Aberrant: 2011 - Bachelorette (ADULT Content) [COMPLETE]

[Libertyne]

Medford, OR - 04/16/09 - 2:20 AM

Brittany sighed and wheeled away from the computer set up in Robert's modest and increasingly-empty home. Increasingly empty, because in just a few weeks she and Robert would be moving out to New Paltz, NY, so that he could start his consulting work. A new job, and a new life. She's stopped back by her home in Missoula briefly, and planned to still maintain a presence in both homes, but at least for the time being, her parents' safety and her burgeoning relationship with Robert lead her to believe she'd be better served by staying with him. Thankfully, the noted with a satisfied smile toward the figure taking a break to watch television in the next room, Robert didn't mind having her around too much.

In spite of what had happened recently, Brittany was in good spirits. But at the moment, she was having trouble. She'd been in contact with Missy for a couple of days now, to her delight, but Missy had become reticent in their most recent communication, about Robert, about Cyn, about things in general. Understandably, she didn't want to see a nova brawl in her home town, much less at her prom. After what happened to Kara, Brittany reckoned that Cyn would have bigger problems than bothering she and Missy on prom night, but when Missy asked her to guarantee that, she sighed and realized, sadly, that she could not. Crestfallen, racking her brain to come up with a way to ensure the safety and happiness of the evening, Brit turned away from the system, picking up a piece of buttered toast and nibbling it thoughtfully.

A twilling ding! alerted Brittany she'd received a new piece of mail, and excitedly, she dropped her snack, fingers finding their home again on the keyboard as she punched up the message. Did Missy reconsider? Oh! Oh, that would be so great! Excited, nearly high, she opened the message so quickly that she didn't even check to see who it was from. Had she, she may not have even opened it.

What she found, instead, was a message from Cyn. There was no subject header, and no words. Nothing, in fact, but a screen capture of a post that had been put up on the forum she'd met Missy on, from earlier that day. In it, Missy announced that Brittany was taking her to prom. And that was the extent of the message.

Brittany's features fell. Her stomach churned. Cyn knows. She knows, and she's threatening me. It's too late. But if I don't go now, what then? Missy gets left alone? Cyn's going to show up either way... Oh, dammit, dammit, dammit, Brittany! Stupid! Why didn't you warn Missy sooner! Idiot!

She sighed with grief and loathing, paused for a moment, took one deep breath to focus herself, and hit 'Reply'.

----------------------------------------------------------------

from: liberteen@nprime.op

to: cyn@nprime.op

subject: re:

time: 04/16/2009, 02:50 AM

Cyn,

You're not stupid. And your obsession with me is dangerous to me. I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm actually writing you. I feel sick thinking about you. But I have to ask you something. I hope that fulfills your desperate little power fantasies. Yes, I'm asking you for a favor.

Obviously, to my utter dismay, you know about what I'm up to this next weekend. I need it to not be ruined. I need you to stay away. I know you're not going to do anything for me out of the goodness of your heart, as I'm quite convinced that you don't have one. So I'm willing to offer a deal.

Having said that, I promise you that I'll have some very fearsome people on retainer, waiting for the slightest hint of something going wrong. I don't want you there at all, but so help me, if you spurn me, there will be people on hand to deal with you. I promise you that.

-Brit

[Cyn]

Little slut,

How good of you to drop me a line. You don't call, you don't write... a girl could think you didn't love her. And we all know just how much you love everybody, don't we?

So big, bad Liberteen and her super-friends are all suited up to drop the hammer on little old me if I come sniffing around a certain party in Iowa, but you want to make me a deal. Fuck, you'd almost think you didn't have any faith in your own arrangmenets. But that couldn't be it, could it? Or is it just the thought of sweet little Missy mingled with her high school dance floor is keeping you up nights?

Enough bluffing, tramp. Ante up or fold.

-Cyn

--------------------------------------------------

It was vintage Cyn. She could almost here the sneering laughter in the redhead's voice that would have accompanied those last few words.

[Libertyne]

from: liberteen@nprime.op

to: cyn@nprime.op

subject: re:

time: 04/16/2009, 03:04 AM

Cyn,

I was being honest. I'm prepared to deal with you if you decide to reject the idea of a deal, but the deal is that you don't show yourself at all. I want a pleasant evening without having to worry about you showing up to ruin it. I'm prepared for that eventuality. But I don't want to even need to. I just want you to stay the hell away, and I'm willing to barter for your guarantee that you'll do just that. That means you stay away from Iowa, you stay away from Oregon, you stay away from Montana, you don't do anything that involves me even by periphery. If there's anything I have that'd be worth anything to you, the offer's on the table.

-Brit

[Cyn]

Honey,

Well, if you're going to ask me to stay home for a night so you can enjoy yourself free and clear, it seems fair enough for you to give me something to entertain myself with, doesn't it? Something to keep me busy long into the night, so I don't get bored and pop over to visit your parents or give Robbie another good night kiss.

So what, little slut, do you think might entertain me?

-Cyn

[Libertyne]

from: liberteen@nprime.op

to: cyn@nprime.op

subject: re:

time: 04/16/2009, 03:11 AM

Cyn,

Just tell me what you want.

-Brit

[Cyn]

Impudent tramp,

Now, now, that's not how we play our little game, is it?

Ask me again, properly.

-Cyn

[Libertyne]

from: liberteen@nprime.op

to: cyn@nprime.op

subject: re:

time: 04/16/2009, 03:15 AM

Cyn,

Fine. Have it your way.

What do you wish of this dirty, groveling little slut? What fantasy can I fulfill for you? Your very wish is my command, you have only to order me.

