FSE

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Written by Choice Cuts Deli

Commission for Anonymous | October 2020 | 2785 Words

Our race came to greatness upon the industriousness and self-sacrifice of those who came before. We work in concert, no job too low, no work beneath us, to benefit ourselves and the Citadel Council. Arrulius mulled over these thoughts as he lay naked in bed, the tall-bodied Turian officer sighing as he lay in the dark twilight before morning. We work selflessly, organized and regimented, the needs of our people met by the machinery of our government. With a soft sigh, he tapped on the data pad next to his bed, the screen awakening to show an official document. "Officer Arrulius Quiion, C-Sec Citadel Fleet, you are hereby reassigned. By order of the Hierarchy, report to Processing Center 42." There was no ambiguity in what happened at the various processing centers. When one's civic duty had been expended, one still had a body to give to the cause.

Arrulius sighed softly as he swung his legs out from the bed, his lanky Turian limbs planted firmly on the floor as he decided against jerking off. If he was to go, he wanted to gamble on whether or not he could enjoy himself before the end came at last. After putting on a simple set of clothing, he set out into the streets of The Citadel for one last time, as the morning sun rose from behind the planet the massive station orbited. Busy walkways and streets, familiar faces from all reaches of the galaxy, Arrulius knew he was leaving it all behind, but his public service was not to be ignored. It wasn't simply making peace with the end, Arrulius embraced it. And the way his arousal stirred when he approached Processing Center 42, he knew he was ready to meet his end.

The Processing Center was designed to be as nondescript as possible from the exterior, just another Civic Corps building with brutal walls and metal ducting venting into The Citadel's reclamation systems. Scanning his badge at the door, the green light allowed the former C-Sec Officer through, right into the waiting hands of his handler.

Turians were normally taller and heavier than humankind, but Sarik Toridia was a brute, far larger than his low-gravity peers. His thick body, fleshed out under the sinewy muscles of his Turian form, left Arrulius feeling miniscule by comparison. His smart uniform, that of a Civil Corps engineer, was a little disarming, considering his job often involved manhandling live beings to their end in the processing plant. But one look into Arrulius's eyes and he knew this one would be different. This one wouldn't struggle.

"Greetings Citizen Quiion," Sarik said with a low growl, eyes looking up and down the Turian's carapaced form, immediately noticing the half-chub arousal behind his civillian pants. "You do the spirit of The Citadel proud for your Service."

"Th- Thank you, Sir." Arrulius said, mustering a smile, his mandibles curling at the edges as he offered a salute to the one who would end him. "I have done all I can to put my affairs in order and make peace with my future."

"There is no need to worry. Come, you are early for your appointment... Allow me to show you what awaits you." As he turned to lead Arrulius down the sterile halls of the industrial building, the former officer got a good look at his future executioner. His thick form was beautiful, a defined rump and muscled body. Interestingly, not only was his face adorned with the traditional tattoos signifying his colonial heritage. The engineer also decorated his carapace, hand-drawn with striking purple and feathery white paint. "With the downsizing of the Turian C-Sec contribution, we have been tasked with the reprocessing of those who cannot be reassigned. Our primary products are dextro-proteins and radiation shielding" Turning back around, the beastly engineer ushered Arrulius into Control Room 4, smiling broadly.

"And, uh... forgive me, Sir..." Arrulius scratched the back of his head as he peered into the room. A bank of computers and monitors sat against the back wall. A large blast-resistant glass window situated on the right of the room, with a single metal door connecting the control room to something next door. "I have never been good at biology."

"Heh... you are going to be pressure cooked to death, processed into your carapace plates and Varren Chow to feed the Krogan war-beasts. Our contribution to keep the Krogan pacified yet longer." It was then that Arrulius realized the deeper significance of Sarik's painted body, a deep-seated pride in his work, signified by the wispy white lines emanating off his arms and legs. They were steam-like, his very body built to tease his future victims, acknowledging the fact that his job hinged upon the power of pressure and heat. It was not lost on Arrulius, whose arousal perked even more visibly as he stepped inside the Control Room.

Inside the room he could hear a low drone, a rumble that resonated within the walls itself. Steam. Hot steam flowed through pipes behind the walls, the sound very faintly rich with the sound of screaming. It was soft, feint enough Arrulius wondered if he imagined it. But the array of monitors on the wall each represented a life being taken, reprocessed into mush to feed fishdogs.

