Lyanna Unbound - ISSUE 1: OPEN
Author:
Caution:
Audience Rating:
Publication:
Genre:
Character Age:
TG Themes:
TG Elements:
Permission:
LYANNA UNBOUND
by
Jessica D
ISSUE 1
OPEN
“Go fuck yourself, Daryl!”
Leon laid down his cards. A full house. Three queens and two jacks. This ought to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face. Daryl curled back the corners of his cards, making a show of peering beneath them.
“Why would I do that,” he said, flicking his cards over, “when I can have a better time fucking you!”
“You gotta be kidding me!” Leon ran his hands through his mess of hair, staring down at the four twos tossed on the table in front of him.
“Ha ha!” Daryl jumped to his feet, his large set of keys jangling at his belt. He began to serenade Leon with a particularly annoying celebratory dance. “I’ll just take these,” he said, humming to himself as he swept the collection of buttons, old coins, pen lids and clothes pegs, from Leon’s side of the table over to his.
Leon leaned back, his old, rusted chair creaking beneath him. “How is that even right? I mean I’ve got fucking Queens here, and you’ve got, what… Twos?”
“Twos,” Daryl said, still smiling. “It takes two, baby! Just me and you!” He sang the words, jabbing his fingers toward Leon.
Leon began to collect up the cards from the small fold-out table. He paused, admiring the naked woman on the Queen of Diamonds. She was his favourite. He glanced to the digital clock on the microwave. It was getting late and Daryl was proving harder to get rid of than the mould on the walls. Ever since his breakup, Leon had been living out of his shitty windowless office in the basement of the condo. It was little more than a staff room, with a second-hand TV and an old leather sofa that he’d found on the street. The kitchenette at the opposite end of the room consisted of the microwave, a kettle, a water cooler, and a fridge that hummed too loudly. Through a door at the back was the storeroom, where Leon kept his tools and accumulated spare bits of crap that would occasionally come in handy for patching up the increasingly run-down condo.
“So, when are you gonna get your own place?” Daryl asked, hooking his thumbs into his belt as he paced around, casting his judgy eyes over everything. “You can’t live in this fucking rat-hole forever.”
Leon rolled his eyes as he slipped the deck back into its box. “It’s just until I can save up enough for a security deposit. After leaving Sarah, I—“
“Woah, woah, woah!” Daryl interrupted, turning and holding a hand up. “Let’s be clear here. She kicked your skinny ass out!”
“Let’s just say it was mutual,” Leon said, scratching at the hair on his face. It had grown too long to be called stubble, and far too patchy to be called a beard. He set the box of cards down and leaned across the table, grabbing the comic book he’d been reading before Daryl had arrived.
“You need to get out of here and clean yourself up, man,” Daryl said, picking up his beer can and draining the last dregs. “Ain’t no girl gonna wanna shack up with… this.” Daryl waved his hand toward Leon and belched under his breath.
“So, what's your secret?” Leon asked, finding his page in the comic and leaning back in his chair. “How do you manage to get so much pussy, anyway? Cos it sure as hell isn’t your winning personality.”
“What do you think, man?” Daryl grinned as he grabbed his crotch. “Plus… I don’t read comics!”
“You don’t read, period! Besides, comics are the Great American art form,” Leon said, waving the book in front of him.
“Hey, I don’t need to read about some white-ass Spider-Man or Captain America saving the fucking world.”
“Actually, they’re both Black now.”
“Hmm.” Daryl paused for a moment. “What about Superman?”
“Still white.”
“See? This is what I’m fucking talking about!”
Leon sighed. “Listen, you can come for me, but don’t come for my comics. At least when I’m reading them, I can forget how shitty my life is.” He looked down and turned the page. When he glanced back up, Daryl almost had a look of pity on his face. Almost. “Shouldn’t you be — you know — patrolling the building, instead of wearing a hole in my floor?” Leon said.
Daryl leaned forward and chuckled as he pointed down at the floor. “That hole was already fucking there, my friend!” Daryl straightened his security ID badge and grabbed his leather jacket from the back of the chair. “Anyway, I already did a check before I came over. Trust me, there ain’t nothin’ happening here tonight.”
Agnes plumped the cushion behind her and settled back into the sofa, raising her feet up onto the cushioned footstool. She reached over to the side table and bounced a jasmine teabag in her cup.
“Come on, my princess!” she said, in the high-pitched register she reserved especially for fawning over Roxy. The Yorkie tilted its head and then sprang up onto her lap. Roxy immediately curled into a ball and Agnes settled her hand on her back and began stroking gently. “Let’s see what we’re in for tonight!” Agnes tapped her iPhone and her favourite weekly podcast began to play.
“Good evening dear listeners and welcome back to another instalment of Murder Matters. Tonight we’re going to ask you a couple of questions. What if your home wasn’t as safe as you thought it was? What if you were never really alone?”
“Ooh, spooky!” Agnes said, wiggling in her seat a little, relishing what might be coming next. Roxy whimpered, seeming a little less convinced. “Don’t worry, my angel, it’s just us here tonight.”
THUMP.
Agnes looked up to the ceiling, her eyes scanning. “Just us and the hundred and fifty other losers in this condo.” Roxy twitched and scratched at her ear. “Oh sorry, I didn’t mean you! Although you did end up with me as your Mommy!” Agnes adjusted the pink bow in Roxy’s hair and settled back into the podcast.
“… for this young couple from Arkansas, their lives were about to be turned upside—“
THUMP… Thump.
“Uh!” Agnes rolled her eyes. She knew someone new had rented the penthouse on the top floor, though she had yet to meet them. They’d been delightfully quiet up there. Until tonight. “Why Friday?” Agnes groaned. “This is my time!”
Roxy sniffed the air as she looked up toward the source of the noise. “I know, I know… I’m still young. I should be getting out more. Try and meet new people.” Roxy turned and flicked her tiny tongue against Agnes’ thumb. “But have you met people? People are the worst!”
CRASH!
This time the whole room seemed to shake.
“What the actual fuck?!” Agnes sat bolt upright, startling Roxy who leaped from her lap and onto the floor. She gave an aggrieved high-pitched bark. “You tell them, girl!” The ceiling lamp above them swayed, causing the shadows to dance up the walls.
Agnes rose to her feet and rolled up the sleeves of her oversized knit sweater. She grabbed her phone, stopped Murder Matters and searched through her contacts. “I’ll ring Ben on the desk. Get him to send someone up. I’ve a good mind to go up there myself with a copy of the tenancy agreement.” She began to pace, scuffing across the floor in her slippers. “It quite clearly says that each tenant has a right to the quiet and peaceful enjoyment of their property, without disturbance from other residents.”
“Bark!”
“Exactly!”
KSHK!
“Yo,” Daryl said, clicking the button on the side of his radio.
“Daryl? It’s Ben on the desk.” Ben’s voice came through distorted and broken. “Where are you?”
KSHK. “Hey, Ben.” Daryl glanced over at Leon who was sniffing at a carton of milk. His friend screwed up his face in disgust — then put the carton back in the fridge. “Oh, I’m up on fifth, just doing my rounds,” Daryl said, tensing and hoping that his lie would go undetected. Ben had probably been working the front desk for as long as the condo had been standing. Little ever seemed to get past him.
