[Fill] Suck it up, Cheerleader (9/?)
anonymous
October 16 2015, 16:06:22 UTC
Chapter 3
Jack was trying to kill herself. Miranda could see it in her eyes.
She had seen the old installation on Pragia, what they had done to the children there. She'd watched Jack come to terms with the fact that they had experimented on and killed other children in an effort to enhance her biotic capabilities. It was then that Miranda had first seen beyond her selfish, foul-mouthed, criminal exterior to a kind of nobility. Jack felt guilty despite the fact that she was blameless. As she dealt with that guilt, and channelled her energies into the mission, Miranda had grown to admire her more than professionally.
She'd been amazed to discover that the feeling was mutual.
Miranda could well imagine that Jack would rather die than go through another Pragia. She watched as Jack tried to provoke her captors with insults about their parentage. They laughed at her. She tried slamming her head against the milking station. They strapped it down. She tried to make herself choke on her own spit. They forced a breathing tube down her throat.
Miranda couldn't bear to watch. She was aware of an acrid smell in the room behind the glass. Someone was smoking a cigarette. She looked over her shoulder.
“We only picked her up because of you, you know,” said the batarian. Not one that she'd seen before. He carried himself with an air of louche authority. Hello, thought Miranda. I'll call you 'Smokey'.
Smokey stepped forward so that she didn't have to crane over her shoulder to see him. “I mean, she was looking for you,” he added. “But she wouldn't have found you.” He leant back against the glass to face Miranda. “No, we thought you needed a little extra motivation.”
Miranda flushed with anger, but got it under control. He was the first one who had said more than three words to her. If she could keep him talking, he might let something slip. “Why don't you let her go, then? You've got what you want from me,” she said, letting her gaze drop for a moment to her engorged breasts. She was trying to project shame and defeat.
He laughed and sucked on his cigarette. “Oh, I'm sure we can use her, too. She's not too eager though, is she?”
“She'll die first,” Miranda said, pretending to be on the verge of a breakdown, and realising that she wasn't really pretending.
“Looks that way,” replied Smokey. He was content to puff on his cigarette for a few moments. “Looks that way,” he repeated, nodding once at Miranda and walking off behind her.
“Wait!” she said, twisting in her seat to make eye contact. “I'll do anything. Please. Don't hurt her any more.” And now she couldn't stop the tears from coming. “I'm begging you, please. Anything.”
But Smokey was already out of the door. Happy came back in, twirling his shock baton.
Jack's eyes were fluttering, rolled half way up into her head, like she was having a seizure. The relentless inescapable machinery plugged her every orifice. Miranda forced herself to watch. “Don't die, Jack,” she whispered.
Happy pulled her chair back away from the glass and she shouted as loud as she could. “I love you, Jack! I love you!” Jack probably hadn't heard. She might very well die in there. But Miranda would hate herself if she didn't at least try.
Jack was trying to kill herself. Miranda could see it in her eyes.
She had seen the old installation on Pragia, what they had done to the children there. She'd watched Jack come to terms with the fact that they had experimented on and killed other children in an effort to enhance her biotic capabilities. It was then that Miranda had first seen beyond her selfish, foul-mouthed, criminal exterior to a kind of nobility. Jack felt guilty despite the fact that she was blameless. As she dealt with that guilt, and channelled her energies into the mission, Miranda had grown to admire her more than professionally.
She'd been amazed to discover that the feeling was mutual.
Miranda could well imagine that Jack would rather die than go through another Pragia. She watched as Jack tried to provoke her captors with insults about their parentage. They laughed at her. She tried slamming her head against the milking station. They strapped it down. She tried to make herself choke on her own spit. They forced a breathing tube down her throat.
Miranda couldn't bear to watch. She was aware of an acrid smell in the room behind the glass. Someone was smoking a cigarette. She looked over her shoulder.
“We only picked her up because of you, you know,” said the batarian. Not one that she'd seen before. He carried himself with an air of louche authority. Hello, thought Miranda. I'll call you 'Smokey'.
Smokey stepped forward so that she didn't have to crane over her shoulder to see him. “I mean, she was looking for you,” he added. “But she wouldn't have found you.” He leant back against the glass to face Miranda. “No, we thought you needed a little extra motivation.”
Miranda flushed with anger, but got it under control. He was the first one who had said more than three words to her. If she could keep him talking, he might let something slip. “Why don't you let her go, then? You've got what you want from me,” she said, letting her gaze drop for a moment to her engorged breasts. She was trying to project shame and defeat.
He laughed and sucked on his cigarette. “Oh, I'm sure we can use her, too. She's not too eager though, is she?”
“She'll die first,” Miranda said, pretending to be on the verge of a breakdown, and realising that she wasn't really pretending.
“Looks that way,” replied Smokey. He was content to puff on his cigarette for a few moments. “Looks that way,” he repeated, nodding once at Miranda and walking off behind her.
“Wait!” she said, twisting in her seat to make eye contact. “I'll do anything. Please. Don't hurt her any more.” And now she couldn't stop the tears from coming. “I'm begging you, please. Anything.”
But Smokey was already out of the door. Happy came back in, twirling his shock baton.
Jack's eyes were fluttering, rolled half way up into her head, like she was having a seizure. The relentless inescapable machinery plugged her every orifice. Miranda forced herself to watch. “Don't die, Jack,” she whispered.
Happy pulled her chair back away from the glass and she shouted as loud as she could. “I love you, Jack! I love you!” Jack probably hadn't heard. She might very well die in there. But Miranda would hate herself if she didn't at least try.
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