-Brit

[Cyn]

Slut,

Better. Insolent, still, but better. Of course you're probably soaking yourself now, no matter how much you hate it, but that's only to be expected from a tramp like you.

What I want, little bitch, is a video and audio recording at least two hours in length of you fucking yourself in a fashion I'll find enjoyable, and narrating it for me the way you ought to speak to me. No insolence, no backtalk, just proper fucking service from your sorry ass.

Assuming you do it well enough to keep my attention for more than one viewing, I'll enjoy myself for the day of sweet Missy's prom in ways that won't hurt a single soul you know.

Deal or no deal, whore?

-Cyn

[Libertyne]

from: liberteen@nprime.op

to: cyn@nprime.op

subject: re:

time: 04/16/2009, 03:25 AM

Cyn,

I'll do it. But there's more. You disappear for the whole weekend, not just the prom. And you never set foot in Marshalltown, Iowa. Ever. It's a big world. You should find plenty of victims elsewhere.

-Brit

[Cyn]

Baby,

One would almost think you didn't trust me... I'm so hurt.

For the weekend, and for never setting foot in Marshalltown, you make it four hours and no copy protection on the file.

-Cyn

[Libertyne]

from: liberteen@nprime.op

to: cyn@nprime.op

subject: re:

time: 04/16/2009, 03:36 AM

Cyn,

Alright. I'll do it. I'll have it for you by Friday morning.

-Brit

[Cyn]

Tramp,

Thank me properly. Then you can go back to your merry little life.

-Cyn

[Libertyne]

from: liberteen@nprime.op

to: cyn@nprime.op

subject: re:

time: 04/16/2009, 03:39 AM

Thank you, mistress, for allowing me the mercy of staying your hand temporarily. Your willing little slut would have fulfilled your demands even without it, and I kiss your boots that you have given me this boon as well as the opportunity to show for you what a dirty little whore I am.

[Cyn]

from: cyn@nprime.op

to: liberteen@nprime.op

subject: re:

time: 04/16/2009, 03:41 AM

Better. See you around, little slut.

[Libertyne]

Brittany cringed and breathed fire. Her hatred for Cyn, at that moment, struggled to not take up the entire room. Even her eufibre costume began to sag perceptively as she poured everything into her anger. With a long, drawn sigh, she clicked on Missy's last message to her, still sitting, pregnant, in her Inbox where she'd left it in discouragement an hour before.

----------------------------------------------------------------

from: liberteen@nprime.op

to: pewpewpew@nprime.op

subject: re:

time: 04/16/2009, 03:40 AM

Missy,

Things have changed. I can promise you that Cyn won't be making an appearance. She'll be far, far away. And I can promise you that she'll never set foot in Marshalltown.

I know you're probably curious about the details behind this. I'm going to ask you not to ask for the time being. Just trust me that it's taken care of, and that you will have a prom night free of malfeasance. I hope this means we can still go together, but I understand if it you still think it's too risky. Either way, you will have a safe and pyschotic-free evening. You have my word.

-Brit

----------------------------------------------------------------

It was good news, but somehow, there was still no joy in it. She knew she was making a mistake, and yet it was the only way she could think of to at least approach making everyone happy. Missy's prom would be safe from Cyn, whether she went or not. And everyone else would be safe, too. At least for the weekend. While there was nothing that could be called "honor" within Cyn, Brittany knew that a power junkie like her wouldn't go back on a deal, if only for the reason that abiding the deal put her completely in control. As it stood, Brittany was begging Cyn, degrading herself, just to persuade her to lay off her. If Cyn backed out, Brittany could respond. But as long as she kept her up her end, Cyn had her wrapped tightly around her little finger, that she knew. Unless...

Unless? Unless. Oh. Oh, yes, I could do that, couldn't I? A slow, uneasy calm desended upon her as an idea began to work its way through her head. As the gears turned, she brewed herself a cup of tea and finished her long-cold toast, her eyes never wringing themselves free of their half-closed, conspiratorial posture, and after several long minutes, she knew what she had to do.

Slipping on her headset, she dialed a Missoula, Montana phone number into the op and heard it ring twice. He'd be in bed now, but he'd get up for this.

"Wha...? H'lo?" A voice on the other end stumbled onto the line, rudely yanked from slumber.

"Benny? Benny, it's Brittany."

The voice on the other end stopped in mid-yawn and audibly lurched awake. "Brit? What's going on? You okay? . . . Do you have any idea what fucking time it is?"

"Yeah, Benny, I'm sorry" she said apologetically, still steaming on "But I need you to do something for me. Like, today, now, as soon as possible. No time to lose."

Benny swallowed hard. He'd been Brittany's webmaster since two weeks after she erupted, and he'd never heard her like this. Upset, sure. Crying, absolutely. Jubilantly happy, frequently. But this was something else. She bore the manic air of someone working under the gun, and knew to take it seriously. "Okay, Brit. Go ahead. I'm listening."

"Benny, I need you to contact Pat Greene with Naughty America."

[Libertyne]

Excerpted from ‘the LiberTeen OpNet Home’, liberteen.op – 04/27/07 – 10:00 AM

Friends,

As some of you who regularly follow the news are aware, I have had some run-ins lately with a young nova serial killer going by the name of ‘Cyn’. Cyn is a wanted fugitive from justice who has been connected with no less than three and as many as forty or more murders, as well as the savage mutilation of nova adult film star Kara ‘Caramel Bath’ B’nath, who is also a friend of mine.

