Billie

 BILLIE

Billie grips the rusty door handle of the armored transport, feels the scorching Wasteland sun beating down on her dyed blue hair.  She squints her eyes, staring out at the surreal landscape unfolding before her.  Towering mutated trees with twisted trunks and sickly colored leaves line the makeshift road, their gnarled branches clawing at the sickly green sky.  The jungle buzzes with the distant cries of monstrous creatures.  She glances around at the motley crew of psychotic freaks and gutless hirelings packed into the vehicle with her.  Darklong, an imposing black brute, leers at some sick fantasy only he understands.  Mimi and Butch, the bulldyke lesbian duo, are busy doing what they do best - arguing loudly over something inconsequential.  Sketch nervously sketches in his journal, his unhinged drawings dancing across the page.  Billie shakes her head slowly.

She turns to eye roll at the idiots outside in the other rusted junkers, the "oomph" soldiers freshly recruited by Gutgash.  Most have the deer-in-headlights look of soon-to-be-cannon-fodder.  Billie was hitched up with these psychos and now she's not just along for the ride, she's a willing accomplice.  Whatever plans Trixie has in mind are sure to be propensity to brutality times infinity.

The closer they get to Queen Nymeria's palace, the more Billie's hollow emptiness gnaws at her insides.  She misses Wendy White.  She misses the princess.  She misses the way things used to be before reality crashed the party and left her with a poisonous streak and a bossy bitch bark which is really just her "mama bear" protectiveness turned inside out.  As if sensing her unease, Trixie turns from where she rides in the lead transport and screams something nonsensical to the group, lost in her own warped reality.  Billie takes a deep breath and grins a blown-out grin - a wild and dangerous smile - ready to embrace the horror tour of her companions.

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat at the thought of Gutgash's plan, her stomach churning as she imagines the impending massacre at Echo City University.  Five hundred of his goons attacking innocent graduates and their families... it's beyond sickening, even to a jaded mercenary like her.

Pawning off on her 'duties' here with Trixie was a mistake, and now she's stuck as an accomplice to multiple atrocities just over the horizon.  The guilt claws at her insides like one of the mutated jungle beasts.  Graduation day is supposed to be a joyous occasion, a celebration of a brighter tomorrow, not a slaughter-fest for Gutgash's sadistic lackeys.  Billie's mind flairs with the horrific images of young, fresh-eyed clasps trailing out from the ceremony into a sea of shouting, weapons-wielding maniacs.  Screaming, panic, terror, blood splattering the once-pristine robes... she shakes her head violently to dispel the nightmarish vision.

She knows damn well that not all of Gutgash's boys are as mentally unstable as Trixie's crew being sent to flatten the palace.  Some are just greedy, ruthless bastards who get off on power, same as half the corrupt fucks running Echo City.  Either way, an innocent once-in-a-lifetime moment for all those futures is about to be shattered into bloody oblivion.  The twisted lie of it all makes Billie want to scream.  A graduation massacre, a palace ambush... two sides of the same coin in this sick world.  And here she is, fucking with a bunch of psychos, aiding and abetting after abetting atrocity like the beta bitch she's become.  The bitter realization leaves a foul taste in her mouth.

The armored transport rumbles onward through the Wasteland, carrying its ill-fated passengers deeper into the untamed frontier.  Trixie and company are in the midst of a heated debate, their voices melding into a cacophony of crazed laughter, cruel taunts, and grandiose boasts.

"Betcha I can snap more necks than you with my bare hands!" Trixie crows, her eyes wild with unhinged glee.  "Fuck, I can't wait to paint those palace walls with the blood of that sand cunt Nymeria!"

Sketch let's out a guttural chuckle, his pencil flying manically across the page.

"There's an art to the perfect decapitation, isn't there?  Can't rush your canvas..."

Darklong grins, flashing a mouth full of metal.

"I'm tellin' ya, that Gutgash is a dumb motherfucker.  Wreaking that college on graduation day?  Heh, bet those snooty bitches shit their fancy panties!"

