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Somewhere.....

"Synaptic flux?" asked Professor Langstrum as he gently pierced the exposed brain with the needle-like neural relay probe.

"Stable," replied the long faced man as he monitored the read out.

It had been almost two weeks since Professor Langstrum had been abducted. Most of that time had been spent revising schematics and directing nameless technicians in the construction of prototypes for the anti-neo weapons. He was only allowed all half an hour for each meal and six hours of sleep time. Aside from that, he was forced to work diligently around the clock. The only time he spent outside the laboratory which he had been provided was in the adjoining sterile operating room, working on "it."

The body was so terribly mangled that Professor Langstrum was not even sure if it was male or female. Most of the skin had been burned away and the limbs crushed. Several major organs had been perforated by shrapnel which was still lodged in the bone. It had been through hell and back, yet its heart still beat.

The past Red Sword candidates had undergone procedures to install a series of ports, which would allow them to interface with the machine, directly into their brains and spinal cords. The condition of this body however had necessitated even greater measures. Cutting away the mutilated flesh and shattered limbs, he had placed the wretched thing in a life support capsule which would then be united with and become a part of the Red Sword. The patient would not simply be a pilot; it would become the Red Sword itself.

The long faced man, whose name he discovered was Simon, was its caregiver. As far as he could tell, the man never left the living corpses' side. He proved to be a fairly competent assistant during the series of surgeries which Langstrum had performed in order to prep it for this final stage. Although it was difficult to engage him in any conversation not directly related to the body, Langstrum found comfort in the man's company. Unlike the somber drones which followed Langstrum's directions there was something more humane about him, a note of kindness.

As for his host, Langstrum had learned very little. Never appearing in person, he communicated with the professor solely through the speaker system. Langstrum gathered that he possessed a very businesslike demeanor and vast resources. He was also not alone.

Although it had only happened twice, a second voice had addressed Professor Langstrum through the intercom. The second captor had spoken gently to Langstrum, his voice dripping with concern as he asked him how he felt or reassuring him that he was doing the right thing. He hated that voice.

"Begin amniotic emersion," Langstrum instructed as he locked the last neural relay in place. This was the final stage of the last surgery. Having removed all damaged tissue and unnecessary body mass.

Simon pulled a lever, which quickly began to fill the coffin-like pod with the nutrient rich gel which would cushion and nourish the brain and remaining organs. Once full, they closed the lid of the capsule, a hissing sound filling the operating room as the air tight seal activated. They held their breath until the capsule's green vital sign indicator finally blinked to life.

Professor Langstrum turned to Simon. The wrinkles at the corner of his eyes indicated that he was smiling beneath his surgical mask. Now that his charge was safely enclosed within the nigh indestructible shell, he actually seemed to be happy for once.

Overcome with the relief of a difficult task now done, Professor Langstrum momentarily forgot about his situation and allowed himself to breath easily.

His relief was short lived as he heard the sound of clapping broadcast over the intercom.

"Wonderful, professor. Simply wonderful. Your genius is undeniable," came the other voice. "We'll have some lunch sent down shortly. Please rest, and feel free to take the rest of the day off. You've earned it."

Langstrum stared guiltily at the security camera which observed him from the upper corner of the room, as the sound of the other voice rang in his ear.

The voice was caring. The voice was charismatic. The voice was evil. It was the devil's voice.

As Professor Langstrum turned to look gravely upon the terrible thing that he had just created, he could not help but think of his granddaughter.

"I'm sorry Amanda. Forgive me," he murmured softly as a tear rolled down his cheek and was absorbed by his surgical mask.

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As for the New Defenders.......

Almost nine months had passed since the death of the G2's father, the original Guardian. It had marked the beginning of a downward spiral for the neo-human community. Aside from Watchdog, Guardian had been the only non-powered senior member of the Global Defense Force. He had always been someone the general public could relate too. It gave them hope to see him go up against monsters and madmen alongside the rest of the GDF. People knew that underneath all the armor and the gadgets, there was a man as flawed and mortal as they were. Now that he was gone, the people had begun to transfer their need for an idol to Watchdog. Watchdog, however, had always felt a closer kinship with canines than with his fellow man, and had no interest in being the avatar of human perseverance. Thus, the GDF now seemed more alienated from the common man than ever before. They were the gods of Mount Olympus, looking down upon the weak mortals below.

