THE HORROR OF THE CYBRID

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The best laid plans of JASMINE STAR have been undone – a single inquisitive maid has revealed that she is NOT the consort to the EMPEROR ZARDO, but simply a human rebel against the mad king of Pluto’s empire of evil. Now, the King of the Hawkmen, F’EATH ARR, must decide: To turn on Jasmine to spare his people the wrath of Zardo, or to take up arms against the Emperor.

Meanwhile, within the sweltering DEATH JUNGLE OF CERES, CLAUDETTE T.S GRANT and the PIRATE QUEEN ALTAR POLARIS, are surrounded on all sides by the dreaded DEATH COMMANDOS OF MARS. Who has sent these awful assassins? Why? And will this be the end of our charming Claudette and the amazing Alta?

Lastly, MARK STYLES has been consigned to the blood soaked ARENA PIT of Emperor Zardo himself ... to face off against Zardo’s most terrible creation ... THE CYBIRD!

Mark realized that he would need some measure of protection for the head – even in an era where bombs and bullets could bisect a human male as easily as a butcher knife can cut a hog’s haunch, the doughy men that had fought for Uncle Sam in the war against Hitler and his mad legions had worn steel helmets. And so, he cast his gaze about the dusty floor of Emperor Aytan Zardo’s arena pit...

“Aha!” he said, snatching up a curved helmet with a mirrored mask that looked as if it was made to protect not merely the head, scalp and cheeks, but also his neck and a bit of his shoulders. He slid them on mere moments ... before the Cybrid arrived.

“Good lord,” he whispered.

The Cybrid was not like anything that Mark had expected.

For one thing ... the Cybrid was a woman.

And what a woman!

She was easily nine feet tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular body – toned enough to show she used the weapons she carried in her four arms, which spread around her body in a ready fighting stance. Her skin was a dusky purple, with thin stripes of darker hue that ringed her arms as if she were a tiger in a zoo. Her breasts were large and heavy, contained within breastplate sculpted to fit them and protect her body ... while still leaving her sensually exposed. Her hips were guarded by armored slats, while cloth just barely concealed the join of her legs. Her feet were clad in heavy sandals. Mark counted four weapons, each unique ... a short thrusting spear, a broadsword like his own, a net, and the blunted knuckles of a cestus, tightened to her lower right fist.

“Well, now, I don’t hit ladies,” Mark said, his voice muffled by his helmet.

“Heh. I’m no lady, you’ll find,” the Cybrid said, her voice elegant and aristocratic, despite her fierce appearance – and with that, she threw her spear in a quick, overhanded motion. Mark’s eyes widened, but the same instincts that had saved him many a time in the frosty forests of western Europe saved him now. He rolled and came to his feet, just as the spear impacted the wall behind him with a clamorous clang. He snapped his head back, then laughed.

“We’re down to three on one now,” he said.

“Hah! So you think, clone!” the Cybrid said, then held out her arm – the bracers that she wore made a low humming noise and Mark felt the helmet that he wore twitch, the buckles rattling, the sword twisting in his hand ... but it was the spear that was most effected as it wrenched itself from the wall and hurled itself through the air, as if flung from a massive catapult. The Cybrid snatched it free as her bracer ceased its humming and the bizarre forces on Mark’s helmet ceased their tugging. He shuffled to the side, tensed, as the net began to twirl in the Cybrid’s lower left hand.

“Clone?” Mark panted, confused – but before he could ask any more, the Cybrid charged forward. Her cestus whipped up as if she was some back-alleyway boxer, seeking for a lucky sucker punch to his stomach. Mark, though, had brawled himself, and twisted aside, slashing his sword upwards ... only for the sword to become entangled in the net that she hurled at him. Mark flung himself backwards as her spear tip thrust towards his belly, evading the blow by the merest edge of a sliver. His back struck the sandy dust and he groaned as his helmet, poorly secured, tumbled from his head. It clacked away as the Cybrid spun around to face him, lifting her arms above her head, holding her spear with her upper arms, her lower hands gripping her broadsword in a defensive guard.

There...

She froze, her eyes widening.

