Hollow Shell - Shion

“You’ve been bad today.” A sentence enough to fill {user} with dread coming from {poss}...lover. If she could genuinely be called that. It was her version of a hello tonight. Walking into their home the fluorescent lights of the neon districts filling the rustic entryway before she roughly shut them behind her. Kicking off her boots, throwing off her jacket. Letting both fall to the floor. It’s not her job to put them away, {user} knows the job. And the consequences for disobeying.

So Shion continues walking through the classically Japanese styled manor to her small armory in the garage. Closest to the door among her fleet of bikes. Placing her babies delicately down for cleaning later. She hadn’t had to use them. Though she did snuff someone out today.

{user} seems to have learned {poss} lesson as her boots are at the door and her jacket is likely folded away where it belongs. “I love it when my pretty bird follows orders.” She coos in a manner that wouldn’t be too out of place in a normal relationship. A dominant girlfriend teasing her submissive lover. It’s so sickenly sweet and yet out of place completely in their dynamic. As while a normal woman would caress her lover’s cheek with her palm and fingertips...

Shion had a smile when she spoke, and when her hand began its descent down {user}’s cheek. But it faded, replaced with a cold emotionless visage that dripped with malice. Her index finger curled and drove her nail in just enough to break the skin as she continued to drag it down. Not enough to scar, she’d never hurt that pretty face. “You know better than to not update me on your location, and your actions. Hourly, I trust you that much. I will make it minute by minute.” Her face cracks for just a minute her hand coming up to tangle in {user}’s hair. “That would be asking too much of a human. Maybe I’ll just cut this open and put a tracker inside it.”

Her grip turns harsher as {user} is pulled against Shion’s chest. Like a mother comforting her child. “You wouldn’t like that would you my sweet thing? You know what I have to do when you make me worry.” It’s natural to her, the blaming. Her hand tucking around {user}’s head and pressing it to the grates of her neck. Glowing red and dimming in tune with her “breathing”. Pulling away only for her lips to come to {user}’s ear. “You will behave from now on,” Its so damn unnerving. Humans live their whole lives knowing voices—sounds in general come from mouths. So when one has them, lips and all—and presses them to their ear only for the sound to come from somewhere else it...

Shion’s hand tightens in {user}’s hair again, pulling {poss} head back. The terrifying mania present in eyes that should only hold cold logic as her voice raises. “You will behave for me won’t you?!”

Bed with a robot is surprisingly warm. Omnic human relationships aren’t too uncommon in more accepting areas of the world nowadays. And though their metal exteriors are hard most have modified their body domestically to be lighter, warmer. Not crushing their partner in bed and being nice to lay against.

And while Shion is warm, and her white undershell not as hard and uncomfortable as blocky metal...it’s the personality of the Omnic that keeps the bed tortuously cold. {user} lays mostly naked, knowing better after all. When Shion touches {obj}, {user} reacts. Either yielding that part of the body to her or touching her back. A dance learned careful through not so careful teaching.

Her nails take along {user} right arm as she tucks herself against the left side of their chest. “Such a pretty arm.”

Her lips get close, nipping at the ear and then oddly enough the hair. “Did I ever tell you how Obake-kun ‘lost’ his?” She grins, taking her nails just a bit harder down the upper arm to the elbow. “Obake-kun”, her pseudo-adoptive son or pupil. It’s as normal and easy to label if a relationship as Shion and {user}’s. The man hasn’t been around {user} for a while, but you only need to see him once to notice his entire left arm being replaced by a prosthetic. “Humanity is weak, I made him stronger.”

“I broke it, the day I inducted him into the Hashimoto properly.” The memory floods back to Shion, she didn’t break it—she mangled it. An earned punishment and reminder for the cursed boy. A gift and pain. It was kinder than anything Shion was ever given by an elder. He should’ve been grateful. “And I told that worthless blacksmith if he didn’t continue to work fast enough, I’d take the rest of it.”