Guardian's death had been the pinnacle of the tragedy known as the Blackout Incident. The senior members of the GDF had been called in to investigate a series of terrorist attacks which utilized a chemical compound capable of inducing comas in all humans and neo-humans. Guardian never returned from that mission.

G2 had watched the archive footage of his father's death dozens of times since that day. The GDF had been battling a cabal of monsters and machines known as the Inhuman Corps which had been assembled by Alex Black in his latest bid to rid the Earth of the stain of humanity. Guardian had been locked in battle with the villainess Kill-Switch. G2 had always known about the blind spot in his father's vision. It was the result of a concussion which he had received during his early days as a hero. It was not a major handicap. Even in all their training sessions, G2 had never been able to pinpoint the exact location of the blur in his father's cone of vision. Yet, someone else had.

Alex Black had materialized from the smoke and dust of the battle like an angel of death. He had thrust the slender blade of the titanium dagger deeply into Guardian's neck, where the golden metal plating of his armor gave way to more flexible Kevlar. Black had not gloated, snarled, or even smiled. He had simply stabbed Guardian and moved on to his next intended victim. It was this off handed manner in which his father had been killed, that brought G2 the most grief.

The GDF laid Guardian to rest in Valhalla Memorial Cemetery, a sprawling, green field donated to the GDF by the U.S. government, where all fallen heroes eventually came to rest. Guardian's secret identity, Donald Shepherd, died a week and a half later when his private yacht sank off the coast of the Cayman Islands. As his son and heir, G2 had been instrumental in lending credence to the lie.

After overcoming his grief, G2 had done his best to fill in his father's shoes. Although too young and inexperienced to join the GDF, he had still donned his armor and fought beside them whenever the opportunity arose. It was this initiative which had earned him the leadership of his New Defenders team. He had accepted the position, with the unspoken understanding that one day he would inherit his father's legacy.

Now, however, the GDF seemed to have suddenly changed their tune. They had informed G2 that because he could not publicly or legally claim Guardian's hideout and equipment as part of his inheritance, they belonged to the GDF. Because they had been so vital to the GDF before, the organization would now take custody of them with no guarantee that he would ever get them back. Some called it imminent domain. G2 called it bullshit.

When G2 had asked his teammates to help him clean out his late father's hideout, they had agreed wholeheartedly. They had each requested the following Saturday off from the GDF, and had woken up early that morning to get started. Because they wouldn't be on duty, they simply wore old t-shirts and jeans. Save for Primal, one might have mistaken them for college students on their way to help a friend move into a new place.

Per Jason's instructions Monique had teleported them to the late Mr. Shepherd's office at the Shepherd Foundation main building. From there they had taken a secret elevator behind a book shelf. The transparent cylindrical elevator was controlled by air pressure rather than cables and wenches. It descended silently through floors of offices, laboratories, and engineering stations hidden from view by strategically placed panes of two-way mirrors. Tyler had laughed aloud at the site of a scientist picking his nose, whilst he believed himself to be momentarily alone in a lab. The elevator had continued to descend past the basement levels into a narrow vertical tube of polished metal. The tube went down what seemed a great distance before finally giving way to a massive underground facility. Jason sulked silently. It would be the last time that he would use that entrance. After today, it would be sealed off completely. Once they had converted it into a safe house, the hideout would then only be accessible through the underwater passage in the bay, the passage that the GDF would use.

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"Thanks guys. I really appreciate this," said Jason as he looked over the stack of boxes that they had accumulated so far. "This would have taken forever without your help."

"It's no problem, Jason," replied Erica as she set another stack of files down. "We're glad to help."

"Speak for yourself," growled Tyler as he lugged a small black metallic crate into the center of the room. "My back is killing me."

Just then, Monique teleported next to him, a crate, very similar to the one he had carried, materializing with her. Primal approached from his opposite side, carrying three more of the cumbersome cubes in his long, muscular arms.

"Doesn't bother us none," teased Monique.

