— Posted in The Last of Us, Vampire Noir

The Last of Us [The Bunny Game]

Banned in the UK and partially inspired by a real-life experience of star Rodleen Getsic, THE BUNNY GAME is an unflinching descent into torment and madness. Junkie hooker Sylvia Grey (Gestic in a brave, award-winning performance) turns the wrong trick in demented trucker JR (Jeff Renfro). After knocking her out cold and taking her to a desolate place where no one can hear her cries, JR subjects Sylvia to a series of increasingly twisted, sadistic “games”. But will she survive the ultimate test when she wakes up with her head sealed in a white leather bunny mask? Adam Rehmeier directs with a fearless eye, pushing the boundaries of on-screen mayhem to the extreme. Controversy has surrounded THE BUNNY GAME since it premiered to festival audiences around the world by delivering a terrifying experience that once seen is impossible to forget.

 

Heavy, harsh, unbecoming makeup. Foundation [makeup] For Ever—Ultra HD Foundation—Ultra HD liquid foundation. Aloof and unattainable, yet you feel compelled to try anyways, failure notwithstanding. Her strictest Victorian look. Her most nefarious vibe. Prude. WDR—spells dominatrix. Nonetheless, it’s also Prada, through and through, without question—The Devil Wears Prada, and so do The Lost. She knows Satan. And she’s Lost. Wears Prada. Haute couture goes Vampire.

Nothing stuck in her panties except for her crotch and its well-trimmed bush. No Doll Parts tonight for her amore.

Mondo approaches the overpass. She notices the oldest from this morning in the underpass below beaconing to her. The oldest has shucked clothes and is already naked, shamelessly offering a filthy infested body.

Mondo’s pace quickens, ready to throw caution to the wind. Then she suddenly does the most un-junkie-like thing she could do and stops dead in her tracks. She’d noticed that she could see the underneath of the overpass [i.e. its underpass], but only the walls and floor, not the ceiling—an opaqueness her vision cannot pierce.

To be forewarned is to be forearmed. No matter how well you react to surprises, it’s best to heed any warnings of an impending ambush and prepare yourself accordingly. Because the opposition maybe as good as, or maybe even better than you are.

“Come on in? What are you waiting for? The water is fine.”

This time. The big girl is not mesmerized by the oldest’s telepathy. Her brain does not lock up from being overloaded. So much pain. So much agony. So much pleasure. Delicious!

This time. She’s not distracted. Because she doesn’t allow herself to be distracted. No reaction from her knobb. Her idle hands no longer klaw. Junkie harlot has been put on the shelf. She’s can’t afford that degenerate façade, at this given moment in time. Her beloved Browning automatic pistols load into her waiting hands from her universal [holster]. Her tongue becomes killer. Her teeth serrate. Her large ugly mouth momentarily flashes an inhumanly-wide grin.

There’s movement behind her. She can hear rattling, like that of a rattle snake. Faint, but close nonetheless. The increase in volume for the rattling implies the increasing proximity of the source of the rattling.

“Maybe we should make it a threesome. Ménage à trois, n’est-ce pas, s’il vous plait?

The Dagon. Again—its words projecting into Mondo’s mind—overpoweringly so. Again—it is not telepathy, nor is it anything remotely like it. Again—it is something primal. Again—predating telepathy. Again—base. Again—twisted. Again—deranged. Again—animalistic. Again—electroshock for the brain that serves as a form of direct communication and a lobotomy all wrapped up into one, neat package. Again—in response to temptation. Again—she does the most un-junkie-like thing she could do and completely ignores the seduction. Junkie harlot stays on the shelf.

Akin to a Type-40 TARDIS. An obelisk the size of a British police call box, i.e. person size, materializes in the underpass in place of the oldest. The hum associated with Dagon accompanies the appearance of the ceramic object. The defunct body of the oldest is laying in front of the obelisk. The oldest is a drained bag of flesh and bones—head yanked off—sprawled on the pavement like a broken ragdoll. It is not a fresh corpse.

The Dagon used the corpse to project the image of a living oldest to seduce the Vampire. Using the obelisk as a power source for this arcane trickery. The obelisk and its arcane usage is Dagon tech, just like the robots their kind employ as that “maybe lone robot lackey”.

