Fillmore: The Sign of Four
folder
+1 through F › Fillmore!
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
4,340
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+1 through F › Fillmore!
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
4,340
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the cartoons of Disney Studios, nor any of the characters from them. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Act 4: Four Below Ground
Act 4: Four Below Ground
Cornelius Fillmore stood impassionately in front of the computer monitor, forcing himself to watch the abomination one more time. There had to be clues. Had to be.
The abhorrent series of images started over. Ingrid, manacled to a stone wall. Apparently unconscious. A bright light shot into existence, ruining the picture. Four shadowy figures entered, shilouetted by the piercing white. Someone had gone over the movie with a brush - the faces were blurs. One stepped forward, unlocking Ingrid's hands. She slumped forward, raven tresses falling down in front of her face. Her legs were unlocked, and two of her assailants lifted her body onto a rough metal table.
The quality of the camera work was excellent. The four blurs shed their clothes, and the focus zoomed in on Ingrid's face. One of her abductor's roughly shoved inside, causing Ingrid's chin to smack heavily on the metal table. He quickly withdrew, chuckling. "No satisfaction there. Seems that requires some activity on her part." "Yes, well, that's not today."
The action shifted around, as a different molestor rudely pushed in. Ingrid spasmed. The pounding intensified, the rapist ripping her clothes off as he continued fucking, tossing her black clothes out of the picture. As the abuse continued, a third member of this dark committee moved back to her face, stroking, letting go spurts of white cum onto Ingrid's closed eyes, expertly caught on tape, quickly followed by his compatriot, shooting a load deep into the detective, splattering her pale back as he pulled out.
"DISCO!" Cornelius jumped to his feet, pausing the video, freezing the violation on screen. In panning out far enough to capture the entirety of Ingrid's nubile young body, Fillmore could just make out some transparent panels, reflecting some of the light from the camera.
They were beneath the greenhouse.
Reaching into his desk, Fillmore pulled on a pair of shades and took out his BB gun. He hadn't used it since his days of boosting chalk shipments and backtalkery. He checked the ammo. Four rounds. Perfect.
Fillmore glanced up at the clock. 1:12. AM. Even better. This was a solo mission. He didn't need help. He didn't want help. He didn't want another death on his conscience. Fillmore slipped out of his office, walked silently through the abandoned HQ, and into the empty corridors of X. Pushing all thoughts of Ingrid from his mind, he headed outside.
The greenhouse was located at the far end of campus, past the bocce ball field, the manure stacks and the maize maze. Fillmore slipped silently through the night, cradling his gun. Approaching the maize maze, he saw the glow from the greenhouse, which kept a series of high-wattage lights going 24/7 in order to produce some of the largest crops this side of the Mason-Dixon. Creeping around a hedge of Dent corn, Fillmore paused, seeing a lone figure illuminated in the light.
Crack. A muted pop echoed through the warm night. Fillmore remained motionless. Hunter's instincts. Two more figures scrambled out into the night, whispering to each other. Splitting up, they started to circle the greenhouse when one of them found their compatriots body in the grass. He kneeled, calling for his companion.
Crack. Fillmore took the one still standing at forty paces. His partner dove to the ground, crawling towards the door. No clean shot. Fillmore jumped and ran. Seeing this, his prey stood up, making a break for it.
Crack. The third toppled to the ground, hand outstretched towards the greenhouse door. Fillmore cursorily examined the bodies. Three headshots. He didn't recognize them, nor was he sure if they were still alive. The hunter didn't care. Silently opened the door, he narrowed his eyes to slits, knowing he couldn't become overwhelmed by the light - he'd likely need his vision underground, where someone unknown still lurking.
He didn't need his eyes. The hunter had other senses.
Fillmore glided through the blinding glare of the greenhouse. He had to find the way down. Quick.
Danger. Danger. Dangerdangerdanger.
Fillmore hit the ground and rolled as a breadfruit tree crashed to the ground where he had just been standing. Jumping to his feet, he turned, firing.
Crack. The sound of the gun echoed inside the enclosed greenhouse. The hunter pushed on, visualizing the scene, leading him directly to an exotic bush of miracle beans, which pushed aside, revealed the desired trapdoor. Cornelius Fillmore opened it, descending.
It was pitch dark as he followed the stairs down. Re-opening his eyes, he instantly adapted back to the darkness. It wasn't a complex layout. the stairs opened up to a solitary room, a solitary table, a solitary figure lying, motionless, on that same table. The hunter was still in charge. Fillmore methodically set about destroying every piece of video equipment before stepping forward.
Ingrid was completely naked except for the odd shred of black clothing. Still breathing, her eyes stared ahead, vacantly. Covered with cum, Fillmore slowly, gently carried her up the stairs. Back into the light.
He paused near the toppled breadfruit tree. A small circle transfixed the middle of his head. The face was unknown. Fillmore slowly bent down and retrieved the four of hearts from the mystery assailant's shirt pocket, nodding silently to himself, before heading back out the door of the greenhouse.
