A couple months ago I asked for authors to write a story and this is the result. It's a Rockman.EXE story starring Roll

Let me know what you think

Story written by kite-san

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Chapter 1: Slings and Arrows



Hot pink was not the best colour for sneaking. With the possible exception of with one’s back to a vibrant sunset, there was no lighting, no locale, no cover, no anything where one did not stand out like some manner of gigantic beacon. Technically, she was on a search and destroy, but she needed to survive the search in order to get to that next part. It would’ve made a lot more sense to send Rockman, or really, any other navi than her who actually was particularly good at combat, which was a lot different once you got out of the tournament and the only rule that mattered anymore was ‘don’t get deleted.’

Roll turned a corner slowly, then pulled immediately back as a blur of energy scythed through where she’d been about to put her head. Stupid freaky server barrier not letting male navis get through. Stupid being a light-frame custom type with less armour than some off-the-shelf navis. Stupid patrol groups of ultra-heavy gunners. Ultra-heavies! In groups! Big groups! Whatever was here, someone was paying bigtime to protect it. She’d be more awed and less outraged if she wasn’t the one being shot.

The barrage started to drop out of synch. Oh joy, one of them was advancing under covering fire. She’d run out of useful bombs to chuck round corners ages ago, Meiru had left her plugged in and run off to try to get some more chips, what did she have? She ran through her remaining inventory of battlechips, and then swiftly through her inventory of swearwords, which was almost as pathetic.

Sadly, even the seventeeth repetition of ‘poot’ ‘drat’ ‘tool’ and ‘winnebago’ didn’t really help assuage her stresses and fears. At least they were UH-gunners, she did, in theory, have a chance against them in melee, since they didn’t really have any close-combat equipment.

Her attacker rounded the corner, and she charged, desperately looking for a good point of attack in her brief instant of opportunity. The silhouette was some ludicrous parody of the standard female navi, reinforced arms to each hold a massive gatling buster attached to a truly gargantuan chest above equally silly hips, connected by a waist barely wide enough to contain a spinal column, let alone anything else. The legs were reinforced so it could stay upright while firing, she didn’t have the kick in anything she had left to knock them over. She went for the only shot she could think of, arming the beam sword chip and thrusting for the throat.

She connected as she heard the cannons whirling up to speed, and closed her eyes to brace herself for oblivion. Instead the cannons started to slow back down, after a few moments clonking to a stop as the safety latched back in, and the enemy’s bulk began to topple over onto her.

But she had no time to savour this small victory, she wouldn’t be able to get the others the same way unless she moved -now-. She couldn’t shift the whole body, she cut again at the exposed spine, after a couple of swings it separated , and she stood up, grasping the upper torso of the fallen foe. They hadn’t been shooting anywhere below waist height. She knew better than to think that wouldn’t change if she went out scampering along the ground, but perhaps using the fallen one as a shield she might be able to get close enough to dive under their arc of fire and do to the other two as she had to the first. She howled her rage to fight back tears of fear, and charged. She struggled to keep her pace even under the force of the buster fire pummelling into the hulk she carried, she could feel it steadily getting lighter as she moved down the hallway. She heard an explosion behind her, and tried to speed up, the last thing she needed now was them to get reinforcements .

Finally, she could tell it wouldn’t hold up much longer, she straightened her arms in a snap, throwing the body ahead of her as a distraction in order to tuck down and leap along the floor and tumble towards their legs. She stopped in a crouch and swung. The blade pierced into one of the enemy’s legs... and stuck. No! Not now!

Nothing happened.

Roll swallowed, and looked up slowly. She saw the divots and holes in the walls of the hall she had just charged down, stray shots tracing the arcs as her attackers had turned to follow her approach. And then as she had tumbled, they... kept... turning. She spent several moment staring at the gutted remains of her foes, great rents torn through their chest armour and the body inside by their own guns. Not one to question her own survival, Roll still couldn’t help but be horrified that they hadn’t stopped firing when they’d been pointed at each other. Who... who would force living programs to act in such a way? Even mass-produced navis could feel.

She tried to fight down a surge of nausea as she realized that now was when one of the others would be feeling cocky, would say something like, ‘That’s what I call a turn of events!’ or something equally blithe. And all she could think about was that they were deleted, and because of that, she wasn’t. It was all so gruesome. She hadn’t paid attention to the bodies before. She’d thrown a grenade around the corner and run. This... this... She lost that battle, and threw up noisily. Now was not the time to fall apart.

She shakily pulled herself back together. Much as the notion repulsed her, now she was out of swords. She had to check over them, to see if there was any weapon data she could copy to some blank chips, or better, some weapon chips she could filch outright.

She shied away from the split open husks of their chests, moving towards the more intact, albeit no less gruesome heads. Normally there’d be somewhere to make a connection, to rifle through the systems for useful data, but the ports on their helmets were crudely welded over, horrid looking globs of once-melted metal scarring over the jacks. Well, technically a navi’s face was also supposed to be an I/O system, she could, maybe if she opened them up, she could load commands through their optics, and hijack their communication systems to download the chips... It... it wasn’t a horrible violation of their being if they were already deleted, right?

Roll recoiled, what was she thinking? How could she even be considering such a thing? The answer lay strewn around her in all its oozing glory. Remember Rule One. Don’t Get Deleted. She forced herself to reach for one of their heads. Whoever had sent them out had already done quite a number. They barely had what could be considered faces, buried as they were under so many layers of bands and strapping. She picked at them carefully, painfully aware of how exposed she was if another patrol happened along, finally managing to separate the clasp bonding the arrangement to the helmet. The part over its eyes came away first. Um, the part over where there had once been eyes came away first. Behind the straps was a pair of sockets, filled with large knots of cabling surmounted by dataports, around which the eyelids had been haphazardly sewn shut, stretching them enough in covering the mess to create several small tears. She stepped back, dropping the harness. Its weight pulled free the plate covering what once was a mouth. A frighteningly large spongy plug was torn out, revealing a featureless hole, which appeared to have been braced open by the expedient of grabbing whatever would fit and welding it inside. And yes, at the back was another port.

Roll gagged as she approached, the face that had been torn asunder long before she arrived had upon being unsealed given vent to a confusion of smells which she did not want to even begin to try and guess at. She had to do this. She unspooled some few cables from her wrist, cringing as she pushed them into the pitiful thing. She screamed as it seemed to move, then sighed, realizing it was just her own voltage briefly stirring the broken system. Her intrusion tearing forth one last breath- NO! She had to focus. In. Weapons. Out. Survive first. Feel it later. Cry later.

She dove through the code, not terribly surprised that there was little in the way of protections. Someone would have to be disgustingly depraved to access another navi’s system this way, merely restricting it to such fashions would normally be enough. Or desperate. Desperate would do it. She wasn’t like this. She didn’t have any other choice. She stamped her foot as she withdrew. Three MetHammer1 chips. She had defiled another navi, violated the self of another being, one who had no way to resist, tainted herself with a filth that, even if no-one else ever knew it was there, even if she never confessed even to Meiru what she had done, she would feel until she herself was deleted, and all she had to show for it was garbage. She turned her back on the worthless corpse, and came face to face with the other. No. No no no no no. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Not again. Never again.

She trembled, her breath quickening with fear and self-loathing, tears springing to her eyes as she hands started to shakingly move on their own towards the second head. Re-remember... remember rule one. Survival is what matters... survival is the first priority. Get through. Com- complete the mission. Get home. Feel it later. Hate it later. Do it now.

She was able to work faster from what she’d worked out on the first one, but as she reached for her wrist to get the cables ready again, she heard from behind her a rattling, scratchy voice whispering slowly as if, no, it was from beyond the grave.

“Security breached. Initializing sterilization.”

Roll heard the high-pitched whine begin, turning quickly, she saw the armour around the thing’s groin slowly open, exposing the power cells so that they wouldn’t explode until reaching the maximum output.

She ran, sobbing as she fled, her body pushed well beyond its limit as she dove into a small alcove just as the detonation filled the hall with plasma and shrapnel. The heat was unbearable, searing into her as huge voltages lanced out of the cloud of death as the blastwave passed. But she was sheltered from the worst of it, protected from the storm of metal that would have torn her to ribbons.

She twitched spastically as she got to her feet, laying on the ground in front of her was an inexplicably near-intact arm, still clutching one of the heavy cannons she had so feared. Something inside her snapped, and it was with a demented giggle that she kicked and stomped on the arm until it released the gun. It needed both hands for her to lift it, slinging it up onto one shoulder before triggering a spray of ordinance with wanton glee. She lurched onwards, filled with a wild-eyed abandon as she leapt about, unflinchingly blazing forth with her new acquisition at the slightest hint of motion that was not her own. Delete or be deleted, don’tcha know? It’s the way of the net!

Everything seemed so very simple. Whoever was slower to fire got deleted. So she had to shoot first. Nothing here would want to talk with her, and even if they did, they wouldn’t have anything useful to say. So why wait? The deleted couldn’t hurt her. If she deleted them all, then she’d be safe. It would be good to be safe, so it would be good to delete every navi she found here.

Armed with this certainty as much as the stolen cannon which made it possible, Roll fought as she never had before. Without hesitation, without empathy, she ambushed her opponents one by one and... sent them away. They didn’t matter. They couldn’t touch her anymore. She was awash in the carnage of battle, and for the first time she could remember, it did not revile her. One by one they fell, one by one, one and all. She shouldered open the door to a chamber, uncaring that there were at least a dozen navis gathered inside.

“I hope you’re ready to be deleted!” Click. Clickclickclick. What?

The frenzied feeling of invulnerability disappeared as suddenly as it had come, and Roll found the aftermath of her berserk rage to be the abject terror of realizing she was standing completely exposed, brandishing an empty weapon towards a group in possession of a ludicrously large number of the same which probably weren’t. She could always try seizing the enemy’s weapons again, but there was the problem of making them let go of it first. She was dimly aware as she turned to flee of a worryingly familiar and smug voice saying, “Take her. Alive. And bring her.”

There was no answer, there didn’t need to be as some fourty-odd feet thudded against the floor in unified pursuit. Much as she had that order to thank for the fact that she had not immediately developed a certain visual similarity to a category of dairy product, what someone giving orders to these disfigured things might want her alive for didn’t bear consideration. Oh thankyou mind. Fine, what she herself had been doing to them ever so recently probably was something she needed to give serious thought to, but Not Right Now!

Her eyes darted about as she ran, there had to be something she could do, somewhere she could hide, some way to get away from her pursuers. She turned suddenly without looking. Getting away from her pursuers didn’t allow trying to go through other patrols. She should’ve looked.

On the plus side, she had enough momentum that upon being clotheslined she half-skidded, half-tumbled across the floor well out of easy reach of the patrol she hadn’t intended to try to break through. Would’ve been better if this didn’t have her scrabbling to her feet in the last few feet of a dead end.

