Late Night Surrenders (One)

Hisako woke with a start, the weight of her own frustration and helplessness pulling her from restless dreams. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the tall windows of the ballroom. The others were scattered about the grand space asleep, their forms silhouetted against the fine silk sheets and rows of beds. She rubbed her eyes, her body stiff from what felt like endless days of captivity, her mind foggy from the constant pressure of emotions that felt overwhelming at times.

She'd never felt this strongly before but she shouldn't have been surprised giving she'd never experienced a situation so dangerous and harrowing, her entire world upheaved without warning.

She had always been the calm one, the steady one, feeling things faintly and briefly before letting them pass. But now, every emotion hit her like a crashing wave—frustration simmered beneath her skin, restless and sharp, while helplessness tugged at her, heavy and unwelcome.

They were stuck in a trap and didn't know what was going to happen to them.

The maids and guards were always present, always watching, their actions somehow both comforting and unnerving.

But something was different tonight.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, a faint movement caught her attention. A pale, almost ethereal form was perched near the double doors, illuminated by the faint moonlight. For a moment, Hisako thought she was dreaming again. The figure had translucent, shimmering fairy wings that refracted the light in rainbow hues, making it seem like something out of a fantastical dream.

Pixie, Hisako realized, her heart sinking as she quickly and silently made her way over.

The pink-haired mutant was hovering—no, not hovering. She was clinging. As Hisako got steadily closer, the scene before her became horrifyingly clear. Pixie was attached to one of the silent, faceless guards who stood motionless at the door, their stoic forms a constant presence in the ballroom.

The guard, mostly undressed in his collection of vibranium armor accessories, was as still as a statue, his faceless helmet a blank, emotionless mask. But beneath Pixie’s round, bouncing butt, Hisako saw the unmistakable glisten of their black shaft impaling her, thick and unrelenting. The guard didn’t move, didn’t react. His stillness, combined with the faceless helmet, made it look as though Pixie was having sex with a statue, a living mannequin.

The only sound was the wet, obscene squelching that echoed softly in the quiet room. Hisako’s stomach twisted as she noticed the lubricant—thick, glistening, endless—that dripped heavily from where their bodies joined, creating long, sticky threads that snapped and dangled like spider silk as Pixie rode him.

Pixie turned her head, her rainbow wings shimmering faintly as she spotted Hisako watching. Instead of embarrassment or shame, her face lit up with a silly, cheerful grin. She pressed a single finger to her lips in a shushing gesture, her eyes wide and sparkling as though she’d just been caught sneaking candy, not… this.

Hisako froze, her fists clenched at her sides. "Pixie," she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper, "What the hell are you doing?"

Pixie giggled softly, her body still bouncing on the guard’s cock, the obscene wet noises continuing unabated. "Shhh, Hisako!" she whispered back, her tone light and carefree. "You’re gonna wake everyone up!"

“You’re—" Hisako stammered, her words caught somewhere between outrage and disbelief. "You’re having sex with—he’s not even moving! Do you even know what you’re doing?!"

Pixie tilted her head, her pink hair falling over one shoulder, her lips parting briefly as she let out a soft, breathy moan. Her wings fluttered lazily as she gave Hisako a look of pure, unbothered joy. "Of course I know what I’m doing," she said, her voice breaking into a high, airy whisper as her hips rolled downward with an audible wet squelch. "Kiki said it’s okay! This is what the Royal Guards are for."

"Kiki?" Hisako repeated, blinking, trying to keep her focus as Pixie gave a tiny whimper, biting her lip and briefly closing her eyes.

"Yeah, Kiki!" Pixie said brightly, her wings giving another little flutter. She gasped softly mid-sentence, her breath hitching as she adjusted her position again, her thighs clenching around the guard’s waist. "You know, the maid with the big chocolate titties? Ohhh—yeah… Topless too! She’s got those cool white beads hanging on her face, like a veil, but not really." She paused, her hips twitching slightly as she let out another low moan before flashing Hisako a dreamy smile. "She’s so nice!"

Hisako stared, her jaw tightening as she tried to block out the obscene sounds coming from Pixie’s lap. She couldn’t help but picture the maid Pixie was describing—the one who had latched onto Pixie almost immediately after their arrival. It wasn’t hard to imagine where Pixie had gotten the notion to start going topless herself.

"This isn’t okay!" Hisako snapped, her voice still low but filled with frustration. She stepped closer, her fists clenched. "They’re brainwashing us, Pixie! You know that! The telepaths—whoever they are—they’re in our heads. They’re making you think this is normal!"

