by Greg Ramsay
Three weeks before –
“King... Savage? Citizens riot anew... Your role is to Blackbow them yes?” A skinny slimy Mot asked, standing alongside her eagerly.
“Piss off pest, and quit calling me King, I ain’t got a cock. It’s Queen Regnant.”
“Forgive me, appointed ruler, your beauty is unquestionable. I never meant to infer about your nether regions... I merely beg of you to see to the growing tensions... Gatherings intensify by the day!” Punching her feeble would-be advisor to the ground, Savage marched out of the tower.
Mots met her with scalding glances that damned her for denying their rights, of which she hadn’t. Though now, as the symbolic representative for the one who had, their hate fell on her. One Mot had the nerve to haul a female slave over to her and try to rape her.
“You see? This is the value of your kind, just weak dolls that cannot fight. Cease this virtue signaling charade and leave our city, crawl back to the metal holes you came from!” The Mot growled, his festering breath blasting her with ever gratuitous thrust.
The slave stared at her with dead eyes, her sad expression reminded Savage of the days when she, too, wished only to die. Enraged she killed the Mot with a single arrow for all the tower’s various citizens to see. The slave slowly stood nude and afraid, using Savage’s outstretched hand has a lifeline.
“I was once a slave to filth like that. I WILL NOT allow this to continue!” Savage bellowed, her mind filling with thoughts of vengeance, barely countered by her respect for Bruce’s wishes of peace.
Finally arriving outside the tower she witnessed a shocking sight. Many former slaves had retied symbolic rope collars around their necks and were contentedly restrained by various Mot masters. Those who witnessed her murder previously joined the crowd in protest, bolstered by group mentality. One Master stepped forward, it’s mutated enlarged breasts bouncing. A milky substance dribbled from its nipples that Mots resembling males scrambled to suckle.
“You come here and try to change everything... but everything needn’t change. Your kind had their time, now nature reminds you of your true worth without your tools and your cities. You see, many like this one,” it said indicating its nude male slave, “were freed by your Master... the King Blackbow. But some wish to live their lives as they knew them. Will you oppose this and die, or have the sense to realize we’re all slaves to something and let life take its natural course?”
The Mot finished calmly, its gravely yet feminine voice oozing with a sense of reason that offended Savage to her core.
“I’ve told you all repeatedly: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS CHOOSING SLAVERY. ALL WHO WISH IT ARE SIMPLY COMPLACENT. I WILL ALWAYS OPPOSE BULSHIT ABUSE-BASED RHETORIC UNTIL THE DAY I DIE!”
Savage screamed for all to hear one last time, her body itched to simply kill them all. The world would be better off if all these fucks were dead! The humans just don’t know better... Savage seethed inwardly, eyeing each Mot like a hunter eyes prospective prey.
“Very well.” The half-nude Mot leader sighed. “This will be your end” She informed Savage, indicating the growing multi-racial crowd.
“Heh” Savage scoffed then shot the leader in the forehead.
Emboldened by her strike rather than deterred, the crowd dominated by vengeful Mots swarmed toward her. By her quick estimate thirty bodies now all vied for her head. Savage loosed arrow after arrow, barely managing to stay ahead of the crowd by advancing in reverse through the tower’s wide corridors. To her horror, their ally's corpses did nothing to slow their slowly gaining onslaught. Occasionally a psychotically loyal human screamed through the wall of Mot muscle that drew ever closer to her, forcing her to desperately repel them with melee combat.
I can’t kill them... they’re just...like....me... Spirit thought, willing herself to do the right thing, knowing full well killing them would be faster. Desperately she abandoned suppressive fire and ran full speed up the tower, hoping to hold them off at the penthouse.
“Come back, meat!” a beefy Mot screamed with wild eyes.
Saliva dripped from his mouth as he pushed forward to lead the chase. Get back here, meat! The more she ran, the more she remembered when she was merely a girl raised to please old Mots if she wanted any hope of molding steaks for dinner. One day she watched her mother being killed by a raving Mot friend of their Master’s that blamed her mother for his impotency.
