The Black City Ch. 04

The next few days are a strange combination of comfortable and tense. The 138th St. Liquor Store that's become our temporary home has enough to keep us content for a few days, and we end up needing every day we can get. It seems like every time we consider leaving, we're given a reason not to -- the sound of massive footsteps, that creature wandering back past us, maybe looking for us. I know so little about the Young Ones that I'm not confident making any assumptions about their level of sentience; obviously Zazkoroth has a weird sort of self-awareness, but I don't know how similar these things are to each other. Trying to get any answers on the subject from Syssyx leads to more uncertainty and vagueness, and Zaz seems to know less about his own kind than I do. Maybe when we get to the camp I'll get some answers, I guess... or, at least, I hope.

"We should leave tomorrow, I think," Syx says softly as the third day here draws to its end. She approaches with a small electric lamp and sits beside me as I arrange the most decadent meal I can muster: slices of cold spam on crackers, with old ketchup packets as the 'sauce.' May not be much, but at least it isn't rotten, waterlogged, or worse -- harvested from some sort of corrupted insect or other small creature Zaz could catch.

"Probably," I shrug, cramming one of the loaded crackers into my mouth and starting to make one for Syx. "I haven't heard that thing at all, today, and Zaz said the crazies are starting to act a little more normal. I think it may have moved past us."

"Where is he, anyway?" Syx arches a brow as she takes the cracker from me, looking unenthusiastic about it, but eating it nonetheless. "Something as big as he is, I'm surprised he slips in and out of the store so unnoticeably."

"He's quiet when he wants to be," I chuckle glumly, then give her an actual answer, "He's patrolling again. I keep telling him we don't need any more supplies than we have here, but... I think he just gets restless, or something like that. Honestly, it's actually been nice to have a food supply I don't have to worry about depleting."

Syx frowns thoughtfully. It's true, since we can't carry much more with us, we've been eating what's stashed here with unusual abandon. I feel healthier than I have in years, and if what Syx says about the camp is true, I'm really looking forward to feeling like this more often. "How did you make it, all this time? It seems like you've spent so long struggling, many would have..." she pauses, thinking over her next words only for a moment, "...given up."

I furrow my brow, eating another cracker and scooting across the overturned shelf we've turned into a makeshift bench, pressing my body gently against Syx's and laying my head on her shoulder. "Big question. I've been alone -- besides Zaz -- since the Cracking first happened. What few people I met along the way have died, or... worse. Between the running, the fighting, the starving, the sickness, and holy shit the boredom, it's odd that I haven't managed to press that big red Exit button. Just stubborn as fuck, I guess yeah?"

"Well, I am glad you're still here," Syssyx smiles softly, "and that I found you." She wraps one arm around my small frame, then brings her other hand to my face, tilting it up towards hers so that she can softly kiss me. I let my eyes slip shut and return the kiss, lips pressing into hers as she wraps her arms around me, pulling me gently into her lap. I make it easy for her, crawling up against her and straddling the bigger girl, my hands moving to her hips as we embrace.

"Nnnn..." I coo quietly into her lips, brushing her tentacle-like tongue with mine, relishing the gentle touch. It's strange -- while I must admit that the sex has always been the most rewarding part of my unusual relationship with Zazkoroth, I never realized how much I needed this, this softness. When your partner is composed entirely of writhing, slippery appendages, intercourse typically begins and ends with penetration, which is obviously fun, but... there's just something so exhilarating when Syx's hand starts sliding up my shirt, dexterous fingers caressing along my small chest, teasing one of my pierced nipples and sending a shudder of pleasure down my spine.

She breaks the kiss, only for a moment, to pause and pull my shirt up above my head, an unexpected commitment to an unexpected bout of playtime, but I'm not complaining. I lunge back into her, locking lips with hers as her hands slide up and down my chest, fingers teasing circles around my sensitive nipples around and around, making me quiver with excitement. I trace my tongue along her lips only for her to invade my mouth with her own, the suckered tendril teasing the back of my throat, exploring the inside of my mouth. I never cease to be surprised by the dexterity she has with what thing, even more impressive than the nimbleness of Zaz's tentacles, which... honestly, has given me a lot of thoughts about how else she may be able to put it to good use.