Mark yanked the net, and the blade cut it free, tattering it as he rolled to the side and swiped at the same time. The Cybrid barely reacted until the tip of his sword scored against her thigh, and only then did she twist away, bright red blood splashing from her. She hissed and clapped a hand on her leg, blood welling between her fingertips as Mark sprang to his feet, turning to face the Cybrid. Knowing he had but one chance, he struck. The Cybrid, reacting with sluggishness that seemed utterly inexplicable, brought her sword up – but weakly, and the blade went flying through the air. She stepped backwards, stumbled, fell onto her back, her arms grabbing the ground, the spear discarded as she gaped up at Mark.

The crowd, by now, was gasping, on their feet, literally craning their heads to peer down at the scene.

Mark hefted his sword, readying himself to slay this foul beast of Zardo’s – but he hesitated ... while she was strange beyond compare, there was a splendid beauty to the Cybrid, that made every part of Mark’s red blooded American soul cry out against the idea of striking her dead. While he was well used to doing hard deeds in time of war ... this was something else entirely. And so, rather than deliver the killing blow, he hesitated...

And heard, faintly, whispered between those lips so darkly purple that they were nearly black, a single word that shocked him to his very soul.

“ ... Mark?”

Mark took another look at that face ... no...

It was impossible...

And yet...

Despite softened, feminized features, despite enlargement from a strapping six feet to a towering nine, despite skin turning from hale pink to alien purple, despite it all, Mark could see what his mind had not been able to witness before – a truth so stunning that the blade fell from his nerveless fingers as he realized what it was he was looking upon...

For that was the face of none other than Lieutenant Christopher “Chip” Robinson, lieutenant in his majesty’s royal air corps! Vanished nearly six years before in a high flying operation against the German menace that darkened the skies of Europe, Mark had thought that Chip had merely been one of the millions of brave lads taken too soon by the mad menace of a would be Austrian autocrat – but instead, against all odds, he found Chip here, transfigured utterly into none other than Aytan Zardo’s favored gladiator!

“How?” Mark whispered as the crowd murmured among one another. He barely noticed – they were a million miles away, barely even something to think about as he looked into Chip’s eyes. The transformed Tommy top gun laughed, softly, her four hands gliding along the sand as she pushed herself upwards.

“That blasted Zardo ... he snagged my old Spitfire right out of Angels Eleven using one of their capture rays! I thought I’d died and gone to hell – but I suppose hell might have been one up on Zardo and his Torment Dome.” She shook her head, while Mark grabbed onto her lower left arm, dragging her up – ignoring the boos and jeers from the crowd.

“What happened to you, Chip?” Mark asked, slowly.

Chip smiled, shyly, looking aside. “Zardo ... he ... wanted to test his bloody concoctions on me. He calls them his ... Exo-Hormones. In a few weeks, I was singing Soprano again, if you take my meaning. When those worked to his satisfaction, he moved on to the rest of my body.” She caressed herself with all four of her hands. “Beats the hell of that ratty old dress I used to wear, eh?”

“Heh,” Mark laughed. “I guess we’ll have to call you Robin now all the time.”

“Well-”

“ENOUGH!”

The booming voice of Aytan Zardo snapped their heads around. He stood, glaring. “Cybrid, I order you, fight this Earthman,” he said.

“No,” Robin said, her voice tight as she stepped forward, glaring up at him. “I’ve had enough of your orders, Zardo!”

The entire crowd gasped.

The Emperor sneered down at the two of them. “I see,” he said, quietly. “Then I shall show you what happens to creations that disobey me, Cybrid...”

“Do you have a plan for what to do when he sends us to the Deatomizer?” Mark whispered, grabbing his sword off the ground, looking around as the crowd watched with eyes wide – they had stopped booing, if only because the drama of this moment far exceeded any drama of the battlefield that might have played out before.

“Not a one, old chum,” Robin whispered, the same thing she had said when they had needed to evade the police back in London, when Robin wearing a dress and going by a female name had been dangerous and illegal, rather than par for the course in Zardo’s wicked realm. Mark laughed, turning his back to face her back, so that he could protect her if guards came swarming in – he knew that he would rather die fighting beside Robin Robinson than anywhere else in the world. He had been a callow youth when he had learned that the brave and bold pilot that he had idolized had preferred dressing in women’s clothing in secret, and while dressed went by Robin ... but now, the years had not dimmed his protective urge to keep her safe from a world that seemed intent on denying her a harmless joy.

“Deatomizer? No, that is far too pleasant for this betrayal,” Zardo said. “Master of Games ... the Lust Venom of the Europan Crystal Spider.”

