Chapter Forty-Nine: Jack

With Daenerys’s headless, bullet-riddled, smoking carcass still in the hall, and Elsa and Emily both missing – highly presumed dead – the Bunker’s command room was noticeably less populated than it should have been. Azula stretched her injured hand within the bandages Baroness had wrapped her in. The movement was stiff from the trauma and sent fresh sparks of pain radiating up her arm, but she was confident she could still move her remaining fingers well enough to bend fire. She found Satsuki waiting for her, along with three other women. She’d seen them around the Bunker enough to know their names, but little else. Given the fact that she’d probably have to send them to their deaths sooner rather than later, she was thankful she’d not gotten close to any of them.

Satsuki had the hastily conceived plans in order by the time Azula arrived. They were simple enough. Jack, Gogo, and Jade would handle planting the explosives. They had enough bombs and knowledge of the Bunker to bring the place down. Azula was in charge of leading the remainder of the survivors out the front, launching a final, desperate attack to break through the frontlines and hopefully escape into the city. The chances of survival outside weren’t great, but they’d become a whole lot better than continuing to live inside the Bunker.

“What about you?” Azula asked Satsuki.

“I’ll remain here,” she said. “I’ll wait for the others to return after placing the bombs and do my best to bold of any attacks that might come from this direction.”

Azula didn’t like it, but she didn’t have any better ideas. With the orders given, the group split up to attend to their desperate duties.

***

Jack cradled an arm around the small sack of explosive devices slung over her shoulder. There weren’t many left. She ran a hand over the stubble covering the top of her head. After the shit she’d been through, she’d gotten good at maintaining a constant level of aloof toughness, but the situation in the Bunker had her more rattled than she wanted to admit. Rubbing her head was a subtle, but distinct, indication of her worry. Maybe I should grow it back out, she thought. Not fully. Like a mohawk ponytail or some shit.

Future hairstyles were not her primary concern, but the thought did make for a nice distraction as she stalked through the Bunker, unable to shake the sense that something was watching her. Chill the hell out, she told herself firmly. If there’s one stupid, shitty silver lining to this clusterfuck of a day, at least the cheerleader’s dead. Taken apart with a fucking chainsaw. Who saw that coming? The small spark of satisfaction Jack took from knowing her nemesis’s corpse was probably getting stuffed full of all sorts of things was tempered by the knowledge that, despite her hatred of the woman, Miranda had been a valuable asset. Jack rolled her eyes and moved in to plant another of the bombs.

“Whatever,” she muttered. “I’m way tougher than that cunt ever was.”

Adhering the explosive to a bulkhead, Jack went through the routine of arming the device. The steady red light that greeted her told her she’d done it properly. Her eyes shifted from the bomb to the cramped passage beyond, realizing she’d never noticed it before. She tried to think where it might lead, unable to remember any other sections of the Bunker in that direction. The thought that it might be another entry point into the survivors’ sanctuary had just dawn on her when the creature appeared before her.

The startled yell that escaped Jack’s lips contrasted against her tough, heavily inked persona as she threw herself back from Anna’s secret passage. The massive snake-like creature slithered its way towards her with startling speed. Jack tossed the sack of explosives aside, hoping they wouldn’t trigger from the impact with the floor, and grabbed for the shotgun slung against her leg. She brought the weapon up in time to shred the spray of adhesive silk the Seamstress fired at her. Pumping the weapon, Jack adjusted her aim and fired again, managing to take off one of the thing’s spider-like appendages. Thick yellow blood gushed from the wiggling stump left behind as the Seamstress let out an enraged hiss of pain and surged closer to Jack.

The Seamstress’s tail whipped around, smacking Jack’s shotgun to the side as she fired a third time. The buckshot pinged uselessly against the wall as the weapon flipped out of her grip. “Fuck,” Jack yelled, making a lunge for the shotgun. The creature’s tail knocked her back before slithering around her frame. Thrown off balance, Jack fell into the Seamstress’s upper body. She tried to pull free of the snake-like monster, but the thing’s tail continued to circle around her body, holding her firmly. Jack beat her fists against the tough scales. “Let me the fuck go, goddammit!” Her blows didn’t do much. As the coils tightened around her, she found it increasingly difficult to land them with any significant force.

