nikodankxd
patreon
12-Living is Dangerous +18
🕑 Added 2024-12-26 17:13:21 +0000 UTCA month had passed. Another damned month in a world where days slipped by like a constant nightmare. FEDRA had allowed more Fireflies to infiltrate the quarantine zone, but not out of carelessness or incompetence: it was a carefully planned trap. Let the rats in, only to exterminate them in one fell swoop.
Executions became an almost routine spectacle. Collaborators arrested, deserters hanged in the central square to send a clear message. That commander Stroud's father had mentioned fared no better. After facilitating the Fireflies' entry, he was arrested, subjected to a military trial in mere hours, and executed by none other than Stroud herself. It was her finger that pulled the trigger under higher orders.
Elliot had been present that day. The gunshot echoed in the air, and the body fell like a sack of meat, but Stroud's face showed not a hint of emotion. If she felt anything, she hid it so well that even Elliot, who was beginning to know her better, couldn’t detect it.
Since then, patrols had continued, though for Elliot, they were less risky than before. Stroud seemed to have taken a strange fondness for him, a mix of protection and camaraderie that, while unsettling, kept him alive. There were even moments when she spoke to him about mundane things, dropping small jokes or teasing him in ways that would have raised suspicions among the other soldiers.
Elliot didn’t complain, but he preferred to keep that dynamic a secret. Attention, in this world, could be as dangerous as a stray bullet.
Meanwhile, Lawrence displayed a determination that surprised everyone. After weeks in a wheelchair, he stood up for the first time with the help of crutches, refusing to be defeated by his injuries. His legs were still unsteady, but his attitude was unyielding.
Elliot didn’t have much time to worry about others. That night, he was on a rooftop alongside Lieutenant Stroud, under the dark canopy of a starless sky. A mission, they’d said. A possible attack, they’d implied. But as hours passed, there were no signs of anything.
Elliot lay back, his MK12 rifle resting against his shoulder as he aimed at any suspicious corner of the urban landscape. Around him, the ruins of Boston formed a labyrinth of shadows and crumbled concrete. From his elevated position, he could see as far as the dim lights of FEDRA’s spotlights reached—a disturbing contrast against the darkness looming beyond.
“Nothing’s happening,” Elliot murmured, his voice barely a whisper breaking the silence.
Stroud, sitting at the edge of the roof with one leg dangling and the other tucked beneath her, turned to look at him. “Disappointed?” she asked, her tone sardonic but not unkind.
Elliot lifted his gaze from the rifle’s scope, giving her a half-smile. “Wouldn’t say that. Just wondering if this was an excuse to bring us up here.”
Stroud arched an eyebrow, toying with the safety of her pistol. “And what do you think I’d gain from that, Torres?”
Elliot shrugged. “Maybe you wanted some company. Sometimes I wonder if you get bored of giving orders.”
Stroud let out a short laugh, dry but genuine. “Maybe. Or maybe I wanted to see if you’re as good with that rifle as you claim.”
Elliot shook his head, returning to his scope. “I don’t claim, Lieutenant. I just do my job.”
“Humble as always,” she retorted with a mocking tone.
Silence settled between them again, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a rare kind of calm, almost surreal, in a world that usually left no room for such moments.
Elliot, still peering through the scope, spoke softly. “Why doesn’t FEDRA end all this already? I mean, they’ve got the weapons, the soldiers, the resources… Why let this rot?”
Stroud didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she pulled out a cigarette from a small pack in her jacket, lit it with a worn lighter, and took a deep drag before speaking. “Because rot is useful, Torres. When people are desperate, it’s easier to keep them under control. They won’t say it in speeches or reports, but that’s the reality. Fear works.”
Elliot turned away from the scope to look at her. “And that doesn’t bother you?”
Stroud exhaled the smoke slowly, letting it disperse into the cold night air. “Of course it does. But this world doesn’t give you the option to choose between good and bad. It only gives you shitty options, and you pick the one that stinks the least.”
Elliot nodded slowly, returning his attention to the rifle. “I guess that’s all that’s left, huh? Choosing the lesser evil and hoping to survive long enough not to regret it.”
“Exactly,” Stroud muttered, looking at him with an expression he couldn’t decipher. Then she stood up from the edge of the roof, brushing the dust off her pants. “Let’s take one last round before we get out of here. This place is dead, but I don’t want us to end up dead for trusting that.”
Elliot stood, adjusting the rifle on his shoulder, and followed her to the fire escape.
Descending the rusted, dusty stairs, the night was thick, the air heavy with the acrid smell of the ruined city. As they descended, a faint noise from one of the apartment windows made Elliot stop abruptly.
He immediately switched on his flashlight, pointing it inside the old apartment. The beam revealed a dim space filled with broken furniture, graffiti-covered walls, and trash piled in the corners.
Stroud turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing?” she asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and exasperation.
“I feel like there’s something in there,” Elliot replied, focusing the light on a dark corner where a pile of debris rose like a small mountain.
Stroud sighed, crossing her arms. “Probably raccoons or something,” she said indifferently. “This place is as dead as your sense of humor. Let’s go.”
Elliot turned off the flashlight with a resigned gesture, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had moved the debris. “You’re right,” he muttered as they resumed their descent. “This place has been abandoned for years.”
Back on the streets, they moved through the shadows stretching like tentacles along alleys and crumbling facades. Flickering lights in the distance marked the locations of FEDRA’s checkpoints, but in this part of the city, everything was steeped in an eerie calm.
Elliot kept his MK12 slung over his shoulder, one hand near the trigger. Stroud walked slightly ahead, always alert, though her posture was more relaxed than his.
