System Down

A/N: This chapter's more of a background filler, and takes place before the first chapter.

Warning: This one includes underage rape and abuse, don't read if it makes you squeamish.

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Soriel had always been a problem child – getting suspended from school for provoking fights with the other kids, cussing out teachers and staff, shoplifting from the local convenience stores, vandalizing public property… It wasn’t like he stabbed a man or anything, but the way people looked down on and avoided him made him feel like the worse sort of criminal, and he didn’t even try to prove them wrong.

His parents put up with a lot of shit from him, he knew that, and bitterly couldn’t fault them for finally getting rid of him after he pushed his limits getting caught molesting his younger brother.

By age ten, Soriel had been shuffled through half a dozen foster homes, and by eleven he was running his own on the streets.

He wasn’t a very cunning criminal, and just didn’t give enough of damn to even try, which was why his rap sheet ran on for pages of the countless shit he’d been caught and picked up for.

He didn’t have a license the courts could take away, no money or even anything remotely valuable to pawn to pay his multitude of fines, and of course his probation officers couldn’t even persuade him to attend any of his rehab appointments or complete the endless public service hours he’d racked up.

Some of the cops were assholes (and he’d met most of the PD over the course of his model lifetime) but it got to the point where they eventually became exasperated with him and left him alone for the most part with only a bruised cheekbone or knuckles, and a maybe sandwich if he was looking especially pitiful. He wasn’t even kept for the regulated twenty-four hour holding period anymore, unless he didn’t have a hole to crawl into that night.

The juvenile correction centers were a joke once he proved himself a difficult target for the other kids and probation officers despite being a scrawny white boy too pretty for his own good. He’d gotten a fair amount of beat downs, but most of the time he managed to prevent the assaults from escalating to rape or hospitalization just by fighting back dirty and doggedly - not making the attacks worth the effort.

He couldn’t avoid rape entirely, especially once he picked up prostitution for a short while, but the person that actually ended that particular felony streak was the man he was working for now and who had set him on an alternative rough track.

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“Fucking horny little bastard, ain’tcha?”

Soriel let out a squawk of indignation as he was roughly caught by the scruff of his neck and pulled off backwards off the man he’d been riding for a meager twenty dollars, but the sixteen-year-old was so hungry he couldn’t even think straight anymore, and quite possibly would have agreed to even less than what the stranger had so graciously offered.

The man scrambled to his feet off the filthy alleyway, shoving his wilting dick back into his pants, and forwent pulling up his fly as he bolted down the alley. He stumbled comically, twisting his ankle in a foul-smelling spill but not slowing down or looking back for an instant.

“Shiiiit,” Soriel groaned as he saw a give-away gleam from a vaguely tarnished badge in the corner of his eye, more distraught by his vanished Jackson than from the fact that he had been caught again by another fucking pig. This was the second time this week and it wasn’t even Wednesday!

He was too weak to even protest as he hung limply (in all sense of the word) from the cop’s brutal hold. His asshole ached and burned from an inexperienced penetration – the man had been wearing a wedding band so likely his prim, pretty wife didn’t care to take it up the ass much – and his nether cheeks stuck unpleasantly with drying precome, adding a maddening itch to the burn.

He shivered in the night air and wished the cop would at least let him pull up the dingy jeans caught around his feet, but he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to comply.

“Horny little bastard,” the voice, stale with 7-Eleven coffee and unfiltered cigarettes, growled into his ear again as he was yanked upwards, forcing the kid to stagger onto his feet.

“Jeez, gentle much?” Soriel muttered sarcastically, and abruptly cried out as he was shoved face-first against the brick wall encasing either side of the dark alley. The sluttish red neon from an XXX sign around the corner burned the backs of his eyelids, veining the white pain that shot through them as he felt something crunch in his left cheek.

“I didn’t say you could talk, whore,” the cop spat, and Soriel felt a glob of phlegm hit the back of his neck and trickle downwards into the back of his thin shirt.

“Fucking gross, man--” he grunted, feeling part of his lip pull uncomfortably as his cheek began to swell. He kicked backwards with his foot, but only managed to glance the cop’s shin since his jeans didn’t give him very much leeway.

A heavy fist smashed into his lower back right over his kidneys, and Soriel gasped as his knees nearly buckled beneath his own skeletal weight, feeling the sharp blow through his stomach as he fought not to gag. “Grrnnnhhh,” the teenager groaned, leaning heavily on his cracked cheekbone as his bitten fingernails scrabbled at the groves in the brick.

A foot stepped on the crotch of his jeans, pulling the denim tight around his ankles and constricting the leg holes so that he couldn’t even pull his feet through them. If he tried to run he’d just fall on his face, and he was almost sure the cop misaligned something in his hips with that fucking sucker punch.

His thin wrist was snatched in a hairy-backed hand, then forced behind him and to the side until his shoulder screamed in protest. He at least managed to turn his head so his unbalanced weight wasn’t on his messed up cheek, and didn’t bother to struggle except to keep from falling down when the cop’s heel hooked onto his jeans and skidded Soriel’s feet back, shoving his hand between his shoulder blades so the kid was forced into an perilous lean.

His breath wheezed painfully but steadily in his chest, not exactly frightened, though just so fucking pissed he could cry. He enjoyed sex on his own terms, and frequently, but also came to accept pain was often part of the deal when receiving money for his mouth and body. But this violation denied him all pleasure and sure as hell wasn’t financially beneficial.

