L*st and Death

“Go! Get the hell out!”

Sonia yanked the lever, chambered a round, and deliberately hooked her finger over the trigger.

Having experienced firsthand what a gun could do—losing both ears—Beardface didn’t dare take her lightly. Like a predator robbed of its prey, he glared at her with seething hatred, then yanked Siron upright and used him as a human shield.

“Fine. I’ll go like you said—so put the gun down. Unless you want him to take a bullet too. Huh?”

“L-Leave him behind and—”

“This little shit’s the reason I lost my ears. Wouldn’t it be way too {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} unfair if I didn’t get to fuck him?”

Still gripping Siron’s lower stomach with interlocked hands, Beardface lifted him up like a doll and licked his neck with obscene hunger, as if savoring a drop of honey. Both Siron and Sonia flinched in horror, but Beardface didn’t care in the slightest. He even ground his crotch against Siron’s ass while staring directly into Sonia’s eyes, like the threat of death by gunfire only excited him more.

“Ugh! Fucking disgusting! Let go!”

Breathing in 3543’s scent, Beardface narrowed his eyes. The more Siron squirmed and struggled, the more aroused he became. The man’s scent, the feel of his skin—it all sent him spiraling into an uncontrollable, euphoric state. The urge to plant himself deep inside 3543 was rapidly taking over his mind.

Siron kicked him in the shin and bit down on his hand, but Beardface didn’t seem to feel pain. The man in his arms was rewriting him, changing him into something else entirely.

Sonia watched in growing terror as Siron’s breathing began to hitch. Siron could feel it clearly now: Beardface’s rut was about to start. And Siron’s body was opening in response. A confused, horrifying arousal reared its head, wholly unwelcome.

“Aah, ngh—You feel that? Huh? You feel my cock?”

“F-Fuck! You filthy fuck!”

Beardface rubbed his cock—still blocked by his pants—between Siron’s ass cheeks, smearing sticky precum all over him. Siron twisted with everything he had, throwing his weight around until he finally broke free. As Beardface lunged to grab him again, Siron ducked, seized the man’s arm, and shifted his center of gravity—tossing him forward.

Beardface’s body flipped through the air, crashing to the ground with his head thudding against the dirt.

“Sonia! Shoot him! Shoot! He’s fucking insane!”

Siron scrambled behind Sonia, screaming. Sonia, panicking, looked back and forth between them and threw the gun at Siron.

“I—I can’t! You do it!”

“M-Me?!”

“Yes! He’s in rut! Shoot him! Hurry!”

Sonia was trembling uncontrollably, her voice desperate and terrified. Siron reflexively raised the gun and pointed it at Beardface, adopting a shaky firing stance. But the man, rabid with rut, wasn’t the least bit intimidated. He advanced, one step at a time.

“D-Don’t come any closer! Stay back!”

“Shoot! Shoot him now!”

Sonia grabbed Siron from behind and shrieked like a banshee. Siron’s mind spiraled in a chaotic mess of panic and resolve.

“Do it! Now! Shoot!”

Just as Siron’s finger began to squeeze the trigger, a powerful shot rang out from across the clearing. Something sliced through the air and struck Beardface square in the back.

“GRAAGH!”

Beardface twisted in agony like he’d been stung by a hornet, reaching back toward the thing lodged in him.

“Ghh, ugh! Get it off! Get—it—”

His words cut off. A few seconds later, his body slackened, then fell to the ground with a dull, heavy thud, like a felled tree.

Roughly ten meters away stood the Short Alpha, arms relaxed and posture tilted, calmly staring at Siron.

“You can relax now. Put the gun down, yeah?”

Siron gulped and looked between the rifle in his hands and the Short Alpha, who was now tucking the tranquilizer gun back into his waistband.

Was this... my chance?

His heart was pounding. His whole body was flushed, his blood still rushing from adrenaline and residual arousal. An action movie scenario flickered through his mind—rescuing Baekgyeong, escaping the island in a blaze of gunfire. One-shot kills, collecting bullets from corpses, clearing a path...

But without a boat or plane, what good was it?

Blaming the inevitable failure on the lack of an escape route, Siron let out a breath and lowered the rifle onto the patch of ground the Short Alpha indicated.

“Back up. Stand against the wall.”

With another reluctant sigh, Siron obeyed, backing up until he was pressed to the wall.

The Short Alpha easily retrieved Beardface’s rifle, then deftly removed the casing and popped the magazine, stuffing it into his pocket. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, like sniffing the air for something.

He shivered faintly and rubbed his arm.

“Sonia. Was he seriously in rut?”

Sonia hesitated, then nodded.

“He... seemed like it.”

“That’s weird. Ted’s rut isn’t supposed to start for another week.”

He muttered to himself and yanked the tranquilizer dart from Beardface’s back. Then he looked down at the collapsed brute before pulling out a radio and speaking into it—giving an order to remove Beardface and relaying his location. As he spoke, he looked around casually.

Then his eyes flicked down—landing squarely on the bulge in Siron’s pants.

Like a soccer player blocking a free kick, Siron clapped his hands over his crotch in a panic.

“...You got hard? Even now?”

“I-It’s just a fear response.”

He couldn’t say it was because of Beardface’s pheromones. The excuse was thin, but the Short Alpha seemed to consider it seriously.

“You the type that gets hard from fear or stress?”

“...Not usually.”

“But it happens sometimes.”

He stroked his smooth chin, murmuring thoughtfully.

“Must be something to see when you’re in rut.”

Lost in his own musings, he didn’t notice the way Siron’s face went pale.

“Alright. Back to work.”

“Back to...?”

“Weren’t you picking something? Finish what you were doing.”

He nodded toward the ruined herb bed and the overturned basket. Under the Short Alpha’s watchful eye, Siron reluctantly returned to the field. Behind him, Sonia slipped silently back into the kitchen through the back door.

Siron crouched and began picking up cilantro leaves, shaking off the dirt and adding broken stalks and roots to the basket. That was when something shiny caught his eye.

A device—roughly the size of a cellphone, with a short antenna protruding half a hand’s length from it. A few centimeters away lay a separate battery.

It was the radio Beardface had dropped.

Siron grabbed it on instinct and stuffed it into the basket. Before he knew it, he’d begun plucking herbs Sonia hadn’t even asked for, covering the radio with a random mess of leaves and stems. Then he stood and, as casually as he could, walked past the Short Alpha toward the storage building.

“Wait.”

The Short Alpha stopped him.

Siron froze, heart dropping into his stomach. He watched nervously as the man circled him slowly, scanning him head to toe.

Did he see me take it? Is it the pheromones? Did I let something slip?

“You...”

The Short Alpha didn’t finish right away. He looked like he’d noticed something but wasn’t sure how to interpret it.

“...Yes?”

“Never mind. Go on.”

His eyes lingered on Siron’s worried expression for a moment longer, then he waved him off as if too annoyed to deal with it.

Once inside, Siron slammed the door shut and locked the bolts. Back pressed to the wood, he clutched his chest. Holding his breath like that had left him dizzy and aching, like he’d just sprinted a hundred meters.

Without waiting for his pulse to settle, Siron headed straight to the pantry. He dug around the bottom shelf and found a suitable gap to hide the radio—about five or six steps from where Sonia’s suspicious blue bag had been. It was shielded by the central display shelf, out of the CCTV’s line of sight.

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