A note from WriterObscura

Femitokon - Internal Vision
Illustration by Daniel Hurtado

** Please Mind the Tags **

Bass Strait
Location Approximate
10 Bamx 2228 – 0410 Hours

Patches of deeper water dotted the channel, each filled with whale sharks anxious for the high tide. What remained of the bridge were headless towers that stood out like discarded boots.

“You didn’t have to kill ’em.”

Crouched behind her in the gyro, Brown Eyes finally woke.

“Did you hear me?”

Sofita kept her eyes on the sea. “No helovx is more dangerous than one protecting her child.”

He spoke through his teeth.

“You had no right to kill that baby.”

Sofita struck him with a well-aimed elbow.

“Shut your mouth, or I’ll kill you, right here.”


They reached Deal Island by late afternoon.

The support towers had been ripped clean from the bedrock, leaving dark round pools within the shallows. She flew over Mount Cameron Port; the tanker remained beached, and the tiny marina where they’d met was wholly submerged. Fumes powered the gyro after its gas meter hit empty. Further inland, Sofita put down on the Tasman Highway.

“You can’t park here,” his accent made park sound like pack. “This water is up to me’ankles.”

Sofita’s boots splashed upon the road, where pooled water had settled between the shoulder buttresses. “The higher we go, the closer we get to Crown Hobart,”

Surveying the pale landscape, she found Brown Eyes still in the gyro.

“Get out here,” she said.

The man shook his head. “We can’t walk to Crown. That’s over 200 kilometers,”

“You get out here, Brown Eyes, or I’ll fist your ass until you black out, and then carry you to Crown.”

“Why dun’ya leave me?” he pleaded.

Sofita smiled. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“No, dun’smile,” he grimaced. “You’re right ugly enough as it is,”

After sloshing five miles in silence through ankle-deep water, Sofita longed for conversation.

Crown Hobart sits on the highlands of Mount Wellington,” she said. “The first colony established by the United Tribes in Tasmania,”

“Crown’s not a tribal city,” he mumbled.

Sofita grinned.

“Caucasian purges after the Perth Incident drove white refugees south to Tainui. The queen there at that time was Ruga Awatere, a brilliant woman. Instead of killing them, she profited off them by offering safe passage to Tasmania, in return for building her a new city.”

“I dun’ah about any of that,” he chimed. “All I know is Hobie existed before the world got smacked, and every four-square here got built from the bones of some city drowned by the ‘Fives.”

Sofita slowed until he was beside her.

“Why are residences called four-squares?”

“What house ain’t got four corners?”

“Ramaxian abodes lack ninety-degree angles.”

“Yeah, you lot build things that look like tits and wombs.” Brown Eyes fell back then, going silent as the sun lowered on the horizon.

The elevated road curved around what appeared to be a former mountain peak. Covered now with conifers and clusters of bushy trees, it hosted a legion of noisy birds.

Brown Eyes groaned. “I can’t walk all night and all day.”

“How close are we to Mangana?”

“Is that a joke?” he asked, but when she turned to confront him, he quickly replied, “We been walking through ‘Gana.”

Sofita peered past the shoulder buttress and stared into the bug-infested water. Just beneath its still surface was the fuzzy outline of a square roof.

“What color is this water?”

He replied, unsure. “…green.”

The inland rivers, bloated from the wave, must have flooded the higher valleys.

She turned to find him staring at her backside.

“Where’s the nearest dam?”

“Oh, ‘crike,” he whispered. “You think the hydro plants went under?”

A distant crack flushed thousands of birds from the trees, forcing Brown Eyes to duck. Sofita jogged around the sharp bend and found a line of disturbed water that led to a grouping of rooftops.

Above the waterline peeked a church steeple with its tower bell half underwater, and behind it loomed a ‘four-square,’ its three floors of windows exposed. Brown Eyes appeared beside her as she hoisted herself onto the buttress.

“I’m not getting back in there,”

“There are no more sharks,”

“Says you,”

“You can jump in, or I can throw you.”

