Riding northbound through New York City, the Ranger navigates around traffic. His Hayabusa easily weaves in and out and around traffic. From time to time a certain finger flew solo in his side mirrors, but that was irrelevant. The Ranger had received a call from Brigadier-General Tom Ryan, commander of Fort Brag, North Carolina.

According to General Ryan, a group of mutant terrorists have bunkered down in upstate New York. Posse comitatus has tied the hands of the military to react and local law enforcement has no chance of overpowering the mutants. And so the call came down to the Ranger. As a former operator in the 1st SFOD-D he has the skills required to accomplish the mission while not breaching posse comitatus. And as a mutant the higher ups believe that he can successfully complete the operation in a solo capacity.

As he neared the edge of the city the building began to space out, trees could be seen more frequently, and grass was on the lawns. Traffic had also thinned and he could now accelerate. Granted, he had to be careful. In the small compartment on the bike he had a few pounds of Composition-4 plastic explosive and under his jacket he wore both of his 9mm's and a tactical knife. A crash would be a guaranteed death sentence.

As he road near a stretch of trees to his right, out of the corner of his eye, he could see a grey and red mass. Turning his head he could discern that it was a woman in bloody clothing! The bunkered down mutants could wait, this woman was in immediate trouble. As he approached the next intersection he leaned hard to the left, his knee hanging an inch above the ground, as the the bike wheeled around without losing much speed. A few horns blew in his wake, not that the Ranger cared. Now heading back South he could see the girl straight ahead, limping. The turbocharged motorcycle winded down as he road up behind the girl.

When the bike slowed to fifteen miles per hour the Ranger rolled off the bike, grabbing the keys as he left, and rolled on the ground as the bike went off on it's way before eventually falling over. After a few tumbles the Ranger sprang to his feet and ran up to the woman, wheeling around to face her as he stepped ahead of her.

"Miss, are you alright!?"

The question was rather ridiculous. As the Ranger could see now, she had blood coming from both her left hand and her right thigh. The blood panting her grey clothing red. Grey clothing, that looked like something out of a medical ward?

"We need to get you to a hospital!"

Freedom

Or rather, the mortal sense of Freedom.

Creia took her first shaky few steps onto the gravel coated shoulder of the road. It had taken her an hour or so to escape the godforsaken rundown institution for the ‘special kind.’ Mainly because of her thigh injury and the long winding dirt road that connect the institution to the rest of civilization. She did not have to worry about witnesses. Any poor soul who happened to have seen her was either death or flailing around without eyeballs or a tongue at the brink of death.

That’s right. Without eyeballs or a tongue.

“No hard feelings ok?” She remembered saying to her last victim while holding his severed tongue in her hands. The victim could only gurgle a response.


The little memory brought a sinister smile on Creia’s face.


‘Daddy will be most proud of me for those deaths.’ She thought as she headed South on the highway. ‘Twenty-five worthless human lives have been converted into beautiful souls for my Daddy’s entertainment.’ She hugged herself, ‘Oh Daddy, how I love you so!’


She continued to limp down the road. She was lucky. There were practically no cars driving around these parts. If anyone had seen her in the condition she was in, well it would cause more trouble than it was worth. She stopped. What condition was she in? She examined her body. Her right thigh was still badly cut up and bled through her pants; having a puncture wound about 2-3 inches deep. Her left hand was practically in the same condition. She had some minor cuts and bruises all over her body from the various fights she had gotten herself into while escaping. The foreign blood stains on her grey uniform were further proof of her brawls. Her feet were pretty cut up too since the soles of her slippers had practically worn away. Some of her foot wounds had little bits and pieces of gravel sticking out of them. All she could do was laugh. She was that badly banged up? Creia couldn’t tell. She was in such a pleasure high from all the pain; she was practically numb to it. She was basically floating on a cloud… though the ‘thud’ sound from her hobble helped pull her back into reality.


Now it was time to plan. She was in New York at the outskirts of the Big Apple. NYC: the big metropolis in New York with one of the largest populations in the US? That was the perfect environment to continue her Daddy’s plan. She missed the city. She had lived before, doing her Daddy’s will ‘til she was picked up and thrown to that horrible excuse for a ward. Honestly, they did not even pad her room… In any case, her body probably did not have enough strength to walk all the way to the city from here. She figured she could walk to the nearest gas station, threaten the owner to drive her to the city then kill him when they arrived. Easy.


