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Dex awoke the next morning, feeling refreshed and sated after a good night's rest.
Someone's foot nudged his leg, and the man turned his head to see the fine curve of his girl's ass peeking out of the covers. Although, there was something off about her skin that he hadn't noticed before. Her skin was a lot more pale than usual, and had freckles on it. Since when did Rose grow freckles?
Then Dex remembered. That wasn't Rose lying down beside him, it was Hope. Rose was lying on the opposite end of the bed, next to his sister.
It all came clear to him. One too many bottles of the stronger, contraband-rated stuff. A bad joke here and there, an innocent kiss that soon burned with passion. He had been watching from the door of the lieutenant's office, he saw Rose getting handsy, showing Hope how good she was with her lady friends. And never once did Dex move to stop them from letting things escalate.
It did, indeed, escalate. Rose, the lesser drunk of the two, invited him over. One thing led to another, and Dex found himself sharing a bed with his girlfriend and his sister. Incestual relations in the Dominion weren't new, but there was an unspoken taboo in their culture that kept it from becoming a common practice. Hope was the more conservative of the two, she'd understandably loath him for allowing this thing to happen. And yet, Dex didn't care much for any of that. He'd always been the family renegade, and fucking his sister wasn't the worst thing he'd ever done in his life.
Besides, as far he could remember, Hope was quite the wildcat in the sack. Totally worth it.
"Ow, my head..." Hope growled, burying her face into the covers to blot out the sun. Her head was pounding like a drum, and it made her angry. The light just made it worse.
"Good morning, lieutenant." Dex greeted, obviously enjoying her predicament too much.
Hope was silent for a long time as she slowly processed what her mind was telling her. Flashes of Dex's well defined, naked body as she rode him. The trailing kisses from Rose's velvety lips, and her experienced tongue. A night filled with untold debauchery, that would prove costly in the future. "I'm having a nightmare...I wanna wake up..."
"You're making it sound like that's a bad thing."
"Shut...the fuck...up." Hope, without tearing her face out of the sheets, thrusted a threatening finger his way. "Get out, and not a word of this to anyone."
"She just needs something for the pain." Rose assured her boyfriend, finally rising from her slumber. The sheets fell off her chest, freeing her full and beautiful mounds to be devoured by Dex's hungry eyes. She knew he was watching and gave him a show by raising her arms up in a full, slow stretch.
She yawned, "Baby, could you go and make us some coffee?"
"Sure." Dex said, fetching his clothes wherever they might be on the floor.
'Get some for her too.' She mouthed as he left the room, leaving Rose to help alleviate the effects of her hangover. "Shh...lemme take care of you, sweetie. Come here, I know just the thing."
"Don't...don't talk." Hope sighed as she crawled forward to lay her head in the valley between her soft breasts, "Words...they hurt my head."
"Oh, poor you." Her fingers lightly touched the lieutenant's temples, she rubbed them down in nice, soothing circles. Rose's hands were like magic, they dulled the pain almost immediately. "There, does that feel better?"
"Much better, thank you." Hope moaned, feeling too comfortable to move. "I just wanna lie here forever...they're so soft."
Rose smiled, remembering just how much attention they got from the lieutenant last night. "I'm glad you like them. But you're gonna have to get up soon, lieutenant."
A few minutes later, Dex returned with their coffee. He handed them their cups and sat down on the bed with them. Hope sat up, covering herself with the sheets as she drank the hot and bittersweet drink. It provided her the strength to carry on for the morning, but the lieutenant knew she needed to get something with more substance to fill her stomach.
"You know, you're awfully pretty for someone in the military." Rose remarked, "Is everyone in the Dominion as good looking as you?"
The lieutenant noticed Dex with that silly grin on his face, "What?"
"Oh, nothing." He said, feigning ignorance.
"It better be." Hope growled, her tone softening as she turned back to answer Rose's question. "Not everyone, it's just good genes. Not to brag or anything, but we're the finest human specimens to ever walk the Wasteland." She got up to get dressed.
"Well, it does offer some advantages." Rose said, eyeing her lovely backside as she bent down to pull her pants up.
"Look here, Rose…" Hope sighed, "I'm not onboard with this love-train, you know what I mean? That goes for you too, Dex."
Rose looked a bit hurt, "Aww…and we were getting along so well."
