Archive of Our Own ^beta

Copyright 2025 ©️ Gaden Kerensky All Rights Reserved. Do not use for AI.

It all happened so fast for Randall. One moment, they were entering orbit around an exoplanet a hundred lightyears from Earth, investigating an unusual radio broadcast from the planet, which they only knew as A-11Z. The next thing they knew, a debris field which had gone undetected tore into the side of their ship, The Maxim, and caused its orbit to destabilise. The debris, it was travelling so fast, unusually so, their normal defences just couldn’t handle it.

So Captain Moira Carrow ordered the crew to the lifepods, and it was a short, terrifying run to the launch bays. His suit got singed by fire, but thankfully it wasn’t very flammable, and his pull-on mask protected him from smoke, and any potential atmospheric breaches… not that there were, given all the fire.

And then, another short, terrifying stint… this time, the hard burn towards the planet in his six-person lifepod, the emergency craft ejecting itself as far away from the ship as possible to avoid being caught in any potential explosion.

Five other people on his pod, with more than a few others jetting away from The Maxim. Hopefully, the full one-hundred person crew got of the ship safely.

Then there was the re-entry, the pod rattling so hard he thought it was going to tear itself apart. And then, the automated systems calculated a steep glide slope, found a relatively flat place to land, and warned the occupants to ‘brace for impact’.

Randall did, and he feared he was going to be knocked unconscious if his buckle failed halfway through the landing, the terrifying screeching of metal deafening him, the shaking horrendous.

And then, it was all quiet and still, Randall groaning as he did his best to recover his senses.

He looked around the pod, a bit of smoke filling the air with a haze, the other occupants groaning groggily as they recovered from the crash.

“Alright, sound off, who’s alive?” came the voice of the man in the front right seat.

There was a chorus of voices, and Randall added his to the mix. Everyone was alive… for now.

“Alright… stay in your seats, I’ll check outside atmospherics,” he said, unbuckling from his seat and shakily walking down the middle aisle to a small computer at the back of the pod.

“Alright, looks good out there, clean oxygen. Keep your masks on though. Remember regulations.”

Disease was always a factor, but fairly low in priority, as most alien diseases couldn’t handle an immune system it never evolved with. Of course, with the little information they had on A-11Z, they never knew if they encountered some dangerous chemical phenomena. They also came with short-ranged radios, but they lacked anything more sophisticated than a simple holographic HUD with a compass. They were survival masks, they only had the barest necessities.

His compass was going haywire though. It either hadn’t configured to the planet’s magnetic poles, or there was something weird going on with them. Either way, they weren’t going to rely on them any time soon.

The man punched a button by the two side doors, and they slowly split in half, folding up and down to allow egress.

Randall and the others got unbuckled, found their survival kits beneath their seats, grabbed the survival gear from the floor lockers, including a long-range radio, and got themselves together.

“Alright, Randall Koch? You keep an eye on our rear, watch for any aggressive wildlife, or anything in particular,” he said.

Randall nodded, though he still didn’t know the guy’s name. For now, he was just gonna stick close to this group.

Their first plan of action was to find the ship’s crash site. Depending on how well the emergency auto-landing system functioned, there might be quite a bit to salvage. As well as survivors who didn’t get to a lifepod.

But how far away that was, was anyone’s guess… well, not for long.

“Good news, The Maxim went down only a hundred clicks from here, just over those mountains,” the leader said, pointing to a slate-grey mountain range in the distance.

It was also the first time Randall actually took a chance to observe his surroundings; their lifepod had gouged a deep furrow of orange-red soil, almost the colour of red dirt, but chunky like normal soil. All around them was an expanse of golden-yellow grass, each blade only a few inches high with tips split like a trident.

The alien world didn’t seem too alien so far, but the orange-yellow sun above was starting to dip towards the horizon.

He didn’t think they could cover that distance in that amount of time. Oh well, what was one night’s stay on a barely-charted alien world with more nights to come?

He did have one question though.

“Will we have to climb those mountains?”

The group leader shook their head.

“Fortunately not, aerial scans showed a pass through the mountains that should be easy enough to traverse. Alright, let’s get going,” they said.

It was enough for Randall, hefting his pack and moving off.

They had to spend a night in the middle of the grassland, pitching quick-set-up tents and enjoying a gourmet meal of dehydrated survival rations and treated nutrient water. Energising, but a little bland.

At least it made him sleepy, and made his wake-up easy, as the group quickly broke camp and continued moving, taking the route through the mountain pass as the grey monoliths either side of them loomed over threateningly.

But on the other side, they saw the remains of the elongated, ovoid hull of The Maxim, having crashed through a small forest of strange trees, that looked almost like off-colour broccoli, each grey woody branch splitting into smaller branches, capped with mint-green balls of leaves.

The open wound on the ground still smoked with debris, and the ship itself was cracked all over, its integrity thoroughly compromised.

But the ship hadn’t exploded, even if it was releasing a hazy plume high into the sky. That was good. And more, other survivors were visible, and already contacting Randall’s group over the radio.

The captain was alive, Moira organising the survivors into teams to prep for a long-term stay.

By the following day, a small camp had been established – at an appreciable distance from the wreckage, and with makeshift blast-shielding set up – and more survivors arrived, but things were not adding up; volunteers had gone into the ship to look for supplies, using what hazard suits they’d managed to take with them on some of the lifepods, and to find survivors or remains, as well as intact logs.

Well, there were no survivors inside, nor bodies, and the logs said all crew safely evacuated the vessel, and roughly landed in the same area according to emergency protocols, to ensure a relatively quick regrouping.

But only about sixty of them had made it to the wreck site. The others could still have been lost, or perhaps fallen victim to unknown hazards of the planet, or even burned up in atmosphere, though that seemed unlikely.

The collection of large tents and make-shift lean-tos was buzzing with activity all the same, and Randall was busy washing himself down in a makeshift shower.

His frame wasn’t the most athletic out there. Not fat or chubby, especially since he had a smooth belly, but a bit on the ‘softer’ side. His skin had a slight tan to it, which helped to hide all the tiny scars he got from his nine years of work, ever since he signed up to be a ‘spacer’ at 18, though he had no idea he’d ever end up working on an exploration vessel.

Nor did he ever think he’d end up stranded on some distant alien world. He sighed, sitting on a stool placed in the middle of a tub, hooked up to a solar-powered pump to move the used water back through a filter to be reused in the reservoir above the shower nozzle. Of course, the water was only warmed by sunlight, and there was no pressure, the pump only to get the water recycled. Gravity did the rest.

Speaking of which, gravity was a little strange on this world, fluctuating anywhere between 0.83 Gs around the poles and 1.24 Gs in different parts of the equator. Where their camp was set up was at a slightly unusual 0.9 G.

The planetary rotation was also rather slow, each day about thirty-two hours and twenty-seven minutes. They’d have to deal with that until rescue came.

He tried not to think about the chances, wiping water through his curly black hair, staring at a mirror tied to the rod that supported the shower nozzle and reservoir, his blue eyes staring back at him, and the slightly harder face compared to his body, that scar on his lower lip, right on the middle quite evident.

He brought a hand to his chin, and rubbed it softly, wondering if he was ever going to grow stubble. Then again, not growing facial hair was going to be helpful, one less thing to worry about.

He washed between his legs, thankful similar applied to his pubic hair. A simple genetic mutation that affected hair growth everywhere except for the small mop on his head. It did mean sweat wasn’t an issue.

He sighed, and then turned off the water before his time was up. He wiped himself down with a towel, and donned his suit; the skin-tight garment was now supplemented with additional vests and pocketed pants, making him look a little less… for the lack of a better word, ‘explicit’. It took getting used to, how tight these suits hugged the body, more so than a lot of the casual civilian suits common among people, though he’d gotten used to it long ago.

With his bathing done, he meandered through the paths worn into the grass between the tents, folding structures, makeshift shelters, and found the tent where Captain Carrow was leaning over a map.

A stocky woman with dark skin and short hair, she filled her suit nicely, though nobody was brave enough to say anything provocative. One, it would’ve been a HR write-up. Two, Moira Carrow was a woman of presence, she knew how to run a ship and though fair, she didn’t take shit.

Her green eyes were strained though, examining the map made up of a large flexible digital screen, showing aerial scans from the various pods whose occupants made it back. There were blurry areas, and areas that analytical AI had done its best to fill in the blanks, though the margins of error were high, as the warnings denoted.

“Ensign Koch reporting, ma’am,” he greeted.

She looked up at him, her strained eyes a sign of of her lack of sleep, and the stress no doubt weighing down on her.

“Ah, good. I want you to assist the salvage team at the crash site. We have no more hazard suits, so you’ll have to make do with a DC mask. You won’t be doing anything more dangerous than necessary, I’m not about to take dangerous risks. You’ll be sticking to the stable areas. Make sure you listen to the salvage team. If they tell you to get the fuck out, whatever the reason, you do so, come straight back to the decon tent outside the camp.”

“Understood, captain,” he answered.

Moira sighed, and gave him a sympathetic look.

“I’m sorry about this, we’re just stretched thin as it is, and I don’t know when or if the rest of the crew is going to turn up. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a spare cell for the buggy we salvaged. Getting that running should make things a little easier.”

“No, I understand… I’d feel like I’d be doing a bit more anyways,” he admitted.

“In that case, please do find a usable cell. I want to head to this location,” she said, pointing to a highlighted location on the map, a blurred location at the far end of the mountain range. It looked like there was a slight crescent shape in the spine of crags, though what might’ve been there was impossible to tell. “Lifepods didn’t get a good look at this location, but we think it may be a potential source of our mystery broadcast. I know we’re in a survival situation, but if the radio broadcast was not natural phenomena, then it’s worth investigating.”

“Understood,” Randall answered. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do with that information, he wasn’t anyone important, but the captain was missing half her support staff, and probably wanted everyone on the same page.

“Good. Best get going then, it’s a bit of a hike to the ship.”

Randall nodded, and left the captain to her devices, speaking to another crew member who handed her a PDA.

Randall found a large pack with a weight-distributing frame, slung it on his back with a small bag of food, and began the two kilometre walk to the crash site.

The broken shape of The Maxim looked sad in the morning light, still issuing smoke into the air. If the ship were to explode, the camp would hopefully survive mostly intact, though anyone at the site likely would not.

It was a risk they had to take, in order to get supplies and parts, and any salvage they could make use of.

Randall saw the tracks in the ground made by the sleds the work teams were using to drag material back from the wreckage, since they had no working vehicles, just yet. The buggy had already been rolled back to camp, but its battery was apparently not installed when they found it… a bad stroke of luck.

When Randall neared the wreck, he donned his DC mask, a heavier duty, full-head covering mask that had a membrane to cover his neck and seal to his bodysuit, and was able to connect to a sixty minute oxygen supply, and sported additional filters as well as advanced sensors to detect hazardous materials and chemicals, hull breaches, and to help see through smoke. It all made the mask quite heavy, but at least it was rather useful. Its only downside was it only had basic shock protection, and without a proper suit, it couldn’t protect someone from more severe hazards like radiation for longer than it took to remove oneself from the danger zone, or to effect a quick or emergency fix before leaving.