Brown Eyes swam fast for a human.

The heavy humidity kept her hide hydrated and her senses sharp. A submerged building sat in their path, and swimming onto it, they found shallow waters that forced them to walk. The man sloshed carefully, avoiding the roof’s low-lying exhaust traps. Closer to their destination, they could see it was a hotel.

Brown Eyes entered the water without encouragement and swam to one of its exposed windows. Climbing onto the pane, he scoured the area for predators as Sofita scaled past him to a higher ledge.

Inside, the carpeted floors sat beneath a foot of water.

Two doors promised shelter at the end of a seaweed-filled corridor, but that narrow passage contained a fat-backed crocodile. Seven-foot from tail tip to snout, the beast hissed as the interlopers entered its chosen realm.

Sofita moved cautiously, but Brown Eyes yelped in fear when the croc hissed again. Triggered, the scaley beast splashed toward them, jaws open wide. Quickly, she leaped over it, twisted mid-air, and came down upon its back. Securing the beast’s neck between her legs, she got hold of its snout, trapping its jaws in her hands before driving her chin into the leathery skin above its eyes.

Stunned, the croc ceased struggling, but when released, it scrambled into the flooded stairwell.

“Brown Eyes,” she panted. “Stop upsetting the wildlife.”

“That thing charged,” he cried.

“She wouldn’t have chahjed,” she mocked, “if you didn’t yell at her.”

“You farcs don’t yabber to sharks, but you yabb with crocs?”

Without warning, Sofita punched him in the gut.

“Farc is a slur.” She stood over him as he battled to breathe. “Lose it from your vocabulary for the rest of our time together.”

Eager to put the briny scented stairwell behind them, they entered a dry floor and found its hall loaded with disoriented snakes.

“You need to relax,” Sofita whispered, stepping gingerly through the writhing clutter. Theyre just snakes.

“Says you. I dun’have thick shark skin,” he whispered back, his jittery gait rousing the aggressive ones. “They bite me, I bleed.”

Sofita stopped and turned to him.

“I don’t have shark skin,” she held up her arm. “Touch my hide.”

His lip curled, “I’m not touching you.”

“Touch me,” she barked, startling the snakes.

“What the bloody hell,” he whispered quickly, as the hall filled with a chorus of disturbed hisses. “I got weak skin, okay, they bite me those fangs go through.”

Sofita hoisted him over her shoulder and continued through the snakes. At the end of the hall, she put him down onto the small set of stairs that led to a top floor containing multiple suites. She kicked in every door until reaching the last, then waved a hand for the man to follow her.

The dark walls held framed paintings of flowers, and there were faded stains throughout the textured rug. Behind the room’s other lockable door were a sink, a toilet, and a plastic shower closet. Next to the single bed was a mortared sandstone fireplace. Brown Eyes fell to his knees before it and gave it a quick inspection.

“They’re decorative logs,” he whined. “They light up, but no heat.”

“It’s not your day is it, Brown Eyes?”

“No thanks to you,” came his retort. “You lot don’t need heat. I’m going to freeze my goolies off when the sun goes down.”

“Don’t worry,” she leered. “I won’t let your sack get cold.”

The man’s face twisted in disgust, and before she could needle him further, a gunshot echoed from outside.

“Nothing like a natural disaster to bring out the best in humanity,” she mused, unlocking the window.

“Is it true?” he asked, joining her. “You lot don’t kill each other?”

Without answering, Sofita raised the pistol.

“Take off your clothes.”

Fack you, he cried, stepping back.

Sofita aimed and pulled the trigger; its empty click made the man jump. Furious at her laughter, he came at her with his fists, and she quickly got hold of his arms and forced them behind his back. Keeping him on his stomach wasn’t easy; he kicked and screamed, forcing her to bounce his head off the floor.

He’d taken countless blows to the head since their introduction, yet his motor functions remained intact.

