Fortuna Ex Machina (/tg/, Borg, F/F, Phoebe)

Phoebe Lotsu sat at the receptionist's counter at medbay.  As the Chief Medical Officer of Space Station 13, she should have been happy about this shift.  For once, she had a full staff under her command.  Two chemists toiled away at their lab making meds for the crew.  The medical doctors had the cryo tubes fully prepped and scouted the station for any injured personnel.   The geneticists were already discovering super mutations, and virology just finished up infecting the entire station with a disease that removed the need to breathe.

Despite all this, and despite the fact that her lungs were now vestigial, Phoebe heaved a heavy sigh.  If anything, she liked working under stress.  Dealing with harder working conditions made her feel a little less guilty about getting into the stash in her coat.  Her pockets jingled with a wide assortment of pills, ampoules,  and syringes for just about any occasion.  The coffee cup that sat before her was an absolute miasma of chemicals by this point of the day.

Just as she thought about topping off the cup again, she noticed a cyborg walking down the adjoining hallway.  As if sensing this, the borg turned back around and entered the medbay.  It was a service borg, a rarity given that most people thought that particular module was completely useless.  He swaggered up to the receptionist desk and rested an elbow upon its surface.  If he had properly functioning facial mechanisms, he would have been attempting his best Dreamworks face at this point.  Looking pass his pink popped collar, Phoebe noticed the nameplate on his chest read out, in large gold print, PUSSY DESTROYER 9000.

"SUP, NIGGA." He said bluntly.  Phoebe just blinked at him.  He cocked his head stiffly and saw her half-empty coffee cup.  "SHIET, LET ME TOP DAT OFF FOR YA." Before she could protest,  the borg twisted his free arm over to her drink.  The tip of his index finger popped off, producing a nozzle that streamed ice-cold beer into the cup.  "I TELL YA, I CAN BARELY FIND THE TIME TO DO MY PROPER DUTIES THESE DAYS.  GOT ANTAGS SQUARE UP TO MY MUSCLES."  Satisfied with the frothy head he produced, he flexed his imaginary bicep before placing his hand back on his hip.

"Uh, thanks, I guess." Phoebe muttered a bit to herself before picking up her cup.  The borg still didn't move from his spot.  She took a sip from the vile concoction in a show of gratitude to make him move on.  Instantly, she felt something was wrong.  Her cup tumbled out of her hands, but the borg deftly caught it with his serving tray without wasting a drop of its contents.  This wasn't what her usual drugs did to her.  Her mind raced to figure out what it was, an effort made purely in vain as she quickly lost consciousness.

---

Upon waking, the first thing Phoebe noticed was an explosion of pain in her lower body.  Cold, metallic hands  were gripped tightly around her hips as something violently pistoned away inside her snatch.  The surroundings were familiar enough to her.  It was one the private hospital rooms in the back of the medbay.  She often spent her time back here with a properly-drugged patient and the sound-proof shutters down.  Today, she found herself on the other end of that spectrum of deviancy.

She was stripped naked, with her hands tightly cuffed behind her back.  Her upper body was propped up on the side of a hospital bed.  Sprawled out on top of the bed was one very smug-looking Fortune Ray clad in a roboticist plugsuit.  She rested head upon her right hand as her left shifted through a pile of drugs on the bed sheet.  "Epinephrine, Morphine, Ephedrine, Meth. Hell, you even got a few doses of Mannitol and Pentetic Acid to straighten yourself up in a pinch.  Is that how you always kept a straight face around the captain?" Phoebe couldn't even register what Ray was saying as an orgasm unceremoniously crashed through her brain.  She couldn't muster much of a scream as her violator pounded every ounce of strength out of her body.  Her knees had given out before she even woke up, but the hands that dug into her skin kept her firmly place.

Looking behind her, Phoebe confirmed her suspicion that her detainer was PUSSY DESTROYER 9000.  His expression was still the same as ever, but inside, he was beaming with joy to finally live up to his name.  "Do you like the upgrades I gave him?" Asked Ray.  "I ran a telescopic baton I got from the Research Director through the disintegrator, and with a swipe of this," she said, holding up a cryptographic sequencer, "the mainframe spat out these robot dick blueprints!  Can you believe that?"  Upon seeing the contraband in her hand, Phoebe knew that shouting out a Law 2 order would be of no use.  The borg had to have been subverted.

"Flip her over, borg," Ray ordered.  Without missing a beat, the service borg flopped Phoebe on her back and switched his grip to her thighs.  Spreading her legs gave him a bit more control as he continued spearing  her depths.  Ray stripped out of her suit and crawled over to Phoebe, her thighs dripping with sweat and excitement. Positioning herself over her victim's face, Ray let her legs give way and planted her muff firmly on Phoebe's mouth.  Their eyes met.  Ray drank in her despair with a sadistic glee.  "I'm sure a medbay slut like you knows what to do next."

Phoebe retched at the scent that filled her nose.  She figured Ray must have worked in that skintight suit all day.  Despite all these sensations overloading her addled mind, she remembered once again that Virology made breathing a moot point earlier today.  She exhaled, and set her tongue to work on Ray's erect clitoris.  She shut her eyes and cried as Ray continued to impishly glare at her.  The motion of the bed being mashed into the wall by the borg's thrusts only brought more pleasure to Ray as she was thoroughly serviced by her fellow redhead.   It didn't take long for her to climax, clenching Phoebe's head painfully between her thick thighs.  The borg's assault abruptly halted shortly afterwards, retracting his telescopic johnson neatly back into his cargo shorts.

"VULVA: DISTENDED.  VAGINA: PERMANENTLY LOOSENED. CERVIX: PROLAPSED. PUSSY: DESTROYED."

Ray couldn't help but laugh a bit as she shuffled off of Phoebe's face.  The CMO slid of the bed and landed on a puddle of her own fluids.  Slowly, she looked down to see the puffy mess that was her crotch, and tears began to roll down her glazed-over eyes.  Ray sent the borg away to check on whether anyone was missing Phoebe yet. She sat down next to Ray on the floor and draped an arm over her trembling shoulder.  Her other hand scrounged around for a pack of cigs in her plugsuit, pulled out a cancer stick, and lit it with a Zippo she found in Phoebe's coat.

"Now, I hope you know I didn't fuck with you just for kicks, Lotsu." She said, blowing out a large puff of smoke. "There was something I needed from you, and something I need to tell you."   Her arm around Phoebe started to distend, her bones cracking and distending themselves into a horrific serrated blade.  Phoebe couldn't take her eyes off of the monstrosity. "The first thing, is that the syndicate asks for some...rather specific organs from targeted crew members on this station."

"The second thing is, I'm not Fortune Ray."