Panic set in rather quickly. They didn’t move in, they didn’t need to. As more and more arrived, they formed an impenetrable wall of metal and flesh. They defeated her without making a single attack. Somehow their silence, their utter lack of expression behind the horrid masks was all the more galling than the gloating she was used to hearing from an enemy that thought her at their mercy.

Well she still wouldn’t go down without a fight! She rallied herself and leapt at them, devoid of weapons she struck out with fist and foot, the sheer brashness of her assault allowing her to make some measure of headway. But it could not last. Soon, too soon an unbearably strong grip closed on one arm in the midst of its swing. The other lashed towards this first to impede her, but it too was claimed as she was lifted from the floor. She screamed her frustration, lashing out with both legs, trying to kick at the enemy, to strike at anything she could, her outcries dwindling to snivels as all but the two holding her simply backed out of reach, their passivity more loudly than any jeer declaring her nonexistence as a threat. She struggled with despair as well as her captors when the group broke up, most going to resume interrupted patrols as she was carried back along the route by which she had fled. She managed to make a kick connect, forcing one of them to stagger. It responded by lashing out with its other hand, first to punch her squarely in the gut, then to take hold on one of her ribbon-tails, yanking on it cruelly, evidently meaning to use the pain to force her into docility.



She would have none of that! She knew where they Your browser may not support display of this image. were taking her, and no small amount of pain was going to see her going there willingly! She twisted with herculean effort, and brought a heel to a resounding crash in the other’s face. This bought her the freedom of one arm, in fact both as the one holding her by the ribbon let go with the other hand. It still wasn’t a good thing, as it swiftly grabbed the other, and used this leverage to whirl her around twice before slamming her into the wall.

She didn’t move after she fell to the floor, the impact having knocked the breath out of her. The drone navi seemed content to simply drag her along the floor, littered as it was with jagged debris that bumped and bruised her as it went. It didn’t take long before she was willing to let this happen, too. Something about how she’d evidently found how long it took to exhaust their patience, and the slightest twitch from her induced her captor to haul on her ribbon-tails and flail her against some convenient immovable object. It wasn’t too much longer before she was hauled back into the room she had so foolishly charged, the navi holding her stepping on her back and lifting its arm upwards, dragging her head upwards so that she could see the cause of all this.

What? No... that... that was impossible! “You!” was all she could say. Memory assaulted her, there had been one other time deletion had not reviled her, when in some sick delusion she had been convinced that everyone around her, no, that the entire universe had existed in pointlessness before she had arrived to reshape it to her fancy. And it was her own face she stared into now, perfect and unblemished and all the more horrid for it with the sneer it wore, the expression of utter contempt that said the only thing to hope for in her grasp was to be boring enough to be worth killing.

The abomination smiled, reaching down to take her chin between thumb and forefinger, idly wiggling her head back and forth, “Me indeed, but not you.” She spat, striking Roll in the bridge of the nose. “NEVER you. I’m more than you ever were, and more than you could ever be.”

Roll shuddered weakly, her breath rasping in her throat, “What do you want with me?”

The dainty pink boot lashed out, slicing across her forehead, tearing a hot, stinging welt. “Insolent little idiot, aren’t you? What makes you think you can talk to me like more than the lowliest of filth? You know how you lesser beings should speak to me.”

She bridled, tensing to try to fight, but seemingly sensing it the navi holding her jerked briefly, turning her intended epithet into a gasp of pain, “Wh-what do you want with me...” she trailed off briefly, the words choking in her throat, she couldn’t, couldn’t admit that this horrid monster, this demon was... she saw her frown deepen, and forced it out, “...Roll-sama?”

It kicked her again anyway. “To own you. At least in general. As the eternal pinnacle of female navis, it’s perfectly reasonable that my inferiors should be my property. And pitiful wretch that you are, you are a female navi, of a sort, and so rightfully mine. As to what specifically I’m going to do with you, I haven’t decided.”

Roll closed her eyes, the images of the drones she had... encountered so many of kept flashing through her mind, conjuring up horrible thoughts of what it would probably be like to undergo the process of joining them. She had to hope. Doubtless, as soon as Meiru got back to the terminal where she’d left her PET, as soon as she saw what was happening, she’d activate the emergency recall and rescue her, they’d find some other way to attack this server, especially knowing what was here. Surely, surely Meiru couldn’t be too far away...

“Of course,” the demon continued, “Our systems bear a certain similarity. Some might even be stupid enough to mistake your incompetence for my magnificence! We’ll definitely have to fix that.” It nodded, and the navi holding Roll pulled harder, stretching her neck upwards as the tension increased.

“No, that’s the wrong place to break. Let me.... help!” She punctuated the final word by dropping her full weight into a stomp on the back of Roll’s head, the two ribbons from her temples stretching briefly before parting from her head with a sickening snap, and a blaze of agony that tore into her very soul, coaxing forth a writhing, thrashing scream that ended in coughing blood from her throat. She cried helplessly, unable to move as she lay there in shock and her ribbons were used to bind her limbs.

She snivelled as it grabbed what remained, the purely decorative ponytail at the back of her head, though having her weight on it was no less painful.

Roll-sama laughed, picking her up by the neck to lick the tears from her cheek, “Little fool. I hope you’re not broken already, I’ve barely begun to play with you.” She turned to the drone, “To the slab! And keep her awake!”

It took a considerable period of dragging for Roll’s battered psyche to process that seemingly inexplicable command, to realize that there was, in fact, an alternative to remaining aware of what was happening. Normally forcing herself to reboot was something she would only do in the safest of circumstances, but right now? Right now she decided that it made much more sense to risk whatever greater torment they might inflict for the blessed release of unconsciousness to free her from the pain now, if but for a brief respite. She ignored it as fingers scrabbled at her face, soon she would sleep, and whatever state she might wake in, it couldn’t be as bad as going through getting to it. She shuffled processes madly as a tube was pushed into her mouth, briefly distracted as it made her gag at her throat, but the tube itself swelled to latch in place and crawl more deeply into her. Ina moment, just a moment longer, and it wouldn’t matter. She’d filed everything, and now would shut down.

Shut down.

Shut down.

Why wasn’t she shutting down? Her eyes flicked about madly for an answer, even as the tube penetrated enough to bring a clear mask into place over her nose and mouth. She saw it as the thing was buckled into place, the straps driving into the edges of her helmet. The tube led to a small console which was watched by a strange black mettaur. And on the console screen was... her! Her systems! Her memories! The tube was letting something into her and giving them access, giving them control! She threw every override she could think of to try to shut herself down, and despaired as she saw the only effect was that they came up on screen to be logged for them to use against her later. They yanked at her head again, although this time they probably hadn’t meant to. The drone was trying to lift her up toward a tiled portion of wall decorated with a frightening number of gouges and divots. The tube didn’t reach. The drone pulled again, and one of the mettaurs turned suddenly to emit a shrill series of bleats which, despite her having no way to glean their precise meaning, certainly carried the tone that someone was about to get spiked.

The drone simply held her there as the Mettaurs conferred, and Roll was disgusted by how grateful she was even for this moment of peace. But all too soon a conclusion was reached, and under new orders, the drone carefully turned her upside down, tearing her legs free of the ribbon in order to place them into the clamps at the top of the table. When they tore the ribbon from her arms as well she tried to swing, but was lost to convulsions as the Mettaurs sent lightning cascading into her through the tube, after which she just hung limply, staring at the tatters on the floor that used to be part of her body.

They grasped her wrists, pulling them toward the clamps at the bottom corners of the slab. She tried to hold still, it was achingly uncomfortable, but there was one particular thing making it worse which she hoped they wouldn’t see from fear of what their solution would entail.

The mettaur at the console chirped irritatedly, and the drone nodded. It reached behind her, pulling her ponytail up between her legs so it lay taut along the slab, powered up a beam sword, and spiked it into place.

She screamed into the tube, though the tears springing to her eyes were not from that pain. At least it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought.

Terror rose again as a quartet of mechanical arms started to swing menacingly into place around her, part of her wanted to look away, part of her knew she would be better off if she didn’t look, but some horrible impulse forced her to watch the tips of the arms open, revealing syringes full of a bubbling blue ooze, each flanked by a tiny laser that tingled through her suit where it struck her. The first one started to move closer, penetrating the flesh of her thigh. It sat there for some few moments, before the injector began to move.

Roll had been there to help Rockman fighting LavaMan in the furnace server. She had thought she knew about heat, and how it hurt. How far it could go, what it could do, where sensation simply stopped from overabundance. As her leg churned and boiled, as the horrid substance coursed through her flesh and seemed to be cooking her from the inside, she learnt otherwise. She felt it spreading from the injection site as her leg swelled, as muscle and bone began to soften like taffy on a stove. She twitched slowly, the sheer intensity slowing her reaction as even reflex was swamped by her every cell wailing in agony. What little of her mind could think through the tides of torment was focused on how unfair it was that she still could feel as the stuff moved through her, as it was carried to begin its horrible work beyond her knee, devouring her shin and foot. She saw and felt her leg go truly limp, no mere slackness of muscle, but as thought it held no solidity at all, and yet still she felt. She could feel her flesh flowing inside the leg of her suit, could feel her bones dissolving into that formless mass of blazing pain. Two of the mettaurs floated up to work on her leg, hooking their picks into her suit, lifting upwards at the separating overlap between the leg and her boot, evidently trying to avoid spilling what her flesh had become. The horrid smell as a glop struck her cheek was but one more note in the cacophony that roiled inside her, terrible enough by itself, here it was merely an accent, a footnote to the animalistic panic that consumed her.

At last it seemed it was almost finished, at least the pain was beginning to recede enough for her to notice again her other injuries, which now included a small, sharp pain in the inside of her right elbow. She thrashed her head in a panic. How long had that been there? How long had they deliberately waited for her to reach a state where she would feel it again as they- Thought ended as the second injector depressed. Her arms were slim, it worked faster than in her leg, her fingers stiffening into an agonized claw that twisted unnaturally as her wrist lost cohesion enough to hold its weight.

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Roll did not notice as her murk-filled boot was carried off, or the suitleg drained into a large basin. The third had fired as well, and she was discovering just how bad life could be without the capacity to pass out. She longed for it. Escape would be nice. Safety would be nice. Oh, certainly, if she somehow got out of this, nothing would ever get her out of Meiru’s PET again.

But she didn’t want any of that right now. They’d be great if they happened, but all her desires were bent on a single thing. By the first bit, why wouldn’t the hurting stop?

Her gloves started to slither wetly from her sleeves, no special care was taken beyond placing bowls beneath her absurdly swollen hands to catch them as they fell, alongside the torrent of blackened ex-flesh torn from her body.

The sword was pulled free, and set her to swinging by her remaining leg. The movement jolted some life back into her, and once again despite all reason found herself staring upward at the almost hypnotic motion of the arm as it tracked her leg back and forth, waiting for her to fall still.

