Tales from Usonia 1

By Lionbadger I have a dreary commute to work and while looking for something to read came across Frenemy54's Fox Hunt serial (Misc stories, Mr X site, if you haven't read it, you should and if the setting confuses you I sort of tacked on my own continuity through the stories Fox Hunt 6-10). I've always been a fan of the Butterscotch Fox universe and with Frenemy's continuity I figured I could create a little off shoot/parallel universe setting for some home brew heroines and hopefully help out any other fetish inclined commuters. I suspect I am not great at describing costumes so there is a deviant art pic of the girls of project Hlin here: http://fav.me/d8bou1g comments, suggestions, offers of cake etc; lionbadger@hotmail.com

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My heart is pounding. It's all I can hear. It's all I've been able to hear since stepping out of the troop carrier 10 minutes ago. I've never been inside the Protector's palace. They won't tell me why I am here. My red and black dress uniform is immaculate. My captain's studs gleam. My medals look like stars against the dark material. Why does it take 4 of the Protector's fox hounds to bring a lowly guard captain before the Protector. Why can nobody tell me why I am here. Why did my C.O. look so scared when he gave me the order. Was that really only 2 hours ago. Have I angered the Protector. Why don't they tell me. Unless they want me to be afraid. Fear will do the work of 10 squads. Ironic. I've used fear like a surgeon uses a scalpel. Ever since I signed up to the guards. Back when we were fighting costumed monsters with nothing more than bb guns and human grit. When all we had was the Protector leading us and the will to tear down our false idols. Fear turned the tide for me then. Why has my old friend turned on me now.

We just passed the interrogator's offices. I'm not here for interrogation. Am I already convicted of something. We're going deeper into the palace. The fox hounds march me through security points. Palace guards with las carbines ignore me. Am I dead. Am I just waiting to catch up with reality. A lift, wrought iron and gold leaf. Big enough to park a truck in. I don't think they built it to move tourists.

Another security point. Fox hounds manning this one, the dull dead eyes have always freaked me out. The door is massive. A frieze is embossed. The Protector betrayed by her own sister, forced to fight a woman she loved. They are so alike and yet so different. One is noble and selfless. The other craving power and hedonism. The red uniform or the gold. I'm glad Butterscotch Fox is dead. The Protector was right about them all. The huge portal swings open with barely a whisper. It's the state room. It could only have been. My heart pounds harder. I don't know how I can stand let alone march forward.

I see Jade Fox first, standing to my right, a clutch of acolytes at her back. The Venom Witch hovering at her shoulder. Jade's huge almond eyes regard me with indifference. Her long black hair is pinned into a tight geisha's bun. The sheer emerald costume hugs her slender form. Ebony fox is next. Her skin is paper white against her black costume. Frills of lace cover her arms, waist and bodice. Her lip is pierced by two hoop rings. She looks like a child. The vacant empty stare of the naked woman leashed to her side confirms she is far more dangerous than she looks. Her plaything is slathered in makeup. She looks like a doll. American Fox. What's left of her. I hope the traitor is still inside that ruined head somewhere. I hope she is suffering.

The light hits a tower of shimmering pink diamond to my left. Crystal fox. The destroyer. Hard to believe a puddle of pink goo could take over the body of Silver Fox and burn the malevolent slut out of her own mind. I saw Crystal once before, 6 years ago at Blackrock. The Protector's army was ambushed by traitors hidden in the old american army. We were pinned down by artillery and cross fires of heavy machine guns. The fire was heavy enough to drop fox hounds. Then we saw Crystal. A blur of pink light, charging through the hail of fire. Bullets sparked against her armoured costume. She broke the line. The fall of the old regime was never in doubt after that.

My breath catches in my chest. Burning heat fills me. I think I'm going to fall. Pearl fox is next to Crystal. Pearl Fox is looking right at me. The beautiful mahogany skin contrasts with the glittering white bodice and gloves that reach almost to her shoulders. The long toned legs are sheathed in pristine white thigh high boots. She smiles. Her teeth match her costume. The soft brown eyes framed by a delicate bob cut head of hair are calling to me. I feel like I'm sinking. No wonder she was able to turn Violet Fox away from the traitors. She glances away and my heart breaks. I want to run to her. I want to hold her. I want to confess everything to her.

