Red X: Captives

"Bah," he dismissed her. "Ugly."

Bullshit, Pryce thought. She's like Eva Green's younger, cuter sister!

The brunette nodded once, deeply. It was a bow of respect. She quietly departed.

Pryce fumed. These pigs should be rated, themselves. He started ranking them based on arrogance and personal odor. What expectations did these men have?

Pryce couldn't guess what 'training' these women endured, before this. He didn't want to guess. He just grit his teeth. He'd never know what happened to them, or how many of them didn't make it.

He was taking these pricks down tonight. It'd be damned satisfying.

Another woman approached. Her skin was caramel, and her hair was long, dark, and gently wavy. She had eyes like moonlight over the ocean. She was silent, and lifted her kimono gingerly.

Her silken robe fell around her slender arms. She stood there, tipping her eyes up at him, and crossed her legs demurely.

Her breasts were rounded, like melts of brown sugar, with her dark nipples pointing. Her nipples stiffened because she was cold, out here on the ship's deck. The sea winds were sheer like ice. All she had was that silk kimono.

Her eyes were timid. They seemed separate, hiding inside her expression, as she displayed her body.

"Worse!" the man barked, and he stalked away. He flicked his cigar ashes angrily, and the girl flinched to cover her eyes. She wasn't fast enough.

She hunched, meekly, with her hand over her face. She didn't move. Slowly, the girl tried to wipe the ashes from her eyes. She dusted them away, mostly, and blinked. She sheepishly pulled her kimono back on her shoulders. She just stood there and breathed.

That's how she first noticed Pryce. She saw him.

And he saw her face - the captive, being sold tonight. His breath died, right there, in his chest...

Dear God, he thought. It's... fuck, it's her! No... My God, no... that's Prija!

Her eyes flipped open, and she stared... It was terrible for both of them. Shock. Recognition. Shame. The grimness of the present was worse, now... because they'd shared a sweeter past. They knew each other from such kinder days.

He mouthed the words, "Are you okay?" He didn't just mean the ashes from the cigar.

She had no answer. Her little bare feet stepped closer, and she absently kicked a mooring rope toward his hiding place.

She knew him from years back, but now she knew more. A lot more. She knew what kind of man he was, from what he was doing. He wasn't a buyer, or security, or crew. He was here to fight them. She knew it, and she'd help him.

The slight, shy Prija looked at him with a pleading expression, then quickly moved to the ship's interior. She couldn't draw attention to him, out here... she didn't want to expose him.

Other distinguished guests filtered inside, except for a Spanish man who was admiring his little Japanese find. He whipped her robe back till it was barely an afterthought. It was merely a cape, behind her shy, giggling face. She held her hand to her mouth, and her legs staggered. The Spaniard reached forward to her chest, and stroked her. She was gigantic, and naturally rounded. They lolled forward like drunk puppies, rolling feebly when she moved. They were pale, like the rest of her, with broad, dark centers. His hands couldn't contain them, even as he scooped beneath. His hands were spread like baskets, but still she overflowed with weight.

He stepped closer to her. He was much taller than she was. He called back to a friend. Pryce made out the words, "Quinientos, por favor."

Five-hundred. Five hundred what? Five hundred million? A bid? A bet? Damn. Shit was starting already.

Pryce noticed the man's stature - he must have been a rancher, at one point in his life. The breadth of his muscles and the tan on his skin told the story. There was a family from Spain that had expanded for generations, claiming real estate over Africa, South America, and the southern United States. This man had the family resemblance...?

The Spaniard loosened his fly, and his penis rolled out like a hose. The Japanese woman knelt, and began not-quite-swallowing it. She used two hands, and still struggled. As it hardened, it gurgled deep in her throat.

She let her mouth and neck stroke his cock, while one of her little hands reached under his balls. Her fingertips traced around his scrotum, like she was lovingly stroking a pet. Her other hand (and arm) lifted up her breasts for him to see. They wobbled as she persistently throat-fucked him.

She was petite, and his penis was not. Pryce winced. His gut churned, thinking how this man would toss some money and own her life. Where would she be kept? What would be done to her? That kind of power was absolute. It wasn't a measure of wealth. Wealth is about relative success. This was about changing a human's fundamental rights, relative to others.

The Spaniard muttered something to her, and caressed her cheek. He gripped her arm and steered her inside, to the interior.

