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The Blister Boyz
Chapter 53: Forward Outpost Omega

by Redspkscott

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Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 12 Dec 2016

Blister Boyz — Ch. 53: Forward Outpost Omega

The heroes:
Troy Manning – Heat Blister
Jason Klein – Ice Hazer
David Mercer – Smaqdown
Dennis Lowder – The Humiliator
Walt Hemingway – Major Fry
Brian Tannon – Murky Menace
Jorge Vasquez – Poison Punisher
Keith Grady – The Sticking Point

Days later, Troy and Walt, in uniform as Heat Blister and Major Fry, met Jacob Brass on the roof of Blitz Tower, where a military helicopter awaited them. Jacob, who had returned from SpankTank with a heavily blistered and bruised bottom (but was not terribly unhappy about the painful experience), escorted them aboard.

Yes, the copter is armed, Jacob explained. But we won’t need it. It’s just a precaution. Probably. I’m pretty sure. Hang on, boys.

The three of them took to the air and headed east, over the sea.

The two of them watched the city go by below as Jacob gave them a quick overview.

We’re heading to Longbow’s Forward Outpost Omega. The name is absolutely NOT a coincidence. Every man working on that platform is an Omega Upsilon Chi alumnus. Capt. Manuel Torres is the man in charge there. He has built that base up to exactly the way he wants it to be.

I remember that name, Troy said. Paragon A&M? Defensive line, if I remember.

Yup, Jacob said. That’s the man. He’s a tough customer. They call him The Warden. You’ll probably find out why.

They were well over the ocean now. There were aircraft carriers and platform outposts built in the sea scattered off the coast, intended to try to contain the Rogue Isles. From these bases Longbow’s forces occasionally launched raids on the island to try to keep the villains there from growing too powerful and threatening Paragon City and the rest of the country.

Here’s what you need to know before we get there, Jacob said. Capt. Torres is one of the few folks in the complete loop on the true nature of Oranbega, the Adepts of Discipline, and the whole secret war between the two sides of pain. He knows who you all are, how you got your powers, that we’ve got the formula, and that we’re working with you.

What, really? Troy said, looking surprised. Jacob nodded.

The reason you’ve never met him is because he’s completely devoted to fighting back the forces of the Rogue Isles. He spends most of his time keeping the outpost running smoothly. He rarely returns home to Paragon City. He was furious with us for how you guys ended up in Rogue Isles without you coming to him first.

We were kidnapped, Walt pointed out.

You will find details like that don’t hold much sway over him, Jacob said. Some of the guys you freed were from his outpost, by the way. He said he was handling them appropriately.

That sounds very ominous, Troy said.

Oh, I assure you, you do not want to be those men right now, Jacob said. Speaking of which, his men are semi-aware of the obsession of pain that motivates them as well as their foes. They know of the existence of Oranbega and have even fought the mages. Some have even been kidnapped and temporarily turned into satyrs.

Ouch, Troy said.

Ouch, indeed, Jacob said. But they don’t actually know about the Adepts of Discipline or that the magic of Oranbega is powered by pain. The Warden has purposefully kept them in the dark on that because of the danger of other villains finding out from interrogations and torture. There are too many people fighting for control of Oranbega already.

Troy nodded. At this point, even with additional Omega boys showing interest in becoming heroes, they were keeping knowledge of the secret war between the Adepts of Discipline and the Circle of Thorns, and the role of the Blister Boyz in helping the Adepts, to themselves.

These guys lead some very rough lives, Jacob said. Remember the Crimson Brotherhood had some of them enslaved before you even arrived. Being a Longbow agent working in Rogue Isles means accepting some harsh treatment now and then. Keep that in mind as you watch what’s going on at the outpost.

Now I’m really curious, Walt said.

We’re on the approach now, sirs! The pilot shouted back to them.

A massive platform had been built atop supports and struts that plunged down into the deep ocean. Buildings had been constructed on the outer edge of the platform, and the guys could also see that there were additional walls and buildings within the support structure beneath the platform. Much of the platform was open cement and tarmac, room for a pack of helicopters to land if need be to prepare for an assault (or to return from one). There were missile launchers positioned on all the corners of the platform to help defend the outpost from attacks.

