Tangled Guts and Yellow Salvation

"Nnnngh...... ungh......"

The convenience store's white fluorescent lights burned with a piercing brightness. Na-bi's world, however, remained submerged in pitch-black agony. Her back lay against the cold tile floor, but the heat refused to fade. If anything, the searing fire and icy chill churning together in her belly were flaying her nerves to shreds.

She lay sprawled spread-eagle, staring up at the stains on the ceiling, gasping for breath. With every inhale her diaphragm dropped, crushing down on the hard foreign objects packed solid inside her gut.

Clack. Crunch.

A dry rattling of plastic on plastic sounded from within her body. It felt as though her belly had become a toy box. It was disgusting. Nausea surged up her throat, but she forced it back down — raising the pressure in her abdomen would split her wide open.

"Ah...... it's all wet......"

The insides of Na-bi's thighs were hot. Her urethra had gone slack against her will. Directly beneath her bladder, the enormous dildo the mannequins had rammed into her was bearing down hard. That pressure had paralyzed her sphincter, and urine leaked out in a ceaseless trickle. Yellow piss ran along the grout between the tiles and soaked the floor beneath her ass in a spreading pool.

"I have to get them out...... I have to pull these out......"

Na-bi reached down with a violently trembling hand. First she checked the hole between her legs. A grotesque black rubber handle jutted from her crotch, its tip blunt, its surface bristling with vicious spiral ridges.

Around it, smaller shards of plastic that hadn't fully gone in were splitting her flesh and poking through.

She wrapped the hem of her clothes around the slippery handle and gripped it. Blood, mucus, and piss had slicked it so thoroughly it wanted to squirm free, but she clenched her teeth and held on.

"Nngh! Nnnnngh!"

She put her strength into it. She pulled. It did not budge. It was seated as if someone had poured cement around it and let it set. The dildo's ridges had bitten deep into her dried-out vaginal walls and would not let go. The moment she tried to force it, a heavy, dragging agony slammed through her lower abdomen — as if her uterus were about to be hauled out of her in one piece.

"Aaaagh! It won't come out... why won't it come out... nngh-hngh..."

Na-bi screamed and let go. It wasn't simply wedged tight. They hadn't just shoved ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the thing in — they had twisted it from the inside, screwed it into her inner walls like a bolt into a socket. Tears sprang to her eyes at the sensation of flesh tearing.

Next was the back. Weeping, she reached behind herself. A smooth, hard curve was protruding from her anus. A mannequin's forearm. A fingerless length of plastic, its wrist ending in a blunt, sheared-off stump.

Na-bi took hold of the forearm and gave it a careful shake.

Clack. Thunk. Crrrk.

"Ghk! Hhahk... nngh......"

She couldn't even scream. It wasn't just the forearm. The moment it shifted, something deeper — the finger joints and plastic ball joints that had been packed into her rectum and colon first — felt like they were collapsing in a cascade. Like Tetris blocks. Like a landfill. Tangled and knotted together in the dark of her belly, snagged on one another, refusing to come apart.

Sharp plastic edges stabbed and scraped her intestinal walls. Everything had twisted itself into a knot inside her. Pull on one piece and the others caught and locked, holding it in. A perfect interlocking seal.

Ssssss.

She writhed in the pain, and her bladder was crushed again; piss sprayed out of her. Na-bi rolled on the floor, moaning. Her inner walls were swollen and parched. Repeated violation had dried her slick to nothing; all that remained was blood and pus. That dry, grinding friction had seized the foreign objects in a death-grip and would not release them.

If she yanked them out by force, her intestines would shred to ribbons and spill out of her onto the tiles.

"A tool... I need a tool..."

Na-bi turned her head and scanned the convenience store. Scissors at the counter? A box cutter in the stationery aisle? No. This was far beyond anything she could pick out with a pair of blades. Not unless she sliced herself open and dug them out by hand — and in her current state, that would be nothing short of self-mutilation.

What she needed was something that would kill this jammed, grinding friction. Something soft. Something slick. Something greasy. A liquid that would soak her swollen holes and her parched inner walls until those hideous plastics slid out of her the way a child slides down a playground chute.

Na-bi's gaze swept the convenience store shelves with desperate hunger. The brightly colored snack aisle. The drinks in the refrigerator cases. Shampoo and conditioner in the household goods. And then, far off in the corner, her eyes found the condiments and cooking-supplies section.

There, on those shelves, stood a row of transparent plastic bottles filled with a viscous liquid that sloshed gold.

"That's it..."

Life flickered back into Na-bi's eyes. Instinct screamed at her. She had to pour that oil into her belly. She had to dump it into every hole she had, until her insides were a greasy, dripping slick. That was how she would survive.

The distance was maybe fifteen feet. On any other day it would have been two steps. For Na-bi, sprawled on the floor as she was, it might as well have been a desert crossing.

"I have to... go..."

She tried to sit up.

Clack. Crunch. Thud.

"Gyaaaaah!"

