A Danger to Oneself and Others

Chapter 3

by SapphicSounds

Tags: #f/f #Human_Domestication_Guide #kidnapping #petplay #pov:bottom #sub:female #D/s #dom:female #dom:the_inescapable_reach_of_the_affini_compact #mind_control #scifi #sub:feralism #transgender_characters #violence

Hi there! If you enjoy what you're about to read, you can read through to chapter 13 of this story on my patreon right now, there, you can also get access to my discord server, early access to my work, exclusive content (including audio readings of some of my works) AND pictures of my cat (this is not a euphemism). I'd also like to mention that currently, all of my patreon income goes toward mutual aid, ongoing until I announce otherwise. So come of the smut, stay for the knowledge that your money is going to helping people in need! This work is set in the Human Domestication Guide universe.
If you'd like to commission a work from me, feel free to email me at sapphicsounds@gmail.com 
All characters depicted are 18 years of age or older, do not proceed if you are under 18 years of age.
CWs for this story include: dysphoria, violence, florets being captured by rebels, sad florets, implied transphobic slur, body horror, violence / threats of violence, trauma.

As she stared down the barrel of a gun, Clara had no choice but to finally admit it: she wasn't just paranoid, the plan was definitely not going well.

* * *

Four days after her first visit to the brig, Clara was in the process of finishing up a disappointing meal in the mess hall, when she caught the very first sign that things were on the cusp of falling apart. Up until then, things really had seemed to be on track. With Clara’s guidance, the other captives had kept up their continuous broadcast. Even after severing her connection to the other implants, wherever she went, she could hear her song quietly permeating the entirety of Hyperion’s Lantern. For the first few days, Clara had been confident she’d practically already won. It would have only been a matter of time before the rebels were sufficiently under the sway of her song. From there, the affini would be able to swoop in and claim the ship without any risk of last minute, spiteful retaliation against Clara or the imprisoned florets. The matter of contacting Annularia was still an obstacle, but Clara had been certain she could find a way. 

But, as Clara crossed the length of the ship’s mess hall to return her tray, her wandering eyes fell on one of the many occupied tables. There, she saw Sally—the woman who’s deceit had tricked Clara into leaving Annularia in the first place—sitting and chatting with a small cohort of other soldiers. That alone meant nothing, of course. What caught Clara’s attention, was the fact that every one of them wore some sort of electronic earpiece in either ear. Clara had never seen such earpieces before, which struck her as odd, considering they cropped up out of nowhere. Still, at the time, Clara had thought little of it. Or rather, the rational part of her brain had told her it was nothing. It wasn’t. 

Later that day, Clara was taking a moment to herself, attempting to relax in one of the ship’s rec rooms, only to be joined by an uninvited guest. As she lounged on the lumpy sofa, trying to relax and instead hyper fixating on her plan, Sally strode up to Clara, and sat down next to her.

“Lieutenant Bailey,” Sally murmured coolly.

“You can just call me Clara, you know.” Admittedly, Clara would rather Sally not call her anything at all, but it was best to keep up the impression that Clara thought of Sally as a friend.

Regardless, Sally seemed to ignore the gesture, instead getting straight to the point. “I was just wondering about your little pet project, the one with the rescues.”

Clara eyed the girl suspiciously, “I can’t really disclose how that’s going right now. Kind of a secretive assignment.”

With what was obviously feigned surprise, Sally exaggeratedly raised her eyebrows, and placed a hand over her chest. “Oh, stars. My apologies, then. It’s just that, well, y’see Lieutenant, I have this friend who works down there. And he tells me that the rescues are hardly in any sort of fighting shape. He says they’re just as whimpery and afraid of everyone and everything as ever.”

“It takes time to undo affini brainwashing,” Clara replied flatly. 

Eagerly, Sally leaned on. “Oh? Is that so, it’s just, you got over it awfully quickly. And I know you’re a soldier and all, but I’d think you could find a way to help them considering it only took you a matter of minutes and, well, it’s been days.” She gave Clara a smug grin, then made a show of catching herself, and showing an apologetic hand. “I’m just concerned, is all. There are a lot of people on this ship who say you’re actually a traitor, and I wouldn’t want them to think the wrong thing about you. A lot of them are saying that, well, some people just aren’t cut out to be soldiers. And whatever those weeds did to you, and did to them, it can’t be undone.”

Anger rose in Clara’s chest as she realized just what Sally was up to, but two could play at such games. “You’re right, they aren’t cut out for it. Which is why I’m remaking them. They won’t be the same people when I’m done. They’ll be new, better. Just like the affini made me more than—better than human—I’ll do the same to them.”

Sally leaned in close, eyeing Clara with unmasked suspicion. “Is that Lieutenant Bailey talking, or is that Clara Sepal, First Floret talking?” She didn’t wait for a reply, instead electing to stand from the sofa, and depart as quickly as she came in.

