Tattered Robes of Red

[Sinfulwolf]

A quick intro of sorts into a possible story. Wanted to see if people were interested or not. I really just sat down and wrote this in about 45 minutes or so.

As always, comments appreciated in the Tales from Sin thread. Let me know what ye think, and more may come of this.

Tattered Robes of Red​

In the distance, the once tall and proud spires of man rotted and decayed, illuminated by green flashes of lightning across the sky. The city would have been reclaimed by nature long years ago if not for the cataclysm that destroyed so much of Gaia’s grace, and left smouldering ruins as the price of humanity’s arrogance.

Across the bleak plains between the grand forest that resolutely stood untouched by the storms that ravaged the cities, and the city of ruins where the remnants of society scrounged out an existence that did not recall the beacon of civilization that had stood for millennia before, a single figure strode. The rain ran off the muddied and tattered red robes she wore, falling from the brim of her hood before the shadows that obscured her features. Black boots traversed over chunks of rock and compact dirt that had not been ploughed or seeded since a previous era.

She paused and looked down at an almost human looking figure, made entirely of steel long since rusted beneath the merciless fall of tainted rain. Brushing her boot over what would have been its head, knocking a circular eye piece out of place, the wanderer examined the pinnacle of human technology and desire to throw away all responsibility and care. Her eyes slid across the wasteland, spotting many more of the robotic husks that were abandoned when forces from myth returned to a land dominated by science.

With a sigh she continued forth, hunched over as gusts of wind grew stronger, as if wanting her to stay away from the city, from her prey.
Then she heard it, even above the rain and violent claps of thunder. A man screaming in agony. In the shadows of her hood, her lips curled upwards in a predatory smile, and her tongue slid over her canines, teasing the sharp tip. Climbing up a small incline she looked down over a ledge upon three men, her robe flapping behind her in the wind.

The screaming man, clutching at a bloodied bandage around his thigh saw her, and his scream turned from one of pain to that of terror. The others turned, and their faces paled when they saw her. Without concern for their injured friend, they dropped him where he lay, and ran as fast as they could towards the city, stumbling over rocky outcroppings and rusted husks of the foregone days.

The wanderer leapt down from the ledge, landing gracefully before the man, looking up at him from her hunch. His chest rose and fell heavily as he scrambled away from her, kicking at the dirt, holding up his hand. He pleaded, whimpered, but she only rose and slid a slim blade from a sheath across her back, the handle near her hip.

“You should not have come,” she growled, her voice as much an animal’s as it was human.

“Who are you?” the man screamed, fear and agony making his voice crack, just before her leather boot stomped down on his chest.

The steel tip pressed against the flesh of his neck, a single drop of blood running out from beneath the dark growth of hair on his neckline.

“Scarlet,” she said simply, and flicked her arm out to the side.

Beneath her, the man’s eyes went wide, and one hand flew to his throat, clutching at the skin and sinew sliced cleanly open. The other clutched at the leather of her boot, but Scarlet merely stood her ground, watching his blood wash away in the rain, mingling with the dark puddles of mud.

When life finally faded from his eyes she smiled, a feral grin as her gaze slowly raised itself to the city. Sliding her blade back into its scabbard she strode forth across the landscape, not needing the scent of the two hunters who escaped... she would find them.

 

[Sinfulwolf]

Re: Tattered Robes of Red

1​

Jack struck the match held between his fingers, and the suddenly flare of light momentarily blinded him in the darkness of the wastes. He quickly cupped the flame, protecting it as carefully as a child against the uncaring winds, and held it close to the paper wrapped tobacco clamped between his lips.

As the cigarette caught, Jack flicked his wrist, extinguishing the match and letting it fall from his fingers into the mud, and took a long drag, letting the smoke swirl down his throat and into his lungs. As rain pattered against the peak of his grungy ball cap, protecting the smoke dangling from his mouth, Jack crouched down to examine the robot husk at his feet.

With a grimace he pulled free his knife from the sheath on the side of his boot, and scratched with the dented edge along the humanoid form’s face. Dark brown rust scraped away with each stroke, eventually revealing gleaming metal beneath. A smile crossed Jack’s lips and he took another long drag, savouring the nicotine.