"Syx," I pant as her tongue slides free of my mouth. I dot it with a little kiss after I breathe her name, then nuzzle into the corner of her lips, clinging to her waist. "Do you think you could, erm..." I swallow hard, kissing her again, then steeling my resolve. "I've never had someone use their tongue... down there," I finally whisper.

"Say no more, little Raine," Syssyx coos back, bumping her nose into mine and stealing another kiss, this one softer. I can see the corners of her lips tighten into a small, subtle smile, one of anticipation, sympathy, or some other emotion is difficult to tell. For the time we've spent cooped up together here, as well as on the road towards her camp, Syx is still a closed book to me in many ways, even more difficult to read than the literal gibbering blob I live with.

I wind one hand up along her back, letting my fingers weave into the tangle of fleshy tendrils cascading down from her scalp as I kiss her back -- then let out a soft gasp as she takes hold of my hips and begins to lay me backwards onto the flipped cabinet. I steal one last little nibble at her lower lip, and she glides downwards, bringing her mouth to my chest and letting her long, suckered tongue tease back and forth along my nipples, tugging and rubbing along them, coating them in her cool, tingling saliva and sending a shiver of pleasure back through me. "Fuuuck..." I breathe out, closing my eyes as I lay back, leaving my hand tangled in her 'hair' as she molests my stiffened pink nipples with gentle pleasure.

I grit my teeth as she starts to descend, unfastening my skirt and tugging it down, then taking my ankles in her hands and lifting them up, exposing me to her. She opts, first, to keep teasing me, dotting a trail of kisses down my narrow midsection, to my hips, then letting her tongue coil around my dick, slithering in a lewd spiral around the small, mostly-inert nub. There's another shudder of excitement in me, even if I'm not able to 'react' the same way someone else would, but the enduring tingle has me continuing to chew restlessly at my lower lip, hips squirming from side to side as I prepare myself for the main event... one she seems unexpectedly eager to get to. "But this isn't what you were asking for, was it?" she purrs, licking along my member again, kissing it, planting another kiss at my tiny balls before lifting my ankles even higher, effectively folding me in half so that I can watch her through the frame of my own legs.

And watch her I do, a moan escaping my lips as she brings the tip of that outrageous tongue towards my back entrance, at first just tantalizing me with light, loving flicks of her tip. It's already enough to have me twitching, trying not to writhe as her tongue caresses around the sensitive rim of my ass, leaving a shimmering ring of her spit to ease me into what I know is soon to come. Careful, teasing licks and flicks are followed by a long lap along my asshole, and it's now that I feel those little suckers for the first time -- the way they drag along my skin is like nothing I've ever experienced before, sealing against me for just an instant before popping away. Not entirely unlike pulling velcro, if velcro were really sexy instead of... well, velcro.

"Holy shit, that's... Syx, that feels... really, really..." I pant, never quite completing a thought, only rarely finishing entire words, my hand still at the back of her head even though I need to stretch my arm out to keep it there. She licks me again, and again, long laps like she's trying to eat an ice cream cone before the bottom edge melts. It's such a different experience from being fucked, being filled -- especially since everyone seems to be under the impression that my asshole is a 'seats two comfortably' kind of ride. Not that I dislike that by any means, I'm coming to embrace my distinct anal pliability, and at this point I consider my butt to have fully replaced my penis as my primary sex organ. Still, this is a welcome experience, more teasing, more tender, but still satisfying... especially as Syx's tongue starts to grow bolder, its tip easing inside of me as the damn-near-prehensile thing curls and twists against my snug, sensitive opening. "H-holy fuuuUCk...."

Syssyx muffles out a response I can't make out, pressing her forearm up against the inside of my knees to hold both my legs up, bringing her other hand between us to gently massage my dick between her thumb and forefinger. More boldly, she forces her tongue deeper into me, inch after inch of writhing, suckered flesh driving into my ass until I'm forced to wonder how long it really is, if it has an end at all -- it's not much different than one of Zaz's tentacles when he's in a gentler mood, in all honestly. Not that I'm complaining, if I hadn't watched the world split in half I'd probably have found religion right here and now, my eyes widening, body trembling as she thrusts her tongue into me again and again, hot pulses of pleasure radiating from my stomach to my fingertips in these trembling, inescapable waves.

