The Woman on the Beast

by Macie Holloway

  “Haiku is right, Daphne. It doesn’t matter whose sperm travels the fastest if it makes a girl.”

  “You know what? I hate you. I hate you both, and here’s my bet: if it IS a girl, Sam does the dishes for a year and Haiku does the laundry.”

  “I’m good with that,” Haiku retorted with a cocky tone.

  “Yeah … that’s cool. Because we both know it’s NOT going to be a girl.”

  “UGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! Could you BE any cockier? You guys just keep being retarded. I’ve gotta go get maternity clothes. PINK maternity clothes.”

  “Daph, I’m not going to be here when you get back. I have an extremely project in Japan.”

  “What’s more important than our baby, Haiku?”

  “See, Sam? She said our baby.”

  “I mean everyone’s baby, Haiku.”

  “Sure you did.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine, Haiku. Just go, but just for the records, I have a gut feeling that it’s Sam’s.”

  EYES ARE OVERRATED

  “Anyone who is not willing to lose an eyeball should leave now.”

  Haiku’s words echoed in Misaki’s ears as she hung from the ceiling by her wrists.

  The rope was so tight it had long ago stripped the skin off her wrists and left them raw with trails of blood streaming down her forearms in irregular trails.

  The basement was as dark as a dungeon and smelled like dirty sex and death. A tiny orange light bulb dangled from a string mid ceiling.

  Thank God.

  Her sundial weapon only had one drawback. It could not work in complete darkness. But if there was as much as a lit match it could amplify the light by a million times.

  The men surrounding her were wearing ski masks.

  She rolled her eye.

  She’d never understand what was supposed to be so scary about a ski mask.

  Too chicken shit to commit a crime to my face, Pussies?

  A flash of silver emerged from the darkness on a path toward her face. The hot steam filled her nostrils with fury instead of fear.

  Misaki didn’t know how to be scared. No one had ever taught her. People didn’t realize it, but fear was a learned response. Her father fought in WWII as a Kamikaze fighter.

  Akio Ito survived his plane crash, but joked throughout her life that raising a daughter by himself was much scarier than flying into a battleship.

  He was joking and Misaki knew it. So Misaki grew up believing that fear was a joke.

  She’d never been so honored when the Master Haiku chose her as one of his five Kamikazes out of 500 Top Gun ninjas. And she’d never been so surprised when the other four chosen Kamikazes walked out of Master Haiku’s office over the fear of losing an eyeball.

  Some Kamikazes they were.

  “What a bunch of pussies,” she said as the door slammed shut.

  Haiku was speechless for a moment as he’d never met a woman who reminded him of himself.

  She laughed at the memory of his shock as the red-hot iron pressed into her cheekbone with a sizzling sound.

  She could smell the burning flesh melting off her cheekbone.

  Ready to be mindfucked, you dickless bastards?

  Her sundial weapon only required two things: a hint of light and a transparent enclosure. As sex slaves were typically stripped of all clothing, her eye ball was the only transparent option to contain her sundial weapon.

  In yet another stroke of genius, the Master inserted microchips into her fingertips through tiny incisions.

  It was brilliant.

  The tighter they’d bound her wrists, the easier it was to tap her fingers together.

  “The fingertips on your right hand control your sundial weapon. The fingertips of your left hand release chemicals I’ve implanted into your brain synapses. Misaki, you will find this plan very simple.

  On your right hand, just tap your index finger to your thumb to engage Sun Spot Mode, meaning temporary blindness. The harder you press your fingers together, the larger the sphere around you grows and the more people who are affected by it. If you touch your bird finger to your thumb, you engage permanent blind mode sphere. Again the harder and longer you press your fingers together, the greater the sphere radius around you grows and the more people you permanently blind. Ring finger to thumb is Black Widow Mode. It creates scorching power that will literally make everyone within your sphere burst into flames. The harder and longer you press your fingers together, the larger the sphere grows and so you know to be careful with this one as an innocent child could be standing nearby. Finally, tap the pinky to the thumb to engage focused laser mode. You’ve had enough experience with the sundial to know this targets only one individual. The longer and harder you press your fingers together, the more powerful the laser shooting from your right eye becomes. As usual, I’m assuming you don’t have any questions.”

