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More from Flippedoutkyrii
What started off as a simple two page description turned into a 13 page short story because God has punished me for my hubris and my work is never finished
Buckle the fuck up, it's a long one!
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The van continued it’s perpetual journey of lurching left and right, well past it’s prime of dirt roads and spotty stretches of neglected highways being par the norm of the midnight Utah Expanse. How the driver could create such an uncomfortable journey even as it touched base on the highly maintained roadways of an incoming major city was anyone's guess. The occupants hunched over in the rear cargo hold, dressed in inconspicuous button-up shirts and loosely knotted ties, never bothering to interject on the drivers aggression behind the wheel of the decrepit 1986 GMC Vandura as they were mostly preoccupied with putting the final touches on their prime asset.
Their destination, Coyote Falls.
A city that had no right to exist anywhere else. What started out as a small reservation and trailer park hugging the pathetic basin of Sevier Lake became a city of over half a million Navajo by the dawn of 2020 thanks to one family in that decrepit ruin hitting wallstreet by storm. The largest concentration of first nations individuals in America, Coyote Falls became an icon of struggle, perseverance, pride and honor. It’s surrounding wasteland becoming a lush oasis as the lake filled it’s banks and the city flourished in it’s wake, it’s skyline rivaling those that took centuries to plan and build.
Caracal clenched a fist as her back zipper was firmly secured in place, the hired muscle diligently maintaining their professionalism as they checked, double checked and rechecked their assets gear and suit for any discrepancies while their handler looked on, his rounded glasses resting on his snout with indifferent observation. Caracal stamped her overknee boot into the flimsy floor paneling beneath her, the sole giving off a meek whisper of a dull thud. Just the way she liked it.
None of them were here for sightseeing, as very few outside the van wanted to admit Coyote Falls was but a Corporate Haven for FayFeather Horizons, the dominating armor and steel-plate Supplier the world over and defacto city counsel.
Not to mention Head Offices of their coffee shop chain “Fay and May”. Their food is above average but their Honey-Infused coffee selection is to DIE for!
“We done here?” One of the human thugs muttered dryly as he patted Caracal on the shoulder, who nonchalantly placed her hand on her .45 caliber USP firearm. The lack of a single wrinkle in his five o’ clock shadow gave Caracal the clear indication he wasn’t intimidated.
“As done as we can possibly be.” The Bobcat shrugged, his tired tone carrying the hint of sleep deprivation. Unlike the other hired muscle, his out of shape facade hid a white-collar devotion for his field of work. Pushing his glasses back against the bridge of his brow, their handler relaxed his shoulders as he leveled his gaze down on the only human in the van who could stand tall without hunching over. Digging a paw into his breast pocket, he produced a single envelope and handed it to Caracal, who plucked it out of his grasp and hastily ripped it open, revealing an elaborate bronze key. A one to one replica of the key to the CEO’s head office, right down to the engraved feather in the handle. Whoever they paid to copy such a piece must be planning for an early retirement in Cuba.“We gave you all we could provide, aside from that suit of yours. Your work carries a remarkable amount of praise from prior customers. Services you provided with utmost care regardless of the pay, we hope that ensures you will use your weapons with discretion.” Caracal cocked an eyebrow through her face mask, her eyes and fingertips the only skin now visible under her stealth suit. “You leave a mess, your pay will be deducted and we will cease communications after we part ways. You leave behind a trail of bodies, we will be complying with any law-enforcement agencies in tracking you down.” Caracal simply nodded in agreement.
“I wouldn’t get this far behaving like a two-bit psychopath, Viper.” Caracal amended, shifting her stance as the van slowed it’s unwieldy trajectory. “I get in. I find the documents. I get out.”
“Project Bleeding Sun.” Viper declared bluntly. “All of it’s on hand. Physical. If our Intel is right on the money with it still being a personal pet-project then it’ll never find it’s way onto a server bank, let alone a vault which does not exist on the original prototype blueprints we do have of the top floor.” The van slowed to a crawl before grinding to a sudden halt, indicating there were at the correct destination. “Look for the red imprinting-”
“-Secure folder. Exfiltrate. Meet back in the A-Team van for tea and debriefing.” Caracal finished Viper’s college seminar for him with a subtle smirk that pressed against her mask. Viper fought back a frown as he fumbled on the door latch, swinging it wide open to reveal a dimly lit alley serving as the gateway to FayFeather Horizons headquarters, a beacon of tranquil beauty comprised of thousands of tons of steel, concrete and glass. It’s artistically crafted frame loomed over the city and dwarfed buildings seventy stories high in it’s egotistical skyward drive into the clouds. Bracing against the dry Utah heat, Caracal stepped out of the van, her outfit standing out like a sore thumb on the city streets. Not for long, however.
“Maintain discipline!” Viper snarled, his feline ear flicking as it picked up the sound of a nearby insect. “We don’t hear from you in two hours, your contract will be terminated. You implicate Hulshult Holdings in anyway conceivable way, then-” Viper’s eyes went wide as the insect in question bounced off his glasses, sending him stumbling back into the van in terror. “-OH GOD IT’S A BEE, HELP, HELP ME YOU BIG LUGS THERE’S A BEE-” Viper winced as Caracals open palm slammed the bee into the door of the Vandura, crushing it into a fine paste under the might of her glove. Studying the mess with a mixture of curiosity and slight apprehension, the thief brought two fingers to her brow in a quick salute.
“Anything else, your majesty?” Caracal inquired with dull devotion. Regaining his composure, Viper readjusted his tie with an angst-ridden sigh.
“Just do what we are paying you to do.” Viper muttered, running a palm across his face to rebuild his shattered charisma, bringing his gaze back down on Caracal-
-Only to find no one there. Like that, she was gone.
~ ~ ~
Sleuthing was practically in her blood, and staying out of sight was second nature to Caracal, the lashings from her mother were a great teaching tool and deep reminder of the dangers of being caught. The suit did wonders shielding her heat signature from the ever-observant eye of passing infrared's and muffling her scent from the nose of the most prying Canine guard, their indispensable loyalty bought and their heart blinded to the plight of their brothers.
The thief slipped past the base defenses under the cover of night and their elaborate gardens, slithered into the main lobby serving as the hubris of their making and past spaced-out security brutes and the occasional night-worker desperately trying to find an operating coffee machine, their rocky anti-establishment college days now thoroughly out of touch. Leaping over motion detectors thanks to the warning system in her suit, shying from camera’s and practically dancing over ornate marble floors whose expense could have fed a whole soup kitchen for a year. Caracal squeezed through memorized airducts and climbed atop the elevator shaft, shifting from cabin to cabin all the way to the 95th floor, the penthouse offices and hivemind of FayFeather Horizons itself.
Caracal would have laughed if it wouldn’t have given away her position. Slipping into her suit was harder then prying her fingers through the bulwark of this facade of grandeur. Taking a deep breathe, the thief dropped out of the air ducts and into the dimly lit halls of the top floor, their lights at half-volume now that almost everyone has gone home to their loved ones.
Now, she was in no-mans land. The initial blueprints Hulshult Provided were possible concepts as the top floors were heavily guarded secrets. Caracal only knew that FayFeather’s CEO preferred accommodatingly huge doorways, massive side-pillars and ceilings decking the halls, forgoing the sterile maze of office-spaced America, but they most certainly couldn’t hide the stench of rampant capitalism. So too, gone were the intricate and prideful uniforms of FayFeathers armed guard’s, wearing their berets and badges with pride, now Caracal only caught glimpses of black turtlenecks, holstered pistols and tactical pants, all of Navajo descent and their purpose entirely blunt. Unlike the sporadic, sleepy guards she crept past, these Elite gals were brawny, commanding and always on alert. No doubt hand-picked for their inquisitive and professional nature.
No matter, Caracal gave them the slip like all the rest as she slithered into the CEO’s main office past multiple locked doors.
Picturesque gardens, ponds teaming with hungry Piranha leading into a spacious first-class reception area that branched into the top executive branch of FayFeather Horizons. Devoid of life and dimly lit, the secretary's desk composed of the most expensive wood finish that served as the entrance to the CEO’s private quarters with doors that belonged on a castle rather then an office building. Caracal drew the replica key crafted by Hulshult Holdings and quietly unlocked the latch and pressed her hand against the door, pausing briefly to grimace at the sight of the smeared fluids of the insect still visible on her glove. Confirming her fears of a skin puncture wrong for the third time tonight, she pressed her hand into the door and slowly creaked it open, revealing the luxuriously furnished office behind it, it’s owner much preferring the alluring scent of wood trimmings, beautifully hand-crafted quilts and texture of marble over visual stimuli. And above all, the entire room seemed hand-built to serve a Titan.
No camera’s, no vibrations in her suit giving away the tell-tale sign of a motion detector and no presence of an owner who most certainly wasn’t home tonight to relish in her blood-stained legacy.
Sleuthing as usual, Caracal made haste while her headphones picked up the sound of distant footsteps mimicking their usual patrols. Knowing all too well routines can change at the drop of a hat. she ransacked the desk as delicately as possible as she studied the contents.
Only to find most of it was in braille.
Caracal took a deep breathe, feeling her suit contract against a wave of stress-induced sweat attacking her brow. Hulshult Holding’s never mentioned the language the folder would be in, but in hindsight, the blind nature of the CEO should have been a dead give-away.
“Something of this importance should have been in two languages! Doesn’t she have an assistant!?” Caracal seethed, ripping through folder after folder until-
Red Print.
