Springtime (Part 2)
(Content warning: this involves a graphic and frightning gang rape. If that's not your cup of tea, don't read it.)
...and now the conclusion of Part 1.
The next hour of Torias' life was sheer adrenaline. Female after female found him, and examined his injured foot -- only to start stroking him, kissing him, and offering a flurry of words -- which he presumed were promises to make it feel better.
Most of them required being punched in the nose, with whatever strength he had left. But it was the butch ones -- distinguished by males only by their dress and smell -- who really wore him down. And when he paused now for breath, it wasn't long before another made her appearance.
Without a word, he was jumped from behind, his assailant grabbing his shoulders, and pulling him to the ground with her weight. His brain could smell it was definitely a her, and that she had drunk the soup. The harder he worked, the more he sweated, and the more they were drawn to him.
He bashed her roughly against a tree to get her off, and before she could get up, tried to run -- but could only do a bad jog. His left foot was stiffening into a solid mass, immobilized by the inflammation that had grabbed hold after his landing, and has only gone in one direction.
She seemed hurt enough not to dare following him, at least. But it didn't matter. Two more from his left spotted him, and started closing in. Were there no other males in the entire forest? This seemed absurd. Where were all of them? In some sense, he knew, because for every female he had to deck, another had seen him, but continued running after a prey unseen.
He remembered all the folk tales told by humans about corpses returning to life by magic, mindless wanderers that fed upon the living. These hyenas were more alive, but just as mindless. He could see their eyes staring, transfixed; their hips swung back and forth suggestively; they thought they were the most attractive creatures under the sun -- and, surely, many males thought them to be. But not Torias.
With little strength left, he started walking the other way. They started walking. He walked faster. They matched him. He was unable to jog anymore; he had nothing left. But they didn't run, which surely would have meant another fight. Heart pounding, he suddenly saw a break in the trees. He could perhaps escape to -- where? Anywhere was better than here.
Soon, he heard a voice -- and the laughter of children. Surely he would be safe from them with the children too young to mate. Sure enough, as he got close to the edge, they stopped following him, and decided to hunt for other prey. It was salvation at last. Through the leaves, he could see the group: the Shaman-ess acting out a story before over 100 around a bonfire. Once in a while, a younger male Torias' age would get in on it. It was apparently a sort of acting.
He saw that the affair was being guarded, by a ring of tall males with torches. To keep him safe, he tapped a male on the shoulder, outside the ring, holding a torch. He just grabbed it from him without a word, and pointed to the forest. It took several whispers points -- "you, go, there" -- but the male got it. He seemed to smile at he left. Apparently, this job was considered less fun than chasing tails.
Torias stood and held the torch. But it wasn't long before one of the children beside him were surprised to see him. One of them a third of his age asked a question loudly enough that it got the Shaman's attention.
She walked over to him, and announced something. "Which means," she said much more calmly to Torias, "you will protect them from the spirits of the woods with your technology."
"If you say so," Torias answered, "I just want to stand here."
She didn't answer, but instead made a remark that made everyone -- even the adults laugh. Based on the look on her face, Torias felt he was being insulted.
This hypothesis was further confirmed by an acting skit, which she launched into promptly, that seemed to be about the dumb foreigner. The young male spoke to her in their native language, and she answered like Torias would. The phrases were nonsense: "We have big mountains?" and "Where did the day come from?" They didn't understand, and the point was that the foreigner was an ignorant fool without his technology.
But Torias stood and took the roasting. He, personally, probably was dumb from their perspective. And because the Shaman-ess moved back toward the bonfire -- because the dumb foreigner had to show he would get his finger burned -- he was forgotten with the next skit.
Safety at last, Torias reflected. He was certainly willing to let his ego be raped to keep his body from being so. But before long, the story moved to something more dramatic. Now, on the far side of the ring of torches, Torias saw them beginning to go dark.
It was only four torches before they started to notice that something was happening. The Shaman looked around, and made her voice overly spooky. This was obviously part of the acting, but that didn't make Torais feel any less better as the torches closer and closer to him were snuffed.
