FicWad

THE ADJUSTERS



62

Los Angeles, Part 1



The flight from DC to Los Angeles was three-quarter full, a late flight in the middle of the week. Most fliers were business people returning home, as near as Daniel Malcolm could tell, after spending a day or two on the East Coast, ready for their commute the next morning. At least, for the middle managers that surrounded Shawbank and him in Economy Class.

Shawbank was out. The lights were dimmed in the cabin, illuminated only by the glow of the individual entertainment units attached to the seats. She was not sleeping, though. She sat in her seat, head back, eyes closed, thinking about whatever it was that was bothering her.

For she seemed bothered by something, that much was clear. Daniel had noticed she had been distracted for several weeks now, more taciturn than usual. Brisecoeur had shrugged when Daniel had carefully pointed it out, and the Belgian’s guess was she had been given a special project. Like the one about hunting down Thaddeus Cargyle? Daniel had asked. “No clue,” Brisecoeur had replied.

The lack of conversation, the darkness, the stillness that characterized planes after the lights were out suited Daniel just fine. He still had not digested the video clip Paul had sent him earlier that evening—Jenn, his Jenn, in the throes of whatever Biff had done to her, whatever Cargyle had done to her, a puppet to artificially induced lust—his Jenn, fucked up, but alive, and functioning.

Daniel clung to that shade of positiveness like a drowning man to a waterlogged piece of flotsam. And he was desperate, because even on the video, it was clear that she was still a slave to her unnatural lust, still taken advantage of, used, abused, in pain. It tore at him. He was powerless, helpless, useless, even as he flew to the other end country to deal with yet more pain and horror.

It was all hopeless.

He was hopeless.

He must have fallen asleep with those thoughts for he startled when Shawbank nudged him on the arm with a sharp elbow. “We’re landing.”

Their descent into LAX was fast and by the book. Before Daniel knew it they were docking at the terminal and pulling their carry-on from overhead compartments.

Los Angeles. Daniel had never been to Los Angeles. He had tried to keep it out of his mind, but it was present, beckoning. Cindy was there. He had not told her he would be coming—there had been no time to let her know he had a new assignment, let alone where that assignment was.

But even if he had had time to get in touch, he did know whether he should. She would probably insist on seeing him. And that was dangerous. Shawbank was here with him. He was on official ADCorp business. He remember what had happened in North Alexandria, when someone tried to abduct or perhaps worse, kill, Cindy, while the attack on the Delta Iota Kappa fraternity was going on. O’Neill was convinced that the raid was conducted by ADCorp trying to contain the effects of Cargyle’s experiments, and that Cindy, since she had been messed with by Cargyle, was a target as well.

If fit, though Daniel had yet to find such killing groups at ADCorp, or references to such. So he did not know what to believe. But if O’Neill thought Cindy was in danger, why risk it?

He sneaked a glance at Shawbank, trying to imagine her coldly assaulting college students, killing them, or leaving them to burn. It was at once possible and impossible to do so.

Shawbank looked refreshed after the plane trip, as they picked up their car rental and headed to their hotel. Daniel, who was feeling worse for wear, tried some small chat on the way. The silence was making him uncomfortable. Silence with Shawbank was not a calm affair. It was a black hole that threatened to suck one’s spirit. And he had precious little left of it. “So training’s going well,” he said.

Shawbank nodded, her raven dark hair shimmering in the headlights of oncoming cars. She wore her eternal leather duster, and Daniel tried to imagine how hot she must be underneath it. It was not even cool by Los Angeles winter standards. “She’s always cold,” Brisecoeur had told him when Daniel had inquired. “Like a vampire?” Daniel had joked. Brisecoeur had given him a meaningful look, and Daniel for a second wondered whether the Belgian was serious.

“What do you know about the psych eval,” Daniel asked Shawbank.

“It’s a psychological evaluation.”

“No, I know. But how important is it? I mean, should I really be worried?”

“What do you think?”

“Seriously? What is this, a psych eval?”

And Daniel would later think he imagined what he saw next, because there was a nearly imperceptible crinkling of the skin around Shawbank’s eyes, a minute twitch of the lips, and he swore that she almost—almost—smiled at his remark.

She never answered his question, though.



*



They headed out early the next morning. Daniel had read through the files that Brisecoeur had sent them. It was thin. A collection of events that by themselves meant little: police reports, hospital records, complaints of various sorts, claims of suspicious behaviors, and anecdotal postings on forums and blogs, but which taken all together told the algorithms that Brisecoeur babysat in the depths of ADCorp that there was possible Special activity.

Those algorithms could not describe what the Special was up to, or what he looked like. They merely flagged outliers in collective behavior, following a set of criteria derived from what Brisecoeur described as the “most beautiful machine learning routines you’ve ever seen, mon ami.”

That made Daniel think of Radhu, his best friend at Darnell, who had died the night of the events at the Delta Iota Kappa fraternity. One more casualty in a night of many, made all the more painful that he felt he had never mourned him properly—that night was also the night Jenn disappeared, and that loss had obliterated everything else.

Daniel shook himself and tried to remember what he had learned from the files. Shawbank was driving them to a residential neighborhood to interview a couple. The file held a police report describing how investigators from the domestic abuse unit had talked to the boyfriend about regular hospital visits made by his girlfriend for broken bones. The investigation had yielded nothing, and no charges were pressed.

