Through The Scope
Disclaimer: This work of fiction has graphic scenes of rape and abduction among other things. If you are not of age to be viewing such content then please direct yourself to the nearest online gaming website.
Before you read this know that it isn't something meant to get off on. Know this before you dedicate time to a very tragic story.
He was looking down the distance between himself and where his target should be arriving shortly. The black bars of his cross hairs traveled vertically and horizontally and met in a single point, which was now playing across the faces of civilians hoping to rest its eye on the target.
Jake Remmie was a sniper, trained in the art of precise, distanced shooting. The bullets in his pack didn't have 'To whom it may concern' on them as they were stacked in a magazine and pushed into an automatic rifle. Each one had a name on it, hand assembled packages that were meant to deliver swift, painless, and unsuspecting death to a special someone. The mail truck he used was a bolt-action-rifle, affixed with a high-powered scope and suppressor to dispose of the sonic blast, which would ensue the pull of his trigger.
Today, the bullet in Jake's M24 sniper rifle was meant for an arms dealer who supplied weapons to the enemy...He would never receive his life-ending package...
When his fellow marines said Jake was a lone wolf with a rifle they were literal about it; the gray fur on his face was caked with mud, moist form sweating, and determined to find the target and end his life. The rest of him and his rifle were also camouflaged with a ghillie suit he had been taught to make himself in order to blend in with his surroundings, making him imperceptible to anyone more that ten feet away from him.
His reconnaissance team told him that the arms dealer was a raccoon, in his mid-forties, and had a wrinkly old face with a scar across his right eye.
Typical Jake thought to himself, not daring to say it aloud. He hadn't moved or spoken since the morning sun broke the horizon, the stiffness in his tail and arms almost maddening. His survival and the mission depended on his keeping unnoticed and hidden.
He was also told that the dealer would also be carrying a red rose in his breast pocket so he could be located be his client...and now by the assassin lying on the ridge.
Jake was scanning the crowd feverishly as he zoomed out to get a wider point of view. Then he saw it, a flash of blood red as his aim-point scrolled over a man sitting down reading a newspaper. Jake was positive it was him but he had to make sure before he took his one and only shot. The man briefly lowered the paper to flip the page then raised it back up again. A short glimpse was all Jake got out of it but he knew it was he. That scar on his face identifying him like the little tag around ones big toe did when one died and waited in the coroner's office.
His drill sergeant's voice resounded in his head as he went through his metal preparations to take the shot.
"I swear if any one of you miss you're all sleeping outside tonight!" He had yelled to his students during training.
Jake checked the dials on his scope making sure that they were set right, all of what he was doing was second nature by now. He marveled; all that yelling must have been for something.
Another memory of sniper school flooded back to him. He was taking the marksmanship part of the 'Final Exam'. His drill sergeant spoke to him now, his voice more calm.
"Just relax boy. Just breathe, inhale and exhale. You've got all the time in the world right now," he had said as he lay down next to Jake. "All the time in the world," he continued, looking through the spotter's scope down range to the target.
As Jake called himself back to reality he did as he was told. He breathed in, and then let it out. Doing so as calmly and as evenly as possible. In.... and out. As he initiated his third and final draw in of air, determined to squeeze the trigger at the peak when he did feel the need to breathe, something happened that he knew shouldn't have.
Jake was getting tunnel vision, only concentrating on what he saw in the scope. The wolf had shut off his ears, concentrating solely on the little black dot that trailed around the target's forehead. It was a rookie mistake, but nevertheless, a deadly one.
Suddenly his vision went black. Jake's only open eye was pressed firmly against the back of his scope so when the hand obscured the objective lens at the front he reared back at the engulfing darkness assaulting and confusing his senses; the only thing he was expecting was to hear the muffled crack of his rifle. He knew he had been spotted and ambushed.
He tried to roll over, tried to grab the sidearm that was strapped to his right thigh, but he couldn't as he felt a cold metal bar poking at the back of his head. Jake's mind processed this as the barrel of the enemy's rifle, ready to spit out his death and cover the ground beneath him in blood and brains.
"Get up, or die were you lay," the attacker said, voice deep and mysterious. Jake got up keeping his back toward the rifle pressed now against his neck. Trying to figure the next plan of action as fear poured down upon him like unrelenting waterfalls.