There was a pause before Ben replied.
“Oh, right. Well, while you’re there, tell Leon he still needs to take a look at the elevator.”
Daryl looked up at the ceiling, despairing. “Shit! How does that old fucker know everything?”
Leon grinned as he slipped past.
Daryl blinked and put on a fake smile as he pressed the button on his radio. KSHK. “What can I do for you, Ben?”
“Can you go check on 7B?” Ben’s voice crackled. “Young woman there complaining about noise up in the penthouse.”
“7B? Fuck.” Daryl shook his head. He held the radio up to his mouth. KSHK. “I’ll be right up.”
“And when are you gonna move your RV out of the garage? That rust bucket is starting to…”
Daryl slowly turned the volume down on his radio until it clicked off. “Good night, Ben,” he said to himself, sighing. The radios had been Leon’s idea and he’d bought a cheap set from the army surplus store. One each for himself, Daryl and Ben. Daryl looked back, seeing Leon searching the beat-up sofa for the TV remote. He watched, waiting to see how long it would take Leon to remember his fucking TV was too old to have a remote.
Leon straightened, one hand on his back, the other running through his shabby, sandy-coloured hair. His t-shirt was at least a couple of sizes too big for him, making his pale, scrawny ass look even… scrawnier. “What’s up with the girl in 7B, anyway?” Leon asked in his dry monotone. “Another one of your legendary conquests?”
“Nah, man. My powers don’t work on that one. Chick fucking hates me!”
Agnes stood in front of the mirror, near to the door of her apartment. She adjusted her hair grip, wondering if her messy bun looked too messy. She pulled a couple of strands of brunette hair down in front of her ears.
“On or off?” she asked, looking down at Roxy and sliding her black-rimmed glasses off, then back on again.
Roxy looked up and tilted her head.
“I know I can’t see without them — that’s not the point!” Agnes said, getting more irritated.
Suddenly, the door buzzer rang out, making her jump. “Oh!” Agnes pulled her sweater sleeves back down and smoothed out the hem of her top. At the last minute she took off her glasses and slipped them into the back pocket of her jeans. She unthreaded the chain from the door and opened it.
Daryl the security guard stood tall in front of her, his thumbs hooked into his belt, his features annoyingly blurred.
“Took you long enough!” Agnes said, trying to sound funny, but it came out sharper than she intended. Why did she always have to sound so weird?
“Uh, hey… Agnes, right?” Daryl said, scratching at the back of his head.
“Right… listen, uh—“
CRASH!
“What the fuck was that?” Daryl said, flinching a little as he looked up toward the source of the noise.
“See! This is what I’m talking about,” Agnes began, finally managing not to trip over her own tongue. “They can’t do this, can they? I, uh… I found my contract.” Agnes leaned back to reach for the paperwork she’d left on the hallway table. Roxy pawed at her ankle. “I know, baby…” Agnes leafed through her tenancy contract, searching for the relevant paragraph. At least she could win back some points by showing she knew what she was talking about.
“Hey, I believe you!” Daryl said, holding up his hands and chuckling.
Great. Now he was laughing at her! Agnes tossed the contract back onto the table.
SLAM! THUMP!
“Fuck me!” Daryl exclaimed as Roxy leaped up into Agnes’ arms.
“I know, my Princess woo-woo,” Agnes soothed, showering Roxy with reassuring kisses.
“Listen, Agnes, I’m gonna need you to go inside and stay there until I tell you it’s safe,” Daryl said. Agnes watched appreciatively as he rolled his broad shoulders.
“Whatever you say,” Agnes said, her eyes widening when she realised she’d used her high-pitched “Roxy” voice. She lowered her head, blushing fiercely.
Daryl hesitated, tapping the door frame. “Hmm… alright then.” He turned, striding down the hallway in the direction of the elevator. The doors to some of the other apartments twitched open as concerned neighbours peered out. Though in Mrs. Higgins’ case, it was more that she was just a nosy old bat.
Agnes set Roxy down and closed her apartment door, sliding the latch back across.
THUMP!
As she turned, her thigh slammed painfully into the edge of the hallway table.
“Mmf!” Agnes bit her bottom lip from the pain, her eyes watering. She sheepishly reached into her back pocket for her glasses, slipping them back on. Roxy came back into focus, her curious brown eyes staring up.
“Not. A. Word,” Agnes said, pointing down at her.
Daryl marched into the elevator and hit the button for the top floor. The door slid shut, the elevator slowly beginning to rise. He stared up at the light fixture above him, tapping his fingers impatiently against his thigh.
“Come on…” he said quietly to himself through gritted teeth.
SCRAAAPE! THUNK!
Suddenly the elevator juddered to a halt.
“Fuck! Damn it, Leon!” Daryl jabbed at the button. He’d just ridden seven floors in the fucking thing and now it packs up? Couldn’t that son-of-a-bitch just fix one damn thing in this place? Daryl jumped on the spot, his weight thumping against the floor, his keys jangling at his waist. The elevator somehow shook free and continued its slow march upwards.
TING! The door rolled open. Daryl breathed a sigh, cursing himself now for being too lazy to walk up one extra flight of stairs from Agnes’ apartment.
He started to walk down the dimly lit hallway. It didn’t matter how many extra lamps Leon put out in this place, it never seemed to get any brighter. The condo seemed to eat up the fucking light. Daryl kicked at a turned-up edge of the fraying carpet. The penthouse… It was just as shitty as the rest of this place. Just bigger.
Approaching the door, Daryl angled his head to one side, noticing that it was wide open. He slowed, creeping closer toward it. His hand instinctively reached for his belt, wishing — not for the first time — that this fucking place would let him carry a gun.
SLAM!
Suddenly, a body flew back into the corridor just in front of him, hitting the wall hard.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Daryl staggered back. His heel caught on the carpet and he landed flat on his ass.
figure on the floor in front of him groaned and clambered back to his feet. Plaster crumbled down from the wall behind him. He was cloaked — hooded — like he was wearing some sort of robe. When he turned and looked down, Daryl caught sight of the lower half of a narrow face. He reached up, wiping at his bloodied mouth with the back of his sleeve. That’s when Daryl saw it. The curved, ivory-handled dagger that the man held in his hand.
“What the fuck, what the fuck…” Daryl began to push back with his feet, scrabbling backward across the floor. The man turned his cloaked head, looking back into the open doorway of the penthouse. He bent at the knees, then athletically launched himself back through like a Jack-in-the-box.
SMASH! CRAAASH!
Daryl wasn’t sure which was louder — the noise from the penthouse, or the sound of his own heartbeat. Somehow, he pushed himself back to his feet. He searched the corridor, quickly grabbing one of the useless table lamps and yanking its cord free from the wall. He held it above his head with one hand and carefully stepped out in front of the open doorway to the penthouse, feeling the sweat trickling down his forehead.
He’d been expecting the mess — the broken glass, the toppled bookshelves and the splintered wooden furniture. What he hadn’t been expecting was two fucking ninja-monks kicking seven shades of shit out of each other.
