At The End Of The Tunnel
folder
+S through Z › Sonic
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
28
Views:
4,166
Reviews:
21
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+S through Z › Sonic
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
28
Views:
4,166
Reviews:
21
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Sonic The Hedgehog game series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Sex, Drugs and Alcohol
~~~
At The End Of The Tunnel
Co-Written by Harley Quinn hyenaholic and Froggy22651
~~~
Harley: This is my first Chapter. Yay!
Froggy: Why the hell is nobody reviewing? Hey, do some R&R! Don’t make me review my own damn work!
Harley: They’re not even rating it! Hey! Do you guys even WANT another chapter? Then damn well say so! Look, just because I’m writing this doesn’t mean I’m neglecting my other works.
Froggy: From now on, let’s not tell them who wrote each chapter. Let’s make it a surprise.
~~~
Chapter Two: Sex, Drugs And Alcohol
"You call yourselves Mercenaries? You've failed your last two missions and you blew up one of my factories trying!!!"
The short black cat and the tall purple weasel both cowered before the vastly obese man in front of them. Both were covered in black soot, the sign of an explosion gone wrong.
The weasel spoke up nervously, "We were only trying to kill the hedgehog. We thought he'd get caught in the blast radius-"
"SHUT UP, NACK!!"
"Yes sir, please don't kill me."
The cat was starting to shake, "Please, sir, I really need-"
"SHUT UP, LOADER!!!"
"Yes sir, please don't kill me."
"I'll give you two imbeciles one more chance. You are both going to go into Knothole Forest, and you are going to find Knothole within a week. A week, do you understand me? Seven days. Otherwise you'll both wind up jobless, and soon after that, dead."
Breech and Nack both bowed, and hurried out. Breech leant on the doorway outside, breathing hard. When conscious, she was an attractive young feline, 25 years old.
"Seven days... seven days to find Knothole. When Robotnik couldn't find it in ten years. Nack, we are going to die! In seven days! I mean, you are going to be fired, hunted down and killed, and I am going to go into withdrawal and then die!"
Nack shrugged. When sober, he was a moderately handsome purple weasel, 27 years old. When drunk, which was frequent, he was a mess, "You may be willing to die, but I'm not. I say we try it! I say we waste those smug Knothole bastards! We've all gotta die someday, the only question is how? Are we gonna go on our feet, or on our knees, beggin'? Are you with me?!"
Breech rolled her eyes, "Nack T Weasel, I've told you my opinion on monologues."
Nack smirked, and finger walked his hand around Breech's shoulders, "Well Breech, does it turn you on?"
"Maybe later. I need to get back to my apartment... I feel like my brain's filling with treacle..."
Breech staggered away from Nack, barely able to walk. By the time she got back to her apartment, she was barely able to focus on the door, "Oh gods, why the hell do I put up with that selfish prick?" she asked herself, as she swiped her card.
"Bridget Loranski, No Guests," droned the door.
"Shut up, you."
Breech fell in at the door and collapsed on the floor. The room started to turn various shades of pink.
She dragged herself to her feet and staggered into the kitchen, fished around in the cutlery drawer, and brought out a clean hypodermic needle. Then she reached into a biscuit tin and brought out a small bag with some clear liquid in it. She re-entered the living room, and sat down on the couch.
So much for trying to come off the shit, she thought, as she found a vein and pushed in the needle slowly, and then pushed down on the needle to inject the drugs.
She sighed in relief as the shaking stopped.
~~~
About three hours later, Nack came into the apartment using his access card, and looked at Breech through a happy haze of alcohol. She was lying on the sofa, clothed only in a dressing gown, and on a high.
"Well babe, do I turn you on now?" he asked with a laugh.
"Hmmm? Oh!" Breech laughed, "Yeah, yeah, you do!"
He took off his hat and staggered over to Breech, climbing on top of her and kissing her neck, "Geez Breech, you're so hot when you're you," he slurred.
Breech giggled, pulled off her shirt, and let Nack grope her roughly for a while, before pulling his belt off him and pulling him down onto her.
After the couple had finished with the sex, Nack fell asleep on top of Breech, and Breech drifted off into a drug-induced dream. It happened this way almost every night, and both of them were, if not entirely satisfied with the situation, then certainly used to it. Nack had a woman who didn't complain no matter how much of a cheat he was, and Breech had a man who didn't care that she was a drug-slave to Robotnik.