Pryce took hold of the mooring rope, and hoisted himself up. Finally, he crouched on the deck. Finally - something to stand on. He rested for five seconds.

Well, he thought, press the advantage...

He crept forward, a shadow among shadows. He heard the drumming of a distant helicopter. Damn - there was too much exposure out here, on the deck.

Pryce snuck inside, listening to the approaching helicopter. It was too close - it had to be landing on the ship. It had to be Li-Tien Hu. The man himself. The target. No other raving egomaniac would enter like this. This dick-head was the host, and also the star of the show. Of course.

Sure enough, the helicopter landed and Li-Tien Hu descended to the interior. He was young and confident. It was written all over his rock-solid jaw. He entered wearing a crisp suit, navy on black, and sat with the other guests. They all lounged in a central reception area of this yacht, talking loudly. Couches were raised above a well-lit fighting ring, where Pryce spotted Carly and another man.

Carly Sonnen stood opposite another boxer. It was a chiseled, slavic man whose expression was bleared by scars. These two men, Pryce understood, would fight to the death. That was the decadence of this crowd; fighting, and fucking. A temple of id. They'd slipped back to Ancient Rome.

Pryce rolled his eyes, and almost spat:

CIVILIZATION, you degenerate fucks... grow-the-fuck-up.

Pryce would NOT let his friend Carly die. No. Not tonight, and definitely not at this circle-jerk of pompous twats.

Pryce heard footsteps nearby. He didn't have time to move, before an armed guard spotted him.

Pryce did what Pryce does. He dropped the guard before he could fire his weapon. It was an MP5 submachine gun, but it wasn't useful. Pryce crowded close, until the gun barrel protruded awkwardly. He sent two knee-shots into the guard's gut, doubling him over. With his head down, Pryce's knife nicked through the upper vertebrae, and the guard was carefully lowered to the floor.

One less guard. Pryce stripped his gear, and dragged him outside.

Most of the other guards were inside, with the guests. Any crew on watch were just watching for incoming craft. Pryce took some of the dead guard's equipment, weighed the body with some diving gear, and threw it to the sharks.

Ugly work, he thought to himself. This isn't entertainment. Anyone who enjoys the sight of death is the ultimate hypocrite.

When he re-entered the main area, there was raucous cheering. A Chinese man was sampling the merchandise. The brunette with hazel eyes was bent over a couch - her kimono was nowhere to be seen. Her pink-tipped breasts were swaying from the vigorous fucking she received.

Her prospective buyer was trying his best to impress her, and by extension impress everyone else. It didn't extend as much as he would've liked.

However - she had good business sense, as a consort, and feigned extreme pleasure. She groaned, and rolled up her eyes, and even drooled. She was a better actress than she was given credit. Her thighs trembled, as his dark nuts bunted up to meet them. When he came, scrabbling his hands over her back, she crossed her eyes like she'd reached satori. She sighed breathily, and fumbled with her arms. Her slow finger touched into herself, and dabbed his semen. She raised her hand again to taste sex... the two of them, combined. Slickness, and seed. She lay flat across that couch, panting. Her moans rolled long and slow from her throat. She was true vocal talent.

Two more guards disappeared from the perimeter. No-one noticed. Only five guards left. The brunette had been a center of attention, and Pryce moved through the shadows without making a sound. He was swift. He moved with purpose.

He wished he could say something to her...

I'm sorry, Ma'am. I'm trying to work fast. I'm sorry. Hold out a little longer.

Few would be wary enough to spot Pryce. No-one knew he was there... except her. Except Prija. In the central chamber, she met eyes with him. She nodded to the ghosts of guards, where empty air stood. Her brow raised hopefully. She had been captured, here... would he free all of them? Would he free her, too?

She stepped forward, trying to buy him some time. She'd do this, if it helped Pryce save them. I could help save them all.

His insides screamed. Wait - PRIJA - NO! Nonono...!

She stepped forward, trying to advertise herself. She flashed her long, black hair, and moved to take off her robe. A man swore at her, calling her something vulgar. Someone's cocktail glass flew and shattered by her ankle. She yelped, and then backed away. She turned away from roars of laughter.

Li-Tien Hu curled his lip with disapproval. He turned his head, like he didn't want to see her again. This one wasn't worth the food. If she didn't sell tonight, he'd make her disappear. No-one would know or care.