Hope buttoned up her shirt and tightened her belt, "Please, don't take this the wrong way. I appreciate what we did together, but I don't want anything that'll compromise my performance in the field. It was nice while it lasted."
"Hey, we get it." Dex said, "You wanted a chance to unwind, with no strings attached. It's perfectly normal."
"Exactly." Hope replied, showing a hint of apprehension. "Seriously, though. Not one word about this to anyone, or I'm sending you both back to Carlon without your pay."
Rose, not in the least bit intimidated by the threat, got off the bed. The sheets slid free from her naked body as she walked over to the stunned lieutenant. She kissed her full on the mouth, taking her sweet time exploring her quivering lips before releasing a breathless, and furiously blushing Hope. "My lips are sealed."
Hope fled the room, leaving Dex to savor her embarassment. "That's what they all say at first, but they always find their way back to you."
"Sounds familiar." Rose giggled as she slipped into her underwear. "I wonder who's exactly like that, can't quite put my finger on it."
"Come here." Dex took her hand and pulled her to the bed. "Lemme help you remember."
"Oh baby, I can't." Rose said as she stood there with Dex ready to strip her naked again. "There's no time. We're on duty now."
"Aww, a quickie? For me?" Dex whined, "Just to help me start the day."
Rose sighed, reaching for a thin strip of cloth to tie her hair. Hope mentioned something about their father being a horndog himself, Dex probably got it from him. Not that she was complaining about it, the sex was awesome. But sometimes, Dex was just insatiable. "I think I can work something out."
"Thank you baby, I owe you one."
She got to her knees and pulled his pants down, ready to put her mouth to good use. Dex leaned back and smiled as she worked her magic, "Hot damn, this is the best job I've ever had."
The Blood Harbor.
A collective term for the ruins of Corpus Christi south of the Corpse, the home of the USS Lexington, and main trading hub of the war-torn region of the Texas Gulf Coast. The derelict aircraft carrier sat immobile upon the sands of the long-dried surf of the Atlantic, refashioned and claimed by the Lexxers to become their fortress home. This place was no welcoming vestige of civilization, and to call it a den of depravity would be an understatement.
What once was a symbol of a great and prosperous era, was transformed into a veritable playground for the degenerate, the sodomite and the bloodthirsty. The hollow halls of ancient steel housed hundreds, if not thousands, of slave kennels. Men, women and children were herded like livestock, heading for both labor purposes and entertainment.
Compared to the utter lawlessness and savagery of the outside world, the Blood Harbor offered a small semblance of civility, a neutral ground in which all were welcome to do business within its borders. A 24-hour a day, multi-venue marketplace with a heavy emphasis on slave trading, prostitution, and munitions; in that order. Here, all transactions must take place through the resident slavers, who take a small cut when directing different parties to each other.
The carrier had sixteen decks, three of which were made open to the public, the rest restricted for the exclusive use of the Lexxers and their highest-paying customers or valued allies. Using a crude elevator to travel from deck to deck, these three decks were classified under three districts; the Flesh Market, Pleasure Square, and the Gunmaker's Deck. Compared to the Badlanders, who used corpses as their standards, the Lexxers let their banners speak for their tribe.
Three golden stars, for the three barons that ruled the Lexxers, for the three districts that bore their prominence aloft.
The Flesh Market, understandably, was the first deck an avid patron of the Lexxers would see. Naked corpses hung from the steel towers of the ship, food for the vultures and warning against any attempts at escape. Instead of the fine relics of Pre-War naval aviation, vendor stalls and barter centers were erected atop the first deck. Slaves were stored in the hold of the carrier and were only brought topside to be sold or exchanged for more valuable goods. When most outlived their use, they would be butchered and sold as meat to the more cannibalistic denizens of the Coast.
The baron that oversaw the businesses here was a horrifically twisted mutant named Voss. Locals told of his story, of how he wandered the Texas Wasteland after being exposed to a flesh-changing virus, warping his body into the hulking brute that he was today. He found the Lexxers, and after showing a remarkable intelligence and talent for violence, he was put in charge of the slave trade in the Lexington.
The Pleasure Square, for those brave enough to subject themselves to the depths of utter degeneracy, was likened unto a twisted parody of the circles of hell. Here, lust in all its forms was indulged, provided that the patrons that graced its halls with their presence were heavy of purse and willing to part with their wealth. Under the lash of Lady Green, a Glowing One whose intellect and personality remained unchanged in spite of her condition, the Pleasure Square rapidly became popularized in the region.