Hazard Suits were better in that regard. But they only had a handful, and all nine of the ones they had taken with them and recovered so far were in use, Randall spotting one of his crewmates carrying a small crate to a sled, the bulky suit covered in an orange, synthetic material that made them look more cumbersome than they actually were, deceptively agile despite their bulk. They were a fully-sealed system with a powered exoskeleton frame hidden beneath the outer cover, providing additional strength for working. They could recycle a user’s exhalations for a while, atop of their base six hours of air supply. They had more advanced HUD systems, and automatic sealants in case of suit tears, and a full air conditioning system.

The only difference was, though perfectly capable of protecting the wearer in space, they weren’t designed for EVA, and had no dedicated mounts for EVA thrusters, or the same level of protection against solar radiation and micrometeorite impacts, and slightly less redundancy.

But one would rather be in one of those than what Randall had.

That same crew member walked up to Randall, nodding their head, their face visible through a dark, ovoid visor.

“Randall, is it? Glad you could come, we needed some help. With just nine of us, getting this shit sorted isn’t going too quickly. Just stay here, sort the salvage, place what you can on the sled. Don’t go into the ship, yeah?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Randall answered. The other man nodded, and turned back towards a hole that had been cut into the side of the ship, its underbelly partly buried or collapsed in the ground.

The ground beneath Randall’s feet was churned, and felt warm through his boots. He saw how the ‘salvage area’ had been set up next to a gap in the ship, where the rear end had effectively snapped off during the landing, leaving decks and hallways exposed on either side, but fortunately fuel, water, and oxygen lines, among other things, were not busy spraying their contents all over; the emergency cut-offs had done their job.

He looked to his right, and saw that the rear end near the engines had been sealed off with simple warning tape, and radiation signs. The reactor had been taken offline, but the engineering compartments would largely remain off-limits until the rest of the ship was adequately salvaged.

Looking around, The Maxim was in worse shape than Randall thought, walking through the divide between the rear end and the rest of the ship, he saw a maze-like mess of bulkheads and hull sections on the starboard side of the ship, the port side having remained mostly intact. The front of the ship had almost severed much like the rear, but the rest of the ship save for the large chunk missing out of the starboard side and scattered across the ground like it’d spilled its guts, seemed to have maintained structural integrity.

Randall wasn’t about to go crawling around inside the ship itself, he wasn’t that brave or stupid. Even the people in the hazard suits were moving slowly cautiously, one of them climbing down a collapsible ladder, a box descending on a simple pulley system next to them. They picked it up and placed it on the sled, the box too big for Randall to move, but it was marked as being full of foodstuffs. A valuable find.

He returned to the sled, and started sifting through more boxes and piles of salvage, sorting out what was most immediately useful and moving it to the sled. Power packs, the odd tool, portable lights, medical supplies – an incredibly valuable resource – and any scrap that they needed in the moment for some makeshift use back at the camp.

As he was sorting through the salvage, he heard a shout from a woman.

“Hey, over here!” Her voice was carried by her hazard suit’s integrated speaker system. Useful in loud environments when not everyone had radio headsets.

Randall left his post and found her, in amongst the wreckage on the starboard side, next to a freight container, its door open… revealing another buggy inside.

“I didn’t think we’d find another. We had three, but finding even one intact was special,” she said, some of the others showing up. “Another is even better.”

“Not much good without a compatible fuel cell,” Randall said.

“Which is why we should find some. It’d make surviving here a far easier prospect,” she retorted.

Randall couldn’t argue with that. He helped her roll the buggy out of the freight container, checked it over to see if it was damaged, and then moved on the look for fuel cells.

It was a simple design, a roll-cage with basic doors and a windshield on the front, with room for four occupants. There were racks on the top and the back for carrying gear and equipment, and the electric engine was mounted on the underbelly of the design, protected by a sturdy titanium cowling, which also kept its centre of gravity low.

The wheels were airless, sporting shock-resistant, honeycombed structuring designed to endure all manner of rough terrain and abuse.

Randall decided to look around himself, hoping to luck upon compatible cells.

He sifted through warped sheets of metal and carefully moved the heavier, sturdier chunks of bulkhead out of the way, part of the cargo hold breached, hence why the buggy container was here at all. There were crates everywhere, but a lot of the supplies and equipment were trashed.

Then, he found a reinforced crate marked with a low-hazard warning. He wiped some soot across one of the labels, and surged with elation when he saw the words ‘Fuel Cell’, among with a few others.

He opened the sturdy latches, flipped up the lid, and sure enough, there was a trio of rectangular cells, silvery grey in colour with flip-out handles on their top. A small electronic screen lit up on one of the cells when he put his thumb on the button beneath it, indicating a full charge. The other two were the same. And they were the exact sort needed for the buggies.

“Guys, I fucking scored!” he shouted, and a nearby crew member in a hazard suit rushed over, clapping when he saw what Randall had found.

“Man, you got the magic touch,” the man remarked. “Here, I’ll give you a hand, lets get that bad boy charged.”

Randall and the hazard-suited man carried the heavy case over to the recovered buggy. Crouching down, Randall found the recessed latch for the cell tray along the bottom of the buggy, pulled it out, and inserted one of the two-feet long cells into it. Sliding the tray back in, he heard a click and a quiet whining.

He leaned into the driver’s seat on the right hand side, pressed the ‘on’ button, and the Buggy whirred to life with power, the headlights snapping on, and the hardened screen in front of the driver lighting up.

“I think we’re in business, man,” Randall remarked with satisfaction.

A bloodcurdling scream sliced through the celebratory air, as Randall and the other man looked up in shock, turning their heads in the direction of the terrible shriek.

“What the fuck?!” Randall cursed.

“That sounded like Gina!” the other man stated with urgency.

Without thinking, the two rushed in the direction of the screaming, which was still going without relent, racing into the maze of debris on the starboard side.

Randall was faster than his comrade in the suit, and found Gina first… and the cause of her terror.

The blood in Randall’s veins chilled to ice, and he ducked down behind a piece of metal as he processed what he saw.

It was a machine. A machine not of human make. It had a rounded body the size of a small van, made out of a dark grey-black alloy, with numerous red ‘eyes’ along the edges of the upper side of its face, along with a much larger, central ‘eye’. The optics were solid in colour, their housing bulging out the metal shell of the machine, casting a terrible red light upon the struggling Gina.

She was pinned down by each limb with a clawed, mechanical tentacle, at least a dozen trailing behind the main, slightly elongated body of the machine machine, giving it the appearance of a terrible mechanical squid, each tipped with a manipulator sporting four articulated claws.

It was standing on several of its tentacles as it loomed over the thrashing Gina, desperately trying to get herself free, but it was hopeless.

The sleek, somewhat bulbous machine ‘tilted’ its body as if cocking its head, examining Gina, before it brought several of its extra tentacles to her body… revealing hidden ports embedded in the middle of the claws which seemed capable of extending tools, including sharp blades which allowed it to make surgical incisions in Gina’s hazard suit, cutting open enough of the layers to let its claws easily peel apart the rest, slowly tearing the suit open until only Gina’s bodysuit remained, removing her helmet.

Tears were streaming down her tanned face, her curly blonde hair shaking from how much she was thrashing her head.

“No, please god no!” she cried.

Randall remained where he was, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but stare at what was unfolding before his eyes.

What could he do, though? He had nothing on him that could even remotely help her. Perhaps play distraction? But what if it ignored him?

So caught up in his deliberation, he didn’t notice his comrade catching up, and letting out a choked gasp at the sight.

“What the fuck?!” they hissed.

This seemed to draw the machine’s attention, as it turned its ‘face’ their way, the eight smaller eyes almost like a spider’s, arranged in triangular threes on either side with two just above and either side of the middle of its ‘brow’.

Gina looked over with a pleading expression in her eyes, begging for help… but a second of these alien machines emerged from behind a jagged piece of bulkhead sticking out of the ground, loping with unsettling motions, using its tentacles for legs.

Neither Randall nor his colleague had anything to fight back against these things… and the second was already charging them.

“Run!” the other man said, and Randall let out a choked, anguished noise as they left Gina behind to her fate; there was nothing they could do.

As they ran, they saw the other salvagers.

“Get to the buggy!” Randall cried out. It could only hold four people, but if they all clung onto it as best they could, it should still hold their weight.

“No arguments, fucking run!” the other man called out… and then screamed when he was suddenly grabbed and yanked away by that second machine.

Shrieks from the other salvagers rang out when they saw, and no further questions were made as they all made a break for the buggy. Randall’s muscles were already burning, but he was ignoring his pain.

He heard noise to his right, metal groaning and scraping, followed by a woman’s scream as another of the salvagers was pounced by a third machine, struggling beneath its pinning limbs.

A man had a mechanical tentacle coil around his waist and wrench him away, a woman having her two arms wrapped up by the dexterous robotic limbs.

There was chaos as more of those machines crawled over the wreck of The Maxim, seizing each of the salvagers in turn.

One of them tried to flee into the ship’s shattered decks, but did not get far before an alien machine scuttled down the side of the severed section like some horrid spider, thrust a tentacle in, and plucked the screaming human with minimal effort.

A man to Randall’s left was clawing at the ground screaming as another of those machines dragged him across the ground by his ankles, leaving a desperate trail behind.

Randall’s only salvation was he was faster than the others… and with a horrific, guilty revelation, he realised it was because they lagged, and were thus closer to grab.

But he couldn’t help them. He couldn’t run distraction, because he saw how fast these things moved. It would’ve been impossible to stay ahead of them for long.

He just had to get to the buggy, and get to the camp and warn everyone.

The screams of his colleagues burned his ears, though he couldn’t tell if it was from pure fear or if they were being mutilated… he didn’t dare to look.

The buggy was in sight, so close. The rest of the cells had been loaded onto its rear rack, the thing was still ready to go.

He practically jumped into it, leaving the door open, as he saw one last member of the salvage team sprinting for him.

“Come on, hurry!” he cried, gesturing desperately with his hand.

But in the end, at least five tentacles snaked around the woman’s body with deceptive agility, wrapping her up tight, and hauling her beneath the machine that was now looking at Randall, the quiet chorus of mechanical whines, clicks and buzzes giving it an insidious aura.

He clenched his eyes and pulled his hand back, trying to shut out the woman’s screams. But he thought he heard a handful of words, muffled and panicked.

“Warn them!”
Maybe it was just in his head, what he wanted to hear. But it was what he had to do, as he put the pedal to the floor.

The buggy squealed its shrill call as the motors went to max power, and kicked up dirt and debris on its aggressive sprint out of the wreckage area.

Another machine tried to block him, but Randall managed to swerve erratically to avoid its clutches, and once he was out on the open field, the buggy practically flew across the largely flat ground, the suspension handling all the little bumps with utter ease.

