Meltdown

Meltdown

Tyler Crosby

Published by Tyler Crosby, 2024.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

MELTDOWN

First edition. October 1, 2024.

Copyright © 2024 Tyler Crosby.

ISBN: 979-8224601103

Written by Tyler Crosby.

Also by Tyler Crosby

Beyond the Veil

Beyond the Veil Part 1: The Misanthrope

Beyond the Veil Part 2: Suffer the Child

Beyond the Veil Part 3: Between Hell and a Heartbeat (Coming Soon)

Beyond the Veil: The Series (Coming Soon)

Standalone

Meltdown

Meltdown

By Tyler Crosby

Contents

Prologue: God Damn!

Chapter 1: Deader than Disco

Chapter 2: Don’t Fuck It Up

Chapter 3: Please Don't Hurt My Baby

Chapter 4: Stick to the Plan

Chapter 5: Some Real Evil Shit

Chapter 6: The Big Welcome

Chapter 7: Mother Mary

Chapter 8: Castle Brad

Chapter 9: Bringin’ Home Strays

Chapter 10: I Know I Know You

Chapter 11: Let’s Party

Chapter 12: The Scrubs

Chapter 13: The Example

Chapter 14: Hangman

Chapter 15: Doppelherz

Chapter 16: Mercy

Chapter 17: The Come-Down

Chapter 18: Operation Meltdown

Epilogue: Foreign Affairs

Prologue: God Damn!

The flickering fluorescent light buzzed ominously, casting erratic, skeletal shadows that danced across the dank concrete walls. Every surface was damp, the air heavy with the metallic scent of blood and antiseptic. In the center of the room stood a medical chair, a heavy metal structure bolted to the floor, its utilitarian design focused solely on function over comfort. The chair’s surface was padded with worn, cracked vinyl, dark stains upon it hinting at past events of a similarly gruesome nature. Restraint straps hung loosely from the armrests and footrests, a grim reminder of the room’s purpose. A single drain in the middle of the floor suggested an attempt at easy cleanup. Finalizing the room’s damning appearance, one wall was dominated by a floor-to-ceiling, two-way mirror.

In the middle of it all sat a ragged bleach-blonde woman. Her pulse pounded in her ears, each beat a drum signaling her impending doom, as the cold air whispered across her skin. The woman in the chair bore the remnants of a once-masculine physique, her features softened but still marked by the unmistakable traces of her former identity. Her jawline, though obscured by a patchy layer of stubble, hinted at the angular contours of a face that had never fully embraced its feminine essence. Dark circles clung stubbornly to her sunken eyes, betraying a lifetime of sleepless nights spent wrestling with the demons of her own creation.

On the other side of the two-way mirror lay the viewing atrium, a chamber veiled in shadows and secrecy, where the watchers observed the unfolding horrors with a mixture of fascination and trepidation. The observers, a mix of military officers and scientists, sat in tense silence, their faces bathed in the cold glow of numerous monitors and blinking control panels. The atrium was a stark contrast to the room the woman occupied—clean, organized, and layered with murmurs hovering above the cascading rows of seats.

What do you think this one’s gonna do? A question floated over their heads like arid cigarette smoke.

The walls of the atrium were cloaked in deliberate darkness, broken only by the faint glow of monitors and control panels lining one side of the room. Rows of high-backed chairs stood in silent vigil, their occupants' faces obscured by the dim light. Each chair was positioned strategically to afford the best possible view of the spectacle unfolding beyond the mirrored glass.

As the murmurs faded, the silence in the room thickened. A nurse, a middle-aged woman with faded red hair, tired eyes, and gentle hands, approached the woman in the chair. Her footsteps were muffled by the cold linoleum floor. In one hand, she carried a stainless-steel medical tray. Upon it lay a vial of fluorescent pink liquid, its contents swirling with an ethereal glow that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. Beside it rested a slender dropper.

