[Corvid]

Day Ten, 02:53

“She stinks of wine,” Brauer complained.

“Given our host's sentiments towards Ms. Croft, it wouldn't have been well received to keep her around long enough to clean her up.” Defunestro snapped. “Now scoot the fuck over and get her inside.”

Lara couldn't stop shaking. She tensed when they pulled on her arms, not in any active attempt to resist their motions but only in a reflexive need to prepare to ward off the next blow. She clutched her knees to her chest as they shoved her onto the seat in the back of the armored car, trembling and rocking as the men filed into place around her.

When they pulled the hood back over her head, it was almost a relief.


03:35

“...And he keeps doing it. Boom, boom, boom, just kicking her in the gut like he wanted to make her pop.”

“Wow. I guess he really 'kicked the shit out of her', huh?”

“And Lady Croft's shit smells like claret. Who knew?”

“Wish I could have seen that.”

“Hell, wish I could have fucked that. Bet she was doing all kinds of interesting stuff inside.”

“Wait until we get her home.”

Fingers cupped her breast. “We'll see.”

Inside the hood, Lara opened her mouth as if to scream, but no sound emerged from her throat.


08:19

The road was full of ruts and potholes, jolting and jittering the car's suspension. And bouncing the hooded prisoner's anatomy in time. At some point, the distraction got to be too much for one of the men.

Hands settled on her hips, lifting and turning her. Her legs were straddled around someone's lap. She felt his erect cock press between her thighs and penetrate her, the hands pulling her down until her body was flush with his.

As the rattling vibrated her body, she could feel the penis inside her bucking and swelling. For a while, that was enough for the man inside her.

The other men who remained awake kept talking as if nothing out of the ordinary was occurring.

They hit another pothole. As she bounced up, the hands on her hips clenched tight and brought her down hard. She cried out softly in pain; a hand moved up her back to her neck and shoved her head down on his shoulder.

As the road continued to jostle her against him, the hand on her neck moved down to play with her chest. She mewled and cried as fingers pressed into her sore breasts, flicked at her pierced nipples, tugged at the rings. The crop had left her bosom fragile to the slightest touch- and the man between her thighs was clearly enjoying the sounds she made he began to knead the swollen flesh.

They hit another pothole, and another, each bounce resulting in another harsh motion jamming her down on him, pushing the cock deep inside her.

Fingernails bit into her buttocks as the hands settled on her hips, urging her into a rolling motion. As the tires lunged into another series of ruts, the hands began to slap at her buttocks with each inward motion, the man's hips rocking upward as the blows made her flinch.

His breathing grew harsh as he plunged into her faster and faster. As her body lifted, his hands moved up and squeezed her breasts violently, holding her in place for several long seconds before finally jerking her down hard, fingers clenched in the aching swells, as he ejaculated deep into her body.

She felt his breathing grow slow and steady; all at once he shoved her off of him to sprawl back onto the seat beside him.

She never knew who had taken her on the trip back. But they hadn't yet reached the bunker, and she began to quietly weep as she realized she had probably received the most gentle treatment at the hands of her anonymous rapist that she was likely to get.


Day Eleven, 03:26

She barely remembered them bringing her in- when the car stopped, how far they brought her, how many sets of stairs she might have been dragged up or down. All she remembered was that when the door had been slammed behind her and she had finally been able to take off the hood, it was back in the concrete box that had been her reprieve two days and a lifetime ago. It had taken no effort to fall onto the mattress and sink, hoping never to wake up....

She was woken out of that fitful sleep when they jerked the mattress out from underneath her. Suddenly her tender breasts fell against the rigid grid that laced across the bottom of her cell bed's iron frame. Groggy and not yet fully within her own reality, she tried to get her hands underneath her to push away from the cold metal, feeling the elastic of her garters stretch as she tensed her legs.

“Hold her arms and legs,” she heard Defunestro snap. Her eyes opened and her pulse began to gallop. Her arms were pulled out from under her, and her body crashed back down against the metal.

Her head thrashed as she tried to look around. She saw Oslo and Zuyev on her arms, thought she heard Rojas- couldn't see who held her ankles-

Something rough slithered across her back as Defunestro hummed thoughtfully.

