1
Something wormed between her legs,probed slickly at her, and she awakened from a pleasant dream that may have been going on forever. She couldn’t quite remember. An awareness of tragedy and loss faded in and out, yet another sign that her brain wasn’t sure what was going on.
What century was this? Twenty-first. Where was she? Top floor of Fuck-the-world City, the slang term for the sprawl of multi-story buildings that plagued the entire surface of Earth. Thoughwhoshe was eluded her.
Knowledge simply existed again where before there’d been drudgery and fog.
And behold, there was history and vague frothy memories teasing her at the edges, and past memories as clear as if seen through a camera, and more knowledge erupted within her like a volcano on steroids, and it gave birth to fear.
“Fuck!” she burbled, grabbing at the other slippery tentacle thing pushing into her mouth, stretching her lips. As she tugged at it, spit bubbled past her lips. She’d bitten it accidentally. Slimy bitter thing. Father had told her to swear sparingly. She’d never listened, and here, squirming in her hands, was a damn goodreason for cursing. Overwhelming panic loomed, tearing at her with sharp nonsense.
Calm yourself!
She inhaled, exhaled. Fear remained but practicality and survival mode kicked in – also taught by Father.
Concentrate on what you can fix.That instruction had stuck.
Wildly she looked around.This thing is big!
Before her was a grinning mouth with triangular teeth and blinding-white eyes the size of saucers, but there was floor underfoot. She was standing and upright. Nearby, past the maze of writhing tentacles, was a man. He had a sheathed knife strapped to his leg, and a submachine gun of an unknown type hung from his shoulder. Beyond him she glimpsed other white monsters and pinioned and tentacle-probed humans, as well as a few hung upside down above open maws of scythe-like teeth. Dozens of people. They waited slack-faced, and on the other side of their alien masters were piles of steaming bones. For a second she had to concentrate so as not to gag.
Dead people. All around her, and living ones lining up to be consumed.
One moment, Cyn had been moaning in the arms of her lover, and in the next she was entwined in this waving spaghetti mix of pale, fat tentacles with a flailing shroud of white overhead. A monster had her.
Ghoul Lord, her memory coughed up.Cyn! I’m Cyn.
Finally. Thank you, asshole memory.
Her heart pitter-patted, telling her to do something. Anything!
The sun was above, glowing through the pale leathery shroud. Did this Ghoul Lord monster plan to eat her too? Or fuck her first?
Despite her quiet shrieks and pleas, her repeated noes, and the plucking of her hands, the probing continued. She could feelhow wet she was below. Really, before this… she’d been having thebesterotic dream.
“Excuses, excuses,” she muttered, having wrestled the mouth tentacle a small distance away.
Hard pressure sucked at her pussy, threatening to drag her down into a pleasurable dreamland, again. Threatening worse. She writhed, whimpered, sure she was a fraction of pressure away from blood being drained through those delicate tissues.
Intolerable.The blood inside her was hers and hers alone.
She knew how to reject asshole suitors who wouldn’t take no for an answer.
But first she had to get loose.
Energy thrummed and rose in her muscles. New, vibrant energy.
The question as to why she was here, why the monsters, and why the guard existed, could wait. With a strength that surprised her, Cyn tore away both tentacles then dove to the side through a clear space. The sun blasted into her eyes. She stalked toward the guard. He tried to drag his gun from its slung position, only to suffer her fist to his throat and a knee to the groin.
Her fist hurt, but she smiled at the pain that said she was alive. The knife was easiest to steal, so she pulled it from the leg sheath as he groaned and slumped.
To knife or not to knife him? It seemed callous and murderous. Hesitating stupidly, she poised her hand, ready to strike.
She was no murderer.
This philosophical question was answered as he again fumbled to aim the gun at her, red-faced and straightening from his crouch. The barrel of the gun swung upward. In one precise metal arc, she slit his throat. His blood spilled in a pretty spray, and she regretted the waste as it watered the surrounds andhis hands where they clutched his neck, and the green grass beneath.
Grass? Was this one of the top-floor recreational parks?