He knew that there was more that one of them, that he was probably going to die by their hands.
Why not go out fighting? He asked himself. He decided to take action for his own life, but he had decided too slowly. The butt of a heavy rifle kissed the back of his head so hard it shook his muzzle. Jake was incapacitated instantly; slumping forward like the dead pile of fur he believed was his future.
**
When Jake awoke he was still in complete darkness, but now his hands were immobile. He felt fearful as the surface below him jostled around and the sound of an engine roared around him.
Where in the hell am I going? Jake thought to himself, his brain registering a spear of pain right above the scruff of his neck. He blinked his eyes to realize that his head was concealed inside a dark bag. He heard men talking in front of him as he lay down in the back seat of an open top jeep trying to keep still and unnoticed.
"Why don't we tie his legs to the bumper, throw him out, and drive about on the roughest road we can find," one fur said. Jake guessed this was the one who had hit him in the back of his now throbbing head, obviously wanting him dead as soon as possible.
"You know we can't do that. He said to take as many of the swine prisoner," another said.
Oh fuck... Jake thought to himself. He knew what was happening, and wished dreadfully that they had just put a bullet in his head. At least that would have been quick and painless. But then he thought of his family. His wife, his kids, they became the only reason he wanted to survive, not wanting to leave them alone in such a cruel world.
"Just follow orders guys. There is no need to worry about anything." A third person said. Jake recognized it as the one that had yelled orders to him. His voice was precise and methodical. Jake didn't know how he knew but that voice was distinguishing; it was a voice of another sniper. That was how they had found Jake, for he too was trained in the art of concealment and location and had pointed out the wolf sniper.
"Looks like someone's awake." The first one said, seeing Jake fidget at the word "prisoner".
"No matter, we're here," the other sniper had replied as the car slowed to a halt, "Take him out and bring him in. Leave his stuff in the jeep."
Jake knew nothing good was about to follow so he tried desperately to get out of it. As they pulled him from the jeep and stood him on his feet he started to thrash about violently. The two guards had been thrown back, not expecting any of this.
Jake started running, but because of his arms tied tightly behind his back his progression was slower than it should have been. And because of the bag over his still throbbing head and the spinning around he had done to release himself of the other two he had lost his bearings and didn't know where he was running, only that he had to get away from the prison unless he wanted it to be his new home.
Jake hadn't known that he was running to the other guard and toward the building where they were taking him. He felt a fast punch land right under his sternum, knocking the wind and some blood out of him. The wolf felt as thought he would pass out, but his body didn't allow him that luxury, only falling forward, coughing up a little blood and gasping for air.
Jake felt two hands close around his ankles as he was dragged forward into the building. He fought a little, but Jake was still trying to recover from that punch.
"Fuck," he said aloud as he continued to be dragged forward, although not loud enough for anyone to notice. He felt the ground beneath him turn from the rough and warm of dirt that was heated in the sun to the flat and cold of cement. The air also changed around him, it was stale and smelled of something Jake couldn't put his hand on. Then it hit him like the punch had, hard and painfully. That was the smell of blood.
After he brought him into the middle of the room the guard stood Jake up and removed the bag on his head revealing the shit hole Jake was going to suffer in. It looked like a modern dungeon garnished with medieval torture devices, most of which were stained with something Jake didn't what to think about.
The first thing the wolf did was survey his surroundings, looking for a way out. He saw the guard standing next to him, a hawk with a cold heartless face, a born killing machine, still holding him by the scruff of his neck. Some of his face feathers where ruffled and dirty, but what really caught Jake's attention were his eyes. They were empty of everything but their physical self, void of emotion and caring. The orbs of his eyes stared ahead as those of a menacing statue seeming to burn all their gaze fell on.
"Please...please let me go," Jake pleaded, speaking for the first time to his captor. The wolf knew he was begging and he hated it, but his life was more important than his pride at the moment.
"Shut up and die peacefully you sack of shit!" The bird shrieked at him all methodical effect leaving his voice entirely. Jake shut out these words still telling himself that he was going to make it out of this. He knew his immediate future held nothing for him to enjoy but the wolf denied what was so possible.
Jake was starting to panic, the terrors around him engulfing his mind. His breathing became uneven and raspy, a rope of fear slowly closing around the wolf's neck making it harder and harder to breath. He forced himself from the trace realizing he had to get out of this somehow and resumed inspecting the hellish room.
