When he turned back to his wife, he'd wiped all the emotion from his face."Hey... I interrupted," he said by way of an apology he didn't really feel. ...e motioned to her. "Go ahead... you were walking away from your husband without saying a word to him, without trying to get his attention or grab his hand or anything... with two old geezers who you knew when you were a hot little piece of ass in the swing clubs... but they never fucked you. Is that where we were?" he asked. Sarcasm was beginning. I was a weapon in itself as I engaged with zeal and vigor.I heard my team as they fired rounds as they sliced into a room.They were little pops in unison compared to the initial boom.The night was cool but I felt the sweat stinging into my eye.I heard the team yell “All Clear!” and heard the dying cry.“Tango Down!” was heard on the comms with the ringing in my ears.We looked around and searched the place and triple checked our gear.We searched the dead and took their pics for ones who sent us. It didn't take long before everyone was in swimsuits, splashing around in the pool -- well, everyone but Shae. She was wearing a spectacular string bikini that somehow emphasized her height even more, but she gave the pool a pass to keep a close eye on Sergei and Milla in a small plastic wading pool, while the rest of the adults splashed in the bigger pool. Vicky still felt herself heavy enough that she would have preferred to wear a one-piece swimsuit in most semi-public circumstances. It dribbles down the slippery latex. The face stares blankly. Shelly sits upright upon her leather chair. All is calm, and still, and silent. Her poonanny is still all wide and juicy. Her body stinks. Her head-meat has been spoiled and chemically destroyed. It has been washed of all Shelly’s thoughts and personality. Now she is nought but a fit, soiled, latex-coated mannequin. She sits in her own faeces. Shelly has been processed. Her body and brain have been made perfect for the Master. The.