FANGS

After all my sobbing and begging, I was forced to sit idly and listen to computer fans and chat notifications. My cheeks were still sticky with the last tears I'd cried, and my mind was going blank as I stared at the blinding ceiling light. I was already as good as dead.

Alex stripped off his gloves, tossing them into an open garbage bag. Humming some song, he clinked the scalpel into the bathroom sink, washing his hands for a while, staring into the mirror with a crooked smile like some narcissist. I expected him to do something to me again, but he only sat in the chair by the bed.

He spun my 3D model and Tsumiki's side-by-side, dragging some sliders around and smoothing out blurry patches. After a few long minutes, he leaned back in his chair, admiring his work like he was an artist.

I kept staring at my hands. The wound on my thigh had completely dried now, leaving only a crusty red streak. My right leg was bare, the torn stocking still hanging onto the left one. I'd worn this to look cute for him, hoping to get into a real agency... I gagged again, quietly.

Alex glanced over at me. "Almost done," he muttered. "Your fans will love it. A Tsumiki girlfriend experience, with her real face as a bonus."

I couldn't say anything or even look at him. There was nothing to say to a man who saw me as data to sell, like I was merely a model in an asset store.

He stood, humming softly as he headed over to the bathroom again, putting gloves on and kneeling at the tray.

I felt more liquid rising in my stomach. My mind spun through every splatter flick I'd ever watched along with chat. Thoughts of every tool that could carve a human body apart.

He left with a thin, black wand that looked like a laser pointer. "Mouth scan. For proper texture," he crouched down in front of me, trying to pry my mouth open with a gloved finger. "Say 'ah.'"

I kept staring at the floor. My lip trembled again. I felt like a child who didn't want to open up for the dentist. But dentists never did anything wrong. This man didn't want to keep me safe.

He forced his fingers in anyway, raising my chin and prying my mouth open with his left hand. The gloves reeked of antiseptic-coated plastic, and made my throat spasm.

"Be a good girl," he muttered, flicking the scanner on. "Hold still."

Something in me snapped. I saw Emilija, my parents, my aunts and uncles, all of the people who cared for me, sobbing over an urn. I saw my chat filling with "come back :(", waiting for my next stream like a dog waiting for its owner to return. I saw my face on some ugly forum, packaged up with a price label. Every inch of my body, every sound I'd make, mapped and curated perfectly for some sicko's pleasure. I saw myself as Tsumiki in her fox form, my pelt scraped off my bones, nailed to a wall. I saw myself butchered into pieces, stuffed into a bag and dumped into a landfill. All because some bastard wanted to get his rocks off.

I refused to become a doll. A trophy. I wanted to live.

Like a vixen ensnared by a poacher, I snapped my jaws down around Alex's hand. My left molars crushed his thumb and index finger with a sickening wet crack. The bone gave before the flesh did. He screamed, his voice breaking as he yanked his hand away, ripping the remains of his fingers free. White tendons flashed between us for a split second before snapping. Hot blood spurted from his hands onto the carpet so strong that I could hear it.

Perfectly meaty. I spat the blood and bits of his fingers out, gagging from the taste of nitrile and iron.

"Fuck! You---" He clutched what was left of his hand, grimacing. Two torn stumps remained where the thumb and index finger used to be, while the end of the middle finger was bent at an awkward angle, dripping all over. "You're dead," he rasped as his good hand curled into a fist and flew toward me in a blur.

I yelped, putting my tied hands up. The impact split the side of my brow, just barely missing my temple. Seeing stars, I lurched toward his face, dragging my nails across his eye as I screamed. They snagged into the eyelid before sinking into the soft eyeball. It burst against my fingertips. Alex let out a raw, broken howl that made my ears ring, clutching the bleeding socket with his useless hand.

He grabbed my hair with the intact hand and yanked it, smashing me against the carpet. I put my hands forward, twisting and trashing wildly, clawing at his wrist.

Before he could do it again, I twisted and dropped my tied hands low, reaching blindly between his legs and locking over the one thing I could reach. I squeezed as hard as I could, crushing until he collapsed. He folded forward with a guttural, animalistic scream, letting me go as his hand went down to the floor to hold him up as he retched.

I kicked myself up and scrambled forward on my knees, pins and needles biting at my legs as the carpet squelched beneath me. Everything was too bright, too loud. I felt like I was in a horrifying nightmare. The room looked hellish, stinking of blood.

I stumbled towards the tripod, but Alex's mutilated hand grabbed my ankle and made me fall forward. I screamed and kicked back, my heel hitting his nose. He let go just enough for me to snag the cables tying my wrists around one of the tripod's legs and let it fall down next to me.

