The Farms of Bregna

BY : Ovipositivity
Category: -Misc Cartoons > General
Dragon prints: 5283
Disclaimer: I do not own Aeon Flux or any of these characters. I make no money from writing this.

Aeon Flux shimmied up the narrow metal pole, internally cursing herself for taking this mission.  She could have been warm in bed at home.  Instead, yet again, she’d volunteered to infiltrate some ominous new Bregnan installation.  Monican agents were disappearing, and their transponders all showed a last known location on or around this looming black-steel tower.  Aeon was their best.  If anyone stood a chance of getting in and back out alive, it was she.  The High Command had insisted she go at once, but if it had been up to Aeon, she would have preferred to wait.  A vicious storm had been circling the tower all day, and as dusk fell it pounced, lashing the steel struts with buffeting winds and sheeting rain.  Aeon’s black leather uniform was designed for agility, not weather-resistance, and she was soaked to the bone.

 

She vaulted off the top of the pole and landed lightly on her feet underneath a canopy of interlocking scaffolding.  The building’s main entrance was heavily guarded by bunkers, dogs, and automated turret guns, but it appeared that the facility was still under construction, and a spiderweb of scaffolds, lifts, and exposed girders crawled up one side.  Naturally these were patrolled as well, but Aeon evaded them with practiced ease.  Her lithe body contorted past security beams, through gaps and over obstacles like dark water flowing up the wall.  Oily rain stung her eyes and sluiced through her hair, ruining her signature bob.  She grimaced and continued her ascent.

 

Up ahead, a lattice of security beams sputtered and fizzed.  She slowed down to ooze through them.  Her skintight leather was an asset here-- in some places, the beams were mere inches apart, and she could barely fit between them.  The beams showed up fitfully in the driving rain.  Aeon dove under the last one and slithered up against the wall, panting.  Above her she could fear footsteps.  Craning her neck, she could see that she stood just a few feet below a balcony, on which a pair of Bregnan guards had found a dry spot.  They were muttering complaints about their duty, about the cold, and about being drawn away from the “Farm,” whatever that was.  One of them said something too quietly to hear, and his comrade chuckled.  “You dirty bastard!” he called, and there was a clap as he pounded his companion on the shoulder.

 

Aeon took a deep breath and braced herself.  Reaching up, she planted her palms against the wall and let the monofilaments in her gloves latch onto the wall.  She flipped her body up in a backwards somersault and mentally disengaged her grip as her legs cleared the low balcony wall.  Her vault took her up and over in a wide arc.  She landed lightly on her feet and spun.  The two guards, both wearing rubber ponchos and carrying SMGs, reeled backwards in alarm.  Aeon didn’t intend let them get their bearings.  She lashed out with a sideways chop at neck height which caught the closest guard.  He choked and staggered, clutching at his throat, towards the edge.  His comrade made a desperate grab for him, but the injured man wasn’t paying attention.  He reached the edge, overbalanced, and began to topple over.  For a moment it looked like he might maintain his balance.  He windmilled his arms desperately and stared at Aeon.  They locked eyes for a moment, then his center of gravity tipped too far and he fell away into the wet darkness.


The other guard whirled on her with a murderous expression, raising his gun.  Aeon spun and kicked at his wrist, knocking the gun out of his hands.  It spun away over the edge of the balcony.  He didn’t hesitate but raised his hands in a combat stance.  Aeon smiled and advanced on him.  She essayed a blow-- a simple jab with her right hand.  The guard dodged easily and circled her.  She fainted left, but he was watching her eyes, and was too seasoned to fall for it.  She settled for a roundhouse kick, which he deflected with a forearm block.  Aeon’s long limbs gave her a reach advantage, which she exploited.  The guard must have been wearing some kind of armor plating, or had subdermal hardening; he blocked her strikes without wincing or grunting.  He tried to advance inside her guard and throw a few punches of his own.  She blocked the first and gritted her teeth against the pain.  The second and third were telegraphed and she easily retreated out of range.  Time to finish this, she thought, before he gets lucky and lands a real blow.  She let her eyes flicker to the space over his shoulder and tried to hide the expression of relief that crossed her face.  He was savvy-- his eyes barely moved.  But they did move.

