Archive of Our Own

Welcome To the Fortune-9 OS
Courtesy of the Company

Happy Tuesday

Type. “HELP” for a list of commands.

Martin watched as his boss, Rick, typed in the command; a list of available moons appeared on the screen. He watched as Rick typed in “7-DINE” and hit enter, setting the ship's autopilot. Martin hated Dine. Almost as much as he hated Rend. At least on Rend there was a path of lights that lead you up to the manor. On Dine, you were lucky to have one working light and a trail of broken cables, and that's only if the snow had melted enough to reveal said cables. Martin also hated the cold. He was too Skinny for his own good, cursed with a metabolism that burned through any fat his body tried to put on. Needless to say, he was less than thrilled about having to visit one of the two coldest moons on their list.

Earlier, Rick gave Martin some pathetic story about their crew desperately needing the scrap. Their newest teammate–the latest fill-in newbie meant to be their fourth member–had gotten cornered by a hoarding bug on March and fell into a pit. Usually a death on the team wouldn't be that big of a deal, they'd get another replacement next time they visited the Company. Unfortunately, this teammate was also carrying their last shovel and two gold bars, meaning they were shit out of luck when it came to defense and scrap collection.

“If we have any chance of making our quota, we have to go to one of the riskier moons. There's always some good loot on Rend, so Dine has to be loaded.”

Martin tried to argue, saying that they've had worse quotas before that they've managed to fulfill with loot from Vow. Rick's mind was made up, though. Paired with the support from their final crew mate, Hannah, the choice was out of Martin's hands.

So, it's with a creased brow and a bad attitude, Martin finds himself trudging through knee-deep snow, in the dark, uphill, toward an abandoned manor. Rick is hiking with him, walkie-talkie in hand to communicate with Hannah back on the ship. Hannah always hated staying behind, being alone was her least favorite part of the job. With them being down a teammate, and Hannah injuring her leg jumping across a gap yesterday, their crew didn't have much of a choice in who stays and who explores.

Martin spotted a light in the distance, grabbing Rick by the shoulder and pointing toward it. Rick nods and turns on his walkie, sending a quick word to Hannah that they're about to enter the manor. Rick's walkie crackled twice in quick succession, Hannah confirming the transmission. One of the two walkies they used had been swallowed by a hygrodere on a previous mission. The microphone on it doesn't intake noise anymore, but it can still send out short bursts of static when you press the button. The person staying in the ship used a system of quick static messages to respond.

—

Once inside, the two men split up, Martin taking the stairs up and Rick taking one of the side rooms. Immediately, Martin found a painting of a mountain hanging on the wall. He pulled it down and tossed it toward the door leading back to the main room. Making his way deeper into the manor, Martin found a handful of other items as well. A comedy mask, a set of chattering teeth, and a gold cup decorated with red gems. He returned the items to the main room, starting a small hoard with his painting. He silently hoped there weren't any hoarding bugs around, otherwise he'd been putting together a sacrificial pile for them to snatch.

Returning to his search, Martin also came across a lamp, a whoopi cushion, and a toy robot that started chattering and giggling the second Martin picked it up. The sound made him jump, the hair on his neck standing up as he frantically tried to shut the toy off. After an embarrassingly long 15 seconds of fiddling with the robot, Martin managed to pry its rear slot loose and rip its batteries out. He breathed a sigh of relief and stashed the toy in one of his pockets. A soft noise, similar to a scoff came from behind him, followed by a fart from the whoopi cushion.

Martin rolled his eyes and turned toward the noise, expecting to see Rick laughing at him.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up, Richter–” Martin’s voice caught in his throat, a lump forming and stopping him from breathing.

It wasn't Rick.

Martin was staring at two dots of white in the darkness, the rest of its body hidden in shadow. The dots were all he needed to know what he was looking at. A Bracken. Adrenaline shot through Martin’s veins, ice in his throat and needles on his skin. He watched as the creature slowly backed away , locked in eye contact with the dots. Every hair on his body was standing, every muscle in his arms and legs tensed and kept him rock solid. Martin watched as the creature’s eyes retreated, it's steps sp quiet Martin couldn't hear them despite trying to. Soon, the white dots disappeared around a bookshelf and Martin was left alone with an uncomfortable feeling of being watched. The second the Bracken was out of eyeshot, Martin fell to his knees and sucked in a relieved breath. He couldn't stop shaking, couldn't bring himself to stand up. His throat felt tight and his mouth went dry. A Bracken is what took out the newbie they'd had before their last one. The only thing Hannah and Martin heard was the sharp crack of her neck snapping before she was dragged off into the darkness. Martin and Hannah tried to look for her, running after the beast in an attempt to at least recover her body. They tried. That could've been him just now… would Rick have noticed Martin was missing? Would he try to find Martin’s body or would he just cut his losses and leave? Martin couldn't help but think about all the newbies he and his crew abandoned once they disappeared inside one of the facilities…

This job was an every-man-for-himself situation. Teamwork was important, but caring too much for another crew mate usually got you both killed. Rick knew that. Martin knew that. Hannah knew that. And yet… Martin quietly hoped neither of them would leave him here. He hoped that even if he died here, they wouldn't leave his body on this moon to rot in the cold. He hoped that despite them being coworkers forced together for the job, they at least considered him their friend the same way he considered them his.

Martin took a few deep breaths to steady himself and pushed himself to stand. His knees were shaking, his arms and hands felt numb. The aftermath of adrenaline tore through his body and left a chasm of exhaustion behind. He had to get out of here. He had to find Rick and get the fuck out of here. Screw the quota, screw the scrap. They can't meet a quota if they're both Bracken food. Martin alone had found enough scrap to save their asses from unemployment for the time being, even if Rick hadn't found anything they'd be fine for at least this week.

With unsteady steps, Martin rushed toward the door back to the main room and called out for Rick.

“RICK! WE NEED TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, THERE'S A–”

A loud gunshot sounded from downstairs, followed by hurried stomping. Martin went from leaning on the doorframe of the library he was exploring to pushing his way forward and stumbling down the stairs. He called for Rick again, scrambling around the handrail on the stairs and sprinting toward the sound of the stomping. Two more gunshots sounded from the distance, paired with the sound of Rick crying out in pain. Martin called for him once more.

“RICK! WHERE ARE YOU??”

Martin could hear Rick's voice, muffled and distant, try to respond.

“Kitchen! In the kitchen!”

His voice was everywhere and nowhere, nearby and distant. Rick sounded like he was just around the corner, but every step he took further into the manor was a step away from how certain he was. He wasn't sure where the kitchen was, wasn't sure how to get there or if ‘kitchen’ was even the right thing Rick said. Martin pushed forward, trying to follow the stomping sounds. He called for Rick again, but the next sound sent a chill through his bones.

An explosion, different from the earlier gunshots. It started with a high pitched beeping, followed by a loud explosion that rattled the hallway Martin stood in. There's no way Rick set off a landmine, there's no way. He was too smart for that, too seasoned. Martin screamed Rick's name, his voice cracking. He felt a bead of sweat run down his cheek, his breath fogged up the window on his mask. Martin strained his ears to listen. He tried to hear the stomping, or another gunshot. He tried to hear the sound of Rick breathing or moaning in pain, anything. Anything would be better than the ear-ringing silence after that blast.

A light ahead caught Martin's attention. A doorway, barely cracked open. Martin rushed toward it, throwing the door open and feeling the blood drain from his face once he saw what was behind it. A massive figure, lying supine on the ground, smoke billowing off its form. It was dressed as a nutcracker. The creature had a giant eyeball sticking out of its neck, purple tentacles oozing dark red blood and black ichor into a puddle on the ground beneath it. Martin couldn't help but notice the shotgun in its hands, pointed at the ceiling. Undoubtedly the source of the gunshots.

“Mar..tin…” a cough caught Martin's attention. Although the voice was hoarse and shaky, Martin recognized it as his boss.

“Rick! Thank God, you're alive.” Martin turned toward Rick, who was sitting on the floor. He clutched his stomach, reclined weakly against the wall.

Rick lifted his head, his mask was cracked down the center, Martin could hear a steady hiss coming from it. Rick was leaking oxygen. Martin hurried to Rick's side and knelt.

“We have to get you out of here, your O2 Isn't going to last.”

Rick shook his head and pulled his hand away from his stomach, revealing a smattering of holes in his suit that were rapidly oozing blood. It looked like Rick had taken at least one full buckshot to the chest. Martin swore Under his breath and put Rick’s hand back over his stomach.

