Cry Havoc Chapter 7 - Downtime

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The prison level of the outpost stank of piss, shit, and fear… but what else was new? No matter how advanced we became, a dungeon was still a dungeon.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in a harsh, unflattering glow that made the stainless steel walls gleam like wet bone. Temperature control kept the prison section chilly – another small cruelty designed to keep prisoners uncomfortable and compliant. I could see the black eyes of cameras tracking every movement I made. I strode down the corridor, my footsteps echoing off the metal floor panels and reinforced walls, and tried to tell myself I wasn’t feeling sullen.

I was a pilot, an elite weapon, and a dealer of death.

I did not feel sullen.

Still, it had been three days since I had left the front lines, so I wasn’t much of a pilot at the moment. Kerberos was damaged enough that she required extensive repairs. Even receiving every resource to get me back to combat-ready, they had been several days fixing her already, and it would be several days more before she was fit to be deployed… and that left me here, able to be summoned like a mongrel dog to heel at my handler’s whims.

I hated it. I felt naked without my body… just another piece of Ka Corporation property to be used however they saw fit. I hated this place too. I had claimed this base for the corporation, and every cell I walked by reminded me of my own lack of freedom. I was a prisoner here just as surely as they were, but at least they got to be captives in their own skin… I was imprisoned outside of mine.

It was better to focus on the mission: report to Cernunnos in the makeshift office he had made for himself among the interrogation rooms, as ordered.

The first block of cells housed the rank-and-file rebels – kids who'd picked up guns thinking they could change something, technicians who'd fixed the wrong person's equipment, civilians who'd given food or shelter to the wrong people. Nothing special. Some watched me pass with hatred burning in their eyes; others shrank back into the corners of their cells, as if my presence alone could hurt them. They weren't wrong.

"Fucking traitor," one of them spat as I passed. I didn't bother looking at him. It wasn't worth the effort to explain I'd never been on his side, wasn’t from Elysium, and wouldn’t remember if I had been. Still, it felt at least a little reassuring that people saw the human shape and could forget for a moment what I actually was – a weapon wrapped in flesh, programmed and pointed. An asset of the Ka Corporation that just happened to need to breathe.

I rounded the corner into the high-security block where they kept the special prisoners. The ones with information. The ones worth breaking.

I almost walked past her cell without breaking stride, but something made me pause – maybe the sound of the electricity, a faint crackling that cut through the ambient noise of the prison. Lucia Santos—Viper—looked considerably worse for wear than she had when I’d last seen her after capturing her. The rebel pilot and traitor’s naked body dangled from steel restraints, her toes barely grazing the floor as her entire weight pulled against her shoulders. Her once-athletic frame had thinned dramatically, ribs visible beneath her bruise-mottled skin, making her look almost impossibly elongated as she stretched toward the ground.

Those perfect tits that I remembered were sagging now, strained from the cruel upward pull of her arms, and their flesh mottled with handprints and bruising. Her nipples were now grotesquely swollen around vicious alligator clips, the sensitive flesh bulging obscenely, crusted with dried blood. Every few seconds, electricity pulsed through the wires attached to them, making the captured pilot arch her back in an involuntary spasm that thrust those abused tits forward in a perverse dance.

Her ass, still round despite her starvation, was striped with welts and dotted with cigarette burns. Between her forcibly spread legs, her once-tight pussy was on full display, her clit similarly tortured with its own cruel clip, the sensitive button engorged and leaking blood down her inner thighs. Those thighs trembled constantly, muscles spasming from the irregular current that shot through the other electrodes attached to various places across them as well.

Her face was what had changed the most. They hadn’t beaten it too badly… After all, if they wanted to fuck an inhuman doll and didn’t care if she was pretty or not, they would have put her in a suit like mine. Even so, she was nearly unrecognizable beneath the matted, tangled mess of what had once been silky black hair. Split lips, a jaw mottled purple, and her formerly defiant eyes now stared emptily at the ground, glazed and unseeing. Dried tears and what might have been cum tracked down her hollow cheeks. I knew that the Ka Corporation’s science teams had been thoroughly working to determine how the Rebels had broken their former hound’s conditioning, but most of this didn’t look like interrogation… It just looked like revenge. Or entertainment.

