Last major revision: 05/30/99 Last modified: 06/02/99 [orig fic] Divine Justice - Part 1 Earlier parts will be available at the following URL: http://www.geocities.com/~madamhydra/YAOI.html As always, C&C is greatly appreciated! ^_^ ====================================================================== Divine Justice: A Original Story by MadamHydra ====================================================================== Part 01 ====================================================================== WARNING: yaoi, explicit sexual content, mature themes Text Conventions ( ) are character thoughts >>>> marks the START of flashbacks <<<< marks the END of flashbacks ********************************************************************** [Elysium] Valasquez, Lieutenant, Special Security, took a deep breath as she stood outside the imposing doors leading to the CEO's office. She had drawn the short straw and was duly designated as the delivery-person of bad news and potential sacrificial scapegoat. (That'll teach me to piss off my section chief, won't it?) Finally, she pushed the intercom button and received an immediate reply. "Enter," said a cold female voice. Passing through the opened doors, Valasquez walked across the dark green carpet and stopped in front of the large gleaming desk. Behind the desk sat the CEO of Elysium Corporation, a tall statuesque woman of intimidating beauty. Her skin was pale perfection and her long, curly black hair was drawn back in a high ponytail which accentuated the classical bones of her face. The CEO's dark, almost black eyes seemed to bore into Valasquez as she silently waited for the Lieutenant to speak. "Ma'am, all reports are negative. We've found no trace of him." A slim dark eyebrow quirked upward. Valasquez had worked in Elysium Corporation's Special Security Division for nearly a decade, but she still felt her palms grow sweaty as she nervously awaited for the CEO's reaction to her news -- or the lack thereof. However, the Lieutenant quickly realized that a woman like Medea Moerae was far too controlled to openly display what had to be a mounting sense of frustration and urgency to a mere subordinate. "Indeed. Is that all?" was Medea's cool response. "Yes, Ma'am. Under specific orders from Chief Garretty, my team followed what he considered the most promising tips and leads, but they all eventually came to dead-ends." After a few seconds of thoughtful silence, Medea finally said, "I see. And the missing security detail?" "There's been no trace of them, either, Ma'am." The CEO calmly waited, as if expecting Valasquez to say more. The Lieutenant took a deep breath and said, "Ma'am, it is my considered opinion that all the leads we've so conveniently found were actually false trails that were designed to sidetrack us. There's strong evidence to suggest that we're looking in the wrong place. I don't think your brother ever arrived at his destination." "But Garretty doesn't agree with you." "No, Ma'am." Medea activated her intercom and spoke to her assistant. "Philotes, have Chief Garretty report to me at once." The CEO turned back to Valasquez. "Lieutenant, you're now in charge of the investigation. I trust that your next report will be more informative and thorough than your former superior's." "Yes, Ma'am." (God, I hope that nothing's serious has happened to him, or there's going to be bloody hell to pay.) Valasquez didn't know Moerae's brother well, but she had worked security for many of the executive and high society parties. Talented and personable, Sichore Moerae was generally and affectionately regarded as the white sheep among the ruthless pack of corporate wolves known as the Moerae family. A discreet buzz shook the Lieutenant from her musings. "Yes?" said Medea. "Ma'am, a priority call from Tartarus Corporation," Medea's assistant replied over the intercom. "Very well. A moment." Turning back to Valasquez, there was an ominous glitter in her black eyes as Medea added, "People like my brother do not simply vanish. Not by accident, nor by carelessness. He's been missing for over a month now. I want answers and I want them now. Dismissed." "Yes, Ma'am." Valasquez saluted crisply and turned to leave. As she left the office, she caught a glimpse of an extremely handsome man with dark red hair on the main video monitor. ----------------------------------- Medea Moerae leaned back in her chair and said coolly, "And what do I owe this pleasure to, Alecto?" The red-haired man, who looked like he was barely in his mid-twenties, gave her a calm smile. "And I hope you're feeling well, Medea. I was calling about the status of the Damask Project." "All the technical support modules will be ready on schedule as always. Why the sudden concern?" Alecto murmured, "I've recently received some reports that your youngest brother is missing." Medea's expression remained unchanged. Although the family had kept Sichore's disappearance quiet in order to prevent fake ransom demands, it was not surprising that the CEO of such