The Capture Of An Immortal

"Capture of an Immortal" (Part 3) by Vlad Potemkin =========================== Dominoe strode into the dimly lit office still wearing the slip dress, immediately garnering whistles from the two apes hunched over a table near the door. Her eyes flashed daggers at them and they quickly went silent, turning back to the diagrams on the table. "Local dweebs," she hissed under her breath. As far as field offices went, the fourth floor of the expensive condominium wasn't bad: marble columns and flooring, fifteen foot ceilings, and thick, presumably mirrored, glass lined the sides of the expansive room. The Covert Anti-Terrorism Task force, or C.A.T.T., didn't squander its vast black ops funding, so this was better than expected, if Dominoe had cared about the surroundings in the slightest. Rook, a handsome former SEAL Team 6 officer and C.A.T.T. team leader, motioned her over to a wall where several large plasma screens hovered over a keyboard. "Well I guess I'll give you the good news first," he said, punching in a few commands. A three-dimensional layout of a group of buildings came up on one screen. "The bug worked great. We tracked the perps to their base of operations and they've been stationary for several hours." "And?" Dominoe raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "The bad news is they went to Sage Industries." Rook jabbed at the keyboard, bringing up a face and some text. "Sage Industries is a multi-billion dollar conglomerate, owned by a nearly invisible CEO, a Dr. Sage. This guy keeps a low profile. As low as I've ever seen, especially for a guy that runs this big of a company." Dominoe studied the picture. "Dr. Sage looks pretty damn young. Kind of cute, like that actor Leo. Did he inherit the company from his father or mother?" "It's more interesting that that," Rook said. "We just got some intel from a group called the Watchers. They watch immortals like your friend Natasha and Duncan Macleod. So they tell us Andre Franklin is really an immortal named Andre Mansarrat, and his drinkin' buddy is none other than..." "Let me guess," Dominoe broke in. "Sage." "Bingo," he shot back. "And the good doctor is also a not-so-good immortal." Rook reclined in a chair and rested his powerful hands back behind his head, looking very happy with himself. "Christ," Dominoe sighed. "It's like immortal central over there." She started pacing back and forth. "This is getting complicated. I was planning on waxing Franklin.. I mean Mansarrat's ass and freeing Natasha. Now there's this Sage wild card." Rook stood and tapped the screen with the buildings. "Look here Dominoe." He pointed to a building sitting close to a fence at the edge of the cluster. "We think they are in here. NSA sent us some sat recon. Time-lapse analysis showed a group heading into the building with a body bag." "The fencing and security suggests there's more to Sage Industries than typical corporate hijinks," Dominoe said with a far away look. Rook inspected Dominoe inspecting the building layout. He reached out and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "We'll get you in there," he said softly. "You do what you do best, and if you need the 800 pound guerillas, we'll be ready." She tilted her head at Rook, the thin line of her lips trying to turn into a smile. Their eyes locked briefly, then she was gliding away. "Lock and load, boys," she shouted. "Rook, you work out the logistics for the second wave. I'm going in first." *** Natasha was more frightened than at any time during her captivity. It wasn't her position, although it wasn't enjoyable being bolted into a doggy position, steel rods keeping arms and legs forced down and her head, in a surprising respite from any gag, facing forwards. It wasn't Duncan's nude body fixed to more steel rods, spread out in a vulnerable X with the nasty-looking helmet over the top of his head. It was the surreal scene of a crazy immortal dancing with delight to the Al Jarreau rendition of the "Girls of Ipinema." Tall and tan and lovely, The girl from Ipanema goes walking, And when she passes, Each one she passes goes "ahh!" ... Sage bounced in front of Natasha, naked save for boxer shorts, singing along to the music and gesturing to her each time the girl was mentioned in the song. Oh, but I watch her so sadly, How can I tell her I love her? Yes, I would give my heart gladly. But each day when she walks to the sea, She looks straight ahead not at me... His hands clutched over his chest. With Andre, she knew she would be sexually molested, but the danger of immediate death seemed distant. Sage, on the other hand, was a lunatic. Who knew what he'd do with either her or Duncan. The music finally stopped and Sage stood, motionless. "It took me a long time to determine what I wanted," Sage said, staring into Natasha's sexy face. "The first 50 years, you just act out, do the things you want to do. The second 50 years, you start hating the repetition so you push the envelope." Sage stepped forward and knelt down by Natasha's head. "You need a goal, some purpose in existence. After all, there's only so much rape, pillaging, and murdering you can do before it gets boring." Natasha wet her lips; it was about the only motion she could do. "What do you want with us?" she pleaded. "I can understand Andre, twisted bastard that he is. But what's in it for you?" Sage jumped up and pointed at Natasha. "Ahh. Good question. Very good question. And it's what I was getting to my nubile amazon." "After a century of thinking, I realized I wanted pure pleasure." Sage moved along Natasha's left side, sliding his hand along her naked back. She strained her head to the side, failing in her attempt to watch him. "Now what is pleasure?" She heard sounds then grunted as Sage roughly shoved his dick into her exposed rear. There was muffled shouting from Duncan who fought his bonds. "Now THIS is somewhat pleasurable to me," Sage said, lunging forward with increasing rate. "And it may not be your cup of tea, my little captive sexpot." Despite her anger, Natasha began to squirm with some pleasure, the