“We tried the 'rest and recovery' route, Croft, but apparently that didn't take. It would appear that my men have been far more patient with you than was warranted. So enjoy your final lessons in subjugation, Lara; you barely need to be able to walk for what I need.”

The rough, serpentine thing moved down her back.

“Much as I admire D'Amberline's imagination with the fan belt, rubber lacks a certain friction, and there's something to be said for a real whip. Alexan gave me this one as a gift, though he made me promise it would be used on you. That's braided crocodile leather you're feeling.”

The line moved down her back, skirting over the swell of her buttocks before suddenly lifting.

CRACK!

Her head lifted from the bed as she cried out at the sudden pain.

“...And when you don't care so much about whether you break skin...”

CRACK!

“...crocodile leather has its charms.”

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The whip cut into her backside, again and again. Her back arched as she screamed, the hands on her arms and legs preventing any kind of defense as her back arched in agony. Binci smiled as he looked at her out-thrust chest, nodding to himself as he backed out of the room.

“You know Lara, the paparazzi like to go on about your bustline, but I think they're missing the boat on this ass.”

CRACK!

“This tight-”

CRACK!

“-pert-”

CRACK!

“-sweetly curved-”

CRACK!

“-ass!”

CRACK!

“Wouldn't you say so, gentlemen?”

There was a round of appreciative chuckles.

“Well, don't worry. This location will be opening for business shortly.”

CRACK!

“Just a few moments to prepare the facilities for your arrival.”

CRACK!

Binici came back through the door holding a length of rebar. “Can you wait a moment, boss?”

Defunestro raised an eyebrow as he ran the braided leather length through his fist. “What do you have in mind?”

In response, Binici shoved down on the panting woman's back, shifting her upper body back and forth until he found a position in which her nipples slipped through the grid on the underside of the bed. With a cold smile, he threaded the steel bar through the rings in her piercings beneath the frame.

“Now,” he explained, “if her upper body cranes up-”

He demonstrated by grabbing her hair and jerking her upper body upward. The steel rod caught in the frame under the bed, arresting the rings' movement- and as he continued to wrench her body upward, her nipples stretched away from her chest until she started to scream.

“Hmm. That raises some intriguing possibilities. I admire your initiative. Gentlemen, when I'm done here, please yield the floor to Binici, as it were.”

There was some grumbling. Lara whimpered as Binici released her hair, allowing her upper body to fall heavily back against the cold metal.

Her “respite”, if such it could be called, was short-lived.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Her haunches ground against the bedframe as she cried, her helpless motions serving only to inflame the lust of the men who watched her hips twist.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Defunestro paused for a moment when one of the slashes across her shapely posterior welled into a thin red line that spilled down her buttock and into the slope down her thigh.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

And then struck until her other buttock was similarly marked. Only then did he calmly coil the whip and return it to his belt.

“After Binici, you may settle matters amongst yourselves, but here are your “marching orders”: Rape the bitch in the ass. No lube; come on her back- or in her hair, or in her face, I don't care, just not inside her. I doubt it needs saying, but use her hard. No breaks. If one of you wants to do her twice, he can get back in line.”

“I'll be outside. Get me when you're done. Treat her like a lady, gentlemen.”

Binci opened his pants and climbed on top of the crying woman as the others held tightly to her limbs. After a moment's adjustment, he lifted his hips, then slammed down against her body.

“AIGHHH!”

Defunestro closed the door behind him, smiling as he leaned back against the wall.

“ANH-huh-hng- UNGH-uh-huh- AHH-huh-huh- AII...!”

The rhythmic shriek of the bedframe, combined with the pain-wracked grunts from his enemy as Binici crushed her between his weight and the metal, was musical.

There was a change in the sound as he moved down to pump her less from on top and more from behind, a new tenor from the bedframe and a louder slapping as his hips slammed against her buttocks. The new position allowed him greater speed.

“HUH-huh-huh-HUH!-huh-ah!-ah!-HUH!-no-HUH!-please-HUH! Uh-huh-HUH...”

And allowed him to punctuate his thrusts with ringing slaps of his hand on her flesh.

That one was her rump. So was that. That was more like her hip- the lighter sound of a thinner sheathe of flesh over bone.

And that, given the squeal, was probably her breast. Defunestro laughed softly.