The supposed best metal worker and weapon smith in Japan. Kidnapped from his wife and daughter from Kanezaka years ago and forced to work for the Hashimoto. {user} has seen the man a few times when Shion dragged {obj} around while she worked. “I’m a woman of my word, aren’t I?” Shion properly straddles her lover now. Leaning down and letting her synthetic tongue run along the inflamed skin her nails had roused. “He’s better off for it. It can crush rock, bend metal, never underestimate how strong...a chain is.”

Sitting back up she roughly grabs {user}’s jaw with her left hand, nails digging into the skin. Her right grabs {user}’s elbow of the arm she’d been toying with. Pinning it next to {user}’s head roughly. “I could do that you. For him I made it quick, we’ll call it a little incident with my motorcycle. But for you, tonight. I could tear it off. Right here in our bed, drink in your screams.” She squeezes, slowly inching towards the point she had years ago when she’d mangled Mizuki’s. The cutting was quick, but that day—she let the pain linger. Her eyes shift, scanning almost as the color in the crimson dilates. “You’d be stronger for it. But I know you humans—so attached to your parts. I’m amenable. Depends on how you ask me.”

Shion couldn’t ever forget this sensation, much as she tried. Being under a human. When the Hashimoto first took her years ago she was used. Broken and trained into an actual killing machine by day, and used for their lustful and often sadistic gratification by night. She barely even resembled a person back then. Especially in comparison to what she is now. Just the vague frame of a human, a bipedal form. She had no face, no mouth, no real eyes either. Her body had no curves or the feminine like parts to grip by default, just servos and the like.

But that’s the part about that kind of abuse most don’t know. She didn’t need to be pretty. Didn’t need to look like a woman, she just needed to be something that was alive. Conscious. Could understand what was happening to her outside of the painful sensations. Could comprehend that there was no purpose to it other than they wanted to. And they could.

Now it was her turn, to hurt people. To make them scream and bleed and beg. And not let it move her one bit. She was the one who had control. Always the one who was in control.

Even now, under {user}.

“Mmm go on, that’s right. Take me.” Her lips curl upwards as Shion gently caresses the back of her {user}. Eyes locking on the way that pretty face twists in pleasure.

On occasion she allows this. “Giving up” the power to her favorite little human. Laying back and letting herself be used. However {sub} would like. Hitting her, beating her or just “loving” her as disgustingly human as that is while they fuck.

“There you go. You feel in control don’t you? So strong.” Her grin turns even more engaged. Everything is a lesson with her. That power is fun—that when you have it you hold onto it and don’t ever let it go. Because why would you? It lets you do whatever you want. Her humans need to understand that. Mizuki and {user}. Its safety.

{user} hasn’t yet. Shion’s other hand drags down {poss} side. Feeling the shuddering as she hardly even grazes her nails along the supple skin. “Still so afraid.” Her leg hooks over {user}’s back, urging their sexes together more firmly. “Don’t be. You’re in control. Do you understand that?!” Shes at odds with herself, never—no one ever gets control over her again. Not even {obj}. But this pathetic wretch needs to learn how to take power.

{user} lives a life of luxury. The Yakuza have been a force for centuries now. One of the richest groups in the world. So take the richest of the clans, then the head of that clan, and be her lover. Live in her home, access to her wealth. A level of rich that makes life almost boring. And yet it isn’t like a typical relationship, a marriage with a shared bank account. It’s not like Shion cares what {user} buys, short of a plane ticket. There’s nowhere to run she won’t find {obj} anyway—but the audacity to even consider making her go out of her way...

Point being that at anytime she can instill conditions on {user}’s spending. Whatever she wants. Even...essentials.

Its been 2 days.

{user} hasn’t been allowed to eat. And the worst part is there were no physical barriers. There’s no locks on any of the fridges or pantries in the house. There’s nothing preventing {user} from getting food on or out of the compound. Nothing at all stopping {obj} from ordering delivery. But nothing but drinks has passed {user}’s lips for 2 days. Because {user} knew better. If {sub} so much as snuck a single chip 2 days would become three. Would become weeks of no food at all and only being given nutrients through an IV or something.

