Heartthrob

Fuckers.

All of them, really. Each and every sniveling one of them. Disgusting little... vermin, and that was putting it so lightly as to be a compliment.

Judas sneered as her trigger finger felt the mag release button, cool steel dropping to the floor and clattering away from her. Half of her wanted to kill them all - the most horrible sort of death, one that was dragged out for months, if not years. It was all they deserved. These... destroyers, these usurpers, these common thugs. Ew. She was sounding like a children's cartoon villain again...

She hated that. If she was a villain, she was anything but cartoonish.

The other half of her, the half that didn't want to see these fucking reprobates strung up by silvered wire, left to bleed and choke and burn for days on end, wanted to argue. She wanted to yell. She wanted to fucking scream. She wished she could pop her head out from around the corner she was tucked behind, stare their ringleader in the eye, and howl at them about how impossibly stupid they were being. Didn't they realize that everything Tsang was doing was for the good of the UNAC? The good of the human race? Didn't they see that immortality was no longer a pipe dream - it was an achievable reality, something everyone could have, regardless of background?

For hundreds, no, thousands of years, endless millennia since the first proto-human had stumbled onto speech, homo erectus had sought immortality. Gilgamesh had pursued an herb of immortality to live forever. Qin Shi Huang had poisoned himself with mercury just to gamble at a forever-life. Elizabeth Bathory had tortured and exsanguinated virgin women, bathing in their blood and swallowing it down. Countless more in myth and legend, and in undisputable history, had made the attempt. It was an intrinsic flaw of the human condition, to die.

So what was the issue? Why did they all hate it so much? Sure, some people didn't like the carnivorous lifestyle, but that wasn't worthy of this bullshit. Some people didn't want to take their pills - that was more excusable, those things were practically poison made to sedate, but still! They lived in a world where a person could, and would, live forever through the sheer charity of their betters!

No more death. No more pain. No more loss. An eternity in the beauteous, advanced world that they had created, every single one of them. There would always be the underclass, there would always be serfs, but such was the way of a hierarchy. And yet, these worthless smears couldn't even see the truth right in front of their fucking faces. Tsang Solutions were helping people. They were keeping the UNAC alive, bringing them a sort of perfection that those in the North, East, and South could never hope to achieve.

It made her black blood boil. It sparked the kindling in her half-dead heart into a raging pyre - one that Judas would be quick to throw these dissenters onto, if she had her way. She'd pour molten silver down their throats before even considering a pardon - frankly, she had oft considered making the executive decision of reintroducing public executions. That would keep the underclasses in line, right? A public livestream red-room, broadcast by Tsang themselves.

Captured dissenters suffering and dying left right and center, being allowed to put themselves back together, then back at it for another round of pain. That would keep people in line. It would keep them from doing this sort of fucking idiocy, keep them from getting in her way.

The popcorn of gunfire from down the hall, whizzing past her hidden visage, was enough to draw her from her monologue. It was more than plenty to get her to re-focus on the task at hand: killing these useless blights on her perfect, second-living utopia. She snapped from her furious haze as if smelling salts had been given, though the only scents in the air were gunpowder, burnt flesh, and blood. Frankly she loved the aroma - she had always had a thing for blood, even before the procedure. Even before she had earned her fangs.

A nod to her second-in-command was all it took to set the black clad enforcers to their work. She had eight men in here with her, following her lead, taking her commands. She was anything but a military commandant, of course, but these loyal thugs got hazard pay for doing whatever she said. Beatings, maiming, killings, harassment, apprehension... Whatever she wanted, they'd do. Even after the thing with Alex just the other day, she'd had plenty of volunteers to die for her amusement.

Heavy boots rustled to life, two men rushing to take point. Almost immediately, one was given the punch card treatment straight through the sternum, and then as he fell, the head. Probably not properly lethal, Judas thought, but she'd make sure someone finished him off... she was not paying him his KIA bonus.

