Slaves of Cerberus

"No! Please, stop!"

"Let me go! Get your hands off me!"

"Aaaah! It hurts! Please, it hurts!"

The walls of the room that Jack had been confined into blazed with light, provided by vidscreens that covered every inch of the room. And on each screen was a different vision of hell.

In each vid, a woman cried, writhed, and tried to pull away from the hands that groped at her from off-screen. And on each screen, the woman failed. As Jack cast her eyes around the room in sheer disgust, she watched as each of the women was forcibly stripped of her clothes and penetrated. Some of them by human cocks, some by sex toys held by sneering women, and some even by fat alien meat. Regardless of how they were being violated, each screen was the same: crying, helpless women being raped.

Jack wanted to believe that they were all simulated scenes. Like that shit she had seen on the extranet on occasion, where the woman would appear at the end of the video, smiling and laughing about the S&M fantasy she had just taken part in. But from the low quality look of the videos, the shaky and poorly-framed shots, and the genuine terror she recognized in the eyes of the women, Jack knew the truth. These videos were all too real.

"Son of a..." she muttered, just before her eyes locked on the other side of the room. Just when she thought her anger couldn't flare up any harder, she saw what had been done to her cellmate.

Jenny was strapped into the medical chair opposite Jack. Before now, with the room in darkness, Jack hadn't even known she was there. Perhaps her student would have screamed out, if not for the gag that had been shoved into her mouth. Jenny stared at Jack with eyes just as filled with fear and horror as the women in the videos playing around them. Jack noted with disgust that the chair she was strapped into had been adjusted to spread her legs wide open, the teen girl's naked pussy forcibly put on display.

"You bastard," Jack yelled out, fairly certain that Henneman was listening in. "Haven't you done enough to this poor girl? Do whatever the hell you want to me, but leave her out of this! I won't let you..."

"I'm not going to do anything to her, Subject Zero," said Henneman's voice over a loudspeaker built into the ceiling. "It's what you're going to do with her."

Jack stared at the speaker, eyes narrowed in fury. "What I'm going to..." she started to say.

And then she felt it. In all of this confusion, waking up from the gas Henneman had doped her with and recovering her bearings, she hadn't noticed the press of straps against her own skin.

When she looked down, she could hear a primal growl start to build in her throat. That twisted fucker. How could he possibly think that... that she would ever do that?

Fastened securely around Jack's hips with thick leather was a strap-on. A pitch-black fake cock bobbed between her legs, the massive sex toy big and thick enough to stretch out even the most worn-out whore's cavernous twat. It was obviously too big to be meant for pleasure, and could only have been designed for one thing: pain.

In a rage, Jack grabbed onto the gigantic cock, expecting to feel the pain of her fingers angrily gripping around the disgusting piece of plastic. But no, it wasn't a sensory model. It was just a plain old strap-on, albeit one that had been locked onto Jack's hips with what seemed like titanium fasteners. Try as she might to rip it off, Jack couldn't rid herself of the fucking thing.

"Just do it, Subject Zero," Henneman's voice said over the loudspeaker, as Jack continued to strain at the sex toy locked around her hips like a twisted version of a chastity belt. "Rape Jenny. Rape her. I know you want to. Do it. Rape her. Rape he..."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU TWISTED FUCKER!" Jack screamed. Charging at the speaker in the ceiling, she jumped up to try and drive a fist through it and shut that fucking pervert up. When that didn't work, she turned to one of the screens, driving angry fists into it until she could hear it start to crack. "GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE RIGHT FUCKING NOW, OR I'LL BLOW A HOLE THROUGH THIS ENTIRE GODDAMN STATION, I SWEAR!"

As she continued pounding on the vidscreen, uncaring about the small specks of blood she started to see on its surface as the skin of her hands broke open from the repeated impacts, she could barely make out a sigh from Henneman over the continued loud sounds of women being sexually violated.

"As expected," Henneman muttered. "It appears my first attempt at a formula is not quite up to snuff. Ah, well. We'll try again another time."

A familiar mechanical "clunk" sound was heard, and Jack turned in time to see the same metal tubes that had been in her cell shoot out from the floor of the testing room. Even as she heard the familiar hiss and knew what was to come, she continued pounding on the vidscreen until the gas finally reached her lungs and she tumbled weakly to the floor.