As the hunter and the prey exited into the moonless, yet starry night, one might have seen the faintest hint of a smile cross Ingrid Third's pale lips.
Cornelius Fillmore stood impassionately in front of the computer monitor, forcing himself to watch the abomination one more time. There had to be clues. Had to be.
The abhorrent series of images started over. Ingrid, manacled to a stone wall. Apparently unconscious. A bright light shot into existence, ruining the picture. Four shadowy figures entered, shilouetted by the piercing white. Someone had gone over the movie with a brush - the faces were blurs. One stepped forward, unlocking Ingrid's hands. She slumped forward, raven tresses falling down in front of her face. Her legs were unlocked, and two of her assailants lifted her body onto a rough metal table.
The quality of the camera work was excellent. The four blurs shed their clothes, and the focus zoomed in on Ingrid's face. One of her abductor's roughly shoved inside, causing Ingrid's chin to smack heavily on the metal table. He quickly withdrew, chuckling. "No satisfaction there. Seems that requires some activity on her part." "Yes, well, that's not today."
The action shifted around, as a different molestor rudely pushed in. Ingrid spasmed. The pounding intensified, the rapist ripping her clothes off as he continued fucking, tossing her black clothes out of the picture. As the abuse continued, a third member of this dark committee moved back to her face, stroking, letting go spurts of white cum onto Ingrid's closed eyes, expertly caught on tape, quickly followed by his compatriot, shooting a load deep into the detective, splattering her pale back as he pulled out.
"DISCO!" Cornelius jumped to his feet, pausing the video, freezing the violation on screen. In panning out far enough to capture the entirety of Ingrid's nubile young body, Fillmore could just make out some transparent panels, reflecting some of the light from the camera.
They were beneath the greenhouse.
Reaching into his desk, Fillmore pulled on a pair of shades and took out his BB gun. He hadn't used it since his days of boosting chalk shipments and backtalkery. He checked the ammo. Four rounds. Perfect.
Fillmore glanced up at the clock. 1:12. AM. Even better. This was a solo mission. He didn't need help. He didn't want help. He didn't want another death on his conscience. Fillmore slipped out of his office, walked silently through the abandoned HQ, and into the empty corridors of X. Pushing all thoughts of Ingrid from his mind, he headed outside.
The greenhouse was located at the far end of campus, past the bocce ball field, the manure stacks and the maize maze. Fillmore slipped silently through the night, cradling his gun. Approaching the maize maze, he saw the glow from the greenhouse, which kept a series of high-wattage lights going 24/7 in order to produce some of the largest crops this side of the Mason-Dixon. Creeping around a hedge of Dent corn, Fillmore paused, seeing a lone figure illuminated in the light.
Crack. A muted pop echoed through the warm night. Fillmore remained motionless. Hunter's instincts. Two more figures scrambled out into the night, whispering to each other. Splitting up, they started to circle the greenhouse when one of them found their compatriots body in the grass. He kneeled, calling for his companion.
Crack. Fillmore took the one still standing at forty paces. His partner dove to the ground, crawling towards the door. No clean shot. Fillmore jumped and ran. Seeing this, his prey stood up, making a break for it.
Crack. The third toppled to the ground, hand outstretched towards the greenhouse door. Fillmore cursorily examined the bodies. Three headshots. He didn't recognize them, nor was he sure if they were still alive. The hunter didn't care. Silently opened the door, he narrowed his eyes to slits, knowing he couldn't become overwhelmed by the light - he'd likely need his vision underground, where someone unknown still lurking.
He didn't need his eyes. The hunter had other senses.
Fillmore glided through the blinding glare of the greenhouse. He had to find the way down. Quick.
Danger. Danger. Dangerdangerdanger.
Fillmore hit the ground and rolled as a breadfruit tree crashed to the ground where he had just been standing. Jumping to his feet, he turned, firing.
Crack. The sound of the gun echoed inside the enclosed greenhouse. The hunter pushed on, visualizing the scene, leading him directly to an exotic bush of miracle beans, which pushed aside, revealed the desired trapdoor. Cornelius Fillmore opened it, descending.
It was pitch dark as he followed the stairs down. Re-opening his eyes, he instantly adapted back to the darkness. It wasn't a complex layout. the stairs opened up to a solitary room, a solitary table, a solitary figure lying, motionless, on that same table. The hunter was still in charge. Fillmore methodically set about destroying every piece of video equipment before stepping forward.
Ingrid was completely naked except for the odd shred of black clothing. Still breathing, her eyes stared ahead, vacantly. Covered with cum, Fillmore slowly, gently carried her up the stairs. Back into the light.
He paused near the toppled breadfruit tree. A small circle transfixed the middle of his head. The face was unknown. Fillmore slowly bent down and retrieved the four of hearts from the mystery assailant's shirt pocket, nodding silently to himself, before heading back out the door of the greenhouse.
As the hunter and the prey exited into the moonless, yet starry night, one might have seen the faintest hint of a smile cross Ingrid Third's pale lips.