Marrin Deserves a Snuff License, Chapter 6 [F/ffff, psychological torture, stabbing, necro]

The two that stewardesses I chose on a whim follow me out of the lounge car, clutching each other so tightly that it's a wonder they can manage to walk at all. We leave the body of one of their coworkers behind with the two survivors of my lust. Whether or not they'll stay survivors depends on whether this plan goes the way I want or not.

There's not a sound from my two captives but quiet whimpering as we walk through the stewardess bedrooms. There are a good handful more beds than stewards on this trip, even before you subtract the at-least-one employees who won't be needing one tonight. The occupied beds have a few personal effects strewn across them, but I don't pay mind to any of that. My purpose is single-minded right now, and there's only one car left before the engine. Even if this train is antique enough to have a human engineer, which I'm not sure either way on, I'd like to get where I want to go, so killing her would be out of the question. The last car on my trip, then, is the office of the Kuriszlav Stewardship Service captain. She'll be less of my captives' boss, and more their manager, but it'll have to do. Authority is authority — I've certainly taught myself that lesson recently.

"What are we coming here for...?" the black-haired steward ventures, but I ignore her, shifting behind her so the two of them can enter before me. She'll find out soon enough.

We enter the office, and the captain immediately leaps to her feet. She's surprisingly young for her station, probably around my age — shame, usually they're milfs. I'd pictured it that way when I came up the idea, but I'm sure this woman can recite the script I have in mind for her well enough. She a head and a half shorter than me, with cyan hair in a professional bob. She has medium-toned skin, glasses. a round face, and a youthfulness to how she emotes, extending to shock, fear, and anger as I march into the room. The office itself is, honestly, quite plain and boring.

"What in the nine hells — get out of here, this area is off-limits! Why are you —" She trails off, and I give her a moment for the realization to set in without having to flash my aura and make it obvious.

She slaps herself on the forehead with a leather-gloved hand. "Oh, fucking hell, this is just my bleedin' luck, ain't it? You're that snuff-card maniac. Look, whatever grievance you have with my staff, we can talk this out in a way that leave me with a working staff, can't we?" She sighs heavily and sits back down. I shove the two girls towards her; one of them catches her balance to go around the desk, but the other trips and sprawls herself across the top of the desk, sending the captain's paperwork everywhere. She starts and stifles a growl of frustration as I take the seat opposite her.

"I don't have a problem with the staff," I assure her, kicking my feet up on the desk as my aura flickers to life, tongues of lavender flame lapping at the edges of my body in playful lilting patterns. I smack the defender's baton in my palm as I sit, staring the captain down. "They've been nothing short of wonderful. Timely service, terrified obedience, cute deaths. Sample size of one on that last one, but..." I let the sentence fall there, a dark chuckle bubbling up from my throat. I got distracted by the idea of myself there, for a moment all caught up in how much power I exude in this moment and simply how cool I look. Gods, why did no one ever tell me being evil was fun?

"Please get to the point, O Dark Goddess of Cruelest Death," she deadpans at me. Her sarcasm holds no leverage over me; I know she's just grasping for what little control she can get, that she's bothering to maintain her composure just to cling to some semblance of importance and protection her captain rank is supposed to afford her. We'll see if she can keep it in just a moment.

I get to the point. "Kill the two of them, or yourself. Whichever you prefer. If you kill them, you live; if you kill yourself, they live. Got it?" I slip my left hand into my shorts pocket and extract my switchblade, a bit of Fiin's blood still crusted on it, and toss it to her, then return to drumming out the steady beat of the baton hitting flesh.

The stewardess with navy hair screams and clambers off the desk, and the other turns to the captain and begs "Please don't, please don't, please don't..." over and over, falling to her knees.

I stand up, giving the three of them a bit of space, and giving me the time to go for my gun if the captain tries anything funny.

"This is absurd! Just because you're legally allowed to kill doesn't mean you can make me commit murder!" She holds the knife at arm's-length, as if it will bite her if she brings it closer.