My body saves me. Parade auto pilot takes over and keeps me marching forward. A heavy hand falls on my shoulder. The fox hound on my left halts me before a small dais. I look up. Doctor Vanessa Payne, or rather what's left of her, is stood on the second from top step. Her legs are polished brass and steel bionics. Titanium plate covers her from crotch to bust. The bust is fake, a lab grown transplant. The Europeans nearly killed her. The top of her bust is naked flesh. Bionics take over at the end of her shoulders and continue down her arms. Her head is encased in a skull hugging metal helmet. Her mouth and chin are uncovered but the helmet hides her eyes. A top knot of hair sprouts from her crown and dangles down her back. She's smiling but the smile is cold and brittle. I'd be bitter too if a second rate eurotrash whore left me to cook in a burning accelerator suit.

The Protector is stood at the top of the dais. Scarlet Fox. The woman who took on the institute and freed us all. Deep scarlet thigh high boots cling to her shapely legs. A dark red leotard with black sleeves covers her magnificent body. My cheeks burn with shame as my gaze lingers on her fantastic breasts. The fabric must be under a constant strain to constrain them. A mass of firey copper hair surrounds a gorgeous face. Perfect symmetry. Full red lips contrast with the pale skin. Intelligent crystal blue eyes stare back at me. She's smiling but her eyes are full of saddness.

I've been standing still for almost 5 seconds. My arm snaps out involuntarily and I salute.

The Protector stares back.

My brains is in over drive. Do something it screams. Fight, flee, speak, yell, beg, anything it yells inside my skull. I settle for speak.

"My lady Protector, you honor me, how may I serve?" I ask. At least I try. To my ears it comes out as an alternatively rasping cough and squealing shriek

"You have been with the Guards for almost 9 years captain Ashforth. You were part of the early influx to the liberation army, not long after we exposed the Institute and the web of the corruption it had fostered" says Doctor Payne

"That is correct doctor" I say. My mouth feels like it is full of glue.

"Your record is good, Blackrock, Georgetown, Baltimore, Haiti, Brunswick. You went up the beaches at Iceland, you were injured early in the battle however and evacuated" says Payne. I realise that she is connected to the Palace computer system. Her brain has wifi. I'd laugh if it didn't mean my death. She is reading my service record direct from the mainframe.

"Most recently you were part of the Ottowa garrison that came under attack by the fugitive terrorist Canadian Fox. You lost 80% of your squad but your regiment managed to drive off the terrorist" says Payne "Currently your regiment is below operational strength and waiting for reinforcements to be drafted in" She finishes the sentence and stares down at me.

"That is correct doctor" I say "My guards are egear to get back out there"

"We will not reinforce your regiment captain" says Payne. It hits me like shot to the gut. This is it. This is where they tell me I failed. This is where I die. I look at the Protector, she almost looks sad.

"The remains of your regiment will be folded into another under strength unit" says Payne

"I have a different task for you captain" says Scarlet Fox quietly. Maybe I'm not dead afterall.

"Can I trust you captain" Scarlet whispers

My clenched fist slaps against my chest, over my heart "Eternally my lady" I say without even thinking

Scarlet's eyes dart to Ebony Fox. She's reading my mind. I panic. I do exactly what I shouldn't. I search my head for any wrong doing or lie. I find nothing. Has Ebony? This is the longest half second of my life. I want to look at the telepath but I'm dead if I turn. Scarlet's eyes return to mine.

"Finally" she says quietly

The hand on my shoulder moves away. My fox hound escorts turn and leave.

"We have only culled about 50% of the old institute" Scarlet says.

It's news to me. I knew Power Angel escaped and Canadian Fox came out of nowhere to gut my squad. I thought we were 99% successful. 50% is a lot of unaccounted metahuman misery. My confusion is plain to see.

"Let me explain. We wiped out the active foxes. Mostly they got lacticide in the brain or are locked up somewhere safe" says Scarlet "We killed the various Avengers. Gold Avenger had her neck snapped when we found her in Kansas. Noble Avenger was cooked by guards from the 105th. Supreme Avenger, well, she was basically melted with supercide. A private contractor brought her down. The others had similarly fitting ends. 99% of the heroines you are familiar with were wiped out. However, some 80% of the cadets escaped"

It clicks in my head.

"It wasn't Canadian Fox who attacked my regiment" am I asking or stating.

