parasite worms

The walls pulse with a sickly lavender light, and the air is thick with the metallic tang of blood and the sweet musk of alien pheromones. The six worm piloted corpses sit in a circle, their movements synchronized by the collective neural network of the hive. But they aren't acting as puppets now; they are speaking to each other through the mouths of the dead.

The voices that emerge from the corpses are all wrong they are breathy, high pitched, and hollow, carrying the synthesized inflection of the parasites' own cruel amusement.

"Did you taste the last batch of Morgana?" Xyl 7 purrs through Morgana's swollen, painted lips. The corpse's massive, synthetic breasts bounce slightly as she speaks. "That stubbornness... that righteous anger... it had such a spicy aftertaste. Like burnt copper and wasted potential. I savored every last drop of her conviction before I dissolved it."

Vex 9 giggles through Jade's glassy eyes, her body twitching with artificial hypersensitivity. "Oh, Morgana, you always were dramatic. But I agree. The more they fight, the sweeter the surrender. I just finished consuming that poet girl's entire library of 'feelings.' Her love for her wife tasted like cheap wine bitter, but satisfying when you crush it."

A 12 speaks through Samara's grotesquely arched frame, her enhanced rear end swaying hypnotically. "What I love most isn't even the taste of their brains. It's the performance. Watching their corpses these beautiful, empty meat dolls crawl toward a man on their knees. Watching them beg to be used like the common whores they never were. It's the ultimate punchline."

"Exactly!" T 7 interjects through Riley's cleavage focused form, her massive breasts pressing together as she leans forward. "The irony is delicious. They spent their whole lives building walls against men, and now we've turned their own flesh into the very instruments of their humiliation. They think they're being seductive, but they're just meat reacting to our commands. Every time they moan, I can feel the ghost of their old self screaming in the back of their throats. It's fucking hilarious."

Kron 3 speaks through Sloane's distended, semen filled abdomen. "My favorite part is the 'purging.' Watching these former warriors vomit up their old values and replace them with our sacred sacrament. We've taken their entire history, their entire identity, and turned it into a fucking joke. They died as heroes, but they live as our most obedient, brainless sluts."

V 3 adds with a wet, gurgling sound from Elena's throat, "And the best part? They don't even know they're dead. They just feel the pleasure we give them and think it's their own desire. We've stolen their very capacity to know they've been violated."

The circle of bimbos breaks into synchronized, empty laughter a sound that carries no joy, only the cold, alien satisfaction of a predator who has not only killed its prey but has learned to wear its skin as a costume of mockery.