A dust plume trailed behind him, but he didn’t want to look back anyways. He felt like he abandoned his crewmates, left them to unknown, terrible fates. What more could he do though?

Warn the others… that’s what he could do, as he sped towards the camp.

Crossing the two kilometre distance was easy, and he almost skidded into a tent when he came to a stop, racing out and ignoring any inquiries as he searched for Captain Carrow.

He found her, wandering out to meet him, one of the other survivors having told her someone was making a mad dash in a buggy back to the camp.

“Randall? What’s going on, the look out says you were driving like the devil was up your ass, and we’ve been hearing strange interference over the radios, what’s happened with the salvage team?”

“We need to get weapons, or get the fuck out, or something!” he warned.

The captain gave him a most bewildered look.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“The salvage team! They’ve been… taken, by some fucking alien machines! Like robot squid things with tentacles and claws and shit. They were snatching our people!”

“Randall, are you out of your mind?”

Randall ripped his mask off, and all but screamed at Moira.

“Captain, we’re in big fucking danger and we need to do something right fucking now!”

She was about to answer, when a scream cut the air.

“WHAT IS THAT!?”

Everyone turned their attention to a terrified observer standing on a platform build level with the roof of a tent.

Randall looked up, and with horror, saw one of those machines… flying through the air with no apparent means of propulsion. It must have been some sort of advanced anti-gravity tech.

“Sound the alarms, and get all the weapons we have!” Moira commanded. There was soon a flurry of activity around the camp, people scrambling to find what few weapons they possessed, high-powered rifles designed to take down all sorts of alien fauna, so they could do some damage even to some armoured targets, and a handful of personal defence weapons… but Randall wasn’t sure it was going to be enough against these things.

Captain Carrow turned to him.

“Randall, get to my tent, and grab the Black Box. If all else fails, I want as many of us as possible to make for that location I mentioned earlier. Hold onto that Black Box. Go!”

He nodded and ran for the captain’s tent. But things were already going wrong, as a number of machines descended upon the camp and the helpless survivors, plucking them from the ground, or pinning them to it as they landed with creaking thuds.

He heard a few gunshots, including a scant handful of thunderous bangs from the “elephant guns”, but he saw none of the machines go down, only screams as chaos tore the camp apart.

He found the tent, and the small orange box that not only had all the data from the ship’s logs and its crash logs, but all the information about the survivors of the crash.

He grabbed it, tucked into his pack, and then made for the buggy, weaving through the camp, but was forced to hide behind a makeshift lean to when one of those machines scuttled past.

And then, through a gap in the metal, hiding in his little sheltered nook, he saw the captain, firing a pistol at a machine he could not see. But he could hear the rounds pinging uselessly off its shell.

Her eyes were fierce but terrified… and then, the gun was knocked from her hand. She turned to flee, but barely made it 45 degrees before her limbs were grabbed, and she was pinned to the ground, squirming desperately and defiantly.

Just like with Gina, the machine seemed to scan Moira with those eyes of its, casting a baleful light upon the squirming captain.

Randall couldn’t look away, even though he didn’t want to watch what was about to happen. He couldn’t yet move from his hiding spot, lest he be caught.

Additional tentacles loomed over Moira’s body. She turned her head but kept her eyes on it, facing down death, breathing hard.

Those tentacles descended with both a mechanical precision and a fluid grace, those claws brushing over her body suit.

And then, they struck.

Randall winced and looked away… but he did not hear screams, or tearing flesh. He did hear tearing synthetic material, however, and looked back with wide eyes to see the machine peeling Moira’s body suit from her. It did the same with her underwear and bra, tearing them away and discarding them, leaving her lying on the tattered remains that still clung to her back.

Even she looked desperately confused as to what was happening, her voluptuous chest jiggling from her defiant movements.

He didn’t realise how curvy she was, even with that suit… he just felt ashamed over the circumstances.

What he wasn’t expecting, was for the machine to start… caressing her, delicately gliding claws across her body, sliding their blunt edges between her breasts, and swirling their tips around her globes to flick off her nipples.

It pushed against her crotch, its claw twisting away and turning towards her legs to rub its segmented tentacle against her vulva, sliding over her neatly trimmed bush.

She gasped hard, eyes wide in utter shock.

This was nothing like Randall had expected, and now, despite the mounting guilt, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Moira whined, struggling against the molestation, but she was powerless beneath the machine, its tentacles exploring her body with an unexpected eroticism. Small noises emanated from the machine, whirs and quiet clicks, soft buzzing hums, and a near-silent clinking from the flexing tentacles.

It grew more invasive though, as it brandished two sets of claws above her breasts… and suddenly latched onto each.

A cry left Moira’s mouth, the machine starting to grope and knead her globes… and tug on them too. He belatedly realised, that the machine was sucking on her nipples, each tug pulling her breasts upwards.

He recalled the ports in the middle of each claw, how one extended a tool to cut through Gina’s hazard suit.

Now it must have been using some other mechanism to ‘milk’ Moira’s breasts like she had anything to give.

She whimpered, starting to tear up, but gasps left her lips constantly, from the rubbing of her vulva by the tentacle curling against it.

Others loomed over her, and started trickling a clear, viscous fluid onto her dark body, and smeared it around with those metal claws, making her body glisten in the sunlight.

It pulled the claw rubbing against her vulva back… and folded the individual claws backwards, giving the port in the middle all the space it needed to extend a phallic, segmented appendage that flexed and twisted like a tendril. It placed the tip against her clit… and Moira instantly arched her hips, Randall able to hear the high-frequency buzzing from it.

The vibrations from that thing… it must have been intense. But why the fuck would an alien machine have a vibrator tool? Why the fuck was it even raping a human? What was going on?!

Moira thrashed, unable to tear her hips away from the treacherous tool, cursing out the machine in anger and unwanted, intense stimulation, her body starting to quiver.

But just as soon as this stimulation started, it stopped, leaving Moira’s body to slacken and her chest to heave from her heightened breathing.

Then, it loomed its head closer to her body… panels opened along the lower edge of its ‘face’… and numerous, pinkie-thin tendrils emerged from these openings, a dozen altogether.

Each tendril possessed a dull chrome colour, divided into tiny segments whose gaps were almost imperceptible, and tipped with a brightly glowing cap that cast a strong blue glow.

Moira eyed these tendrils with a new terror and uncertainty, and watched as they lowered towards her clitoris…

When they made contact, as many as possible, her eyes shot open, almost bulging out of their sockets. A silent scream was ripped from her mouth.

And then, suddenly, she arched her back and thrust her hips high and hard, and the scream of pure stimulation ripped from her mouth must have carried over the din of chaos around the camp.

She started thrashing and bucking her hips madly, shrieking with an ecstasy she surely had never experienced before, her body starting to shudder.

And those tendrils just kept it up, rolling over her bud and imparting whatever sensation seemed to be sending her mad with pleasure.

The spare tendrils that couldn’t reach her clit roamed up and down her labia and over her soft vulva, and across her belly, making her diaphragm spasm in reflex.

It was like nothing Randall had ever seen before.

Under such an assault, even the stern, steely Moira Carrow couldn’t endure, and she cried out shakily, her body shuddering as a veritable gush of orgasmic fluid sputtered from her pussy, her eyes rolling upward as she endured this merciless attention.

Only once her prolonged orgasm was over did those small tendrils withdraw, leaving Moira a panting mess, her face slack and her resistance demolished in the moment.

The machine seemed to examine her for a moment, and then, without further preamble, it reared up, wrapped several tentacles around her body, and held her to its underside, kicking off the ground and taking flight, leaving only the remains of her bodysuit behind.

Randall stayed hunkered in his hiding spot, overwhelming guilt weighing on him.

He’d just seen his captain violated by an alien machine. He watched the whole event unfold before his eyes. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Was that what these machines were doing? Instead of killing them, they were raping them and kidnapping them? For what end?

He shook his head.

He was still free. Still hadn’t been caught. And he still had the Black Box.

He recalled his captain’s order.

Steeling himself, he left his hiding spot, and made a mad dash for where he parked the buggy.

He tried to block out the screams and the unwilling moans as his crewmates were violated and carted off, avoiding the open as much as possible.

Somehow, luck was with him, as he managed to get to the buggy. When he reached it, he noticed that one of the remaining two fuel cells was missing, likely to power the other buggy.

As he got in, he heard a cry.

“Wait for me!”

He turned to see a woman in full sprint, her pony tail coming undone and letting her long dark hair flow, her olive-toned face taut with desperation.

He grimaced and gestured frantically at her to hurry up.

She got in one of the back seats, diving over the door and quickly righting herself. There was a man trailing behind her… but he screamed as he was carried into the sky by mechanical limbs.

“Fuck!” Randall cried, and floored it; there was no use sticking around as he whipped the buggy around and skirted along the edge of the camp. As he did, he spied the other buggy, and what may have been the six final survivors, the rest of the machines seemingly distracted by their “quarry”.

He did the math quickly, and skidded to a stop next to them.

“Get in!” he shouted.

A man and a woman both crawled into the buggy, just as the other whined to life. And then, both screamed away from the camp, the moans and cries of terror drowned out by the drone of the motors and fading with distance.

Randall took the lead, the other buggy following him, as he made for the mountains. He was going to the location Captain Carrow suggested to investigate. It was the only place he could think to go, even though the thought that the source of the mysterious transmissions was these machines remained ever nagging in his mind. He could’ve been heading straight into danger, but there wasn’t much else to do.

He didn’t have a map with him, the buggy’s own console not updated with any of the geographical scans the ship’s crew made during their planetfall.

He just hoped he could figure it out from memory, and that they weren’t attacked on their way there.

Fortunately, a check in the side mirrors revealed only their dust trails, no metallic squids chasing after them in the sky.

It seemed they were out of immediate danger, for now. But Randall dared not think they were ‘safe’.

They had just encountered a ‘hostile’ alien entity, and though they had first contact protocols, none quite covered what to do in this situation save one; run, hide, survive, send out a distress call if possible.

How long they could survive on this world, just the eight of them, until help maybe came for them, he didn’t know. It could take months for a ship to make a follow-up check, and current superluminal communications were experimental and crude at times.

They wouldn’t have such luxuries, having to rely on whatever broadcast systems they could find and hope their transmission was intercepted.

If nothing else, they could at least provide a warning…

Randall put those thoughts out of his head for now, and focused on getting to the place the captain wanted to investigate, doing his best to ignore the woman sobbing in the back seat.

The two buggies found their way to the crescent ‘dent’ in the mountain range, and already they were met with a surprise.

Randall looked out with a pair of binoculars given to him from one of the survivors in the other buggy, as he had somehow become the defacto leader, a position he was not exactly proud of.

The advanced binoculars let him see quite the distance to the old, faded structure built into the side of the mountain base, a long rectangular box of a fading tan colour, thick metal personnel doors and one larger set of vehicle doors helping to gauge its size, though he had no idea how deep the structure extended into the mountain.

