Spectacle Ch. 02

We were six hours into the siege.

I was avoiding the atrium. I was avoiding the upstairs offices too. I was also avoiding the room with the hostages in it. The teacher we'd violated in the Atrium hadn't spoken about what happened to her, but I'm pretty sure at least one of the five others did. I wasn't prepared to discover how this had affected their morale. What they hadn't done, was rioted or gone into hysterics. This was probably due in large part to the extra security I'd put on them. I'm sure figuring out they weren't going to be executed was some help.

What Ramona had come up with was sadistic and wrong on several levels. I'm sure a great deal of her motivation had to do with self-gratification. Which was why I hated admitting what a good plan it was. She'd found something more efficient than killing hostages, something far more effective and less wasteful. There were drawbacks, though. The shock value might be too much. The world had never seen something like this. The public outcry would be heinous, and letting it go on must be a publicity nightmare for the police outside, even if Ramona's threat was to make it even worse if they tried anything. The bottom line was, a lot of people wanted to kill us very, very badly.

I wondered why they hadn't tried anything yet. Ramona had gotten her female negotiator, one Lieutenant Eileen Riley, but only responded to attempts to negotiate by flirting with her, referencing jokes about the Queen song several times.

I was peering put a back window, bottle of water hanging off my left hand, my right in the trigger well. I'd posted two people, and had one following me. The gas masks we were wearing to protect us from being identified (and, incidentally, getting tear gassed) kept me from having ever seen any of their faces. I hadn't been to the lounge to rest yet, somehow I thought it might be a good idea to avoid that place as well.

It was quiet out here, no one peeking over the walls or throwing flashbangs or anything noteworthy like that. I popped one of the buckles on my assault vest to relieve some of the heat and turned back to my patrol. As I did, I saw two of Ramona's crew moving a hostage.

I called out to them. "Hey." They stopped and looked at me. "Where you taking that?"

"Upstairs," said one. The little redhead looked pale. She stared at me in awe with her hands behind her head.

"Care to join?" said the second. "Perk of the job, if you're into that."

I cringed. "I'm not. No marks. Be easy."

"Sure thing, Murky," said the first. She nudged the girl with her TMP, who jumped and scurried to comply.

I watched them leave, staring after the girl who was about to become that evening's entertainment for Bravo.

Upstairs next to the "media suite," much to my silent distress, Ramona's girls had set up a rape room to keep morale up and pass the time, pushing the number of acts of forced lesbianism in the building to some kind of record nobody but Ramona herself was capable of breaking.

"No, huh?" I spun around on Ramona leering at me. "Not into girls? You? Your file disagrees."

"Not here," I said, glad my face was covered.

"Hey, all I'm saying is, we're going to be here a while and eventually, even you're going to need to unwind. Just sayin'." She yawned. "Whoo, but not right now. I've been up for, like, ever. So, you're on deck."

"Right," I said.

"Here, drink some more water." She threw me another bottle. "Cutting off the air conditioning is like, the first thing they do, so stay hydrated."

She was right. In my rare moments of intimacy I don't show a preference toward either gender, but this wasn't the time to start sampling the merchandise. I needed to stay on task, and I could not be distracted by taking carnal enjoyment out of the nature of the job. I was fairly certain that was what Ramona hired me for, keeping track of the details while she went on her sick sapphic fuck-fest. Even if that wasn't the case, this had too much at stake for me to lose my head at all.

I kept this in my head as I made my way to the atrium.

I strode off the stairs onto the tile floor. There were four of Ramona's crew watching the crowd outside. I noticed several handprints had accumulated in the circles Ramona had drawn on the window. I decided to talk to the tallest.

"You," I said. "Name."

"Paris."

Not her real name. Ramona's crew had all been assigned or chosen the names of major cities as titles for the duration. At that moment the redhead upstairs was getting intimate with Tunisia and Jacksonville.

"Paris," I said, "There's a performance in about ten minutes. Think you can handle it?"

