Come Inside of My Heart - SCP Foundation

Come Inside of My Heart

Byㅤ basirskipreader

Published on 31 Dec 2022 01:23

ADULT CONTENT

This article contains adult content that may not be suitable for all readers.

Graphic depiction of blood, gore or mutilation of body parts

Features sexual themes or language, but does not depict sexual acts.

Explicit depiction of sexual acts.

Features non-consensual sexual acts.

Depiction of severe mistreatment of children

Depiction of self-harm

Depiction of suicide

Depiction of torture

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Ridar Ortega Montemayor is a normal man. He drinks milk tea, he eats sisig, and he occasionally puts down a dog. Can't really fault him though, it's part of his job.

He frequently visits this place

Ridar gets in his Toyota, making sure to conceal his silver Desert Eagle — after all, he wouldn't want the cops to find his gun. The stark Manila sunrise beats down on his copper skin as he adjusts his glasses. While he tries to find the keys for his car, he mentally lists his tasks for the day.

1. Clock in for his job.

2. Finish today's missions.

3. Have fun at the mall.

4. Go home satisfied.

He loves the new highway sponsored by the Marcos™ Presidency

He sped down the new highway at 80 kilometers an hour, all thanks to the Marcoses. He never was a fan of the previous Ninoy administration, mainly because of the red tape surrounding anomalies and the Foundation, but with the Duterte-Marcos collaboration going on strong for around 12 years now, he would love to see where the golden age of Filipino greatness will go. Who knows, maybe they will be able to find the secret Tallano gold.

He slows down as traffic rears its ugly head. Not only does it stretch on for far too long, but he also has the displeasure of beggars constantly knocking on his windows, asking for change, or for him to buy their random crap, or even just trying to wring pity points, all while he side-eyes them.

It's a bit of a shame that he has to kindly and aggressively ask the poors to go away, but what can you do? Some of them will just use that money to buy drugs, and besides — most of them will just throw away their money for iPhones and other useless crap. It's not fair that he has to work hard for his money while these people just sit around begging for it.

He stops fantasizing about making these beggars work for him as the cars lurch forward. He slams on the accelerator, the speedometer ramping up from a calm 30 to a rapid 60, ignoring most of the stoplights in the area. There's no one here to catch him anyway — most of the police are eating breakfast at one of the karinderyas nearby, and those that don't just don't care about him, or can be easily paid off. He's here for a fun time, not a long time.

He curves around an intersection, seeing from the corner of his eye a speedometer, and slows down enough that he reaches the spotlight by the time it turns red.

He hates the stoplights here. Why the fuck are they so wonky?

The second the light turns green, he accelerates, blasting Eurobeat and dubstep out of his modded speakers. He has been yelled at to keep down the music when driving, but he has more than enough money to pay off the various fines they slap on him. As his car passes through the border from Pasay to Makati, he starts to feel the effects of the poor urban planning that most of Metro Manila was built upon.

See, the reason why the urban infrastructure of the Philippines is so bad is that during WW2, the Americans prioritized "preserving" history over demolishing and rebuilding the city. For fuck's sake, they were bombed the same way that Japan was, and he's pretty sure that the reason they aren't the best country in Southeast Asia could be chalked up to American favoritism. It would be so easy to fix the problems of the Philippines— oh, he runs over another kaperosa.

This will not look good on his payroll, would it?

He continues driving on, turning around an intersection to promptly stop at his destination: Site-901.

Site-901 at dusk. He wishes it was better

He goes into the building, remembering to check in lest he gets yelled at again by management. His ID gleams with a scarlet sheen, as three letters stand out in stark black — D, A, and P. He promptly stops by the counter, seeing if the hot chick is here. She isn't here today, probably in the other building. No matter, he'll still have a chance in the future, he hopes.

He goes to the armory, gets his gun checked for any tamperings, and suits up for his first job of the day.

The smooth latex chafes hard against his thighs. He hates this outfit, and he had already requested that the Outfits and Apparel Department give him better latex to wear. But the clothing budget is tight, like these pants, so he'd just have to hold out until next month. Nevertheless, this outfit gives him an advantage on the field, as the smooth curves and toned, rippling muscles of his body emphasized by the latex makes sure he is one of the top bold stars in the highest-class gay bar this side of Kabundukan, the Shadow to the famous gay club Adonis — Aphrodite.

Amalanhig, kapre, bakunawa, siyokoy, and many more high-class creatures mostly frequent this place to have some fun in the urban night — rural life gets boring, after all. The day/night cycle here is reversed — nighttime in Kabundukan is daytime in the normal world, and vice versa. Most people deployed here need at least a few days to adjust to the time lag, but for someone who has spent most of their time working here, like Ricardo, it's mostly a two hour adjustment period.

