Chapter Text
Aya had been living in Sandrock for over a year, but to most inhabitants she was still ‘the new builder’. She accepted it and was satisfied with her solitary life: the forgotten ruins, the empty desert and the bare rocks surrounding her inherited workshop were serene and calming after her previous life in the metropolis of Atara.
She was by no means a hermit. Aya had been to Blue Moon Saloon several times to purchase ingredients and sometimes even to eat if she was too tired from work to cook anything herself. Mostly she would simply order her items and sit still. She watched and observed how easily and effortlessly others seemed to socialize with each other. How kindly the clients would point out that the omelet Grace had made was full of sand, and how freely Grace laughed without a shred of embarrassment. How easily people found topics to talk about, and how much Owen remembered about everyone who stepped in through the doors. It seemed magical.
When Aya herself was faced with questions she always smiled (it was important to be nice) and answered as shortly as possible. What was her background? She had just arrived at Sandrock. Where did she come from? It’s a large city about a few days’ travel away. What was her family like? Small. What were her plans in Sandrock? She wanted to be a builder.
So honed was her polite-but-off-putting-style that even Owen let her be after a while. The rest of the city had learned to simply greet her and walk away. Just the way she liked it.
Recently, though, strange letters had started to arrive in her mailbox. She was not sure when the first had arrived, as she usually checked only about once a week and had thrown the first ones out assuming they were delivered mistakenly to her.
“You look beautiful in the moonlight,” said the first letter she had saved. Nothing else. It was written in black ink on a torn piece of pale yellow paper, and the handwriting was legible, if not exactly neat. The text was in the middle of the paper. She assumed it was all the text there had ever been: it did not look like a sentence torn out of a longer letter. Someone had only wanted to tell her this and not a word more.
The second letter, which read “Umm sorry, that was probably really weird. Sorry” (the word had a line over it), ”but you are really cool. Thanks!” arrived a week later. Aya saw it in the afternoon, after she had delivered a simple commission for copper plates (grinded to perfection, measured and weighed to be exactly as ordered) for Rocky and rummaged through the salvage yard for several hours sorting out the broken and filthy from the usable materials. She read the letter immediately by the mailbox, and then took it inside for a more careful examination. It was much the same as the first: same kind of paper, same handwriting, same color of ink. Aya placed both pieces on a table to compare, and was not surprised to see they fit together. Both were torn from the same larger paper. Clearly whoever was sending them was careful with the resources they had, which she highly appreciated.
The following day her mailbox remained empty. Aya could not deny a tiny pang of disappointment. She even started to keep an eye on her mailbox whenever she was working in the yard. She’d be warming up her forge, pour in the ore and crane her neck to see through the smoke if anyone was approaching her gate. If she needed planks, she’d leave the cutter running to make it sound like she was using it, and secretly crouch behind her machine to spy on the mailbox. Despite all her efforts she did not see when or by whom the third letter was delivered when it finally arrived, several days after the previous one.
Aya ran inside with her legs pumping and the pigtails of her strawberry blond hair waving behind her. The door slammed closed behind her as she opened the beige envelope and started reading. The new letter was the longest of them all.
“Aya,” it read, and she felt elated to see her actual name and not just ”new builder”. She smiled and read further. “I am sorry if I scared you, cuz you need space, which is cool, and these letters were probably a bit surprising. Also I’m not very good with words. But I think you are amazing, and beautiful, and I’m not stalking or anything I just wanted you to know. And it’s okay that you are quiet and need your space. I think it’s kinda awesome. Maybe we can meet someday but it’s up to you. Have a nice day! Bye!”
Aya pursed her pink lips thoughtfully. Whoever was sending these messages managed to make her feel appreciated and safe, which was a strange combination for her. The mystery writer, and the emotions they stirred, kept interrupting her thoughts for days.
At the end of the week her tasks were completed. Aya headed out to the Commerce Guild for more commissions. The building was empty. She stood looking at the board seriously, pondering both about the letters and her work. “Maybe it was Owen,” she thought, reading through the commissions and trying to carefully estimate whom she was brave enough to face as a client, and what she felt confident making. Owen usually posted simple commissions, always accepted them without complaints and paid on time. But Owen did not seem like the writing type. She crossed his mind from her list of potential writers.
She saw a commission from Rocky for basic materials and snatched it before Mi-An, her more skilled and respected colleague, could do so. He was a fair employer, but an unlikely writer. Rocky was intimidating due to his size and temperament, and if he wanted something, he would not waste his time writing letters. “It can’t be Rocky,” Aya mumbled, “he’s married and successful with his own company. He wouldn’t look at me twice.”