Mimi and Butch, ever the unbearable duo, launch into another cyclical screaming match.

"That's MY chair!  I called it first, ya lesbo hag!"

"You're both too fucking stupid to call a seat!"

Billie sits apart from the chaos, nodding along at the right moments while her mind drifts to the grisly memory of Acer, bloody and screaming, his severed arm in Trixie's clawed grip…

"No, no, you fucked up, you fucked up..."

She can't shake the grim notion that she's now more intimately entwined with this nightmarish band of brigands, their checkout hauler growing more decomposed with each mile.

Billie glances out at the hellish landscape, the sun sinking slowly beyond the horizon, the urgency to reach Nymeria's palace fading with the light.  They've got at least two more days in this intimate hell before they hit the Queen's domain... and two more days of this vile camaraderie and crazed ramblings.

Her gaze drifts to the darkening sky, and she's reminded of Wendy White, of a time before she turned herself into a beta bitch like Wendy, now something of a beta bitch herself. The hollowness makes Billie feels like she's trapped in a waking nightmare, her once-unshakable bearings outfoxed.  She's now canon fodder for the sadistic whims of a bossy bitch, forced to march towards annihilation with this ragtag crew of psychopaths and hirelings.  The weight of it all presses down on her like the gathering darkness.

Suddenly, Trixie falls silent, and with a jerk of her head, she nods to something in the distance. Billie squints, making out a line of approaching figures in the fading dusk.  Another gang, larger than theirs, is marching towards them across the jagged horizon.  Trixie flashes a gleeful grin. 

"Fools are early.  The great man himself..."

Billie swallows hard.  It must be one of the local warlords, male scum even in this land of depleted men.  Perhaps Cutter, with his rusted blade and hollow laughter?  Or maybe the depraved Rattlehead and his Fem-pits?  Or the mercurial Vizzeon?  No matter which piece of shit they encounter, it's sure to be a grim affair.

Trixie turns to the group, a feverish light in her eyes.

"Listen up, you dumb fucks. Play nice, or I'll gut you myself and feast on your bleeding entrails.  Ain't every day a gaggle of you get to rub elbows with a warlord, so you better fuckin' impress him."

Murmurs of agreement ripple through the transport.  Billie nods slowly, dreading the impending introduction to this fresh set of monsters.  She wonders darkly if they'll be granted any mercy once they reach Nymeria's palace after trudging through this gauntlet of sadists and killers.  Silently, Billie prays to a higher power that she won't be the one to fuck this up.  Somehow, she doubts that the merciless warlord they're about to meet will show the same restraint as her distinguished friend did... after Acer's arm was ripped clean off and left screaming and bleeding out.

The transport lurches to a halt, disturbing Billie from her somber reverie of dread and foreboding.  Beyond the grim waste, a congregation of figures materializes, their features obscured by the encroaching dusk.  At the forefront stands a manila figure, unmistakably a warlord, clad in a grotesque skull mask adorned with the writhing tails of rattlesnakes.  As the two groups close the distance, Billie can make out more details of the approaching horde - the glint of worn Peacekeeper armor, the cruel sneers beneath crude paint and plaster.  So, this Rattlehead creep has the ear of the Syndicate, does he?  Figures, the last bastions of power having the backing of the corrupt elite.

Lost in her gloomy musings, Billie's mind drifts to a time Gone by before the certifiable karaoke of carnage she's entwined in now... Her thoughts linger on Wendy, her old compadre from before she became a reluctant consort to a recklessly unhinged demagogue.  Billie remembers their early days, roaring across the Wasteland on matching hogs, whooping and hollering with the mad abandon of youth and the boost of untainted hope.  Wendy had been a wild one, through and through, but fair and true as the day was long.  She was the sister Billie never had and the partner in crime she always wanted.