Ripping his shirt from his chest, she pulled his jeans down past his legs and found him hairless. The Shell’s assessment rang true; he was unlike most human men. Brown Eyes quickly scrambled out from beneath her, covering his circumcised penis with his hands. That form of genital mutilation was common in the African Trisect, and it was also the norm among Slavic men.

Thoughts of assaulting Yuri Kotko invaded, and the unsettling bouquet of guilt soured Sofita’s stomach.

“What’s this then?” he demanded.

She pulled down the curtains from the room’s lone window and, tearing them into strips, recited Orta field procedure. “Naked, you have less incentive to venture out should you get free of your binds.”

The man fought hard as she bound his hands. She managed to secure his wrists to his ankles before collecting him from the floor and tossing him onto the bed.

Back at the window, Sofita turned.

“Try not to miss me, Brown Eyes,”

“-Fack you,” he screamed.

Outside, she tried again to ignite the Shell.

Deep internal vision took time and required calm, yet the Shell spoke of knowing when her life was in danger. Such an utterance brought questions, none of which she could ask in her current stress-heightened state.

Diving from the ledge, Sofita cut through the displaced ocean and assessed the submerged town with her own eyes. Juvenile sharks roamed the drowned buildings. Signage was typical of a human Main Street, and through the murky shallows, she located a hunting shop, its large window just below the waterline.

She kicked through the window glass before slowly passing over its what toothy shards remained in the pane. She came up in a meager foot of dry air near the ceiling and grabbed hold of a long light fixture. Walking hand over hand, she reached a pegboard of hanging pistols and shotguns. The driest firearm contained no rounds, but shotgun shells bobbed among the fishing lures and their feathery fronds.

Sofita set a rifle back on its hook and swam down behind a counter.

An iron safe sat beneath the drowned cash register; no doubt it contained the shop owner’s security rounds. It took her considerable effort to lug the metal box to the air, and hoisting it onto one of the highest shelves, contemplated how to open it without a blaster.

A motorboat engine rumbled outside.

“We’ll get weapons here,” a man’s voice rumbled. “Then score some dry ammo in ‘Hobie.”

A flashlight cut through the darkness, and when its beam found her eyes, the two frightened men opened fire.


Bright white defines the endless horizon.

Naked, she follows a melted path in the snow to an icy shore. Behind her, the trail transforms into sullied patches littered with male corpses.


A massive structure appears alongside the dark sea. She walks to the structure, a dead zaxir, easily the size of the Fairgrounds.

The scent of decay emanates from the cavern between her chunky legs. A frozen wave greets her, and she climbs its shimmering veneer to a cavernous birthing wound. Taking a knee, she bites into the chilled scar tissue, making a staircase form in the corpse’s hide.

Down the steps, she enters the birthing wound.


The ice beneath her abruptly melts.

Engulfed in a raging sea, she sinks calmly into the blackened depths; she’s been here before. When the water dissipates, she falls through the air. Her descent slows as she reaches the snow. Stepping upon it, her favorite suit materializes. Her bizak tailor claims it the color of helovx blood, its chocolatey jacket and trousers trimmed in solid gold.

The turbulent seas churn above her high molded hair as she approaches a floating gelatinous bubble. It twitches and expands, morphing into a tall, muscular citizen. A bald head takes shape as the silver becomes Fusada Kul.

Doctor Sofita Kul brings her hands together behind her back. “How dare you take her face.”

The Shell speaks as Fusada.

“I want to talk about Yuxi.”

“Tell me how to reignite.”

“You cannot go on ignoring me.”

“Tell me how to reignite.”

Its face softens.

“I had no right to consider you expendable.”

“You’re not Fusada!”

The raging sea above crashes down upon them.


Pain racked Sofita’s shoulder as she stumbled to the end of the boat and fell against the closed hotel window. When it suddenly opened, she spilled over the pane, dropping the plastic-wrapped pistol into the bloodied water at her feet.

Brown Eyes stood over her, free of his binds. After giving her an anxious once-over, he rushed out the open window.

