— Posted in The Last of Us, Vampire Noir

The Last of Us [It’s just business, nothing personal]

Mondo regains consciousness laying atop a layer of dirt in a rotten wooden coffin, for the umpteenth time. The creature is nowhere in sight, as usual. She’s in its grotto lair in the sewers. Her mouth, esophagus, stomach, intestines, and rectum are healing from having been shredded raw during its tongue’s feeding upon her, for the umpteenth time. She stands up in spite of what should be a debilitating migraine headache.

Her enlarging lizard brain and pineal gland are giving her the head-splitting migraine resulting from their displacement of her frontal lobe. In due time, if said enlargement continues, and it will, the resulting de facto crude brain surgery will render her stark, raving mad—sexually depraved and completely insane.

Mondo is hungover and in the throws of drug withdrawal. Her subconscious prevents her body from quickly assimilating the hangover and withdrawal, so that she can suffer the most and thus derive the most pleasure from doing so.

Although the creature does have the fully-functional genitalia of an adult man and woman. Thus, it can have sex with people, as a she-male. The creature’s interest in the girl is not sexual, in the “normal” sense of the word whatsoever. Mondo has tried to seduce it to no avail—e.g., handjobs, blowjobs [deep throat], vaginal sex, anal sex, etc. It only craves about feeding upon the girl. In essence, its sole purpose for existing is as a vehicle providing mobility for its killer tongue. This is the Parasite in its basest form.

There are times though when the creature will hump Mondo—raped ape style. Violently and viciously fucking her mouth, anus, and vagina. But. Those are mere reflex actions. Nothing more. Nevertheless they are carnal acts which mimic rape and thus pleasure the girl greatly.

Nearby is a mound of rotting corpses—its food larder. What you see on the surface is merely the tip of the iceberg. The cadaverous garbage dump extends for miles, straight down, into the bedrock. The bodies, all humanoid or human, are from different universes. Although Mars is its most recent feeding grounds, but its hunting ground is Creation. And, it is not alone. There are millions of its kind down here—its kind are more prolific than rats. And they have no queen, no collective consciousness. They are just singular them.

Now, for examples of, the inconsistences. And. Assimilation notwithstanding.

She’s not noticeably-thinner than she was when she was abducted. She should be.

She’s not inebriated. She should be.

By now. She should be mindless—i.e., a grossly-enlarged lizard brain and pineal gland having completely displaced her frontal lobe rendering her mindless and thus mentally, for all intents and purposes, a Parasite. Physically, she should be a Leech with decidedly Kum overtones. Overtones resulting from her Kum addiction. Yet, none of this is the case.

Her dirty face is not ravaged by her rind or the creature’s incessant feeding. Bolshoi-bare in place of rind, underneath the grime on her face. No gaping hole in the leftside of her face. A hard pretty face—i.e., her usual ravishingly-beautiful face.

She’s still wearing her predecessor’s Kaye and perls. But. The phone, holster, and purse that are clipped to the waistband of the ragged filthy skirt are hers, and they are clean and pristine, and therefore look completely out of place with the rest of her look.

Most telling. Although her filthy hair is unkempt and infested with head lice, it is not a geriatric krazed. It is her usual yellow-blonde Brynhildr.

Her look is definitely baglady-lite. The look is not so much about blending in as it’s about flagging her as not having gone completely native. The drunken junkie whore with a stiff-backed twist.

There’s a flicker. Red materializes in the grotto. Normally he’s attired like a dandy—i.e., dapper, dressed to kill in a three-piece suit, perfectly-tied necktie, spit-polished dress shoes, a white oxford shirt starched and pressed to within an inch of its life, wool socks, consummate underwear, and a gold safety pin in his collar. But, this time, he’s dressed in the field kit of a MACO, minus any UN insignia or rank. Once upon a time Red was a soldier in the MCORN. He received an honorable discharge after his tour of duty was over, a number of those mission were top secret.

More flickers. Six more Martian Marines materialize around Red. Each Marine is also decked out in the Away Team kit of a MACO, minus any UN insignia or rank—just like Red’s kit.

There are rumors about the existence of flickering, but the Martian Government vehemently denies their invention of and possession of such “impossible” technology. Ultra-top secret, yet here it is on full display. Instantaneous teleportation to anyplace on, or in this case below, the surface of Mars.