Thick, pearly cum dripped steadily down the insides of her thighs from both her cunt and asshole, streaking through the blood that had dried there. Cernunnos had mentioned he found her "resistance refreshing." I could tell how he’d been enjoying it.

I watched as another shock made her body convulse. I remembered how she'd spoken to me during our battle, insisting there was a way out, a way to break free. What a waste of breath. How was that working out for her? Freedom was an impossible dream, a delusion that only hurt more when you woke up for it. I wouldn’t let its siren’s call poison my mind. I walked on.

The next cell held the woman who used to be called Dove. Unlike Lucia, she wasn’t being experimented on… so I knew that everything Marina Chen had been subjected to was just cruelty. The young pilot slumped naked in the corner of her cell, knees drawn up to her tits, methodically banging the back of her head against the wall with a dull, rhythmic thud. Marina's once-vibrant body was now a canvas of violet-blue bruises blooming across her smooth skin, deep scratches tracking red lines down her slender sides, and crusted blood from numerous cuts decorating her like perverse jewelry.

Her delicate face was barely recognizable beneath the thick, flaky layers of dried cum that plastered her features. One eye remained sealed shut, glued by the pearly remnants of at least a dozen loads that had been pumped across her face. Her once-silky black hair hung in stiff, white-crusted clumps, matted to her scalp and shoulders like a grotesque cum-helmet. Her tits were swollen, chafed raw from rough handling, teeth marks visible around the darkened areolae. The perfect curve of her breasts was marred by finger-shaped bruises and what looked like taser marks striping across them. Marina's thighs were splayed just enough to reveal the raw, puffy lips of her cunt, angry red and gaping slightly from repeated violation. A steady trickle of milky fluid leaked from her abused hole, pooling beneath her firm ass in a puddle of mixed fluids. She was clearly too exhausted or comatose to be bothered to move away from the pooled pinkish slurry beneath her, but other parts of it had dried in flaking patterns up her inner thighs, marking the path where countless loads had oozed from her thoroughly used pussy and ass.

Whatever spark of idealism or hope that had driven her to become a pilot for the Children of Elysium had been thoroughly fucked out of her. Her vacant, unfocused eye—the one that wasn't sealed shut with spunk—stared through me, not at me. Her consciousness retreated somewhere far beyond her cum-soaked, brutalized body.

I stared back at her, questing for… something. Some bit of disgust, or anger, or satisfaction, or pride, or pity. I found none of it. The only thing I felt looking at her was a cold certainty that the alternative was worse. Better her sitting there, broken and used, than me. I was a predator. She was prey… and her current state proved the difference. It was better that it was her head cracking softly against the wall than mine.

I turned away and continued down the corridor toward my meeting. My mind was already shifting gears, preparing for whatever Cernunnos wanted. The sounds of the prison – the soft weeping, the occasional scream, the mechanical hum of security systems – faded into background noise as I focused on the task ahead. Whatever happened to these rebels, they'd made their choice.

That was an improvement over me… I hadn't ever been given one.

I opened the door and found the interrogation room was much like every other Ka Corporation space – aggressively sterile, cold, and designed to make the people in it feel small. I stepped inside, the door hissing shut behind me with pneumatic finality. Cernunnos sat at the metal table, scrolling through a datapad, not bothering to look up when I entered. His deliberate inattention was just another power play, another reminder that I existed on his schedule, not mine. I stood at perfect attention without thinking about it, body rigid, arms at my sides, chin level.

The room smelled of disinfectant and the faint metallic tang that permeated all Ka Corporation facilities. Overhead lights buzzed with an ultra high-frequency whine that an unaugmented human wouldn't notice, but my enhanced senses picked up easily. One minute passed. Then two. I didn’t get tired and I didn’t get bored, but even so there was a psychological weight to being forced to wait that pressed down on me like a physical force. I could hear Cernunnos' steady breathing, the slight rustle of fabric as he shifted in his chair, the tap of his finger against the datapad screen.