Then... it happens again. Those ripples of energy, shaking the walls, shaking the store. "NnhhhAAaahh...!" I clench my teeth, trying to muffle my cry of climax, my best effort not to alert anything outside our temporary sanctuary. The wave of power isn't as intense as last time, not as... significant, I guess. But I feel it. For a moment, I try to catch it, like I did before, try to grab it and hold on, this surge of psionic energy I have so little control over, but it slips away, dissipates like salt in water -- still very much present, but no longer detectable. Finally, I flop backwards onto the shelf, panting, staring at the ceiling as Syx's tongue gradually slides free of me, the eldritch scavenger finally letting my legs topple back down in front of me.

"Did you... did you get another surge?" she asks softly, moving to my other side, lifting my head to lay it in her lap in a rare gesture of comforting.

I don't say anything, but nod, still catching my breath from the orgasm alone, not to mention the psychic 'accident.' I curl into her, still naked and shuddering from the aftershocks of my climax, a little dizzy. Fuck, if I don't figure out how to deal with these -- I don't know how much I like 'surges,' I'll try to think of something better -- I don't know what they'll eventually become. I just hope whatever it is, I can deal with it. "Thank you," I finally say, the most I can really get out until I've had a moment to rest.

She frowns thoughtfully, caressing my cheek and letting me continue to rest on her lap. It's a little while before I truly fall asleep, briefly distracted by the sound of Zazkoroth's return and subsequent settling into a profane, gelatinous heap of dark jelly, but sleep does finally find me. Tomorrow we finally set out again, accepting the risk that the creature in our path may still be nearby, but praying to whatever foul thing now dictates the destiny of this broken world that it's finally moved on. We can't stay here forever.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"What's today? Today Wednesday?" I mumble aloud, awkwardly shouldering my crossbow as I walk beside my two strange companions. We finally hit the road again this morning, and have managed to make it several more hours without getting into any serious trouble, the sky only just now threatening to start darkening. Just glad for the rest before getting back on my feet -- fuck do I need some new shoes, ones without holes in them.

"I stopped keeping track long ago," Syx muses, "why does the day of the week matter to you?"

"This ZAAAz would assumes't she wishes to 0bserve scheduled trapped-life," Zazkoroth borbles, my telepathic abilities simultaneously digesting his meaning even as he 'speaks' aloud for Syx. "Yonder dr0plet gains much stabilities by adherence to a routine of entertainings. Once shE even tried to call in to vote for her fav0ritest contester on 'Whomst Wishes Vasectomizing,' but our phone was not in WORking."

I sigh. Now I have to explain in... more detail, if I don't want Zaz's decidedly botched extrapolation to hold any kind of water. "Some TV programs kept going after the Cracking. Not, like... the normal ones, but some fucked up ones. Look, it's been just me and this chucklefuck the past who-knows-how-long, I need something to think about beyond impending doom."

"And... what significance does Wednesday hold, then?" Syssyx says cautiously, now looking like she's drawn too near to a hornet's nest, unsure either to take further action or to back away, for fear of enraging its inhabitants.

"Tonight was the season finale of 'The Adventures of Billy and the Rest of Billy's Fingers,'" I huff. "Index and Pinky had just gotten married and we were waiting to see if Billy'd had a miscarriage."

"And these... shows you watch. They're... good? They're actual shows?"

"Oh, not at all," I confess, "I think they're the fever dreams of what few mutants still had access to studios and just couldn't get out of the limelight, no matter how badly their minds decayed. No special effects, either. All the mutilations and whatnot are very, very live."

"And whaT mutilations they are!" Zaz rejoices.

"Well," Syx pauses, then shrugs, "perhaps we can set up a television system at the camp, once we arrive. I think everyone there has either not heard of these shows, or lost their taste for them a while ago."

"Hey, I was always really into horror movies," I offer a rare chuckle, "the goth getup isn't for nothing, after all. So, if you have the right sense of humor, some of the stuff the crazies turn out is... well, I'd say 'unironically good,' but...."

"NausEAtiNgly h0rrendFul!" Zaz chimes in blithely.

"That." I laugh again, quietly, cracking my back as we make our way past crumbling buildings and overspilling rivers of glistening cyan ooze where a roadside ditch should be. Part of me's gonna miss this piece of shit city. Still, while the subject's on entertainment, I try to pry a bit into the newcomer to Zaz and my twisted duet, and see if I can get Syx to spill any of her secrets. "How about you, Syx? What do you guys do for fun at the camp? You said there were like ten people there, yeah? You have movie night? Orgies? One big, revolving game of Dungeons and Dragons?"