The most curious and unsettling thing was, it was very clearly human in origin. As far as anyone was concerned, the planet had not been landed on before.

He frowned, and handed the binoculars to Jacob Gould, a middle-aged man with thinning brown hair and a bit of a belly compared to Randall, his skin quite tanned, though Randall didn’t know where or how. His rougher face furrowed with concern, dull blue eyes full of suspicion.

“I don’t like this,” he said.

“Nor do I, but the captain’s orders still stand. Not like we have anything else to go on,” Randall responded.

Jacob grimaced slightly, but knew the score just as well as Randall did.

“Let’s hope those fucking things can’t get to us in there,” he remarked. A sentiment Randall shared.

They walked back to the buggies, the olive-skinned woman who was sobbing on his back seat bend over the front of the buggy, still trying to process what was happening.

Her hazel eyes were red from crying, and her angular face was even more taut than usual, stress getting to her. Her jumpsuit outlined her slender frame quite well, but Randall didn’t really want to think about looks at the moment. He still felt shame and guilt from witnessing what happened to Moira…

“Nisha, we need to get going,” he said. Nisha Modi was a galley worker on the ship. The only one, in fact, to make it to the camp. And she was feeling worse than ever, from losing her fellow cooks, to everyone else in the camp.

A curvier woman stepped in, her pale face, orange hair and freckles giving her a strange blend of youth and maturity. Her green eyes were glistening from despair too, but she kept her cool.

“Can’t you see she needs some time?” they said. Henrietta Tanner, an electrical engineer and something of the ship’s mum at times. Randall knew her well, knew she was stoic when needed, but even he could see she was struggling.

“Henrietta, we can’t stay out here, it’s too exposed. I’m not saying that place is any safe, but better than staying outside,” Randall reasoned.

Henrietta opened her mouth to argue, and then sighed, and turned to Nisha.

“Come on, Nisha. We need to go.”

Nisha didn’t say a word, simply sniffled as she nodded and climbed back into the buggy, sitting next to Kyong Soon, the scrawny man with short, platinum died hair and flighty brown eyes twitching in his seat.

Kyong had not been dealing with the events all that well, and Randall couldn’t blame him. The young guy was also an electrical engineer, talented for his age, but he hadn’t said a word since they escaped the camp.

He simply glanced at Randall with fearful eyes, and then looked back down. Randall didn’t bother him, he was probably the most frayed of them all.

Getting into the driver’s seat, Randall rolled the buggy up to the structure in the distance, the other buggy following behind. They parked outside the large vehicle bay doors, noting that there was only the numbers ‘01’ marked on those doors and the smaller personnel ones accessible via slightly raised catwalks, the anti-rust coatings starting to fail.

There were only commonplace hazard labels that any industrial facility had, and a few symbols they did not recognise, namely a red ring with black sideways triangles, tips pointing in and touching like a lateral hourglass, the only ‘sigil’ or ‘emblem’ they could see. No words beyond basic written hazard labels. It was like the place was intentionally obtuse, which didn’t fill Randall with much confidence.

“I don’t like this,” said Claude Monash, a burly man who worked in engineering, his pale skin marked with minute burns from his line of work, always refusing to get the scars removed. He was bald, a personal choice, and his eyes were almost grey in colour, but for being middle aged, he looked quite good, despite the sore on his lower lip. He was the driver of the other buggy, having grabbed one of the fuel cells from Randall’s after his sudden arrival, right before the attack.

“You don’t like this? Gee, I wonder why!” snapped Satsuki Miyafuji, the modestly built woman with short black hair normally quite polite and energetic, but since the crash, her mood had been sour, and since the attack, she had grown abrasive. But her blue eyes betrayed her fear, her angular nose constantly scrunching as if trying to sniff out danger.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I am going to stuff a survival cookie down your mouth,” growled Mila Ivanov, the deathly pale women with curly blond hair and quote ‘bombshell curves’ looking like a supermodel, but behaving like an old-world line cook. She worked in communications, and though she was drop-dead gorgeous, she was a stern, and strict taskmaster. Amicable enough, but like right now, she got aggressive when stressed. And her blue eyes were quite strained.

“We don’t have any other options,” Jacob spoke up. “We either stay outside without much in the way of gear or supplies, or we head inside. Maybe it’ll shed light on what’s happening.”

“I’m going to be honest,” Randall began, clutching the orange Black Box in his hands, “I’m less concerned about the captain’s investigation, than I am finding anything in this place that might allow us to call for help.”

“We don’t even know what’s in there!” Satsuki interjected.

“No we don’t, but we know what’s out here, don’t we?” Randall pointed out.

Satsuki went to argue, but simply grumbled. Kyong was staying quiet, scanning the skies behind them in his paranoia. Henrietta glanced at him worriedly, then at Randall.

Randall grimaced, and then took a deep breath.

“No more arguments. Inside,” he commanded, and took the handful of steps up to the catwalk and went to the nearest door.

It groaned and creaked, its latch stiff and requiring Claude for assistance. They forced the door open, its locking mechanisms fortunately not active.

They were surprised to find lights on inside, albeit dull red back up lights. Randall had no idea how long this place had been abandoned, when it was built, but a functional fission or fusion reactor, or even geothermal power, could operate basic lights for years, decades even, as long as the generators or reactors didn’t completely deteriorate.

They immediately found themselves at some sort of security check in, armoured glass protecting a booth with a desk and a non-functioning set of terminals and monitors. Access into the rest of the facility was through a simple decontamination shower, little more than a plastic box with two doors and the shower arch. They passed through it, and turned left into a corridor that ran alongside the vehicle access tunnel into what appeared to be a small garage for a handful of vehicles, but conspicuously, there were none.

They continued along the hallway, following signs that were marked only with symbols denoting what they were, finding living quarters and a cafeteria, all dusty, faded, and lit with that ominous red lighting.

The upper level seemed to be mostly living and support infrastructure, including a warehouse and an old walk in freezer, but the goods inside were long past edibility. They hoped to find some non-perishables somewhere.

They did, however, find another security checkpoint, this one with a proper airlock, leading to an elevator with a set of stairs ringing the shaft. They couldn’t get through, though, not with the power as it was.

Of course, Claude found a solution to that problem.

“Hey, I think I found a substation!” he told the others, gesturing to the others to follow him down the hall.

Randall and the rest met him, and indeed, they were in a room that seemed to be full of capacitor banks, power transformers, and batteries. There was a console, with a master breaker switch above it. Each of the transformers had breaker switches too.

It was all very rugged looking technology, more advanced than it seemed, but not up to modern standards. This facility had to have been nearly ten years old.

Claude examined the systems, and then gestured to Kyong, Henrietta, Randall, and Jacob.

“See those four breakers? When I tell you, flip them. On my mark. We do it all at once. Right, Kyong, Henrietta?”

Kyong looked Claude’s way, and nodded, but said nothing.

“Yeah, that should work,” Henrietta agreed.

Randall didn’t know why, but as long as they didn’t explode, he didn’t care.

“What about the other breakers in here?” Satsuki asked.

“We don’t need them,” Claude explained. “We try doing too much, we could cause an overload. Now, everyone else out.”

The three others vacated the room, peering inside as Claude stood by the master breaker.

“Alright… three, two, one, mark!”

The four by their breakers flipped the switches. There was a loud snapping and clanking in the room, a few sparks flew. Claude waited for a little while… and then flipped the master breaker.

There was a shower of sparks from the old, degraded systems. And then, a low thrumming that slowly gained pitch and volume.

Lights in the substation lit up, though the hallways outside remained bathed in the dull red emergency lighting.

“It’s not a full system restore, but it should get us down to the lower level. We might find a control centre there,” Claude suggested.

“Why wouldn’t there be one up here?” Mila asked. “Seems more sensible.”

“We looked,” Randall muttered. “There’s something like it, but its so basic, I can only imagine it was for administration duties for the upper level. Maybe getting radio broadcasts and other transmissions from people in the field. I don’t know. But nothing with the sort of power or interface to control something with the sort of power to send the transmissions we detected.”

“Is going down there even a smart thing to do?” Satsuki interjected.

Kyong shook his head.

“Any better ideas?” Randall added.

No responses. Just sour looks of resignation.

“Alright… we go down then,” Randall stated. “Maybe we’ll find supplies, a way to send a call for help, I dunno, anything that can help us survive.”

With nothing else to do, the group returned to the security checkpoint. Of course, they then realised with power partially restored, some of the security system had too, as they were presented with a keycard and eye scanner.

“Fuck,” Jacob grunted. But Kyong was already at it, producing a small toolkit he had attached to his belt, and managed to pry open an electrical panel.

It was impressive to watch him work, how dexterous he was, and in the next moment, both airlock doors were open, straining from a few years of disuse.

An alarm did start blaring, alerting a nonexistent security detail of the tampering. Kyong managed to shut that down too, though they had no idea how many quieter alerts they might’ve tripped.

With the obstacle removed, they took the stairs down, not trusting the elevator. There was another security checkpoint, though fortunately no airlock to bypass, just a simple scanner they could walk through.

They found themselves in an expansive subterranean complex, the tight corridors lined with sliding doors that led to various labs, though Randall had no idea what they were researching. Nothing biological, from the looks, though he thought he saw a bunch of old soil samples.

In one room, there was a board with a picture showing a scan of the planet’s magnetosphere, indicating oddities Randall couldn’t decipher.

In the centre of the lower level, they found a geothermal power plant, still going strong after several years of abandonment. There were a few small warehouses, but what they found at the ‘back’ of the complex, was a large open space with abandoned tunnelling rigs and construction machines including exosuits, several tunnels disappearing into the darkness of the mountain rock.

Staring at the three tunnels gave the group the creeps, so they decided to go back to searching for anything valuable, namely a control station. They discovered the lower level was laid out in a simple grid system, though it got slightly confusing when some rooms were made of two ‘squares’ and there was no passage between.

But, they eventually found what they were looking for; a large control room with banks of consoles and computer desks, all arrayed in several stepped, semicircular rows facing a wall covered in screens. The main lights were offline, but the screen was flickering blue, bathing the room in an eerie mixture of dull red light and pale blue glow.

It was then that Mila called out, sounding somewhat excited.

“Here!”

She pointed to a console on the far right of the room, nestled in a little alcove, with a screen that showed what looked like the status of a concealed uplink at the top of the mountain. It appeared to have been periodically transmitting what was supposed to be a routine message, though it had become corrupted, now nothing but noise.

“I think it’s still good!”

Some hope at last, but Randall frowned; if they just blasted a signal without thought out into space, those machines might realise they were there. They had to think this through.

“Mila, you worked in communications, do you think you could find a way to mask our transmissions? We don’t want those machines working us out,” he asked.

Her excitement faded, and she frowned. But she also nodded in grim determination.

“I’ll see what I can do. Give me the Box,” she said.

