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flunkyofmalcador · 7 years

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Undercover work

In which I continue to do awful things to Esrasmus Brosdau’s OP, Marcus. Caution: this involves Slaanesh cultists, so heads up for drug use, dubious consent, mild body horror

Lord Inquisitor Tomas Torquemada Coteaz sat in his command throne, dressed in his full artificer plate, his great hammer by his side. Below him sat three subordinates. It would have been acceptable, even expected, for Coteaz to be in robes, or even casual clothing. Coteaz was a man of order however, and so he showed respect to those who owed him respect. Even if he was speaking to lower Inquisitors.

Even if that lower Inquisitor was Marcus Allenbrisk.

To his credit, Marcus always showed up ahead of time, impeccably groomed and dressed in well-maintained Inquisitorial kit. He left scruffiness to Iuwen Corville, the ex-Guardsman who served as extra muscle, and overt deadliness to Kyva, his assassin. Both were beside him during this briefing.

“Noise Marines,” Coteaz began solemnly.

Corville grunted with disgust. Kyva was mannequin-still. Marcus looked as if he was going to suppress a laugh. Coteaz had seen that expression before on the faces of ten year old scholam children who had just heard their teacher say a legitimate word that sounded suggestive.

“We have a report of Noise Marines in sector. As usual, they are running an illegal nightclub Your task is to infiltrate, open it up to us, and allow an Inquisitorial contingent inside.” Coteaz turned on a holodisplay that came up as a glowing sphere between himself and the small team. The image of a man in unremarkable clothing appeared. He had long blond hair and was handsome. What made him unusual was his massive, powerful build and broad shoulders. A height chart beside him showed him as being two and a quarter meters tall.

“Renegade Space Marine?” Marcus asked. “He doesn’t look modified enough to be a Noise Marine.”

“That’s because he needs to be able to keep a low profile,” Coteaz said. “Sergeant Desmond Miles, formerly of the Third Legion.”

Marcus’s head snapped up to look directly at Coteaz. “That means he served with Fulgrim himself! This bastard is ancient.”

Coteaz’s lips twitched into an almost-smile. “Are you impressed, Marcus?”

Marcus didn’t move his eyes from the rotating image of the post human in the sphere. “No, my lord. I’m intimidated.”

“You are wise to be so. Not only will you be facing a club full of Slaanesh cultists and Chaos Marines, I will be present in order to maintain communications between the Inquisitorial team and the Grey Knights who will be moving into position.”

Marcus’s mouth went dry.

“Furthermore, as it would be strange for a man of my age to be there without a date, I will be accompanied by your sister, Inquisitor Genevieve Allenbrisk.”

Marcus felt his heart fall into his shoes.

Appearing to ignore his underling’s reaction, Coteaz went on, “The nightclub is in this manufactorum sector…”

The Allenbrisk squad gathered in Marcus’s office after the briefing from Coteaz. Marcus had been given an office of his own when he’d been promoted from Interrogator to Inquisitor. Still, he was a junior Inquisitor, “a baby still,” according to his sister Genevieve, so it was a windowless cube in a basement. The desk, chairs, and filing cabinets were serviceable but worn, the only new piece in the whole room being the top of the line cogitator on the desk. Marcus kept no personal touches in the office. The one indication of his character was on the outside of his office door. It was a reversible sign that read THE HERO OF THE IMPERIUM IS IN/OUT.

“We have the timeline,” Marcus said as he, Kyva and Corville all reviewed their dataslates. “Go time is the 20th, according to this warning order. That’s a weeknight, so we should probably have fewer civilians.”

“Not that any of them will be innocent,” Corville observed drily.

“This is true,” Marcus agreed. That’s why we will have someone on the inside, to send situational reports back here to the Ordo. “

“I volunteer,” said Kyva.

“Dear Kyva,” Marcus said. “I can’t endanger you so.”

“Do spare me, Inquisitor,” she responded in her carefully-modulated neutral voice. “No one knows what I look like under this mask. I am resistant to all forms of poison. I dance and move gracefully, as taught by my temple. I am the perfect operative for this.”