The first — the one who’d narrowly missed Daryl as he flew fucking horizontal out the door — was dressed in leather with a dark brown hooded robe and loose pants, still carrying his dagger as he circled his opponent. The second man wore black and red, with a dark hood and mask covering most of his face. Daryl noticed he seemed to be holding a pair of those same pointy things that dude from the Ninja Turtles used. The two men moved deliberately and carefully, as if weighing each other up. It was then that they both noticed Daryl standing there in the doorway. They paused, staring. Probably both wondering why he was holding a fucking lamp above his head.
“Arrrghh!” Daryl summoned all of his strength and hurled it toward them. It crashed to the floor a good six feet in front of the Turtle guy. They both stared down at the lamp, then back up at Daryl.
“H-hey!” Daryl said — actually fucking waving. “Just, uh, responding to a noise complaint from downstairs.”
The hooded men looked at each other. Then back to Daryl.
“Sorry,” the brown-robed one said, leaning back just in time to avoid a fucking flying-kick to the chest.
For the next thirty seconds, it was like Daryl was watching a late-night Kung-Fu movie unfolding right in front of him. Kicks, spins — CLINK! CLANG! — the scrape of steel against steel as they thrust and parried with their weapons.
CRAAASH! Another bookcase came clattering to the ground. The black-and-red-robed man leaped over it, shoving the other man hard into the wall. CLANG! Hard enough that the A/C vent shuddered, the grille falling from its hinges.
Clang… CLANG! CLUNK!
Leon lay stretched out on the sofa in his basement room, staring up at the HVAC grille on the wall above him. He groaned and sat up, stretching and clicking his neck. Not another one…
The A/C system in the condo was the last decent thing this building still had, but unfortunately the rats seemed to think so as well. This wouldn’t be the first time that one of the wretched things had found its way into the old vertical duct that ran down through the building to the basement. It was a good job he didn’t live here… Oh, wait.
Daryl watched, frozen, as the black-and-red-robed figure looked directly at him. The man began to take a step toward him, raising one his Turtle knives.
“No!” the other man shouted from behind as he rose to his feet. In the blink of an eye, he threw his own curved dagger.
CLANG!
It struck the other man’s knife, knocking it clean out of his hand. The weapons skidded to a halt at Daryl’s feet.
“Alright… Evened the fucking playing field now!” Daryl pushed his shirt sleeves up and stepped towards the black-robed figure — only to receive an open-palmed punch straight to the gut.
“Ooff!” Daryl crumpled to the ground. “Mother… fucker…” he groaned, clutching his stomach.
Leon opened the door to the storage room at the rear of the kitchen. The strip light flickered and hummed above him, its stark brightness causing him to squint. The stale-smelling room was full of boxes and accumulated old junk — a broken washer, a pedestal fan, half-empty paint cans, and offcuts of that fucking awful carpet that was laid down in all the hallways. And his shirts. All hanging from the shelves so he wouldn’t have to iron them. He sighed, grabbing his toolbox and the old broom that he kept by the door.
The man stood over Daryl, his face covered except for a narrow slit for his eyes. He glanced back as his opponent quickly approached from behind. Daryl took the opportunity to grab the dagger that lay next to him, curling his fingers around its ivory hilt. He pointed it at the man, trying to stop it from shaking in his hands.
The man bolted, his black-and-red robe billowing as he fled toward the open rear balcony door. The brown-robed man followed in quick pursuit.
“Th-that’s right… you better fucking run!”
Leon carefully pulled the grille off the wall, cool air ruffling his hair as he set it down on the floor. He clambered up on top of the sofa, holding the broom above his head. He slid one end of it into the vent above him and began moving it around.
“There it is.” He felt it catch on something. He slowly began to draw the broom handle back toward him. He took a quick step back, expecting some rotting furry carcass to land on him.
CLINK.
Instead, something small but unexpectedly heavy landed on the floor next to him. Leon set the broom aside and bent down to pick it up.
He crouched, holding it in his palm. It was some sort of… jewellery. A black leather band decorated with gold studs, and at its centre a metal ring. Dangling from the ring was an amethyst gemstone which sparkled as it caught the light. As he ran a finger across the jewel, it almost seemed to shimmer and grow warmer in his hand.
“Woah!” Leon straightened, staring down at the ornate band, turning it over in his hands. The heat it was giving off was undeniable now. What was it? A bracelet? No, it was too big for that. It was more like a collar… or a choker. He finally looked up, a flicker of a smile forming at the corners of his mouth. “Well, this is going straight on eBay.”
Daryl carefully stepped through the balcony door, bracing himself as he pushed past the drapes that billowed from the breeze outside. The balcony was empty and he breathed a sigh of relief. He placed a hand on the railing. The night sky looked grey and cloudy, lit from below by the glow of the city. Skyscrapers clustered toward the city centre in the distance. Somewhere a police siren wailed.
Daryl looked over the railing, down to the street below. Did they… go over? He half-expected to find a bloody mess on the sidewalk, but there was no sign of the two men, intact or otherwise.
Turning, Daryl looked across, noticing the fire escape ladder that ran up to the roof. He stepped forward, gazing up as he placed a foot on the bottom rung.
“Ah, fuck this… I ain’t no Black Spider-Man!”
He turned and made his way back inside, reaching for his phone to call the police. Instead, his hand found the ivory hilt of the robed man’s dagger.
He pulled the curved blade from his belt and looked down at it, turning it in his hands. He noticed a strange inscription on the hilt that looked like some sort of fucked-up cross. It was like it was ceremonial, or something.
“Oh, I am definitely keeping this motherfucker.”
Leon held his cell phone up, pausing to adjust the angle of the choker on the table in front of him. He took a few quick photos for his eBay listing.
“This better be worth something,” he murmured to himself, clicking through into the Photos app. “What the fuck?” He looked down at his phone. The images were all distorted in some way. He didn’t have a single clean shot of the thing! He tried again, and each time the same pixelated mess. “Fucking phone!”
He breathed a sigh and leaned back in his chair, starting to google “choker, jewel, amethyst, collar, rare, value…”
“Open,” a soft voice seemed to whisper.
Open, Leon found himself typing into the search engine. Wait, what? He set his phone down on the table and reached for the choker, his fingers running across the gold studs that ran along the thick leather band. He turned it in his hands, finding the clasp at its rear. He didn’t remember even noticing it before. He barely touched it and the choker seemed to sigh open, the two halves of the leather band folding back on themselves like the petals of a flower.
“What the f—”
SNAP!
It happened fast. The choker shot upward, out of his hands, wrapping itself around his neck.
“URK!” Leon jumped to his feet, the chair clattering back behind him. His fingers clawed at the choker as it seemed to tighten around his neck. He staggered around the kitchen, knocking a pan from the stove onto the floor.
“C-can’t… breathe…” He tried desperately to work his fingers beneath the constricting band but there wasn’t enough room. He turned and twisted, wrestling with the choker. With one hand scrabbling at the choker, the other pulled at a kitchen drawer.
CRASH!
