The Vespidian

Arc 1 Contamination

Chapter 6

There stood a girl, maybe ten years old, with platinum blond hair, blue eyes, and a sullen look across her face. She was four feet tall, more than two feet shorter than me. She looked like a doll, so damned cute! How could I not want to just hold something like that and pet it? I bet she would be all snuggly and soft. This little thing rivaled Ichigo in cuteness. She wore a black jumpsuit with ridges around the stomach's sides. Atop her head, a crimson beret drooped to one side with a turnip patch on it; for that matter, there was another on her chest. A belt with compartments all over it hung from her waist. She looked like a cute little spy. I pulled her cheeks into a smile. For some reason, she did not like that. I found it odd that she was not reeling away out of terror. I do look like a monster, after all.

"Who are you, little girl?" I asked, petting her head.

She pulled away with a pouting face. It was so adorable how she tried to look tough. She spat on the floor, glaring at me. That was not so cute, but I can easily overlook it. She remained quiet, staring me down. The feeling that a gazelle probably experiences when a lion bears down on it ran up my spine.

Odd.

How could I be feeling that? Instinct screamed in my head, and I stepped back. Something was dangerous about her. She did not move an inch. In fact, her eyes roamed my room as though she was bored of me. This made me a little embarrassed over how messy the place was. If I had known that I would have had such cute company, I would have tidied up a little. I wrecked the place during my stay. There were streaks of various fluids on the walls as well... Not like they gave me a bathroom or anything! At the least, I have yet to start writing on the walls; give me some credit here. I mean it is only a matter of time, but I am not there yet.

"Who is she? Is she your daughter?" I asked towards the camera. "Does she talk?"

"That is Molotov. She is not my daughter. She is one of my most trusted associates, you would do best to not disrespect her." Said Dr. Tesla.

"Da." A voice that crawled from the ground spoke. I had heard it before... That Russian guy from the crash site.

I spun around wide-eyed, expecting to see a huge, bulking muscle builder. To my disappointment, there stood Molotov and nobody else. Cautiously, I approached her, and her eyes bore holes into me. I loomed over her, yet it felt like she was towering over me. I took my eyes off her and gazed at the cold concrete corridors outside my room. There was no one there. It took a long moment to realize that she had made that voice. I pointed at her with my lower right arm, right in her face. She stared daggers at me and grasped my finger, which snapped in half.

"Fuck!" I screamed, clutching my hand. "What the fuck!"

"Da." She said mildly, looking at the yellow blood on her fingers. It was sticky as she spread it, examining the fluid. After a moment, she wiped it off on the wall like it was unclean.

"Why did you do that? How did you do that?" I glared at her, but the look she gave me made me feel like a whipped dog.

"Da." She smiled, but there was no laughter nor cheer to be found.

"Do you say anything other than Da!?"

"Da, come along, little wasp girl." Said that thick Russian man's voice. "It is rude to point at others."

"Man voice... What the fuck are you? Lies! You are no little girl!" I screeched at her.

"Da. Little wasp girl. You would do best to not judge book by cover. What I see is beautiful creature, but I know you are just little Suka."

She smiled, and I shuddered in fear. My terror was warranted as she closed the distance in the blink of an eye. Her fist slammed into my gut. It felt like she just sucker-punched my spine. My whole body convulsed, and all sorts of liquids escaped from my abdomen. It went wild and uncontrolled. The stinger jabbed out at her, and she dodged it, dropping her elbow down. The impact ripped me from my feet and dented my thick exoskeleton. She lorded over me, and I cringed in my own shame. After the beating she gave me, there was not a shred of that initial image left. I understood she was the alpha predator here; me being some super bug freak didn't mean shit.

"I am Molotov Kurstov'e, former Russian Counter Intelligence Spy; currently, I am a Counsel Member of Kraken who personally reported and served under the Sanguine Puppeteer itself." She said, pointing down at me. "I have super strength, and despite how I might look, I am one hundred and sixty-five years old. My record includes completing over nine hundred special operation missions with a ninety-nine percent success rate. I have personally killed with bare hand three thousand men, one thousand six hundred and twenty-two women, and two hundred thirty-two children. While on job, many more in private. Call me little girl one more time, you will be paraplegic wasp girl. As of now, you are my Suka, little wasp girl."

“Sanguine Puppeteer? Who the fuck is that?” I asked.

It was a rather funny thing seeing the look of utter shock and horror that appeared on Molotov’s face before she smirked, “You jest. Had me for moment cheeky wasp girl.”

“No kidding. Who the fuck is the Puppeteer?”