Marcus only half heard her. As soon as Kyva had said that no one knew what she looked like under her mask, he’d glanced over at Corville. The man’s eyes had dilated a bit when she had said that.

Kyva was lying, and Corville knew it. Interesting. Marcus stored the information away for possible use later.

“I’ve never seen a traitor Astartes,” Marcus told them. “This might be my only chance to have—I mean obtain this experience in a non-combat situation. I want to study their habits.”

Corville facepalmed. “That is exactly why we don’t want you to go. They are not zoo animals, Marcus. They are dangerous criminals, more so than any hive world crime boss. Plus they have the powers of the Warp at their fingertips. I’ve faced Chaos Marines before, Khornate ones. You are never right again after that.”

“I’ll be fine,” Marcus assured them. “Besides my wit, charm, and good looks, I have my unshakeable faith in the Emperor on my side.”

Corville and Kyva exchanged glances.

“I promise to check in every day with intel.”

“The Lord Inquisitor will have your head if you do not,” Kyva told him.

“Oh, you know who he’s really afraid, of,”Corville grumbled.

Marcus’s eyes flashed at him. “Do NOT go there, Guardsman.”

Corville leaned forward. “Your. Sister. Genevieve.”

Marcus gritted his teeth for a second. “I will commence my operations on Secondday.”

BY ORDER OF HIS MOST HOLY MAJESTY THE GOD-EMPEROR OF TERRA

SEQUESTERED INQUISITORIAL DOSSIERS

AUTHORISED PERSONS ONLY

From: Allenbrisk, Marcus

To: Torquemada-Coteaz, Tomas; Allenbrisk, Genevieve

CASE FILE: 442:41F:UB4:Rnb

PLEASE ENTER YOUR PASSWORD: ************

VALIDATING

Thank you, Inquisitor. You may proceed.

NOTICE: Password expires in 35 days. If experiencing difficulties, please contact your I-CNET Helpdesk at 1-888-555-946375.

Lord Inquisitor: I have been hired to Club Zipline. After first shift, can confirm that Third, and Fourth days are slowest. Closed Secondday. Fifth day busier, Sixth and Seventh the most crowded.

Lord Inquisitor: Club Zipline profitable. I have been polishing glasses most of Fourthday night. Sketch of club attached. I have been around it while taking out garbage and having a smoke.

Lord Inquisitor: Target located.

Lord Inquisitor: Target’s office and private suite identified. See enclosed brochures. Office and suite behind the Z in the club’s interior signage.

Lord Inquisitor: Inform Inquisitor Allenbrisk that I am not taking drugs. My excuse is that they are bad for my looks and I am vain. This is true, so I am not concerned about being caught in a lie. I only drink bottled drinks I have opened myself.

Lord Inquisitor: Tomorrow my day off. If possible, I would like to spend it sleeping. I have paid off the doorman as requested. Strike when ready.

After that, the communications ceased.

“We attack on Thirdday,” Coteaz said.

An hour before midnight, everything was in place. A squad of Grey Knights were ready to burst out from the tunnels beneath. Coteaz, Genevieve, Corville, and Kyva were dressed for the undercover portion of the event.

“Inquisitor Genevieve and I will direct the attack,” Coteaz told them. “You two will exfiltrate Marcus.”

They nodded. Kyva turned her masked face to Corville. “I think your costume is most fetching.”

“Glad you think so,” he muttered. Kyva was in her everyday bodyglove and masked, with a bright floral shift with spaghetti straps over it. She wore a crown of silk flowers. Corville was dressed in skin-tight silver hot pants and a matching crop top, with black combat boots.

“Let’s do a comms check,” Vieve said. All of them were wearing vox beads inside of an appropriate choker necklace with an earbud disguised as an earring to match. Once they confirmed they would be able to hear each other and communicate in the eardrum-bursting volume of the club. Vieve was in a floor-length, form-fitting silk dress with her hair dyed black and her face painted to look like a cracked porcelain doll.

