He prefers the dark.
"He loves to starve them here. He whispers to me sometimes, over the speaker, that I should be grateful to have such pretty little things to play with. He whispers that he hopes I enjoy the feel of their bones as much as he will when they're dead."
He loves their lovely bones, the sweet creatures that this project brings.
They are to be perfect, the ones that he selects. They are to be slight females, with long and healthy hair, heavily lashed eyes and haunting beauty. They are the perfect-breasted girls. They are the girls with long, long fawn legs, but still doll-like and small enough to tuck under your arm. They are the girls with the skin that glows healthy and sun-kissed year round. They are the perfect asses, round and plump but firm. They are the tiny perfect feet, delicate fingers, a neck that arches prettily under your touch.
He loves, he loves what lies beneath their skin best of all.
Some of the men he has worked with love their perfect little titties best of all. They love their flower petal nipples, they love the curls between their legs, they love the perfect bow of each of their lips. But what he loves comes later. He cannot take what he loves while they lie sleeping or drugged. He must wait until they are discarded.
So in the meantime, he lives through the perfect men that get to enjoy them. He helps those men realize their own urges, helps them open up that perfect skin.
"But it's all part of his delusion. In his mind, I know, he imagines that he is making my life perfect. Treating me to a wonderful kingdom with all that I desire"
Oh, he loves their bones. He likes them skinny, he likes them to nearly have to crawl for lack of strength.
He wishes most of all, to just once before he dies see a girl waste from something into nothing. To see her simply wisp away, vanish into thin air, turn sideways and she is so tiny that she is gone.
He wants to see them crawl, he wants to hear their bony knees scrape along the ground, he wants to see them beg, he wants to see them lap water from a dish and wear a collar like the sweet pets that they are. His pets.
Unfortunately, working at the warehouse as long as he has, he still does not enjoy full privileges with his pets. They are on loan to him. His boss wants… his boss wants them well fed and pregnant. What is that expression- yes, barefoot and pregnant. This is no problem for him.
When he watches the men plow into them, it's so exciting. Sometimes he claps and giggles and chirps like a little boy watching a show. He is indeed watching a show, the best show of all. He delights most when the men, their powerful bodies, dwarf the girls such that he cannot see them at all. Only tiny stick legs, trembling with the force of impact. Delight! Delicious.
He loves it when they cry out. Oh, he loves it.
He loves it when they bleed. The youngest, sweetest, most innocent ones have the most blood to give. He seeks them out via his special sense, his special knowledge of virgins. He can find one in a crowd; he can pick her right out. Her wanton need marks her out from the rest, sweet victim, sweet girl- she wishes so badly to become the whore that he knows her to be.
He can help.
He loves to tell them all to fuck at once. He can sit at the screens and touch himself and imagine that he still works in that way. He does, he feels the tugging and the need and the desire deep inside himself, and it itches, oh it itches. He can scratch that itch, but he needs one of his Adonis, David, Apollo, one of those perfect men to fuck a little whore quite silly.
He loves it when they cry out. Oh, he loves it. He loves it best of all.
When he sees those men, the wingspan of their shoulders flexing, their glutes tightening and driving and… he gets so excited just thinking of it. Like poetry! They are perfect men; he becomes that perfect man when he watches. And oh, he watches.
He loves the ones who have already had babies. He loves to tell them to fuck. They have an audience in their room. He loves that they know it, even if they have forgotten that he is always watching. Although they could never forget, oh no, he would never let them, his pets and his men.
When they grow heavy with child, he grows deeply unhappy. He wishes only to see them waste away, and here they grow bigger despite his best efforts. But without the production numbers, his boss could get angry… and he cannot lose this job. His boss gives him a long lead, so much leeway… he can fulfill himself here in ways that he never could anywhere else.
Although, if he found out about his treasures…
"Unproductive females", as protocol calls them, are to be destroyed. They are to be thoroughly incinerated on site, with the remnants scattered in three separate nearby bodies of water. But he just cannot bear it. Even when they don't produce a litter or even a single pup, they are still his beloved pets. Pets that he has trained, and conditioned, and seen waste deliciously away. He must say goodbye sometime, but he is never ready after they die…
He takes a small piece, just for himself. Only one. Only the smallest piece of his sweet pets. They cannot miss it now, anyway.
His box of treasures.
And that is how he grows acquainted, finally, with their beautiful bones.
