Chapter Text
Shuffling past me as I step out of my room are a few orphans, quietly chatting to each other about something or another. As they pass, it’s painfully obvious how underfed these kids are. Just before they leave earshot, one of them mentions their identification papers in a clearly excited tone, implying they’re within my age range. Despite that fact, they’re noticeably shorter than average, even considering the fact that I’m a mildly tall person. They have small frames, and they look more like high school freshmen than anything approaching a near-adult.
I don’t know if it’s that, or the insistent musty smell that pervades the hall, but my confidence falters once more as I step out of my room. The hallway to my left stretches out with numerous rooms, leading up to a staircase, heading upwards to the other floors of the orphanage. To my right are a few other rooms, terminating in the central foyer of the orphanage. I turn and head towards that foyer, hoping to get a better bearing on the interior layout of the orphanage, as its dimensions aren’t really explained in detail in the game. As I walk, I pass a clearly labeled bathroom, which I assume is meant for communal use. The floors are just as sticky as they were in my room, and I can feel the soles of my shoes slightly clinging to the ground as I shuffle forward uncertainly.
I enter the foyer, and I’m met with a large, shockingly opulent room. The juxtaposition of the rundown wooden infrastructure and general uncleanliness, set against the large chandelier hanging from the ceiling and clearly antique carpet – it’s jarring. To my right stands a set of large, finely-crafted doors, facing the outside and serving as the entrance to the building. Across from that is the entrance to what is obviously some form of mess hall, with foldable plastic and aluminum furniture for the orphans to use. It’s later in the day, so presumably breakfast has come and gone. However, apparently it’s late enough for lunch to be served, as I can see an array of sandwiches on paper plates being watched over by what I can only assume is one of Bailey’s goons. She looks bored out of her mind.
Down across the foyer is another hallway, this time with two men standing before it. Far off into the distance of that hallway, I can see the indistinct figures of small children running about, most of them looking about elementary school age. Likely the Youth Ward of the orphanage, where the little children are kept, safely protected from the horrors of the town. Around me are a scattered few other children, around middle-school age, performing various chores. Sweeping, scrubbing windows clean, that kind of stuff. None of them look particularly content.
I move, keeping the dismal state of the orphanage out of my mind and walking briskly to the mess hall. I accidentally skipped breakfast this morning – what with my apparent breakdown and subsequent muted existential crisis earlier – so my stomach is jabbing at me to eat something. As I approach the many plates of sandwiches, the goon turns her gaze towards me, giving a look that screams she’d rather be anywhere else. “One sandwich per kid,” she grumbles, bringing her gaze back up to the ceiling and going back to staring off into space. I nod politely, letting out a vague sound of affirmation, and grab a plate. There’s a sink in the far off corner, with several stacks of cheap paper cups next to it. As I walk over, I notice that the sink very obviously has rust in its neglected corners, though thankfully not anywhere on the spout.
I pour myself a drink, sit down on the nearest table, and dig in. The white bread is slightly stale and sweet – nothing but empty sugars – and the peanut butter and jelly taste like they’ve been applied in more of a thin film than any sort of spread. It’s better than nothing, I suppose. As I eat my meager meal, my thoughts turn to the next immediate issue before me. Depending on how this world works in relation to the game, there’s a scripted event waiting outside for me the moment I step out. No matter how I leave, even if it’s by jumping a fence, a random NPC will bump into me, and assault me. In the game, the player has the option to either scream for help, fight off the attacker themself, or submit to the attacker until they’re satisfied. I’m not particularly sure how the combat system of the game will translate, given the behavior of the system panels. God, I hope panels aren’t pulled up every time I get sexually assaulted. I don’t need psychic sex music in my brain every time someone decides to get handsy.
