…Throw in with criminals? Even to 'use' them, it goes against everything you believe.

You’re tempted. You’re actually tempted. The world should be guided, changed, its people made better and wiser, but not this way. Making powerful men angry, ****, and hateful will not change their minds for the better, and shattering a system is no way to wipe off its grime. Bloodshed can leave a bitter legacy, no matter what the intention.

“I’ll...think about it.” Try as you might, you can’t meet her eye. A sad silence descends upon the room, punctuated by a resigned sigh from the still very much naked woman in front of you.

“Please do,” she says with a hint of disappointment. You look at her once more and see a smile on her face. Again, understanding flickers in her eyes like fire and you find yourself feel exposed, like you’re the naked one. She leans forward, sliding her arms around you, causing you to blush when you feel her bare breasts press against you. Her warm hug places her mouth near your shoulder and you hear her softly say, “Thank you for the ointment, Tina, and for listening.”

Her hug loses its strength but her arm rubs up and down your back. Your left hand rests awkwardly on her hip while your right hangs by the trouser slit that hides your stiletto. “It’s worth going through the bad if you get some good at the end, wouldn’t you say?” The deeds that would have to be done before the end of her path are beyond what your soul can take, but her? Maybe she would do more good than harm in the long run.

“I...suppose your right,” is all you can say. You move your right hand...onto her back and return her hug with sincerity. Bloodshed can leave a bitter legacy, no matter what the intention.

She laughs like the chiming of silver bells as you pull away from each other, “Oh I usually am. For instance, I feel I’ve made a rare friend this night.” Was she right? Not about the friendship, though you confess to feeling some kinship with the woman. Would her actions benefit the world more than harm it? The same could be asked of anyone, but the desire to do good has to count for something. She stands up straight, once more putting her nipples uncomfortably at your eye level to stair you down with their pink gaze. You step back and wander what one does in this situation. You settle for a smile and a nodded head before turning to leave.

The newcomer, Misty, stands respectfully to the side with her hands behind her back as befits a senior house servant and watches you with a blank but courteous expression, blinking when the captain calls after you. “Aren’t you forgetting-“ you turn and see her half smile, aimed inward, “you know what, never mind. I’m glad this evening has brought us together. Goodnight Tina.”

Mind still working through her words, considering all she had said throughout your apathetic attempt at ****, you smile and nod once more. “Goodnight mam,” you say before walking out the room.

The windowless outer room passes by empty and unseen, your distracted pace taking you through to the landing, where you see the old building in a different way. What was once the lamentable loss of past grandeur now comes across as new life, breathed into something long since rejected by its creator. Pointless decadence had been turned to utilitarianism; a forgotten, angry place, giving shelter and succour to those who would seek to avenge its abandonment. The threadbare red carpet and tapestries weren’t worn down, they’re being shed like dead skin, and the lavish paint isn’t peeling away from the walls, it’s being rejected. This place would see much bloodshed before the end and while the desire to do good has to count for something, how many would die because one woman didn’t? How many would now live because she does? You walk down the stairs, switching floors with far more ease than before. These are things you cannot yet answer, but may have to answer for them when the time comes.

It’s quiet now. The muttered conversation of the merchants have disappeared with them and the screams that must have filled the foyer were also long gone, along with the man that caused them. The floorboards creek as you cross the grand hall, walking around the crates staked in the middle, to go out the front door. The large, angular shape of the guard stands next to it in a mixture of waning moonlight and dying lantern light, his eyes narrowing as he watches you walk away. You don’t linger long enough for him to comment. Instead, you follow the gravel beneath your feet, the path to and from the mansion that all genuine visitors would take. You watch your walking feet, one in front of the other, as your mind catches up. What did she mean when she said ‘Aren’t you forgetting-‘, forgetting what?

Of course, the ledger!

You had completely forgotten the flimsy excuse you used to enter her room, but she hadn’t. She’d known you had forgotten it, known that it was a simple excuse to get in. She must have realised that a random woman she had never seen before, lying to enter her room, could have only been doing so for one reason… yet still she let you go, hugged you, even wished you goodnight. She also tried to recruit you. Maybe that was her end goal. It was quite the risk to take. You remember the other woman, Misty, her hands hiding behind her back as you left. Maybe it wasn’t such a massive risk. She did convince you after all. Didn’t she? You can’t tell if you’ve been convinced, conned, or just bamboozled. Whatever the case, the choice to leave was your own. As is the choice to keep walking now.

