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Skulkers

By: PulpWyatt



Anna-

My shoes thumped softly on the floor of the apartment building hallway as I made my way to the stairs. A few people might have wished me good evening, or I might have imagined it; either way, I ignored them.

At the top of the stairs, I climbed the ladder and emerged onto the rooftop, feeling a wave of cold, gritty air blow past my face. The night skies above were cloudy and starless, and the city beneath me glowed with a thousand little points of electric light.

I sat down and recited that one paragraph that I had memorized three years ago:

"We, the common women of the kingdom of Fulzore, hereby proclaim our right to self-government. We declare the creation of a constitutional republic, run by and for the good of the people. We believe that every woman is fit to rule herself, and no woman is fit to rule another."

I shook my head. That paragraph had been written down two hundred years ago.

"Fulzore," I sighed, "how have you fallen so far?"

That republic was a thing of the past. Now, we Fulzorans lived in fear. The buildings were all shiny black monoliths, draped in propaganda and studded with loudspeakers and searchlights. Shiny armored cars rumbled cantankerously through the streets, their turreted machine guns swiveling idly. On the sidewalk, policewomen stood at thirty-yard intervals, deathly still, covered in armor from head to toe. The citizens cowered as they walked past them.

This was our nation. No woman could speak without risking her life, and spies haunted the population, sowing distrust, turning sister against sister.

Most of us just kept our heads down and tried to survive. Most of us just hoped the police never noticed us. Most of us never lifted a finger to fight back.

But not me.

Alicia-

"The prisoner is ready, inquisitor."

I turned around. A guard saluted me, then stood up straight and waited for a reply. Her eyes seemed to stare straight past me.

"Very good," I mumbled. "Dismissed."

The guard hustled away, and, with a despondent shrug, I hauled open the metal door and entered the interrogation chamber.

There, a harsh cone of light that beat down from the ceiling, focusing on a stone slab shaped like a hospital bed. On it was the sprawled form of a man.

The man may have been as old as forty, but he was in good shape. His full head of light brown hair framed his cheeks, leading down to a firm set of features. A small mouth rested between his low-slung cheekbones, and his tightly shut eyes were shaded by a smooth, even brow. There was a nice, even spread of facial stubbles on his chin.

His arms bulged in all the right places, drawing firm, masculine lines to the side of the bed, where his wrists were shackled. His chest, from his shoulders straight down to his waist, was a blanket of muscles, and his skin was pulled tightly over it, exposing every groove and crevasse that ran over his flesh, which glistened with sweat and heaved with every breath. His legs, pulled apart by the shackles that held his ankles, revealed a flaccid treasure, hanging just above his testicles, which rested on the cold stone beneath him.

The man breathed deeply and evenly, and, as I banged the door shut, he did not move. He had, at least for the moment, given himself up.

Walking up to him, I pulled off my glove and placed my three longest fingers over his chin, then traced them down to his right nipple. I passed over it once, then again, and felt it rise.

Touching the prisoner was one way to establish dominance, which was the first step in a successful interrogation. Most other inquisitors would have said that I was not coming on strong enough, but I found that, at least with men, resistance only crystallized when faced with brute force.

I was supposed to start talking to him now, but I found myself distracted. My hand stayed on his nipple, squeezing and playing with it. The man did not react.

I tried to focus on his face, but, as I walked up to him, something else caught my eye. Looking back, I saw that his masculinity was hardening.

Looking away, I opened my mouth to speak, but the words died in my mouth.

"To hell with it," I mumbled, "I need a distraction."

My hand crawled down his flesh, feeling the tension in each muscle that rippled across his body, until it finally reached his manhood. One finger at a time, I clasped it.

Now the man reacted. His brow clenched, then his eyes shot open, and he stared at me with fear and befuddlement.

"What?" he breathed, "what are you doing?"

"Hush," I whispered. "I need this. Just take it."

"Y-yes ma'am."

I gripped his shaft between my thumb and forefinger and swung it up and down for a few seconds, watching as its resistance grew. Then, finally, I let it go, and it stood straight up for me.

I stepped back, and, in just a few seconds, stripped off my uniform. Layers of cloth and leather rumpled to the concrete floor, freeing my overheating body. I palmed my pussy for a few seconds, and my hands slickened with juice.

I brought my hand up and slathered his upper lip, forcing him to smell my arousal. I could smell his, too. The air was heavy with his musky readiness; his body was offering him to me.

I slithered up his body until my face opposed his. He looked directly up at me, and I hungrily returned his gaze for a moment. Then, opening my legs, I lowered myself and, all at once and took him in.

The minute I felt him pressing into me, energy shot through my whole body. I let out a squeal and quickened my pace, savoring every push and pull. Beneath my hands, his body responded to me, tightening and flexing with every movement I made.

A mighty force built up in the pit up my stomach, and I knew what was coming. Reaching down, I stroked my clitoris, adding a sizzling spice to the friction.

The next moment, the force got out. Pleasure paralyzed me, and I howled incoherently as I released myself on my victim.

For a few seconds, I straddled him, dripping sweat and juice, huffing in heavy breaths. The man, too, breathed heavily, but there was a strained look on his face; his shaft was still erect, ready to give more.

But I had had enough. Very slowly, the fog in my head cleared away, and I saw what I had just done- again. Shame washed over me, and I hastily wiped off my pussy and pulled on my clothes. My body was still hot, and there was still dampness between my legs, but I wasn't about to rape this man twice in a row.

I sighed miserably. This is what I had been reduced to. My job was to root out rebels and eliminate them, but the government demanded too many confessions too quickly. To meet quotas, I had to pull some poor cock off the street and torture a false confession out of him. If I didn't do it, I knew, the government would replace me with someone who would.

"This isn't right," I mumbled to myself, for the thousandth time.

I had already cheated on my husband, and I was in no mood to cheat the people. I pulled out my radio and dialed my assistant.

"Yes, inquisitor?" she said.

"Let this one go," I ordered.

"As you wish."

The assistant registered no complaint: just "As you wish."

I turned to the door, then, just before opening it, I looked back at my prisoner. Then I shook my head and hurried away.

Petrus-

Gaily, I strutted down the sidewalk, nodding to each policewoman as I passed her. Every time I did, the people around me flinched, but they had nothing to fear; thanks to my wife, I was in no danger of arrest.

I turned a corner that I knew by heart, then turned straight in to pair of grand, black metal double doors.

"Stop where you are," said a voice on a loudspeaker. "State your name and purpose."