"You're under duress. You're being threatened and coerced. This is my crime, you're an unwitting accessory. If that's what you need to hear to slaughter your employees in cold blood, then be my guest. The floor is yours." My tone is explanatory before anything else, perhaps a bit annoyed, as if I'd been though this song and dance countless times. I lean up against the wall — I thought the utter confidence would be an act on some level, that I'd be playing a character more than not when living out these power fantasies over my victims, but it's coming far more naturally than I would have suspected. It doesn't feel at all like it's been less than 12 hours since this license was issued to me.

The captain looks at her desperate employees, back and forth between the two of them. She pushes the begging one away from her, stepping back, and snaps at the woman: "Stop begging! You're asking me to kill myself!"

"There's no third option," I say, blasé, as her eyes dart to mine. "If you don't choose, you all three die. And I'd really rather you make your choice soon."

The captain backs away from her stewards further as they reach out for her, until her back hits the far wall. She extends the blade of the knife, and waves it at the girls to ward them off.

"Threatening them is a good start," I call. "Now escalate that!"

She makes a rude gesture my way. "How do you possibly expect someone to make a decision like this?"

"Under threat of death, mainly. This isn't, like, a game I pull out at parties. Now come on. Five seconds."

The captain stammers for a moment as I start to count down, then stands up straight and steels her resolve. As I say "two", she stabs forwards at the begging girl, but the steward successfully, albeit clumsily, bats her arm aside and bites down on her forearm. She cries out and drops the knife; the begging girl grabs it as it falls, and through tears, drives it into her captain's chest. She pulls it out and stabs her again in the chest, then a third time into the underside of the chin. She falls back, collapsing hard onto her ass as she buries her face in her hands; the captain slumps against the wall, eyes fluttering shut. The navy-haired girl is curled up under the captain's desk.

I take the few short steps towards the other side of the desk, until I'm standing over the black-haired girl sobbing over the death of a boss I'm sure she hated. I meet navy girl's petrified expression, and wave her towards the door. "You can go. I'm about to kill your friend, I doubt you want to watch that. You're gonna live, go have fun with that." Her mind surely more fear that conscious thought, she stands up, face a mask of shocked confusion, and wordlessly makes an exit, not sharing a goodbye with the girl she was so avidly making out with earlier. I wonder what the relationship going on there was like, whatever it was.

When I mention killing her, the sobbing girl shrieks. "WHAT?! B-but she's dead!!" She shouts, her fury muffled in her hands.

"You got to go free if she killed herself, honey," I say, letting out a small grunt of effort as I pull my knife from the captain's head. "You killed her, so I get to do whatever I want with you. I let the other girl go 'cause she didn't do anything, it's not her fault the deal got broken." I place my foot on her chest and force her fully onto her back, instead of an awkward sit-up position. It's amazing — I would have thought the sobbing made even the most hardened killers feel a little bad, but feeling this girl heave with horrified despair beneath me does nothing but stoke my lavender hunger and work me up further into the heady pink haze of constant arousal I've been drifting in since at least the dragoon and her friends.

I stomp on her wrists before she can say anything, forcing her hands off her face, then stomp on her face. I feel her nose break beneath my boot — holy fuck, that feels amazing, it's like popping your back times twenty — and hear her head snap against the floor.

She's about to say something, but whatever it is, it won't matter to me; I raise my foot one more time, and stomp down on her throat. I feel it crush under my sole, though the satisfying snaps of her vertebrae don't come. I must not have hit it hard enough, or maybe I came at it with the wrong angle. Oh well, I'm sure when I get it right it'll feel like cumming. The girl gasps for air that can't get through her collapsed trachea, and as she arches her back and scratches at her throat fighting for scraps of air, I leave her to her suffering. I proved one thing to myself in there: bosses are, if anything, even more evil than I thought. She didn't even seem to consider killing herself to save her subordinates. It's what I would've bet on, but it's chilling to see things laid out that plainly for you.