Its contents spilled to the floor — spoons, forks, knives…
“Uhh… gughh…” Leon fought to breathe as he slid to the floor, his legs kicking out as his fingers searched for something — anything he could use. He found a bread knife, bringing it to his neck, trying desperately to work it under and lever the damn thing off.
CLICK.
The sound came from the back of his neck and the intense tightening sensation immediately began to ease, though the choker remained in place around his neck.
“Guurh!”
Leon’s chest heaved. He could breathe again. He closed his eyes, slumped against the side of the kitchen counter. He could feel the strange warmth of the choker again, and for a moment it seemed to soothe the soreness of his throat.
His hand finally reached back for the clasp. Except… there was no sign of it. His fingers slid across smooth leather and metal studs. It was as if the choker had never been open to begin with.
Finally catching his breath, Leon hauled himself to his feet and staggered over to the dirty, scratched-up mirror that hung on the wall. The choker was fastened to his neck — a perfect fit — its purple jewel catching the light and seeming to gleam between his collar bones. He tried to find the clasp again, using the mirror to try and slide the choker around. That’s when he noticed his eyes…
They seemed to grow milky and cloudy, his pupils and irises receding into a baleful yellow colour.
“Ahh… what the?!” Leon gripped the frame of the mirror, leaning closer. His yellow eyes twitched as they searched for answers, seeming brighter now, almost… glowing?
His skin began to prickle and burn all over, as if he’d just been hauled through a patch of stinging nettles. He ran his hands up his arms as they rippled and smoothed, the hairs receding. His patchwork beard similarly began to work itself inwards, leaving his jawline perfectly smooth to the touch.
A tingling sensation spread across his scalp and he watched, soundlessly mouthing words as his hair began to lengthen and darken, falling in waves across his back and shoulders.
“Arrghhh!” Suddenly his body contorted, his arms and back twitching in a painful rigour. He stumbled backward, knocking over the fold-out table. Playing cards scattered across the floor, naked women grinning up at Leon.
CRICCTCH! CRAAACK!
Leon’s shoulders and back clicked and ground, bones cracking and scraping into some new configuration. He felt like he was being stretched in all directions at once. He could feel it in his body… his legs… and his arms. He clutched at new musculature that steadily throbbed to life, seeing his veins pumping with blood beneath the surface of his stretched smooth skin.
“Uhh… gurrgh…” Spittle drooled from Leon’s mouth as he took an ungainly step forward. He felt dizzy, as if the room had grown smaller, closing in around him.
He held his hands up in front of him, larger and yet more slender — a sharp stinging in the tips of his fingers.
“Uhhh, fuccck!” He watched as sharp talons erupted, breaking the surface of his skin and growing forth from his fingertips. “No, no, no…” His voice sounded different… higher pitched, yet seeming to echo around the room, as if it hadn’t quite come from his own throat.
It threatened to drive him mad — the throbbing of his veins, the twisting of sinew and muscle, the cracking of bone. And it was more than just his body. His clothing seemed to tighten then shred into thousands of tiny pieces. They hardened and changed colour, seeming like glittering small scales now, matching the purple colour of the jewel at his neck. They slid across the surface of his skin like an army of small insects, searching for a new home on his body.
Leon’s shaking hands reached up, clasping at his head as if trying to contain the madness that was spilling forth. His clawed hands tangled in his mane of black hair.
He looked down at the fresh smoothness of his skin, that now blended seamlessly with chitinous, armoured scaling that ran across his entire lower body, and across his shoulders and arms. His chest remained bared and tingling as blood vessels carried an urgent throbbing warmth. This wasn’t more musculature forming, this was something else. Soft, rounded, swelling.
Breasts.
Unmistakable. Unavoidable. Pumping. Rising. Madness.
His purple armoured scaling shifted again, curling around his full swollen chest, cradling and supporting his new cleavage.
“Nuhh… nhhh… hhhuh…” The words no longer seemed to come. Instead a flooding warmth between his legs, along with a sensation of pulling and tightness, until—
CRAACK!
His pelvis seemed to split open, carrying his hips and backside out with it.
Leon twisted and fell about the room, knocking into shelves, his head hitting the bulb that hung from the ceiling, sending it swaying. His purple-scaled thigh hit the edge of the sofa and sent it skidding across the room. Either the basement room had shrunk about him… or… he was now… taller. Much taller.
The pain subsided, yet a tingling warmth seemed to remain. Leon stared down at his taloned hands, flexing his fingers, his gaze then drawn to the soft swell of his breasts that rose and fell with his heavy breathing. His fingers carefully drifted down, grazing between his legs, finding only a smooth inward curve between his wider-set thighs, along with more of that wretched scaling.
“What. Am. I?” His higher-set, yet thunderous voice echoed about the room. He took tentative steps forward, his powerful legs trembling. His feet clicked under him, his heels raised up in some sort of parody of a high-heeled boot — purple-armoured, but seeming to be a part of his anatomy.
Somehow, he found the mirror, though he had to crouch now to look down into it. Leon’s breath left him, his heart leaping in his chest as he beheld his twisted reflection. She… she was beautiful. And ugly. Fascinating… and repugnant.
Her glowing yellow eyes widened and twitched, her soft feminine face framed by dark hair that fell past her shoulders. Her skin, a smooth mix of vibrant pink and grey, as if she were somehow overflowing with vigour, yet rotting from within, all at once.
And there at her neck — the choker. Its purple jewel glowing even brighter than before, resting just above the swell of her large breasts.
Leon ran her clawed hands along the length of her chitin-scaled arms. Somehow, she could feel it. Somehow the armour was living and a part of her. Her hands instinctively ran over the softness of her breasts, eliciting an embarrassing, echoing sigh, before sliding down further to her smooth stomach. There was a new feeling making itself known. Deep within her, gnawing and clawing. She could feel it in the pit of her stomach. And between her legs. And in every fibre of her being.
“Hungry…” she said, looking into the mirror and blinking her glowing yellow eyes.
OPEN
WRITTEN & DIRECTED
by
JESSICA D
END CREDITS MUSIC
‘The Hearts Filthy Lesson’
(Bowie/Eno/Gabrels/Kizilcay/Campbell/Garson)
Performed by David Bowie
Author's Note
If you've made it this far, then thank you for reading the first chapter of my new story! If you would like to support my writing (currently Lyanna Unbound and A Turn of the Moon) then you can visit my Patreon page:
https://www.patreon.com/cw/JessicaDFiction
Here you can subscribe to the Hellbound or All-In tiers and read three chapters ahead of the public release. You'll get access to downloadable PDFs and EPUBs of each chapter, and specially created (non-AI) artwork for each chapter. The story will continue to be published for free here.
Lyanna Unbound - ISSUE 2: HUNGER
Author:
Caution:
Audience Rating:
Publication:
Genre:
Character Age:
TG Themes:
TG Elements:
Permission:
LYANNA UNBOUND
by
Jessica D
ISSUE 2
HUNGER
Cam walked down the stairwell that led toward the basement. The takeout bags he carried swayed and strained with the weight of all the food. There must be some party going on down here, given this was the second large order going out to this address. For some reason Marcia had refused to make the second delivery. He’d messaged her to find out why, but she’d just said the place had ‘weirded her out’.