"I'm Petrus," I cheerfully returned. "I'm here to see Alicia."

"Oh... hello, Petrus. Come on in."

There was a tremendous rattle, and the doors yawned welcomingly open, groaning as the old hinges faithfully kept to their duty.

I folded my arms behind my back, the way my wife always did, and marched primly into the huge, spotless hallway that led to my wife's workplace.

Up a flight of stairs, I reached a suite equipped with a desk, beside which two lamps stood like loyal guards.

"Mrs. Salkavar," said a voice on a loudspeaker, "your husband is here."

I stood at attention, an eager smile slowly growing on my face. Then, at last, a door in the side of the room opened, and out came my wife.

Her trench coat fluttered behind her like a cape, and her crush cap was askew on her liquid mane of inky black hair. Her boots clopped loudly on the stone floor, and her black leather gloves peeked out from her sleeves.

Beneath her finery, the poor woman looked a mess. Her gait was uneven, her eyes were bloodshot and her forehead glistened with sweat.

"Petrus?" she gasped. "Oh, Petrus, don't do that to me!"

"What?" I asked. "What's wrong? I finished all the housework, dear. Then I got lonely, so... I wanted to come see you."

Her face contorted with pity, and she ran up and threw her arms around me. I returned her embrace, going slowly limp as I felt the smooth leather of her gloves brush softly across my skin.

"Honey," she sighed, "you can't surprise me at work like that."

"What do you mean? The receptionist called ahead."

"You need to call ahead before you come."

I blushed and smiled guiltily. My wife's eyes started to shine with tears and she pressed into me again.

"It's okay," she cooed, "it's okay. Just do it next time, will you?"

"I will."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

There was a pause.

"Dear?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Is... is something wrong? You're shaking."

Even through the padding of her jacket and her overcoat, I could feel that her muscles were as tight as violin strings, and they trembled like an idling engine.

"Yes," she said. "But it's nothing. It's just been a long day."

I backed away a few inches and looked into her eyes. She smiled uncertainly for a few seconds, then, silently, we both dropped the pretense.

"If you want to talk about it," I said, "I'm always ready."

"Thank you, honey. Now, please, go home. I'll be there in just an hour."

I nodded and gave her one more squeeze, then turned and began for the exit.

"Petrus!" came her voice, "one more thing!"

I stopped and turned.

"Please," she intoned, "find someone to drive you home. Don't walk."

"I will, dear."

In the hallway to the sidewalk outside, I prepared to walk home. I knew my wife had forbidden me, but the poor woman was only worrying too much. I was in no danger.

Martha-

"Hey Martha?"

I grunted with discomfort.

"Hey! Martha, wake up!"

I shuffled under the sheets. Then my muscles all contracted at once, then loosened. My eyes rolled open, and I saw Anna standing over me.

All around me, a dozen other resistance fighters shuddered and rose heavily from their beds.

Anna's hand opened in front of me, callused and dressed in a fingerless glove. I took it and braced my arm, and she hauled me to my feet. The cold, rough concrete met my souls, and I was awake.

Anna looked into my eyes, which were at least an inch below hers, and asked, "Are you ready for your first ambush?"

I gathered my bravado and said, "You bet I am!"

Anna nodded with distant approval, then turned around and said, "I like your enthusiasm. Keep it- it'll help you. Just make sure you stay focused."

"Yes!" I protested, "Come on, Anna, I know what to do! Seriously, how long have I been training with you? Like, two months?"

"Calm down, Martha. This is exactly what I was talking about yesterday. You've got to stay collected."

As I followed her to the kitchen, I mumbled, "Screw you too."

Maybe she didn't deserve that, but, damn it, she still didn't trust me. She should have trusted me by now.

Our hideout was an abandoned underground car garage that the government hadn't bothered to demolish. At this floor, we had a few handmade picnic tables spread out in front of a makeshift kitchen. There, the other insurgents and I lined up in front of the counter, where Ernest the cook said 'good luck' under his breath as he handed out cups of his signature ten-minute chili.

Laugh if you want, but it's the best chili I've ever tasted.

Some of the fighters sat down at one of the few ramshackle tables we had in our hideout. I didn't. Instead, I leaned against the wall and tipped the scavenged teapot up to my lips. The Chili burned my mouth as it went down- just how I liked it.

When I finished, most of the others were still halfway through breakfast.

After tossing my cup into Ernest's sink, my eyes adjusted, I found a roomy corner and started practicing my fighting moves.

I faced the wall, placed my feet and brought up my fists. Like a snake's head, one fist darted out, then the other. I brought my fists in and took a step back. By now, any policewoman there would have been coughing up her own teeth.

"Hey," said a smooth male voice.

I looked back. Charles was walking up to me. Charles was the best of our male fighters, and he knew how to look like it. From his slick black boots to his shining knee pads, up his tight, strong legs to his torso, which rippled with muscles, he looked like he could give any woman a run for her money. His vest, made of a cloth base and covered with sewn-on plates of bulletproof plastic armor, gave full view of the muscular grill on his stomach, plus a titillating hint of his pecs. Even in the dim glow of the LED lamps on the walls, I could have sworn I saw his skin glisten.

His face was even better. The arrow-straight edges of his chin converged at a sharp point beneath his gently curved lips, which curled into a confident smirk. His understated nose accented his rich blue eyes, and his thin, straight-edged, obsidian-black eyebrows narrowed into a concentrated stare.

"Why, Charles," I said, with sarcastic formality, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Hey, girl," he whispered, in his deep, clear murmur. "You're getting pretty good. And it looks like we've got a few minutes here before you have to go. What do you say we spar?"

"With you? Are you kidding?"

"What?" he grinned, opening his arms, "don't you want some of this?"

"You're the fifth-best hand-to-hand fighter here," I said. "I'm new."

"What, so you don't think you're ready?"

His eyebrows lifted, and he leaned in close.

"Let me tell you something," he purred, "That's not how it works. You're never ready. So what are you waiting for? Go for it now."

"Alright," I said. "Just... later."

Charles folded his long, thin arms and said, "Fine. We'll do this your way; there's a martial arts tournament this afternoon. Be there."

It wasn't a question; it was a command. Without even waiting for my reply, he turned and sauntered off. The highlights on his tight black pants showed off every contour of his ass.

"Alright," I whispered, "you're on."