“Run.” Her mother said before her blood-soaked eyes faded to glass and the mad Mot aggressively sought for Savage to finish what her mother started.
That was the day she became a rebel, or so she liked to tell herself. Rather, that was the first of countless days she tried to run only to be caught, beaten, raped, and either left to starve or fed only her Master’s ejaculate for dinner in her excrement filled cage. One night, a blind old woman approached, intuitively aware of what happened based on young Savage’s cries.
“Come child, what is your name?” she cooed gently, handing a terrified younger Savage a piece of old homemade bread.
Afraid but starved, the poor girl snatched the food, devouring it eagerly.
“Millie.” She whispered.
Smiling the old woman showed her a strange leaf that she broke into pieces. Millie watched her slowly chew then swallow the pieces before handing her one.
“This will ensure their yucky slime doesn’t hurt your throat.” The woman said gently, her milky eyes shining to compliment her gentle expression that made her look like a loving grandmother eager to teach her family.
Millie followed her example, coughing when a coating burned down her throat as she chewed then soothed all the pain that made her voice funny.
“There.” The woman cooed, scratching at a rope around her neck that kept her collared to her side of the cage.
Her final gift was a drink of water she held in her palms from a leak in the roof. A while later a rush of desperation raged through Millie’s young body, forcing her to urinate all over herself. Millie started to cry, hiding in the old woman’s dress screaming hoarse apologies to her Master.
“Shhh he won’t beat you here...”
“But I smell!”
“Yes doll, that’s good, they hate that smell, it’ll stop them from touching you sometimes...”
“Really?” Millie looked at her with naive hopeful desperation.
“Really.” The old woman stated seriously, her voice also a little hoarse from age and abuse.
“Back away, old meat!” The Master suddenly roared from the building beyond. He heard us through the wall! The woman realized horrified. The master walked up to Millie who sat on her knees in a bow, shaking like a leaf. He sniffed the air.
“Witch, I warned you about trying to deny me!” The Master screamed, busting into the cage before grabbing the woman by the throat.
“Watch child... watch what such insolence gets you!” The Master demanded.
“No please, I’ll do anything. NO.!” Young Millie begged, watching horrified and helpless.
Laughing the Master snapped the old woman’s neck like a frail twig, rending her spine apart with one crushing twist of his hand. Millie fell silent.
“Good, now come eat, you have much growing to do before you can truly repent this childish insolence.”
“Yes Master.” Millie said with detached sadness.
Years of abuse passed in a blur, and Millie vividly remembered the day she jammed a stolen knife into her Master’s genitals and watched him bleed out as he beat her. That was the day she learned to bury all her misery with laughing, and the day her vengeful path would lead her to a certain island to become Savage. Still running, Savage finally made it to the penthouse with multiple enemies on her tail. The trail of bodies she dropped did nothing to slow them. Low on arrows and exhausted, the raging horde finally closed in.
She fought in vain to repel them with melee combat, only to be brutally tossed to the ground. Mot masters and their slaves brutally beat into her armoured body so violently the armour might as wel
l have been paper. Savage retreated into her mind to dull the pain. The first thing she thought of was all the times on the island Bruce promised this could never happen again, that he would stand with them to ensure it. Frantically struggling against a tide of hands that pulled at her armour or tried to beat her all she could think was where are you? Her eyes fell to Monster’s body, still lying on the floor because she couldn’t move him and no one would help her. Guess we’ll be together soon big guy... she thought sadly, feeling her armour being pulled apart.
Free the slaves, free the slaves... Savage saw Bruce preaching in her mind’s eye, remembering all those who adored him at the Holdfast, how quickly they all embraced him... leaving psychos and freaks like her and Monster alone, or judging them. Even after Monster was killed fighting for him! He just fucking left! Then all she could see in her mind’s eye was him rushing away with Spirit, promising to return to his precious slaves and leaving her alone. Those very slaves who, at the suggestion of their masters, set upon her like animals. Any who weren’t trying to rape her just screamed incoherently while attacking her with everything they had. She’s the only one that matters.