A tall, blonde, Russian lady pushed forward, clearly upstaging Prija. The Russian stepped fully into the center ring - between the boxers. The two fighters stood back from their preparation, and watched her. She slinked, and strutted, and she moved like a dancer. Her robe was a silken swirl that licked up her body. She swayed like golden wheat.

Three men began a bidding war.

She flashed her golden hair behind her, and let her kimono ripple away. It slid silently from her back.

She turned in the light. This light shone down harshly. It was meant for gladiators, and sweat, and blood. She let it illuminate her sleek body. It was a glaring contrast.

She turned to the slavic fighter, and called to him. She settled to the floor, extending her long legs like getting into a bath.

She knew this was better advertising. She was demonstrating visibly. Better than directly seducing someone. Make it LOOK good. Make SEVERAL men want her. She tried to get a richer buyer, and better treatment. Staying desirable meant staying alive. She knew this too well.

Her breasts were slimmer, like her body. She leaned back on the flooring, stretching lean like a cheetah, and pushed herself upward to the light.

Pryce silenced four more guards. He moved silently, like a spirit. Like a deadly curse in the darkness. And Prija was hinting... trying to tell him something.

The Russian smiled mischievously, and waved to the slavic fighter again. The man shrugged, and dropped his clothing. All the investors stopped to see what this Russian consort could do. The three men advanced their bidding war to include business rights. Nevermind millions or billions; that was for peasants.

Carly could only watch. He was about to fight this slavic man... so he wouldn't interrupt. This spontaneous floor-show might exhaust his competition.

Then Prija paced outward, toward the shadows. Closer to Pryce.

"She'll work well, for a few minutes. Get the last guard, and the man that steers ship. Guns are beside... steer."

The captain. And the gun lockers. Perfect. He'd find those firearms, and stow them someplace safer.

Before he looked for the captain, Pryce collected clips and dumped bodies. The Russian lady kept everyone's attention. She was flexible, and alluring. She created an erotic ballet. The boxer was rugged with hard muscle. He was like a rough-barked log, with a beautiful, smooth river rippling beneath him. His hoarse, animal grunts paired with her breathy cooing.

He was like a brutal rock... shoving. She was slippery, and swelled everytime he thrust her. The rich men all stared, some demanding services while they watched.

Pryce took this chance to move, and to secure the rest of the ship. There was only one armed guard left... somewhere.

It was damned claustrophobic, so Pryce tightened his corners. He was on them like paint. These guards had MP5 submachine guns, which were small, light, and capable of automatic fire. They were perfect for quick actions at close range. They could just wheel around a corner and spray a bunch of bullets.

Pryce was part-way down a barren corridor when he faced the last guard. There was no cover. No nearby corners. Pryce was a fast draw, but not fast enough. The guard raised and fired once, and Pryce had to drop flat. His own gun was knocked sideways, which cost time. He heard the guard switch from single to full-auto fire, and saw him take aim.

Pryce waved his gun along the floor, like flapping a wing. He didn't aim at all, but instead fired a steady stream and let the recoil strafe the guard's feet. There was no need to point anywhere. That recoil spanned the bullets wide, like making a snow-angel. The guard's black boots were shredded.

The gunfire was replaced by agonized screams. The businessmen heard it. Carly heard it. The Russian girl heard it. The Thai girl, Prija, heard it - she offered a silent prayer.

Then the screams stopped.

Businessmen noticed the guards were gone. They started jabbering. They began yelling. The slavic man dropped the Russian girl, and quickly stood up. He wanted to be ready. The rich men were caught with their pants down. They pulled their suits back together. Tiny, silver pistols emerged from their vest pockets.

For about a minute, they were bewildered. Li-Tien assured them that everything was okay... while he clicked a panic button on his keychain, alerting his captain.

Then, there was a moment. It was legendary. It was what soldiers talk about, when they're in strange lands. The tall stories. Mythical shit.

It was Pryce.

The shadows shot every man with a gun. No-one knew what was happening. Noise and blackness came alive, and it was angry. The walls echoed gunfire and muzzle flares. Everything strobed flashes of death. The reaper, himself, had come for his own fucking party.

This was true enough, for the soulless pigs that bought human lives. They fell one after the other, like Death's potato chips. Their lives only cost a bullet each.

The Chinese man and the Spaniard threw their pistols down, and raised their hands high. They were smarter.

The naked slavic man was at risk - his name had been advertised, as a fighter, and he'd be known by the underground. He might be hunted. He jumped for a discarded silver pistol, and grabbed the Russian girl. She was a hostage before anyone could react. This man was a fighter, and he was fast. He wanted a better deal. He wanted a way out.