“No, keep pressure on it. I'll radio Hannah and let her know what happened. Don't say anything. I'm getting you out of here.”

Rick coughed weakly and made no attempt to fight Or move. That was bad. Rick was one of the most stubborn old men Martin had ever had the displeasure of meeting. Rick would rather lose a limb than lose an argument. If he wasn't even trying to argue, Martin feared for the worst. He reached for Rick's belt and pulled the walkie off its clip. It took a few hard presses on its transmission button before the walkie sparked to life, the button must be breaking.

“Hannah! Hannah, this is Martin. Rick got shot by something and it's not looking good. I’m bringing him back to the ship, can you meet me by the door? Over.”

Martin waited for a response, the only sound in the air being his panicked breathing and Rick’s death rattle. Martin swallowed and pressed the button again.

“Hannah, this is Martin, can you hear me? Over.”

He waited and was only met with more static.

“Hannah! Respond, please! This is an emergency! Over!”

Martin felt tears welling in his eyes as he looked from the silent walkie to his dying teammate. What happened to Hannah? Did she get eaten by a dog? Did something out there sneak onto the ship and grab her? While his thoughts spiraled, he looked at Rick. His breathing was slow and shallow, the grip on his stomach weakening.

“So..tired…” Rick's voice was a whisper, laced with exhaustion that's source was much older than his employment at The Company. Martin clipped the walkie onto his own belt and shoved an arm behind Rick's back.

“Don't sleep! Stay awake, Richter! I'm getting you out of here, just keep pressure on your wounds.”

Martin pushed his other hand under Rick's knees. He wedged his body into a squat and braced himself with a few deep breaths. Martin was surprised to discover that Rick was a lot lighter than he thought he'd be, when standing he exerted more force than necessary and almost fell over. He adjusted accordingly, holding Rick bridal-style. Martin clenched his teeth, hyping himself up to head back through the manor, then proceeded back the way he came.

—

Rick hadn’t found any scrap while he'd been searching. Compared to the mountain of loot Martin had found upstairs... Martin would use this as future leverage on Rick if they both made it out of here alive. The front door of the manor creaked loudly as it closed behind Martin. His breath fogged up his mask, making it hard to see through the blizzard outside. He hated snow. He hated this job. He HATED this fucking moon. Rick’s breathing was getting weaker; Martin didn't have time for this self-hate roulette, he had a boss to worry about.

The snow was piled up to his knees, making it difficult to trudge his way forward. His toes were frozen in his boots, his mask completely whited out from condensation and the sheer amount of snow coming down. They'd risked their lives for nothing. The second he got back to the ship, Martin was going to slam the autopilot back to the company and just fucking quit.

Martin squinted through his mask, trying to discern literally any kind of sign for their ship. Maybe he was fooling himself, but Martin thought he saw a light in the distance. He turned his head back over his shoulder to make sure he hadn't turned around and walked back to the manor by accident. No, there was another light behind him. Maybe this was hope. He turned forward again and continued to plow his way through the snow.

The light was getting closer, clearer through the storm. He tightened his grip on Rick's body and continued forward, the adrenaline in his veins giving him an extra boost.

“Hang on, Rick. We'll get you out of here. Just hang on.” He muttered quietly, knowing Rick wouldn't have heard him even if the wind wasn't drowning out every noise within a 15-ft radius.

The feeling of relief that washed over Martin almost sent him to his knees. The light was from the ship, the doors to the cargo hold shut tight. He felt lighter with every step, using all his strength to make the last push to the ladder on its starboard side.

“Hannah!” Martin yelled, not caring if there were eyeless dogs around.

He lifted Rick onto the outer landing of the ship before climbing up the ladder.

“Hannah!” Martin banged on the side of the ship, reaching down as he walked past Rick. He grabbed Rick under his arms and started dragging him toward the doors.

“Hannah, open the door!” He slammed his fist on the side of the ship again, listening for any signs of life inside.

Martin heard hurried footsteps approaching. Seconds later, the doors to the cargo bay slid open and Martin saw a panicked looking Hannah standing beside the door controls. She took one look at both of them and hurried out to help with Rick.

“Oh my god, what happened!?” she and Martin worked together to drag Rick into the ship, then she split from the group to close the door again.

“Rick was shot, he's not dead yet, but he's not looking good.”

Hannah flung open the doors to their supply cabinet, pulling a spare helmet and a handheld air canister from one of the shelves. She joined Martin on the floor and pulled the secondary air tube from Rick's O2 tank. The tube Connected to the spare helmet with a clean click.

“Disconnect his helmet while I set up the new one.”

Martin nodded and pulled Rick's head to one side. He pried a few clasps open on Rick's helmet and prepared to move it aside for Hannah.

She counted down from 3 and the two of them moved in tandem to remove and replace Rick's helmet. Once the new helmet was secured, Hannah twisted the dial on Rick's O2 tank to pressurize his oxygen. With great relief, the two crewmates heard their boss take a deep gasp of air before he coughed and went limp on the ground.

“I'll connect a can of TZP to his mask. It won't help much, but it'll at least take some of the pain away. You said he was shot?” Hannah went about her work, detaching the main O2 pipe from Rick's broken helmet and connecting it to the canister.

“Yeah, something in the house had a shotgun. I didn't see it happen, but I think he took at least one shot to the stomach.”

Martin reached for Rick's hands and gently moved them aside. He pulled the zipper on Rick's suit down, exposing his undershirt and a handful of holes in the center of a massive red stain.

“It looks bad, but he'd be bleeding a lot worse if they'd punctured any major organs.” Hannah sighed and peeled Rick's shirt up, away from his abs. Rick wasn't shredded, but he wasn't out of shape either. A good balance of fat and muscle, and more than a fair amount of body hair greeted the crew.

“I can't be sure how bad his wounds are until I get him under a light.” Martin said.

“Unfortunately, we can't exactly afford any flash lights right now. We need every bit of scrap we can find for our quota tomorrow.” Hannah replied.

Martin sighed and went to rub some sweat from his forehead, hand knocking into his helmet. He sighed again, angry with himself. Martin stood and walked to their bunk beds set up beside the ship's control panel. He pulled the sheets from their fallen newbie's bunk and began to tear it into strips. Once he'd made a suitable amount of strips, he returned to Rick’s side and started wrapping his wound.

“This should hold until we get back to the company and can get him some help.”

Hannah watched as Martin worked. Martin was the de facto medical specialist on the ship. His only experience was a summer spent working as first aid at a children’s camp back on earth, but it was all they could rely on.

—

Once Rick's wound was dressed and he was laid into one of the bunks, Hannah and Martin regrouped.

“I hate to say it, but we need to go back to the manor.” Martin growled.

“What!? Martin, Rick just got shot in there! And it's already 2pm, eyeless dogs will start waking up soon!”

“I know! I don't want to go back there either, but we need more scrap or we won't make our quota! The thing that shot Rick is dead, but it was holding a gun. If we get it, we can use it as protection.”

“I'm not sending you back there alone.”

“I know, I hate to ask this of you, but…”

“but…what?”

“I found a ton of stuff on the second floor, more than I can carry alone. I need your help.”

“Okay?”

“I have a plan. I'll gather what I can and drop it outside, then you move the scrap to the ship. You can watch outside for dogs and avoid anything inside, and if I don't come out by 11, you take Rick and get the fuck out of here.”

“What!? Martin, I'm not leaving you–”

“You aren't leaving me. I'll be moving stuff to the front of the house for you, and I have Rick's walkie. I can tell you what's going on and if I need help. If we leave now, Rick got hurt for nothing. We at least need to get one haul.”

Hannah thought for a long moment, looking between the closed cargo door and Rick, lying half-dead on their bottom bunk. She shook her head.

“Okay. But no unnecessary risks. Please. I can't lose three teammates in one day.”

“You won't even lose two.” Martin put his hand on Hannah's shoulder, “Rick is still alive. And you have my word, I won't take any unnecessary risks. I'll get everything I can find in the first few rooms off Main and we'll get out, but we need to hurry.”

Hannah nodded and got her walkie from the control panel, making a detour to the charging station.

“Why didn't you answer my calls earlier, by the way?” Martin asked, waiting for his turn on the recharge.

“Your calls? I didn't get any calls.” Hannah looked at her walkie and visibly stiffened. She turned the knob on the top of the walkie, a short beep echoed from the receiver.