a large conglomerate such as Tartarus would eventually find out. He undoubtedly had a set of informants inside Elysium itself, just like she had her own informants within his corporation. "That is true." There was no point or profit in Medea trying to deny the report. Alecto brushed several long strands of his dark red hair away from his face. "That's very unfortunate. I didn't know him well, but I do know that he's an immensely talented artist. It would be a tragedy if all that potential was lost. If you require... assistance?" Medea nodded a polite acknowledgment. Alecto was known to be a connoisseur of things beautiful and talented. She serenely replied, "Our security is investigating. However, I assure you that there is no effect on our other operations. The deadlines will be met." She smiled faintly. "Unless you were hoping for a delay." He gave her an equally polite, meaningless smile. "The weapon systems will ready for delivery on schedule...." ----------------------------------- [Tartarus] After the conversation with Medea ended, Alec took a deep breath, then stood up and headed back to his bedroom suite. The large room seemed so empty without Sichore there.... (No, not Sichore. Sichore Moerae doesn't exist any more.) How could he ever forget that fact, even for a second, not when he was the one who had taken Sichore apart with such slow, exquisite precision? >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> "What the hell's going on!?" Instead of answering, Alec walked around the naked, dark-haired young man strapped down in the chair. He took his time, getting a feel for his subject. Finally, he said, "You recognize me, don't you?" Sichore watched his captor warily. "Of course I do," he said evenly and left it at that. He was pleased that Sichore wasn't wasting energy on useless displays of anger and bluster. There was a surprising amount of strength and self-discipline both in that slim, graceful body and in that agile mind. That made things both harder and easier for both of them. "Well, we're going to get to know each other much better over the next several days." He gently wrapped his hand around Sichore's throat and lightly brushed his thumb over a nerve point. As Sichore took in the medical surroundings, Alec was pleased that the young man was no fool and could guess what was coming. "Brainwashing?" Sichore finally said in a level voice that almost managed to hide any sign of fear or anxiety.... He smiled calmly at his subject. "Nothing so mundane. I'm simply going to deconstruct and remake you." "Why?" Sichore whispered, his face going pale. "Revenge," came the simple, but inexorable reply. Turning to one of the silent technicians, he said, "The genetic vector, please." <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< Alec shook his head sharply, as if to shake off the memories. Yes, it had started in that antiseptic room deep in the core of this building -- all very cold and clinical -- but the process had finished here, in this very bedroom, amid tangled sheets and the scent of sex.... He wandered over to the glass wall and stared out into the night. Somewhere out in the middle of the sprawling megatropolis was the young man who had once been Sichore Moerae. If he wanted to know exactly, all Alec needed to do was ask Nyx, his head of security. But he wasn't in the mood to deal with that tonight. Impersonal surveillance reports couldn't take the place of a warm body curled up in his arms.... Alec propped his forehead against the glass and wistfully wondered if his lover was thinking about him. ----------------------------------- [Downlevels of the city] In a roomy loft in one of the lower class sections of the city, a dark-haired young man was brutally jarred out of his peaceful sleep by an intense surge of desire. His dark eyes stared blindly out into the room, dimly and intermittently lit by the flash of distant neon signs. He writhed helplessly on the bed, his fingers clawing and knotting into the sheets. God, he needed... he needed... there was something he needed so badly, but he didn't... *couldn't* remember what it was. "Please...," he whispered, his head tossing restlessly against the pillow, but he had no idea who he was asking or what he was begging for. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> "Please...." He could hear himself whimpering the words. The ache in his body was so bad, he could barely breathe, and the searing desire was being relentlessly stoked by constant teasing touches from the slim, elegant fingers that manipulated and controlled the sensations raging through his body with frightening ease. Then *that* voice murmured, "Please what?" "Please... I... want you in me...." The slim fingers suddenly stopped moving. "You... want....?" His Master's voice abruptly become searingly cold. He shuddered in fright. His fear and anxiety was fully justified as the desire... the hunger inside him suddenly seemed to double in intensity. He would have screamed, but that wasn't