Unclipping the radio from his belt he raised it up, rubbing a hand across the scruff over his chin, mentally thinking that he could use a shave at some point. Taking another drag, he pressed down the button of his radio.

“Hey boys, got something out here. Follow the flare,” he said, clipping the radio back in place.

“It’s about fucking time mate,” came the reply from his hip as he grasped a red flare and ignited it.

Tossing it off to the side, Jack stood his ground until the sound of a heavy truck came rumbling from across the wastes. The headlights cut through the darkness illuminating the falling rain in its path, tires throwing mud and small bits of rock out behind it.

The driver stepped out, splashing mud up his leg, before he looked up into the sky, let the rain wash away the sweat that coated his face. The passenger pulled a raincoat tight around himself as he moved to the back of the truck, fingers running over the chipped black paint before he grasped the chains and hooks.

As the driver walked over to Jack, who crouched beside the shell of the automaton, he poked the still head with his boot.

“It’s a good one, be able to make a decent profit off of it,” he said, wiping excess water from his face.

Jack merely nodded, before putting his knife to the eye of the lifeless case, and pried it loose. He heard the driver behind him wince, seeing profit dribble away even as Jack slowly pulled on the cylindrical piece, pulling a few red wires along with it. As it reached the end of the wires’ length, Jack pushed the tip of his knife inside the mostly empty socket.

“Careful,” the driver said, almost painfully, and Jack merely grunted.

As the sounds of heavy chains approached, Jack found the connection between motherboard and wires, and gently plied them free. With the eye free, Jack shoved it in his pocket and stood up, letting the passenger attach the hooked chains to the husk, before shuffling back through the mud to the truck.

“Take it out of my share,” Jack said as the passenger flipped a switch, pulling the creature free of the muck as cranks squealed to pull it the chains.

“I always do. Get in the fuckin truck and let’s get out of here,” the driver said, as the ruined legs of the robot were pulled free and the entire husk dragged up into the back of the tow.

Jack tossed his cigarette and clambered into the truck. It’d be nice to get back into the city, and under some damn shelter.

***​

Darkness enveloped the room, with only a single light bathing a large workbench littered with scraps of metal, and circuitry boards. Brenda sat before it, a small screwdriver placing a motherboard onto a metal plate. She glanced to the side, pale red eyes sliding over small bolts and bits of wire, to the chassis she had been given to work with.

Shaped like a canine, it was to be the personal companion and guard for Marian. Brenda stared at it a moment, examining the opening in its metallic skull before focusing back on her work. She shuffled her feet, wincing as the shackles just above her ankles rubbed against raw skin. The chain affixed between wall and steel rings rattled against the floor from the slight movement.

With a heavy sigh, she ran a hand through her long white hair, wishing she would be granted the luxury of a shower as she felt the grime and oils on her fingers. A bead of sweat rolled down her back, following the length of her hair to her waistline.

Hunching over again, she felt the cramps settling into her legs again. She would walk and stretch if not for the agony her shackles caused her. The only course truly available was to stay hunch, feeling her muscles constrict within her flesh as she carefully worked on the circuitry before her.

She had been promised after all; if the dog was a success she would get fresh food.

Her mouth watered at the thought of a hot meal after so many days of stale bread and bits of moldy cheese. Licking dry lips, she focused on her work once more. Marian would not be happy to find her day dreaming again. The scars on her back were just reminders of her wrath. The queen must not be upset.

***​

The edge of the city, where tall structures struggling to stay standing loomed high above the muck of the wastes, the green lightning passing behind their monolith statures. Scarlet looked up upon them, rain water streaming from her face.

She was used to trees and leaves, surrounded by thick magic once unheard of, but here she was, in shattered memories of the days before the cataclysm that shook the world and toppled societies. Lips peeling back from fangs she snarled up at the buildings, as if daring them to strike her down. In her mind she knew they could not; they held no life, not like her home.

The huntress had lost the scent though, of the poachers who had come into her sanctuary. It was no matter, she would find them within their places of rest, and she would emerge with their heads.

Stepping beneath a faded sign whose writing was no longer legible, the steel pocked with holes from weather and battle, Scarlet stepped into the city. Into the den of her prey, and a shiver ran up her spine.