Finally, from behind him, a whisper. "Kashinalach," it whispered. Knowing that this was the cause of the snuffing, Torias blew out his torch obediently, and began to tremble. He was immediately taken by the shoulder, as his eyes were adjusted to the fire, and led through the woods.
He heard the shaman-ess carrying on behind him, as he was pushed and pulled in various directions, forced to turn and weave, probably around trees. "Where are we going?" he asked, unable to hide the fear in his voice. But his captor did not answer.
It wasn't long before Torias was brought to a stop, and heard more voices -- male voices.
A deep one demanded, "Mach'narinsha."
Immediately, Torias felt two more hands in addition to the shoulder grasp that turned into an iron grip.
"No!" he snarled defiantly, his night vision starting to show silhouetted shapes between the trees.
When he pushed the hands away for the third time, the voice gave a command. "Teschamueinshup!" it barked.
"No!" Torias yelled, trying to struggle, as three extra hands grabbed him, "NO!!"
Torias swung blindly at where he thought the bodies controlling the hands would be. The first to punches into the void were met unexpectedly with groans. But since he didn't see them, he hurt his fingers in their sudden impacts.
The third one he missed, and before he could deal a forth, he was kicked in the gut by a shadow he didn't see until it was too late.
Finding himself unable to do anything but cough, as all of his muscles went limp, he just gasped as best he could, as the hands recovered, and then pulled him onto a large log on his back. As these hands held him down, a third pair of hands then began to first stroke, then unbutton his uniform shirt.
Torias was helpless to stop them. With his legs and arms pulled almost behind his back around the log, and with his chest still trying to breathe in an orderly fashion, he could neither struggle nor yell. He began to silently cry -- for the first time in years -- as the horror of what these creatures would do to him was slowly realized.
First, his uniform top was left to hang open behind him, and his undershirt was ripped in two by a pair of bare hands. As large, hands started petting his chest, and foul breath began breathing deeply beside his head, another pair of hands tried to figure out how the buttons and zipper on his trousers worked.
"Please," he whispered, to the head he could start to see in the darkness, "please no. Please no. Please no."
"Achtushanshkabar!" suddenly shouted a voice, and the head to whom Torias begged was struck with something.
Everyone else spun toward the noise, and started fighting with a figure carrying a rather long and heavy club.
"Run!" shouted the familiar voice of Reheman, "run!"
Torias struggled slowly to his feet, forgetting his top and undershirt, and found the might to at least jog through he pain of his broken angle. It was back to fighting again.
***
Torias went the only place he could, no matter what he would find: the GDF office. It didn't matter how many were in his way, he had to get there. More than one amazonian female jumped from behind a tree, and wrapped her arms around him, but every time, he got loose with a backhanded punch to the face, or throwing her off him. Combat skills were not his weak point.
He saw in the outside lights that the door of the building was blocked with females -- and males, who they had caught, being forced to do all sorts of things for them -- and knew he would need another plan. He had to find some way to distract them for long enough that he could get in the door.
He could only think of one thing: the truck. It could surely do something interesting that would attract them away from the door. After all, its computer could make all sorts of noises. Perhaps some native speech would be within its capabilities.
He crept toward it, feeling he should be quiet more to avoid the females unseen at the edge of the forest, rather than because he would be spotted by the females by the office. They were completely engrossed in their current carnal satisfactions, or so the guttural sounds and groans they made suggested.
He went back to the truck, and asked the computer to connect to the satellite network. It quickly obliged. With the entire GDF archive at his perusal, he quickly started searching for something that would have a native language in it. It didn't matter if they were fooled, only that they went to see what it was.
He told the computer to play it as soon as it had been downloaded, cranked up the speakers all the way, and started sneaking away. He didn't know how long it would take to finish, and with the fuse burning, he couldn't help but try to jog. The pain of his foot seemed worse than ever, but he felt like he was setting a bomb. Thinking of the nuclear warhead recovery gave him the endurance.
He was most of the way there when the bomb went off.
