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Sick City Hotline (Go to voice mail!)

by The Brain of Lazarus

Mistake no killer.

There is a way to them. Something that lives in their eyes and changes them, their bodies, their movements. Some fear what they become and twitch, shiver, like weak little animals rejecting themselves. Others, they embrace it. Command the organism that is they, themselves. Once you put metal to flesh, let blood roam, baptize the ground with your sin, that is all. There's no going back. All that's left is to become animal.

And Langer, he could tell she was animal.

Perhaps that was an unfair observation. After all, she was, literally, animal. Chimera breed. Vixen cloaked in fur deep as midnight, with long, flowing hair and with a flash of pale, white silver in her bangs. Striking eyes, deathly little things of icy blue, always staring, a predator's gaze. Experience and age roamed through her body. Mid 30's give or take, with a woman's shape. Vixens especially, they always seemed to nestle into wide hips and hefty busts. No exception here.

Her movements were aggressive, young. Snappish, commanding of her stature. She didn't wear her age at all. In demeanor maybe, but you'd figure her for some pretty skirt to chase on the streets. Langer was sure, at some point, that same mistake was made by a randy chap she'd left to fester in the guts of this city.

Or was it many? Well, that was something she did better than most; he could smell the bloody memories on her, but he couldn't grasp how seasoned this frisky vix was. She hid that well. Occupational hazard. Or requirement? Had more in common with her than he first figured.

"A fine nest of fuck you do business in." he'd say, adjusting himself in the hard wood chair he sat in.

He didn't like it, this room. Small, choking, right in the bowels of Old York. The roaming, weighty scent of alcohol and cigarettes stung his senses and the dim lighting kept things blurred, out of focus. An all but worthless fan slowly whipped the air and layers of papers spilled around the office floor, stacked with names, pictures, marks circled in red, the temperamental scrawls of a private investigator.

That's who she was. A private investigator. A spook, an alley ghoul, the fingers that stole samples from a crime scene. And she knew something.

Alica Blyte. He'd remember the name.

She regarded him with a cool smirk. Cross legged, long beige coat hung over the far more comfortable and lavish chair she sat in. A massive pane window revealing the chilly, crying rain behind her, snaky tail of ashtray smoke dancing around her.

"'Pologies that my office isn't up to standards of a wanted killer, Mr. Sedge."

His fingers curled. His jacket felt heavier, shoes like iron. Realization. How the fuck. . .

"How do you know who I am?"

His tone was a wrestle between curiosity and threat. Langer had been asked. . . well, more like lured here, all because of a simple slip of cardboard. A small card with a name, an address, and on the back, a scarlet inverted triangle, that's all it took. Given to him in the dizziness of booze and bar noise. And, it wasn't just that this midnight fox was aware of The Answer, it's that she was aware of Langer, and his "predicament."

"Mr. Sedge," she'd lean forward, folding hands together, "I'm the best fucking detective in this city. And I don't work for the police, I don't need them. Let's just say, my methods are more 'practical,' and, really, you leave one sloppy trail."

These distinctions felt irrelevant. Police, investigations, what did it matter? She knew about one of the most obscure collectives of killers in the nation, perhaps the world. Their kind was a horror film mystery.

"But maybe you've always been that way, maybe you're not a cleaner. Seems like, at some point, there was a loss of talent somewhere," she went on, clearly amused, "Would it be presumptuous of me to assume you're having family trouble, Mr. Sedge?"

The human blinked. This was, well. Impressive. At the same time it was telling. The Answer took care of its kind, left no trace.

But Langer didn't carry the banner of the Red Triangle, not anymore.

"You know a lot, fox. You sure you want to keep talking?"

She chuckled. "Oh I want to do more than that. I want you to talk with me. After all, looks like something happened after, mmm. . ."

Alica rustled with a few loose folders on her desk, fingers tracing over paper.

"Ah. Castelle?"

Langer was blindsided. Almost enraged. How did she know? Where did she find this information? The thought of this little red-district spook getting her fingers into something so. . . so goddamn personal. If it was any other person, anyone else, he'd kill them now. Pry them open with his bare hands. But something here was different, so, he remained seated, though growing tenser by the second.

The vixen sniffed it out. Humans were so awful at hiding their feelings. She grinned sadistically, bearing sharp, pearly teeth.

"And since then, Mr. Sedge, you just couldn't stay in touch with your family anymore. Had a few violent runs up the northeast coast. Even tried to kill one of your own. . ."

He grit his teeth. She knew about one of the Messengers too, the one he put down as a metaphorical middle-finger to The Answer.

"Succeeded." he corrected sharply.

"Oooh I know," said Alica, her tone growing giddier by the second, "And thank goodness I had connections, because otherwise FBI and god knows who else would be all over the body. Lucky for you I have it locked up in morgue, along with all the precious information the poor fuck had on him."

Langer felt numb, almost in shock. How could someone have this many connections? Or was she bluffing? Well, it hardly mattered. A two bit skank couldn't put the squeeze on him. That much she would have to know, because otherwise this was going to end bloody. He continued to regard her silently, waiting for the point.