Coteaz was in black leather pants, no shirt, and a black wig whose bangs constantly fell into his face. “I understand your discomfort, Guardsman.” He stood straight, his hands curling into fists around a hammer that wasn’t there. “But now it’s time to go.”

Marcus had been thorough. The doorman, a Third Legionnaire who looked like an unusually handsome World Eater, said, “You must be Mario’s parents,” and let them in. Corville and Kyva were already circulating. Marcus’s description of the club had been accurate, and he had sent them with the intention of getting them through whether or not the lights were on.

“Throne, this place reeks,” Coteaz subvocalized to Vieve through his vox. The club was massive, three levels of stairs and ramps and lofts. Bluish light glowed on clouds of no doubt narcotic smoke. The music pounded with a steady double beat that changed erratically, making Vieve grit her teeth with it. The dance floor pulsed with humans and Space Marines in a wild array of neon colours, glowing makeup and accessories, and piercings neither Vieve nor Coteaz had ever imagined.

“I feel old,” Corville said through their earbuds.

“I feel boring,” said Kyva.

“Any sign of Marcus?” asked Vieve.

“I’ve been to all the bars so far, and no sign of him,” Corville said. “One of us should check the back doors, in case he’s on garbage duty or having a smoke.”

Coteaz and Vieve moved onto the dance floor. Vieve fell in with the beat immediately, following it where it took her, hips gyrating easily. Coteaz bounced up and down uncomfortably on his boot heels.

Kyva had moved to the second level of lofts and smaller dance floors. Despite her attire being conservative for the club (she was not the only one whose bodyglove covered every inch), the moment she started dancing, motion around her stopped. She moved as if she were commanding the music, not the other way around, her moves unrestricted by the normal human range of motion. A crowd began to surround her and she allowed it, drifting from dancer to dancer, taking time to let her arms and hands almost but not quite touch and caress them. Then she suddenly made a leap onto the metal ladders supporting the rotating lights and swung in circles around it, rising slowly to the next level.

Shortly after, she said, “I found him. Third level, the go-go cage two from the right of the center platform. He’s not waiting tables.”

It took nearly twenty minutes to get there, but Kyva was waiting. Marcus was recognizable only from his body type, since his lean swimmer’s build was in contrast to the bulkier other dancers. He didn’t seem to have noticed her. He was wearing nothing but a g-string in the shape of an elephant’s face, and his body glowed with black-light reactive paint. His hair had been gelled into a crest that appeared to be red under the distorting lights.

All four of them eventually were in the front row, watching him. Marcus didn’t seem to notice them at all. For that matter, he didn’t seem to notice the amount of money that was being tucked into his g-string by dozens of admirers.

“I think the kid found his true calling,” Corville mused.

“Hush!” hissed Vieve. She’d noticed how dry her brother’s lips appeared, and that his ribs were visible under the body paint in ways they had not been when last she’d seen him at the Ordo gymnasium pool.

“He doesn’t know we’re here,” Kyva said, a moment later.

That was when suddenly the crowd let out a collective gasp, and started to make way for someone. The Inquisitor team turned their heads as one.

Coteaz’s bowels turned to ice for a moment, as he thought the man approaching them might literally have been Fulgrim. His platinum hair and glamour makeup over chiseled features suggested it. But he was “only” the size of a normal Astartes, and Coteaz didn’t think that Fulgrim would ever let himself be seen in a white satin jacket, white satin hot pants, white thigh-high boots and red fishnet stockings. A red bow tie around his neck completed the ensemble. Then up close, they could all make out scars from the corners of his mouth to almost his pointed ears, as if he had extended his smile with the blade of a knife.

Desmond Miles – Vicious - smirked, gazed at the four of them through long-lashed eyes, and reached out a hand to Marcus. Marcus stopped in mid-swing around the pole and extended his hand to take it. Vieve noticed at that moment that Marcus’s underarms were hairless, as were his chest and legs. She didn’t want to gaze at the g-string, but she figured he would be hairless there as well.

