Cry Havoc Chapter 1 - Cold Open

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I woke up to the cold.

It wasn’t any kind of gradual process, a slow, natural waking. Rather, I came to awareness with a sudden, invasive chill that seemed to reach past skin and muscle straight to my bones. Then the air around me pulsed with a change in pressure that pushed against my eardrums, even though I could hear nothing at all. A second later, a curved section of what looked like polished steel retracted upward and outward, folding away from me like mechanical petals as the pod opened. It was only then, when there was something to see, that I realized my eyes were open at all. They didn’t need to adjust from the darkness to the light… They simply functioned, feeding me information instead of nothing, like a switch had been flipped.

My body responded before any conscious command, spine straightening, legs swinging over the edge of the pod I had been reclining in. I sat upright, movements smooth and precise, not a tremor or hesitation. Wrong. It felt wrong. Not painful, not awkward, but as if someone else was moving my limbs while I merely observed. My body didn’t feel the way it was supposed to.

How was it supposed to feel? What an odd thought to think. How had I felt before? How had I gotten here? How…

I couldn’t remember.

My head felt hollow, an empty vessel waiting to be filled. I searched my memory, trying to access... something. Anything. A name. A reason I was here. A memory of falling asleep. Nothing answered my mental probe. Just the cold, clinical awareness of a blank slate where a history should be. With no clear idea what I should be doing, I rose, pushing off from the pod. My feet hit the floor with a soft thud, the impact traveling up through my calves, registering as data points and not actually sensation. The floor was polished, cold against my soles but not uncomfortably so. Just another fact to catalog: floor is cold. Body is functioning. Mind is empty.

My head turned slowly, scanning the environment. The sterile white walls gleamed under recessed lighting, the surfaces so pristine and the lighting so uniform they seemed to erase shadows. The air carried a sharp scent—antiseptic and artificial, like the idea of cleanliness rather than cleanliness itself. Nothing adorned the walls. No windows interrupted their smooth expanse. The room was almost empty… just a chair and the pod I had come out of, its lid peeled back like an opened can. Against it, a small computer terminal glowed with numbers and letters:

FIFTH-GENERATION AUGMENTED HUMAN

DESIGNATION HOUND-91

STATUS: ACTIVE

CALIBRATION: OPTIMAL

MISSION READINESS: 100%

I looked down at myself. A black skintight suit covered me from neck to toe, clinging to every contour of my body like a second skin. The material didn't feel like fabric—more like a synthetic membrane, seamless as far as I could tell. I ran my fingers over it, my fingers tracing over where the suit bulged out to cling over my breasts, and I noted the strange duality of the sensation: I could feel the pressure of my fingertips through the material, but not texture or temperature. Like touching myself through a layer of numbness. Turning around, I looked at one of the polished panels from the pod lid, and I caught my own reflection.

The figure staring back at me should have been shocking. Should have triggered alarm, fear, at least confusion. Instead, I simply registered the details with the same detached interest as I had the room temperature and the floor’s texture.

My body was completely covered by the suit. Its hood covered my head, molded so tightly to my skull it wouldn’t budge. It masked my face utterly, the smooth contours of the matte black only interrupted by the solid metal visor over my eyes. This “visor” had no lenses… They were completely solid, and fed me only the data the cameras could see. I had no visible ears beneath the hood, but two metal antennas rose from where the visor met the side of my head, and they were shaped like pointed ears of a canine. Beneath the hood, where my face surely was, there was only a small bulge for my nose beneath the hood and two small slits for my mouth and nostrils, revealing nothing but darkness within.

I leaned closer to the reflection, opening my mouth. The slit widened accordingly. Inside I could glimpse my teeth and tongue, seemingly normal human anatomy in stark contrast to the inhuman exterior. I closed my mouth, and the opening narrowed again to a thin line. I raised my hands to touch this face that wasn't a face. The gloved fingers traced the smooth contours of the hood, feeling for seams or fasteners, finding none. The material seemed fused to my skin—or perhaps it was my skin. I couldn't tell where the suit ended and I began.

Who was I?

I searched my mind for a name, an identity, a single memory to explain how I came to be here, like this. Nothing emerged from the void. No childhood recollections. No faces of loved ones. No professional knowledge or personal preferences. Not even the basic awareness of how old I might be or what I might have looked like beneath this concealing second skin.

I should have panicked. Any rational being would panic upon waking in a strange place, unable to remember who they were, encased in some kind of full-body suit with no apparent way to remove it. I waited for the fear to come, the racing heart, the shortness of breath, the surge of adrenaline.