"Transcript, day 23," echoed across the plain, sounding quite like someone with a megaphone was standing 200 yards away. He then heard something in a language like this one, but sounding a little different. It was probably another tribe.
It was at this that he saw all the females instantly turn toward the voice. The let the males disentangle themselves, and get to their feet. They all walked, males in boiling rage, females following, because of their hormones, with nothing but idle curiosity.
Torias was briefly terrified when one of them glanced his way, but when he stopped moving, they missing him. The outside lighting had ruined their night vision, and they were almost stumbling toward the noise. When they were most of the way there, Torias made his move.
He went all the way around the building, creeping as well as he could with his bad foot. When he got around three of the four walls, he dashed into the light, brushed his fingers over the scanner, hammered in the code as quick as he could, and pulled.
It opened. He rushed to the other side, yanked it shut, and held it until he heard the lock click back into place. He sighed, and for the second time all night, relaxed. He was able to catch his breath, just for a moment -- and in so doing, realized now just how much his foot really hurt.
It also lasted as long as his experience in the tree. When he walked into the lobby, he saw a cadre of eight females staring back at him lustily.
He immediately looked at the nurse, who was distinguished from the others by her uniform only. She was just an hungry as they were.
"Please, tell them no," he demanded in an agitated voice, a note of fear in it that he couldn't remove.
"I'm afraid no one is taking no for an answer tonight," she replied calmly, sauntering towards him just as a dozen females had already done tonight.
She walked straight up to him and hugged him in her arms. He struggled at first, trying not to hit her, but she did not seem like the other females. For a start, she smelled better. The fur around her neck was tamer. Her body just felt more gentle, warm, and caring. She was not the monster that chased him outside. Instead she was... somewhat attractive.
Some part of him resisted. She was just as irrational as they were. She had obviously eaten the same soup they had, and knew what it meant. Her behavior was not caused by a disease, like the mindless walkers of human lore, but by voluntary choice. It reflected her shared sense of culture with the members of the tribe.
And, in spite of his strong intentions, he relaxed. He just couldn't help it. But he could make it clear what his intentions were, so that if it ever came before a tribunal, he could say she raped him without ambiguity.
"Please no," he whined to her, "I'm..." but Torias couldn't finish the sentence. He found his relaxation turning to sleep, in spite of the females eyeing him like their next meal.
"It's okay," she whispered back to him, "I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to. All I want you to do is relax."
"And they're not going to jump on me?" he asked, as he felt her start rubbing his back and shoulders.
"They're not going to jump on you, as long as I am here," she whispered.
"You promise?" he demanded, his body starting to relax already.
"I promise," she whispered.
She then turned to them, and explained something quite extensive in their language. They all seemed disappointed, but as she continued, they became attentive. It made Torias a little nervous, but in the end, they all stood up, three of them clearing themselves off a long bench which Torias was walked over to.
A series of pillows -- which seemed incredibly out of place in the lobby of this building -- were placed along it.
"Now lay down on your stomach," she directed, firmly but gently, like a nurse. Torias did, and to his astonishment, she started massaging him.
His back was a mess. Muscles, bones, bruises, all complained. After he yelled at her four times -- at the volume of a groan -- she ended up sticking to his shoulders and neck, as well as rubbing his back. But it was really lying down that relaxed his body, in spite of his lingering suspicions.
He hadn't had a day this physically demanding in his entire life. He felt like he was in boot camp again, flopping down unable to move -- except this time, it was hard to forget that the equivalent of his bunk mates all wanted to rape him, unlike the GDF.
The gentle, affectionate touch -- the magical "it will all be better soon" touch of a nurse -- pulled him toward sleep. With the soft hands he grew quickly accustomed to on his back, and the rather leathery bus still soft pillows down his front, he felt something that he hadn't felt since sunset: safe.
***
Torias wasn't quite sure what awoke him. Perhaps it was the stronger fragrance, or perhaps something about his position after he rolled onto his back. But he slowly awoke, feeling a little groggy, but no longer depleted. As a result, he had all the energy in the world, when he opened his eyes, and saw all of the hyenas drooling over him.