It was probably the cop cars and flashing lights outside that had freaked her out. Cam lived in a dive like this himself, and it wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary to have the cops showing up at least once a week for some shit that was going on. He’d asked the old dude on the front desk what was happening, but he just said something about the top floor and that he didn’t need to worry.
Cam shuffled down the last few steps with the bags and turned, pushing his back against the door to open it.
The trance music he was listening to throbbed and pulsed through his Beats.
THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.
A dank, musty-smelling hallway led to a single door at the far end. A single wall lamp seemed to struggle to light the space, the corners hidden in shadow. Okay, maybe this was what Marcia was talking about.
Cam strode to the far end, nodding his head to the music and dumping the bags at the door, the cartons of Chinese food nearly spilling out. He stretched his sore shoulders out, then rapped his fist against the door.
THUMP, THUMP, THUMP. Cam tapped his hand against his thigh in time with the rhythm of the music.
“Come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, checking the order. It had already been paid for, but at least he could try and get a tip for hauling this lot down to some dingy basement.
THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, TH—
“Leave…” The music stopped, the hushed word whispering into his ears. Did that… did that just come through his headphones? Cam quickly pulled them down so they hung around his neck.
“Uh… hello?” He leaned in, bringing his ear closer to the door.
“LEAVE!” This time the word echoed through the hallway, seeming to come from nowhere… and everywhere. Cam skidded backwards and spun around, power walking his way back the way he came. He glanced over his shoulder at the door behind him, speeding up a little more.
“Fuck this!” He opened the door to the stairwell and bounded up, taking two steps at a time.
THUMP, THUMP, THUMP…
This time it wasn’t the music.
It was his heartbeat.
“Can you describe the two… monks?”
Detective Isla Montgomery looked up at the condo’s security guard. She flicked her notebook open and clicked her pen. They stood in the hallway, just off to one side of the open door to the penthouse suite. The uniforms were busy inside securing the scene, taking photos and collecting evidence. Every now and then there was the chirp of a radio, as they liaised with the officers down on the first floor.
“Ninja monks,” the man said, his voice wavering.
Isla raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“I’m telling you. They had this crazy Assassin’s Creed shit going on!”
Isla felt a tap on her shoulder and turned. It was her partner, Walker, holding a plastic evidence container. Sealed inside was the weapon they’d found on the floor. About fifteen inches long. Uncommon. Possibly gang related.
“Get it down to the station. We’re going to need to run prints on that,” Isla said, tapping the lid of the container with the end of her pen.
“Yes, boss.” Walker nodded and marched off down the hall. Isla returned to her notebook, flicking back a page for the security guard’s name.
Daryl Jones.
“Now, Mister Jones. These… ninja monks. Can you describe them for me?” she repeated, turning back to find him pacing up and down.
“No.”
“No?” Isla sighed, tugging on the lapels of her jacket. With the balcony door still open in the penthouse, it was starting to get cold.
“I told you they had these hoods on and shit. I couldn’t get a good look at them,” he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Either he didn’t feel the cold, or he was nervous about something.
“Not even when you heroically fought them off and sent them fleeing out the balcony door?”
“One of them had a mask…” he added, gesturing up to his face.
“Where did you grow up, Mister Jones?” Isla asked, tilting her head. It seemed to catch the man off guard.
“Hmm? Oh, over on the east side. The Kennington estate? They tore it down a few years back. Good fucking riddance!”
“No kidding, my family was over at Sycamore,” Isla said.
“Well, how about that. Two estate rats upped and got into law enforcement,” Jones said, straightening his security ID badge.
“Yeah… right.” Isla had to bite her tongue. Apparently, detective and security guard equated to the same thing in this guy’s books. “The reason I asked is because you remind me of my younger brother.”
Jones leaned his arm against the wall, a grin spreading across his face. “Really? Well, he sounds like a handsome motherfucker.”
“Maybe…” Isla shrugged. “But he would also make shit up just to try and get noticed.”
Isla watched with satisfaction as the man shrank back like a deflating balloon. “Well, when I say fought them off, what I mean is—”
“Do you know this man, Mister Jones?” Isla reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her phone. She tapped in her PIN code and held the screen up. Jones leaned in, his face screwing up as he focused on the image.
“Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head. “You think he might be one of these guys?”
“We don’t know yet,” Isla said, turning the phone to look at the man again. Caucasian, brown/greying hair. Strong jawline. Handsome, for an academic. “This is Doctor Elliott Freeman. He’s been renting the penthouse here for the past week.”
“Like I said, haven’t seen him.”
“You’re the security guard for the building... and you don’t know who’s been living in the penthouse?”
“Hey, look, Detective Sycamore. I don’t need to know everybody. I’ve got something even better. I’ve got contacts.” Isla watched as Jones stood a little taller, looking annoyingly pleased with himself again. “If you want to know what’s been going on around here, you need to talk to Agnes.”
@MurderMattersPod I’m pretty sure someone’s just been murdered in the penthouse above my apartment. Cops are here talking with my security guy. Top floor cordoned off. Will update through the night!
Agnes tapped ‘send’ on her phone. This was unreal. She’d always secretly wished that something interesting would happen at the condo. Well, she didn’t exactly want somebody to have to die, of course. But if they had, well it wasn’t like there was anything anyone could do about it now. Except try to solve it!
She gazed over at her computer — an old-school tower PC with terabytes of storage for saving… everything. And screw the cloud. That was the government’s way of keeping tabs on everyone. Probably. She thought about hitting up the Websleuths forum, but part of her wanted this to be her mystery.
“We can crack this, can’t we, princess?“ Agnes said, giving Roxy a tickle under the chin.
BZZZZ!
The door buzzer chimed through the apartment and Agnes leaped up from the sofa, sending the tiny dog shooting off her lap. Roxy landed on her feet and spun round letting out a disgruntled bark.
“Sorry, baby!” Agnes went to go to the door but paused. She quickly grabbed her phone.
@MurderMattersPod Someone’s at the door. If I don’t message back, something’s happened to me.
Right, okay. Agnes unlatched and opened the door.
“Hey, Agnes!”
“Oh, Daryl… Hi!” Agnes smiled up at him, instinctively reaching to take her glasses off, but thought better of it this time. “Are you okay? I was worried about you.”
“You… were?” Daryl said, and Agnes wondered whether she caught a hint of a smile from him. “Listen, Agnes… this is Detective, uh…”
“Montgomery,” came a voice from the hallway. Daryl moved to one side and a woman stepped forward. She looked older than Agnes, or maybe just world-weary. Black, with tell-tale creases around her lips from too many cigarettes. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore a grey suit with a white blouse, fitted for her fuller figure.
“Come in, detective.” Agnes stepped back and welcomed them both in with a sweep of her arm. “I’m Agnes... Agnes Belmont.” She could feel her pulse quicken at the unexpected excitement of it all. And shit, Daryl was here as well! Agnes smiled to herself as she closed the door behind them.