Heidi had also posted a commission, and Aya had to admit that she was a possible secret letter-writer. The language suited, but why would Heidi taunt her like that? If the letters were from her, she was surely being sarcastic, even if Aya could not figure out what she had done to annoy the gorgeous architect. She left the commission paper on the wall, certain that Heidi needed Mi-An’s skills and not the passable materials Aya herself could produce. Where Rocky was threatening, Heidi was imposing with her perfect body, impeccable style and strong personality.
Hidden behind more valuable commissions was one from the local shop owner Arvio. Could he have written the notes? No, his letters would likely be an ode to himself and how beautiful he was in the moonlight.
Last commission was from the local superhero, the Protector of Sandrock, the amazing Pen. Aya had to smile at the thought of Pen bending over a piece of paper, scribbling childish letters with a tongue sticking out of his mouth. It was not likely that Pen would stop pumping iron long enough to write a message. Also, if he did, the message would be about how incredibly lucky Aya was to be even in the same city as Pen. But Pen’s commission was simple and easy, so Aya grabbed it before deciding she had enough work for the coming days.
Quickly Aya checked the commerce guild store for new designs. Nothing tickled her fancy, so she turned to leave. As she pulled the door open a green, commercial poster caught her eye. Recognizing it as one of the posters she herself had glued around the city earlier she now actually read it with interest. “Medicine trials every Wednesday and Friday by the Clinic” she read out loud. Hmm... It was Wednesday, she hated the idea of animals being used as test subjects, and she could use the gols…
When Aya arrived at Fang’s Medicine Stall only the quiet doctor, his raven and a member of the Civil Corps were around. Aya remained nonchalantly by the sparring ring and watched to learn how the trials worked. She saw how the young man chose one of the three possible potions, drank it and then reported his sensations to the raven. That was all.
Armed with knowledge of the correct protocol Aya felt confident to try it out herself. She stepped up to the stall.
The young sheriff’s helper waved at Aya and she nodded back. “Hi Aya,” the man greeted her. Aya struggled to remember his name, and he must have seen it for he continued smoothly: “Unsuur. U-n-s-u-u-r. I know, a weird name, right? Means something in another language, but I forgot what.”
“Huh,” offered Aya smartly and waited, for Fang was now busily re-arranging the stall.
“Yeah. I’m not very good with words.”
“Words are tricky things,” Aya admitted and racked her brain for any misbehavior she had recently done. She could not see a sheriff or a deputy without thinking she had a bounty on her head and she had just forgotten all about it. Once she was confident she wasn’t a sought murderer Aya focused again on the medicine stall. There were now three identical bottles, and both the doctor and the raven were looking at her expectantly. She pointed at a random bottle and watched the doctor pour out a generous helping in a smaller glass. He offered it to her, his face expressionless.
“So you decided to try the medicine as well? That’s cool,” admired Unsuur at the same time as Aya swallowed the sweet, thick syrup. As the liquid settled in her stomach the man’s words finally registered, making her eyes grow large. It was Unsuur! What he had said just now was almost exactly what the letters had said! So he was behind the letters, and he was cute and single and here she stood in her work clothes, looking like .. like an… idiot…
Her vision started to grow blurry and her legs felt weak. Colorful stars danced in her peripheral vision.
“Yeah, that’s just awesome,” she heard Unsuur say in an annoyed voice, which was soon drowned by the cawing of the raven, then by the buzzing in her ears and finally by the blackness that swallowed everything.
The first thing she saw upon waking up was the black, sharp beak of X. “How many feathers am I holding up?” he queried, waving a wing at her.
Aya tried to count, but lost track after three. The bird would not stay still. “Sorry,” she apologized and swallowed to help her dry mouth and her tongue, which felt glued to her palate. She blinked and sat up, watching the bird take flight and flutter above her, his beady eyes watching carefully for her every move.
She sat on an old, striped mattress on a wooden floor. There was a white, soft pillow, but no blanket. The room was dimly lit, as it only had one small window high on the wall and the lamp above Aya’s mattress was turned off. There were shelves stacked with boxes with long labels and warnings. On a small table were piles of clean-smelling sheets and towels. It looked like a warehouse or a storage room, but it smelled clean, almost like antiseptic.
It would have been a regular basem*nt if it wasn’t for the iron ring on the floor. A chain was fastened to the ring, and Aya’s eyes followed the chain snaking on the ground all the way to the mattress and to the reinforced leather cuff locked around Aya’s right ankle.
Alarmed, she jumped up. Her movement made her dizzy and pulled the chain taut, yanked her leg from under her and made her crash right back down on the mattress.
