There is a young girl behind me. I find her quite beautiful, but she has a pureness abut her that prevents me from soiling her that way I would other women. I am incapable of rape in the sense that I may impregnate or pass along disease but, more importantly, as far as I can tell I cannot bring any real physical harm to women. I am sure this is a hold over from my previous life, a past existence that seems to rear its head subconsciously when I am at my most violent. This however does not stop me from defiling people.

The girl's name is Cherub, and she is like me. Not in action or motive, but in build. She too is a BioSuit, though I am only vaguely aware of what that is. I rescued her, much as I had rescued myself previous to that. She was trapped in a frozen prison, and I freed her from that. She told me her name was Elle, but I still call her Cherub, because that is what she is to me. She is docile so she doesn't protest.

I make her tag along with me on my nightly violence orgies. I'm not entirely sure why, but I think it is to bond with her, in some way. Since she came, I no longer sleep with Ruby. Ruby was a familiar warm body. I want to make Elle something more. At the same time, I want to be utterly and irrevocably in control.

We prowl the streets, which is to say I prowl the streets while Cherub walks behind me, stepping quickly while her skirt, which falls to the ground, swishes this way and that in an effort to keep up with my long strides. We are in a residential area, middle class, it is surprisingly clean considering how the condition of the city has been declining recently. I have chosen this place because the industrial areas stay mostly empty at night, thanks to yours truly.

This night, I want to see the flesh of a woman. I suppose I can see all the flesh I want at the club, but this is different. Whereas I am given it at the club, here in people's homes I take it. This satisfies the cruel, dark nasty parts of my insides. It also serves as a way to poke at that hidden part of me, which awakens during my greatest atrocities.

Cherub is silent, as always.

I see a woman a ways up the street. She has a daughter, approximately 14 or 15, and they are getting out of a car. She is chatting quietly and happily with her daughter when she sees me, stalking towards her. Her face becomes akin to a deer's in headlights, to use a worn out phrase, and stops dead. She has to physically shake herself and without a moment's hesitation she grabs her daughter by the arm and rushes inside.

I smile. It looks like I have found playmates.

I make no indication to Cherub as I angle towards the woman's house, but she knows my intention. It is unlikely I would get a similarly tempting opportunity if I spent all night out here. I'm sure she'd hate to admit it to herself, but Cherub knows how I think.

I traverse the cement walkway up to the woman's door, a thin blue thing attached to a recently made and thus fragile looking two story home. I rapped smartly on the door, not expecting an answer but refusing to break protocol. I hear something beyond the door, but no move is made to unlock it. I knock again. Still nothing.

I twist the knob off the door. There is a dead bolt in use as well, continuing to prevent access. I take my sabre and jab it between the frame and the door. I slide it from top to bottom, severing any locking mechanisms the woman may have employed with green fire.

I let myself in.

The woman is cowering there, with a baseball bat in her hands. She swings at me but I grab it with one hand and wrench it from her grip. I pin both of her wrists together with one hand and this time I do gesture to Cherub, who is still standing in the doorway, expressionless. She neither approves nor condemns my actions. She only bears witness to them. At my behest, she takes the duffle bag that is slung across her shoulders and pulls from it an alternate left arm. With the women held with my right hand, Cherub detaches my prosthetic claw on my left side, which hisses as the bolts decompress on the shoulder, and replaces it with a flesh and blood one, something I had made off with when I rescued her.

"Pull out the tape." I tell her in crisp, emotionless tones.

I drag the woman to what has to be the living room. There is a long wooden coffee table that will work out well. I lay her there, and Cherub begins to tape her down. The woman is struggling, and she kicks out at Cherub. I grab both of her legs with my other hand and pin her completely. Cherub finishes taping her down, using maybe a quarter of what was a full roll of duct tape. The woman is screaming. I tape her mouth.

There is a gasp that escapes from Cherub as the woman's daughter appears. In her hand is a tazer. She lunges at me, but I slap her attack away with an ease that is almost laughable. The weapon flies, still snapping angrily for a moment, into the corner. I tape her mouth and instruct Cherub to hold her back. Though Cherub is a small girl, her out of place robotic arms are more than up the task of holding a girl physically younger than herself.

At this point both the mother and her daughter are sobbing.

I tell Cherub to leave the room with the girl. She doesn't even nod as she complies.

I finally take a look down at my prey.

Unabashedly, she is incredibly attractive. She must have had her daughter relatively young, because she could easily pass for someone in their mid twenties, though with my trained eye I knew she was somewhere in the vicinity of 34. She had a medium bust, red lips, and long legs. She was approximately 5'7".