  Misaki never had any questions. For starters she was highly intelligent, and furthermore Haiku designed simple and intuitive interfaces for his complex weapons. A child in elementary school could have mastered using his weapon in a day.

  She laughed.

  “No questions, Master.”

  Misaki had long been familiar with the sundial’s settings and could precisely gauge the radius of the spheres she created.

  “No questions and so we’ll move on to your left hand. Touch your index finger to your thumb to release antibiotics you’re your bloodstream. This is important if you want to complete your mission before you die of infection. Press your Birdie finger to your thumb to engage Fuck You Mode. This releases LSD or as the CIA once called it, truth serum. This will make you laugh your ass off as you see purple caterpillars blowing smoke rings or whatever else your mind can conjure up.

  Since torture victims aren’t known to laugh hysterically, it’s likely that Fuck You mode will result in pedophiles pissing their pants. Press harder, trip harder. Now, next up: how to engage Marry Mode. What could be more painful than marriage?”

  Misaki chuckled. “Nothing.”

  “Exactly. So, if you touch your ring finger to your thumb you release Demerol. Press hard, less pain. Think ‘A little less pain to ease the ball and chain.’”

  “Perfect analogy, Master.”

  “Thank you, Misaki. I try. Now, for my very favorite mode. To engage Hulk Rage Mode, you only need to tap your tiny pinky finger to your thumb. Such a tiny pinky for creating such a powerful rage! This will release my own special concoction of bionic adrenaline and steroids mixed with uncut Columbian cocaine. There is no amount of chains or shackles you can’t snap in a millisecond with Hulk Rage mode. I find that so hilarious I’ve implanted a camera into your glass eye weapon just so I can see the look on their faces when you ‘Go Green.’ Pinky to thumb, Fe Fi Fo Fum.”

  “Genius, Master Haiku.”

  Now as the masked men had tied Misaki’s wrists with no mercy, her fingertips had never been closer.

  She could have used any one of her weapons to kill or blind her enemies well before they began melting the flesh off of her face, but Misaki saw no fun it that.

  A born masochist, she skipped the pain killer and only engaged a powerful acid trip that turned the masked men into the colorful ghosts from a game of Pac-Man. As she pressed her fingers harder the yellow bulb dangling from the ceiling turned into a large yellow circle with a mouth that began gobbling up the ghosts at top speed.

  She laughed so hysterically, tears streamed down her face as the men communicated frantically in Russian.

  She laughed even harder as she never realized the ghosts from Pac-Man were from Russia.

  The flesh eating iron was suddenly no fun, but the ghost goblins didn’t give up so easily.

  “Get the live wire,” a ghost ordered in Russian.

  Masaki suppressed her laughter so she could tune in to the popping and crackling of the live electrical wire approaching her midsection.

  Every single finger involuntarily touched together as the Pac-Man ghosts sent a bolt of lightnin
g up her vagina that resulted in a catatonic seizure, and the accidental engagement of every weapon in her arsenal.

  The men burst into flames all at once as her shackles broke lose and she hit the ground with a thud.

  Still convulsing and laughing, she could taste blood in her mouth from where the seizure could have easily resulted in a severed tongue.

  Thankfully, the catatonic seizure was no match for the burst of bionic adrenaline from Hulk Rage Mode that made the vaginal electrocution felt like the world’s most incredible orgasm.

  “Shit,” she cursed as she looked around to see every Pac-Mac ghost screaming like girls as they melted away in balls of fire.

  “Goodness gracious, great balls of fire,” she said sarcastically as she walked out of the dungeon and down the hallway.

  With her new hulk hands she popped the lock off twenty cages to release twenty victims – all children.

  “Follow me, kids, and wave good bye to those cages, because you’ll never be locked up again.”