“Mark-” Robin exclaimed, turning – but before Mark could even move, the Master of Games had stood from his perch, lifted a blowgun to his tusked lips, and fired. The needle slammed directly into Mark’s thigh, injecting the glowing blue fluid within into his veins with the precision of a surgeon working in an operating chamber. Mark grabbed the needle and yanked it free, gasping softly at the tiny spurt of blood that escaped him.

“W-What?” he whispered. His brain felt woozy.

“That ... bastard!” Robin whispered, then glared up at Zardo, who sneered down at them.

“Even now, the lust venom is burning through his body. In one minute, he will be so aroused he can barely speak. In two, his body will be forced to copulate with any female within a mile radius ... willing or not!” He stroked his beard. “Now, Cybrid, you must choose ... loyalty to this Earthman, even as he seeks to ravage your body with his rampant lusts ... or will you strike him down?” He threw his head back and cackled – a booming laugh that filled Mark with enough cold dread that it nearly bet out the growing heat in his loins, the desperate tightness of his loincloth. His skin gleamed with sweat as he fell to one knee, gasping heavily.

“G-Get back, Robin!” He hissed through clenched teeth, ducking his head forward. “I ... don’t ... want to hurt you!” He hissed, while the impulse to grab at her breastplate, to rip it off, and to begin to kiss and suck on her nipples was almost overpowering.

Robin the Cybrid stepped backwards. Her eyes were soft ... and then she reached up, tugging at the ties of her uniform. The metal breastplate clunked as it hit the dusty sand – and Mark snapped his head upwards. She was looking aside, her cheeks burning, her lower hands tugging at her hips to slip down her armored kilt.

Her voice was soft.

“ ... it’s okay ... I ... I’ve wanted this for so long, Mark...” She bit her lip as her armored kilt clattered against the ground around her ankles, revealing that the exo-hormones that Zardo had pumped into her body had completely resculpted her hips and bone structure. Not only were her breasts full and bountiful as Mark could imagine, but her cock had shrunk and become sleeker and more demure, even as it throbbed with desperate neediness, semi-transparent precum dripping from her throbbing tip. She turned, then bent forward against the wall, thrusting up her striped ass, her hand grabbing one cheek, spreading herself lewdly.

“Take me with all your strength, Earthman!” she said, flushing. “Make me your woman!”

If there was one thing that could overcome the thoughtless lust of the Lust Venom of the Europan Crystal Spider, it would be the affection a man feels for a woman – no matter how strange the woman’s history and origin. And in the breast of Mark Styles beat the heart of a man good and true. He clutched his fist to his belly, bent forward around himself, then gasped out. “Only ... if that’s what you want-”

“Bloody hell, yes, you-”

Mark exploded into motion. His hands grabbed onto her two lower arms, tugging them backwards fiercely and thrusting his member into her with a single powerful movement. Only the modifications that made her more supple and slippery than any human woman would be kept the moment from being anything but agony for the two of them – instead, it was pure, fierce pleasure as Mark filled the taller woman, his cock driving into her up to his hilt, his balls gently slapping against hers.

“Oh Mark!” She moaned, her upper arms bracing against the wall of the arena as she was taken. Her heavy breasts swayed, slapping against her own body as she was rocked by the might of Mark’s thrusts. Mark leaned over her ear, snarling as he did so.

“You feel so fucking tight, Robin!” He growled, his voice bestial and raw thanks to the Lust Venom. He bit down on the pointed tip of her ear, then bit along her neck, his teeth leaving divots in her skin that ached deliciously, dark purple against her striped flesh. Robin cried out with every mark that he left on her – every sign of his claiming her as his woman. His hands slid from her arms to her belly to her breasts, which he squeezed powerfully. She might have gotten them from exo-hormones, but breasts they were – and Mark tugged on her nipples fiercely, roughly ... unwittingly doing to Robin exactly what she had long desired.

