OK, here's the assault scene. I've included it all in one post, so if you want to skip it, it'll be easy. Next weeks installment will pretty much let you know what happened.
Brent literally had his balls in a vise. And looked it.
“There’s no metal around,” Alexander intoned. “Nothing you can absorb into bodily or absorb and fire at me. Everything in the room is wood, plastic, or Formica. Very Sixties Chic.”
Brent was no trained fighter, like Danilo. Nor was he I-don’t-care, like Alastair. He was no slacker at the gym, but like a lot of gym-rats, he had the body without any idea of how to use it. He was there, on a bed, naked, spread-eagled, his cock and balls very firmly held by a man who clearly had the upper hand in so many, many ways.
“Really. I’d like to hear that story.”
He got a look of abject terror as an answer. Alexander had never seen a boner wilt so fast. “Cat got your tongue?”
Brent began to tremble.
A strange look, of both annoyance and wonder, “Jesus. You really aren’t trained at all, are you? A first-year student could get out of this hold. Oh, I wish I could see the look on Antarctica’s face. She must be having a heart attack. Not only does a rag-tag band of wildborn do a frontal assault on her facility, they actually manage to pull it off, and not just ‘pull it off,’ they trounced her!” He was positively laughing. “Trust me when I say I really want to know how to did it. Are you that lucky or that powerful?”
And, inexplicably, he let Brent go. He was out of the bed in a flash, heading toward the door, when something bright and blurred sang over his head. There was a strange cutting noise, a spray of wood, and Brent froze in his tracks. A huge gash appear on the wall in front of him. Something, something moving fast, had sliced through it, drywall, doorframe, wainscoting, all of it. Part of the door swung, slowly, inward. Brent was agape.
“And that’s what I can do,” Alex said. He was right behind Brent, whose cock was magically once more in an iron grip. “Energy blades. All I gotta do is wave an arm. It’s kind of like a scythe.”
“Who are you?” was all Brent could get out.
He smoothed his brilliant hair back with his free hand. “My name really is Alexander Sarkesian. But I think you mean what do they call me.” He paused. “Vahagn is my codename.”
“You’re going to kill me.”
“Who knows what the future holds?” Alex mused melodiously. “Good thing you didn’t drink too much. Most guys would be pissing their balls out about now.”
Brent, terrified to the point of paralysis, was already weighing a life without his balls. It was what Alexander’s other hand was about to do that worried him. And when that hand got Brent by the neck, all he knew is that he was up and flying through the air, landing in a jumble on the bed. Alexander—Vahagn—was on him in a nanosecond. And in him a nanosecond later. Ramming Brent’s screaming face into the pillow, Vahagn leaned in, his voice saturated with venom. “How did you do it?”
Gritting his teeth, Brent managed to get his voice. “Get off me! We…we just did! We followed a tracer to the desert!”
Vahagn rammed himself further in. “I can generate those energy blades from any part of my body, Brent. Get it?”
The other men went totally limp. “Ugh! …yes!”
“What tracer?”
“It was a phone! They stole a phone when they took Finn and—“
“A phone?”
Brent suddenly realized it was no longer his own life on the line. It was everyone. “Why are you doing this? What did we do? Who are yo—“ A fist slammed into the back of his head, and his voice died at once.
“Let me make two things very clear, Brent. One: you really aren’t in a position to ask me anything. Two: your little stunt is going to make life very, very difficult. No one knew where that lab was. I mean no one. And you find it within, what, three days? With a phone?” Brent struggled, but Vahagn expertly pinned him down. The man was putting up a good fight, but had no real skill, no technique. Good lord, was it really possible that he and his team were just plain lucky? It didn’t seem possible. It was simply too hysterically funny.
“Yes,” Brent gurgled. “With a phone.” There was a sharp crack and Brent’s world flashed white. He shrieked.
Alex had dislocated his shoulder. “You have several more joints I can go through. I was trained. We all are. In all sorts of things. Even in kinds of sex we wouldn’t ordinarily consider.”
Through a red-hot haze of pain, Brent managed to twist his head around. “Go to hell.” He began thrashing.
“Oh, the irony of that statement,” Vahagn laughed. He hit Brent so hard on the back of the head that the other man passed out for a few seconds. When he came to, Brent felt his right leg pop out of its socket. But he did not scream. Outwardly.