“Watch out!” warned the bird and flew to the opposite side of the room, where a wooden door stood slightly ajar. “Be nice now,” it said suddenly in a soft voice before disappearing through the door.
Aya pulled at her pigtails until it hurt. It had been her habit since childhood, whenever she was scared, and in this strange situation she reverted right back to her earliest coping mechanisms. Realizing that this time any amount of hair-pulling would not help she tried to pry the metal lock on her ankle cuff open until her fingers were numb and white from effort. The cuff itself was reinforced, two-ply leather with metal studs on the edges. It had several metal rings to allow for several sizes, and two of the rings were connected with a lock which also connected the cuff to the chain. It was too tight to pull her foot through. The lock itself would not open and the leather would not tear. Her fingers then examined each link of the chain. Each link was as strong as the first one, and the ring itself was buried deep into the ground.
She then tried shouting for help. The only window in the room had thick glass, but someone passing by could still hear her. “Anyone? Help!” she croaked through dry lips.
“Awake, are we?” asked a quiet voice.
Aya started and pulled her fingers away from the cuff as if it was burning hot. In the doorway between her and freedom stood the doctor, his face shadowed by his hood.
“Awake is good,” said someone else. The doctor stepped inside the small storage room, and after him came Unsuur. He looked strange, standing in the shady room while proudly wearing his uniform of the Civil Corps. Unsuur watched Aya curiously and took in the mattress. “I like naps, but being awake is good too. It’s easier to do things when awake.”
Fang ignored him. His cold eyes were focused on the slim young woman chained in his basem*nt. He kneeled down, reached his hand towards Aya and huffed as she scrambled away from him in fear. “Need to check… your pulse,” he explained, grabbed her wrist in a talon-like grip and grinned as he felt her racing heart. “Any nausea?”
Aya shook her head and tried to crawl further away, but only bumped against the stone walls. Despite the warmth outside she shivered as the coldness from stone seeped through her simple dark shirt, raising goosebumps on her arms and legs.
“Look at her shaking like a lost lamb,” said Unsuur in an almost accusatory tone. “I was working on her! Drugs were not needed. Drugs are bad. Justice always says not to do drugs.”
“My way... is faster,” Fang stated. He cupped Aya’s chin and turned her face left and right, examining her skin and eyes carefully for any bruises. He then took her hands into his own, held her fingers in his warm hands and seemed pleased with whatever it was he was checking. Lastly he leaned forward and smelled her breath. Satisfied, he nodded, stood up and turned to Unsuur. “She is fine. And… some drugs are fun. Useful. You know this.”
Unsuur grinned guiltily and pulled his uniform jacket straighter. He peeked into some boxes on the shelves, picked up bottles and placed them back after reading the labels and shaking his head in bafflement. “So, what’s the plan with her?”
Fang ignored the question. Instead, he reached into a box and produced two bottles of water and some dried fruit, which he placed in a bowl next to Aya. “Eat. It’s safe. There is a bucket if you… need the toilet.”
The doctor nodded towards the door, and both men glanced at her expressionlessly before they turned to leave. “She will… not be missed?“ Fang asked while searching his pockets until he found a long, rusty key. Unsuur shook his head. “No, I’ll put a note on her door. Signed by her, but it’s actually me. I will pretend to be her. I think she’ll go to- ” and that is all Aya heard before the door was closed and locked behind the two men.
When she no longer heard the footsteps outside she started to meticulously inspect her surroundings. The chain was long enough to let her reach all three walls at the back of the room, but the door was outside her reach even if she did stretch as best she could. The second escape route was the window. If she managed to break it and climb up the almost smooth wall she could squirm through the window - but she’d only end up hanging from the chain while bleeding to death from several cuts.
Aya did not cry. She had learned to take life as it came, and knew that somehow she had deserved this all. No one would miss her for days - maybe for weeks. Even the commissions she had picked up would be done by someone else.
She was a practical woman, and eventually drank the water and ate the sweet fruit which Fang had left for her. It filled her stomach. Swallowing her pride she also squatted on the bucket to urinate. At least the doctor had left a basin of water, a towel and a soap next to the bucket for her to stay clean.
When the daylight waned outside the room started to grow darker. Just when she was preparing to be left in total darkness Fang and X returned, if only to leave a small oil lamp behind. He placed it just outside Aya’s reach.
“You ate? Good. Sleep now, you will be safe tonight.”
“Why do you do this?” Aya demanded, surprising even herself. She stood solidly with her arms crossed. “Why me?”
A tiniest smile played on Fang’s face, but it was X who replied. “Pretty bird! Our favourite!”
“Why am I here?”
