— Posted in The Last of Us, Vampire Noir

The Last of Us [SQP Art Books – Caution! Dangerous Curves Ahead!]

The UK equivalent of the Navy SEALs is the Special Boat Service. The selection process involves a grueling endurance test, jungle training in the rain forests of Belize, and combat survival training, which involves intense interrogation of candidates. And you get only two attempts to pass.

 

Mrs. Peel constructs the hand-bra for a very special purpose—i.e., for the complete and utter enslavement of, and thus the ultimate enjoyment of, Miss Kane—Mrs. Peel enjoying enslaving Miss Kane and Miss Kane enjoying being enslaved by Mrs. Peel. As such. It’s not composed of two decomposing severed hands. It’s a biomechanical bra. Therefore its hands are prosthetic. This hand-bra has a hygiene mode. Additionally, in user mode, the hand-bra is also parasitic and venomous.

The hand-bra is the top half of a matching set of flesh-colored biomechanical underwear. The bottom half of the set, the panties portion of this bra and panties set, is Doll Parts. These Doll Parts are not the ones that used to belong to Mrs. Carson. As such. These Parts have a hygiene mode. Additionally, in user mode, these Parts are also rendered as parasitic and venomous as the biomech bra.

The flesh color in question for the mechanical underwear is pale grey and mottled. The skin color of humans assimilated into Borg. And, when worn, the mechanical unmentionables will fuse seamlessly to the girl’s body and by doing so will render those parts of her body prosthetic for all intents and purposes.

 

When Frau Schmidt entered the CME’s office, she noticed the special delivery envelope on the medical examiner’s desk, it’s been opened, and its contents thoroughly examined. Miss Kane had lied. The Vampire intended the damning evidence would reach the CME, not in the morning, but on the same day the evidence was mailed.

So convinced is Doctor Madigan of Miss Kane’s guilt in the murder of Agent Lane, the CME totally rejects the frame job of Frau Schmidt. But. Taking no chances. Frau Schmidt pleads her case anyways.

Miss Kane lounges on the office sofa, nonchalantly. A so-called Danish blonde—i.e., yellow blonde hair. Hair the color of raw wheat. Mane and bush. Matching drapes and rug, so to speak. Dark cosmetically-perfect eyebrows. Black eyelashes. The need for eyeliner and eyeshadow negated by the pigmentation of her eyelids. Sternka, sternns, and prudz. Sexually repressed never looked better.

The Vampire’s mind is elsewhere. Drunken. Junkie. Whore. Also. Brilliant. Badass. Buxom. Leggy. Blonde. The atomic blonde envisions being used by the thing, Mrs. Peel, who lives in the basement of a flophouse on Cherokee Street in the red light district.

In her head, Miss Kane hears a voice. It is not telepathy. It’s akin to the voices in the Borg collective, but it is not that either. It’s something else entirely. A “mindless” voice that appeals to the cravings of the girl’s Id. The voice is a form of dementia used as a form of communication by Mrs. Peel’s kind.

“Mrs. Peel offers you a new lowest. A new level of debasement, depravity, and degradation.”

Impossible. I’ve reached my plateau of depravity. No more levels, only new flavors. And the Jeopardy question is … What is the law of diminishing returns?

“Mrs. Carson is wrong. And. You are wrong.”

Leech is as low as I can go.

“A Leech is the basest pseudonym that your [Vampire] kind can assume. But. Our lowest is lower.”

What?

“Invent an excuse to leave. Come to Mrs. Peel. Mrs. Peel will take you even lower as a lowest of our kind. You know where to find us.”

I’m not your kind. Whatever that kind is.

“You’re close enough, Vampire. Mrs. Peel will bridge the gap. Mrs. Peel craves you that much, and you crave enslavement that much.”

There’s a deafening cacophony, and then the “voice” is gone. Miss Kane makes her excuses and then makes her way post haste to the flophouse in question. The night clerk and the day clerk are one in the same. It’s a “male” robot, an obsolete Model 12, who calls itself Mr. Twelve, Mr. Tobor Twelve.

 

Tobor (“robot” spelled backwards) is a fictional robotic character, featured in the 1949-1954 American science-fiction TV-series Captain Video and His Video Rangers, and in the 1954 movie Tobor the Great (described as one of the most important works of the science-fiction canon at the time).

 

Miss Kane pays Mr. Twelve the going rate for a room for two hours. Leaves her phone, holster, and purse with the robot. And then makes her way down into the basement where Mrs. Peel is waiting for her.

Eyes glowing, it motions for Miss Kane to remove her Koo, bra, and panties. She goes along and strips down to perls, prudz, sternns, and careys. Still sporting a sternka.

Of special note. The Koo, bra, and panties remove themselves from her body, and end up in a heap on the floor.

Mrs. Peel points to the rough-hewn door of a closet built into a wall. Inside of the closet, Miss Kane finds hanging the biomechanical underwear that Mrs. Peel constructed for her. Knowing full well that this is trap with an endgame unknown to her. She puts on the hand–bra and Parts. There is the smell of burning flesh as the biomechs fuse seamlessly to her body, rendering those parts of her body prosthetic. She drops to her knees, shrieking in the ecstasy of the agony being inflicted upon her.

In a triple time blur of movement, the creature is upon her. Spitting its douche-mix, its enslaving mix of venom and pheromones, into the girl’s face. For all intents and purposes, Miss Kane ceases to exist. In her place is a lowest called Seven who is to be used by and mated to a queen of The Parasites.

But. Her oblivion lasts but for a split second. Not nearly enough time for Barbara Rush to rush from concealment in the darkness and drive a spike through the back of her neck destroying her.

Miss Kane licks her face clean of The Parasite queen’s douche-mix. Stands up. And smiles broadly. Her biomech undies shrivel up, drop off of her body, and unmake themselves into dust. She lets her hair down.

Wisely, The Parasite queen makes no more aggressive moves on the Vampire.

Miss Kane walks back over to the heap that is her Koo, bra, and panties. The girl’s Koo, bra, and panties again attire her—i.e., they dress her without any intervention on her part whatsoever.

As if on cue. Mr. Twelve descends the basement stairs carrying her holster, phone, and purse. It walks over and hands them to her. She clips them to her skirt’s waistband and buttons up her suitcoat.

A portion of the darkness blurs, then returns to focus. In the interim, Barbara Rush steps from her concealment. She’s clapping.

“Bravo, Miss Kane. You improvised, masterfully. Turning my orchestration against me.”

“You are in league with subversive elements of supernatural society.”

“I’m a professional. I will not divulge the identity of my clients, no matter what you do to me. I can’t be broken or mind scanned. Additionally. I’m as sick, demented, and sadomasochistic as you are.”

Miss Kane looks her dead in the eyes.

“I believe you.”

“And. Since I’m legally dead, I can’t be prosecuted for any of the crimes I have committed.”

“True. And …”

“And?”

“You also can’t be murdered.”

Too late, Barbara Rush realizes her faux pas. You can see it in her eyes.

The girl’s pistols load into her hands and she blasts away at Barbara Rush. Cold-blooded murder? Nope. You can’t murder someone who is legally dead.