Short road

Colin's resolve crumbled in an instant. The thought of that oppressive, silent darkness, of being trapped underground with God knows what, was too much. The short road, despite the obvious danger, represented the known. He could see it, he could plan for it. He was young, fit, and armed. He could be quick.

"I can outrun them," he whispered to himself, a foolish mantra that gave him the courage to step away from the tunnel's gaping maw and onto the sunlit street.

The moment he stepped onto the pavement, the source of the giggling became clear. They weren't just scattered; they were congregating. A small group of them, maybe five or six, were gathered around a overturned ice cream truck, licking melted vanilla from the ground with exaggerated, sensual motions. They wore the tattered remains of summer dresses and office blouses, their bodies swollen into caricatures of femininity. Their skin had an unnatural, sun-kissed glow, and their hair was a chaotic mess of platinum blonde and cotton-candy pink.

Colin kept to the opposite side of the street, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He moved in a crouch, trying to be a shadow. He was so focused on the group by the truck that he didn't see the one hiding behind the parked minivan until it was too late.

"Ooh, lookie what I found!" a high-pitched, bubbly voice chirped.

He spun around. A former businesswoman, her suit jacket stretched to tearing point across her massive chest, blinked at him with vacant, baby-blue eyes. She wasn't threatening him; she was just... delighted. Like a child who'd found a puppy.

Her delighted shriek was a beacon.

Every head in the vicinity snapped toward him. The giggling stopped, replaced by a unified, hungry gasp. The ice-cream-lickers rose to their feet, their movements clumsy but unnervingly fast. From doorways and alleyways, more appeared. A horde of twenty, then thirty, all turning their glassy, predatory eyes on him.

"Playtime!" one shrieked, and the word was taken up by the others as a chant.

Panic, pure and undiluted, flooded Colin's system. He broke into a dead sprint, the heavy baseball bat feeling useless in his hand. He wasn't aiming for the surplus store anymore; he was just running. A bimbo in a ripped cheerleading outfit darted in front of him, and he swung the bat in a wild arc. It connected with a sickening thud, but she only stumbled back a step, a dazed, blissful smile spreading across her face.

"Ooh, rough!" she giggled, shaking her head to clear it. "I like it!"

That was when the true horror set in. They weren't just mindless; they were invulnerable to his fear, his ****. It was all just part of the game to them.

He made it maybe fifty more yards before the first ones caught him. Hands, soft but shockingly strong, grabbed his arms and legs. He went down hard, the air knocked from his lungs. The baseball bat skittered away across the asphalt. They were on him in a flash, a writhing mountain of scented, perfumed flesh. Their giggles filled his ears, their plump, glossy lips brushed against his skin.

"Such a cute little runner!" one cooed, her breath smelling of bubblegum and something sickly sweet.

"We're gonna have so much fun!" another whispered, her fingers already working at the zipper of his jeans.

Colin struggled, kicking and punching, but it was like fighting a sea of pillows. Every blow was absorbed, met with a giggle or a moan of pleasure. A pair of impossibly large breasts smothered his face, cutting off his air. He felt his belt being unbuckled, his shoes being pulled off. The last of his strength faded as his mind, overwhelmed by the sensory **** and the sheer hopelessness of it all, began to crack.

The terror started to recede, replaced by a strange, warm fog. The frantic pounding in his chest slowed. The hands holding him down didn't feel threatening anymore. They felt... caressing. The giggles sounded like music. A thought, not his own, bubbled up from the depths of his dissolving consciousness: Why fight? This feels... nice.

As his eyes lost focus, the last thing Colin H. Greys ever saw as himself was the smiling, vacant face of the former businesswoman leaning down to kiss him, her plump, glossy lips promising an end to all his fear and the beginning of an endless, blissful game.