And then it struck. She would have liked to believe the lull would have allowed her to rally her mind, to prepare some internal defence against the onslaught, but she could not. And otherwise unsupported, as her thigh began to weaken, she was treated to the experience of her own weight tearing apart her otherwise still mostly intact leg, sinew and bone snapping and dropping her heavily to the floor even as they continued to disintegrate. She wiggled, trying to summon up the will to move, to push through the pain and, oh, twitch violently or something, mount some token resistance to prove that what they did to her body had not won them her mind. She failed, and simply lay there as her left leg splattered over her like an upended bucket of tar.

The mask unlatched, leaving the straps dangling across her face as it withdrew, taking the tube with it. She immediately tried again to shut down, and heard the warning buzz from the console that made clear that still wasn’t an option.

Footsteps approached, not the heavy clump of the drones or the lighter step of mettaurs, but a firmly insistent clicking gait that was all the more foreboding. A brightly polished pink boot with some smears of red near the toes came down in front of her eyes, stepping firmly into the puddle of glop.

“There,” came the self-satisfied gloat, “you’re much cuter like this, wouldn’t you agree?”

Roll refused to answer. Even if she had the strength to spit some epithet, it would be exactly what this delusional falsehood would want, for her to rise to the baiting. As all she was likely to be able to muster was a whimpering groan, she opted for silence instead.

“Come now, there’s no reason not to be civilized,” as if anything here was. The impostor frowned, “Speak when you’re spoken to, filth!”

She remained silent. This sort of resistance was easy.

The scowl deepened. “You insolent garbage! You have the temerity to show yourself before me, the unbridled audacity to SOIL me! And now a piece of... of obsolescence like you dares to disobey me?!”

Roll trembled, terror at what might happen if she was provoked further driving her to try to do something, anything to assuage things. She opened her mouth, but no sound emerged.

The villainess smiled anyway. “Even you can have good ideas. I’m not entirely without mercy. I’m sure I can forgive you at least a little bit... if you clean up your own mess!” She thrust the bloodied toe forwards, jamming it into Roll’s mouth.

Roll simply lay there in shock, what was she doing? What did she expect of her? Why would she do something so disgusting? Roll didn’t really expect to have any chance of comprehending the third of those. Someone who would do the rest of the things she’d seen, let alone what had just been done to her, well, who knew what they would consider disgusting? But this certainly wasn’t what she meant, and she didn’t know what to do!

She wriggled her foot insistently, “Well? If you were expecting me to wash my own foot, I’m sure I can arrange a life consisting entirely of things simply being done to you. Or maybe I’ll just let the last of the reagent keep working inward from your stumps. It’ll delete you eventually, but as ways to check out go, I assure you, it’s only pleasant to watch.”

Roll whimpered, reluctantly starting to try to suck the vile stains from the boot, licking at the rubber made greasy by the goop, terrified by the notion that that horrible blue devilment was still inside her. She sobbed as she suckled, having to twist agonizingly to lift her head from the boot, able to see the bloodstain further up that she was sure she would be further tortured if she didn’t take the initiative with some appeasement.

“Good. I’m not surprised, even though you are but a pale, infinitely inferior reflection of my glory, there is still something of me in you, so of course you can be taught.” She smiled as Roll continued terrifiedly, starting to lick at her ankles, and went on in a warm, almost affectionate voice that still brought Roll no comfort whatsoever, “Which is good, because I have so very much to teach you.”

Chapter 2: Resolve and Form a Dew

Eventually Roll-sama removed her foot from Roll’s mouth with a wet pop, giggling at the terror that motivated Roll to unconsciously wriggle towards it slightly. She probed under Roll’s neck to lift and turn her over before gesturing upwards imperiously. “Take her!”

Arms swung down from the ceiling to grab her, lifting her to dangle in a sling from her empty sleeves and leggings. Roll shuddered to see how much they stretched, taunting her that they no longer contained the limbs which had so long given them form and structure. It began to whisk her through the halls, trailing dribbles of slime and swinging her out like some mad pendulum as it shot around corners. The vestiges of the glop still in her clothing began to pool around her stumps, the sensation, oh it was a burn in its own right, but it seemed hardly worth the word after what she had just undergone, verifying that the threat hadn’t been idle.

After roughly a minute, the rig carrying her thudded to a stop. She did not. Roll swung forward one final time, and her much abused raiment’s snapped, hurling her to land with an abbreviated yell and a wet thud on a polished steel workbench. She twisted slowly, trying to find, not a position which didn’t hurt, because this was clearly impossible, but at least one which hurt less. By the time anyone else came in, she had given up, conceding that to simply lay there on her back was as good as things were going to get any time soon. At least her ponytail had bunched up under her head to prop her up a little.

The navi who led the incoming procession was clearly of the medical persuasion. She was at least a head taller than the small group who followed her, and wore a very short, flared gown in exceedingly pale blue. Her hands were gloved, and she wore both a mask over the lower half of her face tight enough to see her lips exactly and a hat in the same hue. The hat was the main giveaway; red cross on a jaunty cap didn’t have too many meanings. The others behind her wore the same, though walked with much less confidence, and only a few had the hat. She couldn’t see them too clearly, but they looked to be intact! And none of them walked with that shuffling gait of the drones... could it be? Perhaps there’d been some mistake, and she’d ended up in a server where she might get help!

She was about to speak when they stopped suddenly halfway to her. The one in the lead simply rolled her eyes as a few of the others started to comment.

“Ewww, what is that thing covered in?”

“We’re supposed to operate on that?”

Roll cringed as they jeered, she couldn’t believe the things they were saying, the way they were seeing her as they moved closer. The shame bit deep, as each took several turns to cast some aspersion, and she wanted to try to crawl away and hide, almost prepared to believe it would be better to let the residue carry her to deletion than to live on as this disfigured thing. They surrounded the table, however, and it was too late for thinking such thoughts.

“Eurgh. What a stench. What’s with those mettaurs, anyway? We’re surgeons, not janitors!”

At long last the previously silent leader reacted, calmly withdrawing a scalpel, and placing it against Roll’s throat. All sound ceased as she began to draw it downward. This took herculean effort on Roll’s part, as well as staying still. Effort she made because when the scalpel is already cutting your skin and not just your clothing, the last thing you want to do is let yourself spasm in such a fashion as to push it deeper. Though she had no doubts that it would not be going deeper before long, she certainly was happy to put it off as long as possible. She whimpered, the steady slowness with which she cut, Roll knew the depth of the scalpel was no accident, but more precisely controlled than the injectors she had met earlier. Somehow, it did not come as a surprise to notice that the cross on the woman’s hat had a quartet of nails through it.

When at last the blade reached the lip of her bellybutton, the woman’s movement suddenly changed, her arm a blur of motion as the blade flicked upward before burying in the eye of the last one to speak. Roll blanched, though the girl clutched at her face desperately, she didn’t cry out, she sunk to her knees, but she didn’t shake. She slowly withdrew the scalpel, putting it in with her own tools before starting to bandage her face. The taller woman watched this with mild signs of approval before speaking, “You will be whatever Roll-sama wants you to be, or else you’ll be nothing at all. You lot are here because sometimes there is no substitute for expertise. So expertise is what you’d better start showing, because there’s a lot more of you here than I need as assistants. Thus endeth the lesson. Begin record, theatre 7G, operation 43, commence timer. Procedure is reclamation and extension of subject exposed to recycling agent version 3.058.4. Two and Three, peel that off it and clean it up so we can get a clear picture of the task at hand. Seven, monitor vitals and report abnormalities.”

As a pair of them roughly lifted her Roll saw another head towards some instrument panels at the back of the chamber, she sobbed as they took hold of the edges of the cut, thankfully only briefly pulling at her flesh instead of the suit, their expressions making plain that it was no accident, before extracting her from it, holding her up by her head as they threw her clothing into a pile on the floor. They cleaned her after a fashion, mostly by laying her back on the table and dumping buckets of water on her repeatedly.

“Please,” she spluttered, “please stop... you don’t have... have to do this...”

Two and Three looked at each other, then Two nodded. When she opened her mouth to press her argument further, a ring was pushed inside and twisted behind her teeth, forcing her mouth open just to the limit of what she could stretch her jaw to herself. They leaned down, listening to her breathing for a moment before one of them reached in and did something that made the ring expand somewhat larger, pulling painfully at her lips and cheeks, before they pulled the strap from either side of the ring back to tighten itself to her helmet.

The one who’d moved off to the side piped up, “Doctor, her pulse is exceptionally elevated, respiration is way too fast and shallow, and neuromusculars are completely spastic.”

The Doctor rolled her eyes, “I said to report abnormalities, idiot. Use the processor your programmer gave you.” She left ‘if you want to keep it,’ unsaid. She didn’t need to. She looked over Roll critically, “Bring out the remotes; from here we switch to avoid contamination.”

They fled from around the table, taking up station behind other controls which brought more of the spindly limbs to life. Roll had the distinct feeling that if she was ever rescued, she’d never be able to look at machinery again. Not ‘the same way’ but period. The first barrage was tiny, wriggling little things that invaded the stumps of her hips and shoulders, poking and scraping at the exposed flesh, eliciting wails of pain as exhausted nerves were jolted back to life, often directly as the probes released small discharges. She writhed on the table, desperate to somehow lessen the pain, had she not endured enough already?

Roll sagged limply as the probes eventually retreated, their tips thick with blood from within her fresh amputations, but after few moments she could not help but realize... the burning had stopped. The liquid fire that had been slowly invading her was gone, purged from her at last. She sobbed, wracked with guilt over the surge of gratitude she felt at least being spared of that particular death. There were so many others to be worried about.

“It’s not gone too deep, necrosis has been very slow to move toward the primary joints... it should suffice to cut back twelve millimetres of skin before concave incineration and closure. Do any of you have any suggestions?” This last was delivered in a tone which made clear that yes, it WAS a test. And it would be bad to fail it.

One of the assistants spoke up, “Pardon me, Doctor, but...”

“What, Seven?”

“Well, wouldn’t it be much more effective to inject buffers into the major vessels of the affected areas, block the spread, pinch the nerves, and then just excise the corrupted tissue all at once before applying a sealant? It would be a much simpler procedure with less chance of complications, and infinitely less stressful on the patient.”

The fiendish woman grinned behind her mask, “The subject’s comfort should indeed be the foremost concern in operational planning.” She paused, “But you’re aiming the wrong way. Leave. The door will hit you on the way out, and you will be escorted to Reprocessing.” Roll watched the girl flee, and in fact, as soon as she was past the door the handle popped off and launched itself into the small of her back with an achingly loud crack of static moving from it to her as she crumpled to the ground, one of the drones standing guard moving toward her ominously as it thudded closed.

One of the others raised a hand timidly, “Yes, Five?”

“Can we cover her eyes?”