  PINPOINT PEDOPHILES

  Haiku knew exactly where Misaki was at all times thanks to the GPS he’d implanted in her foot. He’d also already harvested all data from every pedophiles phone via a spyware chip directly below the skin behind her right ear.

  All of their communications, their contacts, their website histories and their texts had been hacked throughout her torture session.

  Furthermore, the spyware chip contaminated their phone networks with a data harvesting virus that would spread like Cancer throughout any phone they’d had contact with.

  Misaki quickly lowered the last naked child down into the underground shelter that had magically cropped up behind the abandoned warehouse in Tolyatti, Russia.

  She returned back into the warehouse climbed the stairs to the roof where a drone was waiting on her in Hummingbird mode. The drones utilized the same sundial technology and landed in a bright sphere that temporarily blinded any onlookers with colorful floaters.

  Within seconds the drone landed at a secret landing pad behind Haiku’s Ninja Academy in Hiroshima where she could privately exit the drone and enter the back door that led to her own elaborate suite.

  A soft knock sounded on the door as she’d just wrapped herself in a colorful tunic.

  “I’m dressed.”

  Haiku had never come as close to a heart attack as he did when he saw Misaki’s bare cheek bone peering out through bloody seared flesh that left her with only half a face.

  In a second he barked into his walkie-talkie, “911. Medical Team. Suite 1805. Paramedic, Infection Control, AND Plastic Surgery, STAT!”

  “Calm down, Master. I feel fine.”

  “Misaki, you look like a villain from Mortal Kombat.”

  “I should. Wait until you see the footage, Master. I did a Hell of a fatality move, sir.”

  FINALLY A FAMILY

  “We’re running late tonight, son. The darn chicken I was gonna make was spoiled. So, me and your Dad are in Cooper City picking up a fresh pack at Walmart.”

  “Do you need me to help with anything? Clean?”

  “No just go watch T.V. in your room and relax.”

  Sterling Heights was mostly residential aside from a few gas stations and one family-owned restaurant. Anyone who wanted to go to Walmart or Burger King had a 20-mile drive north to Cooper City. The people of Sterling Heights believed commerce brought crime. It was ridiculous. A six-piece chicken nugget pack had the street value of a ruby.

  “O.K. Well, take your time and please drive safe.”

  “We love you.”

  “I love y’all, too.”

  One day those two had sat Atticus down and told him they couldn’t handle being called Pam and John, anymore. It was just too weird.

  They knew that poor kid had never got to call anybody Mom or Dad, and they’d never gotten to call anybody son, so why not?

  They were right, calling them Pam and John didn’t feel right.

  Mom and Dad felt much more normal.

  He hung up their landline phone and headed for his awesome room. He loved his new gigantic plasma screen T.V. his Dad bought him. Sure he could have just transferred a little money out of any bank account in the world, but the T.V. was special because John worked hard for it, and he did it all for him.

  He turned on the T.V. and casually flipped through the channels. Having a T.V. was so relaxing. He could just tune the world out and flip through the channels.

  Ooooohhhhh, the sci-fi channel has a movie.

  Atticus was mesmerized. Big blue aliens? He’d heard of Avatar, but never actually seen it, and he had to admit it was reeling him in good.

  When it was over, he suddenly got a weird feeling in his gut.

  He looked at the clock.

  10 o’clock!

  Atticus was beginning to panic. They’d been gone two hours to get a pack of chicken.

  He flipped it to the 10 o’clock news, and to his horror, there they were, what was left of them.

  Mere fragments of his parents’ bloody limbs were hanging out of the car in pieces.

  Their red Ford Focus had been reduced to a crumpled cola can in the gutter, and they died right in front of him. The news media made sure of that. They didn’t want to spare him even one traumatic image, because everybody else needed to see. They didn’t care if the two people had kids or parents who would be traumatized for life.

  The camera circled the scene of a mutilated car while marveling at the senseless tragedy and pretending to care about people they didn’t even know.

  One flash was enough.