"No!" he gasped, searching in vein for the nurse. When he didn't see her, he rolled onto his side -- or at least, he tried. He called for her in terror as he found that his wrists and ankles had been tied to the bench. The females, on the other hand, reacted to this fact with a sadistic gleam in their eyes, and drool that had to be licked from their muzzles.
As they towered over him, Torias wondered what the last humans had on their faces, when lack of edible food forced them to eat their comrades. Because he was about to be eaten, psychically. They would not understand any pleas for mercy. They were immune from prosecution under the GDF's treaty. The nurse was gone, and they would not fetch her to end their fun.
So, for the first time since he had entered the military, the lion started crying. The tears, however, brought fingers. And tongues. Even the sadness behind his tears was threatened to be ruined as they were licked up by a tall, thin female at beside his head -- while muscular hands of others more butch began to fumble with the button of his shirt.
She whispered soothing gibberish to him, which only made the situation worse. For Torias' pounding heart knew that this was not going to be surgery, but brutality. Never the less, his heart did skip, and his breathing stop, as he watched a female to his right take out a knife -- one made by the GDF.
The lion wished it had been his skin which the blade had rended. Insead, she just sliced his shirt down the middle, getting the undershirt at the same time, to form the surgeon's entry wound. At least they got his pants figured out without a knife -- that certainly would have made him die of a heart attack.
With his pants around his ankles, they finally removed his dignity, by sliding down his grey standard issue boxers. The unintelligible, teasing comments hurt him, but the stares were worse. They were savoring the sight before they partook of the flesh, a process which made Torias start crying again, because he just couldn't stand it anymore -- and they hadn't even touched him.
He didn't have to wait long for that to happen. Within moments, all five of their tongues appeared on his fur: shoulders, chest, legs, stomach, neck, and even his short tail. All five of them, and every square inch of him, except his face and genitals. He sobbed and his skin crawled, as the psychic cannibals began their torment.
The nakedness, being tied up like a lamb to be slaughtered, was bad enough. Now they were dressing him for their feast. His next horrible realization was that they they were lubricating him. There was a lot of licking going on in every entangled group he saw, and that was clearly why.
He tried yelling again, begging them to show some shred of sympathy. To his astonishment, their tongues left him, leaving a wet, cold after-touch... but not before Torias could do more than pant in terror three times. Then they were back on him. With their drooling from both pairs of their lips, he knew they had nothing but lust left.
There seemed to be a brief dispute among them who would take the first slice of hi tender flesh. The lamb didn't really care all that much, but as he looked at each female in turn, some seemed to be sending off different signals than others. He particularly hated a big, butch one on his left, who seemed to know exactly what she wanted, and how to get it.
And, as Torias had feared, she got to choose first. And much to his agony, it was clear from her body language that she chose his genitals. In return, another female, with whom she had been negotiating, walked up to his head, ratcheting up the sense in his pounding heart that he really would be killed when they were done with him.
Torias could not watch anymore. He could not bear to their feelings of uncontrolled lust and their ministrations upon his defenseless body. He did his best to prepare for the onslaught -- and failed when suddenly, the female just sat on his genitals without warning.
Torias groaned, squeezing more tears from his eyes as his skin began to burn. Her fur scraped against his, causing sharp sparks of high voltage to rush all over him. At the same time, he could smell a scent coming toward his nose of the other female, who he could not see -- but he couldn't look at, either.
She smelled floral, like the nurse, but not even a (presumed) shower could entirely covered the feral beast she was. Torias would have begged her; the scent almost made her seem civilized enough to entertain a plea or an argument. But her behavior crushed that idea in an instant.
Without any warning or words, she just sat on his face, demanding service with her body position. Torias almost choked, her fur just a sharp and needle-like as that of her companion -- who, Torias felt, was now positioning herself to take his cock into her body.
Torias could not give his front female anything, even if he wanted to. Terror and now raw, sharp, horrible pain, that made him groan with every breath would not let him. He did not want to know what was in store for him. He just wanted to lay there, and get it over with... to be eaten down to the bone.