In what seemed like just a couple of minutes, the other insurgents finished their breakfast. One by one, each cup slammed down on a table with a dull metallic thunk, and the other women prepared to fight. Anna didn't even have to say anything; she just stood by the exit to the kitchen, and the other fighters and I joined up behind her.

"We're taking two cars on this ambush," said Anna. "Ava, you take the Scorcher, and I want Marcia, Martha and Lara gunning for you. The rest of you, take the Bighorn. I will drive. Does everyone understand?"

A chorus of 'yes sir' broke out, echoing off the concrete walls.

"Good," said Anna. "Good luck, everyone."

Eagerly, the three of us tracked down Ava, then followed her up one more decrepit car ramp and reached the Scorcher.

The Scorcher was a gorgeous beast. Its straight-edged front bumper sloped very slightly back from the center, and down from the lip of the hood. From there, the body subtly angled inward like an hourglass to the back of the front door, then flared back out for the rear, which was equipped with a square-yard rear deck and clinched with a duck-tail spoiler. The cab rose from the rear deck at a shallow angle, like a war bunker, and sloped back down onto the hood at an even shallower gradient. In the rear wheel wells, you could barely see the huge tires peeking out from behind the bulletproof plates that were welded on over them.

The whole vehicle was bathed in blazing orange, accented by black and white highlights on the corners, and bright yellow flames emblazoned the hood and rear flanks. On the narrow front and side of the chassis, the garage girls had painted bright white teeth, like what they used to have on fighter planes.

I smiled. This was one of the perks of fighting the government; the food was crappy, we slept like hoboes and we died all the time, but, until then, we got to ride around the most badass thing on four wheels.

As we stood there, admiring the Scorcher, a few boys lurched after us, hauling backpacks behind them, then slumped their loads on the ground in front of us. Anna mumbled her thanks to them, then dove into the packs and started handing out weapons.

Within the minute, every one of us was armed. I hefted an assault rifle that had been manufactured seventy years ago, but loaded with ammo stolen from a government depot two months ago. I trusted this gun; I had been training with it since practically my first day in the resistance, and, now I was ready to use it. A hunting knife and a machete hung on my bandolier, along with a pair of machine interrupters. I didn't know how they worked, but I knew how to use them; just stick it on some exposed circuitry, twist it and hit the red button on the bottom. The government lab girls did a great job designing these, and our spies had done a great job getting them to us.

Ava popped open the driver's side door and stepped in, and, a moment later, the rest of us lumbered in, rattling softly under the weight of our equipment.

The Scorcher had only one seat. The driver sat in a cheap easy chair welded to the floor, and the rest of us crouched by the thin windows, where we could fire at anything within a 120-degree arc, and duck down when we had to. If we ever had to abandon the machine, all we had to do was stomp on a lever in back, and all four doors would fly open.

The Scorcher was built to fight, just like we were. And now the time had come. Ava pulled a cable beneath the dashboard, and the machine jostled to life with a throaty snarl.

"Anna," said Ava, "you ready?"

Something crackled on the radio.

"Speak up, Ann. I can't hear ya."

"Yes, Ava, we are ready. Lead the way."

"Good. Gate guard, is the coast clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Awesome. Let's roll."

Ava put the pedal to the metal, and, all at once, we exploded into motion.

Petrus-

On my way back home, I heard the authoritative grumble of an armored car behind me. Looking back over my shoulder, I made sure that I was not in the car's way, then dropped it from my mind. A few minutes later, it occurred to me that the engine was still the same distance behind me. I stopped, and the car did likewise. Casually, I turned and walked up to the side of the car. A tiny panel popped open on the thing's impervious, angular exterior, and a helmeted face appeared. The woman's face broadcasted dull surprise; citizens rarely spoke to their protectors directly.

"Do you need something, ma'am?" I asked. "You seem to be following me."

"Keep moving, citizen."

"Fair enough. Pardon the interruption."

I turned and continued on my way, feeling sheepish, only to hear the car continue behind me. I decided to pay it no mind.

Then, in a less populated part of town, the engine revved with sudden power, and the car passed me and stopped in front of me, broadside to me.

"Hands up!" barked a woman.

I started, taken aback, and quickly obeyed. A policewoman emerged from the car, followed by three companions, all of whom shared the same expression of hard-eyed wariness that comes from being hunted by rebels.


Skulkers



"Can... can I help you?" I asked.

"Face the wall."

"What? Why?"

"I said face the wall!"

"Ma'am, you don't understand- I'm Petrus Salkavar, wife of Inquisitor Alicia Salkavar. I have exempt s-"

"Face the wall! This is your last warning!"

I froze. That was supposed to work. That had been my draw card.

My mind fought the revelation, but it was staring me in the face; I now had nothing protecting me.

Why were they doing this? What had I done? They were supposed to protect citizens, but what had I done?

Then, all at once, their vehicle erupted with sparks. The front-left lobe of the car softened, then melted into grayish slag, and fire sprang up in a line down the length of the chassis. There was a tremendous booming noise, and tire shreds flew as the melted corner kicked up, then a bare tire hub clanged onto the asphalt.

I stepped back and clamped my hands over my ears.

The next moment, a fast, low car rushed into view. The vehicle was a tiny one, barely half the size of a police cruiser, but painted with defiantly garish orange. The thing screeched to a stop beside us, and two rifles poked out of the windows. The next moment, gunshots chewed up the air. The four soldiers reached for their weapons, but froze within the second as bullets ripped through them. The luckless women fell where they stood.

I cowered from the orange vehicle, horrified, contemplating the prospect of running from it. Then a woman leapt out of the driver's side door.

"You!" she barked, pointing to me, "get in!"

I stumbled back, looking desperately around, but there was no one to see me and help me. My face fell as I realized that I had just traded up one killer for another.

"Come on!" said the woman, "we don't have time for this!"

"But," I stuttered. "No! No, you're... you're rebels! I can't!"

All at once, an assault rifle was trained directly on me.

"Get... the hell... in," she hissed.

Terrified, I took one more look around, then shuffled miserably up to their car. The rear door swung violently open, and two rough-and-tumble young women snatched me and yanked me in.

The next thing I knew, I sat against a metal wall. Three women leered down at me as we started moving again, and one of them straddled me, then sank to my level. Her hands pressed on my chest, trapping me against the wall, and she leaned forward and smothered my lips in hers.

I pursed my lips, then, to my horror, they opened of their own accord, welcoming her in. All I could do was moan pathetically.

Suddenly, the woman fell away, shoved by one of the bigger ones.

"Hey," she grumbled. "Lara, you know the rules. You can't have a boy unless he consents."