Look at those flags, Troy said. The flags were white and red, the color of the Longbow forces, but in the middle of the white center of each flag was a big red omega symbol. The font was clearly exactly the same as the one Omega Upsilon Chi used for their frat letters.

Oh, there’s much more than that, Jacob said. Looks like Manny’s busy doing what he does best.

There were Longbow men on deck in their skin-tight red-and-white spandex uniforms. As the helicopter approached, Troy and Walt could make out that there were a handful of men scattered across the deck on their hands and knees, crawling across the tarmac. Behind each crawling man was another Longbow agent wielding a paddle. Every couple of seconds, the Longbow agents swung their paddles hard, cracking them against the backsides of their crawling peers.

They’re doing penny pushes? Troy asked.

Oh yes, Jacob said. They’re much more intense than what you boys do at the frat, too. Jacob pointed over to a large side building where several men were gathered. There’s Capt. Torres. Troy and Walt looked over as the helicopter swooped in to land.

Torres was a large man, on par with Jason. It made sense, given that they were both linemen. He wore the same red-and-white spandex uniform of the Longbow that showed off a powerfully muscular body. He was occupied at the moment and didn’t even look over at the helicopter as it was landing. He was standing with one foot planted atop a tall footstool. This gave him a perfectly bent knee. Across this knee he had pulled over one of the other Longbow men for punishment. Torres was big enough and tall enough that the man was draped over the captain’s knee without the Longbow’s feet touching the ground. The Longbow man’s arms were crossed behind his back, and Torres massive left hand had grabbed onto his forearms to hold him in position.

The Longbow agent’s spandex pants were pulled down to his thighs, exposing a muscular bottom framed with a jockstrap. Troy doubted that jockstraps were official Longbow underwear, but this outpost was clearly operating under frat rules. Torres had a round clear paddle, probably some sort of plastic or Lexan, and he was fiercely smacking it against the Longbow man’s ass—WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP—with almost no break between swats for his victim to recover. It was not unlike one of David’s famous 60-second rides, but Troy and Walt suspected this punishment had gone on for much longer. The victim’s ass was a very dark red. What was surprising was how seemingly calm he was about getting his ass positively blistered. He did not appear to be kicking or struggling against the punishment in any way, even though it was remarkably harsh and had to be putting him in intense pain with every swat.

Troy, Walt, and Jacob carefully exited the helicopter and headed over toward Capt. Torres. He looked over to them and gave a quick nod while viciously continuing his swats.

Welcome to Forward Outpost Omega, Torres said, looking over the boys as he continued to paddle his soldier. Specialist Tye, greet our guests!

Sirs, Welcome to Forward Outpost Omega, sirs, Tye said, holding his position perfectly, though his voice quivered. The two Blister Boyz noticed that the nearby building’s exterior had been surfaced with thin aluminum panels that had been buffed smooth until they were reflective. Capt. Torres was positioned so that the Spc. Tye was facing the mirrored wall. Tye was staring directly forward into the eyes of his own reflection. This also meant he was in a position to see his own upturned ass in his reflection and knew every time a swat was about to land. Yet he managed to keep from squeezing his cheeks together in anticipation when the paddle came down. Troy and Walt could also see that Spc. Tye’s face was deep red and tears streaked down his face. He was crying and grimacing, but was taking care not to verbalize how much pain he was in.

You may remember Tye here from your visit to the Crimson Brotherhood, Torres said. Looks like they toughened him up a bit. I’ve been trying to tease some extra demerits out of him but he’s having a butch day. Is that right, Tye?

Sir, yes sir!

Maybe you’ll actually earn your way out of the red zone and get your leave privileges back. Torres said. Torres then turned and grinned at his guests. He had jet black hair cut short and penetrating brown eyes. He also had a few scars on his face, across his forehead, his thick nose, and his left cheek. Suddenly, after making it seem as though the punishment session was over, he tormented Tye with a flurry of viciously fast swats. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! His arm was practically a blur. He watched Tye intently as he punished, looking for a reaction. Tye continued to stare into his own eyes and keep his ass up and relaxed for the punishment. He gasped with pain and grimaced but did not cry out.