After long minutes of the staccato clap of flesh on flesh, the tenor of the creaking bedframe shifted again as he moved back above her to focus on the deep, punishing, violent thrusts into her guts. He slowed down to delay his orgasm and prolong the distress of the woman he was sodomizing.

“AIHHH!”

Sobbing, whimpering, awaiting the next-

“AIHHH!”

-thrust, not long in coming, just long enough to-

“AGHHH!”

-make hurtful the anticipation, to torture her as his cock's exit brought a cruel suction-

“AGGGH!”

-stretching her bowels as he tore into her.

“AHH!- No! No...!”

And then, Zuyev- “Do it, man! Do it!”

The almost humorously high “ting” of the rebar hitting the bedframe as he pulled back on her hair, stretching her nipples while he pounded into her-

“AHH-HA! NO! NO! AHH! AHH! AHHHHHH...!”

ting “FUCK-” ting “-YOU-” ting “BITCHHHH--!”

The buckling of metal settling as she slumped back down. Crying, as he ejaculated onto her shivering body.

The bed squeaked as he climbed off of her, and then again as the next man climbed on.

“Oh... Oh, please, please, no, no- NOO...! AHHHHH!-”


04:11

“No! N-n-no more! Please, not there, it hurts, it hurts so much-!”

“Not there?” Oslo sneered. “Where should I fuck you?”

“...I-i-in...”

“Say it.”

“...In my c-c-cunt...?”

“Say it.”

“F-fuck my cunt...”

“SAY IT!”

“FUCK... MY... CUNT... PLEASE...!”

The bedframe squeaked.

“No.”

“P-please...! AHHHH! Uh-huh-huh...!”

The metal continued to squeal as Oslo hammered away at the woman's rump.

Two men to go.

Assuming no one wanted seconds.


04:58

“Ohhhh!-”

“Oh, I wish you could see this, man- what her face is doing when you hit that- fucking beautiful- do it again, just like that-”

“Ohh!- Ohhh! P-please, please, please... OHHHH!”

“She can't take it! She can't take it! Oh, what you're doing to her, I fucking love it, pound the whore's ass- pound it-!”

Rojas's voice was thick with exertion. “Slap her face while I butt-fuck her- hit her-!”

“OHH!- OHH!-”

“Lady Croft.”

slap

“Lady Croft.” slap. “Lady Lara fucking CROFT!”

SLAP.


05:17

They filed out of the room with rowdy good cheer. Defunestro pulled open the door as they passed him in the hallway.

She was limp on the bed. The blood the whip had drawn had become a russet smear from her thighs to her lower back. The white scum of semen coated her thighs, buttocks, and back.

He pulled the steel rod out from the rings and flipped her over. She whimpered softly as he fell onto her back, as her beaten and used haunches smacked against the metal frame. The piercings around her nipples were bleeding.

He tied her wrists above her head to the frame, and she didn't resist, her eyes staring into the distance, her lips quivering.


06:03

DeVries grinned as he approached the door.

“She's just been fed,” Defunestro commented idly, looking down at his fingernails.

The big South African pulled something from his pocket. A quick glance confirmed they were “sap gloves”- gloves with powdered metal in pouches along the outsides of the fingers to protect the knuckles and increase the kinetic force of punches. His grin grew broader as he pulled them onto his hands.

“Keep it below the neck, and try not to break anything. Last thing we need is a punctured lung right now.”

Defunestro leaned back against the wall as DeVries entered her cell.

There was a murmur. He couldn't quite make out what was said.

“Nghh... Oh!... Ow...!”

“That's your cervix, Croft?”

“Ow!- Yes...! Oh!”

“Make you cramp up when my cock hits that?”

“Yes-! Ah! Ow! Ow!... Ngh! Ah!... NGHhhh!”

“Yeah, I heard what they did with all that wine... Your tummy still sore, bitch?”

Her sobbing was broken by the gasps as he bored against her womb. Defunestro could almost hear her desperate nodding.

“Please... Please, don't...!”

“Well, guess what. It's going to stay that way.”

Defunestro shifted against the wall as the sound of DeVries pummeling the bound woman's torso echoed out into the corridor. The smacks and thuds continued to ring out throughout the rape, the grunts and cries and moans as she took what he had to give.