“What for?”

She answered in a giggly voice, like she was, at most, half there, “They’re all glittery. I always want to cut glittery things into nicer shapes, but they don’t work like gemstones, they just go pop. It’d... probably be bad if I got... distracted with this one. Worse if it went pop.”

One of the others gagged slightly, but forced out, “We should secure her to the table, if she’s prevented from going into shock, she’s not going to hold still.”

“Which is bad because...?”

“We might sever a nerve?”

She sighed at this, “Good points both. Five, Six, get to it. We’ll begin after you’ve finished.”

Roll watched wide-eyed as the remote arms began to move again, one set was moving off to the side, so of course the one coming toward her with what looked like cabling occupied her attention. She was lifted briefly, once again by her head, a practice she was starting to feel they enjoyed far too much, and saw the cable being passed behind her as the arms did something with the slab she had been on. After a moment, it began to ensconce her in it, winging the cable around her several times, biting deeply into her armpits, squeezing harshly above and below her breasts, twisted together in a knot that sat insistently just below her collarbone. It hurt, but not so much as, well, falling down, to say nothing of getting shot, or coming down from your first red-mist-moment to find out that you’ve boarded the one-way express to psycholand. She smelled scorched rubber as the cable winched her back down to the slab and those arms retreated, and twisted her head to look. One of the surgical lasers had cut a sizeable portion from the crotch of her soiled clothing, and it was being carried towards her.

She shut her eyes. She didn’t move as she felt the sticky scrap pressed against her face, nor as the laser cut it to the shape they wanted, melting the edges of the new blindfold into the shallow cuts it was leaving on her cheeks and forehead. Terror paralysed her, the knowledge of what she could lose if she moved wrong. She even kept herself from screaming, so that she simply whimpered when it stopped. It probably did a very good job of blocking out light. She didn’t open them to check. It did an excellent job of trapping her with her tears.

“Very good. Two and Six, take the other two stations and get to work.”

Roll saw nothing, but could hear the heavier arms move into position, quaking on the table, knowing what was going to happen to her, but unable to know when battered her resolve, shattering it utterly when she heard the lasers begin to charge. She howled as they began cutting, crying out in pain and hate. She railed against the heavens, the programmer who had made her capable of feeling, who had brought her into a world where this could happen. As the sickening stench of evaporated flesh grew thicker, she twisted and writhed, lost to the desperate animal urge to escape her tormentors, barely aware as the only response to her screams tearing her own vocal cords was the simple command, “Suction.” And a slim tube inserting itself into her throat to keep her from drowning in her own blood. Eventually, her stumps were trimmed back sufficiently by the slow erosion that she was not at any particular risk. After another several minutes, they were bored of playing with her that way, and the flesh was squeezed closed and clamped in place to begin the arduous task of what little healing it would be able to achieve.

The woman sounded far too pleased with herself, “Excellent work. And the culture has just arrived, batch number... hrm. Interesting, but irrelevant, the task doesn’t change with the tools.”

“Doctor, can we do something about her screaming before the next phase of the operation?”

The good mood vanished, replaced by a snarl, “Four, the hell are you doing here if you’ve got a problem with screams?”

There was a pause as the girl considered her answer, “Well, you broke into the medical school server where we were training, detonated the lecturer, and kidnapped any navi that didn’t faint.”

“So I did! That was a good day. Now answer the question.”

“I don’t have any problem with it, but even what little she could do with her injuries is enough sonics to vibrate the scalpel.”

“Oh? You think you’re hot shit enough for that to be noticeable? Okay maestro, the cutting’s all you for this stage, prep how you like, but you’d better give me one hell of a showing.”

Roll heard a snap and a hiss before something hard-edged encircled and bit into her neck, tightening rapidly. She couldn’t breathe! She flopped briefly like a beached fish, and it loosened ever so slowly, giving her the merest wisps of air. After a few moments, her body went limp, as reflex forced her to bend all effort, conscious or otherwise, simply on drawing those achingly slow breaths she was now permitted, her body simply refusing to respond beyond that primal focus of survival; no matter how much part of her might wish distraction might allow her the release of deletion.

“Simple, elegant... I like it. Carry on. Three, you’re on injector controls, Two on blood, make sure to save what you can to be put back in. Five and Six on vitals, they actually matter now so keep us appraised. One, you haven’t done anything but stand in the corner and quiver, so keep it up. You’re officially on tap for spares if we need to replace any organs. On the plus side, we’re not going near any major unique organs, you can live with one kidney. Hmm. Actually, pray hotshot doesn’t nick the subject’s bladder.”

That was all the warning Roll got before they began. The laser scalpels moved with horrible slowness, each millimetre carefully abraded one layer of flesh at a time as the incision grew. A tube much like the one which had invaded her throat to stop her screams snaked in as soon as the hole was large enough, light, intermittent suction drawing the blood away both to keep the ‘work area’ clear and to keep it from being lost. As it grew large enough to justify it, small clamps took hold of the edges of the cut, pulling her slowly open, just enough as to be threatening, but not quite tearing the flesh right at the spot where the lasers were working. She had not stopped feeling afraid since her first steps on this server, but the pure helplessness she felt now drove her beyond the terror of a rational being, she felt as an animal, thought as an animal, panicked as an animal. She lay there, unmoving as her body ignored her desperation to flee, her being limited to the slow, hissing breaths she could pull through her constricted throat and the ever so sharp agony shooting through her. Though slowly, ever so slowly, it grew duller.

“Right, that’s enough in the reservoir to start recirculation, get a feed onto the exposed veins before the blood loss circumvents the safeguards.”

Oh, thanks awfully.

“Right, autonomics are firing again, feed is good. Mount culture and commence stem injections.”

Roll was glad she couldn’t see. Before today, she’d have thought it made her more afraid, imagining what was going on to be worse than it actually was. Here the darkness was her one scrap of safety. She could not conceive of what they might be doing, their words meant nothing, and so what she felt was simply what she felt, devoid of connotation.

What she felt was something heavy clamp itself onto a very sensitive part of her anatomy, a place that she didn’t even think about normally, let alone in the context of a place like this. And it cut, not on the place itself, but in an arch around it, gouging at her body even as needles injected deeply into the flesh exposed by the opening of her abdomen. She felt nauseous, she could feel her flesh twisting and swelling as the needles withdrew, could feel her body being forced to make room for something foreign, something new.

“Cellular construction in progress, begin nerve programming. Huh, looks like it didn’t piss itself on the way here, get a drain on that, too.” Roll tensed as she was further invaded, a slim probe bringing lightning into her most sensitive of places, the pain and horror of this violation almost keeping her from noticing the newly invading needle. If not for the release of a pressure she had resisted from some misguided notion of dignity, she would not have. She trembled, unable to scream, unable to flee, unable to do anything but wish, not to wake from this nightmare, but only for them to finish, to bring it to an end.

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“Stem process complete, cellular speciation progressing as proscribed, estimate full gland formation in about five minutes.”

“Good. Hotshot, you just got your timeline for getting those nerves sensitized for integration of the new tissues. Get to it.”

It was like paper cuts and gaping holes. The body’s prepared to devote more energy to worrying about a paper cut because a gaping hole suggests some serious clear and present danger. Apparently, this included micro-paper cut-equivalent lacerations acquired while already in possession of a gaping hole, as the tiny, almost unnoticeably short bursts from the laser dancing around the injection sites wreaked merry hell on Roll, somehow reaching her battered mind with all the fearsome intensity of the injections she had received in the mettaurs’ care.

“Culture solution has completed organ base and connective superstructure.”

“Good, test vessel integration, it’s no good if we build it and it can’t get any blood.”

“Commencing test.”

“What part of testing vessel integration involves flooding the culture chamber with blood?”

“I, er... how else should I have tested it than with opening some flow?”

“The key word is some, a tiny bit proves it’s flowing and allows checks for seepage, which there isn’t any, smooth cutting. What you’ve done is supersaturate the culture with raw materials and nutrients while its building the nerves. No lasting damage, but I wouldn’t want any part of me to be that sensitive.”

“Is... Is this going to cost me the other eye?”

“Nah, what good’s a blind surgeon? ...On second thought, don’t get too attached to it, Roll-sama would probably find that hilarious to watch when she’s angry.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but vesicle and gland integration are done.”

“You’re kidding. No, you aren’t kidding. Well, we’ll have to keep her open for another hour still in case of any complications while the external structure finishes growing in.”

Roll lay and listened. They were done? At least, done until whatever had dug itself into her crotch finished whatever it was doing causing those spastic phantom sensations she couldn’t make any sense of.

“Right, well, hotshot, you’re my new assistant. The rest of you, get out the inducers, tomorrow you’re prototyping the Blind Operation Theatre.”

“I don’t really see how those’re connected, Doctor...”

“Whoever makes her squirm in agony in the most interesting ways won’t be there as a patient.”

Roll did not have a pleasant hour. But even here, all tortures had an ending. Roll lay in silence and darkness, left as she had lain when they finally sealed her back up, applying something to the stitches that worked quickly enough that she could already feel them being absorbed into the recovering flesh within only a few hours, well before she was pulled from fantasizing that the pain might be over by the approach of a familiar clicking gait. A snap accompanied a burst of pain from her throat, her body wracked by convulsions she could not resist, her curtailed screams now escaping as sobs.

She finally calmed, laying there on the slab, quivering in fear as slim fingertips moved slowly along the centre of her midriff, tracing downward along the fading marks of the surgery. They passed further downwards, to the strange thing that they had put onto her, whatever it was. The feel was electric, shooting into her wildly with strength enough that she screamed before she realized that what she was feeling was not pain. Whatever they had put onto her, it ached to be touched, it engendered a swelling wave of delight that confused and bewildered her. Roll-sama’s hand wrapped around it firmly, starting to stroke even as the other reached up to tear away the blindfold and show Roll the penis that was the source of the strongest pleasure she had ever known.

Roll stared in horror, both at the impossible thing sticking out of her, and the gleeful malevolence in the face ultimately responsible for its presence. The monster laughed, and pulled sharply, both to confirm to Roll’s strangled gasp both that it was indeed what she was feeling, and to make it clear that it wasn’t required to feel good. Roll’s stomach heaved in revulsion, unable to take her eyes off it. Luckily for Roll, her stomach was empty, as splattering herself with caustic gastronomals would be highly disruptive to the remainder of her healing process. She barely noticed as the gag was pulled out of her mouth, frantically flailing her stumps against the table, as though she could somehow run away from what had so clearly become part of her body.

A little girlish giggle, “Aw, don’t like your present? Or perhaps I should say your package?” She tugged it again, laughing louder as she shifted her grip, kicking at the operating table and provoking the revelation that it was on wheels. The wheels were not so greased as to make the current hold a pleasant anchor to be moved along by, even were she not repulsed by every trickle of the flood of sensation it drove into her. “No? Well, on the plus side, you’ve lost SO much weight recently!”