  “What a senseless tragedy, Ted,” said the bleach blonde news anchor as the camera zoomed in on the remains of

  Pamela’s severed bloody arm. “Two people are confirmed dead on the scene in a major accident here in Cooper City when a drunk driver ran a red light going 90 mph.”

  I am going to pull every tooth outta that muthafucka’s crack head before cutting off his dick with a spoon.

  “The drunk driver has only minor injuries and has been identified as 26-year-old Destiny Fletcher of Cooperstown, Mississippi. She will be taken into custody after her injuries are treated. The passenger, 28-year-old Misty Murdock, is in critical condition at Cooper’s County Memorial Hospital. In other news, a rare species of turtle has been discovered by scientists conducting research outside of the Mississippi River Basin….”

  Atticus slammed his fist through the T.V. screen and left out a scream so loud every light in Sterling Heights popped on.

  “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

  He smashed the baseball lamp in the window glass shattering it into a million pieces all over the room they decorated for him.

  It didn’t mean anything now.

  They were gone.

  Now, all he could see were the nosy neighbors peering out the window probably wondering if they should call the police. He crumbled down into a little ball as small as the crumpled cola can car on T.V. and he sobbed like a baby for the first time in his life. He finally realized he was just a kid, and his parents were just murdered by a selfish whore.

  John and Pam where the only two people he ever loved, and they were the only two people who every really loved him back.

  Now he was just empty.

  His whole life he always thought nothing could hurt worse than Destiny cracking his skull with that baseball bat.

  But nothing had ever hurt like this.

  MISAKI FUCKS THE WHOLE WORLD

  After restoring Misaki’s face to its original beauty, she had to start all over.

  Haiku pretended to be a poor farmer selling his twelve-year-old virgin daughter to a brothel in Cambodia for fifty bucks.

  Fortunately, even at twenty four, Misaki’s 85-lb frame and innocent face easily passed for twelve.

  From his headquarters in Hiroshima, Haiku tracked Misaki across Thailand, Burma, Turkey, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Uganda, Nepal, Sri Lanka, India and C
anada.

  Haiku had vaccinated her for everything from AIDs to herpes so that she could endure just enough torture and sex for her spyware chip to virally infect every phone within her sphere and spread like cancer.

  They didn’t realize they were really the ones were being infected.

  She heard a faint beep in her head signaling the virus had successfully hacked their networks, at which point she broke the shackles. Using her right eye weaponry, she smote one pedophile up into a ball of flames as an example to the others.

  As he screamed in agony and the flesh burned off his bones, the others tried to run to no avail.

  Misaki’s temporary blinding sphere knocked them all back three feet and onto their backs.

  “I wish to be sold to the next buyer for a standard price that won’t raise suspicion. I’m a witch, and if you don’t follow my orders, I’ll come back for you. That’s a promise.”

  It was a promise. The truth was that Haiku was coming back for all of them. As her chip spread like cancer through the entire pedophile network worldwide, Haiku had trained up 100 male ninjas in the art of broomstick impalement, ancient medieval torture, and flaying (the art of slowly removing skin without killing a victim.)

  He had three warehouses full of thousands of tiny cages. Beneath the warehouses, large basements were full of torture tools.

  With trembling hands, the pedophiles were bullied into selling Misaki to the next unsuspecting crew of sick pedophile bastards.

  Haiku tracked her as she bullied her way across Thailand, Burma, Turkey, Pakistan, Bangladesh, the Ukraine, Ghana, Uganda, Nepal, Sri Lanka, India, the United States and Canada.

  Like popping piñatas, her final mission exploded the heads of ten Mexicans at which point the beep within her inner ear sounded three times to signal the spyware virus had successfully infiltrated every pedophile phone worldwide and directed live GPS locations via satellite back to Master Haiku’s computer.

  She hated to kill the ten Mexicans, as they deserved to be harvested and tortured just as the rest of the pedophiles, but she was feeling blood thirsty and wanted to end her successful mission with a glorious fatality move.