Many nude mots and humans masturbated to her exposed body that still fought in vain to break free. I’m just here to take the abuse he earned. The worthless mad dog left to draw out the hordes so he could run away. That kid in the Holdfast called him a superhero, and once I agreed but where is he now? Is he rushing in to save me, his friend, someone more important than all of these fucks?! NO!... now I see what he really is: A hypocrite too lost in his own bullshit to care what happens to anyone. I’ll show him what these fucks deserve! Lost to a sudden violent rage Spirit managed to free one of her hands just long enough to grab an arrow from her quiver and brutally stab at any soft flesh she could find.
Like her Master before them so many years ago, multiple attackers staggered back, bleeding from fatal wounds. Standing at last, unclothed but uncaring, Savage seized her bow and blade. Mercilessly she endured countless blows on Bruce’s behalf, dealing out far worse than she got. Her body screamed in pain but she didn’t care.
“COME ON KILL ME! KILL THE WORTHLESS TOY, THE BROKEN SLAVE. YOU WANT YOUR HELLS BACK?! KILL ME!” She roared, her throat hoarse from screaming at her attackers while lost in thought, completely unaware she had done so.
Using her size, salvaged arrows, and practiced speed to her advantage she darted around the room, letting every blow she couldn’t dodge drive her shaking failing body forward until all around her, humans and Mots alike screamed in fatal pain. Gradually her would-be murderers retreated out of the tower.
“TELL THEM ALL WHAT IT MEANS TO OPPOSE THE QUEEN REGNANT!” She screamed with the last of her energy then collapsed bruised and bloodied on the ground. An unknown amount of time later, she awoke to a concerned woman’s face.
“Who the...?” Savage tried to ask but her throat cracked.
“Shh. You’re safe now, they’ve gone in fear.” The woman whispered like she was afraid someone would hear her and return.
She adjusted her tight collar, pulling a familiar leaf from the rope which Savage gladly ingested. Gradually, her eyes cleared enough for her to see the woman’s dark complexion in the dim evening light. “You're real?”
“Of course... what did you think I was a spirit or something?” She said, with a hint of sarcasm.
Savage grimaced at the word spirit, her new friend looked confused but decided Savage just didn’t like the attempt at humour.
“Again, you’re fine. Just relax. I covered your body and tended your wounds. Your weird suit is over there,” she explained pointing to a dark pile beside a pile of bodies.
“Thanks. What’s your name?”
“Cynthia.” The African American woman replied.
“Any time, Queen Regnant. What’re you gonna do?” she enquired, noticing the sudden hateful look on Savage’s face.
“I’m gonna force the collars off our retarded bretherin and put the freaks that broke us in their place!” Savage stated angrily.
“What about the King’s call for peace?” Cynthia asked, clearly nervous of retaliation.
“Fuck the King, he abandoned us all, me especially. It’s up to us to make things truly right. No free passes or forced peace. They want slaves so much I’ll make them slaves!” Cynthia smiled cruelly. “Good.”
After gathering herself, Savage spent the time she should’ve used for healing to build her empire of vengeful Mot slavery, killing anyone or anything that opposed her. To accentuate her rule she had both races gather bodies to make thrones for her and Monster, then had them put Monster in place. What’ll you think when you come home, Great Hero King Blackbow? She thought to herself every night before she fell asleep on her makeshift throne, nestling against Monster’s propped up body like a lover.
Chapter 13 – Honourable Death
Present day –
“I never wanted any of this! Not the titles or the love/hate hero worship... I just wanted to end all the awful fates we faced before others ended up like us... How does role reversal help anyone?!” Bruce exclaimed frustrated after Savage had left.
Spirit walked over and put a hand on his shoulder supportively.
“Don’t take what she said too personally; she’s clearly completely lost it. I highly doubt anything happened to her, it’s Savage, after all. For all we know, all those bodies she had were there cuz somebody called her ugly or something.” Spirit guessed with clear distrust.
“You think she’d lie about being attacked?!” Bruce asked incredulous, still not inclined to give up on Savage.
“I don’t know...I guess what I’m trying to say is even if she was she should’ve been fine, not done all of this...” Spirit said with clear disappointment.