The blaze of small arms filled the hall with sound as more of her goon squad took their chance, returning fire as aggressively and emphatically as any private death squad would aspire to be. One of them had brought a proper machine gun, the sort of automatic that used to get mounted on vehicles or emplacements - nowadays, a second-living could hold and fire that sort of thing without issue, provided they were a more physically-inclined strain of their respective typing. Judas couldn't remember what this guy was, but from the way his bulk barely shook while the weapon's barrel began to glow red-hot, she made a mental note to hire more of those in the future.

Screams rang out from down the hallway, from the opposition's bulkhead; they were being turned into the world's most foul serving of swiss cheese, and blackened blood made the hallway evoke an inkwell that had exploded. Once the big fucker with the heavy weaponry had emptied enough silver to make a jeweler blush, a silence hung in the air - silent except for the dripping of blood and sobs of the wounded, but to Judas, that was more akin to music than malaise.

"All clear, boss. Just some stragglers. Should we-" A different lump of hired muscle, one with a heart filled with bullet holes painted on his armor's left breast, began to speak. Judas was quick to shut him up. "Oh, you want to give the orders here, hm? Do you get paid to make suggestions? Or do you get paid to hurt people, Blackjack?" Judas turned her gaze to the enforcer's helmet, approximating where his eyes were most likely to be. He remained silent.

"Come on then. Answer me. I know you can talk, you were just doing it - what do I pay you to do?" The smile she proffered was a sugared cocktail of blood and booze, saccharine poison which both emboldened and unhinged. One would never taste the silver powder in its mix until it hit their gut, though it would burn a bit more than most booze as it drained down, leaving microscars on everything it touched.

The officer had become sheepish in seconds flat, letting his own gaze drop so that it didn't need to meet hers. "Hurt people, miss. You pay us to hurt people. I'm... I'm sorry for speaking out of turn. Thank you for bringing me on this mission. I'll... I'll clear the next room. Thank you." His words tumbled out like a child that had tripped running down a hill, rolling over his tongue until every syllable felt just as shamed as his burning skin did. Judas gave him a wink.

"Good boy, Blackjack. You're very welcome for this opportunity. Prove your loyalty, hm? Kill... what the fuck was his callsign again? Warpaint? Fucking shitty callsign. Get him out of my sight, and then I won't even make you clear the next room, hm? Prove yourself to me. Let me see how dedicated you are." It took herculean amounts of restraint to not lick her lips as she finished the proposition.

The seven remaining goons all looked to their downed comrade, who sat catatonic and fitful upon the floor. Like a bad dream adventure, his body tossed and turned as neurons fired, hit the cauterized hunk of blackened flesh in his brain, and muscle impulses were distributed randomly. It was very reminiscent of a seizure, Judas thought - fuck, it had been a long time since she'd induced a seizure in someone. Maybe that was what she'd do to the ringleader of this little sham of a resistance corps?

Some of her squadron looked away as Blackjack raised his gun, a semi-automatic rifle loaded with armor-piercing rounds. He didn't have the guts to take his comrade's helmet off before he pulled the trigger. The sound of the dying man's thick synthetic visor cracking as another hole was punched into it mingled well with the splurch of his brain being pulped and the crank-ch of his skull being reduced to shrapnel. Blackened blood sprayed in a single gout, barely hitting anything from the sharp angle of its egress, but it got on Blackjack's armor. Fitting.

"Oooh, good boy, sweetheart~! You're such a good boy for mommy... Here. Take the dead cunt's grenades, and his TSID tag. You're promoted. Keep doing exactly what mommy says, and there's more in store for you...~" She licked her teeth now, not her lips, mouth curled into the grin of a predator before prey. The loyal servant received a wink for his efforts, and Judas decided to lay it on that much thicker: cocking her hips to gently bump against Blackjack's loins, pressing against his codpiece just enough to draw stimulation.

He said nothing, though from the aborted vocalizations he stammered from beneath his helmet, he sure tried to. That only emboldened Judas, but right now wasn't the right time to press her new pet. They had shit to do... but seeing him fold like that? Seeing him do exactly what she wanted, when she wanted it, without question? Thank her for the privilege of working with her? Thank her for the abuse?