Randall gave her the orange Black Box, and left her to do what she could, Mila calling Kyong over to help her.

Then, they heard Henrietta call out.

“Guys, I think I’ve found something!”

The others looked at each other, and then left Mila and Kyong alone to figure out the transmission.

Fortunately, they weren’t being left too far alone, as Henrietta was just outside the control centre, pointing to a room at the end of the hallway, its sliding door open.

Randall could see the glow of a computer screen illuminating the dark room, sitting atop of a desk with shelves on either side.

When they got close, they saw a nameplate next to the door: M. Banks, PhD.

They filed inside, realising this must have been the office of the project coordinator, or whoever this guy might have been. There were filing cabinets as well as a server stack in the corner of the room, and papers everywhere. A cracked PDA sat on the office chair, but the computer itself seemed to be active.

Jacob moved behind the desk, and brought his fingers to the keys of the computer, integrated into the desk.

He didn’t have to bypass any security…

“Not even a password. Weird,” he said.

Randall felt a pit in his stomach. Something just felt off about all this.

When they got to the main screen, Jacob immediately accessed the folder that got his attention: ‘Journal’.

There were hundreds of entries. Far too many to go through at once, and annoying, no dates.

“Check the first one,” Randall suggested.

Jacob opened the text entry.

Day 1 at [REDACTED], Date, [REDACTED]

LEYLINE Project Director, Doctor Marcus Banks (Full titles Here)

It is my first day at the LEYLINE project. Unfortunately I cannot name the site nor the date, my benefactors seem intent on obfuscating such things for reasons I think are trivial nonsense, but nevertheless, I can speak of the LEYLINE Project. Quite an ingenious concept, to use a planet’s energy fields as a means of non-physical power transmission, data transmission, even intra-solar system navigation. However, most planets have stable energy fields and gravity, which we’ve discovered has made studying this idea difficult. One would think the opposite true. But A-11Z is a curiosity, with an unstable and varied gravitational field and Magnetosphere, and other factors that make it idea l , especially given the planet as a whole is stable, though the orbit is somewhat hazardous due to those same unusual gravitational forces. Fauna here is scarce and passive, and the lack of information on the world makes it ideal for this project, as we have been tasked with looking into… other applications for this technology. I cannot speak about that, but I am happy to…

The log continued onward with meaningless details.

Jacob then noticed there were entries marked with exclamation points, seemingly denoting major entries. So he clicked on the next one with such.

“Let’s see what this is...” he muttered.

Day 392

The project has been going… slowly. Our Benefactors are less enthusiastic about the slow progress than we are, because slow it may be, fruitless it has not been. Though nothing concrete, we may have made inroads to proving this theory, though that requires digging into the mountain. That has been quite slow, as the rock is rather dense. But there are minerals in the core of the mountain that have properties suited to our needs. That’s why we built this facility here. We have theories that this mineral may even be why this planet has uneven gravitational forces, though we cannot link it to the magnetosphere oddities. All the same, I fear impatience may hamper funding. Science takes time, a fact some people are ignorant to. They have ordered us to increase the pace of our research, which I can only speculate will worsen results if it leads us to being less thorough. We shall see.

The next major entry.

Day 443

There’s been… developments. We’ve been detecting unusual information transmissions. Transferred via largely conventional means, but I am loathe to even call it encryption, because it makes no sense to us. The broadcasts are made using an advanced system, and we’re not even sure they are such; they could be another oddity of the planet’s unusual energy fields. But this has been cause for speculation. I for one…

Jacob left that log behind, descending into meaningless conjecture, and went to the next one.

Day 472

It appears it was not an oddity of the planet. Something has been attempting to access our archives. We don’t know if it’s a rival research group or something… more. The ease at which this presence accesses our systems indicates either an insider working for the other side, or something considerably more advanced such our encryption systems are less of a factor, though they do seem to be exercising caution. Whilst this is a cause for concern, it’s also cause for excitement, as this brings new possibilities if it is not something of human origin… though I’m not sure how our Benefactors will react to this development.

Next entry.

Day 491

One of the Assistants has gone missing. A Miss Julia Harding. Search efforts have been made, as she was performing checks of field monitoring antennae, a normally safe job. We are unsure of what happened to her, as her ATV has also vanished, along with any of its recording systems. The facility detected nothing either. They vanished, but not quite without trace; a tool they had checked out was found nearby their last known location, having seemingly fallen from a great height. It’s as if something plucked her and her ATV from the ground, but no other signs have been found. We do not believe it was the result of some hitherto unknown fauna species. But beyond the tragedy and the unease it’s put into the staff here, it’s also alarmed our Benefactors. I fear they may pull the plug on our operation, right when we’re about to make a breakthrough.

They were getting towards the bottom now.

Day 535

Some incredible things have occurred, but also frightful. Since the disappearance of Assistant Harding, there have been unusual occurrences at the facility, and more invasive accesses of our system. We are surely not alone on this world. Workers boring the mountain tunnels have reported hearing noises in the walls, though that may simply be nerves. Things have been reported missing, however, and that’s harder to explain. But what is exciting is that some of the transmissions we’ve observed, some of the wayward data packets from these accesses, have been borne along the sensors and devices we use to study the planet’s energy fields! Whilst it seems to be quite crude, it all but proves our theories about being able to transfer data and power using a planet’s energy fields as a conduit, over direct wireless transmission. It might be new to whoever or whatever it is that is accessing our systems as well, but all the same, we can use this!

The excitement devolved into a lot of technical stuff that seemed irrelevant. Now, onto the third last entry.

Day 564

There’s been a curious development in current predicament. However, it comes amidst high tension and stress in the base. A comms officer, one Nathan Carlyle, has also gone missing. Alarming in the extreme, since it seems he vanished inside the facility, without a trace, save for… residual, seminal discharge that has been genetically matched to him. Now, a worker deciding to masturbate in secret is not much cause for concern, merely a disciplinary matter, but there were signs of struggle at the location. And it was an odd place for anyone to drop their pants and ‘rub one out’ as it were. On top of that, it seems he had a rather… sizeable, concealed database of pornographic material. Again, a disciplinary matter if it weren’t for the fact we discovered it because whatever has been infiltrating our systems has suddenly become very interested in this material. In fact, we have identified what seems to have been basic simulations and reconstructions using our computers of some of the content in Mr. Carlyle’s archive. Why this presence or AI is interested in this, I have no idea. It seems to have taken higher priority over everything else. I will monitor this, to figure out why this focus is a thing.

It was time for the second last entry.

Day 588

Damn it all! Our “Benefactors” have decided to pull the plug on the project! LEYLINE was so close to a breakthrough, with these unknown presences invariably providing us with invaluable information. But with a third disappearance and numerous other sightings of unusual objects and missing equipment, the project has been deemed ‘untenable’, and a full evacuation has been ordered . We were starting to make strides on the [REDACTED] part of the project, and now this! Once the shuttles arrive, the lightweight hypergate is to be destroyed once the ship our Benefactors have been staying on is ready to leave. They also order all data on the project deleted… well, I won’t stand for that, protocol be damned. I have a backup hidden. The project will live again, this I swear. We will have that breakthrough. Even if it means I have to stay here, on my own.

The last entry. Randall felt the pit in his gut deepen, and the look on Jacob’s face expressed the same kind of dread.

He clicked on it. There was no day number.

Pleasure. Lust. Ecstasy. That’s what they want. That’s what they wanted when they struck during the evacuation. They took those that didn’t get away in time. They used our research to cause chaos with our communications. Filled the atmosphere with senseless information, filled it with noise. And they took us. They learned of what bodily desire meant. And they wanted it. They like us. We make them feel good. They never felt good, being machines. Now they do. They make us feel good too. I can still hear the moaning. Such incredible things. Alien, yet… simple. They will come for me soon. They will make me feel good. So good. They proved that it was possible. That’s all I need. They will take me to the others… and we won’t be scared anymore.

Jacob rather rapidly exited out of that entry.

“Fuck,” is all he muttered.

There was a whole lot of nonsense in there, but it scared the hell out of Randall, who realised they were now in deep shit. And knew exactly what those machines were after; them. For fucking sex.

“We need to get the fuck out of here and somewhere safe,” Randall said with a grimace.

“But where are we going to go? There’s nowhere safe but here!” Nisha exclaimed.

“I’m with Nisha on this, we can’t go anywhere else. Besides, if we stick to the cramped places, those machines can’t get us,” Claude agreed.

“Didn’t you read!? A guy went missing inside the facility! They can clearly get in, somehow! Maybe they have smaller things to do their dirty work!” Satsuki exclaimed.

“So what, go out there, get snatched, stay in here, get snatched, what the hell are our options?!” Jacob added angrily.

“Guys, please,” Henrietta began, trying to keep the peace. “We can’t argue with each other, we have to stay focused and calm, or we are all screwed.”

A bad choice of words, despite her best efforts, and an argument did erupt, Randall doing his best to exert some control as defacto leader.

Mila’s screaming from the control room silenced all of them, along with Kyong’s panicked shouting, the first noise he’d made since the attack.

“Fuck!” Randall hissed, as the six ran back into the control room, mere metres away.

When they were inside, Randall saw Kyong with a wrench he found desperately trying to pry this metallic… thing off Mila’s back. It looked like a mixture between centipede and shrimp, numerous metallic limbs wrapping around Mila’s body to take hold, whilst small mechanical tendrils snaked along her body looking for her tender spots. She thrashed, trying to throw it off, but its ‘head’ had already opened up with clamps intent on locking her in place.

And its tail… it moved in between her legs, and Randall could hear the thrumming vibrations along the patches of soft, synthetic pads running its underbelly from the doorway.

As soon as it curled flush with her body, she buckled over, hands attempting to pry off the machine as it sent its wicked vibrations right into her suit, padded clamps pressing to the caps of her breasts through her suit and doing much the same.

Kyong shouted and tried to prise the thing off her, his eyes frantic. Only to be knocked to the floor when another of those things dropped from the ceiling, wrestling with his writhing, thrashing form, flailing that wrench around.

It rolled him onto his front, allowing it to latch onto his back much as it had Mila… and proceeded to do the same, those vibrating pads pressing to his chest and his crotch, quickly making a bulge appear from its rubbing.

Then, both machines clamped something against the backs of their necks… and suddenly, both Mila and Kyong’s eyes widened, their thrashing stopping abruptly. They squirmed weakly, but it was as if they’d been all but paralysed.

Leaving the machines free to cut open their suits with blades concealed in the tips of their tendrils.

All of this, within a matter of moments.

“We have to help them!” Henrietta cried out.

Randall was about to find something to do just that… until he saw the dozen or so more of those machines crawling along the walls, exiting through vents too small for any human to pass through, but for their highly articulated bodies, proved no obstacle.

It was a horrible choice to make, but Randall had already made it before. And this time, he had people depending on him.

“No time, run!” he called out.

“What?!” Henrietta spat, venom in her eyes. “We can’t just leave them!”

