Round 20 Transcript

The lead soldier steps forward, her boots echoing ominously on the stone floor as she follows Jeane inside. The second soldier moves to flank them, positioning himself between the group and potential escape routes out back—making it clear this isn't a friendly chat or social call despite his partner's earlier words.

"You've got five minutes," he says without inflection, hand still resting casually on his taser grip. "Talk fast." His eyes flick around the church interior—taking in the scattered debris of last night's orgy, the two unconscious women slumped on pews, and the remaining sisters standing tense and defensive.

The early morning light streams through stained glass windows now, casting everything in shades of judgmental red and blue—a far cry from the warm glow that accompanied their midnight debauchery. Outside, distant sirens wail somewhere nearby—probably unrelated traffic accidents or routine patrols but still a harsh reminder of how quickly things can spiral out of control.

"You want to know what your little arrangement entails?" The female soldier's voice carries no warmth as she addresses Silra directly. "Fine. Here it is: you and your friends here are going to come quietly for 'questioning.' What happens after that depends entirely on how cooperative everyone chooses to be." Her eyes meet Jeane’s—cold, calculating, and utterly without compromise in their gaze.

The clock ticks loudly somewhere in the church's interior—a mocking reminder of time running out while they stand here naked and vulnerable. Whatever Silra agreed to when she called these goons for help? It clearly wasn't what anyone else had in mind based on this setup.

"Questioning about what exactly?" Halia steps forward, her cleric training kicking in despite obvious panic—she can’t just stand by while people are threatened without at least trying to understand the stakes. "We haven’t done anything wrong!"

The soldier's expression doesn't change. "That’s not for you to decide." She pulls out a pair of zip-tie restraints from her belt, letting them dangle menacingly between thumb and forefinger—a clear implication about what happens if they don't comply willingly.

"Last chance," she adds with exaggerated patience. "You can come quietly or we can do this the hard way. Your choice." The taser comes off her hip a fraction—just enough to make its presence more noticeable without actually drawing it yet. It's a calculated intimidation tactic designed to push them toward compliance through fear rather than force.

The room feels smaller suddenly, the air thick with unspoken threats and barely restrained violence waiting to explode if someone makes the wrong move. Jeane stands frozen mid-rant—caught between her usual bravado and the dawning realization that maybe, just maybe, she's bitten off more than even her massive veiny dick can handle this time.

Silra watches everything with that same infuriatingly calm expression while Abby seems ready to faint from sheer terror. And Hera? Hera looks like she might actually try to fight her way out of this situation despite being completely unarmed and facing two armed opponents in a confined space.

Tick... tick... tick...

The silence stretches between them—seconds that feel like hours as everyone assesses the new dynamics at play. The soldiers clearly aren't fucking around, but neither are they immediately resorting to violence yet. There's still room for negotiation or escape if someone can think clearly enough through the adrenaline and panic.

But time is running out fast—those sirens outside might be getting closer instead of further away, and who knows what kind of evidence these assholes have already gathered against them? The longer they stand here arguing, the worse their position gets.

I glare at the soldiers, my fists balling up at my sides as I fight back a surge of anger and fear. The audacity of these people to barge into our space, threaten us, and try to take control—it's infuriating.

But beneath the frustration, there's a nagging sense that Silra is right. We're vulnerable like this, exposed and outnumbered. If we resist, they could easily overpower us or call for backup. And then where would we be? In cuffs, facing God knows what charges while our secrets spill into the open.

I take a shaky breath, forcing my shoulders to relax even as every instinct screams at me to fight back. "Okay," I say slowly, hating how much it costs me to give in but knowing it's the only smart play right now. "We'll come quietly. But make no mistake—this isn't over." My eyes flick to Jeane, trying to communicate without words that she needs to swallow her pride for once and follow suit.

The soldiers don't look convinced, their postures still tense as they wait for us to move. I gesture to the pews where Hera and Halia are still unconscious—our sisters, our friends. "Let us at least get them awake first," I plead, hating how pathetic I sound but desperate not to leave anyone behind in this mess.

Silra just shrugs noncommittally, her expression unreadable as always. She's the one who got us into this situation, and now she seems content to let others clean up the fallout without even trying to fix it herself? Typical. But there will be time for recrimination later—right now, we need to focus on survival.

"Fine," I spit out through gritted teeth, stepping forward with my hands raised in surrender. "We're coming." The words taste like ash but they're necessary. Sometimes you have to bend before you can break free of a trap.

And this is certainly starting to feel like one hell of a trap...

I let out a slow breath through flared nostrils as I take in the scene unfolding before me—my own sisters trying to assert control in their various misguided ways while this outsider bitch thinks she can just stroll into our space and dictate terms? The audacity makes my skin crawl. My hand instinctively moves toward where my dick usually hangs, finding only air because I'm still naked from the orgy that now feels like a distant dream rather than the reality we were living mere hours ago.

"You speak as though you have options," I say coolly to the lead soldier—trying to project an authority that doesn't quite sit right given my current state of undress and exhaustion. "This is MY cult, MY church, and whatever debt your mistress owes for this... arrangement... will be paid with blood if necessary." The words come out harsher than intended because honestly? I'm tired of playing these games when all I want is to collapse onto something soft and sleep for days.

Still—there's a part of me that stirs despite the fatigue, some primal urge to assert dominance even when every instinct screams that this situation has spiraled far beyond my usual level of manipulation. Silra thinks she's clever arranging outside help without consulting me? Fine. Let her learn the hard way about betraying her sorority vows while these two idiots think they can play heroine and victim respectively?

"I'll hear what you have to say," I concede after a moment's consideration—because even I know when it's smarter to gather information before slaughtering my enemies. "But make no mistake: whatever deal was struck between you and our rogue sister, I will be the one deciding its terms. Not her. Not you. Me." My voice carries more bite than intended because really? The thought of anyone else calling the shots in this shitshow makes me want to scream.

I move toward the church doors with a fluid grace despite my aching body—wings half-spread as if for balance though it's more about showing off what I am even when stripped bare. Let them see exactly who they're dealing with instead of trying to hide behind post-orgasmic trauma like some pathetic civilian.

"Come along then," I say over my shoulder, voice dripping with the kind of insincere hospitality that precedes violence. "Let's discuss this like adults rather than cowering in the street like common whores caught mid-fuck."

The words are out before I can stop them—fueled by frustration and an overwhelming desire to reassert control over something, anything after the night's events have stripped away all pretense of order.