What Happens Under Vegas -- Chapter 3

Mr. X · **Joined:** Wed Oct 08, 2008 10:07 pm **Posts:** 500

By Janet and Mr. X

This'll be the first unillustrated chapter. Ah, tis a sad day...

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I’ve just made my way to the lowest level of the casino when I hear the telltale chatter of machinegun fire. I’ve been listening in on communications and the team (whose members I have gotten to know a little through careful listening) apparently report to a bigwig in the Silver Skull known as ‘Victoria’, probably Victoria Devergonde, the oft-publicized owner of the casino. Von Braun’s deadly calm voice crackles over the headset, “Ran into some trouble, going to have to shoot our way out.”

Another husky German-inflected voice replies, “But the package is secure, yes?”

“Ja, fraulein Jessika, the package is secure. I estimate arrival within the hour.”

Marie’s voice chimes in, “I’m going to leave a little surprise for any apes that want to follow us.”

A frightened employee girl, couldn’t be older than twenty, pushes frantically past me on the way to the exit. I slip Paola’s tracker into the girl’s pocket and continue on towards the sound of the gunfire. Soon it’s so loud that I place it directly around the next sterile white corner. I slide a small mirror out of my pocket and use it to peek around the corner. The carnage is impressive, clearly the Axis team is no stranger to violence. Dead security guards, at least five, are strewn about the hallway, their black uniforms and flowing blood contrasting sharply with the hall. Julie and Karin are blasting an advancing team of casino security guards with automatic weaponry of some sort. Yoko has managed to grab one of them and is using him as a human shield. Within seconds, the casino team is down and the Axis bitches dart off into a door marked ‘maintenance’. After a moment’s thought I grab and wear a security jacket and cap from one of the guards, but their guns are biometrically locked -- some sort of chip implanted in the palm probably-- which means I’ll have to make do with Scilla’s popgun for the time being. As I close in on the door, I can barely hear the ‘squeak squeak’ of a janitor’s cart being wheeled off with them -- I can only imagine what the Nazis stowed in it. The squeak soon fades into the loud machine noises emanating from the room, so I haven’t got a clue where they’ll be when I pop through the door.

There’ll be more security along soon and whatever Marie’s planning to throw them off will probably work just as well on me, so I have to hurry. I crouch low and creep into the room, Scilla’s gun raised. It is indeed a darkened maintenance room and I can see various large and noisy pieces of lightly-rusted equipment used to keep the casino humming. There’ll be an entrance to the tunnels here, I keep my gun raised and glance around for it. Soon enough I spot it, in their haste they haven’t even tried to conceal it. A squat tunnel entrance sits at the far end of the room, the piece of machinery that had concealed it carelessly toppled to the side. As carefully as a fast pace will allow, I move down the tunnel.

I have to squat a bit -- they're low, and as I shuffle down the tunnel I begin to hear a faint humming echoing down from the tunnel mouth. Like a girl singing softly to herself. Every now and again I catch a glimmer of light from a flashlight as I close in. Shortly I've gotten within very close range of the voice, almost certainly the tiny blonde woman Marie. She's singing about buying a bunch of new shoes as far as I can tell. I can't see what she's working on from my angle and the element of surprise is pretty much nonexistent, so I do the best I can. I dart from the mouth of the tunnel mere inches from Marie, Scilla's gun drawn. The room we're in is higher than the tunnel itself, but it appears to be some vagrant's hovel -- I spy a dirty matted bed and a big barrel, probably to collect rare Vegas rainwater. Lying near the mattress is an inert body decked in rags, probably a victim of our enterprising Nazi girls. The room is lit almost imperceptibly by light tricking in from high above. As best I can I swivel my new gun in Marie's direction.

She spots me and freezes ... and, in that instant, I recognize what she's holding in her hands - a standard controller for a radio-activated detonation device. Attached to the wall is a small block of C-4. For just a split second, I glace up only to see more of the explosive all neatly place in an arch around the walls and ceiling near the exit I've just used ... all the lumps are connected with wires and there's an ominous little detonator attached to each block, a skillful demo job. I look back just in time to see the little minx dart between my legs (vertically challenged as she is, she has no problem moving in this confined area) and the next thing I know she’s behind me. She plants her boot in my backside with a force belied by her tiny frame.

*Pop pop pop* I fire Scilla's little ceremonial popgun into the floor, kicking up chunks of concrete as Marie quite literally kicks my ass. I stumble forward, whirling around in time to catch a boot to the wrist. I grunt as the gun goes flying, and Marie kicks me in the side to follow up. She's a little bruiser with those legs - I think her boots must be steel-toed. I throw a couple punches and the first one is a bit too quick for her. She blocks it, her entire body rocking from the blow, but by the time I bring my other fist around she's able to dodge, my arm sailing through empty air.

Next thing I know, she spins round like some sort of demented ballet dancer, the heavy boot on her left foot smashing into my solar plexus. It connects with surgical precision, knocking the wind out of me and rocking me both physically and mentally. As I recover she takes the time to flip a couple switches on her remote ... there's three loud clicks then, ominously, the big red button starts to flash and I realize she's armed the device. I can’t say for sure what she’s planning, but I’m certain it’ll be best for everybody if that remote is out of her grasp.

