Stanislawa Jurkowska tore out the drawers to her desk desperately. Where was the gun? Where the hell? She never thought this day would come, but the gunfire and screams kept getting closer and closer. Why had father been so stupid to try to defy the Armstrong Corporation? She tried, hopelessly, to call the Tetsuo family representative in charge of their acquisition. Her comm let out a dead tone, then its AI “helpfully” reported “I’m sorry, I can’t make a call without a connection to the ansinet, try moving a few meters in any direction!”
She threw her comm at the wall in frustration. Father always told her there was a gun hidden in the desk if she needed it, and she needed it now. Even if just one charge or bullet was left in the damned thing…
The reinforced panic doors to her office shook, and bent, but took the impact of whatever god awful ballistic weapon the Armstrong mercs were trying to use to bust it down. A framed cover of Young Qiyejia magazine with her face on it fell to the floor, its case shattering. She picked it up, shaking.
“Stanislawa ‘Stasia’ Jurkowska: The Heir Apparent of Jurkowski Digital Entertainment Dreams Even Bigger”
The interview and photoshoot had been taken less than a year ago. The hype had been what pushed father to try to find a more accommodating great house sponsor…
The door shook again, again holding, but just barely. Armstrong wasn’t fucking around. Stasia ripped the magazine cover from what was left of its frame, and hurled it, balled up, against the wall. It landed on her broken comm. She screamed in desperate frustration as she flipped the desk on it’s back and shook it, trying to jostle loose anything hidden.
Finally, the door gave. Stasia barely registered being thrown against the wall by the concussive blast. Two powesuited Armstrong mercenaries rushed in. Still dazed and disoriented, she tried to pull herself to her feet. The mercs were faster, and before she could pull herself together, her wrists were being pulled together behind her, and a bag pulled over her head. When the mercs had finished zip-cuffing her wrists and ankles, the arguing began. They spoke Anglic, either guessing incorrectly that she hadn’t obsessively studied all the major galactic languages, or possibly just slipping into their mother tongue out of habit.
“<Look, all I’m saying is, she’s a like, a real nice piece. Let’s have some fun before we bring her back brah>”
“<Don’t be a dumbass, kid. There’s like a 50/50 chance this is the real Vice President. If we… wait.. Ryan, what the hell are you…>”
The hammering pulse of a railgun went off, just before the heavy thud of a powersuited body hitting the floor, and the sloppy, moist splats of what was probably the older merc’s head.
“<Goddamn sick of your lectures old man.>”
Stasia heard the beeps and bloops of the merc tapping on his wrist comm.
“<Please, just cut me out and let me go. I am able to disable all these cameras and pay you more than they are for my freedhmmm…>” the bag tightened around her head, leaving only small holes near her nostrils for air, air that took all her might to pull in.
“Not taking you, just bring to bosses.” the merc switched to high school language credit grade slavic “If they no want, I keep you then, if they want, I will be getting enough money for buying three girls like you.”
The merc picked her up with one suit augmented arm and threw her over his shoulder. As he made his way down the hallway, Stasia could hear other railguns going off, and the screams of Jurkowsi security forces and employees being gunned down by the much more professional and better equipped Armstrong mercs. The smell of both the burnt chemical munitions of slug-throwing guns and the ozone from energy weapons were strong enough to penetrate the rubbery hood clinging to her face.
After several rounds of being carried down the rarely used stairs of the building, Stasia heard a broken and distorted version of the usual doorman AI try to croak out its emergency message, first in central, then slavic, anglic, and arabic.
“Thank you for your visit! Please do not u-u-use this egzzzzz——-”
The merc’s foot crunched on the broken glass of the front entrance. Stasia could hear the sirens of police forces only a few blocks away, but she knew they would be no use. The planetary government would never dare interfere in a corp dispute, especially to stand in the way of a great house like Armstrong Heavy Industries. They were probably just doing their best to keep civilians away from the carnage.
After a couple minutes of walking, she felt herself thrown down on a cold slab of some sort.
“<Hey boss, check this one out. Pretty sure she’s the real deal>”
Whoever her captor was addressing grunted enthusiastically, and she felt the pinch of a needle in her arm.
“<We’ll see. Where’s your partner?>” There was a barely audible hum of a computer just after the needle was withdrawn.