Nothing happened. My pulse remained steady. My breathing, even. My thoughts, clear and analytical.

I turned away from the reflection to look at the terminal again. It still displayed the same information: FIFTH-GENERATION AUGMENTED HUMAN, DESIGNATION HOUND-91, STATUS: ACTIVE

Was that me? I rolled the possibility around in my mind, testing it like a foreign object on my tongue. It fit, in the way that any label fits an object that has no opinion about what it's called. I felt no connection to it, no sense of recognition or rejection. It wasn’t a name. It was a designation. A label for a thing, not a person.

I turned back to the mirror, studying the faceless figure once more. "Hound-91," I said aloud, the words emerging clearly from the mouth-slit in the hood. My voice sounded strange to my own ears— feminine, but I only heard it through the vibrations in my bones. Not a hint of the sound reached my ears from the outside. My voice was flat, uninflected by emotion or curiosity.

I should have been alarmed by all of this. Should have been desperate to understand, to escape, to find someone who could explain. Instead, I simply noted it, as I was observing information that required acknowledgment but not emotional engagement. The emptiness in my mind wasn't unsettling. The strange body I inhabited wasn't frightening. The lack of memory wasn't frustrating. These were simply conditions that existed, like gravity. They were facts to be acknowledged, then set aside as I waited for... what? Instructions? Orders? Purpose?

I didn't know what I was waiting for, but I knew for certain that I was waiting. My body stood motionless in the center of the room, ready to respond to whatever came next. It wasn’t even a surprise when the door opened in perfect, sterile silence and a man strode in.

He was a large man. I could compare my height and stature against the average for a woman, and knew I was taller and more built, and he was still far larger than I was. He towered more than a full head over me, with sharp features that looked almost deliberately designed—cheekbones like blade edges, jaw like a cliff face, eyes the color of winter sky reflected in steel. Maybe in his forties, though augmentation procedures could make age hard to determine… At the very least, his short black hair had begun to grey. A scar ran along his jawline and up into his cheek, but the stubble of a beard didn’t even try to cover it. It looked displayed, almost as if it were a medal pinned to his flesh. His stride as he entered the room was precise, disciplined, economical… military.

He took three steps into the room before he stopped, his gaze sweeping over me with the detached interest of someone inspecting equipment. He wasn’t surprised to see me here, nor at all discomforted by my appearance's lack of features. I observed him back. His uniform was dark grey, gold insignia catching the light as he moved, the fabric so perfectly pressed it seemed more like armor than clothing. The tight fabric didn’t hide the athletic build beneath it in the least… This man could pick me up and throw me if he wished.

After a few seconds he gave a short nod that seemed to confirm I met some unspoken standard. He pushed an earpiece with a small microphone into one ear and switched it on. "Hound-91," he said.

The experience of his voice was odd. It didn’t come from the outside. I heard it directly against my ears. That made sense actually; it was why everything else was so silent. Just as my eyes were blocked off and I was only permitted to interface with the world through what my visor saw, my ears had something similar. When he spoke, his words were broadcast directly to me. My name… no, my designation… emerged from his mouth like a command rather than a form of address. His voice was smooth and measured, each syllable given exactly the weight it required. No more, no less, and I found my attention focused utterly on him. "I am Cernunnos. Do you know who I am?"

CERNUNNOS. I did. I had never heard that name before, but something in it triggered a memory that I could have sworn didn’t exist a moment before. “Yes, sir,” I said flatly.

Cernunnos. HANDLER. The term registered as important, though I couldn't articulate why. Handler implied… hierarchy. A relationship of control. It suggested I was something to be handled. A tool, a weapon, an asset. Something less than the man standing before me. Something less than human. I should have objected. Should have demanded explanations, identity, freedom. Part of me knew that. Instead, it didn’t seem important, so I waited in silence.

"Good. We are representatives of Ka Corporation," Cernunnos continued, pacing a slow circle around me. His footsteps echoed on the concrete floor, a metronomic punctuation to his words. "Ka is the primary corporate entity on Elysium by corporate charter given to us by the Confederacy of Worlds, responsible for resource extraction, technological development, and security operations planetwide. You serve their interests."

He paused directly behind me. I didn't turn to follow his movement, though I could sense his presence. Even though I couldn’t hear his breathing or feel the subtle displacement of air as he moved, I could sense his eyes on me. I didn’t move. I hadn’t been directed to move.