Lara looked bitterly at me.

"P-please," I stammered. "Please, just leave me alone. I have a wife!"

"No surprises here," deadpanned the other woman. "Who's the lucky lady?"

"Alicia Salkavar."

Everyone froze. The big woman's face iced over, and she turned angrily around.

"I've changed my mind," she growled. "You two ravage him."

"What?" I gasped. "Wait, no, I'm not-"

Before I could finish, one of the two remaining women yanked me to my feet, then brought me down to the floor. In an instant, my belt lost its grip and came off, and I could feel flesh exposed to the cold air as my pants slid away.

A hand clamped over my mouth, and another pinned my arms behind my back. Then I felt a sting on my right butt cheek. Then another. Then one on my left.

With each slap, I jumped and let out a muffled yelp. I kicked my legs, but nothing stopped them. One after another, the blows came down on my softness.

Then, at last, the hits stopped. I sizzled with residual pain and I looked cautiously back.

The women were playing rock-paper-scissors. When one of them prevailed, she looked at me with lazy eyes and a distant smile.

"Boy," she said, "get on your back."

Frightened, I obeyed her, blushing as my half-erect manhood stood up from my body.

The woman leaned over my and gently grabbed my cock, pinching it between her fingers and flopping it around, slapping it against my hips.

"I want the mouth," she said at last. "You take the cock."

Before I could react, she climbed over me and lowered her femininity to my face, smearing my mouth with her juices. Her musk enveloped me, and, as an automatic response, I started licking.

I had done this for my wife many times before; if nothing else, I knew how to handle this.

Then I felt something around my penis. It was not tight, but it was hot, and wet. I felt a tongue lap across my sensitive underside and realized all at once that other woman was sucking on me.

Now I was out of my depth. The woman took one drag of my cock, and I shuddered all over, my own tongue twitching wildly. When I did, the woman on my mouth moaned and went through a spasm of her own. The other woman's lips rolled up and down my cock, and I tried to time my licking with her pleasuring, but it was useless to try to stay coherent now. With every pull on my manhood, I was thrown into disarray, and my tongue thrashed around inside the other woman.

The one on my mouth was scarcely any different. First, she rested on all fours, then she reared up and squealed, then reached back and slapped at my skin. Then, finally, she anchored her fingers into my hair and pulled me up into her. As my face pressed into her womanhood, I could feel it tremble, then, all at once, she erupted, and thin, hot juices splashed across my forehead.

She released me, and my head thumped to the floor as the woman and I both gasped for air. The woman's weight shifted off my wrists, and I pulled my hands free and wiped my face off.

Still shaking, the woman wobbled off of me and pulled her pants back up. Her flush red face and dazed smile told me that I had finished with her.

Then I felt another suction on my cock, and my conscious mind halted altogether.

"How close are you?" breathed the woman.

"What?"

"Are you about to cum?"

All I could do was blush.

"I know that look," she said. "Ooh yeah, you're ready to blow. But not yet."

I breathed a sigh of relief, then I tensed up again as her hands clamped around my arms and pulled me in. I curled up meekly as her hands probed around my stomach, then slithered up my shirt. Her fingertips fluttered across my pecs, then settled on my nipples. I felt a sudden shock of pain.

"Yow!" I yelped.

"Listen to you," giggled the woman. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

I struggled for a few seconds to speak, but I was breathing too fast. Instead, I shook my head vehemently.

"Heh," she said, "you know you like it."

Her fingers kept playing with my nipples, and I did my best to keep still.

"Heads up, girls," said the woman behind the wheel. "We're here."

Anna-

I stepped out of the shower, running my hands through my knotted hair. For the thousandth time, I vainly wished that we had hair conditioner in our showers.

As I pulled on my clothes, I heard slapping and groaning in the distance. A girl shrieked orgasmically.

"Someone's having sex," said my second-in-command, next to me.

"Yes," I mumbled.

"Aren't you going to stop them?"

"There was a time when I would have tried. But, for one thing, I can't. For another thing, I don't want to anymore. Life in the resistance is too short to deny the girls their pleasures. They all know better than to get pregnant, so I might as well let them do it."

"You call them 'girls?' Not 'women?'"

I sighed and shook my head.

"Yes," I said. "Make no mistake, the people under my command are incredibly brave, and their motivation is like nothing I ever saw back in the army. But, in many ways, they're still children. I can't get them to understand what they're fighting for. All they seem to want is sex and violence."

"That sounds... problematic. I mean, when the government goes down, are we going to staff the new one with a bunch of hoodlums?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

I heard a masculine howl.

"What's going on in there?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Let's go see."

My aide and I hastily put on the rest of our outfits, then made for the source of the noise.

There, inside one of the larger rooms, a young man was tied to a chair. Rather than sitting in it, he was situated backwards, kneeling on the ground in front of the chair, with his torso lain on the seat and his head sticking through the back. Ropes secured his knees to the front legs of the chair, and his wrists were bound together behind his back.

The man was stark naked, and there was a girl behind him wearing a strapon, ramming herself into him. He moaned with every thrust.

Upon seeing me, the girl gave one last shove, then pulled out, giving me an unobstructed view of his small, gently muscled body, and his little round ass, which jutted out invitingly...

"Whoah," said the woman next to me. "See anything you like, Anna?"

With sudden horror, I realized that I was blushing. I shook my head, trying not to think about his body, and approached him.

The man turned and stared back at me with eyes full of hope.

"Are you alright?" I asked him.

"Help me," he whimpered.

My face fell. I looked over my shoulder and glared at the girls in the room, and they all looked at the floor.

"Here," I said, kneeling down behind him, "I'll untie you."

Once I was down at his level, I stopped. Some was written across his ass cheeks. It read 'Salkavar's bitch.'

I had never imagined that Alicia Salkavar was married.

'Focus, Anna,' I thought to myself. 'People are watching.'

With as much dexterity as I could muster, I picked apart the bonds that kept this boy trapped, offering his body. Even as I did, I could not help but stare at his ass. I still couldn't believe someone had written on him. It was so degrading and humiliating and dominant and...

Damn it all, it was making me wet.

As soon as I had the bonds undone, he pulled himself out of the chair and slumped against the far wall. His head lolled, concealing his reddened face under his dark bangs, and he hugged his bare chest.

As gently as I could, I grabbed his chin and tipped him up to face me. His eyes were wide, begging pools of blue.

"Young man?" I said, as formally as I could. "Are you alright? Do you need medical attention?"