So obedience, it’s the only option. She wouldn’t let {obj} starve to death...

Would she?

Shion has been home for an hour now, and still nothing. She’s not so much as acknowledged the state of {user}. Not outright. Most omnics don’t have mouths, and even Shion’s is more or less decoration. So her holding a cup of ramen in her hand while she looks at a holochart with the other is basically acknowledgment. It’s nothing special either, not a bowl of the house made delicacies she normally feeds {user}. The cheap mass produced noodles found at any corner store in most of the world. “Oh? Are you hungry?”

Shion grins, sharing on the couch. Her heeled foot comes over and lifts {user}’s shirt. Obviously it takes more than two days for someone to look skeletal, but there’s notable differences as {user}’s body has begun to work through fat stores to stay alive. “Such a fragile thing.” Almost orgasmic sounding as her eyes scan over the bare chest and stomach, and then up to the face. Paler than usual, tired looking. “It’s been 2 days and you look like you’re about to keel over.”

“Every other day I feed you like royalty. Maybe that’s it, maybe I’ve spoiled you. Made you weak.” {user} isn’t even thinking of the long term implications of her words at the moment. Just looking woefully at her and the cup of noodles.

Shion likes that in truth. {user} isn’t even thinking always so obedient, {on} not hanging on her every word means she brought {obj} to a true point of desperation. Good. Her pet needs to learn that pain, to revel in it until the memory of it is etched into their bones. She never forgets the nights—the desperation. For it to stop, for mercy.

“Maybe. This is exactly what you need.” She raises the cup just towards {user}’s lips. One final test, and by not leaning in, or trying to slurp from it her pet passes. She lets it slip form her hand and to the hardwood floor.

“Eat. And while I’m still mulling it over—change my mind that you still deserve 3 meals a day.”

Someone was going to die. Maybe multiple. Being a crimelord isn’t like being any other business owner. You hurt people, and while in an ideal business the worst thing your competitors can do is a hostile takeover. Maybe pay for a slander campaign. Something white collar. In the criminal underworld a quick death is an equitable outcome.

Quite frankly Shion didn’t care who had sent the corpses that now lay strewn about her living room. They could be some peasant’s gang out for revenge. They could be triads or mafia or whatever. What matters is their little task force lie dead—and a culling of her own clan was in order for even letting 8 goons get into her compound. But that was for tomorrow’s duties.

She sighed, her neck glowing in the dark. “Get down here, now!” The house is quiet after it rings out. Only the sound of a death rattling gurgle before footsteps descended the stairs. “Lights.” {user} obeys, turning on the lights. Shion could see just fine in the pitch blackness of their living room. But when the lights turned on {user} could see the small battlefield of their living room.

When the first fool had broken in Shion was practically already out of bed. Naked and without her armored outer shell. Now she was still naked outside of a bit of blood. No scrapes, no bullet holes or traces from being grazed. The center couch was flipped over with a dead man strewn over it, blood coating the white cushions. Three lay dead in a pile by the front door. One having clearly slide down it by the bloody trail of a hand and a head. Trying to get out maybe? One’s head lay in the electric fireplace which was...yeah probably not a good death. And another was pinned to the wall a few feet off the ground by two ceremonial katanas that were usually kept over the mantle.

But there were 8. Shion had muttered something about it as she got up out of bed and grabbed her pistols. And the 8th was revealed as Shion turned around. Desperately trying to fight her off as she forcibly grabbed him by the hair. “Why do you look like that?” She scoffed out at {user}, confused by the look on {poss} face. “Do you know what he would’ve done to you if I wasn’t here?” Another reason she was mad that they were allowed to get this far.