The ceiling was high, high enough to seem to vanish into blackness. The walls were bare excluding the chains and shackles that hung at odd intervals. Jake looked behind him seeing the door slowly close his last rays of sun from him. The room was swallowed by darkness, leaving only the small dim lamps to give an ominous glow to the room.
The wolf was standing in the middle of the room, still looking feverishly around, when the fist of the eagle laded firmly on the back of his head. It was nothing compared to the blow he had taken to the chest earlier, but the pain that still lingered there amplified his strike. This caused Jake to look forward and notice a brown door that he had overlook before.
It opened with an eerie creak and produced a stately griffin, at least seven-and-a-half feet tall. He had to fold his light brown wings in order to enter the room. His head feathers were a downy white, which turned into the dark brown that covered his chest, and the fur covering the lower half of his body a simmering coat of gold. He was part of a great species, one of the last of his kind. Jake would have believed him to be a fine creature, if only he wasn't the reason some many of his comrades where dieing out on the field.
"Bishop Cage," Jake said though clenched teeth. A sudden rage took over him. The head of the snake was standing right before him, walking right to him, and he could do nothing. If only I was free, I could end this war once and for all! Jake thought to himself.
"So, my reputation precedes me." The dictator replied.
"Only because of the evil you have caused you sick son of a bitch." Jake had taken care to enunciate and stress the latter part.
"I can imagine you are very angered," Bishop said calm and coolly. He was in no rush to welcome his new guest and continued to speak with him as though they were sitting down for afternoon tea. "I guess you have the right, Private Remmi."
Jake's eyes widened at hearing his name. This information could have been taken from him with a quick glance at his dog tags but he still felt them around his neck, resting on his chest, undisturbed from where he had hung them before he left for the mission. Bishop noticed his reaction and explained his knowledge.
"Oh, I know all about you Jake," This time using the wolf's first name, "How do you think I knew you where trying to assassinate my arms dealer? The painful fact is, you've been betrayed." A menacing smile grew onto the dictator's face, his evil grin burning into Jake's mind. He was thoroughly enjoying the pleasure of breaking the wolf's spirit. "The man with the rose wasn't even an arms dealer, just a paid actor. You can thank your recon team for your demise." Jake was giving a low growl at this point, his anger evident toward the backstabbing spies he had trusted.
Bishop winced and his right arm twitched. He hated canine for that reason, that distinguishing growl that only canine can muster. As his arm jerked Jake noticed a book clenched in his hand. A hardback that looked old and worn ragged.
"I guess you wondering about the book," Bishop said, addressing his notice, taking another shot to further break the wolf's already obliterated morale. "It's a book of ancient poems from back when humans still ruled, Edgar Allen Poe mostly. Though his work was very...dark, he was a great writer. In a poem of his, 'Annabel Lee', the speaker tells of losing a loved one and how he still loves her even through death...I wonder if your wife will do the same for you." Bishop had said, slightly tilting his head to the right to add to the already monstrous speech.
His words filled Jake with an even more powerful rage than before. He rushed forward, breaking the grip of the guard that had been holding him, and caught the griffin by surprise. Because his arms were still tied behind his back he could not do anything but drop his shoulders and try to tackle the beast. He realized that he had failed as Bishop's quick reactions delivered a fast right hook to the side of Jake's head.
The wolf's body still wouldn't indulge in the losing of consciousness as he was thrown to the side by the power of the fist. Why do they have to hit so hard? Jake's mind had questioned even before he hit the ground.
"Restrain him!" Cage had yelled, discarding the book some where on the floor; his serene nature had left him almost completely.
Jake's brain was still muddled by the attack on his head but he could see that other shapes were almost flying from the shadows. They had grabbed him and placed him face down on a table, which also seemed to fly from nowhere. The shapes had cut loose his hands only to bind his wrists to rings already built into the table. They then tied his ankles to the legs of the table as well, completely immobilizing the wolf. They had also pushed his upper body forward so his head hung from the side, giving him an upside-down view of his legs spread wide.
Jake was too dazed to struggle while he was being tied down but after gaining composure he struggle and tugged at his bonds futilely; the strong rope not giving an inch to the ever struggling wolf. He was transfixed motionless as the side of a knife pushed his chin upward. He came face-to-face with the griffin, who was smiling his hellish smile.
