The Metahuman [Sci Fi]

Grendelle lived to torture, so far decimating an entire planet. Enter Michael the thief and his metahuman companion.

Michael was so confused he was speaking and thinkling -- was it thunking? -- gibberish or gigularish. “Pull me out from inside or maybe inside to where I ain’t and you is, you think maybe, honey?” He and his companion, a metahuman named Janet, wouldn’t be in that situation if they weren’t there. They were standing in, or out, inside or/and outside a Gray Hole, a place humans were not meant to be. 

A Gray Hole was or is or will be a hole, or bump, or some damn thing, in or out of normal space. Or, maybe the Gray Hole was normal space and our universe in or outside of it? It was a matter of perspective, or lack of perception, right? 

Janet managed to, with effort, touch hands with her companion. The contact established a connection of sorts, binding them into the same physical plane and helping to reboot his mind. "Things," the only way to describe them with their unearthly colors and shapes, whirled around in further confusion, eventually coalescing into a semblance of reality. The two, human and metahuman, found themselves lying on a grass-filled plain.

It was a sunny day at their new location, with images formed by two yellow suns casting contorted shadows across windblown purple grass, interspersed by large treelike shapes. In the distance, a dozen spires reached for the stars, huge edifices looking like man-made skyscrapers.

“Damn, Janet. Your powers never cease to amaze me. I was certain the police had us back there on Megadore IV.” He removed a protective vest, seeing it still smoked slightly but had managed to stop police stun-rays. Michael hurriedly threw the ruined clothing to the ground, where it abruptly burst into flames. “Jeez, that was close. One more hit and I would have fried.”

Janet stood watching, unconcerned. Except for a command or question, the metahuman paid little attention to her master’s antics. Her race lived only to serve, never to rule. Almost invulnerable and virtually emotionless, they had survived for millions of years because of being useful and compliant in the service of others -- the perfect servants. As with a good tool, nobody would think of killing or blaming them when ill-used. 

Metahumans reproduced the same as other animals. Dominate races took every opportunity to help them breed in an effort to gain more value for themselves, the masters.

A very small part of the galactic population, metahumans were used -- not understood. Averaging only several to a star system, they were rare enough to be sought after and numerous enough to be a known race though few knew much else about them. Not where they came from, nor their purpose in the master scheme of the cosmos -- if any. 

Michael had acquired his, named Janet, by theft. It made no difference to her who she served, only that she did have a master. 

“Let’s check those buildings out, baby.” Michael took time to kick soil over his smoldering jacket. The ground was loose, soft, and spongy -- something like hard moss. He had been born in the backwoods of Northern Altair VI and didn’t like to leave a campfire burning when finished with it. After stomping on the jacket until it stopped smoking, he began walking over the soft purple surface, toward the towers. Janet followed quietly.

***

Grendelle put down a novel, a romance of the common type -- the common type on De-Sade II. An exemplary example of a humanoid female, long golden tresses framing a fine-featured face atop a perfect figure, she strode to the nearest window. 

She was only halfway up in her current torture complex. Two and a half more of them were still empty, yet she possessed nothing to fill them with. The few remaining residents of her planet were hiding -- far away and deeply underground -- having learned from former mistakes in trying to overthrow her.

The lovely Grendelle, although not satisfied in the least, was complacent. Her emotions -- extremely strong in the sensory range -- didn’t include a sense of failure. After all, she was Grendelle, and by definition could not fail.

It had taken an eternity to fill most of the twenty-five buildings in this complex, along with others across the planet. She was content to sit and read a book, sharpen her torture instruments, and wait for another eternity, if need be, to finish her task. Her mission was to torture and kill every person on the planet. Let them breed for a few generations, Grendelle figured, and there would be even more for her pleasure.

She never made advance plans. The lady thought it so depressing to hope, easier to simply wait. She enjoyed many happy memories of endless torture sessions to go over in her mind -- mentally laughing at the recalled screams of her victims.

While so occupied, a tame house-snuffle wandered in, brushing against its mistress’s ankles. Idly, Grendelle reached down and petted it. Lifting the trusting creature to her face, she kissed it and bit its head off. “Damn these reflexes.” She smiled, tossing the small carcass away as the head rolled down between ample breasts to bounce onto the floor. “Now I need to change my blouse.” 

***

“Jeeze, what a walk.” Michael leaned against one of the towering concrete, plastic, and steel structures while he caught his breath. 

Janet stood quietly, looking around as though curious. She could take any shape desired, and Michael preferred that of his favorite Nimbo dancer on Anthraz III. Among her skills were those of sex with a human. Although producing no offspring, it was still highly satisfying to her companion. Of course, Janet never revealed what her feelings were in the matter. That trait wasn’t in her nature.

