Fluke Ops (/tg/, M/F, F/F)

"This is all your fault, Fortune."

"Shut the fuck up, Frost!"

Two figures in blood-red spacesuits sat in a darkened interrogation room.  Their hands were zip-tied to the back of their respective chairs. As agents of Waffle Corp., they, along with three other operatives, were sent to Space Station 13 on a mission to nuke it to oblivion.  Unfortunately, with such a low success rate on nuclear operations such as these, Waffle Corp. figured it could save more resources by sending a rag-tag group of temp workers with a small allowance of supply credits to carry out the job.  It obviously ended in disaster.

Agent "Frost" had heard nothing from her fellow agents on her syndicate radio channel ever since they boarded the station.  The station's channel, however, was full of cheers and gloating over yet another successful defense against rival company marauders.  Agent "Fortune" couldn't bring herself to care about anything other than the numerous bullet holes in her suit that would not stop bleeding.

Light suddenly flooded the room as its single door opened.  A portly man clad in black stepped in.  His face was obscured by a gas mask that failed to contain his multiple chins.  Frost could easily tell from his outfit that he was the Head of Security for the station.  Following shortly behind him was a mime, obviously deputized due to the pile of security gear clipped to her form. Completing the entourage was a battered security cyborg.  The mime leaned against an invisible table as the HoS prepared to grill his captives.

"You do realize that gravity of your situation, right?" He asked.  The two agents remained silent.  "The rest of your friends are all dead.  We let you keep your radios just to let that sink in." He paused for a bit.  "Now, tell me, where is the disk?"
The HoS was greeted still with silence.  He wasn't a very patient man.

He waddled over to Frost and attempted to stare her down.  Neither could see each other's eyes through their visors, but she instinctively looked away.  He wheeled back and sent a meaty, armored fist into the side of her helmet.  The impact was padded enough from her own armor, but she barely managed to keep herself upright in her chair.

"WHERE IS DAT FUKKEN DISK!?" He shouted.

Fortune finally piped up.  "Isn't that borg Asimov?" She asked.   The mimed grinned and looked over to the cyborg in the corner, holding up four fingers with her left hand.  The borg quickly beeped out a statement:

"Four.  All organisms clad in red spacesuits are not human and are a threat to the station."

The HoS followed up the borg by throwing a haymaker at Fortune.  She, too, lacked patience, letting out a heavy sigh as she reeled back from the blow.  She nudged open a fake molar in the back of her mouth with her tongue, and bit down hard on the switch to the explosive implant hidden inside of it.

Frost was completely blown off of her seat from the resulting blast.  The HoS didn't even have time to blurt out a curse before the wind, and much of his equilibrium, was knocked out of him.  The mime, however, was always one step ahead of everyone.  She had placed an invisible wall between herself and the captives, just to keep her pristine striped shirt free of any spilled blood from a good sec beatdown.  She did not flinch at all as chunks of the operative splattered across the rest of the room in a deafening boom.  The sole remaining agent was dazed on the floor, wishing that explosive implants were standard-issue for operatives like they used to be.  At this rate, she knew that her fate lied in an electric chair, behind Nanotrasen bars for life, or on an operating table to be debrained and borged.

Once his hearing came back, the HoS attempted to straighten out his now-shredded coat and stood over Frost.  "Screams," he said. "Hand me that e-sword you picked up earlier."  The mime deftly took a small black handle out of her pocket and tossed it to her boss.  With a flick of his wrist, the handle loudly emitted a meter-long beam of red light.  Frost knew her time was up.  She tried to squirm away from her captives, but made little progress as her cuffs miraculously stayed intact after the explosion destroyed the chair she were strapped to.  The HoS pinned her in place by stomping his boot squarely into her gut.  The laser blade now hovered a breadth away from Frost's visor.

"One last chance," he said. "Where is the disk?"

No reply was given.  The HoS unholstered his energy gun with his free hand and fired a full charge of disabler beams straight into Frost's chest.   She winced just briefly before feeling her whole body go limp.  Every one of her muscles eased as her legs sprawled out on the cold metal floor.  The HoS removed his foot from her stomach, taking in a better look at her hapless form.  Despite the layers of armor plating that covered her body, the HoS could tell that his captive must have looked great under her suit.  The crimson rig was snug on her body,  with the thick ballistic padding accentuating her chest and thighs.  He had a plan on what to do with her, but he had to make sure her suit stayed on, lest the security borg in the room be freed of its fourth law.

"Screams," he said.   "How much time we got till the shuttle arrives?" The mime held up four digits on each of her hands. "That's all I'll need then."