Whatever they had together, it certainly wasn't love. Perhaps a better description of the emotion shared between them would be 'mutual contempt'.
~~~
Somebody put their hand on Bridget's shoulder. She opened her eyes.
"Hey there," said the black rat standing before her.
Bridget spat out some blood, "Gus? What are you doing here?"
"I'm a pain-induced hallucination, how else do you think I got in?" Gusion The Eleventh Daemon smirked. He was short, highly unattractive, his fur was greasy, he smelt of tar, and the only thing that set him apart in any way was the bronze amulet around his neck, "Don't worry, Bridget," he said calmly, "Your time is almost over. See ya round, bitch."
"Later, shitbag..." Bridget's voice dwindled to a whisper. She looked down at herself. She'd been chained to the wall so that her feet barely touched the ground, and her body ached through cramp. She'd already been declawed, cut, and beaten, in-between torture sessions she was left in the dark, the pain had hampered her sleep, she'd been fed with little water and less food, and she couldn't even cry anymore. Her clothes were tattered and burnt away, leaving her with a few rags. Only a week had passed since she had been brought to the Royal Cells, and she already wished she were dead.
Suddenly, another person was in the room with her. A real person. It was one of King Maximillian Acorn's mindless Royal Guards. That meant only one thing.
The dog-fox punched her once in the face, splitting her lip. It was the morning wakeup call she'd gotten used to over the last week. To her surprise though, King Acorn walked into her cell behind him, "Good morning, miss… Loranski," he said, "It's a nice day outside. Shame you aren't free to see it."
She glared at him, "Whatever."
"Now I know you're a spy," he said amicably, "Denying it will only prolong your pain."
"I'm not a-"
The fox took a knife from his belt and slid it under her skin at an angle. It was the way they could do it so emotionlessly, not a complaint or a question, that frightened her the most. He lifted the knife, tearing her skin, and she bit down on her tongue to keep from screaming.
"Your stubbornness is testing my patience," said Max, tapping a foot, "When it runs out, you'll wish you had talked. My intelligence reports have you marked down as an exchange student of the Overlander Mercenary College. Therefore you must have information on them."
"I don't know any-" Breech clamped her mouth shut to stop the scream as the fox dragged the knife down her chest, "I don't know anything!" she managed, "I was just an exchange student! That was three years ago! Overlanders are wankers!"
This obvious display of patriotism didn't seem to convince Max. He narrowed his eyes, "Idiot!" he snapped, snatching the knife away from the fox, "Do I have to do everything myself around here?!" A table with various implements of torture was wheeled in, "This is how you get a spy to talk!" He pressed a red-hot poker against her fur, hard, "Talk, whore!"
"I'm not, I'm not, I'm not a spy!!!" Bridget screamed as he dragged it down her body.
King Max handed the poker to the Royal Guard, "Keep doing that once every minute until she talks. In-between, use this." Through a cloud of pain, Bridget saw him hand the guard a whip, "Never let her get used to one item so that it doesn't hurt. I want her to talk!"
He stalked out of the room, leaving her alone... with the Royal Guard.
~~~
Breech opened her eyes with a gasp, her heart racing. After a while, her pulse returned to normal. It would be wonderful to believe that Bridget Loranski was just some other girl who had been tortured, that everything was fine, that she'd joined Robotnik because she was wholly evil, rather than partly evil and mostly insane for revenge.
Wishful thinking, girl. Wishful thinking.
She looked down at Nack, who had slumped off her, and wandered into the small bathroom. With a sigh, she started to wash herself clean of the soot from the explosion. As the black muck trickled down the drain, taking dried blood and Nack’s sperm with it, her white muzzle and the white splotch on the tip of her tail showed through. And so did the deep, ugly scars on her arms and chest. She began to scrub harder, desperate to get all the dirt and blood off, and finally, after clawing at her fur until blood poured from her arms, she slumped to her knees and put her face in her paws, sobbing as the water cascaded down upon her.
Dreams distorted memories, time blurred them and insanity exaggerated them, but she knew some things were true.
She looked down at the deep scars and the patches where her fur had been burnt away with acids. There were patterns on her body from burns. And that wasn't the worst torture she'd been dealt by the Royal Guard. But at least she'd woken up earlier this time...
