Authors: Alicia Cameron
Succession
Succession
Demoted
Book Three
Alicia Cameron
ForbiddenFiction
www.forbiddenfiction.com
an imprint of
Fantastic Fiction Publishing
www.fantasticfictionpublishing.com
SUCCESSION
A ForbiddenFiction book
Fantastic Fiction Publishing
Hayward, California
© Alicia Cameron, 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the publisher, except as allowed by fair use. For information contact
[email protected]
.
CREDITS
Editor: James L. Wolf
Cover Design: Siolnatine
Cover Art: Natalya Nesterova
Production Editor: Erika L Firanc
Proofreading: JhP323
SKU: AC2-000250-01 AMZ
ISBN: 978-1-62234-262-4
Published in the United States of America
Disclaimer
This book is a work of fiction which contains explicit erotic content; it is intended for mature readers. Do not read this if it’s not legal for you.
All the characters, locations and events herein are fictional. While elements of existing locations or historical characters or events may be used fictitiously, any resemblance to actual people, places or events is coincidental.
This book depicts fictional BDSM; it is not intended to be used as an instruction manual. It contains descriptions of erotic acts that may be immoral, illegal, or unsafe. The characters are not models for the Safe, Sane and Consensual forms embraced by most current practitioners of BDSM. The authors take license with the use of BDSM for dramatic effect. Do not take the events in this story as proof of the plausibility or safety of any particular practice.
To the friends and family I ignored while writing this: I bet you thought living with a writer would be glamorous, didn’t you? Always happy to crush your dreams!
Contents
Chapter 1
Detained
“We should get out of here soon. You’re not safe here.”
The wailing screech of police hov-cars nearly drowns out the bodyguard’s orders to Cash and me. We duck as pieces of the interview set fly past our heads, crashing to the ground as the crowd comes closer and closer, fighting their way through the security team’s boundaries and evading the tasers that are supposed to hold them back. The smell of smoke is starting to filter in; whether it’s from arson or from smoke bombs isn’t clear yet.
When I’m given the order to move, I do so without question, rushing alongside our bodyguard as we make our way behind the stage into a utility closet. Cash follows closely, keeping himself between the crowd and me, knowing they are far more likely to hurt a slave than a free man, even with what they’re accusing him of. Objects are being thrown at us, but we make it up the narrow set of stairs that bring us to the roof.
The fresh air is a relief, as is the door that we close tightly and lock behind us. We have no other option but to wait for the police force to come and retrieve us.
Despite Cash’s protests, I make my way to the edge of the roof. I have to see how far the riot has spread.
Armed guards, dressed head to toe in government-issued teal uniforms, spew from a military vehicle and begin to disperse the crowd. The guards wear facemasks; they are protected from the smoke bombs they throw. Those in the crowd who are strong enough to try and tolerate the noxious fumes are tased or arrested; those who are brave enough to fight back or resist are shot at. There are Demoted people in the crowd, it’s easy to pick them out by their lack of high-tech wristbands and the fact that they are being used as human shields.
We did this. Cash and me. We made this happen. We never meant for it to happen like this.
Six Weeks Earlier
I awaken in the backseat of a moving vehicle. For a minute, I have no idea what happened.
Then I sit up, and I feel the burst of pain in my head.
“Nice to see you awake, Sascha,” an unfamiliar voice greets me.
I glance around, realizing that I’m in a police hov-car; not the transport vans that usually transport Demoted people, but the kind that would be used for a free person. I stare at the officer, who is looking back at me through the rearview mirror. He’s acting like he knows who I am, but I don’t remember him. Then again, I don’t remember much of what happened to get me here. I don’t remember where Cash is.
“You took a good blow to the head back there. Wasn’t sure if you’d come around before we arrived.”
I struggle to piece the memories together. Cash and I had just finished putting the final results of our research together, just gotten confirmation of the evidence that would damn the Miller System and everyone involved with it. We had gone to bed, set on celebrating our victory and each other, and then….