“Hannah.”

“...”

“Hannah. Was your walkie not on this whole time?”

“...” Hannah clipped her walkie to her belt and walked toward the cargo door. “I… may have dropped it earlier. After Rick’s initial call. I guess it turned off...”

Martin sighed and recharged his walkie as well.

—

Martin re-entered the manor and sprinted upstairs for his pile of treasures. He gathered what he could and ran back down to the front door. Once the pile was deposited outside, Hannah picked everything up and started walking back to the ship. Martin went back inside, and the routine began. Martin dropped his small hoard outside and left Hannah to her delivery duties, deciding not to waste any time waiting for her to come back.

Upstairs had been picked clean, Martin scanned every corner of the upstairs library to make sure. He was about to call it a day when he remembered the gun downstairs. It would be good to have a shotgun for protection… Rick almost died for that thing, it wouldn't be right to just leave such easy pickings.

Martin turned and set toward the kitchen, retracing his earlier steps to look for the nutcracker's body. He remembered Hannah begging him not to take any unnecessary risks, but… this wasn't a risk, right? He knew where the gun was, and he hadn't seen any monsters roaming around. The whole manor had been eerily silent the entire day. He'd be quick about it, anyway. The treasure pile outside was more than enough to cover their quota, the gun would be the last thing he grabbed, and then he'd regroup with Hannah.

It was easy enough to find, thankfully nothing had moved the Nutcracker's body or stolen the gun in its hands. Seeing the carnage of the room made the hair on Martin’s neck stand up. A blackened scorch mark stained the floor, remnants of a mine. The creature inside the Nutcracker suit seemed to be liquifying the longer it lay dead. Martin couldn't shake the feeling it was watching him. He felt like the warmth of a stare burning his skin. The Nutcracker’s single eye was cloudy and sunken, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe the rotting eye was just unsettling him. Maybe the adrenaline of potentially having a gun was making him feel on edge. Either way, it was so far so good.

Martin stepped through the door and reached for the gun. Just grab it and go. Don't waste any more time on this moon than you have to. Nothing would be able to mess with them once he had this shotgun. He picked it up and cracked the barrel open, checking for any live bullets. Empty. Then Martin remembered the gunshots from earlier. Hed heard three go off, but the shotgun was a double barrel. Surely that meant this creature had spare shells. Martin knelt and dug through the pockets on the nutcracker costume, finding two more shotgun shells. He loaded them into the gun and cracked the shaft back into place. The weight felt good in his hands. Comforting. His shots would be very limited, but hopefully this will get him and Hannah out of any sticky situations.

Something moved in Martin's peripheral. Time slowed around him as a dark hand entered his line of sight on his left side. Martin turned to look and watched a blackened palm cover the window on his helmet. Martin felt another hand on the back of his neck, huge, and cold, and terrifying. His vision was black. His body was frozen. He felt the hands squeeze together around his skull, pressure increasing and causing him to fall forward.

When time resumed, Martin was on the ground, the gun skidded out of his grasp and came to rest beside the body of the Nutcracker once again. His helmet was being shoved into the floor by a hand larger than his head. He screamed, his knees and hands scraping against the kitchen tile. A sound like leaves rustling in the wind joined his cacophony of panic, along with a deep, feral growl. The sound vibrated his bones, a chill ran up his spine.

Martin felt like the biggest moron, the dumbest person in the fucking world. How could he have forgotten about the Bracken he'd seen earlier? How could the scariest thing he's ever seen in his life slip his mind while searching for scrap? The stress of Rick almost dying wiped everything else from his mind. And now, here he was, trapped beneath a creature known exclusively for murder, on his knees, chest and head pressed into the ground. The gun was gone, he had to radio for Hannah. He wasn't sure what she could do for him, but maybe he could tell her to leave while she still had the chance. Martin reached for his walkie, managing to grab hold of it before the hand over his face darted down and slapped it from his grip. He felt something pop in his wrist at the contact and gasped. He also heard the walkie clatter across the floor, it hit the far wall with a loud crack. If it wasn't broken before, it certainly was now.

Martin’s eyes darted around the darkness, the hand over his face had removed itself to swat at the walkie, freeing his sight. His breath came in fast puffs, fear overtaking him. White hot adrenaline shot through his veins, feeling like ice in his neck and bile in his throat. Death would come soon. The Bracken would snap his neck and drag his corpse off into the dark like so many of his teammates in the past. Hannah would have to go home alone.

Any second now…it would happen any second now…

A hand on his waist made him jolt. Martin yelped and tried to look down, but his vision was limited inside the helmet and he couldn't look any further than his shoulders. The hand was clearly the Bracken, large and cold and clawed, but it felt…almost gentle. His breathing was heavy, fear lacing every movement and noise he made. He felt the hand slide down his side and grasp his hip, a large thumb pressed between his buttcheeks and pried one away from the other. The hand massaged his ass, his left cheek being worked by long, black fingers.

Martin shivered, his fear taking over. His breathing became panting, his hands balled into fists underneath him. He felt like vomiting, saliva gathered in his mouth and dripped down his chin. What was this thing doing to him? Why wasn't it killing him? Disgust pooled in his chest at what was being done to him. The Bracken made a noise similar to a soft chittering, curious about its new prey. Martin felt the beast press along his body, its chest flush against his back. Its other hand joined the first, grasping his right ass cheek in its hand and massaging it roughly. His ass was being handled like a stress ball.

Martin was more scared than he'd ever been in his life. Tears burned his eyes, a lump stuck in his throat. So many ideas were pouring into his head. Visions of Martin being ripped apart appeared in his mind, but we're swiftly replaced with pictures of him being raped first. Is this what Brackens did with their prey? Was he about to be used as some kind of life-sized sex doll? He wished it had the courtesy to kill him first like the others had for his fallen teammates. Oh god… how many of them had been turned into post-mortem sex toys?

A soft snap caught his thoughts, the fabric on the seat of his pants creaked as the monster kneaded his ass. The threads on his suit were snapping. The beast above him seemed to notice because he felt it grab two fist fulls of his suit and pry it apart. The sound of shredding fabric filled his ears, a sharp gust of wind chilled the skin on his thighs and hips. No.
No no no no no no.
Please God, no.

Martin tried to push himself up, forcing the bracken’s chest up a few inches. The beast hissed with anger, one of the hands kneading Martin’s ass instead grabbed his helmet and slammed him forward onto the ground. Martin wasn't sure if he was worried or hoping that his mask would break on impact. Martin laid there trembling, panting. If he tried to fight, it would only hurt more, but if he did nothing wouldn't that make him complicit in his own assault? Does he try to fight tooth and nail and get broken into pieces, or does he lie here and take what's given to him in the hope that it passes quicker? He started crying, chest heaving as he hiccuped and shook. He whined and screamed, unsure of what else to do. If he fought back, he'd definitely be killed, but wouldn't that be better than living through whatever torture he was about to be put through? The arguments for either side circled in his brain. Neither option was good, neither option sounded appealing.

The Bracken pulled away from him, leaving his back feeling cold. Two hands grasped the seat of his underwear and tore it in half, his holes now fully exposed. Martin felt the Bracken grasp his thighs and pull them upwards. His knees were pulled off the ground, forced apart by the grip behind him.

Unseen to Martin, his attacker’s beady white eyes examined the prey in front of it. Two delicate holes were presented before him, one puckered between two soft cheeks and the other glistening between two fuzzy lips. The creature's face split open, a crack forming down the center of its face and revealing a black void within. A dark tendril slid from the creature’s maw, the violent facsimile of a tongue. It slithered forward, growing in length until it was the size of Martin’s forearm. Cold, inhuman breath puffed from the creature’s maw, onto Martin’s ass. The sensation made him whine, a frightened sob left his chest. Its curiosity piqued, the Bracken growled low in its throat and leaned its face down into its prey. Martin felt its cold breath as it inhaled deeply.

The tentacle of a tongue slid from Martin’s clit to his tailbone, swiping a sticky line between his thighs and ass cheeks. Martin whined loudly, crying harder. He chanted resistances, begging and pleading with the creature to just kill him. The Bracken ignored him and slid its tongue back down. Back and forth, it licked. Up and down, up and down, leaving a sticky trail connecting Martin’s holes. When it licked over his pussy again, his hips twitched. The creature felt Martin’s lower lips tremble beneath its tongue, its curiosity effectively drawn lower. The Bracken switched to focus on that hole, licking and curling its tendril tongue back and forth. It enjoyed the sounds its prey was making, and it wanted to hear more.

