Silkwork Productions Presents a Sly LeKoupa Production: "One

[TCR]

Silkwork Productions Presents...

A Sly LeKoupa Production....




[This message has been edited by TCR (edited 19 July 2001).]

[TCR]

"One of Us."

Warning: The following contains mild sexual references.

Disclaimer: The names have been altered to protect the innocent.

"Don’t worry, mate," Campo assured him. "You’re one of us."

Richo said nothing and stared out the window. He and Campo were driving to the MCG for what the Coach had labeled a "Mini-Crisis Meeting." But he knew he’d be central to it. Speculation about his kicking, his on-field demeanor and whether he should be traded had been the focus during the week and there was no doubt it’d be discussed extensively in any sort of meeting. Damn, it could even be the cause of the meeting – not that Richo knew that for certain. But it was possible.

All things were possible.

And it was beginning to make him feel like a total outcast.

Almost as if Campo had read his mind, he said, "Don’t worry, mate. You’re one of us."

The rest of the drive went on in silence, Richo’s only real company his pensive thoughts. Campo seemed to realize the internal struggle he was undergoing and respectfully kept his distance. Richo was appreciative of that. By the time they arrived at the MCG, Richo had sunken so deep into his reverie that Campo had to reach across and shake him by the shoulder just to get his attention.

"We’re here, mate, come on!"

Richo started, turned and nodded. He got out of the car and looked around. They were in the parking-lot. He checked his watch and saw it was getting on 10:00 p.m. – this was going to be a pretty late meeting. But by the sight of the other cars in the parking-lot, the rest of the players – and Danny – were already here.

"Hey, Richo, come on!" Campo had to prompt him again.

Richo jogged after Campo, who was already heading toward the Main Building. As he loped after the Captain at a leisurely canter, Richo had a bizarre and irrational concern that his hamstring would go – just like that. It had happened before. He could bullock his way through packs and soar through the air, but it seemed that it was always the simplest things which grounded him – and grounded him good.

Campo was already at the door by the time Richo caught up to him. The Captain opened it and ushered Richo in, then followed him in. The resounding ~click~ as Campo locked the door caught Richo unawares and he turned to the other with a quizzical look on his face. "Why’d you lock the door?" Richo asked.

"Danny told me to," was all Campo said.

Richo shrugged – mainly to himself – and started to head up the stairs, but Campo grabbed him by the elbow. He pointed to the corresponding stairwell which headed down into the basement. "Nah, down this way, mate," he said.

"Into the basement?" Richo asked.

Campo nodded.

"You’re not planning a surprise birthday party for me or something, are you?" Richo joked nervously, a girlish tremor creeping into his voice.

"Nah, not at all," Campo answered quite seriously. "Come on."

Campo lead Richo down the stairs and into the basement, which was a mess. It seemed everybody had the same idea – if there was something unsightly which could potentially detract from the idyllic beauty of the MCG, it was shoved into the basement. Out of mind, out of sight.

Campo threaded the way through an array of numerous boxes, promotional plaques, old and broken chairs, flags, passed Ron Barassi and other decrepit and unwanted items. It was like touring a Museum nobody wanted to visit. Finally, they reached the furthest wall.

"What’re we doing here?" Richo frowned. Now he was getting really nervous.

Campo just grinned at him and rapped upon the wall. Momentarily a panel swiveled open. Richo jumped back but Campo was unfazed. "This way, mate," he said, skipping off into the darkness.

Richo swallowed apprehensively, steeled himself, and then followed.

He was immediately plunged into darkness. He couldn’t see further than a foot in front of him. "Campo?" he called, his voice echoing ominously.

"Just keep on heading straight, mate!" Campo’s voice drifted back from the darkness. He sounded quite some distance ahead now.

The walk through the darkness seemed interminable. Richo wasn’t sure how long he walked. After a while, he began to count silently to himself. He’d just about reached three hundred when suddenly the ground disappeared beneath him.

Richo plummeted, hit the ground and began to roll down what felt like a precarious ramp. He struggled to gain control of his descent, flattening himself face-down, his roll bottoming out into a slide. But it was impossible to slow himself; with each and every foot he slid his acceleration seemed to double. Realizing it was hopeless, Richo begun to scream.

It was only seconds later that he was catapulted forward from the ramp, light blinding his eyes. He hit the floor – a floor – and rolled forward uncontrollably. When his momentum ceased, he was face-first with a pair of shoes. Slowly, Richo looked up and saw the face of Danny. Danny smiled at Richo and offered a hand.