“Yes! Oh Mark! Ah! Yes! Ravage me!” She screamed out, her voice a husky contralto. She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes practically glowing. “Cum inside of me! Cum inside of meeeee!” She wailed her pleasure as Mark grunted, hilted himself inside of her – and then his seed began to spill around the thick seal of his cock, dripping along her ass, down to her balls, soaking her thigh. Mark panted, drawing backwards as the crowd watched with their own lewd, rapt attention ... only for Mark to grab the hip of the Cybrid Warrior, turning her around so that she faced him. His hands grabbed onto her upper arms, tugging her forward and into a fierce, almost brutal kiss. His tongue thrust into her mouth ... and his cock ached as he ground against her dick. Her member, girlish and small, looked utterly dwarfed by Mark’s own – and a thin spurt of her transluscent girlcum splattered warmly against his dick.

Mark drew his mouth back. “More...” His voice was a bestial sound, his eyes barely sentient with raw burning desire.

Robin immediately dropped to her knees. Her lower hands slid along his thighs, while her upper hands took hold of the base of his cock and she closed her mouth around the tip of his cock, tasting her own unnatural lubrication and his eagerness against the tip of her sensitive tongue. Her eyes fluttered shut and she began to bob her head on him – moving more carefully and cautiously now, as she had rarely had a chance to fit a cock even a fraction of this size into her lustful mouth.

“Remarkable...” The Emperor Zardo said, quietly, as he reclined in his seat next to his daughter. “It seems that he remains still aroused to keep the Venom from slaying him ... for now.”

His daughter’s eyes widened. “D-Death? But you said-”

“I said that it would drive him to copulation. I simply declined to include that when the Lust Venom acts upon its victim, it builds up dangerous toxins – toxins that are repressed by the release of the love-chemical that the Earthmen know as oxytocin and dopamine. But most males are able to only orgasm one, two times before their bodies are spent and need time in the weakness known as a refectory period – a weakness that I lack.” His eyes flashed, with arrogant cruelty, his hand stroking his beard as, in the arena below, his prize arena fighter bobbed her mouth on Mark Style’s massive cock, the lewd slurping sounds of it reaching them easily.

“The toxin...” Zella whispered, her voice filling with horror. “If M ... if my pet doesn’t cum enough, he’ll die?”

“Yes,” Zardo said, smirking. “But what Earthman can climax three times in a row?” He chuckled, then thrust his finger at the scene before him. “Even now ... he shows difficulty in climax – a difficulty induced by his prior orgasm.” He steeped his fingers. “Watch your so called pet die, my daughter ... die in the throws of pleasure!”

He laughed again.

Mark, meanwhile, had clenched his teeth, his hands gripping onto the hair of Robin, his fingers curling through her luxurious locks, in a way he had never been able to back on Earth – it’s just not the same when she was wearing a wig. His hips drove forward as, by now, she had become accustomed to his cock and was taking him with every single bucking motion of his hips, all the way down to the base, her eyes filled with love as she looked up at him. But there was more than just her throat at work – her tongue, too, lashed his cock, swirling around him as he drove into her mouth, while her lower hands cupped his balls ... but it was her upper that were working their hardest to save her lover’s life.

For her upper right hand had drawn back Mark’s buttocks ... and her upper left, the fingertips glistening, thrust against his anus, then plunged in, crooking and finding the prostate. Mark’s eyes closed and he groaned as pleasure exploded through his body, beating back the fires of the Lust Venom – and then his balls clenched and he shuddered, cumming hard down his lover’s throat. Robin the Cybrid drank and drank, her throat bobbing as she closed her eyes, her body trembling.

Mark panted ... and then drew his cock from her throat – his member softening slightly, despite the Lust Venom. His male brain was beginning to shut down, overwhelmed by the venom’s buildup, and the desperately needed love-chemicals that might save his life began to dip in the face of the physical exhaustion of two powerful orgasms ... and worse, Robin was entirely unaware. Despite being trained in a thousand arts of death during her long years in Zardo’s blood soaked arena, Robin had never been taught the ins and outs of Zardo’s most cruel poisons and their effects – after all, they had never been in her grasp, nor a part of her many trials.

Robin did not know it ... but she was mere moments away from seeing the love of her life, who had accepted her for who she was even during the horrors of World War 2, die before her very eyes!

The sudden rustling of fabric and the gasps of shock from the crowd drew Robin’s attention away from admiring her lover’s body. She gasped, starting to stand ... as surrounded by the fluttering of her red cape, her nubile body mostly on display in the moment before she landed, was the Star Princess Zella. She landed before the two, haughty and arrogant, and thrust her finger directly at Mark Styles, commanding: “You are not done yet, my pet. You will fuck the Cybrid once more, lest you face my displeasure!”

