The Female Syndicate (translated from Russian) (3 Viewers)

[Drizzt78]

The original can be found here:

https://forum.shtorny.com/threads/zhenskij-sindikat.1689/

File #1: Prologue.

Agatha, half-naked and poised atop me in a cowgirl position, spun around sharply at the sound of the door swinging open. Her hair, a fiery copper hue that I loved running my fingers through during our intimate moments, danced in tandem with her movement. Despite the chaos unfolding, I couldn't help but be momentarily captivated by the elegant sway and subsequent cascade.

"Oh no!" Agatha's soft exclamation snapped my attention back to the door.

In the doorway of our bedroom stood a completely unfamiliar figure to me... with a gun aimed squarely at my girl. The intent in his aim left no room for doubt - he wasn't here to play games.

"No!" We shouted in unison once more. But Agatha was quicker to react.

With a swift motion, she pressed her hips against the bed, then leaped off me in a desperate attempt to flee. But navigating the wide double mattress in a single bound proved tricky, especially from her awkward position. She landed beside me with a clumsy thud, still balancing on her knees. I stole a glance at her: firm C-cup breasts, a perky ass, long legs with slender thighs - all this beauty was now covered by only a few semi-transparent pieces of fabric.

A lacy black bra, panties, and stockings. Not much protection against a nine-millimeter.

..I wanted to rush after her, cover her with my body, push her to the floor or behind the wardrobe (not much of a cover, but better than nothing!) - but I couldn't.

You see, I was tied to the bed.

Tied by Agatha herself.

During our recent role-playing games, where she... got a little carried away?

So all I could do was watch, helpless, as the scene unfolded.

---------


The only way out of the bedroom was blocked, nowhere to run. Agatha's desperate lunge seemed more instinctual than anything else; at least, I could only attribute her actions to reflexes. Even now, apparently not hearing gunfire in the same second, she turned again, trying to assess the threat.

The man with the gun remained impassive, simply moving the sight along with her movements.

Even in this dire moment, a pang of jealousy stabbed me - I had no doubt that the stranger's delay in shooting wasn't out of mercy for the girl desperately seeking salvation, but simply because he was eyeing her sexy body. Damn it, he was looking at my girl as if she were a mannequin in a sex shop window - just a fleeting amusement, devoid of any emotion, not as a living woman!

I looked at the fiery-haired girl again. Well, I guess there was definitely something to look at there, and I could understand him. Agatha was a stunning beauty, and even now, her plump ass almost spilling out of those black lace panties caught my eye - although objectively speaking, I should've been focusing on other matters at the moment.

"...on the other hand, fuck it," the thought flashed as my gaze wandered over the tempting curves of her buttocks, "let him keep leering: the main thing is he doesn't start shooting at her. Maybe she'll pique his interest..."

Agatha probably thought the same thing.

"Wait!" she shouted. With her free hand, she hastily lifted her bust - it wasn't very graceful, but still quite erotic... Actually, with her stunning looks, any movement she made looked erotic - - that's why I fell for her in the first place.

For a moment, her beautiful face with piercing green eyes, turned towards the stranger, held a pleading expression.

And that's when the first shots rang out.




------

The luscious, plump breasts of my girlfriend, barely covered by a black lace bra, bounced as bullets pierced through them.
I saw it as if in slow motion – how Agatha, eyes tightly shut, convulsively recoiled every time a deadly lead ball entered her. How her lips parted in a silent scream. How each of her breasts bounced merrily - alternately, one after the other, spitting out little fountains of blood. The stranger didn't spare any bullets on those firm targets, but for some reason, he maintained the sequence – left, right, left, right...

Then I began to distinguish the sounds - and the first thing that penetrated my consciousness was the sharp crack of gunfire.
In reality, it was nothing like the movies. It didn’t seem that loud, yet was deafening - I could literally feel them hitting the walls and surfaces around me.
They ended with a moist, slapping sound. It took me a moment to realize that the source of these juicy, oddly satisfying sounds was the echo of bullets slamming into Agatha's breasts.

Next, I heard my girlfriend's screams - as strangely erotic as everything else she did today.
They were short, very sexy "ooh!!" - one for each bullet - at the end of which the girl, sobbing, stared in horror at her destroyed bust. For a moment, she balanced, stunned and mesmerized by her own bullet-riddled assets - and then slowly, as if not believing what had happened, she collapsed onto her back.

Her fiery copper hair danced elegantly as her head fell, gracefully settling onto the pillows in a wide, scattered wave. Her beautiful and beloved face froze with a shocked expression, mixed with pain - her green eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling, her lips slightly parted. The breasts, riddled with bullets, sought to escape through new holes in her bra. Her legs, clad in black, sexy stockings, convulsively twitched a couple of times...

And finally - the last raspy sigh escaped her lips.
She was dead.

And only then did her graceful, manicured right hand release the knife... with which she had tried to kill me a minute ago.

-----

I stared in shock at the body of my beloved - her “body” in every sense, as she was 1) provocatively half-naked and 2) one hundred percent dead. A light, almost cigarette-like smoke curled up from the girl's chest - still cheekily erect nipples pointing upwards towards the ceiling.
The smoke had a strangely delicious taste, though with a clear hint of burnt fabric and flesh.

"What the..." I choked out, "Agatha?.. Agatha!!"

The man in the doorway suddenly cursed. Tearing my gaze away from my girlfriend's body, I stared at him again: feeling horror turn into rage. I thrashed with my whole body, trying to free my hands - but was no more successful than a minute ago when I tried to break free to stop the berserk Agatha.
But it was futile: she had tied my hands tightly to the bedpost. And now, it seemed, we would both pay for it with our lives...

Although she had already paid! The horror of what had happened surged over me again.

"Agatha!" I shouted again. I watched her die, looked at her unquestionably dead body, dead in every way, with her bullet-riddled chest and empty eyes, and still couldn't believe what had happened.

Unable to tear my gaze away from my beloved, I didn't even notice the armed stranger – who meanwhile, having drawn a different pistol, now aimed it at me and pulled the trigger. Something sharp stabbed into my chest, and the world immediately began to plunge into darkness - as I continued to stare at the wide-open, green eyes of girlfriend lying next to me...

"This can't be! He killed her, he just shot her, no questions, no demands, just like some worthless whore who got in his way, like throwing out trash... He killed her... Why?!... he... killed..." - my powerless anger drowned in some soothing dark haze.
My thoughts shut down.

 

[Drizzt78]

File #2: Retrospective



I woke up instantly, as if kicked into consciousness.



Alright, let's see what we got here... a hospital room - obviously, I didn't expect to wake up in a five-star hotel. In a sense, I didn't expect to wake up at all, because... Damn!

Memories of recent events flooded back all at once - the half-naked body of Agatha with neat, smoky holes in her chest, the unknown man at the threshold of our bedroom... Damn, damn, damn! My girlfriend!

I sat up abruptly, immediately earning a shouting from some nurse; "Please lie down, you shouldn't get up so suddenly!"



“Let him, he's awake after all”, - said a different voice. I looked in his direction and saw some guy, sitting bored on a chair nearby. “Let him get up, we need to talk. You probably have a lot of questions?”

“But... “- protested the nurse, whom I finally got a good look at - a very beautiful young girl with a sculpted figure, black raven hair, and glasses. She was the spitting image of a pretty med student: all she needed was a less form-fitting medical gown…

The girl took a deep breath (probably to protest), and with that very breath, she stretched the fabric of the gown to its limit with her chest.

Though, actually, that gown is just right - the man and I probably thought at the same time.

“But he's only just come to after being tranquilized, in shock, he needs rest, the filtration procedure isn't finished yet...“ - she lamented with a very pleasant voice. Her chest swayed back and forth each time she took a breath before another tirade. The sight was splendid, and I felt no desire to interrupt her.

"Alright, stop," said my inner voice, "this fellow, whoever he is, is right. You have more important questions to deal with now than the nurse's bust. Many questions. Where to start?"



“Yes, I have a fuck... I mean, a lot of questions. Who are you?” - I asked, tactlessly interrupting the offended medic, - “that's first. Secondly, what happened to my girlfriend? Is she alive?”

"Well of course. She took about ten bullets to the tits, but sure, she's definitely alive. Yeah, right."



“...thirdly, did you arrest that guy who... who...” - I faltered. My interlocutor came to my rescue:

”I understand who you're talking about. Alright, I'll answer these questions. But the answers won't be easy. And just so you understand me correctly, first we need to understand what happened yesterday.”

“Well, let's try.”

“Alright”, - he leaned towards me, - “can you tell me what happened yesterday?”

I honestly thought about it before answering.



“Fucking insanity.”

-----



The nurse brought tea (she flat out refused to bring coffee), locked the hospital room door, and then I began to recount the story - now catching up with the oddities in yesterday’s events.



It all started quite normally.

Work was hectic - no surprise there. Sometime in the middle of the day, Agatha suddenly called - from some unknown number - and casually asked about my plans for the evening. And that was a bit surprising, because she was supposed to be abroad.



----



“Crash in bed and get some rest”, - I responded honestly, - “I'm dead tired”.

Agatha chuckled.

“Well, you can relax in bed a bit differently... By the way, I can help with that...”

“Oh yeah? And how exactly? You're supposed to be on a business trip.” - she was supposed to fly out in the morning, but I couldn't make it to the airport to see her off - our schedules didn't match.

“It got canceled”, - Agatha said in a neutral tone, - “and now I'm sitting at home, feeling very lonely and unhappy about it.”

“I see... Sounds we both feel the same way.”

“Yes. So I thought we could help each other out. Women know a lot of ways to help a man relax”, - she purred into the phone, - “and they relax pretty well themselves in the process. So, hard worker... don't you want to drop by tonight?”

"Well, she's taking the bull by the horns right away," I thought with approval.



“To your place or somewhere else?”

“Mine, of course”

“Alright. I'll be there at seven. Counting on some quality relaxation...“ - I took a risk and grabbed the bull by the horns too: - “maybe with the help of your booty...”

“Well, I can't promise that,” - Agatha cut in, - “but the relaxation program will please you, have no fear.”



----



“What guy in his right mind would refuse such an offer?” - I asked my audience.

The nurse let out a slight sigh, clearly implying "Oh these men, such predictable fools". The man didn't deign to change his expression.

“Anyway, I went to her place. Opened the door with my keys...” - I looked at the nurse, - “by the way, are you allowed to listen to the next part?”

The girl flared up:

“I'm twenty-four!”