The hum increases in frequency and intensity, but still no effect upon the Vampire. The rattling behind her increases in intensity, the pause between rattles steadily decreasing.

“Give into your insanity. It’s what you are. It’s what we are. You are one of us.”

Having vivisected the oldest’s Id, the Dagon uses what it gleaned to help it craft its appeal to the Vampire’s own Id. Words work where nothing else has.

Her killer tongue gives way to a long, retractile proboscis, akin to a Klapp’s. The Dagon has not touched her, let alone feed upon her. She craves this tongue much better than any previous incarnation. Her pistols holster themselves, reloading back into her universal. Her prudz and sternns purse themselves. The Vampire’s fingernails lengthen—hands become horribly thin, the fingers are little more than claws.

Voices take up residence in her head. The Voices in her head are not of the Borg Collective. Primal and mindless they crowd out her consciousness, wiping her ego and super-ego. Her higher brain centers shutdown. The voices belong to The Nest—the collective consciousness of the Dagon. Mondo has ceased to exist and is now a leech in Vampire form, i.e. a Lost leech variant, known as The Strain.

As in the case of The Master, The Strain is not a name, it is a designation.

The Dagon moves up behind The Strain. Its rattlers swarm the leech’s back as its proboscis fastens onto the back of the leech’s neck. The leech’s hair lets itself down, becoming totally geriatric—i.e. grey liberally streaked with white—a kind of platinum blonde normally associated with elderly mundane females or Crone females.

The Strain sheds her shoes, perls, holster, purse, phone, unmentionables [i.e., bra and panties], and Koo. Her toenails lengthen. The Doll Parts vacates her purse and straps itself on.

The Strain is a very grey shade of how Maila Nurmi as Vampira appeared in Plan 9 From Outer Space.

The Dagon’s eyes glow. The Strain’s eye marble. The Dagon finishes its initial feeding. It will gorge itself latter on the leech. Its tongue retracts back into its mouth. The two leeches walk over to the obelisk, stepping over the prone destroyed oldest, and step into the seamless black of the obelisk’s ebony perfection.

Mondo’s ego and super-ego kick start themselves once the two leeches are within the obelisk. Still looking like The Strain, the Vampireish leech is again a Vampire. Her giving into subjugation by the giant leech [the Dagon] is not the Trojan horse ruse that her quick recovery makes it appear to be. She was taken by the Dagon. Her enslavement is real.

Plugged into The Nest, she is free to root around as she wishes in the collective consciousness of the giant leeches. What she finds is nothing incriminating to anyone or anything, including the leeches. But that in itself is telling. Because what you don’t find can be just as informative as what you do find.

Since she is here, and enslaved, she might as well, and does allow the Dagon to gorge itself upon her. When it finishes with her it leaves her alone and goes to sleep in its favorite dark dank corner of the decrepit necropolis in which they are situated.

Only one engorgement by the Dagon at her expense and already she’s noticeably thinner than she was when she was first abducted. At this rate, she’s be an emaciated husk by week’s end.

She has been dressed by the Dagon in a dead, diseased Kaye. The suit coat is split in the back lengthwise with the Schlag anchored to her spine bursting through the split. The coat’s left sleeve is shredded up to the shoulder—the arm is covered in puncture marks. The suit’s skirt has a ragged hem. Split seams, for coat and skirt. Frayed cuffs on the coat’s more-or-less intact right sleeve—her elbow pokes though the sleeve.

Evidence of her recently being fed upon by the Dagon, besides the aforementioned puncture marks covering her left arm? Larger puncture marks cover her right breast, a mauled tit whose nipple has been bitten off. Her forehead has been shredded. And there’s a ragged necrotic hole in her left cheek.

She removes the Kaye.

Mondo morphs back to her normal “All Blonde Everything” pretense, dead-strait hair yanking itself back into a sternka. No longer thinner, she fills out to her normal slender voluptuous size. No evidence of her being fed upon by the Dagon. She shucks her Doll Parts.

There are pools of liquid filth—raw sewage feed by the sewer. The subterranean chamber is a grotto formed by the intersection of a number of sewer tunnels. There are large [non Dagon] blood-sucking leeches and ubiquitous flesh-eating slugs slithering about, none of them seem interested in the Vampire, and do their best to avoid her.

