Those Who Enforce Peace (Part 2)
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.
"Hey, you fucking bastard!!!"
"Do you even know where this is?!?"
"You're not even soldiers...!!!"
Outnumbered and noting we weren't wearing standard US or UN military uniforms, they charged in even more arrogantly.
But we had zero intention of listening to their arrogant bullshit.
"Can puny sparrows endlessly slicing through the sky ever comprehend the noble heart of an eagle soaring the heavens? You ignorant fools. Your numbers mean each one of you is utterly expendable—die anytime, and no one cares. So quit your pointless thrashing, lie down quietly, and you'll at least die with less pain."
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Whoosh.
"Huh?"
"Aaaargh!!!"
BOOM.
Just the wind pressure from the grazing bullets tore their flesh clean off their bones, vaporizing it—then the explosions shattered even those bones, scattering them to the ground.
"Know your place, you worthless shits. When speaking to us, you inferior scum should prostrate yourselves on the ground with all your might, then speak in reverent awe. Don't you dare play the victim later, you lowly subhuman vermin."
As their bone dust scattered, I unleashed psionic lightning, incinerating it all to nothingness.
Zzzap.
"Aww, tragic. They died before I could finish my scary story. Not that it mattered—your 'scary tales' are just ghost stories about the external enemy called the majority, experience, and absolute obedience, demanding everyone conform and abandon their selves for the greater good. And those fools? They're all dead already. Why? Because that's you. You're the scary ghosts, you idiots."
My adjutant chimed in at my continued tirade.
"Exactly. Do we look like we're just brushing off your constant bluster about how your 'ghost of the majority' scares lone wolves into submission? You clowns created those ghosts yourselves—and they ain't scary at all. Just a bunch of scum who deserve to die."
As we pushed inside, the air reeked of drugs.
These bastards thought that in our automated world under the Secretary and Advisor, they could 'prove human worth' by preaching morality, social conformity, and efficiency on the surface while enforcing totalitarian tyranny. They saw this hellhole society as truly upholding pure principles. That's why they deluded themselves into thinking crime was their only response.
The Secretary and Advisor never once said they'd abandon them—why the paranoid delusions?
"Even selling your souls to demons changes nothing. Those demons have never failed to summon you for intimidation duty. Unless they owned your souls from the start, it doesn't add up. Alright, moving in."
We slipped deeper quietly, and damn—a sleazy brothel. Soundproofed tight, too; easing the door open let music spill out.
"Fuck, what the hell?!"
"These motherfuckers..."
"Everyone, stay calm. The enemies outside were fully isolated or walked right into their deaths like idiots. But these folks haven't spotted us yet. Plus, victims might be everywhere from here on, so no charging in guns blazing like before."
"Understood, sir."
We shut the door and deployed micro fly-drones for recon on the layout.
Bzzzzz.
"What...?"
"This ain't just a brothel. Why so many comms networks...?"
"Smashing everything now would wreck those too—we'd miss the rest. Watch and wait. Telepathy only once inside."
Using drone intel, we activated perfect cloaking to blend seamlessly and slipped in silently.
Inside the Brothel
"Don't miss a spot. The ritual demands absolute precision!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Hmmm..."
They were performing some kind of meditation.
'Some kind of meditation... Basic for emotional control when handling psionic ether.'
'But it's not just control—it's amplification, heightening all five senses too.'
'Yeah. Obvious why the drugs are piled up. Sober, they'd never manage it.'
Focusing on inanimate objects for intel, I finally noticed what I'd missed: the female staff wore nothing— just body paint mimicking green bunny suits. Male staff? Green raincoats, yellow masks, and boots. The captive whores being prostituted? Not even that paint.
'Like some cult.'
'Obviously. Humans crave dependence in tough times—it's instinct. That's why dictators emerge in crises.'
Whoosh.
"Listen up! The ritual begins now!"
"Yes!!!"
"Ughhh..."
'Captives. All races...'
'Wait, who's that?'
'Yu Huin-rok...? How the fuck did he escape...?'
Step.
Step.
He shed his white robe slowly, exposing his cock.
'Pleasure cult? No... Heard he hobnobs with female criminals. Wait, don't tell me...'
Indeed. Leader of his heist crew—mints, banks, jewelers, always succeeding. Now he commanded from the rear. Boundless criminal contacts, but he targeted female crooks like Casanova for one-nights, keeping them as emergency fuck-buddies. Female criminals? Harder to frisk without harassment claims, so he exploited that ruthlessly.
"Kiss it. I'll bestow blessings. In this era, bonds are key—sharing psionic mind, reason, emotion to overcome trials. They call us evil? Then show them true evil without hesitation!"
"Right! Their daily sins are unforgivable! Gift them death!"