Marcus landed lightly and gracefully on the floor. Vicious scooped Marcus up into a bridal carry and kissed him deeply before bearing him off. Vicious glanced back at them once over his shoulder, his extended grin grotesque under the flashing lights.

“Dammit!” Coteaz exclaimed. “He knew exactly who we are. Kyva, follow him.”

She was already climbing up onto the railing. “On my way, Lord Inquisitor.”

She swung from railing to railing, platform to platform, eventually alighting on a horizontal near the illuminated Z. “There is no door to be seen,” Kyva reported, perched easily on it. Some club patrons followed her to the edge as far as they could, pointing admiringly at her gymnastic skill. Kyva ignored them.

“I’ll track him psychically,” Coteaz told her.

“No, let me,” Vieve said grimly. “Corville, with me.”

“He’s my acolyte,” Coteaz said.

“He’s my brother,” she responded.

Marcus couldn’t take his eyes off Vicious as the Chaos Marine carried him away. Marcus knew there was something he had to be doing, but he was so happy and floaty and horny, it was hard to remember. A portal or porthole or something opened, and Vicious carried him through it. It was a room with a black bed with neon spots and a black light. It was hard to see, but Vicious’s jacket was blue and it used to be white.

Oh. Marcus remembered. He was supposed to capture this guy. That sounded like a good idea. He’d been thinking about it until Vicious had kissed him. Now all he could think about was how much he wanted Vicious to do anything to him Vicious wanted.

Vicious threw Marcus on the bed. He landed on his back and immediately sat up, legs straight ahead of him. The plan was simple. He’d get the Chaos Marine beside him, then attack and have him all tied up nicely by the time the Grey Knights swooped in.

Yeah!

That was before Vicious tore off his mesh crop top and stood in front of him. Marcus stared, overwhelmed by the glory. Was Vicious shining? It sure looked like he was shining.

Vicious leaned over Marcus, his hands on the mattress on either side of the human. “Are you an Inquisitor?” Vicious asked.

Marcus mewled something in Fenrisian.

“I have no idea what you just said,” Vicious told him, “but never mind.” He drew forward smoothly, like a snake, and his lips found Marcus’s.

Marcus’s arms went around Vicious and his mouth opened, allowing Vicious to slide his tongue in without resistance. Vicious had a weird tongue. It tasted good but not like a food was good, and it felt weird but that was just fine. Dimly, Marcus was aware of Vicious tearing off his elephant g-string.

Vicious pulled back and stood again. Marcus groaned in protest, but stopped as Vicious removed his tight shorts. Marcus stared at his erection, so high, so powerful, and wondered if he could take it all. He knew he wanted to; he swelled even more than he already had.

“Now that won’t do,” Vicious commented, a smile playing on his scarred lips. He reached down and pressed his hands into Marcus’s pelvis, pushing his hipbones aside and down, then took Marcus’s hard cock and pushed it down and inward.

Marcus sighed, relaxing into Vicious pushing, pulling, and reforming the intimate parts of his body, knowing he should be disturbed by this but loving the sensation of softening and relaxing so much that he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He felt Vicious’s tongue between his legs and moaned. It wasn’t like anything he’d felt before; it was better. Then Vicious was inside him, thrusting hard, with Marcus meeting each one. The music in the club outside changed beat, and Marcus realized that it was in time with each motion of Vicious’s hips. That was so cool. The music got faster, until Marcus’s hip flexors couldn’t keep up with Vicious’s pace, so Marcus just went limp as Vicious rammed into him, and it was great.

When Vicious climaxed, it was with a subsonic roar that stopped Marcus’s heart for just a second as the music crescendoed outside and the crowd applauded. Vicious lay a hand on Marcus’s cheek and whispered, “Don’t worry, little one. I still have plenty more for you.”

“Ser gott,” Marcus whispered in Fenrisian. Vicious kissed him again and kept thrusting.

