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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/SomeOtherTroper on 2024-12-03 13:20:56+00:00.
[Author's notes]: this is where some may wish to avert their eyes. I am not writing erotica or outside the bounds of the rules, and you can skip this chapter and get a very sanitized summary after things are over. But at the same time, I am dealing with some really goddamn heavy topics here, and I feel like a warning is in order. That may just be vanity on my part, but it has much more to do with people I've known who were in destructive relationships with very manipulative people than with any particular agenda.
If I get to write a seven-foot-tall Crocodilian and a human insane enough to jump into hard vacuum to cripple another spaceship, I get to say "you may wish to avert your eyes".
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[Grace]
Now I understood. Slammed against the bars from the outside, a gun to my back. Held up by my wrists to the point my toes could barely touch the ground. Confronted by a couple of Leporidae who, I realized, had every reason for their suspicion and hostility ...and thought I was just more 'meat for the grinder'. I'd be lucky if they didn't bite my nose off. And frankly, I deserved it. I'd always chalked up the bunnygirls' being 'under the weather' to wild nights out, or colds, or - fucking anything but this!
Caged up like animals, brought up to serve the clients, and brought back down here to 'serve' them in other ways... my blood boiled, and I understood why Sam was holding me in front of them.
I could have seen it, could have said something, but even now I lacked the words, and I understood why Sam was ramming his gun into me from behind. Christ, I was going to have bruises all over my back for months! But he hadn't shot me yet, despite the fact I was useless after giving him the codes. Why?
[Sam]
I let my gun hang free and dialed Don Lorenzo while glancing down the lines of cages. "Santiago!" I yelled, "how many are we dealing with?"
The massive Crocodilian seemed to be locked in conversation with a lady, or maybe a mere girl, in one of the cages at the far end of this hell. But he did nod at me, signalling he'd heard what I said.
I plunged the fist holding my phone into the back of my hostage, as it rang.
One ring.
Two rings.
Three...
[Don Lorenzo]
They told me I'd narrowly escaped the Grim Reaper's clutches. They'd managed to extract the bullets and sew up my heart and lung. For the third time in my life, I was grateful I'd chosen a comprehensive medical insurance plan. And that I hadn't been shot in the head. Then my phone started going off.
I reached for it, but it was too far. That was when I made The Decision. I got out of my hospital bed, pulling out an IV, and pulling off a suite of monitoring equipment. The machines I'd been hooked up to started screaming, and I saw one of them flatlining me. But I managed to get my phone, and yelled "Isabella!" into it.
[Lorenzo], she said, [what do you need?]
"I need to get out of this bloody hospital!" I almost screamed. Then I dialed it back ...a bit. "I need the craft outside my window, and I'll make the jump!"
A nurse stormed into the room as I was opening the window. Probably because I'd flatlined according to their instruments. "You know how lucky you are to have that bed?" he asked.
"Yes," I told him levelly, "give it to someone who needs it more than I do. And patch up that IV spot!" I ordered, in tones that got him to actually swab and bandage my inner elbow.
"You are leaving against our medical advice," the nurse said, "so you will have to sign this for-"
I snatched the clipboard away from him and speed-read it. It was the standard "chucklehead here has left against against our medical advice and we aren't liable for any complications resulting from that" tripe, so I scrawled a signature on it, and saw Isabella outside my window, her landing ramp extended far enough the jump would be short. I resisted the urge to throw the clipboard in his face, and just handed it back to him civilly with a curt "that should do it. My insurance company and my team of accountants will settle the bill once you jokers manage to prepare it."
Then I made the leap of faith out the window.
And finally answered my phone. It was Sam on the other end.
"I thought you'd never pick up, Don," he said, "but we've got a situation here."
"A 'situation'?" I asked, clambering up the landing ramp.
"More like a clusterfuck," Sam continued, "there are thirty-six or maybe forty women down in this basement, maybe more - I can't tell, because these fuckers have been putting multiples in each cage. The cages at the front are for the bunnygirls working the casino floor, but the cages at the back..." I could sense the barely suppressed rage in his voice, "they've been getting it rough. Santiago's been trying to talk them down, but some of them saw him in that fucking suit and assumed he was a client, so that's not going as well as it could."
"Too many to handle in Isabella," I said, clawing my way into the captain's seat, "but I can have busses lined up in front of that building in - Isabella, how fast can we get a fleet of busses there?"
[Depending on how many favors you want to call in], Isabella said in those calming tones, [perhaps under ten minutes. You have made some generous donations to the bus drivers' union. Is this the time to make them play to your tune in return?]
"Yes," I told her, and then told Sam "break 'em out and we'll have busses lined up in front for everyone in ten minutes!"
"Don," Sam said, "I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but some of them are going to think they're just under new management."
"THOSE BUSSES WILL BE TAKING THEM TO MY PRIVATE ESTATE! WE WILL SHELTER THEM THERE UNTIL A BETTER OPTION ARISES!" I shouted through the phone loud enough anyone could hear hear it even if it wasn't on speakerphone. Wait, with the amount of background noise I'd been picking up... had Sam switched his end to speakerphone during this call?
That might have been a good decision, I thought, until I heard Sam talking about blowing the locks off the cages.
"NO," I yelled, "YOU IDIOT! THERE HAS TO BE A SUPERVISORS' ROOM WITH THE KEYS!"
...little did I know that I had inadvertently persuaded a lot of the women 'on the fence' that we were actually the good guys here. I was still on speakerphone, and Sam's idea of blowing the locks would have caused collateral casualties. And everyone knew it.
"Alright, boss," Sam said, "In ten minutes, everyone's going to be out and those busses better be lined up outside, because the atrium's a death trap if they have anyone on the upper levels with a hint of good aiming."
"Isabella can deal with that," I told him and cut the call. She was equipped with weapons designed for space combat. Mopping a floor or two in a building would be nothing - the real challenge would be not hitting anything structurally important.