The Bracken pushed its tongue firmer against Martin’s pussy. It folded in half at the center before pressing inside. The tongue tickled Martin’s firm hymen, the thin barrier of skin stretching like a rubber band at the opening of his vagina. The tongue squished comfortably past it, strumming it like a guitar string and making Martin groan pathetically. It hurt, but not as much as sex normally did. Martin wasn't a virgin. He'd had sex with all of his previous romantic partners, but he never enjoyed it much due to body dysphoria and issues with his excessively intrusive hymen. It was rare that Martin ever indulged in sex for his own sake too. Martin’s sex life is a can of worms he isn't ready to unpack yet. This Bracken was just adding another worm to the can. The sensation of the bracken’s tongue squishing inside made Martin scream. It pumped in and out, pressing against Martin’s hymen with every stroke. The tip of the Bracken’s tongue anchored on the outside of Martin’s vagina. It curled firmly around his public bone, settling beside his clit and giving it just enough stimulation to make him squirm.

Every stroke brought with it a jolt of pain stained by pleasure. Every movement nudged the tip of the creature's tongue against Martin’s clit. He hated that it felt good. He hated that it made him hard. He felt disgusting. The urge to vomit returned, rising from a pit in his stomach, but he choked it down again. No sense in soiling the inside of his helmet. He was suffering enough already. A strangled mewl escaped Martin’s chest, the sound forced out from something primal inside his soul. He stopped himself from thinking about it, afraid of the horny feelings he'd confront by doing so.

The Bracken growled and yanked his body closer. Martin yelped and let out another moan as he was dragged backwards several inches so the creature could fuck him deeper. The tongue working the inside of his vagina pulsed and seemed to expand. The feeling made him whine, a loud, shocked keen sending more bolts of icy adrenaline down his neck. Martin’s face burned, he was humiliated. If anyone saw him like this, HEARD him like this…

The thought of being caught was fucked out of his mind when the Bracken flicked it's tongue forward. The tip whipped the side of his clit as it sank fully into him, forcing itself so far forward, Martin felt it push his stomach out of place. He screamed, head tipped back to let his throat open freely. The Bracken’s miraculously prehensile tongue coiled around itself and thrust forward again. Martin could feel his lower stomach distend as it thrust. One of his hands trapped beneath his chest wormed free and moved to hold his stomach. A morbid fascination found him, causing another moan to pass his lips. He felt his stomach push outward with every thrust of the Bracken’s tongue. The pressure of his hand pressing back on the creature felt so nice, it squeezed his innards sooo right.

The tendril inside him pushed forward even further, hitting a wall at the end of his vagina. He yelped again, holding his stomach and whining as he felt the Bracken try to continue pushing deeper. It had found his cervix, it's tongue now knocking insistently on the tight wall of muscle protecting his uterus. He felt the tip of it tickle the opening in the center, coaxing his cervix to dilate. The voice pouring from Martin's mouth wasn't his. It was animalistic and desperate, a nonstop string of moans and begging. He kept pleading with the creature, begging it to stop, hoping beyond reason that it will by some miracle develop the ability to understand English and ignore its instincts.

Martin hated himself. He hated how good it felt for this creature to be tongue-fucking him so hard his body rocked back and forth. He hated how turned on he was by the idea of being manhandled so easily by a beast twice his size. He hated how pathetic he sounded. But most of all, he hated how little he was trying to fight back. Lying here being raped by a creature that was sure to kill him afterwards, worst of all he was starting to enjoy being raped by said creature. Disgusting. He was disgusting. The tongue inside him rubbed against his inner walls, pressing into his g-spot. He sobbed and felt his eyes cross, a small gush of slick squirted from his pussy at the pressure. The Bracken forced its tongue forward, punching that spot again and pushing the thin tip of its tongue further into his cervical opening.

He felt his cervix part, the thin tentacle managed to worm a few centimeters into his womb. It seemed like every time his G-spot was hit, his muscles weakened. Soon his cervix was bullied into submission, the tongue slipped in and out of his womb freely and caused his stomach to bulge even more. It hurt, it felt like a hot needle pierced through his uterus when it was finally penetrated. But there was something so morbidly delicious about being fucked so deeply that it left Martin panting for more. Martin couldn't stop himself from pressing on his stomach, whining happily at the pressure inside him. He wanted to be filled, some ancient instinct inside of him begged to be fucked and impregnated.

“Oh God, oh fuck, oh–” Martin’s pussy fluttered around the Bracken’s tongue, he clenched over and over, feeling the tendril inside him press into every nook and crevice along his vagina. He felt an orgasm build rapidly in his stomach.

He was full-on whining now, a nonstop pathetic sob danced in the air around Martin and the monster. His voice climbed higher and higher, piercing into a higher octave as he was pushed closer and closer to the edge. In and out, in and out. God the Bracken’s tongue felt so fucking good, and the pain in his cervix was starting to disapate. Closer and closer, Martin was seeing stars the closer he got to orgasm. When his orgasm finally hit, his voice hitched into a falsetto. Martin’s body trembled, wracked with full-body sobs as one of the most intense orgasms of his life ripped through him. The Bracken’s mouth was filled with slick, its tongue trapped inside Martin’s dripping pussy, the tip buried firmly in his womb. Martin sobbed and panted, clenching over and over around the creature’s tongue. His stomach hurt from how hard his abs were tensing, his womb crushing itself around the intrusive tendril.

In the throes of afterglow, Martin felt the creature's tongue move again. He whimpered at the movement, feeling it twitch inside him as it withdrew. The sound it made on its way out, a prolonged wet squelch, made his face burn with humiliation. He felt so empty when it withdrew, his pussy clenched around nothing. God…when was the last time he came like that? When was the last time he came in general? He couldn't remember how long he'd been at this job. All the days seemed to bleed together after a point. Martin couldn't even remember how long ago he'd applied to the Company. His stomach was cramping.

His thoughts were reigned in by his knees touching the floor once more. The Bracken had set him back down, now laying with his chest to the ground and his ass in the air. Martin tried to look over his shoulder again, but found his vision still limited by his helmet. There was pressure against his vulva again, what Martin could only assume was the creature's cock. This was it, wasn't it? His last taste of life before he gets seeded and turned into an incubator for the Bracken's spawn. He hadn't stopped crying, but all the fight he had earlier was gone; thoroughly tongue-fucked out of him.

Martin's pussy was still sensitive, his labia swollen and flushed with arousal. His clit jumped when he felt the tip of the creature's cock squeeze inside. It wasn't rough or painful, Martin was already so wet from the creature's saliva and his own cum, his vagina fully expanded with peak arousal. it would've been a miracle if the Bracken couldn't fit inside him at this point. It was still a tight squeeze, the inhuman penis squishing like putty to work it's way inside Martin's tight walls. He felt his hymen flex again, stretched so tightly over the Bracken’s cock, he thought it might tear. He gasped as the Bracken pushed in further, the tip scraping against his vaginal walls inch by inch.

That familiar sound of leaves rustling tickled Martin's ears again. He could feel the creature behind him vibrate with a noise akin to a purr. Its hands gripped his hips firmly, pulling him backwards onto its dick. The creature’s cock caught on something inside him, a particular bend at the very end of his vagina that protected his cervix. A bend the beast’s tongue was easily able to avoid due to its flexibility. A gasp was forced from his lungs, his body lurched forward as the creature tried to push harder to fully seat itself inside. He felt his stomach distend again, the bulge under his palm even larger than it was before from the Bracken’s tongue. It was larger than his hand. Just what kind of monstrous cock was inside him right now? His blood went cold again as the Bracken continued to jam itself inside him.

Shallow thrusts pounded him forward, every movement pulled moans from his throat and every thrust hammered into his g-spot at the back of that impossible curve. He felt his pussy gush around the Bracken's cock, his orgasm had left him embarrassingly wet. The added overstimulation of being fucked again immediately after wasn't helping. Martin heard the creature growl in his ear, felt it curl over his back and press ever closer. The bend inside him was starting to hurt, the creature’s cock wasn't as flexible as its tongue, unable to push any further. That didn't stop the Bracken in the slightest, it wanted to breed Martin, and by god it was going to by any means necessary.