“Alright”, - I concurred peacefully, - “though I wasn’t talking about your age, but rather about good manners. Sorry, but it'll be a story rated 18+.”



------



I didn't make it by seven - there was traffic. Maybe that's why Agatha didn't meet me at the door as usual - no quick kiss on the cheek, none of that "give me your jacket" stuff and so on. Was she upset?

I called her name, and she shouted from the bedroom:

“Yeah, yeah, I'm here, come in!”

Well, alright. I obediently walked into the bedroom... and was stunned.

Agatha was bending over the bed - adjusting something at its base. Such a magnificent view of her ass would have pleased me in any case, but the sight was absolutely stunning now - because only lace panties covered my girlfriend’s booty, hugging the best part of her so tightly that her delicate skin seemed to be peeking through the floral pattern.

“Ah, here you are!”

Agatha straightened up, carelessly showing that she was only wearing lace lingerie and stockings.



"Hello, darling," she said in a casual voice, brushing aside the red hair that had fallen over her face. "I’ve prepared something for you."



I struggled to tear my gaze away from all the soft places on her body. I walked over and immediately kissed her neck, smelling a light scent of floral perfume and her skin. Agatha didn’t respond to my caresses, gently pulling away.



"Look at the bed."



One glance was enough to understand the kind of relaxation program she had in mind. From each corner of the bed stretched a taut rubber rope with a handcuff, allowing someone to be tied up by their hands and feet. It looked like Agatha had just finished checking how securely everything was fastened.



Just the thought of a half-naked Agatha tied to the bed made my cock get even harder, though it just moments I thought it couldn't get any harder than it already was.



------



The nurse blushed slightly. Well, she was warned!



"And what do you want me to do with you?" I asked Agatha between kisses on her neck.



"Oh, no," she purred again, eyes half-closed, enjoying the caresses, "this time, I'll be the one doing something with you..."



"Wait. So you want me to let you tie me up?"



Agatha opened her eyes and stared at me cheekily.



"Yes. What's wrong with that? Are you afraid of a half-naked girl's fantasies?"



"With a fury like you, who wouldn't be! Who knows what crazy idea might pop into your redheaded brain..."



"Enough chitchat," she cut me off again, "into bed, quickly!"



The next five minutes were quite normal. Agatha diligently tied me to the bed, while I joked that she was planning to kill me and had set up a trap. She laughed in response, tightening the ropes and clearly making sure I couldn't escape.

Domestic bliss, in short.



"Done," the girl finally muttered to herself. "Alright..."



She slipped off me and headed towards her bag, which was nearby. I was too engrossed in admiring my girlfriend's behind to pay attention to what she was looking for - until the metallic glint caught my eye.



"About the trap idea," Agatha melodically chirped, her hand brandishing a fully functional combat knife, "you're not far off. In direct combat, you'd probably beat me - you're stronger. Ambushing from behind is also a risk, not a guarantee I'd overpower you in one blow. Attacking while you're asleep - no time. They didn't give me a firearm..."



She carefully straddled me, assuming the “cowgirl” position. Even through my pants and her panties, I felt how heated her moist pussy was as she rubbed it over my dick.



"But fortunately, I have a completely reliable weapon," she whispered, "female beauty. These very tits and this very ass."



"And your face isn't bad either," I nodded, "though the tits, of course, are the be... I mean, I'll just shut up."



Agatha smiled strangely.



"Do you like me?"



"Of course!" I replied sincerely. She flirtatiously shook her breasts over my face.



"Do you want me?"



"Absolutely!"



"But you won't get me," the redheaded bitch whispered arrognatly, "it's your own fault. Too bad you're late - I'm already half an hour behind schedule. Otherwise, I would've had some fun with you... Oh, what a pity..."



She raised her hand with the knife - and it was only at that moment that I finally realized what she was actually planning to do.



"Goodbye, darling!" the girl hissed and stabbed the knife right at my throat.



I don't know how I managed to wriggle out of the way. Apparently, Agatha had chosen the wrong ropes - the rubber ones could stretch, and she probably couldn't exert enough force when she tested them. The important thing was that, in the end, the knife plunged to the hilt into the mattress right where my neck had been a moment ago.



"You've lost your mind, haven't you..." I exclaimed in shock, "stop that imme-."



I don't know what I was about to demand, but the girl swung again - and again I managed to dodge. However, it was clear that the third time wouldn't work - it was just that this dame couldn’t handle the knife very well, not that I was some elusive ninja.



"Agatha, have you gone insane?!”



"Shut up!!" she hissed through her teeth, clearly displeased with herself. Disheveled and focused, she gripped the knife again, staring intently at me—and then fixed her gaze on my chest. I understood her line of thought: no matter how much I flailed, there was no way to avoid a fatal strike...



Agatha bit her lower lip, tightened her grip on the knife...



And then the bedroom door opened.

----



I fell silent, replaying those ensuing moments in my mind.

"In short, some armed guy shows up out of nowhere. I don't know why he ended up in her apartment, but he arrived... just in time. Agatha looked back and immediately tried to... I don't know, run away or something? Clearly, things didn't go according to her plan, and she freaked out. The problem was, she had nowhere to run. She dashed one way, then the other, then froze and started begging him not to shoot. Then, in a desperate move, she sort of offered herself up - lifted her breasts, like, 'You want these, right?' - and bam, got the first bullet. This guy, whoever the hell he was, just unloaded on her. Made sure she wouldn’t get up again. Absolutely no pity, like she wasn’t even human."



The nurse looked at me sympathetically, though the story left a treacherous blush on her cheeks – was she embarrassed or aroused? Or both?



The man, however, seemed like he hadn’t heard anything new.



"And what about you, do you pity her?" he asked. "She did try to kill you, as you said."



"Are you serious right now? 'Pity'?! Of course, damn it! I don’t understand what happened to her. Maybe something came over her, maybe she got carried away! That’s no reason to kill her!"



"But you do realize that she consciously tried to kill you?" the man clarified. I exploded:



"Listen, I don’t get it, are you trying to make her the guilty one?!!! As far as I can see, out of the three of us, only she’s lying somewhere with her tits full of holes! I’m alive and well, that guy’s probably alive and well, but she… but her... they killed her like a worthless whore!"



"We’ll get to that in a bit," the man said evenly, while the nurse fussed around me, offering some sedatives. "I’m asking: do you understand that she consciously tried to kill you?"



I fell silent, pondering the last day’s events. Her words... that wild look... the way she talked about her plan...



"Yes," I finally admitted. "I don’t know why, but yes. It completely doesn’t fit with the person I knew for years... But yes, that’s a fact."



"Excellent," the man stood up. "Now, you need to see something. Let's go to the next room."

____________

The nurse gently held me by the elbow, as if she was afraid I would run away.



"This way, please..."



I walked into a brightly lit room (my eyes didn’t adjust to the blinding light right away) and stared at Agatha's half-naked body lying on a table, her legs towards us. Her feet, clad in stockings – the only piece of clothing left on her – were spread lewdly, exposing her pussy to anyone who walked into the room. Great pose, no doubt...



But that wasn’t the most shocking part.



Standing next to her body was a man. He looked bored and was also examining the naked girl. He looked at her like he had every right to – like a hunter inspecting his trophy.



And essentially, that was exactly the case.



This was the same stranger who had shot Agatha!

 

[Drizzt78]

File #3: Briefing

For the next three minutes, they wrestled me into submission, sedated me again with some tranquilizers and convinced me to calm down.

More people arrived, the nurse swore quietly as she fussed around me, and the man who shot Agatha, observing me, suddenly declared with satisfaction:

"Look at all that stupid bravery. Yes, he’ll do."

Well, that’s one hell of a compliment!

"Do? For what?" I growled, still trying to break free.

"I can tell you. If you stop acting like an idiot and listen to what we have to say."

"Why don’t you go fu..."

"My time is limited," Agatha’s killer interrupted, "I’m expected to service a very lovely blonde whose luscious body is in desperate need of some lead. If you want to know what happened to your wife, sit down and listen."

"She’s not my wife," I retorted automatically, glancing again at the nearly naked girl lying on the table. I had to admit, she looked... perfectly fresh, so to speak. She didn’t resemble a corpse that had been dead for any length of time – she even had a blush on her cheeks.

"But you’re ready to fight for her. Fine by me. Release him," the shooter ordered. "You’re dismissed, leave the three of us. If he tries to start a fight again, I’ll deal with him myself."

We looked into each other’s eyes.

"If your explanation doesn’t satisfy me, I’ll definitely start something.”

The man (whom I mentally nicknamed Shooter in a fit of dark humor) smirked.

"Deal."

_____________

"I won’t drag this out, here are the facts: in our world, there’s a clandestine syndicate of bisexual (with a strong lesbian inclination) girls and women. Beautiful women. Sexy women. Gorgeous, just like this one," he nodded at Agatha’s body, "...against whom fights a special service of secret killers – that’s us. You’re currently at one of our support bases. Fucking welcome aboard."

I blinked.

"So, satisfied?" he asked. "Any questions?"

"Yeah. I’m wondering: are you mocking me or is the tranquilizer still in effect?"

"Funny," the Shooter said, lighting a cigarette, "but you’re actually supposed to ask: what’s so dangerous about these lesbians that they’re being killed without mercy, in droves? Let’s pretend you asked. Tanya will answer."

I looked around: it turned out Tanya was our nurse. Or maybe I got it wrong, and she’s our local scientist? Who the hell knows.

In any case, Tanya approached, looked at Agatha’s naked body (thoughtfully running her finger along the girl’s belly with professional interest) and said:

"You see... there’s a catch: these aren’t quite ordinary girls. It’s like they’ve been reprogrammed. The same hardware, but with different software, you understand?"

"I don’t understand shit right now."

"Alright, in scientific terms – these girls are something like genetically modified women with a range of unusual psychological and physiological traits."

"What traits? And what does this have to do with that bastard shooting Agatha?"

Tanya continued to look at the dead red-haired girl like an exhibit.

"Everything," she said, "I’ll list these traits, and you think: does this remind you of anything? Let’s go from the least significant to the most significant..."

---------------------


It was like a very strange scientific lecture. Tanya stood over Agata's body and spoke, occasionally touching the deceased:

1. They wear the most sexually enticing, revealing clothes, mostly just erotic lingerie. They feel psychologically very uncomfortable, almost tormented, when fully dressed – that's why they mostly base themselves in brothels, erotic massage parlors, strip clubs, underground "safe houses" like apartments and houses they rent in groups where they can freely walk around half-naked – in short, in all places where their habit of wearing only lingerie doesn't raise any questions.