Finally, he looked up, his cold gray eyes assessing me like I was a piece of equipment scheduled for maintenance.

"Hound," he said, voice flat and emotionless. His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer. Then: "Kneel."

“Yes, sir.” The response was automatic, and my actions were no less so, my body moving before my brain could process the flash of stubborn denial and rejection that flared at the command. I dropped to my knees in front of him, the hard polished metal plates sending a jolt through my legs as my weight landed on them. My muscles remembered this routine even as my mind rebelled against it. My hands rested on my thighs, perfectly positioned, perfectly submissive. Behind my visor, I imagined crushing his windpipe, watching his face turn blue as he gasped for air that wouldn't come.

I hated him.

I served him.

Cernunnos pushed his chair back slightly from the table, his movements unhurried, casual. He unfastened his pants and pulled out his cock, already half-hard. "I’m busy. Make yourself useful," he said, attention already drifting back to his datapad. "Suck."

The command, like all commands, sent hormones and chemicals racing through me, the compliance I was conditioned to instantly provide coming to the front. My hands trembled with revulsion for submitting, but it didn’t stop me from crawling under the table on those shaking hands and knees, positioning my hooded head between his spread thighs. My mouth opened, my head lowered. I wished I could bite, or maybe tackle Cernunnos and pull him from the chair and pin him down. I’d have settled for that. Instead, my lips closed around his shaft, tongue pressing hard against the underside as I sucked and took him deeper into my throat.

He tasted familiar. I hated how familiar his taste had become to my mouth. I hated how easy it was for me to relax my throat and let it accommodate him as he hardened further in my mouth and I pushed further down, letting him in. Most of all I hated how well I sucked his cock even while my mind screamed at me in futile protest, claiming that I wasn’t a weakling, claiming that I wasn’t a doll for my handler to play with… because he was so effortlessly proving that was exactly what I was. Cernunnos wasn’t even looking at me and didn’t touch me. He continued reviewing whatever was on his datapad, occasionally making notes, his free hand resting on the table rather than touching me. I wasn’t even worth any attention from him—Just a warm, wet hole for his use while he attended to more important matters.

"The two captives you took in the last battle are refusing to give us anything so far,” he said conversationally, as if we were discussing the mission over coffee instead of while I knelt between his legs with his cock in my mouth. "You did well to defeat two enemy assets like that… though the damage to Cerberus was higher than mission parameters allowed. Next time, ensure you return our asset more intact."

Frustration boiled. Kerberos was my body, my freedom. I was the one upset about the injury I suffered… not him. I had been ambushed and fought my way free of two elite pilots, and the most consideration I got was a critique about not taking care of my Kerberos. It was just as maddening as the fact that the only way I could show my annoyance was to suck harder and swipe my tongue more aggressively across his shaft. I increased my pace slightly, hollowing my cheeks as I worshipped my handler, because if there was one single thing my conditioning made clear, it was that he was the closest thing this galaxy had to God.

"Hound-39 does this better, you know," he said after several minutes, finally looking down at me. "She fights it every time. I’d need to force her. She cries. Begs. Makes the most delicious sounds when I force it deeper." His lips curved in what might have been a smile on a human being… I didn’t believe my handler qualified as one, any more than I did. "She still thinks she’s a person."

I maintained my rhythm, unable to respond with my mouth full. Behind my hood, I… flushed? Did I actually find that comparison humiliating? I did. Despite how relieving it was that his attention was distracted from me, I found the fact that there was so little left of humanity in me degrading despite everything… and that might be the single most human thing remaining about me. "I wonder," he continued, "if you would resist if I ordered you to? Is there enough of the girl left in there to fight back? Or are you just a tool shaped like a woman now?" He tapped a finger thoughtfully against the edge of the datapad.