“Do we think the boyfriend’s the Special?” Daniel asked. “I mean, that’d be weird.”

Shawbank gave him a meaningful glance.

“Right, yes, I know—Specials are weird by definition. But their M.O.’s to mess with the mind, not physical abuse, right?”

“There’s no M.O. with them. They mess with the mind, as you say, but not because they necessarily want to. It just happens. Some of them like it. Most of them. But beyond that, they have the same urges as everyone else. Some of them are quiet. Some of them are violent.”

“Okay. Right. So what’s the plan?”

“What do you think is the plan, Malcolm?”

Daniel thought back to the previous outings they had had together, then fought to keep a smile from his face. “We go in. We talk to them. If the guy’s a Special, we take him down.”

Shawbank gave a short nod. Whether she was pleased with his answer, he could not tell. She did not ask him what they would take the Special down with. Daniel had no weapon. ADCorp did not provide guns to their agents, he had not been told why. Though he was become more proficient at hand-to-hand combat. Shawbank without a doubt had her long knife, the one she called Magenta. How she had gotten it past security on the plane was a mystery to him.

The address they had for the couple was on the outskirts of the city, in a residential suburb. They stopped in front of a bungalow shrouded in that air of arrogant genericity prized by real estate agents. A thick hedge in need of work surrounded the property and provided privacy.

Daniel looked at his notes. “Did they just move? The file says that they have a condo downtown. A second home?”

Shawbank shook her head as she stepped out of the car. She gave a casual glance around, but Daniel knew she was in fact checking the perimeter for possible threats. Daniel did the same as he followed her out, saw nothing. The neighborhood was quiet.

“Brisecoeur said they moved a week and a half ago. Sold the condo,” Shawbank said.

“Do we know why?”

“Accessibility is my guess.”

They rang the doorbell. There was no answer. On the second ring, a voice came from the backyard, female. “Round the back.”

There was a narrow passage between the side of the house and the hedge, and they went in, Shawbank leading the way. They emerged in a large backyard filled with beautiful flowers and shrubbery in all tones of green and white.

A young woman was crouching in the middle of the yard, in a weird contraption that confused Daniel.

“Hello,” she said turning to them. She was young, and beautiful. Shawbank and Daniel said hello back, and approached her.

“You’ll forgive me for not standing,” she said, still with a smile. Daniel saw she was crouching in the weird contraption, her lower left leg was in a cast. The contraption held her up above the ground, and allowed her to swivel and bend down to tend to the flowers, giving her some a range of movement without the cast getting in the way. It was clever. “I’m Christina Vasquez. How can I help you?”

“Mrs. Vasquez. I’m Agent Eve Shawbank, this is Agent Daniel Malcolm. We are with ADSec, a security agency. We investigate situations that you might call ‘out of the ordinary.’ And we understand that perhaps your story fits that description.”

Christina looked at them, cocking her head. “You,” she said to Daniel, “can you grab that Australian fuchsia over there and move it two feet to the left?”

Daniel sneaked a glance at Shawbank. “Of course.” He reached for the plant, and settled it further down the slot that had been reserved for it in a small ditch. Christina seemed pleased, then turned back to Shawbank. “What do you mean?”

“Has anything strange happened to you recently?”

Christina startled them by bursting into laughter. “Strange? You’re asking if something strange happened? Fuck yes, something strange happened!” Her voice took on a bitter tone there at the end, and her laughter died down.

She remained silent, and Shawbank gave her time to compose herself again.

“Sorry,” Christina said. “It’s been a bit of a rough ride.”

“What happened, Christina?” Daniel asked from his position on the ground. He had not moved.

“I don’t think you’d believe me. I wouldn’t believe me.”

“You’d be surprised what we can believe.”

Christina looked at him, holding his gaze for a long time, not saying a word. Daniel tried to project all the sympathy that he could muster—all he had to think about were the girls back at Darnell, the girls in West Virginia, all those victims that were turned into something they should never have been, just to satisfy a bastard’s lust and power trip.

“Okay. But let’s go inside.”

“Of course.” Daniel extended a hand to help her stand, but she shook her head and pulled herself out of the contraption. She grabbed a set of crutches from the ground before expertly maneuvering the backyard to the sliding back door of the house. Daniel and Shawbank followed her inside.

Daniel took advantage of the occasion to get a good look at the young woman—her body was toned, the body of someone used to exercise, perfectly shaped. It was, however, her generous chest that must have caught the attention of every male she met. That she did not seem to wear a bra was unavoidably obvious.

“Sorry for the mess,” Christina said inviting them to sit at the kitchen table. Cardboard boxes were strewn around. “We’re still moving in.”

She sat down with after filling a glass with water. “I take it you heard about the accusations against Raul?”

“Yes,” Shawbank said, nodding. Raul Vasquez. Her boyfriend.

“Yeah, everybody heard about that. It’s probably why you’re here, too.” She did not wait for them to confirm. She raised her hand, showing a beautiful engagement ring. “He proposed a month ago.”

“Congratulations,” Daniel said, thinking about his own fiancée and squashing the memory on the spot. Now was not the time.

“Thanks! And then the cops show up and accused Raul of abusing me. Which is crazy! He loves me and I love him and the man wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

Daniel looked at Shawbank, and she nodded once. Daniel spoke up. “Mrs. Vasquez—”

“Christina.”