He could feel her nudging, a soft patch of furless skin bumping into his nose. He ignored it; he was struggling to handle the tremendous burden of pain, while confining himself to panting instead of screaming. It took her a while to quit insisting, and say something to another female -- after which Torias' torture went up to a whole new level.
Moments later, at the encouragement of another female's voice, his jaws were pried apart, and a mental tube was pushed in. Torias tried to bite at first, foolishly, to close his jaws. But that hurt. So he tried to spit, but the wouldn't let him push it with his jaw muscles.
His head was petted by an invisible hand, which he imagined she thought was reassuring, but it wasn't. Instead, it just made him redouble the struggle at his bonds in a last act of desperation, as the tube bumped into his throat, and almost made him gag. He put all of his might into it, desperate to escape whatever would come next... and failed.
He was trapped. Panting through the tube, he wondered how long he would die from whatever was poured into his throat. But instead, the hyena above him moaned suddenly, and then pressed the tube into her lower lips. It turned out to be a device that would not fail to please.
Torias breathed through his nose, as he felt the crotch above him try to push the tube down his throat. It was all he could do to keep it from jamming against the roof of his mouth. When her body rose on a thrust, he grappled with it in his jaws, and eventually moved the tube so that he could rest the force with his teeth.
But just as he was about to relax a little, having accomplished this feat. The female below him stuck his penis where it was wet, and sticky, and hot.
The needles on his fur suddenly slashed him again, and were now amplified by a new burning sensation covering the furless skin of his penis and foreskin. It was hotter than hell inside of her, and he winced to try and contain the rush of brand new pain.
But this threw him off his tube control, and he was immediately rewarded with another thrust from the female above him smashing it into his gums instead of his teeth. As blood slowly ran into his mouth, Torias yelled -- which did nothing but make the female above him shudder from his hot breath in her vagina.
It was now, the moment that the lower female took another long thrust, and he panted even harder, that the vampires began to drain him of his will to live. They had created perhaps the ultimate torture: the more he suffered, the more they benefited. He had no recourse, no escape, and he soon felt, no reason to live.
Tears returned to his eyes and rested. Torias was beyond crying. He struggled merely to stay at all on this plane of existence. Between his bleeding gums, burning nuts, and the humping that now threatened his hips due to his bond angles, it was hard not to give up on it all; to make himself a sacrifice for this primitive tribe, where insane females had their way.
How many males, he wondered, were sacrificing themselves right now? How many were being held down and taken? How many were excited at the prospect of sex, only to be bound to someone they found repulsive? How many liked it up to a point, but were then held down and forced to finish? Or forced to make their partner finish multiple times?
How, he pondered through fading breath, could an entire tribe do this to themselves?
But such questions were all Torias could imagine. He had no answers. He could barley form a coherent thought at all. He could feel nothing but pain -- pain that made his mind reach out to anyone around him, real or imagined. Any pleasure, whatever the source, to counteract this pain, he needed.
As the female on the tube screamed, and drips ran into Torias' mouth, he reached out to her. He tried to understand her joy; a source of light and sublime ecstasy. Her pleasure was a fire, the flame of a candle built upon a tube for a wick, and Torias' fast-melting body.
He could hear it -- in her breathing, in her guttural noises, in the rhythms of her body as she slowed at last -- her spirit was ignited. It was alight. The sacrificial ritual of these natives had produced the next result. As his minds eye saw, and his ears heard and skin felt her get off, the female below him also began to ignite, her spirit bursting into flame with a yell.
But it was hard to think about her, as a new spiritual vampire now took the position of the old, and began to partake of another part of his body.
He felt his body starting to slip. The pains and terrors were eroding him away. He would be gone, soon, he knew. There was nothing left to fight for. He tried to focus on the pleasure for them -- the goodness that came from his sacrifice. The idea that it was not in vain.
His body was just a tool to be used, a candle to be lit, for some greater purpose. He was committing the most noble act possible in the GDF: sacrificing his body for something greater. That was what he had to believe to keep from committing suicide, as the humping, grinding, chewing on his soul, and cracking through his shell continued.