My jaw ached from the strain of keeping up the pressure on his shaft, and I was beginning to struggle for breath. Cernunnos hadn't touched me once, hadn't guided my movements or set the pace, and he was making me work for it. I bobbed my head faster, driven by programming that interpreted his continued hardness as a failure on my part to provide adequate stimulation. My head moved more vigorously, taking him into my throat until I gagged around his length. Still he didn't touch me, didn't thrust, just sat there making me do all the work. Tears formed in my eyes as I choked, but I didn’t pull back… I had to please him. My conditioning to obey him was deeper than basic human reflexes like breathing.

My lungs burned for air as I brutally fucked my own face on his cock, throat constricting around him with each desperate attempt to breathe. Saliva dripped from the corners of my mouth, dripping down from the smooth surface of my hood. Through it all he just watched, occasionally glancing down with clinical interest before returning to his datapad. Using me like the tool he said I was. And the worst part – the absolute worst part – was that I couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop. My body continued to serve him even as my consciousness began to flicker at the edges from oxygen deprivation.

In that moment, I hated him more than I'd ever hated anything in my existence.

"Stand," Cernunnos ordered, pushing his chair back. "Bend over the table."

The order came without warning and my mind was staggered… too short of breath to think, too dazed to process. My body began to obey instantly anyway. I pulled back, his length sliding wetly from the tight confines of my throat with an obscene, hollow sound that echoed in the small room. Thick ropes of saliva stretched between my lips and his cock, breaking to spill down my chin in warm rivulets that soaked into the edges where my hood touched my mouth. My jaw ached as I gasped for air, throat raw and lips swollen, a puddle of my own drool forming on the floor between my knees as I struggled to my feet and turned to face the cold metal table.

I placed my palms flat on the table and bent forward at the waist, presenting my ass to him as my bodysuit stretched taut across my curves. The movement was smooth, practiced – my muscles remembering the routine even as my mind shrieked in protest. I closed my eyes behind my visor, as if dismissing the info in my HUD could distract from what was about to happen.

I heard him stand, his boots scraping against the concrete floor as he positioned himself behind me. His fingers traced the pre-cut slit in my bodysuit between my legs, the material parting to expose my cunt and asshole to the cold air of the interrogation room. The sensation made me tense involuntarily as his finger circled the edge of the opening. He pushed a finger inside me without warning, finding me wet enough despite everything… My body knew its roles, even if the rest of me rejected it. Just another thing to remind me I wasn't a person but equipment, designed for ease of maintenance and use. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, tasting blood.

Cernunnos's hands seized my hips with predatory intent, his fingers digging deep through the tactical fabric of my combat suit. Each digit pressed distinct indentations into my flesh, leaving what would surely become ten perfect bruises—a constellation of ownership branded into my skin. The synthetic material bunched slightly between his fingers as he gripped tighter, pulling me backward with a jerk that made my spine arch involuntarily.

The blunt, swollen head of his cock pressed against my entrance—hot, insistent, unyielding. I could feel every vein and ridge of his shaft as he aligned himself, the slight twitch of anticipation betraying his eagerness. My body tensed instinctively, muscles contracting in futile preparation for what was coming. Then he rammed forward without hesitation or mercy. No gentle probing, no attempt at preparation: Just the brutal invasion of flesh forcing flesh to yield. Pain flared white-hot and electric as he drove into my trained, wet passage, and the sheer friction of his rapid entry created a burning sensation that radiated outward from my core. My inner walls clenched and resisted, but resistance only intensified the violation. Every millimeter of his advance stretched me beyond comfort, beyond reason.

I didn't make a sound… couldn't make a sound. My throat locked tight, my training and conditioning taking over. He thrust forward with a guttural grunt that echoed in the confined space, his hips slamming against my ass with enough force to jolt my entire body forward. My hands braced against the table, fingers splayed as the impact forced the air from my lungs in a silent gasp as he buried himself to the hilt inside of me. The sensation of being completely filled, of being taken with such callous disregard, sent conflicting signals through my nervous system—pain intermingling with the unwanted sparks of pleasure that my loyal service to my conditioning provided. His pubic bone ground against my rear, the coarse hair there making a scratching sound as it brushed the fabric of my suit. For a moment we remained locked together, his breathing heavy and mine carefully controlled.