 

[Sinfulwolf]

Re: Tattered Robes of Red

2​

Ivory’s soft moans filled the dimly lit room, the singular candle nestled on the nightstand throwing the shadows of the two entwined bodies across the far wall. The man’s surprisingly strong hands ran down her back, fingertips firm against her creamy skin. Back arching as her hips grinded back and forth against his flesh, manhood deep within her, her nails ran gently over his shoulders.

Her breath was hot on his ear before he leaned forward, lips encircling a nipple, tongue grazing over the small dark bud. He was quiet, tasting and feeling her lithe and writhing body straddling his wiry form. A hand slid down to Ivory’s rear, pulling it tightly, bringing her closer to him.

Blue eyes fluttering closed, she tilted her head back, black hair brushing against her shoulders. Her hips and stomach moved as one, feeling him moving within her. A heat was rising within her loins, and her voice rose higher, sweeter, red lips parted to let the music pass between them.

She felt the liquid heat splash within her, and her ecstasy plummeted. Her hips stopped moving, the rhythm lost now, and the man pulled her off and laid her next to him on the bed. He quickly stood to his feet and fixed his pants, while she lay naked and unsatisfied on the small bed she had for clients.

“That’s fifty plus another twenty for bareback, Showboat,” she said, opening the vents in her room and reaching into her night stand to grab the pack of cigarettes.

The man sneered as he combed his slick hair back down, while Ivory lit her smoke and sat with her back against the wall, not bothering to conceal herself. The sweat coating her skin made her cheap eyeliner run slightly, marking black lines down from the corners of her eyes, while smoke poured from her lips, curling upwards and out through the vents.

Showboat reached into his pocket and pulled out a few blue plastic bills and tossed them onto the bed.

“That’s the last time you call me that whore,” he said.

“Stripper,”

“No difference in this city,” he said, before there was a hard knock at the door. He opened the door, with a sneer back to Ivory, who merely shrugged; half the city had seen her tits by now, what did she care if another stranger did.

The man outsider was a slender man in a suit nearly as well pressed as her client’s, nearly. His hair however was not slicked down with gel, nor did he have the burn scars upon his cheek. He was just another henchman of Marian.

“McIsaac. Bobby’s back,” the man said, and the slimy sneer dropped from McIsaac’s face, replaced by a clean and professional expression.

Without a further word to Ivory he stepped out of the room, gesturing for the suited henchman to lead the way. He didn’t bother closing the door, and Ivory rolled her eyes, finishing her cigarette before jabbing it into the ashtray beside her, leaving the butt amongst the small collection of others jutting from the ashes, as the thumping music from without shut off without warning.

She then heard McIsaac’s shouting from the main club area, followed by some angry shouts before a single gunshot. The anger turned to fear outside, and now she heard McIsaac clearly: “I said the club is fucking closed. Get out,”

“What the fuck?” Ivory said, grasping her clothes for after work hidden beneath the bed. With flats padding softly across the carpet of her room, she slipped into the back hall which led to all the dancer’s private rooms. All the other girls kept their heads down as they dressed as fast as they could, before leaving through the back door, some slipping out into the dark of the night only half clothed.

Ivory stepped out onto the hard tiles of the main club. The flashing lights that illuminated women upon the stage were dark, leaving the dais in shadows, while the rest of the club, with dark carpets and boots facing the stage were illuminated with the lights only the cleaners used as the sun crept over the horizon in the morning. McIsaac and a few other men talked to a man sitting at the bar, dressed in dark camouflage and covered in mud and his side spotted with blood. He sipped at a glass of booze that the bartender was forced to pour as he slid a box across the bar top.

“I was under the impression that Marian wanted all three of you to return to her immediately with these. Where is the other box, and where are the other men?” McIsaac said, tapping the barrel of a pistol gently against the counter, leaning against the dark wooden surface as he stared at the man who must have been ‘Bobby’.

“Roy’s dead. Jimmy went off to Marian with the other box. Some crazy bitch from the forest followed us, she killed Roy. We thought we lost her, thought we were safe in the city... but she picked us up again. Somehow, I dunno, she’s not fucking human. I... I think I got here okay, but fuck man,” the hunter said, and Ivory leaned against the frame of the door towards the back rooms, arms cross over her chest as she listened, confused. What was Marian getting into now?