“We have to find something to eat, and soon, Janet baby,” he reminded her. “I wonder if there’s anything edible in here?” Michael resumed walking around the building until finding a human-sized entrance. It opened easily, revealing a long corridor with doors along both sides.

They entered. He knocked at the first door on the left. When there wasn’t an answer, he opened it ... then stepped back in horror. The room inside was empty except for the walls being covered, completely, with chained human skeletons.

“I’ll be damned!” he exclaimed. For the next few minutes, Michael checked room after room on both sides of the corridor. They were all filled with humanoid skeletons, some piled up, others chained to walls like in the first. Some of the rooms had them chained to tables with torture instruments nearby. Others were simply piled to the ceiling. An elevator worked, so he tried two more floors and found the same.

Michael couldn’t help being shaken by the thought that the huge structure might well be a charnal-house of torture and death. And, he wondered, how much suffering has occurred within those walls?

“Isn’t there anyone alive around here?” he asked Janet, who simply looked on, disinterested.

“I sense someone alive in the area,” she told him in a sexy melodious voice, adjusted to sound like that of her namesake on Anthraz III.

“Let’s find them, huh? Maybe we can save them from whatever did this,” he said. Going to a window, he looked out into the sunset, noticing a light high up in a window of another tower. It was about halfway up the tall edifice. “Come on, Janet baby. Let’s check it out.”

They hurried to the tower containing the lighted window. On the way, Michael kept an eye on the lighted square and saw a shadow as someone looked out at them. As they came closer, he saw it was a lovely woman, waving them on. She was smiling.

***

Grendelle was smiling, in anticipation, as she saw the two strangers. She waved, giving them an evil grin. The woman stretched long shapely limbs and headed for the door. She remembered an appropriate suite to use, on the third-floor of that same tower.

Going down to that apartment, Grendelle looked the rooms over. They were a little dusty, but that was all right -- no time to clean. She figured her victims would be tired from the trip across the plains and wouldn’t notice. There was a soft bed and even a kitchen with canned and frozen foods. It contained all the little comforts -- along with many built-in discomforts.

There was also an entertainment center. In the middle of the main room sat a large plushy chair. It looked so comfortable that she sat down, briefly bouncing around in glee. Oh, how soft and nice, she thought. Getting up, Grendelle walked over to a nearby control-chair. Sitting down again, she caressed hidden buttons and switches, a gleam in her eye as she tried them out.

There was a snap, and cuffs came out of the first, softer, chair -- to encircle the armrests.

“Too noisy,” she decided, getting up to oil long-unused springs. Another button brought a sharp spike through the seat. As she slowly pressed her control, the point extended, all the way to where the top of a head would be. Other buttons sent waves of electricity or painful hypodermic needles, as well as injections to alleviate pain. The lady did have to, at one point, go into the kitchen to wet a rag. There was a patch of dried blood on the seat. She didn’t want them to die too quickly, anticipating days of coming torture.

“Well, it’s getting close to that time.” The sadistic woman got up to greet the newcomers, waiting in sight of the front door below for their entrance.

Soon the door opened, a man sticking his head inside. He looked up and saw Grendelle waving him upstairs with a bright smile.

“Am I glad to see you.” She embraced and nuzzled his cheek, not knowing Janet’s status. “I've been waiting for years for someone to rescue me.” Grendelle let tears flow from lovely green eyes as she pumped his hand wildly. “Oh, so long.”

“What happened here? We found all those dead people in the other building?” Michael asked, holding her shaking body steady as she pressed cushioning breasts against his chest. “What killed them, and is it still dangerous? They’ve been dead a long time.”

“They, the killers, left. I think they slaughtered everyone else on the planet.” Grendelle shivered, looking directly at Janet. "Your wife or girlfriend?” she asked, noticing how quietly Janet was looking around, face showing no emotion.

“You could say that,” he answered. “What happened?” he repeated. “And why? You mean someone came here, killed everyone for no reason, then left?”

“That’s just what happened,” Grendelle told him, defensively. “You must be tired and hungry. Come on in. I have a place prepared where you can eat and rest. We can talk tomorrow. Then ... then you can take me off this planet of death.” 

She showed them to her special suite. “Since I didn’t expect anyone, it’s a little dirty, ” she apologized, showing them inside the comfy torture chamber.

Michael headed straight for the doctored chair, it looked so comfortable. He was surprised when Janet hurried past him to sit down. It wasn't like the normally submissive metahuman.