"I'd take a swing at you if I wasn't sure you'd disappear," he retorted. "Blowing stuff up is fun and all but super-strength really sounds good about now."

"Strength is not everything, Tyler," cried Natasha as she dropped from the catwalk above. She landed elegantly on the crate that Tyler had put down. The fragile looking statuette in her arms seemed the worse for the 20 foot drop.

Tyler pretended not to be bothered. "Jason, if the Defense Force wants your dad's stuff so bad, why don't you let them come get it themselves and save us the trouble?"

"Because I don't trust them," Jason said flatly. "If they had their way, they'd simply pick the place clean and lock everything away in the archives. I can't let that happen. All of this is my father's legacy, my inheritance. They've agreed to let me have his armor and vehicles, but I'm supposed to turn over copies of his files along with everything from the armory, laboratory and the rogues gallery. That's what they were really after in the first place."

"Why won't they let you keep them?" Natasha asked indignantly.

"Because I don't trust them," Jason repeated without humor.

None of the others spoke as they exchanged glances. Each of them knew G2 to be a stickler for rules and regulations. His aggressive attitude towards the GDF was a recent development which none of them knew how to interpret.

"I'm almost done making backups of all the files," Jason said, oblivious to the unease of his teammates.

"Ty and I are almost finished with the rogue's gallery," replied Monique.

"And we're close to cleaning out the armory, or at least everything that can be carried by hand," added Erica.

"Sounds good," Jason said as he resumed his seat at the data terminal. "If we hurry, we might be able to make it back to the base in time to watch the game," he said with surprisingly convincing enthusiasm.

"Now you're talkin'!" Tyler grinned as he stretched his sore back. "Come on Monique. Those boxes aren't going to pack themselves."

Monique followed slowly behind Tyler, shaking her head as she walked.

"That is the last of the antiquities wing," Natasha admitted. "I think maybe I'll give you a hand with the data files."

"Yeah,...um...I guess we'll just...finish up in the armory," Erica responded to no one in particular as she and Primal, headed in the opposite direction.

*****************************************************************************

"Two more cases and we're done," remarked Monique triumphantly as she finished folding a cape, which she dropped into a cardboard box.

Officially, the rogues gallery was an archive of evidence which Guardian had collected from villains he had fought such as: costumes, weapons, fingerprints, DNA samples, and anything else which could possibly aid in predicting and countering their actions in the future. However, it was obvious to everyone that it was really a trophy room. Most of the gallery was stored in rows of file cabinet-like drawers which lined each wall; consisting of artifacts taken from a parade of small-time villains, mostly amateurs who would have been lucky to commit even one successful bank heist before they were caught. The Guardian's greatest foes, however, were displayed proudly in glass cases in the center of the room, the crown jewels of his collection. Only two of them, Mr. 13 and Temptress, remained to be packed.

"Thank God," Tyler mumbled as he opened Mr. 13's case and began to strip the black trench coat from the faceless mannequin. Monique meanwhile was fascinated by the sparkling sequins of Temptress's dress.

"Hey Monique, check this out," Tyler said as he pulled a silver handled black umbrella from the case. "I know it looks like a normal umbrella but I swear that I saw this thing stop Raiden's katana cold." He slashed the air playfully with the umbrella as if it were a sword.

"Careful," Monique warned as she lifted what appeared to be a box of Valentine chocolates sealed in a transparent, bullet-proof case. "That might still have some of 13's bad luck mojo on it."

Tyler grinned cockily. "Baby, I make my own luck."

Suddenly the umbrella popped open in mid swing. At the same time the fluorescent light above them suddenly blew out with a loud pop, causing Monique to drop the box she held and Tyler to yelp as he let go of the umbrella. The two stood stark still for a moment as they waited for something else to happen. When nothing did, the two faced each other and laughed nervously. Humbled, Tyler bent down and tentatively picked up the umbrella. While he folded and boxed the offending item, Monique bent down to pick up the sinister oddity she had dropped. As she stooped, she noticed that the air tight seal of the transparent case had broken, spilling the heart shaped Valentine box onto the floor where it now lay among a scattering of brown lumps. The golden ribbon which held the red box shut had slipped, allowing the lid to become ajar and spilling its sweet bounty. Monique's fingers had barely brushed against the box when it exploded into a flurry of black tentacles.

