Wednesday, 29 December 2010

Decollaring the Hard Way

Carmilla Deritan ran for her life. The breath was harsh in her lungs, pain stabbed from the running, the burn of the blast wound in her side. Tears of pain streaked her face as she turned a corner and slammed her back to the wall. With the few seconds she had she ripped the high heeled boots from her feet and peered around the corner.

The darkness of the station corridors was lit only by flickering lights which were off more often than on. This far down in the station the doors to the rooms were sealed by locks, others by welding. Elevators to other levels were damaged by the gutter gangs, the stair cases a greater risk than those following her.

Something moved in the darkness, she couldn't see what it was, but didn't stay to watch. She ran. The rubbish on the floor slashing her feet and legs, but desperation makes for determination. There would be a sanctuary here, there had to be.

As she sped past a stairwell she tripped, a narrow rope across the corridor tripping her and the whooping sound as a gutter gang leapt down the stairwell. In agony she tried to get up and looked into the barrel of a slug thrower, the blade from a makeshift spear was near, pointed at her throat.
"'Ere Bonza, we gots a good one this time. Looks like upper level come down to mix it up with the gangs."
"We'll mix it up allright, look at those legs. Long time since something like this came down here."
There was a chorus of laughter as more shapes appeared from the stairwell.
"With good reason," one of them kicked her foot making her wince, "The last one we found died in bed. But we got our use from her. Didn't we lads?"
The last brought on a cheer as two pulled her to her feet and tied her hands behind her back. Hands groped her and she cried out.
"Please don't, I can pay for my release. I must escape I'm being..."
A filthy rag was thrust in her mouth and a fist slammed into her gut.
"We're not interested in pay, your cred sticks will be pay enough. We want your flesh, high born sluts love a bit of gutter gang...."

They dragged her up the stairwell, hands touching her, ripping her clothing, groping. Probing. Others punched or kicked her as they threw her through a door into a derelict room covered in filthy matresses and rotting boxes. Tears streamed down her face as the first one kicked her into submission before taking her. He ripped the scarf from her throat to wipe himself and noticed the collar.
"Oh, runaway slave huh? Nice collar, will help us keep you tied to the bed."
He dropped the scarf on her face, so she didn't see his head explode, just felt the spatter and his body fall on her legs. Screams and gunshots rang out, the whine of laser rifles and the sound of blades cutting bodies. Shortly, it was over and the sound of heavy boots came towards her.

The scarf was removed from her face and a heavy set caldari looked down at her, using it to wipe the gore from her naked body. He pulled out a holo-device and projected a face, Carmilla's.
"This is the one. Bring the gear."
"It's scary Rox, how she knows this stuff. Remind me never to betray her."
"Those who do, don't last long. Nor do those who insult her, like you my dear."
Carmilla tried to get up but hands held her arms and legs down. She screamed but it did no good.
"No one here to rescue you. But we're only here for one thing, then you can go free. You have my word."
One of the bodies walked over with a portable cutting torch and knelt by the side of her head and forced it sideways. She tried to fight as she could feel the heat of the torch coming closer to her neck.
"Of course, that's assuming you survive your decollaring."
The pain flared in her neck, a nova of brilliance that flared into the black oblivion of unconsciousness.

Several hours later a station patrol, despatched by an unknown call walked into the room, high powered torches lighting the room, showing the scene of devestation. The stench of the bodies was nothing however to the smell of burnt flesh. Walking around the bodies the lieutenant stopped by the body in the centre of the room, a naked sebiestor with a brutal burn scar on her neck. He checked and found she was alive and reached for his communicator.

She woke into stabbing pain and terrified eyes looked around the medical bay she was in. The nurse came over to her whispering soothing words. Carms hands flew up to her neck, her collar was gone. A heavy bandage was wrapped around her neck and she could feel the warm fuzzyness of the painkillers. She fell off the bed while the nurse called for assistance, an alarm ringing as she staggered up and walked to the mirror on the wall. With heavy clawing fingers she ripped the bandage away, blood started leaking from the wound and the pain lanced into her neck. But she looked at her neck, saw the smooth curve of her neck unbroken, unmarred except for a hideous burn from the cutting torch. Her collar, had gone! Her pulse raced, her nails scratched at her neck as the nurses pulled her back to her bed. She opened her mouth and screamed a soul rending howl that sent shivers down the backs of those present.

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