Oh well. It was morning now. Time to get to work.
~~~
End of Chapter Two
Harley: Hey! I said get reviewing! Lazy bastards...
At The End Of The Tunnel
Co-Written by Harley Quinn hyenaholic and Froggy22651
~~~
Harley: This is my first Chapter. Yay!
Froggy: Why the hell is nobody reviewing? Hey, do some R&R! Don’t make me review my own damn work!
Harley: They’re not even rating it! Hey! Do you guys even WANT another chapter? Then damn well say so! Look, just because I’m writing this doesn’t mean I’m neglecting my other works.
Froggy: From now on, let’s not tell them who wrote each chapter. Let’s make it a surprise.
~~~
Chapter Two: Sex, Drugs And Alcohol
"You call yourselves Mercenaries? You've failed your last two missions and you blew up one of my factories trying!!!"
The short black cat and the tall purple weasel both cowered before the vastly obese man in front of them. Both were covered in black soot, the sign of an explosion gone wrong.
The weasel spoke up nervously, "We were only trying to kill the hedgehog. We thought he'd get caught in the blast radius-"
"SHUT UP, NACK!!"
"Yes sir, please don't kill me."
The cat was starting to shake, "Please, sir, I really need-"
"SHUT UP, LOADER!!!"
"Yes sir, please don't kill me."
"I'll give you two imbeciles one more chance. You are both going to go into Knothole Forest, and you are going to find Knothole within a week. A week, do you understand me? Seven days. Otherwise you'll both wind up jobless, and soon after that, dead."
Breech and Nack both bowed, and hurried out. Breech leant on the doorway outside, breathing hard. When conscious, she was an attractive young feline, 25 years old.
"Seven days... seven days to find Knothole. When Robotnik couldn't find it in ten years. Nack, we are going to die! In seven days! I mean, you are going to be fired, hunted down and killed, and I am going to go into withdrawal and then die!"
Nack shrugged. When sober, he was a moderately handsome purple weasel, 27 years old. When drunk, which was frequent, he was a mess, "You may be willing to die, but I'm not. I say we try it! I say we waste those smug Knothole bastards! We've all gotta die someday, the only question is how? Are we gonna go on our feet, or on our knees, beggin'? Are you with me?!"
Breech rolled her eyes, "Nack T Weasel, I've told you my opinion on monologues."
Nack smirked, and finger walked his hand around Breech's shoulders, "Well Breech, does it turn you on?"
"Maybe later. I need to get back to my apartment... I feel like my brain's filling with treacle..."
Breech staggered away from Nack, barely able to walk. By the time she got back to her apartment, she was barely able to focus on the door, "Oh gods, why the hell do I put up with that selfish prick?" she asked herself, as she swiped her card.
"Bridget Loranski, No Guests," droned the door.
"Shut up, you."
Breech fell in at the door and collapsed on the floor. The room started to turn various shades of pink.
She dragged herself to her feet and staggered into the kitchen, fished around in the cutlery drawer, and brought out a clean hypodermic needle. Then she reached into a biscuit tin and brought out a small bag with some clear liquid in it. She re-entered the living room, and sat down on the couch.
So much for trying to come off the shit, she thought, as she found a vein and pushed in the needle slowly, and then pushed down on the needle to inject the drugs.
She sighed in relief as the shaking stopped.
~~~
About three hours later, Nack came into the apartment using his access card, and looked at Breech through a happy haze of alcohol. She was lying on the sofa, clothed only in a dressing gown, and on a high.
"Well babe, do I turn you on now?" he asked with a laugh.
"Hmmm? Oh!" Breech laughed, "Yeah, yeah, you do!"
He took off his hat and staggered over to Breech, climbing on top of her and kissing her neck, "Geez Breech, you're so hot when you're you," he slurred.
Breech giggled, pulled off her shirt, and let Nack grope her roughly for a while, before pulling his belt off him and pulling him down onto her.
After the couple had finished with the sex, Nack fell asleep on top of Breech, and Breech drifted off into a drug-induced dream. It happened this way almost every night, and both of them were, if not entirely satisfied with the situation, then certainly used to it. Nack had a woman who didn't complain no matter how much of a cheat he was, and Breech had a man who didn't care that she was a drug-slave to Robotnik.
Whatever they had together, it certainly wasn't love. Perhaps a better description of the emotion shared between them would be 'mutual contempt'.