Can’t blame a guy for trying, Torres said after stopping. Troy noticed Torres briefly glance at his watch. He noticed a reddish-purple glow coming from it and wondered if it was like David’s, which allowed him to detect whether his paddlings were providing good pain (discipline) or bad pain (abuse). If that were the case, the Warden’s punishment had gone far beyond discipline into the kind of torment that helped feed the Circle of Thorns.

Torres snapped his fingers, and a Longbow agent brought a tray over to him. The boys were rather amused to see that the tray contained several butt plugs. Torres looked them over, and picked one out.

These are all nicely lubricated with a very intense capsaicin oil I made them cook up themselves, Torres explained. Keeps the punishment going for a good hour or so once I’m done with them. He slowly started pushing the butt plug into Specialist Tye’s ass. The Longbow agent again tried his best not to react but his grimace was visible in the mirror and his bottom quivered noticeably.

Whose thumb are you under, Specialist Tye? Capt. Torres asked. As a point of emphasis he used his right thumb to push the plug all the way into Tye’s ass.

Sir, yours sir, Tye grunted.

Is that where you belong? Torres asked.

Sir, yes sir.

You may work your way out of the red zone, Tye, but you’ll always be under my thumb. Understand?

Sir, yes sir.

Now put that ass on display, son, for our guests, Torres said as he allowed Tye off his knee. Tye, leaving his uniform pants pulled down, carefully walked over to an unusual nearby set of what sort of looked like parade bleachers. A set of stepped benches, but with wider rows than usual, had been built and installed connected to a nearby building. Six of the Longbow agents were on display on the risers of these bleachers. They were on their hands and knees on the risers in a sort of penitent prayer position. They were facing inward, so their exposed bottoms were on full display. Each backside had been thoroughly punished, and they were all nice dark shades of red. Each of them had a buttplug shoved in them, just like Specialist Tye. The Omega symbol had been inscribed in the base of each plug.

This is my tomato patch. Torres said, gesturing to the collection of punished men. Tye joined them, kneeling on a riser and raising his quivering bottom upward to display it. Just as with Tye’s paddling, the specialist was staring directly into a shiny metal wall on the side of the building he was facing, forcing him to make eye contact with himself again. I like to have a nice display when guests come calling.

That’s pretty intense, Heat Blister noted.

Oh, this is nothing, Torres said, as a Longbow agent brought over a tablet of info to look over. During the summer, I rub their sorry asses with baby oil, too, and they sit here getting a nice sunburn while waiting for me to let them get back to work. He jabbed at the tablet with a thick finger for a few moments. Looks like a couple of you guys have work deadlines this afternoon. Too bad I’ve got this meeting here with these heroes first before I’m gonna let you up. You might be getting some more demerits, Lewis and Purdy. Oooh, one more demerit puts Purdy into the red zone, isn’t that right, Purdy?

Yes, sir, one of the men on the bleachers said.

Think you’ll make it?

I’ll do my best sir.

Be nice to get another boy in the red zone with Tye working his way out, Torres said. For me, I mean. Not for you, obviously. For our guests, here, Purdy, tell them, do I want you to succeed or fail at meeting your deadline and staying out of the red zone today?

You want me to fail, sir.

Troy’s eyes widened, while Walt looked sidelong at Capt. Torres.

And why is that, son?

You enjoy beating my ass, sir.

Correct, but incomplete, Capt. Torres said. I love beating all their asses. It also happens to be my job. Gotta love what you do. Torres nodded to a nearby door to next to the tomato patch.

Inside, you three, He said, with not a small amount of menace. We have a lot to discuss. No interruptions, he said to the Longbow agent watching over the punished men. We’re talking classified info.

Torres directed the three of them into a decent-sized office with maps of Rogue Isles all over the some of the walls, and monitors all over the others. Torres gestured to two metal stools nearby for Troy and Walt to sit on, then he abruptly reached over and grabbed Jacob around the neck with one beefy arm and then grabbed his ass roughly with his free hand.

You letting SpankTank get his hands on that ass? Torres growled in Jacob’s ear. Trying to make me jealous?

Always, Jacob said with a grin.