A tikbalang slowly approaches him, eyes gleaming under the neon dubstep. Normally he would be so down to go with this tikbalang — he's a frequenter here, after all; rough around the edges but can last a long time — not to mention his nice smell, good taste, and amazingly large tips. Today, though, his eyes are set on a target: a bungisngis who handles an illegal paraweaponry warehouse of Ammono Rukia. The DAP have been tracking him for a while now, and he's a frequent visitor here at Aphrodite. Although he would've appreciated a mission where diwata are involved, a bungisngis isn't that bad of a deal.

He slowly approaches the bungisngis, who's currently talking to one of their informants. Eyes turn and stare at him as he feels the various scales, furs, and flesh grind against him. One of the diwata winks at him with their fourth eye, and a kapre tries to block Ridar, using their various pick-up lines to try to score this hot, hot hunk. Ridar dips under them, intent on finishing the job early. A group of manananggal stops by and asks to take a picture with him, one by one at first, then as a group, and Ridar accepts before quickly walking towards the bungisngis. Being popular has its disadvantages.

He gives the signal to back away, and one of the spotlights in the bar turned to shine on him. The bar becomes noticeably quieter than it was before.

"Hey there, little boy", he sultrily says.

He has no business telling this bungisngis about his size — this guy is 2 meters taller than him, can easily crush him under his foot, and clearly works out a lot. However, the image of the most famous porn star in this bar oiled up, topless, wearing skintight latex pants, and slowly walking towards you with alcohol in hand interested in you as you slowly get lost in his muscles and eyes and ass while he sits beside you, a little too close for your comfort — it's bound to make one stutter.

"Oh, uh, hi, there." the bungisngis stammers. His big eye drinks in the sight of Ricardo, the most famous bold star of Aphrodite.

"I see you here a lot, yet you never stick around."

"Haha, I'm just here to check out stuff.", the bungisngis replied. He stares at Ridar a bit more, too long for Ridar's taste. Something about him must have been familiar to this guy, but he couldn't pinpoint what, exactly. Maybe it was the various ads he’s seen near Malate or the Internet.

"Really? With that body of yours? Just checking out?", he says, giving him a subtle wink.

"Yeah, haven't found one though.", the bungisngis stammers. "Well, di pa tumitikim, if you get my drift."

Ricardo moves closer to him, his arms slowly brushing against the rough scales of the bungisngis. He can see his handsome face in the teeth of the bungisngis, as he feels the bungisngis burn behind those teeth.

"Gusto mo ba? Isang round?"

"Haha, uh, wag muna". He needs more time to figure out where he met this guy before, but the pounding dubstep and the strong alcohol makes it hard to concentrate. The bungisngis stands up, preparing to leave.

"Aw, I'm sad na tuloy", Ridar pouts. "Are you leaving?"

"I just need some air."

"Have a gin and tonic, bayad ko. Di ka pa umiinom since nakita kita."

"Ah, wag na, wag na, I'm fine."

"Come on, if you're not interested in me, at least drink with me, you know?"

"I mean, I am, but—"

"Makasira ka ng puso, you know that? Don't you want to make me happy? The alcohol isn't that strong, by the way."

"Oh, really? Hmm… I’ll take a sip. Just one though.", the bungisngis finally relenting.

Ridar slowly walks towards the bar, signaling to his crew that he is about to perform his greatest act. This usually is a private, one-on-one session between him and the client, but occasionally he will do a public performance. It's good advertising. A shaker on his right, a cocktail on his left, the rhythmic Eurobeat providing a steady pulse as he juggles the cocktail shaker. Occasionally, he will "accidentally" spill a drop of alcohol on him, the special body oil mixing with the alcohol to give him this intense musk that tends to intoxicate his clients. This doesn't seem to be working for the bungisngis, however, as he is more focused on 1.) staring at Ridar, and 2.) trying to enjoy the drink Ridar had given him.

After the short light show, Ridar approaches the bungisngis once more. He would really love it if this song-and-dance would finish already

"So, what do you think?", he says.

"Well, uh, it is a good show, but you know, I really have to go, and thanks for the drink but—"

"Aww, even that wasn't enough? Before you leave, wanna play a little drinking game, then?"

"Fine,I have time for a game.", the bungisngis replies, warily staring at Ridar. "No alcohol though."

Ridar stares at the bungisngis. He's fed up with this guy, and he really wants this to be over.

"I don’t know though, I don't think you're a strong enough man to handle it…"

"Trust me, I'm more of a man than you are!" the bungisngis bragged.

"Great! See, I have this belt here, and it's pretty tight.." Ridar starts as he slurs his words. The alcohol was hitting him hard, but he manages to keep standing.

"Hmm, and you want me to, uh, loosen it, then?" the bungisngis chatters.

"Now you're getting my drift. But, but, there is something special with the belt you see, and I don't know, you're probably not strong enough to do this, so this might be a waste of my ti—"

"Oh, now you're just teasing me."