Regardless of possibilities, I need to hope for the best and prepare for the worst. We’ll proceed assuming the worst case scenario: that the combat system of the game will translate completely, and that I will only be able to perform actions that fit within the bounds of the game’s combat system. Unlikely, but plausible, especially since mind-reading and mind-affecting phenomena have already been established to be within the bounds of the system. If I get assaulted, priority is like with most random street encounters in DoL: scream if you are able, and if you aren’t, make it so you are able to scream. I seriously hope stats like Trauma and Stress don’t come into play with the system, but again, that’s for later.
Having finished my food, I get up and throw my trash in the bin nearby. Looking out and to the orphanage entrance, I find myself rooted to the spot. I’ve… I’ve never been sexually assaulted before, which is ironic, considering the fact that I literally have a rape kink. Despite my fantasies, I don’t particularly want to be, at least not for real. Not outside of fantasies. My breathing picks up again, my lungs seeming to almost strain against my ribcage. God, I don’t want this. “Why am I even doing this? I need to… hhhh, I need to..” I grip the edge of the trash bin, hard enough that the plastic is somewhat indented around my hand. I barely register the feeling of the material digging into my palm.
Suddenly, behind me, a small voice emerges. “Excuse me,” they ask, causing me to flinch back and turn on a heel, “can I uhm… Oh sorry, thank you! Sorry…” It’s another orphan, one of the younger ones. As I step back without much thought, they quickly shuffle forward and throw their trash in. My heart is racing as they smile faintly, nod, and walk away.
f*ck… okay, yeah. I need to. I need to do this. I can’t just hole up in the orphanage forever. Bailey wants money, and I’m going to get assaulted no matter what I do in this town. The name of the game is minimizing risk. Money, modest clothes, pepper sprays, and helpful transformations – in that order. I exhale forcefully, then speed-walk my way across the foyer before I can allow myself to think further, refusing to give myself room to hesitate. I take the door in hand, yank it open, and step into the dewy afternoon outside.
While the rain has stopped, the remnants of it still clearly mark the streets and sidewalks. Puddles sit stagnantly in the road, and the air is noticeably humid. A comfortable autumn breeze brushes my skin, rustling the obnoxiously colored and slightly-too-small clothing I have on. It feels uncomfortable, with my legs exposed. I step forward, notably less confident now, turning my gaze back and forth across the street to search for any… particularly shady looking people, I guess? Almost nobody walks by, a stark contrast to how many people were outside as I peeked through my window this morning. When I see that there are no people immediately heading past, I walk out and onto the sidewalk.
Making sure to keep a constant eye out for suspicious passersby, I consider where I might next need to head. I’m not used to the layout of this town at all, and despite knowing the general positioning of major points of interest, I’m completely unsure where specific buildings and locations are. I suppose I’ll just have to ask someone, while avoiding bumping into anybody, as that’s how the scripted encounter always starts in the game. Waiting until I’m about to pass someone – a tall, lanky man with droopy blonde hair – I step clear out of their space and ask, “Hey, excuse me? Do you know where I can go to find Starfish Street? I’m looking to work at the chalets there, but I’ve no idea where to go. I’m somewhat new to the town, heh…” I try my best to exude politeness, not giving him an excuse to get frustrated at me, as I know very well what these townspeople tend to do when frustrated.
He stops, looking up at me with mild annoyance. He considers my words for a moment, looking me up and down, then gives the faintest of smiles. “Well, you’re the cutest thing I’ve seen all week,” he mutters quietly to himself. My heart hitches, and I take a small, involuntary step back. Please be wrong, please be remembering wrong, please be an idiot and just be remembering the line wrong. “Come ‘ere, lad. You can do me a favor first, then I’ll happily give you directions.” At that, he takes a step forward, and I reactively step backwards again. My foot catches on a seam on the sidewalk as I retreat, and I collapse backwards. I’m met with a frozen moment of utter terror as I fall to the ground, my arms wheeling in a vain attempt to catch myself. The hungry eyes of the depraved man meet with mine for a lurching second before I fall on my ass and elbow. Hard .