Her eye brow raised to the point that it might punch me in the face, “Really never heard of the Sanguine Puppeteer?”

“I take it they important?” I asked defensively.

“Important is understatement. It is strongest Super in world.”

“It?” I squinted, “is it not human?”

“No. It has long since transcended humanity.”

“I see,” I said vaguely. “That is nice for it. I think?”

“Odd one you are wasp girl.” Molotov stared me down. “Most would be pestering me for details.”

"I am not wasp girl. My name is Vesper. Why should I care, it is not like I am going to interact with it."

She looked me over. "Nyet, I decide what to call you. You must earn name Wasp Girl. Obey me or I will break you like twig, Suka."

I winced from her fist balling up, "Just don't hurt me." My hand and body were already hurting enough from her beating what with the cracked open carapace and yellow blood leaking out.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Surprising I did not receive another impact, at least not a hard one. She pats me. "Good, so you understand. Come, your room is ready after you are settled, training begins."

"Training? What kind of training?"

"Da. You will be operative for organization to pay off your debt."

"What debt? What the hell are you talking about?"

"You are slow on uptake Wasp Girl. You think premium facilities are free of charge? Your medical expenses at moment are in the tens of million, and future procedures puts you in debt to Dr. Tesla and Arbor for hundreds of million, perhaps billions of American Dollars." Said Molotov, poking her finger in my face. "Do you understand? I have been placed in charge of you. Until debt is paid, I will be your shadow. You take piss, I be there. You fuck up, I be there, and you will be punished. I am cold and hard like turnip. You are at my mercy, and I have none, just like turnip."

"That is fucked up. I never asked for this. You guys just arbitrarily took me and started experimenting."

"I recall certain little girl crying for help as her face melted off."

"I did?"

"Do you not remember?"

I shook my head. I mean, I kinda remembered, but my face was melting off? That is news to me. I don't think that I said anything. Ah, shit, she is right. I did flop at them, gurgling and squealing, making all sorts of inhuman noises. Shit. I suppose that would be close to a cry for help. They might have me by the balls. Besides, does it really matter if I agree or not? They are going to force me to do stuff anyway; they are Super-Villains. I don't think they are very high on moral standards. There wasn't really much I could do about this, but that still left a question on my mind.

"What is your beef with turnips?" I asked without thinking and regretted it instantly when she snapped another finger.

"You will learn to fear turnip by time I done with you. Keep being cheeky and you will see horror of turnip."

She pulled me to my feet and dragged me down the corridor. I was trembling when I realized what she had said. "Wait, you are going to watch me pee?!"

"Da." She smiled, tightening her grip on my arm. "Taking samples as well."

Scared? No. I was fucking terrified, and every part of me felt violated. I whimpered a little as she led me down the hall. If I did what she wanted, I did not get hurt. I guess it could be worse. Pain was an excellent incentive to not resist. The whole way, we were both quiet. The little walk ended before a heavy metal door that reminded me of a ship compartment hatch. My hopes died the moment I saw that door, but then I saw what lay inside. I was pleasantly surprised. A thick bed sat against the side wall with white sheets and a neatly folded pillow. On the other side were a metal desk and a stool. That was it, but compared to where I had just been, it was akin to heaven. Sure, it was a prison cell, but damn it, it was better than an autopsy table! A real bed. It felt like it had been ages since I last slept properly. Not that I was going to be able to for a while. Molotov had other plans.

"Da. This is your room. Now come, You learn hand-to-hand combat. Then I teach weapons handling, starting with knife working up."

"You trust me with a weapon?" I asked skeptically.

She did not even stop, not even glance back, but she said. "Nyet, threat non-existent. Even with high velocity compartmentalized gauss rifle, capable of destroying heavily armored Mark Ten Abram Siege Tank, I rip head off before you could pull trigger. You try fifty caliber armor-piercing sniper rifle from two miles away; I bite bullet and spit it back at you. You, you little wasp girl are, but mewling Suka before me."

"Not going to lie, I don't know what any of that is. You keep calling me Suka, but what is that?

"Da. Suka is how you say bitch in Russian."

I gulped. "I think, I get the message. What you are really saying is that if I try anything, I am dead meat, right?"

"Da. Now, do you understand little Wasp Girl?"

I was lagging behind a little, but she had my finger, so I dared not test her. "Point taken... I am a little slow, so try to be gentle."

She stopped for a moment and looked me in the eyes. "Bitches always ask for gentle, I break bitches. I make hard like turnip."

"I... I don't want to piss you off but.... What the fuck does that even mean?!" I cried, but it did not help.