The nurse approached the woman with cautious steps, her heart heavy with empathy for the fear etched into the woman's features. With gentle reassurance, she placed a hand on the woman's trembling shoulder, her touch a fleeting anchor in the sea of uncertainty.

I think I want to change my mind, the woman in the chair stuttered to the nurse.

Don’t worry. The wave of euphoria you’re about to feel will stomp out any of those butterflies in your stomach, the nurse comforted her with a smile.

The woman's eyes flickered with a mixture of disbelief and desperation, her body tensing instinctively at the sight of the dropper in the nurse's hand.

Just try to relax, okay? the nurse added as she continued prepping.

Nodding hesitantly, the woman closed her eyes, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she braced herself.

Okay, tilt your head back, open your mouth, and stick out your tongue, the nurse instructed sternly, her voice a steady anchor in the storm. With deliberate movements, she approached the woman, her hands steady and sure.

Dose administered, the nurse announced into a miniature microphone clipped to her collar.

Without hesitation, she swiftly packed up all her medical supplies, her hands moving with the urgency of someone who knew that time was of the essence. As she turned to leave the examination room, a sense of unease gnawed at the edges of her mind—a nagging doubt that whispered and prodded at her psyche. With one final glance at the woman in the chair, the audience could almost hear the nurse utter the words, I’m sorry.

Her heart heavy with the weight of the unknown, the nurse stepped out into the sterile hallway, the echoes of her footsteps fading as she disappeared from view. As the door swung shut behind her, sealing the woman’s fate within the confines of the examination room, the silence was broken by a single whisper from one of the audience members: Here we go...

The instant the nurse left the room, the woman’s eyes snapped open, a wild light flickering within their depths. She felt the drug’s effects rapidly altering her perception, her emotions shifting like a storm-tossed sea. Desperation and rage began to boil within her, fueled by the fear and confusion that the drug amplified tenfold.

In a sudden, frenzied motion, she spun around to face the two-way mirror, her reflection staring back at her with a distorted intensity. Her expression grew feral, lips curling back in a primal snarl, eyes narrowing into slits of raw, unfiltered anger. It was as if the mirror had become a portal to her deepest fears and insecurities, reflecting not just her physical form but the embodiment of everything she hated about herself. She lunged at the mirror, her hands slamming against its cold surface, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot.

Her fury slowly ebbed into a cold, creeping despair, and she pressed her forehead against the glass, her breath fogging up the surface as she stared into her own haunted eyes. Her whispers began as barely audible mutterings, her lips moving in a silent litany of self-loathing.

Her fingers clenched into fists, knuckles whitening as she fought against the rising tide of despair. The whispers became a chorus of self-doubt and hatred, echoing in the sterile silence of the room.

Fuckin' filth pig, she continued. Her fingers traced the lines of her reflection’s face, their touch harsh and unforgiving. You think you can hide behind makeup and hair dye?

She pounded her fist against the glass, the force of the blow sending a shockwave up her arm. You're worthless! You hear me? Worthless! No one will ever love you. No one will ever want you. You’re a burden, a mistake that should never have existed. Tears streamed down her face, but she ignored them, her voice rising in a crescendo of self-hatred.

Suddenly, the realization of her own words crashed over her like a tidal wave. With a strangled cry, she threw herself backward, stumbling away from the mirror as if it had turned into a living, breathing monster.

No, no, no, no! she began to mutter, her voice rising in a frantic, escalating crescendo. Each no grew louder, more desperate than the last, until it became a piercing scream that echoed off the cold, sterile walls.

She clutched her head, as if trying to block out the haunting images of herself, the sound of her own voice, the unrelenting wave of self-hatred. Stumbling, she sought refuge behind the medical examination chair, her body trembling uncontrollably. She curled into a tight ball, her knees drawn up to her chest, her hands covering her ears as she rocked back and forth.