2. These girls have an insanely high libido, an obsession with sex, which they need almost to sustain their lives – if such a girl hasn't slept with anyone for a long time, she can literally get sick. Therefore, they usually live in groups (always able to sleep with each other) and mostly work in fields related to sex. Prostitution, striptease, massage parlors, escort services, all that.

3. They have no moral boundaries: friends, colleagues, even sisters calmly sleep with one another.

4. They (mostly) are not even aware that they are different from regular girls. They just don't think about it. They sincerely believe that all their behavioral changes are the result of their own choices, changed views, and so on. Their views, by the way, are simple: they need to "recruit" all women, reformat society to fit them, come out of the underground. They apparently often consider themselves revolutionaries or liberators...

I looked at the girl like she was insane. A minute ago, she was blushing and embarrassed listening to a recollection of simple bedroom role-play, and now she was calmly spouting some nonsense far too wild for me to take seriously.

...The reason for all this is explained by the fifth and most important feature, which conditions the first three: they can “turn” regular girls simply by sleeping with them once. What is this: hypnosis, transmission of a special nanovirus, some special pheromones or an almost supernatural ability to reprogram a woman's brain – we don't know yet. But this is their main trump card and main threat: this way they expand their ranks, recruiting regular girls, replenishing their constantly dwindling numbers. Once a girl is recruited – that's it, she is one hundred percent on their side, no former attachments or norms of decency can hold her back.

“So,” - Shooter spoke up, - “to summarize. We have an underground group of half-naked, unscrupulous, insanely sexy fanatics, lesbian or bi nymphomaniacs, hungry and greedy for sex, who want to turn the entire female population of the planet into themselves”.

“Who actively operate in strip clubs, massage parlors, brothels,” - added Tanya, - “where there is a simple and accessible opportunity to seduce any client...|

“Well, any who are susceptible, anyway. Those ‘witnesses’ who refuse can easily be killed. Why the surprised look? Did you think only we do that?”

Tatyana nodded.

“He's right. They kill as ruthlessly as we do, only in our case it's self-defense. But never mind. These are all psychological changes, and there are a couple of physiological ones.”

6.”They cannot get pregnant. At all. Apparently, their reproductive system has changed a bit and is now focused on that very "turning" through sex. How it works – we don't know yet.”

7. “These girls are incredibly beautiful and become even more so after turning. Once turned, their figures improve, they age much more slowly, and their already mentioned sky-high libido... They take great care of themselves, choose the sexiest lingerie sets and outfits, worry about always looking as appealing as possible, many enhance their breasts.

8. ”For some reason, many of them start lactating. This is no longer related to pregnancy – but it is quite common among the girls we neutralize. For example...”

Tanya suddenly grabbed one of Agata's tits and unceremoniously squeezed it – and to my amazement, besides a couple of streams of blood, white liquid squirted from her nipple.

___________
"...so, as you can see, this one too."

I was still staring at the dead girl, her chest literally drenched in blood and milk. Everything that was said didn't fit in my head and resembled some kind of fantastical B-movie, but one piece of evidence had just been vividly demonstrated to me.

"So, Agatha is one of these sluts?"

"Exactly," Tatiana nodded, wiping her hand with a paper towel, "but I think only recently. I'm really sorry, truly! She was probably a good girl..."

"But... how? She didn't... she never..."

"I understand," the nurse gently prompted me, "but it's a fact, turns out she had lesbian sex. Where and when - we can't know. Did you notice any changes in her recently?"

"No, I didn't notice anything... until tonight."

"So, in her case, the transformation happened quickly. Interesting..." Tatiana stared at Agatha thoughtfully, as if she was an unsolved mystery.

The Shooter, having finished his cigarette, suddenly leaned forward:

"Kid, it's a pity about your girl, but she's not the point. Do you get what the problem is? Think about it."

Thinking was difficult due to the tranquilizer and the influx of information, but I grimly said:

"The problem is that she went off the deep end because of this 'transformation' and tried to kill me."

"Uh-huh. Not quite, though it's better than the usual answer..."

"And what answer do you usually get?"

Tanya blushed slightly again and answered instead of the man:

"Well, mostly: 'so, we've got a bunch of sexy chicks craving sex and jumping on our dicks. What's the problem? Why not let them take over the world?'"

I laughed involuntarily. Well, it made sense.

"I probably would've said something similar if it weren't for my circumstances." Tanya gave me a look that clearly said, "you men are such predictable idiots."

Shooter, taking a drag, finished the thought:

"And the problem is very simple. These girls, if left alone, will replace the regular female population at a geometric rate. That's their main goal: to convert all broads to their ranks, after which they can take control of the world and finally come out of the shadows."

"And we'll go extinct as a species," the nurse added.

"But that's a minor detail. Any questions?"

---------
I was honestly trying to fit the new information into my head:

"Alright, but why don't they just come out of the shadows right now? They let you kill them with impunity while they're in hiding. Do I get it right?"

"It's not that simple. Remember: they don't need to integrate into our world, they need to completely reformat it for themselves, which they're successfully doing. Why reveal themselves prematurely? They recruit new followers through the bed as it is. But they'll gain a huge number of new enemies... They'd just get openly slaughtered, and they know it."

"Okay. So why don't we just expose them, since it all lines up so nicely? Let them get slaughtered."

The Shooter exchanged a look with the nurse.

"Remind me why we're even fighting them?" he asked.

"To survive?"

"In other words: to preserve our world. Now imagine a world where a woman is automatically a potential enemy, a half-naked woman is a threat, and a seductive woman is a one hundred percent foe... How does that sound? Can you foresee the consequences?"

I snorted.

"Well, I think the consequences would be shitty."

"That's putting it mildly. How many regular girls will die by mistake? How many women will be framed by their envious peers, longtime enemies? Husbands tired of their wives? Workplace rivals? Jealous lovers? What's to stop someone from waiting until she undresses, putting a bullet in her chest, and saying, 'she tried to kill me, she must be one of them'?
“And collateral losses aren't the only problem. Our enemies will gain advantages in this chaos: someone might start keeping them for personal use, recruiting them for sale to rich guys. The mafia will start kidnapping ordinary girls, deliberately turning them into insatiable, horny sex dolls - and that's just off the top of my head."”

Tatiana continued:

"The status quo suits both us and them. Yes, they suffer losses, but they also replenish them! Your Agatha became their next victim... They actively seduce everyone they can: lonely girls, clients at their salons, thrill-seekers, suddenly coercing their longtime girlfriends and acquaintances into sex... they really want this! And to expand their influence (and sometimes just for pleasure and to satiate their instinct), they don't hesitate to sleep with prominent men. By the way, they very eagerly try to seduce their killers. They're still afraid of dying... as you probably saw with your girl. Blinded by their new instinct, they try very hard to save their lives by thoroughly satisfying the kille...” - she looked disapprovingly at the Shooter, - “which many take advantage of..."

"Listen, there should be at least some benefit from these sluts!" he snapped, "it's dangerous and hard work, our guys are stressed, let them get some relief at least!"

"It's not about stress, your people treat these killings as entertainment! They make bets, keep scores, and boast about the 'hottest eliminations' in the break room, do you think that's normal?!"

"Our job is abnormal in general, and professional deformation is more your...” - I interrupted the argument, which had evidently been going on for a long time:

"And how bad is it? How close are these lesbo-whores to their goal? Are there millions, billions of them already?"

"Lesbo-whores" elicited mixed reactions: Shooter clearly liked it, Tanya - not so much. She glared at me with a look that seemed to hint I had just insulted Agatha, whom I had supposedly been mourning.

I was still mourning, but now I looked at her slightly differently. I needed answers.

____________

"No, they are still far from such scales... and for that, you can thank us. We actively track down and kill all members of this lesbo-syndicate because we want to protect the normal, regular female half of humanity.

“In fact, we tracked down your girl recently - she was in contact with a slut who has long been on our radar. She asked for help in killing you - she was afraid that you would kill her if she failed. After that, it was just a matter of technique... We heard in her phone conversation that she was arranging a meeting 'at my apartment,' quickly checked the address in the database," he looked at Tanya, "the database, of course, froze... Which cost us a lot of time, but I barely made it to the right place. Barely. If you hadn't been late yourself... I don't need a 'thank you.'”

"But... why did she even try to kill me?" I finally asked the main question. The answer was still unclear, even with all the new information.

"You can find out for yourself," the Shooter finally finished his cigarette and rudely put out the butt on Agatha's chest. Testing me, the son of a bitch... "I can give you the address of that slut your girl called. But on one condition - that you work for us. Specifically - for me, as I will be your boss. Otherwise, we'll handle her ourselves."

"Hmm. Let's clarify right away: this, as you said, slut... do I have to kill her?"

"Well, yeah," the Shooter said carelessly, "and not just her, but a bunch of other, as you put it, lesbo-sluts."

"Interesting. And why do you think I would agree to this? I'm not used to shooting women, especially half-naked ones."

"First, it's a simple skill, you'll learn quickly," the Shooter replied. I gave him the right nickname, it seems... "Secondly: I don't think anything. I'm just offering you a choice: either you try to find out who and how dragged your girl into this women's syndicate, and maybe punish the guilty one... Or we'll erase your memories of recent events and return you to your normal life. From your point of view, Agatha will just disappear without a trace. I can't promise that her associates won't try to avenge her - but that's your problem. I can't save your life twice."

"Hmm. You can erase memories? How many more tricks do you have up your sleeve?"

"Quite a few, but you'll only learn the details if you join us."

"Got it. So. One last question... for now. Why do you call it a syndicate? Is that their self-designation?"

The nurse replied:

"Yes and no. Their society combines different strip clubs, brothels, and the aforementioned massage parlors... That's why it’s a 'Syndicate.' Rank-and-file members use this term very rarely, it's not certain that they even know about it. Girls at the level of strip club owners use it, but we don't think they have any centralized leadership... it seems to us that it's a set of loosely connected collectives and groups... they spread their influence on their own, out of internal desire, not by order of a single boss. But we don't know for sure. We still know very little about them. Maybe you can help us find out."

"In any case," the Shooter concluded, standing up, "your girl died because someone from our side failed to kill another slut in time, who then involved Agatha in the Syndicate. An unpleasant thought, right? Now think about how many more ordinary, normal women - like your Agatha (not this one with bare tits on the autopsy table, but the one you knew) - will die if you don't join us."

I was still hesitating.