I hope the navy-haired girl finds a better job after this.

---

I pass back through the bedrooms, and into the lounge, where the three survivors are huddled together on the couch, not speaking or watching anything, a blanket draped over the auburn-haired girl whose skull I crushed. "I'm on my way out," I tell them as I enter, hands raised in a gesture of peace. "You're safe. I promise." They watch me as I pass, like paintings with eyes that follow you, but I keep my word and exit out into the showers. Three die, three live, and the fate of the girl I stabbed in the leg is still up in the air. I'm excited to see which way that coin lands. I search my feelings for anything related to leaving the other three stewards alive, but I find myself shockingly indifferent; leaving no survivors is an incredible sense of completion, the quiet that fades after everything is beautiful, but leaving survivors in shock, horrified and traumatized, never to forget about what they saw me do, there's a lot to get off to there, too. The second most permanent thing you can do to someone after killing them is making sure you're wedged into their psyche like a shard of glass until the day they die.

None of the showers are occupied. I've worked up a bit of a sweat, and retrieving my knife got me a little bloody, but I'm not going to shower now just to work myself up again killing Renzen and Zel. Plus, if I showered now I'd want to get off, and I don't want to get myself off when there are plenty of girls on this train willing to lend me their bodies, living or dead. I rinse the blood off my arms with a sink, then pass through into the empty passenger lounge and pour myself a stiff drink. Technically my license doesn't cover theft, but who's going to give me hell about that, really? I quaff it and return to the long line of passenger cars, a little less stable on my feet, but not remotely weakened in my convictions. I've got two more kills set in stone. That would be 13 for the day. If the stewardess I stabbed needs to die, that'll be 14, and if she doesn't, I don't really want to end on 13, so I'll just give myself a free space that may or may not need to be filled. And if a really good opportunity shows up, 15 is satisfying number to end up on, too.

It doesn't surprise me that most beds I pass on the way back are darkened, their residents squirreled away from the looming threat that stalks the halls. I don't see anyone for most of my return trip, and I'm just starting to wonder what I'm going to do if Renzen and Zel are locked away like that when I reach their room. It turns out they are, two different beds set to darkness and no signs of life visible or audible. I do really hope one of them is jerking off in there and feeling awful about it. Maybe they both are, equally glad the soundproof bed-doors let them shout each others' names as loudly as they want...

I shake my head. Get your mind out of the gutter, Marrin. What am I going to do about these two?

They'll have to disembark tomorrow. The New Yetocziberk stop is before Velzstod, so I should be able to get them when they're getting ready, or even getting off the train. I'll just have to not sleep through my alarm. And worst-case scenario, I feel a little guilty and uncertain for a few days, they're trying and failing to scrub today from their minds every time they think about sex. Should I include that in my running tally? How much trauma adds up to one kill's worth of misery?

I'm back in my room before I know it. Return trips always feel shorter. The moment the door closes behind me, I strip to nothing, tossing my clothes on my bed. I fall back against the wall with a heavy sigh of exhausted relief, one hand running through my dampened hair as the other autonomously finds its way to my cock. But why would I touch myself in here of all rooms? I saved myself something special for this very occasion. I bid Fiin's bed to open, and I'm blasted with the frigid, body-preserving air I forgot I set her bed to. Why do they even let you set the thermostat so low? Someone's liable to freeze to death in their sleep. Actually, is there a way I could lock a bed shut from the outside and test that? I'd love to curl up in my bed tonight, drifting off to sleep with the gentle satisfaction of knowing that someone else is slowly but surely freezing with each breath I take.

I'll think about it later. I grab the bottle of lube I brought, crawl into Fiin's bed and shut the door again, leaving it frosted, like it might well have from the temperature alone. I'm shivering already as I look down at Fiin's corpse, splayed how I left her, a frigid pool of her blood soaked into the sheets around her head. It's damn cold in here, but I've been running hot for at least two hours now, and I'm about to make myself warmer. I wrap my arms around her, marveling at the way her body shifts beneath my grip, the way her skin feels, all the warmth and colour of life drained from it, the way her head lolls...