He make you cry harder than I make you cry? Torres asked.

It’s been a while, Jacob responded. Not sure if I can remember enough to compare.

Oh, we’ll fix that long before I let you go, Torres said. You’ll remember who really owns your ass when you’re not Andrew’s spank slave.

Troy looked them over, glanced briefly over at Walt and thought to himself, Is Manuel Jacob’s boyfriend? Neither of them seemed particularly monogamous in their behavior, but then, he and Jason loved to bring in a third now and then for more fun.

All right, Torres said, breaking away from Jacob and sitting behind his desk. Let’s talk about you fuck-ups and what the hell happened and how much I want to kick your asses all the way back to Paragon City.

Well, Troy began. Torres held up a hand to stop.

One thing, Torres said. I don’t care if you’re heroes. Frat rules. I outrank you. I can bust your asses all I want and I just might. I understand Andrew gives you some leeway before cracking the paddle and Jacob here is ... well, I don’t have to tell you which side of the paddle he belongs on. I am not like them. I am not a nice guy. I will not be giving you leeway. On this outpost I’m in charge and I will paddle your asses, heroes or no, chosen ones of Adepts of Discipline, or what the fuck ever. And I will enjoy it. At least one of you is getting his ass busted today. And I’m not talking about Jacob. Busting Jacob’s ass is just a given.

I’ve already done a penny push, but if you demand I do another, then I guess... , Troy began.

Not you, him, Torres said, pointing his paddle directly at Walt. Walt held the man’s gaze and didn’t look away.

I’m the team leader, Troy said. Why Walt?

Because it was his fuck up, wasn’t it? Torres said. No, let me correct myself. It was a goddamn cascade of fuck-ups that led to your entire team being trapped in the supervillain equivalent of North Korea. And reading all these reports, it led squarely back to the man you assigned to handle the intel.

Yeah, but I’m the leader. I’m ultimately responsible for... , Troy began. Torres glared at him.

No. This ain’t football any more, Torres said. I mean, yes, you’re responsible. But responsibility means holding your boys responsible for getting their jobs done right. Every fucking time. No exceptions. Some of my boys got caught. Yeah, they all got the hell beaten and fucked out of them by the Crimson Brotherhood. But now they’re getting their asses busted here as punishment, as are the guys who were working intel on this end.

If it weren’t for us, those guys would all still be there, Troy said, feeling defensive. Did you have a plan to rescue them?

No, I didn’t, Torres said. Do you want to guess why?

Troy said nothing.

What about you? Torres said, turning to Walt. You’re the strategist. You’ve been taking all this in and haven’t said a peep. Show me you’ve learned at least something.

Walt looked the captain in the face and thought about what Jacob said on the way here. This place was obviously hardcore. The way the captain talked about punishing Tye and Purdy and his open admission that he enjoyed it was for a reason. And he thought for a moment about how Torres knew all about the Adepts of Discipline, the Circle of Thorns, and the Blister Boyz.

You weren’t going to rescue them, Walt said. At least not for a while.

Torres nodded and allowed himself a bit of a smile.

They were prisoners, but my boys were grabbing all sort of intel about the Brotherhood and their relationship with Black Scorpion and the other players on the island, Torres said. That they got their asses beat the whole time wasn’t a consideration at all. You got it right, but don’t get cocky. You’re still getting your ass busted.

You let them get tortured? Troy said. You know they get punished so much that it gives the Circle of Thorns energy, right?

The information is worth it, Torres said. You don’t quite get it yet. That island is a pit of abuse and torment. A pack of my boys don’t contribute all that much more than what’s already going on. The Adepts can’t scry there very well, right? You know about that. Because of the Circle. Our own mages can’t snoop on the island much. So these Omega Longbow boys are our primary way of getting intel back. I put their asses on the line all the time. And they know it. They accept it. Some of them have spent months serving the Circle of Thorns as satyr slaves. I’ve got three down there now.

Need them rescued? Jacob asked.

Not yet. I want to give them some more time to think about their mistakes. Also gather some info to maybe help your guys.

Rescuing your guys didn’t actually help much, did it? Walt asked.