“Look out!” Nisha cried, pulling Henrietta out of the way as one of those machines attempted to pounce on her.

That seemed to end the argument, tears welling up in Henrietta’s eyes as the six left Mila and Kyong behind, their screams turning to moans filtering down the halls, too haunting for words.

Randall led the way, though he had no idea where to go. Back up topside? Maybe, that seemed the smartest choice, but he had no idea just how infested this place was.

The skittering of metal claws against metal walls was not getting quieter, and he could practically feel their cold limbs against his body, even though he didn’t see any whenever he glanced over his shoulder.

However, noises around corners led him to lead the group invariably towards one of warehouses, trying not to run into an ambush.

This took them by the open area where the tunnels bored into the mountain were, the warehouse next to it seemingly for the construction of whatever they were doing in this place.

There was an office overlooking the concrete platform that abutted the work area of carved out stone, right next to the heavy doors into the warehouse, another door inside the office also leading into it.

And that was when disaster struck again; just as they were about to reach the warehouse, they saw the red glow of eyes in the murk of the tunnel, as well as the loud scraping and clacking of claws against rock, as one of those large squid machines emerged from the middle tunnel.

It looked the group squarely… and proceeded to pluck two of those smaller machines, tucked against its main body near the roots of its tentacles, from its bulk, and held them in its claws.

They curled into balls, and the large machine threw them. The smaller machines unfurled right before impact, one managing to smack into Claude and knock him to the ground, another hitting Nisha and quickly embracing her despite her screams.

And poor Satsuki, she was about to dive into the warehouse with Randall, Henrietta and Jacob, when the larger machine snatched her with its tentacles.

She screamed as she was dragged through the air, and Randall wanted to scream himself; just like that, over half of them were done, caught without any chance.

They, however, had to cram into the office and desperately slink beneath desks when they saw another of those machines prowling in the warehouse itself, seemingly oblivious to them, though no doubt lying in wait.

They could only hide in the office… and unfortunately, there was a now working screen with a security camera, showing a direct feed to what was happening outside the office… and they could hear easily enough, both through the security feed’s own speakers, and the sounds just on the other side of the wall.

The machines wasted no time stripping their victims down, tearing the bodysuits from Claude, Nisha and Satsuki, though the centipede machines had to be more careful about their efforts. But they were able to subdue Claude and Nisha with that same kind of shock or injection or whatever they did to Kyong and Mila. They weren’t completely paralysed, but they seemed far weaker, allowing limbs and armatures from the machines to latch onto their arms and legs, further trapping them. And like with Mila and Kyong, rubbery pads, textured with numerous bumps and blunt spines curled against their naked bodies.

They seemed quite articulated, and the pads themselves looked to possess some sort of malleability or concealed articulation to adjust the angles and basic shapes of the bumps. Randall could unfortunately see this because the automated security system had created three separate close-ups of Satsuki, Nisha, and Claude, alerting to unusual activity. The damn system was basically giving a close-up show, because it didn’t have a fucking clue about the context.

With the flexibility of these pads, they were easily able to latch onto Nila’s and Claude’s nipples, focusing more tightly in the latter’s case. And judging by the weak arching of their backs, those pads must have been vibrating intensely.

They still squirmed in a desperate bid to free themselves, but they just didn’t have the strength… especially not when the machines grew increasingly more lecherous with their efforts, grinding those vibrating pads along their tails against Nisha’s neatly trimmed vulva and making them wrap around Claude’s full junk, the bumps circling particularly around his glans, digging up beneath his corona. Lubricant seemed to seep from somewhere between the bumps, perhaps imperceptible pores.

It made Claude’s shaft and his jewels glisten, though Nisha’s vulva was completely obscured by the tail covering her crotch, though Randall surmised, by the way her hips were squirming, that with each sliding rub, those dexterous bumps focused on her clit.

Her whines of unwanted pleasure were haunting, but to Randall’s great dismay, also horribly provocative, causing a stirring in his pants.

Looking to Jacob and Henrietta, the former was looking away with a grimace, whilst the latter was covering her eyes… but even she couldn’t help peeking.

Randall felt a profound sense of guilt, but like a train wreck, he couldn’t tear his eyes away, save for the quick glances at the door Jacob had only pulled shut, just in case one of those machines came snooping… though, he didn’t imagine their chances were great. He didn’t think he led them in here. He didn’t say a word, and he thought he saw Henrietta already moving for the office.

They all acted on instinct. At least, that’s what he told himself. Because now they were trapped, and forced to watch their comrades get violated. Even if they closed their eyes… they could hear it all.

Claude’s hefty member was leaking precum already, the merciless massage to his glans, along with the rippling motions of the pad, quite quickly destroying his resistance.

Nisha was no better, moaning incessantly, as if she couldn’t bring herself to scream or cry, not before another moan was ripped from her lips, her vulva soaked with synthetic lubrication, her breasts glistening much the same way.

But poor Satsuki… she wasn’t stunned. She was left screaming and struggling in the claws and coiling tentacles of the larger machine, after it had deftly torn open her clothes.

Her modest frame didn’t seem to matter much to the machine, eagerly groping and caressing her body, brushing the blunt edges of its claws against her breasts, sliding those same edges precariously along the sides of her nipples, eliciting desperate whines as she struggled, but held aloft above the ground, limbs spread eagle, Satsuki had no hope.

And worse, Randall spied those lower ‘face’ panels opening up, to let slither those small, glowing-tipped tendrils that had so terribly undone Captain Carrow’s defiance and composure.

Satsuki eyed those creeping tendrils, shouting something in her heritage language, profanity and cursing no doubt, but no amount of defiance put her body any further away from those looming tendrils.

And just like Moira, the moment they touched her nipples, Satsuki’s eyes widened in pure shock, before a scream was ripped from her mouth, thrusting her chest forward from how intensely she arched her back, though not quite so forcefully as when Moira felt the same to her clit.

But those tendrils had two sensitive points to toy with, and wrapped around her breasts to grope them as best able, stroking and swirling against her areolae, coiling around the bases of her handfuls, each tip making sure to trace her skin so that intense stimulation was felt all around her chest.

She thrashed, desperately, chest twitching and flinching against her will… and this was on top of having her vulva teased; it seemed she shaved her crotch smooth, so the machine had nothing in the way of its teasing. The machine rubbed the segments of a tentacle carefully over her clit, leaking lubricant from another of its limbs to keep things slick, so even her hips were starting to twist in reflex.

After a short while of torturing her like that, the Machine gave her mercy and pulled its smaller tendrils away from her breasts, though it did not retract them.

It then brought its tentacles forth, and like what Moira was subjected to, claws latched to Satsuki’s smaller breasts, clamping down and kneading carefully, whilst sucking her nipples into hungering orifices in the centre of the claw.

She yowled from this, her nipples likely still sensitive over the hellish, artificial stimulation its ‘feelers’ inflicted on her.

It still upped the ante of course, ceasing the sliding rubbing against her vulva, to instead bring two of its free tentacles to her crotch and producing those phallic, vibrating instruments. It pressed one to her clit, and the other to the entrance to her pussy, twisting both about slowly, attacking at every point and extracting obscene cries from Satsuki’s lips in the process.

Nisha and Claude were not doing much better, as they seemed to be nearing terrible climaxes, Nisha squirming helplessly in the ‘embrace’ of the machine that had her, quivering. Claude’s hips were bucking involuntarily, and his mast seemed so swollen, and so much precum was leaking down his tip.

They whined a little bit longer… and then, the pleasure proved too much for the both of them, Nisha crying out in stimulation and despair, and Claude gasping and groaning obscenely.

Nisa spasmed like she was having a seizure, hips jerking every which way beneath the merciless assault of pleasure.

Claude was bucking wildly, sending a fountain of cum into the air that spattered half on the floor between his thighs, and half on his own gut. And both continued to squirm from post-orgasmic stimulation, a torture in its own right. They even begged the machines to stop, but their pleas fell on deaf, mechanical audio sensors.

They were left to squirm a little longer before the smaller centipede machines relented, granting the two momentary respite to pant and gasp and whimper, chests heaving from the intense stimulation they had just endured. But the respite was only brief, and soon, the machines were renewing their efforts… and taking things further.

Randall only caught quick glimpses, but he saw enough in those moments to see slots open up at the tip of the centipedes’ tails; for Nisha, it was a phallic appendage that seemed to twitch with life, quickly lubricating itself before rotating around to be best angled to pierce her pussy. For Claude… it was some sort of flexible tube, profuse amounts of liquids trickling from its rim.

And both soon felt something prodding against their asses, as a mechanical phallus emerged from further down the centipedes’ bodies, in the perfect position to stuff their rears.

They tried to struggle in a last desperate attempt to free themselves, but once again, it was futile, as both cried out loudly from having their rears filled.

Both started shaking and shivering, but Claude seemed to be enduring the most intense stimulation, his face breaking into a pitiable look, his prostate surely under merciless attack now. The way his cock bobbed and quickly leaked fresh precum suggested as much, his meek squirming doing little to stop that tentacular tube from snaking to the tip of his cock… and effortlessly swallowing it whole, tightening snugly even as it descended to his root.

Even Randall could see the ripples coursing through the exterior of the tendril, excess lubrication rolling through Claude’s pubes and trickling over his balls… which themselves were being tugged and massaged by those flexible textured pads.

Claude was being milked, and there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it.

Meanwhile, Nisha cried out in helpless pleasure when her pussy was stuffed right to the depths, causing the faintest of distention in her belly.

She squirmed desperately, especially once both probes began to thrust, back and forth, alternating or thrusting together, angling slightly to push against her walls. It was no surprise that she eventually went limp, succumbing to the stimulation overwhelming her senses.

And things were getting worse for Satsuki, who had seemingly spasmed in ecstasy, sputtering fluids onto the floor from the larger machine’s merciless foreplay. But now, it seemed it had other ideas in mind, as it lowered her down to the floor, pinning her against it. It still sucked on her breasts, and kept the tip of a probe against her clitoris, lubricant constantly leaking all over her vulva.

The machine loomed its bulk over her, staring down with its glowing optics. And then, Randall saw it… a silvery white phallic probe emerge from a port just out of view along the underside of its body, near where its tentacles were attached.

Satsuki saw the many feet of artificial member emerge, its tapered tip smooth for about two inches before shifting into a series of bumps and raised ringing ridges, rounded at the top, and clearly designed to inflict intense stimulation on any woman.

Of course, the texturing seemed to only last about a feet… the rest of the synthetic organ thickened out too much to be considered ‘comfortable’ for anyone, but it didn’t seem it was designed to.

These machines… they really had become obsessed with pleasure.

Satsuki’s eyes widened in terror, and she started to thrash, begging to be spared.

But she was not, and cried as the organ slowly stretched her pussy, the shaft proving to have a level of dexterity in order to best fit inside a captive woman, no matter their position.

