Checkmate (/tg/, ss13, ninja, m/f, vanilla)

"Ma'am, I, I assure you.  This must be some mistake."

His captor wasn't listening.  Randolph was face-down and hog-tied on a bed in a dark dormitory room. He couldn't get a good look at whoever suddenly whisked him away from his counter at the station's bar.  Neither could he understand a word of whatever oriental tongue she spoke as she paced about, shouting muffled nonsense into her headset.  Said radio would eventually be sent flying into a wall as rage shattered her composure.

"I'm all ears, you know?  Need something off your chest?"

She walked over to the bed and flipped him on his side.  The room was dim, but he could easily make out her details from the light given off by the green LEDs that adorned her form.  An ivory mask obscured her face, while an ebony hardsuit tightly hugged the rest of her hourglass body. Straps of C4 laced up her thighs and around her heaving bosom, allowing only the faintest jiggle whenever she moved.  Randolph couldn't help but whistle at the sight.  A metal fist smashed into his mouth in response.  She kept her arm outstretched to show him a list projected from a holographic device from her wrist.

"Is that available in something that isn't moonrunes?"

It quickly switched to English.    He found it hard to concentrate on the words, what with her plated knuckles still embedded in his lips.

"Genome extraction.  Identity theft.  Brain removal-oh, and it's MY brain that you need.  Great.    Are these uh, not typically addressed to you in your line of work?"

She shook her head.

"Aaaand I take it that's why you're upset?"

The ninja removed her fist from his face with a sigh.  She took a seat next to Randolph on the bed, kneading her temples as she spoke to him.

"De Supaidah Curan use du habu muuch hiya sutandahs dahn dis."

Randolph blinked.

"I'm sorry?"

"De Supaida-"

She took a deep breath before flipping a switch on her mask.

"The Spider Clan used to have much higher standards."  She pointed to her mouthpiece. "This is a fine example of how far we've fallen.  'Oh, a voice filter would make us sound more authentic!' They said.  'Our clients expect that kind of accent!'  I did NOT learn how to properly roll my Ls just to throw all that effort away."

Randolph nodded and smiled.  She was definitely of Asian origin, but her English was pretty spot-on.  More importantly, she wasn't paying too much attention to him during her rant.  An energy katana hung off of her hips.  He nudged himself towards it in the brief moments when she looked away from him.

"And since when did we start accepting jobs from the Syndicate, much less doing their Changeling work?  Do I look like a Changeling to you?"

"No ma'am, you don't."

Just a little closer-

"Those wretched things are a dime a dozen.  And yet, here I am, wasting my talent on their lowly operations."

His fingers could almost touch the hilt-

"I mean, taking brains is easy enough," she illustrated her point by nonchalantly grabbing her sword and activating its blade.  Randolph swore under his breath.  "Just one well-placed slice to the head can pop a brain right out."

With the flick of her wrist, the sword swiped across the hardlight webbing that held Randolph in place, leaving him bound only by the cuffs around his wrists.  With her free hand, she held him down long enough to straddle his waist.  Her blade singed the pillow he rested upon as she playfully traced a line back and forth across his forehead.

"Yet, how do you propose I gather the genome samples?"

Randolph swallowed hard.  There was definitely an ample amount of muscle hidden under her plush curves.  This concealed strength was made painfully obvious to him as her weight  pressed against his stomach.  Yet, even as he struggled for breath, she felt heavenly sitting there on top of him.  Fueled by the small amount of booze still circulating through his system, and with nothing left to lose, he eventually mustered an answer.

"Well," he said, biting his lip before continuing, "pardon me for the being crass, but DNA comes in many forms, sizes...fluids."  He shuffled a bit,  which harkened the ninja to the bulge growing between his legs. "Similarly, I assume you have a few receptacles that could suffice for such biological samples temporarily, right?"  He put on his best Dreamworks face.  "Right?"

She just stared at him for a bit, her sword still burning just a hair's width away from his forehead.  Then, she let out a laugh, trying futilely to cover her mouth in apparent embarrassment. The energy blade dissipated and she threw the hilt aside.  Placing her hands on Randolph's chest, she leaned down to bring herself face to face with the barman.

"Randolph P. Checkers, right?"

"Esquire.  Yourself?"