The bone of my elbow and the flesh of my ass burn with pain, though I’m pretty sure nothing feels like it’s broken, just bruised. Tears fight from behind my eyes as I struggle to recover from the fall, and the man is already on top of me. As he reaches down and towards my arms to hold them down, and as his hand contacts my skin, my mind is touched by a foreign input. A single note, ringing out in an echoing thought-sound, ensconcing my brain. Time freezes again, this time in a more real sense. My vision is fixed, and my muscles refuse to move. I’m given a moment to think, to breathe, but only a moment. In the shock of the experience, I react too slowly, and the note passes. My nerves twinge from the passing echo of the tone, though the arousal of the sensation is nothing when compared to the experience of being within the symphony of the panels.
While I’m reeling from the pain of the fall and the shock of the system’s touch on my mind, the man climbs on top of me. His half-hard co*ck presses against my thigh as he lays his weight on top of me, and one of his arms reach over my head and press down on mine in an effort to keep me pinned, while his other hand tugs his already-unbuckled pants down. “Come on, love, just stay still,” he mutters, bringing his face close to mine and kissing my cheek. An involuntary shudder runs down my body as I struggle in his grip, straining to free my limbs. Luckily, he’s not nearly as strong as me, and after a passing struggle I manage to yank my right arm from his grasp.
As my arm flies free from his hold, time freezes once more, and the alien note-tone reverberates in my mind. My nerves all flare up for the barest moment, a moment which feels like eternity, and I’m left immobile. The sensation of my newly forming bruises, of his dick pressing against my thigh, hot and hard, of his lips against my cheek. It’s all preserved and prolonged, the sensation heightened by my softly twinging nerves. This time, having half-expected another similar freeze, I try to put aside the feelings assaulting me and set my mind to use the spare seconds I’ve been granted.
Punch him in the side of the head with my right arm. Headbutt him, and scream for help at the top of my lungs. Try to shove him off with my leg. As the thoughts of my actions form within my mind, I feel them get yanked from me, solidifying and twisting, forming from simple whims into notes of their own. They’re simple arrangements, but more complex than the note from a moment ago. My nerves almost seem to flex, and I would gasp if I was at all able. The notes for punching him and shoving him off ring clearly, but the notes for headbutting him and screaming seem discordant. Uncomplimentary. The assault on my senses worsens as the dissonant notes clash.
Suddenly, time starts again. His lips move further inwards, towards my lips, and his pants finally come down to reveal his lack of underwear. I feel his softly throbbing co*ck press against my leg, feeling as if its heat is burning through my flesh. This – combined with my flaring nerves – causes my length to begin throbbing in turn, against my wishes. His vision shifts upward in the split second it takes for him to register that my arm is freed.
In the same moment, control of my body is ripped from me entirely. I still feel every sensation, I’m still able to control smaller things like the direction of my vision, but my limbs and mouth are taken from me. My right arm flies upwards to strike his jaw in a precise punch, and my leg comes upward with force as my body attempts to shove him off, forcefully jamming his genitals between my thigh and his gut. My face jerks into his, my forehead striking his temple as I scream for someone to help, jarringly loud. The coordination in these actions is terrifying, the kind of coordination that one would see in a professional juggler or martial arts master. The force of my blows isn’t amplified, the impact feels like a normal strike should, but there’s a level of precision that I simply should not be capable of.
The man reels back, surprised by the unexpected attack. He lets a small wheeze out, and his eyes squeeze shut from the pain, but only for a moment. He recovers alarmingly fast, and his eyes once again fix upon me, this time angered and lustful in equal measure.
And in that moment, just as suddenly as it was taken, control of my body is granted back to me. I’m unable to react for a moment as the alien touch leaves my mind, and the heightened pain-pleasure of my bruises and increasingly sensitive co*ck hit me like a freight train. In that moment of vulnerability, the man takes his hand and pins my free arm to the ground. He spits in my face, the warm and wet feeling of mucus hitting me as he growls, “Shut up, you little sh*te! I said stay the f*ck still!” He moves both of my hands into his anger-fuelled grip, as he jerks his hand down towards my shorts, trying to yank them down. His nails dig noticeably into my skin as he roughly tugs at my clothing.