“Christina, you have been admitted to the hospital five times in the past three months for fractures to your legs, and the medical reports state that the fractures are consistent with an impact with a blunt object like—”

“It’s a baseball bat,” Christina said, quietly, but her gaze held a challenge.

“Huh, okay. We’re not here to accuse or defend or anything like that. We are simply trying to understand a… series of odd occurrences in the area, and yours is one.”

Christina drank, then set the glass down, and stared at it for a long while. Daniel gave her all the time she needed. Shawbank merely observed, looking at Christina, at the kitchen, taking in everything.

“It started the week before Thanksgiving,” Christina said, without looking at them. “It was during one of our runs—Raul and I used to run after work. We always ended up in this park down near where we used to live, a beautiful little wooden area, with public restrooms and water fountains. We’d refill our bottles there. It was halfway through a six miles loop, just perfect to work out the kinks after a day of work.

“Well, that day, when we did get to the park, I got this urge. I… can’t explain it, and I can’t describe it, but I sort of went crazy.”

Daniel looked at her. Shawbank stared without saying a word. When Christina did not continue, Shawbank continued for her. “Did you sexually attack your boyfriend, or was it someone else?”

Christina’s head shot up, her eyes wide with astonishment. “How did… how—”

Shawbank shrugged. “It fits with some of the stories we’ve heard.” That was a lie, but it was a reasonable guess, Daniel knew. Especially if there was a Special lurking.

“You mean it happened to others?”

Shawbank nodded. “Yes.”

Christina digested the news with wide eyes. She returned to staring at her glass. She did not look at them when she continued the story. “It wasn’t Raul. I mean, I didn’t turn to Raul. You have to understand, I wasn’t thinking straight. Wasn’t thinking at all. It was just… It’s like I was possessed, or something. Or crazy. I just jumped on this guy that was there in the bushes, a homeless guy, and I just—God, it feels nuts just saying it out loud—I’ve—I’ve never told anyone this—It’s—God…” Christina stopped for a while, still was unwilling to look them in the eyes.

“It’s okay,” Daniel said. “You don’t have to go into details—”

“I jumped on that guy, and I just started kissing him and rubbing against him like I was fucking in heat—and I was in heat—it was like my body had a mind of its own and you can’t believe how good it felt—that’s the bit that sickens me, you know? Just how fucking good it felt. And if Raul hadn’t pull me off the guy, I’d have fucked him, I know. I could imagine it so easily, like I could taste it, jumping on top of him and fucking him on and on...”

She took a deep breath, then drank some water.

“I’m talking about it now, and it feels like a dream, but one that you remember super clearly. Raul was yelling at me, asking me what I was doing, and I kept screaming back at him, begging him to let me go and trying to shake him off and run to the guy that was looking at us with wide eyes before he took off because he thought we were crazier than he was and I just wanted to start running after him and tackle him and strip him and… and…”

She could not continue, and started crying. Daniel exchange a glance with Shawbank, and then moved across the table and put an arm around Christina’s shoulders. She curled into his arms and sobbed. He held her for a while, Shawbank standing up quietly and looking around the room and in the next, gathering information.

“I was crazy,” Christina said in a low voice. “I don’t know how Raul got me home, because it’s all a blur, but he tells me that I passed out from struggling so much, and he didn’t know what to do and he brought me home. I was out of it for the whole night, feverish, and there was this craving inside that I could not fight off.

“The next day was horrible. I couldn’t explain what had happened, and Raul was so upset—understandably, too! We went to a clinic to check me out and they said I was fine and then late afternoon I got this drive to go for a run again and Raul was against it but I headed out anyway and he followed me and then we got to the park again and fuck me if I didn’t try to do exactly the same thing again to some other guy that was just randomly walking—I latched on to him and tried to drag into the bushes offering him to suck on my breasts before I went down on him and again Raul was there to grab me and pull me off and he and the guy almost punched each other and I wasn’t helping because I kept pushing off Raul to try and get to the guy and then it’s all a blur and when I came back to myself I was in our bedroom and Raul was sitting next to me with cold towels on my forehead and he looked less upset than terrified.”

Christina had told her story almost in one breath, sniffling in Daniel’s shirt, without looking up. Shawbank was in the door frame, listening.

Christina reached for some tissues, blew her nose, sighed. When Christina did not resume her story, Shawbank resumed it for her. “You asked your boyfriend to break your leg.”

Christina looked up at her, and gave her a sad smile. “It was the only way. Nothing else we tried works. Except drugs. But I don’t want to spend half my life a zombie, high on something or other.”

“What about locking you up in a room?” Daniel said.

“That works, but then I have to spend half my days locked in a room alone, trying my best to escape and go run and do God knows what to other guys at that stupid park. Because it’s always that park. We tried leaving the city, but the craving hits and I have to come back and it’s the same all over again. I will hurt myself badly trying to go run and fuck someone in that park.”

She looked at her leg, in the cast, and her sad smile returned. “I don’t know why this works and nothing else. Maybe because it’s actually all in my head and somehow my brain figures that with a broken leg I can’t run, and therefore lets me off the hook. It’s not fake. I really can’t run like this. My brain knows that.”

“So how do you…”

“Lots of painkillers, and a baseball bat. Raul hates it, but the alternative is so much worse. So a whack of the bat, then a trip to the emergency room. We try a different one every time, to keep people from noticing anything wrong, but clearly that doesn’t work. It’s not a long term solution, obviously—the doctor warned me that if this happens too much, my legs will never be right again—but I can’t think of anything else. Except for committing myself to a psych ward. Because clearly I’m crazy,” she said with a wry grin. Daniel could not tell if she was serious or not.

