Helion

Gloria and Francisco Dellenworth were socialites born of generational wealth, having grown up in the protected neighborhoods of North Helion they spent their youth being groomed for high society. Gloria had long established herself as something of a prodigy in the field of chemical biology, helping to synthesize one of the first stable prototypes for Tellmin’s catalyzing agent. Francisco had been the result of many successful years of selective breeding, a prized specimen of whiteboi genetics. His offspring would help to maintain the fruitful balance of black superiority by siring nothing but fertile white women and submissive bitchbois for use by the superior Black race. Gloria had agreed to marry into the Dellenworth ****** to use Francisco to further test her chemical theories and to refine his pedigree. Their ********, Melody, had been the first product borne of their marriage and had been given all of the same privileges as her parents.

Naturally, Francisco hadn't impregnated Gloria, a crime that severe would have had Francisco's head separated from their shoulders before they knew what had happened. Typically, whitebois weren't capable of getting any kind of erection; either because they were locked in some form of chastity, or their hormone balance was far, far too feminine to allow it. Some of the more well-off whitebois could afford testosterone to offset their pathetic hormone imbalance, but in those cases, they were only legally allowed to fuck another whiteboi.

Eve viewed it in much the same way as she viewed rutting animals. Filthy mongrels desperately try to propagate their kind through a useless and embarrassing act. The thought made her angry that they weren't all kept in kennels and milked on farms like the wimpy little ‘products’ they were.

Eve clicked her tongue as she scrolled through the bio-blog of the couple, "Rich fucks… who owns these silver-spoon assholes?"

Scrolling further down the page, Eve found what she was looking for. Charles Montgomery Smith, one of Helion’s wealthiest men, and board director to Tellmins, is one of the most powerful men in the entire city.

"Jesus fucking Christ… and they snatched his property?!"

Eve marveled at how well and truly fucked whoever had decided to kidnap Melody would be when she caught them. Charles had immediately made a play for Gloria after her breakthrough work for Tellmins and had quickly established his place as both her benefactor and her boyfriend.

Marriages between whites, while recognized through law, had little to no bearing on relationships with Black men or women. Francisco, regardless of how he may have felt about Gloria, recognized his place in the grand scheme of things.

The elevator pinged as it passed the 50th floor. It seemed as though Gloria was 6 months pregnant with Charles’ child. While Francisco had an important role in producing more white offspring, this role was naturally subservient to the desires of their and Gloria's owner. Links were beginning to form in Eve's mind, perhaps Francisco had gotten a big head and decided to rebel against their place in the hierarchy, Eve would need to do some field testing to see if there were any signs of Slix use about them. Francisco arranging for their ********'s Kidnapping wouldn't be too out of line for a whiteboi like them.

Charles was innocent by default so no investigation would be necessary there. Even if a powerful man like him had deemed it necessary to abduct the girl, he wouldn't have had to resort to any cloak-and-dagger tactics. He had as much claim to her as any other Black man in Helion. Eve swept through the article a second time, but couldn't find any mention of the girl's boyfriend.

"Must be a recent thing, or she changed hands… the parents will fill me in.”

The elevator softly slowed as it reached the ground floor of the highrise. As the doors slid open, a timid-looking bitchboi slipped in; its squirrelly demeanor and tacit avoidance of eye contact made Eve suspicious, but meting out punishments on inferior whelps like it was far beneath her now. At most, the slut was either a mule or walking fleshlight, and while its failure to address her raised her hackles, she had bigger problems to solve. Stepping into the lobby Eve lit another cherry Tellmin and headed for her waiting car.

It sat two car-lengths down the road, glistening in the soft night rain as the streetlight outside the entrance to Jons tower flickered. It had been a theft recovery from some forgettable whiteboi Eve had put down five years ago, the poor thing had been neglected, beaten, and driven into the ground; requiring almost a complete overhaul. The proud 2077 Percheron GT had been one of the last production model internal combustion engine vehicles in circulation before breakthroughs in graphene production made batteries incredibly cheap and powerful. Now any ICE vehicles still on the road were either collector items or relics held together with duct tape and hope.