The folder in hand was practically painted with red dots across it’s facade. Compared to the dull and illegible nature of every other folder in the desk, this was like finding a diamond in a dump-truck of gravel. Caracal breathed a sigh of relief.
Time to get out of here.
Pressing the folder against her suit, Caracal pranced away from the desk no matter how quietly her boots muffled her footsteps. Breaching the offices and slipping into the hallways once more, the thief followed the Elite Guards usual routines past columns and elaborate potted plants, their noses failing to pick up her scent as she trailed them back to the elevator shaft until they rounded the bend. Now alone under the shadow of energy-saving measures, Caracal secured the folder in a strap in her holsters as she surveyed the dimly lit halls for any sight of movement and flicked her ears inside her noise-amplifying headphones for the sound of approaching guards before reaching for the vent, her muscles bracing for the climb like she has done thousands of times before.
Only to gasp when two mighty human arms wrapped around her Athletic shoulders, her nostrils attacked by the subtle scent of expensive shampoo and inviting cologne.
Scanning left and right, Caracals arms have been locked in place as two hands braced the back of her head. Hands free, they fumbled and flexed helplessly, unable to reach for her gun or her knife. Choking on words as her muscular abdomen heaved, Caracal lost her grip on the floor as she was hoisted up in the air. Boots kicking to no avail as her teeth gritted from the pressure that could have easily crushed her head like a melon if they wanted to, the thief knew this was it. She was caught.
But, no lashings came.
Caracal didn’t even know her warden was there. For someone so big, they were as sly as a fox and quiet as a mouse. She’d be complimenting the brute if she wasn’t being squeezed like a tube of toothpaste.
Caracal tensed up even tighter under the confines of her suit when she caught a glimpse of other guards rounding the corner. A few of them were the turtle-neck wearing elites, chaperoning several female armed guards rocking Pancor Jackhammers and wearing Beret’s, knee-high combat boots and trimmed ties tucked under chest plate armor. Their equally dressed leader, an imposing Crow, wore a peaked officers cap adorned with a feather and leveled a personalized Desert Eagle with a fluted muzzle brake at her side.
How long did they know Caracal was here? And why did they seem inclined to wait until the last minute to get the jump on her? Her questions would soon be ignored as their leader brought a hand to her comlink. It was best to listen, not interfere. Many thieves lost their tongues when they let them loose.
“Payload secured. Interloper in protective custody. Unharmed just as you requested, M’Lady.” The Crow methodically explained to the listener on the other line. “Disembark to main lobby for processing?” The Crow paused, awaiting a response. “Restaurant Lounge? Acknowledged.” The Crow leveled a hateful glare at Caracal, venom practically rusting on the cusp of her beak. “Bring her down to the 30th, clear the lounge, arrange for extraction tools, Don’t let her get comfortable.” And with that, Caracal was hoisted into the elevator, her gun teasingly out of reach the entire time. They didn’t even bother disarming her, but their mind-games wouldn’t break her, one mistake on their behalf was all she needed, or so the thief thought.
The armed guards stood idly by on the agonizingly slow descent down to the restaurant in question, a formal lounge for VIP’s, journalists and visiting officials that stood at the break-off point between the visitor center and the Research and Development hivemind of FayFeather Horizon’s. The new arrivals made quick work establishing a perimeter, the staff having long since gone home before taking up positions in the reception area as their Crow Captain joined the Turtle-Necked Elite, her heavy combat boots shaking the chandeliers above as she secured every corner of the spacious dining area and shut the doors behind them. None bothered looking Caracal in the eye, none even seemed to acknowledge her presence even as they wheeled in a gurney covered in a heavy cloth, most certainly hiding something for her to endure. Caracal would be hard-pressed to inquire if her captor even seemed to recognize she was holding onto anything at all.
It felt like eons had passed in that room. No small-talk outside of their paced breathing as Caracal’s muscles stretched under the might of her binds and pained exhales, her head in a perpetual headlock the entire time. Soon, the thief picked up the sound of exceptionally heavy dagger heels practically hammering the tiles underfoot. The owner of the office was back in her domain and judging from her pace, she was not happy in the slightest. Pushing open the doors with the might of an angry giant, the Titan revealed herself in all her glory.
The sight took what little remained Caracals breathe away. She never realized just how tall Nalin FayFeather truly was!
Standing at just about 10 feet in her grandiose 7-inch Thigh High boots, the Queen Bee swayed her tail as she pulled at the strap of one of her gloves adorning her 6 arms wrapped in an intricately designed red Business Blazer, gargantuan belt and tight fitting skirt. Flapping a wing that ruffled her mohawk, Nalin stared blankly down at Caracal, all five eyes as dull as the marble that almost cracked underheel. Blind as a bat but as smart as a whip, Nalin closed the gap between the door and Caracal with alarming haste thanks to her long legs, the Bee’s own Personal Assistant practically sprinting to keep up the pace. Prattling in her own pair of expensive over-knee Christian Louboutin platform boots, the Raccoon readjusted her professionally maintained hair with short gloves that matched her high reaching skirt, intricate belt and loose blouse topped with an inviting ascot and shining silver crucifix necklace.
Caracal refrained from uttering a word as the Queen studied her captured quarry with several twitch's of her antenna.
“A job well done once again, Shysie.” Nalin praised her diligent bodyguard with a playful smirk. Taking one of Caracal’s hands, Nalin ran her glove across the thiefs bare fingers. “No fingerprints? How coy. Must have been painful.” Tossing it aside, Nalin fiddled her fingers as she reached for the holstered folder with snide curiosity, brushing the name in question with a playful grin. Flicking the duplicate key out of Caracal’s bandolier with mild curiosity, she cocked her head as she rubbed a finger against the engraving. “A fine replica, at that! Lacks my indentations but most certainly from the same keymaster. I can only imagine how much it cost to weasel the design from their grasp.” She clicked her tongue. “And all to steal a book you cannot even read? Who would you be-?”
“Caracal!” The thief spat with venom, wincing as Nalin pressed her hands into her abdomen and massaged her hips, most certainly to assess her intruder’s frame and build due to her lack of sight. “That’s the only thought I will spare you!”
“Your name is not important, Caracal. And you can spare me more then that if you wish to live to see another day.” Nalin uttered with dull indifference. “Your life is worth nothing to me. What’s it worth to you? The name of your employer by any chance?” Nalin tapped a curious finger to her chin, pondering the factions at play as her spare hands studied their captive audience, even patting the thief's gun with aggravating wit. “Who could you be working for? Not the Mormons in Salt Lake, they wouldn’t send a minority they could visibly identify, let alone a woman… Not the feds, I’ve had them in my pocket since the nineties…” Nalin turned her back as she paced away in deep thought, her tail in kicking distance. Caracal fought diligently to maintain discipline despite the invitation. “Homegrown or foreign? One of hundreds of newly christened Chinese billionaires have been hustling in through the Pacific-” The thief couldn’t resist any further, swinging her boot at the tail, Caracal struggled to snarl as disgusting of a slur she could utter-
-Only to choke as her kick was slapped down by the stinger. Unsheathed in an instant, it dug into the treading and skin of the muffling hide like a blade and slammed the offending foot ankle-first into the nearby table. Jolting from the pain, Caracal surveyed the damage with a wandering eye, counting her blesses as she identified the boot was unpunctured but quickly recoiled at the visible sight of a dent in her ankle and the painful throb of a nasty fracture.
She doubted she could even limp her way out of this one. Knowing that Nalin’s stinger was a weapon at her disposal sent shivers up her spine. The federal government kept serious tabs on known upright insects and reptiles that could administrator toxins and venom's. There was no way Nalin could get away with using her stinger considering how difficult it would be to hide the venom in a fresh corpse, could she?
“Oh… definitely Homegrown...” Nalin bemused, her blind eye winking at the thief. Mirth quickly vanishing, the Bee slapped the folder into the open palm of her astute Assistant as she turned on her heel to face her captive. “You storm into my city, driving like an absolute MANIAC through our streets, slither up my building and defile my office with your presence. This isn’t just a transgression against me, it is a slap in the face of my people!” Nalin spit in the thieves face, the saliva striking Caracal on the chin. “Do you have any idea how hard the Navajo struggled to climb out of that cesspit of a swamp, only for parasites like you to throttle our accomplishments out of our grasp?”
“Oh FUCK off!” Caracal snapped, her patience having long since run dry. Her whole climb has been a linear show of pure unchecked decadence, and she was absolutely sick and tired of Nalin’s shrewd disposition. “What do you know about struggle, you corpo BITCH!?” Caracal snapped back, leveling her own glare back at Nalin with her own fiery temper. “You’ve been living it easy for decades, serving your select few on a silver spoon while the rest of us scrapped by! This whole city was built on the backs of those you kicked over and every damn mouth-breather in this country is lapping up your bullshit without a second thought!” Caracal chewed at her face mask as Shysie tightened her grip her the thief’s head, if she was going to clock out, she wanted to make sure she pissed off her host before taking the express ticket all the way to the ground floor. “I wasn’t granted a family that could hoist me to high heaven, I made my calling prying treasures from the fingers of brain-dead aristocrats like you for any fee that served a just cause! It’s all worth it to pull those off the soil you toiled!”