If the matter with those strange earpieces was enough to rouse Calra’s suspicion, her conversation with Sally was enough to set her properly on edge. Things only grew worse that evening. After her ‘duties’ were complete, Clara had elected to pay her fellow captives a visit. It was important she saw them as often as she could; she was the only emotional support and guidance the poor florets had. Besides, helping to lift their spirits was one of the only things that could put Clara in a good mood. But the moment Clara entered the cell block, she could tell something was different, wrong. Her song was in complete disarray; the harmony was completely gone, and in its place was the dissonance from before.

Clara wasted no time. She rushed down the hall, coming to a skidding halt before the cell in question to find the prisoners huddled together as usual, looking more distressed and terrified than ever. It had taken nearly an hour to properly calm them all down enough to get a few answers out of them; when she finally succeeded Clara had almost wished she’d never asked. Three rebels had paid them a visit, they’d told her, standing outside their cells and gawking at them. The exact details were lost on Clara, probably lost on the florets as well. Still, the gist of it was clear: the rebels had wanted nothing more than to toss every last one of the captive florets—Clara included—out the airlock.   

And of course Clara knew that; she wasn’t naive. She knew as well as anyone that there were sure to be plenty of rebels on the ship who would love nothing more than to see her lifeless body float off into the endless vacuum of space. Still, hearing that from the florets she was supposed to be keeping safe, it was different. Logically, Clara knew that a disgruntled few rebel troops wouldn’t be able to do much. Even so much as trying something like that would be grounds for they themselves to be spaced. That didn’t make her feel any better. 

Clara had a responsibility to keep her fellow captives safe. It was her own fault they were even in the whole mess to begin with; she was the one the rebels had wanted, not a bunch of random pets. If something happened to one of them, Clara would never be able to forgive herself. The worst part was, she couldn’t even find the strength to do something about it. That night, Clara had her first relapse in days. She spent hours cowering in her bed, clutching her pillow, crying for her owner, waiting for sleep to take her, half convinced she wouldn’t wake up. 

Of course, morning did eventually come for Clara, who found herself stressed and sleep deprived, but otherwise back in control of herself. The incident with her wards was, of course, still fresh in her mind. But with a bit of distance from the initial panic, Clara felt she could tackle it practically. She would need to do a bit of sleuthing, but if mutinous sentiments were spreading through the ship, Clara was sure she could get Trapper’s help on the matter. She just needed to get out of bed and do something about it. 

Over the course of the week or so which Clara had spent trapped aboard Hyperion’s Lantern, she’d developed something of a morning routine. Primarily, this consisted of her staring into the mirror, deliberating over her implant's continual growth, worrying that things may have finally gone too far. Really though, who was she kidding? Things had long since gone too far. There was never a point where they hadn’t; none of this was even supposed to have happened in the first place. 

It had, though, and as a result, Clara found herself standing in the mirror with her shirt off, trying to process the fact that the entirety of her back was now hidden by a blanket of leafy flowers, each producing a constant, slow trickle of Class-E and Class-C xenodrugged pollen. And that was only the beginning, in the days since Clara had first forced her implant to sprout out into the open air, the snaking network of vines just below the surface of her skin had only continued to expand further throughout her body. She could see them. They wove through her flesh like veins, coloring the skin of her neck, shoulders, and upper arms with an intricate web of green, and those were only the ones Clara could actually see. Honestly, Clara had no idea how deep and how far the network of plant-matter ran. 

Perhaps it was luck, perhaps her implant simply knew to limit its growth through Clara’s thoughts, but thankfully, there were no visible roots or flowers on any part of her body which Clara could not easily cover up. That didn’t keep Clara from wondering: how much of her was still Clara, and how much of her was just the implant? Was she even ever in control? Or was her every thought and action simply put into her head by an implant marionetting her about the ship? 

Of course, Clara knew she wasn’t her usual self. She knew that the only thing keeping her together at times was the constant steady drip of xenodrugs—the rather uncommon sort meant to actually improve cognition, awareness and coordination—from her implant, feeding her artificial confidence and bravery. Then again, maybe it didn’t matter. Clara was alive, the other florets were alive. Ensuring that never changed on her watch was all that really mattered. Existential questions could wait until everyone aboard Hyperion’s Lantern was safely in the clutches of the Affini Compact. 

After dressing, then composing herself, Clara took a moment to muster her purpose and drive, then turned to leave. That was when she heard a pounding at her door. Hardly a moment passed before her lock was bypassed, and the doors to her quarters slid right open. A gun was pushed into her face. Two men, each armed, and wearing familiar earpieces calmly stepped inside. 

* * *

They were speaking. Possibly saying something about an ‘authorized search’ of Clara’s quarters. She was too terrified to form the words to ask who, exactly, had authorized this. It probably didn’t matter anyway; they were likely lying. Doubtless, the two jarheads had—correctly—assumed Clara was a plantfucking traitor and, deciding it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission, deputized themselves to find proof. With Clara too paralyzed by fear to actually stop them, they would probably find such proof in no time if they checked under her bed, which, of course they would. What kind of idiot hides things under their bed? She was going to die, wasn’t she? Even if they didn’t just shoot her on the spot as soon as they found their proof, Trapper would surely be either unwilling, or unable to halt the demands for Clara’s swift execution. 