“Bobby, if you don’t slow down and tell the story straight, I will start putting bullets through your joints until you do. Bar keep give him another before I shoot him,” McIsaac said, now pressing the barrel of his gun against Bobby’s kneecaps.

“Now... why did you come here instead of directly to Marian with this. Do you realize what kind of situation this puts me in Bobby? Here I am, with something that belongs to Marian, and you know how she so very much enjoys having things taken from her,” McIsaac said.

Bobby’s face with pale, and his leg twitched slightly. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed to find the words.

“Because... the red one was after us,” Bobby said.

McIsaac was about to say something when a gurgle came from the doorway, quickly followed by a man’s shout and two quick gunshots. Everyone in the club looked over towards the fire exit. There one guard was slumped against the wall, blood blossoming across his white dress shirt from two distinct holes. The other man stood, eye’s blinking as blood gushed from his throat, spurting around a long, thin, steel blade that had burst outward from his flesh.

“Give me back the box, and the rest of you may walk out of here with your lives,” said the strange woman standing behind the impaled man. It seemed as if she were coiled beneath her tattered dark red robes, more predator than human. Fluid began to drip from Bobby’s pant leg as he pointed at her, but McIsaac simply leveled his weapon.

“Fuck off bitch,” he said, before shooting. The gunshot roared within the club, but the woman was already moving, and Ivory could only stare. McIsaac’s bullet punched through the man’s head even as the blade slipped clean of his flesh, stained with his blood. The woman leapt up onto the bar, and the sword flashed, cleaving through a man’s face, before her boot found McIsaac, crushing his nose and sending him sprawling to the ground.

Bobby screamed and grasped the box, jumping up from his stool as the bartender bent and grasped a shotgun from behind the bar. The red woman kicked at his weapon as he pulled the trigger, the blast hitting Bobby square in the back. His chest exploded from the impact arms flopping uselessly before him as the box skidded across the floor, stopped just at Ivory’s foot.

She looked down at it for a moment, before she looked back up to see McIsaac staring at her with rage in his eyes, the stranger taking the shotgun forcibly from the bartender’s hands and quickly pumping the action, spinning atop the bar and catching another man in the face with the next shell.
As blood and chips of bone peppered the wall and ceiling, Ivory bent down and grasped the box. She didn’t know what was in it, only that Marian wanted it. Even as her fingers curled around the finely carved oak, she knew she was stepping into a deadly game, but one that could get her something more than laying on her back for cash.

She turned and ran as the predator in the bar killed, and McIsaac’s voice followed her, cursing her until she found the back door and was out into the streets, alone, and marked.

***​

“Get back here you whore,” the slick haired man shouted after the pale skinned woman as she took off with the box.

Scarlet saw her leave out of the corner of her eye, but was too concerned with the armed men around her to pursue. For the moment anyway. She had been lucky enough to catch the hunters’ scent again, and was aggravated that the prize was once more out of her hands.

She took out the frustration upon the next man before her, crashing the butt of the shotgun into his throat, crushing the windpipe. He collapsed, clutching at his neck, before another emerged from behind a pillar, a machine pistol raised and spitting lead out in brilliant flashes. Scarlet dropped and rolled behind the bar, feeling a few of the rounds punch through her cloak and just past her skin. A low growl rumbled in her throat as she found herself face to face with the bartender who had raised the shotgun against her.

The man stared for a moment, as it slowly dawned on him that the eyes staring into his own held no traces of remorse. Her hands snapped out, claws digging into his flesh as she stood, a metallic click having replaced the onslaught of bullets. Her foot collided with the man’s shoulder, pinning him down, her claws tearing open his flesh deep enough that his cheekbones glimmered beneath the pouring blood. Her arms violently twisted, and there was a loud crack as spine snapped and the body flopped uselessly to the ground.

The man with the machine pistol stared as Scarlet rose before him, and he fumbled with the next magazine, dropping it to the ground.

The predator before him spared no time as she leapt over the bar, and rushed the last man standing, her shoulder colliding with the bottom of his ribs. The man gasped for air as he was sent sprawling to the ground.

