Daleman's Log - 26 / 04 / 2120

Quillian Daleman - Personal Log
26 / 04 / 2120 F.A.

The high-pitched scream of the dragon shook the building. Security personnel were confused in my wake, their radios spitting out static and draconic roars; monitors I passed flashed, flickered, glitched out. Rimmer was by the van, having a smoke.

"Leaving. Now," I said, as I opened the back of the van.

Even in his civilian garb, black slacks and a matching work shirt, Rimmer's whole attitude yelled "cop." It was in the short haircut, the bullish set of his shoulders, the eyes that looked at you like you were guilty.

"Where's the package?" he said.

I met his eyes. Yellow sclera, almost black pupils. That was the Orc in him. The Crown Players would see him as fodder. Loyal fodder, maybe, but still just a useful tool. To be discarded if necessary.

"The exchange didn't go as planned," I admitted. "But we got something the Lodgemaster wants. Need to deliver it personally."

I hauled myself into the back of the van. Rimmer was frowning as I shut the doors.

"Just drive," I told him, as they closed with a clang.

I settled on the bench at the back of the van. Rimmer was on the other side of the armored wall. The restraints hung loose as the van pulled away, rattling against the metal wall. No cameras back here, no microphones. The Lodgemaster hadn't wanted evidence. I pulled out my smartphone and noticed I was getting a signal. Weak, but enough to work with.

Made my calls. Then there was nothing to do but wake.

It was a long trip. Longer than the way here, for all that the route was more direct. Out along the backcountry tracks, dirt roads. Smuggler routes, the kinds with ruts from ancient wagons that hadn't eroded away fully. We had enough gas to make it—Rimmer would see to that—and we'd stop periodically to pee.

When we were within sight of Moon City, and I was bent over a bush, Rimmer broke the silence.

"How fucked are we?" he said. He reeked of sweat, but not from the heat. Fear, nervousness, anxiety.

"You're unfuckable," I said, without animosity. "You did everything you were supposed to."

I heard the gun slide out of his hip holster. Your basic 9mm. Fifteen rounds in a clip. Standard police issue. Stupid. He should have brought his personal firearm. Or something with more stopping power, if he was going to make a play. Figured that it would be at the worst possible moment that Rimmer would finally find his balls.

"Hands where I can see them," he said, all cop voice.

I stood up, but instead of pulling my pants up, I stepped out of them. Turned to face him, hands still at my sides. The breeze was actually nice on my bare thighs.

Sweat dripped from Rimmer's face. The gun held in both hands, legs shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. Like they trained us at the academy.

"Want to prove yourself?" I said, as I finally figured it out. "Buy your way in? Won't work. You're tainted as far as they're concerned. Doesn't matter what you do, you'll never be Man enough for them. Just another fucking Orc."

To his credit, Rimmer didn't try to fuck around with arguing, or telling me to take the blade out of my pocket, or leaving me out in the grasslands to walk back to the city. He just opened fire. Center of mass, like he'd been taught at the academy. Bullets slammed against my tits, hit the subdermal armor. Each shot felt like a bat with a nail in it. Stars spun in front of my eyes as my ribs shuddered with every hit.

His eyes went wide as my shirt exploded outward. Caught a brief sight of six teats in between the fur. Then my left arm swiped. His face disappeared into red ruin. The firearm ran out of bullets.

It took a few more swipes before Rimmer was dead. A few more after that to make a proper mess of him. Scavengers would see to the bits and pieces. The worst part was, I still didn't know how to drive.

When I arrived at Moon City, I was shirtless, wearing just my jacket and pants and the dust of the long trek. The moon had risen and fallen, and the sun rose ugly over the smog. Dark clouds on the horizon promised rain. I didn't bother to go to the apartment, but flagged down a cab and went straight to the Lodge. Checked my time on my smartphone. Still on schedule.

Small, dark corridors, almost familiar. That same hall with the ancient banners. The Lodgemaster waited. Beside him stood the other werewolf I'd seen in the tunnel, the woman. She was in a suit now, a collar about her neck. Neither looked happy. They weren't alone.

Vanessë was tied to a chair. The Elfkin was dressed in thigh-high black latex boots, a matching miniskirt that barely hid her cunny, and a tight top that almost didn't contain her augmented breasts, the swollen tits mushrooming on top. It was the kind of sight that would, in other circumstances, have left me panting and determined to shove my muzzle between those sculpted thighs. The ropes that tied her to the chair were professionally done, not too tight...but a trickle of blood ran from her dainty nose down over the black-painted lips, and soaked into the white gag stuffed into her mouth.