Shawbank spoke up again. “Do you remember anything different that happened before the first occurrence of this… craving?”

Christina shook her head. Her tears had dried. “No.” She hesitated. “Well… I mean, Raul told me that he and I got a little feisty in that same spot the day before, during our run, but to be honest, I don’t remember at all…” She looked like she was about to cry again.

Shawbank nodded. She pulled out her smartphone. “Could you show me on the map exactly where the park is?”

Christina did, and ten minutes later Shawbank and Daniel let themselves out, leaving the young woman to return to her gardening, nursing a broken leg that might follow her the whole life through.



*



Doug Fairbank noticed her immediately. He and a lot of men around him, sprawled about in the park, some of them with partners, sometimes with friends, some of them alone. Most of them stared. All of them dreamed. But Doug had been waiting for her.

Just as she had been doing for the past four days since the first time he spotted her, she was running with her boyfriend—or perhaps husband—along the path that went around the park. He could not keep his eyes off her. Her long lean legs were exposed by the high-cut running shorts she wore, her large breasts—which must have required some serious strapping to keep them from bouncing around while she ran—struggled to remain within her tight tank top, her hair bobbed with every step. Her skin was tanned and satiny, and looked impossibly soft. Her smile was warm, friendly, and promised all the delights of heaven. She was, in a word, beautiful.

Her companion was admittedly also good looking, and certainly must have spent an inordinate amount of time in the gym to achieve the body he had. He was not huge, by any means, but had the body of a well-trained gymnast, with clearly defined muscles that stood out every time he moved. They talked and laughed as they ran, enjoying each other’s company. The perfect couple, out on a run on a perfect day. Doug knew what he had to do. He only needed the opportunity.

The couple stopped near the public restrooms, and the man goes inside. The girl stays out near the fountain, running in place, trying to maintain her rhythm. When she approached the fountain, Doug moved swiftly. His knees were still hurting him—the doctors had said that they would until he died, that it was a miracle that he could still walk, and Doug did not disagree. But then again, everything that had happened since that fateful day had been a miracle.

He made his way towards the fountain. The girl was bending over, drinking deeply. Her ass was towards him, perfectly framed by her position and her shorts, stretched tight over her perfect cheeks.

“Hello,” he said.

She jumped, straightening up in one smooth motion. Before she could say anything, Doug reached over and touched her arm, and she froze. He kept staring at her, enjoying the blankness that spread over her features, and then told her to step down and gestured toward a recess in the thick bushes near the fountain that would afford them some amount of privacy.

“What’s your name, pretty girl?”

“Christina.” Her voice was soft, warm, friendly. Her eyes held the usual confusion about why she could not control how she acted. Soon, they would give way to fear, then panic.

“Christina. Beautiful name for a beautiful, sexy girl.” He ran his hand lightly over her face. Her skin was as soft as it looked. “How old are you, Christina?”

“Twenty-four.” There was the fear now. She could not help but respond to his questions. And his touching her made it worse.

“Twenty-four? You don’t look a day over twenty, dear.” She did not find the joke funny. No matter. He trailed his hand down to her chest, pressing lightly into her big breasts trapped under at least two layers of clothing. “Are these real?”

“Yes.”

“I had to ask, you know. Big pornstar tits on a girl with your figure, well, that’s suspicious. But I’m glad they’re real. Take off your bra, and give it to me.”

No complaint, but the look in her eyes now was veering to panic. She slid her hands underneath her tank top and worked on the clasp of her bra to try to pull the latter off without lifting her top. He let her do it that way, the hard way. After she was done, he could just tell her to lift her top to her neck—hell, he could tell her to lift her top to her neck and then go out there and ask every boy she met to pinch her nipples, and she would do it, and if he told her to smile and be flirty while she did, then she would. It was indeed a miracle.

She wiggled out of her bra, pulling it off the side of her top. Doug extended a hand so that she could hand it over. It was a titanic beast of a sports bra, reinforced in places he did not expect anything to be reinforced. And one could see the difference immediately. Christina’s breasts, now free, were pushing against her top, her nipples easily visible, and the sides of her breasts were showing through the arm holes of her top. Doug thought it a very becoming look.

“36D,” he read out loud. “Nice. Tell me, Christina, that guy you were running with, does he like your big fat tits? Do you let him fuck them? What his name anyways, and who is he?”

“His name is Raul, and he is my boyfriend,” Christina replied, her calm voice belied by the expression in her eyes. “And yes, he likes my breasts. He likes to caress them and kiss them, and I have occasionally let him rub his dick between them. I do not do it often though.”

Casually, Doug tossed the bra into the bushes. “Boyfriend, huh? You love him? Play with your nipples.”

“Yes.” Her hands went up to her chest and teased her nipples through the material, which started tenting pretty much immediately.

“Right. And he must love you too. Pinch them now, hard.”

“He does.” Still through the material, she grabbed her stiff nipples, and tweaked and twisted them, giving her breasts a nice shake as a side effect.

“Bet he does. Who wouldn’t, with a body like yours. You’re a fuckin’ wet dream, you know that, right? With your long legs, and your cocksucking mouth. And those big fat tits of yours.” Doug paused, watching her abuse her nipples. “By the way, from now on, you get turned on like crazy when someone—anyone—is rough with your breasts.”