"It’s all right, Richo," Danny said. "Give me your hand."

Richo tentatively took Danny’s hand and effortlessly, the Coach lifted him back to his feet. Richo looked around stupidly. He saw that he was in what appeared to be a large and ancient catacomb – there was no doubt that it predated the MCG. The architects and builders of the MCG must have unknowingly constructed the great Stadium on top of it.

To either side stood most of his Richmond teammates – including Campo. In front of him was darkness, but Richo could just barely distinguish a silhouette. It looked like a person, but he couldn’t be sure. "What’s going on, Danny?" he asked tremulously.

Danny put a comforting hand on Richo’s shoulder and squeezed. "Don’t worry, Richo," he said. "You’re one of us."

"Or you will be," a sibilant voice said from the darkness.

Richo leapt back in apprehension – he knew that voice! Danny continued to smile at him. "Don’t be frightened," Danny reiterated. "You’ll be one of us."

"One of us," the rest of the Team intoned quietly, respectfully.

Richo knew he had to get out of there and he had to get out of there now! He turned to bolt, but Danny tackled him around the waist. Several other players – including Campo – rushed forward to grab him by the arms. Richo struggled mightily, but there were too many and they were too strong. They forced him around to face the darkness.

"Hold him, boys," the sibilant voice said from the darkness.

It seemed impossible but their grip tightened.

The figure in the darkness slowly started to come forward. As the silhouette became more and more distinguishable, Richo could see it was definitely a woman – or at least he thought it was. But preceding her were the Kellaway brothers. They were crawling on their hands and knees, totally naked bar for a pair of studded leather collars they wore around their necks. Chains – like dog-leashes – extended from them and into each hand of the silhouette.

Richo tried to break free again but couldn’t.

"You’ll be one of us, Richo," Danny said.

"One of us," the rest of the players intoned once more.

As the Kellaways crawled forward the figure emerged from the darkness. Richo gasped in horror at the sight of her. She wore knee-high leather boots with 6-inch stiletto-heels, extremely tight black hotpants, a corset which accentuated the thrust of her heaving bosom and elbow-high, gloves. Every move seemed to threaten to horrifically spill her out of her outfit. Finally, a mask over her eyes – much like The Lone Ranger wore – covered the upper portion of her face, but it could never disguise her identity from Richo.

"Caro!" he gasped, then gagged at the sight of her.

"Caro is gone,." she said. "You may call me...Trollwoman!"

She strutted forward, coming to within inches of Richo as the Kellaways sniffed at the backsides of the rest of the players. Reaching out with one hand, she caressed Richo’s cheek. Richo shuddered. He couldn’t control it. An icy chill ran up his spine.

"You’ve been a diss-appointment of late, Risho," Trollwoman said to him. "In-siting speculation instead of inspiring your Teammates. You’re failing in being one of us."

"One of us," his Teammates intoned.

She handed the leashes of the Kellaways to Danny, then turned and strutted away. Richo quickly averted his eyes from her posterior, but Danny and his Teammates were fixated at the sight of her. Swiveling on one heel, she turned back to face Richo.

"Look at me, Risho," she said.

Richo wanted to resist but couldn’t – her voice compelled him.

"You musst become one of us."

"One of us," the players intoned.

"Only this way can you take the road to successs," Trollwoman said.

At a nod from her, the rest of the players dragged Richo down to a kneeling position. Against he struggled to fight free, just to resist, but couldn’t. Trollwoman strutted forward, coming to stand right over Richo. She took his face in both her hands and lifted it, forcing him to make eye contact.

"What are you going to do?" Richo asked, his voice quavering with fear.

"You must become one of us!" Trollwoman hissed tersely.

"One of us," the players said.

"Hold his face!" Trollwoman ordered.

Danny and Campo grabbed his face by each side and held it in position while several more players grabbed him by the arms. Now it was simply impossible to move. Every limb was being restrained by his Teammates. He could barely breathe.

Trollwoman reached up to the right side of her corset and pulled it down. Her breast spilled out onto Richo’s face. He tried to pull away but the cold heaving flesh smothered him, the leather nipple pressed against his lips. He felt Trollwoman’s hands go to the back of his head and pull him closer.

"Ssssuckle!" Trollwoman exulted. "Sssuckle and become one of us!"

"One of us!" the players chorused fervently.