In a burst of movement I hop onto the table, crouching over her, then straddling her. I look her in the eye without expression on my face--not even so much as an insane grin, which I'm sure most of you would expect me to have at this point. For several minutes, I stay like this, unblinking. She jams her eyes closed, buckets of tears pouring down the side of her face. Her hair is brown, as are her now closed eyes.

Soon, I lower my face, so it looks like I'm just about to press my lips against the tape on her mouth. Instead, I fake her out, and move my mouth next to her ear.

"I am not going to rape you." I tell here, drawing out the words, enunciating perfectly.

Her head turns swiftly to the side, surprisingly enough towards my face, so her shocked expression meets my calm one.

I lean back, and touch her toes. Her legs are struggling underneath the duct tape and underneath that are contained in black hosiery. Whether they were pantyhose or stockings I didn't know. I slowly drag my finger up her leg, over the curve of her hip, which is covered in a dark skirt, the kind you see in an office, and then up her belly. I pause slightly before her chest, and then trace my way over her bust and up her neck stopping at her chin.

"If you promise to be a good girl, this can be an..." I pause to choose an appropriate word, as well as to give a sort of dramatic flare to it all.

"...a bearable experience."

She nods frantically. I pull the tape from her mouth slowly, sensuously, though I doubt it feels that way to her.

"Please don't hurt my daughter!" She yells frantically as wetness continues drip down her cheeks.

Reassuringly, I place a finger to my mouth and shush her.

"She'll be fine."

I've passed into another stage of mine. Now I'm going to be chatty.

"You're very lucky. Since coming in the door I've had something of a change of heart."

The woman looks up to me, bewildered. I feel the false mask of cold properness slip away. My true personality begins to emerge, only slightly, in my casual words.

"I was going to rape you--" I have to pause at her renewed struggles.

"I said 'was', you ninny." I glare down at her like she had done something wrong. Somehow, under my glare, the way she reacts to looks to me like she felt she had.

"I was going to take a knife, or maybe just use my claws, though that would require me to have Cherub put one of my other arms back on, which seems like too much work in retrospect. Back to the subject, I was going to strip...every...single...piece of clothing from your body," I look her up and down and zoom in on her, centimeters from her body, "I wouldn't have left a scratch on your porcelain skin. While you sat in a panic, I would gaze over you, up and down, forcing you to wait while I decide what I should do with your trembling body. Eventually, I would drop to my knees, and move to touch your breasts, but stop at the last possible moment, torturing you with fear and anticipation, not knowing whether I would or wouldn't.

"I'd do this a number of times, and you would get more frustrated each time, until suddenly instead of pretending to grab your breasts I would reach out and clutch your sex, without forewarning or indication. I would rub you slowly, staring intro your fear stricken eyes while my fingers touched your most secret area. My other hand would creep, unnoticed, to your right breast where it would appear as if from thin air. I would squeeze you, and you would gasp as I worked deeper into you.

"Still, you would resist. You knew this was wrong and that I am a bad person, you would come to your senses and move, shake yourself, try to free yourself from my grasp, all the while noticing that while I look odd, I am strangely inviting, and that my fingers are still busily working between your bare legs. Imperceptibly, I would move closer to you, creeping around you until my face is at your core.

"Unbidden a moan of pleasure would escape your lips and you would be exhilarated and horrified at the same time while I defile you with my mouth, expertly manipulating the folds of your pink flesh. At the same time I would tiptoe with my finger across your belly, this way and that, like a marching soldier, pacing back and forth until eventually, inevitably, it arrived above my tongue, and it would assist my assault like any good military man would do. Your little nub would be poking out by now, despite your best efforts, and my little hand's draftee would interrogate it, working it raw."

Finally I pause, just long enough for her to try and formulate a response, but not long enough for her to try and voice it.

"You might think that no matter the situation, you would not get aroused during forced sex. However, you must be aware, somewhere deep in the back of your human skull, that this is not the first time I would have done this, and that, if my monolog is any sort of indication, I am very self assured of my abilities. Do not doubt that if I really wanted to, I could have you wrapped around my finger."

Another pause for effect.

"Figuratively and literally, of course." I say.

I turn back to her, smiling.

"But now you don't have to worry! I'm pleased with this situation more than you know, and I didn't even have to make you filthy with my presence."

I snap my fingers and do a little spin, clicking my heals. This must be very frustrating for her, but I swear that my sides are on the verge of splitting, dumping my insides across the floor. I can hardly contain bouts of laughter.

"Now, if you're a good girl, "

I turn and point to her, winking,

"and I know I used that phrase already but it still applies,"

I begin to dance in place,

"If you're a good girl, and don't scream, or try and hit me, or hurt my precious little friend with your daughter in the other room, we can have a grand old dinner, and we'll eat and laugh, and after that, I'll leave, and you'll never see me again."

I decide the light in her eyes is a little too bright so I add,

"Probably."