"Planetary operations on Elysium are suffering… setbacks, as a result of terrorist activity from a rebel faction calling themselves the Children of Elysium." He resumed his circuit, completing the circle until he stood before me again. "Led by some of the original colonists of this world and their figurehead, Dr. Victoria Rathe.” He gestured at me. "Your mission is simple, Hound 91: You will destroy these rebels. You will eliminate their leadership, and capture or kill Dr. Rathe. You will end this insurrection and secure Ka Corporation's assets on Elysium."

The information flowed into the empty vessel of my mind, filling the void with purpose, if not identity. I absorbed it without question, though somewhere beneath the passive acceptance, a small part of me registered that I should be asking for more details. Why me? Why these REBELS? What had they done to deserve destruction?

"To do this, you have been augmented to be a pilot for a Fenrir-class mechanized weapon platform," Cernunnos continued, moving to the terminal on the wall. He tapped several keys, and a holographic display flickered to life somewhere in my vision like a heads-up display, projected onto the screen before my eyes. A three-dimensional rendering of a massive, four-legged mechanical form rotated slowly in the air. It resembled a humanoid but stretched and sharpened, limbs elongated, joints reinforced, head a featureless wedge. "This is the mech Cerberus. It has been custom-built to interface with your neural and physiological augmentations."

It was beautiful… and dangerous. As dangerous to a pilot as to its enemies. Information flooded my display and my mind. Such a device was only capable of being piloted by an augmented human capable of surviving it. That was why I had been so heavily augmented by new, generation five technology using the Styx bacteria.

Right. That was why the Corporation was here. I remembered.

"Do you understand your mission objective?" Cernunnos asked, his gaze fixing on where my eyes would be behind the goggles.

"Yes, sir." The words left my mouth before I had consciously formed them, my voice as flat and emotionless as before. The response felt programmed, automatic—a reflex, not a choice. I did understand, so I said so.

"The rebels possess several Fenrir-class mechs of their own," Cernunnos continued. "Mech-based technology on this world is advancing quickly… It is possible that some of their platforms may be more advanced than yours by now. You will need to out-pilot and out-fight them. Do you understand the threat assessment?"

The words had hardly left his mouth before a barrage of information hit me with the force of a rifle slug, flooding my visual display with a cascade of data. Pilot profiles. Mech specifications, known or estimated. Threat assessments. They burst into my awareness, each one a detailed dossier of the obstacles I would encounter on the field. The screens flicked through faster than a normal person could have possibly read… but I had no trouble.

Callsign Shieldmaiden… most likely identity Maya Chen. A video snippet showed a compact mech with heavy armor, dubbed "Valkyrie," barreling through a cloud of missiles in protective defiance, its reactive armor showering the area with a spray of countermeasures to destroy them.

Callsign Viper, unknown pilot. Her dossier emphasized her surgical precision with laser strikes, matched by footage of her mech "Basilisk" as it emerged from beneath the ground to land a devastating ambush.

Callsign Wraith… most likely Sarah Rathe, a daughter of the rebel leader. Footage showed her neural response times were fast, nearly a match for mine, her smaller mech “Artemis” darting in and out of enemy range.

Callsign Archangel. The enemy ace, and the woman who had destroyed the first suppression campaign by the Ka Corporation. Identity was confirmed as Ashley Rathe, a fourth-generation Augmented human, and Dr. Rathe’s eldest daughter. The Guardian of Elysium was designated a critical threat for obvious reasons. As her mech flowed through battle, it reminded me of watching wood float down a river… an intuitive sense letting her smoothly dodge attacks she couldn’t even see. She was an elite pilot.

I immediately wanted to test myself against her. To prove I was better. To put her in her place. It was the first thing I had wanted since I woke up, and it felt odd to want anything, felt odd to care about anything. I barely paid attention to the other names on the list. Callsign Mole. Callsign Dove. Callsign Plague. Callsign Roach. Callsign Hangman. None of them mattered. To achieve victory, I would need to go through Archangel. I would defeat her personally.

None of that passion showed in my response just a few heartbeats later. "Yes, sir."

"Lethal force is authorized and expected. Civilian casualties are acceptable collateral damage. Property damage to Ka Corporation facilities should be minimized but is secondary to mission success. Do you understand these parameters?"

"Yes, sir."

"You will be deployed via orbital drop into the Obsidian Ridge region, where our intelligence indicates the rebels have established a forward operating base. You will have 6 hours to complete this shakedown mission before returning for debriefing. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Each affirmation seemed to please him, his expression shifting subtly—not quite a smile, but a slight relaxation around the eyes, a microscopic release of tension in his jaw. He was testing me, I realized. Testing my compliance, my programming, my willingness to follow without question. And, for the first time, I felt… something. A tiny, almost microscopic shred of resentment. Not anger at being treated like a tool, no… but anger at being toyed with, at being tested. I was the one who was supposed to test people. I was the one who should be in control.