Detective Montgomery strode into the living room, casting her eyes around like any good investigator would when walking into a new situation. She paused when she caught sight of Roxy staring up at her from the floor. She took a step back when the Yorkie suddenly jumped up at her.
“Oh, I think she likes you! But don’t worry about princess Ro-Ro,” Agnes said in a high register, stepping forward and leaning down to scoop Roxy up under one arm. “She’s an ally of truth and justice! Aren’t you my baby? Yes you are, yes you are.” Roxy’s tail wagged and she leaned up to lick at Agnes’ cheek.
“I, uh, actually came here to speak to you,” the detective said.
“Right!” Stupid! Agnes felt her cheeks warm and glanced over to Daryl.
“I said you’d be able to tell us about the dude who lived upstairs,” Daryl said, stepping forward.
“Lived, as in past tense, as in something happened to him. What happened? He was stabbed, right? I didn’t hear any gunshots. Oh, no… strangulation. That would explain the struggle.”
“Miss, nobody’s been killed,” Detective Montgomery said, holding up her hands.
“Oh.”
“We’re looking for an Elliott Freeman,” she said, producing her phone from her jacket pocket and showing it to Agnes. “We understand he’s been renting the penthouse for the past week.”
Agnes looked down at the photo. “He’s kind of cute.”
Did she just say that out loud? In front of Daryl? Uh!
Detective Montgomery slipped her phone back into her pocket. “This isn’t a dating app, Miss Belmont. This is an investigation.”
“Of course! I totally respect that… I do!” Agnes stammered, convinced she’d made an utter fool of herself in front of the detective. “So, uh, what happened?” Agnes shifted Roxy to her other arm.
“Two armed assailants were discovered in the penthouse by Mister Jones here.”
“Ninja monks,” Daryl said. Agnes frowned but then her heart sank. She walked slowly back over to the sofa and flopped down onto the cushions.
“Ninja monks…” she repeated to herself. Great. The Websleuths would never buy that. And certainly not Murder Matters. They’d just think she was making it up.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can help you,” Agnes said flatly, staring straight ahead. “I never met the guy.” She reached up, tucking a strand of brunette hair back behind her ear. “I just liked him because he was quiet…”
Agnes looked up, catching Detective Montgomery glaring at Daryl for a moment. “Well, Agnes… if you hear anything, here’s my number,” she said, turning and handing a card to her. Great. The pity card.
Daryl planted his hands in his pockets. “Maybe we can try Mrs. Higgins across the hall. She’s usually got her nose in everyone’s business around here…” he said.
Agnes’ eyes widened at the sound of that old crone’s name. “No!” she almost shouted, startling poor Roxy again. She’d be damned if that witch was going to steal her investigation! “Wait a second. After you’d gone upstairs, I started writing in my journal the times of the noises I heard upstairs. That can help you with your timeline, right?”
“Right.” Detective Montgomery smiled at last.
“While you two are doing that, I better call Leon,” Daryl said, reaching into his belt holster for his radio.
“Oh, the maintenance guy?” Agnes asked, flicking through the pages of her journal.
“Yeah. Someone needs to break the news that he’ll need to clean all this shit up.”
KSHK.
“Yo, Leon.”
KSHK.
“Leon… you there, bro? You gotta pick up. There’s some crazy shit going on.”
Leon’s radio sounded distorted and distant on the mould-stained kitchen counter. The TV in the basement room was louder — some old-school British sex comedy about a horny repair man.
“Allo luv, I’ve come to take a look at yer plumbing!”
“Ooh, you randy bugger!”
Leon sat staring blankly at the glowing screen, the flickering image illuminating her pale face in the dim room. She scooped her clawed hand into the carton of chow mein, grabbing another handful and stuffing it into her mouth. She chewed ferociously, glancing over to the boxes strewn on the worn leather sofa beside her. She poked a taloned finger into a spring roll, bringing it to her mouth before she’d even finished swallowing the last mouthful.
“MMMF, CHOMFF, SLUURP.”
So fucking hungry.
Leon reached for her third large soda, leaning her head back and draining it into her mouth. She could feel her long jet-black hair hanging over the back of the sofa. She belched, wiping the back of her scaled hand across her mouth.
Leon searched desperately beside her, but the takeout cartons were empty. She swept a powerful arm, the rubbish flying and hitting the wall opposite. At least the food had been a distraction. A distraction from herself. From what she had become.
She looked down, seeing her ample cleavage rising and falling with her breathing. She swept a finger across the swell of her left breast, wiping at a stray blob of sweet and sour sauce and bringing it to her mouth.
“Mmmm…” Leon sighed, her eyes closing as she sucked her chitinous, scaled finger clean.
She was still aware of the choker around her neck — its glowing purple jewel highlighting the curves of her new body in the darkness. The strange warmth it produced seemed to spread down through her, until it pooled somewhere low in her body.
Since Leon had found the choker — or had the choker found her? Since the choker had attached itself to her, painfully transforming her into… what? A woman? No, that was too easy. Too clean. Whatever she was, was certainly female. And somehow it demanded to be thought of in that way. But who ever heard of a woman covered in living, armoured scales like some seven-foot cockroach? Purple-hued scales that caught the light from the TV. That she could feel when she stroked her fingers across their hard edges.
Since transforming into… this, Leon hadn’t once tried to remove the choker. All she could think about was the need within her. The hunger. The desire.
She sighed, her hands drifting over her breasts. They were held in more of that wretched scaling, like she was wearing a living bodice, or corset. Her frustration grew until a tickling sensation played about her chest.
KTCHK, KTCHK, KTCHK…
The carapace shifted across her body, sliding and rearranging itself to expose her breasts. They bobbed free, their gentle softness bared. Her pinkish-grey nipples dimpled in the cool air.
“Yesss,” Leon sighed, as she scooped them in her hands, feeling their delicate tenderness, the warmth seeping into her palms. Her gaze drifted back to the TV as she felt herself.
”Ooh, you really do know what to do with your hands, don’t you?”
“That’s why they call me a handyman, luv!”
The characters on the TV droned their drivel, but there were now bodies moving on the screen — skin, flesh, tits… the man’s backside rising and falling rapidly as jaunty music played.
Leon closed her eyes, lifting, squeezing, massaging herself. An overwhelming pleasure surged through her, despite the roughness of her scaled hands — or were they talons?
She rolled the clawed tips of her fingers around her stiff nipples, then lightly pinched, eliciting a gasp and a new thrill.
The light from the TV reflected and danced across the chitin on her legs and abdomen. The woman in the scene was on top now, her tits bouncing madly as she took control of her own pleasure.
Leon slowly parted her thighs, hooking her right leg over the arm of the sofa beside her. She slid her hands along the inside of her thighs… wondering if… Yes!
KTCHK, KTCHK.
Her scaled armour dutifully slid aside, rippling across her body.
Her hand found the soft centre of her desire, tracing the contours of her wet flesh.
“Mmmm.” Leon’s moan reverberated through the room. The overhead light, the lamps... they all grew bright and flashed around her.
Daryl looked up as the lights flickered in Agnes’ apartment. Jesus Christ, Leon. At this rate the whole building was going to fall apart at the seams.