The Seamstress had intended to crush Jack into a bloody pulp and move on. The Child’s orders to take a more proactive approach to the Bunker demanded quick, fatal strikes. But the pain the bald woman had inflicted encouraged the snake-like creature to prolong her suffering just a little longer. Shifting its coils upwards to wrap around Jack’s mostly bare torso, it pinned her flailing arms to her sides and allowed her to kick her legs freely. The kicks caused about as much discomfort as the woman’s punches. Guiding the tip of its tail down the back of Jack’s flight suit, the Seamstress forced the clothing further down, leaving her bare ass exposed.

Jack’s breath was restricted to urgent wheezes as the coils threatened to collapse her ribs. With her arms trapped within the Seamstress’s coils and her lowered flight suit tangled around her thighs, she could only squirm within the creature’s clutches. She didn’t know if the thing could read facial expressions and didn’t much care. Glaring into the thing’s face, she mouthed out the words ‘fuck you’, clinging to defiance in the face of humiliating death. Is it too late to ask for the chainsaw death? Her eyes bulged as the Seamstress rammed its tail through her asshole. The tip was slender enough to slide in with ease, but as it thickened, she found her sphincter stretched painfully.

Jack had a special kind of appreciation for anal sex. The roughness it inspired, the unique discomfort it caused, helped to distract her from the shit show of her life. There was nothing quite like a spirited anal pounding – followed by grinding her damp cunt into the face of her lover until she got what she really needed – to leave her blissfully removed from reality. As the Seamstress plunged ever deeper into her bowels, she could no longer see the appeal. Clenching her ass muscles around the writhing length, Jack’s anger surged. Like Miranda, her biotic powers had been muted by whatever force permeated the Necropolis. But despite the personal hardships she’d endured, Miranda had never achieved the same level of simmering rage that permeated Jack on a daily basis.

Clenching her teeth, Jack gathered the biotic energy within herself. A glowing blue light emanated from her body. With a strained, half-strangled gasp, she unleashed the power on her attacker. The force sent a shudder through the Bunker around them. Steel bent, bolts snapped, and the Seamstress’s tough scales gave way. The creature released a high-pitched wail as its body was cleaved in half. The severed portion of tail buried deep within Jack’s ass gave off a reflexive twitch that nearly ripped her guts apart before tugging free from the stretched orifice. The coils loosened from around her, allowing her to pull herself free and roll back from the creature as its yellow blood and slippery innards poured from the two halves of its body.

Gooey chunks of Elsa’s crushed and partially digested body plopped from the Seamstress’s ruptured stomach. The creature continued to shriek, using a pair of its bony limbs to grab the chunks of its stolen meal and attempt to shove them back inside itself. When that failed, the dying Seamstress turned on Jack. With its strength fading and half its body gone, it did the best it could to charge towards the woman, intent on finishing the job it had started. Elsa’s head – skeletal jaw half unhinged and hollowed eye sockets staring into oblivion – plopped from the Seamstress’s torn flesh. It spider-like limbs drew back, ready to skewer Jack.

With her flight suit still tangled around her thighs, Jack scrambled for her shotgun. She managed to grab the weapon and twist around, sore ass pressing against the cold steel of the floor. She pumped a fresh round into the chamber and fired. The Seamstress’s face vanished in a spray of sloppy yellow chunks. Jack rolled to the side as the creature collapsed over her, narrowly avoiding the pointed limbs. She lay with her legs pinned under the hellish nightmare for a few moments, catching her breath. When she was certain the Seamstress was dead, she set the shotgun aside and scooted out from under the thing’s body.

Tugging her flight suit back into place, Jack got to her feet. She collected her shotgun and the bag of explosives. It had been a close call, but she didn’t have time – nor the desire – to dwell on it. “Get fucked, bitch,” she snarled to the Seamstress’s ruined form as she trudged through the thick sludge of its blood and guts. “Gotta be tougher than that to take my ass down.” She winced as the throbbing in her rear reminded her that she didn’t want to even mention asses anytime soon.