Recycling: Crushed Life and the Cold Funnel
Squelch. Squish.
A sound like stepping on wet laundry reached Na-bi's ears. Through a vision blurred by tears and agony, she could see the mannequins bustling about — squatting on the floor, scraping something together with their hands.
The horrific aftermath she had just expelled in front of the convenience store, bursting forth like a collapsed dam. The viscous mucus that had erupted from the giant centipede's seminal sacs. The white larvae crawling across the floor. The ruptured egg-sac husks, and the semen-plug masses congealing like jelly. The waste Na-bi had excreted in her desperate struggle to stay alive.
"Nngh, mmph! Nnnnngh!!"
Na-bi shook her head violently, her mouth sealed shut by the ball gag. A cold, ominous premonition crawled up her spine. They wouldn't... would they? That's filth. Garbage that came out of my body...
A mannequin approached, both hands full of larvae and mucus. White worms dripped from between its fingers. It cocked its head with a little tick, then deposited them into a concave metal bowl held by another mannequin.
But the mixture was too thick on its own. Liquid was needed to make a dough. The mannequins' eyeless faces turned in unison toward Na-bi's swollen lower belly — toward the bladder sloshing with the fluorescent chemical cocktail they had just pumped into her with syringes.
A knee pressed down.
"Ghhhaaaaah—!!!!!"
A mannequin planted its knee on Na-bi's lower abdomen and bore down with its full weight. Her distended bladder screamed as if it would burst. The dilator and the tube were still lodged in her urethra. Unable to withstand the pressure, the bladder surrendered its sphincter.
The fluorescent liquid erupted through the tube like a fountain. The mannequin caught the scalding mixture of urine and chemicals directly in the metal bowl of larvae. Splatter, splatter — the larvae jumped as the stream of urine struck them.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Once the liquid was in, the mannequin took up a heavy metal rod and mercilessly crushed the contents of the bowl. The insects' death-cries rang out — a shrill chittering that soon gave way to nothing but wet grinding. The heads of living larvae, ruptured egg sacs, Na-bi's urine, and chemical reagents blended together into a fluorescent, viscous biological porridge.
Did they think of it as medicine? Or as filler to pack into Na-bi's emptied insides?
The mannequins approached her again. Two of them seized her spread legs and hoisted her hips high toward the ceiling. The anus that had sealed itself shut — healed clean by the power of Indomitable, every wrinkle distinct — was laid utterly bare.
A clatter of metal.
The mannequin pressed a cold funnel of rusted tin against that tightly closed entrance. Lubricant? There was none.
It plunged in.
"Hhk?! Nnnnngh!!!!"
Na-bi's eyes flew wide, nearly popping from their sockets. The cold metal spout forced its way through her sphincter. The nauseating scrape of bare flesh against iron. Cold air rushed into the forcibly opened hole.
The mannequin holding the funnel lifted the vessel of crushed insect porridge. Tilted it.
A slow pour. A plop. A drip.
Na-bi's mouth opened in a scream that made no sound at all.
The cold slurry poured down the funnel and into her belly. This was no mere liquid. It was a coarse, sandy mixture of crushed insect heads, sharp fragments of legs, and ruptured eggshells. They slid down the rectal wall, sandpapering the sensitive mucous membrane as they went.
They're alive... moving inside me...!
The sensation of larval fragments that hadn't fully died writhing in her gut. A nauseating temperature — cold corpse-chunks mixed with lukewarm mucus and searing chemicals — filled her colon to the brim.
"Urgh... ghk, khk..."
Na-bi's body flopped like a landed fish. Her belly grew heavy again. Behind the bladder that had just been forcibly emptied and left wrinkled, her rectum now ballooned taut with insect mash. The filth she had expelled to survive was being processed into something even more horrific and refilled back into her body.
But their repairs did not end with internal treatment. This time, it was orthopedic.
A grip closed on her arm.
The mannequin sitting at her head took hold of her left arm — an arm that Indomitable had already knitted back together, the bone whole again. It turned the limb this way and that, then shook its head, as if the form — too correct, by their standards — displeased it.
Range of motion too limited. It needs to be more flexible.
Having apparently reached that conclusion, it seized Na-bi's elbow joint and applied force in the opposite direction.
"Nngh, mmph! Nnnngh!"
Na-bi sensed what was coming and fought back violently. But the mannequin sat its hard plastic torso down on her chest. The heavy weight crushed her ribs. She couldn't breathe. Looking straight down into her eyes, it bent her arm with a touch utterly devoid of feeling.
Crunch. Snap.
"AAAAAAAAAGH——!!!!!"