As if she’s intrinsically clean and pristine. The filth and infestations that Mondo acquired from her prolonged contact with the Dagon peel off of her. The filth and infestations inherent to a place like this also do not find her to their liking. This includes the bottom of her bare feet which stay clean.

The Schlag anchored into her spine shucks itself off and dies. She eats the deceased wart and finds it quite tasty and tender vittles.

Mondo explores the Dagon’s lair extensively and finds nothing incriminating. She does find something expected though. Broken glass ampules of a synthetic opiate known as acetyl fentanyl are strewn about everywhere. Dagon addicts use the anesthetic to increase the narcotic potency of the venom that Dagon secrete while feeding—it gets the addict as close to the line [i.e. death] as they can possibly get.

The Vampire concludes that the Dagon brought her here to audition her as its long-term mate or at the very least a short-term one [i.e. a one night stand] depending on how long Mondo lasted. Having no living mate at the moment it’s ever on the prowl for a suitable replacement. Its psychic interjection into Becky’s rekall was subterfuge to lure her for an easy kidnap. The Dagon is not the murderer masquerading as Jayne, regardless of what transpired in the altered rekall.

Ergo, that fabrication is not incriminating as it pertains to the Dagon nor should it be seen as a source of reasonable doubt as it concerns Jayne’s possible guilt. In other words, the Dagon is not the murderer and Jayne remains a viable, if not the most viable, suspect for committing the murderers.

What does the giant leech’s garbage tell Mondo? Most of the Dagon’s corpses are buried in a pile of rubble that’s soaked in its urine and feces, and infested with maggots—an excellent way to ferment them [the corpses] as leftovers. There are a lot of corpses and they are in various stages of decay, completeness, and sexual abuse [abuse that’s pre and post mortem] which indicates that the Dagon has a voracious appetite for the culinary and the carnal—i.e. it’s quite promiscuous. Most, but not all, of the bodies are mundane—street people of various stripe [e.g. pimps, prostitutes, junkies, the homeless, bagladies, tramps, skidrow bums, etc.]. All of the corpses had been feed upon until they were husks—drained bags of flesh and bones to be nibble upon later until there’s nothing left. Additionally. The two that are Vampires have been beheaded—their heads pulled off. The one that is oldest—head yanked off—sprawled on the floor like a broken ragdoll. Heads popped to keep them dead.

It goes without saying that, the same emaciated, decapitated MO that applies to all of the Dagon’s supernatural partakers was to be Mondo’s fate, and the very idea of ending up like that gets Mondo wet between the legs.

The two Vampire corpses had also been converted to Strain upon their acquisition. This always happens to Lost when a Dagon takes them.

The label of “exclusively solitary except for their only mate and maybe a lone robot lackey” is deceptive. Because of the voraciousness of a Dagon’s appetite and therefore the low rate of survival for their mates, their monogamous relationships and solitary lifestyle involves a whole lot of churn. There also the fickle factor—Dagon oftentimes change a mate on a whim—i.e. they see someone else they find more attractive than their current or they’ve just grown tired of their current. Bottom line: Turnover is a bitch.

Of special note. As is typical of a Dagon’s mates. The overwhelming majority of this Dagon’s mates, its taken, came here voluntarily. Junkies looking for that ultimate high, as evidenced by the broken ampules of fentanyl. Only one of its Vampire corpses was from an abduction, the other one was voluntary—a junkie in pursuit of that ultimate high. That junkie demographic applies to the oldest corpse here as well as the deceased oldest used as a lure for Mondo in the underpass.

The underpass oldest had been this Dagon’s current. Until the Dagon saw Mondo [through that oldest’s eyes] and decided to trade in that current for Mondo. The Dagon had insinuated itself into the vacuous mind of the mindless oldest to the extent that it used the oldest as a remote extension of itself. Remote control is a result of a Dagon’s prolonged feeding upon a taken. Taken are always rendered mindless by being taken.

Dagon are assigned a number in The Nest. The Dagon that has taken Mondo is 619. Each numbered has a number assigned to its mate. Each mate of a given Dagon always gets the same assigned number. Seven is the number assigned to the current of 619. Seven is also Mondo’s Borg designation [i.e. Seven of Nine]. Here, Mondo is the 7 of 619.