“If I could’ve been there for her I would’ve!” Bruce practically yelled with frustration.
I failed her as bad as I failed my mother... Noticing the look of guilt on his face Spirit once more embraced him then hummed her familiar calming tune.
“I know, and I’m sure she knew as well. Something must’ve happened, but again don’t you dare blame yourself. You made the best of a bad situation...” Spirit consoled him, inwardly grateful he abandoned his whole kingdom to save her, but she lacked his sense of guilt towards Savage.
“Honestly, we knew she was aggressive from day one, a welcome outcome for a Spetsnaz. It seems now she just wants someone to blame.” Spirit continued.
“Then she picked the right person, I made her what she is and left her to my war, just like she said... whether she’s given up on herself or not, there’s no denying she’s right there. Unfortunately, now we’re faced with the ironic task of freeing the Masters from their ex-slaves.” Bruce noted.
“I’ll give her this much, she certainly upended the status quo efficiently.” Spirit admitted.
“Indeed. Maybe we can use this to our advantage. Perhaps we suggest everything is more even. Hostility won’t cease but now the shoe’s been on both feet... our two races have common ground to an extent.” Bruce pondered aloud.
“No, both sides will just see this sequence of events as yet another slight to hold against each other. Plus, with four challengers now coming for your head you don’t have time to waste all your energy on this social mess.” Spirit argued.
“Regardless, I have to make time before my collective mess breaks anyone else that I’m in charge of and therefore responsible for.” Bruce’s expression was that of cold seriousness.
Before I lose another friend because I wasn’t there or wasn’t strong enough. He thought to himself regretfully. To deviate his focus from his inner guilt trip, Bruce set about systematically halting the role-reversal enslavement of Mots by humans, to their chagrin.
“How dare You interfere on Human vengeance? Queen Regnant Savage will hear of this!” or some variation of that phrase came from person after person in room after room. To which he’d repeatedly cordially reply,
“Two wrongs don’t make a right,
your Queen has chosen to challenge me. Should you wish to ally with her, I will bear no grudge.”
Hours later, he, along with a few soldiers not restrained themselves, managed to clear the tower. Some humans and a few Mots did ironically bond out of a mutual desire to see Savage dethrone the King that ruined everything just to come and re-ruin it. Per his promise, Bruce let them all leave in peace. Those whose vengeance he halted that still chose to remain did so unhappily but took one look at him and wisely chose not to riot. Satisfied, he, Spirit, and the scar-faced soldier joined forces to carry Monster’s hulking body from the tower finally. Together they dug through the muck of a naturally filled cater near the tower Monster fought to take, then rolled Monster’s body in and covered it.
“Sorry my friend... I never meant to leave you like that. I know you’d understand, even support why I had to leave... but I hope you’ll forgive whatever happened to Savage, mostly due to my choices. I... I don’t know what will become of us soon, to be honest. Depressingly, the list of people who want my head now includes her, and I don’t know if I can fix that. Though I can say I’ll do everything I can to help her. Rest well...” Bruce said, depressed.
Bordering on a flood of tears, he left to fight ironic reverse slavery elsewhere in the Mecha. Nodding her thanks to the soldier, Spirit was left alone staring at the belated grave.
“You know Bruce, always blaming himself for other people’s problems... not that he doesn’t contribute. Having all the power means you get all the blame after all, it’s just... unfortunate. I wish you were still with us, the world needs more Mot voices of reason, since the humans are going just as mad as the worst Mots... Honestly, it was great just to have you around cuz then I’m not the only one wondering if someone cares... Life is selfish isn’t it? Someone dies, whether it be by their own hand or another’s and everyone they know is either shitting on them or unhappy that the person isn’t around to fill the useless gap now left in their lives. Slavery or no slavery, we really are just here to be something for someone else. I wonder what one has to do to redefine the role they’re assigned inadvertently by another? Sorry, I’m rambling again...this isn’t the island... have a good sleep, brother.” Spirit concluded her goodbye with a tearful expression, wiping her face she left to aid Bruce.