“Wha...?” He decided to let it go and, seeing a refrigerator, walked into the kitchen instead.

Grendelle had no real preference in victims.  She slightly preferred males, but what the hell? The female demon sat down in her own chair, the one with the controls. No matter if she had to start with the woman. The food wasn’t doctored. Let him eat first. It would be his last meal. He might last longer that way.

“What’s this stuff like? Quiffle meat, it says. I never had any.” Michael interrupted her thoughts.

“Something like whiskle. Go ahead, pull the tab,” she told him, petulantly, wanting to get started. Instead, she had to wait for him to finish and sit down.  

Grendelle found herself sweating as she grew more impatient, though it was a delicious anticipation as she sat, smiling at Janet, who was grinning back.

After what seemed to Grendelle to be a mouth-watering eternity of banging and thumping in the other room, Michael finally came back in. He brought a sandwich to Janet, who nodded and ate it quietly.

“Where did you come from, the Ankkle continent?” she asked Janet, who didn’t answer.

“Earth. You ever heard of it?” Michael interjected.

“Really? I think I have. Isn’t that somewhere in the Milky Whey or something?” Grendelle was interested. They would be her first off-world kills. Maybe more were coming? “Any more of you here?” she asked, heart beating wildly in anticipation of a full spaceship of them.

“Na. We came alone,” he told her around a mouthful of delicious quiffle. Michael finally went over and sat down in another, simple wooden, chair. Darn, Grendelle thought, it's a normal chair, with no torture devices. All it had in her favor were arm and leg restraints, and those were manual. Still, he looked pretty weak compared to her.

I can finally get started, she thought, mouth oozing saliva. It had been a long time. She silently pushed a button that encircled his companion’s arms and ankles with restraints. Janet sat quietly, not seeming to even notice. She did swing her eyes to meet Grendelle’s, though still seemingly uninterested.

Michael hadn’t noticed, either, eyes still on his lovely hostess as she walked over to him, hips swinging sensually. Capturing his gaze in her deep-green orbs, Grendelle played around with his right arm while holding him mesmerized with a sweetly promising smile.

It wasn’t until she kissed him and he heard a slight click, that he looked down and found his arms cuffed to the chair. Grendelle then bit down hard on Michael’s lip, holding his gaze again -- deep into her soulless green stare -- as blood spurted, the lip hanging loosely, blood dripping onto his chest. 

“What the hell!” he exclaimed, in sudden shock and realization that he was restrained. 

Standing straight, she said, "Sorry. Couldn't help myself," while slapping a plastic compress over his chin and bottom lip. Couldn't have him bleeding to death, she thought.

“We’re going to have a lot of fun.” She beamed happily, in anticipation. “Let’s start with your tender girlfriend.”

Casually going over and sitting in her control-chair, Grendelle stretched long legs, getting comfortable before giving a button a quick tap, to bring a shaft up an inch under Janet's butt. The blonde anticipated a painful reaction from her victim. But Janet sat quietly -- though an inch farther up in the chair -- her eyes still focused on Grendelle’s. The torturer held her hand down on the button, letting the spike up farther. Then, still with no reaction from Janet, jammed it down hard. 

Janet's invulnerable body rose higher, a blank look still on her face. As she stretched, arms forced against the cuffs, the restraints on her arms burst from the pressure, one by one. 

Michael, watching and catching on, also grinned at Grendelle -- further confusing the torturer. In her millions of recreational anguish sessions, nobody had ever reacted in that manner.

In a rage, Grendelle rose to her feet. Something was wrong. The woman felt fear herself -- for the first time in her long life. With a roar of rage, she ran at Michael. He simply sat still, lower lip sunk slightly from the weight of the compress, and smiled at her.

“Get her, honey,” he commanded. 

In a flash, the metahuman snapped leg bonds and held Grendelle in a strong superhuman grasp.

Once released, Michael played with the controls in Grendelle’s chair arm. When he was ready, he had Janet sit her down in the torture chair and enjoyed trying them out while Janet watched silently.

Afterward, they found a bedroom in the apartment and slept together in a comfortable bed. While he snored, Janet looked through a doorway at the chair, still containing a barely conscious Grendelle. Even though not being, personally, capable of love or affection, the monster had been forced to watch them make love. 

They hadn’t decided on what to do with Grendelle, but that could wait until morning. They trusted that four inches of spike in her guts wouldn't kill her overnight, only cause one hell of a tummy ache.

Janet stuck her tongue out at the torturer and winked. She then snuggled against her master and closed her eyes.

The End.
Charlie