These two were even more voracious in their appetites than the last two. They were already dripping when they started, as he could feel and taste. And Females took an impossibly long time to orgasm. He had learned from an ex-girlfriend how to please them correctly, which had served him well, and that was a major key: patience.
When it became difficult to think about them anymore, his mind tried to reach out even further. He tried to concentrate on detaching his mind from his body, suffering its horrific fate, but all it took to return him was a drip of blood from the pipe in his mouth hitting his gums, due to an imperfection in his hold.
Minute after minute, hump after hump the one on his mouth finally orgasmed. It took another agony of many minutes for the one on his dick to do the same. He fantasized that, once she did, she would pull out a knife, and stab him in the heart. It would hurt, but far less than his current torment.
Before the next female above him got on, he dared take the pipe, and put it between his teeth. It was hard to bite on, and he expected she would hump too hard, and just choke him with it. Then, the horror would all be over. No more Torias Burns. No one would see him anymore, except the medical examiner.
Finally, as he felt the tube jam into his throat -- but not choke him? -- his brain gave up. Torias' last thoughts were that he was ready; he wondered what their shaman would say happened next...
***
But instead, he woke up.
Torias found himself, quite drowsy, in a hospital bed. He was still in this life. He didn't seem to be hurting anymore, but his gums felt very strange, and it was hard to move his jaw without them aching. He knew he should be in pain, but somehow, he wasn't. Obviously, they had given him something for that.
However, it did not cure a terrible sense he could not shake: he still felt like killing himself. He felt like the females had removed some emotional part of him, something that had kept him able to enjoy life. For now, every single thing reminded Torias of what had happened to him.
The blanket reminded him of their caresses. The needle in his arm, which had appeared without his memory, was injecting him against his will. Unable to stop thinking about what happened, in a half daze, he got the sense he could never look at spotted fur again without feeling complete, paralyzing terror.
He could not live like this. He could not live at all. Torias believed that what had happened to him, caused a pain so deep and unfixable that nothing was worth it anymore; but killing himself would now be too much work right now. His lethargy, induced by the medication, was keeping him alive.
The nurse was walking around, and writing things down, as if nothing had happened. He stared, unable to speak, but almost started crying looking at her spots. When he looked at her face, something in the back of his mind said she was at fault.
She never touched him, but she was just as guilty as they were. For her words seemed well chosen: "They're not going to jump on you, as long as I am here." And she left. She knew what would happen, and she left anyway.
But now there was a new figure in the room: a tall, somewhat overweight golden eagle. He, at least, was not hard to look at. His feathers, what Torias could see of them underneath the white coat, were a comforting dark brown, and had a texture completely different than fur. But Torias knew he couldn't talk to birds the rest of his life...
The Doctor talked quietly to someone in the bed to Torias' left -- who Torias didn't want to look at -- and then walked over to him.
"I'm glad you're awake," he whispered with a contented smile, "we were both quite worried about you, Melaina and I."
Torias presumed that must be the nurse, and flinched.
"How are you feeling?"
It was such a simple question, with such a long and terrible answer, Torias didn't know what to say. The only answer he gave was a quiet groan.
"I know," sighed the doctor, patting Torias through his blanket -- which made wince a little. "That's the morphine. It should be wearing off soon, and you'll feel better after that. Do you remember what happened?"
Oh, did Torias remember -- well, at least part of it. Enough of it. He didn't need to know what happened after that, really. And that fact seemed more important to him that his memory.
As a result, he told the Doctor with a slur, "yes... and I want you to kill me."
The Doctor responded gently, as if he were hearing about a medical condition, "may I ask why you want me do that?"
"I... can't be happy anymore," Torias managed to answer in spite of his desire not to move a single muscle.
"I wouldn't sell yourself short," offered the falcon, "But we can talk later." He walked away to the next bed... and Torias felt very alone.
But not for long. "How are you doing?" asked the next patient.
"I'm here," he answered -- an answer worth giving, because the voice Torias found incredibly familiar. He knew it was Rehaman, but he could not bring himself to look at the spots. The hyena sounded a little less tired than he did, but otherwise in the same condition.