Very recently, Cyn contacted me privately and issued a personal threat on some people who are close to me, people I care very much about. My primary concern in my unfortunate entanglement with this deranged murderer has always been to keep my friends, family, and the people I care about safe from her, even at the exclusion of my own safety. In desperation, I responded to Cyn and asked her if there was any way that I could bargain for the safety of my loved ones. What she asked for in return for this was a recording of myself under very specific conditions, those being: that the video be four hours in length, that I spend the bulk of that time pleasuring myself, and that the context of the video be that I am humiliating and degrading myself for Cyn, herself. As many see me as an idol and an object of sexual desire, it’s telling that even a murderer’s tastes would come out this way. Feeling I had no choice at the time, I produced the video as requested, albeit I stress that I did so under duress and out of fear for the people I care about.

Since then, I have taken steps to better ensure the safety of those people. And I have decided that rather than allow a killer to hold a Sword of Damocles over my head, I am going to take this disgusting act of blackmail and turn it into something positive.

As of this posting, members of the LiberTeen OpNet Home may purchase the ’One Night of Sin’ Exclusive LiberTeen Solo Chip’, a limited edition vid-chip produced and distributed by the fine people over at Naughty America. The chip will have a print run of 30,000 and include the raw, four-hour footage of the recording completely unedited and uncensored, as well as bonus extras that include video footage of my recent speech on sexual taboos at American University, hundreds of ‘Best Of’ photos from the LiberTeen archive, and extras for your home PC including a LiberTeen screen saver. The price of the chip is $29.99 USD + S&H, and all profits from the sale of the chip will go to the Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network, RAINN and the Center for Missing and Exploited Children. This chip will also go on sale to the general public from this opsite and the Naughty America homepage after 24 hours.

In light of this development, I am also currently in progress developing a series of two more solo chips produced through Naughty America that will have a decidedly more happy tone to them. It displeases me to know that the first full video production to my name is the forced release of a piece of blackmail gained under coercion and duress, and at the very least, I will ensure it is not the last. Look for more upcoming LiberTeen titles in the coming months, news of which will be released here, first!

In closing, I feel it’s important to make plain that I don’t feel bad or wrong about what I’ve done. If giving myself pleasure for four hours is what it takes to keep my loved ones safe, then I consider their safety gems purchased at an easy price. What Cyn has done is unconscionable and despicable, but it doesn’t make masturbating wrong, nor did it make my own activities in this footage unpleasant. There’s also nothing wrong with mock degradation and humiliation in sexplay as part of a mutually respectful, loving relationship. The only unpleasant part, in fact, was having to pretend to subject myself to the whims of a killer.

I would encourage everybody to buy this video, with my thanks. Your money will go to help uncounted people who are desperately in need of it, and help take power away from a remorseless psychopath who is empowered by subjecting and dehumanizing others. I love each and every one of you, my fans, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your continued love and support.

-Brittany Brown, ‘LiberTeen’

[Cyn]

Screaming. She was screaming. She had been for some time.

Cyn's raw throat informed her of this as her last shriek of fury broke in a hacking, breathless cough that nearly doubled her over. It was intolerable. It was intolerable that this insignificant bitch should mock her. Her. She had beaten that sweetness-and-light-good-for-nothing slut at her own game and now this! She hurled the laptop computer into the wall, obliterating the news bulletin on the screen in a hideous crackle of sparks and broken plastic.

Selling it. Selling it! The tramp was actually selling it! Beer bottles, children's toys, china plates, baseball trophies; anything that came to hand shattered against the living room wall as Cyn stormed through the family room, over the bodies of the three children half-merged with the floor, and hurled the door of the bathroom open with a violence that nearly took it from its hinges. Every trace of pleasure she'd taken from watching that whore abase herself for the camera rotted and burned in her guts, and with a low wild sound of rage that was more snarl than scream she bent over the bathtub and wretched. The dry heaves went on for ages, punctuated by her tears and the hammer of her hands on the bathtub until the molding cracked and her fingers bled.

Voiceless, lightheaded, almost staggering with the exhaustion of her spent fury, she stumbled to the sink and stared at herself in the mirror with blank-eyed weariness; her long red hair hung about her face, half shrouding it, but the blaze of hatred in the back of her green eyes gleamed like balefire. She reached out, tentative, tracing her reflection in the glass, straightening slowly as a hellish smile spread over her lips. Something she'd read once, she couldn't recall where, drifted slowly out of the depths of her mind and settled like oil over her thoughts: Behold, I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.

Cyn's reflection leered back at her from the bathroom mirror. "Damn fucking straight."

Excerpt from a news report, newsriff.op, 04/28/07 - 1:00 AM

State and local police are refusing to comment on the brutal murder of at least seventy people in a Cleveland nightclub tonight in light of speculation that a nova perpetrator may have been involved. Reports from the scene before it was sealed off by investigators indicated that some clubgoers had been somehow merged with the ceiling, floor, walls, tables and each other in a tableau that an anonymous police officer described as "an abomination." Newsriff has also uncovered that a message was left at the scene on one of the walls, scrawled in the blood of some of the victims: "Philadelphia, July 4th. Be there, little slut, or expect more of the same." Investigators have refused to comment on this bizarre message....

[Libertyne]

New Paltz, NY - 06/25/09 - 8:35 PM

Through the whirlwind of the weeks that followed Missy's prom and her relocating to the sleepily liberal town of New Paltz, NY, where she and Robert had established something resembling a home nestled on the outskirts of the Mohonk nature preserve.