"You are not going to live through this, know that now." The griffin had said plain-and-simply.
"Please...don't do this. I have a family! I have kids!" Jake was sobbing out his pleas; his eyes closed and tears streaming down his face. His terror was indescribable at this point; a hurricane of fear washing over him, taking his mind to a state of panic he never thought possible. He screamed in desperation and continued to pull at unyielding bonds.
"Silence him." A voice as had said, but Jake was too overwhelmed by fright to process who had given the command, or who carried it out for hat matter. A ball gag found its way around his head and was placed forcefully inside his muzzle. He did not fight much; his desperation was clear so was his fate. They're going to torture me to death. Oh Gods! Why couldn't they just put a bullet to me! Jake's head screamed his thoughts through the panicky chaos of his mind.
The wolf's head was still hung low over the table; he had his eyes closed trying to shut out the horrors around him. When he opened his eyes he saw the griffin position himself closely behind him. He felt the blade of a knife being dragged slowly across his back, starting at the shoulder heading downward. It cut through his military uniform and sliced into the flesh under the gray fur of his back. It wasn't so painful as to evoke the scream that tried to exit Jake's obstructed muzzle for it was too sharp, but the fact that there was a blade running across his back made him scream out in terror.
The blood was starting to soak through his fur leaving a crimson red streak across his back. Bishop decided to add to this with another, shallow flesh wound. They crossed to form a narrow X on his back. Jake didn't scream this time, only resuming his life-pleading sobs. Jake felt the sharpness of metal begin to trace a line straight down the X then realized that he was be teased with the blunt edge of the blade. It came all the way down to the waistband of his standard issue pants. The griffin switched around the blade and cut into them till he reached the hole occupied by Jake's tail. Bishop ignored the tail for the time being and went around to continue his cut down the inseam, coming dangerously close to the wolf's flesh.
Oh, dear Gods...what is he planning. The possibilities ran around Jake's head like the jagged edge of a circular saw as his captor slid his pants down toward his ankles.
The one thing Jake hadn't expected presented itself as Bishop began to grind his hips against his naked hind end. The griffin leaned forward and raised Jake's head once more.
"I hope you'll enjoy this as much as much as I will." Jake couldn't see him but he knew that he had on his accursed smile, that he really was going to do what Jake though he was going to do, and that he truly was enjoying himself.
Jake lowered his head in anguish. From his viewpoint he saw the large griffin disrobe of what little clothes he had on, exposing the rest of his tone, muscular body. Jake noticed Bishop's half-erect maleness hanging behind him. He had never had anything put in his ass before and was naturally afraid of the situation. He lowered his tail, trying to cover his tail hole as best as he could. Bishop fiercely grabbed it by the base as wretched it upward, exposing the ring of pink flesh.
Jake knew that he had to relax of the pain would be more intense. He closed his eyes, tried to calm down, tried to slow his breathing and keep himself from tensing up too much; tried and failed. The griffin pushed eight of his thirteen inches inside him quickly and painfully, Jake's eyes widened in shock as he gasped a breath of air as sharp and the neck of a broken bottle. He had been completely caught off guard by the assault on his rear end. The griffin's cock had done some damage to his virgin hole, ripping flesh so harshly forced in.
Bishop continued his entrance, completely hilting himself within the wolf who sounded a low, pitiful whine. As the griffin started his exit he stared down at the sight of blood on his shaft, grinning his twisted grin. He pulled out just leaving in the head of his cock. Still painfully holding onto Jake's tail, he pushed himself back in just as fast and rough as the first. Had Jake's muzzle been free, as scream would have resonated throughout the room, instead all he could manage was a muffled yelp in pain.
As the blood of the wolf acted as a lubricant, Bishop began to quicken his speed to Jake's dismay. The griffin fell into a tempo, following the beat to some unheard song of suffering. The hands that were originally on the wolf's hips now moved up Jake's back, claws outstretched, paining the still stinging cuts. His talons reached forward and took hold of the wolven shoulders and embedded themselves deep into the muscle there. Jake's mind howled in pain but his voice was strangled by the gag around his head, turning his voice into nothing.