Still, not the kind of chickie who would blow herself up just to stick it to me -- that’s the nice thing about a killer with a salary, you gotta be alive to buy those new shoes. She's probably planning on flitting off down another tunnel and collapsing the room around me. I need to get my hands on her... then all will be right with the world. I lunge at her suddenly, grabbing her with both hands by her baggy custodial uniform. She squeaks cutely and grasps my wrists, struggling uselessly with far inferior strength, her small but shapely tits dancing merrily inside her baggy uniform. With a cry, I slam her side against a concrete wall. Not as hard as I would have preferred, my leverage in here is god-awful, but it may have done some damage.

She grunts as her back slams into the wall, her mouth gaping open -- it’s her turn to lose the contents of her lungs. Even before she’s fully recovered she instinctively drives a steel-toed boot into my shin. I howl in sudden pain and stagger back a step or two. Her face is twisted in a snarl as she leaps into the air towards me ... one leg goes over each of my shoulders and, before I know it, I've got a face-full of her belly, her deceptively muscular thighs are squashing my ears and the fingers of her free hand are tangled into my hair. I’m a little surprised she managed to pull it off without slamming her head into the ceiling, but then again I already knew she was a nimble little fox.

"Mmmph!" I can't last long like this, I know well what it feels like when the blood to your brain is nearly cut off. I can't think offhand of a more awkward position to be in, I was already having to dip slightly on account of the low ceiling and now I'm nearly on my knees. She cries out in delight, slapping her heels into my shoulder blades like she’s spurring a horse. I squat as low as possible, jumping up towards the ceiling in an attempt to crack the bitch's head open.

There's a very unhealthy-sounding ‘THWACK’, followed by a very unladylike stream of profanity. She's let go of my hair now and, while I can't see, I'm assuming that she's transferred her digits to comforting her own head. At least she's not squeezing me between her thighs any more either. Seizing the moment, I grab her ass and lift her a bit off my shoulders, attempting to hurl her to the ground. There’s a short struggle as her hands find my hair again, but her leverage is gone and I easily launch her off my shoulders.

"Aaaack!!!" she hits the ground and rolls away neatly - must have had quite a bid of martial arts training - but, fortunately for me, she loses her grip on her little detonator and her eyes track that instead of looking at the real danger in the room - me. And, while she's thusly distracted, I rush up to her, sweeping my foot up in a devastating kick aimed at her perky little ass.

I almost feel sorry for the tiny Nazi as my boot vanishes between her spread thighs before coming to a jarring halt. Marie howls in pain and, I swear, leaves ground for a moment. She pitches forward onto her stomach with a plaintive wail. As she hits the ground, there's a very muffled *BANG* sound which is promptly followed by a substantial increase in the volume of Miss Marie's cries of distress.

My heart skips a beat, for a split second I think I'm a dead man -- but it isn't the bomb. Something blows Marie a half-foot or so into the air, and she hits the floor with a wet splat, screaming and gibbering in agony. The scattered money fluttering gracefully around the room and the blue paint spattering her lower body tell the tale quickly enough -- little Marie must have picked up a stack of bills with a dye pack in it. She rolls around on the floor like she's on fire, clasping her hands to her cunt, baring her teeth in agony and swearing incoherently. It's kind of an amusing sight.

Like some sort of clockwork toy running down she slowly grinds to a halt, laid on her back and looking up at me, hand hands still thrust between her legs, her suit stained bright blue down most of the front. She's still whimpering quietly, her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth bared, so I know she's alive and conscious. I close in on her, grabbing her by the jumpsuit (which has now completely blown open down the front) and hauling her to her feet. She tries to focus her eyes on my face which proves to be a little difficult for her as they’re slightly crossed. Her left hand remains between her legs while her right feebly tries to cover up her bared breasts. As a last-ditch bid to save her ass, she fumbles for a silenced Rondel in her shoulder holster. I grab her wrist, and she mewls in petulant protest, tossing her blonde hair as she struggles futilely. She no longer has the energy for any acrobatics or well-placed kicks.

"You look a little dirty Marie. Allow me to help you with that." I heft the tiny girl face-first into the nearby rain barrel as she screeches protest. She makes it halfway in, only her legs are sticking out, her arms trapped uselessly inside with her -- she kicks and burbles mightily, shaking the barrel but not quite managing to topple it. I scoop up her detonator, heading back to her after a moment's thought. I grab one of her boots and lift her partway out of the barrel, plucking her Rondel from its holster as she gasps and squeaks for air. Ignoring her desperate little noises, I pat her down for anything else of use, coming up empty. I let her fall again into the dirty rainwater with a splash, inspecting her handgun briefly to make sure it hasn’t been soaked. I consider collecting Scilla’s gun off the floor, but decide against wasting my time with a half-empty.22 in this situation, stuffing the Rondel in my waistband and cautiously making my way down the tunnel as Marie’s struggling fades…