Without much grace, the HoS traced around the agent's crotchplate with his e-sword. Frost weakly cried out as the blade singed her inner thighs, weakened still from the disabler shots.  Her armor gave way, revealing a smooth snatch adored with a small tuft of hair.  The HoS wasted no time once his eyes finally met the prize he had searched for his whole life.    Unzipping the bottom of his jumpsuit, he freed his johnson.  It was fully erect, throbbing at a whopping five centimeters.  Frost could do nothing as he forced her legs apart, crudely prodding her sex as his flabby girth weighed heavily against her body.  Cheesy Honker crumbs  and bits of space twinkies adorned his greasy neckbeard.   His matted hair smeared across her visor, making her, at the very least, grateful that she forgot to turn her internals off after boarding the station.  She wasn't very wet, but in her relaxed state it wasn't too hard for the HoS to finally ram his small package into her.

Frost tried to look away from the blob of a man that wriggled over her form .  She saw that the security borg looked like it was on its last legs after Fortune blew up.  It was if it was standing vigilant to make sure the last known threat on the station was properly taken care of. The mime, on the other hand, beamed with joy as she did her best impression of a professional photographer with a cheap Polaroid camera.  Her attention snapped back to her captor as once she realized his breathing was getting heavier, along with his walrus-like blubber undulating even faster.  Suddenly he tensed up, letting out a guttural wheeze signaling the victory of losing his long-held ticket to wizardry.  Frost could barely feel him inside of her, but his virgin load did impact the walls of her pussy hard enough to remind her that today was not a safe day for her.  She wanted to cry, but she barely had enough strength to even blink in her current state.

The mime walked over and nudged her boss with the tip of her shoe.  Looking up, he saw Screams-Internally point to an invisible wristwatch on her arm and then held up three fingers. "Think that's enough time for you to have a go, Screams?"  The mime shrugged.  She threw away her camera and started to loosen up her suspenders.   As Screams fumbled with her security gear, Frost realized that the station's radio chatter had suddenly turned to static.  She wasn't able to muse about this for too long, however.   Screams was already rather excited, as indicated by the juices that trailed from her hastily-stripped panties.  She wasted little time with switching places with her boss,  mingling her legs with Frost's.  Producing a maglite from her sec-belt, the mime easily inserted the handle into herself.  Aligning the other end with Frost's entrance, Screams only lightly coated the makeshift dildo with the agent's own fluids before painfully shoving it home.  Frost could only meekly gasp as the torch smashed into her cervix, pushing the HoS's seed ever closer to her womb.

Screams bit her lip in bliss while grinding against her captive.   She had only about a minute left to enjoy herself before joining the rest of the crew in the escape shuttle. The flared end of the flashlight caused nothing but agony for Frost as it scraped against her deepest possible depths.  Thankfully, the mime was also quick to please.  She gritted her teeth as her orgasm silently washed over her just as the AI announced that the shuttle had docked with the station.

Breaking radio silence, a monotone voice rang out across the syndicate channel:

"Keep your head down," it said.

Electricity shot out from the nearby door before it suddenly popped open.  Before anyone could turn to see what  caused such a thing to happen, machinegun fire swept across the room. The HoS, with his damaged coat, couldn't take more than a few rounds before rupturing like a bloated sausage.  The mime made the mistake to crane her head up in her state of ecstasy, only to have it instantly reduced to a pink mist. The security borg was already damaged beyond the state to even ready a weapon, and accepted its fate as a hail of bullets snuffed out what little life it clung to.

Frost knew who it was.  The crew only assumed there were five syndicate operatives raiding their station.  The trump card in play was a syndicate cyborg, purchased with most of the operative team's allowance.  Frost never called out for the borg, just in case someone might have confiscated a syndicate radio.  She held out on the slim hope that it was still operational, a hope that was briefly renewed once the station's telecommunications went offline.  The syndiborg, casting a long shadow from the doorframe, rolled across the carnage it had just created.  Towing behind it was the station's nuclear authorization disk that the operatives desperately needed to arm their nuke.  The borg neatly freed Frost from her zip-ties with a swipe of its own e-sword.

"We have no time to waste," it said.  "The nuke is already set up on the starboard solar panels."  The borg peered at Frost's current state and seemed a bit confused.  "Is this how Nanotrasen tortures their prisoners?" It asked.

Agent Frost untangled herself from Screams.  Her strength was finally starting to flow back into her limbs.  With a bit of a tug, she pulled the maglite out of herself and chucked it at the mime's bloody corpse.  She then walked over to the HoS.  He was still breathing.  She took the e-sword out of his pocket, aimed it at his crotch, and turned it on.  He let out a bloody gurgle to signal his testicles frying to a crisp.  She left him in his agony after also pocketing his ID.  Tore Hrafnsson was scrawled on the card.  She was going to make sure the rest of his family would also pay if she ever managed to make it out of all this alive.

"Are you ready to go now, miss?" It asked.  "We have two minutes to complete our objective."
Frost tapped a button on her helmet.  Switching her suit from Combat to Space mode, the ballistic nanogel that covered her rig evened out over the rest of her body.  Anti-breach mechanisms sprang into action and quickly mended the open spot on her crotch.  She nodded her head, got dat fukken disk, and followed the syndiborg out of the room.