Storm Holdings proved both trivial and tricky to track down.

Trivial, because they were a publicly listed company–a simple search on the internet revealed quite a lot about them, including addresses.

Tricky, because that search resulted in no fewer than twenty three addresses, just within Central City alone. I toyed with the idea of going to each address, but quickly determined it would do no good–what would I do, break in and search their basements until I found something? Even if I could get away with that once, what were the odds of getting away with it twenty three times?

Fortunately, Haven had a better idea.

(They know who you are,) they reminded. (That means they’ve likely seen your videos. If they’ve got the resources to track you down, they have the resources to find your face on the internet.)

(And?) I asked.

(And it’s been a while since I’ve played with you in public.)

That’s how we found ourselves at the trashiest mall in the city, my phone secured to a bathroom stall with duct tape to record my performance, with a nice, eye catching title–‘Watch me get fucked and fill my diaper on a public toilet’. This certainly violated the terms of service of any legitimate cam site, but Haven found a website that was sufficiently seedy and which wouldn’t burn my income to use.

And then, well…we’d made the headline true, playing up the voyeurism. Since this wasn’t my main site, nobody could send me commands, but I still reacted as best as I could to the chat going on, playing up my responses as I fingered myself beneath a saturated diaper for the entertainment of anonymous strangers.

I made a show of it, too–granting Haven a down payment for my promise, I did everything I could think of in a masochistic display, at least when I had the bathroom to myself. While I was alone, I spanked my thighs, pinched my nipples, squirted into my fingers and then licked them clean–and even when anyone walked in, my play didn’t end, it simply grew silent.

Haven enjoyed that the most–though the cameras couldn’t see, they took those moments to fuck me in both ends, and I could tell they enjoyed making me struggle to keep from gasping and moaning. It was all I could do to keep perfectly still and quiet as they hit me with one earth shattering orgasm after another, knowing I couldn’t make even a peep in reply.

Thirty minutes into my livestream, at a point where the bathroom was empty save for myself, the bathroom door flew open, and no less than six figures walked in. They hadn’t chosen to be any more subtle than before; mirrored sunglasses and black clothes still dominated their wardrobe–instead, they’d upped the ante with sheer numbers.

The apparent leader held out her phone, watching a particularly shameful moment where I was humping the toilet seat in a diaper that’d begun to leak.

“In the back,” she said immediately, gesturing to the farthest stall, where my little ‘livestream’ performance was playing. “We’re not letting her get away this time.”

Two obedient thugs walked to the stall door, cautious that I might attack them from inside the bathroom.

None of them expected the door to slam behind them, at the same moment that all the lights went out.

Maybe it was unfair to call my performance a ‘Livestream’, since we’d recorded it an hour in advance, but that’s what it said on the internet. To anyone watching, it’d look like I was live–I even reacted to messages in chat. Of course, I only responded to messages that I’d scripted out in advance, messages I sent from a burner account after the fact.

Maybe if they’d looked up when they came in, it would have been a different story, but they’d been too focused on the stall they thought I was in. The trap had worked perfectly, and I had six Storm Holdings thugs locked in a pitch black room, utterly helpless.

Dangling from the ceiling, Haven’s body sticking to tiles like a glue trap, we analyzed for a moment.

(Two candidates,) Haven thought. (The ones closest to the door.)

I grinned, and then their inky body pulled itself over my face, symbiote covering me completely as we started the fight.

Dropping onto their leader, I landed on her shoulders, my body facing hers, and we both fell to the floor. Still in the same diaper I’d worn in the video, I rewarded the thug leader’s ambition with a faceful of gross, then Haven left a bit of themself stuck to her, a strand that suffocated while I dealt with the rest.

It was a trivially easy fight–they couldn’t see, they couldn’t strike, and even when a clumsy waving hand clocked me, it bounced off. Adrenaline surged in my body, and in half a minute, they were all unconscious.

All save for two.

And, for once, I let Haven do the talking. They used my vocal cords, but modulated it through their form, and the voice came out as a deep, unsettling, and wholly inhuman growl. “Where?”

One of the thugs began to cry, panic tears rushing down his face. The other begged, instead. “Please, don’t kill us–”

In an instant, I reached out, consuming the crying thug’s face completely. It sounded as though he’d simply ceased to exist, and there was no light to contradict this assumption. Beneath Haven’s ooze, his mouth and nose were cut off from oxygen, suffocating him into unconsciousness–but for all his ally could tell, he’d been killed in the blink of an eye.

“Where?” Haven repeated, facing the remaining, babbling thug. We’d dabbled with the idea of grabbing him, rewiring his hormones to make his fear as intense as possible, but he was already suffused with the smell of fear–no further manipulation from us was necessary.

“Th-the office on m-Main Street, a block down from the Central City r-r-Research Institute!” he stammered. “We were just supposed to take you there, a-and–”

“Where’s the girl?” Haven insisted.

Pitch rising to pure terror, the thug stuttered, “I d-d-don’t know about any girl!”

“Useless,” we said together, turning our power on him. Without oxygen, his brain went to sleep quickly. While still in contact with the unconscious body, Haven enacted a bit of hormonal manipulation, releasing melatonin subtracting adrenaline, ensuring he’d stay that way for a good long while.

(Main street office,) Haven thought. (Easy.)

I nodded beneath my symbiotic mask. “Let’s go."