by E. M. Hardy
Ynnistoria, does… can other demons detect these auras?
His digital assistant hesitated for a moment before answering gingerly, carefully, as if treading over eggshells.
Ynnistoria: Yes, Glenn, they can.
And do they gain bonus life points, or gain some other benefits from… from hunting those with dark auras?
Ynnistoria: Yes, Glenn, they do.
Thank you, Ynnie. Much appreciated.
Ynnistoria: You are very much welcome, Glenn.
“Mister Olson,” whispered the woman shaking his hands as she maintained her winning smile for the camera. “I believe it is considered rude to interface with your implant during a photo-op, no?”
Glenn blinked away his HUD and replied with a sheepish nod. “Sorry about that, Miss Rutledge.”
The woman didn’t even grace him with a reply as the last flash of the camera signaled the end of the photo-op. The CEO of Immentrop-Reubens Robotics smiled one last smile for their small audience of directors and managers before they stepped down from the stage. They gave way to another speaker—someone from operations who would pass on more details about how IRR could benefit from the explosive demand for combat droids in recent weeks.
With his minor part finished, Glenn was prepared to just sit down and stare at the presentation when someone sat down beside him. It was Miss Rutledge in her sleek office suit, looking perfectly comfortable in the tight knee-length skirt and pearls dangling from her ears. She was far younger than most of the executives and directors in the room, almost the same age as Glenn if he guessed right.
And looking somewhat familiar, a strong sense of déjà vu nipping at the corner of his thoughts. Where had he seen her before?
“So… you changed your name.”
Glenn blinked. The words were framed as a statement, not a question. “I’m sorry, what?” He remembered himself just then, remembered who he was talking to. “Apologies, Miss Rutledge, but I think I misheard you. Could you kindly repeat the question?”
The sharp, angled corners of Anastasia Rutledge’s beautiful face morphed into a predatory grin, her eyes glowing with malicious glee. It only lasted for a second before the woman mastered herself, softened her expression into one of professional neutrality.
“I think you heard me just fine,” she said in a faux-whisper as she turned to face the presenter pointing out the glowing forecast for the next fiscal quarter. “You’ve always been smarter than you let on, Roger. You just play dumb so most people don’t catch on. Unfortunately for you, I’m not most people.”
Glenn just stared blank-eyed at the big boss of his company, wondering if she was genuinely confusing him for this ‘Roger’ person or if this was some kind of pickup line that he wasn’t quite getting.
On one hand, he risked offending his boss by responding and misunderstanding her intentions. On the other, he risked offending his boss by playing dumb and hard-to-get.
The manuals and guides he studied only ever covered day-to-day interactions with people. They didn’t cover responding to the possible advances of someone in a higher position—someone who could get back at him if he insulted him or her.
He decided to wear a polite, somewhat ignorant smile on his face.
“I’m sorry, Miss Rutledge, but I think you might be confusing me with someone else.”
The woman in question raised her brow before giggling quietly, covering her mouth while doing so. A few interested heads started turning their way, wondering why the corporate executive officer of Immentrop-Reubens Robotics was seated beside a lowly alt-world desk jockey—one who was only present in the meeting because he got lucky with clients.
“Fine. Be that way.” She put away the hand covering her mouth, nodded to acknowledge the directors and executives looking her way. They hastily turned to look at anywhere but her, not wanting to get inside her crosshairs.
Satisfied at having cowed their onlookers into submission, Miss Rutledge turned her attention back to Glenn, who was doing everything he could to suppress his growing anxiety. “I’m bored, and I want to have a little fun.”
“Err… yes. It is important to… have fun once in a while?” Glenn fumbled his words, transforming what was supposed to be a neutral statement into a tentative question.
“Indeed, Roger. It is very important to have fun. Do you remember what we did for fun, way back?”
Glenn blinked again, fighting the temptation to furrow his brows in complete and utter confusion. “I’m really sorry, Miss Rutledge, but I truly think you’re confusing me with someone else. I don’t think I’ve even met you before today.”
