Rescue From the Swamp Gatoress's Lair, Part One - RPLOG
Participants
Date
8/9/2016
Log
With the air nearly thick enough to drink, and clouds of gnats and swamp gasses filling the space in between the densely-paced trees, the swamp was a very uninviting place. Not to mention it was crawling with tough mutants. the toughest, a feral gatoress, lived in a cave in the center. Inside that cave, the gatoress liked to capture and sexually torture victims until they were nearly feral with lust
Inside, one such agent was currently bound. Galve was tied with a woven rope to a thick root by the metal collar around his neck, mindlessly trying to relieve the built up sexual tension constantly being dumped into his brain by the nanite-infused metal around his neck.
The sky was clear. Too clear for the Storm Dragon's liking. And what wind existed wasn't blowing his direction. With his mutant sensitivity to the weather, he felt distinctly uncomfortable as he flew, beating his wings, working hard for altitude. The very air seemed laden with bad omens. There weren't many warm thermals at this hour, but Acetyl found one and took advantage of it, rising to a dizzying height very rapidly. Rolling his body sideways, the draconic mutant slid sideways in the air, moving off the thermal. As he felt himself beginning to fall, Acetyl locked the joints of his wings in a fully spread position, allowing himself to glide like a kite. Not for the first time, Acetyl was grateful that he was relatively small. If he were too much larger and heavier, he wouldn't have the stamina to fly as far as he needed to tonight, even though he would never have to leave the relative safety of the bubbles. Working his wings slightly to slow his rate of descent, Acetyl peered down, squinting his slit-pupiled eyes as he assessed the ground far below, trying to navigate. What he saw was correct, thank the Warden, and he nodded to himself. From this height, he should be able to mostly coast the rest of the way. No more exhausting flapping for now. He could reserve energy for the rest of the work ahead. Assuming nothing went wrong, of course. Acetyl sent a silent prayer to the Warden of Storms that he would not encounter any flighted ferals or other problems.
Stimulants crackled in his bloodstream, lending aid to his laboring muscles and clarifying his mind at the same time. As he flew, Acetyl's mind cranked along, calculating as quickly as it could without succumbing to panic. He was doing his best not to panic. That wouldn't help at all. That sort of bestial thinking was what got you in this mess to begin with, Acetyl scolded himself. Taking refuge in the cold logic of his more rational aspect, the Storm Dragon growled to himself, shaking off the anxiety, though he still felt a small, chill spot in the pit of his guts, as if a tiny creature made of pure fear had burrowed into his insides. That same troublesome, emotional, wild part of his mind kept ranting and howling in the background, throwing blame every which way. It was his own fault for losing control. It was Zephyr's fault, with their damned combat drugs and their damned lax oversight. Of course, he knew better. Zephyr's oversight wasn't at all lax, not really. And he wasn't merely being indulged. They were studying him, that was all, and so long as he didn't become too troublesome, they wouldn't interfere with him, at least not outside the confines of carefully designed experiments and 'missions'. Because that would taint their observations and bias their results. Acetyl was a scientist himself. He understood. %f He also understood what would happen if he did step across that hidden, invisible line, the one labeled 'You've Gone Too Far'. He would probably not be killed unless he gave them no choice. Human life, even mutant human life, was too precious these days. But he would no longer have even the pretense of being an agent in the field. He would be a prized lab animal... if he was lucky. He didn't want to think about the less savory possibilities.
And this time, it wasn't mere killing. He'd screwed up much worse than that. He'd descended into a state of almost pure ferality for several hours the other day, and when he came back to himself, he discovered that he'd done terrible things while under. It was only after Acetyl had fled the scene that he realized just -how- bad what he'd done was.
Acetyl swallowed, willing himself to focus. First things first. For now, he needed to get ahold of the agent he'd victimized. Not only for his own reasons, but because the kemo bunny herm had been a victim of opportunity. Someone else had captured the kemo, probably a feral gatoress by the smell of the cave where Acetyl had found the bound, sexually abused mutant. What he himself had done was bad enough, but the gatoress would probably destroy the kemo bunny's sanity if left to her own devices. Acetyl owed the bunny a rescue, if nothing else.
Acetyl spotted the cave a few miles ahead and banked, sliding sideways in the air. His shoulders and back muscles ached with exhaustion even though he was a very skilled and able flyer. He was glad to land soon. They'd have to get out on foot, anyway - he couldn't fly carrying someone else, not unless they were much smaller than Acetyl remembered the kemo being. Finding himself heading toward a tall tree, Acetyl grabbed a handy branch with his clawed hands, flipping his wings to his back instantly to keep them from snagging on other branches in the tree. He rested for a few minutes, breathing hard, but as slow and quiet as he could, to keep from drawing too much attention. He was very still. Then, when he felt rested enough, the Storm Dragon climbed down from the tree and prowled the last mile or two through the swamp. He could probably defeat most of the nasty things here, but he didn't have time or energy to waste tangling with them. Acetyl had a self-imposed mission here.
There it was. The cave loomed ahead. Acetyl smelled his own presence, a couple of days ago, plus the heavier, lived-in musk of the gatoress, and the thinner, weaker scent of the bunny herm. Gritting his teeth, Acetyl licked at his tusk-like lower canines in anxiety, then prowled on all fours into the cave, senses open for any sign that the gatoress might be at home. He was resigned to the likelihood of a confrontation with her at some point, but hoped it wouldn't be now...
It seemed as if the gatoress had been there between now and then but she was gone at the moment. Her presence was apparent by the rope now binding Galve in place, and some fading bruises on his hindquarters where he had probably been punished. The bunny herm was currently in the middle of pawing himself off, one wrapped around his cock and the other wrist-deep in his recently-stretched cooch as he stared blankly into the distance, his eyes and any sign of intelligence clouded by lust and his collar.