Sarik smirked as he stepped up behind Arrulius, planting his hands on the condemned Truian's shoulders and ushering him towards the discolored glass window. Behind it was a behemoth of a machine, snaking metal tubes fitted down to a solid metal cylinder laid on its side, the inside built with a grate a few inches from the nozzle-studded bottom. Standing before the open entry port, a simple glass hatch acting as a gangplank that led inside the machine, was a familiar face. Ensign Teras, a young officer who Arrulius had worked with previously, stood naked and aroused as an attendant finished the last checks, his carapace already damp with moisture as he was told to step inside the machine. Placing his hands on the window, Arrulius gasped as he felt Sarik press his body close from behind, his hips grinding against the former officer's rump as he growled softly.

"Do not worry... they cannot see or hear us... your honor will remain intact..." Arrulius shuddered as he felt the warm breath hiss past his ear, the engineer's mandibles clicking softly as he spoke. "You need not hide it, Arrulius..." Slowly his three-fingered hand slipped around Arrulius's hip, rubbing slowly along his thin midriff. His taloned fingers curled down below his waistband until they gripped the tender flesh of Arrulius's cock.

Heart fluttering, the fishdog-chow-to-be gasped, his head lifting softly as he allowed his executioner to stroke him, slow and steady, teasing the thick Turian cock out from his pants. Sarik let his taloned thumb rub up along the cleft of Arrulius's shaft until it teased open his slit, a thin dribble of milky precum coating his fingertip as he idly played with the head. Arrulius unconsciously pressed backwards, his ass grinding soft against the engineer's groin, the brutish Turian's own arousal growing hot under his uniform as he did. Ensign Turas gave one last look back over his shoulder to the dark glass window, before stepping forwards and into the gaping mouth of the horrid machine, the metal still warm and slick with the proteins of its last victim as he climbed inside. Kneeling, he turned around to watch the attendant slowly lifting and closing the hatch, his own arousal clearly visible through the glass as each of the many heavy locks were thrown on the hatch, tightening down the rubber gasket to ensure a perfect seal. The condemned Turian placed a hand on the glass, his other hand unconsciously reaching down to stroke himself, the soft sound of his final jerking off audible to Arrulius and Sarik through microphones placed strategically inside the death chamber.

"Ohhh... I... I am going to get to watch his processing?" Arrulius asked softly as he felt his shaft being toyed with, his question answered as the machine began to rumble as it spooled up. Sarik didn't bother to elaborate, instead deciding to tug down the waistband of his pants and free his own arousal, his powerful body pressed against Arrulius's thinner frame as he began to tease himself against the tender hole of his next victim. The metal tubes above began to creak and groan, building up their pressure slowly, Arrulius's eyes going wide as he watch the first tender wisps of steam snake out from the nozzles, looking like an otherworldly fog curling around Turas's ankles and knees as he felt the torturous steam building below him. Just as the machine began to groan, thick metal shuddering as the machine readied to do its job, Arrulius felt Sarik press his thick cock hard against his hole, the pre-slick cockhead threatening to push right inside. Closing his eyes, Arrulius shuddered as he felt his tight ass yield, taking the full eight inches of his executioner's shaft just as the machine roared to life.

Turas's swelling excitement, his devotion to his own personal public service, soon turned to agony as his body was bathed in steam, a hot woosh of white filling the small death chamber. He threw himself forward, pounding on the glass door, pressing his water-soaked face and body hard against it. Arrulius could see his eyes through the glass, the sensitive globes the first to cook, stark white and jelly-like as he bumped and pounded, helplessly against the chamber door crying out in incoherent pleas. Every stark scream filled his lungs with hot steam, quickly turning his cries to wet and gurgling coughing fits. And all the while, Sarik thrust, pounding his lusty fishdog-chow, hitting that pleasure spot just right to force his victim to moan and shiver amidst the melodious cries of death. Arrulius's cock throbbed in Sarik's slender fingers, the engineer's stroking picking up as he watched horrid death unfold before him.

Turas struggled, flopping visibly in the gaping maw of the machine like a fish as condensing water began to boil under the grate, poaching his body alive. His screams and cries were beautifully audible, both over the microphone and in tinny resonance through the piping in the walls, a strange melody by which the two fucked and rutted, raw and eager. But as quickly as it mounted, the screaming and hissing stopped all at once. The torture did not stop, of course. Turas was still alive and still thrashed, soft 'thud... thud... thump...' noises were still audible through the microphone. But the moment the pressure cooker reached the boiling point, the machine sealed off tight, valves clenching and closing off Turas to the rest of the world, sealing in the last gasps and struggles of the dying Turian. Mercifully, as the pressure rose higher and higher, bursting his lungs, his suffering settled down, twitching muscles finally coming to a quiet stillness as the heat did its job and began to break down the former ensign. His hand flopped softly against the glass, as if beckoning Arrulius, the rest of his body still where it lay on the grate at long last.