… And took it, and took it. DeVries's sexual and upper-body endurance both proved to be exceptional.


07:09

He was grinning still when he left the room.

“She is still breathing, yes?” Defunestro inquired dryly.

“Hmm. Not as easily, but yes. Someone should clean her up and feed her again, though. It looks like her last meal didn't take.”

Defunestro sighed loudly, musing on whether anyone was on his shit-list at the moment.


07:20

Kalivas came in the room with warm water and a washcloth.

Her fair skin was a mass of pink and purple blotches, near-solid from the line of her rib cage to the top of her pelvis, intermittent on her thighs, ribs, breasts, arms, and shoulders. Semi-solids clung to her shoulder, cheek, and hair. Her breathing hitched with every inhale as she stared at the ceiling.

Slowly and gently, Kalivas cleaned the vomit and spit from her body. Then he untied her, brought her arms down to rest against her body, set her head in his lap, and began stroking her hair.

After a few minutes of this treatment, Lara started to tremble. A high, keening moan passed through her lips.

“...Just... do whatever you're going to do to me and have done with it.” She whispered. She tried to sound strong, but her voice cracked at the end.

Kalivas laughed, continuing to stroke her hair. “It's far worse than that, Lara. I'm not going to do anything to you just yet.”

She stayed quiet, waiting for the hammer to fall. Kalivas breathed in slowly through his nose.

“Can you smell that, Lara? I just set some more coffee to brew. It's waiting on a table upstairs next to a big bowl of fresh fruit and some pastries from the bakery down the road. They're still warm.”

She stayed quiet.

“You're a murderous bitch, Lady Croft. A ball-busting- hell, ball-biting-, treasure-stealing, too-good-for-everyone snotty high-born cunt. But no matter what anyone may say while they're inside of you, you're not a whore.”

Silence.

“Not technically. A whore is someone who exchanges sex for something of value.”

Her breathing shook in her battered torso.

“I think you see where this is going. You're going to have sex with me. You're going to try to make it pleasant. I think a little tongue might be in order. And when I'm satisfied, I'm going to bring you breakfast.”

His hand brushed down her scalp, slowly, tenderly.

“Or, I could leave. The choice is entirely yours.”

Her eyes closed. The corners of her mouth turned down, her chin trembling softly.

“I've been in your asshole and your pussy and between your tits. I've taken you by violence and under duress. I want to have you in a way none of the others will.”

She fought to steady her breathing.

“But I'm not doing anything until you make that choice.”

Her breath caught for a moment.

She thought about just staying silent and still, seeing how long he would keep his word not to act until she did.

Like a small child sulking in silence, pushing her limits, awaiting punishment.

She sat up, slowly and painfully. Leaned over.

Kissed him.

He carried the mattress back over onto the bed.



He didn't slap her, spank her, or punch her. He didn't try to hurt her, or even push particularly hard in pursuit of orgasm. He touched her body, and sometimes she winced, but he never moved repeatedly over the same area seeking such a reaction.

He was slow, and patient, and almost considerate.

If this was a romance novel, she thought, I would have climaxed.

If this was a romance novel, he would bravely rescue me from my imprisonment.

It wasn't a romance novel.

He didn't bring violence to bear against her body, but she felt something tear inside when he came.



He dressed and left the room.

Five minutes later, he returned with a heavily laden plate of food and a mug of coffee.

She felt a surge of gratitude. “I thought... maybe you would just leave me.”

He leaned down and kissed her, pulling back to look into her eyes.

“Of course not, Lara. If you didn't get paid, you wouldn't have made yourself a whore.”

He turned and departed, and the door clicked shut behind him..

She lifted the plate, for a moment intending to hurl it against the wall.

Then she set it down on her lap and started eating, tears streaming down her cheeks.


08:40

Favreau called it a “costume party.”

In addition to the gown and corset she had worn to the castle, the bunker had a surprising variety of women's clothing. Apparently a successful piracy operation undertaken against a cruise ship had left them with a great deal of excess after the luggage had been sorted through for valuables, from costume pieces intended for the cruise's stage performers to lingerie from couples whose honeymoons had come to an abrupt halt.

“Say eet.”

The whip cracked against the ground behind her.