Sofita hastily crawled to a defensible spot in the corner. Unwrapping the gun, she aimed it at him when he returned with a first aid kit and tackle box.

Wordlessly, he dropped the box at her feet before sitting on the bed and dabbing ointment from the kit onto his inflamed wrists and ankles. He then disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing in a cloth robe with the hotel’s embroidered initials on the skirt.

“You goin’to let me help,” he asked, “or bleed out on the floor?”

“I’m weighing my options,” she growled.

Brown Eyes shook his head and knelt beside her.

“Tharspin ammunition eh?” he peered at her shoulder. “Broke right through ya, didn’t it?”

“Back off,” she warned.

“I got triage experience,” he said. “Let me get it out,”

“Why are you so helpful?” she asked.

The man pouted. “I can’t make it out of here on my own.”

Sofita sat up and presented her torn flesh.

After examining her wound, Brown Eyes walked to the window and returned with a plastic cup full of salt water; the pungent liquid soothed her ripped hide. His fingers pressed into the tender portions around it, the ache making Sofita queasy.

“There it is,” he scratched into the damage and dug out a flattened projectile. Holding it out before her, he said, “Strong enough to cut your skin, but too weak to break your bones. You lot are a sturdy mix.”

When he took the damaged shrapnel to the bathroom, she snatched up the cup and rolled to the window; saltwater stung, but it toughened a torn hide.

“You’re still munted,” he sat on the bed with the tackle box in hand and patted the space beside him. “Let me patch you up.”

Gun in hand, Sofita sat next to him.

After preparing a suture kit with a fishing line and a hook, he stood on his knees to get at her wound, and when he caught her staring into his parted robe, he furrowed his brow.

“Eyes off the merchandise,” he said, stabbing the curved hook into her hide.

Sofita breathed through the discomfort as he threaded the fishing line in crosshatches, securing the seam with the undamaged hide around the wound. He tightened each crisscrossed joint with his teeth; the loud snap of his biting the line gave her something to focus on other than the pain.

“Where’d you learn to dress a Femarctic wound?” she asked, moving her arm to test the stitches.

“You lot are no different from the seals munted by propellers.” He returned to the bathroom. “If I’kin get to fixing them, I’kin fix you.”

Sofita kicked off her boots and peeled off her pants as Brown Eyes stood in the bathroom doorway. His discarded bindings lay under the bed, untied and untorn.

“On the rocks,” he said, eyes roaming her naked body. “You went all white and silver.”

Sofita planted her bare feet flat upon the floor.

“If’n you do that again,” he said, moving towards her. “You can get me to the coast. Leave me there.”

“Drop the accent,” she said. “You’re not local, Brown Eyes.”

He sat beside her. “Dun’trust me then, I’dun care.”

“That white and silver is a phasic armor,” she revealed. “Right now, I can’t get it to respond.”

“I dun’ know about all that.” Brown Eyes huffed a sigh. “Are there other phase-o soldiers flying around? Maybe we ’kin give a shout and get one to pick us up.”

“No other soldiers, just me,” she said in Ramaxi.

“I can’t speak Antarctica,” he said, then pushed air out his nose. “You thinkers can sure take the pain.”

Sofita again caught him staring at her backside.

“Sorry, it’s not just your rump.” He traced his fingers up and down his chest. “Your nips aren’t right. If’n you was a bullhead, ya’d be the first I’ve seen with hair.” He let out a nervous laugh. “I thought you lot from Orta was all nude nuts.”

Sofita rose from the bed and stared down at him.

“This phase thing,” he spoke as if suddenly nervous. “It’s in your body?”

“The soldier before me ignited it with an orgasm.” Sofita reached out for him. “I’m going to touch you.”

He didn’t shy away when her fingers grazed his face, but when her hand drifted to his neck, he retreated to the headboard.

“I’dun know about all that!”

Sofita snatched up the discarded binding and caught him as he fled. Slithering from her grasp, he scurried under the bed, exposed when she lifted the mattress from its frame.

“Dun’hit me, okay!”