Those Freakshow trashed their base, and the Crimson Brotherhood had to abandon it, Torres said. Now we have to send a new team out there to try to find out where they’ve gone to and what they’re up to. And we have to do it because they’re hot for you. I want you to keep that in mind. My boys are getting their asses busted because they didn’t do a good enough job protecting you.

I’m sorry, Troy said. I didn’t even realize... .

That’s their job, Torres said. Don’t be sorry. You need to do your job. Major Fry shouldn’t even be able to sit on that stool.

By the way, Torres said. Figuring stuff out is also my boys’ jobs. Jacob, you should know that based on the intel they’ve brought back, some of them were clearly listening to some of what they were hearing about that Corruptor guy and the Circle of Thorns. At the rate that these boys work shit out, I’m guessing you’ve got about a month before they know about your secret pain war.

Good thing they’re all on your team, Jacob said.

Yeah, and don’t you forget it, Torres said. Right now the plan is to order guys who figure it out to keep it to themselves. Most of them aren’t going anywhere anytime soon because I’ve red-zoned their asses. Keep ’em in place. Keep the paddle busy.

What is red-zoning? Troy asked.

Torres tossed Walt a quick glance before he began to explain.

We operate on a demerit system. Any fuck-up in any way whatsoever earns you a demerit. The only way to pay off a demerit is a penny push or a whuppin’—but that’s just the start of it. They start adding up if you fuck up too much. And it’s so easy to fuck up here. Hell, you can even fuck up and earn demerits while you’re paying off other demerits. Tye looked pretty calm during his whuppin’, right?

Yeah, Troy said.

Yeah, that’s because if he kicks, flinches, cries out, or does anything other than take his paddling like a man, he earns another demerit. You can end up with more demerits than you started if you can’t keep it together. And yes, I’m actively trying to make them fuck up while they’re getting paddled.

The sadist’s gambit, Walt muttered almost under his breath. Torres responded with a quick wink.

What did you say? Troy asked.

I’ll explain later, Walt said. Torres didn’t invent the punishment system he was talking about. Walt knew who did. And he knew why. There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?

Yes sir, there is, Torres said. So these demerits start stacking up. Once one of my Longbow boys hits 50 unpaid demerits he gets red-zoned for a week. The punishment system changes entirely. First of all, no more penny pushes. Only whuppins like Tye’s you just saw. And they don’t actually pay off any demerits during that week. Instead they get a whuppin’ every eight hours, 24/7 while they’re red-zoned.

That’s four paddlings a day! Troy said. Torres nodded with a wicked grin. He held up his clear paddle.

This looks like Lexan but it’s a special hybrid creation of ours, Torres said. Non-breakable, but just a little flexible. Thinner than Lexan paddles. It won’t break skin or bruise no matter how much I beat your ass. But it will raise some beautiful welts and hurts like fucking hell. You can paddle a boy’s ass for hours with one of these and not worry about muscle or nerve damage. Just ask Jacob here what his last birthday present was.

Manny will make you think paddling ass could be an actual superpower, Jacob said.

There’s more, isn’t there? Walt asked.

Of course there is, Torres said. You know that, don’tcha? So you can’t pay off your demerits when you’re red-zoned, but you can damn well earn more of them. If you earn another ten demerits during that week you’re on the red zone, guess what? Another week in the zone. And so on and so on.

That’s brutal, Troy said.

It sure is, Torres said, beaming.

He’s not done, Walt said.

Yeah, you also start losing privileges as you stack up demerits, Torres said. First thing you lose is your leave privileges when you hit 50 demerits. Can’t have you skipping out until you pay off your debts.

That’s why they call you The Warden, Troy said.

Yup, Torres said. You can lose all sorts of privileges the more demerits you earn—access to the rec room, hot water in the showers, your bunk, access to the chow hall.

Chow hall? Troy said. What do they eat?

Oh, we’ve got cans and cans of the cheapest, smelliest dog food you can possibly imagine.

It’s like pledge hazing, Troy said.

Even make them eat from bowls on the floor, Torres said.

The system is deliberately designed to trap them into a cycle of punishment, Walt said. Extremely humiliating, dehumanizing treatment. It’s not impossible to get out of, but just about close to it. Makes them open to reshaping them into whatever you want. They’re so demoralized and sore they just relent.