"I understand, it's a hard choice, but we don't have time to think long. Sit here for about ten minutes alone, with your girl's body. Then we'll come back, and you'll tell us what you decided."

I looked at the body of my former girlfriend as if by command. The nurse and the Shooter headed for the exit. The girl gave me a sympathetic look.

"Oh, and one last thing," the Shooter turned from the door, "our Tanya forgot to mention one more physiological feature of these girls."

Tanya blushed deeply and gave the Shooter a withering look. Against my will, I became interested: what else could have caused such a reaction from her, after everything that had been said?

"It's not at all necessary..."

"What feature?" I interrupted her.

"These girls not only age much more slowly," the Shooter said, looking at Agatha's stocking-clad legs, "they also, for some reason, retain their 'marketable' appearance for much longer after death than ordinary people. Your girl, for example, has been dead for 4 hours. She’s still good as new."

I looked at Agatha again - she really did look alive. So, I hadn't imagined it.

"This applies to all parts of the body. Including the intimate ones," he yawned, ignoring the crimson-faced nurse, who was angrily staring into space, "you can say goodbye to her, there are no cameras here. The table, by the way, is heated."

________________


My girlfriend's pussy was still as tight as the last time, and I hadn't seen it this wet in a long while. It seemed like her body still craved sex, just like it did last night (only 4 hours ago!), when she was rubbing her crotch against me...

I threw Agatha's legs, still clad in stockings, over my shoulders, occasionally kissing her knees and thighs. Her feet hung limply behind my back, sometimes hitting me with her heels – as if she was trying to resist. Probably, she really didn't like the outcome of her little deadly trap...

Her breasts, even after being riddled with bullets, retained their firmness and shape, bouncing in rhythm with my movements. I squeezed one of them, which responded with streams of warm blood from the numerous holes and another brief spurt of milk.

I fucked her for a long time, passionately and without pity – firstly, Agatha didn't need any, and secondly, I viewed this body not as the Agatha I knew – I would never have allowed to treat her this way.

I looked at the sexy body as the Agatha who cold-bloodedly tried to kill me.

"Too bad you're late... I would have had fun with you..." - I remembered her seductively relaxed remark before she made the first stab with the knife. I leaned down to Agatha's face, kissed her lips greedily, and mentally replied:
"Well, baby, I still found the time and opportunity... are you happy with the result? Everything didn't go according to your plan, such a shame. At that moment, above me, with a knife in your hands, haughty and confident – could you have thought that just a couple of hours later, I would be fucking your dead body here, in this lab, while you would be jiggling your bullet-riddled tits in front of me?"

I felt that this thought was bringing me to the climax of our last date. It seemed like she was about to respond to the kiss...

"Hello. I was sent to ask what you deci... oh..."

The nurse's voice from the door was so expressive that I didn't even need to turn around to see her flushed face. At that very moment, I finally came... as violently as I hadn't in a long time.... and this redheaded bitch used to drain me dry even before...

I pulled my cock out of Agatha – thick, hot white liquid immediately started flowing from her overfilled pussy – and, breathing heavily, I turned to the nurse, who stood frozen in the doorway with a look of absolute confusion, shame, indignation, and – I swear – hungry curiosity.

"Yes," I said, carelessly tossing Agatha's legs off my shoulders, "tell your boss that I'm taking the job."

The nurse stared at me, unblinking, unable to utter a word.

"I need the address of that slut he mentioned."

 

[Drizzt78]

"File №4: Smoke and Blood



The nurse stayed behind to "process" Agata, whatever that meant. I was given a change of clothes and directed to the "instructor."



The instructor turned out to be another woman—an incredibly beautiful brunette with long, straight hair and the most intriguing curves, not very successfully hidden by a tight blouse and pencil skirt. Her laughing blue eyes, peering through thin rectangular glasses, briefly glanced in my direction.



"Ah, the rookie."



She turned to one of the lockers and took out a gun—a very specific one, apparently. Casually twirling the dangerous toy on the tip of her elegant finger, the girl looked at me again, this time more attentively. I returned the look, lingering on the curves of her figure.



Whether the instructor was in a hurry or this was just her usual style… the briefing turned out to be a bit strange.



"Today, you need to clear out an apartment where the girl you're interested in lives. Typical assignment. Go in, fill some tits with lead, and leave. Don't leave anyone alive," she said with a sweet smile. "I think they've already explained why you can't show mercy to these girls. This is your first assignment?" she asked suddenly, her playful voice full of curiosity.



"Well, yeah."



"Wonderful! Make sure it’s not your last."



Stunned by her brevity, I didn’t immediately know how to respond. "You're an original girl," flashed through my mind.



"I understand brevity is the soul of wit, but maybe some better advice?"



The woman elegantly extended her hand forward—the gun, hanging by its trigger guard from her finger, still swung on its joint, just above her graceful manicure.



"Of course! Don’t play the gentleman; shoot first. Don’t think that just because these girls are half-naked, they aren’t dangerous—quite the opposite. If you stand there staring at their bare breasts, they’ll kill you. But if you shoot before they manage to unhook their bra, you’ll live through more than one mission," she smiled sweetly and glanced at the gun, "This is a .45 caliber. Perfect for shooting firm titties."



I looked at the weapon, then at the beaming girl.



"And how many... breasts has it pierced?"



"Oh, this one only has one... or two, depending on how you count," she winked, "Wasn’t her name Agata? I thought you might want to keep the gun that killed her as a memento."



"...you really are an original girl."



I took the gun.



_________________



Evening of the same day.



"So, are you going to let me go?" Tanya asked. "You promised not to kill me. You really will let me go, right?"



She was kneeling before me in just her panties. Her face, eyelashes, and hair were splattered with cum, yet she looked at me trustingly with her deep eyes.



I patted her silky breast.



"You know, sunshine..."



Stop.



I’m going to guess the obvious question is, "Hold on, what happened?"



I ran through the recent events in my head again.



Yes. Hmm. It turned out to be a complete... well, everything went a bit off the rails.



_______________



Here it was, my first assignment—I was cautiously moving down the dimly lit corridor of some apartment. In my hand was a pistol, which I was gripping so tightly that my fingers hurt, and there was more tension in my muscles than during training. In my head was a single pulsating thought:



"I'm just going to talk to her. I'm not going to kill her. I'll just talk, I don't care about their shadow war. I just need to talk..."



One of the doors swung open, and into the corridor, drying her long wheat-colored hair with a towel, stepped... I don't know, maybe a Scandinavian goddess.

A long-haired blonde with a huge bust, around a D or E cup, barely contained by a lacy white bra. Long light hair, a sultry curve of lips, and huge, slightly sad brown eyes. She was stunning. And she was dressed only in a white bra and panties that clung to her body like a second skin.



The towel she was holding dropped to the floor. The woman froze in the doorway of the bathroom, finally noticing me.



"Stay quiet! Or you'll get a bullet between your tits, got it?" I hissed, the words flying out before I could think. My pulse was probably no slower than that of the terrified blonde.



She stared at me in shock, her eyes widening. She was trembling, either from fear or from the hot shower, and all the soft parts of her body seemed to resonate in a silent dance...



"I asked, do you understand or..."



There was a loud crack, followed by a moist "pfft!" and the familiar sound of a juicy slap.



___________



Events unfolded faster than I could process: it turned out to be another girl (this time a completely naked brunette with an elegant bob of jet-black hair, wearing only knee-high socks) who had burst through a stuck bedroom door into the corridor with a loud bang. Hence the sudden, loud sound.



And I had instinctively pulled the trigger.

Firing a single shot at where I was aiming—straight at the blonde.



___________



The bullet hit her just below the breast, above the navel, leaving a neat hole in her skin. The blonde staggered, throwing her butt back as if dancing—but she momentarily stayed on her feet. Her hands flew up, trying to cover her chest... and then fell down along with the woman herself.



The brunette and I stared at each other in shock. I saw her sharp, triangular, girlish breasts with hardened nipples, a taut stomach, a narrow strip of black hair on her pubic area—and then she launched herself with a loud, desperate scream:



"Fuuuuuuuuck!” which cut off as a bullet slammed into the back of her head.



The girl jerked her head violently, tossing her short hair, her movements lost coherence—and she fell face-first to the floor with a loud sound, her breasts skidding a good ten centimeters across the parquet.



________________





Her desperate, obscene scream still echoes in my head. The word was fitting, I totally agree, because I wasn't aiming for your head, you idiot... I wanted to make a warning shot, for fuck's sake! To shoot higher so you'd stop! But goddammit... I accidentally hit the bullseye, right on target. I wonder if I have any snipers among my ancestors?



The blonde lets out an agonizing moan, pulling me back to reality. The stupor eases a bit, but my hands are still trembling from the adrenaline.



So, here we have a bull’s-eye hit on a pair of melons! Real watermelons, you could say... Wait, what is she doing? Seriously? Is she really groping her own breasts right now?



It doesn't immediately register that the woman is trying to press, squeeze, somehow move her massive tits because she can't see the wound behind them. It's strange to feel aroused by a wounded woman, half-sitting on the floor, squeezing her own breasts, but I can feel my cock growing hard as steel in my pants.



On her beautiful face, contorted with pain, wild horror is growing:



"Oh... oh, you shot me... God… you shot me, my God! It hurts so much, ahhh!!!" Her scream is getting louder. Maybe the shock is wearing off? A few more seconds and she'll be screaming at the top of her lungs... fuck!



"Let me help you!" I say, aiming the pistol at her tits. I notice how her swollen nipples are visible through the lacy fabric of her bra.



"No, God, no, please~ OHH!!"



The bullet enters the upper hemisphere of her left breast, and then the right. The "Scandinavian goddess" proves to be quite tough—three bullets still haven't taken her down, although the woman has lost coordination and is essentially just convulsing on the floor. Her legs are straightened and twitching spasmodically, her shot-up bust heaving with attempts to breathe, and her left breast is about to fall out of the bra cup...



Let's put her out of her misery.



I fired again. This time the bullet hit her head. The blonde was thrown back slightly, her head hitting the wall, then she slumped forward, her face resting on her chest... and went silent forever.



From another room, I hear a worried murmur. I freeze—shit, more women? Damn, maybe I should just leave? They're not bothering me, and I...



Suddenly, I manage to make out some words, spoken nervously and a bit louder than the rest:



"Be quiet! I almost found the gun, it's under the pillow, shut up!"