“Really? Huh… well, I guess you can play it that way if you want. But seriously, Roger, there’s no need to be so stiff and formal. You can call me Annie, just like in the good old days.”
“Annie? I—”
***
“Hah! It’s so small! So cute and tiny. Hey girls, you seeing this?”
Slap.
“Ew, it twitched! It fucking twitched!”
Slap.
“Wait, wait, wait… he’s getting hard. Roger’s getting hard!”
“OH, EW! EW, EW, EW!!!”
Slap.
“Hahaha! He’s getting harder! Pervert here’s getting off!”
Slap. Punch.
“It’s getting even harder! Pervert must have gotten it from his mom, getting all hot and bothered when he gets fucked up.”
“Hear that, perv? Maybe we should get a couple of the boys here, have them take turns on you just like they did your mom.”
“Yeah, get reamed by a dozen guys, a dozen dads—just like your whore mother.”
“HAH! I’d pay to see that shit!”
Kick. Kick. Punch. Kick. Slap.
“Hahahahahahaha!”
“Hahahahahahaha!”
“Hahahahahahaha!”
***
“I told you to shut up and follow me.”
Slap.
“Keep quiet and take off your pants.”
Slap.
“Because if you don’t do as I say, I’m going to rip off my shirt, tear off my panties, and start screaming bloody murder until someone pokes their head into this room. And what do you think will happen to a dumb dickhead like yourself when they catch you alone with a hysterical, half-naked girl bawling her eyes out? Now stop asking stupid questions and strip.”
“Hm. Not bad—for a punk-ass little bitch like yourself. Now the shorts.”
***
“There… right… there… ungh.”
“Ungh… ungh… keep going. Keep… ungh… going.”
“Faster… faster… yes… YES!”
“Now stop. I SAID STOP!”
Slap.
“Hah… hah… good bitch. You don’t get off until I say you do, understand?”
“Good. Now… let’s start from the top. And this time, keep your head in the game. You’ve got a long night ahead of you.”
***
Slap.
“I said fuck off, bitch. Don’t call me, don’t message me, don’t even look at me anymore.”
“Why? Why? Because I need to grow up and get a real man for myself. Gavyn swings a bigger dick, lugs around a bigger wallet, and isn’t a useless little beta fuck like you.”
“So run off like the little bitch that you are before I call daddy and have his goons fuck you up. You and your whore of a mother. You wouldn’t want the precious, unstable, fucked-up slut you call your mother to get into trouble, do you?”
Slap.
“That’s right, Roger, just turn around and run. Run like your life fucking depends on it…”
***
Glenn blinked, unable to resist furrowing his brow as the memories started coming back to him. The sound of applause brought his attention back to the real world, and he joined in with half-hearted clapping without knowing what he was clapping for in the first place.
For
her part, Annie just smirked as she turned her attention to the presentation. She applauded in time with the rest of her colleagues, who were ecstatic at all the projected profits Immentrop-Reubens stood to gain in the coming year.
Glenn took the opportunity to look at her, to really look at her for the first time.
Gene therapy could do a lot of wonderful things to the body. It could keep you strong, keep you young, and correct all the blemishes that you inherited from your parents. Doubly so for the ultra-rich, who could afford the more exotic gene tailoring sessions. Perfectly glowing skin, perfectly proportional assets, and a perfect face that put her on par with models and celebrities.
What gene therapy could not do, however, was hide the ravages of a fatigued soul—especially from an incubus with Empathy.
Glenn squinted, distracted by the dark aura surrounding Annie. What little information he could tap from Empathy focused on the fact that she was a high-value target. This above all else floated in his display, preventing him from reading the deeper levels of her mental state.
Not that he needed to. The mere fact that Annie was tagged as a high-value target by his incubus senses meant that she immersed herself in a cloud of despair and loneliness—the two emotional states that incubi found ‘flavorful’ in a mortal soul.