Her hands slid down his torso, undoing the buttons on his vest and shirt in deft motions. She lifted herself up once she reached his pants zipper.  His raging mast was almost able to free itself from its fabric confines without her assistance.  There was a click, and the armored plating on her crotch slid away to reveal her clean-shaven slit. She traced a finger across her opening, up the length of her body, and stopped at her mouthpiece, smudging its polished sheen with her viscous joy.

"You'll know my name when I take your life."

With that, her hips met with his, taking his ample length in one fluid stroke.  She only gave him a moment to arch his back in ecstasy before proceeding to rigorously ride him.  Her movements were almost mechanical in their perfection.  She set a high tempo, and not once did she deviate from it as she pistoned, grinded, and plunged herself in a variety of exotic ways upon the bound bartender.

"Did-did they teach you this-in ninja school?"

Randolph was barely able to sputter out his words.  The girl, on the other hand, sounded like she was on a brisk jog as she casually responded.

"Standard kunoichi arts.  You're a lucky man to experience this before death, Checkers."

"A-ah, right!   Almost forgot about that.  Anyway I can cha-change your mind on that matter?"

A painful jerk of her hips resonated her answer quite clearly to him.

"You're almost done."

"H-Hardly!  A gentleman! Never!  Finishes!  First!"

His whole body was tensing up, trying to stall the inevitable.  Slowly, her metallic digits crept up and around his neck.

"Any last requests?"

"Life?"

A hard slam of her rear signaled his climax, sending his thick alabaster deep into her depths.  Her grip tightened in tandem with her vice-like contractions, as if she was wringing out his soul along with every last drop of his seed. Spent, Randolph went limp in her hands.  He was sure that Death was going to have his way with him next.

Instead, her grip relaxed, and one of her hands left go to hover over his left eye.  The ninja snorted out a laugh.

"You filmed all of this, didn't you?"

"What?"

Wires sprung out of her palm.  They stung slightly as they probed about his face, with a wayward tendril tracing a circle around his iris.

"One of your eyes is slightly darker than the other.  It's bionic, isn't it?"

A toothy grin shone through his bushy mustache.

"I'm a documentarian!  How else could I satisfy such a hobby hands-free?"

A wire slipped under his eyelid.  It latched onto something deep inside his eye socket, eventually wrenching out a tiny memory chip from the bottom of his artificial eye.  The ninja studied it for a bit, and then placed it in a slot on her wrist.

"You know Checkers, my colleagues used to joke that someone with a body like mine was far more suited for JAVs than Ninjitsu."

"Jay-A-Vees?"  It didn't ring a bell in his posh English mind.

Her holographic projector flickered to life once more.  Its screen now shone the last few minutes she spent with the bartender from his point of view.

"I think they were right."

Overhead, an alert rang out through the station intercoms.

"THE EMERGENCY SHUTTLE HAS BEEN CALLED."

A puff of smoke erupted in the room, blinding Randolph and sending him into a coughing fit.  He felt a sting above his crotch, and the warm confines of the Ninja suddenly left him.  She was gone.

---

"That sounds like complete bullshit, Randolph."

Another nonbeliever.  He slammed down one more shot of Vitamin W before turning to his equally-smashed patron at the counter.

"Do you really want me to prove it to you, sir?"

His customer drunkenly nodded.

Randolph sighed and gestured the man to lean in a bit closer.  He undid his belt, and shimmied his trousers down just an inch.  There was an initial recoil of disgust, but that was quickly replaced with intrigue as his glassy eyes strained to focus on the peculiar brand displayed before him.

"Hell of a tramp stamp, eh?"

Green, nanite-fueled logographs were etched across his waistline.  Below, in bold red letters, was the word DEFEAT, surrounded by tiny pink hearts.  They flickered as vibrantly as the neon sign just outside of the barroom's entrance.

"Got any idea what it means?"

Randolph shrugged.  "I assume it is a calling card."

"Why?"

"Because of this." The bartender pulled a holotape from his vest pocket.  On its cover was a strong, yet beautiful Asian woman splayed out upon a bed.  Her face, and most of her nude form, were heavily pixilated; a byproduct of ancient oriental censorship laws.  However, one spot above her crotch remained unobscured.  There laid a barcode, followed by, symbol for symbol, the very same insignia that Randolph was bestowed.