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Erica stood on her tiptoes as she strained to lift the large laser off of the armory wall, wishing much like Tyler, that she could trade her powers for a little super strength. She had almost managed to lift it off the hooks when two large, brown fur-covered arms reached around her from either side and lifted the weapon as if it were nothing.

"Show-off," Erica said as she leaned back against Primal's body. She tilted her head up to look into his face. The tip of his tongue stuck out smugly from the end of his muzzle. Erica slid her hand deftly behind her back and squeezed him firmly. Primal's eyes bulged comically as he tried not to drop the laser. He tried taking a step back, but Erica would not release him. She held him in place as she turned around between his still outstretched arms. Grinning widely, she slid a hand beneath the waistband of his black shorts and began to fondle him. Primal's wolf-like ears flattened against his head as his eyes closed. Retracting his arms, he placed the weapon firmly across her backside as he used it to pull her closer to him. The grin slowly began to fade from Erica's face as the situation intensified. Euphoria washed over her as she felt the heat of Primal's erection growing in her hand and pressing against her belly.

Though they had only shared a handful of nights since their first encounter, it was not for a lack of trying. They seldom had the base to themselves and Erica was too afraid of being caught to try for a midnight rendezvous. Besides, if her suspicions were correct, they would not be the only ones stalking the halls at night.

Each of their encounters had been similar to the first with the exception that they became increasingly intense as they became acclimated to one another and became ever more adventurous. They had almost crossed the final line during their last encounter but they had stopped just short of it. Even though she was the one who had initiated their first encounter, Erica still had some reservations and Primal was in no hurry to push her. He was more than willing to let her set the pace. However, as they now pressed against one another, Erica felt torn between what she wanted and what she knew she was ready for. Besides, the others were close by. There was no way they could get away with it, even if they wanted to. They would be caught for sure. They had to stop here. At least that is what Erica tried to convince herself of as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him.

GDF guidelines were crystal clear on the matter of relationships between team members. Romantic attachments were a distraction which could lead to favoritism, jealousy, resentment and a number of other issues which could endanger missions and the team as a whole. Primal could not communicate or interact with normal human society and was in affect handicapped. Erica was still a troubled girl who had been drafted out of a mental institution. They could not afford to fall out of the GDF's good graces. They had no place to go. They had to keep their relationship a secret.

Primal suddenly stood stiff as a board as his head rotated in the direction of the control room. It took Erica a moment to come to her senses before she too heard the distant yell. It sounded like Tyler, only more frantic than Erica could ever have imagined him sounding. She and Primal immediately separated and ran in the direction of the yelling. Primal quickly dropped to all fours and charged ahead, intending to meet any danger head on. He quickly outpaced Erica and made it to the control room before she did. When she finally made it, he was already running in the direction of the Rogue's gallery, having found no one in the control room. She followed him without pausing and for once was grateful for all the endurance training Jason had put them through. When she reached the rogues gallery, Jason, Natasha, and Primal were standing together, staring at the floor. As Erica ran up to Primal's side, she saw what they were looking at. She almost screamed.

Monique lay sprawled on the floor, entangled in a network or black root-like appendages which sprouted from a pulsating fist-sized node on her chest. Tears streamed from her unfocused eyes as she squeaked pitifully, her mouth opening and closing irregularly. Tyler knelt beside her, unable to take pull his horrified eyes away from the spectacle. Primal was the first to act. He reached out with his taloned hand to wrench away the parasite.

"No!" Tyler barked as threw his arm out defensively. "I tried that. It just hurts her more."

"What happened, Ty?" Jason asked as he knelt calmly beside Tyler and examined the organism closely, taking care not to touch it.

"We....we were emptying out the cases. I turned around to pack some of it and when I looked back that thing had her. It just kept growing and growing. I tried to help her but......." He shook his head hopelessly.

Jason quickly examined what had apparently been a containment unit. He paid careful attention to the small printed label written in specialized shorthand which his father had used to catalog evidence. He then examined the chocolate box itself. Looking inside he discovered a DVD taped to its bottom. Removing the disk, he faced his team determinedly.