Most do, Torres said, holding eye contact with Walt. Some resist, though. They refuse to give in. They focus on the fight to get back out of the red zone. They don’t let the system beat them. They are devoted to working it out. They won’t be broken. Those guys are my boys.

Walt tilted his head, considering Torres words. Jacob and Troy could both feel the tension. Jacob knew why. Troy did not.

You were on my list of potential recruits this year, Hemingway, Torres said finally. He poked through a desk drawer, pulled out a folder and handed it over to Walt. But once you got powers it was obvious Paragon City was gonna need you more than I did.

You wanted Walt here? Troy asked. He’s no spank hound, least not that I’ve seen. Troy couldn’t even imagine Walt submitting to four hard-core paddlings a day, even taking into account the daily swats he got for David to keep himself disciplined.

Oh, none of my boys are spank hounds, Torres said. Most of them even described themselves as tops before they joined the team.

You just treat them like spank hounds? Troy asked.

Oh, no, no, no, Torres said with a big grin. I’m much nicer to spank hounds than I am to these guys. I am a bastard to my Longbow boys.

You’re a bully top, then? Troy asked.

Oh he’s the bullest of bully tops, Jacob said.

And you love it, Torres said, smugly.

Walt, meanwhile, was looking though the folder the Warden had put together on him. Given that Jacob had told them Capt. Torres knew everything about the Blister Boyz and the subtext of the conversation going on around them, Walter was unsurprised to see documents and images showing his relationship to Nemesis, a nasty supervillain devoted to conquering Paragon City—and ultimately the world.

Nemesis was technically Walt’s father. Troy and most of the Blister Boyz (except for Keith) didn’t know, and Walt had been too busy (and afraid) to reveal it. Walt was a test tube baby made from Nemesis’ DNA, along with several brothers who endured all sorts of corporal punishment abuse at the man’s hands before they were rescued by heroes who had been quietly assisted by the Adepts of Discipline. The pictures showed Nemesis, younger versions of Walt and his brothers, and even the creepy, high-tech tanks that incubated them instead of actual mothers.

Nemesis was responsible for the sadist’s gambit, the punishment technique that Capt. Torres was using as a model for his little Longbow fiefdom here. Nemesis used corporal punishment to wear men down until they could no longer resist his propaganda or brainwashing campaigns, and they eventually became his devoted military force. But that wasn’t what Torres was doing here. Walt wasn’t sure what was going on here.

Other than the obvious files connected to Walt’s terrible childhood, there were copies of reports about his educational successes, his interest in both water polo and mixed martial arts, and even the group shot of his freshman pledge class with Omega Upsilon Chi (everybody was smiling but him). His registration as an official hero in Paragon City was included. Every single report card he’d received was in the file. It was so thorough it even had his top score rankings in The Dungeon of Neverending Torment, a frequently updated online platform and puzzle video game that was infamous for being extremely difficult.

How many demerits would I have earned if I had been one of your Longbow men? Walt asked, handing the folder back to Torres.

I counted out probably 12 at the least, Torres said. Twelve separate paddlings to that muscle butt of yours. At the least. Walt nodded.

Okay, I’ll do your penny push, Walt said.

That wasn’t even in doubt, Torres said. You aren’t leaving here until I bust your ass good.

But I would like you to explain to me while we’re doing this the reason for each of those demerits, Walt said. I want to know everything I did wrong.

Oh, I’ll do you one better than that, son, Torres said with a wicked grin, gesturing at him again with his paddle. While you’re doing that penny push and I’m blistering your ass, you’re actually going to be the one to tell me why you earned so many demerits. That’s how it works around here. And I know you boys can take Jacob-levels of punishment. I’m not ending that penny push unless you get all 12.

Walt thought about it and nodded. As scary as Torres seemed, he was on to something. Walt was a little intimidated, but he would never admit it. He had already been paddled once for his mistakes that led to the team’s capture. But there was a part of Walter who, like Torres, felt like it wasn’t enough. Walt needed to find out what it meant, and how much Torres knew about Nemesis.

Next: The Sadist’s Gambit

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