Compromised and subjugated. Depraved and degraded. Completely and utterly enslaved. Yet, beware, you can never reliably mind control the insane. Miss Kane is much thinner. With sunken cheeks and dark circles around her eyes. Empty, hollow eyes that stare blankly at the ceiling—grey eyeballs, no irises, and constricted red pupils. Month open slackly, drooling. Legs spread widely. Arms held rigidly at her sides. Klaw. She lies atop a bed of stale graveyard dirt in a rotten wooden coffin—i.e., the Leach in Mrs. Carson’s former lair.
The girl is wearing the perls, Parts, hand-bra, and barely-there dead diseased Kaye borrowed from Mrs. Peel. Grossly-enlarged lizard brain and pineal gland that have completely displaced her frontal lobe rendering her mindless—i.e., mentally, she’s for all intents and purposes a Parasite. Physically, she’s a Leech with decidedly Kum overtones. Overtones resulting from her Kum addiction.
Killer tongue. Gums receded, teeth are large, long, pointed, and crooked. Scar tissue covers her forehead—as if from wounds inflicted by a cheese grater. There is a large round wound in the leftside of her face—the tissue around the gaping hole in her left cheek is necrotized—as if inflicted by the sucker mouth of a giant, adult sea lamprey’s jawless suction-cup like mouth and its rows of rasping teeth and toothed tongue, and a poisonous saliva many times more necrotizing than that of a brown recluse spider’s venom. Beyond hard-faced or tortured. A ravaged face. Borderline hideous.
A face draped by a geriatric krazed. A greasy, filthy, infested geriatric krazed—bright yellow blonde, liberally streaked with grey and white—swarming with tiny creepy “things”. Long dirty hair draping her ravaged face, concealing the scar tissue which covers her forehead and the ragged hole in her face. The wrecked face of a mindless junkie whore robot with tits who craves to be defiled.
Three breasts, the right one is a moog. The left hand of the bra clutches her left and center breasts. The right hand clutches her right breast, same as before when she only had two breasts. Dirty finger and toe nails, long and ragged.
Head lice, fleas, and crabs. Fetid breath to match her foul, stomach-churning body odor. Teeth so filthy they look rotten. Lily-white skin so dirty that patches of it are black. Sewer moss covers the inside of her thighs. Filthy and infested.
Things were growing on her. Things were living on her. Things were feeding on her. For example, leeches and slugs had been strategically applied to her formerly lily-white flesh. Graveyard lichens and moss grew here and there on her skin.
This is Miss Kane as a lowest Leech in her Lost version of native Parasite form. This is her new White. Now, she is beautiful to the Parasite queen and Parasite kind.
Mrs. Peel’s coffin is beside hers. The Parasite queen, in native form, gets out of its coffin and mounts its Parasite lesser and mate, Miss Kane. It feeds, first by sticking its killer tongue into Miss Kane’s mouth and down her throat.
When it retracts its tongue it affixes its mouth to the hole in the leftside of Miss Kane’s face and feeds off of the girl as if it were a giant, adult sea lamprey. Moaning and groaning are the only sound that come out of the girl’s large twisted ugly mouth—sounds of pleasure.
When Mrs. Peel finishes feeding, it dismounts the girl. Its eyes glow blue and it begins making those kraving [clicking] sounds. The girl rises out of her coffin. Her moans and groans grow in intensity.
Then. The girl drops to the floor, trashing about as if she is in the clutches of a grand mal seizure. The leechgirl foams at the mouth like a rabid animal, ranting and raving incoherently. Experiencing one orgasm after another. A mindless creature, she’s screaming for more of this worst, as if she were still sentient. It is a narcotic high beyond any she has ever experienced.
The Otterbox are a crafty lot, and they are just as cautious. They continue to methodically advance their agenda using proxies like the Parasites. The girl is their newest recruit. And none will be the wiser when she returns clean and pristine back to her old life. Mondo Kane back from another one of those depraved drunken whore binges of hers, sober and ready for duty. None will be the wiser, until it’s too late—i.e., she succeeding, where her predecessor, Carole “Penny” Marshall, failed.
Yet, they are not so sure of themselves that they reveal themselves one little bit to the girl, or any of their proxies for that matter. Their greatest asset in this long game is their much-coveted anonymity, and it’s their best defense if the tide of the gameplay should turn against them and their best efforts are summarily thwarted.