A motorcycle pulled up to her. A young looking man stepped out and ran to her general direction.


"Miss, are you alright!?” He paused and gave her a look over. "We need to get you to a hospital!"


She looked at the man as if he was insane. Did he really think she was a damsel in distress? Did she look like she wanted to be helped?! Then her gears began to turn. The nearest hospital from here would be in NYC. All she had to do was allowed him to take her close enough to the city limits then she could kill him. Easy.

“Yes… please!” She cried exasperatedly. Her body image had changed into the stereotypical weak woman that those hero types loved to save. She looked at him with big sad eyes, “I… I think the closest hospital is…” She faked coughed into her hands, “In the NYC…”


Inside her head, she was laughing like crazy.


‘A Knight in shining armor? Please. All I want from you is your horse.’

“Yes… please!” The woman exasperatedly replied. “I… I think the closest hospital is…”“In the NYC…”

"Yeah, I know where the nearest one is..." The Ranger looked around. There is no way he would be able to move this girl on his bike in her condition. Problem was, in the outskirts of the city highjackable cars were slim pickins. He could always forcibly acquisition a vehicle, a 9mm pointed at your head can be very persuasive. Yet, a 911 call after that would lead to unwanted company. Though it would find the woman her way to a hospital, it would also retard his mission if not scrub it entirely.

Turning to look behind him he could see a black pick-up about 50 yards off, it looked to be a late 90's model and therefore may be easy to hotwire. He looked back at the woman, the car was a decent distance for an injured person to travel. "Here, le' me have a look at yer injuries." The Ranger stated as he reached a hand out toward her's.

She quickly backed away from his reach, "No... I-It is alright. Just take me to... New York City and let a doctor look at it."

The Ranger found the resistance to him checking her injuries inimical in her condition but it was understandable. Obviously something had happened, possibly caused by another person and she did not know the Ranger. "Look, it'll take at least ten ta fifteen minutes ta reach the hospital. Yer woun's migh' need more immediate attention. I have some basic medic trainin' an' could prep your wounds fer transport so you don' bleed out on the road." He took a step forward showing the girl the palms of his hands as a way of saying he has no intention of hurting her.

She was now visibly frustrated. "Don't touch me." Somewhere, her words had lost their innocence. "Just take me to the city, Ok?"

The Ranger backed up, she obviously didn't want to be touched. If she didn't want him to look at her wounds than he would just have to get her to the hospital as soon as humanly possible. "Okay, but would you at least le' me help you to that truck?" He pointed his thumb over his shoulder toward the black pick-up. "Tryin' ta drive you to the hospital on my bike probably won't end well. I'm gunna hotwire the truck and it probably idn't good for you to keep on walkin' with leg wound."

He didn't approach her this time, instead he took a step back toward the truck. If she insisted on limping to the truck without his help than he would adhere to her wishes unless it became apparent that she couldn't make it otherwise.

Creia limped behind him. She was probably moving a lot slower compared to before the country bumpkin had appeared. It was her nature to act weaker in front of strangers, a sort of deception defense if you will.

Though her face and body gave off the impression that she was a weak girl, her mind was strong and furious. This little taxi ride has become more of a hassle then a help. This guy, for whatever reason, is being extremely nice to the blood soaked girl. So nice to the point of wanting to check her wounds with a gloveless hand. I mean come on, doesn’t the grey colored sweats uniform give him a hint that she isn’t all that innocent? Was it out of the realm of his possibility that she could have caused these wounds on herself or that the blood splattered on her uniform wasn’t hers? Creia sighed to herself.

‘Men and their delusion of the virgin princess.’

Creia finally made it to the pick-up a few feet after the cowboy had. She looked at the car. It was black and looked like crap. Kind of how she looked right now. Whatever, she wasn’t going to a fancy opera or something. While the stranger was busy hot wiring the car, she rethought her plan. After they got relatively close to the city limit, she would kill the driver, place his dead lead foot on the gas and make him drive off into a wall, cliff, whatever. Then she would go over to the nearest clothes store and find her favorite outfit. She pouted. She should have gotten that outfit before she left the institution. Oh well… she would have probably gotten blood on it anyway.