"Tyler, Primal stay with Monique. Natasha, Erica come with me," he ordered as he headed back towards the control room.

******************************************************************************

A delve into his father's daily logs also confirmed what Tyler had suspected. On February 13, 1997 Guardian and Watchdog had raided a smuggling operation which dealt primarily in African blood diamonds. The gems were dipped in chocolate and hidden in boxes of candy before being shipped out to their respective buyers. The heroes had captured the smugglers and confiscated the ill gotten gems to fund the GDF's activities. Only one of the smugglers had talked. He confessed that none of them knew who their boss really was. The only lead Guardian had was one box which the flunky knew for certain his employer had touched.

Temptress had been younger then, more naïve. She had naturally assumed that after running a simple diagnostic scan to ensure that the box was not a bomb Guardian would inspect it inside and out for evidence. What she had not counted on was Watchdog. Although Guardian's armor told him that the box was negative for any known chemical or biological agent, the crime dogs which Watchdog used did not like the box. Watchdog trusted his dogs and Guardian had trusted Watchdog.

Additional tests had shown the boxes true nature and its originator. The label which Tyler had inspected had identified the box as an un-activated booby trap containing an unknown non-pathogenic biohazard. Light and exposure to air were listed as possible triggers to activate it.

Jason and the others needed answers now and there was only one way to find them. He played the DVD on a secondary computer terminal in case it contained any programs which might attack the database.

"Hello, Defense Force." leered the woman as she appeared on the monitor. She had wavy brown hair which sensuously covered one side of her face as she spoke. Her lips were luscious and as crimson red as the evening gown which clung to curvaceous form. To Erica, she looked like something straight out a James Bond flick.

"By now you've no doubt discovered the little gift that I left for Guardian. Just a little token of my affection made from cutting edge bio-mechanical technology. I call it the Heartbreaker. It's quite something really. It bonds to both the nervous and cardiovascular systems while stimulating the memory centers of the brain through a complex array of chemical reactions. The result? The victim is forced to relive his or her worst memories over and over and over again. Unfortunately the process is a great strain on the body and I'm afraid my beloved Guardian won't last more than an few hours under its influence."

Erica's heart began to pound as her mind raced.

"Some of you are undoubtedly, scrambling about, trying every conceivable means to rescue him. Let me save you the trouble. If the Heartbreaker is killed or unwillingly removed from its host in any way, the host body will invariably succumb to shock and die. There is no procedure, no machine, and no power that can save him now."

Jason's fists clenched as he strained to keep his fury contained.

"There is, however, a way to prolong the inevitable." The villainess licked her lips as if savoring some exotic taste.

"As the Heartbreaker's host grows weaker, the flow of hormones which it needs begins to diminish. The Heartbreaker will then begin to seek a new host. If offered a fresh host, the Heartbreaker will likely leave its previous host's body before it is completely destroyed. However, the Heartbreaker will not release its first host before it has already established a firm connection to the second. In short, the only way for you to save Guardian is to let the Heartbreaker pass to one of you. And the only way to save that person will be to let it pass to yet another and so on. Who knows, maybe you'll buy enough time to discover a way to stop it. Maybe not."

Temptress let loose a seductive giggle.

"So Defense Force, who will be first? Which one of you brave, fearless ‘heroes' is ready to relieve the worst day of your life?"

"Goodbye, Defense Force. I'll see you soon. Well....most of you anyway. Oh, I almost forgot..." Temptress blew a kiss at her audience. "Happy Valentine's Day."

The video ended.

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"So you called the GDF, right? I mean they'll figure something out, right?" rambled Tyler as he hovered uselessly over Monique's tortured form.

"It's not that simple," Jason said, his head hung low.

"Fuck you, man!" Tyler spat. "I don't care what's going on between you and them but I'm not gonna let her die!" He balled his fists and started to rise, ready to prove his point.

"That's not what I meant," said Jason as he tried to keep his composure, be it from rage or grief. "Monique is anemic."

Tyler dropped his hands in confusion as the others looked at Jason in shock.

"I read it in her medical file. The GDF deemed her fit for combat during her evaluation but there were some additional protocols added in case she was ever seriously injured."