"Your primary targets are the enemy mech pilots, and Dr. Rathe,” my Handler continued. “They are the core of the resistance. Eliminate them, and the rebel movement loses its figurehead and their means of resisting us. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

He moved closer then, walking right up to me… closer than he should get. A small instinct in my mind wailed at the invasion of my personal space, but it was a distant thing, barely even noticeable and certainly not important. I didn't step back. I noted the faint scent of his cologne.

"You were created for this purpose, Hound-91," he said, his voice lower now, almost intimate despite its continued coldness. "Your body has been enhanced. Your mind, optimized. Your will, aligned with Ka Corporation's objectives. You are the perfect weapon against these terrorists. Do you understand your value?"

"Yes, sir." The words came automatically, but for the first time, I sensed something behind them—It wasn’t emotion, nor was it quite thought, but it was a… stirring. A question forming not about the mission or my purpose, but about myself. What had I been before this moment? The questions rose like bubbles in dark water, small disturbances that broke the surface of my consciousness and then dissipated, leaving no trace.

Cernunnos was still looking at me. "The space station will align with your deployment zone in ninety minutes… You will launch then. Your mech is being prepared in the hangar bay. Do you have any questions?"

The correct answer formed instantly, bypassing any consideration or reflection. "No, sir."

As I spoke, I became aware of the disconnect between what I said and what I experienced. I did have questions—thousands of them, swirling beneath the placid surface of my compliance. Who was I? What had been done to me? Why couldn't I access my memories? Why did my body respond so automatically? Why were the rebels attacking? What did the Ka Corporation want here?

The thing was… none of those questions mattered. None of them were relevant to my mission parameters. None of them had any bearing on my mission's success, or my purpose. So no, I didn’t have any questions. I was a weapon being aimed at a target.

And weapons don't question why they fire.

"Good," Cernunnos said, the word falling between us like a weight. His eyes narrowed slightly, a predator's focus tightening. His posture relaxed, becoming a little less formal as he sank into the chair that was the only ornamentation in the whole room. He lowered himself into it with casual authority, legs spread wide in front of him. "Then we have some spare time before you are deployed. Get on your knees."

The order hit me like a physical force, and my knees began to bend before I'd even processed the command. My body folded downward in a smooth, controlled motion, knees touching the cold floor with practiced precision. My spine straightened automatically, hands resting palms-down on my thighs, head tilted upward to maintain eye contact with Cernunnos. A perfect, practiced posture of submission.

Submission.

"Yes, sir." My voice emerged as flat as before, betraying nothing of the sudden resistance that flared in my mind. Wrong. The position felt fundamentally wrong, like a discordant note in music I couldn't remember hearing. Kneeling shouldn't have bothered me—it was just a physical position, after all—but something deep beneath my conscious thoughts recoiled at submitting to anyone. For the first time since waking, I felt something genuinely close to emotion.

Disgust.

Cernunnos studied me for a long moment, satisfaction evident in the slight curve of his lips. Then, with deliberate slowness, he reached for his belt buckle. The metallic click as he unfastened it echoed in the sterile room, followed by the subtle hiss of his zipper lowering tooth by tooth. "When they burned away the parts of your brain that you aren’t going to need, I wonder if they left you anything useful,” he pondered with a click of his tongue. "Crawl to me.”

I crawled towards Cernunnos. Each motion was slow, deliberate, and while I mostly still felt like an empty vessel, the disgust didn’t go away. It was mild, but compared to the perfect, vacant calm that had filled me since waking it was visceral and overwhelming, wrapping around my brain like a constrictor. As my gloved hands slapped down on the cold floor, something inside of me screamed at the degrading display, at the subservient slowness with which I approached him on all fours, crawling like some broken animal.

As I arrived, he reached into his pants and extracted his penis, already half-hard. It jutted from the opening in his uniform trousers, pale against the dark fabric, veins visible beneath the skin. He stroked it casually, bringing it to full hardness as he watched me. I stared at it with my visor, noting every detail of his DICK: length, girth, coloration, the slight curve to the left. My body remained still, waiting for instructions.

“Do you remember how to suck a cock, Hound?” His voice was matter-of-fact, as if he were asking me to demonstrate proficiency with a weapon or recite mission parameters.