“Don’t fight me, and I won’t strike you,” Sofita warned. “That’s how this works. That’s how this has always worked.

“If I can’t run away, I gotta fight!”

“I’m not going to kill you, Brown Eyes. I had planned on killing you, but if youre compliant, youll live through this.

“I’d rather be dead,” he said, landing a kick to her stomach.

Before he could scramble free, she punched him hard across the face and then hauled his limp figure to the tossed mattress. After binding his wrists, she secured them to the bathroom doorknob over his head.

“When’s the last time you fucked, Brown Eyes?”

“That’s none ‘ya business,” he grumbled. When she made a fist, he blurted, “I reckon about a year,”

“That’s a long time for an helovx.”

Sofita slapped at the unaroused line of her gashcol.

“I’m going to suck you off first,” she said, straddling his legs. “After that, I’ll get you hard again. You should last long enough to burn me on that one.”

“Get off me,” he yelled when she trapped his shins between her knees. “You farcs got skin like rubber. Your cunts smell like the inside of an old tape deck.”

Sofita grabbed hold of his thighs to steady him.

“Close your eyes and think about your girlfriend.”

His muscled abdomen felt soft and pleasingly cold. She tasted saltwater as her tongue made a wet trail to his navel. When he bucked against her, she warned, “If my teeth come down on you, it’s your fault.”

“Dun’do this,” he begged, eyes closed.

Sofita took his flaccid member into her mouth and locked her lips around its base. Loose and pliable, its chill was nothing like any human man she’d kissed this way before. She heard his breathing become labored as he hardened. Working his arousal, she hugged his waist and rolled onto her back.

Brown Eyes whimpered as warm spill flooded the back of Sofita’s throat. She slid out from under him and, stepping to the window, brought a hand full of water to her mouth.

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it, Brown Eyes?”

The man remained on his stomach, arms stretched over his head, bound wrists hanging from the doorknob. On her return to the mattress, he came to life and kicked at her.

“Fucking farc!” he cried.

Quickly, Sofita subdued him, savoring the sweat on his neck before taking his tangy ear into her mouth. The man struggled beneath her, forcing her to trap his legs tight between her thighs. Grabbing his wrists for balance, she ground her swollen gashcol against his soft genitals.

Despite his apparent aversion, his penis began to respond.

Aroused once more, Brown Eyes groaned as the bloom of her arousal mulled over his erection. He slipped into her, and while the fullness brought pleasure, it was the sight of it sliding in and out that stoked her excitement.

Arm around his waist, Sofita untied his hands.

No longer fighting, he moved against her, his fingers caressing her hardened uzxi before his hands grabbed hold of her fronts; this was an helovx skilled at pleasuring a femmar.

Suddenly, a delectable chill found Sofita’s thighs. Her guzshlix tightened, determined to make their bodies one. Light flashed behind her eyes, the familiar resonance of the Shell’s awakening, but when she tried to detach from him, he refused to let go.

“No, you farc bitch,” he grunted. “Finish me,”

Sofita dug her fingers into his hips, pushing down until their genitals parted with a wet pop. She stumbled from the bed, focused on the orgasm coursing through her, forcing it to find solace within her brain. A sliver of white lashed out from her feet and slowly spiraled toward her head in an intense rush that shook her bones.

Brown Eyes crawled across the floor, his erection bobbing and wet. Cowering at her newly formed boots, the man lifted his pleading eyes.

“Dun’leave me like this.”

Firm hands snaked up the back of her silver-clad legs and clutched the cheeks of her backswell.

“Finish me…”

Fully ignited, Sofita viewed him through the eyes of the Shell.

“Where did you find this one, Komad?”

A piece of her uniform vanished over her swollen gashcol. She lugged him back to the mattress, and falling onto him, savored the cool sweat of his back against her gash.

Brown Eyes squirmed as she jerked his manhood.

“You got shot by a tharspin bullet,” said the Shell, flooding her body with antibiotics and repairing her flesh wound. A live scan of the man flashed within her eyes, alongside an itemized list of the most efficient ways to kill him.