A scream tore through the gag. The bone that had only just fused was pulverized again. The joint folded backward, and the sound of ligaments tearing echoed across the marble floor. Na-bi's arm twisted at a grotesque angle.
The mannequins unfastened the gag from her mouth, then delighted in the clicking, ticking sounds her joints made every time she thrashed in pain. Her resistance was nothing more to them than the lively reaction of a toy.
As her resistance weakened, they began the most important test of all. A reproductive function test.
One mannequin shoved its groin toward Na-bi's face. There were no pants. Between the smooth curves jutted a hard, dry plastic phallus — fifteen centimeters long, an industrial plastic lump with the mold seam still visible on its surface.
It pressed that rigid club against the entrance of her vagina, between her legs.
A tap. A dry rub.
"Hhk?! That hurts!"
It wouldn't go in. Trying to ram dry plastic into a closed vagina without a drop of lubricant produced nothing but friction. The tender flesh scraped red against the plastic seam. When Na-bi tried to pull her hips away, the mannequins paused and looked at one another.
Too tight. Needs oiling.
Their gazes turned to Na-bi's ass — the anus they had just packed with insect porridge. There was lubricant in abundance there.
It rammed in.
Na-bi's entire body locked in a silent, wide-eyed scream. Without warning, the mannequin drove its plastic cock deep into her anus. The hard foreign object filled the hole the funnel had already stretched open, and the insect mash inside was shoved deeper with a wet grind.
It rotated the phallus several times inside her rectum, coating it evenly with the sticky mash and mucus. Then pulled it out with a wet pop.
Its cock was now coated in glistening green and brown filth. Perfect lubricant. Without hesitation, it brought the soiled phallus straight down to the entrance of Na-bi's vagina.
A squelch. A long, slow slide.
"Ghhhaaah! Aaaaagh!"
It went in. Riding the slick of the insect mash, the hard plastic mass drove into Na-bi's vaginal canal. Cold fragments of insect corpses clung to the inner walls. The foreign sensation defied imagination. It wasn't the feeling of flesh. It was a hard ballpoint pen — no, a thick pipe — being forced inside.
The mannequin shoved the phallus all the way to her cervix, then stopped. And began a mechanical piston motion.
Click. Click.
"Agh! Ah! Ah!"
Neither fast nor slow. Precisely once per second. Uniform depth, uniform rhythm. It pounded her cervix — thud, thud.
Pleasure? Arousal? There was none. Its face was expressionless, its movements without heat. It was merely a machine that had been programmed with the data that this is what a human male does to a female, performing a repetitive motion the way a press stamps sheet metal.
Click. Click.
Exactly ten times. As if counting, it completed precisely ten strokes, then pulled out without a shred of lingering attachment.
Filth mixed with insect mash flowed from Na-bi's vagina. But it wasn't over. The next mannequin in waiting approached. It followed the exact same procedure — ram it in the anus to coat it with filth, ram it in the vagina to lubricate, precisely ten piston thrusts.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
"Stop... hhhnk... it hurts... you're tearing me... stop it..."
Na-bi whimpered in a hoarse voice. It wasn't the sound of flesh on flesh. Only the dull, dry impact of plastic striking meat. Rape in rotation. No — this was closer to a durability test than rape.
By the time the third and fourth mannequins had passed, Na-bi's vaginal entrance was swollen red and trembling. Blood seeped from the inner walls scraped by the plastic seams, mixing with the filth.
Na-bi's pupils unfocused. The arms and legs that had been fighting went limp. The pressure of the mannequin crushing her chest lifted, but she didn't even have the strength to gasp for air.
A final clatter.
The last mannequin finished its ten piston strokes and withdrew. Between Na-bi's legs was a ruin. The overstretched vaginal hole gaped, and from within it the mixture they had packed inside — insect mash, mucus, and blood — sloshed and spilled out. Her anus, too, loosened by the funnel and the repeated insertions, leaked its contents in a steady trickle.
Is it... over...
But her time laid out in the light in front of the convenience store ended here. They moved.
Click. Click.
Four mannequins seized Na-bi's limbs at once. Two took her armpits, two her ankles. They lifted her body into the air the way one carries a beast — or butchered meat.
"Ah......"
Na-bi's body floated. Gravity pulled the filth in her belly downward. Droplets falling from between her legs dotted the floor in a broken line. Her head lolled back, limp.
In her inverted vision, the CVS 24 sign was receding. The Safety Zone that had seemed close enough to touch. Now a world on the far side, forever out of reach.
The mannequins, joints creaking, carried their new toy into the darkness, toward the corridor that led to the hospital ward.
Na-bi's dangling left arm swung in the air like a pendulum. Her consciousness was slowly cutting out, accompanied by the writhing of the insects filling her belly.