Apex, 1

(The End Is Here will be resumed after this 2-part short)

Light. Motion. Falling.

Falling to the ground, vision blurred.

Fell on the ground. Vision focusing, smell and taste nothing.

Hear words.

Hear her words.

Feel pain, of hunger and impact. Hunger pulls me tight, into ball. Muscles pulling myself inward, closer to starving pain.

Limbs strong as if after feast. Mouth dry, but not thirsty.

“Wake up Apex.”

Hear her say my name, hear her words drift through my second skull, tease second hunger. Breathe deep, quickly, gasping. No scent.

I can't smell her.

I can hear her but I can't smell her.

Her words again, through second skull and into first, filling first skin with fluid pleasure. Every note of her song wrapping around my muscles, pulling, releasing.

“Wake up my dear, dear Apex. Mistress needs you.”

Eyes focus from blur, morph into her. Eyes filled with tears and pain, like staring into sun. She is my Sun. I can't only look at her.

Eyes shut, head turns, I make low sounds of pain. Pain of too few senses to sense her.

Click open of second skull's dozen mouths, her scent, her true scent, under false smell she wears. Eyes open, refocus, see her, smell her, hear her.

See her, brown, rich, living, like Earth before and beyond concrete deserts and steel and glass canyons.

Smell her, salt and water of oceans too distant.

Hear her, force and ecstasy melted in melody.

Body tenses as she washes into my body, through my eyes and ears and nose. Electric liquid in every inch of body, replacing the red, beating through chest and gut and limbs.

“Stand up Apex. I know you are hungry and you will eat soon. You will hunt soon.”

Roll over to front and push up. Ascend into promises of feast, of meat and red.

Smell her red, under her flesh. Her forbidden red.

I stand as strong deserve to, as weak aspire to. Hunger remains but does not pull in. Only charges, winds up. Limbs ready to snap and release the red of others as muscles flex and tighten.

She turns and I want to taste every inch of her.

Except her red.

White fabric fails to hide her from me. Covers her flesh only to the weak and blind. I want to touch her and pleasure her and protect her and be her strength.

I am pulled to her, through second skin and second skull, as she walks out of silent and sleeping room. Lights white but dim, only walls and floor five meters cube, my bed set into wall we move away from. Cold Machine that deafens and numbs and blinds and repairs clicks and fold away.

Follow her through ten meters long by four meters square of hallway, only doors behind to room and Cold Machine, only doors ahead to her domain. She is the mind of ten thousand arms and legs that scurry and work and make empire within dying nation.

Source of so much noise. So long does empire keep her away from me. Hunger for her becomes pain, wracks and twists body until she touches me or I return to Cold Machine.

Pass through doors, measure two point five meters by one point three by fifty centimeters. Decorative plastic made like wood, curves and flower shapes in yellow-brown, titanium core and locks. Fall closer to her into room eight meters square by four meters high, one other entrance same composition as last. High traction thin fabric floor, dim amber illumination to beige walls with false decorated wood siding. Furniture is soft, we sink into chairs whenever I pleasure her. Eight concealed laser turrets in each corner, hidden in floor and ceiling. Large real wood desk in center of room, with rotating chair.

I move beside her, eyes tracing her movements, focus licking at curves and lines of body. She sits in chair and sings to me.

“Open the door for our guest, Apex.”

Limbs move but still coiled, each motion pleasing me as I obey her. Door opens, in steps single male caucasian, one point seven meters tall, approximately ninety five kilograms, white previously blonde hair, blue eyes, estimated age forty seven years, diabetic, casually aggressive stature, concealed pistol attached to arm slide, ate actual cow thirty four minutes ago, broken humerus before onset of puberty.

Would take one second for him to draw pistol and aim at her. Would also take point five seconds for me to dislocate arm.

He looks at me and sees second skin, spotless white composite flexible smart armor, and second skull, likewise but rigid. He sees me but feels fear. I smell it oozing out of his pores and see it dilate his pupils.

Weak.

Prey.

She gifts him with her attention as I begin to salivate. “Mr. Callaway, welcome. I do apologize for the measures I insisted.”

He turns to her. “It's no problem, not at all ma'am. I understand the need to minimize the chance of certain droppers of eaves.”

Chuckles nervously. American English, midwest accent with traces of south/southwestern.

“On that subject,” and I can not stand to hear him anymore. Words are ignored, tone is conciliatory.

“I assure you, he is my most trusted help. His silence is assured”

Her praise is ecstasy.

Conversation. Negotiation.. His words first amicable, then grow steadily more assertive. She humors him, but I feel in bones that meeting will be short. He comes to grate on her nerves.

Sweat polluted with stimulants drips down his neck. His red begins to flow faster. Her brow lowers as she gleans from him all she needed to know. Her slender, firm fingers rub her chin before she snaps other fingers.

Desire for flesh and her attention spring me into attack. His arm twisted out of socket, nerves pinched, thrown to floor, fist into throat. Microblade out of top of hand into carotid. His red spills free. His red paints his flesh and worthless cloth and my second skin and second skull, filled with fear and shock.

It is the red of prey.

Muscles surge with strength, claws emerge from fingertips.

“Feast,” she releases, words and self and mouth, dry and hungry. His eyes die, becomes it. Becomes meat.

Red flows and sprays, onto carpet to stain and onto my thirsty first flesh. Fingers rend and rip, flesh shredding and bones snapping as I remove meat from bone and consume. Meat laced with fat. Best meat on legs and chest, red spilling and spraying everywhere.

Hunger for meat ends it pile of broken bones and looping entrails. Heart most filling, very tough. Filled with delicious red.

Hunger for her present. Always.

“Very messy, my darling Apex. Also, very very good.”

Her words fill me with soft fire, I turn and smile with lips and teeth covered in red. Own heart beats faster, first skin alive and sparking. Blinding white pulsing through sensitive flesh, fills edge of vision.

“And I have one more for you to hunt down. One more to feast on, so long as you bring his head to me.”

I will be going outside.

I will hunt. For her.

Always for her.