The one thing Creia did not have to worry about was her wounds. Due to her high blood production levels, her wounds would close up in no time and the great amount of white blood cells would have killed any diseases that have entered her body. Creia smiled to herself. It was too perfect to go wrong.

Suddenly Creia heard the sound of the starting engine. She turned to smile weakly at the man as he opened the car door for her.

‘Aww,’ she thought as she stepped into the vehicle, ‘Isn’t that sweet. He opens doors for ladies.’

Creia buckled her seat beat as she watched him do the same.

‘Why bother to put that on?’ She thought as she heard his belt click. ‘That seatbelt isn’t going to save your life on this drive.’

The woman made no motion and said nothing to indicate she would like his help in reaching the truck. So the Ranger walked ahead of her looking back every so often to make sure she was okay. She was still limping and slow going, but she was making it. As he approached the truck he got a better view of its condition, it was a piece of junk. Obviously this vehicle had its share of use.

When he reached the truck he made his way to the driver side door and stood next to it for a moment. He looked around, no cars and no people around. He slammed his elbow through the window sending glass flying across the truck cab. He then retreated his hand into the sleeve of his jacket and ran it around the edge of the where the window had been, knocking loose and removing any remaining glass. The glass cleared he produced his had prom the sleeve and unlocked the door.

The Ranger opened the door and with his arm brushed broken glass out of the seat and out of the car. When it was clear enough he leaned against the seat and pulled a panel down from up under the instrument panel of the truck. Reaching up into the cavity he pulled down a collection of wires. He reached up under his jacket and slid the knife from it's holster over his left pectoral and cut a few of the wires. He then tapped a few of the wires together and the engine turned but didn't come alive. As he tapped the wires together again he spoke, "Come on baby, your the most beautiful truck ever. If you were a woman, I'd take you home."

This time the truck came alive, as always sweet talking a car that is on the fence running. The engine now running the Ranger leaned across the bench seat to open the passenger door and then brush out broken glass before the woman climbed in. He didn't want her to sit on a nice big piece of glass, judging by the redness of her clothes she had already bled a fair amount.

He then leaned back into his seat, closed the driver side door and clicked his seat belt. He saw that the woman had done the same. "We have just one stop." He placed his left hand behind the seat near the woman's head and turned to look through the back window. All clear.

While backing up he left his hand where it was and his head turned and when he backed up to the road he backed out the truck to face the wrong direction and then drove back for his bike. Which was not all that far of a distance, it's just when you are helping an injured person who is refusing most help things can take longer.

Reaching where he drove off the road the Ranger pulled off into the shoulder and unbuckled his seat belt before opening his door and stepping out to go claim his bike. He had to retrieve it, it would be horrible if someone was to come around and claim the C-4 inside it. When he reached the bike he squatted down next to it and took a deep breath. This bike was about the maximum weight he could carry. He then lifted, and as his face began to turn red his power supplied the needed strength and the bike lifted off the ground. He then turned around and carried the machine, slowly, back to the truck.

Upon reaching the truck he raised it up, grunting as he did, over the side of the truck bed wall and pretty much dropped it inside. He cringed, that damage would not be cheap to fix. The task done he returned to the driver seat and backed onto the road accelerating to forty miles-per-hour in reverse before jerking the wheel to the side, holding down the foot break and as the car came around to face forward, putting it in drive. A successful J-turn. The truck had gone from 40 miles an hour in reverse to 40 miles an hour in drive.

Inside the car the pair of them were pulled to one direction during the turn, but upon ending the turn the force snapped to pulling them hard in the other direction, and then back to the other side again. Everything inside, including the Ranger and the woman were jerked around by these forces.

“We just have one stop.”


Creia looked at the hick in pure disbelief. A stop? They had a stop? The red neck had put up this noble act of how he wanted to be the angel that pulled her from the grasp of death. And now they were making a stop. Probably for some banjos… or whatever they did in the south.