“<Ahhh… the old man got a little cocky, one of the ruskie bastards took him out.>”
“<Yeah, ye->.” the man testing her blood paused, and roughly ripped off the form-fitting hood. “<Well, fuck me, you got the one we were looking for. You sure your partner’s dead?>”
“<Yeah man, it was fucked. Head all blown up and shit.>”
Stasia blinked for a couple seconds, adjusting to the midday sunlight.
“<Please, listen. I can fix the entire misunderstanding!>” she belted out, as soon as she had got her bearings “<I ca-AAAugh!>”
One of the salaried Armstrong soldiers at the checkpoint, clearly not a merc, but a full time employee, grabbed her by the hair and pulled back hard. The techie who has just drawn her blood forced a nozzle into her mouth, filling it with rapidly expanding foam.
“<No, I cammmghhh…>” The soldier wrapped about a length of adhesive rubber around her mouth and jaw, trapping the cavity-filling foam in her mouth and turning her protests and attempts at negotiation to pathetic, whimpering moans.
“<That’s 2 million credits for Ryan Shiner.>” the techie pulled up a menu on his comm, and transferred the bounty after a few tedious authorizations. “<I’d say don’t spend it all in one place, but you mercs get a 50% discount on any captured Jurkowski staff, and some of the entertainment assets are pretty choice.>”
Stasia screamed into the foam filling her mouth, but all that came out was a muted whimper. This couldn’t be happening. As the merc swaggered off, she wrestled against her bonds, but only succeeded in rolling herself off the examination table, taking a short but painful fall to the asphalt below.
The techie clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “This is most unbecoming Miss…” he switched to central, but consulted his comm to pronounce her name “Sta-nyee-swa-va Yu-ro-kof-sky? I’ve been saving this just for you.”
He reached down, and clamped a cold, metal collar around her neck, she felt what had to be several dozen tiny needles jab into her from its rim when it latched, and a few beeps from the processor on the front of the thing. One of the soldiers reached down and pulled her to her feet by her hair, producing what would be screams of pain and indignation if Stasia’s mouth were free.
“Well, we can’t have that when you go to meet the VP!” The techie tapped his comm to the processor of the collar, then hit a button on his screen a few times.
With each tap, an elastic band inside the collar tightened around Stasia’s neck. Only able to breathe through her nose as it was, the constricting band quickly made her breath quick and labored, and as she panicked and it tightened more, she soon found her oxygen cut off entirely. Pleading with her eyes and the tiny whimpers she could manage, she tried to signal to the Armstrong tech that she wouldn’t give him any more trouble. After nearly a minute of agonizing, breathless begging, her vision narrowing and her limbs going limp, the pressure let up ever so slightly, just enough that she could breathe with a great deal of effort. To her surprise, one of the soldiers then cut the ties on her wrists and ankles.
“Now, Miss Jurokowski, I need you to strip.” a small, red light on the techie’s glasses indicated that her plight was being recorded.
Stasia shook her head, hesitantly, but was instantly punished as the collar cut off all airflow again. She clawed at the collar, but to no avail.
“That wasn’t a request.”
Stasia nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. She began to unbutton her shirt, hoping for a bit of respite, but as she got dizzy from lack of air she quickly ripped it off, and the collar once again loosened, just enough to let her stay conscious. She reached down, and began peeling off her sleek, reinforced leggings. When she paused to try to wipe the tears from her face, the collar tightened again. Stasia clawed at it for a moment, praying for a miracle. None came.
“Come on, I don’t have all day.” The techie casually pulled a riot prod from his workstation, and jabbed it between her ribs. Stasia shrieked, and finished undressing as quickly as she could.
As soon she as was done, the soldier roughly grabbed her arms, forcing each wrist into a cuff at the end of a long rigid metal bar. Jerking her back by her hair, he touched the center of the bar to the back of her collar, and she heard the click of an electromagnetic lock engaging. As she was being restrained, the techie took a decal gun, spraying the logo for Jurkowski Digital Entertainment across her chest.
“<You take it from here boss.>” the techie handed the soldier a lead attached to the collar “<Let the city know this campus is under new management, I’ve still got a lot of new Armstrong human resources to process.>”
The soldier took the lead, and hooked it to the back of a small armored car. When the engine started up, Stasia realized with horror that she was about to be pulled through the streets to the Armstrong landing craft by the vehicle. She shook her head in protest, and tried to pull away, but as soon as the car started moving, she was forced to stumble along behind it, or be dragged on the ground.