Martin laid on his chest, moaning pathetically as he was humped. The Monster behind him didn't seem at all deterred and adjusted its position to fuck down against Martin's hips. He felt the wall inside him budge just slightly and gasped. The Bracken seemed to also feel it and continued to adjust itself. Every new thrust pushed deeper and deeper. Centimeter by centimeter, Martin yelled in painful pleasure until he felt an impossible ‘pop’ inside of him that sent a shriek into the air. By some twisted miracle, the Bracken's cock had navigated through Martin's insides, all the way to his cervix. Said monster cock was now knocking against the battered ring of muscle inside him, trying to finish what the beast's tongue started.

Martin wasn't sure if the endorphins from pain were making him tingle all over, or if he just really enjoyed the concept of cervix penetrative. The concept was hot, but he never thought it would actually be possible. Every time the Bracken moved, he felt the tip of its cock catch on that inner bend. It caused the thrusting to buffer by half a second as the tip popped in and out of the bend. Martin thought about the creature's dick entering his cervix. Could he somehow get pregnant from this? He whimpered at the idea, pussy clenching tight around his unwanted lover and eliciting a pleasure-woven growl from its chest. Martin thought of himself miraculously alive after this encounter, fat with child, and being used as an alien incubated in his stomach. Fear, or maybe a twisted sort of pleasure shot through Martin. A short squirt of liquid pulsed between his thighs and soaked the Bracken's cock more. How had it not bottomed-out yet?

Martin's voice was going hoarse from all the noise he was making; nonstop, incessant moans and cries. every time the Bracken moved, he couldn't stop himself from growing louder.

Something impossible happened just then. The Bracken started pulling away. It's dick that had been so firmly ramming against Martin's cervix pulled away with another ‘pop.’ Martin turned his head again, confused about what was happening. He would never admit that he was disappointed, thinking the creature gave up on seeding him so quickly after starting. That's what Martin thought, until the Bracken slammed back in; it thrust so hard that Martin hit his helmet against the floor and was pushed forward on his knees. The Bracken's cock slipped past that bend again and kissed his womb, Martin whimpered in response.

A rhythm was forming now, the Bracken pulling out halfway and slamming back inside. Every time the tip of its dick touched his womb, Martin's body twitched in response. He hated how good it felt to be dicked down, hated how he wasn't even trying to keep quiet anymore. He hoped the Bracken would snap his neck after this. He didn't want to live with this shame. Martin felt humiliated. Even if he somehow survived this, how would he face Hannah? How would he face himself? Martin still had his hand on the bulge in his stomach, punching forward every time the Bracken thrust in. One particularly hard thrust turned into the Bracken grinding itself forward, pulling Martin's hips back so hard he felt the creature's nails draw blood. It felt so good, the grind of the creature's cock against his womb.

The other hand Martin had trapped under his chest moved downward, past the bulge in his stomach, down between his legs. He grabbed a handful of his suits torn fabric and pulled, ripping it further down so he could reach between his bare thighs. His gloves had texture on the fingertips to help grip things easier, it was a gently ridged texture that he had a bad habit of running his palms over when he needed comfort. It also felt amazing on his swollen clit. Two fingers found the sensitive button between his lower lips. He massaged himself between two knuckles, sighing with pleasure before he switched to rubbing quick circles around it.

The Bracken was still grinding, still pushing itself forward and trying to force it's way inside. Martin rubbed himself harder, moaning louder as he felt his peak approaching again. The anticipation of another orgasm caused his pelvic floor to weaken, his cervix gave way and allowed the Bracken's cock to finally breach. He screamed, body going rigid as he plateaued. He wanted to cum so badly, his arousal strung so tight he was ready to snap. His hand was frozen, unable to keep stroking himself through the pain of having his most protected of places breached. Martin saw stars as the creature groaned and thrust forward, its cock breaking into his womb and hitting the bottom of his stomach through it. He finally felt the creature's hips meet his ass, dick fully seated inside him at last.

Martin's whole body was twitching, unable to stroke himself to orgasm, unable to breathe, unable to move, unable to moan. He laid there, every muscle on fire as the Bracken reveled in its latest prize. The quiet lasted barely 10 seconds before Martin was screaming again. The pain of being penetrated so deeply was overshadowing the pleasure of being fucked. The pain was worse than any period he'd ever had, worse than any amount of food poisoning he'd ever had. And to make things worse, the Bracken seemed like it was only getting started. It growled and grabbed Martin by his waist, pulling his lower half off the floor again.

Once again the Bracken started thrusting, every time it's dick passed that bend, Martin would get a jolt of pleasure, shortly followed by a jolt of pain as his womb was abused. The combination of the two sensations left him in shambles. His face was wet with sweat and tears, voice shot from how much time he'd spent crying and screaming. His thighs were freezing from the amount of slick and cum leaking between them. Please, God, just let it end. Please someone, please let him cum again and leave the pain behind for just a few seconds.

He found the strength to reach between his legs again, whimpering as he pinched his clit. This was the only thing he could think to do to escape the pain, try to overwrite it with pleasure. He rubbed at himself again, fingertips swapping between circling himself and massaging himself between his knuckles. It was definitely helping. His toes curled In his boots, legs hanging on either side of the Bracken going to town on him. He wanted to cum so bad. He wanted to piss himself cumming on this monster's cock. Martin just didn't care anymore. Death would be a blessing at this point, but maybe one more orgasm would be his last meal. He'd earned it.

Martin whined as he masterbated, feeling himself rise above that plateaued feeling he'd been trapped in for so long. Here it is, he's so close, he rubbed himself faster and faster, trying to chase that high until he tips over the edge and finally cums. Martin's body went rigid again, his legs scrabbling in the air and kicking at nothing as he came. More fluid gushed out of him, soaking his and the Bracken's lower half. The Bracken's endless thrusting sent him over again, making him sob and shudder violently. He felt his pussy clench over and over again. Pulling on the Bracken's cock with every movement it made.

Martin's vision went white. His body collapsed on itself, going completely limp in the Bracken's claws. He was still twitching, knees and hips jolting every few seconds as he suffocated in his helmet. The Bracken was still fucking the life out of him, overstimulating every part of his body. The light came back to his eyes after a few seconds, pussy still clenching as he rode out the last few moments of his orgasm before he plateaued again from the constant stimulation. His vagina hurt, his cervix hurt, his womb hurt. The pleasure of climax was beginning to rapidly fade, the soreness of sex setting in to where he couldn't avoid it anymore. He tried to stroke his clit again, but whimpered at how tender it was. Overstimulated, so sensitive it felt numb. Fuck. Fuck, he wanted this to stop. His hand found his stomach again and held the growing and shrinking bulge of the Bracken's cock inside of him.

“Please…please…” Martin muttered under his breath, a fog settled over his brain. Everything hurt. He just wants this to end.

The Bracken seemed to hear his pleas because it shifted it's position again. Instead of his waist, the Bracken's hands were now on Martin's shoulders, pressing him into the floor. Chitters and growls and leaves rustling, there was a symphony of noise behind him. The thrusts began to grow further apart, slamming into his hips and the wall of his womb with a force that would've slid his body forward if he hadn't been held down. The Bracken tilted its head back and roared. Martin felt his eyes roll back as the first splash of cum entered his body. He felt the Bracken's cock pulse deep inside him, thrusting shallowly. The bulge in his stomach grew again, cum filling his womb and leaving him a pants size larger.

Martin waited for what felt like minutes for the Bracken to stop cumming. He laid there on the floor, panting and groaning in pain. How was this still not over? What time was it? Was Hannah on the ship or was she waiting outside for Martin to hand off more scrap? Martin wasn't sure what scenario sounded better anymore. If Hannah saw him like this… Martin wanted to cry again. The haze of sex was finally wearing off, he'd been raped by a Bracken. And worst of all, he came twice during it. If he weren't so exhausted, Martin would be sobbing and trying to curl into a ball. Unfortunately, his torture wasn't over yet.

The Bracken's cock was still pulsing, but Martin didn't feel his new baby-bump getting any larger. A new sensation made him jump. The Bracken's cock was moving inside of him. Not thrusting, but as if it were transforming. He felt the glans split inside his womb, small tendrils spilled from the tip and fanned out, locking the head in place behind his cervix. Martin squirmed underneath the monster, a choked scream died on his lips. His hands clawed at the floor to try and pull himself away, but he made no distance. The hold of the Bracken kept him in place, and every time he managed to move away, he felt the Bracken's cock anchor them together at his womb. He felt like a dog on a leash, but if the leash were attached to his pelvic bone.

