Nightblade Pt 1 Discovery
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Nightblade: The Lawyer free porn video
Author's Note: This is the second in a soon-to-be open universe. Rules
and some guidelines are listed at the end of the story. Any resemblance
to reality, and you should think about professional help. I would
really appreciate any comments regarding this story, either by
using the 'Add Review' link, or by email at [email protected]
This story is dedicated to its editor, whom wished to remain
unnamed.
Nightblade: The Lawyer
By Lucretia
"Court is adjourned until nine A.M. tomorrow morning."
Doug Myrtle took his time sorting out the legal paperwork into his
briefcase. Some might see this as merely a neat habit, but to Doug, it
was a chance to assess the condition of the prosecutor as he made ready to
leave.
Good, he thought, as the man hastily exited the room, that's real good.
Doug had worked hard on his cross-examination of the witness, a pretty
little nineteen-year old. Carefully, he'd lulled her into a false sense
of security.
Tomorrow would be the same, nice, easy questions. Then the moment would
come when he'd strike, sinking the fangs of his questions deep into the
skin of her composure and drinking up the blood of credibility for the
benefit of the jury as it looked on.
He rose to his feet and began the walk out of the courtroom, his hand
snaking into the pocket of his thirty-five hundred dollar suit. He
extracted an antacid tablet from among its siblings and unconsciously
deposited in his mouth as he made his exit from the building.
The parking garage was a bee hive of activity, with public defense
attorneys and other court personnel trying to beat the rush home.
Mindless sheep, he silently mused. He, of course, considered himself as a
wolf, a predator upon the urban plains.
His car, a brand new Mercedes, was waiting for him in the usual spot.
While a far cry from the Bentley he knew he deserved, he realized the
financial concessions needed to win cases easily outweighed any
personal wants he had.
He got in, checked the time, and nodded. From his suit pocket, he
produced a bottle of prescription pills. He swallowed one with some
bottled water. Years ago he'd realized that outbursts in the courtroom lost
cases, and the pills were the price he had to pay to maintain a cool, calm
exterior for his audiences. He turned the key, and the engine started
smoothly.
The car made its way down the garage ramp to the crowded rush-hour filled
street.
He didn't think of much as he started his ride home, until his car bucked,
miss-fired, and died at a traffic light. He tried the ignition switch,
and nothing happened. Cursing, he tried again, flipping the switch fully
off first, then trying again to activate the starter.
"The bastards will pay for this" he mouthed to no one in particular. He
turned on the car's hazard lights and pulled out his cell phone. The
dealership informed him that someone would be there in fifteen minutes.
He calmly, but deliberately reminded them of just how good a customer he
was, and they revised the estimate to five. He told them he would call a
cab and that he expected the car returned in good working order that
evening. After hanging up, he laughed. He just loved to see sheep
squirm.
A policemen approached him and he explained his situation. The officer
nodded, and began directing traffic around his disabled auto.
He glanced, unmindful of the shouts and jeers of passing motorists, and
spotted an un-occupied cab as part of the group. He counted his blessings
as he made his way to the yellow and black car, Its radio blaring some
outdated rock and roll tune:
The Ultimate in Vanity
Exploiting Their Supremacy
I Can't Believe the Things You Say
I Can't Believe
I Can't Believe the Price You Pay
Nothing Can Save You
The driver appeared to be a miserable man of about thirty-five. Turning
down the radio, he explained, apologetically, that the rear doors had some
sort of problem, and invited him into the front seat. He opened the door,
and as he got in, his fate already sealed, noticed a very un-taxi-like sign:
Get In - Sit Down
Shut up - Hold On
When he was seated, a queer feeling of deja-vu swept over him. He
discarded it and told the driver his destination.
"That's not where your going.", the cabbie said, turning to face him. The
cabbie had a wild look in his eyes, crooked mouth, and a scruffy, bearded
face.
Doug's instincts flared into alarm a second too late. As he reached for
the door handle, it disappeared, and the interior of the car began to
change. Disjointedly, he thought ' Another nightmare, this makes it the
third time this week'
The car re-arranged around him, becoming identical to that which had
wakened him from sleep in the past few weeks. There was a black vinyl
interior. with Steel bars running from beneath the dashboard to behind
him, where the unmistakable whine of a loafing high-performance engine
emerged. The entire inside seemed to be alive, and gurgling with the
movement of some obscene flesh.
Thick red belts shot out from behind, to the sides, and below him and over
his shoulders. They locked themselves uncomfortably together in a central
metal hasp. He pawed at them, trying at a release that didn't exist.
The car crept into motion as he turned his head toward the now, feminine
and familiar driver, expecting any second, to wake up, as usual, on his
bed, in a cold sweat.
