InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Loose Ends ( Chapter 54 )

~~Chapter 54~~

~Loose Ends~

 

-=0=-

 

 

“C'mon! Get your fucking sword up, or I'll take a chunk outta your shoulder, ba-a-a-aka-a-a,” Ryomaru goaded.

 

Kichiro grunted and yanked his sword back, spinning around in a circle as he swung again.

 

Ryomaru grimaced but chuckled as the blades met, sending out a waterfall of sparks from the fissure where they met. “Not . . . bad, baby brother,” he gritted out.

 

“Back off, fat ass,” Kichiro growled, heaving his entire body against the blade to send Ryomaru skidding back.

 

Ryomaru grinned and dodged Kichiro's next swing, whipping to the left to avoid the descending blade as he brought his up to meet Kichiro's again. “Holy damn, you're really pissed off . . .”

 

“Of course I am,” Kichiro countered. “Damn those bastards . . .”

 

“Yeah, well, think about it this way, will you? Sami's home now, right? Ain't that all that matters?”

 

Kichiro snorted, stepping back and jabbing the end of his sword about six inches into the frozen earth. “Hell, no, that isn't all that matters! Did you see what they did to her?” he bellowed.

 

Ryomaru dropped his sword into the scabbard and shook his head. “I know what they did,” he agreed, his eyes brightening as his own outrage rose. “Look . . . We'll find the bastards; I promise, and as soon as we do, we'll make damn sure they never think about doing something like that, ever again.”

 

Kichiro didn't look satisfied in the least. How could he be? Having spent the last week, watching those damn video files in Cain's study with the rest of the men, he was ready to murder somebody. How telling was it, really? Most all of them had gotten up at one point or another; had to walk away from those videos . . . Kichiro hadn't. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't. That was his daughter, wasn't it? His little girl . . . One way or another, someone was going to pay . . .

 

Those bastards had systematically abused and humiliated her, treated her worse than a common beast. Stripping her naked and strapping her to a metal table, performing all manner of atrocities on her . . . Leaving her all trussed up for hours upon hours, making her void wherever she was, only to ridicule and mock her, then blasting her with a water hose aimed at her private parts to `clean it up' . . . They'd only managed to watch the first three weeks' worth of footage thus far, and despite the other men's advice that Kichiro had seen more than enough, he stubbornly insisted upon watching them all. Maybe if he did bear witness to what she'd been made to suffer . . . maybe then she wouldn't have to carry the brunt of the burden alone . . .

 

Worse, though, was Bellaniece. Day after day, she asked to see those videos, and day after day, Kichiro refused her. The last thing he wanted or needed was for her to see the awful things that those bastards had done to Samantha . . .

 

Kichiro sighed, yanking his sword loose and scowling at the unmarred blade. Maybe he wasn't as good as his father and brother when it came to fighting, but he was more than good enough to deal with bastards like that . . .

 

InuYasha, Kagome, and Evan had gone back to Chicago with the three hunters: Cartham, Larry, and Moe Jamison, to see if they could locate the facility where Samantha had been kept. In one of her discussions with Isabelle, she'd said that this Kurt—her mate, at least, according to her—had gone back there to take care of some stuff, but she didn't seem to know what `stuff' that was, either.

 

Ryomaru reached over, slapping Kichiro's arm.

 

He scowled at his twin brother, but followed the direction of his gaze, only to see Toga step out of the trees with Sierra in tow. She was fussing with her hair, and Toga was carrying a blanket, despite the frigid temperature. Kichiro snorted and rolled his eyes.

 

“Balls . . . I don't even wanna know what they were doing; do you?”

 

Kichiro snorted. No, he didn't think he did, either . . . Suddenly, though, he laughed, earning a suspect glance from Ryomaru.

 

“What's so damn funny?” Ryomaru finally demanded.

 

Kichiro shook his head though his humor didn't wane. “That's how it should be, isn't it? I mean, hell . . . Samantha's home now, right? Maybe I forgot for awhile . . . She didn't forget how to smile, did she?”

 

Ryomaru shrugged and shot his brother a rather wolfish grin. “They look so happy, don't they?” he ventured, leaning back as he crossed his arms over his chest and stood beside Kichiro.

 

Kichiro could almost hear the wheels turning in his brother's head. “I don't think that's such a good idea,” he warned though, to be honest, he couldn't really think of a good reason why Ryomaru shouldn't do what the miscreant had in mind, either . . .

 

“Did you just figure that out?” Ryomaru countered.