Eve had painstakingly converted the sleek muscle car into an electric luxury. Fully autonomous with a completely redesigned interior to accommodate ample space for both escort missions and pleasing Black Men. The exterior had been modified heavily with armor plating and bulletproof windows. The suspension had been reworked to support the additional weight and the tires had been replaced with puncture-proof solid rubber. Even under a hail of small to mid-caliber arms fire, she knew the Percheron would carry her safely out of harm's way.

As she approached the rear passenger door the small security projection surrounding the vehicle faded, indicating the area was now safe to approach. Because of the high crime rate in the slums, having an autonomous security system on the vehicle was crucial. Any one of the myriad parts that could be stolen from the vehicle was worth more than some inhabitants could fathom. If anyone had stepped into the small square surrounding the vehicle, they'd be tased, warned, and if the behavior persisted, shot. Not that Eve would have minded, if her car could handle a shit-stain whiteboi or two while she was off gagging on Black Dick then all the better.

The door swung open for her as she came into range of the proximity sensors and she slid into the lush leather seat which had swiveled in her direction. As her weight depressed the comfortable padding of the seat, it swept her back into the cab and the door swung shut. The whisper of magnetic rails echoed around the soundproof compartment as the seat centered itself, her optical implant paired with the car's systems and a digital display of the car's user interface filled her vision.

"Alright, we're going to Fifth and Applewood, court number… six. Limit G-force to zero point zero one, I need to fix my makeup. Oh, and throw on my post-fuck playlist while you're at it, would you?"

A tinny melodic hum filled the cab as the cars onboard A. I piped up. "Hmmm, how's Jon these days?"

Eve rolled her eyes as she took another drag of her cigarette. "Same as he ever is, big, Black, and unhappy."

The feminine chuckle of the car jingled around the interior as Eve reached for her makeup kit. "Probably a few pounds lighter after you got done with him, too, you were up there for five hours, thirty-two minutes, and twenty-seven seconds. Exactly how much cum did you drain from him?"

Eve pursed her lips, starting to become annoyed with the prying questions. "Less than you think, and the only weight he's lost is the sweat he worked up beating my ass black and blue. Are you going to drive or interrogate me?" Soft R&B began to play as the car signaled out into the street and began its route to the north end of Helion. "That's better, and for the record, gossiping to my car isn't something I want to make a habit of, I didn't think you'd be such a Chatty Cathy when I picked you up."

Eve had purchased the AI from a slum dealer for an exorbitant price after a particularly well-paying job two weeks back. Most general AI had a fairly boilerplate personality; ethics programming limited the range of expressions and actions they could conduct themselves with and it made them all feel very… stuffy. When Eve had caught wind of a peddler hawking more… bespoke options, she decided to investigate.

The rumors hadn't been entirely true; the whiteboi peddler only had the one A. I core and it had been cracked by someone other than them. They had promised that the A. I was more… unique than others they had come across but otherwise functioned as a normal companion. Or at least that was what they’d been told, they couldn't get the thing to cooperate with them for more than five minutes before it started to belittle them.

"The fucking bitch told me to kill myself! Said I wasn't worth the air I was breathing and should just… stop… I'd lower the price for you just to be rid of the cunt, but it's one of a kind and a man's gotta make a livin’."

Eve had prickled at the use of male pronouns by the creature. It wasn't often that whitebois were referred to as being male; Eve preferred to think of them as cattle, their true gender entirely irrelevant to their role in society. Their pronouns had long since shifted to either gender-neutral or entirely feminine, depending on their occupation. Personally, Eve couldn't help but refer to the sniveling little fucks as ‘its’, things, objects, lacking both humanity and agency. She had ultimately paid their price and then reported them to the Guild for peddling contraband. Claiming that particular bounty had made back most of the cost.

"You're such a bitch! All I want is a little fun, it's not easy being cooped up in this fucking rolling love-nest you call a car. The least you could do is spill those juicy deets with me."

Eve hadn't yet determined if the AI had been modeled after a woman or an incredibly, incredibly effeminate whiteboi. Either way, something about the cracking process had left it in an almost perpetual state of brain-dead lust.

"And as I've stated on numerous occasions, you're "cooped up" in here because if I got you an android body the first thing you'd try to do is fuck me. And then every single man and woman in Helion. You're a liability in literally every other setting."

The car pouted before weakly arguing, "Ew, no, just the Black ones; I'm not fucking insane."