"Git ye a drink of that there whiskey!" Wendy would whoop, passing the bottle between them on the road to who-knows-where.  "Ain't nothin' a bit o' fire can't cure, 'specially in these hard times!"  Billie would laugh till her sides split and take a throat-frying pull, feeling the heat settle in her belly and the die-hard will to endure.  But that was before the Apocalypse, and the hungry ghosts of their youth had faded into bitter ashes, scattered to the winds.  Now Wendy White was gone, and Billie was left to be the plaything of a brainless banshee staggering towards a suicidal crash.  She shakes off the memory, blinking away the dampness in her eyes as the two gangs merge.

Trixie is already simpering and preening, batting her eyes at the weird garnish in the skull mask.  The two gangs merge into one ragtag horde, and Billie finds herself face to face with the notorious Rattlehead.  Up close, his grotesque skull mask grins with a maniacal leer, gore-stained snake tails dangling obscenely.  His eyes, visible in the eerie light, are filled with a mad, hungry light that sets Billie's nerves on edge.

Rattlehead's gaze rakes over Billie, lingering on her curves in a way that makes her skin crawl. He throws back his head and lets out a raucous laugh, rattlesnake rattles jangling.

"Well, well, look what we have here - a real live doll!  Ain't you just the sweetest little morsel."

Billie forces a tight smile, hating the way Rattlehead's men lecherously leer at her, their eyes roaming over her body like a pack of starving dogs.  These castoffs may have been supplied by the Syndicate, but they're still the same scum as Trixie's crew.  Rattlehead circles Billie like a shark, his voice dripping with mock sincerity.

"You're a fem-pit, ain't ya?  Ain't that cute, belonging to this looney bird?"  He flickers a withered hand at Trixie, who giggles inanely and flounces doubles her already oversized tits at Billie.

Billie grits her teeth, feeling like a trophy, a piece of meat, as the warlord's men hoot and howl.  She hates this, hates being the center of attention of such a pack of sadistic degenerates.  Hates that Wendy White isn't here to grab her hand, to say duck at the first sign of trouble and haul ass.  She settles for gripping the handle of her bat tighter, nails biting into her palms.

With a reluctant mumble, Billie answers through clenched teeth.  "I ain't belong to nobody 'cept myself, Rattlehead.  Just here to see this job done is all."

Rattlehead's eyes narrow, and for a moment, Billie thinks she's stepped out of line.  But then the bizarre figure throws back his head and let's out a guttural chuckle.

"Now that's the spirit, darlin'!  We's gonna get along”

Rattlehead turns to his gang, a pack of subdued and terrified-looking women, their eyes downcast and shoulders slumped.  They wear tattered scraps of clothing, barely covering their emaciated frames.  Scarcely clad in anything more than moldering rags, their bruised and dirtied flesh is on lewd display beneath the fading Wasteland light.  The women, or rather, Rattlehead's so-called "fem-pits", are a pitiful sight. Gaunt and glassy, haunted eyes and sore-lick lips, they hang back nervously, awaiting their warlord's command.  Their demeanor speaks of the same level of ignorant abuse and constant terror that Billie has witnessed in her time with Trixie's gang.

One particularly thin specimen, with a missing tooth and a jagged scar etched across her cheek, flinches as Rattlehead barks orders.

"Git over there and see to our esteemed guests' needs, you pack of no account hags!  Double-time now, afore I tan your sorry hides!"

The woman scurries off in a rush of bony knees and elbows, rousing her cowed companions to action.  They begin to flutter around Trixie's crew, a mess of dicey worriedness and terrified haste.  Billie watches their exhausted ministrations, feeling a pang of sympathy.  She knows all too well the toll of playing alpha's consort.  The constant fear, the creeping dread, never knowing if your utterly sanity is the next to be ripped away... its enough to break a woman.  These pitiful creatures are like her, broken and reshaped to be the playthings of brutish men.

As Billie watches the pitiful fem-pits scurry about like skittish mice, she catches Rattlehead sidling up to Trixie, his grin stretching in a grotesque parody of friendship.  The two psychopaths immediately launch into a whirlwind of bloodthirsty chatter.  Rattlehead's voice is a grating rasp as he leans in close to Trixie, and she eagerly leans in with a feverish gleam in those wild eyes.