 

In an instant Aeon flashed forward and put her entire body behind a massive uppercut.  It lifted the guard off his feet and Aeon shoulder-barged him before he landed, knocking him over the edge.  He vanished soundlessly.  She stood with her hands on her knees, breathing heavily.

 

Without warning, she felt a heavy impact on her lower back.  It felt like she had been struck by a hammer.  As she collapsed, she saw the third guard, the one she hadn’t heard from below, advancing with a sparking stun gun in his hands.  He thumbed the trigger and a million volts crackled between its metal prongs.  Aeon groaned as the stun gun descended onto her midsection and the darkness claimed her.

 

---

 

Aeon awoke in a brightly-lit, sterile room.  She squinted at the brightness of the overhead lights until her eyes adjusted.  She was face up on a cold metal table, spread-eagled.  She tried to move an arm and found that she could not; what felt like metal bands fastened her securely to the table.  It felt like there was one at each wrist and ankle, and a second one mid-thigh and mid-bicep.  Further bands secured her midsection, her waist, and her neck.  Her captors certainly had no intention of letting her slip away.  She noted with some annoyance that her uniform had been removed as well.  Was that a ploy to put fear into her before an interrogation?  Or did it bode something more sinister?  Aeon shuddered.  Trevor Goodchild had never seemed inclined to abuse his prisoners in that respect, though he was certainly enough of a licentious pervert that she considered it possible.  She had had him before, under a variety of circumstances, and if the worst he could think to do with her was use her body, well, that was a better fate than some Monican agents had met.

 

She looked around the room, getting her bearings.  It looked less like a prison cell than a medical lab.  A table on one end held a roll of bandages, a jar of gauze, and a few instruments whose shape was menacingly vague.  Cabinets lined one wall.  Her attention was drawn overhead, to a massive chandelier-like construction.  The blindingly bright light was set in the middle of it, but it was haloed by an array of tubes, wires, gantries, and armatures that Aeon could not begin to guess the purpose of.   She shuddered.  The room didn’t remind her of an interrogation chamber… it seemed more like a surgical theater.  What did Bregna have in store for her?

Footsteps echoed in Aeon’s ears, and she perked up.  The newcomer could have been anyone-- a guard, a scientist, a doctor, even a rescue attempt from her Monican comrades.  Somehow, though, she knew it was Trevor.  He always came for her personally.  She wondered why.  Did he love her, in some weird way?  Was it just personal satisfaction at having a hand in defeating his country’s most tenacious foe?  Was he trying to learn from her?  It didn’t matter.  On those few occasions when they had not been trying to kill each other, conversation had been the last thing on Aeon’s mind.  She nodded as his face appeared in her vision.  She wasn’t exactly happy to see him, merely satisfied at having been right.

 

“Aeon, we meet again.  For the last time, I’m afraid.”  Trevor’s voice was clipped and patrician.  He always sounded a little bored, but now, there was a note of something else in his voice.  Regret?

 

“You’ve said that before, Trevor.  I think I have too.”


“Alas, poor Aeon, this time is different.  You’ve found something you weren’t supposed to find.  I’m afraid it’s out of my hands.  It has been decided that you’ll get to see this entire facility’s purpose firsthand.”  Something about the way he said that sent shivers up Aeon’s spine.  “I’ve asked to be able to deliver you something, and I will.  It’s all I can do for you.”  He pulled a syringe full of pale pink liquid out from behind his back.  “This is for the best.  Goodbye, Aeon.”  Before she could react, he plunged the syringe into her arm and depressed the plunger.  Aeon screamed and tried to thrash, but the metal bands secured her tightly.  She could barely twitch her arm.  She lay there, meek and defeated, as the pink stuff flowed into her.  At first she felt nothing, but then a warm softness seemed to permeate her limbs.  Her mind was as sharp as ever, but the aches of her fight and the bonds that secured her faded to nothing.  “A painkiller?  Trevor, what do you have in store for me?  Trevor?” Aeon called out, but Goodchild didn’t answer.  He withdrew the syringe, frowned, and shook his head sadly.  “Goodbye, Aeon,” he repeated, and left the room.