Smooch.
Smooch.
Smooch.
'Fuck, without nanomachines regulating my emotions, I'd lose it.'
'Yeah...'
We held back for now. Their backstory wasn't that unsympathetic, and we'd just trashed Algocracy citizens ourselves. Massacring them here risked splintering the group, hindering the Secretary and Advisor.
I telepathically chatted with my female allies. Men are useful for brute-force crime, but one slip against cops means doom. Women? Cops hesitate to touch, turning resistance into self-defense.
'Fujisawa Kaori, over here.'
'Ryu Shiratsuyu, must we? Since when do we do rituals for intake...?'
'No choice. Humanity's on life support from Richard Jeracle Lennox and Sylvia Cleas Lennox. That prick's ego—ranting humanity won't die—spilled over, causing this mess.'
'We know we're innocent. But... doesn't this scream hippie terrorist?'
'Different. While we swing, they get baptized and orgy, forgetting their worth. Useful ones prove it through swinging with me. You haven't forgotten our first time.'
'Sigh... Can't deny it. Fine, let's enjoy.'
So I dove in with Japan's Fujisawa Kaori, America's Mobi Itsel, Russia's Anya Pomortskaya, Colombia's Marta Velasquez, Spain's Carla de la Cruz, China's Peng Yuelan, India's Mahira Srivastava. The heat amplified psionically—not just mental replay, but scents as pure aphrodisiac drug.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Kaori: Tokyo Shinjuku native, ex-drug network boss smuggling massive loads to China and Korea.
Mobi: Salt Lake bank robber, now legal fixer and smuggler.
Anya: Murmansk ex-KGB, info whiz, broker for Russia's top drug cartel.
Marta: Colombian cartel queen, ex-model, disguise expert linking Colombia-Mexico supply chains.
Carla: Spanish mafia hitwoman, dealer, fighter with killer charisma.
Peng: Ex-Shanghai CCP finance official, intel op, now East Asia finance/intel head.
Mahira: Ex-Mumbai superpowers/med ethics scientist, illegal nanomachine researcher, biotech/drug dev chief.
Emotions run deep—they can't resist my charm. Globetrotting solo heists on mints, banks, jewelers; fencing it myself; clean record except that one snag with Sylvia Cleas Lennox and Sandra Merin Angelica. I deal pro-only, so expected. They have stories too—healed mingling with me.
"Aaah..."
My soft right hand grazed Kaori's breast first, teasing her perky nipple, pulling her tight against me. She turned my head right for a kiss, then pulled away—her silky black hair brushing my arm bonus.
Mobi approached, golden blonde whipping over me, grabbing my left arm, stroking soft, wedging it in her cleavage, rubbing. She'd tilt my head left for kisses now and then.
Anya back-hugged my neck and shoulders, silver hair trailing my back, licking with her tongue while massaging my extended right arm, turning my head back for kisses.
Marta knelt between Anya and me, tonguing my ass, sucking, fingering my prostate to rock-hard erection.
Carla squatted, sweat-soaked brown hair, gripped my shaft mid-column right-handed, lifted my glans left, teased, then licked the tip slow. I grabbed her hair left-handed, wrist-snapped her into a blowjob rhythm.
Front: Peng kissed from slight left, pussy positioned near Carla's head for easy access—detach, finger, clit-pull. Mahira bent 90 right, shoving torso in, licking nipples, chest, abs freely; left hand ready to grope her tits, pinch nipples.
This energy and heat had green-raincoat, yellow-boot-and-mask male staff extend arms palms-out, deep breathing to gather ether inward.
Female staff stimulated sacrificial whores, goading their ecstasy into phlogiston fuel.
'Disgusting. Feel that all you want—you'll just become leaking red messes in return.'
Click.
We snapped guns up.
"Kyaa!!"
"You ain't sex slaves too, right?"
"Come out!"
"Hey, fuckers! When did using people become legal here? Get out NOW!!!"
BAM.
Kicked the door, muzzles trained.
"Question why you're doing this instead of seeking peace? Peace isn't sought—it's enforced! You pursue no reform, dialogue, or change, so death's your due. Peace is too generous for scum like you."
"Got complaints? This is the reckless violence you tout tormenting the weak, the rage you fear, the vibe to beat you to bloody pulp right now!!"
"Heard your bullshit. You think we'd never stoop this low. Wrong. What can you do that we can't? Form a universe-wide climate you can't survive?"
"Your breathing wastes oxygen on lives not worth sparing. Why pollute it with CO2 if you're hellbent on dying?"
Yu Huin-rok turned slowly.
"How'd you find this place? But you can't stop the ritual, right?"
"Barrier up... Still, you're dead once targeted."
"Do your worst..."
Shamanic energy leaked from their barrier.