She cried out, arching her body and causing her belly to distend slightly as the shaft filled her. She clenched her eyes shut, grimacing in strain… but that focus was suddenly shattered, eyes snapping open as an expression of shock spread across her face.

And Randall saw the faintest of jiggling in fluid pooling around her vulva… some strong vibrations were being imparted on her. Not painfully strong, but more than she could seemingly bear.

Her G-Spot was probably getting the brunt of the vibrations… and that was before the Machine began to rock its body as if humping away at its captive human.

Satsuki screamed… and was promptly silenced when another of the machine’s tentacles slithered over her face, and plunged a vibrating probe into her gullet, claws latching onto her face and covering her eyes in the process. Her head tried to shake it loose, but it was useless, and soon, she was gurgling on the thrusting probe that repeatedly bulged out her neck, forcing her to drink something based on the gulps Randall witnessed.

Satsuki, Claude, Nisha… all of them were hopelessly violated, succumbing to pleasure that was too much for the average human to handle, and given no chance at respite. If these alien robots really did feel good about this, they didn’t show it. All Randall could see them doing was teasing their victims and deigning to stimulate them as much as possible; Nisha with both her lower holes repeatedly stuffed, Claude with his cock milked heartlessly, and Satsuki, her limbs wrapped and her body pinned, relentlessly humped by a synthetic alien probe constantly leaking fluids into her depths.

They were all closing in on their second orgasms, from the sounds they made, and the way they were shivering and twitching.

It only took a few more moments, before that finale finally came… only, it wasn’t just for Randall’s colleagues.

Whilst Claude loosed a virile load into the contracting, heaving tube milking him for all his worth, Nisha’s spasmodic orgasm was joined by the centipede machine latched to her suddenly and quite aggressively thrusting its two probes into her nether holes… and a cloudy, goopy liquid immediately spilling out of her pussy.

Satsuki got the same, as the larger machine suddenly jerked its body and pushed its artificial member as deep as it could go, the contractions visible as it ‘came’ inside her, flooding her depths with its synthetic cum. And her mouth was no different, Satsuki’s eyes rolling back as she was forced to drink down a smaller deluge.

Liquid trickled around the three humans, the aftermath of the obscenity that had just taken place. Claude, Nisha, and Satsuki, they all seemed exhausted.

And the alien robots seemed to be aware of this; the two centipede machines carefully moved over to the main machine, which picked them up and clutched them to its sides, whilst it thoroughly coiled Satsuki in its tentacles, and promptly hugged it to its underbelly.

With its charges secured, it turned around and crawled back down the tunnel it had emerged from.

Now it was quiet and the security screen showed only the lecherous remnants glistening on the floor.

Henrietta let out a quiet sob.

“Oh god...”

Jacob said nothing, but his lip seemed to be bleeding, having bitten it to keep himself from saying or vocalising anything.

And Randall… Randall was wondering if there was any point left trying to escape. He had seven other people deferring to him, counting on him. Now it was just two, and they were no closer to escape or getting help.

He buried his face in his hands, suppressing a sob of his own; what was he going to do?

He didn’t have the opportunity to dwell on his mistakes or any plans, because Jacob pointed to the screen once again.

“Look!” he hissed.

To Randall’s horror, he saw several of those centipede-shrimp machines scuttling along the ground, heading towards the open warehouse door… which was right next to their office. He could hear them, their mechanical clicking unsettling to his ears. And worse, he could hear one making the left hand turn and getting closer to the door to the little office they were in, which was only pushed shut…

It got closer, as the others seemingly ventured into the warehouse proper. That metal ticking almost deafeningly loud, even though they did not make much noise at all. And then, things went quiet.

Everyone held their breath.

At first, nothing happened. Then, without warning, the door was shunted open, the mechanical entity sticking its head inside.

Henrietta let out a scream as it locked its red optics onto the three of them. She got out from beneath the desk, grabbed a lamp from off its top, and pelted the machine with the appliance, making a loud clang.

It seemingly stunned the machine, giving Henrietta a chance to run out in a panic.

“Fuck!” Jacob shouted, running after her, leaving Randall to face the recovering machine. It focused on him, still in the room, and lunged.

He shouted in panic, and scrambled out of the way, grabbing the office chair and putting it between him and the machine like some sort of bullfighter. He wasn’t keen on tangling with it, however, as he had no idea what it was capable of, but when it attempted to pounce on him, and he, with luck, just avoided getting snared by it with a quick sideways duck, he was able to slip outside the office, and slammed the door shut.

With a desperate, manic grimace, he ran from the office, knowing that machine was going to force its way out. But instead of immediate self-preservation, he chased after Jacob and Henrietta; he couldn’t just leave them behind. He’d already done that so much…

However, he heard a terrified scream from Henrietta, and panicked, desperate cries from Jacob, which chilled the blood in Randall’s veins.

And his heart sank when he found them, Henrietta pressing herself against a crate, whilst Jacob struggled against tentacles wrapping him up, the squid machine that had been prowling the warehouse before perched atop several stacks of containers by several of its tentacles, leaving the rest to constrict Jacob and tear his jumpsuit clean from his body.

Randall saw Jacob’s member stand tall – it must have massaged his cock prior to ripping open his suit – as the ribbons of synthetic material fell to the ground… and a port open up on the underside of the machine’s body, around where the long probe had emerged from the machine that raped Satsuki.

Though no such appendage appeared this time, instead a winking, glistening orifice of artificial, rubbery flesh and synthetic lubricant dripping onto Jacob’s member.

And it wasted no time in plunging Jacob’s shaft straight to the hilt inside its body, the mechanical limbs wrapped around his body tying him to its own.

Immediately, Jacob moaned aloud, his hips bucking in reflex as what had to have been an intense, milking suction was inflicted on him, along with god knew what other sensations, clear liquid trickling around his flexing balls.

He groaned, his head pinned against the metallic frame of the machine, but he managed to peer out between a gap in the coiled tentacles.

“Guys… run!” he growled with strain, before a moan was ripped from his mouth, entirely involuntarily.

He struggled and squirmed, but there was no escape for him, made to mate with the machine.

Henrietta was transfixed with horrified eyes, like a deer in the headlights.

Randall was too, but he managed to get a hold of himself, and grab onto Henrietta’s wrist.

“Let’s go!” he shouted, and dragged her away from Jacob and the machine mercilessly milking him, his moans echoing throughout the warehouse.

Randall and Henrietta left just in time, those smaller machines converging on the larger one’s location, and then giving chase.

There was only one thing they could do now; get back to the buggies. Where would they go? Maybe back to the camp, see if the machines were still there. If not, gather some supplies, and find some place to hide, and hope that Mila and Kyong managed to get some sort of message out.

Wishful thinking, perhaps, but hope was all they had.

They made their way to the elevator once again, and pounded up the steps that ran around the shaft, the sound of mechanical pursuers skittering up the steps behind them putting some extra speed into the two humans.

They reached the top, and weaved through the hallways, too small for the larger machines, heading for the exit.

They were almost home free… for a definition of ‘home free’, at least.

However, when they reached the very door they entered, it all came crashing down… as Randall’s wrist was grabbed by a mechanical claw the moment he slammed the door open.

He screamed, and Henrietta screamed after him when another tendril wrapped around his waist, wrenching him from the door.

The aliens were already outside. Perhaps even waiting for them.

And in Henrietta’s terror, frozen on the spot, another machine loomed in overhead, and snatched her from the door, hauling her into the air, whilst Randall was pinned to the ground outside, one of those machines looming over him like the one that violated Moira.

And he could see Henrietta, struggling desperately, tears streaming down her face, as the other machine coiled its limbs around her arms and legs, around her body, and against her intimate areas, grinding against her vulva through her suit and groping her breasts with the careful use of its claws.

Randall grit his teeth, but there wasn’t much he could do himself, faced with his own impending violation, a gasp ripped from his lips when his junk was grabbed by a claw, carefully fondled despite the harsh mechanical implement. Other claws brushed over his chest, focusing on where his nipples would have been, using the blunt edge of their claw tips for careful, teasing stimulation, though it wasn’t like the bodysuits were so skin tight that a person’s nipples or genitals were that noticeable. Modesty was a thing, after all, and the suits weren’t that revealing.

But that didn’t stop his own bulging around his groin as arousal got to him, regardless of his thoughts. He tugged on the limbs that kept him pinned, but they were not budging. These machines, they were just too strong for humans. Perfectly designed to subdue them.

Henrietta whimpered as the softer parts of her curvaceous body were groped and fondled; her breasts were a particular focus, even whilst still clothed, the mechanical claws of her robotic captor kneading her globes and grazing their tips carefully over her barely outlined nipples, fondling them in a circular fashion, squeezing them together and pulling them apart as much as her suit allowed.

Her ass, of course, was not left alone, the claws of the two tentacles coiled around her legs kneading her glutes in erratic fashion, hardly synced in their squeezing and tugging.

Meanwhile, what tentacles were free to explore her body did so with delicate caresses, as if enjoying the feel of her suited state… maybe it counted for foreplay among these fucked up machines.

Randall winced from the very same treatment, his belly flinching as a claw caressed over it. Another brushed across his cheek tenderly; it was rather frightening that they seemed keen on making their victims moan over just doing what might have satisfied themselves physically… maybe it didn’t work that way for them in their twisted, incomprehensible digital brains.

A claw brushed the outline of his growing erection, from balls, to tip, making his hips flinch in reflex. He grimaced, but his defiance was waning quickly; he saw what these things did to everyone else. He knew there was no escaping their grip.

He was this machine’s plaything, its mate, its toy, whatever it thought of him. It was going to get what it wanted from him, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it, whimpering when one of its claws grazed a sharp tip carefully along his suit.

Eventually, the machines grew tired of toying with their prey ‘still wrapped’, and produced sharp implements from the ports in their claws, and surgically cut the bodysuits off both Randall and Henrietta, exposing both their bodies.

Henrietta’s bush was neatly trimmed, whilst his little genetic mutation left almost nothing hairy between his legs.

Henrietta’s suit was left to fall to the ground, her breasts bouncing with their heavy weight, sagging provocatively, though not for long, quickly grasped again by those lecherous claws, though they were more delicate now she lacked an insulating layer of rubbery material between her tender flesh and those harsh claws.

Randall couldn’t keep his attention completely on Henrietta of course, thanks to the touch of tentacles roaming across his bare skin, one tracing the faint scar over his belly from an old accident. Its touch was tender, but it knew what points made him twitch, two claws brushing over his nipples several times, before spreading wide to latch to his pectorals, so that the soft, moist synthetic inner sleeve of the tentacles could suck tight to his nubs, closing in around his buds snugly, and starting to thrum with a low intensity vibration, whilst the material continuously sucked and flexed against his nipples.

He couldn’t help the moan that followed, which only quickened his erection, cock soon standing at full mast. A claw brushed and stroked it with loose motions, those manipulating digits not suitable for the equivalent of a ‘handjob’, but the careful caresses were stimulating all the same.