Genevieve extended her consciousness out until she felt Marcus. She blushed bright red at what he was feeling, shook her head hard, and looked back at Kyva and Corville. “The door is hidden, but he’s here. Follow me.”

Down on the dance floor, Coteaz put down his soft drink, took the hand of the girl next to him and spoke the code phrase into his vox, “Let’s dance.”

Above the club, Grey Knights started dropping out of a cloaked Stormbird.

In a maintenance hallway, Vieve didn’t even need to reach out to sense Marcus. In fact, she had to block what he was feeling. Whatever happened next, it was going to be hard to look him in the face ever again, the piglet.

They reached a door that was painted like an oval mouth in a hot-pink daemonic face. A bloody red tongue trailed from the door down the wall the length of the hallway. Corville turned to Vieve.

“Ma’am, I think it’s best if you don’t come any farther.”

She nodded, feeling heat in her cheeks. “I agree. We have also left Coteaz alone downstairs.”

“He’s a big boy, but yes. He needs you. I have Kyva.”

Vieve smiled at the other woman and jogged away. Corville pulled a las-knife the size of a child’s little finger from the waistband of his shorts and started to work on the lock.

There was some shouting, the sound of glass breaking, and some wet sloshing noises.

Kyva never asked what Corville saw in that bedroom. She never wanted to know. It was enough to see her colleague emerge, pallid and grim, carrying their Inquisitor over his shoulder. Marcus was naked and wrapped in a sheet, reeking of sex and Astartes bodily fluids, moaning, “I totally had him! One more second and he was going to break!” He pounded feebly at Corville’s back with enervated fists.

“Target disappeared up through the ceiling,” Corville told her as he held Marcus’s ankles in one hand and his wrists in the other.

“I had him! He even had the cuffs out,” Marcus whined. Corville ignored him, hearing footsteps approaching.

Kyva turned to see the debased creatures who worked the club streaming up the stairs. She grinned beneath her mask because this, now, was fun. Her arms and legs lengthened, blades shot from her fingertips and her toes. With a shriek that announced her intent to kill, Kyva cartwheeled into action, her speed turning her into a spinning ball of carnage. A series of blindingly fast pirouettes sent fountains of red spraying towards the ceiling. Once the enemy heading towards Corville and Marcus were dead, she danced to the top of the stairs and spun in all directions, forcing the approaching attackers into a blender while the impact barely slowed her at all.

When the stream of cultists slowed to a halt, Kyva slowed, then somersaulted down the stairs to the dance floor below.

Corville never saw the result, because invisible arms had seized him. There was the sound of a jetpack and suddenly they were through the skylight, on the roof. He was deposited on the roof none too gently, and Marcus was pulled from his grip. A second later, Corville saw the black figure of a Raven Guard in a Corvus pattern helmet kneeling beside the now-unconscious Marcus.

Corville ran forward. “Don’t stop! Take him to one of the ambulances down there!” He pointed to red lights flashing on the ground.

The Raven Guard looked in that direction, then scooped one man up in each arm and descended to the ground.

A medicae team took Marcus from the Raven Guard’s arms and put him on a gurney. Within half a minute, there were monitors attached to him, a fluid IV in his arm, and an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth.

“Captain Razreesh?” Corville asked.

“Yes, Guardsman,” she responded. “Excuse me.” She stepped away a few meters and activated her jetpack.

It was late the next morning when Coteaz and Genevieve finally made it to Sanguinius Help of Mortals Hospital, an hour-long flight away from the site of the action. “It’s the best trauma hospital in the quadrant,” Coteaz assured Genevieve as he held her hand in the back of the flyer. “The Sisters who run it are top notch medicae who are considered too good for the Battle Orders. They’re not retired hospitallers or anything like that.”

They were both in armour, although Vieve’s hair was still dyed black. They had cups of recaf in their free hands.

“I’m worried about his mind more than his body,” Vieve confessed.

The flyer landed on the roof of the hospital, and they were escorted downstairs by Sisters in dark red habits with white veils and white sleeves. They were led to a ward that was guarded by Battle Sisters of the same order. They saluted Coteaz and unlocked the doors where they were met by an older medicae sister.

