Power Over Me

Year 3046

The Wilds (Previously Vancouver, BC)

Nixon Atlas

I am fucked. And not in the way I would generally like to be fucked, either. My tongue is like sandpaper across the roof of my mouth. Blood is congealed on the side of my face, the cut already healed. My ribs throb, so I am guessing those are still broken, but at least on the mend.

I fucking hate humans. Cunning, sly bastards that also can’t find their way out of a wet paper bag. And yet, my race is in dire need of them to survive. Their women, at least. The men could all go fuck off for all I cared. We just need wombs at our disposal to produce as many offspring as possible.

I am not too keen on this whole Breeding Rights Act that was imposed across the sea in Sardone. I am, however, not one to argue with such skyrocketing prices for said wombs. As a rogue extractor, my job is rather simple; find the highest bid out of all the socialites and scientists, choose one, trek into the Wilds, and catch a human female. Simple. Easy. A new branch to my job, but one that would pay a rather hefty price.

Of course, the first time out to find a female, I’d been ambushed, and not by Hybrids. No, these fucking humans are smarter than we give them credit for, and I hate it. I am in a dank, chilly cell, my wrists chained to the concrete wall behind me. In the corner is a bucket for me to shit in, I suppose, but I can’t shit if I can’t eat.

If they wanted to kill me, they already would have. I think they want information. I feel a sly smirk creep across my face. I’ll give them whatever information they want—and it will lead them all to their destruction.

There is an empty cell across from me, and to my right another, though it is also empty and separated by a concrete wall. To my left is a small barred window. It is dusk, the sunset fading from its glorious red to a cool grey.

I hear the metallic scrape of a door opening. I know I am their only prisoner at the moment, but maybe they are dragging some other poor fucker in here as well. With two Erathians, we’d escape easily. But just me…well, it won’t be as easy as I’d like it to be.

I miss my bed. I miss my home, up in the woods, away from all the bullshit. I miss going to the bars and bringing home random women to fuck. None of them can handle my darker fantasies, though, so I guess I don’t miss every aspect of freedom. How ironic that I am now the one in chains, when I so enjoy tying up the weaker sex.

I sigh, propping my shoulders against the icy wall as water drips to the floor in rhythmic bursts. Small, light footsteps reach my ears, along with the frantic fluttering of a nervous heart. I can always tell when someone is afraid, and whoever is approaching right now is petrified. I smirk. Good. I’ll use their fear to my advantage.

The footsteps slow and then stop, the human just out of my eyesight. I frown, annoyed. I haven’t seen another person in three days. Not that I am one to usually enjoy company of any sort, but still. Staring at grey walls is mind numbingly boring.

Something slides across the floor, interrupting the never-ending silence. I watch with keen eyes as a pie tin skids to a stop right in front of the bars of my cell. The food on it are scraps—chicken bones, an apple core, a hunk of moldy bread. I glare at the tin in mounting annoyance.

“Seriously?” I hiss to the gathering darkness. The heartbeat is still there, hammering away, but the human refuses to come any closer. I shake my head, thudding it against the wall behind me. At least someone is still scared of me. I know I am tall for an Erathian, built like a bear, but my gaze always trips even my own kind up. They often think I am a halfbreed because of the icy, grey hues of my eyes, but I am not.

The heartbeats calm a fraction, and I know I need to be suave if I am to find a way out of here. Maybe it will be a female. I know how to charm the pants off anyone. Getting a set of keys should be no trouble at all.

“You gonna at least push it closer so I can reach?” I say, keeping my tone light as possible. It is difficult, considering how deep my voice is, and the way this place echoes isn’t helping me sound less menacing. The heartbeats jump into a frenzy once more. I pinch my eyes closed, breathing slow through my nose to quell my frustration. I was always told I had a short temper. Probably from my fuck-up of a father who beat the shit out of me every chance he got.

“Please? I’m kind of hungry, here,” I try again. I hear a small intake of breath, as though this human is mustering their courage. I pry my eyes open, squinting into the darkness. A small, shaking hand reaches out around the concrete wall obstructing my view, pale as moonlight, the arm thin, starved. I can see the violet of their veins winding up and disappearing into an ill fitting sleeve.

The human nudges the tin a tad closer, but it is not enough.

“If you don’t understand, I’m chained to the wall. Can’t really move that far,” I say, the sarcasm clear in my voice. I frown, waiting what feels an eternity, but soon the hand reappears, and with it a bony shoulder, and then a torso. She dashes into view quick as a fox, her flame of orange hair bright as it clashes with all the grey. She is thin, tiny—hungry, her clothes falling from her bones like scraps of fabric draped over branches.

She shoves the tin, hard, and it slides under the small gap of my cell door. My eyes remain stuck on her, though. She backs away just as quickly, but she collides with the opposite cell, making the bars rattle. She jumps, a frightened little thing, and hugs herself, reaching up to tuck a wild strand of wavy hair behind her ear. I study her, intrigued. I’ve only seen humans in my own society—enslaved, submissive, broken. The way they should be.

Here she is in the Wilds, just as meek, just as broken. It is clear by her demeanor she is forced to do menial tasks. She is weak. She will be easy to influence. I try to keep my smile gentle and not overly excited.

Her wide eyes stare unblinkingly at me, her face shocked, frightened. It is then, as I hone in on her round eyes, that I notice they are two completely different colors. The left is an icy blue, while the right is the same shade, only almost half of it is another color—a deep, rust-hued brown.

I am taken aback. I have never seen anything like this before, and it is intriguing. I feel my smile grow warmer.

“Thanks, doll,” I say with a wink. Her cheeks bloom crimson, and she twists her thin hands together nervously. I wait, patient, wondering if she will find the courage to speak. Maybe if I attempt to get to know her…

“What’s your name? I’m Nixon, you can call me Nix, though,” I say, still keeping my voice smooth. I don’t see any keys on her, but I know that she knows where she can get them. She shivers, her heartbeats refusing to calm down. Outside, the wind begins to pick up.

She just stands and stares, twisting her hands, her fear deep-rooted and obvious. I cock my head to the side as I try to figure out which angle is best to approach this. Eventually, the silence grows unnerving.

“Name?” I say, more biting than I intended to sound. She jumps, giving a little squeak of fright, and flees the same way she came. I grunt in annoyance, the door slamming closed, sealing me in once more.

At least I now have the company of some bones and moldy bread.