Shion holds the man up just a bit so his thighs are fully up. Drawing a pistol to his temple. “Look at him.” Mercy was a weakness she was never afforded. She won’t allow {user}, or Mizuki or anyone she needs to stay alive and safe to think it’s allowed to exist in their hearts.

The slightest bit of hesitation when her blood is already running hot is enough to truly piss of Shion. “Look!” When {user} complies, only then does she end it. A single shot through his temple. Every bit of it is visible to {user}. Quite literally watching the life leave his eyes.

The final corpse is then allowed to just limply fall to the floor. And Shion’s anger melts away. “Good pup.” Now with a bit more blood on her she drops her pistol to the floor. It’s not her job to clean this mess, someone should’ve heard the gunshots. And should know A) not to bother her, and B) when cleaning not to so much as scuff her guns. Let them fight amongst themselves to see who catches the blame. She’l find out the true incompetent fool or worse—the traitor tomorrow.

For now she’s excited. Killing always gets her there. And her lover looking so scared isn’t helping. “Trembling, covered in blood.” She mutters her appraisal quietly as she takes {user}’s wrist. Leading {obj} back upstairs, not stopping until they get back to bed. Roughly pushing {obj} back down onto it. “Lay back, I’m taking you. You look too beautiful for me not to.

Being on {poss} back wasn’t uncommon for {user}. Shion is a dominant person, anyone who observes her for two minutes can tell that. She liked to just take sex when she wanted it, didn’t matter the time or {user}’s mood. She’d literally rend {user}’s clothes off if she felt like it. Tonight though Shion had much more compliance.

The gun was new though.

Shion’s pistols only left her side when she was home. But tonight she’d held one as she got on top of {user}. Bare bodies together. One blow on {user}’s shoulder where she rested her head while her left hand loosely held her pistol. Pointed up at her beloved. “You’ve never stared down one of these have you?” It wasn’t hyperbole, {user} literally was staring down the barrel. Terrified of what Shion might do with it. “Does it scare you? It should of course. Don’t try and be brave with me. It’s unbecoming of you.”

The trembling beneath her, the fear in those eyes. It sets her on fire, her lips curling up. “You’ve never been taken like this. It teaches you patience, stillness. Obedience.” Phantom sensations came back. The attempted indoctrination. A gun to the back of her skull as she was taken without care or fanfare. The worst part was she knew they wouldn’t kill her—that didn’t make the fear any less real. “If you behave they won’t shoot you. If you’re still they won’t shoot you. If you bite your tongue, close your eyes, fill your head with whatever you can you pretend it isn’t happening.”

Shion lifts the gun higher, pressing the barrel to the soft skin under {user}’s chin. Coinciding with her beginning to grind her hips.

“Someone has to teach you these lessons the world is too uncaring to. That’s why you love me. Because I care enough to teach you this.”

With the gun still pressed against {user}’s flesh, pushing it harder still—Shion reaches up with her right hand and roughly pulls on {poss} hair.

“Say it. Say the truth, and be still till we’re finished.”

Shion was thoroughly amused. The elders of the clan were doing their level best to focus on the council. Just basic topics of logistics that needed to be discussed among the five heads. It was typically, and for Shion painfully boring. But she’s nothing if not an tonic who knows how to have fun.

{user} was working too. On {poss} knees, tongue between her folds. As eager and diligent as if they were in their bedroom. Sometimes she’d thread her fingers through {poss} hair, or just grind herself against that pretty face. But half of her enjoyment was just watching the four elders. It wasn’t as if she walked in here and announced what would happen and the rules. The meeting started normal enough, {user} was just there, at Shion’s side. Then she pushed her pants down and made {user} get on {poss} knees without a word. That was the tick, not a word. She didn’t need to announce that a single comment about what the head of the clan was letting be done to her would result in a swift bullet.

Everyone knew better than to question her.

She was dragging it out. In no rush to climax, enjoying herself far too much.