"That is our suspicion. We do believe that Canadian Fox was killed at the institute. We think the Canadian Fox you encountered is in fact teen fox. Teen Fox was never accounted for and it is possible that she has assumed the mantle of her former mentor" says Payne "It is also possible that this new Canadian Fox is not a fox at all. By which I mean not a Monsduggian. She could be formerly human and using a power crystal"

Formerly human. It's better than those derranged street walkers deserve.

"These cadets have had years to train and prepare. With Power Angel now organising them into terrorist cells they are an increasing threat to the reconstruction. 3 days ago a supply convoy was attacked by Ultragirl. Crystal Fox impaled the original so this new one must be a cadet" says Scarlet

"Why are you telling me this lady?" I ask. My world is falling apart. The terrorist horror of 9 years ago is starting again.

"We don't know how many cadets are out there. There are only 6 of us to cover the whole of Usonia. We have Russian Imperialists, Asian mecha hordes and mongrel Europeans probing our borders. I need someone to hunt these renegades. I need soldiers who can find these terrorist cells and eliminate them. Usonia needs antibodies to cull the enemy within" she fixes me with a long stare "We expect attrition to be high"

So I am here to die. Just not today.

"My lady your guards will gladly die for you but they are no match for metahumans. Even inexperienced Cadets are formidable foes for an unaugmented human" I say

"Then I suppose we shall have to augment you. Will you do it captain. Will you lead my Stalkers" says Scarlet

I wonder briefly which one will kill me if I say no. I know too much. She can't have guards gossiping about the secret sleeper army of institute survivors. Her eyes flick to Jade then back to me. So fast I almost wonder if I imagined it. At least it would be quick.

"Of course lady. I will lead your stalkers and we will end this threat" I say

***

I crouch inside a fire blackened doorway. This building will never be completed. They'll have to tear it down and start again. 3rd time lucky. The survivor described Miss Victory as the attacker before he expired. I pat the twin bladed injector strapped to my right forearm. No survivors. Nobody to spread fear and panic. Nobody to undermine the Protector.

I turn a little to my left. The new servos in my legs hiss. Vanadium alloy rods have replaced my leg bones. Fibre bundles and fast twitch servos augment my muscles. I can run at 30mph and sprint to 40. Lightweight carbon fibre plates fit over the thigh of my fatigues. The same armour covers my torso and abdomen. Moulded plates fit over my upper and lower arms. My primary attack, the injector, is buckled to my right forearm. Two flat blades spring from it at the touch of a button my thumb. The metal glistens with the neurotoxins coating them. A human would be dead in seconds from a scratch. One good blow should be enough to cripple a heroine.

My helmet is snug. My breathing wheezes through a respirator. No poisons, no pheromones will reach me in here. Nothing to cloud my mind. Just the purity of the hunt. The eyepieces make the night seem like day. I zoom on a movement. Just a badger. The helmet looked menacing when thy gave me it. The respirator around the mouth, the orange eyes set in a square face that sloped up my head and then curved around behind my head. I look like some monstrous alien. Scarlet Fox's seal is eteched on either side. A fox hound will obey me before it obeys the generals.

3 nights I've been crouched here. A flickering light is up on the crumbling 2nd story. Anyone who is worried about this watchtower being completed should have seen it by now. I can wait.

Movement. Another badger? Not this time. A blonde. She's young, younger than the original Miss Victory would be. The leotard, red and blue with white stars speckling her left side from hip to shoulder. A blue mask. White knee high boots. She's cautious. Hugging the contours of the ground as she slinks forward. The light flickers and she drops onto her stomach. A short red cape flutters behind her. Can she fly? She tracks to the left. She's trying for a better view of the building. I chuckle to myself. In the bad old days they just stormed in, tits thrust out, hands on hips. The culling has made them cautious.

She vanishes around the corner. I start moving. The servos accelerate me forward at a frightening pace. My HUD clicks up mph like a race car. I'm round the corner in 2 seconds. She's looking up at the lit room. She's too close to do anything about me. Her head turns. Her eyes widen in fright. I see the muscles in her thighs clench. The figure hugging leotard bunches as her stomach muscles tense. She's going for flight. Her reaction time is amazing. No scream of fright. No suicidal demands for me to stop. She's 4 feet off the ground and climbing when I leap. Fibre bundles launch me 10 feet up. Moving forward at 32 miles per hour.

