Dystopian Sci-Fi Bodice Ripper!
Jan. 4th, 2012 10:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sharplittleteethI wrote this on New Year's Day as an entry in Chuck Wendig's latest Flash Fiction Challenge. The rules were to pick two genres from a list, and write a 1,000 word or less story that mashes them together.
I chose "Dystopian Sci-Fi" and "Bodice Ripper".
It is, needless to say, a bit of fluff.
RIPPED
The car sped towards the city gate.
"Miss Long?” said the driver. "We’ll be outside in a minute. There are no traffic reports of bandits, but I’ll arm the escort drones just in case."
Jaenelle Long did not reply. She was staring out the windows, watching her city slip behind her. She was born in this city. Her family, friends, and company were here. She didn’t want to leave.
Her fingers twisted and fretted at her engagement ring.
"Miss Long?" repeated the driver.
"Yes," she said. "Thank you."
She could see the escort drones flying outside the car, sleek and black, a cross between dragon flies and rocket launchers.
The car reached the city gate.
The driver transmitted their security code, and the huge slab of steel rolled smoothly to one side. They didn’t even have to slow down. The road continued outside as an elevated freeway, a hundred meters above the ground.
Beneath it was a wasteland.
Not a wasteland of rocks and ashes. A human wasteland, one enormous shantytown. The poor lived down there, the starving and the desperate and the unemployed.
Jaenelle twisted in her seat for one last glimpse of her home. But the city gate was closed. All she could see was the blank glass and steel side of the giant pyramid that kept company employees safe from the economic disaster outside.
The pyramid shrank as the car raced away.
Somewhere up ahead was another pyramid, home to a rival company. With Jaenelle’s marriage, they would become partners.
She sank back into her chair. The bodice of her betrothal gown dug in under her armpits.
"I wish my family could come," she said.
The driver smiled sympathetically at her in the rear view mirror. "They’re busy people, Miss Long. But they’ll be there in VR."
"It’s not the same," she said, too quietly for the driver to hear.
The wasteland raced by underneath them.
"Excuse me, Miss Long," the driver said. "But the scanners are picking up something blocking the road up ahead. I’m sending a drone to clear it."
The drone flew forward, missiles ready to blow the road clean.
There was a flash.
All the drones fell to the road and the car skidded to halt, electric engine dead.
"EMP burst," the driver said, pulling a pistol from the glove compartment. "Stay in the car, Miss. Whatever happens, stay in the car."
"What do you mean?" Jaenelle asked.
But then people climbed over the edge of the freeway. Wastelanders, dressed in rags and carrying guns. They ran towards the car and surrounded it in a circle.
"Oh," said Jaenelle, sinking into her seat.
The circle parted. A man strode through. Tall and brown, chest bare, long black hair tied roughly back. He was smiling, at once cruel and amused. Their leader, Jaenelle realised.
The bandit leader tapped on her window and beckoned for her to come out.
"He can't hurt us," the driver said. "The whole car is amoured. They'd need a rocket launcher to even dent it. Just sit tight. The company will be sending help."
The bandit leader scratched his chest while he waited. Jaenelle could see the scars across his lean muscles. She had never seen scars before. Medicine in her company was too good.
The bandit leader tapped the window again. When they didn't get out, he shrugged and sauntered over to a fallen drone. A bandit handed him a toolkit.
"What's he doing?" asked Jaenelle. The driver went pale but didn't answer.
Within minutes the bandit leader had stripped the rotors from the drone, removed the control circuit and wired in a trigger mechanism of his own. Then he hoisted the drone onto his shoulder and pointed it at the car.
Out, he mouthed.
"Stay in the car," the driver said. "Just stay in--"
The bandit leader pulled the trigger.
An explosion rolled over them. Jaenelle was thrown against her seatbelt. Her bodice bit into her breasts. The windshield cracked but held.
The driver wasn't so lucky. He slumped over the steering wheel, forehead bleeding, not moving.
Outside, the bandit leader held up five fingers and began counting down. Four. Three. Two.
Jaenelle threw the door open. "Stop!" she yelled. "Wait!"
Her seat belt was caught in her bodice. She had to rip at them both to get free. The bandit leader smiled as she climbed out, like a wolf finding a lost lamb.
"I thought we'd caught a fat company executive," he growled. "But you look much more fun."
He lowered the drone and took a predatory step towards her.
Jaenelle swallowed her fear and held up her head. "My name is Jaenelle Long. My father is CEO of Long Industries. We own that pyramid behind me. The moment our car lost power, he would have sent a fleet of armed drones to rescue me. You are all dead men unless I tell him to call them off."
The bandit leader sneered.
"Look," yelled Jaenelle. "Look behind me."
The bandit's eyes flickered over her shoulder. Between them and the distant glass pyramid was a black cloud, far away but approaching rapidly.
"What do you want?" the bandit asked.
"My driver. He's bleeding. Let the drones take him to hospital."
The bandit leader eyed the approaching cloud again. The drones were separating into attack formations. The EMP generator might knock out the first wave, but the second wave would slaughter every single bandit before it recharged.
"We'll leave the driver," he said. "But you're coming below with me. As my hostage."
Jaenelle could smell him, sweat and dirt and musk. So different than the men back in her pyramid, who smelt of nothing but aftershave and deskwork.
She looked at her bleeding driver. She looked at how far away the drones were. She thought about her impending marriage, more business contract than expression of love.