For a month or so to follow, Brittany was content to simply be Brittany. She stayed out of the public eye, eschewed public appearances, kept only brief tabs on her meticulously maintained opnet site, and rarely wore more than socks, underwear, and one of Robert's old flannel shirts, if it could be helped. It was an invigorating little vacation, one that she'd felt she'd needed for a long time.

As is always the case with the small periods of peace we manage to steal away for ourselves, it was not to last, however. She turned on the television one morning and began to flip channels, Roberty's scruffy pet curled up at her socked feet.

Ten minutes later, she was vomiting in the kitchen sink, and desperately wishing Robert was home again.

[Libertyne]

Independence Hall, Philadelphia, PA - 07/04/09 - 05:55 AM

On a humid afternoon some two hundred and thirty-three years ago, fifty-seven men men gathered in what was then known as the Pennsylvania State House, a modest yet somehow imposing red brick courthouse in the heart of Philadelphia. There, those fifty-seven men signed a document that rejected the tyranny of King George of England. The signing of this document wasn't just the first whiff of gunsmoke that would ignite the bloody war for independence that followed, but has stood since as a Declaration of Independence, not just for the American colonists from British rule, but for each individual American. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

The morning was muggy, and fog ghosts still clung to the streets with the breaking of dawn, boiling early morning commuters in their clothes. Brittany wore a tan trenchcoat over a plain shirt and pants, with large, dark sunglasses. She sat on the steps on Independence Hall and contemplated the irony of being brought here today against her will.

Growing up, the 4th of July had been her favorite holiday, to say nothing of the fact that it was her birthday, and she'd looked forward to spending it with Robert. The fanfare, the patriotism, the fireworks and barbeques and summer fun, they were all things she looked forward to. It's true that Independence Day lacked the cohesive, almost universal patina of "peace on earth and good will toward men" that other holidays seemed to invoke, and in recent years, had been relegated to little more than a day off work and an opportunity to get plastered for most. But today, more than any other day of the year, some people turned inside and considered the principles and ideas upon which the great land in which she lived was founded, and maybe, just maybe, some of them felt a little something stir inside them.

Depression had gripped her for the days preceding, and she was grateful that Robert was busy and frequently out of the house, enough that she didn't have to fake her way out of it that often, and he was so caught up he didn't seem to notice. She'd caught a bittersweet break a few days prior, when he'd told her he might have to work over the holiday. She smiled sadly and told him it was alright, that she'd just spend the day back in Missoula with her mom and dad. She hated to lie to him, but he was relieved to know his absence wouldn't break her little heart. And besides, he'd know the truth one way or another shortly. "Hell of a way to spend my nineteenth birthday, though" she sighed and grunted.

Brittany heaved, and the first glimpse of the golden-yello sun crept over the horizon, spilling the light of day onto the hall steps. She winced away from the rays for a moment, her eyes snapping up to the American flag that stood proudly in the courtyard. Men and women flooded into the street as if taking a stage cue, and as though the moment itself overtook her in one sublime moment of perfection, her heart flooded as well, and she smiled, removed her jacket and glasses, shifted her colony back to its default shape, stood, saluted, and recited the Pledge of Allegience. Long-forgotten words echoed in her ear, and she knew what she would have to do.

She'd be goddamned if she let Cyn get away with anything in this city today. Not one more death.

[Cyn]

Chestnut Street Police Station, Philadelphia, PA - 07/04/09 - 06:00 AM

Desk Sergeant John McClaine settled into his chair with the blank-eyed sigh of a man resigning himself to a long, long day at work. July 4th and I gotta get my ass out of bed at four to drag in here and man the desk for the political nuts and drunks we're gonna be haulin' in all day. Just fucking great. If I'm real lucky, maybe it'll even be a proper eight-hour and I can get home while there's still some meat on the grill. Catch the fireworks with the girls. He snorted and took a chug of his coke, unfolding the paper and checking the news. Chance of thundershowers, Eagles got creamed. And maybe the mayor's gonna give us that pay raise, too. Keep dreaming, Johnny boy. He reached for the button that would open the public doors to the station lobby, then froze.

The girl turning a slow pirouette in the center of the police seal on the lobby floor could have been any rich kid's daughter, from the expensive black boots to the heavy black trenchcoat, but little details clicked against the police training in the back of his mind like cracks in a glass pane: the luxuriant red hair tumbling down her back, only casually combed and showing signs of being overdue for a cut; the glittering pallor of her features, almost feverish in the lobby lights. She turned to look at him, and he met the hell-bright green fire of her eyes just as the thought struck him. I didn't open the doors yet. A ghastly smile spread across her lips, and she clicked across the marble floor toward him with the implacable grace of a hunting cat; some rational part of his brain was still screaming that there must be some logical explanation for this, but the inherited instincts of some small shrew-like mammal that had once looked up to see a long set of saurian jaws closing on it brought his finger down on the silent alarm hard.

“Hello, piggy. Bet you're thinking it's gonna be a dull morning, aren't you?” Her voice was a raw, soft purr, thick with venom. “You're gonna get the chance to do something special, piggy. You know what a herald is?” She was almost to him now, leaning across the desk, and he would never be able to explain to the police shrink what was so terribly wrong in those eyes... but it would keep him up nights for forty years. “Well, piggy, you get exactly one chance to live, 'cause you're gonna be my herald. You got a PA patch on that thing?”

“Yes.” The word rasped out of him in a choking rush of fear.

“Good.” Her lips spread wider, and a chip appeared in her hand as if by magic. “Start this playing. Now.”