 

Kichiro rolled his eyes but grinned just a little. “Must've.”

 

“Anyway, don't you think he looks a little too smug there?”

 

Kichiro nodded slowly as he took in the slight swagger in Toga's step, the huge grin that the baka didn't even try to hide. “Does, doesn't he?”

 

Ryomaru snorted. “Keh! Ah, well . . . you go that way.”

 

A moment later, Kichiro was left alone when Ryomaru hopped into a nearby tree.

 

`Okay, so this is pretty juvenile and stupid,' he thought as he crouched low and made his way around the other side.

 

`Well, sometimes there's something to be said for `juvenile and stupid',' his youkai pointed out.

 

`This . . . is entirely true . . .'

 

His youkai blood laughed. `Never mind that if Nez catches Ryo doing this, there's a good chance that she'll clobber him.'

 

Kichiro's little grin widened. `There's that, too.'

 

Circling around behind the two, he didn't miss the way Toga stopped for a second to glance here and there, as though he sensed something. Counting on the idea that their cousin would know they were there but not necessarily expect an ambush, Kichiro hunkered down a little lower and waited.

 

Ryomaru silently positioned himself, ready to spring. InuYasha had said more than once in the past that it was a little bent, the way that Ryomaru could only seem to sneak quietly if he were trying to get at Kichiro or Toga . . . Kichiro supposed that some things just never, ever changed, and that was just fine with him, too.

 

“Something wrong, Toga?” Sierra asked, blissfully unaware of the twins' diabolical plot.

 

“Uh, no . . . just thought I sensed something,” he replied.

 

She slipped her hand into his as they slowly made their way back toward the mansion.

 

Kichiro snorted. `Aww, don't they look sweet?'

 

His youkai snorted, too. `Sure . . . almost sweet enough to choke me the hell up . . .'

 

Kichiro nodded. That's pretty much what he was thinking, too . . .

 

In a blur of movement, Ryomaru dropped from the tree, landing directly on Toga and bearing him down to the ground. Kichiro shot forward, grasping the waistband of Toga's jeans and jerking hard. A very loud ripping noise erupted, and with a muttered curse, Toga kicked Kichiro off and heaved Ryomaru aside.

 

The twins got to their feet, chortling like lunatics as Toga stood, shaking the snow out of his hair as he pinned each of them with a fulminating glower that only made them laugh a little harder.

 

“Helluva tai-youkai with his fuckin' pants around his ankles,” Ryomaru guffawed.

 

Sierra smashed her hand over her mouth as she struggled not to laugh, too.

 

Toga tried to hold his pants up and grab for the nearest twin—Ryomaru, at the moment—at the same time. Ryomaru ducked to the side to avoid Toga's swing.

 

It worked—sort of. In his haste to thwart Toga, Ryomaru seemed to have forgotten the first, last, and only rule of pantsing: trust no one.

 

Grasping the sides of the simple hakama that Ryomaru always wore to train in, Kichiro gave them a good yank.

 

Sierra burst into laughter as she spun away, just in time to avoid being presented with the very blatant sight of Ryomaru's bare essentials, since he'd never actually gotten into the habit of wearing any kind of underpants despite his mate's constant reminder that he really ought to.

 

Ryomaru, however, had been born shameless, and he simply reached over, grabbing the bow that held Kichiro's hakama up, and yanked.

 

“I can't believe you two!” Toga growled as he held his pants up.

 

“Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle,” another voice cut in. “Quick, Meara! Turn around—unless you wanna see where I learned how to hang it . . .”

 

“Ach, mon! Dinnae be stupid!” Meara complained as she buried her face in her hands.

 

Kichiro blinked as he tugged on the belt to resecure his pants. He'd only actually ever heard the girl speak with an actual brogue once or twice before, since she only tended to do it if she were highly discomfited.

 

“Like father, like son!” Ryomaru exclaimed, grasping his son's jeans and yanking them down, too. Morio howled in laughter, falling on his ass in the snow.

 

“Here, baby!” he said, holding up the blood red flower that he'd nabbed out of Gin's small greenhouse.

 

Meara took the flower, laughing despite the livid flush on her face.

 

“Aww, look at that,” Toga sneered good-naturedly. “He's still a runt, after all . . .”

 

“Oi!” Ryomaru growled at the deliberate slur aimed at what Ryomaru tended to call `the family legacy'.

 

“What do you `spect?” Morio shot back with a shit-eating grin, “It's hella cold out here!”

 

Toga rolled his eyes.