"No..."

"Alright."

I stood up and turned back to the girls. All at once, it struck me what an outrage this was. 

"This is unacceptable!" I shouted to the whole group. "This man may be married to our enemy, but that is not- I repeat, not- an excuse to treat him this way. You know the rules: we do not harm civilians. I would like to ask David to find Petrus here a suitable place to rest. Girls, as for you..."

They all flinched.

"...we need you to gear up again. We have a rescue mission to run."

On that last clause, murmurs weaved through the crowd. The girls passed around one name after another, trying to figure out who was missing.

"Our target's identity is going to be a surprise," I said, "as that one asked to be assigned to the raid unannounced. But I'm afraid we've lost one of our best."

Alicia-

"Inquisitor? We've captured one of the insurgents."

"From the ambush twenty minutes ago? That was a hit-and-run encounter. How did we capture one?"

"This one was separated from the pack. We're not sure why."

"Bring her in."

"I already have, sir."

"Good."

As I walked over to the interrogation room, I tried my best to look calm and dignified, but inside, I seethed. We had lost four women in that ambush. Now some poor grunt would have to go tell four more boys that they were widowers now.

I opened the door and stormed in, then gave a start at what I saw. There knelt a boy, with his upper and lower legs bound together and his arms folded and tied behind his back. His ragged black hair half-shaded his scowling eyes, and his mouth curled into what was halfway between a smirk and a snarl.

This boy was a find. His bare arms and legs were warped with smooth muscles, and his black, armor-plated vest showed tantalizing hints of his rocky torso. As I took this in, I started walking around him. Typically, I did this to make the target feel ill at ease. This time, I was checking out his ass. I could see the perfect curves of his cheeks, hugged by the slick, shiny black plastic of his deliciously tight pants.

"You're a courageous one, wearing such provocative clothes to an interrogation room," I began.

"What can I say?" he smarmed. "I like to overdress."

I clamped my hands over his bare shoulders, brought my lips up to his ear and huffed, "You have no idea what you've just gotten yourself into."

I didn't have to feel guilty over what I would do to this boy. He wasn't a random bystander. This bastard had just attacked our women with deadly force; he had this coming.

In my most commanding gait, I strutted out in front of him and let my cape drop to the ground. I shucked off my gloves, kicked away my boots, then, slowly, started to undo my belt. My crush cap stayed on.

Like clockwork, the confidence drained from his face. He blushed and bit his lip. His head turned away from me, but his eyes stayed glued to my skin.

"Look at you," I sneered. "You're not so untouchable now, are you?"

He said nothing. The bulge in his pants told me all I needed to know.

"I've seen boys like you before," I said. "You think you're in control, but you're only being humored."

"Oh yeah?" he said, gathering himself a little. "You think you're all high and mighty? How about when you don't have these restraints on me, huh?"

As my answer, I knelt in front of him, stark naked, and placed a hand on his stomach, just above his pants.

He froze.

Gradually, I walked my hand down his tight, muscled body and burrowed into his pants. I felt the bristles of shaved-off pubic hair, then a telling smoothness. With a smile, I curled my fingers around his cock and pulled up.

All at once, his treasure came out, thick and perfectly tapered. I wrapped my hand around its tip and pumped. Sure enough, he sloshed with juices.

"Very good," I cooed. "You're ready for me. But I'm not going to make use of that yet."

With a smirk of my own, I stood up and grabbed his hair, then pulled his face into my womanhood. I felt his nose brush against my clitoris, and my whole lower body simmered.

He needed no further instruction. His tongue flared out, drawing twisted lines of pleasure on my walls, then reeled back in. Next, he went deep, pushing as far into me as he could manage, coating that promiscuous tongue in my juice.

"Yes!" I gasped. "More! More!"

He kept licking, tracing a new pattern through my sex with every stroke, hitting all the right spots. I bucked, I staggered and I moaned out loud, but I never let him go.

At last, I shoved him away. He looked up at me, frightened but clearly aroused.

"That was good," I huffed. "That was so good, I'm going to give you a reward."

I walked over to the P.A. system, staggering as my swollen pussy cried out for more. When I reached the microphone, I took a few deep breaths, then turned it on.

"Will Andre please come to the interrogation room?" I enunciated. "Andre to the interrogation room."

I clicked off the microphone. With a smirk, I turned, sat on the bench and enjoyed the view. The boy pulled and struggled against his bonds, causing his vest to fall a few inches away, exposing his thin little nipples. With every tug, his cocked flopped and swung around in front of him. I could see it getting stiffer as he failed to break free.

"You know," I taunted, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were just putting on a show for me."

The boy looked up at me, and his face fell. His blush spread, and he hung his head with defeat.

"They'll get you for this," he mumbled. "You can kill me, but you can't kill the resistance. You'll just make it stronger."

"Kill you? Oh, my, my, my..."

I stood up, and his face went white.

I curled my right hand around his cheek and said, "Why would I kill such a gem as you?"

His eyebrows rose, and I could feel his breath, fast and ragged. I put my hand over his chest and felt his heart throb beneath my fingers.

"No," I went on. "I won't kill you. I have urges to satisfy. My poor husband does what he can, but... you know how it is. That's where you'll come in."

The door behind me creaked open.

"You called, ma'am?" said a calm male voice.

I turned around. In the doorway stood Andre, a tall, broad-shouldered hunk of a man, with thick, wavy light brown hair that flowed down past his shoulders, drooping over his concrete chest and down onto his ferrous legs, all rendered in delicious detail by the skin-tight pants and form-fitting, sleeveless shirt.

Andre's gentle brown eyes lingered on my nudity for a moment, then drifted to the tied-up boy. His eyebrows climbed a few millimeters, and his broad smile took on a naughty tinge.

"There you are, Andre," I said, doing my best to keep the arousal out of my voice. "You like boys too, don't you?"

Andre smirked and said, "I do now."

"Go for it, big boy."

"What?!" sputtered the tied-up boy. "Wait, hold on a sec..."

Andre stopped for a moment, then looked to me, cocking up an eyebrow.

"Can't stop now," I grinned.

Andre stayed where he was, his eyes drifting up to the ceiling.

"Andre?" I prompted. "Go on."

"No... something isn't right."

"Andre, you're not going to get a better chance than this. If you don't comply, you know I'll have to put you down as having poor teamwork."

"No, it's not like that. I heard something. Don't you hear it too?"

Martha-

I padded down the hall of the inquisitor, my nerves on fire.