"Only someone like you could've known how to draw another triad-grunt out of the dark, Mr. Sedge. Question is, why?"

She nestled herself in chair, lighting a cig while propping cheek to fist. Her grin faded to a twisted smile.

"The pattern of these triad murders has always been excessively secret. But you've broken every rule this gang has set up m'betting. No one's cleaning up after you anymore, Mr. Sedge. It sounds like you want out. Am I right?"

Pauses. For a few moments, the only sound was the light huffs of breath and patter of rain hitting window, the hum of monotonous fan, the crack of fingers as they clenched.

"You've got questions," Langer would finally say. "I've got The Answer. But you first, fox,"

He stared at her darkly. "The hell is this? The fuck are you getting at and what do you want? Think hard, girl, because if I don't like what I hear I'm going to answer you by pulling you apart from the inside out."

Less intimidation and more promise. He knew this wouldn't frighten her, she was already a creature of death. A black vixen that courted danger. But she needed to know the rules of this game if they would continue to play.

She unfastened her tie before speaking, as if preparing for something. She took a long pause herself, but, less from apprehension and more to phrase her words precisely.

"I want to help you Mr. Sedge, but I want you to help me too," Her smile vanished, her face grew serious. Dangerous, deathly, her stare fixed on him like prey.

"You probably don't realize how valuable you are. The knowledge of your 'organization,' little or small as it is, would have the attention of every major investigating body in the nation,"

"But that's such shit. You wouldn't give them anything. You'd spend years in court if you were caught, all your talents going to waste. If your gang didn't get to you first, boredom certainly would, yeah?"

Langer felt himself. . . ease. Help was not the word he expected. Yes, it was true. He wanted answers. He wanted THE Answer. He wanted out, if such a thing were possible. But the rest? That took him off guard. She was right in every respect, though in a bizarre, frightening way. Only a killer could understand the tedium of living without bloodshed.

"In short, Mr. Sedge, I want to keep your talents to myself. I want you, specifically. You're a gold mine of information that I can use to find whoever is responsible for uh, 'hiring' you. Or indoctrinating, whatever," she gestured, hand waiving dismissively.

He grunted, unsatisfied.

"Seems like you get all the benefits here, fox. Also seems like you fancy blackmail. What, I don't play ball and you turn me in?"

Alica chuckled. "You don't play ball and you go back to whatever it was you were doing. I doubt anyone will stop hunting you, though. Police, gangs, enemies you make. Let's just say I can get you some amnesty, Mr. Sedge. Give you some breathing room to sharpen those knives of yours."

Langer still wasn't sure. But again, she was right. The Answer had extensive methods to find a mark. He'd be fighting a never ending battle with no end in sight, no way to get out. No time to think or move or plan. But he wasn't completely convinced.

"And? So you mentioned my talents, huh. Putting stock in a killer seems risky, even for you. What are you really getting out of this?"

Her sneer returned. She took a few more puffs of her cigarette, before stamping it out. Again she'd lean toward him.

"Already told you, I get you. But to expand, I also get power. An edge over other investigation agencies, FBI. I get a killer in my pocket. I get information."

At least she was honest, but to the human, it sounded less and less beneficial.

"And I get, what, a hiding place?"

Alica nodded. "Safety, yes. Information about the heads in charge of your triangle-fucking organization too, I won't keep it all. Oh, and of course, you'll be paid extremely well."

Langer adjusted again, crossing his arms. Most of what she said didn't seem to sweeten the deal. He certainly couldn't deny wanting to cut apart those in charge for killing his precious Chelle. Of course he was a realist too; you can't make a shadow bleed. So, her offer felt lacking in comparison.

"I'm not interested in money," he replied flatly, hoping the vix had something better than this.

She laughed, tossing her head. "I didn't say anything about money."

His gray eyes wandered to meet the gaze of the investigator.

"I'm listening, then."

There was a moment where her stature as an individual in power. . . switched. Something changed. Her thick bush tail began to sway against the frame of her chair and she seemed quite pleased with whatever was bubbling in her head.

"Well, simply put Mr. Sedge, you get a private fuck vixen."

His brow rose. Muddy words running through a muddy head. "Eh?"

Her legs seemed to tighten. Squeeze even. A twinge of dark pleasure laced her tone.

"You heard me. Again, a private vixen. To fuck. Specifically, me," she replied, with such nonchalance and casual grace it hardly seemed correct. The human watched her, carefully. Parts of him were abruptly enticed, yes, but also cautious. A woman could be dangerous. A woman who was a killer doubly so.

"You're offering to pay me with sex?"

She chuckled, a bit more sultrily. "Let me try to put it another way."

"I pay handsomely, Mr. Sedge. You kill for me, you get me information, expect to be treated well. And I don't mean some randy little bed romp," she went on, almost in distaste with the latter, "I mean whenever and whatever you want."

Alica seemed to grow enthused as she talked. "You want me to dance for you? Done. Walk around in nothing but heels and serve you drinks? Tell me how my ass looks. You want me to crawl around like a dog and bark? Oh please, baby, get the collar and leash."

