Symbiotic Submission

Issue 7: Suiting Up

I heard a subtle, almost subaudible hum in the air when I woke up–clean, nestled in blankets, as pleasant a wakeup as I'd been allowed to experience since Haven had claimed me as their own. Glancing around, I identified the source of the hum–a black, amorphous ball had glomped onto my phone, and was buzzing so rapidly on the device that it sent out ripples of pulsing sound.

A tendril still dangled between the nightstand and the bed, so they still had contact with me–if I focused, I could feel them slithering around my thighs–but I didn't seem to have their attention in that moment.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

(Research,) Haven replied. (You asked, last night, 'How did they find us?'. I believe I have the answer.)

"Oh?" Sitting up, I rubbed at my eyes and pushed the sleepiness away. It took me a moment to understand what I'd just been told, and to ultimately gawk. "Wait, how?"

(Eight days ago–you may have been the first to find me, but you were not the only one to see the pod I rode within. You left the shell at your former associate's house, but the impact crater was still discovered. There are several amateur UFOlogists who posted videos that same day–all of whom had their videos removed shortly after.)

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I said, "Okay. So they knew there was something. But how could they know anything besides that?"

(Your former associate. Billie.)

I blinked. "What, she sold us out?"

(I doubt she sees it that way. When last you spoke, you were as much my prisoner as my plaything. Regardless–one of the same UFO hunters spoke of "G Men" coming to your little hometown and entering your neighborhood. They most likely spoke to Billie, learned of my existence, and chose to pursue the lead aggressively.)

"Oh, oh god," I said, shaking my head. Sure, I hadn't contacted Billie. I didn't know how to explain any of this, that I was working with Haven now, that I lik—it didn't matter, it was all too much to put into words, but she was probably worried sick about me. "I need to call her."

(And if she alerts the authorities a second time, and they track us down?)

"They're already tracking us down pretty fucking well," I pointed out, allowing a bit of edge to enter my tone. "I need to call her."

I expected resistance, but Haven said nothing, oozing off my phone and back to my body. (Very well, Mine.)

Uncertain, I reached for my phone, then hesitated. "Why are you acting like this?"

(What do you mean?)

"You're...nice. Last night. You let me clean up, you did what I asked, you didn't fuck with me at all. I thought I tasted best when I was miserable." I was thinking it out as I said it, speaking my undeveloped theory. "What, am I just too much of a good thing, trying to eat a whole tub of caviar in one meal?"

(It's more complex than that,) Haven hedged, and I knew their words well enough to notice the reticence. (It's a delicate blend, it requires...cultivation.)

"Right," I said. "Okay. So you can't let me feel too bad, or I get gross."

(Correct. I'm glad you understand.)

Haven's behavior still struck me as odd–were they lying, or simply too alien for me to truly understand? Whichever it was, I didn't have any good way of learning the truth, so I dropped the subject and pulled up Billie's contact number.

It rang six times before picking up, and I smiled into the receiver. "Hey, Billie! How are you doing? Look, about–"

"Charlie, oh my god," the voice replied. It sounded a bit like Billie, but deeper, and a bit worn–weathered by age. I knew Billie's mom pretty well, but the surprise caught me off guard and it took me a minute to recognize it. "Have you heard from Jessica?"

That took me another moment of mental calculation. 'Jessica Billingsworth' might have been her full name, but only her parents actually called her that. "No ma'am," I said, slipping back into old childhood honorifics. "Is she missing?"

"Just a couple days after you disappeared," Billie's mom said. "These men–they said they were from the government, but they showed up, and said they had questions for her, and...she didn't come back. You haven't heard from her?"

My fingers felt numb for a moment, and I didn't have anything to say in response.

"Charlie," she repeated. "Are you there?"

"I'm going to find her," I said, simply. "Don't worry, ma'am. I'll bring her home."

I hung up, lowering my phone.

(Storm Holdings likely took her–or would know who did,) Haven said, thinking about the problem from a far more analytical point than I could manage.

"Storm Holdings isn't government," I pointed out. "So they were lying, or they're working for something top secret."

(Does it matter?)

It didn't, really.

"Haven," I whispered, my voice quiet and hard so it would be clear this wasn't an impulsive choice. "I give you full permission to do whatever the fuck you want to me. Call it a day pass–A twenty four hour window where I'll be your fucking puppet. Hurt me, humiliate me, I don't care. But I'm going to need something from you, first."

(Mine–)

"I know, you said we don't negotiate," I interrupted, rolling my eyes. "So this isn't a negotiation, it's a promise. You and I are going to get Billie back, and we're going to burn the people that've been coming for us, and then you'll get whatever the hell eight course meal you want from my body. Got it?"

A moment of silence passed, and then Haven responded without words.

Instead, their inky form spread across my body, spreading from my thighs out. Their ink stretched over my waist and belly, up over my breasts, extending to cover every inch of skin, all the while stretching down like leggings over my skin, expanding to cover the diaper I wore beneath their amorphous bodysuit.

In under a second, they'd swelled over me, a tidal force that covered my skin like armor, stretching up to my neck. I stood straight and took a few speculative steps. Haven moved with me, enhancing everything–I felt strong, powerful, capable.

(Ready?) Haven asked.

I nodded. I didn't have any quips, any good one-liners, and they'd have been wasted on an alien mind like Haven, so I took a page from Haven's book–I didn't speak, I didn't waste time on words, I just got to work.