Just as I finish recovering from my body being puppeteered, he manages to grasp my shorts and underwear properly and tug them partially down my legs, revealing my pathetically throbbing dick. His co*ck moves to my groin in the same motion, slipping underneath my penis and towards my ass, bringing another involuntary shudder to my body as I feel his hot length press against me. Having recovered my mental faculties, I struggle again, frantically and futilely attempting to pull myself backwards and away from the man, panicking and struggling ineffectually in his grip. I’m not thinking straight, and I don’t use proper technique to get out of his pin, instead blindly trying to tug my wrists away.
Just as the head of his dick presses lightly against my entrance, the note rings out once more. The hot, slightly wet feeling of him against my ass feels like both heaven and hell. What would normally be the smallest nerve activity, is now turned into a jarring assault on my senses, but only for the barest moment. The note holds its tone, the burning hot sensation fades, and I’m given time once again. Still panicking, I think with every ounce of mental effort I can muster that I need to f*cking Get Him Off Of Me. That singular, powerful thought congeals into music of its own once more, but this time it is not just a few simple notes. If the previous note-actions could be compared to a simple lullaby, and the music of the panels is a full symphonic concert, the music assaulting my mind now could be likened to a pop song. Not overly complex, not overly simple.
However, when the panels assaulted my mind, the only sensation I had was the wind on my skin and my clothing rubbing against me. And even with that, I was rock-hard and leaking. Here and now, with my nerves all simultaneously raw and overstimulated, hands pinning down my arms, and a hard, throbbing co*ck pressing against me? It’s worse. It’s so, so much worse.
Time unfreezes, the note leaves with its parting tone, and I’m struck with the singular most intense pain and pleasure I’ve ever felt in my entire life. My back immediately arches, and a rising, fiery heat emerges from my everything. My dick twitches once, then twice, and all of the muscles across my body tense. I don’t even fully register what the man is doing anymore, I’m so completely lost in sensation. I vaguely feel a pressure against my anus, though I feel no penetration. My bruises violently ache, and breathless little noises escape my mouth as I approach climax.
Right before I reach it, however, my body is once again wrested away from me. However, rather than releasing a terrifyingly coordinated attack on my assaulter, my body is completely struck with involuntary spasms. More than typical spasms that one would expect during org*sm, these are beyond anything I’ve experienced before. My every muscle twitches and shakes from the pressure, and I release a shuddering moan as cum drips pathetically onto my lower abdomen. Tears stream down my face freely at this point, the intensely combined pain and pleasure driving me to a combination of sobs and breathless whimpers.
Then, suddenly and jarringly, the org*sm ends. My spasms are stopped in their tracks, though my nerves retain their sensitivity from the passing thought-music. A voice rings out clearly from behind me, shouting, “Oi, f*ck off! Leave that poor lad alone!” The lean man on top of me looks up, and his face drops immediately, a mixture of disappointment and fear. With only a muttered curse, he jerks his pants back up to cover himself, hauls himself to his feet, and hurriedly rushes off, disappearing into a nearby alleyway. Still catching up after the most intense org*sm of my life, and reeling from the scratches and bruises I’ve sustained, I shakingly grasp my shorts and pull them up to cover myself, tears still streaming down my face. I let out a breathy sob as I tug my shirt down in a vain attempt to cover the cum on my stomach. The fluid soaks into the thin fabric, staining it clearly.
I look back and towards the voice to see a toned man rushing over to my position. As he approaches, he slows down and offers a hand to my prone form. “I saw what that fiend was doing, are you okay?” He looks genuinely concerned, his face twisted in pity and worry. I wipe the spit from my face with a shaky hand, using my other hand to grasp his. The moment my skin contacts his, another note rings. I mentally recoil in fear, terrified that this was just a ploy for him to assault me too, but I quickly register the faintest echoes of two distinct notes on the edge of my perception.