He should have said something brassy, like “Or what?”, but looking up into that smile John McClaine knew he never, ever wanted to know the answer. He took the chip and made the adjustments to his board with shaking hands, not daring to look down, and finally pressed the play switch. Across downtown Philadelphia, public service speakers blared with the first notes of “Razor Blade Kisses” by the latest terr'r band off the European shelves, and Cynthia Ann Huxley's smile spread, fingers tapping on his desk; her voice, when she spoke again, was a breath from the Pit. “That'll do, piggy. Now run along.”

Her laughter chased him stumbling out the lobby doors.

[Libertyne]

Back at Liberty Hall, Brittany stood looking around at nothing in particular, scanning the crowd for potential signs of duress or trouble, shifty characters, or any of the telltale signs of chaos surging in. She'd wondered if she was meant to be here at all. After all, Philadelphia is a large city, and Cyn could be anywhere. How was she to even find her? And once found, what that? What did Cyn have in mind? Ominous predictions for the day ahead filled her mouth with cotton and her stomach with butterflies. However today ended, she had a feeling that her quaint little life as she knew it would be over, and what stood in its place would be something altogether different. She told herself, rightly, that there was no time to be scared. She had to be vigilant. The slightest little tell, the most innocuous--

Bursts of static crumpled the humid air like the first squelches of a bullhorn, and after a couple seconds of white-noise silence, the scream of a guitar in heat tore open the morning like a six-car pileup. The bustling crowd stopped in their tracks, looking around, confused. The 'music' resembled any one of a number of mechanical or war-inspired calamaties, and as the source of the noise sunk in, people's faces cringed, eyes wincing, movement coming uneasily or not at all.

Brittany felt bile surge up her throat. "Pretty stupid to expect subtlety from Cyn, I guess", she observed as she choked back any number of bodily fluids trying to escape her head. She regained control of her senses with a moment of concentration, but the people around her weren't so lucky. People in the street stopped, stumbled around, some ran or lay down entirely. The sound of vehicles screeching could be heard in the distance, and everywhere was the cacophanous barking and tweeting of dogs and birds.

Brittany sprung into action, taking off like a shot from where she stood. It took a few moments for her to determine the source of the disturbance, and in fact, she was still trying to decide between the local precinct house and the local fire department when she stopped in mid-flight to assist at the scene of an accident. A semi had plowed into a delivery truck when the music started. Both men were unhurt, it seemed, but the delivery driver was trapped inside his vehicle with the paramedics still several minutes off, and the weight of the semi trailing threatening to crush the cab at any moment. And while Brittany lacked the raw destructive power or super strength of some novas, she also knew she couldn't ignore a cry for help. She raised her two clenched fists together over the door, and to her own surprise, managed to knock it off its hinges. The driver was thanking her even as a pudgy, fatherly sort of man in a police uniform ran toward her, pushing himself on even with all breath lost to him. He was white as a sheet, and panted and spat as he reached her.

"Miss!", he wheezed. "You...you're...you're LiberTeen, aren't you...?"

"What's wrong?!", she grabbed the man abruptly by his shoulders. "It's her, isn't it?! The redhead!? Where is she!?"

Desk Sergeant McClaine hacked, trying to reclaim his spent breath, and pointed down the street.

[Cyn]

“Mmm... I love the smell of wreckage in the morning. Smells like victory.” Leaning out the fourth floor wall of the police station, Cyn grinned at the crumpled cars and scurrying, sobbing people staggering about like ants from an overturned ant hill. You out there, Libertramp? Our party's going to be so much fun, I'd hate for you to miss it because you overslept. She allowed herself another moment of gloating pleasure, then clicked her tongue against her teeth lightly in momentary vexation. She really should have offed the fucking pig, just on principle, but truth be told she hadn't felt like bothering. She wanted Brit's heart on a platter today, and the rest of the world could just fucking wait.

Motion flickered at the corner of her vision, a blur of blue and red and white, and Cyn's eyes gleamed. Looks like they won't have to wait very long, though. Come and get it, bitch.

[Libertyne]

Brittany immediately took off down the street, serenaded by the screeching, thumping of ter'r music and the backup crescendo of sirens and honking in the distance, totally oblivious - or at least, unmindful - of the fact that her enemy was deliberately waiting in sadistic anticipation of her arrival, very probably with some sort of trap ready to spring. It wouldn't have mattered even if she'd known; a single door stood between herself and what was almost certainly the lives of several innocent civilians, and it was for that reason that she couldn't afford the luxury of strategy.

The precinct door was unlocked as she wrenched it open, her ears registering a slight and unexpected groaning of the hinges as she did. The door hung limply open, its facets twisted beyond closing, and the teenaged nova sprung into the precinct lobby, ready for anything, and found...nothing.

The room was hauntingly empty, the only disturbance in the otherwise ghost of a room being the constant, ceaseless ringing of the switchboard from no doubt dozens of emergencies that were being mistakenly sent somewhere other than the emergency response switchboard, and the thumping, grinding, skew rhythms of noise trembling out of the PA system.

Eyes wandering around the room, Brittany walked forward and shut off the PA, stood still, and scanned the room. Cyn was watching her, she knew, she could sense it, and knowing her, she wouldn't be coming out of any door.

[Cyn]

“Awww... you don't like my music?” Perversely enough, Cyn spoke from the top of the stairs without stepping out of any wall or rising from the floor, making her descent with a light, almost dance-like step. “Figures a red-state hick like you wouldn't appreciate good Euro-beats.” Kicking herself off the stairs lightly, Cyn caught the edge of the banister in her palm and slid down the rail like a kid on a playground. “You look tired, Brit. Not getting enough sleep? Robby's whimpering keeping you up nights? I hope my little visit didn't give him too many nightmares.” She kicked off the banister and twisted into a sharp landing, laughter a hollow shimmer of wicked glee in the half-dark, empty room. “Of course, some of us just can't help being memorable.”