It revved an engine that had lain cold and dormant since this whole shitstorm happened. She missed her little bitch.

The vampiress had decided to just accept that missing EJ was the correct way to consider how she felt. They had been together for thirty plus years... And now, suddenly, she was just supposed to deal with all the constant strain and hassle of corporate life without her whipping girl? She was meant to exist without a sacrificial lamb to kneel down obediently and take whatever she was given? Judas Alighieri wasn't a religious woman, but she imagined a life without her toys was akin to Hell.

"Okay, sweethearts... My lovely little butchers... let's head forward. Move up." Her entourage did as they were told, Blackjack remaining close to Judas as they did - he had been promoted, it was his right to stick nearest to his boss and personally keep her safe. As they reached the ruined beachhead, stragglers were collected in a pile of the wounded and dying. Only three still clung yet to life, despite it all: a pale man with slicked-back black hair and piercings, one ashen-skinned male of a pair of twins, and a girl with long, green-dyed hair.

The first of the trio was struggling to breathe, having been pierced through one now-collapsed lung, the voice box, and the stomach. The ashen-skinned man had taken the brunt of it: one shoulder rent asunder, three scattered holes in his torso (one of them inches from his heart- unlucky that he hadn't died, for him at least), an ear torn clean off, and his left kneecap shattered to calcium confetti. The last of the three, the woman with the green hair down to the bottom of her ass, had taken minimal damage - only the left side of her hip, and her right bicep, had been ruined. Judas smiled as she saw her.

"Oooh... Survivors. Good. I've got some... emotions I need to work through. Here, prop the two guys up, would you? They need to see what happens next." Her sycophant slaves did as they were told, practically throwing the wounded men against the nearest wall so that they could observe whatever atrocity Judas had in mind.

Jude took a fistful of the woman's emerald locks, dragging her a bit closer to the maimed males, but ever so out of their reach even if they leaned forwards. Then, the Tsang executive lowered herself, straddling the woman right over her injured hip. This drew, as it was expected to, a pained whimper and cry from the sadist's new plaything. Judas let go of the girl's hair and instead caressed her cheek, lowering - but not holstering - the pistol in her other hand.

"Oh my, aren't you cute... I love your eyeliner, so dark, so thick... I bet it'd look great running down your face while you gag, wouldn't it? Hmm-mm-mm~? Gawk gawk gawk gawk..." She thrust a bit with her hips at every sound effect, ensuring that the intended image was flawlessly evoked. The other woman began to cry - no longer just from the pain. Judas took her free hand and placed a finger below the crying woman's eye, dabbing her fingertip with damp and tracing a single, black-stained line down her face to mimic a natural tearflow.

"Mmmnh, fuck, that's right... Cry for me, girlie... All the best little bitches cry for their owners, didn't you know? I love a slut that's pre-trained..." Judas raises her pelvis from its seat, adjusting herself so she's now laid chest-to-chest with the green haired girl. The sobs only came louder now, all the more delectable. Every whimper and cry made her chest shift, which in turn brought friction to Judas's own. It was hardly something Judas hated.

The sanguine sadist used her right leg to push between the wounded woman's own pair, thigh pushed to the insurgent's lap. A little bit of motion was all it took for Judas to begin a paired grinding, looking her quarry straight in the eyes as she began. To her side, all too close and yet so very far, the black-haired man fought with his own body to try and say something. Anything, really - any sort of protest, anything even approximating a shout of condemnation or hatred. All that came was garbled, ravaged wheezing and strain.

The enforcers all seemed uncomfortable, but some of them looked on, watching with steeled hearts and dead emotions. This was far from what they had signed up for, of course... Being Judas's hired muscle was one thing, but this? It was a bit much, to put it with shocking lightness. Those who hadn't taken it upon themselves to watch started to occupy themselves however they could: checking their weapons, peeking into nearby rooms, looking out the windows... One bastard had even pulled out his smartphone. Anything to distract themselves.