 

About ten minutes later, there was a grinding metallic noise, and four sections of the ceiling slid back.  What had seemed to be solid panels were in fact metal bulkheads that rolled on rails back into the walls, leaving behind plexiglas viewing screens.  Aeon looked up to see rows of chairs, arranged like a surgical theater.  Men and women were filing in-- some wearing military fatigues, some in lab coats, and some in fancy suits.  They took their seats and stared blankly down at her.  Aeon blushed, suddenly ashamed of her nudity.  She was used to sneaking in the shadows.  Even fully clothed, she would have felt so exposed here.  There was nothing to do but endure it, though.  Speakers in the corners of the room crackled and blared to life, and Trevor Goodchild’s voice echoed.  

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome.  I am here to present to you the Bregnan Agricultural Committee’s new Conversion Engine.  Here you will see Subject 1, a captured Monican agent, undergo what we are calling Process Alpha.  Processes Beta and Gamma are in the development stage at this time, and we hope to roll them out by the end of the year.  

You are aware of the recent difficulties we have faced with declining crop yields.  I am here to show you that using our one truly renewable resource, we can solve this problem once and for all.”

 

Crop yields?  Renewable resource?  Aeon panicked as her mind spun through dozens of horrifying possibilities.  Was she here to be butchered like a swine?  Was that why she had been dosed with painkillers?  Even Trevor Goodchild would blanch at the thought of carving up a living human being for food-- wouldn’t he?

 

“We will begin with the primary injection.  This takes some time to reach full effectiveness, so we administer it at the beginning of the process.”  

 

Above Aeon, the machine in the ceiling whirred to life.  It descended towards her like a spider on a filament, its web of tubes, arms and appendages unfolding.  Aeon saw bulbs, aerosol tips, grasping claws, and all manner of other, less identifiable things.  She shuddered in terror.  As the machine descended, two of its arms extended towards her chest.  To her horror, Aeon saw the light glinting off a pair of syringes.  “NO!  Trevor, please, no!  Turn it off!  I’ll do anything!  I’ll tell you any-!” she howled as the needles stopped, then plunged into her nipples.  

 

Whatever was in the syringes began pumping into her.  Aeon groaned and shivered as she felt something warm spreading out its lacy fingertips from the injection sites.  Her sensitive buds throbbed and itched as the syringes emptied their contents into her helpless body.  It seemed to go on forever.  The ache settled into her chest, and when the needles finally withdrew, Aeon lay there gasping.  She forced herself to look away from her livid, puffy nipples, forced herself to bite her lip to keep from screaming.  Without the painkiller she would surely be in tears now.  What was happening to her?

 

“Next, we remove redundant extremities.  This both reduces excess biomass-- an essential efficiency-- and renders the subject more compliant and less likely to escape.”  

As the syringe arms folded back up into the machine, four new arms extended outward.  These terminated in fat, bulbous lenses.  There was a hum, and then bright red beams lanced downward, speaking into the table.  Aeon could hear them crackling and fizzing.  They emitted a fierce and scorching heat.  Two of the beams positioned themselves below her elbows, and two outside her knees.  With a low whirr, they began to move towards her.

 

“No!” Aeon cried out again, though she knew it was hopeless.  She wasn’t even sure if Trevor could hear her.  Certainly the observers above could see her face, though, contorted in terror.  She could only hope that one of them would take pity on her and call this off.  “No!  Trevor, you can’t!  Please, please don’t!”  Above her, the audience watched blank-faced.  A couple of the scientists took notes.  A woman in a general’s uniform coughed once and then resumed her carefully blank expression.  Aeon watched, helpless, as the beams drew nearer.  At the last moment, she screwed her eyes shut.  That way she did not see the beams passing through her arms and legs, neatly severing them off and cauterizing the wounds at the same time.  The painkillers served to reduce the sensation to an uncomfortable heat that passed quickly, and a residual itch.  Something cool pressed itself against Aeon’s truncated limbs, and she opened her eyes.  Four metal caps had been affixed to the amputation sites, smooth chrome silver that interfaced so cleanly with her flesh that she could not even see a seam.  She waggled her shortened limbs experimentally; the chrome tips clinked against the table.  Each limb now ended in a steel ring about the width of her fist, projecting orthogonally outward from the metal disks.  As she watched, smaller robotic arms gathered up her severed limbs and carried them off somewhere.  

