TrippyNightmare

The Envenomed: Military Science Fiction Deniable Operations

Awwwwwwwwwwwwww yeeeeeeeeeeeeeah.

The aliens are here dewd, the merc thought, ready to add them to the big alien graveyard in the sky, or void as it was called. As the commands came flying through her headphones, the woman was denied. Her dreams of killing aliens were dashed by an order from an alien; did anyone understand how ironic this was. The world was a twisted and the merc would never get what she wanted, but in this case, she'd have to abide by her squiddy squad commander's orders. It was kill or be killed and the pale-skinned trigger puller was not trying to join the rest of humanity in the big heaven in the sky. So thus she went to ground the best that she could, would they be able to weather the storm or was it about to get funky? Occult style - as Dr. Hunter Powell always said.

alkaline.

_{DAY 000 ◆ C H A P T E R O N E}

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Pain was pleasure, in this eternal nightmare. He woke up thrice more in the night writhing in pain, The Harlot was a brutal mistress and quite demanding of one thing only. Total subjugation to her will, that is what she required so every day and night under the blade, burning or nought Alex continued to push through. Gritting his teeth and baring his fangs in defiance to her as she tried to break him, tonight was just another repeat of the nightmares from the day before. His body was marred by the torture and conditions, wiggling on his small cot bed in what could be described a cold and decrepit dungeon Alex held on. In his heart while heavy and tormented he knew she was coming, some way and somehow Elowen would blast the cell doors off it's hinges. That day has yet to come, but those bells would toll soon. Sitting upright in the darkness, he tried to shake off the doubt and pain of yesteryear. The feeling of Buvelle had faded, his neck was collared with a suppressing device of some sorts developed by the Harlot and her vicious army of cultists. Had he been able to do that in the first place this place would be turned into a hellish domain that Buvelle would enjoy as they tore up the place, but that was not the case. Alex was actually to starting to miss Buvelle, the cheeky bastard but he was still within him. Alex was the host, and Buvelle was dormant. The collar was always cold, a metal or alloy he didn't know and couldn't break - he tried, but to no avail. Finally pushing himself up from his seated position he looks up to the cold iron bars in the wall, a tiny slit for view to the outside to which he could barely see. The moon set the scene in the sky as moonlight bled into the cell he could look over and out to the industrial complex that was sprawling on the outside, atleast there was an outside to this god forsaken place. Planning escapes or breaking out weren't Alex's thing especially when he was being given a hefty dose of fuck you from the Harlot and her goons day in and day out, his hands easily rested on the cold lime walls of his cell as he thought and reflected on today and himself. Steeling his wits for the next day of pain that would surely come. Where are you, Elowen Sloane?

alkaline.

_{DAY 000 ◆ C H A P T E R O N E}

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It was hard to walk this road alone, without her. The mission was a simple one, put out the fires and stop the chaos. Alex, a weapon bred for war and destruction was unleashed with the Palmecia police. A man often accompanied by another, Elowen Sloane was alone moving into the facility. The trap was perfectly set by the Harlot, one the warrior wouldn't be able to intercept, intervene or stop. Dressed in his battle vestments he moved eerily throughout the facility, the team was behind him it was supposed to be routine. Laying a trap was easy but executing it was another then, upon turning the corner that's when he saw her. The Harlot wasn't someone you saw and lived to tell the tale, the woman was a myth and a legend. One that had materialized way too soon in a form way too lethal for Alex to handle. His eyes went wide upon seeing her, a stunning beauty mixed with the lethality of a vixen before he could warn those he led it was already over just like she planned. Her goons in camouflage and more aimed guns down this kill box as lead flew all he could do was to try and protect them but this was in vain, as he summoned Buvelle the Harlot was quicker what felt like a freight train struck him hard sending him to the ground as the slaughter continued. He was helpless. Stirring sometime later the smell of death and blood filled his nostrils, he was bruised and somewhat broken as his eyes returned him to this world. The hard black leather boot of the Harlot pressed against his chest, claiming her prize. He couldn't move, the soldiers around him secured the building, radioing in information and taking out the rest - the hopes and dreams of those who could not be protected. The Harlot looked down at him with a grin of glee, one a victor wore over her enemies at the end of a battle. She took in the win as the aches and pains of reality wore through his body with every waking moment, grunting he couldn't even remove the boot from his chest. "Bitch.." He hissed. The boot came up and it came down with a solid strike into the ribs, balling up was all Alex could do but even that freedom of movement was denied from him as the Harlot's harsh quiet words fell onto the ears of her lackeys. They grabbed onto his arms and tied him up, cuffed with the same technology that inhibited his Aeon he was subsequently stripped of any gear and identity becoming one of the many faceless victims of the Harlot. With the facility secure, he was dragged to the awaiting vehicles in the motor pool to haul him off to the Harlot's lair wherever it may be. He never knew, there was no VIP treatment for an Aeon wielder such as himself as a black hood was all he donned. ... Then it was all hazy, how long had he been there? Waking up in his cell he had that nightmare again, of not getting back to her. Alex was a lot slimmer since his captivity however long ago, muscle mass faded and injuries replaced his perfect sometimes soft skin. A black eye, a bloody lip, and marks from punches, kicks, and whips replaced the normal skin tone of the soldier. Some days he had trouble remembering, sometimes he would fight back against the guards and lose and then some days the Harlot would have her sadistic fun with him. The vixen herself tried to break him, and maybe it was working as his sanity crumbled under her torture on thing always came to mind that pushed him forward. Getting back to her.

𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙷 𝟷𝟶𝟷

Yes we're back, like a methuselah with a killer thirst to slake.