Like coy virgin schoolgirls, they have lead him on all this time, dancing behind thin skin. Growing closer, then pulling further away to build a baby inside. Then growing closer again, nearer to the surface, so close he can almost touch them…
And then finally, one day, he can. And he can never let them go.
Until one day, he does. Until one day, he has to.
(Mr.H&co)
Jane watches him with a certain degree of frustration. He is rushing about, grabbing external hard drives and cords and a whole bunch of other nonsense that she is unsure they will ever need. Especially not when his employer is done with him.
She stands silently, without patience, and glowers at him from the doorway. He spins and hisses.
"Stop looking at me that way, you dirty little cunt. I've almost got everything."
He rushes past her, pushing her aside from where she stands in the threshold of the main office. She eyes the live video feeds. A few of the producers are moving around, a few are drugged. It is of little concern. Having extracted all of the products currently available, they were free to leave this place. After their departure, the warehouse would be destroyed, its captives to remain here until their final moments.
Their employer was very displeased, to say the least. This operation had begun to flounder and fail due to the indiscretion of the man that he put at its helm, the man currently fumbling around trying to gather up evidence.
Not even evidence, though. He knows full well the place was slated to be destroyed, so she supposes he was gathering mementos. Highly improper and she would be sure to report it.
The concept is just so simple. Abduct candidates from the fringes of society. Those without living relatives, those who would not be missed, etc. But those who were attractive and in good health, and likely fertile. 18-30 years of age. One would think that these instructions were not so very difficult to follow, especially when gifted with the staff and resources that he has at his disposal.
Yet here we are, Jane muses to herself.
With any luck, their employer would finally see her point that no man could ever be entrusted with the intimate care of the producers. The power drives them quite mad, or excites the madness that was already there. She sees the beginnings of such poison seeping into her coworkers, has begun to suspect them of touching the female producers while they are incapacitated by the substance they use to subdue them.
If only he would listen to me. If only he would give me the control of my own warehouse… Jane thinks these thoughts without malice, without desire for feeding her own little god complex. No, Jane is quite simple. She believes that she could do a much better job. She certainly would not insist on dog cages and the like. All theatrics, all without positive impact on their production rate.
He is scurrying around with such urgency it makes her dizzy. She clears her throat. "Mr. Hunter, sir, may I remind you that we were designated to leave the premises thirteen minutes ago?"
He stops cold, his long and lank blonde hair continuing to move a moment after he freezes. He fixes her in his sharp blue eyes, crisp chips of a brisk blue. "Jane. If you do not leave my sight at this very moment, I will slit your fucking throat and lug your useless corpse to the incinerator myself."
Bored, Jane yawns and turns on her heel. She will be waiting in the car with the others regardless; it is no matter to her if he is here when the building is destroyed.
A few things occur without Jane's notice, or Mr. James Hunter's.
The female producer in Apartment 10 begins to have a violent miscarriage, the sort of which they would immediately attend to if the trained medical staff (Jane) had not already fled the building.
The office of Mr. Hunter sits quietly, cameras humming along, but the cameras have some company that they were not intended to have. A finely crafted oak box sits under the cot where he slept once, and never will again. That oak box contains the most important treasures in Mr. Hunter's life, which he will not see again for some time.
The employee in charge of detonating the small explosives that will cause the fiery destruction of Warehouse 5 does so via timer, but does so improperly. He makes the miniscule but all-important mistake of setting the timer for 30 hours rather than 30 minutes, which will result in the bomb squad following the raid team having ample time to defuse this system and preserve all evidence. All evidence, and all human life.
The employees also fail in that they forget to secure all of the assets that their employer desires. That is, they fail to recover all producers currently producing. They leave behind four pregnant women in the warehouse.
AN: I know, short! But I can only give you a little insight right now; things are drawing more clearly into focus but they are not meant to be crystal just yet. Thus this chapter was truncated by the need to keep some secrets for awhile longer. You will hear from me tomorrow, in all likelihood. Let's try and keep a daily streak going? Just kidding, don't hold me to that. I would like to give a special shoutout to the reviewers of ch20. Some really, really nice stuff y'all have to say about me. It makes me want to write all day long! Thank you all. I might try to reply to reviews, I guess that's a thing people do? Am I getting too ambitious here, with my motivation/time management? Anyway, see you shortly.