I could smell her fear.

"You failed," the Man said. There was a pistol in his hand, pointed at Vanessë's pointed left ear. Police issue, like Rimmer's. That was a bit of fortune I hadn't hoped for. "Incompetence has its price."

I tilted my head. A sick ache in my guts. I swallowed the growl that wanted to escape from my throat.

"None of the packages were fit for transport. Not after Morgaun Morgaine died. Bit of a firefight between the White Hands and corporate security. The Uruk-Hai didn't survive," I said, then slid my hand into my pocket. I withdrew the ancient blade, carefully wrapped in a handkerchief. "But I recovered this."

The Lodgemaster's dark eyes went wide. He looked healthier now, whatever treatment he was doing made his flesh fill out more in his face, even if I could still smell that reek. He lifted the gun away from his captive's head and stepped forward to accept my offering. His smile showed clear, even, gem-like teeth shining in the light as he gently took the Nazgûl blade from my hand.

"Well. I suppose you did the best you could, under the circumstances. This calls for a reward..."

Then shouts came to us from the outer corridors. The Lodgemaster's smile faltered. Sounds of ****. A shot.

"Now what...?" he scowled, hand closed on his prize, fingering the pistol nervously. He looked from me to the nearest door. "Who would dare? Were you followed?"

"No one followed me. And I dealt with Rimmer. No witnesses." I turned to look at Vanessë. Mouthed the words "Close your eyes." I waited a heartbeat, for her to shut them tightly.

"Go," the Lodgemaster said to the werewolf. "See what it is. No one comes in here. Kill them if you have to."

She glanced at me, then left. I waited, careful not to move. The shouting outside increased briefly as the door opened, then the door was closed. I took one step forward, the Lodgemaster faced away from me, both of his hands occupied with weapons.

My hand closed on the arm that held the blade. The Tolc Mearas barked, right behind the Lodgemaster's right ear. It spoke to the quality of his implants that the thin body didn't fall, even as the lead slug tore away an ear and a chunk of his scalp. The hidden reek spilled out in a torrent of black blood. Cancer, or something like it. The kind of tainted meat even a hungry bear wouldn't try to eat. I emptied the gun into his head, the bullets slamming into the skull one after another in pounding succession, inescapable no matter how he tried to twitch and dodge.

By the time the bullets ran out, most of the skin on his head was gone, and his legs had collapsed. I could see pink brain, shot through with mithril and gold wires, inside a skull of clear diamond. Repeated heavy impacts caused the brain to slosh back and forth in its artificial prison. Rendered him punch-drunk.

Enough time for me to go bear.

With his free hand, he twisted and fired at me. The bullets stung and burned, wounds on wounds, but I wasn't concerned about those. It was the blade that was the real threat. I jerked his arm out to its fullest extant and ran my paw down one arm, his exquisite jacket shredded in seconds. The Morgul-knife clattered to the floor as my claws scraped the vat-grown arm-muscles off of diamond bones. The shouts grew closer. If it was who it should be, they would secure the building, arrest everyone in it.

That took long minutes. Somewhere in there, the Lodgemaster regained enough consciousness to scream.

By the time a familiar pair emerged into the hall, I was digging plastic tubes and artificial organs out of the diamond rib cage, the Lodgemaster's guts a pile of pale plastic tubing around my feet, the reek of the diseased blood soaking through my fur and making my wounds itch. Diamond bones were good protection, but the softer bits around it gave way to raw strength, though I nearly ripped a claw out when I tore through the vocal cords, cutting his voice off to a gurgling rasp that only ended when I tore out his lungs.

Immaculate suits, long jackets, identical close-cropped buzz-cuts. The A.R.M. agents, the same two who had interrogated me in the Chief Superintendent's office, held their firearms at the ready. I was drenched in the sick-smelling black reek of cancerous blood, a gleaming diamond skeleton at my feet, its black eyes staring sightlessly. I raised my paws to the air...but their guns were fixed on the gore-spattered skeleton.

"Detective-Inspector Daleman," the man said. "We got your message."

He holstered his weapon and knelt down to secure the Morgul blade.