___________________



I kick open the bedroom door and aim my weapon at two half-naked women who were clearly just fooling around in bed. One is a young, delicate blonde with sharp A-cup breasts, who jumps up in fear, not pulling her hand out from under the pillow.



The blonde's friend had been clinging to her arm out of fear a second ago, hindering her search for the weapon. The friend is a young brunette with glasses and smooth black hair tied in a bun. She has perky, juicy C-cup breasts with pink, neat areolas.



"Who are you?!" the first one exclaims in panic, still frantically searching under the pillow, "What do you want?!"



Pfft, pfft!



The answer comes in the form of two juicy slaps of lead, hitting her in the breasts. Her left and right titties jump in turn, spitting out red sprays onto the white sheets, and the blonde, with a thin, pitiful moan, collapses back—head landing right on the pillow that hid the life-saving gun from her.



The friend of the dead girl also jumps up from the bed but, seeing the quick and brutal death of her lover, seems to lose the ability to speak. She cowers in the corner, trembling all over, looking at me with frightened eyes. I think I can even hear her thoughts: "He's going to kill me! He's going to kill me!"



Ignoring the dying moans of the shot blonde, I aim my weapon at the naked brunette.



"Who are you?"



"I... I... I'm Taya..." the girl barely whispers.



"Taya?! Bitch, so it's you... - overwhelmed by adrenaline, I can't find the right words, - because of you... because of you, not only were these girls killed, but also Agata, you..."



The girl cries out in desperation:



"No, not Taya, Tanya! I'm Tanya! Taya is in the other bedroom, the brunette with short hair, she’s Taya, and I'm Tanya!"



_____________________





I look at her in a stupor. Great.



First off, another Tanya. I’ve been having a lot of luck with them lately.



Secondly, turns out I just fucked up not only the mission but also killed my only witness.



...I mean, I’ve killed plenty of witnesses, but this one was the only known link between Agatha and the female syndicate. Case closed before it even started. Finito la...



“Please, don’t kill me!” Tanya begs, shaking all over and seemingly on the verge of tears. “Please, I haven’t done anything wrong, please, no!”



“Shut the fuck up!” I snap, just to get her to stop grating on my already frayed nerves. “Don’t kill you? Fine. You’ve got ten seconds to convince me why I shouldn’t shoot you like your slutty friends. Otherwise, tough luck. I don’t have time for chit-chat.”



I saw the muscles in the brunette’s body tense as she started thinking feverishly. In the end, she found the only possible answer that might save her.



“Uh...” she stammered, “what do you want?”



“What do I want?” I repeated, and a thought flashed through my mind: “I need to relax, calm down, and assess the situation rationally.” “I want you to suck my cock. Right now.”



After all, what better way for a man to relax than with a cute girl giving him a blowjob?



______________________



Tanya worked well, even professionally. First off, she didn’t just get on her knees; she took a complex position, almost like being on all fours—but only balancing on her legs, while her hands roamed my body, stroking my thighs and caressing my cock. This allowed me to see not just the top of her head but also the curve of her back, ending in a firm ass, from this angle looking exactly like a heart symbol.



This ❤ swayed rhythmically back and forth while Tanya worked with her mouth.



She was good there too—the girl skillfully used her tongue and throat simultaneously.



A professional, a lover of her craft! Despite being young—Tanya, as she managed to say herself (taking a second to break from my cock to hurriedly answer my question), was a third-year student at some art institute. No parents, ran away from foster care, lived here—"renting a room." Whether the lesbian lover came with the room, I didn’t ask.



Secondly, her "services," strangely enough, really helped me relieve some tension. One bit of tension was relieved right in her mouth, and another on her face, which she obediently offered up for the “shot,” not forgetting to stick out her tongue.



We were close to a third round—either Tanya was that good, or I just hadn’t had a woman in a while... with Agatha, we, ahem, didn’t get the chance—but I decided to take a break and conduct a little interrogation, making Tanya lick and suck the barrel of the gun first for added effect.



After all, it's known that the best time to talk to a woman is when her mouth is occupied with something.



______________





Tanya started to cry and protest, thinking I was going to blow her brains out—but she obeyed when I shouted and promised to do just that if she didn’t listen.



“Alright. Here’s the deal. I’m not interested in you, I have no issues with you...” I hesitated, “Sorry about your girlfriends, they either got in the way or behaved really stupidly. Are you smart?”



Tanya nodded rapidly, blinking away tears mixed with smeared mascara and cum dripping from her lashes.



“Any hard feelings about your friends?”



Tanya shook her head vigorously.



“Good. Then I’m taking the gun out of your mouth, and you’re not going to scream. You’re going to answer my questions clearly. Agreed?”



She nodded quickly. I kept my part of the bargain.



“I need information. Taya and another redhead—beautiful, with a slightly cocky face—were somehow connected and were planning to kill me. What do you know about that?”



Tanya started talking as rapidly as she had nodded. The gist was this: the art student knew nothing, just “hung out” with the girls here. Taya was a bitch, and Tanya didn’t miss her at all. But the redhead—what a surprise!—also hung around here. Tanya had seen her a couple of times, very beautiful, piercing eyes, attractive movements, a seductive curve to her breasts, and a firm, eye-catching ass...



I sighed. Yeah, definitely Agatha, no need for a photo-sketch.



“But she used to meet with Taya, they discussed some business of theirs,” Tanya said, constantly swallowing, probably trying to get rid of the taste of metal. “It seemed like they were planning some deal or something... they had a debt, and this was a simple way to pay it off... I don’t really know, Taya hardly talked about it... But yes, I saw that girl, so beautiful and definitely not ordinary...”



Definitely.



“What debt?” I asked, “What deal? Recollect any details, or you’re not much use!”



Tanya started talking fast again:



“I don’t know, really, please don’t be mad! Maybe you can ask a girl named Katya, she works...” Tanya looked at me fearfully. I had to put the gun to her chest:



“Well, why’d you go quiet?”



Tanya almost burst into tears again:



“Please, understand, I’m not guilty of anything! Katya, she’s... well... she’s one of us, you know?”



As if I didn’t understand! Art student Tanya turned out to be not as simple and clueless as she pretended. She accidentally stumbled onto the topic, proving she’s been in the know for a while.



“She... well... she’s a prostitute. An escort. Taya worked with her, they often went on jobs together. They were close, maybe Katya knows something!”



I sighed. Got it, “your princess is in another castle.”



“Address. Give me Katya’s address.”



Tanya quickly gave me the needed information (not bad, escorts living in a fancy area!) and, looking up at me devotedly, asked:



“Well, are you going to let me go? You promised not to kill me. Will you really let me go?”



She was on her knees in just her panties. Her face, lashes, and hair were covered in splatters of cum, which didn’t stop her from looking at me with trusting eyes.

I patted her silky breast.



“You know, sunshine...”



________









Damn. Of course, I hadn’t promised her anything, but, damn it! I couldn’t just kill a girl whose name I knew and whom I’d talked to, even a little. What happened earlier here was a chain of fatal accidents and pure adrenaline; I’m not proud of it, but what’s done is done.



But this girl was a different case. Killing her would be a cold-blooded act, and I just couldn’t do it anymore.



Well... first day on the new job, and already engaged in misconduct, huh?



I slowly said, “...if I don’t do it, someone else will...” Tanya stared at me in horror, “so fuck it, let someone else do it. Get up, get dressed, and get out of here!”



______________



The girl, as if not believing her luck, couldn’t move for a second. Then, jumping up and babbling numerous thanks to me, she rushed to the wardrobe, pulling on tight lavender panties and a bra.



The woman getting dressed was no less attractive than one undressing. So, feeling the urge to lay Tanya down right on top of the dead blonde and fuck her properly, I tried to distract myself with wise words:



“...and I’m serious, cut ties with this lesbian mafia or whatever you’ve got! Study at your institute and build a career or whatever you want to do, but don’t mess with them anymore. Got it? If you keep fucking with these ladies and living in their safe houses, you’ll get taken out sooner or later. If I see you again, I won’t let you go a second time, keep that in mind.”



“Of course, thank you, thank you! I’ll never, I’m not with them anymore, I’ll leave here completely!” Tanya suddenly hesitated, looking into the wardrobe. She timidly threw a light robe over her underwear and shivered.



“What?” I asked, suddenly remembering another Tanya and her biology lectures, “uncomfortable?”



“It’s all scratchy and prickly!” Tanya said plaintively, looking at me, “and besides, clothes are hot, they suffocate and restrict...”



“For fuck’s sake, you can’t walk out into the street in just panties and a bra!” I snapped, losing patience. How was she even going to survive like this? “Throw on a coat over your naked body and go in that, or else I’ll...”



Tanya didn’t wait for the “or else,” hurriedly grabbed a beige coat from the wardrobe and, still nodding and showering me with thanks, ran out into the corridor.



“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I’ll never forget, I... I’ll definitely repay you, thank you, thank you!”



“You already have,” I muttered under my breath, tiredly running a hand over my face, “just go.”



“Thank you, I... oh... you...” Tanya suddenly fell silent, then broke into a hurried gabble: “hurry, he’s in the bedroom, he killed Taya and the girls, you... what are you doing? No! No, PLEASE, NO!!!” Her wild scream was followed by the familiar “pfft! pfft!”



It was my turn to stare down the corridor, grabbing my gun. Tanya was clearly getting killed out there, but all I saw was her collapsing on all fours right in front of the doorway, with a smoking hole in her thigh and one of her breasts. Whimpering, making a half-groan, half-scream filled with pain and terror, pouring blood on the floor, the girl desperately tried to crawl away from the invisible threat.



The threat, meanwhile, stepped up close to Tanya and pressed a gun to her head. The girl’s eyes bulged, and through her tears, she let out her final, tortured scream:



“NOOOOO!!!~”



Pfft!



Her head seemed to be nailed to the floor. The young body, losing control, awkwardly crumpled, its ass in lavender tight panties jutting out towards the person who had just killed her. I was also in complete shock, staring at this person, while the killer casually, carelessly nudged Tanya’s ass with the sharp heel of a stylish shoe.



Laughing blue eyes, looking through thin rectangular glasses, glanced quickly in my direction.



“Now, let’s finish our briefing,” said the instructor.

 

[Drizzt78]

File No. 5. Interlude.

A click of the switch—and the bedroom plunged into darkness.

Not quite. The ethereal light from the night-time metropolis still streamed in through the window, illuminating the silhouette of a woman in just her panties, smoking at the window, half-leaning against the sill.

“Are you going to sleep?” I asked Agatha.

With a sharp flick, she sent the cigarette spiraling into the night.