Suddenly, I realize what this is. This is a scripted encounter, too, but of a different sort. This is a scripted choice. After the player exits the first scripted combat encounter, they are always approached by a concerned citizen and offered help. They can then choose to flirt with the person, or simply accept their help normally. Flirting with the person will restore some of the player’s sense of control, and will help mitigate the trauma and stress gained during the encounter.
I… how do Stress, Trauma, and Control even work in this world? f*ck, okay. I should probably test it here. I… I think I could use the stress decrease right about now, anyways. f*ck, time limit, yeah. I put my mental effort towards trying to flirt with this man as he helps me up, and the system obliges immediately. The thought smoothly solidifies into a note of its own, simple and monotonous. My nerves flare again for the barest moment, and it’s gone. The tone leaves, and time unfreezes, allowing him to haul me up. In that same moment, an alien force causes me to involuntarily lean into the movement, forcing him to catch me. The foreign touch on my mind brings me to look him in the eyes after he catches me, and speak with a meek voice, “I feel safe now…”
As the words leave my mouth, the foreign touch fills my mind with ease. I can almost feel the stress hormones draining from my brain, a noticeable feeling of contentment filling me for the barest moment, alongside an inexplicable warmth in my loins. Then, control of my body is granted back to me, and the man’s face flushes. “I-I’m glad you’re okay, then,” he stammers as he slowly withdraws from me, making sure I’m steady. Once he’s sure I’m able to stand on my own, he glances around furtively, then pulls his bag out from his side, rummaging about in it. After a moment, he finally reveals a small red canister, and I’m finally given a slight sense of safety. I know exactly what that is, and it’s one of my greatest lifelines in this world.
He extends the canister out to me hurriedly, glancing around once more. “Here,” he says, “Be discreet. It's not legal, and there's only enough for one use.” Once I take the cylinder and shove it in my pocket, he smiles at me and nods. “You be safe out there, lad. I’ve got to be going,” he pats my shoulder and walks off at that, leaving me alone in the middle of the street.
I stand there, staring at his retreating back for a moment. There’s the smallest voice in the back of my head that’s telling me, screaming at me that I need to ask him for help, that he can be trusted. But I can’t listen to that voice. It would be asking too much anyways. Despite the fact that they follow their scripts pretty closely, these are still people, or at least it seems as such. I can’t… I have to rely on myself. It’s not like this guy can support someone like me anyways, he probably has a spouse or children.
I let out a shaking breath, and wonder what I should do next. I need to… where was I even going before this? No, actually, f*ck that. I need to clean myself first. I feel dirty . I quickly step back into the orphanage, confident in the small solace of there being no scripted assaults in the main hall. I head back down my hallway, and towards the bathroom I noticed earlier. Entering the room, I’m met with vaguely unclean tiles, and evidence of an obviously amateur attempt at cleaning the bathtub. The mirror in front of the sink is missing a corner, and smudged with what is hopefully just toothpaste remnants.
I ignore all of this, lock the door behind me, and tug off my clothing as fast as I can. I need it off, now. Starting the tub and filling it with water on the highest temperature available, I grab a handful of the sh*tty one-ply toilet paper on the sink, and do my best to clean off the cum from my skin. The liquid soaks into the thin material and onto my hand, making me tremble again. Once I’ve cleaned it off adequately, I throw the wad of paper into the toilet, quickly rinse my hands off, and sink into the bathtub. Despite the fact that I set it to maximum heat, the water is only mildly above room temperature. Still, that’s considerably warmer than the outside air.
As the mild warmth of the water seeps into my muscles, I finally feel myself relax. Truly relax, not bullsh*t magic anti-cortisol f*ckery. Sinking deeper into the water, until just my face is exposed to the air, I sigh and shudder. I’m going to have to get used to this sh*t. This is just the first time of many that I’m going to be… attacked. I almost sink further into the water, but I stop myself from submerging entirely. Just a little bit longer… then I’ll go to Starfish Street and start working.