Creia remained quiet and allowed the man to drive her where he needed to go. To her surprise, they backed up quite a distance. Her eyes glanced upwards and spotted the man’s lone motorcycle from the rear view mirror. A seatbelt unclasped, a door creaked open and soon, she could see the cowboy’s body being reflected from the mirror.


“So the cowboy had gone back for his horse.” She muttered to herself.


Men.


Her eyes fell back onto the bike. It looked nice. Creia wasn’t an expert on motorcycles but judging from the built, it seemed rather expensive. The man then lowered the tailgate of the truck. A light bulb flicked on in her head. He was going to bring the bike back with them. Creia snorted. That motorcycle was about a couple hundred pounds and the tailgate of the truck was up too high just to roll the bike on top. A smile of amusement appeared on Creia’s lips. She couldn’t wait to see how he would handle this little problem.

What?

Creia shook her head. She could not believe what she was seeing. The man was lifting the bike… all by himself! He was able to place it onto the back of the truck without breaking much of a sweat. Creia’s eyes narrowed as she studied the physique of the southerner. He did not look like a body builder or someone who could pass as Mr. Universe. All of a sudden, it hit her.


Mutant.


‘Great.’ Her brown orbs lingered on the man’s body, ‘This was supposed to be easy. Now I have to deal with Superfreak as well?’


She watched the man until he had walked pass the mirror’s edge. Her mind was spinning. Creia wasn’t stupid. She knew that her present condition wouldn’t allow her to safely fight off a mutant with incredible strength. Though the cuts had stopped bleeding a while ago, her health was not up to par and her body, unlike her mind, was not immune to pain. She bit her bottom lip. It would be safer for her to kill this mutant far away from the city limits… less things to throw out here and more space to run. Besides, driving looked easy. She was sure she could figure it out in no time.

Again, Creia remained silent as the cowboy stepped into the vehicle. He too was wordless as he started to drive. Unexpectedly he started to drive really fast, making some sort of u-turn with the truck. Creia had to literary push herself away from the passenger side door to avoid smashing her head into it. The inside of the car was an absolute mess! Shards of glass and the other dirt left by the previous owner were soon airborne and as the car corrected itself, the objects quickly showered everywhere.

Once they began to move normally, Creia sighed lightly and relaxed her muscles. Was that move truly necessary?! She looked at her blood stained pants now covered with glass and other random objects. A low growl forced its way out of her throat as she started to brush the glass and dirt aside.


A flash. Her mind was surrounded by the loving voice of her Daddy.


As she listened to his instructions, her body remained eerily still. After a few moments, she nodded. While looking innocently at the hick, Creia’s fingers felt around her lap. Her eyes smiled when the tip of her fingers felt a small prick. With her left hand, Creia grabbed the sharp shard of glass. She began to run the pointed tip back and forth against her right wrist… more importantly her right wrist’s veins.


And then she finally cut herself.


There was no time to dwell on the luscious feeling the cut was giving her. She had to act fast. The quicker she could kill this mutant, the better.


“Ow!” She whined and turned her wrist so that the driver could see, “Ah! I cut myself!”

The car now driving forward, the truck continued to gain speed. The Ranger would use this empty stretch to shorten how long it would take to reach the hospital. His mind was focused on determining the quickest route to the hospital when the woman next to him spoke up, "Ow!" The Ranger turned his head to look at the woman as she turned her arm revealing a nasty cut on her wrist. A cut which was gushing blood, a vein had been cut! “Ah! I cut myself!”

The Ranger took his right hand off the wheel and, after a quick look at the road, shot his hand out to take hold of the womans right forearm. He held it still and moved the arm closer so he could take a look at it. As he held the arm where he could inspect the wound her blood poured down over it."We have to treat this immediately! If not you could..." The Ranger trailed of. As his hand was painted red by blood, scabs began to appear on himself and his wrist ripped open to match the womans wrist. Gushing blood and all.

"What the hell?" The Ranger continued as pain came from his hand, thigh, and wrist. He looked at the wrist of the arm he was using to hold the womans still. It was pouring out blood! He released his hold on the woman's arm and looking back at the road put his foot on the brakes to slow the truck and drive it off of the road.