The knife was still palmed in the griffin's hand. Jake could see it reflecting an impossible amount of light considering the dimness of the lamps overhead. It shown so brilliantly, so clearly, it seemed to illuminate the whole room.
As he stared at the blade, his mind and vision seemed to exit his body all together. Jake saw everything in a third-person perspective. All of what he was seeing, the twisted smile of the Bishop's eyes as the griffin reamed the wolf's ass, the restricted paws that now clutched to the table as for dear life, the table rocking, threatening to collapse, all of this was in relation to the incandescent, lustrous glow of that knife.
His mind registered a blink, or a quick flash of blackness that consumed all senses, and when it passed he was seeing the griffin's point of view. Although Jake was in the body of the griffin he could not control it, only seeing as he saw. The wolf's mind looked at himself, not daring to concentrate on the sight straight down. Jake saw the cuts on his back, now an almost brown shade. He saw his claws digging into the horrendously stained wood of the table. He saw the knife again, glistening, reflecting an absurd amount of light from an unknown source. Movement from his head redirected Jake's attention. The wolf raised his head, looked up and over to the left.
What in the world am I looking at? What could it be at a time like this?
Another flash of consuming darkness.
The mind of the wolf returned to the third person view from before. But now it was different, altered while he was away. Everything was farther away though somehow magnified; he could see only a circle of the scene, as if someone put a peephole in a wall as he gazed through. There were also two bars, one running vertically, and the other running horizontally; the sight had not registered at first, but it did now; this was how the last person who saw a target alive views them...through the scope.
A certain, unknown horror overtook Jake as he saw himself turn to look directly into the scope, the crosshairs resting peacefully upon the forehead of the ravished wolf.
I'm...I'm looking at me?
A set of wolven eyes stared directly at him. Defeated, tormented, horrified eyes that were pleading for a bullet to end the torment that still continued. Jake's mind could not oblige his body, it seemed to realize that as the wolf's head hung low in agonizing disappointment.
Bishop was feeling his climax approach as he saw despair flood the wolf's being. He took the hand clenching the blade and started it toward Jake's neck.
Gods damn that blade!
Jake's mind processed that glimmering scrap of metal as it came closer and closer to his body's neck.
A ray of the darkness sliced into Jake's mind.
Mind back in body, fear back into heart, Jake could feel the cold of the knife gently pushing at the vital veins in his neck. The griffin was still pounding harshly away at his tail hole, but now his thrusts more erratic, his breaths deep and hurried. Jake knew what was coming next, had this been any other time he would have found this thought funny.
Bishop's pace quickened and quickened still as the pressure of the knife increased almost to the point of puncture. Bishop was hoping to time this right in order to demoralize the wolf even further during his last moments of life. He pulled back as far as he could without totally exiting the poor wolf before ramming his hips forward harder than ever, pushing the wolf's neck into the blade.
As Bishop emptied himself into Jake's violated orifice, blood ran heartily down the wolf's muzzle. The griffin leaned forward to speak to the wolf on last time before blood loss killed him.
"Goodbye Private Remmi." Bishop said as he pulled out of the bound murder victim.
The wolf simply closed his eyes at the words that seemed so distant now. Jakes face should have been plastered with horror. Eyes that should have been wide in panic showed only acceptance. A mouth that should have been trying to scream through its gag lay quiet in acknowledgment. The blood deprived mind of the dying wolf that should have been trying to hold on for dear life gained reform.
As blood ran, dripping onto the floor, Jake's last thoughts resonated throughout his being.
"Shut up and die peacefully you sack of shit!"
He remembered the last words he had heard from the hawk. He did as he was told and let go. Let go of body, of mind, of life.
Note of the author:
Here, I borrow a line from one of my favorite books, "A writer is a man who has taught his mind to misbehave." - Bag of Bones by Stephan King. This is what I have done. It took me about a month to finish this only because these are some of the wanderings of my mind, taken and pieced together in a story. One of the people I have shown it to says it was a bit dark. But this is my mind misbehaving and I've no control over where it goes. This is my second attempt at writing, the first, I feel, was a complete disaster that was rushed into completion. Some may not like the way I write and most will not find this very sexually stimulating, but that's ok. Well anyway, tell me what you think, what I need to change, if it's perfect the way it is (highly doubtful).
Thanks for reading.