“You still don’t get it? You’re one sexy babe. So we’ll feed on you before we let the Muta have the leftovers. Take a look over there.”
Euphemia hadn’t noticed the parked semitrailer until Danny pointed it out.
The metal vehicle gleamed in the darkness where it reflected the freeway lights. Only military vehicles or contractors with permits were allowed to drive off-road outside of the city. Their semitrailer would’ve been reported on sight if it was left in the open, so they kept it hidden in the tall wilderness bushes during the afternoon. It wouldn’t have been hard to do since the semitrailer wasn’t big, and the bushes were.
The men steadily advanced toward the semitrailer while tugging the speechless Euphemia behind them. They circled behind the shipping container on the back of the trailer.
“See this? It’s a Bijour. Ain’t it cute?”
Pete opened the small utility window blinds attached to the container door. Something slammed viciously against the door from the darkness within.
Entertained by Euphemia’s stifled cry and horrified retreat from the container, Danny supported her from behind and whispered the creature’s name in her ear, his voice elated. The small window was made of thick glass, and Euphemia caught a glimpse of the red eyes glowing on the other side.
Bijour.
A beautiful, but terrifying, bipedal creature with a long, serrated tail positioned in an elegant curve. It was an extremely dangerous species of Muta that attacked anything that moved.
“H-How…did you get one of these?!” Euphemia stammered.
“It’s a damn rare Muta all right. I’ve heard they sell for an insane price, but it’s the first time we’ve seen one too. They’re bloody fast little suckers, so they’re almost never caught. But, if we don’t hurry this up, the rain will fall. We’ve gotta get this over with before that.”
“This area here seems soft… Plus, it’s in view of the camera.”
Danny grabbed Euphemia’s tense shoulders and glanced up at the camera affixed to the container door. It was a rearview camera for monitoring what was behind the semitrailer. Were they planning to film their crime with it?
“Hahaha! Down you go!” Danny howled with laughter and shoved Euphemia against the summer grass. Her specs tumbled from her nose onto the brush. She tried to escape, but Pete firmly grabbed hold of her legs and pinned them, and Danny trapped her hands above her head.
“N-No… Stop it… Stop it!” Euphemia’s voice came out in a pathetic whimper, she had never cried in front of others.
“Sorry, lady. You’re about to be devoured by that Bijour, but not before we both have our way with you. Then the rain will fall, and come morning, whatever’s left of your body will be found—or so goes the script. I’m of the opinion it didn’t have to be a Bijour of all things, but that seems to be our employer’s hobby. The camera set up is perfect too. Goes to show our employer’s one hell of a perv. He’s got sick tastes.”
Excited in his moment of triumph, the man’s lips became loose and talkative.
“No…no…”
Euphemia twisted, squirmed, and frantically shook her head in a last-ditch struggle, but it had no effect aside from further pulling apart her braid. No sooner did a dirty finger touch the front of her white button-down shirt than another ripped it apart. The nauseating fingers slid over her soft, exposed skin.
She felt the sickening heat of filthy fingers on her and her revulsion brought bile to the back of her throat. The man restraining her hands decided there was no need to miss out on the fun and released her hands to lean over her head and tightly grab hold of her breasts over her bra.
“Stop it!” Euphemia screamed.
No! No! No!
She burst into tears, but the only scenery that filled her wide-open eyes was the darkness known as night. Was her life going to end in such an outrageous, unreasonable way, just when she had finally gained her independence?
This is crazy! I thought I’d finally found my goal in life, and now that’s going to end with me being two scumbags’ plaything and killed in a place like this? I’m going to be food for a Muta?
“Don’t screw with me!” Euphemia shouted.
I can’t…I can’t have it end like this!
Euphemia heard the cool click of metal as her belt was removed from her jeans.
Calm down. Is there anything I can do? I won’t go down without a fight!
As the men enjoyed fondling her chest and thighs, Euphemia thrust her fingers into her lush hair and fumbled for the tiny blade embedded in her only accessory, a decorative hair comb.
It was a custom-made comb her older sister gave her for self-defense when she had left home to live on her own.
Endlessly tolerant and kind, Erica Saionji was Gothic City’s mayor who never overlooked a thing.
Euphemia had deemed the small weapon as unnecessary but Erica forced her to take it, supposedly as a good luck charm. It was a medium-large hair comb made of light materials. She ended up using it all the time because she liked the design and the way the comb held up her thick, unruly hair. In other words, her older sister knew her very well.
Erica!
Euphemia thought of her intelligent and composed older sister. The sister she imagined with a troubled smile stared back at Euphemia in her mind’s eye.
It was ironic. Euphemia had tried her hardest to become independent of her perfect older sister, and yet she ended up falling right into the traps her sister had warned of. It was laughably ironic. Euphemia would never be able to catch up to her now, not in this lifetime.
But I’ll never stand for this.
Euphemia checked the tiny blade in the middle of her hand.
The blade was the length of her thumb. For a second, she considered stabbing the men with it, but such a tiny weapon stood no chance of inflicting damage serious enough to make two men back down, so she threw out the idea. Even if she happened to injure one of them, they would only fly into a rage and rape her in an even more heinous way. They would undoubtedly confiscate her only weapon too.
So this blade had only one purpose.
I absolutely won’t let you have your way with me.
Euphemia’s eyes flew wide open.
The streetlights didn’t glint off the sharp blade because it had been painted black. Euphemia, driven to despair, resolutely raised her free hand to slit her own throat.