Richo gagged as an icy-cold liquid oozed from her nipple and seeped into his mouth. It tasted vile and bitter and seemed to writhe and progress with a life of its own. He tried to cough it out but it seemed to grip at his tongue as it slowly slid down toward his throat, blocking his airways. He gagged, struggling for breath. Dizziness swept over him. He felt as if he was going to pass into unconsciousness.

And then it was through, falling like a pellet of water from the faucet.

Richo was suddenly aware of his teammates releasing him as he fell to the ground. They spread around him in a circle while Trollwoman readjusted her corset for the sake of decency. Then she moved forward, coming to stand over Richo with one foot planted to either side of his torso. Richo opened his eyes and looked up at her.

"You will become one of my troglodytes," Trollwoman said to him, "as have your Teammates." She gestured expansively to the others.

"Never!" Richo shouted defiantly. "I’ll never become your plaything!"

"But you already are, Risho," Trollwoman countered. "You’ll become one of us."

"One of us," the players intoned.

Suddenly, Richo felt a pain in the pit of his stomach, like a sharp cramp. He gasped and the pain deepened and begun to spread. He clutched at his belly as the cramps began to wrack at him. The agony was incredible. The pain felt like a sharp knife twisting and twisting and twisting in the very depths of his gut. He began to writhe on the floor.

"What have you done to me?" he screamed. What had he swallowed? he wondered.

Trollwoman lifted her head back and laughed, the sound echoing in the chamber. Then she stepped from Richo and moved back to watch his convulsions with sheer orgasmic delight on her face.

Richo reached for the hem of his T-shirt and lifted it. He could see the flesh of his stomach distend, as if something was trying to fight its way out of him. He wailed. The pain itself felt like it was going to kill him.

"Soon, you’ll be one of us," Trollwoman said.

"One of us," the players chorused, and then begun to chant over and over, like a catechism, "One of us, one of us, one of us, one of us..."

Something emerged from his bellybutton and with horror, Richo saw that it was a finger peeking up, like a worm emerging from a wormhole to bask in the morning Sun. It pirouetted, as if surveying its surroundings. Now Richo’s screams turned from pain to horror and back again as the finger withdrew back into the confines of his stomach. Then, moments later, a whole fist punched its way out. Blood splattered across his stomach.

"Nooo!" Richo screamed. In the furthest recesses of his mind it occurred to him that where there was one hand, there was bound to be another.

And shortly, the other forked up, splitting his navel open and shearing his flesh. Richo’s screams filled the chamber and blanketed out the intonations of his Teammates chanting, "One of us, one of us..." as the hands spread, pulling aside in opposite directions and ripping his stomach as if it were no more than gift-wrapping around a present on Christmas morning.

The hands reached out, extending until the arms were showing to the elbows. Bracing themselves upon the floor, bloodied fingers splayed, the hands pushed, bringing out the rest of the body of the emerging figure. First came the head mopped in scruffy dark hair, then the broad bull-like neck and the expansive shoulders. Richo’s screams began to taper-off as his strength deserted him, his struggles growing feebler.

By now, the figure emerging from his stomach was out to the hips and then seemed to get caught. The figure kicked and flailed to fight his way free, shearing Richo in two. The upper-half of Richo’s body got caught on one foot and the figure kicked, sending Richo’s torso into the wall, where he splattered and then slid to the floor.

Barely alive and fading fast, Richo saw the figure stand tall and erect. He was totally naked, and while he was covered in gore and blood Richo had no problems recognizing who it was. Nevertheless, as the figure turned around, Richo couldn’t help feeling totally stunned when he found he was looking at a complete duplicate of himself.

His Teammates and Danny prostrated themselves around the duplicate-Richo and Trollwoman. Their continuing chant took on a zealous note. "One of us! One of us! One of us! One of us! One of us!" they sang over and over, louder and louder with each repetition.

Trollwoman held out her hand and the duplicate-Richo knelt by her and kissed it, then prostrated himself. "I am yours to command," he said obsequiously.

Trollwoman smiled hideously. "Successss awaits," she said. Then she turned to look directly at Richo. "No more incompetence," she went on, "no more imitations." She threw her arms up imploringly to the heavens and roared, "To successss, my Troglodytes!!!"

The very last image Richo saw before his strength and heart gave out were the guys he’d thought were his Teammates – Trollwoman’s Troglodytes - crawling up to her and groveling and fawning at her feet while they sonorously continued their chant.

With his dying thought, he concluded some things weren’t worth fighting for.

And then he knew no more...

THE END?


[This message has been edited by TCR (edited 19 July 2001).]

[magpie joffa]

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[magpie24]

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[psychosupporter]

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