Roll was jolted out of her fit of disgust enough to provide it a new target. That insufferable wench! She grit her teeth briefly before hurling forth a stream of the more thorough invective learned from the mocking of the medical apprentices. Her tormentor turned around with a smile, “That’s the spirit!” The smile shifted into a wild grin, and a harsh slap with fingers held like claws, “But you mustn’t forget to address me properly. That sentence should have gone, ‘You’re a pustulent, diseased, psychotic, filth-swilling, two-byte whore of a hashfail,’ ” and then she struck again, back and forth with each syllable, “Roll! Sa! Ma!” The smile that would almost look sweet if one didn’t know the mind behind it returns as though the outburst had never occurred, “There. Now be a dear and show me juuust how good your memory is by not forgetting again.”

Roll’s response was a strangled mix between a scream and a moan. Turning a corner had been a frighteningly intense experience, and as a few more came in quick succession, it was some minutes before she was able to do more than simply foam at the mouth. She twitched, having slid enough on the table that it was solely the cord keeping her tethered to the rolling table, her body stretched between them as she was pulled along by an appendage she didn’t want to admit was existing, but forced to do that much, she definitely didn’t want it used as a handle! Finally a brief respite appeared as another door shut behind them both, and she was ungrasped and left to lay there for a few moments in the dimly lit chamber.

“What... what are you doing to me...” Roll began, then hastily added as she saw her begin to turn towards her again, “Roll-sama?”

“Isn’t that much obvious?” Roll-sama returned with a small knife, working it carefully under the cord before pulling upwards, separating Roll from the table. “I’m playing. Experimenting.” She let her hands caress Roll’s flesh, filling the helpless girl with confusion and fear, certain that any gentleness was merely the lead-in to the new and greater pain. “Making you into my little freak-toy, whatever that’s going to end up being.” She slid her hands under Roll, lifting and turning to place Roll’s back against her chest, carrying her like she was some oversized doll, and with matching ease.

They were heading towards the one well lit part of the chamber, Roll could make out some sort of large seat behind a flat object that blocked most of the light from this side. Roll-sama carried her to the seat, then turned and sat down, both of them facing into the object now revealed to be an enormous mirror. Roll paled noticeably as she got her first good look at what had been done to her, at the still slightly charred tips of her abbreviated limbs, at the tiny tatters of the ribbons she’d been so proud of still clinging to her head. It was made all the worse by what sat behind her, what held her, this perverse mockery of her that was so utterly, exquisitely perfect and pristine in every fashion, save for what was ever so clearly an utterly shattered mind, twisted beyond the breaking point in every conceivable direction.

Roll jumped as Roll-sama’s fingers started roaming again, whimpering for her loss. Oh, she could understand what she was feeling right enough now that she was seeing, but she hadn’t wanted it yet, would never want it like this. She wept for what was being stolen as Roll-sama’s fingers spread her nethers and pressed inward, as she lost what she wanted to offer to Rockman when Meiru and Net finally stopped tiptoeing around each other. Her eyes darted involuntarily downwards as a touch grazed the thing, and she resolutely lifted her head upward again, bile rising in her throat. She was unable to tilt back far enough that she couldn’t see it in the mirror, but she could at least force it to only be in her peripheral vision.

“Aww, don’t like your welcome present? I know!” One of Roll-sama’s head tails slithered forwards, coiling like a spring before leaping to its target. She laughed at Roll’s sudden yelp of surprised discomfort, “Everybody’s happier with a package that’s wrapped in a pretty ribbon.”

Roll shuddered weakly, “Why are you doing this, Roll-sama?” calling her that left a foul taste in Roll’s mouth.

Roll-sama laughed again, the ribbon tugging at Roll playfully as Roll-sama’s fingers dove deeper, the other hand moving to fiercely squeeze Roll’s chest, “In part, because you’re pitiful. Because you’re a weak, useless, pale reflection of my glory.” She twisted the nipple just barely short of the point of injury, then let go and rubbed the breast it was attached to slowly, almost soothingly as she began to wiggle the fingers occupied down below. “Because you have the audacity, she shameless effrontery to continue to lay claim to a name that a sensible navi would’ve ceded to my clear superiority.” She let her hand fall, wrapping around the thing’s tip, starting to deliberately stroke it, leaning forward to force Roll’s head back down and make her watch.

Roll drowned in sensation, the hateful organ deluging her senses, invading her mind, she was ashamed at least as much of her helplessness against it, at her inability to control herself, to know how wrong the things she was feeling were and through the knowledge of that wrongfulness make herself impregnable against them, as she was by the presence of the thing itself. But in spite of hate and shame and disgust, to the part of her mind, the part of any mind wired directly to the pieces of flesh entwined by Roll-sama’s fingers, it felt good, and the pleasure besieged her. “In the end, though, those are all just justifications.” Roll-sama leaned her head down, licking impishly at the nape of Roll’s neck. “There’s only one reason I’m doing this, and it’s the same reason I do anything else.”

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“In the end, it’s just because I can.”

Roll quaked, she wanted to flail, to fight... to flee. She wanted to escape from this horror, this abomination. But she could not. Even had she fists with which to strike, she could not run. Had she legs to carry her, it was inside her now, it was part of her, no matter where she fled she would carry the horrid thing with her. And with every touch of the hated hands it seemed to grow, not outside, but in. She didn’t want to admit how it felt, she didn’t want to think about how her body screamed along with her mind, but not for it to end, only for more, always for more. She closed her eyes tightly, as if perhaps in doing so she might somehow also shut her mind to the sensation.

“You will not stop watching.” Fingernails inside her made plain the threat.

Fear winched her eyelids slowly back. It was impossible not to see the wanton glee in her tormentor’s eyes as the fingertips deftly continued their dance, sending lances of hateful pleasure searing across her soul. Even were she unmarred, the wrongness of this would twist nauseatingly inside her, would provoke her to struggle, but she could admit the feelings as simply part of being alive, as part of how all bodies betray the mins that are saddled with them. But this abomination surged against the battlements of her sanity, a battering ram of pleasure that corrupted and absorbed what she could potentially fend off and threw it at her again in fashions against which she had no defence. She could hear her own breath growing steadily more ragged, could watch her chest heaving, had no choice but to observe as her turncoat body completed its mutiny. She had to make one last attempt, “Please... please stop... please let me go...”

Roll-sama laughed, pinching at the folds of her shamefully exposed flesh, only stroking her harder, “Not a chance.”

Roll twitched sharply, groaning helplessly, “But why? What do you want me for? What good am I to you with what you’ve done to me already?”

“Do you want to be deleted that badly?”

“What? No, I want to go home...” Roll twinged in fear, the suddenness of that question jolting her mind enough that she lost the grip on what defence she had managed, her hips jerking briefly.

Roll-sama grinned, her expression turning almost mocking, “You are home, as home as you’re ever going to get, so get used to it.” She shifted her hand upwards on the disgusting rod, rocking her palm around its tip and driving the tide of hateful pleasure steadily higher. “You’re mine now. There’s only one way you, or anyone, leaves my service.” She continues with that hand, giggling as Roll’s discomfort increased, her probing fingers in Roll’s sex twisting and stroking, unerringly finding the places they sought to provoke deeper reactions, since of course she’d know every detail of the anatomy she was playing like some perverse musical instrument. It was where she came from, after all.

That thought fired a bit of resolve back into Roll. This monster was a copy of her, not the other way around, no matter how much it might wish otherwise. No matter what it did to her, no matter how she was tormented, that knowledge would sustain her, even through the strange swelling sensation building up well behind and slightly below her bellybutton. Er, what?

As though noticing it was some sort of key, it exploded. Something inside her trying to surge outward, sending the place she always had but didn’t think about into spastic convulsions as the swelling grew past and into the hateful thing, like some wild animal charging forth to escape... then stopped cold. Whatever it was, it could not pass the constricting ribbons, and where the pleasure she could never accept had been a hard-beaten invasion now a sudden desperation struck like a rain of boulders. She writhed, gasping for breath, “Please, please make it stop! Please let me go!” The strange confusion of agonizing pleasure and throbbing pain battered at her.

Roll-sama laughed, her tongue dancing upwards to Roll’s ear to nibble as she whispered, “Give me a reason. Why should I let you go?”

Roll simpered, unconsciously bucking her hips as her hindbrain sought what it ‘knew’ would breach that last barrier, “I... I... “ Roll stammered desperately, “I’ll do whatever you want!” She blurted, “I’ll do anything! Just please, please let me go!”

Roll-sama grinned wider than Roll had ever seen it. “Done. And in exchange, you’ll do everything I wish of you for the rest of your life. Exactly like you would have anyway, but now,” she paused, unclenching her ribbon and watching the penile orgasm it had prevented rocket into the air above them before continuing in a mocking tone, “now you’re cumming as a free woman. Well, free shemale doll-thing. I’m sure that makes you feel so much better.”

Roll spasmed, deaf to the words as the thing exploded, the world seeming to move in slow motion as the horrible pleasure overwhelmed her, as the disgusting fluid rocketed out in gush after gush, the world consisting only of two things she wanted to be rid of, the ecstasy controlling her flesh, and Roll-sama’s snide laughter. After an eternity, the moment passed, and the filth rained back down to splatter upon her, marking her as if to forever signify her fall, to declare her forever divorced from purity and grace.

“Aww, isn’t that just precious? Little dolly had its first cum!” She drove her tongue briefly into Roll’s ear before whispering, “Did you like it? It doesn’t really matter, but I can’t help but wonder how much filth you’ve always been hiding behind that pretty face... but for now, you’ve had a long day, and it’s time for bed.”

Roll was certain that this was not going to involve anything like the level of consideration or comfort that Roll-sama put into her tone. And was confirmed in her suspicions when what had seemed to be just a raised floor tile, a small metal square which protruded some handful of inches above the others to form a box with holes on the sides, rose up to reveal a large metal locker, towards which she found herself carried. She did not resist. What would be the point? She had nothing left to fight for, no purity, no dignity, no mission and no hope. She slumped there with her despair and the smell of her corruption for company as the door closed, and the light receded as the locker put itself away, plunging her into darkness save a handful of dots so very far above.

She shuddered, terrified of what new torture was to be inflicted upon her now, taking some time to realize that it was no more complex than that Roll-sama really did just see her as a toy, and she’d been put away for the night.

The day began to parade itself before her mind again as she lay crumpled in the box. She shied away from remembering Meiru sending her into this server, afraid of what she might do to that memory after what she had endured. It wasn’t Meiru’s fault for what she found here, for the horrible things she had done. Roll gagged as she remembered when her self-control had broken, the raging fit in which she had uncaringly deleted so many, the horrors she had wrought joining those which had been wreaked upon her.