“And how many have I pulled up with ME? How many can now consider this country their home when they have been denied one for almost two centuries?” Nalin inquired with seething contempt, fists clenched in ever-growing rage. “What have you accomplished in your short, expendable life? How many ladders have you pulled up behind you in your own selfish drive for short-term gains? There’s no way you didn’t tread over the less-fortunate to get where you are in your field of work, I don’t buy that for a second! You’re no better then the Wolves of Wall Street I pummeled at their own game! The Navajo would be living a meager existence on the coat-tails of this wasteland of a state without ME, without FAYFEATHER Horizons!” Nalin Huffed, jabbing two fingers into Caracals chest that may as well have been the uppercut of a middle-weight boxer. “So yes, I am a corporate bitch, because there was no other way. There is no honor in permanent squalor, holding onto the last threads of our legacy while we desperately braved the coyotes scratching at our door you conniving little CUNT.”
Caracal would have spit right back if her mask wasn’t between the two of them. “You spent a lot of time convincing yourself of your own doctrine, huh? It ain’t gonna work on me. What do you want now?”
“As I said, the name of your employer.”
“No dice. What’s your second offer?”
“You talk, or what remains of you will be poured out of a coffee can down the nearest storm drain. Not after we have our share, however.”
The Thief shrugged as Nalin turned away, hands at her hips and tapping her chin. The Queen Bee’s diligent Crow Captain finally pulled the cloth off the nearby gurney, revealing assorted power tools, a set of car-batteries and matching wired clamps. Nalin’s assistant cupped her hands together, swallowing hard as she side-stepped away from the table of horrors. Caracal simply huffed in response, the display almost conservative compared to what the Cartel she bested had in stock in her prior adventures. “Do your worst!” She growled, bracing for the inevitable.
Only for her eyes to grow wide, barely sparing the time to gasp as her suit split wide and arctic air rushed inside. Nalin’s stinger had struck again, faster then Caracal could even blink. It cut her suit from groin to breast, revealing her athletic underwear. Sweat practically poured down the thief's face as she breathed deeply, the stinger now directly under her chin. Tilting her head left and right, Caracal studied the incision with despairing apprehension in her eyes. Her abdomen was perfectly intact, her skin devoid of any itching and inflammation. Gasping for air, the thief's anxiety tempered the moment she realized she slid by the skin of her teeth and spared a happy smirk knowing she escaped danger.
Shysie was scanning Caracal’s abdomen as well, locking eyes, the thief’s eyes went wider when she noticed her captor suppress a giggle. Nalin’s personal assistant noticed as well, who held a gloved hand to her mouth in worry. In fact, everyone had. A Coyote wearing deep scars on her face whispered into Nalin’s ear, who flicked her antenna in response.
“Pray tell...” Nalin inquired, pausing to peer back at Caracal as the Crow pulled the cloth back over the intended torture devices. “Are you by any chance… allergic to me?”
Caracal’s pupils shrunk to pinpricks, her breathing as rapid as her increasing heart beat. “You… you wouldn’t dare… with how difficult it would be to hide venom in a body-!” She choked on her own words, mulling over how Nalin was going to dispose of her.
Down a drain.
There wouldn’t be a body to find. Not even a shred of her suit.
The thief was prepared to suffer and die for the right cause, a bullet to the head and a painless way out as her body served as a memorial for her quest was all she could ask for. But this? A bee sting nearly killed her when she was young, another sent her to the hospital and despairing poverty in her teens, sowing the seeds of hatred in her once caring mother that never recovered. A stinger the size of a needle tip was all it took to condemn Caracal to years of abuse and seething contempt for a system that abandoned her.
But this stinger was the size of a Bowie Knife. Ready to plunge through her body without a moments hesitation. There was no quick way out of this one, Caracal would writhe for hours, scream until her lungs gave out, convulse her locked and swollen limbs and croak in a puddle of her own fluids.
Nothing was worth enduring that. No matter the cause.
Nalin stifled her own laughter as a devious smirk crossed her face, knowing full well the power of the new playing card she had at her disposal
“Five minutes.” Nalin announced, her smirk disappearing in an instant as she readjusted her gloves. “Five minutes is all I will spare. Then I will begin.”
“Ms. Nalin, please!” Her assistant squeaked, her voice trembling with horror. “There-there is no need for this! We-we can find another way, the police found their van-!”
“Who is your employer?” Nalin inquired, ignoring her assistant, only placing a hand on her shoulder to quell her trembling. Caracal croaked out a hollow gasp of despair as the stinger trailed from her chin down to her exposed skin, hovering inches over her heaving chest. All it would take is one sharp touch for her suffering to begin. “I don’t have to remind you this won’t affect me in the slightest. Contrary to our humble brethren, us upright Bee’s possess far more resilient stingers that could easily rip through the hides of the strongest of mammals. Our poison is also FAR more potent, having been harvested by native warriors and archers to fight European aggressors for centuries. And Yes, my sweet, it WILL hurt long after the incision. After an hour, you will be begging me to plunge this spear straight through your head...”
“Four minutes...” Shysie stated bluntly to the room as the Raccoon attempted to turn away from the scene, only to be forced to watch by the Crow Captain who stopped the assistant in her tracks.
“You’re employer. Name them.” Nalin continued, her readjustment of her gloves now finished. “I can assure you they would not hold the same level of loyalty for you if they are in this position-”
“I’m-I’m expendable!” Caracal stammered, choking back tears as the stinger continued it’s descent. “Ju-just an asset! Nothing more! You-you already know this! I-I wouldn’t be able to give you anything else then their name-!”
“That’s just it, I don’t know their name, Caracal.” Nalin corrected the thief with astute malice. “They fled the scene shortly after you crawled into my elevator shaft. Their van was stolen this morning in a nearby town and for the time being, their identities are lost to us. You can spare us the trouble if you just give us the name of their company.”
“Three minutes...” Shysie cooed, taking great joy in watching Caracal tremble from the sight of venom drip from Nalin’s stinger and fall to the floor with frightening precision.
“They are long gone, Caracal. They assume you dead. You can still save yourself if you just give us a name!” Nalin spat as the Raccoon tugged at the Crows uniform to no effect, watching in pained horror as the stinger ran down the thief’s heaving abdomen. Her breathing now rapidly out of control, Caracal fought desperately against her restraints, kicking and flailing to no avail as her muscles stretched to their limits. Straining with all her might, Caracal’s finger tapped the hammer of her holstered USP. That slight reprieve of hope faltered the moment Shysie effortlessly raised Caracal’s arm up without so much as breathing hard.
There was no escape. It was a long, painful death… or breaking… Either option was unthinkable to Caracal.
“Two minutes…” Shysie growled into Caracals ear, the thief’s headphones doing wonders in picking up every shred of disgust the Navajo woman held for her captive quarry. The thief couldn’t hold back her hopeless despair any further, croaking out tears as pain wracked her body in it’s drive to escape her bonds.
“Name...” Nalin repeated once more, the Raccoon’s eyes locking with the thief, who shook her head in disbelief, practically begging Caracal to cave. “Your time is running out and my patience is wearing thin.” Caracal blinked through the sweat pouring down from her brow, studying the horror of Nalin’s personal assistant in great detail. The Raccoon gripped her crucifix necklace tight, her body trembling in despair for the thief’s safety. She would have scoffed at such a sight prior to tonight, but the Raccoon was the only friend she had.
And most certainly the last.
“One minute…” Shysie whispered, her menacing grin sharp enough to serrate the strongest of iron.
“Please! Just say something!” The Raccoon whimpered, embracing her necklace in an iron grip as the stinger stopped firmly in front of the thief’s belly button, inching closer and closer to her bare skin. “Anything!”
“ZOEY!!” Caracal screamed, choking on tears that ran down her cheeks. Gasping for air, the thief desperately battled an overwhelming panic attack as the stinger retreated an inch in surprise. Nalin finally peered over her shoulder, an eyebrow cocked in confusion.
“Who?” The Queen Bee inquired much to the shared surprise of her Elite Guard.
“My… name is... Zoey...” Caracal heaved, taking in deep gulps of air as the stinger retreated further and further away. “Zoey Paredes...” the thief blinked rapidly as she shook her head in Shysies iron grip to clear away any residue with little effect. Gulping down one more time, she breathed an elated sigh of relief as the Stinger retracted back into it’s home, where it would hopefully stay for good. The Raccoon kissed her Crucafix, exultant as much as the thief at the withheld bloodshed. “You asked… you inquired my name earlier… it’s-it’s Zoey...”
Nalin turned on her heel to face the thief once known as Caracal with resumed interest, her face aglow with curiosity as she nibbled on one of her gloved fingers.. “Well… that’s a proper start! With the right persuasion, anyone can crack! Those who don’t? Well, I guess they never knew anything to begin with.” Clapping her 6 hands together, Nalin took a deep breath. “Now… your name is one thing, but the name of you employer is another. What will it take to share their-”
“Hulshut Holdings.” Zoey sighed, her wits at the finish line with resigned anguish. “Just… just keep that stinger away from me… please...”
Nalin took in the information with subtle surprise, the name most certainly making several laps through her synapses before ending in the Queen Bee giving out a quick laugh. “Hulshult Holdings? Those were the CHUMPS you were willing to die for? Hulshult Holdings? Do you have any IDEA how many rights they have violated? How many people in South America they rolled over to get just a five percent share increase in their third quarter last year?” Nalin let out a bellowing laugh, which was shared by her attentive staff. “HULSHULT HOLDINGS!!”