You touch your face in the same spot that she did before Misty came in. You have the strangest feeling that she was going to...kiss you? What would that have been like? More importantly, why is that the first question you ask? As you think this, you slam into something in front of you, some hard wall of muscle that knocks you to the ground.

“Whoa, easy there love, you all right?” a voice above you says. An outstretched hand floats in the half light of the manor grounds, connected to the form of a darkly dresses man. His face is rough, with short brown hair and a short brown beard that hides his other features. You grab the hand automatically, letting him lift you up off the floor.

“Er, yes. Thank you” you manage, brushing the gravel off yourself.

“You sure you should be wonderin about?” You look up at the man. There is little compassion in his voice. Your skin bristles as his friend walks into view.

“Heh, look at her. Isn’t it past your bedtime?” Wearing a loose brown top, the man has longer, darker hair than the other, as well as a much feebler beard and about three of four less front teeth. His words feel more mangled for the lack of them and his voice has a disgustingly wet rasping quality to it. You watch him closely as he continues his walk, which takes him around and behind you. You hear his footsteps stop.

You start to continue your walk, going around the bearded man, saying “Err, yes, I’ll just-“ but he stops your progress and excuses by grabbing your face, his fingers squeezing your cheeks together and puckering your lips out. Your eyes bulge at the shocked cut-off.

“Yeah, she’s young enough” he says, ignoring your words and protest. Your reach up and grab his arm, trying to prise his grip from your face. Your shock and fear increase when you feel his hand on your chest, palming your right breast through your top. “Barely anything here.” His tone sounds quietly disappointed.

You finally free your face and yell “Get away from me!” Pushing against him and stepping back only to collide with the man behind you. Before you can turn, he grabs your right arm and twists it up your back, forcing a yell of pain out of your mouth as your shoulder adjusts.

“Easy now girl, were just havin some fun,” his strained voice assures as his body presses closer to your own. You struggle franticly against his grip but can’t break free. Your other hand flails about before the man in front of you catches it. Your heart pounds and a cold sweat breaks on your forhead. Why is this happening now? Is it worth screaming? Who would come?

“Let’s see what you got here”, the man behind you says to himself, the spittle of his teeth deprived voice landing on your neck and cheek. His other hand slides down the front of your shorts and grabs you between your legs. Your heart stops. You take a deep breath. His fingers slip inside you. You scream.

It lasts only for a moment, echoing into the night, before the bearded man before you clamps a hand over your mouth. You continue to scream into his hand as the other man’s dirty fingers claw deeper inside, and you press your legs together, buck and kick and bend over forward, succeeding only in pressing your mouth against the hand covering it and pressing your rear against the toothless mans hard length.

“I’m so sick of little Pilik, ya know? Boys all used up.” The man in front laments to his friend. He lets go of your hand, which immediately joins the fight against the digits invading your womanhood, grasping at his arm and the fingers you can feel both through the coarse material and writhing inside you. “I need to fuck a cunt”, he continues, forcing your head up so you stand straighter before ripping your top open and resuming is inspection of your breasts. Words bounce around in your head; No, Stop, Please, Why, Gods. They lose all meaning in the fear of the moment. His fingers find your sensitive pink nipple, squeezing it hard and enjoying the squealing sound you make against his hand. His twisting pull sets a fire burning under your sensitive nub. “A real Gods dammed cunt that I don’t got to pay for.” Your left hand tries to reach across to your right leg and the knife held against it with little success. All the while, the fingers are relentless, artless and unceasing in there fast tempo. The man before you breaks his gaze away from your pained and frightened face to looks over your shoulder and finish what he was saying to his friend; “Heh, she got one?”

The other mans fingers brutally slide in and out of you with a hard regularity and little concern for your thrashing struggles. “Oh yea. Feels good too.” He plants a kiss on your neck, much wetter than anyone would mean to. It sends spit running down your front and back. He whispers loudly into your ear, “Let me do this first and we’ll all enjoy it more, ey?” His fingers start to build an unpleasant friction of heat between your legs: a kind of sickness that weakens you. You stamp on his feet but he doesn’t seem to notice or mind, looking over your head to his friend. “Besides, we’ll be quick. Still need to move them crates.”