'Paris' looked at me. "She said you were in charge of it."

"I am in charge of it. I'm delegating."

"In charge of *doing* it."

"I don't think I have her touch."

"You mean, that?" Paris nodded to what looked to be a permanent stain below the two circles on the window. "There's no secret, the lube is drugged. They can't help it. Five or ten minutes and they pop."

The other three had stood up. I'd forgotten about the one I'd had following me, who was also watching me now.

"Is there a problem?" said Paris.

Being a new command figure is tenuous. If you're too soft, they turn on you. Too hard, and they break. And then they turn on you. Right then, Mommy was away and Big Sister had been left in charge, and the rest of the kids were making a push. I had to end it right away. And as I wondered what I would have to do just to survive in this power vacuum, I remembered that Mommy is a psycho.

"Listen the fuck up, Frenchie. We've gone batshit on the media, and it's only a matter of time before they crack and do something idiotic and when they do, that's our chance to show them just how far our hand is up their asses, but *only if* the stupid thing they do doesn't succeed, and I'll be fucked before I'll let it. I told you to take care of the porno song-and-dance while the big kids handle the important shit. And if you question me again, I'll invert your cunt!"

That seemed to get their attention.

"And when your ovaries are hanging out like that, I'll kick your balls."

That last part seemed to return them to sanity.

"Okay, okay! Jesus!" said Paris.

"Don't call me Jesus. 'Boss' will do just fine, got it?"

"Okay, boss. I got it."

"Grab yourself an Asian," I said, turning, "show we're not racist. It's like life. Everybody gets completely fucked in the end."

As we descended the stairs, my escort kept pace with me, saying "wow, Ramona was right about you.""Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, she said you had the big swingin' nuts."

"What do they call you?" I asked.

"Topeka," she said. "...boss."

"Well don't forget it, Topeka."

It came, two hours later. I knew it would, I just didn't think it would be quite that bad.

There's a window in the building that looks out on the loading dock surrounded by a gate, and I was pretty sure they'd go that way. So when I heard over the radio that the cops were getting ready to move on the front door, I didn't go. I knew it was a diversion when I saw movement on the fence, and I shot the window out on the spot and peppered about a square yard for good measure. I stepped out of the way as a burst of return fire cleaned up the rest of the glass, after which I chose the next window to make an appearance in.

There were about twelve, and they were serious.

The thing is, that part of the building is made of concrete, and I had about five windows to choose from, darting and rolling from one to the next. They on the other hand had to make a dash of about thirty meters pretty much in the open while trying to dodge armor-piercing SS190 ball rounds coming back. Terrain counts for a great deal. I would find out later I wounded four men, and I only spent half a magazine. The P90 magazine is huge, it's true, but that's why I like it. Short, controlled bursts. That's the key.

I'd stopped them and we were clear. But it was hardly over. There would be repercussions. It was a question of who would be first to repercuss.

I rounded the corner and almost ran into Topeka. She shook a pistol in the direction she had come. "Murky, they didn't--!"

"I know, come on," I said, pulling her after me.

Another gas-masked face rose up to intercede as I pushed my way into the office Ramona had commandeered as her personal sleeping space.

"Ramona's slee--"

"Get the fuck out of my way," I said, shouldering past her. I threw open the door and found a large .357 pointed back at me.

"Hey, man!" snapped Ramona, squinting at the light streaming into the room. I could smell it even before my eyes adjusted. Ramona sat on the desk, fully naked. Kneeling between her legs was a hostage, also stripped, and blindfolded with her hands taped together behind her back. She was cowering with her back to me as I entered.

"You!" Ramona tapped the girl's head with the revolver. "Back to work." The girl whined as she went back to the job in front of her. Ramona sighed, her eyes rolling back into her head before settling angrily on me. "What the hell is it?!"

"The cops made a move out back!"

"I know that," said Ramona, rolling her head back and squeezing her breast, dismissing me. "Take care of it."