Scarlet pinned him in place before glancing around the bloodied room. Everyone else was dead, save the pale girl, and the slick haired man. Both had fled, both held clues for her prey. Looking back down upon her victim she pulled her lips back and snarled at him, before descending and sinking her teeth into the soft flesh of his neck.

Blood welled up into her jaws, spilling out onto the floor as she pulled her head back, tearing a large chunk of succulent meat from the man’s body. A soft rumble sounded in throat as crimson trickled down her chin and along the contours of her neck. He died watching her chew his own muscle and sinew before swallowing, and lunging in for another bite.

***​

Chains rattled as they were run through gears badly in need of oil, pulling a large grated lift behind them. Jack leaned against one of the railings, pulling his cap from his head, and flicking it downwards, spraying water across the metal. A cigarette hung from his lips, smoke curling upwards into the elevator shaft, but it was his own home and he didn’t care.

As the lift reached the top, he stepped out into his flat, pulling the ball cap back on to open the gate impeding his progress.

“Home sweet home,” he muttered as he looked around the single room with a single door leading into a cramped bathroom. The smell of beer and stale cigarettes clung to the air, and he dropped his current smoke into one of the many mostly full ashtrays as he walked through the jungle of hanging chains and around the maze of workbenches littered with tools and pieces of scrap from his journeys into the wasteland.

Finally he stopped at one bench in particular, placed tight against the wall, neat and orderly unlike everything else in the house. There sat a boy, his skin gleaming in the light offered by the single clouded light bulb hanging above him, one of his arms merely a protruding spike entangled with coloured wires, his face laying on the table next to him, so all the circuit boards and motors could be seen.

Jack lifted the eye piece he had taken, and looked into the boy’s empty socket. With a slight smile he looked down to grasp the screwdriver and flashlight sitting on the bench beside a piece of the boy’s chest that read ‘MICK-E’. Taking up the flat headed screw driver, Jack carefully pushed the plug inwards, while holding the flashlight in his teeth to watch what he was doing.

For a few moments he moved the plug for the eye around, until he found the connector to the circuit board. With a grunt of success he pushed it in, securing it and pulled the screwdriver out and set the flashlight down.

“Well Mickey, looks like you’ll have both working eyes now,” he said, reaching behind the boy’s head and pressing a small button.

He watched as both eyes lit up a dull yellow, and a smile crossed his features. It wasn’t life... not yet, but it would be there soon. Setting a hand on the boy’s shoulder Jack turned the switch off and stared at him a moment.

“Soon little buddy, soon,” he said, and left the bench alone, wandering over to the corner of the flat which was his kitchen, if a sink a small counter and a fridge counted as a kitchen. He opened the door to the fridge and looked within, grunting as he noted the mold growing further over the cheese, and instead reached past it to grasp a beer.

Popping the cap off and tossing it into a bin he took a long pull of the fluid and let out a loud burp. He leaned against the sill of the open window, feeling the filthy air of the city rush in as he reached into his pocket and pulled free his pack of smokes.

After lighting it up he stared out into the night, towards the lonesome tower in the middle of the city, and the large mansion on the hill beside it; where Marian lived, queen bitch of everything around.

“Fuck you,” Jack muttered into the night.

 

[Sinfulwolf]

Re: Tattered Robes of Red

3​

The room was almost entirely pitch black, save for the blinking lights adorning the many machines in the small room, and the blue glow emanating from within the glass case covering the single bed against one wall. Within lay a woman, clad in a dress of white satin that covered most of her form. Her chest rose and fell slowly as she breathed in through the great black mask that covered the majority of her face, a thick hose the only connection she had with the outside world, feeding her synthesized oxygen.

A sigh sounded through the room, even above the low beeps and hisses of working machinery. Within the darkness a shadow rose from a hidden stool, and stepped into the glow from the bed. Marian’s pale features were a stark contrast to the raven hair sprinkled with the occasional silver strand. She laid a hand against the glass and looked in on the woman there.

If anyone were to look upon the most feared person within the entirety of the city at this moment, they would see only a vulnerable mother looking upon something no parent should ever see.

“I’m so close Dora... you’ll be free soon, I swear it,” she whispered, before leaning forward and kissing the glass gently. She forced herself to look down at her daughter’s visage despite almost not having the heart to see it.