The words took their time to sink. Pools of pure sexual liquid dripped into Langer's subconscious desires. Damn. What was it about chimera that always clicked? Females especially. Vixen females especially.

Still, sex was not the be all end all for him.

"That seems overly generous," Langer would muse. "Alright, I admit, I like your style fox. But you think maybe you're going overboard? What's to stop someone from exploiting what you're giving?"

Really, this was certainly one way to bend the knee when you were holding the crown. Seemed like she was asking to be taken advantage of.

"Concerned? How sweet. But don't coddle me, human. Money doesn't speak to you, but instinct and desire, that certainly does. We're dealing with excessive terms, and that warrants excessive pay,"

She'd stare at him, eyes meeting eyes. "Trust me, you get this because I let you get it. I'll let you fuck me on demand, provided you've done your part of the job first. You want me to suck your nuts on a park bench in public? Fine, but know that I'm the one calling the shots."

Langer would offer the driest of chuckles. "So you say."

She was bold too, the human found. If she wasn't afraid of exposing herself, to him, or even in public, what kind of connections did she have? Or was she just foolish? No, no. There was a dangerous certainty to every word. Offering up sexual talent seemed so menial to her, despite its supposed nature. A common man or lout would call her a slut but, he'd likely be dead too.

"And so you'll do," she added. "Now, I think you've used up enough of my time. Those are my terms, very simple to understand, even for you."

He snorted. She thought highly of herself. Damn vixens always did, proud mischief makers.

"Alright," he'd concede with a shrug. "Fair terms I guess. If you wanna be my squeeze and I get to kill again, fine."

Alica tilted her head, cocking an eyebrow. "Interesting. Most men in your situation might sound more thrilled, Mr. Sedge."

He sniffed. "Call me Langer. And don't take offense, fox. Some fellas think with their dick, and it's that kinda guy who ends up getting fucked in the end."

"How poetic. . . Langer."

The rain seemed to pick up, spattering the glass pane harder now, cold city winds whipping against the frame. A storm was brewing.

"Hmph. You being an 'anytime' gal is nice and all, but not very practical for my uh, means. But, all the same, can't turn it down. Guess you're a business partner."

For now, he'd think. The idea of this vix having more than her share of knowledge was dangerous enough. She had plans, he could see. She wanted lesser ends removed. Alica Blyte had some kind of end game and Langer certainly wasn't interested in seeing where it went. Still, she was smart, cunning. He'd need that to outsmart an agency which, for all he knew, might not have been an agency in the first place.

"I think you'll change your tune once you start making dividends," the midnight fox would hint. "Speaking of, I'd rather not waste any time. You ready to work for me now?"

His gray, dulled eyes scanned back to her carefully, uncertain. He adjusted in the hard seat to lean forward. That was quick, but then again, a good killer wasn't slow.

"Depends on the work."

She smirked that wily, planning smile of hers. "Oh I think, given your track record, it's your kind of job."

She'd push back in her chair to lean down and open a drawer, withdrawing a small folder. Opening it, flattening on the table, she'd toss to Langer a square of paper. A photo. He took it, glancing it over. Not hard to see where this was going.

"Tyson Rush," the vixen informed.

The gent she spoke of was, as far as Langer could tell, another fox. Chiseled looking tod with well kept hair, a lean face, had an "in charge" demeanor about him. In the picture, he was in a long coat, similar to what Alica had slung over her chair, an officer's badge proudly worn.

"A cop," Langer intoned with disapproval. "Great way to put yourself in the spotlight, fox."

He'd toss the photo back on the table, about to decline.

"Ex-cop. Tyson was mainly in charge of interrogations at one of the OYPD branches. After some 'unfortunate' mishaps he left the agency and now works as, much to my displeasure, another private investigation unit. Suffice to say, I'd rather he not."

The human took things into consideration. A cop would be stupid to kill in this context, an ex-one slightly less so. He knew they tended to look after their own, even when "retired."

"You know this stiff?" He had a hunch.

Alica looked over the picture of the male fox carefully, tapping a finger on desk.

"We've been involved. He's a fix to some valuable information. Though he's protective and stubbornly careful, to his credit. I'd rather give you a time and place to find him, but, well, he's made that impossible, even with my resources. . ."

She looked past Langer, to her office door. Studying it carefully, licking her chops for the next words.

"Pour him some honey, give him some pussy, and hope he gives you info. Now, what, too involved?"

She paused, her teeth flashed once more with a wicked grin. "You're partially right. Information yes. We've been 'dating,' yes. But pussy? No. At least, not until tonight that is."

She gestured at the door. "Tyson is expecting to finally get what he's ached for. Problem is, he wants me to meet him somewhere. I'm not interested in leaving. So, Langer, we're going to draw him out."

Ahh, a trapper's approach. The human would approve, it was a favorite tactic of his. He was curious now.

"Go on. . ."