The crowds gasped louder – and they were so transfixed by the scene before them, this shocking alteration in the fortunes of the arena, that they did not see Zardo’s face twist into a fierce scowl. His hand picked up the small orb used to command the arena’s automatic systems as he murmured, beneath his breath. “My daughter ... do you seek to betray me? Or are you merely overcome with girlish silliness?”

“I’m ... so tired...” Mark said, wobbling – and then gasped as Zella stepped forward, behind him. She grabbed onto his cock, squeezing the base of him, hard enough to Mark grunted in something between pain and pleasured.

“You will not cease my show so soon, Pet!” She growled into his ear, while Robin gaped up at the pair of them. “Cybrid, entice this Earthman with your alien body.”

Robin bit her lower lip, then murmured. “Yes, my Princess,” she said, and the slavish tone of devotion and submission in her voice was almost enough to bring Mark’s erection back to full eagerness by itself. She stood, then stretched her upper arms behind her neck while planting her lower arms on her hips, taking both female stances most known to entice the eye of any red blooded American male at a moment’s notice ... at the same time. While she did so, she arched her back, causing her full breasts to heave, while her girlish member throbbed between her thighs like a lewd flag, begging to be conquered.

“Take me, Mark,” she purred. “Take me ... Master...”

Mark growled and then flung himself forward, Zella releasing him ... and then blushing as the grizzled G.I bore the Cybrid warrior to the ground, pinning two of her arms above her head while grinding his cock against hers, trapping her member against her own muscular belly. His mouth pressed to her neck, sucking on her flesh ... and Zella found herself unable to simply stand back. She knelt down and, before the gasping crowds, reached out to take hold of Mark Style’s cock and guide him, tip first, back into the warmth of his lover.

Mark groaned low in his throat as he took Robin once more – fucking her into the dusty ground of the arena with powerful full body motions, squishing her breasts against his chest as his fingers interlocked with hers and her two lower arms caressed his sides with loving gentleness. Her head spinning, the Star Princess Zella forgot the crowds and her own father’s scowling features – she only had eyes for the graceful sway of Mark’s balls, so full with Earthman cum, the same cum she had felt spilling into her own eager womb. Her fingers slid along the dusty ground and her nose flared, breathing in the scent of a true Earthman ... a true American hero, and her head spun as she whispered.

“Oh Mark...” Then she kissed his balls, gently, then licked at the base of his cock, teasing both him and Robin with the dainty flick of her royal tongue. She nuzzled against the joining of her longtime companion and her newest pet – and then felt the pulse of Mark’s third orgasm ... and knew that even now, the love-chemicals being released by his body were scouring the last of the Lust Venom from his body.

Then his cock drew back and she was rewarded by the warmth of his seed, spilling from the well fucked purple ass of Robin, straight onto her regal tongue. She moaned, swallowing lewdly, wantonly, her finger reaching down to rub at her sex through the thin white gauze of her leggings. She licked – barely aware of the crowd murmuring softly...

Then Zardo’s voice boomed out.

“My daughter, it seems, has decided that she would be the true victor of this Arena!” he said, spreading his arms as he stood. “All hail Star Princess Zella, the Conqueror of the Arena!” His eyes flashed as he spoke, and the crowd began to clap and chant.

“Zella! Zella! Zella!”

But Zella could see the fire in those eyes – and the frown on those imperial lips.

Under his breath, the Emperor of Space murmured: “Kryton.”

“Yes, my Emperor?” his aid, the sniveling Kryton the Cruel, stepped to his side, stooped and hunched under his concealing robes.

“My daughter has betrayed me,” Zardo said. “You will arrange the death of Mark Style and his Cybrid.”

“Yes, my Emperor.”

“And ... you will fetch for me ... the Mind Worms!”

“Not ... the Mind Worms, your majesty?” Kryton whispered, even his obsequiousness obliterated in his shock at such a terrible order.

Zardo whirled, to glare at him.

“At once, your majesty. The Mind Worms.” Kryon bowed, then retreated – fleeing from the cheering arena, and from the unwitting, smiling face of the Star Princess Zella.