Dora’s beauty was marred by the disease that ravaged her, and bits of flesh were rotting away across her face, spreading out from under the mask. Keeping her hand pressed tightly against the glass, Marian thought of the little girl that had once run through these halls, but had been bound upon this bed for years now. She wished again to hold her tight, and hear her laughter.

She was so close. All she needed were the scrolls. They were the answer to everything. Slowly, she pulled her hand from the glass, and backed away, finding it hard to take her eyes away from the one thing that meant everything to her.

Eventually she did, and she turned from the room, closing the door behind her, and resisting the urge to scream out all her rage and sorrow.

***​

Scarlet rose from the corpse, blood dripping from her jaws, staining her chin and nose. The smell of fresh kills had made her mouth water, made her stomach grumble, but now that she was satiated she could continue her task. Crouching low to the ground, she moved away from the torn remains of her meal, leaving bloody boot prints in her wake.

Near the entrance to the hallway where the pale woman had fled, Scarlet sniffed at the ground. So many scents berated her nostrils, she couldn’t get a clear fix on the woman who had fled. One though, led her back into the hall, to a room with a single word scrawled on the door: “Ivory”.

That was her, and so Scarlet stepped inside. Nostrils flared as she smelt the air, assaulted by perfume, sweat, cigarettes, and sex. She let her fingertips, jutting from fingerless leather gloves, slide along covers of the bed, feeling the damp sheets on her skin.

Bloodied lips curled in a smile, revealing fangs dripping crimson. She leaned down and sniffed at a pillow. The smells were distinctly feminine, and she let it implant itself in her mind. Standing once more she left the room and wandered down the hall to the back exit.

Stepping once more into the city, the smells and sights of grime and decay assaulting her, she searched through it all, and found it. Ivory’s trail led through the back alley Scarlet found herself in, and lead deeper into this man made hell.

Breaking into a run she ran out into the streets, determined to find the woman who had run off with the stolen box holding that which was forbidden to humanity.

***​

Marian stood behind her desk of blackened wood, arms crossed over her chest as she stared out the large window that looked over what remained of the city. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the tower that held the worst of her enemies, and one genius girl.

Not a word escaped her lips, she simply stared, and McIsaac felt fear growing in his heart. He could almost taste the rage pouring from the woman, and was thankful for the leather jacket she wore, covering the skin beneath.

Eventually she turned around, her hair loose and wild as always, and it reminded McIsaac of the woman in red that had slaughtered his men, which did not help the fear he felt. The woman looked down at her desk and tapped the box that was sitting there, proving that the other hunter had completed his job, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“So my property finds its way into your hands, and you let a whore that you fuck much too often run off with it, while some wild woman slaughters all your men,” she said, her voice like steel.

“I just pay her to do a job. Is it a crime to have favorites?” McIsaac said with what little courage he could find in himself before instantly regretting his words when Marian’s eyes looked upon him.

“When she runs off with my things. Yes I have some issues with that. Now, Showboat, tell me how you’re going to fix this problem, or do I get to make a new necklace with your fingers?” Marian snarled, opening a drawer of her desk, and withdrawing three looped strings, all pushed through the severed fingers of lieutenants who had raised her ire in the past.

McIsaac felt his face grow white, and he started to fidget with his fingers before shoving them into his pockets.

“I’ll find her ma’am. But what about this red woman?” he asked.

“She is not your goal, but I have a feeling you’ll run into her. Kill her. I don’t care if you need to find an old church and somehow get a fucking cross blessed from a dead priest to do it,” she said.

McIsaac nodded, turned, and nearly ran out of the room. His hands were on the ornate golden handle, about to pull the door closed on Marian’s office, when her voice stopped him.

“And Showboat. Kill the whore when you find her,” Marian said, and with that McIsaac closed the door and let out a breath of relief that he was able to close it at all.

***​

Brenda paced back and forth, tapping a pen against her forehead. She winced with each movement as always, the manacle around her ankle rubbing through skin and down to muscle. Blood stained the iron, and trails of it crisscrossed where she had walked.