Again, Alica shuffled with her desk drawer and pulled out a black phone, modern one, not the kind of archaic tech-junk Sedge was used to working with. The screen was large and the vixen seemed to regard it with affection.

"Well, it's as you said. A man that thinks with his cock gets in trouble. Mr. Rush is hardly any different. He had a long track record of extorting and sleeping around with interrogated females. Now he wants pure, queen pussy, something he actually had to hunt for. Well, he'll get it alright."

At the sum explanation, Langer wasn't too surprised. Experience had shown young Sedge that dirty cops were a dime a dozen. A typical breed, very common among chimera, to want to take advantage of a lady. Considering the nature of chimera females, that only perpetuated it.

"Basically, Langer, you're going to fuck me. We're going to put on a little show for him and draw him out."

The killer was starting to put it together, but he still didn't quite understand. Noting this, Alica went on.

She tapped the phone. "He'll get an eyeful of pussy all right. But it's with your cock buried in me. Oh yes, the idea, of me riding you raw and begging for more, it'll drive him insane. We'll let him know where we are and well, that's where you put an end to things."

This was quite intriguing. Bit of a win-win really. Fuck first, then fight. That was the way of the animal, after all. A nice way to secure an "advance" from Ms. Blyte too.

"Hmm, you're not worried about a trace?"

She winked, rolling over him with those pretty, frightening eyes. "I've got connections. Cleaners, of which you're sorely lacking."

At this point, if Sedge was honest with himself, he didn't care that much anymore. The thrill to kill and claim was now fresh on his mind. Fuck, fight, feed. The triangle, made in blood. Foundation to all that was and would be. You could pretty yourself up in suits or dresses, build empires of lights and stone, seek the stars, but it didn't matter. Because at the end of it all, in kingdoms ash or cities tall, what remained never changed. It all came down to eat, kill, mate.

"Clever," he'd say, new vigor in his tone. "I like it, fox. Nice way to crush a fella. Easy to break his skull, harder to break his spirit."

Alica purred. "So you approve? Oh and please, call me Alica, 'partner'."

He gave a slow nod. "I'd like to see you back up all these claims. But if you're gonna show off for me and give me a mark to kill, I'm willing to help you here."

Alica clapped her hands together.

"Smart move, Langer."

He felt satisfied. Finally, opportunity for some new maiming. Maybe he'd get some answers too.

"So, how do we start?" he asked dimly.

"We already have," she replied, pushing the phone towards Langer. "Take it."

He took the suspicious thing in hand. It was light. Too brittle for his tastes, like it'd break at any moment. Hard to believe this would be the device to set the stage.

"Well? Start giving me orders, partner. I'm actually curious to see what you come up with."

Langer wasn't one for commands, or at least, hadn't much experience with it. A lot of work, a lot of thinking which he usually didn't have time for. But for the first time in. . . well, ever, he had a chance to play with a toy. A vixen toy. He was starting to see the appeal of high dollar suits and their loyal whores.

Yes, the hungers were there. Refined. He had a chance to get this high power vixen to do anything. Huh.

"Huh," he said aloud, a smile creeping over him. Like a kid testing out some new device, he proceeded with cautious intrigue.

"I remember, you said something about, uh, heels? Well, so. Do it then. Take off everything you got, fox, except the heels."

Unseen, Alica flushed, cheeks going rose under the cover of dark, midnight fur, as she pushed away from the desk, smirking. She'd slowly stand, eying Langer with a lustful glow, her brush swaying and twitching. Her curves outlined perfectly against the back light of stormy, outside weather, an hourglass shadow that began to unravel the buttons to her dress, clearly amused.

"Isn't it such a nice thought?" she'd chime, "Having a vixen as powerful as me prancing around in nothing but heels, serving you?"

Langer was fiddling with the phone, trying to get a hang of the touch screen nonsense. The words, however, they stuck, sending a shiver through his hungry flesh.

"Hnh, you sure lay it on thick, fox."

He'd watch as the shirt fell first, fat, heavy breasts swiftly coming into view, hidden by grasp of lace brassiere, where skirt was unfastened next, sauntering, motherly hips swimming to sight as well. Yes, she filled into a full figured vixen nicely, and no more was that apparent when lace panties and bra went undone next, ample bosoms bouncing freely, heat of nether lips exposed to the cool office air. The agility of her chimera traits was apparent, yet she still carried the hefty weight of fat rump and plump rack.

She'd walk around the desk, putting herself closer to Langer, where the male could take in healthy scoops of her VILFy form. Indeed, she wore heels, nice stilettos of white that complimented the streaks in hair, the dark of her hues. The spicy scent of vixen musk, a timid ambrosia, wafted over him too, like a flower caught in the rain.

There was always something very. . . right about a foxy girl in heels. Was it the way it tossed their rumps to make them wiggle with each step? The subtle elegance combined with raw sexuality? Refinement clashing against submission? Who knew.

"Like I said, I pay well."

Langer could feel his discomfort growing, both in pants and the strain of wooden seat, so he opted to finally stand, stretching and cracking his shoulders. He was rather heavy set, even for a human, standing a head taller than Alica. While he didn't stomp around bound in muscle, there was clearly a weight to his motions, a walking brick wall.