“The enemy of my enemy was my friend...” Zoey croaked, her suit painfully digging into her skin at every wrinkle and hitch. “Anything to take down a bigger fish...”
“Oh please, You will find little comradery in that sentiment around these parts.” Nalin bluntly admitted as Shysie painfully twisted a whimpering Zoey’s arm in response, only to stop when the Queen Bee objected with the wag of a single disapproving finger. “The Navajo take care of each other in Coyote Falls, especially on my behalf. Anything to ruffle the feathers of the white man. Or at least those we KNOW for certain are!” Finishing with a wink and the click of her long tongue, Nalin took a sharp step forward, her dagger heels striking the tiles like hammers. “Relinquish her gun and knife, sit her down-” The Coyote quickly ripped off Zoey’s holsters as Shysie firmly planted the thief hard onto the tiles, her ankle painfully bending to the left. To the lack of anyone’s surprise, Zoey cried out sharply to Nalin’s great offense. “-I said SIT her DOWN, Shysie! JESUS!” Regaining her composure, Nalin pressed a finger into her brow, pondering her next move. “Bring Zoey into the lounge. Proceed to phase two.”
Once again, Zoey’s boots skidded off the floor, her vision blurring as a head rush rocked her to her core. Nearly fainting from the stress and pain, the thief blinked several times as her mask was carefully pulled off her head and her buzzed scalp was assaulted by a rush of cold air. Multiple pairs of strong hands slid her aching body into the spacious lounge in the corner of the restaurant that overlooked the downtown district with bay windows that would have felt too large even for a cruise ship. Zoey regained her senses after she realized just how careful they were being with her. Planted down onto a comfy sofa that cost as much as a new sports car, the thief used the newly regained movement in her arms to pull at the shredded remains of her stealth suit to cover her underwear. Blinking away once more, Zoey cocked an eyebrow at Shysie, the burly Navajo woman who moments before was taking immense joy in her suffering, was carefully placing her broken ankle on a comfy pillow propped up on a spacious footstool and pressed an ice pack onto the fracture, the elating rush of relief instantly pierced her boot and painful swelling, rightfully giving the Thief a brief slice of heaven.
“Wha-what are you doing?” Zoey inquired, her aching muscles too tired to fight back any further as her mind desperately rationalized every possible method of escape. So focused was she, Zoey only just heard the sound of clicking heels approach, far less thunderous then their sisters. Turning to the only friend in the room, the thief blinked at the sight of the Raccoon offering a large glass of iced water and a larger bottle of honey-enthused Bourbon. Filled with reinvigorated desperation, Zoey hastily plucked the iced water out of the assistants hands and splashed it’s contents into her face as she gulped down the finest icy reserve. Tap water, but it went down like gold, she didn’t even realize she swallowed a whole ice cube.
“Oh please, make yourself at home.” Nalin suggested with the slightest hint of sarcasm, no doubt observing with her antenna as she sat in a sprawling chair with a fitting hole for her stinger.
“What do you want with me...” Zoey gulped, hugging the newly acquired bottle of bourbon against her chest, it’s icy broadside practically cooling her down to room temperature. So inviting was it’s cold nature, she decided it wasn’t worth using as a weapon in her escape. “I thought all you wanted was a name.” Nalin simply raised her gestured hand in a welcoming manner.
“Welcome to FayFeather Horizons! Or rather, thank you for intruding, that is!” Nalin laughed, clapping her hands to Zoey’s complete bewilderment. “Your job starts now! Do get comfortable for the time being as we sort out your employment files and benefits. No need for a resume, your appearance in my office is more then enough!” Zoey sunk back into the sofa as the Raccoon patted her shoulder in a reassuring manner, the thief had trouble thinking straight. All this pain, threat of torture and death and now, a job offer? “Hulshult Holdings is fair game, we can buy them outright tomorrow and crush all their assets in one of my many iron grips and it could easily be written off as a mathematical error in our daily earnings. The real problem would be new honcho’s muscling in through Wall Street. Same shit, different day. Except THEY think they can get us differently. Again, same shit, different day. Milken, Ebbers, Belfort, Madoff, Rajaratnam… is that his name? Eh, no matter. And what these new honcho’s don’t have is OUR security.” Nalin jabbed a reassuring finger at Zoey with prideful mirth. “Something you so easily bested!”
“And yet, you haven’t told me how you caught me to begin with.” Zoey inquired, gulping down the last of her water and begging for more. The bottle of bourbon seemed more inviting by the second...
“Not important!” Nalin shrugged, brushing off Zoey’s question before giving it deeper thought with a finger on her bottom lip, pondering the thief’s inquisitive nature. “Actually… you are quite right! Well, about our security measures that is… despite my crew calculating and observing your presence, Shysie is to blame for your eventual folly and without her, Oh, I’d have MANY questions! Starting now! I’d very much like to clear up any discrepancies in our current loopholes that you so easily used to your advantage… of course, we can only properly begin once you give us your go ahead...” Nalin paused, waiting for a response.
One which left them in awkward silence.
“This is the part where you agree...”
“To what?” Zoey asked bluntly, gripping the bottle with indecisive vigor. “Is this a Non-Disclosure Agreement? Shouldn’t you spell that out to me first?”
“Correct! And I believe you heard enough in the A-Team van, just rewind it in your head and say yes!”
“I’m paid. Doesn’t matter what, and for a good cause, those are all I need.”
“I’ll give you ten times what Hulshult Holdings took to acquire your methods, and you don’t need me to assure you the Wolves on Wall Street get what they deserve!”
“It wasn’t much, that I can share, and you aren’t wrong-”
Nalin Clapped her hands in response. “Then I got you for a bargain!” Gesturing with 3 hands on the left side of her body, Nalin used a fourth to pluck a recently mixed Algonquin Cocktail out of the hands of her Crow Captain and raised it high. “Everything you need in your field of work will be provided, a safehouse can be procured by the morning, any method of transportation can be acquired for the right paperwork, anything exemplar will come out of your pay, all messes will be deducted buuut if they were particularly awful people I can let it slide to a reasonable degree. We can’t have you killing any CEO’s or Mercenary Crews unless we pay you too but anything in their office safes can be considered hazard pay…”
“I’m not a mass murderer, Nalin. I’m a thief-”
“And what else are you?”
That question lingered longer in Zoey’s domain longer then it should have. This was the best job opportunity the thief could have ever dreamed of. Childlike fantasies of tearing down the corrupt with unlimited funding, having all her gear supplied at the whistle and ring of a bell, delivered by the bloodied hands of Corporate Mercenaries, Federal Agents and Hardened Muscle. It went against everything she held dear in her young, troubled life. Nalin’s observation of her prior escapades proved she wasn’t fooling anyone in her pursuit of justice. It drove her blind like so many before. Hulshult Holdings was a second-rate goon-squad, indifferent to the world and desiring only the riches of the monument that towered over them. It would be their end.
And how many Employers did Zoey turn a blind eye to in her field of work? Just how many people had she toiled with? How many lives ruined? To prove a wrong to an indifferent audience? Was it even remotely right?
In a way, it was. The world was cruel but Caracal didn’t need to be in return. Everything she did mattered a hell of a lot more to Zoey then the wandering eyes of a public that didn’t even know the two existed. Every exposed nerve, every con she foiled, every right she stood for, it all hailed from one word…
Zoey uncapped the Bourbon and took a long, ardent gulp. The notes of honey were overwhelming, going down like butter and offered a delightfully sweet finish. Raising it high, the thief offered a mutual smirk.
“I’m an asset.” Zoey declared, slamming the bottle down on a nearby coaster with a chuckle. “And I can be yours for any price and the right cause!” Nalin smiled back, taking a long sip from her cocktail in return.
“And so it is done! Welcome, to FayFeather Horizons!” Nalin stood up, gesturing with all six hands to the room at large as the Captain and the Elite Guards all clapped in tight unison. “I do hope this is the beginning of a long, exhilerating career in our humble family!”
“Your family usually put their siblings in head locks? Eh, an improvement over my own.” Zoey took another sip, her cheeks flushing from the rush of alcohol. “But first, New Suit. Get on it.” Zoey playfully spat, folding her arms with a haughty pout.
“In due time.”
“So this security loophole… where to start? The vents, the lackadaisical motion sensors? The blind spots? The fact the whole elevator shaft was as water-tight as a cheese grater?”
“I’ll let you start from worst to best. We’re all ears.” Nalin snapped a finger or two with a loud crack. Quite the feat for someone wearing gloves. “Oh! And you must tell Shysie just WHERE you got those boots of yours!” Nalin brought a hand to her chin, doing little to suppress her giggle as her antenna jiggled in a frenzy. “Oh I can TELL you are blushing, Shysie! But, you’ve been begging to ask all night! Let’s hope they come in your size!”
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Whew! I had way more fun writing then I could have imagined, brings me back to my fanfiction days in the late 00's! Of course this time around it isn't cringe!
It was fun showing off Nalin's more intimidating and cunning side, as you don't get to where you are without cracking a few heads! Will Caracal/Zoey appear again? Maybe. She started off as a simple goon getting captured by Nalin's attentive bodyguards so it was fun fleshing out her character to be more 3-dimensional.
Art was done by the fantastic MoeAlmighty on DA! Who delivered a comic-quality commission for an incredible price at the time! - https://www.deviantart.com/moealmighty
Suit design is courtesy of TangledSyntax also of DA, who sadly hasn't been active lately - https://www.deviantart.com/tangledsyntax
Buckle the fuck up, it's a long one!