She almost made it. My injector is out. My elbow pulled as far back as it will go. A tanned thigh passes me at head height. My elbow rockets forward. The injector slams into her thigh. It's like punching a wall. I spin in mid air. A thin ribbon of crimson whips away from her. I land on my back. Rolling as they trained me I come to my feet. A red white and blue shape corkscrews across the sky and slams into earth. Clods of soil rain around her. This is the dangerous part.

I stop short of the crater. A dirt smeared glove drags Ms Victory forward. She climbs to her feet. A thin red line mars her right thigh. She pulls the classic pose. Tits thrust out. Hands go to the hips. She has no idea how ridiculous she looks.

"Who are you" she barks at me.

Her voice is strong and clear. She sounds young. I circle her. Time is not her friend.

"Why did you attack me" she demands

Still circling. I change direction. Anti clockwise.

"At least tell me..." she hesitates. She's seen the seal on my helmet. She knows I'm a weapon.

"Scarlet Fox has a new lackey" Her arms come up "Well lucky for you lackeys are my speciality"

I choke back a laugh. Where do they get these lines. She follows me as I circle. My right lense zooms on her. Sweat is beading her face and the exposed cleavage. A droplet trickles down her leg. I stop circling.

"Who are you" I hiss at her

"Miss Victory. If you know what is good for you you'll slink back to your mistress and leave the people of this town alone" she says

"Miss Victory is dead. Who are you really?" I sneer

"Miss Victory is an ideal. Ideals can't be murdered by fascist dictators" she says

She just admitted she's about to be murdered. Maybe she's not such an airhead afterall. I start to circle her again.

"I told you my name. You owe me yours" she says.

Sweat is pouring off her.

"No" I say "This is not a game. This not a negotiation. I gather intelligence. I do not give it"

She looks at me as if I had slapped her. Does she really think there are rules. No wonder the world was such a mess. She opens her mouth to retort. I spring forward. The injector slams into her gut. It penetrates the costume and a half inch into her flesh. She swats at me and I grab her wrist with my left hand. She's so strong. I cling on as she struggles. My whole body is jarred. My neck would have snapped if not for my gorget. I try to push the injector into her. I twist it. I lean in on it. Her left fist hits my helmet. I cartwheel away from her. A tree stops me. I think I've broken a rib. Panic rises. I'm blind. Then the cpu recovers and the HUD is back up.

I'm on my knees. My ribs burn. My spine screams at me. I tear open a pouch in my webbing. I fumble the shot of painkiller and finally ram the needle into the side of my leg. I look up. She's unsteady but she's heading this way. She knows she's stronger than me. Her hand clutches her belly. A dark stain has spread from beneath her hand. I watch her as I stand up. A look of surprise crosses her face and turns to horror. It rejuvenates me. Her eyes follow the injector. I wonder how much of this she can take. There is a bonus for bringing them in alive but it's not high. Ending the terrorism is the main objective.

She veers left. She lifts her arms. The cut in her stomach is visible through the tear in her costume. Her hair is wet with the sweat pouring off her. Her magnificent body is trying to clear the toxin. It's not working fast enough. Her movements are becoming more sluggish. Circling me was a mistake. It proves she's a cadet playing grown up. An experienced heroine would have come straight at me. Tried to use superior strength to end this. She's given me the chance to use my speed. I dance away from her. She frowns. She follows. Her arms have dropped slightly.

I spring forward. Like a cobra striking. The injector slams into her right shoulder. I rip it away and spring back. Blood flutters after the blade then settles into a thin stream down her chest. Her right arm has dropped to her side. She flails weakly at empty space with her left. Her hand comes to her glistening brow. She stumbles left and almost doubles over. The view down her sweat drenched cleavage is mesmerising.

"What have you done to me" she whispers helplessly "Why is my head spinning. Can't think"

It's all a set piece. The final weapon in her arsenal. Look enticing. Look helpless. Look like the greatest fuck I'll ever have. It would buy her the time she needs to recover and turn the tables. Sure enough. The corner of my HUD has a long orange bar. Pheromones are exploding off her. Thank the Protector for my helmet and its filtered air.