sensations washing over her tortured body conditioned to respond. She felt his hands squeezing her firm dangling breasts while he thrust over and over again. "But... as... much... as... I... like... this," Sage grunted as he pistoned into her, finally collapsing on her back with a sigh. "I want something more," he said, almost inaudibly as he gathered himself. "I've been researching ways to directly stimulate the brain, to create any experience, any sensation without the physical toil." Sage walked over to a glaring Duncan. "And I'm almost there. But I need some better testing methods. And what better guinea pig than an immortal that is fully awake and functional during a vivisection?" "You can't," gasped Natasha. "Oh," countered Sage, "can't I? With Macleod, I can run tests to my heart's content. It's a small price to pay for great scientific progress." Sage walked over to Natasha and casually groped her ass. "And if we tire of you - although I'm not sure Andre ever will - you, Natasha, can be the female control subject." Duncan began another futile struggle against the bonds holding him to the steel rods, only able to move his unrestrained hips. "But first, let me show you how far I've come," Sage said, pushing a button on a console. A rumbling filled the lab as Duncan's X-frame rotated and moved behind Natasha. The movement halted just as Duncan's pelvis came within a foot of Natasha's spread sex. "The helmet on Macleod's thick head is my own specially designed transcranial magnetic stimulation system," Sage said with increasing speed. "We can selectively and non-invasively stimulate motor and limbic systems in conjunction with a proprioceptive feedback system." He stopped and ducked in front of Natasha's straining face. "Oh, I'm sorry, I got carried away with the jargon. Let me make it simple for you. We can make him fuck you silly." Sage began to laugh. Duncan grunted behind the gag as his penis rose to its full nine-inch length. With a lurch, he threw his hips forward, impaling Natasha who responded with a cry of shock as her steel frame backed up towards Duncan. At first, the thrusts were harsh and awkward, but after the first minute, the strokes became smooth and natural as though Duncan was voluntarily screwing his friend. Duncan tried to block out the sensations, but Natasha's warm tight cunt felt so amazing. Sage settled into a chair and enjoyed the show. "You two look so wonderful together," he said. "But this scene is really to create a more specific map of Duncan's brain." Natasha moaned in near ecstasy, clenching her hands below the bonds until her knuckles turned white, breasts jiggling forward with Duncan's thrusts. Their glazed bodies rocked back and forth within the restraints. *** The landscape outside Sage Industries was a wasteland of sparse vegetation, pitch black, clouds obscuring what little light came from the stars and moon. The crickets didn't halt their discordant racket as the figure in black ran swiftly and silently towards a ten-foot steel fence. Even in the darkness, the bright orange and red signs warning "ELECTRIC FENCE" and "BIOHAZARD ZONE" stood out. Dominoe stopped a short distance from the fence and began removing items from a bulky sack. Within a minute, she assembled an elastic round platform, rising 18 inches from the dirt, and backed far away from the fence. After pausing for a few steady breaths, she sprinted forward, a blur of motion, hitting the platform simultaneously with both feet, then executing a perfect somersault up and over the steel fence. There was almost no sound as she met the ground on the other side, bearing the brunt of the fall with a roll over her rigid curved left arm, letting the momentum carry her into a crouch. She scanned the grounds, withdrawing a few items from her backpack. The new Heckler & Koch MP7 - light, just a little over 13 inches long, and very slim - fit nicely in her firm grip. She flipped the latch down from safety to burst mode and holstered four extra 20-shot magazines in a fanny pack. Her genetically-enhanced retina, carpeted with an excess of night-vision rods, transformed the darkness into a collage of plain industrial buildings that shifted like ghosts as she moved forward. Closing in on the target structure, she finally saw a sentry walking on a distant rooftop. The guard was wearing night goggles and carrying what looked like a plastic & fiberglass 5.56 mm FA MAS assault rifle. Dominoe moved away from his line of sight, checking her mental inventory of weapons, realizing that security here might be ex-GIGN, the French counterterrorist unit. It was a possibility given Mansarrat's links to his former country, and if so, she knew she had to do this by the numbers. She crept towards a corroded steel door, hugging the side of the building. Suddenly, there was a harsh squeal as the door opened in front of her. A large man, his back turned to her, moved into sight. She recognized the body language, the ponderous but methodical shuffling, and the serpentine cut of the hair about his neck. Dominoe moved closer, shifting the MP7 into her left hand, reaching back with her right to withdraw a steel cable. She whipped the cable in circles above her head, generating a melodic hum. Andre Mansarrat turned as soon as he heard the whir of the weapon. His eyes opened wide with disbelief as Dominoe stepped forward and whipped the cable on a deadly arc. The weighted end of the cable lost little momentum as razor-sharp steel sliced through the immortal's neck, cleanly severing his head. She could almost feel his shock, his disappointment that his game ended here. Distant footsteps brought back her attention. The rooftop sentry ran into view, raising his rifle, just as Dominoe launched herself towards the open steel door. Three cracks filled the night while dirt exploded behind her moving form. Her MP7 answered, the high-velocity 4.6-mm ammo striking the sentry in mid-chest. She was already closing the steel door before the corpse hit the rooftop. Inside was a long corridor she thought more fitting for a hospital... or a morgue. TO BE CONTINUED