't no damn body's fault but yours," the PTP performance instructor adds,"that you like living in filth like an effing, goddamn-"
"...pig!" a man's voice hollers from directly behind her, as Michelle's bare feet slap painfully against ferrocrete. "We done told you what we wanted, so, give it up, now!"
"Now!" the voice repeats, just before flexible steel cable wraps round her ankles, bringing her down at the same time the electric current coursing through her body causes her to jerk convulsively, as she starts crapping and peeing all over herself, her knees scraping against the ferrocrete as she's dragged towards the direction of the voice now screaming how it's all her fault.
Port 33
Charles County, Terranova
9/15/2101, 1848.12 Zulu
The monkey's having the Devil's own time staying in the air with the added weight of Fitzpatrick wrapped round his legs.
"You gots to lose some weight, Commonwealth," Bryant observes, between grunting gasps, as he maneuvers the pair of them away from the roaring inferno which was once a WIG rig and the hydrogen tankage for this particular port.
"I'll be sure to eat less carbs and trans fats," Fitzpatrick observes wryly. "That fast food's a killer, y'know."
At the same time, he looks round, trying to find...there it is, the port's InterWeb relay, its one-kilometer high tower crowned with garlands of satellite up/downlink dishes, including the blue ones at the apex which link up with Terranova's SATNAV.
Those are the ones he needs...the SATNAV satellites have their integral warpdrive transceivers, constantly transmitting astrographic information on Terranova and the other objects in the Achird A system(including the star itself).
All he has to do is slot this circuit board in his pocket into the hub's computers and piggyback their data into the SATNAV telemetry sig-
Bloody hell!
Bang goes that plan, he thinks dimly, scraping himself off the ferrocrete, the rumblings of the explosion which has knocked the hub's towers and sat dishes to the ground continuing to echo throughout the port.
The Haziri is cursing the entire time it takes for him to get back up onto his feet, another detonation coming from the hydrogen tankage swaying the two of them, but not knocking them down.
"What you gonna do now, Commonweal-" Bryant starts to ask, before he sees the same thing Fitizpatrick is now seeing.
A woman, in a muddy, ragged Moot House uniform, being dragged along the ferrocrete by the electrowhip wrapped round her ankles towards sixty-odd Yanker Gnats, the woman twitching, crapping and pissing herself, as the Gnats and all the bastards watching this online are hooping and hollering like the bloody trogs they all are.
And, all the world wonders why the hell we stayed behind, the soldier of his Commonwealth observes to himself, as he takes aim.
And, screams at the top of his lungs,"NO SURRENDER! COMMONWEALTH FOREVER!" before shooting off a string of antimatter grenades from the massdriver below the M33's beam emitter.
Port 33
Charles County, Terranova
9/15/2101, 1349.00 AMT
"Yeah, that right, Commonwealth, let 'em know we here," Bryant remarks grimly, taking aim with his own weapon, as .177-caliber antimatter grenades-each with a yield of 100 kg of old-style chemical explosives-detonate in the air above the Gnats and their Hostile Unit Neutralization Devices, knocking them over like pins in the bowling alley.
The Commie charges hell for leather towards them, snapping off 500-gigajoule laser pulses with one hand and 250-gigajoule laser pulses with the other, vaporizing most of them Gnats where they stand, before they even get it in their heads to return fire.
Guess I'd better lend a hand, Bryant thinks to himself, loosing a brace of antimatter grenades at a group of Marines charging into the fray, firing laser pulses into some fag boys trying to pile on Commonwealth from the other direction.
Without even looking at 'em, the Commie vapes a couple of Marines with the laser rifle, and frags three more SpecForces with the laser pistol, making it over to where the Moot House waitress was just now managing to make it onto her feet.
So much for the Old Man tellin' us to lay low, the retired Terranovan Republican Marine chief warrant officer and soldier for the Hajime Yatate thinks to himself, as he continues laying down suppression fire, Commonwealth screaming for the woman to "run like hell!"
Port 33
Charles County, Terranova
9/15/2101, 1350.66 AMT
He doesn't need to tell Michelle twice.
Her legs are still rubbery and tingling, but she manages to put one foot in front of the other quickly enough to consider it running.