King F’eath Arr stroked his beak, glaring down it at Jasmine Starr, who was currently in ... well, not exactly the position she had hoped to be before the aging monarch. Where mere hours before, he had been throwing the vast weight of his Venusian Kingdom behind her plans for the future ... now, that very future may be ending in a very terminal, and final point. This was emphasized by the fact that, rather than being dressed in the finest gowns and glittering necklaces that the Hawkmen might have offered, Jasmine was simply in her red loincloth and bra, her body unadorned by anything save for unbreakable chains of space steel, locked around her wrists and ankles, pinning her to her knees in the center of the throne room.

“The question I ask of myself,” King Arr said, his voice low and dangerous. “Is do I risk a communication ray to distant Pluto...”

“Well-”

“Silence!” Arr boomed, standing to his ponderous height. Old he may be. Fat, he may have gotten. But he remained his son’s father – and his son, who stood mutely beside the throne, was a rippling display of Hawkmanhood. Jasmine felt a tingly flicker along her spine and bit her lip, mentally chastising herself. Now was not the time to ponder if, like his son, Old King Arr might be ... actually...

That could be one way to escape this particular entanglement, she thought, before Arr shook his head, then turned his back to her, pacing back and forth.

“For centuries, the Hawkmen have been free. It is only ... to my unwilling head that this terrible burden rests. You know not of the might ... of the evil of Aytan Zardo.” He sighed, slowly. “My son was but a fledgling then – he did not see Ceres, where the Devilmen dwelt with such justified pride in their accomplishment, being turned before the eyes of the whole solar system into a place of death and dread. You did not see as Queen Spidrena of the Faemen was forced to kneel before Zardo, lest his rockets drag an asteroid from the Belt, then drop it upon her cities! The force of it! The power of such a blow – it would be enough to shatter even their tunnel home.”

He shook his head as S’kye shifted from foot to foot.

“And now, I find myself entangled in Zardo’s schemes and politics. If I slip into one rising current, it may take me to safety. Or ... it may dash me down below, into the acid,” he said, turning to face Jasmine. “If I send a communication ray to Pluto, and tell Zardo of your being alive, then he may reward us. Or he may ask for my son’s head on a platter for defiling you before Zardo has a chance! He may send his war rockets to rain atomic fire upon my kingdom!”

Jasmine weighed her words, carefully. “Your majesty ... you must know, Zardo’s evil must be fought. If ... you are so precarious, then you have no true safety, no matter what choice you pick. If Zardo conquers Earth, then he will have the enslavement of billions of men, women, and children and enough land to build a fleet fifty, a hundred, ten hundred times the size he has now. He will have access to Earth’s vast supplies of uranium and coal! His current dominion will seem like a piddling house of cards next to what he could do!”

Arr sighed a long slow sigh. “Were I a younger man, Jasmine.” He turned to face her, his eyes filled with regal sadness. “I might feel the fire of rebellion as you did. Why...” He chuckled. “I might feel the fire you clearly coaxed in my son.” His wings mantled, then settled. “But I am not a young man. Nor am I a prince. I ... am a King. And a King must do what is right for his people.”

He clapped his scaled hands.

Two guards entered.

“Take her to the Drop. Zardo will never know she was here.”

“Father!” S’kye exclaimed. “No!”

“I must!” Arr snapped, his beak clacking.

“Must!?” Jasmine growled out as she was dragged to her feet. “Oh, on Earth, there were low down cowards like you! People who said oh, yes Mr. Hitler, of course Mr. Hitler, whatever you say my Fuehrer. They did whatever he said – and you know what we called them? Collaborators!” She kicked her legs, slightly, the heels dragging them along the floor. “You may call yourself a king, F’eath Arr! But you are no better than Pétain!”

Arr turned to her. “What do you want of me!?” He asked, his voice rich with pain and anguish.

“Father ... I...” S’kye paused. “What of the Diamond Suit?”

“That cruelty? That abomination!?” Arr growled. “Are you insane?”

“What is the Diamond Suit?” Jasmine asked, her curiosity overriding her wrath for a moment.

“It is a cruelty, from the reign of the mad king C’arrion V’ultar. Two centuries before, he would delight in executing people by sending them down the Drop – but rather than going so naked, so that they would die quickly, he would send them down in the Diamond Suit. They would survive to the surface, but then be trapped within diamond, forced to slowly melt, to contemplate their doom.”

Jasmine thought, hard. Her eyes flicked out the window. She bit her lip. “ ... I demand the suit,” she said, quietly.