Most patrons visited the Pleasure Square to avail themselves of the exceptional services provided by the men and women of the district, but those that stayed came for Lady Green. The baroness offered something else other than the pleasures of flesh, something that demanded a hefty price but promised so much more for those with the fortitude- immortality.
Lastly was the Gunmaker's Deck. All forms of weapons could be found here, every one of them handmade and tested. Baron Ekks prided himself on products that were well above the salvaged or cobbled-together pieces of junk that most raiders had to scrape by on.
Black Tom made his way up the ramp with his five slaves in tow. Past the crowded marketplace on the first deck where hawking vendors and noisy auctioneers bid on the slaves on display, through the elevator and heading for the Pleasure Square to bring the merchandise to his employer. On either side of the deck were the cabins of the comfort-slaves, men and women forced into prostitution to ensure a steady supply of caps for the baroness.
The ghoul guardians at the door to Lady Green's cabin stopped him from entering, as the baroness was busy bringing another devotee through the threshold of mortality.
There were loud moans coming from inside the cabin, heavy grunts from the aforementioned patron seeking the baroness' gifts of eternal life. Black Tom listened impatiently, wishing for the business inside to be resolved quickly.
Suddenly, a bright green glow erupted from the cabin door window. After a minute passed, the moans gave way to silence. With her business concluded, the baroness emerged from her cabin to resume her work supervising the works of the district.
Lady Green, under a customized protective suit, turned to face Black Tom. The suit was a union of flexible latex and hazmat suit fabrics, spiked leather straps that clung tight to her curvy form, and a full-face gas mask that acted as more of a cosmetic item than a functional filtering apparatus. All that made her look like something out of an S&M fantasy.
"Black Tom…" Her soothing, otherworldly voice caressed the trader's ears as she drawled in that Old World Texan accent. "What can I do for my most eager employee?"
"You can take these girls off my hands, for starters." The trader replied, motioning for the girls to approach their new mistress. "Ladies, if you please."
"My my, such fine specimens." Lady Green took a good look at the girls. She purred in long, dragged out sentences that sent shivers down their spines. "Now don't you worry, my dears. You five are lucky to have been bought by yours truly. Welcome to the Pleasure Square, your new home."
"Don't hurt us." The blonde, the voice of the five, said to the baroness. "We will serve."
"Of course you will." She replied, reaching for their collars and taking them off with a practiced hand. "But I appreciate your submission. I am a fair mistress. Serve me and serve your clients without question, and you will be treated well under my roof. I shall feed you, bathe you and keep you safe- as good and loyal pets deserve."
The baroness led the slaves away, without even using a leash. This was always Lady Green's gift, her siren-like allure and her hypnotic words, able to twist one's mind and will as she saw fit.
Other ghouls emerged from Lady Green's cabin, dragging out a heavily irradiated corpse. Black Tom kept his distance, not wanting to wind up shitting his guts out through the month.
"Another one bites the dust." He said as he lit up a roll of tobacco.
To the east of the Corpse was the Niner, the scorched patch of dirt that the Cult of the Reshapened dominated. Named in reference to the single vault in all of the Coast to exist, and the heart of the Cult itself.
Long ago, a single nuke was dropped upon the shores of Corpus Christi, creating a heavily irradiated crater where it landed. The islands surfaced as the bay dried up, vaporized by the resulting blast. It killed half the population that remained outdoors when the explosion happened, it turned the rest into ghouls. The Corpse did not weather the collapse of civilization well, but for the deadzone of the Niner it was much worse.
The one vault that was built on Corpus Christi, Vault 9, had long been shrouded in mystery and speculation. But one thing was clear to the denizens of the Corpse, from Vault 9 emerged the cybernetically augmented fanatics of the Cult. Wearing metal instead of skin, grasping energy-weapons with limbs of iron, they scoured the hellish deadzone clean of all that did not bear the blessings of the Reshapened.
They rebuilt the ruins of the Corpus Christi cathedral, erecting the Templo Principalis and launched a 20 year long crusade against the horrors of the flesh. All those they deemed irreversibly twisted by the atom, all who were in opposition to the truth that the Cult brought to the Wasteland- they destroyed or brought into the fold.