Besides, considering their earpieces, and the fact that Clara was fairly certain neither of them had been among those rebels she’d seen the night before, they were almost certainly acting as part of a coordinated splinter group within the ship. They likely had some degree of weight and authority behind them, even if this wasn’t an officially sanctioned search. Once they found their evidence they would kill Clara and then kill the imprisoned florets and—oh. Clara could move again. She could think; she could act. Still, something drastic and rash was out of the question, at least for the time being. While Clara was fairly certain she was a good bit faster than either of them, she wasn’t so confident she could disarm the rebel currently waving a gun in her face before he could pull the trigger. Even if she could, if shots were fired there would be an investigation into why, which meant attention and trouble. The only real small mercy Clara had was that, at the very least, the second rebel was occupied with searching her quarters; so once Clara dealt with one, the other would need to turn around and draw his weapon before he could pose any real problem. 

Keeping still, with her hands up, Clara examined her first obstacle closely. Given everything, Clara had to assume whatever these rebels were wearing on their ears had to be related to her song, probably something intended to block out the sound. Did they know what she was up to, then? Probably not, Clara could still hear her song playing in the background through the ship speakers and—she could worry about that later. The most important thing was figuring out what Clara could actually do about her current situation. And, on that note, Clara had to wonder… even if their earpieces were actually effectively reducing, or even completely blocking out her song, three to four days had passed between the time she started her broadcast, and when she first noticed anyone wearing those earpieces. Surely they had at least somewhat begun to attune to her biorhythm, right? Between that, and the fact that at this point the air in her room had to be thick with xenodrugs from her implant’s flower pollen, Clara was fairly certain she could subdue the two of them peacefully and quietly.

Confidently, Clara locked eyes with the rebel standing before her. He had just finished shouting something to his companion, but honestly, Clara couldn’t care less about what these two had to say to one another. Nothing which might come out of their mouths could possibly have much value, at least, not until they each had a bit of an attitude adjustment. To that end, Clara began to take slow, deliberate breaths; each inhale and each exhale timed perfectly with the beat of her song. These rebels could wear whatever the hell they wanted over their ears, there was no way Clara’s beat hadn’t at least saturated their subconscious minds to some extent. 

And there it was. Just from looking at the rebel, Clara could clearly see something start to shift in his stance, his posture, his gaze. He had noticed her breathing. His mind had latched onto a familiar pattern; he probably didn’t even realize he’d done it, but there he was, focusing more intently on Clara with every breath. Hardly any time at all had passed before Clara’s assailant began to adjust his own breathing to match hers. The tension in his body was evaporating, the focus in his eyes dwindling. In perfect time with Clara, the rebel took a long, heavy breath of the pollen-laden air. Clara’s implant kicked into high gear, counteracting the xenodrugs entering her lungs while, at the exact same time, she began to enjoy the distinct pleasure of watching those very same drugs take effect on someone without such a useful and cooperative piece of plant matter embedded in their spine. The soldier’s eyelids drooped, and his grip relaxed as he began to lightly sway on his feet in perfect time with Clara’s song. 

Lowering her arms, Clara plucked the gun from her new friend’s hands, and quietly crept up behind the second rebel, who was currently tossing her dresser with his back turned. There was no doubt this second rebel was already under the effects of a light xenodrug dose, all Clara had to do was push him over the edge. A flicker of realization seemed to dawn on the first rebel as his mind finally caught up with reality. She heard him call out the beginnings of a warning; it was too late. With quick, deft hands, Clara plucked a flower from her back, pounced on the man’s back, and stuffed the flower into his face. “Breath deep for me, little rebel,” Clara cooed, the flow of her words synchronizing perfectly with her rhythm. There was a moment of struggle as her opponent attempted to shake her off; it didn’t last long. With a lungful of Class-E’s straight from the source, the second rebel collapsed with a thud. 

Whirling around, Clara faced the first again, who wore an expression of confusion, worry, and exhaustion. He made no move to attack her, but just by looking at him, Clara was fairly certain he would try to run soon if she didn’t do something. Luckily, a sufficiently drugged and subdued terran was hardly difficult to control. A single command was all it took. “Be still.”

Finally certain she was in no immediate danger, Clara took a moment to catch her breath, leaning hard against a wall. Her head tilted backward to rest, but her eyes never left the two subdued rebels. Part of her wanted to just collapse back into bed, but she knew that would be risky at best, deadly at worst. That led her back to her original point: something had gone wrong with her plan, but, with two subdued and drugged up rebels at her disposal, Clara was fairly certain she could find out what. 

Hello my lovely readers! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! I'd like to take one more opportunity to plug my patreon https://www.patreon.com/sapphicsounds, where you can read up to chapter 13 of this story. You'll also get early and or ecxlusive access to other content such as erotic audio recordings AND pictures of my cat. I'd also like to mention that currently, all of my patreon income goes toward mutual aid, ongoing until I announce otherwise. So come of the smut, stay for the knowledge that your money is going to helping people in need! 

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