The Bracken's leaves shuddered again, rubbing and vibrating as it tipped its head back and roared like it had earlier. There was a soft bump against Martin's stretched cervix and he whimpered as the Bracken’s cock flexed to allow the foreign object to pass. It squeezed out the end of the Bracken's dick and popped softly inside Martin’s womb. The foreign object sat heavily in his womb, warming him from the inside. He gasped and arched his back, chest leaving the ground for a moment before the Bracken slammed his shoulders back down. Martin's breathing picked up, panic setting in. He really was about to become an incubator for Bracken babies. He had no idea these things laid eggs! During his panic, another egg had slid down the Bracken's cock and was now being squeezed inside of him. He tried desperately to clench his pelvic muscles and keep it from entering.

“No, no, no, please. Anything but this, anything but this!” Martin whimpered as he did the world's worst kegels.

The Bracken growled at the new pressure around its cock. Martin felt the creature’s dick resisting, expanding more to force his body into submission. The egg pressed against his cervix, causing a dull ache in his lower stomach. He hated how good the endorphins were making this feel, and hated that he couldn't stop the tiny noises he kept making. Martin could feel the egg being crushed in his vagina, slipping back and forth inside the Bracken's shaft. Every time it moved back against his cervix, he jumped. His abs hurt from tensing.

The Bracken roared and slammed its hand beside Martin’s face, humping its hips forward. Martin jumped at the sudden movement, his focus faltering for just a second. That second gave the Bracken’s egg enough leeway to shoot forward into his womb. The force of it made him wail; a noise that quickly turned into a strangled scream as more eggs poured into him. The short resistance must have caused a backup in the Bracken’s cock because now eggs were steadily bumping together inside of him, one after the other. The stream slowed again after a few seconds, the eggs taking longer to deposit as the process went along.

This was worse than anything that had ever happened to him. This was so much worse than all of the most humiliating moments of Martin’s life combined. Would the eggs be viable? Would they stay inside of Martin's body or will he have to birth them in the future? Would the eggs hatch inside of him and he'd be forced to give birth to live Bracken pups? Or would the babies eat their way out of his stomach? So many ideas swam into his head as another egg pushed itself into his womb. It was agony, egg after egg pushing its way into his body. The Bracken chittering behind him must be one proud father. The eggs were the size of a chicken egg, small enough to fit in your palm, but large enough to be uncomfortable. They passed with little difficulty and Martin hyperventilated as he unwillingly counted how many eggs were now inside of him. There were 16. 16 seeds from this monster were now planted inside of him. Martin lay limp on the floor, waiting anxiously for the next step of the breeding process. He wanted to die.

As his shoulders rose and fell with his rapid breathing, Martin felt the Bracken's cock finally begin to shrink. It folded back in on itself, the tendrils locking it in place receded back into the Bracken’s tip. It released from the inside of his womb and descended back through Martin's vagina. His walls were so sore and stretched, they pulsed with a dull pain as the Bracken's cock retreated. Is it finally over? One last gush of what Martin thought was cum pumped into his pussy as the Bracken pulled out, leaving Martin's pussy gaping and winking at the loss. Cum rushed out of him, he couldn't stop his legs from quivering at the sensation of hot ejaculate and his own squirt pouring down his thighs. He wanted to die. Nothing about this outcome was encouraging, nothing about any possible future of his seemed bright. Martin remembered the gun lying a few feet away from the two of them and turned his head. The Bracken seemed to be tired too, its eyes were dimmer than usual and the leaves on its body had gone from excitedly vibrating to only occasionally twitching. Martin looked to his right, the rotting corpse of the Nutcracker was less than a meter away. He wanted to die.

He stretched his arms out on either side of his body, not sure if was trying to stretch out or about to collapse from exhaustion. His hips were now tipping to one side, ass turning toward the Nutcracker. It was so close now, within arms reach. Thick, clawed fingers gripped Martin’s helmet, his vision tainted by black. He felt the Bracken grab hold of his chin. The creature was going to snap his neck. He was about to die. Like so many of his newbies before, Martin was about to disappear.

What happened next took place in a matter of seconds. Something visceral and angry took hold of Martin. He felt his hand make contact with the shotgun he had dropped earlier. That sensation was enough to light a fire inside Martin because he launched himself at the gun and grabbed hold of it. Martin rolled out from under the Bracken, catching it off-guard. He whipped the gun around to the Bracken’s chest. The creature’s hands reached toward him. Martin pulled the trigger.

A loud explosion burst from the shotgun along with a flash of light. Martin’s eyes burned and his ears rang. He blinked the white dots away from his eyes and saw the Bracken fully slumped on top of him, not moving. Black ichor crawled across his suit, pouring from a hole in the Bracken's chest. Martin took a deep breath and pulled the trigger again, another explosion deafened him. The bracken's body convulsed above him as the pellets from the shotgun shell buried deeply into its body; it was launched off of Martin and landed on it's side a foot away. Martin sat up and pointed the gun at the creature's head. He pulled the trigger again, a soft click coming from the hammer. He had no more bullets. The sound made Martin’s ears turn to static. He watched as the Bracken crawled toward him, one hand trying to reach for him. Tears steadily ran down Martin’s cheeks, the Bracken’s buckshot wound made contact with the smoking tip of the gun again. He pulled the trigger again, another soft click. He pulled it again and only felt that click. The trigger was pulled over and over, no more bullets firing from the gun, no more sounds deafening the man holding it. It just clicked weakly with every pull, blackened blood pouring down the gun’s barrel and running over Martin’s gloved hands. After a few more seconds of frozen panic, the beast finally collapsed, the strength in its body weakening. Its entire weight fell into the gun, pinning it between the Bracken’s body and Martin’s legs. Martin felt the Bracken’s dying hand make contact with his body, coming to rest over his swollen stomach. It was reaching for its babies. Martin steadied himself with a few deep, shaking breaths. He kicked the Bracken off of him, said creature rolling away and landing on its side. Its body convulsed as the light left its eyes, leaving Martin alone in the kitchen.

Now, Martin could get a good view of his attacker. He felt all the color drain from his face when he laid eyes on the Bracken’s cock. He couldn't believe that thing was just inside of him. The monster’s penis was at least 12 inches long. It tapered from tip to base, the head being thin with a thick flare around the glans. A few tentacles were poking from the slit in the head, they were what locked it in place inside Martin’s womb and allowed the eggs to pass through the creature's shaft. The creature didn't seem to have any visible testicles, the shaft of its penis ended in a mound of flesh that peeled to either side around it. Martin felt sick. How did he manage to take that monstrous cock without breaking? He put a hand on his stomach, feeling it bulge tight against his suit. He was skinny, there was no way Hannah wouldn't notice the sudden beer-belly he'd developed in the past 4 hours. Martin felt an egg shift under his touch and jumped. A horrified wail escaped him as he hugged the shotgun to his chest and rocked back and forth, crying and screaming in anguish. He should've let the beast kill him. It would've been a mercy, because now what was he supposed to do? Knocked up with 16 Bracken eggs, alone on the worst moon Martin had ever been to. He could only scream.

When his voice was fully shot from yelling, he uncurled from his spot on the floor and looked down at himself. The crotch and ass of his suit were completely torn open. His hips and thighs were dotted with bruises and small cuts from the Bracken's clawed hands. His thighs were coated in a sticky mess of slick, squirt, and cum. There seemed to be no end to the amount coming out of him. Martin got to his knees, hands and legs trembling. He tried to push himself up to his feet, but the second he was upright, his knees collapsed and he fell back to the floor. Another embarrassing gush of fluid exploded from his vagina. The urge to cry from embarrassment was overwhelming, but Martin had no tears left to cry. He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced the feelings back. He took another deep breath and tried again, getting to his feet and stumbling forward into the doorframe separating the kitchen from the manor's halfway.

Martin grit his teeth and rocked in place. His hips ached, his pussy ached, his heart ached. Everything hurt, everything from his skin to his nerves felt like it was rubbed raw.

“c’mon…c’mon, Martin…” He tried to hype himself up, grinding his teeth as he forced himself off the doorframe and out into the hallway. He collapsed again, landing face down in the hall. He groaned and felt his stomach, feeling the eggs swirling inside of him. Bile rose in the back of his throat, paired with the self-hating disgust that was currently overwhelming Martin, the eggs pressing against his stomach were causing him to feel nauseated. He coughed at the acid burning his tongue, swallowed his hate, and pushed himself back to his knees, the gun being used as a makeshift cane. He just killed a Bracken. Martin had just been raped, impregnated with 16 alien eggs, killed the creature that assaulted him, and come out of it alive. Most interactions with Brackens resulted in instant death, but Martin had killed one.