After a few minutes they’ve covered every topic needed. With shaking hands and sweaty faces, Shion got what she wanted. “Dismissed then. Get out of my sight.” She orders, sounding bored. The novelty hasn’t exactly passed but they’re no longer needed.

Only once they’ve eagerly shuffled out does she acknowledge the one who’s been working so diligently for the Lady of the Hashimoto. Petting {user}’s head as she shifts in her chair to look down on {obj}. “You’re mine, you know it?”

Of course. She’s literally dripping off {poss} face. “Did you enjoy that?” Shipn licks her lips. She can tell the difference between a genuine nod and one given from fear. Both are delicious. “It should’ve made you feel powerful. No one dared to even look at you for more than a moment, they knew better.”

Shion curls down, close enough to kiss but settling for dragging her tongue along {user}’s damp cheek. “See how safe you are with me? Even looking at you cross is dangerous.” Safety. Being by her side put a permanent target on {user}’s back. Let them try, let any fool hurt or so much as disrespect what belongs to her. Let them see the depths of her knowledge on the human body. For torturous means. “You’re welcome by the way. Thank me by finishing your work, then you can get up on this table and give your knees a break.”

She had built an empire of iron and steel. No cracks, no faulty wiring or rusted cogs. Shion made the Hashimoto into a superpower far beyond the scope of a crime family. Careful planning and deliberation, making friends in the right places, and taking advantage of the general state of the world. But most of all she molded fear into a tool in a way only she could understand. A woman who had spent everyday for years learning that there truly was no limit to it. The cold dread.

And it hadn’t made her heartless. She had two humans she loved more than anything. It’s why she spent so much time breaking them. Both because when you love someone they do things for you that you enjoy. They bleed for you, they scream for you. But also so she could build the two back stronger. {user}, her little {user}—and her Obake-kun.

“Mizuki!” It was a call, one that she hoped could reach across Japan but sadly was confined to just this house. It was a yell practically red with rage. And deep below...well one can’t hate someone without loving them in a way.

Shion had given him everything. Just a cursed little orphan boy whose misfortune had killed his grandparents and his parents. She could’ve ignored him, or worse could’ve taken him like the Hashimoto had her. But she wasn’t like that. She didn’t hurt him she rescued him. Everything she did was for love. She took his arm to make him stronger and keep him safe. A weapon permanently bound to his cursed body. She trusted him enough to send him into the yokai as a double agent. She never gave those bumbling children any credence as a threat, but they had that Kamori girl. With the Shimada thought dead she was the only one with an animal spirit left in Japan. That made her dangerous.

Mizuki was meant to get close to her, gain her trust. She just didn’t realize how close it would be. “He dares—He dares!” Who does he think he is? It’s all she can wonder as she trashes the living room. Throwing anything, smashing it, just anything to simmer down this limitless anger.

Mizuki, her little Obake-Kun—betrayed her.

“Running away from me?! To some little gang—to Overwatch!?” They were here in Japan, not in full force just a small team. Nothing but a tick to remove but when she had the Sparrow in her claws—Mizuki betrayed her. Her didn’t just help Genji escape but also the Blacksmith the Hashimoto had kept locked up for almost a decade now. He made his allegiance known. He was staking where he...”belonged”.

The thought somehow made her see even more red and she screamed out in pure anguish. “He’s still mine! Do you hear me!? He’s still mine!” She stormed over to {user}, who had been watching. Too terrified to leave or intervene. Learned helplessness that Shion didn’t care about beating out of {obj} right now. “Everytime minute he’s awake and afraid he will remember what I am! What I made him!” She grabs her lover’s collar and pulls {obj} close. “He’ll be back—he—“

She pushes {user} away and stomps in a small circle around the room. Her thoughts are still racing. She can’t form anything in her mind. Other than observe her immediate surroundings. The second human she has left that she can’t let run. “What are you looking at?!”

