Saving Lieutenant McCoola

Part 1

Soft music filled the space, blending with the warm glow of the lamps, the lazy spin of the ceiling fans, and the scent of vanilla that hung in the air like a constant reminder — this place was made for relaxation.

— Can you look me in the eyes? — Lana said quietly, softly, with a hint of tenderness and at the same time exhaustion. She leaned forward slightly, and Nick’s gaze immediately latched onto her cleavage, where, because of the angle, her breasts shifted just enough to stretch the fabric of her dress — almost indecently. She snapped her fingers sharply, like swatting away an annoying fly.

— Nick. Sergeant Nick Tyler... — she started in a commanding tone, but the moment she caught a glimpse of the warden — that tall blonde with the icy eyes — chatting with a client at a distant table, she changed her voice, making it more refined and almost coy. She forgot, just for a second, that she was no longer Captain Larry McCoola, leader of the "hole" research unit that had landed them in this strange place. No, now she was just... one of them. One of the lowly "servants of the BRB cult".

She caught herself leaning in and straightened immediately, adjusting her dress like it was nothing, though the fabric still shamelessly clung to her tits — the very same ones that now obeyed the laws of physics with terrifying realism, living their own life, forcing her to realize her new position every day, every hour, every second.

— Can you please look me in the eyes? — she repeated softly, leaning forward again, but this time a bit differently: chin resting on her hand, lips slightly pursed, her gaze sharp — the kind that couldn’t be surprised anymore, only pissed off.

Nick blinked, finally tearing his eyes away from the boob trap that, goddamn it, seemed to be acting especially provocative in that fucking dress.

— Maybe you could, I don’t know... wear something a little less revealing? — he mumbled, clearly hoping she’d at least consider it.

— No, — Lana snapped, her voice now holding clear irritation, nothing like the flirtiness or playfulness, which clashed with the soft, calming vibe of the room. — That’s how it works here. Women... — she bit her lip slightly, as if choosing her words, — they... or rather, we don’t hide ourselves here, especially if we don’t want to end up with a... kravan, — she finished almost in a whisper, but still clearly enough for him to catch that whatever that word meant, it wasn’t something you were supposed to ask about out loud.

— What the hell’s a kravan? — Nick frowned, and for the first time that evening, he looked not at her neckline, not at her breasts, which seemed to live their own tempting, rhythmic life beneath the thin fabric of her dress, but into her eyes. Her new eyes — slightly feline, with long lashes, and that same sharp, piercing squint he remembered from Captain McCoola... only now it looked different. And that made it scary.

— A kravan is... — Lana hesitated, her voice suddenly strained, sounding way too human, lacking that haughty tone he was starting to get used to through this weird, blurry evening. — It’s when they brand you. Visibly. Forever. It starts to glow, like a holographic seal, and from that moment on... you’re untouchable. But not in the way you think. More like — no one wants you anymore. Not as a woman, not as a servant. They see you as... defective...

Part 2

She sighed, and for a moment her gaze darted again toward that same warden — tall, statuesque, with perfect posture and a cold, polished-to-glass expression on her face. She was no longer chatting with the client but was now casting quick, checking glances toward Lana and the other girls who were here.

— But that’s good, isn’t it? — said Nick quietly, with a boyish kind of naivety, and for a second she almost forgot how long it had been since she'd heard that tone. — If they call you... that... "defective", you can just walk away. From this... — he glanced around, frowning, as if the very air here was messing with his head, — BRB art-brothel.

— I’m sorry... — Lana whispered, suddenly blushing like a teenager. She scooted closer to him before he could process anything and carefully rested her head on his shoulder. His body tensed immediately, like he'd just sat down on glass needles. He froze with a dumb expression, not knowing what to do — hold her? Push her away? Pull her closer? Her fingers, at the same time, slowly and uncertainly touched his chest.

— I... I just...

— Sir, I... what do I do? — Nick murmured, almost in a whisper, and that "sir", accidental and habitual, slipped out like a splinter between them, making Lana flinch.

He really didn’t know. Didn’t know how to act when it wasn’t just some woman leaning on him — but the person who, not long ago, had been his commanding officer.

— Just... hold me — said Lana suddenly, barely believing she’d said it out loud. Her voice trembled, but it still carried that familiar restraint of McCoola — now wrapped in a soft, slightly husky female tone. — Just. Hold me. I... need this.

Nick obediently, almost mechanically, lifted his arm and awkwardly wrapped it around her shoulders, like he was afraid she might break. In response, she exhaled softly and, for a moment, relaxed in his embrace — cautiously, like this was the first truly safe gesture in all her new, fucked-up existence.

— You were talking... about "leaving", — she whispered without lifting her head and gave a faint smile. — You can, yeah... But if I get a "kravan", then, God, I never thought I’d say this, but... because of the kravan I... I’ll stop being desirable — Lana finished almost silently, just with her lips, and froze, pressing her cheek against his shoulder like she was trying to hide. — And if I’m not desirable, Nick... then I’m nothing. Not here.

A brief pause followed, and through it came the distinct sounds of other guests — someone's laughter, someone’s tender whispers — and Nick could feel the warm air gently flowing from Lana’s nose onto his skin, while her breasts now lightly touched his torso. She was pressing against him like a helpless, vulnerable girl who really needed protection — like she had never once handed out ten demerits in a row or yelled at Nick so hard he considered quitting the service altogether.

— But you’re not... you’re not... — Nick started, got tangled in his own words, and sighed. — This isn’t real. You’re a captain. McCoola. You’re my goddamn commander. Shit, Larry...

— Don’t say that name here... — still in his arms, but now lifting her gaze to him, Lana replied. — No one, especially that Lasilia, should know I’m not... fuck.

