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>> No.31966003 [View]
File: 189 KB, 1694x1200, @4Shifeng 2.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
31966003

>> No.27432210 [View]
File: 189 KB, 1694x1200, @4shifeng.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
27432210

>>27426912
>>27428869
Clink. It hasn't worked any of the previous times, yet Legatus can't help but to test the chains holding him once more. They don’t give, of course. Not when he has such poor leverage – legs splayed and feet held off the ground, single remaining arm trapped behind the back of the chair. Legatus lets out a frustrated huff. Maybe he could break free still, if he could get his damned limbs to cooperate, but he can’t muster more than a slow twitch of the fingers. Legatus supposes he’s still fortunate. With the Netjack in hand, Alban could have disabled a lot more than just his motor functions. His sight. His hearing. Even total sensory deprivation… But of course, that would’ve been counterproductive, wouldn’t it? The shallow cuts – forming almost whimsical patterns – across the entirety of Legatus’s pale torso would not have been as fun to make if he couldn’t feel them. Legatus lets out a low, pained hiss as his movements cause one of the belts keeping him strapped to the chair to dig into a freshly-healed wound. The thin scab tears, fresh blood welling up to stain his ruined shirt. That damned sadistic cat. From somewhere out of Legatus’s line of sight comes the creak of rusty hinges and the loud screech of metal-against-metal. Speak of the devil. Legatus stills, his face going blank. He’s not green enough to show any weakness in the face of torture.

“Good morning!” comes Alban’s voice, incongruently cheerful. “Did you miss me?” He saunters over casually, leaning over Legatus’s shoulder almost playfully to get a look at the man’s face. It’s empty, the agent’s gaze locked unerringly on some middle-distance. The thief taps at Legatus’s face with the wrench end of the Netjack, and then threateningly trails it down to the agent’s throa2. It sparks ominously, wanting to make a connection to the open port, left bare after Alban stripped off the cover when he’d first captured the agent. Still, no response. Alban sighs, twirling the Netjack absentmindedly. He’s been slowly growing more and more frustrated by the lack of a reaction.

“Come on, puppy, how can I make you bark for me?” he wonders aloud. No response. Of course. “You howled so prettily when this arm came off,” Alban muses, free hand almost lovingly caressing the mess of mutilated flesh and stripped cables where he’d slowly, agonizingly torn Legatus’s cybernetic left arm from its socket. Without warning, he flexes his fingers, digging artificial claws into the vulnerable flesh – but again, there’s no response. Legatus’s muscles tensed, but his expression is blank as ever. There’s nobody home behind those empty eyes. Scowling now, Alban circles around to stand in front of the agent. “Maybe I should take the rest of these off?” he muses, hand coming to rest atop Legatus’s thigh, “You might be more cooperative then.” Alban clips the Netjack back on to his belt, flipping open a switchblade instead. In a single, smooth movement, he slices vertically through the fabric of Legatus’s right pant leg. The fabric falls away to expose gleaming red metal and pale flesh. Legatus tenses again. “Look at these pretty thighs,” the thief teases, “almost like a girl’s!” Pulling his glove off with his teeth, Alban reaches down to touch. “Woah! So smooth!” he remarks. Genuinely surprised, he kneads at the surprisingly soft flesh, caressing the line where metal kisses skin-

“Ah!” Legatus jerks, a soft gasp escapes him. Surprised, Alban glances up. Legatus has already schooled his expression back into one of unconcerned stoicism, and perhaps someone less attentive would have been fooled – but not Alban. No, Alban knows Legatus too well, after the thief’s many run-ins with the government’s hounds, Legatus always leading the pack. Learning to read this man was a matter of life or death. So someone else might have missed it, but Alban can see it: the quiet tension. Legatus’s eyes are bright with panic, that glassy haze of dissociation gone. His jaw is clenched, his breathing carefully even. A single bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face. Alban smirks. Oh, this might be fun after all...

>> No.27287968 [View]
File: 189 KB, 1694x1200, 1656734562140.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
27287968

>>27287799
Picture is from the blog, Alban absolutely fucked Legatus.

>> No.22043988 [View]
File: 189 KB, 1694x1200, FPyksiDWUBI6Lya.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
22043988

>>22043895
Why does Fulgur look so hot in compromising situations...

>> No.22017978 [View]
File: 189 KB, 1694x1200, @4Shifeng_4.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
22017978

I loooooove my wife. When will he play minecraft...

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