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Cross stepped away from the wreckage, doing his best to ignore the stiffness and pain in his limbs. Grenade launcher was trashed. He held his taser and activated it, watching the arcing electricity—better than nothing.
Not that it was particularly good.
Everything had gone to shit.
The entire situation in Manhattan had been shit from day one, but it was getting impossible to deny that the infection was winning. What little progress they made—Bloodtox, UAV recon allowing some more pinpoint targeting of hives, more extreme quarantine measures—was to little. The infection was constantly adapting and bouncing back.
They’d been getting really good at ambushing Blackhawks lately.
He called out, ordering a sound off. In the canyons of steel, brick, and glass, his voice echoed. No survivors from the crash, aside from him. This street should’ve been lousy with walkers, but none of them reacted. Crows circled, the occasional caw the only voice aside from his.
Assess the situation. Well behind enemy lines, primary weapon disabled. He was on his feet, but he had no idea if he was lucky or just running on adrenaline, waiting to crash at any moment. He leaned in to his radio, pressed the call button.
Static.
Not that he expected an evac from a site where his last helicopter had been knocked out of the sky, but no contact with Red Crown was proof the situation could always get worse. The infection as smarter, stronger now. The idle musing Cross had, that maybe they could point one problem at another, ended when the first problem just disappeared.
Ragland had obviously been a target, something to keep an eye on, even in all of the chaos. That would be an ideal opportunity to finish it, Cross thought. Except, ZEUS hadn’t killed Ragland. Somehow, they’d been collaborating.
He could’ve reported it. Should’ve reported it. Except, it showed Mercer was capable of… collaboration. Cooperation. A threat that needed to be dealt with, of course. But one that could be pointed at Greene potentially—one problem that could solve another. And then that problem needed solving.
Of course, that idea had fallen by the wayside. ZEUS had disappeared—shortly after footage of him chasing a hunter up and down Manhattan, dragging off a screaming woman. What could’ve been a natural point to ensure ZEUS prioritized dealing with Greene failed.
Whatever.
He had a long walk ahead of him. Get back to base or die trying, killing any infected between him and the nearest fortified zone. Bad plan, but only one he had. He trudged south, ignoring the little flares of pain up his back as he took steps. He dropped the broken remnant of his launcher in the street—junk weighing him down at that point.
The uneasy feeling that the infected were watching crept in. Gentek had theories on high or low frequency auditory cues, pheromones, maybe even something classified as telepathy. Any infected zones were a panopticon, filtered through the central will of Greene. Or so the theory went.
So things shouldn’t have been this quiet.
They’d been flying to put out a fire, a research post about to be overrun. The latest in a series of phyrric victories. Something had taken out each of the blackhawks. Statistically he shouldn’t have been the only survivor. But he was.
He hadn’t assessed the bodies at the crash site closely. Only enough to determine they were dead, were they dead in the crash or did some survive and die on the ground?
Thinking wasn’t helping.
But head on a swivel, confronted with nothing but ruin, no threats, nothing alive in sight, his mind wandered.
Into a fall.
A fissure opened—shouldn’t have surprised him given how good the infected were underground. He managed to loop a line to an exposed rebar, turning what should’ve been a plummet into an awkward fast-rope descent. Straight into Hell.
He was familiar with the innards of a hive, spongy, red biomass. The feverish heat and dampness. Again, what should’ve been dozens of infected, baying for blood.
Instead, he found two women.
Greene sat amidst the rotten meat and rubble, eying him. Eyes tracking his movements, studying him. At her side, leaning against her, something pale clashed against the dark material of the suit Greene had been in. Cross gritted his teeth as the other woman looked up at him, less predatory, more unsure than Greene.
Pale skin, blue eyes, brown hair. She was maybe more malnourished and definitely more bedraggled than the profile pictures in Blackwatch briefing packets, but she was unmistakable.
Dana Mercer.
Nude, ashen, grimy with the mess of the hive. Very much alive… or what passed for it after infection. Another runner.
Greene leaned in close, arm around Dana’s shoulder.
Cross ignited his taser.
The impact of something crashing down int the wreckage behind him made him move—laterally, to the side, not getting any closer to Greene and Dana Mercer as he wheeled to face whatever had crashed in behind him. He expected a Hunter.
ZEUS.
Suddenly, things were making a shocking amount of sense. A terrifying amount of sense. The way the entire flight of Blackhawks was swatted out of the sky without warning, the empty streets but the feeling of being watched. Mercer was working with Greene?
Things had gotten so much worse.
“Mercer. Still alive.” Talk. Keep talking. Mercer was distractible. Keep him talking. Maybe try to trigger a memory.
“Yeah.”
“Ragland?”
Mercer gave a shrug and a nod. “He helped.”
“You’ve been quiet.” Cross said, quickly running out of things to say. “Ever since she took your sister.”
The rail-thin, unsteady looking wretch next to Greene shuddered, then stilled herself. This wasn’t a good plan, not at all, but it was the best he could come up with. Point Mercer at Greene, hope the problems would resolve themselves.
ZEUS hadn’t seemed to react in the slightest.