~~~
Somebody put their hand on Bridget's shoulder. She opened her eyes.
"Hey there," said the black rat standing before her.
Bridget spat out some blood, "Gus? What are you doing here?"
"I'm a pain-induced hallucination, how else do you think I got in?" Gusion The Eleventh Daemon smirked. He was short, highly unattractive, his fur was greasy, he smelt of tar, and the only thing that set him apart in any way was the bronze amulet around his neck, "Don't worry, Bridget," he said calmly, "Your time is almost over. See ya round, bitch."
"Later, shitbag..." Bridget's voice dwindled to a whisper. She looked down at herself. She'd been chained to the wall so that her feet barely touched the ground, and her body ached through cramp. She'd already been declawed, cut, and beaten, in-between torture sessions she was left in the dark, the pain had hampered her sleep, she'd been fed with little water and less food, and she couldn't even cry anymore. Her clothes were tattered and burnt away, leaving her with a few rags. Only a week had passed since she had been brought to the Royal Cells, and she already wished she were dead.
Suddenly, another person was in the room with her. A real person. It was one of King Maximillian Acorn's mindless Royal Guards. That meant only one thing.
The dog-fox punched her once in the face, splitting her lip. It was the morning wakeup call she'd gotten used to over the last week. To her surprise though, King Acorn walked into her cell behind him, "Good morning, miss… Loranski," he said, "It's a nice day outside. Shame you aren't free to see it."
She glared at him, "Whatever."
"Now I know you're a spy," he said amicably, "Denying it will only prolong your pain."
"I'm not a-"
The fox took a knife from his belt and slid it under her skin at an angle. It was the way they could do it so emotionlessly, not a complaint or a question, that frightened her the most. He lifted the knife, tearing her skin, and she bit down on her tongue to keep from screaming.
"Your stubbornness is testing my patience," said Max, tapping a foot, "When it runs out, you'll wish you had talked. My intelligence reports have you marked down as an exchange student of the Overlander Mercenary College. Therefore you must have information on them."
"I don't know any-" Breech clamped her mouth shut to stop the scream as the fox dragged the knife down her chest, "I don't know anything!" she managed, "I was just an exchange student! That was three years ago! Overlanders are wankers!"
This obvious display of patriotism didn't seem to convince Max. He narrowed his eyes, "Idiot!" he snapped, snatching the knife away from the fox, "Do I have to do everything myself around here?!" A table with various implements of torture was wheeled in, "This is how you get a spy to talk!" He pressed a red-hot poker against her fur, hard, "Talk, whore!"
"I'm not, I'm not, I'm not a spy!!!" Bridget screamed as he dragged it down her body.
King Max handed the poker to the Royal Guard, "Keep doing that once every minute until she talks. In-between, use this." Through a cloud of pain, Bridget saw him hand the guard a whip, "Never let her get used to one item so that it doesn't hurt. I want her to talk!"
He stalked out of the room, leaving her alone... with the Royal Guard.
~~~
Breech opened her eyes with a gasp, her heart racing. After a while, her pulse returned to normal. It would be wonderful to believe that Bridget Loranski was just some other girl who had been tortured, that everything was fine, that she'd joined Robotnik because she was wholly evil, rather than partly evil and mostly insane for revenge.
Wishful thinking, girl. Wishful thinking.
She looked down at Nack, who had slumped off her, and wandered into the small bathroom. With a sigh, she started to wash herself clean of the soot from the explosion. As the black muck trickled down the drain, taking dried blood and Nack’s sperm with it, her white muzzle and the white splotch on the tip of her tail showed through. And so did the deep, ugly scars on her arms and chest. She began to scrub harder, desperate to get all the dirt and blood off, and finally, after clawing at her fur until blood poured from her arms, she slumped to her knees and put her face in her paws, sobbing as the water cascaded down upon her.
Dreams distorted memories, time blurred them and insanity exaggerated them, but she knew some things were true.
She looked down at the deep scars and the patches where her fur had been burnt away with acids. There were patterns on her body from burns. And that wasn't the worst torture she'd been dealt by the Royal Guard. But at least she'd woken up earlier this time...
Oh well. It was morning now. Time to get to work.
~~~
End of Chapter Two
Harley: Hey! I said get reviewing! Lazy bastards...