Then Cernunnos began to move. His first thrust was deliberate and measured, like a machine testing its calibration. My body lurched forward, sliding against the cold metal surface of the table. The second thrust came harder, more confident, each subsequent motion falling into a mechanical rhythm that sent shockwaves through my frame. My hipbones collided with the table's edge each time he rammed me forward, and the sharp, unforgiving metal ridge bit into my flesh with each impact. The pain bloomed in perfect counterpoint to the burning friction between my legs, raw and insistent.

I felt every ridge, every vein as he dragged himself nearly out before slamming back in, the sensation like sandpaper against tender, unwilling flesh. The table creaked beneath us, its metal finish sweating condensation against my splayed palms. My fingers curled against it, seeking purchase but finding none on the slick surface. Each thrust pushed a small breath from my lungs, but I swallowed any sound before it could escape. My jaw clenched tight enough to make my teeth ache, focusing on the mechanical task of breathing.

Sweat beaded at my temples, running down in salty rivulets that stung my eyes. I blinked it away, fixing my gaze through the visor on a small dent in the far wall as I counted each thrust like mission objectives. One. Two. Three. My muscles tensed with each invasion, an involuntary response I couldn't suppress no matter how I tried to go limp and hasten the end. Just endure. Just survive. Just wait for it to be over.

"Resist me," he suddenly commanded.

The order slammed into my neural pathways like an electric shock. My brain tried to process the command… and it ran directly into resistance from other parts of my augmentation and mental conditioning. Cernunnos wanted me to resist, fight back, disobey, attack him… and every mental pathway those concepts took my thoughts down led to a wall of programmed pain. My muscles locked, my vision blurred behind the vision, and I felt like my skull was being crushed in a vise. A strangled sound escaped my throat as my body tried and failed to reconcile the conflicting imperatives: obey Cernunnos; do not resist Cernunnos.

"Struggle!" he repeated the command, still thrusting. "Fight back if you can. Squirm. Try to escape. You can do that, can’t you?"

I couldn’t. Each word intensified the agony. My fists clenched hard enough my fingers were bruising my palm. I was swearing everywhere and my pulse hammered in my ears as my augmented system flooded with stress hormones, searching for a way to obey the impossible command. "I... can't..." I managed to gasp through gritted teeth.

"No," he said, sounding disappointed but not surprised. "You can't."

The pain receded slightly as he seemed to accept my failure, though it left me trembling, my muscles twitching with residual spasms. He continued fucking me, his pace unchanging, mechanical in its rhythm.

"If you're too useless to be an entertaining fuck, you can at least be a good one. Fuck me back," he ordered, his voice cutting through the space between us like a blade against skin.

The command slithered into my consciousness, bypassing any semblance of choice. My neural pathways fired in the exact sequence they'd been programmed to, sending electrical impulses racing through my spine. My hips responded immediately and I began to push back against him, feeling the violent collision of flesh as my ass met his pelvis at the same moment he slammed forward. Each thrust created a slapping sound that echoed off the walls, mingling with his grunts. My body moved with precision, muscles contracting and releasing in waves designed to milk his cock as best I could.

The undulation of my hips wasn't born from pleasure or desire, but an observer wouldn’t have been able to tell. I fucked him like I loved him, like I couldn’t get enough. My body arched at the exact angle that would allow him deepest access and to make myself the most appealing to his eyes, rotating slightly with each backward motion to create the optimal friction against his shaft. My inner walls clenched around him in a rhythmic pattern, squeezing with calculated pressure—not too tight to cause discomfort, not too loose to diminish sensation.

"Better," he said simply. "Now. Your tactical approach in the last engagement was unnecessarily complex."

The abrupt shift to mission assessment disoriented me momentarily, but I recognized the technique. Cementing the association between my value as a weapon and my use as a sexual object.

