Bloody Hands, Burnt Skin, and Cigarettes

The following takes place the night before the events in the prologue:

Pandora had spent another normal and dull day trying to find a way off of Diabla and, hopefully, do some finding out about who the hell she was. She was average height and in her mid-twenties (at least that was her best guess); she had jet black hair that cascaded down her shoulders. It was thick enough to keep tied in a knot and keep it out of her face. Her eyes were a piercing blue color and she had a milk chocolate skin color--very smooth and ethereal.

The last thing she remembered was waking up in a tree. She was bare-footed but wearing some pretty serious leather pants that hugged her body. They weren't just pretty, though, they were the type used to protect skin from getting peeled off during a crash or bad re-entry. They were pants meant for a space-diver. Certain special forces or highly skilled mercs would get dropped off secretly by a freight ship just at the edge of a planet's atmosphere and handle re-entry just with the suit they wore on their body. It took years of training and incredible speed and strength. Problem was, Pandora had no fucking memory of any of this and she was only wearing the pants. She was missing the corresponding protective plate top and jacket. On top of all that she only had on a ripped tank that also hugged her C-cup tits and provided little to no protection.

Pandora tried to keep track of the number of nights she had spent on the planet by cutting notches into a corner of her shirt with the only weapon she had when she woke in the tree: a small pocket knife, convenient at least. As of the present evening she had been here for six sun settings. After making her way from the tree, she spent most of those days traipsing through the jungle toward a smell she recognized; though she wasn't sure why. She'd scrounge around for berries and leaves that seemed edible. Again how she could know which ones were safe to eat was purely instinctual and based on her gut. Her gut told her true as she hadn't been poisoned or eaten by an insect yet.

Each night she would just climb into another tree and sleep as best she could. Her agility was also convenient and helped her climb the trees with ease. She at least seemed to realize that she was physically skilled and maybe military? Whatever, she thought. I just need time and this amnesia will pass. Her nights were uneventful; she didn't dream.

By the sixth day, she managed to find her way to what looked like some sort of landing strip for space-jumpers (shitty little spaceships used for quick trips within galaxies with no cryo-sleep chambers; cryo-sleep chambers only appeared on the larger ships that traveled great distances). How the fuck did she even know what a space-jumper was anyway? Clearly she has some sort of larger knowledge.

FUCK, she thought. WHY CAN'T I REMEMBER!? She remembered waking up in a tree curled up on a large branch covered with bumps and bruises and unusual scars on her body. She remembered running her hands over herself, her scars, and wincing when she touched them.

She remembered next to nothing about her parents or her home planet. Hell, she doesn't even remember how she ended up on Diabla. All she knew was that something inside of her was telling her she desperately needed to find a way off of this planet and that she had something important she needed to do. What that meant, she had no clue. If she kept moving, eventually things would come back to her. Thus, she found herself on the landing strip. Cautiously, Pandora crept out onto the strip.

"Now what the hell do I do? I walked all the way out here and there's fucking nothing. FUUUUCK! REMEMBER!" She slapped her forehead a few times with her hand as if attempting to jumpstart it--but to no avail. She looked around the landing strip but found nothing, no sign of a recent landing, no evidence of what smell lead her here—though the smell did seem stronger at least, but it seemed to emanate from the air around her and have no point of origin.

Rather than continuing to walk, she resolved to sleep in a tree nearby for the evening--maybe a new morning would resolve why the fuck she felt compelled to walk here.

As she laid down on a substantial branch far up a tree near the landing strip she listened for a sixth evening to the sounds of the planet. The unceasing buzzing of insects, the grumbling of nocturnal predators on the forest floor below her, the occasional humid breeze, all sounds that didn't frighten her. She had realized she had a natural ability to protect herself and survive. She must be a trained hunter, a criminal, or soldier she thought. Nothing seemed quite right, however. Nothing helped her remember.

Just as she closed her eyes and let out a sigh, she caught a sound she hadn't heard before: breathing, breathing like hers. Maybe human. She opened her eyes and stalked carefully up the tree a ways to look around. Nothing. The sound was gone as quickly as she heard it.

"Well, if someone is here I could use the company. Hello?" No answer. "Whatever. If the fucker is going to try and kill me maybe I can learn a thing or two about myself or I'll be put out of my fucking misery. Win, Win.” Pandora wasn't a pessimist. She was just too annoyed and frustrated with Diabla and her circumstances to care anymore. Her personality was certainly intact—her temper and lack of patience that is.

She laid back down, closed her eyes, and dozed off.

Pandora woke up in a dark room, what looked like a cell in some slam. Great, she thought, I’m fucking dreaming. It was a small cell with filthy walls that smelled like piss. Toliet in the corner, shitty little bunk with a mattress stained with god knows what. Pretty standard. She heard the sound of several bodies walking towards her, from the smell of it, really sweaty men all with an interest in screwing her. Great. The cell door slid open, apparently the guys were guards. The four of them walked into her cell.

It was just then that Pandora realized she was naked and shackled to the wall—arms raised, her feet forced on tip-toes and her legs spread eagle. Wow, this is a great dream, I can tell, she thought lucidly; only in a dream would it take me that long to notice something like that. The four men were surprisingly unmemorable: average height, all four ugly as shit and covered with grease.