"Answer me!" She snaps

"I gather intel, I do not give it" I reply

Decision time. Do I wait. Do I bet on the toxin putting her down soon. I feel for the restraints on my belt. The chloro gag is on the opposite side. First outing and a live rebel to show for it is enticing. Almost as enticing as her sweat matted thighs. The alternative is to sting her again. The toxin is designed to knock them out but too much will kill her. Freeze her heart and lungs. Shut down her brain. Plus the injector is cutting deeper as she weakens. The next strike might hit something critical. An acceptable outcome but lacks the kudos of a capture.

She's still standing. Albeit doubled up. Her arms are out to steady her. Decision made. Failure is not an option. I'm taking no chances. I slither to my left. She totters to her right to follow me. I stamp a foot forward. She almost falls as she flinches away. I slip left taking advantage of her confusion. I charge in on her right side. I bat away her right arm. She's still arranging herself to repel a frontal attack. My left arm snakes around her back until it clutches her left shoulder. A mass of wet blond hair fills my eye pieces. I remember my snapped rib as I pull her tight. It yells a dull protest. The painkiller does its job.

My right arm pistons into her side. The injector slides into her with no more effort than a fish flitting through water. It stops when my fist thumps against her rib. She judders. Her right arm hangs limp. The left arm thuds against my shoulder. She tries to push me away. She's down to human strength now. She's fading. She's losing the fight against the toxin. Her body is diverting all its resources to keep the numbing death at bay. I take a chance. I yank the injector out. It's slick with her blood. Her tattered suit is drenched around the wound. A creeping trail slides over her thigh. I recharge the injector with venom and slam it into her side again. It stops when my fist squelches against her suit. She gasps pathetically. The freckling of stars are red now. Her arm claws feebly at my helmet.

My right hand lets go of her shoulder and I dart away. Sometimes they keep something in reserve. Sometimes it's a trap. Not this time. This haughty bitch is done. The toxin is shutting her down. I watch as she clutches a hand to her shredded waist. Her legs collapse under her. She hits the ground hard. Her face bounces in the dirt. She quivers. I notice her ass for the first time. Plump and round. Exquisite. She struggles to crawl. I can't believe she's still trying to fight. She makes it up onto her elbows. She's struggling to breath. The neurotoxin is trying to swtich of her lungs. He heart is probably stuttering. Her brain will be starting to feel oxygen deprived.

No need for caution now. I step forward between her legs and drive the injector into her ass. She moans and jerks. Her elbows collapse under her. I kick her onto her back. There's surprisingly little blood considering that I've stabbed her six times. A shallow cut in the thigh. A small dark patch on the stomach. The same with her shoulder. Two rents in her side surrounded by dark stains. A smeared splash from the side wounds covers her upper thigh. I can't see the puncture in her ass.

Her back is arched. Her elbows and knees are bent. Her hands are pulled into claws. Her breath is erratic. It comes in shallow irregular jerks. Her eyes are screwed shut. Her head twitches from side to side. The breaths are slowing. She really wants to live. I wonder how old she is. Probably no more than 25. 9 years of which has been spent in hiding. 10 before that being brainwashed and abused by veterans at the institute. What a fucking waste of potential. Her eyes flutter open and she looks at my pleadingly. Her tongue slides across her lips. Seriously. Save me and you can fuck me. Still trying to win. I guess she's earned better than to suffocate.

I kneel down beside her. Slip my left hand under her head cradling the mass of soaking blonde hair.

"Please don't let me die" she whispers.

Its the second most seductive thing I've ever heard. She dosen't deserve to suffocate. An idiot would take his helmet off and kiss her. Get soaked in her pheromones, spend 40 minutes fucking her and wearing themselves out. I'm not an idiot. We are at war with terror. I slam the injector into her chest. It slides under her breast and I keep pushing. She looks genuinely surprised. My fist is hard against her ribs. I twist the injector. I pump the recharge. Did I miss, no. She coughs blood. It flows over her chin and down her neck. Rivers splash across her cheeks. Her eyelids flutter. She twitches. Her body tries to reroute to compensate for her diced heart. It fails. She goes limp. I pull the injector from her butchered chest. I place it under her chin and jerk it up into her brain. Nothing. She's gone.

I climb to my feet. My broken rib is a dull ache. Thank the protector for painkillers.

"Test sucessful" I say into my com "Request pick up and meatwagon"

"Well done Captain. I knew I could count on you" says Dr Payne.