“Where are you taking me?”
“Leadview Slave Detention Facility,” the officer tells me. “Special transport, due to the unique circumstances. Someone thought Kristine Miller might not give you up.”
I nod, unable to speak as the memories suddenly come flooding back. My master’s mother kidnapped me, using her business as a cover, and I have no doubt she would have killed me. She was set on stopping Cash from releasing his research—a goal I destroyed by releasing in advance. Of course, it didn’t stop him from being taken into custody, and me as well. Her blow must have been what knocked me out. I’m surprised she didn’t just kill me, but that would have made her and her system look even more corrupt than it already is.
My master’s fate rests in the state, now, as does mine. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to him.
The officer hasn’t cuffed me and he looks sympathetic. I debate the value of staying quiet, but my need for knowledge outweighs it. “Did I do something wrong, sir?”
I try to sound stupid and scared, like a spoiled pet should. My master and I have spent months working on a research project that will overthrow the Miller System, the system that dictates how Demoted slaves are trained. Contrary to the current system, which focuses on intense subjugation and psychological manipulation in order to transform young adults into slaves, our research has shown that slaves can be more productive in less harsh environments. In fact, the Miller System is producing subpar slaves, wasting resources, putting our country, the Democratic Republic of Nitorra at risk of falling behind other countries. Worse, since the Miller System has been exported across the world, our nation can be blamed for sabotaging the international environment.
As I was being kidnapped by the creator of the Miller System, I released the data that proves these accusations to the media.
The Miller System’s deficiencies have been hidden for decades by its creator, a fact that few people are aware of, and a fact that the rest of our research can show. Since Kristine Miller is my master’s mother, everything is so much more personal. She’s powerful, motivated, and since we anticipated a negative response to the results, we didn’t release the evidence that showed the failings of Kristine Miller and the Miller System. For the same reasons, we didn’t let on that our Demoted test subjects often outperformed non-Demoted test subjects on measures of intelligence, critical thinking and problem-solving.
I don’t know why I’m being taken to a detention facility, and I don’t know what Kristine has told anyone else about the project that my master and I are working on. Helping Cashiel conduct research to dismantle the existing slave training system is exciting when he’s around to protect me; it’s a liability when he’s not. Last I saw, he was being arrested, presumably taken to jail for his treasonous acts. He can’t protect me anymore, and his absence is painful and threatening.
“You haven’t done anything wrong,” the officer tells me. “Leadview is for slaves whose masters have been incarcerated.”
I nod, silent, staring out the window. Cash had a simple goal when he started researching. He wanted to make money, to outshine his mother, to find the best system possible. Somewhere along the way, those noble goals turned into treason, but he was naïve to think that anything else would happen in a totalitarian country. Nitorra pretends to represent the best interests of its citizens, but even those who aren’t officially enslaved are subject to near total control. My master should have known, having been arrested for the same “crime” years ago, but sometimes he’s more persistent than subtle. He is determined to advance his theory and research until nobody can deny the benefits it can bring.
As we leave the confines of the city, the effects of the data release are noticeable. Military vehicles are out in greater numbers than usual, but there are no riots here, and the smoke from distant fires, probably in the cities, seem to fade into the clouds. I listen idly to the police scanner, unsurprised to hear that there have been curfews instituted across the nation.
I wish the drive to the detention facility was longer, because I see the dark grey concrete and iron fence and I’m filled with dread. It reminds me too much of a prison, too much of the re-education centers, and neither of those are places I ever wanted to willingly go again. When the officer comes to collect me from the backseat, I hesitate for a moment, looking up at him desperately, wishing he would save me.
“You’ll be all right,” he says, forcing his voice to be a little gruffer than it has been so far. “Let’s start by not having to be dragged inside.”
I nod and he leads me forward, restrained only by a surprisingly light grip on my upper arm. He shows his wristband for identification in the entranceway, then takes me through to a small, bare room with a table and chairs.