Christina almost immediately started moaning, and her mistreatment of her own nipples kicked into high gear. She soon was grabbing her whole breasts in her hands and squeezing, hard, her eyes closing. She then slipped her hands underneath her top to get direct access and started scratching at her nipples. A line of sweat formed over her eyebrows.

“You know what,” Doug said while watching her, “from now on, also, no more bras. No support whatsoever. Not even while running. Yes, I know, it’ll be uncomfortable, if not downright painful—but hey, that’ll turn you on too. I give it, what, a couple of years before your tits start sagging real good? It’s almost—almost—a shame.”

On the other side of the bushes, they heard a shout. “Christina? Christina! Where are you?”

“Ah, that must be Raul,” Doug said. “Love of your life, right? Let’s take care of that now. Okay, Christina, listen to me, listen to me well. You love running. You cannot contemplate life without running. Day in, day out, you need to run. On this path. A decent run, at least three miles. No getting injuries either—you can rest one day a week, and no running when hurt.”

“Christina? Where are you?”

“Now, on every run, you will find a man to fuck you. Not your boyfriend. And you will not be satisfied until he comes deep in your ass. You get that? On every run, you will have to get a man to fuck your ass. You will beg, you will plead, you will do anything it takes. But you will not be released until you feel a man’s cum leaking out of your anus. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice calm as she kept on abusing her breasts. Her eyes told the whole story: fear, horror, humiliation.

“Christina! Quit playing around!” Raul’s voice was getting angry, and also getting nearer. It was time to hurry along.

“I am not a cruel man,” Doug said. “You can lube up before runs, if you want. No point having them take you dry. And let’s inaugurate this especially. For today’s run, you can use your darling Raul to satisfy you. Enjoy it, it will be the last time. Starting tomorrow, you fuck a new man. Now go meet your boyfriend. And bring him back here -- it’s a nice and quiet little place. Oh, and after you’re done with him, you will forget we had this little conversation, and that you ever saw me. All you will have is the need to run and fuck. Now go.”

“Christina!” Raul’s voice, from the distance. Christina wasted no time, and took off, running towards her boyfriend. Doug smiled when he saw her large breasts bounce all over her chest, and he hoped that Raul appreciated the sight. Doug went to hide in the thick of the bushes. While he could make her not see him if needed, over Raul he had no power.

It was only a few minutes’ wait before Christina reappeared with Raul in tow.

“Chris! Where are you going?”

Christina did not respond, just kept pulling Raul along. When they were sheltered, Christina turned to her boyfriend and kissed him before he could say anything else. It was a deep kiss, and she plastered her body against his, her legs pressing against his legs, her hands behind his head pulling him in. Raul resisted a second before indulging.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asked when she let go of his head, finally.

“I’m horny.” Her breath was coming in short bursts. She rubbed her chest against his.

“Well I can see that! Shouldn’t we be hurrying home then?”

“Oh come on. Just a quickie? You know, to carry me over?”

“What’s gotten into you?” Raul laughed, an edge of discomfort to his voice. He was clearly working hard to figure out what was going on with his beautiful girlfriend.

“I told you—I’m just feeling crazy super horny. Are you trying to tell me that you don’t have this fantasy of doing it out here in public? Can you imagine someone stumbling in, finding me on my knees, a good little girlfriend sucking off her boyfriend? Oh, I can feel you like that idea, you little perv. Here, give me your hands.”

She took his hands and slid them under her tank top and pressed them against her breasts. Raul looked astonished. “Chris! What happened to—”

“Ditched it. Told you I was horny. And I know you really like my boobs. It’s all part of the plan. Is it working? You like feeling my boobs like this? Plus it’s not like this top is hiding much, is it?” She kissed him again, moaning softly as he caressed her breasts. “You can be rough with them, if you want. I won’t mind. They’re all yours, to do with as you wish.” She kissed him again, using one of her hands to press his harder against her chest, making him squeeze harder.

“Chris, this is insane!” He looked around again, nervously, but already seemed distracted by his girlfriend forcing him to fondle her.

“No, it’s fun. Now be good—I have a treat for you.” She sank down to her knees, pulling down his shorts as she did so. Before he could react, she caught the tip of his already erect cock between her lips and sucked it in. And just like that, on the grass, surrounded by bushes and trees protecting them from prying eyes, she gave him a skillful blow job that soon had poor Raul gasping and clutching her head in ecstasy. Crouching in the bushes, Doug could appreciate her technique—she went in hard and deep, and was not afraid to use a copious amount of drool.

After a long minute, during which Doug wondered whether Raul had ever been at the receiving end of such an enthusiastic showcase of oral talent, Christina let his cock slip out of her mouth with a loud pop, and smiled as she looked up. “Perfect,” she purred, “wet as it should be.”

“Chris, don’t leave me like—”

“Don’t worry,” she said, lying down on the ground, and raising her runner’s legs high up in the air. “It’s your lucky day, baby. You know that thing you’ve asked me about a year ago?” She pulled her running shorts off in one smooth motion, then spread her legs and pushed the gusset of her panties out of the way before running her hand down the length of her pussy.