 

“Put those back on!” Meara demanded, waving a hand at her mate's misplaced pants.

 

“Oh, kami . . . Ryomaru, you did not pants your own son, did you?”

 

At least the baka was smart enough to tie his hakama up again before he turned to face his mate. “Oi, wench! Would I do that?”

 

“Yes,” a chorus of voices replied.

 

Ryomaru opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it closed again, since he had done it, in the first place. Then he grinned. “Now, Nez—” he began.

 

“Save it, baka!” she said flatly.

 

Kichiro shook his head as Ryomaru took off after his mate.

 

“It'll take him all day to convince her to forgive him,” Toga muttered.

 

“Doubt it,” Kichiro replied. “She'll forgive him in less than an hour, but she'll let him grovel all day.”

 

“Yeah, it's been awhile since he had to buy a power tool,” Morio allowed. “This one ought to be good for that new hydraulic compressor she's been eyeing . . .”

 

Sierra laughed and leaned up to kiss her mate's cheek. “How come that never works for me?” she complained.

 

He shot her an endearingly shy sort of smile and kissed her back. “Now, Sie, if you want a new hydraulic compressor, I'll be more than happy to buy you one . . .”

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Kurt tapped the end of the pen against the clipboard in his hand as he slowly walked around the three tables situated in a rough circle around the base unit he'd brought in for the experiment. Setting the clipboard aside, he glanced at each of his test subjects and cleared his throat. “Well, I think you all know the drill,” he remarked casually enough, ignoring the abject fear in the eyes and faces of the three men strapped to gurneys around him.

 

“Wh-what are you doing, Doc?” Warren whispered, licking his raw bottom lip. He'd damn near chewed it off a few days ago during the first round of pain threshold tests that Kurt had run.

 

“Well,” Kurt said with an exaggerated sigh, “the last round of results weren't nearly as satisfying as I'd have liked, so I figured another round was in order, only this time . . .” After tugging on a pair of biohazard gloves, he picked up the last three probes and headed over to Warren's gurney. “This time, I think that we should try a more sensitive spot, don't you?”

 

That was all it took to bring tears to Warren's eyes. Kurt narrowed his gaze as he jammed the first probe into the end of Warren's penis. The other two couldn't see where Kurt had stuck the doctor, but they had no trouble at all hearing Warren's screams. Kurt turned around and stuck the next one into Harlan's penis.

 

“Y-you can't,” Peterson half-growled, half-pleaded as Kurt walked toward him. “Y-you can't; you can't; you ca—Aaaaah!” he shrieked as Kurt stabbed the probe in deep.

 

It was almost funny—almost. Three grown men, reduced to little more than sobbing bitches. Too bad Kurt wasn't really in the mood to find humor in much of anything, and every time they cried or begged for mercy, Kurt grew a little angrier, a little more bitter. They hadn't listened to the little demon's pleas, had they? They hadn't given two shits for her or her pain . . . and even if he weren't really any better . . .

 

Flicking the knob that controlled the level of electricity, Kurt pressed the green button. It was set on a three second timer, meaning that it would only discharge a three second shock—more than enough to send the monitors hooked to the three researchers into a tizzy of motion. Screams, sobs, whines . . . The general racket the men made was obnoxious—a far cry from the absolute silence that the little demon had endured and maintained.

 

Gritting his teeth, he turned the power up just a notch and hit the green button again. Just the thought of her—of the little demon—of Samantha . . . it was painful, wasn't it? Painful . . .

 

The echo of her laughter resounded in his head, and not for the first time, he wondered where she was. Had she made it home? Surely she did, but she'd never called to let him know that . . . Worse, too . . . he couldn't help but wonder if it hadn't been a huge mistake to send her on her way alone. He'd known damn well that she wasn't completely clear-headed, but . . .

 

But he simply hadn't been able to stomach the idea that these bastards—as miserable as they were at the moment—might have sent out someone to find her; to track her down. He'd gotten back in time to prevent that, since he'd captured Harlan before he could do any such thing. Still . . .

 

Still, he knew damn well that if he'd stayed with her any longer, Harlan would have.

 

Too bad that idea set off another round of rage in him, rage so fierce, so consuming that he notched up the power once more and hit the green button. Somewhere in the back of his head, a logical, cool, calm voice was telling him that if he turned up the voltage any higher, he'd send them all into cardiac arrest, which might not bother him in the least, but the little demon . . .

 

“W-why . . .?” Harlan sobbed pitifully. “Why . . .?”