I resumed my normal form. Since they weren't pointing their guns at me, I crossed my hands over my breasts, more to try and staunch the bleeding than out of modesty. The fresh bullet holes in my chest would count as 'resisting arrest,' when it came time to fill out the report. With as much gentleness as a bleeding, eight-foot woman swaying gently on tired, blistered feet could manage, I untied Vanessë. Her eyes were still tightly closed, but she shivered. She had heard everything.

"I'm sorry I couldn't have told you earlier about going undercover," I said to the agent. "It was Arnorson's plan. The only way to recover the artifact. He thought there might be a leak in the police department."

The agent nodded. He looked around the room with disgust, taking in the symbols, the heraldry.

"Black Numenoreans. The King's Men. Crown Players. The Dark Tree throws its branches wide. You played your part perfectly, Detective-Inspector. Arnorson is avenged."

I helped Vanessë from her chair, and she clung to me and buried her face into my side. My arm draped on her shoulder like it was made to be there.

She didn't stop sniffling until we got back to my apartment.

It's been a long week. I wasn't feeling very sexy. The A.R.M. docs had patched up my chest and fed me three IVs before they let me go home. Vanessë had called ahead, and there was Haradrim take-out, hot and steaming, in a bag by my door. My stomach rumbled at the smell of protein kebabs, rice pulao, vegetarian samosas, and Pellenor Pale Ale that probably wasn't something I should drink with my pain medication.

"Sauron's sweaty scrotum," Lilja said as she saw us sidle in. There were bags under her eyes, and the t-shirt she work stuck to her sweaty skin. "You look like shit, mama bear."

I tried a grin. I was wearing a tablecloth taken from the Lodge, and not much else. Vanessë held my holstered pistol. The Elfkin's eyes were wide as she began to babble to Lilja about how I had saved her from these really creepy guys and... The Dwarf and I shared a glance, silently agreeing not to tell our mutual friend about what else we'd been up to. Better for her that way.

Shower. Food. Beer. Painkillers. When I did stumble into bed, my chest one mass of pain, unable to hold my eyes open, I was too far gone for sexy times.

Or so I thought.

In the dark, Vanessë kissed me wherever it didn't hurt. One of my nipples was gone. Not just injured, but absent. I hadn't even noticed during the attack, but there had been just a gaping wound. The doc said they could grow me a new one. Department health insurance policy, three weeks. I'd been too numb to do anything but nod.

Lilja was plugged back into the Matrix, eyes closed. It was almost like the two of us were all alone, and when the Elfkin pressed her hand against my pussy...her palm so dainty that my clit pressed against the heel of her hand and the tip of her middle finger barely touching my taint...and she whispered, so soft I could hardly hear it, as she used those fingers to spread my pussy lips wide.

"I don't think I want to be a whore anymore. Would you be okay if we were, like, girlfriends?"

"I'd love to be girlfriends," I said.

"But, like, I can still stream, right?" Vanessë asked.

"Absolutely," I said.

"Okay, because I promised my followers I would do this shaving video, and you're way more hairy than I am, and they will eat that up..."

Her tongue dipped into my tunnel and ran, up the inner curve of my labia, until her little mouth kissed my clit and suckled gently. I thought, for a little while, about the madness of the last few days. Ancient weapons. Cold-drakes. Uruk-Hai. Whatever the hell Bob was. How that ex-Ranger had seemed to flicker in and out of reality. That strange figure in the Lodge, who I had only seen once, and uttered a strange prophecy...

Magic. Real magic, still in this world of guns and Matrix sex games. The rain burst outside and inside my apartment the air grew muggy. Maybe it was just the painkillers talking, but right then the only magic in the world I cared about was cunnilingus. Of an eager tongue that explored my pussy like it was more than just her side-hustle, a clever mouth that was twisting through the depths of my fresh-washed cunt instead of reading sonnets in Sindarin. Somehow, against all odds, this beautiful creature wanted to fuck me for something other than money.

"...and we can make it a whole series," Vanessë gasped as she came up for air.

"Whatever you want, love," I said, didn't realize the L-word had passed my lips until I heard Vanessë's tight little intake of breath.

I'm always surprised by what I say when a hot little mouth is eating me out. It was something I might regret in the morning and the coming days. Yet at least there would be more days, and they would have a big-tittied pretty Elfkin girlfriend in it. That was a better future than I could have ever hoped for a few days ago.