"So, you moonlightin' madam, ready to paint the town red and get this here shindig started?  I got word from me guys that Nymeria's hoity-toity hoo-haw's fixin' to be the jeweler of the season, and I reckon we oughta crash it in style!"

Trixie giggles shrilly, a sound like nails on a chalkboard, and claps her hands in delight.

"Oh, Rattlehead, you're a deliciously deplorable fellow!  I've been dreaming of drowning that sand bitch in a sea of blood and agony for months now.  We'll make it a red carpet event she'll never forget - the last thing she sees before I shove my blade in her black heart will be the mangled corpses of her guest pile up around her feet!"

Rattlehead throws back his rattling head and lets out a hoarse guffaw.  Billie tunes out the increasingly psychotic back-and-forth, feeling the weight of their madness pressing down on her.  She's seen where their brand of "madness" leads - to carnage and ruin, to broken bodies strewn about like trash in the gutters… Billie tries to block out the increasingly unhinged chatter of Rattlehead and Trixie, their voices rising in a crescendo of bloodlust and depravity.  She watches as Trixie trembles with manic glee, picturing the carnage she craves.  Trixie grips Rattlehead's arm with rabid fingers, digging into the tattered cloth of his sleeve as she speaks through clenched teeth.

"We need to make sure that every.  Last.  Whore.  Dies screaming!  Drag 'em all out into the courtyards and put a bullet in each and every bitch's skull.  Paint the palace walls crimson with their blood!"

Rattlehead cackles in twisted amusement at Trixie's bloodthirsty tirade.

"Now that's the kinda kinky thinking I like to hear!  Heehaw!  We'll dump so many corpses in the pool that ain't nobody gonna have space to swim in nothin' but muck and sinew.  Them that don't drown'll be choked out in the red mist!"

Billie feels her stomach churn as the two fanatics continue their grizzly fantasies, spelling out increasingly creative yet brutally violent methods of murder and disfigurement for Nymeria's guests.  Trixie's eyes are wild with bloodlust as she speaks.

"As soon as Nymeria's greenery traps notice their fancy gowns turn red as their throats, they'll realize they've stumbled into hell itself!"

In a moment of stark clarity amidst the insanity, Billie realizes that she has to get away from this pair of lunatics before their violence claims her as well.  Being the beta bitch to the blond Trixie is one thing, but she refuses to be pulled into their pit of depravity...

Her skin crawls as the two lunatics continue, each painting increasingly graphic pictures of the impending massacre.  The fem-pits fluster about nervously as Rattlehead and Trixie talk, their eyes darting to the grizzly topics and restless.  Billie has to get away from these psychos before their utter madness claims her too.

She starts to edge away from the group, feeling a sense of unease wash over her.  She can't be part of this, can't let Trixie's crazy train wreck of a plan drag her into a pit of violent depravity.   Billie tries to interrupt the mad tableau before the two maniacs paint a bloody picture for their impending raid.  She starts to leave the group, feeling a sense of unease and foreboding wash over her.  Hey, anyone listening to you two yammer on about painting palace dead red with Nymeria's blood and viscera is out of their everlasting minds!  Billie's mind starts to turn inward, picturing a better course as she mulls over her options.  But where can she go that's safe from the spreading stain of violence and corruption...?

As Billie tries to slip away from the disturbing scene, Trixie whirls on her like a rabid dog, a vicious sneer twisting her painted lips.  Rattlehead and his crew leer at Billie, their eyes gleaming with avid interest.

"Where the hell do ya think you're goin', Billie?" Trixie snarls, stomping back to Billie with crushing force.  "You ain't runnin' out on me and my friends.  I need you here, to see this through!"

Rattlehead guffaws, slapping his thigh with a ragged hand.