Judas growled, low and husky, full of breath and lust; she leaned in to nuzzle the other woman's bared neck, eyes half-lidded and dreamy. This was the final straw for the object of her aggression, who began to struggle - with great futility - against her oppressor. Weak hands went to Judas's torso, just above her hips, trying as best she could to push the other woman off. Judas, in response, pulled away from her plaything's neck just enough to bark an order.

"Blackjack. Take her wrists, hold them above her head. Now."

Her order was followed with reluctance, sure, but expedience more so. The girl's arms were restrained; a different thug, in an effort to garner some clout, grabbed her ankles to keep her from kicking. Tears came faster and faster now, the consignment to inaction more than enough to really hammer in the stake of what was coming.

Judas's face returned to its home in the crook of the woman's neck, nuzzling in, growling, kissing... Kissing became licking, which prompted her toy to howl in fear and sorrow without end. Licking was exchanged for nibbling, now, the grinding becoming more and more intense in turn; forced stimulation for both parties, even as the captive woman's comrade began to fight himself with every ounce of strength he could still well up in his core. The wheezes and garbled, ragged exclamations came louder now, more rapidly, and he nearly managed to lean forward close enough to take hold of Judas's arm.

A kick from one of the observant enforcers ensured he leaned the fuck back against the wall, held there by a thick boot. Judas held back a horrid cackle, not seeing the proceedings but certainly hearing them. It was everything she wanted - everything she needed. She needed this, this ecstasy, this agony... The rising heat between her legs... The building tightness and pounding in her chest, just behind her sternum, like a taut drum slammed for a war march. The tears running down the other woman's face.

"Take a deep breath, sweetheart. You'll need it to scream." The other girl was given just a moment to process what Judas had said, and tried to draw in a gasp and hold it in - before having it forced from her in a screech of agony as gold-plated fangs buried themselves into her neck. Judas buried them deep, as deeply as they would go without outright taking a chunk out of the girl's neck, letting the other woman's blood pool in her mouth for a second before taking the first gulp.

Oh-h-h, yes. That was it. The adrenaline in the blood was euphoric in its own right - the torture, the pain, the grief, all of it mingled with more depth than the notes of the finest wine. Judas felt every inch of her skin come alight with electricity, sensitivity amplified a million-million times, making everything from the soft lining of her suit to the softer flesh in her mouth feel divine. If there was a Heaven, this was it. This moment was Heaven, without any question... without any doubt. Nothing could ever come close.

She was surprised, somewhere subconscious within her, that the girl between her thighs was still first-living. That was good, honestly - it made her blood that much more palatable, and amplified her warmth once the draught of blood was drained. Another mouthful of blood was drawn in, and Judas's head pulled away - positioning itself just above the other woman's, six inches away.

She used her free hand to grab her prey by the lower jaw, holding her mouth open with thumb and forefinger pressed to either cheek. There was no time for the woman to wonder what was going to happen next - Judas had already trailed her tongue from her own mouth to make an inverse spire over her toy's own open orifice, letting fresh blood slowly pour on down. There was an attempt to turn her head, trying not to be spitballed her own fucking blood, but there was no escaping Judas's iron grip.

The vampire's motions became more insistent now. She had climbed this mountain before, so many times before - and she knew she had nearly reached the peak, where her flag was still stuck. As the last drop of blood drained from her tongue into the girl's mouth, Judas smiled - eyes still dreamy, face painted with pleasure and superiority, the mask of a dictator who knew her subjects were held in sway to her every whim and desire.

"Good girl. You did what I told you - I like obedience. Ah, but perhaps this has gone too long... You're fun, baby girl, but it looks like your... What is he? Your brother? Your boyfriend? Ooh, I hope boyfriend... Probably the last chance for his little dick to get up, hmm~? But, forget about him. I own you now. We've gotta cut this short, so... Open your mouth, slut. Let me see how your tongue tastes, and I promise I'll kill you quick." She winked, licking a bit of stray blood from her own lips - and then a bit more from the other girl's chin, where it had spilled.