The Commie soldier is right behind her, sizzling off laser pulses with pistol and rifle, the flying monkey Michelle is running towards firing off more laser pulses and antimatter grenades, as he shouts out,"so this yo' great plan, Commonwealth?!"
"I actually had more than that in mind," the Commie close behind her rejoins,"such as not getting ourselves killed."
"Yeah," the monkey comments,"that always a good idea."
"I gots a better one," he adds, as Michelle and the Commie join him. "C'mon."
The monkey then gets a running start and takes to the air, raining laser pulses and antimatter grenades down on the troops and Gnats below, the Commie shaking his head, remarking,"how the bloody hell are we supposed to keep up with him now?" at the same time he continues firing at the bastards the chimp didn't get.
"This way!" the Haziri shouts down from below, banking one-winged towards the right and back. "C'mon!"
"C'mon," the Commie soldier replies, Michelle staying well behind him as he blazes a trail ahead of them with the laser weapons in his hand, the two of them following the monkey as he glides towards a group of hoppers parked about a hundred yards or so ahead of them.
It may as well be over in the next county, Marines taking up firing positions ahead and above them, the Commie soldier's grav shielding turning red, orange, yellow and green as a hailstorm of laser pulses strike it.
"Now, what makes him think," the Commie remarks, grimly returning their fire," they're just going to up and let him make off with one of their bloody machines?"
"Come on," he adds, pushing forward anyway, Michelle right behind him.
TSID Regional Internal Surveillance Center
Flynt County Law Enforcement Center
211 Spruce Street, Ford's Valley, Terranova
9/15/2101, 1400.06 AMT
"An unintended consequence," Admiral Omar Baraka growls, watching the stolen Marine AV-424 Rickenbacker hopper hover over the burning WIG rig port and blast its way free,"which may be of use to us."
"Inform the units detailled to intercepting that hopper," he decides,"that they're to make it look good, but otherwise allow that hopper to reach its intended nest unmolested."
"Then," he adds," comm the CMO's office, request he convene an immediate session of the Union Security Council, so we can plan on exploiting the advantage which has landed in our laps."
And rid the Union of the Commie soldiers who had been running round loose on planet since that spoiled-ass brat of Ken Sipe's evacuated their embassy almost twenty years ago once and for all, the Director of Union Security thinks to himself, the National Policeman he's given his orders to "yes, sir"ing him before turning on his heel to leave.
Baraka focusses his attention on the holo of the tank, at the piece of stinking blonde poot all huddled up in the corner, the one eye she can still see out of all bloodshot and wide-open like a jocritter caught in the KC lights.
Pate's reassignment should be about done, the Director of Union Security muses, listening to everyone online telling that skank,"show us some titties, bay-bay!"
Administrative Segregation Cell, Flynt County Law Enforcement Center
211 Spruce Street, Ford's Valley, Terranova
9/15/2101, 1402.25 AMT
"That right, pootie-poo," the voices say over the speaker, as Sunni sits up a little bit, "show us them milk jugs."
"Squeeze that Charmin!" they then scream, as all Sunni can do is whimper, shiver and wince in the pain throbbing throughout her body.
"Squeeze 'em, bitch!" the voices tell her, the cell door buzzing open.
"You heard 'em, wife-girlie," Michelle says, as she steps into the small cell, her orange jumpsuit unzipped almost all the way down, nothing on underneath.
"All you ever been any effing good for," she adds, as she walks over to where Sunni's huddled up.
"Michelle?" Sunni manages to croak out, Michelle adding the words Sunni has always dreaded...and has always known she'd heard from her:
"Even to me."
Michelle laughs out loud.
"Oh, I forgot," she says, carelessly tossing her hair about,"you thought I loved you."
"All poot," she remarks, grabbing Sunni's chin with her left hand, briefly caressing it,"and no effing brain, that's you all over, baby."
That hand then grabs her hair, Michelle bawling out,"c'mere you!" at the same time she shrugs out of her jumpsuit, the strap-on round her waist choking Sunni, as it's forced down her throat to the feverish applause of those online.
At the same time they all scream for Michelle to show Sunni what her kind were really all about.
-endit-