Her fear drove her to scramble desperately around the chair, her movements frantic and uncoordinated. She pressed her back against the cold concrete wall, her eyes darting wildly, as if the reflection might somehow break free and come after her. The walls seemed to close in, the room shrinking around her as her terror reached new heights. Her body convulsed violently, and she retched, the sound raw and guttural, echoing in the sterile chamber. A bitter, acidic taste filled her mouth as she vomited, each spasm wracking her body with brutal intensity. The bile and remnants of her last meal splattered onto the floor.

After each retch, her fear morphed into something darker—pure, unbridled rage. Her eyes, bloodshot and wild, flickered with a feral light as the anger took hold. She clawed at her own skin, leaving angry red marks as she tried to purge the helplessness that gripped her. Her hands shot up to her head, fingers clawing at her hair in a frenzied grip. She yanked violently, ripping out chunks of hair along with bits of scalp.

Strands of hair, dark and matted with blood, fell around her like macabre confetti. Her primal screams reverberated off the concrete walls as her meltdown continued to ramp up. Her nails, jagged and broken, raked down her face next, leaving deep, angry scratches that quickly filled with crimson. She gouged at her cheeks, the skin tearing under her relentless assault, as if she were trying to peel away the very essence of her being. Blood smeared across her face, mingling with the tears, and sweat that poured from her.

The primal screams turned masculine and guttural as she dug her fingers into her skin, moving down her neck to her chest, where she continued her relentless attack. Her shirt was quickly shredded by her nails, revealing the tender flesh beneath, which she tore into with the same furious intensity. Her chest heaved as she yanked the shredded garment from her body, the remnants falling to the floor like discarded tissue. Her newly developed breasts, the symbols of her painful transformation, were now exposed and vulnerable.

Her hands, slick with blood, reached for her breasts. Her fingers dug into the soft flesh, squeezing with a brutal force that left deep, purplish indentations. Her nails, sharp and unrelenting, raked across the sensitive skin, tearing into the flesh with a savage fury. The pain was excruciating, but she welcomed it, using it to drown out the inner turmoil that threatened to consume her.

You’re not real! she screamed a horse scream.

Her hands twisted and pulled, the tender skin giving way under her relentless assault. Blood oozed from the torn tissue that once was her nipples, staining her chest and hands a dark, glistening red. Her pupils rapidly transitioned from pinpoint to dilated, causing tears to waterfall down her cheeks.

The observers behind the two-way mirror recoiled in horror, their faces pale as they watched the woman's descent into madness. The clinical detachment they had maintained was shattered, replaced by a visceral dread at the sight of such raw, unfiltered suffering. The room felt claustrophobic, the walls closing in as the woman's screams filled the space.

With each squeeze, each rip, she seemed to be trying to tear away the parts of herself that struggled so hard to achieve, the parts that felt foreign and wrong. Her cries were a cacophony of pain and despair, a desperate attempt to purge the torment that had taken root deep within her soul.

Get off! she shrieked, her voice breaking as she continued to mutilate herself. Get off of me!

Her rage, like a wildfire, spread further down her body. As her chest heaved with sobs of fury and despair, her hands moved lower, targeting her groin. Her determination twisted into a grotesque dance of desperation and self-destruction as she clawed and tugged at her jeans, her fingers slick with blood and sweat, slipping on the fabric. The denim resisted her frantic attempts, the rough material scraping against her skin, adding to the myriad of wounds already covering her body.

Goddamn it! she wailed in a desperate cry before finally ripping open her faded blue jeans, exposing her penis to the harsh fluorescent light of the examination room. Her hands, trembling with a combination of rage and fear, gripped the shaft with brutal force. The skin, tender and sensitive, reddened under her relentless squeezing, the blood forced painfully to the head, which swelled and began to darken ominously.

The pain was immediate and excruciating, but it only fueled her desperation. Her nails dug into the flesh, leaving deep, angry gouges along her shaft. With violent grunts and groans, she bit down on her bottom lip as she began to test her newly developed superhuman strength. She squeezed harder, her knuckles turning white, the skin at the head splitting open, blood oozing out in thick rivulets.

GET THE FUCK OFF ME! she erupted.