I never got an answer. Molotov didn't think that I needed one. She walked, and I kept in line to make damn sure that I did not fall behind. My finger was at stake. One good thing about this body was that the regenerative effects were augmented, and the cracks were already sealed. As for my finger, it was still crooked as hell. Molotov was not letting it heal and had a firm grip on it.

We went down two floors in a swanky elevator. The thing was covered in chrome and polished to a shine. According to the buttons, there were twenty floors. My room was on floor ten, and the training room was on floor twelve. The doors opened to a long flat room. It was cavernous, and there were dividing walls every fifty feet to create a catacomb. This place was the staging area with access to varied training grounds. Molotov continued on, so I had little time to scope it out.

It was the third room that she took me to. A table, four chairs, and a locker were in this half of the room. On the other a matted floor, punching bags, and a training target. I looked it over, and seeing how clean the place was, made me wonder how there was no dust anywhere. She pointed to a chair, and I eagerly sat down. My finger was finally safe. It throbbed as I realigned it. She opened the locker, and there was an arsenal of conventional weapons. Handguns, assault rifles, sniper rifles, a broad sword, rocket launchers, and then there was a gun I had never seen before.

It looked like some seriously dangerous shit. It had a long barrel with what looked like magnetic rings hovering around it, and the gun was humming lowly. I think it was that gauze gun she was talking about. Molotov ignored all of the high-end stuff and reached out a thick knife with a ribbed back. There was a serrated part so when stabbed into somebody, it could saw at the flesh to ensure traumatic damage and could probably also be used to make a fire. She walked back and stood before me.

"Place hand on table." She instructed, and I warily complied.

I felt like a dog being trained to do tricks.

My left hand sat there on the table flat. I retreated when she stabbed the knife beside it into the table. Molotov forced it back into place and then proceeded to thrust the knife into the gaps between my fingers. Every stab came faster until her hand was a blur, and I dared not move an inch. She was, well, astounding at it. She was so good she never missed. Just when I started to think I was safe, she anchored the blade into the center of my hand.

Never missed... that was clearly on purpose! I did not feel it for the first couple of seconds, but then the pain radiated out, and I screamed. It was a sound no human could have made, that insectoid screeching hiss. I reeled back, dragging the table with me. After a desperate yank, the hand was freed, and the knife was coated in yellow, still stuck in the table.

I wailed, clutching my maimed limb, it hurt a lot, but by no means was it the worst that I have ever felt, let alone in recent memory. "Why? I did what you wanted! Stop torturing me!"

She set the table right and sat on it, staring down at me. "Now listen carefully. Whatever life you lived before is gone. No one ever gets fixed after exposure to Mutigene. It changed you down to core of DNA. You are only five percent human now. You are less human now than monkey. What I do, I do to keep you alive in this world. I don't know what you read in little stories and comics, but this is no little children's adventure, this is reality, and you are a six-and-a-half-foot-tall humanoid wasp woman. I am surprised you not like others who became ravening beasts... only knew how to eat and kill, sometimes fuck. To be honest, you are most heavily exposed one I have met that still has mind. You are special, which means, others will want to get hands on you. I will be training you to resist torture should you be captured. You need to toughen up."

"It is not fair. I just got my shit together, and I was going to work out and try to do something productive." I held my head, shaking it. "Why do I have to do all of this? I just want to sleep; no, I want to wake up from this nightmare."

She sighed and slid off the table, walking over to me. Molotov pulled my head up and slapped me so hard it felt like my neck broke. I could not feel my legs for a long moment. My eyes spun when she hit me again. "Life is cruel. It is cold and hard like turnip, but you have to take it by balls, once you have balls never let go. When life comes to fuck you, you make it your bitch! You hold it down and fuck it like there is no tomorrow! You going to just lay here crying like Suka or will you get up and show me that you have balls? You want to live a real life, or do you want to be ripped apart and studied?"

I coiled up, protecting my head. It hurt so much that it was numb. I needed to get her off of me. My legs thrust out, catching her right in the chest, hurling her away. She bounced off of the ceiling, but when she hit the floor, her arm punched into it, leaving a small crater and stopping her from going anywhere else. She stood wiping a smear of blood from the corner of her mouth, a grin that made all the blood drain from me.

"Good! See, you has taken first step to not being life's bitch, just like Nicky Mouse. Was not so hard, was it? You just needed to be pushed. Da, da, now I want you to try and punch me. Remember, thumb out, or it will be crushed. Your fingers need to be strengthened so you can jab at your opponents with those claws. If you are too weak, spindly little fingers will snap."