THE FOLLOWING FICTIONAL LITERATURE CONTAINS SEVERAL INSTANCES OF TRIGGERING MATERIAL, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO RAPE, DRUG USE, STRONG LANGUAGE, GUN VIOLENCE, GORE, AND SEXUAL ABUSE. INDIVIDUALS SENSITIVE TO THESE TOPICS SHOULD STOP READING IMMEDIATELY.
Zoey knew that her addictions put a giant target on her back. In a city where she was constantly making enemies, traps and set-ups were inevitable. She had been jumped several times before, knowing well that the sales were probably a sham.
Nothing, however, could prepare her for what was about to happen. It was a cool evening, no cloud cover, and the sounds of the city drowned out her soft footsteps to the abandoned industrial facility. It was some sort of old factory, where chemists now manufactured new synthetic drugs and sold them to anyone looking to get their mind off whatever was bothering them.
At last, she found the door she was looking for and knocked on it.
"Whatcha want?" came a gruff, cockney voice from the other side.
"I'm here to make a special purchase of BX-17," she said.
The door opened and she stepped inside. As the door shut behind her, she was grabbed by both arms and her legs were knocked out from under her. She felt a sharp pain in her neck, and suddenly became very, very sleepy.
"Get her tied up," another voice said, before everything went black.
When Zoey woke up, she couldn't tell how much time had passed. She tried to move around a bit, but as the world around her became clearer, she realized she was naked, and locked in some sort of makeshift pillory, and in a small room with concrete walls and a high ceiling, most likely used to be a closet or storage room. Her legs were held apart by bar shackles, and her abdomen was supported by some sort of harness hung from the ceiling.
She tried to break the pillory with her arms, but her prosthetics didn't seem to have enough energy to power through. She had been asleep for quite a while, at least a whole day.
"Aha, the stupid, brutish fox awakens," a man's voice said over some sort of intercom. It was the same one from before, that wanted her tied up.
"You have absolutely NO idea how fucked you are!" she yelled in no direction in particular.
"You see, Kriegsherrin, it's you who is about to be fucked." The sound of a door opening somewhere and big, heavy footsteps approached her from behind.
A strong hand grabbed her muzzle and twisted her head sideways to the point she yelped in pain.
"Tell me, bitch, where's your home? Where do you live? Because you've destroyed and sabotaged many of my operations. And I'm gonna destroy yours, forever."
As she was taken, her body moved back and forth, her breasts beginning to spew milk all over the floor. She could hear the liquid splattering, and she could her the wet sounds of the man behind her, grunting and slapping her ass.
She suddenly had a horrifying thought - they might be recording this as well. The mighty Terrorfox, the Vulpis Belli, brought to her knees and made into a toy.
Her horror was replaced with fluttering joy as she heard a familiar sound, very faint and distant, but unmistakable. Her vulpine senses were keen enough to hear sounds miles away, amplified by the drugs she was forcefully given.
So he does care, she thought.
As the sound grew closer, Zo could hear it suddenly stop, replaced by the sounds of a car door opening and closing, possibly a few blocks away. Instead of focusing on her body, she put every ounce of her will into focusing on the sounds outside the building. The soft footsteps, the rustle of light clothing, the slight clank of metal lightly bouncing across someone's body as they ran.
More men came into the room she was in and took turns having their way with her, but she gave them no notice and focused on the sounds from outside. Light footsteps on the roof, someone slipping inside an open window, footsteps on the catwalks in the ceiling. Men choking and being laid on the ground, the sound of a neck snapping, and a blade through someone's chest.
She could hear all these things, growing closer and closer, while the men behind her took no notice of the intruder in their compound. Finally, there were no more men behind her, and she just rested there, her back area soaked with fluids, her breasts sore from milk production, and her stomach grumbling from hunger.
"Are you ready to tell me your secrets yet?" the voice from before said menacingly. Someone in black paramilitary garb stood in front of her. She couldn't do much more than whimper, and lost focus of what she was listening to.
She was struck hard across the face and could feel blood dripping from her cheek.
"I can do this for as long as you will be alive, and as soon as you tell me where your base of operations is, I will let you go."
"Go...fuck yourself," Zo managed to reply through the drowsiness. She couldn't tell at first whether she had simply just thought the response or said it aloud, but found out after she was struck once more.
"It seems like you haven't learned your lesson yet, you despicable abomination," came the reply. "Bring in the dogs," the man said over the intercom.
Several moments passed, but no reply came.
"I said bring in the dogs, you useless lackeys," Once again, no response on the intercom. "Fine, I'll do it myself." he said, and left the room.
Zo heard the sounds of extremely light and soft footsteps almost immediately after the man had left the room. She felt the shackles being removed from her ankles, the pillory lock being lifted, and she was lowered to the ground from the harness.
Strong, metallic bronze arms held her and set her upright, and another needle was pushed into her thigh. Suddenly, she uncontrollably pissed herself, and was pulled into a standing position by her silent rescuer. Already she began to feel her adrenal glands working, flooding her system with epinephrine.
She couldn't bear to look at her savior, not like this. She was given a towel, and as she dried off she could feel her strength returning. Her heart began to beat faster, and with it, the piezoelectric generators attached to it began to charge her prosthetic arms more. Once she was dry and at least modestly clean in her crotch, she was presented with her clothing she had arrived in, and a bronze hand held her revolver out for her. As she dressed, she turned to ask her hero a question, but he was already gone.
As she heard the heavy footsteps returning, she hid behind the closed door and waited for it to open.
"What the? Fuck, fucking fuck!" the man said, realizing Zo wasn't in the pillory any longer. Zoey slammed the door shut from behind it, and the man turned to face her.
She held her revolver out, the massive underbarrel bayonet touching the man's nose as he looked directly down the barrel.
"I told you, you're fucked," Zoey said calmly.
"You're dead meat," the man said, reaching for the pistol at his hip. Before he could finish, Zoey pulled the trigger and the man's head exploded. Blood and brains sprayed everywhere, the wall in front of her, and on her face.
The scent of fresh viscera sent Zoey's predatorial instincts into overdrive mode. She yanked the door open, right off its hinges, and ran through the building as fast as she could.
Her large, fatty body gave her momentum, and she slammed through every closed and locked door like they were Japanese shoji. She pounced on the guards and other henchmen as if they were merely plush toys, knocking them into walls and slamming them into the ground with the force of a maelstrom. At last she found the exit, and shoved the head of the door guard into the door frame and slammed the door, decapitating him.
Zo didn't leave yet, as she hadn't found what she was after. Going through the rest of the building, she searched high and low for her prize, until she found it in a room reached by catwalk stairs. A small, metallic briefcase with 8-digit locks. She tucked the little box under her arm and jumped out the window to the roof of the factory, tumbling down the slight decline until she could stop herself.
After dropping down the roof to the street below, she found her motorcycle where she had parked it last, albeit with a freshly printed parking ticket. Shredding it, she put the case into the storage under the seat and rode off with a squeal and some smoke.
Author's note: While this story is purely fiction, it is inspired by real people and real events. It is not a rape/drug sex fantasy of the author, it is an expression of trauma.