Jason stared at Monique pitifully. "She's trapped in a nightmare with no way out. Her heart and her brain are racing non-stop, and it's even worse since the oxygen levels in her blood are so low. She doesn't have a few hours. She has an hour at best."

"Even if the GDF thought of some way to save Monique, without her teleporting ability we would never reach them in time. Not even if we took my company jet."

"There's got to be something we can do!" demanded Tyler.

"There is," Jason said slowly. "We can buy more time. Monique wouldn't be able to survive the trip but one of us might."

"Jason?" Natasha asked confused.

"We're gonna have to play that whore's game if we want to save Monique," Jason seethed. "One of us is gonna have to take her place."

They each stared at each other in dread silence but did not speak. Temptress' message had been clear. The Heartbreaker forced its host to relieve his or her worst memories in a never ending cycle. Whether it was gained before or after they donned their costumes, emotional baggage is almost a given for superheroes. Each of them had their own demons and no one was in a hurry to face them. No one was going to volunteer.

"Alright," Jason said finally. "We'll do this fair."

He strode over to the boxed assortment of villain equipment and rummaged for what he needed. He returned with Mr. 13's bowler hat and some wannabe's pouch of colored smoke pellets. He placed five green pellets and one red pellet into the hat before shaking it gently.

"We each draw a pellet. Whoever draws the red pellet takes Monique's place. If no one draws the red pellet, we try again until someone does. Understood?"

Erica nodded her head numbly with the others.

Jason went first. Turning his head away, he reached into the hat and pulled out a green pellet. He sighed silently as he offered the hat to Erica. Nervously, she reached inside. She felt the pellets dance among her fingertips before finally selecting one and drawing it out. It was green. Tyler and Natasha went at the same time, each reaching in and drawing simultaneously. They both drew green.

"Your turn, Primal," Jason said as he held the hat at arm's length. Primal hesitated.

"Come on. Fifty-fifty. It's fair," Jason assured his bestial teammate.

(No it's not), thought Erica as she watched Primal edge forward anxiously. With each consecutive draw, the chances of the next person drawing the red pellet increased. How could a game that gave the best odds to those who went first be fair? Erica bit her lip nervously as Primal reached for the hat. She knew what the red pellet meant for her, but what about Primal? What would his nightmare be of? Would he be forced to listen to the sound of bullets slamming into bodies again? Would he lay there helplessly as he once more watched his family slowly bleed to death only a few feet away? Would he pointlessly fight to save the villagers over and over again only to be rewarded by the sound of explosions and the smell of burnt flesh?

Before she even knew what she was doing, Erica threw the smoke pellet hard against the floor of the Rogues gallery. For a brief moment, the world was consumed in a burst of verdant vapor. Erica bolted through the smoke towards the dark outline of Monique's prone form as the others yelled in confusion. Not knowing what else to do, she quickly laid down atop of her teammate's body and pulled it tight against her.

As the smoke began to dissipate, Erica began to panic. She could feel the Heartbreaker pulsing between her and Monique but it did not seem to be reacting to her at all. She had all but decided that there was nothing she could do when it shifted. She fought her revulsion as she felt slick, rubbery tentacles probe beneath her shirt, tentatively at first, then with more vigor. Her skin crawled as the tendrils began to grope at her back and breasts, the parasite releasing its iron grip on Monique to size up new prey. All at once, Erica felt the thing clasp her tightly as it released its current host. She heard rather than saw its limbs peeling away from skin. As she felt it embrace her fully, she rolled away to the side, getting the thing as far away from the weakened Monique as possible. She had only managed a few feet when she felt a sharp pinch over her heart. A cold, numbing sensation spread through her body almost immediately. Erica was partly aware of the others standing over her, talking frantically as the air finally cleared. She could not make out what they were saying. She strained to listen and open her eyes, but it was futile. The cold and the dark claimed her.

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Erica was lying on her stomach in the back of the van. She could barely see anything at all. The back of the vehicle was almost pitch black. Only the moonlight and the distant glow of a street lamp which filtered in through the front windows gave her any aid. She could smell however. The blanket on which she lay reeked of beer and old sweat. There was another smell as well, the smell of cheap cologne. His cologne. As her memories came into focus she became aware of the weight of a knee on her back. Her arms and legs flailed as she tried to dislodge him but he only bore down harder as he fumbled to undo his belt. She screamed for help but she knew that it would not come. The construction site was too remote. No one could hear her.