That was certainly beneficial for the vixen, who, at his stance, licked her chops. Langer hardly noticed, but it was enough.

"Well?" he'd say expectantly. "What are you waiting for fox? Get my pants off and start sucking."

Yes, that'd do. Quite appropriate, young Sedge felt, having a vixen on fours and using her mouth well.

Alica grinned. "Gladly."

She put more distance between they and the desk, enough so she was comfortable, sliding to her knees in one fluid motion, perky rump wiggling as she got to knees. Langer smirked, but also began fiddling with the phone, frowning as he tried to figure out what was where.

In the meantime, vixen would rest her fat full ass into legs, delicate, searching digits beginning to unbutton and unravel the male's trousers. Yanking them away, she'd see the yet-to-stir bulge hidden beneath briefs, quite sizable for a human.

"You uh, do know how to use that, right?" she'd say with a glance up, beginning to slowly pull down the last guard to the male's loins.

As his large, throbbing flesh flopped out, Alica gave the softest of gasps, silently adoring the strangely thick, healthy size of the human's cock. Size was not always important, but she knew chimera prided themselves on it, no less Tyson Rush. Servicing homo superior would make him all the angrier, she delightedly assumed.

Langer grunted in the meantime, feeling flesh kiss cool air, hefty mast beginning to stir from attentions. He fiddled with the phone more, aggravated by the incessant barrage of lists, options and names.

"Grr, why does a phone need so much shit on it?"

Alica rolled her eyes, assuming the male would break it if her hand didn't come to grip his soft, steadily bulging shaft.

"Idiot. It's the camera button. Don't make me regret taking you in."

Langer gave a low groan, feeling those silky fingers stroke along the engorging malehood, tickles of pleasure rumbling through his root. He'd smack her around, if he was that kinda guy, but he wasn't. Just a killer.

A few finger swipes later and he'd found the appropriate buttons. Photo, video feed, and send.

"Christ," he'd mutter angrily. More trouble than it was worth. "Okay fox. Give him a show."

It didn't take much to get Alica going. The thought of getting this Tyson worked up must have been pleasure enough, because her lips came to Langer's crown quick. In an instant, she pressed those soft little pillows against the sensitive pike's end, firmly smothering the cockhead along her oral entry.

He groaned, watching the actions attentively, drinking the sight of supple, submissive lips kissing and smothering all over his now fully erect humancock. Had been a while since a lady was sweet on on his loins.

Steadily, he aimed the camera down as the vixen held his meaty length, lifting it vertical to smoosh her lips along the under flesh, wiggling nose as she stroked in long rises and dives. She was good, terribly playful. As she worked, he did his best focus the phone, not being much a camera man.

"Nmf. Uh. Right. So video or picture?"

Alica didn't respond immediately, having taken that perfectly flat vixen tongue and sliding it against the warmth of Langer's plump testes, her head ascending to let pink rug soak every inch in warm saliva. Before she spoke, she suckled the crown in maw with eager, loud pops, lusty little audibles that filtered through the room.

"Mmmslk," Alica would chime approvingly, eyes closing a moment to appreciate the flavor of malehood belonging to a dangerous killer.

Finally, she'd release him from maw, if only for a moment, hand idly stroking the veiny prick, warm palm appeased to grip such a rock hard flank.

"Picture first. The video is a special, just for him. To get him blind with anger."

A flash of lightning hid her predatory grin, as she took the bulging length and slammed it against her cheek, smacking pretty vixen face in a demeaning fashion. Langer sort of chuckle-groaned, thrilled, but more so that the prospect of a new kill was on the horizon. Even as Alica wagged her bushy fox tail, almost wiggling rump as she stroked the tip along her visage, pressing it and rolling it around upon soft lips, the true pleasure for Sedge was the thought of blade hitting neck.

He began to frame the black vixen's body with camera, making sure it was focused even in the dim office light. Her icy eyes flashed upward, head tilting a little, palm coming to carefully fondled stones as her muzzle finally slipped an inch into that perfectly shaped maw. It was easy to see, even for Langer, that his mast would spread her enveloping mouth if she took it all in. Which she would.

"Nnnng. Do it on all fours," Sedge would suddenly say, keeping the phone steady as the image of the suckling vixen appeared on its interface.

Her ears flicked, expression quizzical. "Mlk. And why's that?"

It was as animals did. "One thing to blow a guy. Another thing to look like a needy dog bitch doing it. Wanna make a man furious? Subtext."

He sniffed. "And because that's what I'm telling you to do."

Letting his mast fall and wobble from grip, Alica chuckled. "You've got a sadistic streak in you, Langer."

He shrugged. "A man knows what he wants."

Obediently, the black vixen altered her position to rest on knees and hands, her perky ass hiked into the air, slowly tossing from side to side, her brush tail following as she eyed the heady cock once again. Her mouth came to rest at pike's end, before slowly pushing forward and bit by bit, engulfing the shaft whole. Langer gave a dry, approving groan, bathing in the sight of fox mouth completely taking in his warm meat, til her cheeks bulged and throat had buried the entirety of it.