In a swift motion, she reached her other hand beneath her, fingers trembling as they found her scrotum. Her grip tightened around it, rupturing her testicles before they could escape her grasp. Her body was a horrid display of primal agony, every muscle tensed, every nerve on fire. Her breaths came in ragged, shallow gasps as she gathered her strength, her eyes wild with a mix of rage and despair. Then, with an inhuman force born from the depths of her torment, she yanked upward.

The skin of her taint and groin stretched taut, the creases widening under the relentless pressure. Her flesh strained and finally began to split, the sound a sickening tear that reverberated through the room. The drug dulled the pain, but the physical sensation of her body tearing itself apart was a grotesque, visceral horror. She watched in a detached haze as the tendons snapped, the muscles tore away in jagged strips, and blood flowed freely from her thick, ruptured arteries.

Her screams grew louder, filled with a desperate, almost maniacal intensity as she continued to pull, each tear a grotesque victory in her war against her own body. The bloodied flesh gave way, the final connections snapping with gruesome finality. Her penis and scrotum came free in her trembling hands.

Her cries of desperation gave way to an eerie, triumphant laughter as she held the severed remnants of her torment aloft. It's gone! she exclaimed, her voice tinged with both glee and profound relief. Finally, it's off me!

A wave of euphoria seemed to wash over her, her body trembling not with pain but with a strange, intense ecstasy. Her pupils continued to dilate and contract rapidly as she dropped the now pallid penis onto the floor. With her hands free to explore the new reality of her body, her fingers trembled as they moved to the torn, bloodied space between her legs. Her touch was tentative at first but quickly grew more confident. She gasped as her fingertips brushed against the raw, oozing hole of a vagina. The drug, which had muted her pain, now amplified her sensations, turning each touch into a bolt of pleasure.

The ecstasy was overwhelming, a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to drown her. Her fingers moved with increasing urgency, exploring with a fervor that bordered on mania.

Mmm, much better... she moaned, her voice a mixture of delirious pleasure and unhinged triumph. Mmm, I have such a pretty, wet pussy now...

Her cries of ecstasy grew louder, more frenzied, as her fingers continued their relentless exploration.

Fuck me! Fuck me! she began to beg, her eyes fixed on her reflection.

The pleasure was overwhelming, a tidal wave of sensation surging through her body, blinding her to everything else. Her skin, already slick with sweat and blood, began to grow paler, the color draining from her as her life force ebbed away. She didn't notice the cold, creeping numbness spreading through her limbs, her focus entirely on the intense, all-consuming pleasure.

As her fingers pressed deeper, in search of her nonexistent G-Spot, it was to no avail. All she found were the raw, exposed nerve endings of her self-inflicted wound. However, the ecstasy she had anticipated was still very much present.

Fuck, I’m going to cum! Yes! she screamed, her voice a blend of delirious pleasure and triumphant relief. Oh my God. Oh, my fucking God!

Suddenly, violent squirt of blood erupted from her, the fluid mingling with her arousal in a grotesque mimicry of an orgasmic release. The crimson spray coated her thighs and hands, leaving a linear trail of blood like a red-carpet entrance to her new vagina.

Her pupils locked in a dilated, trance like state as the euphoria reached its peak. Her body convulsed violently, every muscle tensed, every nerve on fire. And then, with a final, shuddering gasp, she came, the pleasure ripping through her in a wave of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.

The force of the orgasm sent another spurt of blood arcing through the air, her body trembling with the intensity of the release. But the pleasure quickly gave way to a cold, creeping darkness as her skin turned ashen, the life draining from her in a torrent of blood. Her breaths grew shallow, her vision dimming as the room began to spin, the edges blurring into a hazy void.

Her hands fell away from her body, fingers now blackened with blood, as she slumped to the floor. Her eyes, wide and glassy, stared unseeing at the ceiling, with a satisfied smile scrawling across her face. In her final moments of this twisted blend of ecstasy and horror, the blood pooled around her like