She cleared her throat. “Now I will be doing ze dusting, Monsieur.”

Lara had known a few genuine French maids; none had worn a skirt that ended at mid thigh, fingerless lace gloves, and a thong while performing her job.

The audience hooted and whistled as she bent, suppressing a groan at the pain lancing through her torso, to dust at the legs of a chair, giving them a long look at her exposed derrière as her legs stretched out in her hose and high heels.

“Give 'zem a little shake of 'zose heeps, Croft,” Favreau growled, the on-loan whip twisting between his hands.

She ground her hips as she dusted with the over-sized feather duster. More shouts and whistles.

Favreau frowned. “Hmm. No take-airs? Surprising. Try ze next.” He pulled her behind the screen set up at one end of the stage to “assist” the donning of the next outfit.

White button-down shirt, with a knot in the hem tied up too high. Short plaid skirt that clung too low on her hips. White, knee-high socks. Black patent leather shoes.

Pigtails.

He pushed her out in front of the men, and there was a low “ooh.”

Favreau smirked. “Go on...?”

She slowly released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Tam, off to the side, grinned as he pointed at the cue card on the easel.

Lara raised her husky voice half an octave. “I didn't mean to make you wait. Am I in trouble...?”

At Favreau's direction, she put her hands behind her hips, tucked her head down, and twisted back and forth on her toes.

Jennings stood from his chair, holding up his ticket as the men around him let out yells and groans and cheers. Favreau waved towards the woman as he accepted the slip of paper.

The mercenary smiled as he paced a slow circle around Lara.

“Yeah, you're in trouble. You've been a very bad girl, and you need to be punished.”

Grabbing her by the collar of her shirt, he sat down on the chair, pulling her over his knee. The men whistled as he yanked up the back of her skirt and started to spank her, his hand ringing out loudly on her flesh.

The slaps on her buttocks hurt. But she knew Favreau could do worse with the whip.

And that he would if she didn't play her part.

“Oh! Ow! Oh! Oh, mister- Ow! Ow! Oh, please! Stop! Stop! I'm sorry!”

He pulled his erection from his pants, rubbing it back and forth against the hot, bare stomach pushed against his lap as he resumed spanking her.

“Ow! Ow! Ah! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'll do anything, please-”

The slaps stopped. “Anything?”

She whimpered softly. It has come to this, she thought. This is how far I've fallen.

“Anything, mister...”

He made her straddle him in the chair. She wondered if he was the one who had taken advantage of her in the back of the car.

“Oh! Oh! Oh god! Oh, mister, it's too big...! It's too big...!”



Schoolgirls got spanked. Cheerleaders got gang-banged. Policewomen got handcuffed and sodomized.

They wanted to see the harem girl dance. She felt a moment of thankfulness that DeVries wasn't there, watching her beaten midriff undulate. It seemed certain that another round of punches to her abdomen in her current state would bring on internal hemorrhaging.

Superheroines were expected to protest and fight when they were being raped, though fortunately not hard enough to be beaten in response.

Businesswoman. Schoolteacher. Stewardess.

Archaeologist? Old news. They knew all about what you did with one of those.

Princess. Nun.

Dominatrix. That was a bad one.

“SAY YOU NEED THE COCK!” Collins screamed into her ear as he drove into her ass, craning her arm up behind her back.

“I need the cock!”

“SAY IT!”

“I need it! I need the cock...!”

Cowgirl. Nurse. Secretary. Bride.

Favreau collected their tickets. They tore off the costumes he had made her wear, tore at her body as she tried desperately to be what they wanted her to be, to avoid or at least minimize the pain they would inflict upon her as they used her.

To please them.

Because that was the only kind of success available to her in her captivity.

To be a successful...

...Whore.

“Whore” won Gamble's ticket.

However much you slapped a whore around, she still needed your money.


18:09

She walked slowly back to the cell, naked, Tam and Favreau behind her, talking about their favorite moments.

Cum dripped from her body as she staggered down the hall. Every lurching step was a dare, inviting her aching orifices and overstretched limbs and beaten body to announce her woes.

Defunestro followed her into the cell. At his request, Tam came with him. Lara staggered and collapsed onto the mattress.

“I have it on good authority that you're up for barter, now, Croft.” Defunestro purred.