The zip going down on overly-starched uniform slacks was the only foreplay he got as a huge cock shoved into his already torn hole. He yelled behind his clenched teeth and lips as his beaten kidneys felt like they were stabbed by a cattle brand while being fucked up to his spine, seeing his vision blacken around the edges but knowing his stubborn constitution wouldn’t allow him to pass out.

The abuse wasn’t the absolute worst he’d ever gotten, but he was just so tired he couldn’t even protest the hand that stole around his gaunt hips and fisted his dick, squeezing until the base of his skull sang with pain.

The other man seemed to go on for hours, and there was almost nothing Soriel hated more than a ‘client’ with stamina, much less a rapist with stamina. His hips were getting sore and he shifted to one foot so at least the penis battering him hit at a different angle, regretting it instantly when the cop yanked on his arm, nearly dislocating the sonuvabitch.

“S-shit!” he gave a slurring yelp as he winced. “Wasn’t tryin’ to get ‘way…” The hand pulled again and he shut up miserably, closing his blue and green eyes and slumping as he waited for it to be over. He was at least spared in the way that the cop wasn’t a talker – he seriously couldn’t deal with the grating bullshit assholes like him tended to spout, and Soriel was too messed up to tell him to shut the fuck up, and then deal with the consequences after.

The slab of fat over a once solid abdomen and pelvis slapped Soriel’s ass cheeks numb as the cop finally began to jerk forcefully with his orgasm, burning his stretched anus with globs of thick semen.

The cop leaned heavily on the boy’s back as he finished pumping his twitching cock into the hole, unconcerned with locked, scrawny knees already shaking with the effort of standing upright. He briefly considered lighting up a cigarette to ease along his post-coital buzz, but his internal clock informed him his shift was almost over and he needed to be getting back to the station soon.

His dick slapped wetly against his thigh as he pulled out of the blonde urchin, using the back of the boy’s shirt to wipe the jizz and ass juice off himself before resettling back in his rumpled uniform.

The boy shifted gingerly into a hunched standing position, seeming all angles as his starved hips favored one side and his right shoulder sunk diffidently downwards. Soriel didn’t even look back to see his attacker’s face, knowing an overt trouble-maker like himself didn’t have any rights and would get laughed at in court if he tried to report the assault. Fuck what the Constitution said, not that he’d ever read it - he’d likely just get raped by the judge anyway.

“Come by the station and I’ll put something in ya.” The cop didn’t even have the decency to leer at his skinny frame, and his tone didn’t even make it a threat or at least an order.

A dirty twenty dollar bill fluttered to the ground next to Soriel’s feet as the cop strolled back, whistling under his breath, to his p.o.s cruiser, the money torn around one corner further soaking in the grime trickling in from the streets.

The teen’s face was blank, but dead pale as he agonizingly bent to haul up the waistband of his jeans, shifting pain-dulled eyes to stare at the soggy note with conflicting emotions of pain and humiliation. After several drawn seconds, he fisted the bill and stuffed it into his pocket, yanking his jeans over his bruised ass and shuffling to somewhere he could rinse what filth he could off.

Hopefully he could find a standing fountain he could drown himself in while he was at it.

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3 months later

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It wasn’t intentional on Soriel’s part, but nearly every other time he’d been caught he’d ended up at that cop’s office. No one questioned the officer’s gallant personal interest in the kid’s welfare – the rest of the department was likely glad they just didn’t have to deal with him themselves – and all of them were probably looking forward to the day when Soriel turned eighteen so they could try him as a legal adult and put him away for a nice long time.

If the occasional, but still rough fuckings weren’t enough to set him on the straight-n-narrow, nothing would be, but at least the cop allowed Soriel to poke through his office when he was too busy, and had even asked his opinion once or twice on a few minor cases similar to some of the shit he’d pulled before.

Eventually he’d been ‘promoted’ and a year later shackled with Nil on minor, but irksome reports that cops could deal with but would rather leave it to criminals taking out other criminals so they didn’t have to dirty their nightsticks. But at least it gave him a solid, if not crappy, place to live, and he couldn’t help being grudgingly grateful to the old bastard to some degree.

Gunnison, which was what the cop’s coworkers called him (although Soriel didn’t think he looked like a Gunnison – he was more suited to Satan or Saddam or something like that) – gave the kid a seriously bad feeling, though, and he still hated the fucker with a passion.

But, uncharacteristically, he didn’t make an effort to piss him off more than what was compulsory. That first night had left him too fucked up to even think about sex for weeks (at least with another person, his hand notwithstanding), especially when he was pissing blood from his jacked up kidneys.

The local charity hospital wouldn’t give him anything stronger than children’s aspirin anymore, but he got by on the Vicodin he had stashed for emergencies, using the much-needed pain meds on himself instead of the back up cash in he’d intended it for.

Soriel’s misdemeanors dwindled considerably with the distraction of b.s. cases and a roommate who highly disapproved (not that he could give a fuck, but he had to play nice if he wanted to get laid). He only hooked up with some ambiguous dealers occasionally to distribute their shit when the PD’s monthly welfare check (off the records, of course) was devoured by Nil’s fucking computer system repairs, and sometimes managed to find straggling jobs here and there to at least afford his own damn toast.

He’d bitched to Nil about their imposed poverty enough times, especially since the man who had nine years on Soriel’s mere seventeen was supposed to be a genius hacker and some shit, but they had his system watched (which he could get around easily if he wanted), and Nil didn’t aspire to jeopardize his tenuous living space and get-out-of-jail-for-now card either.

But whatever. Life was fucking peachy right now, considering, and Soriel had had enough pits to fill a cavern.

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End Chapter