"YOU take care of it!" I shouted.

"Go away."

"Dammit, Ramona, this is serious!"

"Oh for fuck's sake!!" She shoved the girl onto the floor, who curled up defensively as Ramona stepped over her and grabbed her jumpsuit and gas mask. "Goddammit!" She threw it them on and waved the pistol on the way out the door. "Move, damn you."

Ramona charged up to the atrium. "Gimme that," she said, grabbing the radio. "Get me about ten cunts, and two big fuckin' white boards, and one of those gymnastic mats," she ordered, waving the pistol and putting the radio to her ear.

"Hey!" she shouted into it. "Where the fuck are you? Come on, Eileen!"

There was a crackle, then the radio said: "let's just be calm, we can't let anyone--"

"Okay, shut the fuck up right there, you just did a lot of shit to piss me off. You tried to fuck with me, you tried to do it while I was sleeping," she fixed me with a grimace, "and goddammit, you killed the power and air conditioning. And we were just starting to get along. So if you direct your eyes to the fucking window, I'll show you what I'm going to do about this so we can all go back to living in peace with each other, ready?"

It ended up being eleven girls that were herded into the atrium.

"You have any idea how fucking hot it is in here, Riley?" Ramona demanded, pacing with radio in one hand, revolver in the other. "What the hell's wrong with you? Think of the children. If you won't consider their welfare, then I guess I'll have to. Don't worry, we brought lots of seatbelt cutters. They're good for safety!"

She snapped her fingers, and her people nodded. One at a time, they began slicing the clothes from the terrified girls' bodies, holding down the ones that panicked. Still more moved off to the dining hall, where I'm sure the rest of the crew had gotten word over the radio and were taking care of business there too.

"So from now on, none of the hostages will be wearing clothing. And since you just had to wake me up, I'm introducing a new event, I fuckin' call it The Tournament."

She turned back to the assembly, now standing over shreds of some very expensive clothing. "Set the big damn whiteboards up on those chairs facing the windows." She touched her earpiece. "I want all these cunts matched to their IDs, and their names written on their backs in permanent marker. And these bitches, get the oil and grease their nips." She turned back to the assembly as this was being carried out, each one being branded like cattle. She pointed out the first two to be finished. "Gimme her and her and take 'em over there." She cupped her hands together, one inverted, and said, "like that."I watched as Ramona had the two women dragged to the gymnastic mat, and pushed down on their sides end-to-end. I admit, I was fascinated now. "Her name there, and her name there. In dry-erase, not permanent, don't fuck it up!"

She turned back to the assembly, addressing them and the radio. "Now! The games are gonna start!" On the floor were a blond and brunette. I could see that they had once been of different social circles, the brunette being of a thicker, curvier build, like she actually ate every day while the blond had probably never been made to buy a drink in her whole life. Now they were face-to-lips in front of every cell phone camera in the city. Ramona went on. "Here's how it's gonna work. These two pussies, well they're gonna fuck. The objective is to get the other to cum first. If you do that, you get to leave! And the other bitch, she gets to go onto the next round. The biggest whore of all takes Carly's place upstairs, and Carly gets to sleep."

Holy shit.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have, the voluptuous, huge-breasted Brianna Parsons, versus the blond bimbo Christina Madison!" --whose names were now on either white board for the waiting world. "Drivers ready? Get set--GO!" she screamed, firing her revolver into the ceiling.

The Colt Anaconda is a loud thing. It has a way of getting compliance. The two girls huddled into each other's pussies, immediately going to work. It was evident right away that Brianna had eaten pussy before, where as Christina had hardly eaten anything ever, and things didn't look good for our blond friend.

And there was I, watching this.

I'm not altogether too familiar with the science behind Stockholm Syndrome, but it basically means a hostage sympathizes with her captors, case-in-point Pattie Hearst. And I don't know if I can attribute it to this phenomenon, but even in the midst of this lesbian circus opening before me, the spectacle managed to present one more surprise.