 

Something else was different.  To her surprise, Aeon found her view blocked.  She had never felt resentful for the small size of her bust-- in her line of work, it was an asset.  She had never been hindered the way some other operatives had by inconvenient mass on her chest.  Now, though, her modest breasts had swollen into ponderous globes.  The flesh was angry red, her nipples as hard as diamonds; they stuck out from her massive engorged breasts, leaking thin streams of milky white fluid.  Nor were they finished growing: before her eyes, she could see something moving, roiling below the surface.  Her breasts had grown into heavy, swollen udders; that was the only word for it.  They tingled fiercely, and were uncomfortably hot.  The cool streams of milk that erupted from her nipples felt cool and soothing by comparison.  Was this what the injections had done?  How large would they grow?  They were already as large as her head, and even as she watched another spasm caused them to expand by a half inch.  

 

Accompanying this growth was a strange sensation.  A warm tingling that felt not altogether unpleasant… was this arousal?  How, in this place, in these circumstances, could she feel that?  And yet now that she had considered it, it was unmistakeable.  There was a pressure building in her loins.  She could feel a dampness between her thighs.  She blushed.  Was it not enough for all of these people to witness her mutilation?  Must they see this humiliation as well?  She squirmed fitfully.  Images filled her mind unbidden: Trevor, laying down her reduced form on a bed, suckling at her now-enormous teats…

 

Biting her lip, she closed her eyes and shook her head to clear her thoughts.  The sound of Trevor’s voice brought her back to reality.

 

“As you can see, the subject’s mammary tissue is already responding to the first injection.  Milk production is already up 500% from baseline human normal.  We enhance it further with the next step of the process.  The organism you are about to see was genetically engineered for this project.  I hope you’ll agree that it is an impressive specimen.”

 

The machine above Aeon shifted on its gantry, sliding downward.  She craned her neck to watch it.  One of its arms slid down between her legs, and she groaned.  What fresh indignity was this?  An arm unfolded, its end bearing a wide glass tube with a cup on one end, like a funnel.  The flared mouth of the cup settled over her pubic mound, and there was a pinch of vacuum as it sealed itself around her pussy.  She could see, descending from the ceiling, a square glass box like a fishtank.  Something was moving inside, something with crimson skin and a long, sinuous body.  The box descended out of sight and pressed up against the glass tube, and there was the hiss as they sealed together.  Aeon had never felt more vulnerable.  She writhed in the restraints, eyes rolling.  Her arousal had built steadily-- it was a constant distraction gnawing at the back of her mind.

 

Something rubbery brushed against her nether lips and she stifled a shriek.  It rubbed her gently and withdrew.  The pressure returned, more insistently this time, probing at her.  Its touch sent shivers of ecstasy across her body.  It brushed her clit and she twitched at the intensity of the sensation.  The creature was slimy, with warm, pliant flesh.  She felt it push itself between her lips and tried her hardest to clench her pubic muscles.  It was too no avail; the creature burrowed deeper into her, wriggling its way in.  Its movements brushed her interior walls and she gasped at the waves of pleasure that rolled across her body.  She had never been this sensitive.  Was this the drugs’ doing as well?  Or something secreted by the creature?  It filled her cunt, growing wider as more and more of it entered her, and still it continued to penetrate deeper.  Her eyes rolled back into her head as an orgasm overtook her.  Her truncated limbs shivered in their restraints.

 

The creature grew ever-wider as more and more of it slid into her.  She felt it stretching her open, yet lacked the will to resist.  Its head came to rest against her cervix.  She had a moment of horror, and then she felt an insistent pressure building deep inside her.  That’s not possible!  No, please, no!  She lacked the strength to resist; another orgasm rolled over like like the tide, drowning all thought.  As she spasmed, the creature inside her made one last forceful push and slid headfirst in Aeon Flux’s womb.