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The van continued it’s perpetual journey of lurching left and right, well past it’s prime of dirt roads and spotty stretches of neglected highways being par the norm of the midnight Utah Expanse. How the driver could create such an uncomfortable journey even as it touched base on the highly maintained roadways of an incoming major city was anyone's guess. The occupants hunched over in the rear cargo hold, dressed in inconspicuous button-up shirts and loosely knotted ties, never bothering to interject on the drivers aggression behind the wheel of the decrepit 1986 GMC Vandura as they were mostly preoccupied with putting the final touches on their prime asset.
Their destination, Coyote Falls.
A city that had no right to exist anywhere else. What started out as a small reservation and trailer park hugging the pathetic basin of Sevier Lake became a city of over half a million Navajo by the dawn of 2020 thanks to one family in that decrepit ruin hitting wallstreet by storm. The largest concentration of first nations individuals in America, Coyote Falls became an icon of struggle, perseverance, pride and honor. It’s surrounding wasteland becoming a lush oasis as the lake filled it’s banks and the city flourished in it’s wake, it’s skyline rivaling those that took centuries to plan and build.
Caracal clenched a fist as her back zipper was firmly secured in place, the hired muscle diligently maintaining their professionalism as they checked, double checked and rechecked their assets gear and suit for any discrepancies while their handler looked on, his rounded glasses resting on his snout with indifferent observation. Caracal stamped her overknee boot into the flimsy floor paneling beneath her, the sole giving off a meek whisper of a dull thud. Just the way she liked it.
None of them were here for sightseeing, as very few outside the van wanted to admit Coyote Falls was but a Corporate Haven for FayFeather Horizons, the dominating armor and steel-plate Supplier the world over and defacto city counsel.
Not to mention Head Offices of their coffee shop chain “Fay and May”. Their food is above average but their Honey-Infused coffee selection is to DIE for!
“We done here?” One of the human thugs muttered dryly as he patted Caracal on the shoulder, who nonchalantly placed her hand on her .45 caliber USP firearm. The lack of a single wrinkle in his five o’ clock shadow gave Caracal the clear indication he wasn’t intimidated.
“As done as we can possibly be.” The Bobcat shrugged, his tired tone carrying the hint of sleep deprivation. Unlike the other hired muscle, his out of shape facade hid a white-collar devotion for his field of work. Pushing his glasses back against the bridge of his brow, their handler relaxed his shoulders as he leveled his gaze down on the only human in the van who could stand tall without hunching over. Digging a paw into his breast pocket, he produced a single envelope and handed it to Caracal, who plucked it out of his grasp and hastily ripped it open, revealing an elaborate bronze key. A one to one replica of the key to the CEO’s head office, right down to the engraved feather in the handle. Whoever they paid to copy such a piece must be planning for an early retirement in Cuba.“We gave you all we could provide, aside from that suit of yours. Your work carries a remarkable amount of praise from prior customers. Services you provided with utmost care regardless of the pay, we hope that ensures you will use your weapons with discretion.” Caracal cocked an eyebrow through her face mask, her eyes and fingertips the only skin now visible under her stealth suit. “You leave a mess, your pay will be deducted and we will cease communications after we part ways. You leave behind a trail of bodies, we will be complying with any law-enforcement agencies in tracking you down.” Caracal simply nodded in agreement.
“I wouldn’t get this far behaving like a two-bit psychopath, Viper.” Caracal amended, shifting her stance as the van slowed it’s unwieldy trajectory. “I get in. I find the documents. I get out.”
“Project Bleeding Sun.” Viper declared bluntly. “All of it’s on hand. Physical. If our Intel is right on the money with it still being a personal pet-project then it’ll never find it’s way onto a server bank, let alone a vault which does not exist on the original prototype blueprints we do have of the top floor.” The van slowed to a crawl before grinding to a sudden halt, indicating there were at the correct destination. “Look for the red imprinting-”
“-Secure folder. Exfiltrate. Meet back in the A-Team van for tea and debriefing.” Caracal finished Viper’s college seminar for him with a subtle smirk that pressed against her mask. Viper fought back a frown as he fumbled on the door latch, swinging it wide open to reveal a dimly lit alley serving as the gateway to FayFeather Horizons headquarters, a beacon of tranquil beauty comprised of thousands of tons of steel, concrete and glass. It’s artistically crafted frame loomed over the city and dwarfed buildings seventy stories high in it’s egotistical skyward drive into the clouds. Bracing against the dry Utah heat, Caracal stepped out of the van, her outfit standing out like a sore thumb on the city streets. Not for long, however.
“Maintain discipline!” Viper snarled, his feline ear flicking as it picked up the sound of a nearby insect. “We don’t hear from you in two hours, your contract will be terminated. You implicate Hulshult Holdings in anyway conceivable way, then-” Viper’s eyes went wide as the insect in question bounced off his glasses, sending him stumbling back into the van in terror. “-OH GOD IT’S A BEE, HELP, HELP ME YOU BIG LUGS THERE’S A BEE-” Viper winced as Caracals open palm slammed the bee into the door of the Vandura, crushing it into a fine paste under the might of her glove. Studying the mess with a mixture of curiosity and slight apprehension, the thief brought two fingers to her brow in a quick salute.
“Anything else, your majesty?” Caracal inquired with dull devotion. Regaining his composure, Viper readjusted his tie with an angst-ridden sigh.
“Just do what we are paying you to do.” Viper muttered, running a palm across his face to rebuild his shattered charisma, bringing his gaze back down on Caracal-
-Only to find no one there. Like that, she was gone.
~ ~ ~
Sleuthing was practically in her blood, and staying out of sight was second nature to Caracal, the lashings from her mother were a great teaching tool and deep reminder of the dangers of being caught. The suit did wonders shielding her heat signature from the ever-observant eye of passing infrared's and muffling her scent from the nose of the most prying Canine guard, their indispensable loyalty bought and their heart blinded to the plight of their brothers.
The thief slipped past the base defenses under the cover of night and their elaborate gardens, slithered into the main lobby serving as the hubris of their making and past spaced-out security brutes and the occasional night-worker desperately trying to find an operating coffee machine, their rocky anti-establishment college days now thoroughly out of touch. Leaping over motion detectors thanks to the warning system in her suit, shying from camera’s and practically dancing over ornate marble floors whose expense could have fed a whole soup kitchen for a year. Caracal squeezed through memorized airducts and climbed atop the elevator shaft, shifting from cabin to cabin all the way to the 95th floor, the penthouse offices and hivemind of FayFeather Horizons itself.
Caracal would have laughed if it wouldn’t have given away her position. Slipping into her suit was harder then prying her fingers through the bulwark of this facade of grandeur. Taking a deep breathe, the thief dropped out of the air ducts and into the dimly lit halls of the top floor, their lights at half-volume now that almost everyone has gone home to their loved ones.
Now, she was in no-mans land. The initial blueprints Hulshult Provided were possible concepts as the top floors were heavily guarded secrets. Caracal only knew that FayFeather’s CEO preferred accommodatingly huge doorways, massive side-pillars and ceilings decking the halls, forgoing the sterile maze of office-spaced America, but they most certainly couldn’t hide the stench of rampant capitalism. So too, gone were the intricate and prideful uniforms of FayFeathers armed guard’s, wearing their berets and badges with pride, now Caracal only caught glimpses of black turtlenecks, holstered pistols and tactical pants, all of Navajo descent and their purpose entirely blunt. Unlike the sporadic, sleepy guards she crept past, these Elite gals were brawny, commanding and always on alert. No doubt hand-picked for their inquisitive and professional nature.
No matter, Caracal gave them the slip like all the rest as she slithered into the CEO’s main office past multiple locked doors.
Picturesque gardens, ponds teaming with hungry Piranha leading into a spacious first-class reception area that branched into the top executive branch of FayFeather Horizons. Devoid of life and dimly lit, the secretary's desk composed of the most expensive wood finish that served as the entrance to the CEO’s private quarters with doors that belonged on a castle rather then an office building. Caracal drew the replica key crafted by Hulshult Holdings and quietly unlocked the latch and pressed her hand against the door, pausing briefly to grimace at the sight of the smeared fluids of the insect still visible on her glove. Confirming her fears of a skin puncture wrong for the third time tonight, she pressed her hand into the door and slowly creaked it open, revealing the luxuriously furnished office behind it, it’s owner much preferring the alluring scent of wood trimmings, beautifully hand-crafted quilts and texture of marble over visual stimuli. And above all, the entire room seemed hand-built to serve a Titan.
No camera’s, no vibrations in her suit giving away the tell-tale sign of a motion detector and no presence of an owner who most certainly wasn’t home tonight to relish in her blood-stained legacy.
Sleuthing as usual, Caracal made haste while her headphones picked up the sound of distant footsteps mimicking their usual patrols. Knowing all too well routines can change at the drop of a hat. she ransacked the desk as delicately as possible as she studied the contents.
Only to find most of it was in braille.
Caracal took a deep breathe, feeling her suit contract against a wave of stress-induced sweat attacking her brow. Hulshult Holding’s never mentioned the language the folder would be in, but in hindsight, the blind nature of the CEO should have been a dead give-away.
“Something of this importance should have been in two languages! Doesn’t she have an assistant!?” Caracal seethed, ripping through folder after folder until-
Red Print.