If you think you know what handling a corpse is like, you're probably wrong, given how I thought I did and I'm being proven wrong now. My mind is fully aware the thing we're handling is a human, and this is the first time I've ever really interacted with a human who wasn't alive, so even despite my massacre today, my subconscious is fully expecting this experience to match every other data point it has and involve a living person on the other end. When you touch a body certain ways, you expect to feel it move and respond in particular ways in kind. Even when someone is asleep or unconscious, there's a sense of give to how they move, their body adjusting ever so slightly for your hands. And even if someone is truly comatose, not remotely responsive, you're still hearing their breathing, feeling their chest moving, sensing the warmth pulsing beneath their skin.

When they're dead... a corpse is nothing but an inanimate object, so I could double down on that half of the experience to square this circle, sure. Of course an inanimate object isn't going to adjust itself to your touch, or have a subconscious that can account for the nature of the situation. But if I go down that mental pathway to make moving this body feel less strange... there aren't inanimate objects that feel like bodies! Even a slab of meat is different, lacking skin and articulation and any visual semblance of Being A Full Body.

There's no way to cleanse this uncanny discomfort but more practice, I think. People who handle bodies for a living surely get used to it. Good thing I can practice as much as I want.

I get Fiin positioned how I want her: on her belly, face pressed into the mattress. I consider foreplay for a moment, but most of what I'd want to do is on her front and I can't be assed to roll her back over at this point. Plus, it would feel really weird doing that, I think; I have to get my sea legs with this whole necrophilia thing before I commit to, like, making out with a dead tongue or whatever. I lean over her, spread some lube over her cold body, line myself up, and slip into her pussy.

I kind of expected at least a little warmth to remain after only two hours, but I guess I set the thermostat too low. Still, with the lube I don't have anything to complain about, really; I've always liked a cold mouth when getting a blowjob, and this doesn't feel too different to that — really really good, in other words. I go back on my decision from moments ago and reach up to grope her tits as I press my hips into hers, letting out a long, rolling moan as I pump slowly within her, letting friction slowly warm the lube to get me back up to a manageable temperature. I can't quite tell how much I like how cold everything is right now or if I'm just enjoying the novelty, but I'm not saying no. I let my eyes close as I gently speed up, my hands speeding up their violent groping to match; visions of what I did to her earlier rise to greet me as I relish the contrast of my moans and her silence.

My shivering has stopped as I continue to desecrate this woman's corpse, and I bite down hard on her collarbone as I thrust into her with the sort of abandon only a partner you care nothing for can evoke. It's disappointing that she's not here to scream when I bite her, but the taste of her pallid, frosty skin against my tongue drives me deeper into my feral breeding frenzy. The visions in my head quickly give way to an out-of-order series of memories of the day at large; I feel arousal jolting in my abdomen like a jagged shiv of pleasure each time I remember a new heinous act I wrought today, and my knees give out and I collapse in howling bliss as I shoot load after load into Fiin's cold, uncaring body in honour of all the nameless women I slaughtered today without bothering to get off with after.

"Kept my promise, didn't I~?" I mewl in Fiin's ear as I force myself to get up. I know that if I lay there for too long, I won't have the strength to get up, and as nice as cuddling a corpse genuinely does sound as a sleeping arrangement, I don't want to wake up hypothermic. I stroke out the last few motes of cum onto Fiin's back, stumble out of her bed, close it, and fall into mine like a building being demolished. I barely have time to close the door and set an alarm on my phone before I'm asleep. Tomorrow, the fun part must reluctantly come to a close. Tomorrow, I'll have to kill people who may well try to kill me back. Tomorrow, I'll have to save my sister from people who have been doing terrible things far longer than me, in the name of something far more hideous than having some fun. But for tonight, I dream of carnage.