"Yes, sir," I said. Flat. Emotionless. I did. I had learned during… I didn’t remember. But I had learned.

“Good,” he smiled. “Then do it.”

“Yes, sir.” Again, my response bypassed any decision-making process, emerging automatically as my body leaned forward, the slit in my hood widening as my mouth opened. My hands moved to brace against his knees, finding the perfect angle without conscious thought. My mouth enveloped his COCK in one smooth motion, taking him halfway before pulling back slightly, tongue working along the underside of his shaft. The taste of him filled my mouth—salt, musk, sweat and a bit of dirt, and it was by far the most sensation I had felt since waking up cold. The weight of his dick pressed against my tongue and I could feel the warmth, as well as the beating of his heart as his lust throbbed through his veins.

Physically, I noted the sensations with the same detached awareness I'd applied to the room temperature or the floor texture. Just information. Mentally, however, that small voice screaming in the distance was louder. A momentary and completely instinctive response had bile rising in my throat for a moment before I forced it down. I was submitting. I was weak. Only the weak submit. I wanted to bite down. Wanted to pull away. Wanted to stand up and show that I wasn’t weak and demand answers about what had been done to me. My muscles didn't respond to these impulses. My mouth continued its mechanical service, tongue swirling around the head of his cock before taking him deep again, establishing a rhythm that pulled more groans from his throat. To my handler, I was supposed to submit… His will was to replace my own in all things. He wanted this, so my body performed with expertise, my mouth and tongue working his shaft with practiced skill that erased any doubt I had that I’d done this before—though I had no memory of any previous encounters.

Cernunnos groaned, a low sound of satisfaction that seemed to come from deep in his chest. His hands came up to grip the sides of my hooded head, fingers pressing into the material covering my skull, guiding my movements to match his preferred rhythm. "That's it," he murmured, his professional demeanor slipping slightly as pleasure overtook him. "You do know what you’re doing.”

I took him deeper, my throat relaxing automatically to accommodate his full length as I tilted my head upward to allow him in. My hood-covered nose pressed against the fabric of his uniform. I didn’t have a gag reflex, I noticed… The clenching and spasming off my throat around his dick was entirely of my own making to please him, not a sign of inconvenient human limitations.

His hips began to thrust upward slightly, meeting my downward movements, his grip on my head tightening. "Look at me," he commanded.

My head tilted back further, the blank form of my goggles directed toward his face. I couldn't see his expression clearly from this angle, but I could feel his gaze boring into me, searching for something in my featureless face… though I couldn’t even guess what. I wasn’t resisting, even though I would rather die than be this meek, weak thing beneath him. Then he pushed me further down and I licked, and it stopped mattering even the little amount that it did.

Minutes stretched on, marked only by the wet sounds of the act and Cernunnos's increasingly ragged breathing. His hands gripped my hood tighter, his hips thrust more insistently. I was pleasing him… my body instinctively adjusting its technique to increase or slow his pleasure according to subtle cues I wasn't consciously processing.

Cernunnos's breathing quickened, his grip tightened painfully on my hood, his thrusts became more erratic. He was close now, teetering on the edge of release. My tongue pressed against the sensitive spot beneath the head of his cock, a calculated technique to push him over that edge. Then, abruptly, he pulled away, his cock sliding from my mouth with a wet sound that seemed obscenely loud at first and then vanished into silence the moment he was no longer touching me and the sound no longer arrived through my own body. I looked up at him, my body seeking any sign that he was displeased in some way… I didn’t think he was. My handler’s chest heaved slightly, his pupils dilated with arousal.

"Stand," he commanded, tucking himself back into his pants without fastening them.

"Yes, sir." I obeyed instantly, my body and the nearly vacant shell of my mind in full agreement as I rose from my kneeling position in one fluid motion. I resumed the neutral stance I'd maintained before. It was nice that I noticed no stiffness from the prolonged kneeling, no hesitation or awkwardness in the movement. Just smooth, mechanical obedience.

I stood before him, waiting for the next command, my body still and ready while my mind seethed with questions and realizations I couldn't express. The taste of him lingered on my tongue.

Cernunnos rose from the chair, his eyes never leaving my faceless form. He circled me slowly, like a predator assessing prey, his gaze traveling over the contours of my body with clinical interest. His fingers followed, tracing lines along my shoulders, down my spine, across the curve of my hip—not sensual touches, but evaluative ones, as if he were inspecting merchandise for flaws or features. His hand came to rest at the small of my back, fingers splayed, pressing against the synthetic material that covered me from neck to toe. The pressure registered as data points on my skin, neither pleasant nor unpleasant, just pressure.