He yanked the Russian girl upward, and held her in a one-armed chokehold.

Fuck, Pryce thought to himself. That is friggin' AMAZING pillow-talk, man.

He stared at the slavic man, and the petrified Russian girl. The pistol jabbed against her cheek.

"Carly? 'You good?" Pryce called out to his friend. He enlisted Carly's help.

"I've been better, man. Money's been tight." (No, Pryce - these rich fuckers had us pinched.)

"Ahh, enjoy the local colour. While you can." (Look for a Thai chick, and take any opportunity.)

Pryce knew that he had Carly on his side. But they had Prija, as well.

He drew the boxer's attention with broad gestures, and a loud voice. It was hostage negotiation, but dramatic and over-acted. It kept everyone busy.

Pryce carried on like a gameshow host, while Prija slipped Carly another pistol... and in a few seconds, the situation was defused brusquely. Like old times, as Carly would say.

The details involved a broken wrist, a Russian girl thrown on a couch, and the slavic man being pinned face-first to the floor. A classic take-down. Carly and Pryce had done this before.

"Carly? Mind the house, while I'm gone. I'm stepping out for a breath."

Carly covered the room. New life was kindling in his eyes. His brother really came back for him... Pryce came back.

Li-Tien Hu sat on a couch with two naked girls. All three of them recoiled, as Pryce approached. Li-Tien was the most terrified. He kept pumping the panic button on his keychain.

"Walk. You." Pryce nudged upward with the barrel of his MP5.

Hu rose unsteadily, and they stepped outside onto the deck. It seemed colder than before.

"I - I give you 10 mansions, and 10 girls. Young as you like," he pleaded.

"Keys," Pryce demanded.

"What?"

Pryce winced. His MP5 sagged in his hand.

"Ugh... Guess how many people haven't heard me, tonight? 'What? What? What?' That's all I've gotten, from everyone. Way too many times. Too. Many. Fucking. Times. Gimme your keys, phone, cards, and jewelry."

"W-Why jewelry?"

Pryce glared hard.

His jewelry. Everything that gave a positive ID to a body.

"You can have girl! Tonight! Young, pretty. Very good. And you get more, young as you like..."

"SHUT. UP." Pryce gripped his MP5 firmly.

This was tiring to Pryce. However, Hu couldn't stand such rudeness. His chin tightened. He threatened by sheer reflex.

"My captain, he'll fakking kill you! He is a top-level..."

Pryce held up a card with the captain's face on it. It wasn't a real ID, but it was what the captain carried. It was dark with blood.

No-one heard the details on that. It wasn't in Pryce's report. He shot down the last guard, and shortly afterward he freed Carly (and everyone else) in the reception area. But in the time between, he somehow secured a gun-locker and overtook the helm.

"Your captain has nothin' to worry about." Pryce let the silence sink in. His MP5 tightened in his fist. He bobbed it up a few times, like he was ready to juggle it.

Hu went back to begging. He drew his wrists together.

"Look, I can get you... big, big mansion. Come work for me, yeah? You can have fifteen girls - all daughters..."

It wasn't protocol, but it happened: the MP5 buzzed, and Li-Tien Hu fell to the deck. He was dead, just like any other dead asshole. No more exploitation, no more families killed from his violent temper... He'd never hustle another deal, or extort one, single, last dollar. He was dollar-less, and he was dead. He would never be anything better than dead. His only real legacy: he was an asshole.

To Pryce, the great wealth of Li-Tien Hu was hardly worth it. The late Mr Li-Tien Hu was worth a shrug, and that was all.

Pryce collected what he needed, and hid the body. Agents would secure it, soon.

Moments later, Prija carefully stepped out on the deck. Her hands were raised, to signal her intent.

"Dammit, Prija, I'm finding you some proper clothes..." Pryce looked over himself, and scowled. He only had guard equipment. He unclipped it, and began removing the straps. Kevlar clunked on the deck.

Prija pulled her robe tight around her. As a proper kimono, held in her arm, it seemed to fit her. She stood better. Stronger. With some dignity.

"Hi... umm..." She quivered. "Thank you." She smiled. She was experiencing shock.

She looked around them, wondering if something else might fall from the sky. When she looked back, Pryce was bare-chested and fitting his shirt around her. It draped around her body like a coat. She blushed.