He clenched his eyes, trying not to watch, but that didn’t dispel the feelings all around his body. Which made it hard to keep his eyes shut anyways, shivering and flinching. His eyes cracked open, just in time to watch Henrietta have her breasts latched and her nipples suckled, each tentacle gently tugging on her breasts in alternating motions as if trying to extract milk she did not have. But it was enough to make her whine and whimper, especially since a tentacle was sliding back and forth between her legs, hips spasming from her clit being stimulated by the segments of that articulated limb.

Unfortunately for her, things were only about to get all the more intense. An additional tentacle loomed up towards her face, the port between the claws opening and sliding forth another of those slick, phallic vibrating probes, and prodded her lips with it.

She clenched her jaws shut, desperate to deny the thing access… but it had its ways. Namely, it brought another such probe between her cheeks… and slowly pushed into her ass, stretching her wide.

She cried out from the sudden invasion, allowing the tentacle at her face to push its probe deep into her throat, those claws wrapping around her head and sealing the face of the claw to her mouth, though her eyes could still see around the claws, not quite blinded like Satsuki was.

And moments after, the tentacle rubbing against her pussy repositioned, and filled her depths with a third probe, leaving her ‘sealed’. And after giving her only a moment to get even remotely used to the ‘fullness’, the probes began to thrust. They were erratic in their movements, either plunging in and out in alternating motions, or simultaneously, though only the one stuffing her throat moved on its own, pistoning in and out whilst the claws remained latched around her head. For the two phallic appendages taking her pussy and ass, the machine moved their respective tentacles wholesale.

She gagged, and gurgled, sputtered moans managing to squeeze out her mouth between the relentless pumps into her gullet.

It was like some nightmarish pornography come real, though Randall couldn’t stay focused on her for long.

Because he watched as the machine on him loomed in close… extending those terrible, glowing tipped tendrils from the ports along the underside of its ‘face’.

His eyes widened in fear, he knew what these things could do. He tried to struggle, writhe, resist as best he could, but those glowing points only drew nearer, angling for his nipples, the tentacles sucking on them pulling away and leaving his nipples glistening from synthetic lubricant.

He could feel power radiating off each tip, like a static charge already imparting a stimulating tingle.

He tried to shy his chest away… but it was hopeless; the tendrils split into two groups, and pressed to his nubs.

The yowl that left his lips was like no sound he’d ever made before, feeling an intense, thrumming buzz course through the sensitive nerves of both his nipples, igniting every other nerve nearby with that same sparking sensation.

He struggled and writhed as those tendrils gently circled and caressed his nipples, no need to be rough or aggressive… whatever current or energy it was directing into his nerves more than made up for that, as Randall quickly started panting and whining, arching his back a little. He wasn’t even sure if it was starting to hurt, or if it just felt that intensely pleasurable.

He whimpered from this torturous foreplay, feeling each little touch, yet they all blurred together in sparking stimulation.

And then, they retreated, leaving him to pant after they had teased him so thoroughly, though he got little reprieve, as those two larger tentacles returned to sucking on his nipples.

There were hints of tears in his eyes, but he was still sane, still keeping his composure… though arguably, he hadn’t succumbed to despair because of the constant stimulation, never given a long enough moment to think about what was happening, especially with how… effective these machines were.

And that continued to play out, those tendrils grazing against his skin intermittently, as they trailed further down his body. Every touch was met with a forceful flinch in his gut, strong tingles and buzzes imparted right into his skin, though it wasn’t quite as intense when they were crowded upon his nipples.

He hadn’t realised, given how intense it was, that the sensation made him leak quite a bit of precum, a heavy dollop rolling down the slope of his glans, leaving it glistening.

He groaned, his thoughts turning to what these machines did with their victims once they were done, where they carted them off to… that was, until, he saw those tendrils hover above his cock.

His eyes widened, knowing just what it was about to do. He didn’t think he could handle this. He was certain he couldn’t, it was going to drive him mad!

He started to thrash, forcing the machine to use some of its extra tentacles to keep his hips pinned. He shook his head, silently pleading for mercy.

He received none, as those tendrils strategically pressed all around his helm; against the slit at the tip, around the sides and the slope of his glans, against and beneath the corona, everywhere, and gently rubbed and caressed.

His breath hitched in his throat, his hips jutted even as they were pinned, and his chest pushed against the tentacles that sucked on his nipples.

Finally, an almost primal cry of ecstasy left him, as the most intense sensation he’d ever felt in his life proceeded to course down his cock, though it remained firmly concentrated on his sensitive glans.

It was light lightning was being pumped into his nerves, albeit tuned to inflict ecstasy instead. It felt like the feelers were vibrating with a frequency almost impossible to gauge, even though he was sure they weren’t… though how could he be sure, his mind felt shot.

His cock practically bounced with its throbbing, and with each throb, a pulse of fresh and thick precum, quickly smeared into his glans by those exploring tendrils, having so much more room to move compared to Moira’s clitoris. And it felt like his precum was acting as a conductor, spreading that tingling to every part of his tip it glazed.

He was starting to sob now, shaking his head, blubbering and begging for the machine to stop. He could feel himself nearing a climax already, the building pressure in his loins increasing rapidly.

Several of the feelers started to descend, stroking along the throbbing cord that ran the underside of his cock, coiling around and pressing to different points along his mast, against his root, with at least three descending to his balls and gently snaking around each orb, a feeler pressing to each, whilst the third pushed up into the soft skin between.

The pleasure… it was too much. He could barely feel the movements the tendrils made, overwhelmed by the merciless infliction of pleasure.

He spasmed, as if the nerves elsewhere in his body were being affected. Naturally, he didn’t last long under this brutally stimulating assault, and with a desperate, harsh cry, he bucked his hips, cum fountaining into the air, left to cascade down onto his body and the inner side of his ruined jumpsuit beneath him.

The ejaculation was prolonged, those feelers hardly budging until he was starting to feel horrific post-orgasmic stimulation, a true torture.

Tears streamed down the corner of his eyes. But fortunately, he was given reprieve, those feelers retreating before it became too much for him.

Almost instantly, his body went slack, and a breath escaped his mouth. He was left panting and shuddering, a quiet whimper leaving him as he tried to unfrazzle his brain; that was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It was enough to make him forget the sucking to his nipples, which had not abated.

Alas, as he regained clarity of mind, he saw the port from which these machines extended their massive probes or sucked Jacob’s cock into open, the machine looming further over Randall, his body illuminated by the gaze of its eyes. He shuddered, and glanced up at the damn thing, wondering when it was going to drop down and milk him for everything he was worth.

His attention was briefly taken by Henrietta loosing a gurgled cry, her body spasming as orgasm took her, the machine filling her with that cloudy goop that seemed to serve an equivalent to cum… and proceeded to continue fucking her, her eyes half lidded and rolled up a little.

He hated that the sight was provocative to him. That he couldn’t tear his eyes away from what was happening to her.

This distraction meant he didn’t notice the appendage dropping down towards his cock until just before contact was made, his eyes snapping back to see the phallic organ… only, it wasn’t the large probe he saw before.

It was more grey in colour, and transparent around the tip. It lacked any external textures… because they were all inside, synthetic, fleshy sleeves all flexing in different directions and ways as an inner tube leaked clear liquid onto his cock.

He eyed this new appendage with terror, understanding flashing into his mind.

He just couldn’t comprehend the alien mind that’d come up with this perversion.

The machine reared up slightly… and then plunged downwards, thrusting this tubular appendage down and taking his cock to the hilt in one swift motion, like some alien creature striking with a stinger.

Feeling the firm bumps, ridges, and waving, vertical protrusions, all bulging out from several separate ‘rings’ scraping across his glans so forcefully was enough to make him buck and jut out his chest in reflex.

But the worst, most intense was to come, more physically at least compared to those treacherous feelers.

The inner sleeve began to ripple and stroke, pressure starting at his root, and rolling all the way to his glans, squeezing a ring of nubs against his helm.

This continued for a few moments, the suction imparted stimulating enough, the tugging on his cock earning fresh precum. But then, all the protruding textures began to flex and squeeze, only adding to the pleasure.

He was sure he could hear a wet squelching, copious amounts of synthetic lubricant being secreted all around his cock, trickling down to his balls.

The appendage wasn’t even moving, and it felt like it was going to suck an orgasm right out of him already. It just needed time.

Not much though, because what Randall thought he felt, different sections of the inner sleeve divided into individual rings, was proven true… when they began to rotate in different directions.

He cried out almost immediately, especially since this not only added an entirely new dimension to the stimulation, but also because the sides of his corona happened to be right on the border of two sections, leaving him to feel the edges of two rings grinding in opposite directions against a thin but rather sensitive part of his cock.

He yowled desperately, feeling the pressure building in his loins already. There was no way he was going to last much longer. And the machine saw that he wouldn’t, when it began to pump its tube up and down, from his root to his tip.

Whilst this nullified some of the more precise sensations he felt, it added yet another layer atop of everything else.

With his cock being scoured in so many different directions, especially on the downward strokes, and left utterly slick by the constant lubrication, Randall was on the verge of completely and utterly breaking down, lacking any composure.

He cried out and moaned shamelessly, desperately, squirming purely on reflex as his cock was milked, pumped, squeezed, massaged, and twisted, left to squirm whilst pinned, no longer aware of what was happening to Henrietta. He was trapped entirely in his own world of hellish pleasure, watched by those impassive red eyes of the machine looming over him, its alien form seemingly entirely dedicated to the subjugation and utter stimulation of human victims.

He didn’t even think about the whys anymore. Just his impending climax.

With how sensitive he was, he didn’t have to wait for very long, as he soon felt himself bucking his hips involuntarily, releasing his next load into that tube, feeling how it was practically vacuumed away, drawn deep into the machine for whatever depraved reason it needed. He couldn’t think on the reasons.

Only that he finally had some reprieve, when all the sensations slowly wound down, leaving him to huff and pant, his eyes half lidded and his body filling with fatigue.

Every part of his body tingled strangely, and he felt moisture all over his body. He was spent, his loads voluminous and prolonged.

As if sensing his exhaustion, the machine decided now was the time to spirit him away; he was wrapped up in several of those mechanical tentacles, but his cock remained trapped inside that milking appendage. It simply retreated back into its body, and he was drawn close with it, until he was held snugly to the warm, metallic underbelly of the machine, dick trapped just like Jacob’s.

There, he was subjected to a low intensity massage, the walls of that inner sleeve gently flexing to keep him stimulated, drawing a whimper from his lips, but at least it wasn’t as monstrously stimulating as it was before. Not that he could really think much about it.

Now that he was held beneath it, the machine took flight, a low thrumming just audible to Randall, watching as the machine with Henrietta trailed behind the one that held him captive, her mouth leaking residual goop, and her pussy still stuffed with a probe, to keep her stimulated just like him.

They flew somewhat low, so the air was not too cool for their nude bodies, and not too fast either. There was a sense of care for their charges, though Randall could only wonder what his fate was going to be now.