The air of the Niner was choked with smog from incessant construction and industrial after-effects, which acted as a useful deterrent for wandering outsiders or prospecting scavengers. If one should venture beyond the suffocating blankets of black mists, and dare to slip by the ancient sentry bots that patrolled the perimeter, the forge complexes of the Cult could easily be spotted within the circle of the crater.
Hymns of praise and meditation could be heard from the devotees marching through the ruined and cracked streets of the Niner, and many of the mixed multitude of severely mutated or full human aspirants here would make the pilgrimage to the Templo Principalis, to subject themselves to the Rites of Ascension.
To those with the fortitude, both physical and mental, they would be granted permission to enter the gates of the cathedral and begin their transformation.
Arachne, Mistress of the Forge and Voice of the Reshapened, was the high priestess of the Cult and she received any devotee of their faith as a mother would welcome her lost children.
A group of eight aspiring cultists, five male former raiders and three former slaves, prostrated themselves on the cool, smooth marble floor as they awaited the arrival of their mistress. The attendants arrived in advance of the priestess to prepare the aspirants for the Rite.
Every one of them was an ascended cultist, who had forsaken their flesh for the eternity of living metal. Finely shaped, sleek and glamorous from head to toe, they walked on limbs of silver-chromed steel. Muscles of alloy fibers bulged and flexed with their every move, their eyes that glowed bright blue allowed a mere glimpse into the glorious existence the aspirants would soon share.
Some still had flesh in some parts of their bodies, others were completely transformed.
The attendants helped the aspirants strip from their ragged robes of brahmin-hide, and left the summoning chamber to let the priestess address them. The aspirants knelt, naked and ready for the Rite. Their voices chanted the same mantra they've been repeating in the streets of the Niner, up the steps of the Templo Principalis, and now before the Mistress of the Forge.
"Take our hands, that we may serve you.
Take our eyes, that we may see you.
Take our ears, that we may hear you.
Take our minds, that we may know you."
"Ah, my children..." The voice of the priestess greeted as she emerged to join them in the summoning chamber.
Arachne was, for lack of a better term, something that evoked a sense of disgust and sensuality. The priestess' body was dressed in a tight black spandex cut with intricate symbols and patterns where her skin pressed outwards with her every breath. Her face was hidden by a cowl of the same fabric as her suit, revealing only the lower half that showed a smiling mouth. She walked on feet with elevated heels, easily mistaken for shoes if not for the mechanical stilts that upon closer inspection could be seen as toes. In the Old World, it could be attributed to the dancers of the ballet.
She also had two extra pairs of arms cybernetically and surgically attached to her back. Her own two hands were folded against her chest, allowing these extra limbs to wave around or extend to greet the devotees.
The aspirants looked up and beheld her form. In awe and faint revulsion, they basked in the presence of something so beautiful, so monstrous...
"So you've come...ready to leave the trappings of the flesh..."
She bent down to inspect one of the aspirants, a young woman so hideously scarred from her past life in the wilderness. "You've come, ready to embrace your true form...never again to feel the pain of the Wastes nor fear the destructive nature of Man."
"Have I spoken true?"
"Yes, Lady Arachne." They said in unison.
The priestess had only to beckon, and her attendants returned. They came bearing medical instruments, metal cases that held unseen gifts, and surgical tools to cleave and hack through flesh. The aspirants looked at them, quivering with fear for the impending agony of the coming operation.
"Fear not, my children." Arachne assured them, "You shall receive my first gifts to you without cause for suffering. Come, take your first step to be reshaped."
The men stood first, then the women. The attendants injected them with something to dull the pain, then proceeded to do away with their arms, starting with the left. Blood spurted out in fountains, collecting together in pools beneath their feet. Their severed limbs followed, cut clean from their bodies with practiced precision, and the aspirants stared after them with shared looks of doubt and possible regret.
The attendants opened the cases, bringing out the cybernetic limbs to replace what had been sacrificed. These were attached to the actuator sockets drilled deep in the stumps where their arms used to be, and Arachne applauded them for their devotion. The aspirants beheld their gifts with excitement and awe, but the procedure was only half done.
A neural implant was surgically placed into the backs of their skulls, allowing them to feel and control the limb, but also linking them to the Cult's neural network. A hivemind, a community that brought upon a constant sense of belonging, love and entertainment to the devotees.
Arachne's grin broadened. "Take my gifts, dear children...and go into the world to spread the faith of the Reshapened."
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