“You hurt him.” Greene said. Mercer tensed, the only warning Cross got before he pounced. “They’re better now.”
He had intended to try to throw ZEUS at Greene.
Why the Hell was he surprised that Greene was going to throw ZEUS at him?
The crash wrecking his grenade launcher didn’t help, but ZEUS definitely seemed tougher than before. Movement out the corner of his eye—Dana Mercer, on her feet. Back in front of him, Alex leapt, Cross barely dodging, and Alex not breaking his stride, moving out of reach as Cross swung the taser.
Alex Mercer, face shadowed by his hood, circling the wrecked tunnel like a predator.
Dana Mercer, eyes wide, jaw quirking into a smile or a snarl or a grimace, taking tentative steps forward.
And Elizabeth Greene, eyeing it all passively but with rapt attention.
Prioritize. Three targets—no two—Greene wasn’t acting, not a direct threat. Yet. Alex was moving faster, definite knowable threat. Dana wasn’t as mobile. Maybe she wasn’t as strong as Alex—he might be able to take her out, and that would leave ZEUS. Maybe it was bait.
His trying to strategize failed when Alex charged. Cross expected it, those claws coming for him—put the taser out, depend on reach to stop Mercer. Worked before. Except soundlessly, something crashed into him, burning hot and feverish and trembling. His back hit the soft, moist ground. Dana was strong—but still slight—she grasped at his collar and he shoved as hard as he could strips of material her only prize as he kicked her off.
As he got to his feet he swung his taser to the side—no need to even guess, Alex obviously wasn’t going to let him regain his footing unopposed. Mercer halted, narrowly avoiding a strike, stepped back. Cross, on instinct more than anything, pressed forward. He wasn’t making it out, but he was going down fighting.
A flurry of tentacles and Mercer’s claws melted—his right arm continued to writhe and shift, and as Cross made to hit him with the taser, a massive crescent-shaped blade swung. Reach was on Mercer’s side now, the unexpected new trick catching cross off guard as the blade went through metal and plastic and his last option for defense was reduced to a broken handle.
He tried to dodge, but without any means of making the two infected back off, there were no real options. Slower, injured, running on adrenaline, there wasn’t much he could do. Both Mercers slammed into him, Alex tackling him, arms around his waist, Dana going higher, arms around his neck. The three of them slammed into a pile at the floor.
Cross kicked and swore, decking Alex in the face with his left to no apparent effect; a grip stronger than steel curled around his wrist, trapping his arm. His right was trapped under Dana, who seemed content to lay on top of him, hot breath on his cheek, feverish body pressed against him.
Greene finally made her move, standing at Cross’s head, looking down at the situation at her feet.
“So?” Alex growled, drawing Cross’s attention. Alex was focused on Greene.
She knelt, reaching down. Cross tensed, but the expected contact never came as Greene stroked the gore-matted hair of Dana Mercer. “Her choice.”
“I like him.” She said, unsteadily.
“You sure?” Alex said, free hand reaching for her.
She rolled onto her side, still pinning his arm, but allowing her to reach up and hold Alex’s hand. The apparent tension left Alex’s shoulders. When she rolled back and pressed her lips against his, he shuddered at the unexpected speed at which she moved and the biting, metallic taste on her tongue. Pinned under the two monsters, he struggled to break free. Despite definitely being infected himself by now, he couldn’t force himself to bite down.
And then she was up on her knees, hands reaching for his collar, tugging and tearing away. Cross’s struggles increased when he felt Alex’s hand holding his left arm shift, chitin and bone growing. With his free hand, Alex ran a claw up Cross’s thigh, sheering tough fabric with nearly no resistance. Cross’s belt fared no better. Dana was quick to shift focus from his neck and chest to his waist, tearing away the remnants of his belt and pulling material away.
Cross managed to pull his right arm free, warm and slick from being trapped underneath Dana. He tried to strike her, only for a clawed paw to catch his fist mid-swing. Unlike the grip on his left, tight but only restraining him, Alex squeezed Cross’s right hand hard, enough to make him wince, feeling knuckles grinding, waiting for the sound of bones shattering.
“Stop.” Dana was up again, in Alex’s face. Clawed fingers spread, and the pressure on Cross’s right hand left immediately. Cross swung his fist a against Dana’s side—right under the ribs, hard as he could.
If she noticed, she didn’t let him know.
Unless the way her hand fell on his now-exposed cock was a response to the punch.
She massaged his cock, circling her hand around it and gently running it up-and-down, before leaning down and taking him in her mouth. Alex gently placed his clawed hand on her shoulders. Her tongue ran against the head of Cross’s cock, fingers idly running against his abdomen as he ineffectually thrashed and tried to escape, striking a few more ineffectual blows against Dana before Alex leaned down.
For a split second, Cross thought about goading him, making Alex ‘defend’ the runner currently sucking him off. It wouldn’t end well, but it would interrupt her efforts. Dana reared up, looking straight at a patch of corruption along the floor instead of either Cross or Alex, and said. “I’m fine.”
And then she went back to work. She had most of his length in her mouth, using her hand to fondle his balls. He slammed his eyes shut and just tried to block the sensation of the mouth on his cock out. He focused on other things. Dana was a runner—he’d seen plenty of what they could do, saw one in Arizona. Focus on that—the reality of a plague-riddled monster.