"Your tactic to reverse the hack was… clever, but risky. You need to avoid that situation in the future. Next time, you will reach the source of the hacking or escape from it before it reaches that point," he continued, his voice relatively steady despite his exertion. "Much of the resulting damage to Cerberus was caused by the failure to do so, and that is leading to unnecessary downtime in our campaign to exterminate the Children of Elysium.”

I focused on what he was saying, on the data and the mission parameters… on anything other than the rhythmic violation of my body. His cock stretched me painfully with each thrust, my unwilling flesh continuously producing lubrication to ease his passage. The betrayal of my own body only intensified my hatred.

"Still, the capture of two rebel pilots was adequately executed," he went on, as if we were in a standard debriefing session. His rhythm changed, becoming more erratic, harder. I knew from experience he was approaching climax. My body responded by tightening around him, another programmed response designed to enhance his pleasure. “With the mines destroyed, the last major topside outpost that the rebels have control of has been neutralized," he said, voice finally showing a hint of strain. "Your next deployment will be... down into the caverns… We’re headed to Haven’s Deep and…"

His words faded into a primal growl as his rhythm changed, each thrust growing even sharper. The cold metal table beneath me creaked with each impact, his fingers digging crescents into the flesh of my hips, sure to leave bruises that would bloom purple by morning. I felt his cock swell inside me, stretching me further, the ridged head dragging against my inner walls. When he came, it wasn't with the theatrical moans of a lover but with a single, triumphant grunt—the sound of conquest, of ownership. His fingers tightened like steel traps on my hips, holding me perfectly still as the first hot pulse erupted inside me. I could feel every twitch, every throb, every spurt as he emptied himself, painting my insides with his seed. Each pulse sent a fresh rivulet of warmth deeper into my body.

The moment stretched into eternity. The ventilation system hummed its mechanical lullaby somewhere distant, the sound mingling with our breathing—his gradually slowing from ragged to satisfied, mine always deliberately measured, controlled. I focused on the sensation of the cold table against my palms, the condensation from my breath forming tiny droplets on the metal surface. The antiseptic smell of the facility. The distant drone of machinery. Anything but the invasion of my body, the violation still occurring with each pulse of his cock. I felt his release begin to seep out around where we were joined, a warm trickle that slowly tracked down my inner thighs, marking me, branding me. The contrast between the cold air of the room and the hot evidence of what had just happened made my skin prickle with goosebumps. Still he held me in place, his fingertips pressing into my flesh, his softening cock still buried inside me, as if savoring the final moments of possession.

Then, without warning or tenderness, he pulled out abruptly—the sudden emptiness almost as jarring as the initial invasion had been. A fresh gush of warmth followed his exit, sliding down my legs in rivulets that felt like tears on skin.

At least he hadn’t made me cum today.

"Turn around," he ordered. "Kneel."

My body straightened and pivoted smoothly, dropping to my knees before him once more. Behind my expressionless mask, I imagined a thousand different ways to kill him… ways that I knew I would never take. I stared at his semi-hard cock, still wet with his cum and my juices while I awaited his next command.

"Clean up the mess you made," he ordered, gesturing to his cock.

I leaned forward automatically, taking him between my lips once more. The taste was worse now – the salty bitterness of his semen mixed with the tangy flavor of my own arousal, a combination that made my stomach clench with disgust… both for him, and for myself and the wetness I tasted on my owner. Still my tongue moved methodically, licking along his shaft, cleaning away every trace of fluid as thoroughly as if I were field-stripping a weapon.

He watched me with clinical detachment, occasionally shifting his weight to give me better access to a spot I'd missed. The taste made me want to gag, but I suppressed the reflex, focusing instead on completing the task with mechanical efficiency. When I'd finished, he tucked himself back into his pants and fastened them, then returned to his seat at the table. His expression shifted seamlessly from sexual satisfaction to professional assessment, as if the preceding assault had been nothing more than a procedural formality – like calibrating equipment before deployment.

"You can’t be deployed again until Cerberus is ready, so I’ve selected a new mission for you," he said, picking up his datapad again. "The rebel pilots, callsigns Wraith and Shieldmaiden."