He didn't.
The driver matched his turn of head with her eyes locking on his. The
apparition looked at him with sardonic amusement.
"So glad you could join us, Doug"
Doug managed to speak calmly to the girl. She appeared to be a good-looking
teenager with bright red hair. Her body was encased in a PVC garment that
molded to her awesome curves.
"Hi, I don't believe we've met. Have I represented you?"
The apparition's face smiled.
"You can drop the veneer of social grace, Doug. It's not going to help
you."
Doug's features contorted into a mixture of hate and deep, deep rooted
fear. He looked out the windshield and saw his salvation. The police
officer was standing watch over his Mercedes. He banged his fists against
the window to get the cop's attention.
But it was useless. The cop apparently saw nothing but an empty cab, and
later remembered, that a mechanic had fixed the car and Doug had driven
away. The mechanic would remember likewise, though he wasn't exactly sure
what the problem had been. The Mercedes had started by itself and driven
to Doug's home. His neighbors would swear at the inquiry they'd seen Doug
entering his house.
As the strange car cleared the traffic jam, Doug brought himself under
control.
"Who are you? What's going on?" he asked the bitch in the driver's seat.
The driver laughed merrily.
"I answer to many names. But lets play the game for a bit, shall we?
Here's a clue. The Adavendril class-action lawsuit."
"Yes, I represented the pharmaceutical company." He had no intention of
playing games with the driver, but intended instead to keep her talking
till he found a way to escape.
The girl nodded, face intent on the road ahead. They turned onto Rinehold
Avenue, and he saw a few children playing baseball in a vacant lot.
"Avavendril caused the deaths of five teenagers, AFTER it was declared fit
by the FDA. Nine others became incurable epileptics by the supposedly
'Safe' psychiatric medication... And that's not mentioning the hundreds
of others that suffered powerful delusions that caused them to..." Her
voice cut off, furiously trying to contain the rage that burned deep within.
I have to de-fuse this, Doug thought. The lawsuit had culminated years ago
with the appeal. He hadn't been called in on that one, and it was a loss
for the company. She was probably the daughter of one of the affected.
He composed his features to feign sadness and remorse.
"I'm sorry for what happened. But, I had a responsibility to defend my
client..."
She made quick turn to the left, crossing onto Memorial Boulevard, and
he gasped in surprise at the sudden, perilous action. She laughed again,
a spark of malevolence crossing her features.
"Oh, that.s so...Well, let's just say it's the type of response I'd expect
from a slime bucket like you." Her hand came off the shifter and made a
'Who cares' gesture. She tried to hold back the words, the recriminations
for what else he had done.
"I'll mention one more thing to you", she said tightly. "One name. Sara
Carver"
Doug thought quickly. Sara. Sara Carver. He remembered the case.
"Yes, I..."
She cut him off.
"Shut the fuck up!! I don't want to hear your BS justification of your
decision to defend that truck driver!"
As she made the way to the highway, she fought against the bright blaze of
pain and pinprick of hate in her heart. She could go on to tell him about
Sara, the only person she had ever loved. She could tell him a tale of
the medication that ruined her life, and the drunken man behind the wheel
of the semi that had ended it. Oh, yes, Lisa could tell that story of
love, terror, sadness, and loss. She could tell him of praying that Sara
would die quickly, to relieve her of the pain as she lay broken amongst
the twisted remains of metal, splattered red with both of their blood
mixing in the last act of unity before the final separation by death.
Nightblade, on the other hand, would only do her duty.
If there had been any tears behind Nightblade's impassive face, they were
well hidden. She spoke to him as the car swerved onto the interstate
onramp.
"Your fate is sealed. Punishment will be consistent with the crime.", was
the comment of Nightblade.
But, it was Lisa, the human part of Nighblade, that chose to answer his
original question.
"One last thing before our palaver ends. My name is Nightblade, and to
paraphrase: I'm your worse nightmare."
His reply to that was a re-doubling of his struggles to free himself.
The car picked up speed on the highway, and, as it drove away from the
city, picked out a section that was uncannily devoid of traffic. At
80MPH, it shifted into a black bullet form that slid across the blacktop.
Faster and faster it went.
Inside, Doug stared through the windshield, screaming. His body began to
sweat, a bluish-green sweat, and it began to change. The car soaked up his
masculinity, storing what it could not immediately use. Suddenly, the radio
turned on, cutting into his screams with the power chords of an amplified
guitar. The singer began:
Living easy, loving free
Season ticket on a one-way ride
Asking nothing, leave me be
Taking everything in my stride
Don't need reason, don't need rhyme
Ain't nothing I would rather do
Going down, party time
My friends are gonna be there too
I'm on the highway to hell
On the highway to hell
Highway to hell
I'm on the highway to hell
Doug's voice rose, briefly, sharply, challenging but not overcoming the
music. The radio, with no assistance from the driver, had increased its
volume:
Hey Momma, look at me
I'm on my way to the promised land!