“Sleep? Why would I sleep?” she asked softly. “And besides, what about... more interesting ways to spend our time?”

I chuckled, feeling a growing heaviness around my groin at her soft voice and casual teasing.

“Well, that depends on what you’re suggesting...”

“Sex, of course.”

She was always straightforward, which, I must say, was something I liked about her. It made teasing her all the more enjoyable.

I demonstratively yawned and stretched.

“Well then, you’ve earned it. You’ve been a good girl this week.”

“Really? Then I’m going to be very bad now.”

The dark silhouette of the woman—whom I could barely see but rather imagined—slowly swayed her hips as she moved towards me.

“And what do we do with bad girls?” she asked with a slight breathiness (...with a strange rasp?).

“Well, there are many options. We could deprive them of their fun, for instance. Take away their favorite dress and make them walk around the apartment naked. And also, by the way...”

“They get punished. Severely.”

“How severely?”

“Very.”

She came closer to me, bending over and beginning to crawl onto the bed, sensuously swaying her ass with each movement.

“Do you remember the last time? You punished me very severely... really severely...” she purred. Suddenly, a sense of unease washed over me—a troubling memory trying to break through my relaxed, sleepy consciousness.

“When was that? When you tried to... wait, you...”

Agatha finally got close to me and straightened up on the bed, balancing on her knees—just like our last meeting, when...

“When I…? Finish your sentence.”

A beam of light from some spotlight caught her body. Wide-open eyes with frozen pupils. A pale, bloodless face. Parted lips with a thin trickle of blood flowing down, dripping from her sensuous chin, along the curve of her slender neck, and between her delicate collarbones, into the seductive cleavage... straight into the bloody mess, the fleshy remains of her breasts, torn to shreds, hanging down with no hint of their former firmness.

“You wanted to say that I’m dead?”

I stared at her in shock, unable to tear my eyes away from the bloody mess that used to be her beautiful, firm, and feminine breasts. Now, the mix of bloodied flesh hung down in tatters—resembling numerous octopus tentacles. Probably because of their elongation—I even saw that at the tip of one of those pieces hung a half-severed nipple, still swollen as if from arousal...

“What?” Agatha asked in a colorless voice. “Why are you looking at me like that? You did this to me yourself.”

----------------


Fuck!

I jolted upright in bed.

...a cliché, I know. But I wasn’t in the mood to care about that right now—my mind was still reeling from the vision of a half-naked (and apparently dead?) Agatha creeping up on me in the night. The sight of her mutilated breasts still burned in my memory—and, to my shame, I had to admit that my body reacted with a hard-on that could cut wood. Well, that’s not a cliché.

Alright.

I was sure it wasn’t the shredded tits turned into hamburger meat that turned me on, but Agatha herself and her painfully familiar haughty teasing. Yeah—until she stepped into that beam of light, the dream was perfect... oh, fuck, what the hell is going on?

I buried my face in my hands and exhaled heavily, agonizingly.

Damn, damn, damn.
Yes, I still miss her. I ache. I suffer from pussy deprivation. Call it what you want, but I miss her like hell.

“Her or her tits and ass?” asked a more honest part of my consciousness.
“One is inseparable from the other,” I snapped back.
“Well, not inseparable... quite separable, as you saw in the dream...” my practical subconscious began, but I silenced it with an effort of will.

Yeah.

Jokes aside, I had plenty of tits and ass at my new job, but I still missed Agatha. Like any other man after a breakup, I did everything I could to forget her: alcohol, late-night outings, burying myself in work, lovers, trying to replace her with other women (I often closed my eyes during sex and imagined my redheaded witch instead of my current partner), and so on—but nothing worked. She kept coming back in my dreams, and this was not even the worst one involving her...

I fumbled on the nightstand for a lighter and a pack of cigarettes—hah, wasn’t Agatha smoking these in my dream?—and took a long, satisfying drag.

“Like any other man after a breakup”...

Breakup, yeah, right. Our breakup was a bit different from most—during our last encounter, she first tried to lure me into wild, passionate sex, which turned out to be a trap she set; then she tried to kill me; and then she herself became a victim of my current boss—who arrived just in time and filled her tits with lead, knocking her out permanently.
It later turned out—but this was the least of my shocks!—that she had become a crazy lesbian nymphomaniac, joined some secret female syndicate, and planned to kill me for... I don’t know what for. I still have to figure that out—as well as who dragged her into that syndicate.

Oh, Agatha...

Our scientist—a smart girl named Tanya—apparently trying to comfort me, had repeated a thousand times that Agatha had undergone some sort of transformation and by the time of our last meeting was no longer the woman I knew.
Her priorities had shifted, her sexual preferences, even her orientation (the Agatha I knew was okay with a little lesbian show in moments of arousal but looked at real LGBT with mild disapproval)—in short, something had completely twisted her mind and personality.

Tanya’s motivation was clear: Tanya is a good girl, somehow retaining her inner compassion, and thus trying to ease my suffering. She tried to convince me that Agatha, my Agatha, whom I indirectly helped to kill, was no longer herself by the time she died.
It sounds nice, but Tanya is wrong.

I know... rather, I knew my girl. Those were her intonations, her words, her manner of speaking, the same coldly haughty teasing typical of her...
If only I had had a chance to talk to her properly! If I could have twisted her arms, tied her to the bed like she did to me, and forced her into a conversation—I’m sure I could have gotten my girl back. But alas, things turned out as they did.

“Fuck…”

Her face appeared before my eyes again—wide-open eyes with trembling lashes, staring upwards into the void. This vision meshed disturbingly well with her pale, deathly-white face from the dream, like something out of a gothic horror story.

Alright. Fuck it all. Fuck Agatha, fuck the dreams, fuck her syndicate and everything related to it.

Time to get to work.

I looked at the other half of the bed. There lay a young, gorgeous girl: a slender waist, wide light-green eyes, stylishly cut hair in a sharp bob. Her young, perky breasts pointed upwards—revealing three bullet holes audaciously spaced across them. Above her wide-open eyes was another bullet hole—a neat little cherry on top—she was still convulsing when I gave her the finishing shot yesterday.

Falling asleep next to the body of a dispatched girl... yeah, maybe our instructor Eva wasn’t wrong when she said I was quite the original.

I picked up my smartphone and dialed a familiar number.

“Express Cleanup?” I asked. “The apartment is clear. Send a car to dispose of the trash.”

 

[Drizzt78]

From the agency archives: one of the last known photos of Agatha Zlotova, discovered in the gallery of her own smartphone along with other selfies and images. Contrary to the rumor circulating among agency staff, this photo was NOT taken just before her liquidation. Her frightened expression and the underwear she’s wearing are from another occasion—most likely, she didn’t expect someone to photograph her half-dressed and started to protest.

Starting from 10/20/202*, access to the rest of Agatha’s photos (both during her life and postmortem) is granted to staff only upon special request with an explanation of the necessity for such access.

Comments on the file:

Research Assistant Tatyana N.: I’ve said it a million times, STOP evaluating and ranking the girls you’ve killed based on how "hot" they were. Have some respect for their feelings!

Agent "Centaur": We do respect their feelings. I personally gave her a 10/10 for her tits and scared little face.

Research Assistant Tatyana N.: That’s not what I meant!

Agent "Ermine": Excuse me, but what feelings are we talking about? She’s lying in the morgue with bullet-ridden tits, if they haven’t burned her already...

Research Assistant Tatyana N.: I said, ENOUGH.

 

[Noir_Theory]

Hey! Author here.

First, thank you very much for your interest. I hope you guys enjoyed the story, even if only in translation.
I really-really hope to hear some feedback on the story, if it's possible =)

Secondly, the text above is still machine translated (although it's pretty good-quality) , so please excuse any strange wording or unclear expressions happening here and there. I will try to post proofread translations here in the future.

And, as my sincere gratitude for your interest, please accept this small story-based picture.
(I read the rules - it doesn't seem to violate anything =)

Thanks!

 

[Drizzt78]

Secondly, the text above is still machine translated (although it's pretty good-quality) , so please excuse any strange wording or unclear expressions happening here and there. I will try to post proofread translations here in the future.


View attachment 156409

Thanks!

As someone noted, Russian "niche" audiences seem to prefer torture \ executions to bullets \ blades, so this may prove more popular on English speaking boards. Maybe deadly desires or femme fatalities (I mostly linked this board because the content is viewable without registration).

 

[Kalizar99]

This is excellently written, and surprisingly well thought out, even if it’s unusual in terms of subject matter. Thanks for the story/translation

 

[Noir_Theory]

This is excellently written, and surprisingly well thought out, even if it’s unusual in terms of subject matter. Thanks for the story/translation

Thank you for your kind words. It's very inspiring to hear.
Continuation is coming soon :)

 

[Noir_Theory]

File #7: The New Trace
​

The pool was suddenly under fire.

Irina, the redhead adjusting her lacy bra on her high, firm breasts, suddenly screamed in sync with three sharp slaps — “ah! ah! ah!” — and awkwardly fell into the water from the edge. Her perky bottom, covered only by the thin “T” of her thong, briefly flashed with the sun's wet reflection before disappearing in a splash of cool, bluish water, which the overheated girl had hesitated to enter just moments before.

A stunned silence followed.

The event was so sudden and so much like a scene from a cheap action movie that all the girls had the same fleeting hope: "This isn't serious, right? She's just fooling around?"

As it turned out, no.

By the time Irina's body resurfaced, shooting was already coming from all directions.

---

Marina reacted quickly, rolling off and sliding from her sunbed. The tanned Gabriella, who was lying in the hammock next to her and watching Irina in astonishment, was already arching for the last time in her life with a tortured groan-scream: a deadly burst had pierced her from between her breasts to the triangle of her bikini bottoms.

In the seconds that passed between the first shots and the moment Irina's body fell limply into the water, all the girls by the pool just stared at their fallen friend in dumbfounded amazement, missing their last chance to save themselves.

The busty blonde named Olga, standing nearby in only white panties and watering the lawn, instantly caught at least five bullets in her huge breasts. Ruby-red blood splattered the grass she had cared for so much, and then the woman herself fell onto the green lawn, pressing her shot-up chest into the ground.

No less busty, the red-haired Nicole, dressed in red panties and a translucent robe that barely covered her body, was hit by a bullet just as she tried to turn and run back to the cottage. The deadly projectile pierced her breasts from the side. Nicole collapsed to the ground with a desperate scream of pain, which was cut short a few seconds later by another whistling "pfft!" Her body bucked and then fell limp.