Red and one of the Marines, a big tall woman in her early twenties, walks over to Mondo. The look of disdain on her face is directed at Mondo. She despises junkies, especially glow addicts. A not unexpected reaction considering the growing Puritanicalism in the ranks of young Martian humans. Her bias blinds her to what’s incongruent about the Vampire standing before her being a drunken junkie whore. But. Red notices the inconsistences, and his Lost cousin is making no attempt to hide them.

Mondo gestures arcanely. For a brief moment, she’s naked, much to Red’s delight. Filthy, infested, and wearing only her birthday suit. This gives way to clean and pristine, and her latest Sarah Palin mode.

Long yellow-blonde hair worn in a perfectly-coiffed Brynhildr. Elster-miles. Careys. Perls.  Bosom Envy [twin rockets, projectile breasts] and plain panty briefs underneath her immaculately-tailored Koo. Prudz. Bolshoi-bare. Holster, phone, and purse discreetly clipped to the waistband of her suit’s miniskirt.

Her hangover and drug withdrawal are completely assimilated. Her lizard brain and pineal gland shrink back to normal size.

“So, where is the one who took you?” Red asks.

“I ate it.”

Red notices that she’s angora-voiced—i.e., she’s got a fuzzy caterpillar drawl. And. She’s sporting a creepy smile that he’s never seen before. The smile of Pennywise, The Clown, from “It”.

“What did it taste like?”

“As close to human as I’ve ever tasted.”

“Closer than [human] clones?”

“Yes.”

The Marine with Red walks off, that look of disdain still on her face.

“How many creatures are we talking about?”

“Maybe millions. Nothing that can be harvested in several generations even with abusive culling. In point of fact, I doubt that you could ever farm them into extinction, but I could be wrong on that point. Although, like rats, they do reproduce prolifically.”

“We’re sitting on a gold mine here! Even after the Mob takes its cut of the action. And I pay my taxes to the Church and the Martian Government. Ultimately, we’ll see …”

“Ultimately, you’ll see billions in revenues—there is no ‘we’. Red, you’ve finally hit the big time.”

“But, you made the discovery. By all rights, you should get a lion share of the profits.”

The girl smiles menacingly, then it switches back to creepy. Red gets the message in spades. She has no interest in the money. He won’t bring it up again.

“For best taste, they should be kept in their natural habitat. So, I would advise against domestication. Keep them feral and in the wild. Capish?”

Still that silky, mocha voice that he had never heard before from her lips. Still that creepy smile. It is the voice and the smile she had before she got turned, and it was how she sounded and smiled for a long time after she got turned. Red hadn’t met her back then.

“Okay. Got it.” Then there’s the laser focus of her cruel, blue eyes. The singlemindedness of a killer who is undistracted by drinking, doping, and fucking. That look in her eyes was always there when she was a human enforcer for the Goon, Fats Waller. It is a look that gets Red hard. “You didn’t kill it, did you?”

“Nope. It’s still around somewhere. It will come back later when y’all leave. Fully regenerated from me having eaten a huge chunk of it.”

“And you’ll go back to being its filthy, infested, unkempt used.”

“When it suits me to be that way. Remember: I’m the dog who wags its tail, not the dog who is wagged by its tail.”

“I’d like to fuck that dirty version of you—the filthy-n-infested way you looked upon our ingress.”

“No surprise there, you hound dog. But be forewarned. You will fuck whatever version of me you get, and always be glad I’ve given you the chance to carnally worship me, your sexpot librarian goddess.”

Their back and forth is a mixture of fun and the deadly serious. Fortunately for Red, he always knows which is which, so he always knows how far to push things in their verbal jousts.

“But. This place shifts, doesn’t it? So how will I find you?”

“You won’t be able to. I will find you, just text.”

“Fair enough.”

Red moves away from her and back over to the Marines. Mondo will wait for them to egress before she takes care of a chore which takes precedence over her being used dirty by the Parasite.

The best laid plans of mice and men. Something else has its own plans for the girl. And. It will not be denied.

The grotto shifts. The girl blackouts. From her perspective she’s out for a minute or two. But. In reality more time than that has elapsed. When she regains her senses she is laying in the coffin, dressed in the dead junkie’s Kaye and perls—gone are her holster, phone, and purse. Rind. Long ragged dirty fingernails and toenails. Geriatric krazed. Additionally, filthy uncircumcised Parts with no hygiene mode are fused seamlessly to her body rendering her she-male. Filthy and infested—i.e., head lice, fleas, and crabs—patches of her skin are so dirty they are black. There are puncture wounds in the leftside of her neck, and the skin looks like raw hamburger around the puncture wounds. A pineal gland and lizard brain that have almost completely displaced her frontal lobe. Mentally, she is almost a Parasite. Physically, she is almost a Leech. This a very dirty, very feral version of her.