An alert pinged on the corner of Glenn’s HUD, drawing his attention to the small icon indicating an incoming message. Glenn focused on the icon, causing it to expand and reveal its contents: a contact request… along with an address and an electronic security key to a private residence.
Annie’s eyes remained glued to the presenter, nodding along in time to key points as they were outlined one by one, even as she sent messages his way.
A.Rutledge: You will head straight to the indicated address once this presentation is over. You will go there alone, with all due haste. You will wait there until I wrap up my business for the evening. Do you understand me?
Glenn hesitated for a moment, fighting the urge to scrunch his eyebrows in confusion. It only lasted for a heartbeat, though, as memories of Annie’s twisted desires began popping up one by one inside his mind.
Glenn: I’m sorry, Miss Rutledge, but I really have another appointment for later in the evening. I—
A.Rutledge: Do you remember what I promised to do if you ever defied me? Those were the tantrums of a spoiled, naïve schoolgirl. Trust me when I say that I can do far worse with the resources currently at my disposal. So what’ll it be: do what I say, spend a night being my bitch, and enjoy the perks that come with it? Or turn me down and see how much of a hell I can turn your life into? Your call.
Glenn gulped and nodded to himself. Pleased with his acquiescence, Annie grinned and applauded once more as the current presenter tagged out and was replaced by yet another presenter. A shorter, petite lady whose eyes sparkled with eagerness to present even more good news.
As for Glenn… well, he had plans to alter. And he started by opening up the messaging function on his HUD.
Glenn: Hey there, Haze. So, about our planned session tonight… I’m sorry, but something came up at work. We’ll have to move the session to another time. Will send you more details tomorrow.
***
“Ah, that bullshit took forever to wrap up.” Glenn jumped as Annie slammed her door shut, shucking off her outercoat and tossing her pearl earrings to the robot servitor waiting at the entrance. “What’s your poison of choice, Roger? Oh, I’m sorry—you go by a different name now. Glenn… Olson, was it?”
Glenn pursed his lips in confusion as the name slid away from his conscious thoughts. “Yes, it’s Glenn. And I’m good with anything you have.”
Annie smirked, probably mistaking his confusion for apprehension, as she sat down on one of the luxurious hardwood chairs in her living room. Her eyes unfocused for a second, and one of the nearby robot servitors snapped to action, striding smoothly toward the kitchen.
“Hmph. It does make some sense, though. I mean, the Hills won’t exactly welcome you with open arms considering your history.”
“The Hills?”
“Yes, the Hills… your family.”
Glenn gulped. The thought of family never crossed his mind. He just took his isolation, his loneliness for granted. He—
(Good boys do what they’re told, ignore what they’re told to ignore. Be a good boy and think of something else.)
He focused on Annie now, remembered what they once had. Or what she forced upon him; she made it very clear that what they had wasn’t a relationship. And yet the details of everything else just seemed so… so off. His time with Annie, what they did together, was like an island in the middle of an empty ocean—alone, isolated, devoid of interaction with anything else.
“Relax. It’s not like I’m going to bite your head off or anything… unless that’s what you’re into.” Annie chuckled at that, pulling a corner of her cheek up in a wide, derogatory grin.
Glenn learned early on in his career that when important people laugh, you laugh along with them no matter what you think or feel. This was why Glenn matched Annie with a dry chuckle of his own.
“No, that would be a little bit uncomfortable, Miss Rutledge.”
Her smile faltered at that, hardening for a fraction of a second before she forcefully schooled her face back into a soft grin of amusement. “Really, Glenn, you don’t need to be so formal around me. I insist.” The force with which Annie pushed on the last words triggered alarm bells in Glenn’s mind, and he nodded while forcing his shoulders to release the tension bunched up in them.
Annie returned his nod with a smirk, taking a sip from her flute of champagne. “Won’t you ask me why I pushed you away?”