“Please, I’ll do whatever you want,” he whined.

Sofita licked his ear. “You want me to finish you?”

“Please, please,” his head rocked back as her finger pushed its way into him.

“Who am I?” she demanded. “Tell me who I am,”

Brown Eyes gasped. “Komad Kul, you’re Komad Kul.”

Sofita pushed his face into the mattress, and with two fingers deep inside of him, grabbed hold of his erection and worked it until he made a mess in her hand.

“He’s got too many anatomical anomalies.”

Sofita thought back, ‘Fyla will examine the playback.’

“We can’t trust Fyla,” the Shell reminded.

Brown Eyes rolled out from under her and fled into the bathroom.

Sofita climbed out the window and, after washing herself in the water, hovered to the roof.

“You’re not Fusada,” she said, blasting playfully at loose gnarls of seaweed.

“You’ve been telling yourself that for years.”

“How far to Crown Hobart?”

“About seventy miles. We can fly it in five minutes.”

“Max acceleration will kill the man.”

On cue, Brown Eyes poked his head out the window.

“You ready to get out of here?” she called down.

He climbed out with his body wrapped in a sheet. She let him hook his arms around her neck when she scooped up his legs.

“Don’t drop him,” the Shell cracked. “You’ll ruin this romantic moment.”

Without responding, she flew toward Crown Hobart, slow enough that their journey took over forty minutes. Powering down near eastern Tasmania’s coastal cliffs, she followed behind him in silence until the sun rose on the horizon.

Brown Eyes walked undaunted beside the steep drop-off.

“Your accent is pristine,” she said in Ramaxi.

“What’ya say?” he asked over his shoulder.

“When you attacked me back at the docks,” she expounded in English. “You almost convinced me you were a local.”

“Ya’talking mad again,” his gait slowed. “I was born and raised in ‘Hobie.”

“I thought you might be ’rised there too until I popped you off back in that hotel room. Sofita slowed. I dont know where you shipped out of, Port Austin or Vancouver Bay, but youre one of the best.”

Brown Eyes walked in silence, the sea breeze lifting the sheet and exposing his muscular buttocks.

“Want to know what gave you away?” Sofita goaded. “Tazzy’s and the Māori don’t call what we did here, a genocide. Only the Nauists and Jungwanian’s use that term.”

He stopped walking.

“Since you don’t appear raised on rice, I’m going to assume you’re from the Western Hemisphere.” Sofita paused when he turned around to face her. “Since I never gave you my name, and you seem to know it, I think it’s fair you tell me yours.”

His toothy grin revealed a man taught to smile late in life.

“My name’s Adam,” he said, his Tasman accent gone.

“Like that boy from the Garden of Eden?”

The man cocked his head and brought his hands to his hips.

“Doctor Sofita Kul, I presume,” his Ramaxi was perfect. “I didn’t know Marixi Administration allowed its leader to serve active duty between the poles.”

Sofita recognized his voice. “Colonel Adam Pierce.”

The man’s smile faded before he rushed her position.

No longer a slap-happy local, his kicks tested Sofita’s counters, and when his fists came for her wounded shoulder, she admitted that he was one of the most skilled helovx she’d ever fought. Unwilling to kill him, she seized his leg, grasped his bicep, and then lifted him from the ground before tossing him over the drop-off.

Pierce regained control on his way down, forming into a perfect tuck dive before striking the water straight as an arrow.

“Adam,” she whispered. “Lilith allows you another day.”

A note from WriterObscura

Hey there, so yeah - Sofita rapes again.

A few readers felt betrayed by my decision to portray their interactions as comedic at the start, but for me writing in the head of Sofita - there was never anything jovial. Her suspicions rang true in the end, but still - I did say mind the tags.

Thank you for reading.

Support "Femitokon Series II - Tactical Pursuits"

About the author


Bio: I'm here to remain obscure.

Log in to comment
Log In