Erica tried to use the escape maneuvers she learned in combat training but found that she could not. She tried desperately to swing at him but could not. To her horror, she realized that she did not have control of her body. This was a memory. The only moves that her body made were the ones she had made on that night. She was doomed to relieve the experience exactly as it had happened. There was no alteration. There was no escape.

Her body struggled again as her arms were forced together. She felt the leather of the belt as it slid around her wrists before drawing painfully taut. As one hand restrained her bound arms, she felt another grope beneath her skirt and rip away the thin fabric of her panties. Erica was aware of her mouth opening and closing as her memories forced her to beg and plead hopelessly. These pleas quickly turned into gasping sobs as she felt two fingers roughly work their way inside her. The fingers withdrew suddenly. Erica heard a wet smacking sound and a small grunt before the newly moistened fingers were suddenly thrust inside her again. She screamed out in pain as the digits pushed and wiggled their way deeper inside. The hand which held her arms suddenly let go and painfully grasped her by her hair. She did not have time to react before her head was slammed against the floor of the van. The odorous blanket did little to cushion the blow. Erica's drifted near unconscious as her head swam in a clouded ether of throbbing pain.

She was wrenched back to the interior of the van as a sharper pain cut through the haze. Her body tried to scream again as she felt him force his way into her, but she only managed a horse gasp. She felt the weight of his body as he writhed against her, thrusting harder against her resistance. She was barely aware of the warm stickiness of the blood as it began to dribble from between her legs. Erica quit struggling as she sobbed, every movement only making the pain worse. As if sensing her new laxness, he rose from her slightly and fiddled with something in the dark. Erica felt her blouse strain against her neck as her pulled back on its collar. The knife made a crisp ripping noise as it cut through the material. He made quick work of her bra in swift stroke. She felt the sickening heat of his breath against her exposed skin as he reached around and squeezed her breast. She tried to bolt away from him, but he was too quick. The arm that squeezed her quickly wrapped around her stomach and pulled her back against him. As he brought his weight down on her again, he simultaneously slammed her to the floor and drove his hardness back into her. Erica tasted blood in her mouth as she bit down on her tongue.

Panting with fervor against her skin, he drew his arm from beneath her and placed it against the back of her neck. Using the same arm to lift himself up slightly, he bore down on Erica's neck, pinning her Erica cried out yet again as she felt the blade of the knife cut a long line down her back. He gave the softest giggle in response before leaning down and tracing the length of the cut with his tongue. He gasped in ecstasy as he slowly began to buck his hips against hers. He quickly drew another cut that intersected with the first and lapped at it as well. She cried helplessly as the sadist traced a disordered criss-cross of cuts across her back. With each cut and lick, his thrusts increased in force and speed.

Finally, exhausted from crying and blood loss, her back sticky with saliva and forming scabs, Erica felt him pull out of her and loosen the belt that cut into her wrists. Believing him to be finished, she almost smiled with relief. Her respite was short lived, however, as he quickly flipped her over and straddled her body. Still unable to see anything, Erica felt the sweaty skin of his thighs as he positioned himself over her chest. Bringing her arms close to her body, he pinned them with his knees. Erica felt his disgusting member against her breast, hard and sticky with her blood. Next, he squeezed her breasts together and began to thrust into her cleavage. She turned her head away in the darkness and closed her eyes, to exhausted and too ashamed to fight, just wanting it to be over.

(No!) Erica screamed mentally at her body. (Fight back! Kick, scratch, bite, do something! Don't just lie there! Not this time! Not again!)

Still trapped by her memories, her body continued to lay motionless as it was violated.

(Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!) she balked at the slithery thing on her chest. She strained with all her being to strike out at the weight on her chest. (NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!) she screamed as something explode outward from within her. Then, she felt it, the sickly warm wetness as it spurted and oozed across her chest. Erica mentally screamed in fury as the nightmare memory faded, soon to be repeated over and over again.