"Okay, Martha," said Anna's voice in my earpiece. "The coast should be clear for the next thirty seconds. Just watch the desk ahead and to your left.

I tapped my earpiece once to indicate 'yes,' then kept on.

Sure enough, not far ahead, there was a desk, where I heard a woman tapping away at a fancy new keyboard. I got down and crawled before it, staying out of the woman's line of sight. Then I tried to slip past to the next hall.

"Hey!" barked a voice.

I turned around. The woman at the desk was already on her feet, her gun halfway out of her holster.

I charged, sweeping my left hand to the side, batting her gun away, then jabbed with my right fist, catching her in the jaw. She stumbled back, grunting, and I pressed my advantage. With one swing of my leg, I knocked her feet out from beneath her, then leapt onto her, pinning her limbs. Before she could scream, I reached into my backpack, pulled out a syringe and fit it smoothly into her neck. I stayed on top of her, watching her struggle, until her eyes rolled back and her energy dulled. Then she went limp.

She would wake up half a day later, wondering what hit her.

I stood up, straightening out my clothes, then took a moment to spit on her.

"Martha?" said Anna. "What's going on? Is it under control?"

I tapped once.

"You knocked someone out, didn't you?"

Another tap.

"Oh," she groaned, "why did I let you of all people handle this?"

"Don't worry, I got this."

"Keep your voice down! And wait for this next guard to pass you."

I crouched behind the desk and grudgingly tapped my headset. Ten agonizing seconds passed, then twenty, then thirty, then a whole minute.

"Okay," said Anna. "It's safe now. You should have a clear shot to the entry point."

Without looking, I took off down the hall, then turned onto an upward staircase, clanking on the steel steps, and slid to a stop at the bank of closets where it ended.

Up above was the sunroof- Anna's entry point. I ducked into the nearest closet and drew out what looked like a crate, then stood on it grabbed the lever on the sunroof. As quietly as I could, I turned it away from the window, then pulled the pane away.




Skulkers



A single figure dropped onto the floor, then looked around and stood up slowly.

"Well done, Martha," she said stiffly. "Not a murmur on standard channels. I think we still have them fooled."

Martha stepped out of the way, and someone else fell from the skylight, landing with a sort of awkward slump.

It was a boy. Not only that, but the same boy I had helped capture a few hours ago. It was Petrus.

"What's Salkavar's bitch doing here?" I asked.

Petrus looked up at me and shrank back.

"My initial idea was to take Salkavar by force," said Anna. "Petrus believes he has a better option."

"Pff," I scoffed. "Leave it to a boy. I'll be ready to put her lights out when it fails."

"Please don't say that," Petrus whimpered. "Martha told me all her secrets; I know what she's been doing behind my back. But she's my wife and I love her. Can't you understand that?"

I gave him a strange look.

"Please, can we go?" he asked. "The faster we do this, the better."

I started down the hall.

"Martha, wait!" said Anna. "I should go first."

"You're the boss," I shrugged.

Anna stepped out into the hall I had come from, then looked down at her tablet, watching as little red blips scooted by on an overhead map of the facility. She motioned us to follow and took off.

"I remember this," said Petrus, his voice weak and airy. "Take the third door on the side."

We reached the third door, and Anna and I both looked around habitually. Unlike her, I remembered to check the ceiling.

Petrus stepped up to the door, grabbed the handle and closed his eyes. He heaved in a deep breath and mumbled something to himself. He pulled the door handle, and it didn't budge.

"It's locked," said Anna, handing him a metal cylinder. "Use this. It's a machine interrupter. Just attach it to the lock and press the green button, and it should force the door open."

Petrus took the interrupter, his face drawn tight with worry, and gingerly placed the interrupter over the door at hand-height. The magnetic clasps did their work, and he pressed the green button, then stepped back.

There was an ear-splitting snap and a puff of sparks, and the heavy metal door clanged against the wall. Inside, three pairs of eyes stared back at us, wide with shock. The first thing I noticed was a tall, hunky man standing in the middle of the room, his pants down. He had his right hand on the head of a tied-up boy who knelt in front of him, sucking him off. The tied-up boy's cock was out and hard, but I could tell he didn't want to be there. His eyebrows rose into his black hair, and his blue eyes were fixed on me. I could see him struggle to move away, but the hunky man's hand kept him where he was.

"What are you doing here?!" barked a female voice. "This is non-public!"

The speaker was a tall, naked woman with hair even darker than the boy's, and she wore a crush cap. Her face was all business, which was impressive, because I could tell from three yards away that she was horny.

The crush-cap woman examined us, one by one, then reached for her hip, her fingers grasping at a gun that wasn't there. She looked panickedly up at us, then she saw Petrus, and her face froze, then crumbled.

For three long seconds, she and Petrus stared at each other, looking like they'd just seen a ghost.

"Honey?" said the crush-cap woman. "What are you doing here? Who are these two?"

So this was Salkavar, the butcher herself. My fingers tickled the holster of my gun, every bone in my body yearning to put a bullet in this monster and be done with it. But I knew better than that. Besides, I wanted to see this.

Petrus' mouth stuttered open and shut for a few seconds, and he shifted uncertainly, then mopped his misty eyes. Carefully, Salkavar approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Honey," she whispered, looking him in the eye, "what did they tell you?"

"Is it true?" he sobbed. "Do you really just take men off the street?"

Salkavar hesitated.

"Honey," she moaned, drawing out the last syllable, "you don't understand. It's not-"

Petrus threw her hand off his shoulder said, "Answer me!"

Salkavar stepped back, horrified. She looked helplessly to Anna, then me. I folded my arms.

"I'm sorry, honey," she said at last. "I didn't have the heart to tell you..."

'Bullshit,' I thought.

"...but it's true. The people we interrogate... they're not always conspirators. Sometimes, the police will just arrest on suspicion, but..."

Petrus buried his face in his hands and wailed. Alicia's words died in her mouth, and her head bowed.

"Why?" cried Petrus. "Why do you do this?"

Alicia palmed her forehead miserably. Petrus' crying subsided, and he stared pointedly at her.

"All I wanted was order," she mumbled at last. "Do you remember what the streets looked like before the new government, Petrus? No one set foot outside at night. Men weren't even safe in their own homes! Can't you understand, that, Petrus? I couldn't let that continue. And when the new order took over, I got the chance I'd been wanting for so long."

"That's not what you're doing," said Petrus sourly. "Can't you see? I'm still not safe. No one is."