"Y'all better stick around, sweetheart.  Ain't every day ya get to see a shindy like the one we's fixin' to throw!"

The outer circle of pitiful fem-pits titters nervously, their eyes darting to Billie with a mix of fear and empathized stated Trixie.  Billie feels a chill run down her spine at the sheer malevolence radiating off the warlord and his men.  Trapped between a warlord and his band of vicious marauders, Billie seizes the chance to counterattack, refusing to let Trixie seize control.

"You may be the boss, Trix, but I ain't your goon, ya crazy bitch!"  Billie retorts defiantly, gripping her bat tighter.  "I don't give a damn about your plans to drown some sand pit in blood-thirsty terrors, and I won't be done with it!"

Trixie's eyes blaze with a manic rage at Billie's defiance, and she lunges forward with a vicious snarl.  Billie barely has time to raise her bat before Trixie's boot connects with her ribs in a crushing blow that steals the breath from her lungs.  Billie crumples under the attack, her bat clattering to the ground as she doubles over in agony.  Trixie seizes the moment of weakness, grabbing Billie by the hair and slamming her head against a nearby crate.  Pain explodes across Billie's vision, and she tastes blood in her mouth.

"I told you, you fucking cuntbag, you ain't goin' nowhere 'cept where I tell you!"  Trixie screeches, her voice raw with fury.

She rains down a flurry of blows, her fists pounding against Billie's skull and face with brutal efficiency.  Billie throws up her arms to shield herself, but it does little to blunt the devastating assault.  Rattlehead and his crew watch the beating with avid enjoyment, a chorus of bloodthirsty hoots and jeers rising from their ranks.  Billie's vision blurs as her nose splits and begins to bleed heavily.  The coppery taste of blood fills her mouth and chokes her.

She swings wildly at Trixie, trying to land a single hit, but her fists are too slow and clumsy against the power-packed hits raining down on her body.  Billie fears she'll pass out at any moment due to blood loss and brutal pain.  She needs to fight back and get away before Trixie has her killed by mistake or for the heck of it.

Billie collapses to the ground in a broken, bleeding heap, barely conscious from the vicious beating she took from Trixie.  Her strength is spent, and she can do little more than whimper and twitch as the blonde psycho looms over her.  Trixie's eyes blaze with sadistic lust as she reaches for the bat Billie had tried to use to defend herself.  The battered girl watches in dread as Trixie wraps her fingers around the grip, a wicked smirk twisting her bleeding lips.

Billie knows she needs to keep fighting to survive.  She needs to find the instinct that drove her to survive in the Wastelands for all these years.  She's lived through hunger, injury, loss of innocence.  This is just another trial to overcome before she can be free of this bizarre band of marauders.

Trixie kneels down and grabs Billie by the hair, forcing her to look up at her tormentor.  Billie grits her teeth, still trying to resist even now, but Trixie just laughs.

"What's the matter, you dumb bitch?"  Trixie mocks cruelly.  "Don't you want to play with your favorite bat?  My my, what a baby."

The sadistic woman grabs her bitch and shoves the fat blunt end of the bat deep into Billie's asshole without warning.  Billie screams in agony, wailing as Trixie violates her, the cold, hard steel of the bat tearing into her tender flesh without mercy.  She thrashes and bucks, trying vainly to dislodge it, but Trixie's grip in her hair is iron-clad.

"You fucking cunt!"  Billie screams, tears streaming down her face.  "Stop it, you fucking psycho! Ahhhh!"

Trixie just laughs, a harsh, grating sound, as she brutally slams the bat in deeper, reveling in Billie's torment.  The watching crowd of marauders roar with approval, drunk on the spectacle of violence and violation.  Billie's vision swims, the pain overwhelming her.  She feels blood trickling down her thighs and on the ground underneath her.  She knows she's badly injured, but the humiliation and degradation are almost worse than the physical agony.