The folder in hand was practically painted with red dots across it’s facade. Compared to the dull and illegible nature of every other folder in the desk, this was like finding a diamond in a dump-truck of gravel. Caracal breathed a sigh of relief.
Time to get out of here.
Pressing the folder against her suit, Caracal pranced away from the desk no matter how quietly her boots muffled her footsteps. Breaching the offices and slipping into the hallways once more, the thief followed the Elite Guards usual routines past columns and elaborate potted plants, their noses failing to pick up her scent as she trailed them back to the elevator shaft until they rounded the bend. Now alone under the shadow of energy-saving measures, Caracal secured the folder in a strap in her holsters as she surveyed the dimly lit halls for any sight of movement and flicked her ears inside her noise-amplifying headphones for the sound of approaching guards before reaching for the vent, her muscles bracing for the climb like she has done thousands of times before.
Only to gasp when two mighty human arms wrapped around her Athletic shoulders, her nostrils attacked by the subtle scent of expensive shampoo and inviting cologne.
Scanning left and right, Caracals arms have been locked in place as two hands braced the back of her head. Hands free, they fumbled and flexed helplessly, unable to reach for her gun or her knife. Choking on words as her muscular abdomen heaved, Caracal lost her grip on the floor as she was hoisted up in the air. Boots kicking to no avail as her teeth gritted from the pressure that could have easily crushed her head like a melon if they wanted to, the thief knew this was it. She was caught.
But, no lashings came.
Caracal didn’t even know her warden was there. For someone so big, they were as sly as a fox and quiet as a mouse. She’d be complimenting the brute if she wasn’t being squeezed like a tube of toothpaste.
Caracal tensed up even tighter under the confines of her suit when she caught a glimpse of other guards rounding the corner. A few of them were the turtle-neck wearing elites, chaperoning several female armed guards rocking Pancor Jackhammers and wearing Beret’s, knee-high combat boots and trimmed ties tucked under chest plate armor. Their equally dressed leader, an imposing Crow, wore a peaked officers cap adorned with a feather and leveled a personalized Desert Eagle with a fluted muzzle brake at her side.
How long did they know Caracal was here? And why did they seem inclined to wait until the last minute to get the jump on her? Her questions would soon be ignored as their leader brought a hand to her comlink. It was best to listen, not interfere. Many thieves lost their tongues when they let them loose.
“Payload secured. Interloper in protective custody. Unharmed just as you requested, M’Lady.” The Crow methodically explained to the listener on the other line. “Disembark to main lobby for processing?” The Crow paused, awaiting a response. “Restaurant Lounge? Acknowledged.” The Crow leveled a hateful glare at Caracal, venom practically rusting on the cusp of her beak. “Bring her down to the 30th, clear the lounge, arrange for extraction tools, Don’t let her get comfortable.” And with that, Caracal was hoisted into the elevator, her gun teasingly out of reach the entire time. They didn’t even bother disarming her, but their mind-games wouldn’t break her, one mistake on their behalf was all she needed, or so the thief thought.
The armed guards stood idly by on the agonizingly slow descent down to the restaurant in question, a formal lounge for VIP’s, journalists and visiting officials that stood at the break-off point between the visitor center and the Research and Development hivemind of FayFeather Horizon’s. The new arrivals made quick work establishing a perimeter, the staff having long since gone home before taking up positions in the reception area as their Crow Captain joined the Turtle-Necked Elite, her heavy combat boots shaking the chandeliers above as she secured every corner of the spacious dining area and shut the doors behind them. None bothered looking Caracal in the eye, none even seemed to acknowledge her presence even as they wheeled in a gurney covered in a heavy cloth, most certainly hiding something for her to endure. Caracal would be hard-pressed to inquire if her captor even seemed to recognize she was holding onto anything at all.
It felt like eons had passed in that room. No small-talk outside of their paced breathing as Caracal’s muscles stretched under the might of her binds and pained exhales, her head in a perpetual headlock the entire time. Soon, the thief picked up the sound of exceptionally heavy dagger heels practically hammering the tiles underfoot. The owner of the office was back in her domain and judging from her pace, she was not happy in the slightest. Pushing open the doors with the might of an angry giant, the Titan revealed herself in all her glory.
The sight took what little remained Caracals breathe away. She never realized just how tall Nalin FayFeather truly was!
Standing at just about 10 feet in her grandiose 7-inch Thigh High boots, the Queen Bee swayed her tail as she pulled at the strap of one of her gloves adorning her 6 arms wrapped in an intricately designed red Business Blazer, gargantuan belt and tight fitting skirt. Flapping a wing that ruffled her mohawk, Nalin stared blankly down at Caracal, all five eyes as dull as the marble that almost cracked underheel. Blind as a bat but as smart as a whip, Nalin closed the gap between the door and Caracal with alarming haste thanks to her long legs, the Bee’s own Personal Assistant practically sprinting to keep up the pace. Prattling in her own pair of expensive over-knee Christian Louboutin platform boots, the Raccoon readjusted her professionally maintained hair with short gloves that matched her high reaching skirt, intricate belt and loose blouse topped with an inviting ascot and shining silver crucifix necklace.
Caracal refrained from uttering a word as the Queen studied her captured quarry with several twitch's of her antenna.
“A job well done once again, Shysie.” Nalin praised her diligent bodyguard with a playful smirk. Taking one of Caracal’s hands, Nalin ran her glove across the thiefs bare fingers. “No fingerprints? How coy. Must have been painful.” Tossing it aside, Nalin fiddled her fingers as she reached for the holstered folder with snide curiosity, brushing the name in question with a playful grin. Flicking the duplicate key out of Caracal’s bandolier with mild curiosity, she cocked her head as she rubbed a finger against the engraving. “A fine replica, at that! Lacks my indentations but most certainly from the same keymaster. I can only imagine how much it cost to weasel the design from their grasp.” She clicked her tongue. “And all to steal a book you cannot even read? Who would you be-?”
“Caracal!” The thief spat with venom, wincing as Nalin pressed her hands into her abdomen and massaged her hips, most certainly to assess her intruder’s frame and build due to her lack of sight. “That’s the only thought I will spare you!”
“Your name is not important, Caracal. And you can spare me more then that if you wish to live to see another day.” Nalin uttered with dull indifference. “Your life is worth nothing to me. What’s it worth to you? The name of your employer by any chance?” Nalin tapped a curious finger to her chin, pondering the factions at play as her spare hands studied their captive audience, even patting the thief's gun with aggravating wit. “Who could you be working for? Not the Mormons in Salt Lake, they wouldn’t send a minority they could visibly identify, let alone a woman… Not the feds, I’ve had them in my pocket since the nineties…” Nalin turned her back as she paced away in deep thought, her tail in kicking distance. Caracal fought diligently to maintain discipline despite the invitation. “Homegrown or foreign? One of hundreds of newly christened Chinese billionaires have been hustling in through the Pacific-” The thief couldn’t resist any further, swinging her boot at the tail, Caracal struggled to snarl as disgusting of a slur she could utter-
-Only to choke as her kick was slapped down by the stinger. Unsheathed in an instant, it dug into the treading and skin of the muffling hide like a blade and slammed the offending foot ankle-first into the nearby table. Jolting from the pain, Caracal surveyed the damage with a wandering eye, counting her blesses as she identified the boot was unpunctured but quickly recoiled at the visible sight of a dent in her ankle and the painful throb of a nasty fracture.
She doubted she could even limp her way out of this one. Knowing that Nalin’s stinger was a weapon at her disposal sent shivers up her spine. The federal government kept serious tabs on known upright insects and reptiles that could administrator toxins and venom's. There was no way Nalin could get away with using her stinger considering how difficult it would be to hide the venom in a fresh corpse, could she?
“Oh… definitely Homegrown...” Nalin bemused, her blind eye winking at the thief. Mirth quickly vanishing, the Bee slapped the folder into the open palm of her astute Assistant as she turned on her heel to face her captive. “You storm into my city, driving like an absolute MANIAC through our streets, slither up my building and defile my office with your presence. This isn’t just a transgression against me, it is a slap in the face of my people!” Nalin spit in the thieves face, the saliva striking Caracal on the chin. “Do you have any idea how hard the Navajo struggled to climb out of that cesspit of a swamp, only for parasites like you to throttle our accomplishments out of our grasp?”
“Oh FUCK off!” Caracal snapped, her patience having long since run dry. Her whole climb has been a linear show of pure unchecked decadence, and she was absolutely sick and tired of Nalin’s shrewd disposition. “What do you know about struggle, you corpo BITCH!?” Caracal snapped back, leveling her own glare back at Nalin with her own fiery temper. “You’ve been living it easy for decades, serving your select few on a silver spoon while the rest of us scrapped by! This whole city was built on the backs of those you kicked over and every damn mouth-breather in this country is lapping up your bullshit without a second thought!” Caracal chewed at her face mask as Shysie tightened her grip her the thief’s head, if she was going to clock out, she wanted to make sure she pissed off her host before taking the express ticket all the way to the ground floor. “I wasn’t granted a family that could hoist me to high heaven, I made my calling prying treasures from the fingers of brain-dead aristocrats like you for any fee that served a just cause! It’s all worth it to pull those off the soil you toiled!”