Lara didn't say anything.

“What would you give for eight hours' sleep? Hmm?”

Her eyes moved up; the rest of her remained still on the bed.

Defunestro snapped his fingers. “Sit on the floor with your back against the bed.”

Her arms trembled as she pushed off of the mattress, sliding herself off of the bed.

The cement was hard. The bedframe was cold against her back. Nails went through her hindquarters when she sat.

“I'm going to come in your throat.”

She looked at him, eyes dull, and said nothing.

“Not your mouth, mind you. Your throat. I'm going to ram my cock into your face and tear your gullet up. I'm going to use your head as a cock-sheathe. And you're going to keep your hands in your lap while you let me do just that.”

He pulled something out of his breast pocket. A small metal thing hung from the end of a chain.

“A little contribution to BDSM from our Japanese friends. The nose-hook. If you even think about doing unto me as you did unto Ramos, Tam is going to pull on this thing so hard you're going to have to dig metal from your sinuses.”

She could have told him it wasn't necessary. But she didn't.

Tam sat on the mattress as he handed him the end of the chain, sliding the hooks into her nose. Tam gave the chain a couple of experimental tugs. Lara let out a soft cry of pain as the hooks yanked at her nostrils. Defunestro unzipped his pants.

“Yes, that should do nicely. Now. You understand what I'm going to do to you, Croft?”

She said nothing. He slapped her across the face.

“I require an answer. A simple 'yes' or 'no' will do, you fuck-blitzed cow.”

“Yes.” she whispered.

“Open your fucking mouth.”

He fisted his cock to a full erection as her lips parted, still streaked with the deep red from her make-up session.

His hands clenched on the back of her head as he penetrated her mouth.

“Khh-”

“Keep those hands down.”

In and out, his cock slid over her tongue, back and forth over the surface as he explored the wet purse of her mouth with his erection.

He pulled back slightly, waiting several seconds to make sure she knew what was coming.

Then he punched his cock into the back of her throat.

“GHHKKK-!”

“Keep those fucking hands down, bitch!”

His pubic hair lashed at her hook-opened nostrils. She was terrified what the hooks might do if she sneezed. His scrotum struck her chin as his hips pumped against her face.

“GLAKK- KIK- GUKK- KHH...”

Saliva and phlegm trickled from the corners of her mouth as he fucked her throat. Her aching stomach lurched in revolt with every thrust as she gagged.

“GHKRITT- KHHT- HHHEEE!- GLKH- GLOK- GUK-!”

“That's it. That's it. Suffer, you bitch. Let the cock hurt you. You know you fucking deserve it.”

The hands on her hair jerked her head back, and the head of his cock started moving further down her throat, utterly obstructing her breathing. One hand left her head to close on her breast, clenching viciously on the swollen softness with each stab into her larynx as she struggled to draw breath.

“KHHHHHHH... EEEHHH! KHHHH.... EEEH! KHHHHHHH...”

He held her tight against him, looking down into her eyes as her face turned pink.

“Lady Lara Croft. My cock is in your throat. I could suffocate you right now. You could die with a man's cock buried inside your neck.”

Her hands trembled in her lap. Her throat spasmed around the hard obstruction. Tears spilled down her cheeks as her face flushed darker and darker.

“...But then you'd stop feeling pain.”

Pulling back, he began to pound his cock into her gullet, deep and hard.

“GLKHHHHH! KHAHHH! CUHuHHHH! CUHuHHH!...”

“The membranes- in your throat- really aren't meant- for this- I can feel- GRHHH-! Feel- Your throat- HAHH!- Seizing- burning- tearing...!”

His thumbnail cut into her nipple, crushing the pierced nub between it and his finger.

“Swallow it-! GHAH! Swallow it, whore! Swallow it all-!”

The cock in her throat contracted, again and again. She felt the greasy fluid spill down her throat, imagined she could feel it land in her stomach like a handful of buckshot.

When he pulled out of her mouth, she immediately started coughing. She spat, and saw flecks of blood in her saliva. Her breathing came in hoarse, high-pitched gasps.

Defunestro smiled savagely. “That's right... That's right.”

He jerked the hooks down from her nose and collected the chain from Tam, turning to open the door.

“Sleep well, Croft,” he sneered. “You earned it.”