When the truck came to as stop he put it in park and then clamped his left hand down on the wound to stop the bleeding. "What in Sam Hill is going on?!" He looked to the woman. Her wrist was bleeding from a cut that his mirrored exactly. She had blood all over her right leg seeming to start from her thigh, the same place that hurt like hell now. Finally, his hand which was clamped on his wrist hurt and the woman's hand looked like it had been bleeding. And she had a piece of bloody glass in her lap, had she caused this? Perhaps cut herself to cause this? But why would she cut herself to cause him to bleed?

"Did... Did, you cause this?" Asked the Ranger as he turned his head to look back at her.

‘Touch Me.’ She commanded.

And he did.

What compassion this man had. Creia couldn’t get enough of his chivalrous handicap. It wasn’t her fault that she took advantage of it. Any person with a hint of intellect would have hid or fixed their weaknesses years ago. He was the only one to blame for being so trusting. The thick blood painted her fair skin red as it crept closer and closer to the intruding hand. She soon felt it! The invisible link that had sealed the fate of the lone cowboy.

"We have to treat this immediately! If not you could..."

And he took a delicious pause. A pause of truth, a pause of understanding. He paused and realized that:

His body was betraying him.

Creia hadn’t expected him to scream. He seemed like he had felt worst pain then what she had caused him. Maybe it hurt more compared to hers… if she was affected by pain like mortals were. The shock and the rush of panic had always made things seem nastier than what they appeared. Though the man wasn’t screaming, he was freaking out. Enough so that he quickly drove over to the shoulder and stopped the car. The hick had let go of her hold to examine his wounds. Creia eyed the fresh warm liquid coating his hand and the fountain that had gushed out of his wrist. Such a beautiful sight.

"Did... Did, you cause this?"

He still had to ask? What, did he still have some hope that the wounds were caused by something else? Did he still have some hope that the girl he had so graciously save wasn't really the enemy? Did he have some hope that this whole trip was not the rope that tied his fate?

“Yes.” And with that word, she crushed every bit of hope that was left in his body.

Creia acted fast. She quickly pressed her fingers onto the wound on his thigh. She had no trouble finding it. She had caused the damn thing in the first place. Hopefully this act distracted him enough so that Creia could find a big shard of glass on the car floor, kick open her door and run out to the grassy side. Creia held the shard to her left arm and started to saw at her pale flesh.

The Ranger's question was met by the reply, "Yes." Following which the woman immediately pressed her finger right into the place on his thigh that hurt. He had felt worse pains but the instant surge of pain distracted him as the girl took hold of the glass piece in her lap and then kicked open the door. As she was climbing out of the car the Ranger slid over to the middle of the bench seat and took hold of the back of her grey medical ward shirt and pulled her back into the truck cab. He wasn't about to let her run off after causing him to take injuries that may compromise his ability to carry out his mission.

His grip was weaker than normal since his wrist was still a blood fountain, but it was enough to hang onto the cloth when he pulled the woman back. He knew he would have to subdue her fast so he could address the wrist wound he now had. Once she had been pulled back in the ranger took hold of her left wrist with his left hand so she couldn't jump out of the truck again.

The woman than took the glass and sliced at her left arm. As blood began to flow from the cut on her arm, it also came from his. "God damn it!" The Ranger exclaimed as he reached with his right hand over her left shoulder to take hold of her right hand and, after having his hand nicked by the glass, took hold of her right thumb and forced her to drop the glass. He then wrenched her left arm back behind her with his left arm like a police officer does to a criminal and forced it up into her back putting painful pressure onto her wrist and shoulder.

"Now, why the hell would you injure someone trying to help you? The Ranger demanded as he kicked the glass on the floorboard out the open door so she couldn't claim it again as long as she was held fast inside the truck.

He was sure that she was a mutant and that this was somehow associated with her power. There was no other explanation for his body mimicking her injuries. Then the thought of the window being behind him came to mind. To keep someone from seeing this quarrel and getting involved, the ranger pulled the womans right arm up wit his right arm, which still crossed over her left shoulder, allowing him to move his arm from her shoulder to along her right side by coming over her head, and then pulled her closer to himself. This would give anyone driving by the impression he was holding her as a boyfriend would hold his girl, they would have to come up near the truck to see the submission hold she was in. The woman's left arm held around her back, hand up near her shoulder blades, this blocked from view by his torso which was behind her his legs off to the side allowing him to hold her closer to himself to create the image, and his right arm wrapping around her right side his grip still firm on her thumb pulling it to the side causing pain.