I pulled one of its legs closer and rolled onto my back. Alex was already getting up, still holding his hand to his face. Blood spilled between his fingers, staining even his teeth.

I kicked and twisted off the floor, forcing myself upright. My hold on the tripod was uncomfortable, not helped at all by my hands being slick with sweat and the cables still cutting into my wrists. I lifted it up above my head, my arms shaking.

Alex lunged at me in a blind rage, swinging his arm wildly. I screamed and swung wherever I could, the scanner mounted on the tripod lodging itself on his collarbone with a crunch. He staggered, clutching it with his useless hand, but still stood.

I swung the tripod to the side, smashing across his jaw. His head snapped to the side as he fell to one knee. He pulled on whatever he could. His torn hand couldn't grab my skirt properly, smearing it with blood and nearly pulling it off, while the intact one yanked at my cardigan hard enough to almost pull me down.

I shrieked, and brought the tripod right on top of his head. It hit with a wet clang.

Alex collapsed backwards, trying to twist onto his side and push himself off, but I kept screaming and swinging.

The sickening wet clangs rang like bells. Blood spurted out, coating the scanner, some making it onto my arms and my face. I saw nothing but red, like a cornered animal was in control of my body. My screams tore my throat, taking my voice away. I didn't stop once. Not when he twitched, not when he tried to reach toward me. Not even when he'd finally stopped moving.

I don't know how many times I brought the tripod down. I didn't keep count.

I only stopped when I couldn't hold my shaking arms up anymore, and the tripod's legs were bent into an ugly L shape. Everything was quiet now. The fans hummed silently, the chat client occasionally pinged with a notification, and I swore I could even hear a faint ad jingle from outside.

Alex had stopped moving entirely, not twitching or breathing anymore. I poked and prodded with the bent tripod leg. There was no response. Not a single movement or sound came out from him.

I slowly backed up, still hugging the tripod, my savior. My skirt clung to me, completely soaked. My feet stuck against the wet carpet. I could still taste blood, and my hands felt sticky---bits of Alex's skin and eye were still wedged under my nails.

I slid down against the wall next to the apartment door. The tripod slipped out of my hands, loudly clattering on the carpet. I flinched. Alex didn't react at all.

I stayed there, shivering and hugging my knees. In that moment, I wanted to be as small as possible.

I kept watching Alex, half-expecting some sort of movement, but he was completely still. The blood kept spreading under his head, pooling over the glistening, soaked carpet. I don't know how long I sat for, whether it was one minute or ten.

My eyes moved from him to the bathroom. The light was on, way brighter than the light here. The blue tarp by the bathtub was still there, some dark stains around the seams. A pair of scissors, more cables, duct tape and bleach were laid out on the edge. I leaned just enough to see the camera next to it all.

My stomach cramped up. Everything that'd happened just now replayed in my mind, the sounds of metal shattering bone and splitting flesh echoing over and over. I thought of the fact I'd trusted his email all along, the way I'd ignored every warning sign.

Everything he'd been planning to do to me.

I weakly leaned forward and hurled up sour chunks of iced latte onto myself, some coming through my nose. It mixed with the blood that was already there, ruining my clothes further. I coughed harder, expelling everything I could until nothing but saliva came up.

I wiped my nose and mouth with a shaking, bloodied hand, soiling my cardigan sleeve. I couldn't stay here.

I had to leave. Now.

I peeled myself off the ground, leaning against the wall. My knees wobbled so badly I could barely stand. I stumbled to the door and pressed the handle down, pushing it open.

I exited into the cold stairwell and slammed Alex's door shut, holding onto anything I could: walls, railings, fuse boxes, anything that kept me from collapsing. I left bloody footprints wherever I walked, sobbing the entire time.

Somewhere below, a young man was coming home with a bag of snacks, his face going white as he jumped at the sight of me. "Jesus Christ... are you---are you okay?"

"Please," I rasped, my voice shaking. "Please call the police. I just---he tried---I had to---" I couldn't finish my sentence.

He fumbled with his wrist tag, bringing it up to his mouth, stuttering. "E-emergency! Sun Street 15! There's a woman, her hands are tied... She's---she's covered in blood. I don't think it's hers."

Doors started opening all around at the noise. Curious voices spilled into the stairwell. Some people stared, some brought me water. A man shielded his daughter's eyes. An old lady rushed to me and threw a towel over my shoulders.

For a second, the noise was too much: all the voices, all the stares, the worry, the questions I didn't have the voice to answer. From outside, the sound of sirens got closer and closer.

For the first time that night, I felt like being grandma fox was fine after all.

For the first time, I felt like I wasn't in hell anymore.