“I already know about Finn, Brent. We all do. His life is practically an open book. We know what he can do, and what he can’t, like control his power when he is asleep or out cold. That is the main reason he was left alone. Powerful, to be sure, but just too dangerous. Too impractical. What if he was knocked unconscious? He could take out others, or fry a ship’s circuits.” He paused. “Why Antarctica even considered taking him I cannot fathom. But she always was one to overcompensate. But enough about Finn. He’s now settled back into his life with his surfer-dude boyfriend living the hetero-normative gay life. They’re going for the whole monogamy thing, but I give that a year, tops.”
Something new flashed across Brent’s dazed mind. It wasn’t a thought. It was an emotion. It surged through him, steeling him. Rage. “Fuck you.”
“’Bout time you started getting angry,” Vahagn mused. “Here. Why don’t I change tactics…”
“Kill me, Vahagn.”
That was unexpected. It wasn’t a plea. It was a command. “Getting ahead of yourself, don’t you think?”
“I control the ground you walk on. Can you stay in the air forever? I’ll find you. I have the whole planet on my side.”
“Yes, but that ‘finding’ part is going to be a real pain.”
Brent suddenly gabbled, convulsing.
“Yes. I told you we were all well-trained.”
Brent couldn’t believe it. He had come.
“Why physically take your cock from you,” Vahagn whispered in his ear, “when I can make you give it to me?”
Brent tried to bite him. Vahagn avoided it easily.
“I, of course, found you, no sweat,” Vahagn observed, dislocating Brent’s other shoulder. “But you know that. You see, they knocked you out. Plenty of time to take a few photos and body scans. Talk about ‘classified.’ But, anyhoo, it was then a matter of running your photo through a facial-recog program. That porno you did, what was it, Master Blaster, I think—not bad! No wonder you got an AVN award,” he man mused, forcing Brent to ejaculate again. “But enough about that. Trust me, if I found you, they already have. And you know what amazes me is that none of their psychics have swooped in to mind-fuck any of you.”
Brent, screaming, bit into the pillow.
“Which means that you must have a psychic on your side. A powerful one, too, to keep you shielded. And not just you, but a whole bunch of people, scattered over who knows how large an area. Any psychic who can do that alone must be powerful. And probably a little nutty (and selfish, since it’s clear nobody is coming to help you, but then, that’s a psychic. The best ones are so damn aloof) but that comes with the territory. But pray that continues. Once that shield goes, you’ll all be out in the open. Now, you were pretty smart to knock out the interior communications and security systems—and how on Earth did you do that?—before you rescued Finn and stole that damn clone of Sean. What does he call himself now? Benjamin?”
Brent felt his other leg go. He was now officially a rag doll. He cried out, coming again. “Stop it!”
“I can make you give it up to me again and again. Until I get what I really want.”
“I won’t tell you.”
“Heh. I knew you had some spirit,” Vahagn laughed, yanking the other man up by his hair, his arms hanging horridly at his sides. He dropped him, picked him up, dropped him, picked him up again. “This is fun! Anyay, because you blacked out the cameras, they, and I, have no idea who your team is, except you. There was that chick with the hair, but that could have been a costume. Sure looked it, anyway. And I’ll bet, if I know them, my former collegues already have a clone of you on the way.”
Brent, nearly mad with pain, managed to glance at Vahagn, wild-eyed.
“Oh, don’t give me that look. You were out cold. Plenty of time to extract a little DNA. You have no idea how rare a boy like yourself really is, to control all stone and metal. So I expect that you’ll have a twin pretty soon, born 25 years apart.”
“You’re insane!”
Vahagn exhaled, his cheeks puffing out. “Boy, did I hear that line a lot. One of the reasons I took off. But trust me when I say they have cause. And permission. You have no idea what is out there. What is at stake. Not just you. This whole world. This whole existence.”
Brent gasped. “No. I won’t tell you. You’re insane.”
Vahagn turned the man over, remaining inside him. It was clear Brent was beginning to disassociate what was happening to him, the marvelous defense mechanism people have when brutalized. It was like fainting when the pain got too great. “Oh, no. Stay with me. I want you here.” Turning him over fully, Vahagn laughed and said, “And there’s that horse-dick we all know and love and pay to see. It’s better when you can see it happen to you. Better for me, I mean.” He made Brent come again. Vahagn had truly taken Brent’s body from him.
“I won’t tell you.”
Vahagn smirked.
And Vahagn when stopped, looking at the mangled man impaled on him. And he held Brent’s head down, and leaned close to his ear and said, “You never cried once. Very good, Brent. Very good.”