allowed.... "You... want...?" his Master's voice repeated in dulcet, ominous tones. His hypersensitive body could feel his Master getting up from the bed. An arm pulled his hips up while his face was shoved into the bedsheets. "Don't move and be quiet," came the stern command. Then he heard the door close as his Master left him alone. He wasn't sure just how long he lay there, face down on the bed, his knees spread wide and his ass in the air. It seemed like forever, but he didn't dare move. If he did.... Just the mere contemplation of disobeying one of his Master's direct orders brought on a familiar, agonizing wave of guilt, shame, and distress that hurt worse than any physical pain. Finally, after a seeming eternity frozen in the same position, his body burning and aching, the door reopened and he felt his Master sitting down beside him. "Now that you've had a chance to think about it more carefully, please *what*?" He felt a flood of relief. His Master didn't sound angry. "Please... I... I NEED you in me!" "That's better." The fingers returned to their teasing, tormenting ways as they lightly brushed the cleft in his buttocks. "Remember that. You don't have wants. You don't have desires. You only have needs. Do you understand me?" "Y-Yes...." "And I'm the only one who can satisfy those needs." "Yesss...." His hips rocked as he felt his Master's fingers slowly, but effortlessly sliding into him. "After all, I designed you. I made you what you are." His head bobbed helplessly, both from obedient agreement and from the involuntary muscle spasms evoked by his Master's touch. He heard a low, satisfied chuckle and felt a hand caress the curve of his buttocks with a proprietory air. "With all the other bio-enhancements I made, it was a very simple matter to make some minor adjustments to the muscles and tissues here. Increasing the nerve end density...." He was his Master's creation... his property. He rejoiced in that thought, but something deep inside him stirred uneasily. However, that dim sense of resistance was instantly swept away as his Master lightly stroked a certain spot deep inside him. He shuddered as the resulting pleasure flooded his mind... but the pleasure did nothing to ease the desire that was consuming him. It wasn't enough to make the need go away. "And some self-lubrication in the tissue linings here...." Slick fingers slithered tantalizingly inside him before finally pulling completely out of him, leaving him hollow... empty.... He barely managed to choke back a wail of loss and deprivation. Then without warning, his Master plunged his cock deep into him and began to thrust slowly. "How remarkably convenient. You should thank me for being so considerate," his Master said in a faintly amused voice. For a moment, the pleasure so total, he couldn't answer. He was so full.... He knew that the desire -- the all-consuming need -- would return. It always did. But for this brief instant, he was content. "Thank you, Master," he whispered. <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< The dark-haired young man abruptly sat bolt upright in his bed and glanced around wildly for a few seconds before he realized that his phone was buzzing. He jumped out of bed and nearly fell on his face as his knees unexpectedly buckled. "Damn sheets," he muttered as he tried to kick himself free. Finally, he managed to stagger over to the phone. "Hello...?" "Errin, where are you!?" "Noriaki, where do you expect me to be at this hour?" Errin replied in his usual soft, reasonable voice. "I can't locate Fen, Deuce is drunk out of his mind, and Yataro's up and dumped us for Kazuhiko!" wailed Noriaki. Errin sighed patiently, then said, "I warned you that Yataro would leave...." He held the phone away from his ear as Noriaki started cursing furiously. When the stream of obscenities slowed down, he said, "Okay, calm down. I'll be right there. I think I know where we can find another bass guitarist and Fen's probably in jail after another bar fight. Now see what you can to do sober up Deuce." As he hung up, he ruefully shook his head. Noriaki was a terrific guitarist and singer, but talk about high-strung.... He hastily threw on his usual outfit -- a baggy t-shirt and loose, comfortable slacks -- then got ready to leave. But as he flung open the front door to his loft, he stopped a moment and glanced back at his bed. He frowned slightly. There had been something... a dream? A nightmare? The details seemed to elude any effort at recall. Errin Nyes -- who, a few months ago, had been known by many in the corporate world as Sichore Moerae -- shook his head impatiently and ran out the door. After all, if he didn't remember whatever it was, it couldn't possibly be that important. -------------------------------------------- madamhydra@aol.com /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/:E http://www.geocities.com/~madamhydra/ -------------------------------------------- This story is considered to be the sole property and copyrighted to the author.