Sarik growled as he picked up the pace of his rutting, moaning as he hissed through his teeth, "...and like that, he is no more... F-fuck, nothing can survive the pressure cooker... and look close there.." Arrulius could see it, the high pressure already causing his blueish dextro-proteins to soften, the dripping wet flesh beginning to melt and slop off his finger bones from the pressure, drooling down the glass as a soft goo of stringy meat proteins.

"A-ahhh... ohhh... that- that..." Arrulius could feel his own mounting pressure, panting as Sarik edged him closer and closer, thrusting quicker each time.

"That will be you." It was all he needed to say to push Arrulius hard over the edge, his hot seed spattering onto the plate glass window, hot ropes of cum spattering out messily. Sarik felt the tight involuntary clench of his tight ass, and unable to contain himself, he finally came inside of Arrulius, giving his next victim one last orgasm as he watched his death chamber work with hot efficiency. The two stood, panting in a tight embrace as the machine wound down, steam hissing and venting out the tubes, once again adding to the melodious low drone of the building. This time, there were no screams to underscore the sound. Just steam, venting and hissing away into The Citadel's water reclamation system. When the pressure dropped to a safe level, the attendant stepped forward to carefully open the machine, giving Arrulius a good look at what would come of his remains.

Turas was no more, his body reduced to its constituent parts. Gooey and sloppy meat practically oozed as the attendant sloughed it forward with a shovel to a collection trough. Glistening bone rattled softly inside the plated exoskeleton. The steam-cleaned metallic carapice was the only recognizable part of his body left after the torturous process, his tattoed markings all but erased by the seething heat. The plates would easily be repurposed into low-level radiation armor.

Sarik smiled as he hugged Arrulius from behind, turning his head to point towards the monitors, the camera marked Processing Room 4 pointed down at an industrial canning machine. There was no way to tell if it was Turas or not, but the flesh, organs and sinew were uniquely Turian, tinted with a light blue as it was chopped and slopped into tight 1.5 lb cans, each one heated and sealed before being labeled simply, "Varren Feed - Dextro-Protein." Hardly a traditional memorial, but it is how Arrulius would find himself laid to rest soon enough.

"Mmmm... Nameless, faceless... your end will come in the same cans... Your public service ends there, Arrulius." Quietly, Arrulius leaned himself back against Sarik's powerful form, resting in his grip as the two caught their breath.

"I... I am ready, Sir... Thank- thank you." Arrulius's voice was sincere, proud as he spoke. Almost swollen with pride as he knew that it was his civic duty.

The door leading from Control Room 4 into the pressure chamber, illuminated with a soft green glow, the lock unlatching to signify it was time. Stripping out of his clothes, Arrulius placed each piece of clothing in a provided collection bin, before offering one last goodbye smile to Sarik. As the door opened, he could sense the heat and humidity all around him, a unique and almost clinical smell clinging to the air as he stepped inside the room. The machine seemed so much bigger when standing next to it, the realization sinking in that there would be no escape from the machine. It would do its job, and he would die.

Turning back towards the control room, Arrulius gasped as he realized he had been lied to. The glass of Control Room 4 was not one-way. Turas had seen everything before he died. And he passed on knowing that the next Turian in line received a goodbye fuck. Arrulius watched with bated breath as Sarik dipped his talons into the splotch of his own cum, drooling down the glass window, and began to lewdly jerk off in front of his victim, a wry smirk on his face as he mouthed, "Put on a good show, Citizen" through the window. Already, Arrulius felt his shaft stir, his own hand gently reaching to stroke himself one more time as he stepped up the glass hatch and into the bowels of the machine.

His breath caught on his throat, Arrulius perhaps a little impressed at the size of the death chamber. It was big enough to hold a Turian, so long as he knelt inside. The metal grate was uncomfortable, and slick with fluids, but that would be the least of his worries as the attendant began to close and tighten the hatch. Heart beating faster, Arrulius knelt, legs spread and hand furiously stroking his shaft, his slender fingers working to try one last time. The microphones even caught his last words. "Please... just one more time..."

From inside, the spool-up process was so much louder, the nozzles below him whisping steam about his ankles as he tried to focus on his lust. The heat grew, from warm, to hotter, too hot... Sweat drooled down his face as he locked eyes with Sarik one last time, the gorgeous engineer nursing his arousal with rapt interest. Closer and closer he edged, just as he felt his balls tighten, the rush of orgasm so close...

WOOSH. Everything went white. And Arrulius's screams joined the chorus of the building, as he performed his civic duty.

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