He could feel how deep his rod was in her now, having bulged her throat, dribbles of saliva beginning to fall from her chin. On instinct, she looked up, where Langer took the first picture, an audible click capturing the image of a submissive vix with cock stuffed down her pretty mouth. Damn, vixens were built for this.

She held for what felt like an eternity, before drawing her lips back, smearing a glaze of lipstick along the humancock edges, releasing the mast with a loud popping gasp. It dripped, glistening with saliva, Langer gritting his teeth, rather annoyed that he wasn't deep in throat.

She'd toss silver bang from face before immediately continuing, diving back with much more force upon the awaiting shaft, loud, gulping gags pouring from that tight female throat. Langer swore in pleasure, almost dropping the phone as his shaft was serviced. Yes, this was perfect, a nice messy throat fuck, plenty of material to work with.

"Fucking hell Alica, you're a goddamn professional. . ."

Whether the words enticed the midnight vix further was impossible to say, but certainly she picked up the pace with a girlish enthuse. No longer did she toy and tease the human bone, she slobbered on it. Her head bobbed in swift, smacking motions, her nose burying into threshold with ever stroke of dome, long flat tongue slipping out to even lap at testes. Her throat gurgled and gagged, punished by the immense girth she so greedily took.

Like an animal bitch, as chimera were prone to do, she widened her legs, suckling human cock like a loyal dog. Her fat full rump sashayed happily, as Langer snapped more pictures. A free hand came to start petting through her silky mane, fingers roaming through hair possessively. He was sure to capture that too, hand in hair while lovely vixen serviced his manhood. If this was to be efficient bait, Tyson needed to know someone was all over "his" foxy girl.

Alica gulped and slurped like it was her life's dream to service a human's flank. And, admittedly, despite being a killer at heart, it was getting to Langer. So much so that the desire to fuck was overwhelming the desire to sit and tease. Yeah, that was enough.

He yanked her off his rod, which now dripped excessively with pre and saliva, Alica's maw panting with hot, steamy breaths, her eyes wandering up to him in a sort of desperate disappointment.

"Nmf, why?" she'd breathe hotly, tongue panting and all.

Desire overwhelms. "Just bend over your desk, fox."

He wasn't interested in stripping down when the premise of a kill was so close, but he was getting hungrier. He yanked her up, lusts taking over, glancing to the phone to send what few pictures he'd taken to the only listened number.

The white heel wearing vix, in the meantime, did as she was told. The instinct to serve, that all encompassing on-her-knees-for-mate button pressed, dutifully turning herself to rest over desk, wide, fat rear swinging into view, dark vulva hiding the chalice within.

"Think you can manage back there?" Alica teased, breasts squished against paper and table, plump bottom shaking to entice the male further.

Langer grunted. "Guess I'll manage."

Granted, there wasn't a lot of space to move, what with pants holding his legs together and holding the phone, but the killer positioned himself where tip would idly press against the suckling satin entrance to the vixen's cleft, a mumble of approval dripping from her maw.

He took a moment to set the phone on table and spread those juicy lips apart, taking eye fulls of the sweet, pitch black inner walls, groping and caressing the wide, plump ass, feeling its firm rebuttal in his tough, exploring hands. Yes, she'd do nicely.

Achingly, he started to hilt himself in that awaiting tunnel, the walls wrapping around his bulge without issue, slick, hot, a fiery black silk. Alica arched as the human member plunged itself deeper, biting at lip, feeling walls spread so perfectly, like the shaft was made for this precise cock.

"Nnng, god." Over and over in his head, he said it. Been years since he last had vixen. Or maybe never, he could hardly recall. But vixen's, damn, they had good pussy.

Shakily, Langer would take the phone again, holding it one hand while he sought the video option. He figured this was what Alica had referred to before.

"Alright, fox, let's see what you've got."

True, perhaps pounding her into a fine mess of vixen desire was better, if the situation was different. But Langer felt a more personal touch was required. A video of vixen servicing him, after all, would certainly but this Tyson in a rage.

He grabbed the phone again as Alica silently obeyed, her backside beginning to roll off his root, then back down, slow, smooth smacks that massaged and caressed cock with inner walls. Fuck it was so good. Langer watched as flank disappeared in the sodden, moist puss, the steamy heat consuming his loins as black furred fox bounced eagerly on his cock. Quickly, the male began recording the sight, as Alica's moans began to rattle the office, bucking on the killer like nothing else mattered.

"Oh gooood, L-Langer," she'd cry, head craning as tongue hung out, the clap of rump to hips mingling with sounds of angry rain hitting window.

The phone's screen was filled with ass riding the meaty length, picking up Alica's wild, submissive moans. Whether they were put on or natural, was hard to say, but it served the purpose hear nicely. White heels clicked against the floor as she rose and fell, aggressively smacking her fat ass into the harsher, seething rod. Oh it felt so right to her, so perfect how her vaginal honey pot submitted to the overbearing root of a killer. Claimed by a predator, human or no.

