An exiled medical professional is nursed back to health by a reclusive rogue. A high school graduate, upon turning 18, submits herself to a medical experiment to some enlarging ends. The leader of a militia allows his new subordinate to introduce him to the meaning of indulgence. A tortured radical finds solace in her gaining lover. Classified files will be stolen. Unjust laws will be broken. Keep your boots tight and your guns close, because this revolution will not be thinned.
PART 1: THE CATACOMBS
ONE
Dr. Jace LeCrone was making a break for it.
Actually, he wasn't sure about that 'doctor' bit. Would his medical license have been revoked now that he somehow found himself an enemy of the state?
He wasn't altogether sure how it happened. One day, he was working tirelessly in his lab as an epidemiologist with the CDC, and the next, he was being awoken by special ops breaking down his door in the middle of the night to arrest him in his bed. He didn't know how long he'd been in solitary confinement, visited by guards several times a day who would beat him and demand a confession of what he 'knew,' though to whatever information they sought, he was ignorant. Less frequently, they brought a meal to his cell--he suspected this was not a daily occurence. Every day he waited for the prison administrators to realize there had been some mistake. He was a respected physician, not some criminal, and he had no secrets that could compromise national security. Surely, someone up top had to realize that?
But as the days blurred and hope gave way to despair, and perhaps a touch of delirium, he came to accept that no one was going to save him, and began to wonder if, indeed, he was somehow a criminal and didn't know it.
Then something happened. A fire in the east wing, according to rumor, and as the inmates were corralled outside, he saw his chance and booked it.
For blocks and blocks he was followed by shouting and sirens. As he made his way deeper into downtown, he began to lose his tail, but the cacophony behind him was never far, and he was losing steam. He could scarcely catch his breath and felt on the verge of fainting.
And he was so, so hungry.
He was staring at his feet on the pavement, willing them to move despite the temptation to lie down on the ground and never wake up, when a hand closed around his wrist.
A woman's voice: "Are you okay? Your pulse is racing. Who's following you? Come with me…"
He didn't catch a look at her face. Just her dark, curly hair as she led him down the street, knelt down, and...opened the ground?
He had to be going crazy. But with no other options, he followed her. She led the way down some sort of chute, holding him up a few times as he struggled with the ladder rungs jutting out of the wall. At last, they reached the bottom, and then he blacked out.
***
He was propped up on pillows, a warm blanket draped over his body. He couldn't tell if he was in a bed or on a sofa; he was still too weak to open his eyes.
His savior arrived as he awakened, holding some sort of pastry to his lips.
"Good morning, stranger." Her voice was gravelly and throaty and somehow familiar.
He bit into the offering, his senses ignited by the sweet taste of chocolate filling.
He collapsed against her. She was soft. His head fell against her warm, inviting bosom, then her middle, and finally, her nice plush lap.
"That's it. Just relax," she said, pushing the pastry deeper into his mouth. "You need to put some weight on, otherwise you'll freeze."
He fell asleep again, this time full of chocolate croissants, in her tight embrace.
2084
By stevita
By stevita
PART 1: THE CATACOMBS
ONE
Dr. Jace LeCrone was making a break for it.
Actually, he wasn't sure about that 'doctor' bit. Would his medical license have been revoked now that he somehow found himself an enemy of the state?
He wasn't altogether sure how it happened. One day, he was working tirelessly in his lab as an epidemiologist with the CDC, and the next, he was being awoken by special ops breaking down his door in the middle of the night to arrest him in his bed. He didn't know how long he'd been in solitary confinement, visited by guards several times a day who would beat him and demand a confession of what he 'knew,' though to whatever information they sought, he was ignorant. Less frequently, they brought a meal to his cell--he suspected this was not a daily occurence. Every day he waited for the prison administrators to realize there had been some mistake. He was a respected physician, not some criminal, and he had no secrets that could compromise national security. Surely, someone up top had to realize that?
But as the days blurred and hope gave way to despair, and perhaps a touch of delirium, he came to accept that no one was going to save him, and began to wonder if, indeed, he was somehow a criminal and didn't know it.
Then something happened. A fire in the east wing, according to rumor, and as the inmates were corralled outside, he saw his chance and booked it.
For blocks and blocks he was followed by shouting and sirens. As he made his way deeper into downtown, he began to lose his tail, but the cacophony behind him was never far, and he was losing steam. He could scarcely catch his breath and felt on the verge of fainting.
And he was so, so hungry.
He was staring at his feet on the pavement, willing them to move despite the temptation to lie down on the ground and never wake up, when a hand closed around his wrist.
A woman's voice: "Are you okay? Your pulse is racing. Who's following you? Come with me…"
He didn't catch a look at her face. Just her dark, curly hair as she led him down the street, knelt down, and...opened the ground?
He had to be going crazy. But with no other options, he followed her. She led the way down some sort of chute, holding him up a few times as he struggled with the ladder rungs jutting out of the wall. At last, they reached the bottom, and then he blacked out.
***
He was propped up on pillows, a warm blanket draped over his body. He couldn't tell if he was in a bed or on a sofa; he was still too weak to open his eyes.
His savior arrived as he awakened, holding some sort of pastry to his lips.
"Good morning, stranger." Her voice was gravelly and throaty and somehow familiar.
He bit into the offering, his senses ignited by the sweet taste of chocolate filling.
He collapsed against her. She was soft. His head fell against her warm, inviting bosom, then her middle, and finally, her nice plush lap.
"That's it. Just relax," she said, pushing the pastry deeper into his mouth. "You need to put some weight on, otherwise you'll freeze."
He fell asleep again, this time full of chocolate croissants, in her tight embrace.