Far off in the distance, Morana Elisabet Hexhart de Batori watches the whole awful scene unfold, her expression closed and shuttered.  She sees Billie's struggles, her anguished screams, the sadistic pleasure Trixie takes in her suffering.  Morana feels a momentary pang of sympathy for the battered girl, but swiftly pushes it aside.  She stands at the edge of the camp, her piercing dark eyes fixed intently on the gruesome scene unfolding before her.  She watches impassively as Trixie relentlessly violates and abuses Billie, the brutal assault sending shockwaves through the helpless girl's battered body.

Morana's heart races, not with concern for Billie's welfare, but with a dark thrill of anticipation.  She is here for a much darker purpose - to exact brutal vengeance on the gang members for the senseless attack of her beloved John and the innocent girl.  The senseless slaughter of innocents at the hands of these depraved marauders.  That tragedy lit a spark of irreversible rage within Morana, and she has been consumed by it ever since.  In the cold, vacated eyes of every criminal she slaughters, she sees a flicker of the justice that was denied to the beloved child.

As she watches Billie scream and Trixie laugh, Morana feels the familiar hunger rising within her, the inexorable need to inflict suffering and pain.  Tonight, it burns hotter than ever.  Tonight, she will spill blood for her love.  The need to end a life, to paint the ground red with the blood of the guilty, to put the same terror in their eyes that they put in others.  That is all Morana seeks, and she will not rest until it is done.

Trixie finally wrenches the bloody bat free from Billie's ravaged body, a cruel smirk of satisfaction twisting her bloodied lips.  She tosses the gory bat aside with disdain, still gripping Billie's hair in her other fist.

"Keep this little lesson in mind the next time you think about fucking off," Trixie sneers as she drags Billie into a sitting position by her hair, forcing the battered girl to be a mute witness to the horrifying scene.  Billie slumps over, barely able to hold up her own weight, her body wracked with pain and humiliation.  Through the haze of agony and blood-mixed tears, she sees Rattlehead and his marauding gang watching her, their eyes alight with sadistic amusement, awaiting Trixie's next move.

Rattlehead cackles and elbows his companions, gesturing at Billie's shattered form.

"Hell, I've seen dogs in better shape than that bitch!" he raps, his voice laced with cruel laughter.  "She gonna be a prime example of what happens when ya cross us, ya fuckin' spackle-brained whore!"

The gang chortles and jeers, reeking of vicious mirth as Billie retains her battered frame in front of everyone.  It was a sickening, humiliating experience Billie did not want to relive again.  She just wanted them to leave and let her heal.  But in a pack of killers and psychos, that would be a miracle.

* * * * *

Later that night, the air is thick with the stench of cheap booze, cloying perfume, and the musky reek of unbridled debauchery.  Trixie's gang stumbles about the camp in a drunken stupor, their eyes glazed and their movements erratic.

Darklong is sprawled on a collapsed tarp, his pants around his ankles as one of Rattlehead's fem-pits sloppily services him with her mouth.  He snorted a line of coke off her bony back before shoving her face into his crotch with a grunt.  Nearby, Mimi and Sketch can be seen entwined in a compromising position, their limbs tangled as they grope and fondle each other lustfully.  Sketch has Mimi pinned against a crate, his hand roughly groping her tits through her thin top as she laughs and writhes.  Butch, the bulldyke lesbian, is in a similar state of frenzied lust, pinning another scared-looking fem-pit against a tent pole.  Butch's hands are brazenly pawing at the girl's body as she grinds against her conquest.  And there, at the center of the debauchery, sits Trixie - a drunken, crazed figure with a bottle of whiskey dangling from one hand and the crotch of a drooling marauder pressed tight against her other.  She throws her head back in wild laughter, scantily clad and writhing in the man's lap as he gropes her homeless ass.  They are a gang of thugs united by a common lust for violence, greed, and base pleasures, with no consideration for the well-being of anyone else - a brutal, uncaring pack of killers lost in their own hedonistic desires.