She heard the whirring of a drone hovering above her head. She looked up, only to see that it was projecting her official company publicity photo above her head. A couple seconds later, it began blaring out her name and title, first in Central, then in Slavic and finally Anglic.
“Presenting Chief Marketing Officer and Vice President of Jurkowski Digital Entertainment, Stanislawa Jurkowska! Look forward to new, exciting things from JDE as a full subsidiary of Armstrong Heavy Industries!”
Terrified civilians began to peek their heads out of doors and windows, as the fighting had now almost completely died down. The Jurkowski security forces hadn’t stood a chance, and those who hadn’t been simply cut down by the Armstrong mercenaries were being rounded up, cuffed, and processed along with the other employees. The streets outside the corporate campus were silent and mostly empty, except for Armstrong personnel and a few news drones, but she could feel the eyes of the soon to be former corporate subjects of her company watching her being dragged away to who knew what horrible fate the larger company had for “traitors”.
As she approached the Armstrong lander, and its waiting crew, she tried to squirm and cover herself as best she could, but with her arms held apart by the yoke, it was impossible. Finally, the soldier stopped the vehicle, climbed out, and unhooked her from it.
“Come on then.” The soldier gave Stasia a moment for one last look at the city. She was almost sure the only reason he did was to rub her fate in her face. In the distance she could see smoke rising from the Jurkowski corporate campus, as the lander door slowly slid shut. “<Ms. Haverford, the President didn’t survive the siege, but we have his heir.>”
“<Finally. I was beginning to think we were paying those lousy sellswords too much.>” A large, stern woman in a conservative suit and severe bun spun Stasia around, grabbing her by the chin and inspecting her. “<Only the whelp? Pity. The old man must have been smart enough to off himself.>”
Stasia screamed in both pain and anguish as the woman put her cigarillo out on her bare chest, but what came through the gag was little more than a pathetic moan.
“<What are you layabouts waiting for? Get her suited up. We’re already pushing deadline!>” The bigger woman roughly peeled off the tape covering Stasia’s mouth, and pulled the soaking foam out, as the soldiers undid her cuffs.
“<A-are you in charge? I can explain! We->”
“Quiet. Keep our tongue out from your mouth.” She pushed the nozzle of a water bottle between Stasia’s lips. “Drink.”
Stasia was parched from her march through the streets, and did as she was told. Too late, she noticed the taste of the narcotic in the water. Her head began to swim, and she felt her limbs weaken.
“Enjoy it while it lasts.”
“Wha-”
Before Stasia could get a word out, the woman slammed her fist into her solar plexus, and she doubled over, gasping. With cold efficiency, she shoved a hollow tube on a strap into Stasia’s mouth. Stasia, still catching her breath, could feel a cold belt being latched around her waist. With a start, as the belt was being closed, she felt protrusions on the belt enter her vagina and anus. She tried to struggle and protest, but the drugs made the former ineffective and the gag garbled her pleas.
As she went limp, the soldiers followed the Haverford’s orders, slipping a slick, rubbery bodysuit over Stasia. Once it was on, Haverford hit a few buttons on her comm, and it tightened, conforming to Stasia’s quaking body perfectly. She could feel the bite of dozens of small metal bits inside the suit, clustered around sensitive areas.
Finally, Ms. Haverford produced a hood, and a thick collar. The both were the same dark red color as the bodysuit. She pulled the hood over Stasia’s head, fitting the tube gag into a slot made for it. It fit tightly, encasing the captive executive’s full head, and temporarily cutting off her breathing entirely. Ms. Haverford then attached the collar, forcing Stasia’s chin painfully high, and making it impossible to open her mouth beyond the limits of the gag.
Desperate for air, Stasia squirmed, panicking, as the soldiers strapped her arms behind her and her legs together, then connecting the two. Finally, she felt something connect to the mask, and she could finally breathe, with a little effort. A display popped up in front of her eyes. She could see as if she was on the ceiling, looking down at her own body being rigged up into some sort of suspension system. Haverford looked up at the camera.
“<Enjoy the trip, sweetheart. The Vice-President will be very excited to see you.>”
Stasia tried to scream, beg, struggle, anything, but it was no use, she was completely immobile A sudden jolt ran through the electrodes throughout her suit, and into the belt, and she could see nothing but pulsing static. At the same time, white noise filled her ears. She barely even felt the lander take off.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/p0w6om/contract_renegotiation_part_1_of_2