[Libertyne]

A shudder ran down Brittany's spine. She turned on her heel and faced the staircase, watching intently as Cyn jumped down to meet her. Her hands clenched into fists, her legs taking a wide stance, her eyes hard. "You apparently haven't forgotten me", she growled. "But if you ever do, I hear you can refresh your memory for the low, low cost of nineteen-ninety-five, plus shipping and handling." Her eyes lowered as a knowing smirk crept across her mouth. She'd learned Cyn's game by now, knew that her entire world, her power, came from being in control. And the best way Brittany could think of to make her lose control was to get her angry, as dangerous as that was.

[Cyn]

Cyn's eyes flashed, but her smile didn't flicker. “Your mother ever find her jewelry box, Brit? I'm sure that must have been... interesting to explain.” She brushed her coat back slightly, hands resting on her hips, eyebrow arched mockingly. “I'm sure I'd be glad to help you settle things with her, of course. Nothing like a little dunk in the foundation to give them the right idea.”

[Libertyne]

Whether true or not, Brittany was sure she had just put a few cracks in Cyn's own foundation. She swallowed hard and smiled back, brighter than before, in defiance of a racing heart, a churning stomach, and a bladder that wouldn't stop whining. "Turned out okay, actually, but thanks for the offer. Funny thing about having people give a damn about you is, they do things like trust you. Now, I know you wouldn't have any idea whatsoever what it's like to have anyone care about you or trust you as far as they could throw your insubstantial ass, but you'll have to take my word for it, it's pretty great.

So", she forced a tart smile, even as newspaper and op images of scores of dead flooded her mind, making her body even less compelled to obey her brain. Even as she wondered if she could pull it off, she found herself, in her desperation, pulling a page from Cyn's own playbook, and coolly, she asked "why the little signal flare? Get a little jealous after seeing your video mass-distributed to every masturbating jack and jill in America?" She pouted her lips and chided the redhead as if she were a child denied a treat as she lifted the front of her skirt slightly, cooing "Did you want a second helping, little Cynny? All you had to do was ask..."

[Cyn]

You... little... bitch! Fury blasted any thought of toying with Brit further out of Cyn's head, the taut line of her body going tight as a bow's string with her rage. Die hard and sobbing.“Why anyone would bother with a second fuck from a waste like you is fucking beyond me.” Cyn's smile was poison-soaked ice, cold green fire flaring up in her eyes. “As for videos, why don't we try a new one?” Her lips peeled back in a vicious smile. “Think we've waiting long enough for the news crews to show up? If not, they're going to hate missing this. See you outside, Brit.” Cyn spun on her heel and twisted through the wall like a wraith, sliding through steel and concrete and trembling pedestrians with equal ease as her eyes swept the street. You'll do.

The girl, perhaps a freshman in college from her casual dress sweat-stained from the attack of terror only recently abated, never had time to see it coming. One moment she was leaning against a slender tree gasping for air, the next she was sliding through the frame of a stalled cab, and the next her rising scream of terror cut off in a horrible gurgle as Cyn released her half-through the cab and driver, finishing the plunge with a handspring that landed her atop one of the disabled cars so she could give a hovering news helicopter a jauntily vicious wave. Showtime.

[Libertyne]

Brittany's facade of tough talk was shattered the instant she heard the screams. She raced out the door to run interception, but her eyes just couldn't keep up with her feet. By the time she'd spotted Cyn, it was too late.

"Two more lives", she thought. "Two more...could I have prevented them? Could I have done anything...?" She tortured herself, replaying the last few moments in her mind, desperately trying to cling onto any piece of driftwood of convuluted action that would have allowed her to save two more of the damned. But no, she reminded herself. It was too late for that. "Two more dead, now. Two people. Nothing can be done for them. Nothing. All you can do... All you can do is try to stop more. stop... more..." Her mind snapped out of shell-shocked stupor with a self-induced jolt. "So get moving, Brittany!" Her jaw set, she rushed up into the air to meet Cyn, her fist recoiled in anticipation of meeting insubstantiality.

"What do you want!?", she cried out through clenched teeth, eyes and nostrils ablaze. "What did you call me here for!? WHY!? WHY!? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME!?"

[Cyn]

Cyn answered her with laughter, wild and cruel, and flipped off the car with a twist that plunged her right through Brittany before she 'hit' the ground. “I wanted you to see, of course!” Cyn twisted, caught a recoiling young black man in her aura and drove him half through the street surface before releasing him, the flicker of tangible touch so fast it was almost invisible. “Today's for you, Brit, just for you. A happy Fourth of July for Miss fucking America.” Her wide green eyes flared up at Brittany, vibrating with an almost manic intensity. “How many do you think I can manage before midnight? Think you can count them all?” Twisting on her heel, Cyn bolted down the street and through the windows of the long row of small shops, scattering terrified citizens in her wake.

[Libertyne]

A terrible sensation sunk deep into Brittany's chest as she added yet another human life to the tally. All around the two girls, a crowd had gathered, drawn in and immobilized like moths to a flame that would no doubt consume them. "Run!!", Brittany screamed at them. Brittany knew, as her eyes surveyed the mass of onlookers, that Cyn would annihilate every life in sight if she wasn't stopped. "Don't you get it!?", she screamed, agonized, at them. "She'll kill every one of you! GO!!"