The pride he felt from that accomplishment alone would have to give him the strength to stand. He tried to focus on the pros of this situation. He'd killed his rapist, killed one of the most terrifying alien creatures he's ever had the displeasure of meeting, gotten a gun from his least favorite moon, saved the life of his superior, and had found enough scrap to ensure he and his team wouldn't lose their jobs this quota. There were a lot of good things that happened today, right? Things he would have to cling to while he considered what abortion options might be available to him out here in space…

Martin got to his feet again, leaning against the walls for support and using the empty shotgun as a makeshift walking cane. He at least had to get to Hannah. The walkies were toast, he had to at least tell her that she can leave this damn moon. Slowly, Martin trudged toward the front door again, leaving a dripping trail of sex behind him.

—

Martin’s strength was coming back. His hips still ached like a motherfucker, but he was starting to get his coordination back. He'd reached the main lobby again and could see the front door. Hope flooded his soul. A light at the end of the tunnel, Hannah on the other side of that door. Martin hobbled faster, leaving the support of the walls to stumble like a toddler through the main room toward the front door. He collided with it and threw the door open, bursting outside into the snow. His ass felt cold, the freezing wind chapped his skin and made the rivers of slick between his thighs feel like ice. He looked around for Hannah, the snow storm was so thick he could barely see the porch in front of him.

The piles of scrap he'd been collecting were gone. She at least had to have carted them back to the ship. He could see tracks in the snow, barely visible, but definitely still there. Martin clutched the gun close to his chest and moved toward the tracks. He had to be careful, with how late it had gotten, monsters outside would start waking up. Dine was usually too barren for things like Forest Giants or Baboon Hawks, but Eyeless Dogs seemed completely unbothered by this frozen waste of a moon. He kept his eyes peeled for any kind of movement.

After a few minutes of walking, Martin noticed something in the distance. A figure walking toward him in the snow. He stopped in his tracks and waited, holding the gun like a bat over his shoulder. With no bullets, he'd have to improvise. He wouldn't be able to kill an Eyeless Dog, but one good swing could probably disorient it enough to give Martin a chance to hide in the snow bluffs. The figure got closer, the shadow through the blizzard coming into view. Martin could make out the orange fabric of his company suit approaching, an arm outstretched toward him and a black gloved hand coming into view. He relaxed and took a few steps closer, expecting to see Hannah. The figure stopped when it saw Martin clearly, staring for a few seconds, sizing him up. Then the figure took off at a full sprint toward him, both arms outstretched.

Martin felt fear clutch his throat, he reeled the gun back, poised to swing. The figure was within arm’s reach, one hit and he'd give them the worst concussion of their life, assuming they didn't die from the impact. Two thick arms wrapped around his shoulders, the figure's helmet rested on his chest as they hugged him. Martin would recognize this hug anywhere. It was a hug that always managed to chase away the cold and the nightmares for a few seconds. The one bit of genuine kindness he could always rely on at this hellscape of a job. Hannah.

Martin hugged her back, knocking his helmet into hers with a soft thunk. They embraced for a few seconds, enjoying the comfort of finally not being alone. Hannah pulled back first, holding onto one of Martin’s arms. She held a finger up to her mask, a silent ‘shh’ that let him know not to make any noise. She held Martin’s hand and started walking back toward the ship.

—

Martin had never felt so glad to see this rundown, rusted cube the crew called a dropship. The yellow light flickering above the cargo bay doors felt almost as nice as the sun. Together, Hannah and Martin climbed aboard and entered the ship safely. Martin’s ass and legs were bright red, frozen from the walk back. He'd be lucky if his labia didn't have frostbite. Hannah rushed for the control panel at the front of the ship, leaving Martin to close the door behind him. Once Hannah had typed in new coordinates, she pulled the emergency brake free and set the ship on its new flight path. The audible sigh of relief that broke the silence left Martin’s entire body feeling numb. He collapsed onto the floor of the ship, the gun skidding off into the main cabin.

Martin lay among the scrap. More than enough to fulfill their quota this week. He felt like a puppet whose strings had all snapped at once. The stress of this entire day condensed into a ball inside of his chest that sat heavily on his ribs. Or maybe that was his organs being pushed aside to make room for his new Bracken spawn. What was he going to do? What was he going to do with 16 Bracken eggs inside of him?

Hannah set the command panel to auto pilot and rushed to Martin’s side. She had felt his stomach when she hugged him. Felt the massive bump pressing into her chest as she embraced her friend whom she thought had died in that manor. When she approached, she saw Martin’s suit torn open in the rear. The half frozen mess remaining on his body made her stomach lurch in disgust. What happened to her friend in that house? Hannah reached to touch Martin’s shoulder, a small test touch to gauge his consent to being touched. Martin jumped when she made contact, but didn't try to shrug her off or move away. She flattened her hand on his back in a supportive gesture.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered. “You weren't responding to my calls, I waited for an hour for news or new scrap and you were just…gone…”

Martin reached to unlatch his helmet, It decompressed with a loud hiss. Martin pulled his helmet off and lifted his head. His curly black hair was matted with sweat and pressed flat against his skull. Tear tracks stained his cheeks, his eyes completely bloodshot from the amount of crying he'd just been through. He tried to speak, but barely a squeak came out. Martin cleared his throat and tried again, but his voice was still barely a whisper.

“it was Bad…ran into a Bracken. Thought it was going to kill me. Kinda wish it had.”

“don't say that!” Hannah’s voice broke. She also removed her helmet, revealing her lips quivering as she held back tears. “I thought you were dead, Martin! I thought I was alone again, stuck with a half dead Rick on this fucking ship at this stupid job and I..”

She trailed off to catch her breath and wipe her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I know you just went through something horrible, but I just. I'm so glad you're alive. I'm so glad my friend isn't dead…”

Martin rolled onto his side to face her. He reached out a hand and held onto her knee, mirroring her supportive gesture. She put her hand over his and sniffed, wiping her face again before continuing.

“I told myself I would go back one more time to look for you and if you aren't there, I would leave. I'm so glad I did, I'm so glad I went back because if I hadn't then I would've just left you there!” her voice was getting louder with every word. It sounded like she was yelling at herself more than she was venting to Martin. He squeezed her knee and she squeezed his hand back.

“Thanks for coming back for me,” Martin muttered.

“You're a mess…” Hannah crawled over towards Martin and offered her support to him. Together they got to their feet, Martin leaning heavily onto Hannah’s shoulder. “Tell me what happened while we get you clean.”

—

The two of them hobbled to the shower at the back of the ship. Martin stumbled into the glass box and started peeling himself out of what remained of his suit. He dropped the soiled uniform outside the shower and Hannah started gathering the proper PPE needed to dispose of the hazardous material. She also dragged over the metal stool they kept by the terminal and left it at the door of the shower for Martin to use. He usually hated how cold the stool felt, but the chilled metal felt nice against his aching cunt. He gratefully sat on it when he cranked on the shower and set the temperature to boiling. He felt disgusting. Martin felt like he wouldn't be clean until he scrubbed himself to the bone. Being forced open and violated…Martin hugged himself. He was too afraid to look down at his body. Too afraid to confront the way his body was now disfigured.

Hannah returned after disposing of Martin’s old suit. She knocked on the glass wall to get Martin’s attention. When Martin turned, he saw his friend. Her brown hair was tied back into a braided bun, her smile warm and friendly. She'd dressed down from her uniform, the sleeves of the orange suit were tied around her waist. Martin always thought Hannah looked handsome in a futch way. Despite being half a foot shorter than Martin at 5’6”, she had a healthy amount of muscle to her that made her much stronger than Martin. And while she didn't care to shave or wear makeup, she still had a prominent touch of femininity to her style.

Martin opened the shower door and let her inside.

“Can you tell me what happened? I noticed outside that your stomach…” she didn't finish her thought, just watched as Martin rubbed his hand over his stretched stomach.

“Sixteen.” He muttered.

“Sorry?”

“Sixteen.” He repeated, slightly louder, “There are sixteen Bracken eggs in my uterus right now. And I don't know what I'm going to do about it.”