I remained kneeling, though my mind immediately pulled up the relevant data. Sarah Rathe and Maya Chen. My mind still burned thinking of them, and how close they had come to capturing and caging me. "Preliminary interrogation has been ineffective," Cernunnos continued. "The two are stubborn. I suspect you will have better luck with them than our men have had."

I nodded slightly, acknowledging the information. “What are my commands, Sir?” I asked.

"You will break them," he stated, the simplicity of the words belying the order's complexity. "I want them to give me their security and access codes to Haven’s Deep."

Haven’s Deep – the underground site that had been built to study the Styx bacteria in its largest located concentration. After the rebellion, the rebels had turned it into their primary stronghold and the heart of resistance operations on the planet. It was a fortress… and it would have been a fortress even if it wasn’t so deep underground and difficult to reach in the first place. If Cernunnos was looking for the security codes, he was ready to mount an assault on it.

"The subjects have direct knowledge of security protocols for Haven’s Deep," Cernunnos explained, scrolling through data on his pad. "Wraith is one of the daughters of the rebel leader, Dr Victoria Rathe, and Shieldmaiden holds an officer rank in their defensive forces. Between them, they should possess all the information we need to breach the outer defenses."

"Yes, sir," I responded automatically. My programming recognized the mission's strategic importance, assigning it high priority in my neural pathways. Yet beneath that automatic assessment, I felt something strange – a momentary flicker of reluctance that I quickly suppressed. Why was that?

"You will have full access to their files and complete discretion regarding methods," he added. "I want results within seventy-two hours. The corporation believes we have a window of vulnerability while the rebels reorganize after their recent losses."

I processed this information and already formulated potential approaches. The rebel pilots would be physically weakened from their capture and initial processing. Their psychological state would be compromised. But breaking pilots was different from breaking normal soldiers – the augmentation they had been through to allow them to survive piloting a Fenrir unit made them much tougher than most, and unlike my previous sessions with captured pilots I needed something specific this time.

I would get it. I had been commanded to.

"Any restrictions, sir?” I asked.

Cernunnos' lips curved in what approximated a smile on his otherwise expressionless face. "Keep them alive. No other restrictions. You may… indulge yourself, dog.” He paused, then added, "The corporation is particularly interested in understanding the rebels' defensive capabilities. If you can extract the codes we seek a day before schedule, we will offer… performance incentives.”

Performance incentives. More freedom? Less direct supervision? Perhaps reduced sessions like this one, dare I hope? It didn’t matter… I already had all the motivation a weapon needed to succeed. "I understand, sir," I said. "I'll begin immediately."

He nodded, his attention already returning to his datapad. "Dismissed."

I rose to my feet in one fluid motion, ignoring the wetness still trickling down my inner thighs. My body moved with perfect mechanical grace despite the lingering soreness, my posture automatically resuming the rigid attention stance until I turned to leave. No expression showed on my hidden face, no hint of the storm raging behind my visor. I noticed that he didn’t have me clean the cum from my own holes this time… Clearly, he no longer cared who noticed he was fucking me like he had on the orbital station. Here in this outpost, he himself must not be observed and supervised.

As I walked to the door, my mind was already shifting focus, compartmentalizing what had just happened and redirecting resources to the new mission parameters. Break the rebel pilots. Extract the access codes. Complete the objective. Prove my value. Survive.

The door hissed open at my approach, then closed behind me with a soft pneumatic sigh as I stepped into the corridor. My footsteps echoed on the metal flooring as I headed back toward the detention level where my new targets waited. The visor guided me, painting arrows across featureless walls to direct me on the path. With each step, my hatred for Cernunnos receded slightly, replaced by cold tactical assessment of the task ahead. I would complete this mission effectively. Not for Ka Corporation. Not for Cernunnos. For myself. Because success meant being in control, even if only for another minute.

The corridors blurred around me as my mind filled with interrogation strategies, psychological pressure points, data from previous encounters with rebel pilots. By the time I reached the detention level, Hound-91 the sexual object had been fully replaced by Hound-91 the asset, the interrogator, the weapon.

The door to the cell opened before me. Time to work.

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