The readjustment allowed him to push his right arm into hers. This used the jacket sleeve as a bandage and applied pressure against the wound at the same time.

Distance.

From her the power her father gave her, one would assume that she was a close combat fighter. In some sense, this was true. It was easier to establish a link when she physically painted her own blood on her victim. However once the link had been established, distance was her friend. It was so much simpler to cut and main oneself once the prey cannot retaliate.

And that is what she was struggling to create when she kicked the car door open. With a glass shard in hand, she could maintain a set distance between her and the cowboy while wounding away her own flesh. She felt a yank from the back of her shirt as it pulled her into the truck. It looked like the damn cowboy still had some fight left in him.

It didn’t matter, she was still able to slice her left arm causing his pain and her pleasure. It had become harder and harder to ignore the sensual sensation all her wounds were causing her. They adorned her body and each was sending their own message to her brain. Her breath began to become heavy while her eyelids lowered. In her mind, she was having a mental battle between the task at hand and where to place her hands. He decided for her. In some sort of militaristic move he grabbed her arm, twisted it and then pushed it against her back. His training had taught him that a move like that would cause unbearable pain.

Oh and it was unbearable alright… but it wasn’t pain. She bit on her lower lip and winced, trying hard to suppress the urges. But her body caved in. A moan, not a scream escaped her lips. Her back arched, not in an attempt to get away from his grip, but instead to relocate the tingling commotion she felt in throughout her entire body.


"Now, why the hell would you injure someone trying to help you?” He asked. His body then shifted itself so that his right arm was around her shoulder.


Creia vaguely heard the question. What she did feel was his body becoming closer to her, warming her flesh, and the grip on her left arm tightening. She wasn’t attentive to much now. Her concentration on her overall goal was completely eliminated. Her blank brown eyes with their half-lid stare remained fixated on only one thing… and one thing only.


And then she kissed him.


They say that kissing relieves tension in the body. When men kiss women, they transfer some of their testosterones with their saliva. The testosterones become a ‘feel good’ endorphins for the women, giving them tension relief.

As her lips remained on his, Creia’s mind began to clear. She was no longer the pleasure induced fool. She was again the predator. Her eyes opened wide. Instead of seeming disgusted of what her weak body had made her do, she decided to take advantage of the situation. She expanded her lips. With her skilled tongue, she swept the cowboy’s bottom lip into her mouth.


And she sunk her teeth into his tender flesh.


She began to pull away with his lip still tucked between her teeth. Only when he let go of her body did she let go of her bite. The force of the pull threw her closer to the open door. And with a wobbly step, she fell backwards onto the green grass below.

Creia laid on the grassy ground and laughed. She had found herself surrounded by the shards of glass the cowboy had foolishly kicked out. As her hands moved around to each pick up a shard, she suddenly remembered the question the cowboy had posed:


“Why? Because it is fun!” And her hands dove towards her skin once more.

An odd thing had happened. When the Ranger forced the woman into a submission, she did not scream, yell, beg, or cry uncle as most others do. No, she had moaned. The Ranger had found this odd, but perhaps she was merely trying to throw him off so he did not ease off on the hold.

And then after he had asked his question she seemed unresponsive, distant even. He pulled her arm up a little more increasing the theoretical discomfort of the the hold. The response it brought was in no way expected.

She kissed him.

The woman who he had now forced into a submission hold, after she had caused some decent injuries to him, was now kissing him. He was taken aback by the action and for a moment did nothing, other than involuntarily slackening his hold on her.

He was frozen there, inside the truck cab, holding a woman in a submission hold, his other arm around her, both of them bleeding, their bodies close, and their lips together. His mind seemed stuck in mud, her blindsiding action and not just because it was unconventional as an escape combative but because it was the first time he had kissed since he was in that blond's body.