 

Kurt shook his head. “Why?” he repeated in a deathly quiet voice. “After everything you okayed in the name of what? Science? Discovery? You fucking bastard . . . don't you dare fucking ask me why,” he growled as he strode over to Harlan, slapped his face to make him look at him. “How about we inject something into you? How about we stick you full of diseases and viruses? Let's see how good your system is, shall we? Let's see if your fat old body can take it.”

 

Warren wailed behind him. “I didn't do anything! I didn't . . .! Just what I was told! I-I-I swear!”

 

Kurt rounded on him, too. “Is that right?” he challenged. “You did nothing, right? Staring at pictures of her, strapped to one of these? Eyeing her like she was nothing but a toy? Did you jack off while you were ogling those pictures? Did you?”

 

Warren whimpered, fat tears squeezing out of his eyes, rolling down his cheeks.

 

“You just did as you were told,” Kurt gritted out. “Didn't it ever cross your mind that what you were doing wasn't fucking research?”

 

Warren sniffled and choked out a sob.

 

Kurt wasn't finished; not by a long shot. “You would have raped her—you and that bastard over there, right? You would have raped her because she was just a monster . . . But you did nothing, right? Nothing at all.” Yanking the probes out of his penis and nipples—the only places Kurt had bothered with, in the first place—he unstrapped Warren from the gurney and yanked him upright after slapping restraints around his wrists and shoved him toward the gurney where Peterson was secured. “You want to rape something so bad? Rape that. Go ahead. I don't think he can stop you.”

 

He stood still for a moment, letting the two men cry, letting them feel the full brunt of the shame and humiliation—the complete and utter degradation that they'd tried to force upon the little demon. It wasn't nearly enough. The rage inside Kurt was not satisfied, was not even remotely quenched as the memory of the tiny body, of the ashen skin and the coal black hair flickered to life in his mind along with the sound of her quiet voice, her panic, her pleading that went ignored.

 

“What's the matter, Warren? Peterson not your type?” he growled.

 

Warren's sobs grew louder.

 

“How about it, Peterson? You want to have a go at him?”

 

Peterson's lips quivered as silent tears streaked down his face, and he shook his head.

 

Kurt smiled nastily. “You sure? I could chain him to the wall, if you think that'll help. It all feels the same—isn't that what you said? Pussy or ass, what does it matter? Hmm? How about you, Dr. Harlan . . . you want to fuck or be fucked?”

 

The old doctor blubbered and whined.

 

Kurt shook his head, snapping a chain on Warren's collar and dragging him out of the room. Down the hallway, into the holding area, he shoved the pathetic man into the cage and secured the lock. Both the food and water bowls were empty, but Kurt had already figured that much. The miserable vermin had given in and eaten the dog food a few days ago despite knowing that Kurt had added things to it; things like laxatives and purgatives—not surprising since he'd made a huge mess earlier on the treadmill when Kurt had made him run for a few hours. All three of the bastards had been eating whatever Kurt gave them, and that really didn't surprise him, either. Those three . . . they'd rather live, however they had to live, than to show a modicum of pride and refuse on general principle . . .

 

Kurt grabbed the bowls and refilled them, sprinkling a generous helping of crushed laxative pills onto the food and stirring it into the water before he slipped them back into his cage. Warren didn't touch the bowls as he huddled in the corner and sobbed. Didn't matter, though, did it? The food and water would be gone by morning, and if Kurt was lucky, the damn doctor wouldn't be covered head to foot in his own shit . . .

 

Striding back down the hall and into the room where the two doctors were still secured, he shook his head. “Come on, you fat old fuck,” he said as he gave a vicious yank to the probes, pushing in before jerking them free to let them clatter onto the floor before he reached over to unfasten Harlan's restraints—first his arms so he could shackle those with the cuffs that lay on the prep table beside him. Dragging him out of the room, too, he made quick work of putting him away and filling in food and water bowls exactly as he had done to Warren's.

 

Peterson was still sobbing when Kurt strode back into the room a few minutes later. Without a word, Kurt walked over, snatched up the probes he'd removed from Warren and Harlan, and jammed them hard into Peterson's penis and testicles, turned up the regulator just a touch and hit the green button. The doctor screeched as Kurt counted to ten then hit the green button again.

 

He might let Warren and Harlan walk out of this place in the end, but . . .

 

But he wasn't sure at all if he had it in him to let Peterson go, too . . .

 

 

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Final Thought from Kurt:

Sick bastards …

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Vendetta): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~