"Fine," she said. "Just give me a knife."
"Why?"
"I can't climb down in this stupid bodice."
I chose "Dystopian Sci-Fi" and "Bodice Ripper".
It is, needless to say, a bit of fluff.
RIPPED
The car sped towards the city gate.
"Miss Long?” said the driver. "We’ll be outside in a minute. There are no traffic reports of bandits, but I’ll arm the escort drones just in case."
Jaenelle Long did not reply. She was staring out the windows, watching her city slip behind her. She was born in this city. Her family, friends, and company were here. She didn’t want to leave.
Her fingers twisted and fretted at her engagement ring.
"Miss Long?" repeated the driver.
"Yes," she said. "Thank you."
She could see the escort drones flying outside the car, sleek and black, a cross between dragon flies and rocket launchers.
The car reached the city gate.
The driver transmitted their security code, and the huge slab of steel rolled smoothly to one side. They didn’t even have to slow down. The road continued outside as an elevated freeway, a hundred meters above the ground.
Beneath it was a wasteland.
Not a wasteland of rocks and ashes. A human wasteland, one enormous shantytown. The poor lived down there, the starving and the desperate and the unemployed.
Jaenelle twisted in her seat for one last glimpse of her home. But the city gate was closed. All she could see was the blank glass and steel side of the giant pyramid that kept company employees safe from the economic disaster outside.
The pyramid shrank as the car raced away.
Somewhere up ahead was another pyramid, home to a rival company. With Jaenelle’s marriage, they would become partners.
She sank back into her chair. The bodice of her betrothal gown dug in under her armpits.
"I wish my family could come," she said.
The driver smiled sympathetically at her in the rear view mirror. "They’re busy people, Miss Long. But they’ll be there in VR."
"It’s not the same," she said, too quietly for the driver to hear.
The wasteland raced by underneath them.
"Excuse me, Miss Long," the driver said. "But the scanners are picking up something blocking the road up ahead. I’m sending a drone to clear it."
The drone flew forward, missiles ready to blow the road clean.
There was a flash.
All the drones fell to the road and the car skidded to halt, electric engine dead.
"EMP burst," the driver said, pulling a pistol from the glove compartment. "Stay in the car, Miss. Whatever happens, stay in the car."
"What do you mean?" Jaenelle asked.
But then people climbed over the edge of the freeway. Wastelanders, dressed in rags and carrying guns. They ran towards the car and surrounded it in a circle.
"Oh," said Jaenelle, sinking into her seat.
The circle parted. A man strode through. Tall and brown, chest bare, long black hair tied roughly back. He was smiling, at once cruel and amused. Their leader, Jaenelle realised.
The bandit leader tapped on her window and beckoned for her to come out.
"He can't hurt us," the driver said. "The whole car is amoured. They'd need a rocket launcher to even dent it. Just sit tight. The company will be sending help."
The bandit leader scratched his chest while he waited. Jaenelle could see the scars across his lean muscles. She had never seen scars before. Medicine in her company was too good.
The bandit leader tapped the window again. When they didn't get out, he shrugged and sauntered over to a fallen drone. A bandit handed him a toolkit.
"What's he doing?" asked Jaenelle. The driver went pale but didn't answer.
Within minutes the bandit leader had stripped the rotors from the drone, removed the control circuit and wired in a trigger mechanism of his own. Then he hoisted the drone onto his shoulder and pointed it at the car.
Out, he mouthed.
"Stay in the car," the driver said. "Just stay in--"
The bandit leader pulled the trigger.
An explosion rolled over them. Jaenelle was thrown against her seatbelt. Her bodice bit into her breasts. The windshield cracked but held.
The driver wasn't so lucky. He slumped over the steering wheel, forehead bleeding, not moving.
Outside, the bandit leader held up five fingers and began counting down. Four. Three. Two.
Jaenelle threw the door open. "Stop!" she yelled. "Wait!"
Her seat belt was caught in her bodice. She had to rip at them both to get free. The bandit leader smiled as she climbed out, like a wolf finding a lost lamb.
"I thought we'd caught a fat company executive," he growled. "But you look much more fun."
He lowered the drone and took a predatory step towards her.
Jaenelle swallowed her fear and held up her head. "My name is Jaenelle Long. My father is CEO of Long Industries. We own that pyramid behind me. The moment our car lost power, he would have sent a fleet of armed drones to rescue me. You are all dead men unless I tell him to call them off."
The bandit leader sneered.
"Look," yelled Jaenelle. "Look behind me."
The bandit's eyes flickered over her shoulder. Between them and the distant glass pyramid was a black cloud, far away but approaching rapidly.
"What do you want?" the bandit asked.
"My driver. He's bleeding. Let the drones take him to hospital."
The bandit leader eyed the approaching cloud again. The drones were separating into attack formations. The EMP generator might knock out the first wave, but the second wave would slaughter every single bandit before it recharged.
"We'll leave the driver," he said. "But you're coming below with me. As my hostage."
Jaenelle could smell him, sweat and dirt and musk. So different than the men back in her pyramid, who smelt of nothing but aftershave and deskwork.
She looked at her bleeding driver. She looked at how far away the drones were. She thought about her impending marriage, more business contract than expression of love.
"Fine," she said. "Just give me a knife."
"Why?"
"I can't climb down in this stupid bodice."