The doctor fixed his icy eyes on Aya. He looked at her brazenly, evaluating her narrow hips and nodding at her perky breasts before he answered. “Are you sure you want to know?”
Aya’s courage dwindled and she lowered her gaze.
“She will see!” sang X happily when they both left the room, leaving Aya in solitude. Fang nodded and finished the answer: “She will see - and she will feel.”
***
When pale sunlight made its first, careful attempt to start a new day Aya woke up after a few hours of fretful sleep. By the clean smell she could deduce that her toilet bucket had been emptied during the night. As she rubbed her eyes X arrived, carrying a small breakfast wrapped in a cloth. He left it by her side.
Aya’s stomach growled, but she took her time with the breakfast, watching out for any strange sensations caused by hidden herbs of medicine in the food. No adverse effects followed, so when several hours later Fang carried a basket of lunch, she devoured it. This time she was not so lucky. In only a few minutes Aya had to sit down as she felt her eyes growing heavy and her limbs refused to cooperate.
“Stupid… stupid…”, she mumbled while trying to pinch herself to stay focused. She swayed back and forth. The room was growing blurry in her eyes.
“Bye bye!” she heard X cawing. The bird had satisfaction in his avian voice. She watched the door open wider and saw someone walking in, but the drugs made it hard to see who it was. “Bird is all ready,” she heard X assuring the newcomer.
“Who… what…” Aya tried and reached her hand out - she wasn’t sure if it was to keep the man out or to invite him in. She seemed to have too many fingers and her hand was swaying.
“Well, it seems like the doctor kept his end of the deal,” said a low, sultry voice. “What a sweet little thing you are.”
The large man stepped easily over to Aya and pushed her on her back on the mattress. His face was covered by a dark mask and a hat shadowed his shining eyes as he kneeled next to Aya. He stroked her cheek with a rough, warm hand.
Aya recognized the eyes and the snow-white hair peeking from underneath the hat. She’d seen it many times on the wanted-posters all over Sandrock. She turned her head away and regretted it instantly. The movement made her dizzy and nauseous, which luckily dissipated soon. She tried to focus her gaze on the man.
“You… are the cri… criminal,” she stammered, her brain full of drug-induced fog. Aya tried to kick, but only managed to scrape her heels against the mattress.
“Am I?” asked the man with an amused voice and pulled out a knife. He pressed the cold blade against Aya’s cheek and caressed her jaw and neck with it. The blade pressed against her artery just hard enough to not draw blood. “Are ya sure you know me? Blink for no.”
Aya blinked as fast as she could. The man, who was indeed Logan, laughed.
“That’s what I thought. Now, what should we do?”
Still holding the knife against Aya’s neck he pulled the hem of her shirt up to look at her. Next to him Aya mumbled him to stop and tried to turn away from his touch. It didn’t cost Logan any effort at all to keep the drugged woman in place. Ignoring Aya’s pleas he pulled the shirt up to reveal her tummy and the undersides of her breast. He sucked in a breath in appreciation: she was so helpless, and so gorgeous!. Grinning, he reached under the shirt and pinched a naked nipple.
Aya gasped. The touch sent unexpected waves of warmth radiating from her breast to the rest of her body. She could feel her nipple growing hard, as if it was reaching out for more.
Logan crouched down. The rim of his hat tickled Aya’s collarbone just before a wet tongue glided over her breast, circling the nipple but never touching it. Her other breast was cupped and massaged. Aya’s back arched to press her breasts tighter against the man’s touch, which made him chuckle. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked with a smile. “Darn, Fang’s mix really did a number on you.”
Certain in the knowledge that Aya was both pacified and extremely aroused by the drugs Logan placed the knife on the ground. Without any haste he opened Aya’s belt buckle, her zipper and pulled her pants halfway down her legs. His eyes gleamed as he saw the small hills of her hip bones and the secret valleys next to them, leading down towards her holiest spot. Logan ran his fingers over her tummy and thighs. He was again avoiding the one part Aya wanted to be touched.
The rugged hand rubbed her inner thigh. When his fingers spread out, they sent almost electrical shocks through her body. A fingertip brushed the canvas of Aya’s underwear. She whimpered in surprise of the ecstasy even that short, gentle touch brought. Logan saw her reaction and ran his hand over the warm and moist line in the middle of her panties, pressing harder every time his finger traveled over her cl*t.
Aya’s brain was nothing but need. Each touch made her shiver with pleasure, which she was not capable of denying. Her face grew hot from embarrassment and lust. For years she thought herself incapable of such reactions, yet here she was, locked in a basem*nt and yearning for more. Some small part of her tried to tell her it was wrong, all wrong… but then Logan would rub her and she felt her puss* get wet from sheer anticipation.