Pixie shrugged, her wings giving a lazy flicker as her hands tightened on the guard’s shoulders. She let out another sigh, the sound high-pitched and soft, before flashing Hisako a giggly, carefree grin. "It feels normal," she said, her voice slightly breathless as her body rocked again, drawing another wet, lewd noise from their joining. "And Kiki said it’s okay, so it’s okay!" Her voice dropped into a playful whisper as her smile widened. "They’re like… walking dildos! They don’t mind, Hisako. It’s what they’re here for!"

Pixie’s words hung in the air, but they were almost drowned out by her small, pleasured whimper, her hips shifting slightly as she arched her back. Hisako’s eyes darted between Pixie’s flushed face and the obscene scene before her, disbelief and fury warring in her chest as the sounds of Pixie’s delight grew louder.

"Walking—" Hisako’s voice broke off in frustration, her fists clenching at her sides. "Pixie, do you even hear yourself? This isn’t you! This is them, the telepaths, whoever they are—they’ve put this in your head! You’re being manipulated!"

Pixie frowned for a moment, as though considering Hisako’s words, but then she shrugged, her cheerful demeanor returning in full ****. "I don’t feel manipulated," she said with a giggle. "I feel great! And honestly, Kiki wouldn’t lie to me. She’s, like, the sweetest! You should talk to her sometime—she’s got amazing advice about all of this."

Hisako stared at her, her mind reeling. She wanted to shake Pixie, to drag her off the guard and make her see reason, but she knew it wouldn’t work. Pixie’s mind was already gone, twisted into something unrecognizable by whatever telepathic manipulation the Wakandans had inflicted on them.

"You’re unbelievable," Hisako muttered, her voice trembling with anger and despair.

Pixie just giggled again, her body still moving in a steady rhythm, her face flushed with pleasure. "You should try it, Hisako," she whispered conspiratorially as she nodded at the second guard across from this one. "It’s soooo good. Seriously, just tap the codpiece! You’ll see."

Hisako took a step back, shaking her head. Her heart was pounding, her skin crawling with a mix of disgust and confusion. She couldn’t understand how Pixie could be so… so happy in the middle of this nightmare.

"Kiki said it’s okay," Pixie repeated, her voice dreamy as she leaned forward to rest her head against the guard’s chest, her wings drooping slightly. "And you know what? I believe her. You should too!"

Hisako clenched her fists tighter, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to keep herself steady. Her emotions churned—a sick mix of anger, confusion, and despair—and yet, underneath it all, there was a tiny, shameful flicker of something else. A need for someone to talk to. Someone to help her make sense of the madness around her.

She found herself wishing Wensanga was here.

It was absurd. Wensanga was one of them—a maid, a servant of this twisted place. She worked alongside Kiki, who had clearly been the one to coax Pixie into her spiraling descent into carefree debauchery. But Wensanga was… different. She wasn’t pushy.

No, Wensanga had a calmness about her. She spoke softly, moved gracefully, and despite her occasional inappropriate comments, she felt… steady. Human.

Okay, yes, Wensanga had made some strange, flirtatious remarks about her “sexual services”—but Hisako chalked that up to her training or brainwashing or whatever programming the maids were under. She didn’t push like the others did. And sure, Wensanga had once offhandedly said she’d love for Hisako to sit on her face so she could “find out what it feels like to taste pure **** energy”—an image that had left Hisako flustered for days—but Wensanga hadn’t pressed further.

It was the questions that stuck with her more than anything.

Unlike the other maids, who hovered like shadows or whispered soft invitations for indulgence, Wensanga seemed genuinely, deeply fascinated by Hisako’s mutant powers. It wasn’t just idle curiosity—it was focused, intense, and just strange enough to make Hisako feel slightly unnerved.

“It’s made of psionic energy, right?” Wensanga had asked one day, sitting cross-legged on the floor near Hisako’s bed as she polished the edges of the ballroom’s decor. Her skull tattoo, white and vivid against her dark skin, gave her an eerie, otherworldly look, but her voice was soft, curious, and even warm. “But not just any psionic energy. You said it’s dead spiritS?”

“Uh, yeah,” Hisako had replied, trying to sound casual. “It’s tied to my family, my ancestors. That’s where the energy comes from.”

Wensanga stopped polishing, tilting her head slowly as she stared at Hisako. “Fascinating,” she murmured. Her dark eyes gleamed with something sharp, something intense. “Does it hurt?”

Hisako blinked. “What?”

“When you summon it,” Wensanga clarified, her tone almost clinical. “Does it feel more like the restless dead are screaming for release? Because the glow reminds me of a burning soul, trapped and clawing at the walls of existence.”

Hisako’s jaw dropped. “What? No! That’s not… I don’t think that’s how it works at all!”

