Ingrid walked into her hotel room with her food and sat on the bed. She didn’t particularly care for New York City, but the food was amazing. She propped her mass on the bed, using the multiple pillows for support. She turned the TV on, finding a rerun of the 6 o’clock news. It didn’t matter, she just needed noise. She couldn’t stand to hear herself chewing. The Thai food steamed, making her salivate. She needed to get showered and ready for the movie shoot, but she couldn’t perform hungry. Mike had said the car would be picking her up at 9pm, so she still had an hour to kill.
The previous day had been uneventful. After sleeping for most of it, Ingrid went and saw a late-night movie. It was typical American trash, but it occupied her time.
She unwrapped her utensils, her arm was still in pain. The doctor had given her antibiotics, which she’d take after eating.
Ingrid wolfed the food down, loud slurps of hot noodles. She even upended the grease and leftover bits into her mouth. She set the empty container on the nightstand and grabbed her bottle of pills.
“Ah,” she grimaced, dry swallowing two, oblong tablets. She stood, her belly full and began undressing. Ingrid knew she was going to get bloody again at the shoot, but she wanted to clean her arm.
She walked into the bathroom, setting some toiletries on the sink, and turning the shower on. She took a hair tie and put her blond hair in a ponytail before tucking it under a shower cap. She pulled the curtain back and prepared to step into the steaming shower, when the door to the room slammed.
Ingrid turned looking at the bathroom door, which was slightly ajar.
“No housekeeping,” she said, not hearing anything else. It was an odd time for housekeeping, but who else had a key to her room? There was no answer. “I said, no housekeeping, thank you,” she reached into the shower and shut the water off. A sound came from the room, a strange sound. Growling. Growling like a dog. Something else accompanied the sound; the smell of an animal. Not a clean animal, but a feral beast. She must’ve left her door cracked and a fucking stray wandered in.
The growling intensified. Ingrid had seen what dogs can do to human flesh and didn’t want to try and face the beast without a weapon. She searched the spartan room, looking at her toiletry bag. A small pair of scissors gleamed. They weren’t much, but they had a sharp point, and were better than nothing.
Still nude, she opened the door expecting an attack.
Talia stood in the middle of the room in front of the bed. She had her head down, black hair like a veil.
“You?” Ingrid said, smiling. Her prayers were answered. She’d get her chance at vengeance against Talia for cutting her arm. “You fucking bitch. Look what you did to me!” Ingrid held up her damaged arm, as if looking for sympathy. She wrinkled her nose. “And you smell like a fucking kennel.” She smiled, “I guess those vagrants had their way with you. A shame they didn’t kill you, but I guess the honor is mine.”
Talia didn’t speak or move. She just stood there, hair around her face. Her hands were at her side, her right one concealed from Ingrid’s view.
“You’re going to fucking pay,” Ingrid said, gripping the scissors, raising them up.
Talia moved her head, looking up. Her red eyes shone bright, nearly stopping Ingrid in her tracks.
Ingrid hesitated just for a moment as she rushed Talia, the scissors poised for a stab at the other woman.
Talia’s right hand shot out with serpent-like speed, the razor flashing in the lights. The blade sliced through Ingrid’s bicep, severing her brachial artery in a spray of blood.
“Ah!” Ingrid screamed, dropping the scissors. Nerves, veins and arteries sliced smoothly, the blade just missing her bone. She reached with her other arm to try and stem the blood flow. Her stitches flexed as she squeezed, releasing fresh gore.
Talia stepped up to the big woman, her face level with Ingrid’s heavy breasts.
Ingrid stood frozen, shocked by the vicious assault. The fight had been taken from her. Her mind raced, trying to figure a way out of this alive.
The smell of fresh blood drove Talia wild, but unlike the bum, she was going to savor this one. She inhaled, taking in the odor of fear and musk from Ingrid. Her hand reached out, grabbing Ingrid’s served bicep.
‘The Matron was what she was called. The Matron visited you and pain followed. Acid, needles, pliers, blowtorch, they were all tools of The Matron. Mangled corpses, some didn’t even look human. Men and women blubbering as Ingrid stood over them, selecting her first tool of torture. Nude and emaciated, praying to any deity to save them. To expose their innocence before The Matron started on them. Skin bubbled under delicate drops of acid. An accurate drip landing in urethras. Nipples pulled off with pliers, all with a grin full of massive teeth. Needles sliding into pried open eyeballs. The pop and cry when ammonia was injected. Barbed wire wrapped truncheons inserted into every orifice. Blood and shit coating the metal and wood. The Matron had no mercy.’
“Please, I have children,” Ingrid wept, the blood loss starting to take its toll. She was going numb and Talia’s touch was cool against her skin. “I’m the victim here,” she looked around with panicked eyes. “Me and you, trust me. We’re the victims. They were going to kill me if I didn’t go along with them.” Snot ran down her face.
Talia, red eyed and full of hate, stared at her, feeling the sorrow and pain she’d inflicted on innocent people. She squeezed harder, her fingers slipping into Ingrid’s wound.
“Fuck,” she said, her knees buckling. Ingrid lowered herself to eye level with Talia. “Please. My, my kids.”
Talia pulled up, snapping Ingrid’s arm. Splintered bone poked out of her skin, the marrow dark against the whiteness.
“Ah!” Ingrid collapsed, falling to the ground when Talia released her grip. She writhed in pain, screaming trying to cradle her destroyed arm.
Talia crouched down, picking up the scissors in her free hand and straddled Ingrid.
“You like torture,” Talia said, using Ingrid’s oversized chest as a seat. “No, you fucking love torture.”
Ingrid breathed heavy. Blood was soaking the carpet as her arm continued to pump. She shook her head. “No, you have it wrong. I was forced,” she spat. “I’m the fucking victim!”
Talia smiled. She folded the razor up and put it in her pocket. She held the scissors up in front of her face, admiring the point. “I don’t fucking believe you. I know about you. I know your real name. The name you took to instill fear on your countrymen and women. The Matron, right? That’s what they called you. The bringer of pain. Well, now it’s your turn.”
Ingrid’s strength was nearly sapped, but she had over 100 lbs. on Talia. Even armed, she could probably get away from her and escape. With her last bit of adrenaline-fueled strength, she pushed and bucked. Talia felt like she were made of iron and didn’t even budge.
Talia smiled and grabbed Ingrid’s hair. She jammed the scissors into her left eye. The membrane coating resisted for just a second, before popping under the sharp tool.
“Oh, my fucking God!” Ingrid thrashed uselessly against Talia and the pain in her eye. Half her vision winked out in searing agony. Red blooms of fire burned in her skull as Talia pushed the small blades deeper, twisting the handles as she did.
Ingrid moaned, her one good eye fading from the pain and blood loss.
Talia licked the blood from her hand, only furthering her hunger.
Ingrid’s one good eye watched the demon on top of her lapping up her gore. Then, something changed. The delicate features of Talia began to shift. She opened her mouth to scream, but a monstrous snout was at her throat; it took her breath away.