"And you've only got yourself to blame," I threw in.

Anna motioned me to keep quiet.

"I'm sorry, Petrus," said Salkavar. "I am so, so sorry. If I could do it all over again, I... I don't know what I would have done. Will you ever forgive me?"

Alicia held open her arms and stared imploringly at Petrus.

Petrus stood where he was, his face contorted with grief. His eyes closed for two long seconds.

"Take off the hat," he said. "And I will."

Alicia swept her crush cap off her head and stared at it for a moment, as though she'd never seen it before. She tossed to her feet and kicked it disgustedly away.

Petrus let out a bare hint of a smile, then stepped up to Alicia. The inquisitor wrapped her arms around him and mashed into a kiss. When their lips came apart, Petrus laid his head on her shoulder.

"I still love you, Alicia," he mumbled. "But this can't go on."

"I know."

They stood there for a whole minute, breathing heavily. I shot a worried glance at Anna and tapped my wrist, indicating time.

"Mrs. Salkavar," she said, "I have a proposition for you. If you will resign from your position, we can get you and your husband safely to the Harava republic."

"Will they know who I am?" she asked, her voice quivering.

"No."

I gritted my teeth. So this was what Anna and the bitch had in mind. After all that, the butcher was getting off the hook.

"Martha," said Anna, "retrieve Charles, please."

I looked around for a moment, confused, then saw the hunky man standing unassumingly in the corner of the room. The black-haired boy sat beside him, untied.

All at once, I recognized him. That was Charles. I stepped up to him and knelt.

"Holy shit," I whispered, "are you okay?"

"Yeah," he muttered, not looking me in the eye. "Just a bit shell-shocked."

I looked accusatorily up at the hunky man, then softly back down to Charles. I noticed that he didn't have a shirt.

"Here," I said, shaking off my overcoat, "you want this?"

"Thank you."

I laid the coat gently over his shoulders, and he carefully fitted his arms through the sleeves. He crouched, then wobbled to his feet.

"Let's move," said Anna, as Petrus and Alicia kissed again. "Charles, are you alright?"

"Alive and kicking," he answered.

"Good."

We all filed out, Alicia first. When I came out, at the back of the line, I started to ease the door shut. Then it occurred to me look in. The hunky man still stood there, baffled and scared.

As soon as we established eye contact, I pressed my thumb and forefinger together, then drew them across my lips. He nodded hastily.

With that, I shut the door.

Charles-

I kept an eye on Salkavar and her husband, waiting for them to try something stupid. Instead, they kept their eyes trained on my boss, listening to her like it was going to save their lives.

I looked back. I knew I should have been worried about being spotted by guards, but all I could think was how ugly I looked with Martha's jacket on instead of my vest. If I'd been a girl, I probably would have said something about it. Instead, I kept my mouth shut and stayed with the pack.

Martha started walking beside me. I was almost in the mood to hit on her. After Salkavar and her muscle man had gotten fresh with me, I figured I'd be out of action for a while, but Martha was making me uncomfortably horny, looking as suddenly confident as she was. Without her coat, she wore a tank top, which exposed her nicely rounded, muscular shoulders and clung to her small but nicely rounded rack. I looked over to her, and she looked back. But she wasn't checking me out. Her head turned down and her mouth frowned hard.

"This is bullshit," she said. "After all that monster did, she's getting off free?"

"It'll mean a big enemy out of our way," I shrugged. "Right now, that's all I want. You score a victory, you don't get to complain about it."

"I can't believe Anna expects me just sit here and let her go. And, mark my words, she'll act surprised when I'm still pissed off about it a month from now."

"I know how you feel. But you ought to do your best to take it down a notch."

"No. No way in hell am I forgiving her... either of them. I'll never forgive Salkavar for all the people's she's tortured, and you bet I'm never going to forgive Anna for letting that worm get away. Salkavar even got to keep her bitch!"

"Hey, don't blame the guy. None of this is his fault. And I didn't say you should forgive them. I said you should try and be less angry about it."

"No. I don't tone done my spirit like that."

I thought for a moment.

"Alright," I said, "let me just put it this way. Boys always like a girl who can keep her head screwed on straight."

Her face softened, and she went silent for a minute.

I smiled; now I was talking her language.

"What else do they like?" she asked, her voice full of curiosity.

Just like that, I had a bite.

"I can't speak for all boys," I demurred, "but there's a special place in my heart for strong women."

She perked up.

"And I don't mean just huge muscles," I added. "I mean strong on the inside. I mean they need to be cool-headed and determined. I like women who know how powerful they are. Women who don't get insecure and have to prove it to themselves all the time."

"So... women like Anna."

"Kind of. Make no mistake, though, I like ladies with fire. Anna is stable, sure, but there's just no energy in her. But you? You've got it to spare."

She stared excitedly at me.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm thinking the same thing over here. So how about this: we missed the martial-arts tournament, right? So if you can get us back to the hideout without losing your cool, see me at the tool shed. I'll have a cot lain out for us."

"You're on."

Martha-

Halfway back to skylight where Anna came in, the air came alive with screeching. Everyone stopped at once, and we looked everywhere, trying to find who had noticed us. The hall was empty.

"They've made us," said Anna. "Damn. We should have been outside by now."

"What are we waiting for?" I cried. "Come on, let's move it!"

"Wait!" said Salkavar. "I can stop them!"

As the screeching continued its assault on our ears, Salkavar broke from the group and scurried up to a console on the wall. She pressed a button and pulled out a microphone.

"Stand down!" she yelled into it. "This is Inquisitor Salkavar! That's a false alarm! I repeat- false alarm!"

She set down the microphone and looked expectantly up. The alarm kept screaming. Before I could yell at her again, she turned and bolted back to us, then we all sprinted for the entry point.

In fifteen seconds, we were at the offshoot hall. After five more, we stood under the skylight. I fetched the footstool from the closet where I had found it last, then put it under the skylight again. Everyone helped each other up, and I went last. I did my best to kick away the footstool before the rest pulled me up.

The exact minute I was on my feet, Anna pointed to the street and said, "This way, and don't hurry. Better to be stealthy than fast."

'Bullshit,' I thought again.

Under the grey sky, with nondescript sirens warbling in the background, we tiptoed across the metal roof of the interrogation house. Anna kept in a spot of the roof that was lower than the others, giving us a couple feet of cover, and I followed her.