When he had been Charge he kissed two men. The first being himself, the second being the giant, red ape-man. Those times because of the female body's influence on his mind he enjoyed the kiss. And that fact still troubled him. Yet, here he was his lips being pressed against by those of a woman while he is a man. The first time since he had woken up in his body again.

In the heat of the moment, as his adrenaline ran through his bleeding veins and testosterone ran along with it, he was swept up in the moment. It was almost like a first kiss again, his mind was still stuck on how he was once again kissing a woman. Who he was kissing was set to the backburner. And while it sat there he reciprocated the kiss. His hold slackened a little more, his hand holding her right thumb moved down to the back of her hand, and his eyes closed.

It was no longer her kissing him, but them kissing each other. And it would cost the Ranger.

The woman maneuvered his lip into her mouth and bit down. His eyes bolted open to meet hers that short distance away while uttering some surprised and angry noise that didn't quite form into a word. She then began to move her head away, his lip still caught between her teeth. At first he tried to force her to release him bu causing pain to her left arm and shoulder but when that proved feudal he released his hold on her in hopes she would remove her teeth from his lip.

The woman stumbled out of the truck and ended up on the green grass outside. The Ranger swore to himself as he brought his left hand up to check for blood on his lip, which was there. He then slid across the bench seat and when he could see the woman on the grass in front of him he saw the glass in each hand.

“Why? Because it is fun!” The woman said, an answer to his previous question, as her hands quickly moved to dig the glass into her skin once more.

Seeing this the Ranger flung his hands up to grab the roof of the truck and hanging on tight flung his legs out of the truck and brought them down on the woman's arms. This might bruise them which, as other injuries seemed to be mirrored, would be mirrored onto his arms, but to stop possibly deadly wounds it would be worth it. "Enough of this!" The Ranger demanded as he reached into his jacket, took hold of his 9mm, clicked off the safety, and brought the weapon to bare. The barrel pointed at the womans head.

"So you think this is fun!? Huh! You have no idea the danger you are putting everyone in this state in, yourself included!" And then as an afterthought, "What is your name? The question coming from his lips with air of a drill sergeant.

She was pinned. Before she could even do more damage to herself (and in relation the cowboy) the man had jumped out of the beat up truck and pressed both of her arms down on the ground. Creia struggled to move but his strength was too much. It was like he had returned to being Samson or Hercules. And though she loved the strain her arms felt from the struggling and his muscle, she was increasingly getting annoyed then pleasured.


“Back for seconds?” She jokingly asked, topping it off with an air kiss.


A laugh emitted from between her parted lips as she continued to struggle with him. She was becoming incredibly weak from the blood loss and the constant battles she had gotten herself in. She knew her body; it was pointless to even fight. A waste of energy. Yet her mind did not want to lose. She had gotten this far, her hardheadedness would not back down. It almost seemed that she was willing to die than lose.

He reached into his jacket and pointed the gun directly at her head.

Another laugh, this one louder than the last. Her brown orbs looked up into the southerner’s own brown orbs. A sort of compassionate look radiated off her gaze as if she was somewhat sorry for the man.


“I’m going to assume your hillbilly head has some piece of brain in there.” She purred, “If you haven’t noticed, every wound I receive, you get.” Her eyes trickled to the gun’s barrel. “So if you shoot me, you would be shooting yourself.”



"So you think this is fun!? Huh! You have no idea the danger you are putting everyone in this state in, yourself included!"



“Oh?” She asked, “Please tell me… wait let me guess. If I kill you… does the world explode? Will your death be the start of World War Three?” Her tongue emerged to moisten her dry lips. “If that is the case then your death…” Her eyes suddenly narrow, “…would be one I look forward too.”



The man paused. Maybe to process the things she had just told him? Maybe to figure out his next step? Finally he spoke. He asked her name.

The pinned female began to study the stranger, pondering whether or not to give him her name. By the looks of it, he was extremely stupid. Too stupid in fact that he might end up killing himself today. And… she guessed she did kiss him. It was only polite to give him the name of his last kiss on this moral plane.



“I’m Creia…” She looked back into the cowboy’s eyes, “Pleasure to meet you.” And gave him a wink.