“I’m Dr. Merced,” the Sister told them.

“I’m Inquisitor Genevieve Allenbrisk,” Vieve told her, showing her rosette. “Inquisitor Marcus Allenbrisk is my younger brother. I’m sure you already know Lord Inquisitor Coteaz.”

“Indeed I do.” Merced was a tall, slim woman with a set of medical goggles around her neck and delicate augmetic hands. “Inquisitor Marcus is awake. He was drugged with something we are still trying to identify, and he had barely eaten or drunk anything for about four days. He probably had about 24 hours left in him before his kidneys and liver shut down. We’re still hydrating him, and he has a lot of antipsychotic meds in him to counteract whatever he was given. Whatever drug he is on, he didn’t take knowingly as far as we can tell.”

“In that environment, I don’t think he could have avoided it,” Coteaz said. “I’m still not pleased with him.”

“Save the yelling for a few weeks,” Merced advised. “He’ll need that to fully recover. Also, right now his lady friend is with him. You can definitely speak to him, though.”

Marcus was in bed with the head raising him into a sitting position. He had been washed, although his hair was still spiked and red. He was as pale as the Raven Guard beside him, with dark circles under his eyes. His hospital gown showed bruising on his arms and neck. One arm was immobilized with a tube taped to his inner elbow.

Captain Razreesh held his other hand. She was still in armour, although she had removed her gauntlets and she was bareheaded.

“Hailsa,” he said to Vieve in Fenrisian. He had an addled grin on his face.

“He is still really high,” Raz said.

“Which is good, cause I would be in bad pain, ouch pain otherwise,” Marcus said. “Oh, and I don’t have a dick anymore.”

The recaf cup dropped out of Vieve’s hand. Coteaz spit out a mouthful.

“What—what did he DO to you?” Vieve exclaimed.

“Biomancy,” Raz said. “He’s got female genitals. Captain Miles appears to be heterosexual.”

“Wait,” said Coteaz, recovering. “Desmond Miles prefers the opposite sex, so he biomanced Marcus into a female?”

“He biomanced his male parts into female parts,” Raz corrected. “We’ll need an expert psyker to change him back.”

“Aw, you don’t mind my boy bits being girl bits, do you, honey?” Marcus slurred.

“I don’t, but you might once you come down and back to reality,” she said.

Coteaz was still pale, but he went on. “Inquisitor Allenbrisk, your actions led to the destruction of a small but growing Slaanesh cult. The leader and another couple of Noise Marines escaped, but the cult itself has been eradicated.”

Marcus responded with a huge, moronic grin.

“However, if you decide to go into one of these undercover situations alone again, your next task will be to take on Nurgle cultists, do you understand me?”

Marcus’s eyes were round. “No! You can’t send me to a Nurgle cult. I’m too pretty! I’m too good looking to fight Nurglites. I don’t want to get all moldy, and, and gooey.” He looked at Razreesh. “Raz won’t like me if I’m moldy and gooey and stinky.”

“You’re right. I won’t, so you have to do what Inquisitor Coteaz says.”

Marcus nodded. “I will. I’ll be good.”

“That will last until he decides to be a hero again,” Coteaz told Genevieve as Raz tried to wheedle a promise out of Marcus. “And he will.”

“Take some photos to remind him of this,” Genevieve said.

“I’m going to do just that. Librarian Arastoo is a good biomancer, and I’m sure he’d like to take before and after pictures for his professional portfolio. I’ll make a vox call, and we’ll leave our errant Inquisitor in his lady’s hands once we bring him to my manor again.”

“You really think he’ll go rogue like this again?” Genevieve asked.

“I’m sure of it,” Coteaz told her. “I know because I was just like him once, and found out the hard way that I don’t look good with scales and horns.”

#marcus allenbrisk #Torquemada Coteaz #Genevieve Allenbrisk #noise marines #drug use #dubcon

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