Then, at the edge, she stopped all at once. Salkavar stumbled behind her, but stayed on her feet, and Petrus nearly ran into her. Charles crouched and touched a hand to the ground like an animal ready to charge.

I didn't see how stealth was important, but I didn't want to disobey Anna, so I stooped a little.

A metallic shearing noise rang in the silence, then a hard clank.

"It's secure," said Anna. "Follow me. One at a time."

With just that, Anna climbed over the edge of the roof and shimmied down. Everyone else went, in their usual order.

When Charles went down, I finally got a good look at the edge. A grappling hook held onto the lip of the roof. A couple of grey bulges marked servomotors on the claws of the hook, and a cable with built-in footholds dangled from the head. Leaning over, I saw a narrow alleyway beneath, with the opposite wall rising to a roof that was just a little more than ten feet away from me. Directly beneath us, a low vehicle sat on the smooth concrete, smothered by a black tarp. Unless someone had screwed up, that was the Scorcher.

The rope shifted under my hands as I climbed down, measuring my movements carefully. When I finally reached the bottom, I let go and slumped to the ground, bending my knees as evenly as I could.

By the time I was on the ground, the tarp was off the car, and most of the crew was in. I piled in after them, then knelt by the rear deck and peered out the back.

The engine snarled, and I grinned; I was back in my own element. We pulled out of the alley, and I let myself relax a little.

Then I heard heavy throbbing noise. Peeking upward, I saw a pair of headlights in the sky, then the long, slick form of an attack helicopter.

"Chopper!" I yelled. "Shit!"

A light burst out from the chopper, and a tiny black dot raced after me, billowing a cloud of black smoke behind it and grinding through the air with a candescent shriek.

I jumped forward in the car, away from the missile, and, then everything went white. Fire washed over my skin, my hearing cut out and I felt myself tumble over and over. I saw concrete, then sky, then I felt a heavy slap on my back.

First, my hearing came back, then I felt gravel beneath me. I groaned and rolled over, then tottered to my feet. I stood for a moment, nearly falling over, then opened my eyes. My vision finally cleared out.

I was under a bridge, standing in a valley of grey rocks and pebbles. Charles was next to me, looking almost as screwed-up as I was. Above us, the Scorcher sent up a column of smoke and fire, and three figures pulled themselves from the wreckage. Salkavar yelled something, then her voice was drowned out by the sound of chopper blades slapping the air.

"We need to get out of here!" said Charles, his voice loud and strained. "In here! Follow me!"

Charles disappeared into a ten-foot-tall drainage pipe under the road, and I ran after him, my feet sloshing on the loose gravel. Just before I went in, I had the presence of mind to pat myself down and see if I had all my stuff. Nothing was missing.

In the cold, clammy air of the drainage pipe, my footfalls clapped on the hard concrete, echoing for what sounded like miles. I saw a spot of blue light on the ground ahead as Charles clicked on his diode flashlight.

"Hey, girl, are you there?" he breathed.

"Yeah," I said, walking next to him. "I'm here. So what's our status?"

"You mean how screwed are we?" he whispered. "How should I know? Let's just pick up the pace."

Charles started off in a sprint, leaving me behind as his swaying blue light bobbed into the distance.

'Is he pissed at me?' I thought.

His footsteps halted all at once, and his light jerked around for a moment, then shined on me.

"Sorry," he squeaked.

'Wait,' I thought. 'He's not mad... holy crap, he's scared.'

I sprinted for a bit and caught up to him.

"Hey," I said, in my calmest voice. "Don't freak out."

"I'm not getting caught again," he rasped. "Not again. We're getting out of here."

"Come on, Charles. We're out of sight for now. We'll just take this all the way back to the hideout, no muss, no fuss."

"What's that?!"

I stopped and listened. There was a mournful, drawn out mechanical wail in the air.

"Crap, they're onto us," I growled. "Hurry."

Without thinking about it, I grabbed his hand and started running again, keeping my footsteps as even as I could.

"It's coming from ahead," I panted. "I bet we turn before then, and they miss us. If we meet it, play dead and have your gun ready. Maybe we can sucker-punch 'em."

We ran and panted for a few more minutes, staring straight ahead, trusting that we wouldn't trip over anything.

"I see a right up ahead," said Charles.

"Let's go for it."

Charles pulled right, and I ran after him, pushing off the wall just so I could tell where it was.

A saw a grey concrete wall far ahead. The way the tunnel was built, I couldn't tell what I was looking at for a moment. When I did, I stopped cold.

"Charles, stop!" I yelled.

Charles froze.

I stood next to him and looked down. Sure enough, the pipe stopped a few feet ahead, opening down into a straight-edged chasm. A few more steps and Charles would have been road pizza.

"Oh, jeez," said Charles, stepping back. "Let's... let's keep going."

"Wait," I said. "Look up there."

I pointed up and to the left, where there was a maintenance catwalk that joined this wall, then ran a few feet beneath our pipe. On the other side of the chasm, where the catwalk emptied onto a prefab work shelter, there was a dormant work light sitting on a cheap metal table.

"Let's go up there," I said. "That light's off. That means the workers have all punched out. We've got the run of the land."

"Okay," said Charles.

He looked down.

"Damn," he added. "Good thing I'm not afraid of heights."

I went first, jumping off the concrete and onto the metal grate of the catwalk. The metal lurched under me for just a moment, then steadied. The chasm echoed with the high-pitched crash of taught cables tickling the concrete.

"Jeez, that was loud," said Charles.

"Hustle up!" I whispered. "We'll be in and out before anyone sees a thing."

Charles climbed down from the pipe and landed softly behind me, and I started down the catwalk, crouching as I ran. At the top of the steps, I vaulted out of the work shelter, and my feet clapped onto solid ground. The next moment, Charles came after me.

I looked ahead. The parking garage that marked the hideout was in sight only about a quarter-mile away.

"There it is," I said. "Home sweet home."

"Alright!" said Charles, "come on, let's go!"

"Hold it a sec."

I crouched by the work shelter. Charles shot me a baffled look, then tilted his head, seeming to hear something. Carefully, he edged up to the precipice of the gorge and looked up.

"Crap," he said. "Chopper."

I sidled up next to him and looked past him. The same chopper as before, or maybe just a look-alike, throbbed overhead.

"She won't see us here," I said. "We're under too much cover."

"Yeah, but there's a lot of dead ground from here to the hideout. I say we wait it out. Curfew ends in a couple of hours. Then we'll be just normal people."

"Except for all this equipment. Look at us- we could fuck up a whole station."