He looked over at Agnes, who was sat on the sofa, letting the detective copy over her notes into her own notebook.
Daryl could feel the shape of the ivory-hilted dagger under his leather bomber jacket. It was tucked within his inside pocket, the sharp edge threatening to bore a hole through the lining. He willed it to stay in place. The last thing he needed was it dropping out onto the floor in front of the good detective. There was no way he was handing it over freely. It was the coolest shit he’d ever seen. Besides, she already had the Turtle dagger.
Daryl looked down, watching as the dog circled on the living room rug, panting heavily. His gaze returned to Agnes, finding that she was already watching him. They held each other’s gaze for a couple of seconds. Daryl could feel his pulse begin to race. Fuck, she was cute. She turned her head away, blushing, and it was the most adorable fucking thing he’d ever seen. Why hadn’t he asked her out before? What’s the worst that would happen? Grow a pair of balls, man, and do it!
He found he was taking steps toward the sofa. Daryl’s heart thumped, his blood feeling warm in his body somehow. Agnes stared up at him as he approached, biting her lower lip, her hand resting near her collarbone.
What was the point in pretending? They were both fucking adults here. If there was something between them, shouldn’t they just be able to… explore it? Agnes’ notebook fell from her lap and she leaned her head back against the cushion of the sofa. Wait, did he have a fucking hard-on now? Fuck it. It didn’t matter.
The detective suddenly jumped up from the sofa, making room, as Daryl slid into the seat where she’d just been sat.
“I, uh… I think I should probably leave you two alone now,” she said, though Daryl wasn’t really paying much attention to her. Instead, he gazed into Agnes’ eyes. He brought his hand up and she leaned in, pressing her cheek against his palm, sighing and closing her eyes.
“Okay, I’ll, uh… let myself out.” The detective began to move toward the door. With some difficulty. Daryl glanced back, smiling to himself when he saw what the problem was. The dog had attached itself to her leg and was fucking going at it. “No… bad dog!” she said, limping along and trying desperately to prise it off of her.
Agnes turned Daryl’s face back to her and closed her mouth over his. “Mmm,” she whimpered softly against him. Daryl placed a hand on her waist, shifting position and leaning her back a little on the sofa.
Finally, the detective managed to push the madly humping dog off her leg and made for the door. “I’ll… let you know if I have any more questions.” She pulled the door shut after her, leaving them alone. About fucking time too. Daryl reached up, gently removing Agnes’ glasses for her.
“God… I’ve wanted this,” Agnes whispered, just before they kissed again.
“Uhhhhh!”
Leon threw her head back, her legs spread wide as she rubbed herself on the sofa. Her fingers strummed in a steady rhythm, her body writhing. Moist, wet, flowing. Desire. Sex. Fucking. She needed it all.
Her fingers caressed and stroked her new clit, teasing and coaxing it from its hood, throbbing and stiff. She let a hooked digit slip between the lips of her aching, urgent cunt.
“Mmmm!” Despite how lethal her taloned fingers appeared, there was no pain, and the raking, stroking and scratching of her wet walls only elicited more gasps and moans.
The air grew warm and humid, and it almost seemed like her body — her senses — were bleeding out into the room. Through the sofa, through the walls and ceiling... out through the structure of the condo itself.
There were two couples now in the rooms above starting to fuck. She could feel them. No, three now.
Her finger worked faster, pushing deeper, wet slapping, thrusting, searching...
DRIP, DRIP, DRIP…
Leon lifted her head, her heavy-lidded eyes looking up at the wall opposite the sofa — the sofa that she'd had to drag back into position after kicking it clean across the room. A dripping, dark liquid began to seep through the cracks in the walls, draining down. Every corner. Every seam. Even rising up through the floorboards, gurgling, and bubbling. The walls seemed to bow outwards, swollen and pregnant. She could almost see hands trying to reach through to her. The TV played out a macabre scene of depravity and torture, with a soundtrack of laughter, moaning and crying.
She closed her eyes tight, but she couldn’t stop herself. She could feel everything. Five couples were fucking now... even more were making out — their energy cycling through her. Another finger slipped inside of her pussy, searching for release. Or the universe. Alpha and Omega.
Vines rose up through the floor, gnarled and twisting, creaking and cracking, splintering the floorboards. Creepers climbed up the throbbing walls, spreading, pulsing with life. The lights flickered and strobed.
“OHHHH!!”
Her breath howled like the wind, a throaty, cavernous wail that shook the earth. Her body juddered and spasmed, writhing in an impossible ecstasy.
The lights flickered again, along with a tremor that caused Agnes’ collection of porcelain squirrels to rattle on her bookshelf.
“Oww!” Agnes winced as she felt something sharp digging into her side. “What is that?”
Daryl suddenly pushed himself off of Agnes. He sat bolt upright and stared down at her, looking as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over him. “Fuck. Sorry!” He slipped his hand beneath his leather jacket, slowly pulling something out of the inner pocket.
Agnes sat up and took a deep breath. She reached for her glasses. As she slipped them on, she could finally see what Daryl was holding — a curved… sharp-looking… knife!
“Oh my god, oh my god!” Agnes leaped to her feet. She scooped Roxy into her arms. “This is it! I’m gonna be the victim in my own murder story!”
“Agnes!”
She began to back up, her backside nudging against the bookshelf behind her. One of her squirrels fell, smashing on the floor. Roxy started barking. “I’m not even going to live to get to see the Netflix documentary! First, he forced himself upon her… and then—”
“Woah, what the fuck — I don’t know what that was just then, but it wasn’t that!” Daryl said, looking desperately panicked.
Agnes began to pace back and forth, with Roxy now simmering down to a quiet growl in her arms. “No… you’re right.” She looked back at Daryl apologetically, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Sorry!”
Agnes could still feel her heart beating, along with a warmth in her cheeks, and… other places. Her mouth felt sore with beard-rash from kissing Daryl. It had all happened so suddenly, so... intensely. If they had kept going, would they have…
“I’m not normally like that, by the way,” she said, pointing at her empty seat on the sofa. “I’m a romantic. I like to be wined and dined, and swept off my feet…” Agnes turned, staring at her books — an eclectic mix of true crime and trashy romance novels. Who was she kidding? When was the last time she’d ever found someone to wine and dine her? Still, she loved the idea of it.
Daryl looked up from where he sat on the sofa, slowly pulling an embroidered cushion across his lap. “Look, that isn’t what I’m usually like either… I mean, fuck… maybe sometimes. But… I didn’t want it to be like that. I—“
“Daryl?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you stop pointing that thing at me!”
For a moment Daryl glanced down at his lap, but then remembered the deadly weapon he was waving around in his hand.
“Jesus… yeah, right.” Daryl cradled it in his palms. Agnes could now see the handle of the knife. Ivory, perhaps? Carved. Ornate. Ceremonial. “One of those monk dudes upstairs dropped this,” he said.
Agnes let Roxy back down onto the floor. She seemed suddenly exhausted and trotted off to her bed in the corner of the living room. “Daryl, do you know what you’ve done?”