Christina didn't lose, as I had expected. It could be that the earthy Brianna was more fertile, and had been fucked more and better. It might have been a compulsion to please us, her captors. Or it could be the fact that she had a stuck-up rich blond between her legs, and it was too good to pass up. I suspect it was a little of all of these because after about two minutes she threw the fight, wrapping her legs around Christina's blond head, grabbing her breasts and screaming out an orgasm all over the skinny girl's face.

Ramona's girls actually applauded.

"A challenger appears! Let's keep it goin'!" said Ramona, pointing at the only black contestant, who was pulled out to replace Christina. "Candace Watson! Round 2! Fight!"

She whirled on me, and hissed at me through her teeth. "Outside. Now."

We went to the stairs, me, Topeka, Ramona, and four other of her principalities trailing after her. She slapped me on the shoulder. "What the FUCK?!" She demanded.

"I didn't sign up for this shit, Ramona, and I'm not touching it."

"What the FUUCK?!" Ramona whined. "Don't you get it?! This is the plan! It's based on acts of terrible depravity. This is a prestigious all-girl university in a rich part of town, that's what they're scared of, and it's gonna work, but only if it WORKS, and you've GOT to get into the fucking, swing, of, things!" she rambled, slapping the back of her hand against her palm repeatedly.

"I'm a mercenary. Not a rapist."

"Ohh, what, you think you're so much better just because your victims don't fucking complain?!"

"Fuck you," I said.

"No, fuck YOU, this is the plan! And you're in this too, because I hired you, and I HIRED you because I NEED you, and you fuck this up, you fuck this up for all of us!" She was pacing. "Damn it, Murky! I tried to get you into the spirit of the thing! I wanted YOU to fuck the girls while I was asleep, and you delegated?! Come on! I saw how you were looking at those girls fucking on the floor upstairs, they gotta be working!"

"What must be working?"

She gestured frustratedly with the revolver. "The fuckin', the fuckin', drugs. The drugs I've been putting in your water, I mean, you been drinkin' 'em, right? I kept telling you to stay hydrat--oof."

I kicked her full on in the chest and stood over her with my weapon against her nose (and if you're familiar with the bullpup design of the FN-P90 you know this put us pretty close). "You did what?!" I shrieked, fogging my mask.

It obscured my vision, but I heard pretty clearly sounds of the Heckler & Koch family ratcheting from all around me (though not, I noticed, from Topeka), two of which pressed against my head. Ramona put a hand on my face and pushed me off of her, and I grabbed the rail in the middle of the wide staircase to keep from toppling backwards and rolling down the steps. Ramona shot upright.

"Calm the fuck down, all right? Fuck, even I've been takin' the shit. I need you behind this, Murky! I can't afford to just off you, so I'm giving you one more chance to get your head. You, Topeka. Stick with Murky here and help her out. I'm going back to "sleep," and then I'm going to *bed,* and before I wake up, I want her to fuck, and I want you to watch and make sure she does it, and if you don't, you're going from referees to contestants at the Ultimate Fucking Championship octagon. Are you receiving me?!"

"Yes--! Yes, boss!" said Topeka.

Ramona turned her attention on me. "'nyou?!"

"...yeah," I said.

Ramona turned back to her contingent. "All of you make sure The Tournament plays out, put the winner on the wires and start a new one to replace that one as soon as you do! And as long as Murky's down with the plan--you down with the plan?!"

"I'm down with the plan," I panted.

She turned back. "As long as she's down with the plan, you do whatever the fuck she says and delegate whatever the hell she tells you to. If she tells you she has to take a shit, you go take it for her whether or not it makes any sense!" She trotted off. "Now gimme back that one cunt so she can tuck me in. I swear, she has a tongue that could tie a knot in a steel girder, can you believe she's majoring in poli-sci, she'll make a great intern at the Whitehouse--" she rounded the corner, ranting to herself alone.