His friend, who was now happily mauling your breast, says “Speak for yourself. Bushes?”

The man behind you agrees, “Bushes.”

Three things then happen in rapid succession. First, they start to move you toward a particularly dark set of bushes on the edge of the grounds. Second, you score a particularly deep scratch against the arm down your front that causes the man behind you to curse and stop moving his fingers. Third and most important, a deep voice cuts the air and immediately fills you with hope.

“Let er go.”

They both stop and look at the newcomer. You struggle harder than ever, making your unwilling part in this clear, yet you can’t turn to look at the man. The one with the beard responds automatically,

“Wait y-“ before changing to a more conciliatory tone as his eyes take the newcomer in further. “Whoa, er, look, um, we’re willing to share.”

You take advantage of the distraction to pull his hand from your mouth and scream “HELP ME!” before he can cover it again.

“What do you say?”, he laughs nervously, “heads or tails?” You hear your would-be savour walk up to the group and into your vision. It’s the door guard! A veritable giant, with features carved from stone and arms thicker than you are. You feel fear, followed by relief and joy as he punches the bearded man so hard that he falls to the ground and doesn’t move. The tooth deprived bastard removes his fingers from inside you and let’s go of your arm, springing you forward across the grass. You turn to them both, holding your top closed.

“Ok, all right. She’s all yours...prick.” He looks from the door guard to you and when your eyes meet he raises his two wet fingers to his nose and smells them with evident delight. As disgusting as the gesture is, it becomes even more so when he puts his fingers in his mouth, sliding into the slot where his front teeth should be and sucking them as he walks over to his friend.

Still buzzing with fear, you ready to run in case the door guard wants a similar arraignment. Quietly catching your breath, you look at the giant man and say “T-Thank you.”

His response is flat and tired. “Thank the captain bitch.” He walks back up the path towards the door, muttering to himself as he goes. You manage to catch “Gods damn women, making my life hard, an where’s my dinner that’s what I want to know...” before he leaves your hearing.

You look around; was Captain Washkin watching from the manor? Was that why he came? Or was it because he was part of her crew, believed in her vision, or just keeping the peace. Perhaps he was the only decent human being on this whole dammed island! You can’t see anyone watching you...except the toothless animal looking at you out of the corner of his eye as he attends his friend. You neither know nor care if the man on the ground is dead or alive. On inspection, they wear plain clothes, likely from one of the merchant ships. Nobodies. Rough seamen, who almost...

The guard is gone. You run for the woods, sprinting across the lawn like the wind. Your panic stays at a crackling intensity, even when the tree line swallows you and plunges you into darkness of the islands woods. You still run. You run and think of what they were planning to do to you and what you could have done to stop it. You run harder.

Branches lash at you in the dark, catching and pulling you, and roots threaten your footing while bushes snarl your progress, yet still you sprint on. Suddenly, the woods disappear. A grassy field lies before you, broken and unkempt with tall grasses and natural tufts. You collapse onto your hands and knees, lungs burning, legs on fire, gasping for breath. He’s not following; no one is. You knew that since you entered the woods. Why did you run? You reflect as you catch your breath. You were attacked by men, merchant guards, dockworkers, simple sailors, it doesn’t matter. You were saved by a pirate. What does that say about this new world? The one you’re helping to create, if only by your inaction. Nothing that hasn’t been said already you suppose. You look up at the stars, for the guidance of the gods and to know where you are. Your feet have taken you to the back of the island, exactly where you need to be, but no smile can be found upon your face. You walk wearily across the field, fingering your stolen top. It can’t be fixed. The night air feels good, like a soothing balm on the nipple he... That bastard! You can still feel the other ones fingers in your... You take a deep breath and choose not to think about it. Perhaps that’s the best lesson this night has taught you.

The fields ends with a cliff edge down to the sea. A nearby slope of loose stones turns the decent into an uncomfortable but safe slide to the bottom. You look at the stars again and chart your swim to the place your guide still waits.

You wish you had never come here. The result if you hadn’t would be the same in some ways, but not in one; if you hadn’t come and if you hadn’t chosen to let her live, you would bear no responsibility for her future actions. Every future **** is one you now bear some responsibility for, while lives saved from directing the pirates will forever be a phantom number. Did you do the right thing in the end? Time only knows.

You walk into the sea and swim into an uncertain future.