Kristina, pressing her back against the sunbed and trying her best not to stand out (not a bad tactic, but not when you're topless under the aim of three snipers), seemed to have fallen victim to an amused shooter: each of her firm breasts was hit directly in the nipple. This was already enough for the girl, but the sniper didn't stop there: three more expertly placed bullets, one in her navel, one in her panties, and one in her forehead, put a definitive end to the poor girl's fate.

The two Japanese girls, Naomi and Azumi, who had been putting on a light lesbian show in the water, screamed and ran to opposite ends of the pool (for a wild moment, Marina even found this funny). Azumi reflexively rushed to the ladder, but her head jerked as a bullet hit her temple, and she sank into the water (Marina belatedly thought that this might have been the best move from the start).

Naomi, with one swift movement, threw her young, slender, white body out of the water, grabbing onto the edge... thus exposing her back and bottom to the snipers.

It seems such a tempting target attracted the attention of several shooters at once: they didn't spare five shots on one frail Asian girl. The bullets tore through her white back like a knife through butter.

Marina saw two bullets exit Naomi's neat breasts (one bullet seemed to rip off her small brown nipple...), yet somehow the girl continued clinging to the edge, both literally and figuratively hanging on to life.

Another bullet struck her left buttock, which had surfaced above the water — and Naomi's strength finally gave out.

With a short, plaintive cry, she let go of the edge and slipped back into the water, rapidly turning red. Marina heard a desperate gurgling — the final death cry of the drowning Japanese girl. Marina preferred not to think about Naomi now choking on water mixed with her own blood and the blood of her twin sister.

Now, besides Marina, only one girl remained alive — the goth girl named Jadwiga — whose white body, adorned with dark ink tattoos, was covered only by fishnet stockings and high-heeled boots. She screamed, dropped her cocktail glass, and ran towards the house.

She might even have had a chance to survive (the shooters were distracted by Naomi, and Jadwiga had a slight head start), but her pretentious choice of footwear let her down — those stylish high-platform boots, so inappropriate by the summer pool.

The girl's leg gave way as she ran past the bar — causing the first bullet intended for her head to miss, and Jadwiga, for a moment, probably thought she had miraculously escaped. But the next instant, new bullets hit her body, ripping through her elegant stomach and white, tattooed breasts — making it clear that a bullet to the head would have been far preferable, as quick death is merciful compared to the hellish pain of torn breasts and a pierced stomach. Jadwiga couldn't rise again, though she was still alive. However, "still alive" doesn't mean "will survive" — the young goth was slowly but inexorably heading towards her long-awaited meeting with Death.

Marina, awkwardly trying to press her bust against the tile, clung to the ground, helplessly watching her friends being mercilessly killed one by one. The massacre seemed to go without a hitch: only 20-30 seconds had passed, and 90% of the girls were already dead — just half-naked bodies in various states of undress and injury, sometimes with exposed or slipped-out breasts, lying on the tiles and floating in the water…

"Don't panic. Focus. You're smarter than all of them, you have to survive."

Marina remembered the small ladies' pistol lying in the bedroom on the second floor. Gabriella had shown it to her yesterday. She needed to get to it, and then…

Marina didn't have time to finish her thought: something stung her side painfully, knocking all the air out of her lungs. She was thrown half a meter, flipping onto her back and exposing her breasts to the killer, which had not yet dipped into the cool pool water...

“Please, no, I…” she thought plaintively-panic-stricken, addressing no one in particular — but the next second a bullet entered her head, and for the girl, everything was over.

Absolutely everything.

---

While Marina's body convulsively twitched its breasts and legs, sprawled on the cold tiles, the shooters assessed the results of their work.

"Did you see that?" Centaur asked, "I hit that busty brunette right in the areolas."

"Which busty brunette?" Ermine, our female sniper, asked pragmatically.

"All three."

"No way. You hit the giggly one with the bob haircut between the breasts."

My partners exchanged venomous chuckles. I, meanwhile, looking at the massacre site through the sniper rifle scope, noted:

"That goth girl is still alive."

Centaur re-applied his eye to the optical sight.

"No… she's just having post-mortem convulsions."

"Yeah? And did she also cup her breast with her hand, post-mortem, too?"

To my left, there was another silenced shot. The goth's hand, pierced by a bullet, fell lifelessly from her repeatedly (and now definitively fatally) shot left breast.

"Yup," said Centaur.

---

"And what were those girls thinking, renting this cottage?" asked my partner, examining the female bodies at his feet. He pointed the silenced pistol at the head of one of the dead women and pulled the trigger.

There was another “pfft,” and the woman became… let’s say, even more dead.

"And what's wrong with it?", Ermine replied over the radio, still covering us from the forest, "it's a good cottage, picturesque place. A river, a field, a pool... I would have rented it myself."

"And it's not obvious to you?"

"Say ‘a,’ you should say ‘b’ too."

"And now I won't."

"Well, don't then."

"No, I will, just to spite you now!"

"Guys, stop fooling around," I intervened gently, joining the radio chat, "we're still on a mission. Ermine, you should watch the surroundings, okay? Someone might be hiding. If you see anyone — shoot without waiting for my command, try not to let anyone escape. Not into the field, nor back into the cottage — I don't want to dig them out of the rooms later..."

My colleagues fell silent. I, with difficulty tearing my gaze from the dead redhead, looked at my partner — he was making faces at the nearby forest thickets. The same ones where Ermine was still sitting in her sniper position.

A sweet couple, really. Maybe they'll even get married. "Tell me, where did you find such a woman? — Oh, you know, we went to kill a group of girls together once..."

Well, alright: they were top-notch professionals. In our unofficial weekly tally of girls killed, Centaur often took first place, beating such recognized masters as my boss and my instructor. And Ermine could reach such targets that were very difficult for a regular operative with a pistol: I'm sure at least half of the women killed by snipers in the past month were her doing. With such effectiveness, their peculiar working style could be forgiven…

Interrupting my thoughts, a different voice came through the earpiece — chesty, insidious, and with a tickling provocative intonation.

"Newbie. Actually, tell us, what did he mean? Share your opinion."

---

I sighed. Speak of the devil… It looked like my dear instructor had decided to play strict teacher again.
Even though I was far from a newbie by now, Eve — this stunning woman with piercing blue eyes that always seemed to be laughing — seemed to enjoy teasing me. I had no idea where she was watching our operation from this time, but as always, she didn't let anyone off the hook.

"Obviously," I replied tersely, staring at the dead Japanese girl floating face down in the pool. "They have absolutely no cover and no escape routes. The cottage is completely exposed. On one side, there's the forest, where we're stationed. On another, the river—no escape that way. The third side is an open field, and you can't outrun bullets. The fourth side is the only access road, which will definitely be blocked in any attack. And, of course, there's the pool. Surviving a barrage of gunfire in a pool is impossible, though you almost let that Japanese girl slip away, Ermine, so I had to help you in killing her. In short, they set up a perfect trap for themselves."

Centaur briefly paused from lining up a headshot on another girl.

"Well, well," he said with interest. "A tactician, huh? I was just going to say that the cottage has terrible design."

"And the pool is small," Ermine added. "and no, I didn’t almost let her get away; you just wasted ammo."

"Oh, guys, why don't you..."

"Don't get cocky, newbie," the instructor said, as if she hadn't just cut me off mid-sentence. "True, they picked a terrible spot, but that doesn't mean you're on an easy ride. You've taken out nine girls. According to our intel, there were supposed to be ten. Find the survivor and kill her. No unnecessary chatter."

I couldn't see Eve, but I was sure she smirked smugly after that elegant rebuke, solidifying her dominance over the operatives under her command.

Once again, she showed who's boss. Funny how she ignored Centaur's jokes but kept needling me. I wondered why I had caught her fancy.

"She probably has a thing for you," Centaur had declared authoritatively during a recent drinking session. "And that means you're duty-bound to bang her for the honor of our unit."

"And why's that?"

"Every guy in our team has tried to get with her. She turned them all down and even broke one guy's arm for grabbing her ass."

"A serious lady, huh?"

"And besides, I bet a thousand euros that her nipples are chocolate-colored. We need to find out the truth. Don’t let me down!"

I sighed again. The instructor was undeniably a beauty, but it seemed easier to shoot every woman in our city than to get her into bed. Not that I was trying — she was supposedly our boss's woman. Plus, memories of Agatha were still too fresh. And we had enough sex on the job anyway... Given our line of work, sex came with no strings attached. For some reason, girls thought that jumping on my dick guaranteed them immunity, but that was their problem. I was interested only until I came.

---

I looked again at the girls we had killed.

As always, they were dressed in nothing more than underwear and swimsuits, sometimes not even that. Semi-naked beauties to suit any taste: busty and not so much, tanned and aristocratically pale, blondes, brunettes, redheads... appetizing forms of all sizes, glistening with moisture, either from the pool or the hot sun. I assessed some of them: a long-haired busty blonde in just white panties, two Asians with small firm breasts and stylish raven-black hair, hugging seductively in the pool...

The instructor was right; the girls were completely carefree. I could have handled this job alone. Why send in a full team? Maybe Eve was right, and the summer cottage atmosphere with the pool was deceptively relaxing? Some dance music was still playing, champagne bottles stood on the table... This false idyll misled the girls, and the result was young, beautiful, and very dead female bodies.

"What a sight," Centaur chuckled, clearly admiring the busty blonde in white panties lying on the lawn.

"You're not talking about the nature, are you?" Ermine asked rhetorically.

"The nature? I don't know," Centaur said, flipping the blonde over with his foot, making her assets jiggle, "are those magnificent melons natural or implants? You're a girl; you should know."

I grimly smirked, watching her breasts spread into firm pancakes.

"Definitely natural. Great targets, by the way."

"Which one do you like more?" Centaur asked, turning to me. I glanced at the girls.

"The goth chick drinking a cocktail — the one in fishnet stockings and boots."

"Yeah, stylish girl. Nipple piercings and a thigh tattoo. I like that."

"And how isn't she hot in those boots?.." Ermine muttered. I chuckled.

"Fashion requires sacrifices! You should know the lengths girls go to look good."

"And she’s keeping cool in every other way," Centaur added. "Except for the stockings and boots, she’s got nothing on. Didn’t even bother with panties."

"Probably thought it would spoil her tattoo," I nodded at the intricate ink patterns snaking down her sides and thighs to her pubic area.

"Yeah. Wonder how they tattooed her labia? That must be insanely painful, but she's inked all over down there..."