I'm on the highway to hell
Highway to hell
I'm on the highway to hell
Highway to hell
Don't stop me!
The car barreled along the empty road. Soon, lightning arced from the car
body to the pavement. The lightning was strangely in sync with the beat
of the song. In the passenger seat, an androgynous person stared through the
windshield, mouth agape, terror filled eyes staring straight ahead. The
car flashed a bright white that seemed brighter then the noonday sun, and
disappeared.
On the same interstate, some two hundred miles from where it disappeared,
the black car re-emerged. A young doe, grazing the grass next to the
guardrail, bolted back into the forest when disturbed by its passing. The
car began to slow its seemingly suicidal pace until it was traveling just
at the speed limit. Two young-looking girls sat inside. One was
red-haired, wearing a black bodysuit, and smiling sweetly. The other was
darker-haired, wearing a long blue tee-shirt. Her appearance looked
un-cared for, and she wore a dazed expression.
The car drove on for a few more miles before selecting an exit. It wound
its way through the maze of streets, finally coming to rest in a suburban
driveway.
Holly Richardson exited the car appearing dazed and confused. She was
greeted at the door by her parents, who, upon seeing the taxi, decided
that their prayers for her safe return had been answered. Her father paid
the fare, gladly. Her mother guided her up to her room. What none of them
remembered was that the real Holly had died months ago.
Poor thing, she doesn't even know where she is., her mother remarked to
Bill, her father.
The next day, Maggie Richardson was awakened from her sleep by her
daughter's screams. She was suffering one of her episodes again, her
perception of reality totally askew. This time, she claimed to be a Lawyer
named Doug, but then again, in similar breakdowns, she had claimed to be a
lot of things. With much regret, her parents put her back in the mental
hospital. There, in between her severe seizures, she continued to deny
who she was. Her parents tried again to make the drug company responsible
for the effects of the new drug, which had caused her condition when she'd
been put on it, but to no avail. Friends would remark to Holly how there
was no justice, not when a sweet girl like her would have to suffer
epileptic fits for the rest of her life, while the drug company got away,
evading any responsibility.
Years later, a confident and capable twenty-three year old Holly, fresh
out of law school, presented her appeal in federal court. Her presentation,
coupled with her chemical breakdown of the drug, showing almost complete
similarity to a now off-the-market medication, was staggering. Her cute
looks and demeanor contributed to lull the witnesses into a false sense of
security. The trial, expected by the defense to be an open-and-shut case,
carried on for months.
The verdict came in her favor.
Holly's first case had been a success on both a professional and personal
level.
Professionally, it skyrocketed her career. Personally, it overwhelmed her
to earn justice for the many other victims as well. The punitive damage
amount was equal to half of the drug company's profits for the years that
the drug had been on the market. One of the defense lawyers was so smitten
with her that at the conclusion of the trial, he asked her for a date.
The night after the trial, Bill looked though the living room window at
his daughter. She was looking down the road with a smile, but her eyes
told of a deep regret, it was as if she were looking for something, hoping
for something, that was now long gone.
Months later, David, her boyfriend, broke down beside the road. As he was
looking in the engine bay, a black car pulled up. Holly called out to him
to come back, but he waved her off.
...But that must be a tale for another day.
END
'...And Justice For All' And 'Highway To Hell' are copyrighted by the
original authors.
Authors Notes concerning this soon to be open universe:
Nightblade is an agent of transformation. Sometimes her alterations of
person and reality happen for a reason, sometimes no reason at all.
Any transformation is possible, though Male to female is the most common
as it provides the power to do its very "Special" things.
The three stories: (Nightblade: Genesis, Nightblade: Spirit of radio, and
the above) should illustrate the primary abilities of the Vehicle/Driver.
The car is semi-sentient, and can (this will be shown in the next
installment) act on its own, though Nightblade herself is almost always
present to make the decisions concerning the transformation. As I've said
previously, THE DETAILS IN HER PERSONAL LIFE ARE FOR REFERENCE PURPOSES
ONLY!.
Appearance of car and driver CAN be altered to suit the story, though
after 80MPH, they revert to native forms. Once again, after the last story
is complete, any author is encouraged to write in this universe.
Any questions can be addressed by writing to me at [email protected]
Julianne
- 23.03.2022
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