Tossing and turning in bed, the blue-skinned Maliri girl whimpered as she suffered through a terrifying nightmare, one of her more frequently visited horrors from a broad and grotesque catalogue.
She was standing legs parted and arms upraised, shackled to the floor by her ankles, and to the ceiling by her wrists. Stripped entirely bare, she was exposed and horribly vulnerable to violations by the repulsive monstrosity that lurked with her in the darkness. Her sharp, pointed ears heard it approach from behind her in the gloom, a squelching sound that sent shivers of fear up her spine. It stopped close behind her, and the creature admired its prize, savouring the moment as if tasting her terror. She was filled with a steadily increasing sense of dread, her heart beating deafeningly loud in her chest, each interminable second dragging out as she cowered before the malignant beast.
A cold inhuman presence began moulding its way up her legs, goosebumps rippling over her flesh as her skin crawled with revulsion. She began to scream in fear, her heart racing harder as she thrashed violently in a vain effort to shake off this abomination. Thicker and more viscous now, it crept higher up her lithe body, over her stomach and chest, as every part of her was slowly enveloped and penetrated. Her angular violet eyes were wild with terror as her clinging assailant slithered up her neck and onto her face.
And the screams... she screamed herself hoarse, begging for mercy, until her cries were abruptly stifled. Now she was being smothered, her mouth stuffed with a treacly, foul-tasting appendage that forced its way down her throat, and...
She sat bolt upright, her heart pounding in her chest, her body soaked in sweat. As she gasped for breath, she heard a heavy thumping on the door, and by reflex, she grabbed the vicious-looking duelling pistols from under her pillow, then aimed them at the ornately framed door.
"Cap'n? Are you alright?" Bull's muffled voice drifted through the metal doorway. "I heard screams..."
She felt a surge of relief, mixed with a healthy amount of gratitude to her first mate for rousing her from her tortured sleep. With a heavy sigh, she called out in her gravelly voice, "Yeah, I was having a nightmare about dividing up the loot."
His booming laughter sounded loud to her sensitive ears, and he said, "Good one Cap'n. Just lettin' ya know, we'll be arrivin' at Underworld in twenty minutes."
"Got it, I'll be right there," she replied, untangling herself from the twisted black sheet.
Her stomach cramped as she climbed out of bed, but it usually did when she woke up. She stretched and clicked her neck from side to side, before running her hand over her shaven scalp, feeling the slick perspiration from her ill-fated attempt to get some rest. She padded across the plush carpeted deck of her garishly decorated cabin, and into the ensuite bathroom.
Filling a cup with water, she swilled her mouth out to get rid of the acrid taste that still lingered after nearly a decade. Staring blankly at the faded rectangle marking the wall ahead of her, she spat the water into the sink, then got into the shower. The hot water felt good as it sluiced over her skin, her hands washing the soap over the patchwork of scars that layered most of her lithe body. Most of them she'd picked up as a victim, but there'd been plenty more she'd accumulated while she learned to fight back, clawing out a life for herself in the Unclaimed Wastes.
The shower revitalised her, and she felt more like herself as she dressed afterwards. Her outfit was designed to tease and distract, a simple ploy that could buy valuable seconds if - and when - it was time to get down to the business of killing. She pulled on the black clinging trousers which hugged her athletic legs like an unblemished second skin, while conveniently covering up the gruesome scar-ravaged truth. It was the same with the high-necked top that concealed her torso from view, presenting mouth-watering black-clad curves for any lecherous eye, while hiding a checkerboard of scars.
Although the material looked like it could be easily torn, the exotic compression-weave fabric could stop a ten-millimetre round, and had saved her life on dozens of occasions. Tugging on her red leather boots that ended just below the knee, she grabbed her matching cropped jacket and slipped it over her arms.
All that was left, was for her to get into character again.
She'd arrived in the Unclaimed Wastes naive, optimistic, and foolish, but she'd been educated very quickly as to the brutal reality of her new existence. First, she'd been forced to play at being a slave, and while the nature and torments of her slavery shifted over the years, the chains had stayed firmly in place. She walked over to the table beside the bed, and ran her nimble blue fingers over the golden mask and black cowl. The features of the mask were twisted into a mocking smile, her own modification to the original one she'd been made to wear.
Malifica was the woman that had torn away her shackles, and now that she had her freedom, she lived her life as that merciless persona. Pulling on the mask and hood, she slipped her hands into her latest pair of matching black gloves, then strapped her heavy belt around her waist. It had a comforting weight to it that helped to emphasise the seductive sway of her hips, all adding to the enticing illusion promised by her statuesque figure.
Retrieving the weapons that were resting on her pillow, the twin Enshunu duelling pistols slid home into the pair of well-worn holsters. Twin. An apt adjective for the vicious weapons, designed to inflict pain, and destroy lives. Her sardonic laughter echoed around the room as she spun and strode for the door.
She hit the button on the wall, and the etched depictions of naked women that had been embossed on the door, slid back into the frame as it opened. Malifica heard Bull's breathing before she saw him, so she wasn't surprised when she found his heavy-set frame leaning against the nearby bulkhead. He was waiting for her in his usual spot, standing beside a faded, smoky silhouette marring the wall.
"I wanted a word, Cap'n, before we get to Underworld," he said, looking shifty.
She strode past him, and asked, "Alright Bull, what's on your mind? You've got until we reach the Bridge."
He walked briskly to catch up to her, his heavy, armoured boots clomping loudly on the metal decking. "'Tis the boys. They be havin' a few reservations about our next job," he muttered.
"The 'boys' have reservations?" she asked him with a snort, as they reached the elevator. "I sincerely doubt Groluk even knows what the word means."
"Heh," he chuckled, nodding his agreement. "Good one, Cap'n."
"Spit it out then, Bull," she ordered, as they stopped outside the door. "What's got your knickers in a twist?"
His slab-like face twisted into a frown, and he asked tentatively, "I'd never dream of second-guessin' ya, Cap'n, but are ya sure this plan is wise?"
Malifica strode into the elevator, hitting the button for the Bridge before glancing his way. Despite Bull's grizzled appearance, he was a loyal and reliable first mate, and she'd learned to trust his judgement.