Sitting next to her desk was the dog she had just completed, just waiting for Marian to claim it and activate it in a few days. For now, she was moving onto other projects. A mechanical snake, a pet for herself. Someone to talk to, a friend. Her lips curled upwards into a broad smile as she rushed to the drawing board taped to the wall of her cell and began scrawling across it.

Calculations, pieces she would need for it. Hopefully she could get them, components were so hard to get, so very hard.

She was so busy with the designs, drawing the power routes and gear mechanisms that she didn’t hear the heavy bolt of her door slide open, and the door squeal as it opened. Not even as footsteps cross her cell, and set a plate upon her desk. Only when she heard that voice did she notice, and she cringed, curling up into a ball, pulling her hair from the small of her back and clutching to it, not noting the grime and grease she smeared through the platinum locks.

“Brenda. Is he finished,” Marian said, as she sat herself on the desk, looking down at the metal canine.

Brenda looked up with her pink eyes and pulled away more from the woman, before nodding dumbly.

“Good. I need it now... activate it,” Marian said, leaning forward, and Brenda let out a small mewl of fear.

She crawled forward, and slid her hand up inside the steel maws of the robotic beast, and found the small switch. Flicking it on she yanked her hand free as gears and motors began to hum into life. The creature’s eyes slid open, revealing the glowing lenses beneath the metal shutters. Slowly it rose from its haunches, and Marian stooped before it. The eyes locked upon the woman, and Brenda knew her creation was scanning her captor. She felt a little sad that the dog would consider Marian, not herself, its mother and master.

“Hello Cerberus. I have something I need you to do... come with me,” Marian said quietly.

For a few moments it merely looked at Marian, and Brenda was afraid that she had failed. If she failed she was doomed. But then the beast nodded its head, and Marian let out a gentle laugh, and stood.

Without another word she left, Cerberus following her. The door to freedom and the world slammed shut and the bolt locked into place. Brenda looked up from the floor at the closed portal, the quickly cooling food on her desk no even considered yet.

Tears formed in her eyes, and she slammed her fists on the floors until her skin broke and she left even more blood on the stone.

And she screamed.

 

[Sinfulwolf]

Re: Tattered Robes of Red

4​

Ivory hugged the wall, hiding amongst a pile of rubble filled with shadows. Peering from beneath a fallen iron beam, she watched the floating mechanical eye’s light sweep across the street. The green light ran over everything, scanning for life, and as it passed over the collapsed chunks of mortar and dust that Ivory hid within, she felt her heart freeze.

For a moment she couldn’t breathe, and her fingers tightened around the support beam. Old rusty iron pressed hard into the flesh of her palms, a few drops of blood rolled down her wrist, but she dared not move as that scanning light ran over her. The other hand clutched the stolen box tightly, knuckles white as she held it firmly to her body, the edges digging into her sides as her eyes watched the mechanical monstrosity floating above the street.

Steel tendrils whipped the air behind it as it slid through the air, searching. Never anything but searching. Marian’s eyes.

A gunshot sounded in the distance. Red lights flickered along the eye’s sides, and it spun around, green beam shooting down the street before it sped off into the darkness, tendrils flicking in its wake.

As it vanished from view, Ivory let a shudder crawl down her spine as she let out a lungful of air. Carefully she slid out from her hiding place, and began to walk quietly up the debris strewn sidewalk, thankful for putting on her flats earlier.

Just up the block she saw the remains of the apartment building where she made her home. It was so close, and she breathed out a sigh of relief. A mechanical whir from behind her caught her attention, and glancing over her shoulder she felt her heart stop for a moment.

Green light bathed the street, coming closer as another of the eyes worked its way towards where she stood on the sidewalk. Ivory turned, and clutching the stolen box tighter to her form, broke into a run. Her feet slapped against the pavement, bits of strewn concrete pressed painfully. The machine was so close that she thought she could feel the light on her skin, burning her in some primal part of her brain. She choked on a sob of fear, before suddenly she was crashing through the front door of the apartment complex.

Falling to the floor in a tangle of limbs she lay against a staircase staring out onto the street. Her chest heaved, and she stared through the open door into the darkness encasing the street, a single flickering light bulb illuminating her form.