"Dungeons and Dragons?" the hybrid shoots me an incredulous glance. "What is that?"

"You pretend to be knights and shit. Used to play a lot as a kid, pre-Crack. Tried to give it a shot with Zaz but, ah... he ate the dice. And the character sheets." I pause, sigh. "And all the pencils."

"AnD scrumPTATIOuS penCils they were, ooh00hoo! Given an opportunity of approximation opp0rtunacity, This Zaz would do the same with hesitations-unexisting."

"Yeah, so I kinda gave up trying."

Syssyx lets out a small laugh, but finally shrugs. "The encampment is new, and little is yet settled. Many share stories of their old lives, or of their desires, fears. A deck of cards was recently found, and has seen some use. Orgies, no... but I have yet to notice a shortage of sex. It does seem that when any amount of humans find themselves in close proximity, their priorities shift to what orifices they're able to invade. A quality that I -- as you've seen -- definitely share from my old life."

"Boy, fuckin' tell me about it," I smirk, but then furrow my brow in thought a moment. "The way you say 'humans,' do you not consider yourself human? Or do you think you're closer to what Zaz is, one of the Young?"

"In all honesty, I have had too little contact with either to form any sort of tribal connection," she admits after a pensive hum. "I am always with one hand in each glove, so to speak. But perhaps, with time, I shall learn more--"

"Fuck!" I yelp as something whizzes past my face, ducking backwards on pure reflex an instant soon enough. Recoiling, I look down to see what appears to be a wooden spear -- or some sort of farming implement fashioned into one -- sticking out of the asphalt about a foot to my right, still wobbling from the force of its impact. I backpedal, slinging my crossbow out from around my back and whirling leftwards to get eyes on whoever threw (or launched) the weapon, and my companions, too, are beginning to react. Syx summons that pair of spectral daggers into her hands, then steps backwards out of her astral form to take a defensive stance beside me, the mirage darting forward with blades in hand. Zaz, on the other hand, begins to ripple and shift his bloated, eggplant-colored body, swelling in size and beginning to unspool waves of his deadly tentacles as his single baby-blue searches for prey.

Another spear rushes past, and I close my eyes for a moment, searching out with my mind. How did I not sense any incoming intention? Are our assailants somehow mentally silent, or simply drowned out by the nonstop white noise of the crazies? I concentrate and try to search past it, finally feeling the hum of other thoughts, violent thoughts, though blurry and indistinct. "West!" I shout, loading a bolt into my crossbow and wheeling around to aim, searching for the source of these projectiles and finally spotting them -- humans, mutated, though different from the shambling, gibbering crazies I've come to know. These ones have taken cover and, after having been pointed out, begin to charge out from their hiding places, their ambush having failed to either disorient the group or pick off an easy kill. Whoever they are, they fucked with the wrong people.

I loose a bolt, narrowly missing a charging would-be highwayman, and frantically start to load another. Predictably, with a proper target, Syx and Zaz are doing far better, with the betentacled monstrosity I call a roommate easily deflecting blows with cleavers, hatchets, sharpened shovels, and pointed pieces of rebar with his impenetrably malleable body. Tentacles lash out in all directions, snatching up onrushing brigands -- then either crushing them like a great purple python, or shoving it under the main bulk of his body, into the range of his inescapable maw. Screams echo out around us, some of rage or hunger or pure madness, I'm not sure... others of agony as Zazkoroth enacts his profane rampage, a cutting loose I can only assume has been long in coming.

Reloaded, I shoot another bolt, this one hitting its mark as one of the crazies rushes towards me, and it's now that I actually get a decent look at one of them. He's clearly mutated, but... definitely different. All the other mutants I've seen, with the obvious exception of Syx and myself, were glassy-eyed and pallid-skinned, generally slow-moving, barely sentient. This one bears the similar complexion, with the slightly greenish hue of some sort of rot, but his eyes are sharp -- intelligent, purposeful. Strange, circular patterns are scarrified into his face and along his arms and hands, symmetrical, intentional. Whether these are some kind of new breed or something I just haven't seen before, I don't know. And I'm not sure I want to.