She stifled a scream. She would not give Roll-sama the satisfaction of hearing her rail against her fate. Instead she sobbed in silence, tormented by the gruesome sticky slickness that painted her face and chest, twisted in her perceptions from blood through melted flesh and a thousand unmentionable ichors marring her with every conceivable sin, until at last exhaustion stole the light from her eyes, and she fell into the blackness of sleep.

These are fantastic, and definitely a joy to read. Do you think you could post the unviewable images somewhere, though?

I remember one is in the request boards...

yeah hxxp://orz.gurochan.net/req/src/1244095100332.jpg is one of the first ones...

Bump for more.

And also, bump for those incompatable pictures. I'd really care to see 'em.

I'm still waiting to hear back from the artist before I'll release the rest of the pictures. Once I hear from him then I should have an answer

In the meantime, enjoy the next chapter



Roll’s Nightmare Chapter 3: Take Arms Against a Sea of Troubles

Roll awoke and stretched on a field of soft grass under warm sunlight. She momentarily flinched, her hands quaking as she brought them before her eyes. Of… of course it had just been a nightmare. Some place that horrific, that debauchedly deranged could only be the product of diseased imaginings, could never be real. She refrained from pondering the implications that she had imagined it. Meiru had gotten her to run some suspicious applets, it was just lingering after-effects that made her have such dreams. And yet, though here she was, safe and sound back, no, she had never left the rollicking countryside Meiru liked as the theme for most of her computer, Roll couldn’t shake a jarring sense of dislocation. Something was wrong.

She turned towards a flash indicating another navi entering the computer. She smiled. Well, whatever was wrong, he could certainly make it right. “Rockman! Over here!” she waved while calling out to him.

He appeared to ignore her even as he approached, saying, though clearly not to her, “Intruding program identified. Proceeding with mission.”

She looked around worriedly. An intruder? Here, of all places? But she couldn’t see any sign of one. “What are you talking about, Rockman? How can I help?”

He continued to ignore her, “Buster systems online, battle chips received. Ready to eliminate.”

She ran up to him, grabbing his arm, “Answer me, Rockman! What’s goin-” She did not expect him to backhand her, hard, with his buster and send her sprawling to the turf.

“Shut up, virus!” he spat, “You are not Roll, and have no right to speak to me the way she did!” He fired, catching her full in the back.

She screamed in pain, clawing at the grass to regain her feet, turning towards him in disbelief to see him charging another round. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m me, Rockman!”

His response was a charged shot into her collarbone, vaporising a large swath of her outfit and sending her pitching over the crest of a hill to tumble uncontrolledly down the far side, regaining her footing just in time to leap to one side of the next shot. “Why are you doing this? Why won’t you talk to me? Doesn’t what we’ve been through together mean anything to you?”

For a moment he hesitated, a crack appearing in the facade of detachment as he shuddered, “Do you think this is easy? That this is the way I want things? What choice do I have?”

She waited, gazing to him longingly, “But why? Please, tell me why…”

He stiffened his arm again, charging quickly, “Who could love what you’ve become?”

Roll froze, transfixed with terror by his words, launched backwards as the impact tore her torso from her limbs as though they were held on by no more than string. Even as she saw her arms hanging briefly in the air before gravity took them, saw her legs standing without her before collapsing into gobbets of suppurating meat and the hollow, foetid bone of flesh long dead, a terrible pressure came into being below her stomach. As she struck the ground, the hated phallus thrust forth, sprouting from her flesh and tearing through her tattered clothes, throbbing with a sickening hardness and spraying her neck and face with its claggy ichor.

She lay there, helpless and undeserving of help, crying weakly as Rockman stepped into her field of view, and then his buster obscured it.

“In Roll’s memory,” he whispered, “I will delete you quickly, monster. I will always remember you as you once were.”

A blaze of light presaged the darkness of forever.

Roll awoke. She writhed wearily, filled utterly with despair as blind movement found four quite close metal walls, containing a profusion of small holes of which only a handful, far, far above her admitted any light.

Tears did little to assuage either the dark or the despair, but were all the company she had. Sleep had forsaken her, and she it, terrified by the prospect of another dream somehow worse. However long she slumped there she could not even begin to guess, time being of little meaning in the deeper silences of the mind, but eventually the whirr of machinery began the creeping progress of light down the walls of her vessel. After a minute or so, it came to a halt, and the door was opened by her grinning captor. Roll stared up at her blankly. The giddy, almost childish grin seemed so utterly the opposite of the demeanour she’d seen before that she had no idea how to react to it.

“That’s everything I wanted to put into motion towards world conquest today. Now it’s time to play!”

Ah. Greet it with the same intensity of unbridled terror as anything else. And yet… something was different. It took Roll several days to put her finger on it. To put something on it, anyway. She refused to cry over thinking about fingers. She certainly had plenty to distract her from contemplation, as Roll-sama was certainly no less vicious, indeed, as Roll quickly found, once she was more surely healed up from the surgery, she was quite often flogged or kicked or trodden upon as often as she was fingered or groped until no amount of shame she could possibly feel could stop her desperate screams, could give her even a moment’s pause in begging for the removal of whatever currently impeded her orgasm, be it physical or by code.

But any significant injury was treated as soon as Roll-sama had taken her pleasure, and the area around such treatment left to heal cleanly, even if the rest of her was abused all the more thoroughly to make up for it. It often suited Roll-sama’s fancy to return her to her box soiled, soaked and thoroughly smeared with the evidence of her usage to stew over-(for lack of any real sense of chronology)-night in her filth, but she would then find herself shortly after waking conveyed to a thorough, almost affectionate bathing. True, it tended to involve either being pumped with soapy water in places and volumes beyond all reason, or being held under the froth just to the edge of passing out, but taking things to the very edge was affectionate where Roll-sama was concerned, there was plenty of decor which said clearly that the edge was usually the place to speed up and careen over, rather than pull back.

And that was it, really. In Roll-sama’s eyes, other toys could be replaced. She could not. Which meant there was an answer to the question Rockman had posed in her dream. There was someone who could, and would value the freak, the helpless perverse worm she had become. The one who had chosen to make her that way in the first place. A realisation which made Roll-sama’s seeming giddiness all the clearer. She had seen it in Meiru or Net or any of their friends with this new toy, that new video-game, that same enthusiasm. Only now she was that doll, that action figure, that poster, that phone. Her life depended on keeping that new toy enthusiasm from waning. What she might, or might not ever do with the life she was trying to safeguard was irrelevant. Life is the sort of possession where it’s the having that’s the most important thing.

So she threw herself into her new role. Whatever Roll-sama demanded of her, she drove her utmost to do, forcing herself to overcome the fear or revulsion it brought, using this to expand her uniqueness among those Roll-sama controlled, promising herself that it was only until she somehow had a chance, that it was doing what was needed to live, nothing more. She knew Roll-sama could tell what she was doing, could see the self-loathing in her eyes at each new degradation, was taking pleasure in twisting events so that Roll would push herself past limit after limit, debasing herself further.

In time obedience simply became habit, and hesitation left her. Be it chest or back, eyes or ears, ass or mouth, vagina or penis, every part of her body responded immediately to Roll-sama’s demands. Eventually time came to a particular evening, in which Roll was currently trying not to wriggle, as she was laying on, and covered in, variously sized shards of shattered tea set. Luckily, Roll-sama seemed more inclined to laugh at her failure of balance and sodden figure doused in not-quite-scalding tea than to enrage, perhaps acknowledging that Roll had good reason to react to this particular presence with a deeper fear than that of death.

“You called for me, Roll-sama?” came the sardonic lilt of someone entirely too pleased with themselves.

“Yes Doctor. I think it’s time to move on with my toy here.”

Roll twinged in fear, had she failed? Was this the end? She sagged limply in the Doctor’s hands as she was lifted from the mess, one of the most innocent things she’d been doused with, really. What was she going to lose now?

Doctor handed her over to Nurse, her surgeon from before renamed such upon proving herself worthy of not being dismantled, who took a much more careful interest in scrubbing her until she’d pass for sanitary in a normal operating theatre, attentions which Roll did not find comforting.

Nurse stood back briefly, leaving Roll laying in the trough where she’d been cleaned, nose and mouth just barely sticking up through the flow of disinfectant as she brushed imaginary dust from the immaculate gleaming white of her uniform. She reached into a small pouch slung at her hip, withdrawing a small hole-filled ball on a thin strap. “Open up.”

Roll quivered, staring up at her in fear, practically snivelling, “Y-you’re going to cut me again, aren’t you?”

She squeezed the ball briefly, and it doubled in size. “Stupid question. What else would you see me for? Now open WIDE.”

Roll took the hint as to what further delays might cause, actually arching her back to stretch her jaw as wide as she could. It galled her that she was so readily doing whatever anyone told her, but there was a certain fundamental wisdom in not antagonising someone with a demonstrated capacity to operate seventeen rotary bone-saws simultaneously. Nurse pushed the ball firmly into her mouth, lifting her head to latch the straps into her helmet.

Roll was then lifted further, and set to hang from a tight belt around her waist to dry while she was discussed.

“How do you want to do this, Mistress?”

“Oh, suddenly it’s how do I want to do it?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I was teasing you.”

“I’m good at surgery, not banter, Mistress.”

Doctor gave vent to a loud sigh, “I might need another assistant to cringe properly when I taunt them, you’re good, and great fun to watch working, but you’re a complete wet fish outside the theatre.”

“I look forward to her selection. In the meantime, this isn’t an easy procedure. We need access to, well, almost everything. And most of it all at once. And all sorts of things aren’t going to work if we move her much between starting and finishing them.”

“You worry too much, just run a hook through the piercing in her ponytail that the mettaurs left, and have... I don’t know, something hold up the other end.” She paused, smiling, “Yes, that’s it. Tie an anchor around the base of what we gave her last time and run the line up through her buttcrack.”

“Doctor, that might not be able to actually take the strain.”

“Good, put it down in the logs as a load test, or something. It’s not like we can’t fix it if it breaks.”

“As you like. Duly logged.”

Nurse came back into the theatre itself to check that Roll had dried off, removing her from the belt with a bit of a smile as she carried Roll to where a large hook on a chain lowered from the ceiling. Roll found hanging from the hook to be a highly unpleasant experience, not painful enough that she could really focus on it as something to use as a crutch against the fear, but not so minor that she could tune it out. Certainly enough discomfort that her penis was entirely unresponsive to Nurse’s rather lackadaisical fondling.

“Come ON, It’s not like i’m enjoying this part, you little... fine! We do it the OTHER way!”

Roll was forced by the tension on her head to stare down, and so saw as Nurse got out a pair of wires, one red, and one black. The black wire ended in a bulky clamp, the red in a slim rod. She was not unfamiliar with sounding, not after weeks, or perhaps even months in Roll-sama’s bedchamber, but it did not take an imagination nearly so active as her own treacherous subconscious to discern the meaning of the wires, not with the agonising squeeze of the clamp over the last inch or so that the rod penetrated. She screamed into the gag as the voltage speared her, writhing desperately as the damnable and almost certainly already damned shaft steadily rose until the lightning coursed through throbbingly rigid flesh.