The sensation of teeth gently nipping at his neck was unwelcome and broke his concentration. Alex had moved—still pinning his left arm, leaning down. Claws idly ran against the opposite side of his neck. Cross turned his head to the side as Alex moved his attentions up his neck and across his cheek.
For some godforsaken reason, the monsters’ teamwork was paying off. He was semi-hard, which apparently was good enough for her.
Dana swung a leg over his waist, straddling him. Guiding his cock between her legs, she slowly lowered herself down. Burning hot and slick and tight. Cross was torn—pay attention to the situation, evaluate, attempt to figure out a way out of this, but also pay attention to the sensations—there was no way he could try to maintain clinical detatchment. Or he could try to ignore it all, empty his mind of everything except the pile up of horrors his career in Blackwatch had shown him—fight a losing battle against the sensations.
Alex had moved again, behind Dana, arms—now no longer clawed--around her waist as she ground against Cross. Black, inky tendrils spread out, Dana leaning back bonelessly as they coiled around her neck, between her breasts, down her belly. She let out a little squeal as they drifted down, and Cross felt his stomach churn as tiny writhing limbs joined him inside her snatch.
Soft hands against his face, boiling hot tentacles drifting around his body, entrapping his arms. The utterly alien sensation of them coiling around him, writhing while he was still in Dana was something he couldn’t ignore.
When a tentacle curled underneath him and pressed against his ass, he arched his back. To Dana’s evident pleasure. She rode him while the tentacles stroked her and fucked her and fucked him. Cross kept his mouth shut despite wanting o insult, as he felt the tip of a tentacle gently running under his chin.
He shuddered and writhed when the tentacle inside him moved in a peculiar way, somehow coordinated with the way Dana rode him, the way the tentacles around his cock pulsed inside her.
He clenched his teeth and tried to not react to anything the Mercers were doing to him.
It didn’t work.
He came when all of the tentacles, around, inside, against him pressed into him and quivered while Dana was lowering herself down. He willed himself to make no reaction beyond the involuntary release, tried to make no sound or indication. As if that was worth anything. Dana smiled at him, running her thumb along his cheek as she continued to grind on him and then tentacles continued to play. Forcing the last drop out of him? Making sure she enjoyed herself?
It soon became clear Alex’s focus was on the latter, as tentacles redoubled their efforts on her. They were still toying with him, but Alex leaned in more heavily, arms around her. She moaned and shuddered and finally wailed and went limp in his arms, and he lifted her off of Cross and set her down.
If he wasn’t mostly various shades of numb and sore, with some tentacles still coiled around his limbs, Cross would’ve taken the distraction as his opportunity to move.
At best he managed to roll onto his side before a sigh from Dana drew his attention.
“He’s good. You’ll like him too.”
A hand on the back of his neck pinned him, facedown against the spongy, corrupted flesh of the hive. Claws went to work, shearing away the back of his uniform—dim sensations that blossomed into hissing pain as air met shallow cuts let him know Mercer was being less careful now that his sister had her fun. What was left of his pants was torn away, and a clawed paw rested on his ass.
Cross clawed at the hive, glaring at Alex out the corner of his eye. Clothes just melted off of him, and a moment later something blunt pressed against Cross’s ass. “I’m going to…”
His attempt at a threat was cut off when Alex drove in, shoving Cross into the floor of the hive and making him yelp. Things froze for a minute as Cross regained his Composure, teeth clenched to stifle any sound. Dana leaned in, placing her hand on Cross’s forearm. Her smile faltered a bit, and then she reared up and muttered something inaudible to Alex.
Maybe he had her to thank for Alex taking things slow from that point forward. Alex’s thrusts were forceful, but the pace was slow. Flesh on flesh, the feeling of being full, being driving against the hive. The burning across his entire body where the monsters had used him. Sickness running down his throat and digging through his wounds.
The feeling of Dana, leaning against him, kissing him and saying inane bullshit.
Alex soundlessly fucking him into the literal ground.
The sight of Greene, on her feet, observing it all with rapt attention and evident satisfaction.
Teeth on the back of his neck as Alex leaned down, pressing against the wounds he’d caused.
Dana’s hand trailing down his belly, circling his cock.
Greene, smiling.
Alex’s grip on him tightening as something burning spilled inside him.
Dana licking a sticky mess from her fingers.
Greene, smiling.
His entire body on fire, nude, bloodied, bruised, violated. Under, between, the mercers, a mess of tangled limbs, no longer feverishly warm against his body as he felt burning hot on his own. Arms tightened around him as his vision blurred. Infected. They'd won.
No.
He clung to it. No mission, no duty. Just hate. He was not going to be part of this hive mind. He was not going to fall in line after everything they did. He was...
“Gonna…” He croaked, the stagnant air of the hive feeling freezing cold against his burning throat. Dana or Alex or both stroked his hair. “I’m gonna burn you all. Gonna…”
His threat, made with the last reserves of his strength, was muffled as lips pressed against him.
And Greene smiled.