No, these aren’t just guards, these are mercenaries. Even better. The tallest had a douche-bag goatee and wore leather space-diver pants similar to the ones Pandora woke on Diabla with. He walked towards her with a glowing-hot metal poker.

“You know what we do to traitors?” The douche smirked as he gestured toward her.

“We torture them.” One of the other guys muttered in the back and chuckled to himself.

“Fuck You Martey.” Pandora found herself talking back. Maybe this was more than a dream. She spit on him and struggled against her shackles to try and kick him square in the dick. She came pretty close considering how restricted she was. ‘Martey’ took a step back and swung the hot poker at the soft flesh of her left breast, just above the nipple . The heat of the poker caused the metal to stick and sear into Pandora’s flesh. She writhed in pain and bit her lip until it bled. But, she did not scream. The mark just made her more angry.

“You guys would be nothing without me. How many marks did I find so you fuckups could come pick them up?” She struggled against her shackles again and felt one of them jiggle free on her left leg. This is definitely not a dream, Pandora thought again. It’s like I’m watching myself in a memory. Well, at least this could be useful.

“If you’re such a badass, why could never collect the marks yourself huh, Pan!? Afraid one of them would out you as the phony you are?” Martey lunged and this time pressed the poker into her soft skin just above her clit. Pandora let out a gasp and rage surged up inside her. She felt her vision enhance, like she could see in the dark. She let out a blood curdling scream of rage and freed both legs and arms from the wall and charged Martey in a rush. She came so fast he barely saw her.

Pandora ripped the poker from his hands and slammed it hard against the side of his head. Blood oozed from the wound it left behind as he crumpled to the ground. The other three rushed her naked form. She was quite a sight to see, her naked chocolate skin and shiney hair moving as if in conversation with the shadows. She was like a cornered puma defending herself. She took the poker and jammed it up the ass of the first one. His ass gurgled and made a horrible noise as he fell to the floor. The second one hesitated after witnessing the gruesomeness of poker-to-ass. He was easy. She slammed her palm hard into his pubic bone and heard the joint sever as he screamed in pain. The final guy backed away and pleaded with her on his knees.

“Please, mistress Pandora, don’t hurt me. I wasn’t even sure about this whole torture thing from the beginning. PPPLLLEASE!” The only thing Pandora hated more than sadistic fucks were pussies who just rode with whoever offered the best prize at the moment. Now that this pussy realized she won, he wanted to switch teams again. She took his head her hands.

“O! Thank you mistress! Thank—“

She drove her thumbs into his eyeballs in one motion and then drove her right knee straight up into his chin in another. He collapsed.

“Beautiful…”

She heard a deep grumble of a voice whisper from behind her. From the shadow of the back of the cell, as if out of thin air, emerged a monster of a man. Pandora was no short-stuff, she was a solid 5’8.” But this specimen cleared six feet with ease and man was he jacked. One bicep was almost the size of her head. His skin was also chocolate- creamy smooth like hers. His head was bald and he was shirtless. The excitement of Pandora’s rage quickly turned to excited arousal. She felt her nipples harden and her pussy lips moisten. Wait a second, Pandora thought, I don't even know this fucker! Why am I getting so aroused? This is way more than just a dream-memory now.

Although being naked was a little disarming around such a man she was not uncomfortable. His presence was familiar and soothing.

As he stepped further out of the deep shadow of the back of cell, she caught the glint in his eyes. They were silver and glowed like a predator’s.

“Beautiful,” Pandora muttered. He cocked his head and smirked as if making sure he heard what he thought he did.

“I mean, nice shine-job. Who hooked you up? Pope Joe?” Pandora was actually trying to make small talk with him, as the pussy juices started running down her leg. She felt herself shudder with the anticipation of feeling him inside her. She blinked hard to overcome it. Not working.

“You know Pope Joe? I didn’t think anyone else had ever made it out of the belly of Butcher Bay’s slam.”

“Well, you thought wrong.” He stepped closer so that they were less than a foot apart. She saw his hard dick pressing uncomfortably against his pants. Why did he feel so familiar? Even in this dream-memory or whatever the hell it was Pandora couldn’t uncover that.

“I feel a little left out being the only one with pants on.” He smirked as he moved within inches of her. He leaned forward and took a whiff of her hair and skin. “You even smell like a killer.”

Pandora couldn’t take it anymore. She knew how obvious it must be to him that she wanted him to fuck her. But she didn’t care. In one swift motion, she undid his belt and shoved his pants down past his hips to expose his enormous throbbing dick.

Just as she was about take him into her hands he leaned in to her, pressing himself against her naked belly and ran his tongue down her neck and bit at her sweet spot, the jugular. She could feel semen leaking out onto her belly from his dick. He obviously wanted it just as badly as she did. He pressed her closer to him with his arms, so close that she could feel his heartbeat surge throughout his body and pulsate in his cock. He whispered in her ear:

“Not yet, little girl.”

Pandora woke up on the branch in Diabla with one hand on her clit and the other on the scarred breast.
“GodDAMNIT! I can’t even get laid in my dreams. I gotta get off this fucking rock. She looked around her as the darkness was giving way to the pre-dawn twilight. The smell that led her to the landing was stronger than ever. That's it...it's his smell. Just as this occurred to her, she saw a space-jumper breaking through the atmosphere above the landing strip.