“What are you doing? Someone could see—”

“Let them.” She rubbed her pussy harder, raising her hips and then running her fingers down to the crack of her ass. Raul’s eyes were riveted to her fingers, his hard cock bobbing and twitching somewhat comically before him. “Maybe they’ll learn something, too, watching a man take take his girlfriend in her tightest little hole. Oh!” She pushed one finger into her ass, while Raul remained speechless. “Fuck, that feels good! Don’t you want to fuck my ass, Raul? You said you wanted to. Here’s your chance. It’s all yours.”

Raul, looking vaguely crazed, looked around quickly, then sank to his knees, stroking his dick. Christina pushed her hips out to get closer to him before grasping his shaft and lining it up with her rear hole. Her other hand was still pulling her panties aside. “Come on, baby, shove it in—Oh fuck!—Fuck!—That’s it!—Push it in!—I love your big fat cock!—Deep in my ass!—Fuck!”

Christina spread her legs wider, lifting them up over Raul’s shoulders, and threw her head back. Raul pushed inside her, a gleeful look on his face.

Christina pulled his head down and kissed him hard. She kept up her monologue in a low voice. “Yes!—Mmm!—You like it? You like it? You like my ass? You like fucking my ass? You sick little perv! You’ve been after my ass all this time, haven’t you? Come on! Harder! Is it as good as you thought? As tight as you hoped? Fuck you feel good! Urgh!”

Doug had to give it to the girl, once wound up, she knew how to fuck. Poor Raul looked like he was hanging on for dear life, but far from complaining, he thrust inside Christina as best as he could. She grabbed his hands and pushed them underneath her tank top.

“Grab my tits! Come on, you’re gonna make me come, you bastard! You fuckin’ perv, you sweet sweet assfucking perv! Squeeze them! Squeeze them, you fuck! Hard! Hard! Harder! Fuck! God yes! Pinch them, twist them! Go on, you fuck! Harder! Hurt me, you piece of shit! Then come in my ass—come deep in my ass! Fuck!—Oh! Fuck!”

Raul tensed up as if a strong current had been run through him, and he came, looking for all the world like he was trying to pass a kidney stone. When she felt his cock explode inside her, Christina seized up and clearly came just as hard as he did, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him in for another deep sloppy kiss.

Raul collapsed on top of his girlfriend, and she soothed him by caressing his head as he rested it on her chest, trying to catch his breath.

They were all surprised when they heard someone clapping. There was an old man sticking out of the bushes to the right, his eyes glued to Christina’s body. “Fucking A show, man! Wouldn’t mind dippin’ my stick in that honeypot, know what I mean? You like it up the butt, love? I got something here that’ll make you scream real good!” It was pretty clear from the movement of his upper body that he was jerking off in the bushes.

“Fuck!” Raul scrambled to stand up, pulling his shorts up as he tried to not stumble. Christina moved to cover herself, pulling her tank top down and reaching for her running shorts. But there must have been some lingering lust within her because her eyes strayed towards the man beating off, and when she pulled her own running shorts up she made sure to bend down at the waist and present him with an unparalleled view of her ass, round and tight and screaming to be taken over and over again. One could already see a wet spot forming where Raul’s cum had started to dribble out of her.

“Chris! For fuck’s sake, hurry up!” Raul was red in the face, ready to bolt. Christina, almost reluctantly, straightened up and jogged after him, her breasts bouncing as she went.

“Hey! Come back,” shouted the old man, beating off even faster. “Don’t want my cream on your big fat titties? You slut! You cunt! You bitch! Fuckin’ ass! Fuckin’ ass! Fuck in the ass! Fuck! Fuck! Bitch! Take it bitch! Take it bitch! Up your ass! Argh!”

And he must have come as well, because he convulsed and collapsed in the bushes. Doug shook his head. Jesus, what a retard. Still, he thought. He might be useful. He certainly had the right attitude.

When the old man emerged from the bushes a few minutes later, looking vaguely more presentable but still half crazed, Doug was there waiting for him. “Nice show, right?”

He looked at me suspiciously, without saying a word.

“Don’t play dumb. I saw you spotting that couple here earlier. Spotted them, too. Hard to miss. The girl’s a fox. Nice big tits and perfect legs. Just my style.”

Doug could see the old man’s eyes shine as he remembered, but he still didn’t say a word. Doug could not blame him.

“Listen, I happen to know that girl, and to know something about that girl. She might just be here again tomorrow when she runs, and she might just be willing to do a bit more than let you watch this time.”

“What?”

“Come on,” Doug said conspiratorially, like they were both sharing a big joke. “You saw what she did there at the end. She liked you watching. She liked you jacking off while you stared at her body. She was practically asking you to go over and slid your tool inside her. Betcha anything she goes to bed tonight thinking about doing the nasty while you drool over her. While her boyfriend pounds her from behind like the little bitch she is, she’s gonna be imagining it’s your cock that’s stretching her out.”

It so often happened that even if Doug could, there would be no need to put the whammy on men to get them to do what he wanted them to do. Men were so easy to control and bend. Especially dirty old men that had not had any in so long that the thought of fucking a real live pussy made them incapable of processing any other thought.

“Tell you what. Meet me here tomorrow, same time, and we’ll wait for her together, okay? And I can show you that I’m not full of it.”

Doug could see the hesitation in his eyes, but he also knew that he would be there tomorrow. On the off chance—the sheer hope—that Doug was not lying, he would be there tomorrow. Doug reflected that perhaps he might make a few additional changes to the girl. For one, he could make sure that his new friend got unfettered and regular access to her pussy—and her tits and her mouth and her ass, of course.