She closed her eyes to shut out the reality and to shut up the reasonable part of her brain. All she wanted was Logan inside her.
She felt her own hand being grabbed and placed on her moist underwear. “Keep yourself busy for a moment, darlin’,” she heard and eagerly reached under her panties. She started to massage herself - something she never did, as it was Wrong and Shameful. There was the rustling of clothes and then a demanding voice. It said: “Look at me.”
She did. Logan stood next to her, naked except for his mask, scarf and his horned hat. While Aya registered the muscular legs, the tight abs, the strong arms and the light, curly hair on his chest her eyes were drawn to the proudly erect member between his legs. Her fingers, still massaging her cl*t, became slick with her juices as she hungrily admired the man who would soon rape her.
“I ain’t asking if you want me,” Logan growled, his voice thick. “You’re practically begging for it, aren’t you, little slu*t?”
Aya had forgotten if blinking was yes or no. She breathed quickly and looked at Logan with pleading eyes. The tiniest part of her brain which was still unaffected by drugs was now very much affected by the pure, animalistic sex appeal Logan had. “I…”
“You what?” asked Logan and kneeled down. He pulled Aya’s pants and underwear down and threw them in the corner.
“I… want you,” Aya breathed, ashamed and needy at the same time.
Logan pressed two fingers against her opening. “You’re so tight… Try to relax, it’ll hurt less.”
He moved his fingers up and down to stretch her, and smiled as Aya tried to weakly push herself against him. The drugs made all her movements clumsy and slow. It was still clear how desperately she tried to get those fingers deeper into her.
“Spread your legs.”
Logan positioned himself on top of Aya, who barely was able to pull her knees up just long enough to let Logan enter her. When the hard co*ck glided into her wet opening she moaned out loud. Whether it was the drugs or Logan she would never know, but the pleasure and pain combined were almost unbearable from the start. Each thrust sent waves of lust through her, and every time he pulled out she yearned for more.
“Don’t hold back, darlin’”, he suggested, and pulled himself entirely out of her just to ram his co*ck in hard and deep. His balls smacked against her with a meaty sound.
Aya moaned. It wasn’t that practiced, sexy moan she had always done to please her partners, but something more primal which escaped her lips out of its own volition. She tried to wrap her arms around Logan. They fell listlessly back on the mattress, and the swaying motion of their sex was making her dizzy again. Each thrust made her legs shake and the chain clank rhythmically against the floor.
She closed her eyes.
One sense thus blocked her brain tried to compensate by focusing even more on touch and sound. She heard Logan’s shallow breaths and the soggy sounds coming from below their navels. As he f*cked her, Aya thought her body was being split in two with the sweetest, most exquisite pleasure she had ever felt. She lost all control of her body. A wave after wave of heat crashed over her every time Logan entered her.
The man picked up his pace. “Shout my name,” he commanded. “I want even Fang to hear you.”
“Lo… gan…” tried Aya. Her tongue felt thick and it was hard to think. Her limp body was being brutally used and now something was being demanded from her mind, too.
Logan rammed himself inside her with such violence that she yelped with sweet pain, and tried harder: “Logan!”
“Good girl.”
The co*ck was now pistoning her hard and fast. Aya’s breath was ragged and her entire body shook helplessly under Logan. The pressure inside her was increasing by the second, and she knew it was wrong, her brain said stop and her body screamed for more…
Her body won. “Ahh…Logan!” she screamed and lost the last track of reality.
When she opened her eyes again Logan was standing up with his back turned to her. He seemed to be pulling his belt tight and fastening his cape, but with her still blurry vision it was hard to be sure. Weakly Aya tried to reach for a bottle of water. Her wobbly hand pushed the bottle over and it rolled out of her reach.
Logan turned and kicked the bottle towards her. “I gotta say, Fang really earned his pay this time. This should do it.” He placed a fresh-smelling bundle on the table near the door.
Herbs. I am worth a bundle of herbs, Aya thought distantly. Her mind felt like syrup and she could not judge or associate any emotions to the thought.
Logan turned for a moment to glance at her naked body and at the now dirty mattress. A wet stain had seeped into the canvas between Aya’s legs. “As for you, girl: Get yourself cleaned up. Fang doesn’t like to have to do it himself.”
“Aya. My name… is Aya.”
Logan shrugged and left the room, closing the door behind him. Laying on the mattress Aya breathed through her nose and frowned at a metallic smell. Slowly, painstakingly she brought her hand between her legs and touched the wetness. Her fingers came back red with blood.
She passed out.