Still gasping as the door shut behind them, Lara crawled over to the chamber pot and made gurgling sounds, hawking and spitting over and over, desperately trying to clear the clinging awfulness from her pain-wracked throat. Strands of yellow and white and pink dripped from her mouth as she spat, and spat, and spat, clawing at her lips, trying to be free of it.

Minutes later, it was as good as it was going to get. Her throat still felt like she had gargled acid, but she could breathe without coughing, though her deeper inhalations still wheezed.

She took a deep breath, and then another.

And found herself on her hands and knees, pounding on the floor with her fists, screaming and sobbing.

It was doing her no good at all, and a tiny voice in the back of her mind acknowledged this. Snot was flooding up her nose and throat, threatening to choke off the breathing she had barely cleared. Her breasts and ribs and stomach and throat hurt with every sob, and the aching inside her rectum and vagina echoed every damning thrust that had been inflicted upon them in the last twenty-four hours.

But she just... couldn't... stop. Not until exhaustion caught her unawares.

So it was that they found her curled up in the fetal position on the concrete the next morning, with the bed not even an arm's length away.


Day Twelve, 05:00

Brauer and Kaar looked down at the huddled figure lying nude on the floor.

Kaar kicked her in the lower back.

She jolted awake, thrashing, panting, hands flailing out at her side to ward away something that wasn't there. Kaar snickered as her jerking body slowly settled down, her eyes darting around the room, breathing sharp and desperate.

“Wake up, princess.” He sneered.



“They don't say 'coffee, tea, or milk' anymore.”

“They don't let me smack their tits around like that either. What's your point?”

“Heh. Now that would be an airline I'd like to fly.”

“What, you're not paying enough for a plane ticket now?”

They watched her scrub her body in the shower room. They had threatened to do it for her if she didn't do a good job. She worked soap into cuts and bruises, moaning quietly as they watched.

“You can keep your stewardesses. I'm a man of earthier tastes. Give me a Bavarian barmaid with big boobs and I'm a happy man.”

“It's always about the beer with you, isn't it, Brauer?”

“Naturally! It's in the name. My great-grandfather was a brewmeister, my grandfather was a brewer, my father was a brewer...”

“...And so naturally, his son became a gun-runner.”

“But a beer-drinker.”

“Feh.”

“Hey, someone has to pay for all that beer.”

He hummed softly, licking his lips.

“And speaking of suds, someone had better speed it up if they don't want to become the refreshment of the day...”



Favreau, sitting in a chair along the wall, was unsuccessfully restraining a yawn as they brought her into the wardrobe room. Seated next to him, Defunestro was sipping coffee.

“Thank you for joining us, Lara. Sorry I couldn't be at the costume party, but I have a role I'd like you to play for me none the less.”

“Lara Croft.”



Her breath caught when they hooked the bra behind her back. It wasn't any kind of fetish-ware- in fact, it was pretty much the standard white cotton-poly bra one could buy at any of a thousand department stores in a hundred countries- but her swollen bosom complained at the pressure all the same.

The khaki turtleneck covered most of the marks; the olive slacks hid the rest. Another round in the make-up chair disguised the hollowness and puffiness from days of sleep deprivation, starvation, slapping and crying, though Favreau struggled to attain a natural look versus the glamour he had worked towards the night of the ball.

Her hair was brushed out again, and redone in the braid she had worn when she had first been brought to the bunker. A pair of stylish leather flats were slipped on her feet, and a pair of fashionable sunglasses helped further disguise the hollowness of her eyes and the diminishing of the light that had shone there.

“Stand up.”

She did.

“Turn around.”

She turned in a half circle, raised her arms, turned back the other way.

Brauer snickered. “Say 'I'm practically perfect in every way.'”

Her voice was flat. “I'm practically-”

“Thank you, Brauer...” Defunestro interrupted. “That will serve.” He smiled, walking towards Lara as she stood in the middle of the room. “She will serve. If she knows what's good for her.”



All passengers were visible from the outside of the limousine, however faintly through the smoked glass. And they were traveling on highly public routes. So for the first time, she traveled without any kind of hood or blindfold.

The sight of the sun staggered her. Something else she hadn't sampled in nearly two weeks.