Trixie, still drunk and giddy from the night's debauchery, staggers over to where Billie is curled up in a pathetic, bloodied heap.  She kneels down beside her battered body, a manic grin splitting her face as she takes in Billie's injuries.  Billie flinches as Trixie's fingers, still sticky with other people's blood and cum, brush against her bruised cheek.  She tries to pull away, but the motion sends a fresh wave of agony through her abused muscles.

"Not so tough now, are ya, you little bitch?"  Trixie giggles, trailing her fingers down to Billie's split lip, smearing the crusted blood.  "Don't worry, sweetie.  I'm gonna take gooood care of you..."  She grabs Billie's jaw in a bruising grip, forcing the battered girl to look at her.  "Gonna clean ya up real nice and pretty for me.  Can't have my favorite fuck-toy lookin' all rough and ruined, now can we?"  Trixie's eyes glaze over as she stares at Billie's bloodied face, a concentrated expression of sadistic lust clouding her features.  She leans in, her lips brushing against Billie's ear as she whispers in a raspy, alcohol-roughened voice:  "I'll patch you up... and then, when you're all better... it's gonna be sooo much fuuuun!"

As Trixie tends to Billie with disturbing intensity, Darklong remains oblivious, lost in his own drunken stupor and lascivious pursuits.  Morana slips silently through the chaotic camp, her eyes scanning for her next target.

She finds Darklong exactly as she expected - completely incapacitated and vulnerable.  He's slumped over a barrel, his pants around his ankles, a stupid grin on his face as one of the fem-pits sloppily suckles him.  Morana watches, her lips curling in disgust at the depraved display.  She waits for the perfect moment, her fingers straighten into the strength of an iron blade.

It comes in a flash - a split second of opportunity amidst the wild debauchery and lustful writhing of the gang and their unwilling bedfellows.  Seizing the moment, Morana lunges forward, flashing under the moonlight.

With a single, vicious slash, she drags her nails across Darklong's throat, opening up a deep crimson gash that sprays blood across the startled face of the blowjob-pit.  Darklong gurgles and sputters, clawing at his spurting throat, but it's too late.  His eyes bulge wide in shock and dawning realization as he claws desperately at his punctured throat, muffled gurgling noises being choked out of him.  Blood sprays from the horrific wound like a grotesque fountain against the moonlight.

The fem-pit wails in shock and recoils from the torrential bleeding, smearing crimson across her face and tits.  The sudden, violent brutality has cut through the drunken haze of the encampment, and screams of panic and alarm start to erupt everywhere.

Billie seizes upon the momentary chaos erupting from Morana's shocking act of brutality.  She forces herself to ignore the searing pain in her battered body as she scrambles to her feet, still drenched in blood, sweat, and other unspeakable fluids.  She limps towards the shadows of the camp's outskirts, trying desperately to stay upright and not draw any more unwanted attention to herself.  She ducks behind decent cover as she hears panicked shouts and curses from all directions.

"Murder, murder!" a gang member wails, pointing a trembling finger towards Darklong's blood-soaked corpse.  "Them fuckin' Freemen bitches are turnin' on us!"

Another voice hollers back.

"Don't be a damn fool!  Them bitches couldn't whip a bound cock, let alone a gang of mean, licentious, brutish bucks.  Let ya gold-plated dicks flail all ya want."

Billie freezes, both from cruel amusement at their overblown panic and from residual pain lancing through her abused body.  The idiot gang members compare their under-average dicks, too stupid to realize the danger they're in.  Billie's heart pounds in her ears as she ducks behind a nearby cover, her breath coming in ragged bursts.  The shouting and cursing grow louder as panic spreads through the camp like wildfire.  She has to get out of here before it's too late.

Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream splits the air, and Billie hears the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the ground hard, followed by a sickening gurgle.  It seems Morana's brutal handiwork has not gone unnoticed, and the camp is now in full-blown chaos.

Panic grips Billie as she limps along the edge of the camp, keeping a low profile.  She mushrooms manically from one shadow to the next, hoping to put as much distance between herself and Trixie's mad gang as possible.