Wensanga looked faintly disappointed. “A shame,” she said softly, almost to herself. “It would be poetic, wouldn’t it? Your ancestors’ suffering granting you power. Their restless spirits burning brighter with every swing of your fist, their voices rising in an endless wail to remind the living of their torment.” She paused, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Beautiful, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think!” Hisako snapped, crossing her arms over her chest, her face hot with irritation and something else she couldn’t name. “It’s not… like that. I don’t hear anything. I don’t think my ancestors are suffering or screaming, okay? It’s just energy. My energy.”

Wensanga tilted her head the other way, her expression unreadable. “You’re certain?”

“Yes!”

But Wensanga didn’t seem convinced. “And yet,” she continued softly, “you feel them, don’t you? Their presence. Their strength. Their memories. Even if they’re not screaming, they’re still there, aren’t they? Watching you. Lending you their power. Waiting for you to need them.”

Hisako hesitated, her stomach twisting. “I… I guess?”

Wensanga smiled faintly, her skull tattoo shifting slightly with the motion. “Then perhaps they’re not screaming,” she allowed, “but they’re not resting, either. They’re waiting. Waiting for you to call them forth, to give their existence meaning again.”

Hisako didn’t know what to say. The idea made her uncomfortable in a way she couldn’t quite explain, but Wensanga spoke with such calm certainty that it was hard not to feel a flicker of doubt.

And then, as if sensing the tension, Wensanga shifted the conversation entirely. “What does it feel like inside the armor?” she asked, her tone lighter but still curious.

“Inside?” Hisako echoed, confused by the sudden change in direction.

“Yes,” Wensanga said, leaning forward slightly, her dark eyes gleaming. “When you summon it. Can you feel the air on your skin? Does it change your senses? Your body? Or does it dull everything, like a coffin shielding you from the world?”

“It doesn’t feel like a coffin,” Hisako muttered, crossing her arms again. “It’s… hard to explain. I feel stronger. Safer. But it’s not like I can’t feel anything.”

Then there were Wensanga’s darker musings—questions that no one else would dare to ask.

"I wonder," Wensanga had said one evening, as she messaged Hisako's shoulders and back with slow methodical skill and precision, "what it would feel like to die inside your armor."

"What?!"

"I imagine it would be very quick. The souls of your ancestors would scream, and the air would leave my lungs all at once. Perhaps I would be crushed in your embrace, but it would be poetic, don’t you think? To die surrounded by power, by history."

Hisako's mouth hung open as she tried to process what she’d just heard. The maid’s voice was so calm, so matter-of-fact, as though she were commenting on the weather rather than describing her own hypothetical ****.

"You’re disturbed..." Hisako finally muttered, her voice faint, barely more than a whisper.

Wensanga tilted her head slightly, her dark eyes meeting Hisako’s with a flicker of curiosity, but no hint of offense. "Am I?" she asked, her tone thoughtful, as though she genuinely wanted to know.

Hisako didn’t respond, too stunned to form words. Wensanga kept massaging, her hands moving with their usual quiet grace, as though nothing at all unusual had been said.

Another time Wensanga had murmured, her tone almost reverent, “Fascinating. Have you ever tried… doing something intimate while it’s active?”

Hisako blinked rapidly, her brain struggling to process the question. “What?”

“Sex,” Wensanga clarified bluntly, her voice matter-of-fact. “Have you ever had sex while your armor is active? I imagine the contrast between the psionic energy and another person’s warmth would be… intriguing.”

Hisako sputtered, her face flushing so hot she was sure it was glowing. “N-no! Why would I do that?”

Wensanga tilted her head again, her expression completely serious. “Why not? It’s a logical question. If the armor enhances your strength and durability, wouldn’t it enhance other sensations as well? Or perhaps it would dull them, making the experience entirely different. Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I—no! I wouldn’t!” Hisako stammered, her voice rising in pitch.

Wensanga blinked at her, completely unfazed. “Hmm. A missed opportunity, then.”

Hisako stormed away after that, her thoughts a tangled mess of embarrassment and irritation.

But even now as she carefully walked back to her bed, trying to push the memory of that conversation out of her mind, she couldn’t deny the strange sense of validation it had given her.

Wensanga wasn’t afraid of her. She wasn’t disgusted or awed in the distant way most people were when they found out about Hisako’s powers. She was curious. Deeply, genuinely curious.

And that was… nice. Even if Wensanga’s fixation on screaming souls and psionic sensations made Hisako want to crawl under a rock, it was still gratifying to be seen as someone worth understanding.

Even if the understanding came from someone who seemed to romanticize the restless dead.