"You are sealed up tight in that second skin," he murmured, more to himself than to me. His fingers continued their exploration, moving lower to cup the curve of my rear. "So inaccessible." I stood motionless, neither responding to nor resisting his touch, though internally I recoiled. It wasn’t the propriety of the way that he handled me… It was that I had to allow it. My body remained perfectly still, accepting his examination like a mannequin.

"They are a fascinating design from Amber Engineering. Bodily maintenance interfaces woven directly into the fabric. Monitors vital signs, regulates temperature, processes toxins. Probably costs the Ka Corporation more than they pay me for a whole year." His hand moved around to my front, fingers trailing across my abdomen, then lower, between my legs. The material of the suit was so thin that I could feel just a bit of the heat of his palm through it, could sense the slight pressure as his fingers traced the contours of my CUNT beneath the fabric. “Did you know that every bit of sweat or waste you produce for the rest of your life is supposed to be fed back to you, Hound-91? We should only need to top off your tank from time to time… With proper use, we can keep you below a milliliter of water lost per day," he said with a smirk, voice tinged with something like amusement.

He stepped back, and for a moment I thought the examination was over. Then he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small knife—an elegant thing with a titanium handle and a blade so sharp it seemed to cut the light. He held it up between us, turning it so the sterile white lighting gleamed along its edge.

"The thing is… we really don’t need anything like that kind of efficiency from you, do we?" he said as the tip of the blade pressed against the material covering my sex, not hard enough to touch the skin beneath, but firm enough that I could feel the point's presence. “My superiors might be a little annoyed, but it’s not like any of them are going to check in on you.” With delicate precision he drew the knife downward, the fabric parting beneath the blade with a soft whisper of resistance. The cut was small, perhaps three inches long, just enough to expose the flesh beneath. Cool air touched skin that hadn't felt anything but the suit since my awakening, the sensation registering as a faint shock to nerve endings unaccustomed to direct stimulation.

"A small modification. Nothing that will impact your combat performance," Cernunnos said casually, returning the knife to his belt. His finger traced the edge of the cut, then slipped inside, touching bare skin for the first time. The contact sent an electric jolt through me, not pleasure or pain but simply raw sensation after so much numbness as he fingers pushed into my slit. "So really, who'll know?"

His finger probed deeper, finding a few hints of moisture. My body was responding to his touch at least a little. "Perfect for my needs," he murmured, withdrawing his finger and examining the small gleam of wetness on it. "Fully functional." He wiped his finger on the side of my hooded face, then gestured toward the pod I had awakened from. "Now, bend over that, reach back, and spread your pussy open for me with your hands."

The command to be so subservient and put myself on display triggered a surge of revulsion like a physical blow… but even as the thoughts formed, my body was already moving, turning toward the pod. "Yes, sir," my voice said, flat and emotionless as ever, betraying nothing of the storm raging beneath the surface of my compliance. I bent forward at the waist, pressing my suit-covered TITS down on the curved edge of the hard metal shell. The position forced my ASS up and out, exposed and vulnerable. My hands reached behind me to follow my MASTER’s command, fingers finding the small cut in the material before spreading outward, pulling the synthetic skin apart to expose my cunt to Cernunnos's gaze.

My fingers held the cut fabric apart, the cool air of the room washing over newly exposed flesh. I couldn't see Cernunnos from this position, and with my ears covered I couldn’t even hear his footsteps as he stepped behind me… but I heard his soft exhalation of anticipation over the microphone, and I knew they were there. His hand came to rest on my hip, not to steady himself but simply because he could… because what he rested on was his. I felt the heat of his body through the suit as his body contacted mine and then I felt the head of his cock pressing against my exposed opening, hot and hard and insistent. He paused there, perhaps savoring the moment of anticipation, perhaps waiting to see if I would show any sign of resistance. None came. I remained there, perfectly positioned, perfectly compliant, betraying none of the revulsion that did its best to fight its way to the surface beneath the dark water that filled the ocean of my mind.

"Good girl," he murmured again, fingers tightening slightly on my hip. Then Cernunnos pushed forward without warning, without care for how tight or dry I might be. The initial penetration was a shock of pain… My spit provided enough lubrication for him to enter me in one brutal thrust, but it did nothing to salve the hurt of my tiny PUSSY being plowed open. He continued forward until he had forced himself to the hilt inside me, his hips slamming against my ass with enough force to jolt my body forward against the pod.