Her last word was punctuated by the sound of gunfire, erupting from the muzzles of a half dozen police service pistols. The press and assorted spectators, easily fifty or sixty in all, shuddered and cringed, but failed to run, transfixed by the whizzing of bullets zipping through the murderous girl's noncorporeal body.

Cyn pirouetted in place, smiling, and slapped her ass mockingly at the assembled officers who immediately released a second, equally as futile, volley of bullets. She laughed, practically dancing towards another stunned passerby, making sport of chasing after them in parody of some b-grade movie horror.

Brittany gulped and stood still, knowing there was virtually nothing she could do to help. Impotent, powerless, guilt overcame her, consuming her. Someone else was about to die, another innocent, another life, and there was nothing, nothing she could do, and it was all her fault. She knew, deep down, that she wasn't responsible for Cyn's actions, that Cyn would do what she did with or without someone like Cyn to try to foil her, and that for better or for worse, she, Brittany, she was the person who was here. Not Caestus Pax. Not Divis Mal. Not Skew or Totentanz. Just her. And in the face of this murderous psychopath, she had found herself tested...and wanting. What Cyn was doing might not be Brittany's fault, she knew, but that did little to alleviate the fact that she could do nothing at all to stop her. A gnawing ache erupted in her gut, a hunger, a dread that kept growing, and growing, eroding her as it went. She wondered how it was possible for someone like Cyn to even exist and not feel utterly destroyed by it. She wished Cyn could feel what she felt. She wished she knew what it was like for the people she hurt. She wished...

[Cyn]

A low, piercing shriek ripped its way out of Cyn's throat. The piercing, burning wrongness of the feeling crashing over her was like having a white hot spike driven through her skull, punctuated with hammerblows of wrenching horror as faces poured snarling into her mind. Faces in the dozens, accusing and broken, the commingled wreckage of uncounted lives grinding against her like an unbearable weight crushing her chest. She dropped half to her knees, shoulders heaving with helpless wracking sobs that tore themselves out of her in shuddering waves.

Around her, the police closed in slowly, weapons still drawn and tight, obviously unsure what to make of the raging psychopath sobbing like a child over her dead pet. Their gaze flicked from the subject to each other and back, silent question hanging in the air. How do you arrest someone you can't touch?

[Libertyne]

"It...it worked!?" Brittany could hardly believe it was possible. For months, even since her eruption, she had noticed an almost passive ability to influence the emotions of others, and in more ways than just the base provocation of lust. Sometimes it was like she could actually make others feel what she felt, as if she were forcing her own emotions on others. She didn't dare believe it was so, and yet, now, faced with the tears of a homicidal maniac, Brittany found her suspicions confirmed in the most dramatic way possible.

And with it, a new, slim hope for victory. Cyn's guilt was crippling her, the same as Brittany's own guilt was very nearly doing to her. Her own guilt for her inability to prevent Cyn's rampage was nearly destroying her; what it was doing to Cyn, she couldn't even imagine.

Brittany locked her eyes on the crumpled figure sobbing in the distance as a cadre of police officers surrounded her, preparing to pounce. The only thing she could do, the only hope had at the moment, was for her to concentrate, to crush Cyn beneath the millstone of her own forced remorse.

[Cyn]

Go the fuck away! You're dead, you're fucking dead, I killed every last one of you fuckers! Cyn hurled the thought at the faces in a choking rush of rage and despair, eyes clenched tight shut with hatred. I'm not fucking sorry I'm not I'm not I'm not, it was fucking fun and I don't care what you say because all you are are fucking corpses and I'm alive and you're not. Now get the fuck out of my head! Her eyes snapped open, hands clenching intangibly through the pavement, and her head snapped up to meet Brit's gaze. Lock there. Her mind flared with hatred as bright and ugly and fierce as a sword's edge, and her lips peeled back in a snarl that built into a raw, full-throated scream. “I said get the fuck out of my head, you little bitch!” She exploded to her feet, hands twisted into claws, still screaming wordlessly. Turned on the police closed in around her like a wild thing.

One. The closest cop's scream turned into a horrifying gurgle as his lungs merged with solid concrete.

Two. A police sergeant staggered backward, his partner's shogun materializing halfway through his chest, blood spurting from his lips as he crumpled.

Three. The street duty cop on her right dropped his revolver nervelessly, half his skull merged through a steel lamp post.

Four. The police lieutentant's neck snapped with a horrifying crackle like dry branches giving way, and Cyn's snarling, gloating fury smashed against Brit's mind like the heat of an inferno.

Four more. Then Cyn was twisting through the crowd, a blur of black leather, red hair and wild fury, plunging into the tangle of cars stalled and crushed along the curb.

[Libertyne]

Daggers of jade stabbed back at a wall of azure blue as Cyn's eyes lurched up and met Brittany's, a fierce, predatory madness burning in them like oxidizing copper fire. Brittany tried her hardest, urging with every atom of her being those feelings of resounding guilt onto her target, but as their eyes met, something inside the redheaded sociopath snapped, bristled, and fought back. Through hellish strength of will, Cyn reached out and shattered their emotional mirror, sending her assailant reeling in a backlash of hatred and rage.

The blond crusader stumbled back, her head whipping from the shock of unseen trauma, a glut of poisonous hate surging into her brain. With a angry lurch, she regained her footing, the blacks and reds unclouding her vision. With narrow, hard eyes, she caught the end of Cyn's retaliatory tantrum, the limp, broken bodies of four doomed policemen falling to the ground in wet, bloody heaps. Some of the spectators standing by fainted immediately, vomited, or simply stood there and screamed. Only one person was unmoved by the atrocity, one who suddenly found herself incapable of fear, or disgust, or even panic. All that remained to her was hate, all-consuming and hungry, leaving the taste of blood on her tongue and its scent in her nostrils.