“And how many have I pulled up with ME? How many can now consider this country their home when they have been denied one for almost two centuries?” Nalin inquired with seething contempt, fists clenched in ever-growing rage. “What have you accomplished in your short, expendable life? How many ladders have you pulled up behind you in your own selfish drive for short-term gains? There’s no way you didn’t tread over the less-fortunate to get where you are in your field of work, I don’t buy that for a second! You’re no better then the Wolves of Wall Street I pummeled at their own game! The Navajo would be living a meager existence on the coat-tails of this wasteland of a state without ME, without FAYFEATHER Horizons!” Nalin Huffed, jabbing two fingers into Caracals chest that may as well have been the uppercut of a middle-weight boxer. “So yes, I am a corporate bitch, because there was no other way. There is no honor in permanent squalor, holding onto the last threads of our legacy while we desperately braved the coyotes scratching at our door you conniving little CUNT.”
Caracal would have spit right back if her mask wasn’t between the two of them. “You spent a lot of time convincing yourself of your own doctrine, huh? It ain’t gonna work on me. What do you want now?”
“As I said, the name of your employer.”
“No dice. What’s your second offer?”
“You talk, or what remains of you will be poured out of a coffee can down the nearest storm drain. Not after we have our share, however.”
The Thief shrugged as Nalin turned away, hands at her hips and tapping her chin. The Queen Bee’s diligent Crow Captain finally pulled the cloth off the nearby gurney, revealing assorted power tools, a set of car-batteries and matching wired clamps. Nalin’s assistant cupped her hands together, swallowing hard as she side-stepped away from the table of horrors. Caracal simply huffed in response, the display almost conservative compared to what the Cartel she bested had in stock in her prior adventures. “Do your worst!” She growled, bracing for the inevitable.
Only for her eyes to grow wide, barely sparing the time to gasp as her suit split wide and arctic air rushed inside. Nalin’s stinger had struck again, faster then Caracal could even blink. It cut her suit from groin to breast, revealing her athletic underwear. Sweat practically poured down the thief's face as she breathed deeply, the stinger now directly under her chin. Tilting her head left and right, Caracal studied the incision with despairing apprehension in her eyes. Her abdomen was perfectly intact, her skin devoid of any itching and inflammation. Gasping for air, the thief's anxiety tempered the moment she realized she slid by the skin of her teeth and spared a happy smirk knowing she escaped danger.
Shysie was scanning Caracal’s abdomen as well, locking eyes, the thief’s eyes went wider when she noticed her captor suppress a giggle. Nalin’s personal assistant noticed as well, who held a gloved hand to her mouth in worry. In fact, everyone had. A Coyote wearing deep scars on her face whispered into Nalin’s ear, who flicked her antenna in response.
“Pray tell...” Nalin inquired, pausing to peer back at Caracal as the Crow pulled the cloth back over the intended torture devices. “Are you by any chance… allergic to me?”
Caracal’s pupils shrunk to pinpricks, her breathing as rapid as her increasing heart beat. “You… you wouldn’t dare… with how difficult it would be to hide venom in a body-!” She choked on her own words, mulling over how Nalin was going to dispose of her.
Down a drain.
There wouldn’t be a body to find. Not even a shred of her suit.
The thief was prepared to suffer and die for the right cause, a bullet to the head and a painless way out as her body served as a memorial for her quest was all she could ask for. But this? A bee sting nearly killed her when she was young, another sent her to the hospital and despairing poverty in her teens, sowing the seeds of hatred in her once caring mother that never recovered. A stinger the size of a needle tip was all it took to condemn Caracal to years of abuse and seething contempt for a system that abandoned her.
But this stinger was the size of a Bowie Knife. Ready to plunge through her body without a moments hesitation. There was no quick way out of this one, Caracal would writhe for hours, scream until her lungs gave out, convulse her locked and swollen limbs and croak in a puddle of her own fluids.
Nothing was worth enduring that. No matter the cause.
Nalin stifled her own laughter as a devious smirk crossed her face, knowing full well the power of the new playing card she had at her disposal
“Five minutes.” Nalin announced, her smirk disappearing in an instant as she readjusted her gloves. “Five minutes is all I will spare. Then I will begin.”
“Ms. Nalin, please!” Her assistant squeaked, her voice trembling with horror. “There-there is no need for this! We-we can find another way, the police found their van-!”
“Who is your employer?” Nalin inquired, ignoring her assistant, only placing a hand on her shoulder to quell her trembling. Caracal croaked out a hollow gasp of despair as the stinger trailed from her chin down to her exposed skin, hovering inches over her heaving chest. All it would take is one sharp touch for her suffering to begin. “I don’t have to remind you this won’t affect me in the slightest. Contrary to our humble brethren, us upright Bee’s possess far more resilient stingers that could easily rip through the hides of the strongest of mammals. Our poison is also FAR more potent, having been harvested by native warriors and archers to fight European aggressors for centuries. And Yes, my sweet, it WILL hurt long after the incision. After an hour, you will be begging me to plunge this spear straight through your head...”
“Four minutes...” Shysie stated bluntly to the room as the Raccoon attempted to turn away from the scene, only to be forced to watch by the Crow Captain who stopped the assistant in her tracks.
“You’re employer. Name them.” Nalin continued, her readjustment of her gloves now finished. “I can assure you they would not hold the same level of loyalty for you if they are in this position-”
“I’m-I’m expendable!” Caracal stammered, choking back tears as the stinger continued it’s descent. “Ju-just an asset! Nothing more! You-you already know this! I-I wouldn’t be able to give you anything else then their name-!”
“That’s just it, I don’t know their name, Caracal.” Nalin corrected the thief with astute malice. “They fled the scene shortly after you crawled into my elevator shaft. Their van was stolen this morning in a nearby town and for the time being, their identities are lost to us. You can spare us the trouble if you just give us the name of their company.”
“Three minutes...” Shysie cooed, taking great joy in watching Caracal tremble from the sight of venom drip from Nalin’s stinger and fall to the floor with frightening precision.
“They are long gone, Caracal. They assume you dead. You can still save yourself if you just give us a name!” Nalin spat as the Raccoon tugged at the Crows uniform to no effect, watching in pained horror as the stinger ran down the thief’s heaving abdomen. Her breathing now rapidly out of control, Caracal fought desperately against her restraints, kicking and flailing to no avail as her muscles stretched to their limits. Straining with all her might, Caracal’s finger tapped the hammer of her holstered USP. That slight reprieve of hope faltered the moment Shysie effortlessly raised Caracal’s arm up without so much as breathing hard.
There was no escape. It was a long, painful death… or breaking… Either option was unthinkable to Caracal.
“Two minutes…” Shysie growled into Caracals ear, the thief’s headphones doing wonders in picking up every shred of disgust the Navajo woman held for her captive quarry. The thief couldn’t hold back her hopeless despair any further, croaking out tears as pain wracked her body in it’s drive to escape her bonds.
“Name...” Nalin repeated once more, the Raccoon’s eyes locking with the thief, who shook her head in disbelief, practically begging Caracal to cave. “Your time is running out and my patience is wearing thin.” Caracal blinked through the sweat pouring down from her brow, studying the horror of Nalin’s personal assistant in great detail. The Raccoon gripped her crucifix necklace tight, her body trembling in despair for the thief’s safety. She would have scoffed at such a sight prior to tonight, but the Raccoon was the only friend she had.
And most certainly the last.
“One minute…” Shysie whispered, her menacing grin sharp enough to serrate the strongest of iron.
“Please! Just say something!” The Raccoon whimpered, embracing her necklace in an iron grip as the stinger stopped firmly in front of the thief’s belly button, inching closer and closer to her bare skin. “Anything!”
“ZOEY!!” Caracal screamed, choking on tears that ran down her cheeks. Gasping for air, the thief desperately battled an overwhelming panic attack as the stinger retreated an inch in surprise. Nalin finally peered over her shoulder, an eyebrow cocked in confusion.
“Who?” The Queen Bee inquired much to the shared surprise of her Elite Guard.
“My… name is... Zoey...” Caracal heaved, taking in deep gulps of air as the stinger retreated further and further away. “Zoey Paredes...” the thief blinked rapidly as she shook her head in Shysies iron grip to clear away any residue with little effect. Gulping down one more time, she breathed an elated sigh of relief as the Stinger retracted back into it’s home, where it would hopefully stay for good. The Raccoon kissed her Crucafix, exultant as much as the thief at the withheld bloodshed. “You asked… you inquired my name earlier… it’s-it’s Zoey...”
Nalin turned on her heel to face the thief once known as Caracal with resumed interest, her face aglow with curiosity as she nibbled on one of her gloved fingers.. “Well… that’s a proper start! With the right persuasion, anyone can crack! Those who don’t? Well, I guess they never knew anything to begin with.” Clapping her 6 hands together, Nalin took a deep breath. “Now… your name is one thing, but the name of you employer is another. What will it take to share their-”
“Hulshut Holdings.” Zoey sighed, her wits at the finish line with resigned anguish. “Just… just keep that stinger away from me… please...”
Nalin took in the information with subtle surprise, the name most certainly making several laps through her synapses before ending in the Queen Bee giving out a quick laugh. “Hulshult Holdings? Those were the CHUMPS you were willing to die for? Hulshult Holdings? Do you have any IDEA how many rights they have violated? How many people in South America they rolled over to get just a five percent share increase in their third quarter last year?” Nalin let out a bellowing laugh, which was shared by her attentive staff. “HULSHULT HOLDINGS!!”
“The enemy of my enemy was my friend...” Zoey croaked, her suit painfully digging into her skin at every wrinkle and hitch. “Anything to take down a bigger fish...”