The instant she lifted her upper body, gravity seized the foreign objects in her gut and dragged them downward. The mannequin forearm buried in her rectum crushed against her tailbone. The ridges of the dildo in her vagina stabbed up into her bladder. She couldn't put any strength into her legs. The moment she tensed her thigh muscles, the space inside her pelvis narrowed, and the plastics packed in there felt like they were slicing her organs to pieces.

Paralysis of the lower body. No — a forced seal, locked in place by pain.

"Nngh... nngh..."

Na-bi bit her lip until it bled and made her decision. If she couldn't use her legs, she would go on her arms. She drove her right hand — nails torn out, the beds still throbbing — into the tile floor. Her left arm, which had broken at the hospital and been fused back together by Indomitable only to snap again, she tucked against her chest so it wouldn't dangle and catch.

And then she began to drag her lower body — that heavy cargo of packed plastic garbage — across the floor behind her.

Drag... thump.

"Nnnnngh...!"

She gained a handspan. The friction of the floor scraped the raw, shredded flesh between her legs. The dildo's handle and the stump of the mannequin forearm dragged across the tiles with a grinding drrrk, and that vibration traveled straight up into her belly, stirring her guts as if someone were churning them with a stick.

Clack. Clunk.

Every time Na-bi crawled, the toys inside her danced. Behind her stretched a long, glistening trail of red blood, yellow piss, and sticky mucus — the wretched track of a snail whose shell had been cracked open.

"Just a little further... if I can just get there..."

Na-bi's gaze was locked on that yellow bottle of cooking oil and nothing else. That was her salvation. Only that slick, viscous grease was the holy water that would deliver her from this plastic hell.

Cold sweat poured off her like rain and stung her eyes. Her breath was jammed up against the back of her throat. The muscles in her arms were screaming, but she did not stop scraping herself across the floor.

At last she arrived in front of the cooking-supplies section. Na-bi lifted her head.

"Ah......"

A sigh of pure despair slipped out of her. The bottles of cooking ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠oil were displayed on the third shelf. From where she lay face-down on the floor, they looked impossibly high. She would have to stand. At the very least she would have to get to her knees and raise her torso before her hand could reach them.

But right now, Na-bi couldn't even straighten ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her back. Hang from the shelf and pull herself up? She took hold of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a pantry-shelf support with a violently trembling hand. It was a thin steel post. If she hung her weight on it, lost her balance, and the whole unit came down — if those heavy bottles of oil and all those canned goods poured onto her—

I'd be crushed... my belly would burst...

The thought alone was unbearable. Her gut was already packed so full it had swollen like a balloon; an impact from outside wouldn't stop at ruptured organs. She had to get up there safely.

Na-bi's eyes swept her surroundings in a panic. Right beside the cooking-supplies section sat a low metal utility shelf, the kind used for stacking stock boxes. It was about knee-height, flat, and looked sturdy. If she could get on top of that, she could reach.

"Nngh... urgh...!"

She changed direction and crawled toward the metal shelf. When she reached it, she stretched her intact right arm up and grabbed the top surface.

Tak.

Now she had to haul herself up. Her lower body felt twice as heavy as it should have. Na-bi drew a deep breath and poured every ounce of strength she had into her arm.

"Gyaaaaaaah!"

Her body lifted into the air. In that instant the direction of gravity shifted, and the parts inside her belly cascaded downward in a rush.

Crrrk! Crunch!

"Hhahk?!"

The mannequin's finger joints, seated in her rectum, slid toward her colon and stabbed her belly from the inside. The dildo in her vagina scraped down along her pelvic bone. Her vision flashed white, but if she let go now it was over.

Na-bi swallowed her scream and threw her upper body onto the shelf. Her belly pressed against the metal edge.

A deep, wet crush.

"Ghk! Cough!"

Stomach acid surged back up her throat. The belly packed with foreign objects had been compressed, and the pressure, with nowhere else to go, had rocketed up into her stomach. Drooling vomit, she forced her lower body up after her. Her legs left the floor and came up onto the shelf.

On the narrow, freezing surface of the metal shelf, Na-bi crouched like an animal. Now she had to stand. If she could just get upright here, the cooking oil would be within reach.

"Stand... I... I can do this..."

She seized the pantry-shelf support like a lifeline. She forced her useless legs to straighten. Her knees shuddered. Her hip joints creaked. From inside her belly the plastic still went on rattling — clack, clack.

Drrrk. Thump.

Slowly — very, very slowly — she pushed herself upright. Between her legs the dildo's handle dangled and slapped against her thigh. Piss ran down and soaked her calves. It was a posture of humiliation and agony, but Na-bi's eyes were fixed on one thing only.

Salvation, shining gold. Cooking oil.

She reached out with her violently trembling right hand. Her fingertips touched the cold plastic of the bottle.

"I've... got it..."

Na-bi's grip tightened. Now, if she just had this. With this slippery liquid, she could finally expel the cursed garbage that was eating her body from the inside.