After a moment, the eye flew past the door, with nary a glance into the opening where Ivory lay. A sigh of relief flowed through her lips, and slowly she rose to her feet, the adrenaline from even the short sprint making her knees shake slightly. Carefully she climbed the stairs, one hand clutching her prize, the other steadying herself on the banister. She figured she had time for a hot shower before Showboat came back to find her.

As she reached her floor and walked into the hallway to find her room, a loud crash grabbed her attention. Her head shot up, and she stared ahead.

The door to her apartment was in the hallway, broken into splinters, and pieces of furniture had been tossed out after it. The sounds of cursing from within the small group of rooms echoed in the hall, and Ivory felt her heart pounding in her chest. They had already found her, were already looking for what she stole.

She was about to turn, when she felt a gun pressed against the small of her back, and a rough hand grasp her shoulder tight.

“One move and I blow your spine in half,” a gruff voice said in her ear, before she was pushed forward. Stumbling forwards, she felt herself caught by a man emerging from her home, her only sanctuary in this world.

Tears welled in her eyes, making mascara run as fingers curled into her throat, and slammed her tight against the wall. She stared into merciless eyes, as the barrel of the gun was pressed against her gut.

“Give us the box. Maybe I’ll kill you quick,” the man said.

“Just fucking take it, it’s right there,” another man said, coming forward and delivering a harsh punch to her side. Pain flared through her ribs, and black swam in the edge of her vision. She coughed, and wanted to just crawl away, but the hand tightened around her throat, holding her in place.

She struggled to retain her senses, even as she felt the box torn from her grasp, more agony flaring from her fingernails. She felt herself pulled back from the wall, and for a brief moment she thought they were going to let her go with just the rough beating.

Pain burst through her skull, and she felt herself falling. Everything was blurry and slow, like the world was slowing, until she crashed against the floor. Everything was a throbbing agony, and something wet slid through her hair. She tried to crawl away, unable to hear the incoherent words echoing through her head. Choked sobs wracked her form, making the pain in her ribs flare.

Something hit her in the back, and she cried out. She tried to squirm away again, but whatever it was held her down, a hand against the back of her head pushing her face into the floor. A hand grasped hips, and above everything else she heard fabric tearing as cold air against suddenly exposed flesh. She screamed, and felt her head knocked harder against the floor with harsh words she couldn’t quite make out.

Fear and humiliation and a deep despair clutched her heart, and all she wanted to happen was have a bullet put through the back of her head and just end it all.

Something far away seemed to explode, and something hot and wet splashed across Ivory’s skin. She sobbed, even as the pressure against her back fell away. There were screams and shouts, and more loud crashes that seemed to come from underwater, then a silence that engulfed the world.

Ivory dared the look up, her head spinning, the world fading, and saw two thin pair of legs before her, one clad in ripped jeans, the other bare. The jeans knelt down, and a young face looked into Ivory’s eyes. The young girl’s lips opened, and through the murk clouding her mind, Ivory heard the words that slipped out.

“You’re going to be okay.”

Then the black took her.

***​

McIsaac looked around the bloody hallway, where the only sign of the whore that should have been in his custody were tattered bits of a woman’s pants. Standing in the hallway, fists clenched at his sides, he fumed. His eyes moved to what was left of the men he had sent to find the bitch that had robbed him.

One would have been laying face up in the middle of the hall if he had enough of a head left to make that description. His brains and chips of skull were splattered across the ceiling, and more gore pooled around what was left. The thug’s pants were around his knees, and McIsaac shook his head as her averted his gaze from the limp cock dangling free.

The other one was against the wall, large chunks of his chest nothing but a soggy mess of broken rib and torn organ. The walls were sprayed with his life essence.

“Stupid bastards,” he muttered, and pushed the dead man over with his foot, leaving a smear of blood on the wall. As the man’s head rolled back though, McIsaac saw something odd. Crouching low he looked down at the thug’s throat, or rather where his throat should have been.

Someone had torn it out, it looked like some kind of animal had done it, and he felt his anger throb in his head. Clenching his fingers he stood and pulled the pistol from its holster beneath his suit jacket.

That bitch in red was ahead of him, Marian was growing unhappy, and now someone else was in on the game. His night was getting from bad to worse, and he knew it was far from over.