 

She howled then, not in pain-- Trevor’s injection was still doing its work-- but in utter surrender.  The most sacred inner sanctum of her body had been yielded up to the Bregnan invaders.  They had cut and remade her, shaped her to their will, and planted their flag in her innermost space.  She had nothing left to give them.  Looking down, she saw her belly had swollen obscenely.  Something moved underneath her flesh as the intruder settled into its new home.  She looked nine months pregnant and her breasts, which had continued to grow, were as plump as watermelons.  The nipples glistened wetly as thin streams of milk poured down her sides and pooled on the table beneath her.  She felt a sudden urge to cradle her stomach, but could not even do that; even if she had not been restrained, her arms now ended in metal rings.

 

Despite her predicament, despite her despair, her arousal continued to build.  Her clit yearned for release.  She wanted, desperately wanted to be able to reach down there-- she’d agree to a lifetime of servitude if she could just be allowed to get herself off one more time.  She shifted back and forth, attempting to grind her soaking wet pussy against the glass dome, but the seal broke and the contraption detached itself from her and pulled away.  There was no trace of the creature except for the enormous orb of her stomach.


Trevor himself stepped into the room and looked down at Aeon with a dispassionate eye.  In one hand, he held a little metal egg, which he laid carefully on her aching rosebud.  He thumbed a switch and it came to life, vibrating intensely.  Instantly Aeon came again with one of the hardest orgasms of her life.  She grunted and groaned as her brain filled with a tide of lust that drowned all other emotions.  He removed his hand, and the egg remained there, affixed somehow.  Aeon’s soaking cunt disgorged another flood of lubrication as she came again and again.  Trevor wrinkled his nose and looked away.

 

Descending from the ceiling were four metal cables, each of which bore a carabiner clip on the end of it.  With care, Trevor hooked each carabiner into one of the rings at the end of Aeon’s limbs, and tested the fit.  When he was done he pressed a button on the side of the table and the restraints withdrew into its surface.  Aeon was free to move, but she lacked the presence of mind; all she could respond to was her body, the intense pleasure that suffused every cell and every inch of her.  Somewhere, deep down, a voice was screaming, demanding her attention, but Aeon ignored it.  That voice had never brought her anything but pain.

 

Trevor held two large bell-shaped domes of plastic, each at the end of a long clear tube.  He affixed one over Aeon’s enormously enlarged right breast, and it automatically vacuum-sealed itself to her.  Inside, a smaller tub of plastic began to pump open and closed, creating a powerful suction around her fat nipple.  A steady stream of milk began to flow outward and upward through the tube.  The feeling of her milk flowing out of her so fast and so readily ripped through Aeon’s brain and sent her directly into another orgasm, the strongest yet.  She bounced and twisted in her restraints, but the cables held her firm.  Trevor ignored her and affixed the other milking machine.  Soon two streams of fluid poured away from Aeon and into the ceiling.  Trevor looked up through the windows at the assembled scientists.

 

“Behold.  The creature has formed a symbiotic link with her.  It feeds off nutrients in her meals, and it constantly stimulates milk production above and beyond anything we have been able to produce in animals.  The caloric density of the subject’s milk is incredible.  Supplementing a few staple crops it will ensure dietary sufficiency for the whole of Bregna… once we get some more subjects that is.  As a side effect of the hormonal link between the subject and the symbiote, she is rendered docile through intense magnification of her pleasure response.  The mere act of milking renders her incapacitated, as you can see.”  He bowed.  “Are there any questions?”

 

As Aeon spasmed and twitched, hanging from the ceiling, a scientist raised a hand.  “Yes, Mr. Goodchild.  How long does this subject last?  Will we need to periodically replace them?”

Trevor smiled.  “We’ve carefully calibrated the nutritional needs of our specimens,” he replied, as a feeding tube snaked its way down Aeon’s throat.  “Using an unappealing but high-protein gruel, we can not only multiply its nutritional effects by ten or more, but we can sustain the subject for up to three decades, we estimate.  Obviously, field testing may revise our data… but the theory is sound.”

Three decades!  Part of Aeon’s mind screamed at the words, but it was drowned out by the rest which, glutted on the pleasure, dreamed only of an endless rut.  As the observers applauded politely, one wall of the room opened up, and the cables holding Aeon aloft began to slide on gantries into the darkness.  She was carried along like a side of beef, tubes running away from her and spiraling up into the ceiling.  Soon she would take her place in the Farms of Bregna.



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