We were interrupted by the cottage door opening with a light push.

---

I spun around and raised my gun: a slender, delicate female back came into view, seamlessly blending into a juicy, firm butt in black thong panties. Clearly, she wanted to tan her cheeks too.

Huh. No victim had ever presented their back to me like this before.

The situation cleared up quickly: the girl was carrying a tray full of glasses and used her butt to push the door open. Even after turning towards the pool, she was so focused on her precious cargo that she didn't notice us at first.

She managed a few steps in our direction — her small, elegant breasts bouncing slightly — before realizing something was wrong. She finally gasped and widened her blue eyes.

"Looks like I've changed my favorite," I admitted, appreciating her slender, delicate body, which exuded a refined femininity.

"Yeah. Check out those nipples," Centaur said, raising his gun. "Areolae of perfect shape. Bet they're sensitive, huh, sweetie?"

The "waitress" stared at us in a daze, the glasses on her tray rattling from her trembling. She seemed overwhelmed, unable to process the shock and threat all at once.

"P-please..." she stammered. Her chest heaved with rapid breaths, and I suspected she was on the verge of a breakdown. "Please don't shoot... I can be useful... I know many girls, I can help you find..."

"Of course you can. Tell me, if a girl has sensitive nipples, does it hurt more to get shot in them? Let's test on your tits, shall we?"

I could almost feel Ermine rolling her eyes, watching the scene through her sniper scope.

"And you’re not debating if they're natural or not?" our sniper snarked.

"She's almost flat! Who'd get implants like that?" Centaur shrugged.

"Not worth looking at then."

I felt the air move as the bullet flew through the gap between Centaur and me, hitting right between the "waitress’s" breasts. There was a wet smack, and her tiny mounds made a valiant, considering their size, jump... As their owner let out a final, desperate scream and fell backward.

Her precious cocktails spilled in the air, splashing her body. I caught a whiff and mentally sympathized with her: vodka with absinthe, seeping into a fresh bullet hole in tender flesh — a nasty combo.

Centaur and I exchanged glances.

"You always ruin the fun," he said into the radio. "We won’t invite you to the next party."

"Yeah, yeah," Ermine replied. "You're welcome, boys."

I adjusted my grip on the silenced pistol and approached the girl on the floor. She was convulsing, struggling to breathe as her lungs filled with blood. No chance to interrogate her. Death was inevitable within a couple of agonizing minutes, at most.

"Alright," I said, aiming the gun at her forehead. "Ermine, don’t do that again, please."

"I wouldn’t have hit you; you know that."

"That's not the point. She knew something and could have told us."


Pfft.


A hole appeared in the girl’s forehead, making her body go limp and her face blank. Done.

She took her secrets to the grave — against her will.

"Hope that was the last one. Let’s check the cottage."

---

"Freeze!"

A slender girl with a bitchy face and long black hair confidently aimed at us. Of course! When you’re in your twenties, wearing a stylish top and hundred-dollar panties, and aiming a Glock-17 at two guys, bitchiness is mandatory.

"Freeze, I said! Hands up, both of you!"

"...so not the last," Centaur commented, raising his hands slowly on purpose. "Sweetie, calm down, will you? You might shoot yourself by accident..."

The girl had gotten the drop on us in the simplest way—hiding in one of the niches between the columns (curse the architect of this cottage!) and sneaking out behind us.

"How did you fit those luscious curves in that niche?" Centaur asked sweetly.

"Shut up, you fucker! The curves didn’t stop you from shooting the other girls like bitches!"

"Well, they’re nothing compared to a beauty like you..."

"Shut up!"

The girl, not lowering the pistol, nervously yelled into one of the doors we hadn’t checked yet:

"Elsa!! Elsa, come out!"

Oh, so there are two of them here! What a surprise. Where’s our instructor with her unmatched reconnaissance and invaluable information now? Would she like to stand here with her hands up?

The door opened slightly, and a tearful girl of about 23 peeked out: blonde hair in a cheerful messy ponytail, firm apple-like breasts bouncing in a turquoise bra. The mascara running down her face clearly indicated she had already mentally said goodbye to life. Rightly so, cutie: if it weren’t for your feisty friend, you’d already be lying on the floor with your breasts shot up, staining your turquoise bra with blood pumped out by the last beats of your heart...

"Girls, what are you doing here? You're kind of extra around here..."

"Yeah, we weren’t supposed to be here today," the brunette replied nervously, as if forgetting she was talking to captives, "Eliza, let’s go, we’re leaving. LAPTOP! Get the laptop, quickly!! We can’t leave it with them!"

Elas, who had darted towards her friend, jumped and scurried back into the room. I made a mental note to check the computer — they had something important there. Surely, they didn’t give this girl a gun to protect her breasts (so many are lying by the pool, and none had weapons...) but to ensure the safety of this computer.

Interesting.

"Faster. We’re leaving. We’re leaving, we’re leaving," the brunette hurried her friend nervously. It sounded as if she was trying to hold onto the key thought in her panicking mind, "Hey, motherfurckers! Is there anyone else here?"

"Who exactly? Your friends or our motherfuckers?" Centaur asked.

"Yours, of course, you asshole!!" the brunette snapped again, making the returning Elsa jump, "I saw that all our girls are dead!"

She swallowed her sobs with difficulty. I can’t blame her; for someone who narrowly escaped such an unfortunate party, she’s holding up quite well. Girl, just don’t pull that trigger with your fingers, you’re too nervous...

"There is," Centaur replied calmly.

"Who? Where?! How many?!! You will guide us past them!!"

"Can’t guide you past — they’re right by the pool in the car."

"What?! What the hell kind of car?" the girl asked in shock. I was curious too, but then I got distracted by a drop of cold sweat trickling down her breast into the cleavage and hiding behind her trendy knit top.

"A jeep, right by the doors. Look out the window, you’ll see it yourself."

I closed my eyes, trying to hold back a laugh. No way she’d fall for this.

Incredibly, but true — the brunette, without lowering her pistol, actually leaned towards the window and put her puzzled face under the sunbeams, squinting and straining to see something below. For a moment, I was also examining her sporty buttocks, betraying her as a perfect fitness enthusiast — flawless skin, perfect curves, thin black thong sinking between the cheeks... A shame, so much effort put into that booty!

"Hi," said Ermine.

There was a crack of glass, and the brunette’s head snapped back as if from a powerful punch. I caught a glimpse of the dumb, shocked expression on her bitchy face, peeking through the mess of jet-black hair — apparently, this fool never realized where she went wrong. Moments later, her seductive, meticulously trained young body collapsed to the floor, once again let down by her dumb head. Another proof that girls don’t always deserve the boobs and butts they wear — look how carelessly she treated such assets.

Anyway, the bullet pierced her empty head and lodged in the wall. Blood splatters covered Elsa’s chest, making her scream — damn, the brunette also ruined such a beautiful turquoise bra!

"Bye," said Centaur, raising and aiming the pistol at Elsa, "Now it’s your turn, sunshine. First, shut up. Second, put the laptop on the ground. Good girl. Third, you’ll tell us the password, or should I shoot your thighs first?"

Elsa, drenched in tears, of course, told us everything.

Of course, Centaur still shot her legs — but left her alive for now. And while Elsa, choking on screams, writhed on the floor and tried to plug the bleeding holes with her fingers, he busily sat down beside her and checked the password.

"She didn’t lie," he said approvingly, "for that, you deserve a break."

Somehow, Elsa managed to understand through the fog of pain and horror and screamed even louder—until Centaur silenced her with a precise shot to the forehead.

"Listen, be a friend and check what’s on this laptop," he said to me.

---

The search yielded very unexpected results. Especially for me.

I was once again looking at Agata’s face.

---

"A friend of yours?" Centaur asked, carefully taking the laptop from me. Apparently, my face was more expressive than any explanations. He glanced at the screen and said calmly:

"Pretty one, indeed."

I won’t argue. I had already forgotten these features, but now I was once again looking at the familiar, beautiful, determined face — and it was indeed more beautiful than all the women we killed today.

I nodded.

"So, is she in the Syndicate now too? Why is her photo here?"

"Not anymore," a dark voice in my head joked, "not in the Syndicate anymore."

"…almost."

Centaur quickly reviewed the correspondence to which Agata’s photo was attached (not just one — there was plenty of material, from passport photos and studio shots to nudes and what seemed to be explicit lesbian porn). He said:

"It’s from someone named 'Venus.' She writes a lot about her here."

I took the laptop back—before we handed it to the boss, the instructor, and all the other authorities, I needed to read everything myself. Centaur didn’t object, leaving the room and quietly explaining something to the concerned Ermine through his earpiece.

I sat on the bed — the air in the bedroom was already filled with the familiar smell of alcohol, perfume, and sex—and started reading one of the last letters to which the photo was attached. Only fragments of the text penetrated my mind.

"...interesting, hot, and promising girl. Perfect breasts, firm butt, first-class face. Whoever she meets, no one will resist her..."

"...if she passes the test assignment, send her to me. The girl, although promising and hot, is still very spontaneous in her decisions. Sometimes too self-confident—might ruin everything..."

"...let her prove she has not only a first-class body but also some brains..."

"...assign her to kill her lover. Tell her if she succeeds, she can consider herself personally endorsed by me..."

"...I’ll put her in my personal team..."​

Here’s the explanation for that assassination attempt that puzzled you for months. Some woman once evaluated Agata the same way I was now evaluating this brunette. Great breasts and butt — but what about brains? Was she smart? Can you handle a trivial task or not? Are you a capable, fierce predator, or just another brainless doll, plenty of which are around?

No wonder Agata wanted to prove herself. To show the world and herself that she was special. Silly girl... She was only special in the morgue afterward.

The brunette, who had been holding two operatives at gunpoint, missed her victory and salvation like the last idiot, now lying dead on the floor. She’s not much different from my girl.

Agata, who lured me into a trap—creating the perfect conditions for murder!—also managed to miss her victory and die, never becoming some Venus’s personal assistant. And also like the last fool, let’s be honest.

A chuckle escaped against my will: seems I pity her. Surely, riding me, she already considered herself a winner—and just a few pathetic seconds later you’re cornered, all plans shattered, bust under fire, desperately thinking only about failing the exam... that you’ll be written off as another brainless fool... Then shots, horror, searing pain in pierced breasts, pain, the end.

I closed the laptop.

Alright. What Agata felt in her last seconds is no longer important.

What’s important is that I seem to be on the trail again.