"See, this belt needs a little… shall we say… magic to loosen it, and I would really appreciate it if you…"

"Ha! I can do anything you throw at me."

Ridar signals to the bartender — the bartender prepares the truth serum.

"All you have to do is drink this potion, and you can help me—"

"No problem!" the bungisngis shouts, and takes the truth serum in one shot.

"Oh dear. Anyway, come, help me open this… "belt" in my private room, will you?"

Squeak. Squeak. The bed bounces up and down.

"Damn, you are good at this."

Squeak, squeak. Moans of ecstasy. White fluids of pleasure, running down the bedroom. Instruments stained with lube.

"Now, wasn't that easy?"

Squeak. squeak. Whines of pressure. Yellow fluids of fear, edging along his body. Voices tinged with lust.

"Come on now, that was part of our agreement."

Squeak. squeak. Whimpers of fear. Candles burning on him, each drip bringing his body to hell and back. Mouth gagged with delicious cloth.

"No, no, you haven't said the safe word."

Whips and chains. Bound and tied, the serum slowly covering his whole body. Hanging from the ceiling, tied like a pig hanging from a burner, genitals jutting out, dripping with fluid.

"No, no, that was never the safe word."

Ropes and gags. Each whip of the nine-tails edging him to heaven and back. Each press of the needle, each drip of the candle, each sniff of the ethanol, each smell of Ridar's musk, sending him up and down on a sea of pleasure, riding on Ridar as a lifeboat in this journey. He opens his mouth, his gleaming teeth, asking for more.

"This would go a lot smoother if you helped me out here."

Spikes and boots. The iron maiden over his genitals prevented him from reaching heaven. He thrashes around, trying to release himself. Ridar brings out the magic powder. He draws a small spell on the cage, and it brings a terrifying presence to him. He feels the cold metal, he feels the hot candles on his back, and most of all, he realizes who is he with.

Ridar Montemayor, one of the top employees of the DAP.

Ridar removes the spell with a single stroke. A small drop of liquid drools out of the cage. He starts violently thrashing against the rope, the cage jingling with each shake, trying to free himself, yet each shake brings him more pleasure. He tries struggling, again. This still does not work. Ridar brings out a variety of brightly-coloured powders, inks, and scrolls in the bedside drawer. He makes a salve out of each of them, and rubs it on the bungisngis. Each rub electrifies him. Each rub strikes fear in him. Each rub sends him to heaven. Each rub sends him to hell. Each rub making him say things he should not.

"Not yet, you haven't told me what you really know."

A silent scream. Bones crack. Words are taken, names of people are exchanged. He can feel himself near the pearly gates, a single stroke away from heaven. He says anything, everything, just to get that single stroke.

"Ah, so that's where the warehouse is? Thanks for the confirmation."

"Let me help you."

One stroke. A lotus blooms. The Buddha reaches enlightenment. Ten thousand and eight liters of fluids flow, mixing with the salves to make a rainbow. Terrifying clarity descends on him. His eye rolls over. His teeth are stained with white, red, and yellow. His body shivers.

Silence.

"Hey, don't you get tired of this?", she asks.

"The persuasion? Sometimes."

"Gago, hinde, the bold star act." she smiles.

"No, I actually like this."

"You do know you don't have to do this, you freak." she smirks.

"Oh, you're one to talk. Besides, I enjoy my job."

Ridar strips down to his soaked jockstrap, preparing for another job, this time one of personal importance. Site-901 gives their employees a few breaks in the day, and Ridar's favorite place is near enough that he can eat lunch and visit it in record time.

"Guess that's why employee of the month ka", she says.

"So, saan yung next job mo, Rose— oh sorry, 'Maria Clara'", Ridar says as he sneers and lightly punches her.

"You know how much I hate that codename." Rose says while removing the bloodied nun habit.

"Hey, if it works, it works."

"Fuck, I haven't even read it since high school. Didn't know my job will involve the damn novel."

"Story of our lives."

Ridar likes to visit this place. Men and the occasional woman come here frequently.

Whenever Ridar drives back home, stuck in the midnight Manila traffic, he always wonders — was there a future where the Philippines was the power he wishes it was? Is there a reality where, by some stroke of luck, by some magical happenstance, that everything turns out okay?

Maria.

The red light turns green. The cars slowly accelerate forward. España traffic is always hell. He wishes the government will just remove the poors living here to make a better Manila, and hell, why not also just completely level the whole of Philippines to make a better tomorrow. They have the power, they have the riches, why not? You know? The Philippines will never evolve from their current state anyway, might as well restart. A Philippines, for Filipinos, by Filipinos.

He stops at a firing range near his house. His gun never got any use today, which was a shame. Might as well do a few rounds with Maria.

Such is another day in the life of Ridar Ortega Montemayor.