Her abuse doll was quick to swallow the mouthful of her own blood, then opened her mouth just wide enough for a kiss - the crying had yet to stop, of course, but an offer of a quick death was superior by far to whatever this was. Judas felt the swell between her thighs as the girl did what she could to try and earn some clout of her own, raising her leg ever so slightly to press ever more insistently against Judas. Good girl.

Judas leaned down, then, every bit the classic vampire pouncing upon her prey. Lip met lip, tongue met tongue, a bit of wrestling ensued - both orally and bodily, Judas doing everything she could to finish things up in a timely manner. The kiss sealed the deal, as it always did, but there was no rule saying she couldn't amplify her own experience that much more, was there? She had climbed the highest mountain in human history, and yet the one oft most-traveled; it made her tremble ever so slightly as she planted her flag, the descent slow and relaxed.

The black-haired man practically screamed in outrage at this, beginning to cry himself; his companion, who had been silent and stoic up until now, wept silently. That was the cherry on top for Judas, of course - it was exactly what she had wanted, what she had expected - nay, demanded of her subjects. The gun in Judas's off hand came up quickly, pressing itself beneath her prey's jaw even as they kissed, even as Judas started to calm and ride out her blood-fueled afterglow.

A pair of trigger pulls, and a promise given became a promise kept. Judas lingered there for a few moments, resting on the dead girl's corpse like a particularly squishy body pillow, staring into those dead eyes with a sick sense of adoration which bordered on love. They always came around in the end, you know? They always realized Judas knew what was best for them. Always.

With a deep, contented sigh, Judas pushed herself to a stand. The fresh blood in her veins still thrummed with sanguine power, giving life to a body so long half-dead; it was just as lasting a kiss as the one she had just had. Her only regret? She had accidentally nicked her tongue with the first bullet, and now it stung like a bitch. Easy fix, though - she'd just bite the tip off later, and she'd get a new one that wasn't so burnt.

The thugs let go of the corpse's arms and legs, rushing to stand and brush themselves off. Silently, all in attendance were glad it was over and done - for different reasons, sure, but they could all agree it was better to have ended than continued. Judas turned to the two men leaned against the wall, one who had degenerated into ragged howls and sobs like wind through a torn billows, the other with his eyes shut as tightly as he could muster to try and stop the tears.

"Blackjack? Kill the quiet one. The boyfriend? Sawbones, take his arms. They'll grow back. We've got everything we need here. Resistance and spirits: crushed. Mission accomplished. Expect a bonus in your weekly paychecks, as per the usual. Bloodshot? The dead girl, grab her corpse and as much brain as you can fit into an extraction cap-" Judas's words were cut off by the sound of new, fresh gunfire from outside. She had ordered a perimeter established, but they were just grunts... no real armor, just officers in their normal uniforms. They were sitting ducks for any third-party aggressor.

Fuck. That was annoying. She had just done all this fucking work, just killed... Ten, maybe? Fifteen? Whatever, she'd put twenty on her report. She'd just killed twenty dissidents, cleared out the entirety of Kehler Complex, captured two excellent would-be hostages and/or informants... and now there was new bullshit to deal with? Seriously? That was a fucking bitch of a complication.

Whatever it was, it sounded automatic - and meaty. It was loud, and this time, it was Judas's own side that was doing the screaming, not the little wretches she had taken it upon herself to uproot. Scores of normal corporate security officers, taken down in swathes... she didn't need to see it to know it was a massacre. She could hear it, the blood in her system heightening her already otherworldly senses to the point they could outdo the most sophisticated microphone on the market. She could hear every splatter of blood, every ching ching chingle ching of emptied casings as they hit the ground, every rip and tear of flesh and bone and hair and fabric.

It would have been glorious, if she didn't need to authorize the checks to their families for being KIA.

"God damnit! Okay, new plan! Leave the boyfriend, he can suffer, just... Stab him a few times, yeah? Non-lethal, just get his arms and stomach and legs and shit. Blackjack! With me. Grab the girl, scoop as much of her brain as you can, and let's leave. The rest of you? Join the guys outside, or if you can't get out of here? Burn the place to ash. Get out however you can once you start the fire. Intel says there's a big stash of propane in the basement, for heating purposes... Old fucking buildings still using propane heaters, ick, I know, but still."