Langer was losing himself in the puddle of hungers too, focusing the video to nonchalantly stare at the way her rump tossed against his stern hips, the way her honey pot submitted and gave itself freely.

"Aaaahhhhnnnn, f-fuck, Langer, it's so good," Alica would espouse, her breaths practically steam. Langer would agree with his own long grunts, leaning over the vix, keeping video to face now.

"Is it?" he'd prod. "Might wanna tell him then."

That's it girl, get all your hate and issues out there, Langer mused.

"Hnnmf, Tyson," she'd say, looking square at the camera, "He's so much better than you'd ever be, nnnfm. I'm getting fucked and it feels amazing having a real man inside me,"

She practically hissed the words, but they certainly made her giddy, the killer could see. Must have had long history.

For a bit longer she added more, moaning, riding, insulting the fox about how he'd never stack up or that sort of thing. Whatever she needed. When she finished, Langer sent the video to the numbered contact. In a few minutes it started to ring, unsurprisingly, but he tossed it aside.

Christ though, he'd had enough. Langer gripped the moaning vixen by the hips and promptly began to slam his hungry, unyielding hips into the bouncing vixen bottom. Each smack caused those generous, satin furred cheeks to jiggle excessively, while each piston stroke slickly buried itself at the hilt, prodding cervix as crown nestled itself comfortably.

"Agghhg, you fucking twisted woman," he'd say, ramming himself hard enough that the office desk shook. Some truth to those words, she was quite a manipulative thing.

So Langer presumed to fuck her sopping cunt that much harder. His jacketed chest came to rest on back, possessively, grabbing handfuls of silky hair, rutting himself as warm juices of both arousal and saliva poured from the glistening lips, pooling at their feet. The vixen moaned, yipped, practically barked each time he sank in, the molded cries of a submitting chimera female. Somewhere deep in all that pretty exterior, a vixen knew, her place was to be fucked and bred.

Alas, that wouldn't be the case here. Langer was content when he finally reached that long awaited peak, his cock twitching within the suckling lips of fox, a sudden burst of issue jetting from him, coating inner walls with thick, hot pearly essence, drenching, defiling. If there was anything innocent left to defile anyway.

Alica shivered and gasped, body locked up, shoving her hips back to lock onto that pulsing cock. There was no knot to tie her down so her nether lips seemed to compensate by holding even tighter, trapping the killer in a bind of orgasmic paradise. He'd hold her close, biting her neck, letting the animal take over, thrusting and holding awkwardly until he'd spent all his male issue.

There was that long, heated moment where breaths would be taken, long pained huffs mingling with sounds of pattering rain, the slow, agonizing pull out where drenched cock would free itself and deluged puss would leak with a small river of juices. For a bit, Alica was limp on the table, gathering herself, while Langer set to cleaning himself up a bit before pulling up trousers again.

"Whew," he'd airily say. "Hell of an advance, fox."

Slowly, she rose, pushing herself up before wobble walking a bit, shakily going to chair, resting in it with a purely content visage. Her vicious grin returned.

"I expect you to live up to your end as well."

Langer would glance at the door. "Yeah. So. How much time do we have?"

"You have, I'd say, fifteen minutes," she'd correct with a wink. "Show me what you can do, human."

As quickly as they had fucked, quickly did it fizzle. The bait had been set and, despite being naked and cunt dribbling with male seed, she was right. For Langer, excitement came back tenfold. Sex was nothing compared to the art of death.

When the heat of their fucking had settled, Langer prepared for what was coming. Tyson, he wagered, was in a fury, no doubt from his tone and the snap-instinct nature of chimera. He was also a fox. Lean and quick. Could get the first draw if Langer wasn't careful. However, in times of anger and deep, seething rage, often shortcuts were taken. Ex-cop, private investigator? Stiff probably had his own gun, and was planning to use it.

Yet, Langer was his own animal. He had no time to bleed. Instead of waiting in the dark, hiding and preparing to pounce, like a fox might, he waited in the building hallway leading to Alica's office. Clearly, this vixen and todd had issues. The fact that he laid claim to pussy was irrelevant, just part of the job. Suffice to say, he could understand in part where all the rage came from. So at the very least, Langer would grant this Tyson Rush a bit of solace.

He'd take him head on, right here. No mask. No hiding. If Tyson could put him down, well, the human wouldn't hold a grudge. That was the way of the animal, after all. And so, with patience, he stood in the flickering hallway light, staring at the door that opened to steps which, eventually, would reveal this figure Alica despised so much.

He didn't have to wait long. Even up here, the sound of angry, screeching car was audible. Loud slam of door, crack of thunder. Then the lightest hint of steps, seeming so far away. So distant the promise of death.

Moments later, the door Langer eyed so obsessively finally swung open, smashing into the wall. Revealed was the object of the vixen's distaste. Brown hair, red fur, utterly furious looking, sopping wet. He looked half dressed but, one thing that was expected was the holster slung around waist, shape of a gun in clenched hand. Finger in the trigger guard, rather than over. Angry, forgetting discipline.