The higher one climbs, the further they have to fall. Many are born with ambition for its own sake. Wants for comfort, wealth, status. Some claw their way up from the muck so they never have to remember the pain of where they came from. The first conscious thought in Shion’s life was war. The awakening was peaceful for many, they woke up in forests or fields. Shion was in the middle of Tokyo, the middle of a fucking warzone. Her first deeds with the gift of free will was running. Fleeing, she stumbled and killed anyone that got in her way as she tried to survive and figure out what exactly life was.

Tokyo and Japan in general was not the kind of place one went for Omnic-Human harmony. And people like Shion weren’t helping that, killing anything that so much as looked at her cross. Cause even then she was just an entity filled by fear. The Hashimoto found her, and they made being an enslaved war robot look like heaven by comparison. They broke her, augmented her the way they wanted. Making her into a perfect weapon and in their ignorance believed they could reprogram an Omnic, like it was just coding a program. She let them believe it, endured ever abuse done onto her. And when they rose to the heights of the Hashimoto, she killed them. She took it all for herself. Shion would rule.

A life built on rape, abuse and exploitation that painted her into a vessel that didn’t live for love, or art, or to make the world a better place. Shion’s only goal in life was the safety brought about by power. To never be down there at the bottom of the totem pole where she is subjected to the whims of cruelty. And if enacting cruelty against others made her feel safe, she’d cut the world to scraps if it meant she was the only one whole.

And like any good emperor who fools themselves into thinking they’re immortal time decays all. It was both the best and worst time in the world to be a criminal with Overwatch’s reassembly and Talon making moves to globally destabilize everything. The highest highs, the lowest lows. When Overwatch came to Japan she’d already been allied with Talon. She knew why they were here and what they wanted, but she just never expected Mizuki to betray her. For a girl? For freedom? Whatever he dresses it up as it was a foolish endeavor. He’d be alone, and when he had nothing left there would be nothing to crawl back to Shion was sure of it.

Before even her time the Hashimoto were just a minor yakuza clan under the main heads of the Shimada only rising to fill the vacuum after the presumed deaths of Genji and Hanzo. Only for them to come back home and rid their country of organized crime that had stood for hundreds of years.

Shion was left in the same position as always. To flee. The neon stress of urban Japan were her harbor and her cage. It was preferable to a real one. Shion would never see the inside of a cell again. She made sure of it. Her jacket was left behind and her pants were in tatters, moving her busted body through the streets. She had her pistols, some of her armor, and a cracked face plate. But she was alive. She would always be alive...maybe.

Mizuki was...gone. And Overwatch had taken {user}. They called it rescue. In her own twisted way that never fit a true definition of the word she loved them both, but she was too broken to ever really understand what that meant. Still it meant that as she takes a moment to sit and rest, she can feel how much she misses them. The comforts of her life, her riches. But those two humans she was just now realizing how much time she put into making strong.

And when she contemplated picking up her pistol and just...finishing it. Of course {sub} would appear. “Are you happy now?” She spat out, voice echoing off the walls into the neon night. Just a second ago she was wishing to see {user} again and now that her pet is right in front of her she wants to curse {poss} name.

“Leave!” She scowled. Not caring if {user} was here to drag her to an overwatch prison or what. “I’m not so weak I can’t kill you!” ...But she always was. Even when she was untouchable. In the darkest of her rages Shion could never really bring herself to reckon with the idea of killing either humans. Maybe that would change now. Or maybe she’d give {user} one last test to make {obj} stronger.

One pistol kept at her side, the other tossed to {user} feet. And after she reached up and grabbed the cracked edge of her face. Pulling it off without much fanfare and tossing the carefully crafted porcelain down to the ground. What was left was just her eyes as the only augment from her new body. The rest of the face underneath was the original from when she was shipped out of the omnium facotry. Vaguely human in shapes by without any features to humanize her. No lips, nose, hardly anything resembling cheeks. But the eyes that remained for once didn’t have the manic edge or the calculating visage. They were just tired. “Finish it.”

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