It was not an overly long drive to Geneva; they had been just within the borders of Switzerland all that time. She would have been surprised, had her bleak emotional state and the early hour not left her so deadened.

D'Amberline, Park, Zuyev and Oslo flanked her as they emerged from the car onto the street in front of the glass-and-steel office building. They were posing as her security detail, dressed in matching black fatigues, with batons and sidearms, and looked not unlike the guards who had patrolled the castle.

Perhaps it was intentional. Perhaps a point was being made about the inescapability of her situation.

She looked around at the people passing on the street as they crossed the sidewalk towards the double-door in front. These were not the malevolent guests of that ballroom, quietly waiting in anticipation of a spectacle of rape and torture. She spoke German and French; someone would understand her if she were to cry out.

But she didn't.

Defunestro and his men surrendered their weapons at a security checkpoint just inside the lobby. Beyond that, an elderly man in an impeccable suit glared at their approach from behind an imposing, raised semi-circular desk.

Defunestro spoke up in clipped, official-sounding tones. “Countess Lara Croft, here to collect the contents of box Two-Twenty-Eight-Nine-Seven-Six-Five.”

“Hmm.” The man tapped a screen hidden behind the desk. “You're half an hour early, Lady Croft.” He extended a clip board and a pen across the desk.

Her mouth opened, and closed again. She licked her dry, swollen lips, and opened her mouth again. “Change in schedule. I apologize for any inconvenience.” She scratched a signature onto the clipboard.

The man's expression softened. Serving the whims of people wealthy enough to afford his employer's services was, after all, part of his job. “Quite all right. If you will come this way, please?”

From the lobby they took a brief elevator ride, walked down a short corridor, and entered a windowless room of steel and concrete. The secondary security checkpoint was overseen by a dozen uniformed guards, armed with sub-machine guns within easy reach on shoulder straps.

Her heart pounded, and her breathing quickened. Rescue was a word away.

...And Defunestro turned, and looked at her. Her guts turned to ice.

He could read her mind. He was five steps ahead of her. Perhaps she knew it wasn't true, but the cornered animal in her breast felt otherwise.

Behind a long table, a senior guard pushed an electronic pad across to her.

“Place your right hand here for fingerprint recognition, please, ma'am.”

She did. A line ran across the screen; moments later, the glass flashed green.

Plugging a boxy device with a goggle-like pair of lenses on one side into the pad, he raised the machine, then paused.

“If you would remove your spectacles for retinal scan, ma'am?”

She closed and folded the sunglasses. The guard started to bring the device towards her face, but halted in mid-motion. His eyes widened.

There was only so much a quick coat of makeup could cover, and the senior guard wasn't employed by one of the foremost security companies in Switzerland for having poor instincts, or failing to heed them.

Please, she thought. See me.

“Is something the matter?” She snapped.

His eyes moved over the men who flanked her.

Yes, yes, look! It's all right in front of you!

“Excuse me, but my time is valuable.” Her clipped aristocratic voice came to Defunestro's service. “If you need me to return another time-”

In the end, the quiet fear lying beneath all servility betrayed her and the guard alike.

“No, no, of course not. I just- never mind. I'm sorry, ma'am. Please look here.”

She stared into the lenses for a few seconds. Light flickered across her bloodshot eyes, and the screen of the pad flashed green again.



The room they brought them to was small but comfortable, with deep leather office chairs surrounding a mahogany desk. A younger man in a charcoal suit hovered about them as they were seated.

“Can I bring you anything? Perrier, coffee, cognac?”

Please...

“No, thank you.”

“Very good. It will just be a moment.”

He returned minutes later with the safety deposit box. Turning a key that hung around his neck on a chain in the lock, he placed the box before her on the desk.

She opened the long steel rectangle. Inside lay a palm-sized circle of soft white stone with a spiraling design on it, pierced irregularly with seven square holes.

“Does everything appear to be in order, Lady Croft?”

“It does.”

“Very good. Please ring the buzzer when you're ready to depart; I'll have an escort lead you out.”

He half-bowed at the waist and left the room.

Defunestro snatched the relic out of her hands, tucking it into a satchel at his hip.

“That?” She whispered. “That was what this was all about...?”

“Oh, don't be daft, Lara,” he snapped. “It's never that simple.”