Unspeakable

I press my ear against the door of the house, quietly trying the doorknob. It’s unlocked.

“Holy shit, four thousand people on the livestream already,” I hear one of the men saying.

“They liking these nice tits?” I hear another of them saying.

There are laughs, accompanied by muffled screams that can only belong to one person.

“Feel her panties. God the white bitch is wet,” a third voice laughs.

“I think she’s ready to suck my cock,” the last voice chuckles. “You filming this? I want to be able to watch this back later.”

“I’ll take off the gag,” one of them says.

I hear a ripping noise, and then: “You fuckers, you animals, you absolute filth, you—”

There’s the noise of flesh slapping on flesh.

I bust open the door then.

Here is the scene: The room is quite plain. A low dining table and five chairs, an old CRT television on one side, a messy kitchen on the other. Scarlet is sitting on a chair, her hands bound to it behind her back, naked except for her sheer white panties. Her clothing is scattered on the ground around her. The four men all have their cocks out. Two of them are jerking themselves off, standing by the dining table in the kitchen, their backs facing me. One of them has his hard cock pressed against the pale of Scarlet’s cheek, the wicked anticipation on his face stark in contrast with the revulsion on hers. The last man leans with an elbow on top of the TV, his phone in hand, recording the scene. Recording my entrance.

I sprint into the room, stabbing one of the men by the dining table, wrenching my machete out and then stabbing him in the guts again for good measure.

It takes this much time for the others to start reacting to my presence, they are that absorbed with Scarlet. As the first man crumbles to the ground, the second grabs a beer bottle off the table, swinging it towards my head. I duck to the side, hearing it shatter into thousands of shards against the wall, the cold liquid burning across the gash on my left side, and I slash back at the man, leaving a deep cut down his face, his nose torn open.

He screams and backs off, and I hack at him again, opening another gash across his forehead. Guy filming has dropped his phone, rushing me with the entire television in his hands, and I spin to face him, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I swing my knife at him, and he blocks with the television, my machete stabbing through the screen and into the guts of the television. But his forward momentum keeps him going, the television crashes into my chest and slams me against the wall. My machete cuts through the depth of the television and out its back, stabbing the man in turn. He too, screams, his chest split open by my blade.

I grunt as I step forwards, forcing the blade deeper into him, and then he falls backwards, un-impaling himself, blood and other viscera leaking out of his hollow shell. The television slides off my chest, crashing against the ground too, and I feel every single shard of glass embedded in my skin. I’m cut up in a million places, but there’s still one of them left.

“Don’t move,” he says. “Or she gets it.”

His cock still dangling out of his pants, he’s drawn a short knife from somewhere and now holds that by Scarlet’s cheek instead.

I freeze. I see the two bodies on the ground, dead or nearly so. The third man is slumped over the sink, his face so bloody that no skin is visible. And the last man has his knife by Scarlet’s face, twelve feet away. If I twitch, she’s gone. I see no way out.

“Now I don’t know what you did to Roberto, but I do know you just killed some of my very good friends,” the thug whispers, his voice hoarse and shaky. “So drop that machete, and maybe we can come to an agreement.”

I slowly begin to kneel down, ready to place my knife on the ground. The man stares at me with full focus, watching for any sudden movement of mine, ready to act should I so much as twitch the wrong way, and then he screams as Scarlet bites down on his hand.

I don’t think. I just rush, sprinting over shattered glass and the prone body, my knife ramming into the last man’s sternum. He stumbles backwards, suddenly woozy, and I leave a dozen slashes across his chest for good measure, watching him fall too.

I catch Scarlet’s eyes. They are wide, her cheeks flushed red.

“One last thing,” I tell her, and then I cautiously approach the man slumped over the sink.

His eyes are shut, his body limp. I check for a pulse. Weak, but there. He’s ****. He won’t be a problem any longer.

Then, I rush back to Scarlet, and keeping my hands as steady as I can get them, I cut through the ropes tying her hands together.

“Oh my God,” Scarlet gasps, “oh jesusfuckingchrist ohmygod—” she’s sobbing, I take her into my arms, hugging her lightly “—I thought they were going to… I couldn’t… I didn’t…”

“It’s okay,” I whisper into her ear, feeling her tremble against my chest. “I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

“Oh my god,” she sobs, holding onto me so tightly that I have trouble breathing.

“Everything is quiet now,” I soothe, comforting her with my hands. “Let’s get you dressed, and let’s turn off that cursed livestream. It’s over now.”