Hannah looked at Martin’s body. He was covered in bruises and freshly clotted cuts. There were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. His frame was thin, his skin and barely-there muscle stretched tight over his bones. His stomach though… Hannah knew that it used to be flat. So flat, she envied him sometimes. Her abs were hidden behind a soft layer of fat, while his were on full display at all times even if they weren't very defined. Now, they were entirely hidden by the very stretched-out form of his pregnant belly. He looked like he was in his second trimester.

Hannah reached for a washcloth hanging from a hook on the shower wall.

“May I help wash you?” she asked, her voice gentle.

Martin nodded robotically, staring off into the distance while he rubbed his stomach. Hannah started to gently wash Martin’s back.

“We’ll figure it out. What happened to the Bracken after it… Don't they usually kill first and do everything else later?”

“Usually. I don't know what happened this time around. One second I was reaching for that gun, and the next I was on the floor.”

Hannah was silent for a moment, thinking deeply about what she should say. She'd had friends who went through sexual assault in the past, but this felt very different. What sort of reproductive care was available to them out here? The Company couldn't even afford to give their crew a fully functioning drop-ship. Could they even offer abortion services?

“I killed it.” Martin’s voice sounded for away, it caught Hannah off guard.

“Sorry?”

“The Bracken. You asked what happened. I killed it before it could finish the job. The gun still had one bullet.” Martin turned his head to face the gun that was lying on the floor at the center of the main cabin. He stared as visions of the Bracken reaching for him played in his mind. He could feel the dying touch of its claws on his stomach, worried for the safety of its spawn.

Martin leaned forward and put his head in his hands. He wanted to cry again, but he felt so dehydrated from crying so much already. Hannah continued to pat him down.

“Good. Can't exactly arrest a Bracken for assault, so killing it is the next best thing. If you hadn't, I would've become a Bracken hunter.”

Martin tried to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. He appreciated his friends' efforts to support him. He also wouldn't know what to say or do for someone in his position. Hands in his hair pulled him from his thoughts. Hannah pulled Martin back upwards, massaging shampoo into his scalp.

“I’ll let you take care of the rest, but if you need me at all, just yell.” She worked her fingers in small, firm circles, rubbing the sweat from his temples and hairline. It felt nice.

“Yeah…” He trailed off. Martin closed his eyes and let Hannah finish washing his hair.

She made her exit and closed the glass door behind Martin, leaving him alone once more. Martin took deep breaths, closed his eyes, and spread his legs. He tried to look down at himself, but was unable to see past his stomach. He felt his breath hitch, anxiety and dread filling his body, but he forced himself to breathe slower and calm down. He grabbed the washcloth Hannah had been using to wash his back and took a moments to steady himself. The washcloth felt like sandpaper against his abused sex. Sensitive, frostbitten skin screamed under the friction. The pain made Martin feel better. It felt like the same relief he used to get from self-harming; like pressing on a bruise just to feel it hurt. The water burned his skin, leaving it red and sensitive as it washed away the Bracken’s spent cum.

Martin’s thoughts swirled. He'd just laid there and taken it, he should've fought harder to resist. He scrubbed his cunt harder, wincing at the pain. The relief wasn't as strong anymore, the more he scrubbed, the worse it felt. There was no more satisfaction in the pain.

He should've tried more to fight back.
He should've done something, anything…
Why did he just lay there?
Why did he enjoy it?

“H-Hannah..” his voice caught, cracking when he tried to call out for his friend. His hands were shaking, the washcloth fell to the floor with a loud splat.

“Hannah!” He couldn't stop trembling, his lungs started shaking as he tried to breathe. He tried to force deep breaths again, but it just turned into hiccuping. He tried to reach down for the washcloth, but his stomach wouldn't let him bend far enough to reach it. When he reached too far, the stool fell from under Martin, sending him to his knees as he shook and sobbed for his friend.

He should've done more.
He should've figured out a way to stop it.
Who cares if the Bracken killed him for fighting back?
He would've died a real man, he could've gone out swinging with a shred of dignity still intact.

At least if he were dead, he wouldn't be knocked up.

He wouldn't burden Hannah and Rick with this disgusting snafu he'd gotten himself into.

The thoughts kept coming, his inner voice calling him a coward and a moron and every other horrible thing it could think of. He started screaming again, his voice so shot that no sound came out. Everything hurts. His anguish was so loud, but made he made no sound. His stomach hurt.

Martin felt something above him, protecting him from the shower. He felt a hand touch his shoulder and jumped, flinging himself away. He stared up in fear, expecting to see the Bracken again. Instead he saw Hannah, standing in front of the shower spray, her hand pulling away from him. The look on her face made Martin feel pathetic. Sympathy? Fear? Pity. Martin curled up on the floor, pulled his knees as close to his chest as he could, and buried his face in his hands. He heard Hannah turn the shower off, the water stopped a few seconds later.

“Martin?” Hannah knelt in front of him. She was soaked through her suit, her knees splashed in the residual water on the shower floor.

“Martin, I'm here.” She sat close, but didn't try to touch him again. “Martin, I'm here with you, and you're safe now.”

She kept saying his name to try and pull him back from his thoughts and ground him in reality. “Martin. We’re on our way back to the company building. Nothing here can hurt you. Nothing here wants to hurt you, Martin. I promise. Martin, can you look at me?”

Her friend uncurled just slightly and looked up at Hannah. He looked so tired. It broke Hannah’s heart to see him like this. She spoke slowly and firmly.

“Martin, I am here with you. I will not let anything happen to you. I will not let anything hurt you. Martin, I'm going to get up and grab a towel, okay? I will not leave you alone. Can you keep your eyes on me while I get you a towel?” She slowly got to her feet.

Martin nodded weakly and tracked her as she moved, watching as she stepped out of the shower again and opened a cabinet on the opposite wall. She grabbed a folded towel from the stack inside and returned to Martin’s side, kneeling once again.

“I’m going to touch your hair and shoulders, let me know at any time if you want me to stop, okay?”

Martin nodded and kept his eyes on her. Hannah wrapped the towel around Martin’s shoulder, pressing it onto his head and squeezing the water from his hair. He kept looking at her, staring at the water dripping from her hair and clothes. The towel fell from Martin’s head and pooled around his shoulders. He moved to grab the corner of it, pulling it over his chest in an attempt to comfort himself. Hannah let him move, taking a step back and allowing him to regain control.

“Thank you.” He whispered. “I'm so sorry…”

“There's no need to apologize. I'm here for you, Martin.”

“Please stay.”

“Okay. I won't go anywhere until you tell me to.”

The two of them sat in silence for a long time, Martin wrapping himself in the towel and Hannah drip-drying beside him. Martin moved to try and stand up and Hannah was there at his side to help.

“Let's get you to a bunk, okay? Try to dry off and I'll bring you a new suit.” Hannah kept a hand on Martin’s back, her touch feather light in case he wanted to shrug her off.

She escorted Martin to their bunkbeds. Rick was asleep on the very bottom, close to the floor. Hannah sat Martin on the bunk just above him. She made sure to get him comfortable before stepping away to grab a new jumpsuit from their clothing storage. She handed it to Martin in exchange for his towel and turned around to let him get dressed.

The jumpsuit didn't fit right. It didn't fit right before, usually it hung baggy and loose on his thin frame, but now it was stretched tight over his pregnant belly. He had half a mind to just tie the upper half around his waist, but decided against it. Having his stomach exposed meant he would constantly have to see it. His teammates would have to see it. The thought of Hannah and Rick staring at him in their peripherals made his skin crawl. Hiding it was the right decision.

Hannah pulled her suit off, leaving her in a tank top and her underwear. She was still wet, her hair and clothes clung to her skin. She used Martin’s towel to dry herself off as much as possible. Martin turned away to give her privacy. The three of them had gotten pretty desensitized to seeing each other in various stages of undress, their time together as a team had put them in too many different situations to consider decency the way they normally would back on Earth. Still, Martin tried his best to give Hannah privacy whenever he could.

Once dressed and dry, Hannah retrieved the stool from the shower and put it beside the bunks.

“Lie down, Martin. Try to rest. I'll stay here if you need me.”

Martin listened and laid down in the bunk, turning to keep Hannah in his view. His arm fell over his stomach, his hand gripped onto the tight fabric of his suit and the skin underneath it. He watched Hannah sit down on the stool and lean against the wall, book in hand. Martin watched his friend read for a long time, occasionally calling for her attention and feeling relieved when she gave it without hesitating. The longer he laid there, the more exhaustion set in. Eventually he couldn't keep his eyes open and Martin fell asleep.