Nurse smirked viciously, but the knot she tied in the cord looped around the base of the penis Roll wished circumstance did not force her to admit ownership of remained as planned a solid knot, rather than the easier slip. Just because they probably could fix any damage didn’t mean it was particularly good to invite it. But she left the wires in place and running as she went first to pull the hoist through which the cord was fed, lifting Roll so that she hung laying face down in midair, and then back to the theatre’s control booth.

“What?” she began in answer to her superior’s expression, “If all goes well, we shouldn’t be working on that, so there’s no harm in keeping it occupied.”

“I didn’t say anything. Is the saline prepped?”

“No.”

“You can’t be thinking to make those figures in silicone, the scarring would be disgusting. Fun on a disposable, but we’d BE the next disposables if we gave this one back looking that way.”

Nurse rolled her eyes, clearly contemplating how long it might be before positions were reversed and hiding her suspicions that it was a small number independent of units. “I’ve been keeping Roll-sama appraised of my progress in some experiments with the stem culture samples, I developed a derivative that’s good for replicating existing tissues rather than directly producing entirely new ones.”

“You didn’t keep ME ‘appraised of your progress.’ “ Her voice had a hard edge to it.

“You didn’t ask,” came the blithe reply. “At any rate, do you want me to start on her front, or would you rather I focus on the construction?”

“I’LL handle construction, thank you very much. Now’s hardly the time for me to be learning how to employ your super-goop! “

“As you like, Mistress.”

Nurse sat down at her console first, her manipulation of the controls presumably what brought a small pair of cups to fasten over her nipples and begin to suck. If not for her fear as to what they might be planning (who knew what ‘replicating existing tissue’ might do?), it could almost have felt good. Not good enough to keep her from noticing porous needles several inches long lowering past her field of vision. Spittle flecked on her cheeks and chin, dribbling past her lips as she quaked from the needles each penetrating one of her breasts, sinking deep, far too deep into the flesh.

Not to be outdone, Doctor snarled as she brought her own tools into motion, savage metal claws fiercely tearing open one of her shoulder stumps, thrusting a short tube into the raw flesh underneath, framing the stub of bone that used to be the start of a limb. Tiny whirling blades gouged at bone and flesh alike, presaging the intrusion of yet more steel as the joint was slowly reconstructed, the acrid stench of burnt metal and flesh filling the air as the plates began to be unified into a latticework that replicated the bone it was replacing in materials a dozen times stronger. Roll was paralysed with fear as she felt the heat coming off the welder, so little of a twitch in the wrong direction all it would take to send it skittering over her unprotected back, her body locked up, nearly every muscle cramping as she strove beyond all measure simply to hold still. A pair of small arms moved out to stick conductive pads to her stomach, forming a circuit which removed the effort of her position, albeit doing nothing for the pain.

It was at this moment that Nurse began the injection, the tubes filling with white material that began to flood her breasts, the pressure pulling at the flesh agonizingly until the fluid began to react, spreading inward from the point of the injection, at first the skin of her chest growing outward, but soon the interior not just caught up but outstripped it. The cups began to pull, guiding the growth of her flesh, sculpting the parody of breasts that were soon to adorn her frame, ballooning out beneath her.

It did not take long before Doctor had finished her left arm, pulled back above her by the hoses which fed the joints the fluid which would lubricate their passage and facilitate the nerves inside, making Roll feel the frame growing out of her. The same side’s leg went more slowly, needing to be of somewhat heavier construction to accommodate the differences in how the ankles and feet were assembled compared to the originals. After so long with walking again at all being the furthest of dreams, the concept of not being able to walk in flats did not hold so much frustration as it otherwise might.

Roll heard the movement before she felt it, of a number of tiny arms swivelling into the area around where her new bones met flesh.

“Hey! Hey! What’re you doing, stick to your own work!”

“You said to handle my own ‘super-goop,’ Mistress, so I am.”

Roll shuddered as the arms revealed themselves to end in tiny needles, which stabbed briefly into the flesh of her stumps before withdrawing, trailing a line of pain stretched taut behind it through the air before pressing it against the cold metal bone, the ends at the tips pressed into the next joint along.

Her voice came from between clenched teeth, “And what are you DOING with it?”

“Weaving her new musculature one fibrous connection to her nervous system at a time. The result will be more effective than trying to transplant a steak, and nearly no chance of complications so long as we don’t activate the motor nerves.”

“Fine,” came the grudging acceptance, “But don’t start on an area until I’m done welding it!”

“Of course, Mistress.”

Doctor fumed, looking for something to find fault in, grinning as she saw Roll’s face blossom in new pain. The fluid Roll felt leaking, despite its location, was almost certainly not milk. “Get some suction on those ho-“ she stopped suddenly, then sighed, “Don’t say a word. Not one.”

Nurse didn’t say a word. Not one.

Eventually, the bones were finished, the reservoirs emptying into Roll’s chest long since drained. She hung there, the paralysis released with the welding done and with it any significant threat from her writhing under the pain. Her new breasts hung pendulously, throbbing, sculpted, almost sharply pointed nipples far too high on the swollen orbs to look remotely natural.

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Doctor stormed out after finishing the portions she had claimed herself, probably off to have a sulk at having been shown up by her assistant. Now alone, Nurse abandoned any pretense that she had not automated the muscle-weaving process, allowing the repeated stabs and withdrawals stretching threads of meat from Roll’s body and winding them about her limbs to accelerate to a much faster pace, a pace she matched with her own fingers, no longer touching the console, but herself, forcing Roll now to watch as one of her exploiters blatantly pleasured themselves at the sight of her agony. Forcing Roll to listen as the air filled with laughter and moans that mocked her whimpered screams.

Something else that had been shattered besides her limbs began to reform inside her. What was done could be undone. She began to feel anew the urge to fight, to flee, to return. Surely someone would believe her, someone would help her go back to how she ought to be.

She felt it grow as heavy black leather gloves and boots were pulled up her skinless arms and legs. She felt it solidify as they were strapped into place and their tautness told her how much stronger these limbs were than what they had replaced. She knew what she had to do, to hide herself in servitude for but a little longer, until the first lapse, the first gasp of a chance, and then she could try to, no, she would escape.

But for now, she had to hide her newfound inner certainty, lest it become the monster’s focus, a target at which to aim until it was torn away. Slowly, the cord slackened, dangling her now upright rather than staring at the floor, and making her feel the weight of her new front and how it would hang as she walked. Haha! Walking! She could MOVE again! She’d show them, she’d show them all. She waited as she was lowered towards the floor, wanting to savour the feeling of those first few steps.

Roll exulted to feel her joints tense to hold her as her weight came onto the balls of her feet, holding her up even with what appeared to be woefully high heels integrated into her legs. The hook swung out and the cord dropped from above entirely, leaving her standing entirely on her own. She lifted her arms to look at her new hands.

That is, she tried to lift her arms to look at her new hands.

She didn’t move.

She tried to take a step.

She didn’t move.

She bit her lip worriedly, surely, surely they hadn’t gone to so much trouble to give her limbs solely for decoration? Further speculation was aborted by Roll-sama’s arrival, smiling almost ferally at her indirect handiwork.

“Absolutely perfect,” she declared imperiously, striding close to torment her with the sensation fingertips brought to her new limbs, inert through they remained. “And it gives me so many more things I can do with you.” A particularly wicked expression crossed her face as she stepped backwards, “You may worship me to show your thanks.”

Roll surmised that there must be some remote control element, as this brought her suddenly to her knees, then shortly hands as well, her face but a breath away from Roll-sama’s foot.

All past evidence aside, she could take a hint. Especially when the real meat of that hint was that she’d better not give any indication of regaining her resolve to escape.

She closed her eyes, breathing slowly as she parted her lips, her tongue gliding over the glossy plastic of Roll-sama's boot. She circled around the top of her toes, hiding her grimace as the foot lifted and she obediently washed beneath as well, hoping her downturned face would allow Roll-sama to misidentify her shudder of revulsion.

It seemed to take forever, no doubt the protocol controlling her limbs was working to some schedule to which she was not privy, but it felt an eternity of lavish tongue-bathing of the appendage in question before her limbs made each abrupt, jerky motion conveying her face to the next patch of pink which would soon be glistening. She began to tire by the time she was permitted to wrap her tongue around Roll-sama's ankle, whimpering as her jaw cramped halfway up the shin. She began to panic as her haphazard progression brought the still-throbbing tip of her erection into contact with Roll-sama's leg, the foul thing was as sensitive as ever, and too-easily whittled away her resolve.

It felt good. No matter how much she hated the organ itself, no matter how much she reiterated her mantra that it was the utmost expression of this place's vileness and obscenity, she could not alter the primal fact that every touch upon it struck straight and true into the parts of her mind most susceptible. Much as she strove to deny it, even to herself, that animalistic lurker in the back of her mind was enjoying it. Was starting to yearn for every touch, becoming inured, even addicted to her predicament. She was not truly surprised, as her motion pressed them forward, to find her ludicrously augmented chest was now almost, if not as sensitive as the abomination below.

But even as her lips and tongue began to caress the monster's knee, and her hips rocked side to side, grinding both sets of genitals lewdly against its leg and foot, she steeled herself further. She knew she was slipping. The animal was getting stronger and stronger the longer she was here, simply because that side of her enjoyed what she was being forced to endure. Which simply made it all the more important, especially as her arms squeezed her tightly to her captor, and her mouth was conveyed up along the thigh, that she be quick in learning how to control her limbs so she could escape.

She was staring up into Roll-sama's leering grin as she reached the top of the boot, her puppeted body completing both its task and its betrayal of her as she climaxed. She refused to give the satisfaction of complaint as her limbs backed her away, closing her eyes as she was forced to lick her issue from the boot as well, shuddering weakly as she lay crouched on the floor, unable to move from her prostrate position. She felt enraged, of course, desperate to take these hands and use them to tear Roll-sama apart, alongside a chilling fear. She worried that Roll-sama knew full well what she was thinking and feeling, and there was no way for her to take control of these limbs, she had them solely for her captor to enjoy her continued failure. But above both of these she felt ashamed. Behind her, flesh quivered, and fluid dripped. Inside her, hate it though she might, fear it though she must, there was an agonising spike of yearning to go hump Roll-sama's leg again, to seek her touch, any touch, at any cost.

To Roll's mind, one game had always been much the same as another, and the only change in her circumstances was that her box was substantially more cramped with more of her to fill it, exacerbated by the harness of strapwork wound about her torso connecting her gloves and boots. Though the metal lewdly compressing her chest actually came as something of a comfort, its chill at the end of most days taking a bit of the sting out of the abuses she had suffered. To her body, to the hated beast in her subconscious that would do anything for pleasure, again little had changed. It neither noticed nor cared of variety, to comprehend the differences in what Roll-sama was doing to her, and so the only change was more of her to be played with, more flesh to sing with lust when pinched or prodded.