She scrunched her brow and slammed her eyes tight, pinching the bridge of her nose. Just fucking wonderful. She'd been having such a good day, too... Managed to get her libido back up after going a while without, led a successful raid... Hell, she'd even had a particularly good cut of meat for breakfast this morning. Kobe beef, marinated to her personal tastes, raw and bloody just how she liked.

Here, she had thought it'd be an easy day of work. Guess not.

The goon squad did as she directed without hesitation, each of them wordlessly glad that they were back to doing what they had been paid to do: hurt people. One man knelt down and began to viciously stab the black-haired man everywhere he could, ensuring that none of it was lethal but all of it would hurt like a bitch; the other troopers made sure their guns were loaded and then began to march, peering out the windows to grab a glimpse of the scene. It was not good; Judas could hear the fear in her officers' voices outside as they tried desperately to hail her.

Lucky for her, though, her comms were off. She had turned them off ever since she had breached the Complex proper, and right now? She had zero intention of turning them back on. Once Blackjack had slung the dead girl's body over one shoulder and scooped as much brain matter as he reasonably could into a hip-strapped titanium cylinder, he nodded to his boss that he was ready to go. That was all it took - that was all that was needed, all that was necessary to set things back into motion once again.

Judas hustled straight down a different hallway, not even stopping to check for more opposition; if they ran into anyone, she'd show Blackjack the little trick she had last used against that fucking Wayward in her manse. She knew that almost no one in Vitus knew they could even do that, much less how, and the shock factor had provided plenty of breathing room time and time again. It was the exec's secret weapon, in a lot of ways.

A secret weapon she never hoped to use, but one she certainly didn't hate employing. She just hoped the next time she put it to use, she'd be doing it to get her little ghoulette back.

-

Outside the Complex, Kell was every bit the embodiment of an avenging angel. Eddy's comms were dead - now, at least. He had been shot in the middle of talking to her and updating her on the situation; when he fell, his phone (still on speaker) had fallen down to the floor near wherever he had slumped. Kell had said nothing, not wanting to give herself away... but she had certainly listened. She had listened to all of it, every little thing, every last word. She had told herself it was to remember her comrades as best she could - to honor them in their final moments, by being with them in spirit, if not in body.

That wasn't true.

In truth it was out of a morbid, disgusting sort of curiosity. She had needed it, just like Judas had needed it - needed the atrocity, the horror, the torture, the abuse. She had needed a reason to get angry, a reason to join the fight and try and avenge her one-time friends. They had been caught by Tsang - they were as good as dead. She'd never see them again. They'd never continue their Wayfarer game.

No more pizza and movies, no more game night, no more hitting the bars and club together. No more working on her bike with Franklin; no more anchovy pizza with Damien; no more doing acid with Vivica, hoping upon all hopes she'd finally leave Eddy's deadbeat ass. This cluster of Revenants were no more - and sure, there would be other cells. She'd done this whole song and dance more times than she could count, gaining clout, gathering friends and co-conspirators, accruing arms and armor and safe houses. She was pretty good at it at this point.

And so, hearing them all die had been numb. She had been emotionally distant, her feelings all too dead to really register any of it as anything more than just another loss in this great game she and Tsang played. In chess, losing a single pawn was an acceptable sacrifice in the greater scheme of things. But... She had liked these ones. They had been fun; they had been nice. Mostly, anyways.

And so, she needed the rage.

She had listened intently, as intently as she could, to the proceedings. It had turned her stomach; it had boiled her blood. It had dredged up every last little bit of fury that it had needed to, and now, she was fueled by her brothers-in-arms' suffering as Judas had been. She would have hated the comparison, of course, but the truth was that she couldn't deny that Judas was a skilled opponent in her own regard. They both used people for their own means; they both saw their own world view as 'right'.

As Kell pulled the trigger once again, spraying full metal jackets through the too-thin walls of cars and vans, she only hoped Judas was still around in the Complex. She was itching for a chance to prove which of them was 'right' after all.