“Remember that mall?” Elliot asked, breaking the silence as he pointed to a half-collapsed building across the street. Its facade still bore remnants of its former life, with faded signs and broken windows staring like empty eyes at the city.
Stroud nodded, glancing at him sideways. “Sure. We used to patrol there years ago, but now it’s a nest of infected. Not even worth clearing out.”
Elliot let out a snort. “It looked familiar. It’s where things go to hell in a video game I remember… like it’s from another world.”
Stroud glanced at him curiously but didn’t comment. Instead, they continued walking, checking streets and corners, growing increasingly convinced that the threat they’d been expecting wouldn’t show up that night.
“This is pointless,” Stroud finally said, stopping in the middle of a dark street. “Let’s head back to the roof. At least there, we can keep watch in peace.”
Elliot nodded, and together they returned to the building. Climbing back up the fire escape, the metallic sound of their footsteps echoed in the emptiness.
Once on the roof, Stroud leaned against the railing, letting the cold night breeze tousle her hair. Elliot rested next to his rifle, relaxing his shoulders as he gazed at the horizon.
“You know,” Stroud began, breaking the silence, “not every soldier is worth my time. But you… you’re interesting.”
Elliot raised an eyebrow, looking at her with a smirk. “Is that a compliment, Lieutenant, or are you just bored?”
Stroud turned to face him directly, a spark of amusement in her eyes. “Maybe both.”
“I always thought you played with everyone,” Elliot commented, his tone light but with a hint of provocation.
Stroud stepped closer, each step deliberate, her smile growing darker, laced with something carnal. Her eyes locked onto his like a predator finally finding its reason to pounce, stripping away any remaining barriers between them.
“Is that what you think? That I’m like this with anyone?” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper but enough to set Elliot’s skin alight.
“Maybe,” he replied, his words a challenge wrapped in a light tone. “Though if I’m wrong, I’m willing to let you prove it.”
Stroud tilted her head, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of Elliot’s vest before sliding to his neck, pulling him firmly. “You have no idea what you’re getting into,” she hissed, her warm breath brushing against his lips before taking them without warning.
The kiss was raw, full of hunger and a desperation they had both suppressed for too long. Stroud's lips moved with a mix of aggression and desire, capturing Elliot's, biting down on his lower lip until he drew a growl that echoed in his chest.
Stroud's tongue invaded hers brazenly, exploring every corner as her hands tightened on the back of his neck, trapping him in a grip that left no room for escape. Elliot responded with equal intensity, his fingers sliding down her waist to grip tightly at the edge of her belt, pulling her toward him.
The friction between their bodies ignited every nerve. Stroud bit her lip, tugging just enough to draw a hoarse gasp from her. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he whispered, his voice low, almost a tease.
“No complaints,” Elliot replied, his tone rough as his hand found the skin beneath her jacket, brazenly tracing the contour of her lower back.
“Then don’t stop,” she growled before kissing him again, this time dirtier, more overflowing, her lips moving as if they wanted to devour him whole.
The kiss grew fiercer, a battle of tongues and teeth as Elliot’s hands ventured brazenly up Stroud’s body. His fingers slid under her jacket, up the curve of her waist and gripped her hips tightly before moving to her breasts, filling his palms with them, squeezing them without subtlety.
Stroud gasped against her mouth, a husky sound, almost a growl, that vibrated directly in Elliot’s chest. “Fuck, Torres,” she murmured, her lips parting just enough to speak, but not breaking contact completely. “Is that all you got?”
Elliot responded by reaching down, sliding his hand over Stroud's ass and squeezing it hard, pulling her against his erection that was already blatantly showing beneath his clothes. "Don't start something you can't handle," he growled, his voice low and laced with lust.
"You think I can't?" Stroud teased, but his tone was laced with desire. Her hand moved without hesitation, moving down between their bodies until she found his stiff member through the fabric. She stroked him firmly, her fingers tracing his shape as she let out a ragged breath at the feel of how hard he was.
Elliot hissed, his hips thrusting forward slightly in search of more friction. "Don't play games, Stroud," she warned, but the way he squeezed her breasts and slid his lips down her neck said otherwise.
"Who says I'm playing games?" she replied with a mischievous grin before opening the waistband of his pants with quick, efficient movements. She reached right in, her fingers wrapping around him with a firmness that made him let out a guttural growl.
"You like that, Torres?" she whispered, her breath hot against his ear as she began to move her hand slowly, up and down his length, exploring him with a mix of gentleness and strength that drove him crazy.
Elliot responded by sliding both hands down, pushing Stroud's jacket off her shoulders and gripping the fabric of her t-shirt. "Take it off," he growled, his patience clearly exhausted.
"You do it," she challenged, her gaze alight as she continued to massage his member, squeezing it just enough to draw a low moan from him.
Elliot needed no further invitation. He pulled at Stroud's t-shirt, exposing her skin to the cool night air. His hands returned to her breasts, this time without restraint, caressing, squeezing, pinching her hard nipples until she moaned loudly, arching her back into him.
"You look so fucking good like this," he murmured, his lips descending to one of her nipples, capturing it with his mouth as his fingers continued to play with the other.
Stroud cursed under his breath, his head falling back as her hands continued to work on his cock, faster and faster, more and more desperate. “You’re an arrogant fucker,” she panted, but her words lost force amid a strangled moan as Elliot lightly bit her nipple, his tongue tracing circles around it.
“And you’re getting wet for this fucker,” he replied, his tone teasing as his hand moved down to sneak beneath her pants, finding her wetness without difficulty. “Shit, Stroud. You’re already dripping.”
She moaned, her hips instinctively bucking against his fingers as her grip on his cock tightened. “Shut up and fuck me, Torres,” she demanded, her voice husky, filled with desperation and pure need.
End of Chapter 12.