A hellstorm of rage no longer contained by the rules of some sadist's game, Cyn lunged into the jungle of vehicles halted in the chaos. Like a sentient missile, she struck directly for the highest concentration of lives to be found; an elementary school bus, parked halfway down the street. Her body disappeared inside, and no more than two seconds later, the top half of the hapless driver slid down the windshield of the vehicle, separated cleanly from his lower half, leaving nothing to mark his passing but a bloody smear on the glass.

"No." Brittany's lips curled into a sneer. Something new was flickering inside of her, too, something that she was very unfamiliar with in her own right. "No", she reaffirmed. "That's enough, you bitch." There was nothing left to think about, and no time to be had, regardless. Rage blossomed and burst inside her like the first, molten gouts of lava escaping a volcano's mouth. On the wings of judgment, she dived for the bus, the goddess of retribution at her right hand.

[Cyn]

Children scrambled over each other in their desperate haste to reach the back of the bus, some of them already clawing at the emergency handle for the back door. Cyn's lips peeled back in blood-drenched pleasure, her hands flexing slowly as she advanced on the quivering swarm of animal fear and shattered innocence in front of her. I am Death, her eyes blazed, and she parted her lips to murmur a snarling, mocking imitation of comfort down at them, savoring the thought of how that self-righteous bitch would piss herself to see their little bodies melded with the frame of the bus.

And then the bus rocked with punishing violence as a bolt of blue, red and white smashed through the widows beside her like the backhanded slap of an avenging angel.

[Libertyne]

Kali stood amongst her quarry as a bogeyman come alive, a smiling face of death, the Tenth Plague, Slayer of the Firstborn, gloating over her clutch of victims like a snake would over an unguarded nest.

Glass shattered into a million glittering jewels as the bus lurched, the cage rattling with the tinkling of shards spilling onto the ground like rain. Nemesis, the All Mother, St. George had arrived to slay the dragon.

Brittany had never known battle in her life. She was no warrior, no seasoned veteran. She hardly needed to be, for all of her life until this moment. And yet, as she saw the devil there, innocents piling on top of each other in panicked desperation to not be the first to die, the burning inside her grew, becoming an inferno of rage, primal and atavistic. Her feet sunk into the ground as she steeled her stance, her hands clenched into tight fists. She bled from a dozen places, bits of glass finding purchase in the soft ivory of her flesh, but all that was within her was tight, a coiled spring, a loaded gun. Her eyes locked on the killers and froze there. "Not one more", she repeated to herself.

Her skull burned like the sun. "I don't like the hate you put into me", she snarled through gritted teeth. "HERE! HAVE IT BACK!"

[Cyn]

The raw, blazing hatred Brittany flung in Cyn's face smashed against the raw fury of the redhead's temper like flame on dry leaves, and Cyn's world narrowed to a blood-red corridor focused on the smaller blonde's face; she rippled into tangibility with a snarling lunge, smashing into Brit with the force of a firestorm. A hand smashed her face first into one of one of the seats, then hurled her back to her feet to meet a brutal kick to her ribs that smashed her against the low roof hard enough to crack half a dozen windows. Hell-bright green eyes blazed into hers as Cyn grabbed her by the throat again, hauling her close, and hissed almost into her lips. “Fuck. Off. And. Die.” Brit fought back with untrained fury, slamming her hands across Cyn's face and shoulders, kicking and struggling, and Cyn spat blood from a split lip in her face as the redhead staggered, shook off the ringing in her ears and smashed the heroine to the floor with a brutal knee to the guts and a savage kick to the ribs.

[Libertyne]

Brittany was no physical match for Cyn, and she knew it. Despite her size, her assailant was a strong as a bodybuilder and had the moves of a career brawler. Brittany may have entertained some heroic fantasy of delivering a righteous beating, but the reality of the situation was far less pleasant. It seemed like all the could do was sit there, taking a beating, focusing her hate on the clawing, kicking, punching dervish who threatened to tear her apart.

Behind them, the children, possessing more instincts than their elders, furiously fidgeted with the emergency door at the back of the bus, but their small, clumsy hands were having great difficulty wrenching it open, in their panic. Desperately, Brittany affirmed herself that if she could stand to endure long enough, that the children might have time to run away.

A pair of clenched fists landed in hammers on Brittany's spine, knocking her to the ground, taking her wind with it. The leathery toe of a boot met her teeth, bloodying her lips. Her hands sunk into glass as she attempted to push herself up, only to be met by the waffle of the demon's boot on her tailbone.

She was hurt, and getting hurt worse by the moment. Bones had been broken. She might even be bleeding internally. She was getting beaten. But she was also getting mad.

[Cyn]

That's it, little bitch. Don't stop now, we're just getting started. Digging her foot into the small of Brit's back, Cyn bowed the smaller girl's back with a ruthless yank on her hair and growled with savage satisfaction at Brit's involuntary shudder of pain. She could feel cracked and broken ribs grinding under the pressure, almost taste the blood spattering the floor under them, and it brought a cruel, almost sensual smile to her lips. Straining the girl's spine to the limit, Cyn bent until her lips nearly touched Brit's ear and hissed venom through the raw red rage of her fury. “I'm going to cripple you, slut, and then I'm going to make you watch them die. One at a time, screaming. Then maybe, if you beg pretty, I might kill you. Think you can sell the tape of that?”