And so Roll struggled with her inner turmoil, both of arms and legs obeying anyone but her, and of the invidious lusts gaining ever more ground within her, largely oblivious to her surroundings, or at least as oblivious as she could force herself to be. She was rarely removed from Roll-sama's chamber however, and had long since forsaken the delusion that there was no more they could do to her, so passage into the hallway was enough to bring her attention to bear.

She was following behind Roll-sama, being directly led wherever they were going rather than brought by some attendant, though one met them along the way. Roll's eyes briefly roved over this other woman's frame, momentarily considering that her blue and gold chassis was in many ways simil- no. That was a thought she could not allow herself to think. It would be bad enough that what had been done to her here would be seen when she escaped, she would spare herself the taint of imagining what might be done if others came here after her. Besides, there were other familiarities to worry her in the halls they walked. Here a scorchmark on the wall drew her eyes, there a dent. Despite this server's labyrinthine nature, she was sure she had been here before.

And then a door before them opened, and told her when. Long though she had been held, been kept as Roll-sama's pet and toy, this room had not been cleaned. The smell had faded with time and airflow, but her former apparel still lay where it had fallen in small puddles of ichor. Whatever reason there was to bring her here again, she did not care, overcome by fear with the memory of the pain this place had wrought before. She was only peripherally aware of her own gibbering pleas, or of Roll-sama's mocking laughter as she was commanded, and her body compliantly moved, first placing her arms behind her to be tightly secured, and then to lay upon the slab where she had been first mutilated.

The attendant moved silently, lifting Roll's legs briefly to slide a bar beneath her knees, slim cord securing them before a winch began to lift, for the time being just barely lifting her rear from the metal beneath her. Roll began, ever so slightly, to calm. There were no mettaurs, no blades, and no laser-guided needles visible nearby. No fearsome engine of destruction made plain an intent to deprive her of her life. Perhaps, just perhaps, this horrible place was just being used as the site of yet another of Roll-sama's interminable entertainments.

She stared into Roll-sama's face, as always suppressing a shudder at the demonic mirror it presented.

“Open wide.” It actually took her a few moments to realise that order applied to pert of her that she actually had to respond with herself. She did so. She wasn't stupid. She was rewarded with a bulky piece of leather intruding, stretched flat against her cheeks, splaying her mouth wide and anchoring it in place as the tips of the attached straps mated with the edge of her helmet. A grating vibration drilled into her skull as a heavy clear tube was tightly screwed into the resulting hole, and then waved back and forth across her field of vision enough for her to see the funnel at the other end of it. Nevertheless, she remained perplexed until her eyes moved passed the tube, and past Roll-sama, to what was on the other side beyond her. A trough, full to the brim with a horrible black ooze that was all too familiar. Funnel. Tube. Gag. Oh no.

Roll-sama remained silent until such time as she saw realisation dawn in her plaything's eyes, “Oh yes. Such a great deal was taken from you in this room, and I couldn't help wondering what would happen if we jammed it back in.” She took up the lip of the discarded boot in one hand, using it to scoop from the trough, cheerily announcing, “Bottoms up!”

Roll closed her eyes as she watched the murk begin to pour into the funnel, the smell of the horrible ooze was vile enough, and it didn't help to know that it had been made from her own flesh. It flowed slowly, thickly, she could feel its inexorable progress by the change in the weight of the tube, the tiny differences in how the length of tube moved between the funnel Roll-sama held and the end she had no means of releasing. Ironically, compared to many of those she had been in over the preceding weeks, her current position could almost be called comfortable. She was in the unique condition of actually being in a predicament where she would quite happily prolong her current state infinitely if only it meant avoiding what was coming.

The foul materiel passed her distended lips, the glop pooling in her mouth. It tasted exactly as revolting as she thought it would, which was no comfort. So long as her trails continued to horrify, to outstrip her conceptions with their outlandish depravity, she could reassure herself that her true self, her innermost workings were unchanged. To accurately presage the extent of her torment was almost as wracking as the abuse itself.

Enough had flowed into her to force upon her a choice. She was, of course, thoroughly reviled by the prospect of consuming her own melted and presumably since decayed limbs, and she had seen the size of the trough, even if she were to bury her face in it directly to guzzle it would be a very long time before she had the opportunity to clear her mouth of it, and so the notion of simply not swallowing had a certain-

“I'm sure you wouldn't even think about refusing the drink i've prepared for you.” Roll thoroughly understood the true meaning of this statement, 'I know damned well what you're thinking, and -you- know damned well that I can come up with a much more painful way to give it to you if you give me a reason.'

So she drank. It took some doing to work out how to swallow around the gag while upside down, in which time some small portion seeped out past wriggling lips to smear her face as she worked out a method of choking it down. It was cold, frigid even, which no doubt was part of the reason for its viscosity. Roll certainly remembered it seeming runnier when it had been hot, much as she wished to forget. Tears mingled with the stains on her face well before the first bootful was finished. She winched her eyes open, certainly less than happy to see Roll-sama refilling the boot well before the brackish concoction had drained through, clearly a break between pours was not on the agenda.

The second boot brought her consumption to the sort of volume that one could call pleasantly full in better circumstances. The third to that feeling of pressure that warns of future indigestion. By the fourth she was frightened, not of bursting, as she knew she could not, this was far from the first force feeding game Roll-sama had played with her, but she was beginning to feel a strange, foreign warmth starting to spread into her limbs. Even as successive bootfuls continued to swell her belly further with each handful of minutes ticking by, the bar slowly raising her rear further from the slab, it became clear that the increase in her stomach's volume was certainly not accounting for everything that was going down her throat.

Minutes became hours as she swelled further, the strange warm sensation spreading slowly, like treacle oozing down a snowy hillside, when a warning tingle informed her that there was other pressures she needed to worry about. Hanging like this, it was not so difficult to imagine what use that funnel might be put to, were she not to control her bladder. But as her biology grew more insistent, she could not help but begin to thrash in her bonds, her writhing jerking at the tube in Roll-sama's hands.

“What are you doing? What's gotten into you?! Stop this ins- oh. That.” She set down the boot to gesture at the attending drone, which picked up a shallow, broad pitcher with a lengthy spout. It grabbed fumblingly at her phallus, and Roll was surprised to feel the glass circle of the pitcher's tip encircle her, being made to penetrate it.

Roll-sama began to pour another boot, “Well, what ARE you waiting for?”

Roll shuddered, but released her hold, somehow being simply drained in such a fashion was more shameful than being left to soil herself. She worried though, as while she knew she had been thrust deeply into the glass, the level within had risen enough that she could feel the fluid's heat.

“It's filling up you idiot!” For lack of anything she could do about it, Roll hoped Roll-sama was not referring to her. “You do know 'use it or lose it' applies to your processor too, don't you? Squeeze off the flow and dump it! I don't intend to allow any contamination!”

Roll had thought a fist clamping tightly around the base of the damnable penis was painful enough when it had been a hand of flesh. A clenched fist of burnished steel pressing its fingertips as hard as pneumatics could drive against her urinary passage was entirely a new realm of agony. All in all, she'd much rather have made the mess.

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Again and again the boot touched the trough. Ever onward the tube filled, the murk flowed. Roll twitched on the table, but in a fashion she could not believe. In her fingers.

She was almost prepared, amidst her strictly curtailed writhing in desperate search for relief from the horrible pressures inside her, to dismiss it as her imagination when it happened again. Her hands had moved. And she had moved them. Confusion ruled, until it all clicked into place.

She had not been able to move these limbs because, though they were attached to her, they weren't hers. Her limbs were in this trough. And swill by swill, swallow by swallow, they were starting to be part of her again. She began to drink in earnest. Vile though it might be, her salvation was at hand, and she would not flinch from that sterner duty.

Ages later, she lay untended on the slab. The deed was done, the trough emptied, her stomach bulging obscenely like some hideous tumor. Roll-sama stood some distance away, watching and waiting as Roll writhed in pain as her body tried to cope. Quite obviously, it couldn't put the material into her limbs. They were done. A sizeable amount ended up making her already ludicrous chest swell even further, as to where the remainder went as the hours allowed her to recede no one could make more than a guess.

But eventually the deed was done. A gesture from Roll-sama caused the attendant to cut the cords around her knees, allowing her to slip from the bar to collapse on the table. The same then wriggled a limb beneath her to unfasten her wrists.

Still suffused with pain, she slowly stood. She was unsteady, but upright under her own power. She looked over to where Roll-sama waited, her target before her, if she but could close the distance without overplaying her hand. A solution was offered.

She knelt slowly, gracefully, then leaned forward to place her palms on the floor, “Thank you, Mistress,” she began, slowly crawling across the floor in a prolonged grovel like some wretched worm. “Truly this is a gift of which I am not worthy, one which I should clearly dedicate wholly to your service.” Her face arrived a hair's breadth from Roll-sama's foot, and she sneered as she gazed at the surface with which she had been so often humiliated.

A good grovel is quite close to a combative crouch.

She lurched upwards, driving her shoulder sharply into Roll-sama's crotch, lowering briefly again only to lean back and smash a double-fisted upswing into the underside of her jaw. “But I'm not!” she riposted as Roll-sama teetered back, leaping with her arms raised high, beyond thought, beyond plan, simply planning to hit the foul demon until well after she stopped moving.

In midair her body twisted and she fell, to lay there convulsing helplessly as lightning coursed throughout her, an acrid smell filling the air. Eventually it stopped, and Roll-sama moved back forward, wiping her face on one sleeve.

“You know... I think this is the first time I've ever seen my own blood.” She lashed out with one foot, crashing into Roll's engorged bosom, “Congratulations, bitch.” She sneered, staring hatefully down, “I misjudged, I thought I had you. So now I never will, because I'll never be able to be completely sure, no matter how I degrade you, no matter how I break you, today made clear that I can't be sure just from training you that it's really sunk in. So you win.”

She made another kick, this time to the face, “You damned idiot. Even the off the shelf navis, the simpering little bimbos with barely enough processor to follow a NAT address path can perceive my superiority and learn to submit. But not you.”

Roll twisted against the ache, trying to get out of the way of the next blow, so it only caught her in the ribs, “So in your stupidity you win. And don't worry,” The door slid open, two of the heavy guards came in and lifted Roll by her shoulders, holding her tightly enough that there was no question of escape, “I promise that by the time I'm done giving it to you, you're going to -love- your prize. There's no doubt about that at all, which is the whole point. To the recovery annex!”

Such awesome writing... Any word on those pictures?

Bump for more.

Yeah, any more chapters?
Quite liking this one :)

more chapters please. I just finished reading the version with pictures from zenith