A grunt escaped him, carried by the microphone that was my only connection to the outside world… a sign of his satisfaction. By contrast, I remained silent, my body absorbing the impact without complaint. The physical pain was just more data points: pressure, friction, stretching, fullness. Mentally the once-still waters of my mind roiled in a storm, my psyche recoiling even as my body accepted my Handler inside of me, and the disconnect between the two was growing into a yawning chasm. I existed in two states simultaneously: the physical self that complied without resistance, and the mental self that longed to die before she submitted.

He withdrew slightly, then thrust forward again with the same brutal force. Then again. And again. Establishing a rhythm that served only his pleasure, his hands gripping my hips with bruising strength, fingers digging into the synthetic material of my suit and the flesh beneath.

His thrusts grew harder, faster, more insistent. The sound of skin slapping against synthetic material filled the sterile room, punctuated by his grunts and the subtle, wet sounds of penetration. My body rocked with each impact, absorbing the force, adjusting its position slightly to accommodate his angle, all without conscious direction from me. I stared at the interior of the pod before me, the smooth white surface where I had awakened such a short time ago. Had I known then what awaited me? Had some part of me anticipated this violation, this use, this absolute surrender of autonomy? Or had I truly been as empty as I felt, a blank slate awaiting imprinting?

Questions without answers circled like vultures over the carcass of my autonomy as Cernunnos continued to use my body, his rhythm growing more erratic, his breathing over the headset more labored. His hands moved from my hips to my shoulders, gripping them for leverage as he drove into me with increasing force. The new angle pushed him deeper, the head of his cock hitting something inside me that triggered an automatic physical response—a tightening, a pulse of wetness, a subtle arching of my spine. None of it translated to pleasure in any meaningful sense—just biological functions operating as designed, independent of my consent or desire.

Cernunnos shifted again. This time, one hand moved from my shoulder to the back of my hooded head, pressing my faceless face against the pod's surface. The position forced my back to arch further, my ass to lift higher, allowing him even deeper penetration into my gripping TWAT. My hands remained in place, holding myself open for him as ordered, though with him already inside of me the gesture did nothing but make me look even more pathetically submissive. It didn’t matter: I hadn't been ordered to move them, so they stayed.

The new angle triggered more involuntary physical responses—tiny spasms around his invading cock, a rush of wetness, a subtle shift in my breathing pattern. Not pleasure as I understood the concept, but physical reactions that mimicked pleasure's outward signs. Cernunnos noticed, of course. Nothing escaped his clinical observation. "Responding well," he said between thrusts, voice tight with his own building pleasure. "I’m glad they left you… with a few… useful neural pathways…"

I was FUCKED in eerie silence, the hood making me deaf to the way the room was filled with the obscene soundtrack of our coupling: the rhythmic slap of his hips against my ass, the wet sounds of penetration, the subtle creak of the pod beneath my weight as his thrusts pushed me against it. No words from me, no sounds of pleasure or distress, just silent, perfect compliance as my body accepted what my mind rejected. He pounded me like that for what felt like an eternity. How long had this been going on? How much longer would it continue? The questions had no meaning in this sterile room where my will had no power and my body obeyed another’s commands over my own.

Something was building inside me—not pleasure, not in any conventional sense, but some kind of physical response that my modified body was biologically programmed to experience. A tension coiling at the base of my spine, a tightening of internal muscles, a gathering pressure that sought release without my consent or participation. Cernunnos sensed it, his rhythm shifting to target whatever spot inside me triggered the response most effectively. "That's it," he grunted, driving into me with renewed purpose. "Show me... everything... works. Cum for me, Hound."

The command triggered something in my programming. My body convulsed around my violator, my master, and my internal muscles clenching in rhythmic pulses that coated his cock in a rush of wetness to make his continued thrusts even easier for him. A synthetic orgasm, manufactured by whatever modifications had been made to my body, divorced from any genuine pleasure or desire. It didn’t even feel very pleasant… closer to a systems test than a sexual climax. My mind registered it with the same detached disgust that had characterized this entire encounter.

Cernunnos, however, seemed to enjoy it… His cock throbbed inside me at the sensation of my body tightening around him. His thrusts became more frantic, less controlled. He was close now, chasing his own release with single-minded determination, using my body as a tool for his pleasure. His fingers dug harder into my hood, pressing my faceless face against the pod with bruising force. His other hand gripped my hip, holding me in place as he drove into me with increasing urgency. His breathing came in harsh pants, his movements growing erratic, his control slipping as pleasure overtook him.