This time Lana clearly felt the gaze of that same warden — Lasilia — now locked on her and her "Corvin", who was Nick at this moment. Without hesitation, she suddenly and almost demonstratively leaned in and brushed his cheek with her lips. The kiss was soft and quick, but it carried a kind of practiced professionalism.

Part 3

— What?.. — Nick flinched, clearly not expecting that, his eyes wide like a teenager caught red-handed, as he turned to her. — Why did you...

— Just shut up and... — she whispered through clenched teeth, like holding back a scream, then smiled and placed her hand on his thigh. Lasilia was still watching, not coming any closer, but her stare was no longer evaluating — it was scanning. — Pretend you're enjoying it. Even a little. Or I’ll have to...

— Have to what? — Nick asked, his voice shaking, even if just slightly. He was a sergeant, a former soldier, he'd been through a lot — even survived this fucked-up world — but this... this whole place... everything she was doing to him — the one he used to know as McCoola, as a tough, principled man — it was messing with his head worse than a drawn-out desert op.

Lana glanced toward Lasilia and tilted her head slightly, feigning obedient gratitude. Then turned back to Nick and dropped to a whisper, almost hissing:

— You really don’t want to know. Trust me. I... can be very convincing. Too convincing, actually. A gift from the local gods, you could say. A body and voice that seduce... without words, — she fell silent and ran her fingers down her thigh, like it was helping her not to break down.

— Wait... — Nick blinked. — Are you saying...

— Yes, — she cut him off, her lips trembling. — I’m not just “one of them”. I’m a priestess of the BRB. Brotherhood of Radiant Bliss. I serve by the will of the Goddess... as stupid as that sounds. This body carries the “gift” and I... — she sighed and looked away. — I have to perform the ritual of seduction. Every day. Over and over. Not because I want to — because I have to. It’s like breathing. Or clenching your fist when someone hits you. I simply can’t help it — it’s wired into me...

Nick said nothing, instinctively pulling her closer, feeling how Lana seemed to soften in his arms — like she knew exactly how to be the kind of woman who made a man feel like she belonged to him, like she’d help him, make him happy. He pushed that feeling away immediately, shaking his head like he was snapping himself out of a daze.

— Commander, Lar... Lana... I... I came for you, goddamn it — Nick muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. — I thought you were being held prisoner. That I could get you out. Bring you back... That... mage or whatever he was...

— Yeah, it was all him... I remember trading shots with him and thinking I’d died, and then... I woke up here, — Lana finished and bit her lip slightly, lowering her gaze to her hands — thin, soft, with a hint of shimmering polish on her nails, which now felt like a natural part of who she was.

She rose from the couch and walked to the back of the room, where a rolled-up thin mat lay on a low cabinet. She pulled it out, spread it across the floor, and gestured for Nick to come over. He looked at her with doubt, but obeyed. Maybe because he was tired. Maybe because her voice now sounded too gentle, too intimate to resist.

Part 4

— Lie down. On your stomach. And take off your shirt. — she said curtly, tilting her head slightly. — Your back’s like fucking concrete. One look from Lasilia and you’ll snap...

Nick snorted, but obeyed. He took off his shirt, reluctantly baring his shoulders and back — and lay down. Lana stared at him in silence. A man’s back. Strong, trained. She remembered what it was like to have a body like that. And now she knelt down beside him, and her breasts immediately shifted uncomfortably under the fabric of the dress, sparking something almost like irritation.

She placed her palms on his back. Massaged slowly. Gently at first, then with more pressure. She already knew what he liked. Knew where the tension sat. And she knew he was in shock. He still looked at her like she was a prisoner. But she...

— Listen, Nick — she began, not lifting her hands — it’s not that simple. Even if we find the hole. Even if you drag me into it... I’m not coming back. Not really. The body — it stays. You get that?

He said nothing.

— I didn’t become this by accident. It’s not a curse. It’s not a mask. It’s... a transformation. The gods of this place — or whoever the fuck they are — they don’t give things back. They take, and they grant. And now I am... this. And I’m not just a woman. I’m a priestess. My flesh is part of the cult. My body... it’s soaked in magic. In desire. In expectation. You don’t get it, Nick... — her voice trembled — sometimes I wake up and I need it. I need to be wanted. I feel it... down there — like a void that has to be filled. Not with thought. With body. They call it a “gift”. And I... I’m afraid that one day I won’t be able to stop.

She gently ran her fingers along his spine, lingering just at the small of his back.

— So tell me — how the hell do I cross that zone? In this body? With these legs that cramp after an hour of walking? With these arms that shake from carrying a fucking tray of drinks? Should I rip off the dress and sprint through a magical storm? And then what — get torn apart because one mistake and this body can’t handle it?

Silence. He still said nothing. His breathing was just faster now.

— I’ve become... weaker, Nick. But at the same time — stronger. Just not that kind of strength. Not the one you know. A different one. I didn’t survive because I had armor — I survived because I have tits and a smile. Because I know how to make a man look and... believe. And you wanna tear that down?

Lana leaned over him, her hair softly brushing his shoulder, her heavy breasts resting against his back. She was close. Too close.

— And if I do go back... who the fuck am I? You gonna bring me to the base? What am I supposed to say? — “Hello, I’m Captain McCoola, but now my Boobs are bigger than my damn head and I cry when someone yells at me”?

She gave a bitter, half-smile.

— You don’t understand, Nick. I don’t want to go back. I’m... afraid to go back. Over there — I’m nothing. But here — at least I’m a priestess. And maybe, someday... I’ll be a warden like Lasilia. If I survive, that is.

She fell silent. The music could be heard again in the room. And the soft sound of her breath — right near his ear. And the warmth of her breasts pressed against his back, reminding him — he hadn’t rescued a commander.

He had found a woman.

And maybe... she no longer wanted to be saved.