Between that and the regular ass pounding she would be getting on her daily runs, it would not be too long before Raul realized that something was going on, and that his perfect little girl was looking elsewhere for some satisfaction. And who wanted a relationship with a slut that could not help but beg for strangers to fuck her ass on a daily basis? Poor Raul would learn a lesson in the wily ways of women, and be a better man for having learned it.

Like Doug had.

Once again, his work was done.



*



“So. Do you think he’s the Special?” Daniel asked Shawbank as they drove out.

“If there is a Special at all. Might be a psychological pathology.”

“Young woman suddenly develops a craving to have sex with random strangers every day after her run. That’s a pretty specific pathology.”

“The mind can conjure up all sort of messiness.”

“True. But, and I’m not an expert, she did not strike me as crazy.”

“No. She didn’t.”

“So what next? We find the boyfriend?”

“Eventually. First, I want to drop by the LAPD. There are a few things in the file that I want to clear up.”

Shawbank’s cell phone rang. She answered through the car’s built-in system. “Shawbank.”

“Something came through on the intercepts. Hospital admission, female, comatose, correlated with a recent behavioral change. Possible Freak plague, advanced stage.”

“Where?”

“Encino Hospital. Patient name Rebecca McGregor.”

“Understood.”

“Freak plague?” Daniel asked.

“Makes no sense given the timeline,” Shawbank muttered. To Daniel, “That’s what Brisecoeur calls the long-term effects of exposure to a Special.”

“How the girls go slowly crazy over time?”

Shawbank nodded. “Physiological deterioration. Burns the nervous system from the inside out. Doctors give it a fancy name. Brisecoeur calls it Freak plague.”

“So someone came down with it?”

“Hospitals don’t know to check for it. It’s not well known, which is good. We have a facility back East to deal with those cases when they show up in the system.”

She programmed the coordinates of the hospital in the car’s GPS. “Take care of the woman. Get a blood work if you can. Investigate where she collapsed, what happened, who she is. You’ll need this.” She gave him an official-looking badge. “It’s our governmental authorization to get access to information as part of our arrangement with the FBI. They’ll call in and verify your status. Probably.”



*



Daniel entered the hospital and headed to admission, as Shawbank drove off to synchronize with the police. He was left on his own. He took a deep breath, trying to navigate the chaos of the emergency room without being affected by it. Christina’s story from earlier was still running through his head. It hit close to home. A man dealing with his loved one in the throes of an irresistible craving. He wondered what went through the man’s head as he bashed his girlfriend’s leg at her behest, to keep her from giving herself to random strangers.

He shook his head to clear these thoughts away as he walked to the admissions counter. He flashed his ADSec and FBI credentials, and asked about Rebecca McGregor, saying it pertained to a case they were investigating. The woman behind the counter did not seem to care, and directed him to a nurse in a corner filing paperwork.

“Hi. I’m Agent Daniel Malcolm. You have a patient that was admitted recently that related to a case we’re currently investigating.”

“Name?”

“Rebecca McGregor. She was admitted unconscious earlier today.”

The nurse frowned, and paged back on the clipboard she had by the side of the table. “McGregor, McGregor. Ah, yes. Here. Oh. Her.”

The way she said made Daniel’s ear perk up. “What happened?”

“We don’t know. She came in out of it, unresponsive, and we haven’t been able to figure out what’s wrong with her. She’s stable, but we can’t get through to her. Her hormone levels are sky high, and her EEG is off the charts. Whatever’s going on with her, it’s messing her up inside. We’ve got her on narcotics.”

“But I thought she was out of it.”

“Yeah, but that’s only thing that seems to quiet down her nervous system. Do you know what’s going on?” The nurse looked at him half accusingly.

“No. But I may know someone who does. Did she come in alone?”

“I’ll have you talk to the doctor that admitted her.” She looked up at the clock. “He should be going off shift in ten minutes.”

“Where’s the patient?”

“Frank!” The nurse called up. A young man showed up, at the ready. “Take Agent Malcolm to room 33B. And tell Doctor Zhen when he comes out to go meet Agent Malcolm there.”

“Sure thing,” said the young man.

Daniel was brought to a small room in a quieter area off the emergency room. Inside, a young woman in her mid-twenties, stunningly beautiful, lay in bed, underneath a blanket. We was hooked up to an array of instruments: the eternal beeping of the heart rate monitor report a slow and steady heartbeat, lines that Daniel recognized at EEG traces following the nurse’s hint.

He approached the woman, softly, implicitly not wanting to wake her up despite knowing full well that she was knocked out and unable to hear him. He did not know what he was looking for, did not know why he was here. The image of him standing over Jenn in a similar position, also out of it because whatever was eating her turned her on herself, kept asleep for her own safety, ran through his mind.

He knew, from what O’Neill had discovered at that Institute in New York where Jenn had been kept that she had been put under medically. She must have looked just like Rebecca McGregor here.

Did Jenn have someone standing over her and making sure she was okay? Did she have someone to look after her? He imagined her alone, scared, unable to understand what was happening to her, and he felt impotent helplessness nip away at his soul.

Daniel was examining the woman, trying to gather information the way he imagined Shawbank might, when Doctor Zhen entered the room.

“Agent Malcolm. James Zhen. How may I help you?”

“Doctor,” Daniel said, nodding. “I’m not sure. We’re investigating a case and Mrs. McGregor here may be related to it.”