“Oh please, You will find little comradery in that sentiment around these parts.” Nalin bluntly admitted as Shysie painfully twisted a whimpering Zoey’s arm in response, only to stop when the Queen Bee objected with the wag of a single disapproving finger. “The Navajo take care of each other in Coyote Falls, especially on my behalf. Anything to ruffle the feathers of the white man. Or at least those we KNOW for certain are!” Finishing with a wink and the click of her long tongue, Nalin took a sharp step forward, her dagger heels striking the tiles like hammers. “Relinquish her gun and knife, sit her down-” The Coyote quickly ripped off Zoey’s holsters as Shysie firmly planted the thief hard onto the tiles, her ankle painfully bending to the left. To the lack of anyone’s surprise, Zoey cried out sharply to Nalin’s great offense. “-I said SIT her DOWN, Shysie! JESUS!” Regaining her composure, Nalin pressed a finger into her brow, pondering her next move. “Bring Zoey into the lounge. Proceed to phase two.”
Once again, Zoey’s boots skidded off the floor, her vision blurring as a head rush rocked her to her core. Nearly fainting from the stress and pain, the thief blinked several times as her mask was carefully pulled off her head and her buzzed scalp was assaulted by a rush of cold air. Multiple pairs of strong hands slid her aching body into the spacious lounge in the corner of the restaurant that overlooked the downtown district with bay windows that would have felt too large even for a cruise ship. Zoey regained her senses after she realized just how careful they were being with her. Planted down onto a comfy sofa that cost as much as a new sports car, the thief used the newly regained movement in her arms to pull at the shredded remains of her stealth suit to cover her underwear. Blinking away once more, Zoey cocked an eyebrow at Shysie, the burly Navajo woman who moments before was taking immense joy in her suffering, was carefully placing her broken ankle on a comfy pillow propped up on a spacious footstool and pressed an ice pack onto the fracture, the elating rush of relief instantly pierced her boot and painful swelling, rightfully giving the Thief a brief slice of heaven.
“Wha-what are you doing?” Zoey inquired, her aching muscles too tired to fight back any further as her mind desperately rationalized every possible method of escape. So focused was she, Zoey only just heard the sound of clicking heels approach, far less thunderous then their sisters. Turning to the only friend in the room, the thief blinked at the sight of the Raccoon offering a large glass of iced water and a larger bottle of honey-enthused Bourbon. Filled with reinvigorated desperation, Zoey hastily plucked the iced water out of the assistants hands and splashed it’s contents into her face as she gulped down the finest icy reserve. Tap water, but it went down like gold, she didn’t even realize she swallowed a whole ice cube.
“Oh please, make yourself at home.” Nalin suggested with the slightest hint of sarcasm, no doubt observing with her antenna as she sat in a sprawling chair with a fitting hole for her stinger.
“What do you want with me...” Zoey gulped, hugging the newly acquired bottle of bourbon against her chest, it’s icy broadside practically cooling her down to room temperature. So inviting was it’s cold nature, she decided it wasn’t worth using as a weapon in her escape. “I thought all you wanted was a name.” Nalin simply raised her gestured hand in a welcoming manner.
“Welcome to FayFeather Horizons! Or rather, thank you for intruding, that is!” Nalin laughed, clapping her hands to Zoey’s complete bewilderment. “Your job starts now! Do get comfortable for the time being as we sort out your employment files and benefits. No need for a resume, your appearance in my office is more then enough!” Zoey sunk back into the sofa as the Raccoon patted her shoulder in a reassuring manner, the thief had trouble thinking straight. All this pain, threat of torture and death and now, a job offer? “Hulshult Holdings is fair game, we can buy them outright tomorrow and crush all their assets in one of my many iron grips and it could easily be written off as a mathematical error in our daily earnings. The real problem would be new honcho’s muscling in through Wall Street. Same shit, different day. Except THEY think they can get us differently. Again, same shit, different day. Milken, Ebbers, Belfort, Madoff, Rajaratnam… is that his name? Eh, no matter. And what these new honcho’s don’t have is OUR security.” Nalin jabbed a reassuring finger at Zoey with prideful mirth. “Something you so easily bested!”
“And yet, you haven’t told me how you caught me to begin with.” Zoey inquired, gulping down the last of her water and begging for more. The bottle of bourbon seemed more inviting by the second...
“Not important!” Nalin shrugged, brushing off Zoey’s question before giving it deeper thought with a finger on her bottom lip, pondering the thief’s inquisitive nature. “Actually… you are quite right! Well, about our security measures that is… despite my crew calculating and observing your presence, Shysie is to blame for your eventual folly and without her, Oh, I’d have MANY questions! Starting now! I’d very much like to clear up any discrepancies in our current loopholes that you so easily used to your advantage… of course, we can only properly begin once you give us your go ahead...” Nalin paused, waiting for a response.
One which left them in awkward silence.
“This is the part where you agree...”
“To what?” Zoey asked bluntly, gripping the bottle with indecisive vigor. “Is this a Non-Disclosure Agreement? Shouldn’t you spell that out to me first?”
“Correct! And I believe you heard enough in the A-Team van, just rewind it in your head and say yes!”
“I’m paid. Doesn’t matter what, and for a good cause, those are all I need.”
“I’ll give you ten times what Hulshult Holdings took to acquire your methods, and you don’t need me to assure you the Wolves on Wall Street get what they deserve!”
“It wasn’t much, that I can share, and you aren’t wrong-”
Nalin Clapped her hands in response. “Then I got you for a bargain!” Gesturing with 3 hands on the left side of her body, Nalin used a fourth to pluck a recently mixed Algonquin Cocktail out of the hands of her Crow Captain and raised it high. “Everything you need in your field of work will be provided, a safehouse can be procured by the morning, any method of transportation can be acquired for the right paperwork, anything exemplar will come out of your pay, all messes will be deducted buuut if they were particularly awful people I can let it slide to a reasonable degree. We can’t have you killing any CEO’s or Mercenary Crews unless we pay you too but anything in their office safes can be considered hazard pay…”
“I’m not a mass murderer, Nalin. I’m a thief-”
“And what else are you?”
That question lingered longer in Zoey’s domain longer then it should have. This was the best job opportunity the thief could have ever dreamed of. Childlike fantasies of tearing down the corrupt with unlimited funding, having all her gear supplied at the whistle and ring of a bell, delivered by the bloodied hands of Corporate Mercenaries, Federal Agents and Hardened Muscle. It went against everything she held dear in her young, troubled life. Nalin’s observation of her prior escapades proved she wasn’t fooling anyone in her pursuit of justice. It drove her blind like so many before. Hulshult Holdings was a second-rate goon-squad, indifferent to the world and desiring only the riches of the monument that towered over them. It would be their end.
And how many Employers did Zoey turn a blind eye to in her field of work? Just how many people had she toiled with? How many lives ruined? To prove a wrong to an indifferent audience? Was it even remotely right?
In a way, it was. The world was cruel but Caracal didn’t need to be in return. Everything she did mattered a hell of a lot more to Zoey then the wandering eyes of a public that didn’t even know the two existed. Every exposed nerve, every con she foiled, every right she stood for, it all hailed from one word…
Zoey uncapped the Bourbon and took a long, ardent gulp. The notes of honey were overwhelming, going down like butter and offered a delightfully sweet finish. Raising it high, the thief offered a mutual smirk.
“I’m an asset.” Zoey declared, slamming the bottle down on a nearby coaster with a chuckle. “And I can be yours for any price and the right cause!” Nalin smiled back, taking a long sip from her cocktail in return.
“And so it is done! Welcome, to FayFeather Horizons!” Nalin stood up, gesturing with all six hands to the room at large as the Captain and the Elite Guards all clapped in tight unison. “I do hope this is the beginning of a long, exhilerating career in our humble family!”
“Your family usually put their siblings in head locks? Eh, an improvement over my own.” Zoey took another sip, her cheeks flushing from the rush of alcohol. “But first, New Suit. Get on it.” Zoey playfully spat, folding her arms with a haughty pout.
“In due time.”
“So this security loophole… where to start? The vents, the lackadaisical motion sensors? The blind spots? The fact the whole elevator shaft was as water-tight as a cheese grater?”
“I’ll let you start from worst to best. We’re all ears.” Nalin snapped a finger or two with a loud crack. Quite the feat for someone wearing gloves. “Oh! And you must tell Shysie just WHERE you got those boots of yours!” Nalin brought a hand to her chin, doing little to suppress her giggle as her antenna jiggled in a frenzy. “Oh I can TELL you are blushing, Shysie! But, you’ve been begging to ask all night! Let’s hope they come in your size!”
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Whew! I had way more fun writing then I could have imagined, brings me back to my fanfiction days in the late 00's! Of course this time around it isn't cringe!
It was fun showing off Nalin's more intimidating and cunning side, as you don't get to where you are without cracking a few heads! Will Caracal/Zoey appear again? Maybe. She started off as a simple goon getting captured by Nalin's attentive bodyguards so it was fun fleshing out her character to be more 3-dimensional.
Art was done by the fantastic MoeAlmighty on DA! Who delivered a comic-quality commission for an incredible price at the time! - https://www.deviantart.com/moealmighty
Suit design is courtesy of TangledSyntax also of DA, who sadly hasn't been active lately - https://www.deviantart.com/tangledsyntax
Category All / All
Species Bee
Size 1024 x 1203px
File Size 202.1 kB
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