In spite of his ordeal, Torias knew in the back of his mind that males would have been far worse. At the very least, it would have meant another sore spot under his tail. He was feeling what his friend was surely suffering... but could not think about the pain of anyone else when his own continued to consume him.
"I hope I saved you," Rehaman murmured, "from ... being terrible."
No, Torias thought coldly, he didn't. His sacrifice was in vain. It only bought time. He was at least sensible enough not to say anything in response, except, "I hope it didn't hurt too bad."
Silence. Torias decided he was thinking the same thing, and just rolled over and tried to find sleep somewhere in his brain.
But before he could get very far, he heard someone enter -- wearing a lot of stuff not like a GDF uniform, that rustled a lot and clanked a little.
"My son," gently addressed a female voice -- which would have made Torias jump were he less sedated -- "I would like to say, I am sorry."
He turned to see the Shaman-ess, the last person who should apologize to him for anything.
But before Torias could protest, she continued, in a whispering voice, quite close to his ear. "I tell-ed them to not touch you. I really did. But they did not listen..."
Her words seemed breathless, as if she was absorbing all the grief he was unable to feel.
"My son," she whispered, "may I just touch you?"
Torias recoiled inside. "No," he groaned.
He felt the hand without seeing it, as she was behind him, and he was on his side. At least, he tried to tell himself, it was on the blanket -- it was not really touching him.
"My son," she continued, "anything I can do, I will. Many are hurt like you. I take care of them."
But Torias just wanted to save her the effort and kill himself -- something he still couldn't say out loud, but the hand pushed him further toward. His skin crawled. He wanted to run away, but he was too tired.
He did at least manage to express a more immediate and simpler desire, "I want to leave, and never come back," Torias whined, "and never to see you anymore."
The hand stopped moving, and picked up. "Do not anger," she begged, a note of worry in her voice.
"I am not angry," answered Torias truthfully with a small slur, "but the way for it never to happen again, is I never come back."
It was a little awkward but it came out of his mouth. He heard her bow, suggesting comprehension.
"Just remember," she repeated, "anything I can do, I will."
"I know," answered Torias.
It took him a moment to remember "thank you" -- but by then she was already gone. And that was just fine with him. Her presence bothered him, at some new level of sensitivity he had never known before. Just like everyone but that Doctor.
Besides, when he thought about it, he knew there was nothing she could do. She could yell all she wanted, and they would still celebrate the First Day of Spring as always. The GDF had no authority to punish his assailants, meaning he had no recourse as a military officer. If he shed his uniform and dealt with it personally -- which he knew wouldn't help -- he would just get put in prison.
It was clear: the easiest way out was to kill himself. And all he needed to do that was more morphine.
"Nuuuurrrrrse," he groaned with with strength he could. But it was the doctor who approached.
"No no, nurse," he insisted.
"I'm here, what is it?"
"I want..." he repeated weakly, "need morphine."
The moment he said it, he knew how transparent it was, having told this doctor he would kill himself.
"Sorry, you've had your limit for today. You need to be sharp to talk to the JAG officer coming in later today."
The smiled he used to say those words suggested they were supposed to make Torias feel better, but it didn't work. "There is no point. Please, Doc, I'm miserable. Morrrphiiiiine."
"I'm sorry, but your limit is your limit," stated the Doctor just as calmly. "If you really, really insist on killing yourself, you will have to wait. After all, you wouldn't want me to be an accomplice and go to jail, would you?"
That word, jail, seemed to awaken something in Torias. "Everyone should," he whimpered, "for making me be this miserable!" Tears formed in his eyes. "I can't stand it anymore," he gasped, his jaw trembling, "please just kill me. I want to die..."
The bird leaned down, and sat on his bed, as Torias cried into his pillow. All he knew was that life was horrible -- for absolutely no intelligible reason. But he could feel the fear, as if the females were just around the corner, waiting for another taste of him...
It took a while before the storm of misery subsided. The lion only felt better, in that he didn't hurt so badly anymore. He still thought everything was miserable, but not painful. The Doctor's presence sitting conservatively beside his tail, seemed to do him good.