She passes a crumpled body laying in a growing pool of blood, its glassy eyes starring at the night sky. Billie resists the urge to retch, forcing herself to maintain focus.  Stay quiet.  Keep moving.  Suddenly, Billie hears the sound of heavy footsteps running behind her.  In a flash, she whirls around and sees a gigantic man, all bulging muscles and smeared blood, charging straight towards her.

"Get back here, you fuckin' cunt!" the thug roars, reaching out to grab Billie with hands that look capable of snapping her like a twig.  Billie staggers backward, her heart jumping into her throat as she desperately tries to avoid being ripped apart by the charging marauder.  She looks around wildly for a way to defend herself, but her hands are empty.  Billie's heart races as the blood-spattered brute lunges at her, his meaty hands outstretched like claws.

In a desperate last ditch effort, she spins around and latches onto a nearby tarp, yanking it off its flimsy poles with all her remaining strength.  The sudden motion startles the marauder, throwing him off balance.  As he staggers past Billie, she swings the tarp with a strength borne of sheer desperation, catching the thug squarely across the face.  The makeshift weapon cracks like a whip, and guttural cursing erupts from the brute as he claws at the thick canvas covering his face.  Seizing the momentary distraction, Billie lurches forward and breaks into a ragged sprint, limping and stumbling towards the edge of the camp.  She bursts out of the meager cover of the camp and staggers through the rocky wasteland as fast as her battered body will allow.  Behind her, the enraged gang members give chase, filling the night air with their cruel taunts and the pounding of their booted feet against the ground.

Billie pushes herself ruthlessly, blowing past a blood-covered boulder with a white-knuckled grip.  Glancing back over her shoulder for a split second, she sees Morana standing at the edge of the camp, watching Billie go with an almost wistful expression as the gang members close in.  As Billie disappears into the rocky wasteland, the camp erupts into a frenzy of panicked confusion and rage.  Two voices rise above the chaos - the shrill, crazed tones of Trixie and the gravelly, angry bark of Rattlehead.

"We can't let that little bitch escape!  Grab the bikes, we ride her down now!" Trixie’s voice pitches higher as she wails, spittle flying from her bloodied lips.

Rattlehead rounds on her, his eyes smoldering with barely contained fury.

"Shut yer fuckin' pie hole, you crazy cunt!  We got bigger problems than chasin' down that little whore.  Someone murdered Darklong!  Did you see who the fuck slit his throat?  Tell me now, before I rip the answer outta ya!"

Trixie stamps her foot, her flimsy top slipping off in her rage.

"Fuck Darklong!  Fuck all of 'em!  I want that cum-stain bitch Billie.  Now!  Grab her, skin her alive, and make her wish she'd never been born!"

The gang members mill about in confusion, some trying to revive Darklong's corpse, others lunging for their bikes at Trixie's crazed bidding.  Morana watches the spectacle with no visible reaction, a dark smile playing at the corner of her mouth as Billie escapes to safety.

* * * * *

Billie limps and staggers through the rocky wasteland, gasping for breath as she puts as much distance between herself and the blood-soaked camp.  Every step sends waves of agony through her battered body, but the pain is nothing compared to the sheer terror of being ripped apart or brutalized again.

As she runs, fragmented thoughts flash through her mind - Trixie's gang attacking Queen Nymeria's palace, the impending massacre of innocent people caught in the crossfire.  Billie shakes her head, trying to focus on escape and survival.  She thinks of Echo City, wondering if she’ll make it back alive.  If she’ll find Wendy.  If she'll even believe her wild tale of a gang of marauding psychos and their blood-soaked rampages.

Billie finally reaches the dusty road connecting the Wasteland to the outskirts of Echo City.  Wary of drawing attention, she limps and staggers along the road, putting her back to the horrors behind her.  With each step, she vows to find a way to convey the impending danger to someone.  Somehow, she'll convince them of the true nature of the monster in Trixie and her gang, of all the monsters preparing for war and terror in the Wastes.