* * *

Henneman watched the video feed on his personal terminal dispassionately, as Bowers unfastened the strap-on from the unconscious Jack before scooping her up off the floor and following Yuri, who was toting Jenny across his shoulder, out of the testing room.

"Recreating the Dom formula, experiment #1," he turned away from the terminal and spoke into his datapad, watching as his words were transcribed onto its glowing surface. "Current formulation appears to be mostly ineffective. While subject does show violent tendencies consistent with previous test subjects, I would attribute this to her own natural personality. Of course, this was part of the reason I considered her an ideal test subject... but perhaps I was mistaken. Maybe I should consider my other candidate instead." He paused, working the possibilities through his mind. "We'll attempt one more test with the other potential formulation. If no further progress is shown, then I will reach out to Miss Brooks for authorization to..."

Henneman's eyes snapped up from his datapad, as he heard a scuffle out in the hallway, raised voices and shouts. Before he could figure out what was happening, the door to his laboratory was sliding open, and a snarling beast was charging in his direction.

"You..." Morgan said, her thick hands balled into fists as she stomped in Henneman's direction. "You fucking shitbird cockface asshole! What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Henneman took a step away from the furious Phantom, trying to remember where he had stashed the Carnifex in here. "Morgan, I don't... know what you're talking about," he said, working as hard as he could to sound casual in the face of the dangerous woman's anger.

"Goddamn it, I came in here before and you had that pencil-neck Bowers put me off," Morgan snapped. "It's... it's my bitch! She's sick, dammit! I'm sitting around worried and you're fucking avoiding me!"

"Wait, what now?" Henneman said, his interest immediately piqued. "What do you mean, she's sick?"

"Exactly what I fucking said, doc!" Morgan said, her anger now dampened with a hint of worry. "She's getting all pukey and stuff. She won't eat the food I bring her, no matter how much I threaten her. She's tired and has to pee all the goddamn time. And just an hour or so ago there was..." she paused and took a deep, shuddering breath. "There was some blood... down there. Just a little, but... I know damn sure that I didn't cause it, so I think she's bleeding on her own."

"Alright, alright, calm down," Henneman said, trying his best to hide his excitement. "I'm sorry I couldn't talk to you earlier, but I really was in the midst of some very important research. Research that I'm still working on at the moment... but!" he quickly added as Morgan's fury started to show itself again. "But, I promise you. First thing in the morning, bring your bitch by and I will give her a full examination."

Morgan seemed to calm down, the muscular woman shifting anxiously. "You sure it can wait until morning, doc? My bitch... she's gonna be okay, right?"

"Absolutely," Henneman said. "The symptoms you described to me... I think I have an idea of exactly what's going on."

"You do?" Morgan asked, perking up immediately. "What is it, doc? It's not gonna kill her, is it? Oh, I don't know what I'd do without my pretty little bitch."

Well, you might have to learn to do without her, you twisted freak, Henneman thought to himself, And very soon, too. "Trust me, Morgan. It's nothing to worry yourself about. Just bring her by tomorrow morning, and I'll make sure she's right as rain," he said out loud.

Morgan let out a long breath. "You don't know how much that means to me, doc," she said. "We're so lucky to have a brilliant son of a bitch like you in Cerberus, you know that?"

"Yes, I am quite aware," Henneman responded. "Now, as I mentioned before, I do have some testing I still need to do tonight. But as I promised, first thing in the morning, we'll give your bitch a thorough checkup."

"Thanks again, doc," Morgan said, and then smiled at him. Henneman had never been the best at reading people, but even he could see that there was something not quite right about that smile. But before he could examine it further, Morgan was already heading out the door.

As soon as she was gone, Henneman considered heading over to his personal terminal. With how much Cordelia had been breathing down his neck, no doubt she would be happy to hear that their efforts may have finally borne fruit. But he decided against it. No need to let her know until he had confirmed it for himself. He would hate to give her hope only to find out that it was premature.

And if it turned out that Morgan had not blessed her bitch with a bundle full of joy? Well, Henneman thought to himself as he stared at the small cloning vats on the other side of the room, and the spare body parts floating within, there are still other options.