“In what way?”

“I’m not at liberty to divulge.” Daniel wondered if he sounded too cliché, but Zhen seemed to expect the answer.

“Fair enough. Do you know what happened to her?”

“I was hoping you might tell me.”

“Ah! Wish I could. She came in like that, except with brain waves off the charts. Almost like she was having a seizure internally, but unlike any epileptic signature I’ve ever seen. We managed to calm her down but she never regained consciousness. We’re keeping her under observation, but frankly, there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with her physiologically.”

Daniel nodded. He would get Brisecoeur to tell whomever was in charge of such things to send someone to see whether or not Rebecca McGregor was in fact suffering from that Freak plague—whether or not she had been affected by a Special. He pursued a different line of inquiry.

“How was she found? Who brought her in?”

Zhen frowned and looked at the chart at the foot of the bed. “I remember she was brought in by ambulance—right before the crash victims pouring in from the big accident on I-10 two hours ago.” He flipped through the chart. “Ah. Here we are. The ambulance was called in by an employee at the Twisted Lemon, a restaurant off Ventura Boulevard. She was found in the parking lot, collapsed near her car, unconscious.”

“Signs of struggle?”

“None. Only abrasion we found is consistent with her losing consciousness and falling to the ground.”

“May I have a look?” Daniel asked for the chart, and Zhen hesitated before handing it over.

Daniel was thumbing through it when they were interrupted by a man smashing into the room, looking angry. “Where is she?”

Daniel’s training kicked in and he almost slammed the man in the chest but stopped when the man looked at the woman on the bed. “Jesus, Becky. What happened… how is she?”

Zhen looked at the older man, who must have been in his fifties. Daniel wondered if this was her father. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step outside and…”

“That’s my wife there, and you’re going to damn well tell me what the fuck you did to her you—”

“There’s been an incident, Mister McGregor.” Daniel said.

“And who the fuck are you?”

“Agent Daniel Malcolm,” Daniel said, without specifying further. “I’m here to help figure out what happened.”

“Well I’m James McGregor, I’m one of the most important people in this part of the world, and you’re damn right you’re going to help figure out what happened! What did happen?”

“We don’t know yet. She was found a few hours ago, near her car, unconscious. When did you last see her?”

“This morning. When I left for work. I’m the CEO of Electro Manufacturing Incorporated.” He said it with the tone of voice of someone that had settled an argument.

“Do you know if she had any meetings, if she was supposed to meet anyone today?”

“No. She stays at home, takes care of the house, that’s what she does. She doesn’t go out and look for trouble. She’s a good girl. I make sure of that.”

“Has anything strange happened recently? In the past few months? Strange encounters, strange people hanging around? Has her behavior changed?”

McGregor gave Daniel a sharp glance, and there was anger and something else that Daniel could not identify in his tone. “What do you mean by that? What did people tell you?”

“Nothing. Just trying to get a picture of what might have happened.”

McGregor kept staring at Daniel, and then made an effort to simmer down the anger that was threatening to erupt all over again. Daniel was fascinated by the interplay of emotions on the face of the man. “Look, Agent… Malcolm, right? I’m sorry. I’m a bit… I just learned that my wife collapsed and I see her lying in bed not responding, and I can’t really concentrate. How about you give me your card and I’ll have my lawyer get in touch with you and I’ll try to answer your questions then?”

Daniel resisted asking him why a lawyer was necessary, but then merely reached in his pocket and pulled out a business card—Agent Daniel Malcolm, ADSec, with a phone number and an extension, so official it was almost funny—and handed it to McGregor. He swore that the older man blanched when he saw the card, but did not say a word.

Daniel took Doctor Zhen aside asking him whether he could have a sample of blood, and also to see whether the doctor could take James McGregor away for a few minutes. When the two left, Daniel pulled the covers off Rebecca McGregor’s body, and confirmed personally something he read in the chart. He then stepped out of the room. He needed fresh air.

When he was outside, the crisp air making him feel better, he called his partner.

“Shawbank,” came the voice, curt and business-like, as ever.

“Saw the girl. She’s out, so I couldn’t talk to her. She probably won’t wake up soon, either They got her under heavy sedation—they say her brain was going crazy. I met the husband, too—older man, she struck me as the trophy-wife type—and he definitely looked suspicious. Maybe he’s the guy. He certainly has control issues. And he reacted to my business card. Don’t know why.”

“Mmm,” was all Shawbank said in response. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Don’t know if it’s significant or not.” Daniel paused. He had not known whether it was something that he wanted to tell Shawbank, but she would discover it herself anyway, if she was as thorough on this case as she usually was. “The girl has a tattoo just down from her left hip bone. A braided circle, made up of three rings, dark blue.” He did not add that it looked just like the braided circle tattoo that he had seen around his friend Calypso, and around Elizabeth Parkinson back in the ADCorp HR department.

Shawbank said nothing for several seconds. Then she swore, in what Daniel guessed was Hungarian. He remained silent.

After another long pause, she continued “Malcolm, you take the lead on the investigation of the possible Special. Leave the McGregor woman to me. But keep me appraised of progress.”

Daniel did not expect that response. “What do you mean, take the lead? You think I can take care of the operation by myself?”

“Consider it the field component of your psych evaluation. Get whatever help you think you need.”

Shawbank hung up. Daniel was left staring at his phone.