It was because of this presence, he finally had the courage to ask, "... why, Doc? Why am I like this?"
"Because," whispered bird, "you have experienced a horror that is unlike almost any in life. Many recover, and I suspect you will too. You are strong. But it will take some time... if you will give yourself the chance."
"You mean... I won't always feel like this?" "Almost certainly not," he answered.
With some occasional checks on the other patients, the falcon mainly did his greatest duty: giving light counseling where it was most needed. It seemed like no time, between a nap and just listening to the falcon's voice, before Torias heard a helicopter.
Obviously, Torias thought, this JAG officer was important enough they would risk scaring the natives. He was feeling much more alert and awake by now -- though it seemed that his sensitivities, both physical and emotional, were unchanged. Ho got his IV needle removed, and a tourniquet put on the hole, and stood up. He was physically able, but mentally, it was pointless to do so.
It was when the sky began to darken, the very beginning of sunset, when a crisp and proper JAG officer walked in.
"Now where," he stated with a nasal voice as sharp and proper as his uniform, "is Mister, Torias, Burns?"
Torias calmly raised his hand until the weasel saw it, and briskly walked over.
"Good afternoon," he bowed, his uniform folding perfectly on a seam, "I understand you have a complaint."
Torias seemed to have all the energy sucked out of him by the weasel's very presence, but he knew he had to try. "Any place more private we could talk?" he asked.
"Certainly, this way," he said, stepping quickly out of the room.
He paused when he saw that Torias was still getting out of bed, but never the less, walked just as quickly into the Captain's messy, but now empty, office.
Torias closed the door, just as slowly as he had moved to get there, and then just said, "I've been ... raped." It took quite a mental force to get the word out of his mouth.
"That's terrible," stated the otter, pulling out his digital pad with detachment, "tell me about it."
Torias, at this critical point, froze. Part of it was hard to face; part of it was hard to organize; part of it was the fact that this perfect model of an officer, who projected an existence of privilege, was the one who he had to tell.
"I actually would like the Captain brought up on charges," he stated weakly.
"And what would those be?" asked the nasal voice.
"Well, he let it happen. He knew it would happen. And I don't know, but he might have encouraged it to happen."
He told, quite easily, of what happened with the shaman-ess, and the soup. The weasel nodded, and wrote everything down on the pad. He seemed to be thinking.
"Were there any other witnesses to this event?" he asked.
"Um, I think Rehaman might have been there, but I don't remember clearly. He was in the Captain's office a lot."
"Well in that case, you had better get those two to do some flying, or we don't have much of a case here."
Torias nodded without thinking. "I can do that," he answered.
"Now, suppose the judge would let you choose, what would you want to happen to the Captain?"
This seemed like a rather odd question, but Torias felt his sense resurge -- the thought of jail giving him its strange energy once again. "I want him in prison," he stated coldly, trembling a little at the thought.
"You'll get it. Anything else?"
Torias was surprised at that.
"Yes he will," answered the weasel, responding to Torias' face. "Apparently, he raped one of the other officers too, and so he will be getting a long list against him."
Was that why the nurse never came? Torias thought.
"And what about you? What do you want for you, now that you know you are probably entitled to compensation?"
But Torias felt his mental block still there. Some part of him still wanted to kill himself. But now he seemed to know that was a bad idea, at some level. He wanted to try out recovery first. That meant, after a long and nervous pause, Torias said four words he never thought he would say: "I want a shrink."
"You'll be out of here tomorrow morning, and seeing one by tomorrow afternoon."
That was just what he wanted to hear -- which made it seeme too easy. "If I might ask," he stated, "how do you know it will go well?"
"Because I have single-handedly ended what was an epidemic 10 years ago: officers raping non-coms, especially in remote areas. I know how this works. I know judges who understand how it works. And I can tell you, this one will be punished quite severely."
Torias nodded. And barely resisted tearing up until he could get back to his bed, and out of the weasel's sight. These tears, at least, were for someone making his life worth living.
The End.