Glenn thinned his lips, wanting to nod and know more. He wanted to learn what he and Annie had in the past. He wanted to remember what he was, who he was as Roger Hill. He—
A sharp pang of pain jolted through his skull, however, which he attempted to dispel by shaking his head. The stupid migraine splitting his brains, however, just kept flaring up whenever he focused too much on the past—as if the two were linked together. He also got this distinct feeling that he really shouldn’t dig too deeply, that he should just forget everything unnecessary.
“The past is in the past,” Glenn replied neutrally, plastering a fake smile on his face. “Best to just leave it there.”
As for Annie, she just raised her brow and shrugged her shoulders. Glenn hoped that she would pick up the cue, read his distress, and just let things slide.
Annie being Annie, however, meant that she would get whatever she wanted—and she so wanted to tell her story.
“You wouldn’t know it now, Roger, but I really enjoyed our time back then. You, me, a bottle of shampoo up your ass… truly fun times.”
Glenn frowned, the event dredging itself out of the depths of his memories. The bottle wasn’t quite as fun as she put it, especially when it took two months for the bleeding to stop.
That’s when the robot servitor returned, extending a tray with two flutes of bubbly, expensive-looking white wine. Glenn had heard of champagne, but he never had the opportunity to taste even the cheaper kinds. Based off the extravagance of Annie’s home in one of the pricier subdivisions, however, he guessed that the golden liquid softly fizzing in his glass was not the cheap kind.
Annie didn’t even acknowledge the robot, just took her glass as she kept her stare on Glenn.
“I wasn’t Anastasia Rutledge back then, primary heiress to the Rutledge fortune. I was only Annie Rafters, the fifth daughter of a tech mogul with severe daddy issues. That girl got sent packing to a local school because she needed a dose of ‘reality’ as her estimable father put it.” She sipped at her champagne, her eyes still locked on to Glenn’s as she continued her spiel.
“It was supposed to teach me valuable life experiences, to see things as the common man does. And to do that, I needed to become one of them. No chauffeurs, bodyguard
s, tutors, or valets. Just me blending together with the stinking, unwashed masses.” She sniffed her disdain, Glenn keeping his lips pursed together in neutrality. He wouldn’t dare disagree with her, risk the ire of the blue-blooded woman who headed his workplace. Neither would he agree too readily, lest he make her angry with his sycophancy.
She inhaled deeply, preparing to go deeper into the topic, when she halted mid-breath. She hummed, tapping her chin while doing so, then chuckled ruefully. “Well, the old man got what he wanted. Annie Rafters quickly assimilated with the people.” She sneered as she spoke, spitting out the last two words. “She cultivated her own clique and surrounded herself with idiots to do her bidding for her. She also learned to appreciate the perks of power… like collecting her own obedient toys to use as she pleased.”
Annie’s eyes gleamed as her smirk widened into a malicious grin, eyeing Glenn from head to toe. Her predatory gaze shifted to his groin, stayed there for a few moments before shifting back up to meet his eyes. Glenn gulped but stilled his tongue; the CEO of Immentrop-Reubens wasn’t done telling her story.
“The only problem was that daddy dearest found out about my… hobbies. Can you imagine—a Rutledge, blackmailing her classmate and forcing him into sex? How preposterous!” Annie lowered her voice to emulate the indignant huff of a burly, overweight man before laughing it off. It was a testament to her acting skills that Glenn was so easily able to visualize her father’s outrage.
“He even threatened to have you taken care of, just to make sure nothing gets out.” Annie was still laughing despite the chill that ran up Glenn’s spine.
She continued laughing for a few more moments before it petered out into a low chuckle. The laughter eventually died away while she sipped her champagne, eying Glenn once more. “But dad’s not around anymore. My brothers and sisters may have their own fortunes to manage, but Immentrop-Reubens is my dominion now—my kingdom to rule as I see fit. Everything in it is mine to do with as I please…” She carelessly tossed her empty flute aside, the delicate glass shattering as it landed on the floor. A nearby servitor responded immediately, moving in with a silent vacuum attachment to clean up the mess.