Last update, I've starting posting the sequel to this fic here. Thought I'd pop in a preview here and then if anyone is interested, you can pop over and starting reading the new story. By the time I post this here, I will have probably posted the second chapter.

Cheers!

CASUALTIES 2: Of Wolves and Chameleons

CHAPTER ONE: Viper

Zanya sat on the marine's chest with a bored look on her face, shoving her gun down the man's throat. He gagged, bile rode over his lips as he stared wide-eyed up at her, frantically twitching the ropes binding his arms down to the wooden arms of the overturned chair he was trapped in. Her feet were on either side of his head, fixing his gaze on her cool green eyes, even her dreads were tinged with green. In any other situation, the marine would've found her gorgeous but he'd heard the other two mentioning the fact that she was seventeen, seventeen and hell bent on something.

He hadn't even seen her coming, he'd been surfing in the dark, cruising over the dark waves like a shark in the darkness. It was in stark contrast to that time in that tiny little sub, bumping shoulders with traitors and watching his superiors dump their bodies in the ocean. Hadn't they had families? They were misguided to follow Cobra, yes, but they were still people, still people with people waiting for them.

He swallowed awkwardly around the barrel of the gun, thinking of his young family at home who were probably wondering what had happened to him. What will happen to him; he knows how this ends. He's seen their faces, heard their voices, maybe even picked up on something he shouldn't have. They have to kill him, they will, it's only a matter of time.

"Listen, mate," she drawls thickly, lifting the gun up an inch. "I don't want trouble, not yet anyway. Was wondering if you could maybe get in touch with some of your friends for me."

"Didn't keep in contact, ma'am."

She laughs. Oh God, and its music for all of five seconds until she shoves the gun as far down as she can, leaning over him with a sick look of fascination. Not smiling, but her eyes zero in on the sweat beading down his brow, how wide his eyes are, how small his pupils are. She slowly moves the gun up and down, rhythmically, sensually, and he groans despite himself.

Her lips twitch.

"You a father, sir?" she parrots back at him, mimicking the baritone tremor in his voice. "I had a father once," she continued normally, pulling the gun out and letting his gasp for breath.

She waits for him to catch his breath, repeats the question, and then he nods obediently. Zanya smiles this time, he doesn't know her name and he never will but for a little while, she pretends they've known each other for years. She dips the gun back into his mouth, surprised as he allows the action, almost welcomes it, and she gently flutters it up and down his throat.

She lets this go on for a while, tipping her head back and gazing through the space between the door and wall; white lights spills out from the TV, illuminating the shadows of her aunt and uncle lounging on the couch. They looked nothing like their older brother, and look too much like each other. She doesn't count them as especially smart, not by a longshot, but she needs them for this to work. Well, maybe not Aunt Zarana who flaunts her newly dyed pink hair as if she served Cobra the head of every G I Joe in hiding. Zanya does not like Zarana and Zarana does not like Zanya, but the girl does not care. As long as they all have the same enemy, they need each other. That and Zarana, for all her faults, is a master of disguise and small arms. Zanya does not like changing her appearance so much, constant dyeing ruins and thins hair, and Zanya is damn proud of her dreads – Father loved them so.

Speaking of which, from her seat on the marine's chest, she can feel his cock poke against her back, a wetness soaking through his pants. Zanya scowls immediately.

"I had a father once," she murmurs again, pulling the gun of his mouth. She grimaces at the stream of saliva dripping off the barrel, sliding the gun across the floor as the man gasps. His eyes are glazed, his hips thrust vainly behind her and Zanya steels herself against the urge to turn around and claw his gonads off.

"And if you were my father," Zanya purrs, "I would be so disappointed."

She plunges her fingers directly into his eye sockets, listening to him scream and feeling him thrash wildly beneath her. Her guardians are at the door in an instant and she looks coolly over her shoulder, warning them not to come inside. Zarana makes a face and turns around with a curse, but Zandar lingers for a while, curious.

Zanya prefers her uncle, he keeps his mouth shut and allow his actions to speak for themselves. His hair's still recovering from Zarana's horrid dye work, it's a pale red too close to pink for his taste. He uses holographics for his disguises, and prefers knives to guns. The face tattoos help make him look more intimidating because he's so damn lanky, unlike his older brother.

Once the marine quits squirming, Zanya stands up and washes her hands in the dirty sink, sighing heavily and pulling the chair back into a standing position.

"Nothing from him either," she laments and Zandar casts an arm around her shoulder.

"Someone has what you need, baby girl, I know it."

"I know, Uncle, but its so frustrating. She isn't helping." Zanya growls, eyeing the silhouette of her aunt with distain.

"Oh, come off it, princess," Zarana sneers. "What were you expecting? Having everything handed to you off the bat? How pathetic."

Zandar grabs Zanya's upper arm before she can take a proper swipe at Zarana, giving his twin sister a stout glare as Zanya takes a moment to steady herself. She doesn't grace her aunt with a retort, moving instead to the pantry and thrusting it open. Inside is another man, similarly bound with a rag stuffed down his throat, he looks wildly from Zanya to the twins and finally at the dead marine. He wails from behind his gag as Zanya pulls him into the kitchen area, having him face the dead man whose eyes drip like mucus down his face. Zanya sighs deeply and puts a hand on the soldier's quaking shoulder.

"Now listen hear, sailor boy, because I have a few questions for you."

The new fic is rated M as well for graphic torture and mildly sexual themes, as you can tell from this snippet.

Hope to see you in the sequel!