None of this is her doing or wish. She has plans. She has things to do. This is a sidetrack she can ill afford.

By sheer force of will, she sits up and gets out of the coffin. Something moves out of the shadows. It is wearing the clothes of the thing that abducted her. It looks like the thing that abducted her, but it is not the same Parasite. It is a mutation. A vile, covetous mutation who has killed and completely eaten the Parasite who originally took the girl.

Its eyes glow blue and it begins making those kraving [clicking] sounds. Foreplay officially has begun.

In response to the creature’s foreplay. A hideous parasitic growth—that closely resembles a very infectious species of papillomavirus wart—palpable as a small hard lump just below the surface of her skin—bursts through her skin, sprouting from the small of her back and spreading rapidly from the base of her spine longitudinally, in both directions. It hooks into her back for the entire length of her spine, from her tailbone to the base of her skull, and begins feeding upon its host. She becomes noticeably thinner in reaction to its feeding upon her.

There are similar such growths visible here and there on the skin of the creature.

The girl’s mind, what’s left of it, begins to shut down. She fights the glamor being weaved by the creature. Her mouth, nose, ears, and eyes begin to bleed profusely. The creature moves closer, but slowly, as if it’s savoring the girl’s losing attempt to resist its charms.

A creature of pure instinct, it’s not savoring anything. It’s just acting on instinct.

The creature’s teeth are serrated, long and crooked, except for its fangs which are long straight daggers. When it is close enough, its killer tongue erupts from its mouth and licks the knobb on the rightside of her neck.

Her gums recede and her teeth become large, crooked, and pointed, except for her canines—her eyeteeth become long straight daggers. Her tongue goes killer.

Serrated teeth. Vampire fangs. A killer tongue. But. She still resists, albeit futilely. Being a strong-willed, totally badass woman can only take you so far though.

In the end. The girl loses. Mondo ceases to exist as her pineal gland and lizard brain completely displace her frontal lobe. Two breasts become three with the right tit becoming a moog—i.e., those aforementioned Kum overtones.

The rest of the looks wrecking changes come in spades.

Pretty and hard-faced gives way to insanity ravaged, along with sunken cheeks and dark circles around the eyes.

Her blue eyes go kraved—i.e., light grey eyeballs, red constricted pupils, and no irises—ravenous, ghoulish eyes.

Her ghoulish eyes are hungry but empty. Reflecting the reality that she is now a mindless cunt. For the foreseeable future, the she-male Leech’s only purpose for existing is to provide physical mobility for her killer tongue and to be fed upon by her ravenous mate.

Bottomline. Physically, she’s a Leech with a wrecked face and decidedly Kum overtones. Overtones resulting from her previous Kum addiction. A prosthetic dildo renders her she-male.

Leechwoman, for want of a better name, is who and what she has become.

The girl just stands there, arms hanging limply at her sides, as her mate affixes its mouth to the leftside of her neck, sinks its fangs in deep, and feeds covetously. Leechwoman has an erection and ejaculates. Her mate is completely oblivious to the splatter of her jism.

At a very base level, instinctually, it only craves about feeding. Leechwoman’s erection and ejaculation are just reflex actions, not expressions of sexual delight. At a very base level, instinctually, she only craves about being fed upon. This is sexplay for a Parasite. Both creatures, Parasite and Vampire, are creatures of pure instinct.

This time, Mondo’s Id didn’t betray her. This time her user just used sheer brute force to overpower her, without any need of assistance from her subconscious.

For one whole year, Mondo is gone. Off the grid, flying below the radar, gone off the reservation. But. Unfortunately for the creature using her. At her core, all the veneers stripped away. She is still a killer—a pure killing machine. And. She’s pure evil. Evil incarnate.

So … In the end, as with all things evil, without the intervention of Almighty God to tip the scales otherwise, evil always prevails.

For the first six months of her LOA, she’s completely out of commission as this Leech-Kum thing. The remainder of her leave of absence are spent expressing her true self—i.e., Mondo Kane, the mad scientist librarian without any rules whatsoever. In-between, she kills and eats her user, along with quite a few of the Parasite creature’s kind. But. That’s a tale of genocide for another time.

Yep. Being a strong-willed, totally badass woman can only take you so far. But. Being evil takes you into the forever. And. Its goes without saying that. Evil ass bitch is, and always will be, a totally inadequate description of this homicidal juggernaut. The ultimate femme fatale.