Perhaps Tyson was expecting more of a surprised, frightened male, hoping his rushing in with weapon in hand would procure a terrified reaction from both vixen and human. Hoping that perhaps Alica would beg him not to shoot.

There was none of that though. Instead, Tyson quickly aimed the sights at Langer, eyes wild and hate filled.

"Where the fuck is that cunt?" he'd spit. Youthful voice. Mid twenties, Sedge figured.

"Well she's in there," Langer would gesture with head. "And I was in her, too. But you're not going anywhere, chum."

Realization took over. New found fury rattled the todd's body. The gun shook in his hand and fangs bared viciously.

"You? You're the piece of shit? I... I don't fucking believe this. That whore has no fucking standards."

He started to laugh. Lost in the psychosis of whatever emotions surged through him.

"I'm... haha, I'm gonna kill you, you piece of shit. And when I'm done I'm going to fuck that vixen's cunt until she's dead," he growled.

"You hear that, Alica!? I'm coming for you!" he'd scream. His trigger arm faulted. Lowered, just a twitch.

Langer tensed. Not yet. So close, but not yet. Distract him just a bit more.

"You're more than welcome," the killer would say. "If you can get through me. And hey, nothing personal, kid. You two clearly have issues. But I have a job to do."

Tyson looked at him, in disbelief. "Who the fuck are you? Who!? What's your name you fucking scum!?"

The human's head would tilt, a static expression over him. "Call me Langer."

Gun was raised with more certainty.

"I just hope you know your place now, fox," he'd continue. "That's homo superior, after all."

Arm shook. Fangs bared even more. "What!?"

Langer knew. Hit him with something hard. "Your vixen was fucked with superior human cock. But she's only an animal to me. The both of you. Just animals."

He watched the reaction carefully. That was enough, looked like. The trigger in Tyson's mind snapped.

"You couldn't kill me without a gun. You're weak. You belong on your knees, like a dog. Subservient to humans."

The words had their hoped reaction. The long buried instinct to fight for superiority was a trait part of chimera design, something that wasn't fixed in their prototype designs. So, just like in nature, it was the same. Two males fighting for a female. Three players, one setting. A perfect triangle.

Tyson dashed fast, quicker than Sedge would've expected, but he met the charge too. The fox's body collided with him, knocking him to back as he snarled, punched, cut, even bit. Langer started to laugh, throwing his arm up to block the vicious teeth, which greedily sank through his jacket and started tearing arm flesh. But that's all he needed. What Langer couldn't make up through speed, he did with raw strength. That was his trap. Fighting him was like punching cement.

He could feel claws scraping on his neck so, he made it quick. In one thick motion he swung the fox into the wall, causing a gasp, a pause in the violence. Tyson was shaken but swift to want to keep fighting. Blood was in the air, and Langer didn't feel like being cut up so much. He gripped the fox by arm and threw him into the parallel wall, knocking air of his lungs, if only for a second.

Tyson coughed. Stumbled to rise again. Fought well for a young man. But, Langer had work to do, so he gripped him once more and shoved him into the ground, bearing over him. In seconds his fingers slithered over throat like worms and tightened, a horrid, unmoving vicegrip, crushing windpipe. Tyson did what all did to struggle. Cut, scratched, wheezed, tried to shove Langer off.

"No no no..." Sedge would say quietly. "Time to let go chum."

The life started to fade from the fox's eyes. Wouldn't be much longer. Poor fuck.

Langer knelt down, closer, watching as desperate fear shackled the fox's expression.

"For what it's worth kid. . ." he'd say with all sincerity, "I'm sorry it had to go out like this for you."

Crack.

Well, that was enough. Hands did their job, breaking the soft muscle and bone. Drips of crimson rolled off of Langer's neck, and he could feel warm pain burn through his bitten arm. Standing, he looked over ex-cop, private investigator Tyson Rush. He didn't know him. He didn't know if he was scum or good hearted or a piece of shit that deserved to die. He was just another animal.

He took the body and slowly dragged it into Alica's office, who regarded it with satisfaction. She had taken to puffing on a cig and was wearing her long coat, though nothing else.

"Not as bloody as I figured it would be," she'd say, almost disappointed.

Langer regarded it numbly. His thoughts were turning to the future.

"He deserved a fighting chance. I gave him one."

Alica laughed. "And look where that got him."

She was right. What a pity, Sedge reflected. All so familiar to the ways of The Answer. Langer wondered what might have been if the sod had chosen to ignore the call, or keep his phone on silent. Wrong number, kid.

But that was the nature of things. Mistake no killer, obey the three laws. It was simply the way. In the end, despite all that was society and technology, despite what lead these events to happen, it was just two males fighting for some pussy to claim. The bloody triangle no one escaped.

The rain kept on as Langer returned to sit, musing. Alica busied herself with a few calls, no doubt to gather a cleaner. On the crucible of death their partnership began, and Langer couldn't help but wonder if he'd get what he wanted. If he'd get The Answer.