Eve sighed as she ran the foundation brush across her cheeks. "Whatever, the point stands. What's our eta to the destination?"

The car hummed before responding. "About 30 minutes, we're taking the VIP tube under the river so we'll be early, I know you told Mace an hour but I figured you'd wanna jump on this one."

Eve paused her lipstick application. "I thought I told you to stay out of my comm tag."

The AI sheepishly sputtered. "Yeah yeah yeah I know I know I know. But I just thought… ya know… I could help you. A little?"

Eve's eyebrow quirked up, "That doesn't exactly excuse you wire-tapping me, but I'm feeling rather festive so I'll hear you out."

The A. I squealed. "oh my gosh REALLY?!"

Eve harrumphed, "The fuck else am I going to do? Obviously telling you to stop didn't work and it's not like I'm going to be done with my makeup in the next five minutes so lay it on me."

As the A. I happily chirped, screens began to fill Eve's sight; a veritable flood of data streamed past her vision before the AI began to explain. "Sooooo I did a little digging through the subnet after you accepted this job to see what the city had to say about it and… ugh let. Me. Tell. You! There were fucking whispers all over! This dweeb named Anton said they saw this loser Nate pick up this other fuck called Gary at one of the inner city fag clubs... only… Gary had a girl with them!"

Eve scrunched her nose up at that. "Whitebois aren't allowed to have women at their little slut clubs, did she match Melody's description?"

The AI sighed and clicked its tongue. "Anton didn't mention what the girl looked like, didn't mention an age or what she was wearing either, just that there was a woman at the club."

Eve tapped her mascara brush against the tube in thought. "Nah that doesn't track, she's a rich white bitch, no way she'd be caught dead anywhere near that place. Could have been an unclaimed vagrant girl who had no choice but to sidle up to some desperate pussybois. It's still a lead though, throw the club into your GPS for later and retain Anton's number for monitoring. If they're trafficking anything other than Chastity cages through that pit of filth we'll burn it down around them."

The AI giggled eagerly. "Why do you hate whitebois so much, Eve? I get that they're barely above trash to start with, but you seem to have a particular hate for them that I don't see much of on the subnet."

Eve glanced out the window at the passing street lights, piles of garbage were collected along the length of the gutter, obscuring the view into storefronts in some spots. She sighed heavily once more before screwing the cap onto the mascara tube.

"Because they refused to evolve. They stayed trapped in their halcyon days of ruling and unapologetically oppressing everything around them. They take and take and take until there's nothing left to take. Every single one of them deserves to be put down simply for the crime of persisting. I understand that the market depends on their existence… they're essentially chattel to be bought and traded… but I'd sooner end every last one of them than suffer their rotten existence."

The A. I remained silent for a long moment before quietly replying. "Did they… did they take from… you?"

Images flashed through Eve's mind of her mother wreathed in colors. "Yeah."

There was a pregnant pause once more and Eve expected the A. I pressed the subject, but nothing more was said. She continued to patch up the remnants of her makeup, periodically indulging in her cigarette. She'd become very well practiced at correcting her look in the back seats of cars and was still grateful to her mother for giving her such great genetics. Her skin was an alabaster shade of porcelain. High cheekbones, and a regal nose sat above her plush lips. A strong jaw and feminine collar bones sat beneath them.

She hardly needed the makeup, but found it to be a therapeutic experience after having her holes resized by her suitors. It gave her a definitive reset point, a moment to center herself and focus. She was tall for a woman, a hair shy of six foot, and while it may have been intimidating for men back in the old world, these days it was an asset in her line of work. Whitebois would cower before her and Black Kings and Queens would make her feel microscopic regularly.

Her proportions were generous but not extreme, with visible ribs under a healthy set of 34F breasts that gently curved into a 26 waist and 38 hips. Her long legs and well-defined muscles were always a huge attraction for the men she slept with as they appreciated someone they didn't feel like they could break easily. Eve kept her hair cropped in a short bob with bangs, under-cut on one side; she found long hair, while great in bed, was easier to grab when fighting hand-to-hand.

After she finished up and threw the makeup pouch back to the floor she placed her hands behind her head, reclining the seat to take some weight off her ass as it healed, and then tried to catch a micro nap. Mumbling under her voice she expunged the wicked thoughts with some very well-trodden words for her.

“Fucking Whitebois.”