Suddenly, Cernunnos pulled out of me—a swift, jarring withdrawal that left me empty and gaping open with my insides exposed to the air. "Back on your knees," he commanded, voice tight with impending release.

Until he had spoken, my body remained bent over the pod, hands still holding my flesh open as commanded. I hadn't been told to move, so I hadn’t. My programming was that simple, that absolute. "Yes, sir." The response was automatic, my body already in motion before the words had fully left my mouth. I straightened from the bent position, turned to face him, then sank to my knees in one fluid movement. My hands came to rest on my thighs, palms down, spine straight, head tilted up to look at him with unseeing eyes—the exact same perfect posture of submission I'd assumed earlier.

He stood before me, his cock jutting out from his open pants, rigid and glistening with the evidence of my body's involuntary response to his invasion. His hand wrapped around it, stroking with quick, efficient movements, his eyes fixed on my featureless face. Not looking at me—there was no me to look at—but at the doll he had used to get off. I remained perfectly motionless as he stroked himself to completion, his breathing growing more ragged, his movements more urgent.

His free hand reached out to grip the top of my hood, fingers digging into the material. Then, with a low grunt, he came. The first jet of semen hit the goggles, a warm splash that momentarily obscured my vision with its milky opacity. The second spurt of his JIZZ landed lower, across the raised expanse of my nose. The third and fourth line of CUM striped the mouth-slit and chin area of the hood, some of it seeping through the opening to touch my actual lips. The taste registered—salt and bitterness—alongside the sensation of warmth slowly cooling against the synthetic material of my hood. I remained motionless throughout, neither flinching from the spray nor reacting to the taste that had polluted my mouth.

Cernunnos's breathing gradually steadied as he tucked himself back into his pants, refastening them with the same meticulous precision that characterized all his movements. He looked down at me, at his semen cooling on my featureless face, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "You look like a mess, Hound-91. We can’t have that. Wipe it all off," he instructed, looking down at me. "Collect it with your hands."

"Yes, sir." My hands lifted from my thighs, moving to my face with choreographed precision. Fingers traced the contours of the hood, gathering the viscous fluid, careful not to miss any of it. The goggles cleared as I wiped them, restoring my vision to its normal clarity, allowing me to see Cernunnos watching my compliance with cold satisfaction. My fingers gathered the last streaks from the chin area of the hood, now coated with the sticky evidence of his release. I held my hands before me, palms up, fingers glistening with his seed.

"Lick them clean," he added.

"Yes, sir." My hands moved to my mouth, and one by one I brought my fingers to the slit in the hood. My tongue extended out from the black material to lick them clean of Cernunnos's slimy spunk. His unique taste coated my mouth as I systematically licked each digit clean, from base to tip, cleaning each finger until it glistened with saliva rather than semen, then moving to the next, until all ten had been thoroughly attended to.

"Good girl." The word fell between us, heavy with implication. Not praise, not really, but acknowledgment that I had functioned as desired. "You're dismissed. Report to hangar bay three for deployment. Cerberus is waiting."

"Yes, sir." I rose from my knees, the movement not quite fluid as before. My legs wobbled slightly, a brief tremor running through muscles that should have been perfectly controlled. An anomaly from the aftermath of the frenzied fucking I had endured.

If Cernunnos noticed, he gave no sign. He had already turned away, moving toward the door, his attention shifting from me to whatever came next in his schedule. I was no longer of interest now that he had confirmed my functionality and asserted his dominance. Just another piece of equipment checked off his list. He left without another word, the door sliding shut behind him. All sound left with him, leaving me alone and abandoned in the sterile room.

I stood there for a moment, my body awaiting the next command while my mind processed what had happened. The taste of Cernunnos lingered on my tongue, the memory of violation fresh in my consciousness. The small cut in the suit between my legs allowed cool air to touch flesh still sensitive from his use, a constant reminder of my vulnerability. As I stood there I felt liquid seeping from between my legs—his, mine, a mixture of both. The synthetic material of the suit absorbed it as it ran down my legs, processing it… turning it back into nourishment that would be fed back to me.

I should move. He had ordered me to report to the hangar bay. My visor was lighting up, the augmented hologram across its surface showing me the path along the floor. My legs began to carry me toward the door without conscious direction from me.

It left my mind free to ponder things better forgotten.

Who had I been before the pod? Before the hood and the suit and the emptiness? Had I volunteered for this transformation, or had it been forced upon me? Had there been a moment of choice somewhere in my past, or had my agency never existed from the beginning?

I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

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