“I know! I fucking know!” Daryl said, staring at the weapon. “I took evidence from a crime scene…”
“No, I didn’t mean that,” Agnes said, adjusting her tousled hair. “You’ve just found the first clue in the Mystery of the Penthouse!”
Leon lay on the sofa with her eyes firmly shut, concentrating on her breathing and hoping against all hope that this had just been some crazy nightmare. Maybe Daryl had spiked her beer earlier. Yeah, that was it... She was just tripping balls as part of some prank.
KTCHK, KTCHK, KTCHK.
She finally opened her eyes, in time to see the platelets of purple, shining chitin creep back into position across her breasts and lower body. She held her hands up above her head, flexing her taloned fingers, using one to stroke matted strands of jet-black hair out of her face. Her eyes darted around the room. Everything was back to normal. The walls weren’t leaking. The floorboards were intact. The TV droned in the background.
“Remember, if you ever need me to give your pipes a quick seeing to, just give us a call!”
Leon somehow found the energy to push herself to her feet, shaking as she felt her way along the back of the sofa. Was she really wearing some sort of high-heeled boot, or were those actually her feet? She felt a wave of sickening vertigo from being too tall. Staggering over to the mirror, she leaned forward, drawing an intake of breath — still shocked by her porcelain, doll-like appearance. But most disconcerting of all, those baleful, glowing yellow eyes.
Leon’s body still buzzed and vibrated from what had been the most intense orgasm of her life. That hadn’t been some shameful shower-jerk to the memory of her ex-girlfriend. It had been full-bodied, powerful… and fucking amazing. And so what if she’d had to grow tits, a pussy... and claws to experience it? She sighed, letting her fingertips graze against the upper swell of her cleavage.
“No!” Leon muttered, her voice rasping. It took all of her willpower to reach behind her head, fumbling through her long hair to find the choker. Please work, please work…
Leon stumbled about the basement room, knocking her head against the low archway that led through into the kitchen area. A chunk of plaster fell to the floor. She clattered through the kitchen, the emptied contents of the cutlery drawer crunching beneath her feet. Her hands scrabbled at her neck. She couldn’t find it. The clasp of the choker was gone. This… thing was somehow a part of her!
Suddenly, she felt a quivering sensation pass up her spine, to the base of her neck. With a sigh, the choker uncoiled from her neck and fell to the floor.
CLINK!
Leon stared down at the choker, its purple jewel gleaming up at her. Her back suddenly arched and she convulsed, a searing heat racking through her body. A swirl of black, acrid smoke rose up around her, stinging her eyes.
“Ahh!” She covered her eyes with her palms, doubling over, her nostrils flaring from the fumes. Her bones creaked, flesh itching and burning...
Just when he thought he couldn’t take any more... it stopped. Leon was left listening to the sound of his own ragged, but familiar breathing. He pulled his shaking hands away from his face and looked down.
“Huh?” He stared down at his body. His body. His old, oversized, stained t-shirt draped over the scrawny coat-hanger that he called his body. “Ha ha!”
Leon spun round, his sneakers squeaking on the floor, as he sought out the mirror once more. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He’d never felt so pleased to look so fucking average. He ran an honest-to-god normal hand through his straggly hair and let his palm run against the coarseness of the stubble on his cheek.
Thank fuck.
Leon turned, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. When he opened them again, he found himself staring down at the choker on the kitchen floor. It seemed to smoulder with a final few wisps of that foul smoke that had filled his lungs.
“What the fuck are you?” Leon found himself saying aloud, partly to enjoy the sound of his own voice again. He crouched down, afraid to touch it again. He gazed deep into the glowing purple jewel hanging from the choker and before he knew it, he found himself standing with the wretched thing resting in the centre of an outstretched palm.
“Screw this!” Leon quickly marched over to the old wooden workbench that he used whenever he had to fix something up. He pulled open one of the drawers and stuffed the choker inside, slamming it shut again.
Leon paced back and forth, flexing his fingers. He sat down on the sofa, steepling his hands in front of his face, his right leg jiggling. The TV screen hissed static in front of him. He scratched at the back of his head then stood up again. His eyes fell upon the drawer, and he could almost picture the choker in his mind’s eye.
And fuck, if he didn’t really want to wear it again.
Cam pulled around in a wide semi-circle, cutting across the main road. The streets were slick with rain from earlier and shimmered with the reflected light of his scooter’s single headlight.
He pulled up a block short of the restaurant, wanting a moment to himself before picking up another order for delivery. He planted a foot down against the curb to steady himself and killed the engine. Up ahead, the city glowed and pulsed with nightlife. Back here, under the glow of a single streetlamp, he felt on the edge of the world, peering in.
At least he wasn’t working tomorrow. He’d be able to go out and be a part of something, instead of delivering bags of fucking MSG to crazy-ass bitches in condo basements. Okay, it had only happened once tonight, but that had been enough. He’d made deliveries since then, but the experience had stuck with him for longer than he thought it would. He should find Marcia. See what she had made of it all.
In the distance he could hear girls laughing, the honking of a car horn, the smashing of glass... It merged with the ambient soundtrack in his headphones perfectly. Less so, the huffing and panting of two grown-ass men in the alleyway just behind him.
Curiosity got the better of him, and Cam used his feet to roll his scooter back a few metres, peering into the gloom. Holy shit. They were going at it alright, just not in the way he’d imagined. Two hooded figures grappled with each other, thrusting and kicking. They moved with precision. Some sort of martial arts. It was fucking sick! One of them did one of those sideways spinny things like Darth Maul! The other one held something metallic in his right hand that glinted in the dim light.
They were probably filming something for TikTok, but Cam figured it was worth posting a reel himself. He hit record on his phone and held it up. One of the hooded men pushed the other to the ground, bringing the metallic object down to bear on him. Wait, was that a fucking knife, or a sword or something? Whatever they were doing, it was dope as fuck. They made it look real. The man on his back struggled to hold the knife back, managing to turn it around on his attacker, his hands shaking until…
THUNK!
The sound was sickening and made the hairs go up on the back of Cam’s neck. The man on top went limp and the other heaved him off, lying there for a moment to catch his breath. He finally scrabbled to his feet, his hood slipping back from his head, the lamplight glinting against the glasses he wore and outlining his shaved head. He looked straight up the alley towards Cam, then bolted quickly in the opposite direction, disappearing into the darkness. The second man remained motionless on the ground, as a pool of blood began to spread out from under him.
“Oh, shit,” Cam mouthed, his trembling finger stopping the recording. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then dialled 911.
HUNGER
WRITTEN & DIRECTED
by
JESSICA D
END CREDITS MUSIC
‘Human Behaviour’
(Hooper/Björk)
Performed by Björk
Hello again, dear reader. Well, that certainly threw up some more questions, didn't it? Like how does Leon's ancient TV still manage to pick up analogue?
If you are enjoying Lyanna Unbound and wish to support my writing, you can subscribe to the "Hellbound" or "All-In" tiers on my Patreon page.
Here you can subscribe to the Hellbound or All-In tiers and read three chapters ahead of the public release. You'll get access to downloadable PDFs and EPUBs of each chapter, and specially created (non-AI) artwork for each chapter. The story will continue to be published for free here.