The Bio War by Fishgullet MF, mc, inc (implied) Some of us call it 'The Bio War' while others simply refer to it as 'The Change.' It was both and it has remade the world in ways few could have imagined. I was there when it began. The science of biologics, using the sciences of genetics, chemistry and biology to transform living tissue had been a part of military research for decades. I entered the Marine Corps just as the first large implementation of product was introduced. I was fresh out of high school and too naive so I signed away my rights for promises made by bureaucrats. I was enhanced: my muscle mass was made denser and my five senses were tweaked and increased. I looked the same, same blond crew cut, same blue eyes, but I was stronger, not bigger and much more alert. The injections also gave us incredible erections but we weren't supposed to mention that. My own mother would not have been able to tell the difference but anyone who tangled with me, well, they could kiss their ass, their arms and their legs goodbye. As I joined the corps, news that the military used biologics was circulating and by the time my hitch expired four years later, the knowledge itself had been released/stolen. The day before I was supposed to leave for civilian life, the first salvo of the Bio war was launched, and it was aimed at you know who. We had hoped it was an isolated incident, and for a couple of weeks or so it was, the entire world had one more brief interlude of sanity left. The fateful day began with a scheduled visit to the medical facility for deactivation my enhancements. I was stationed at the old Marine base outside of Oakland, ground zero of the first salvo in The Bio War as I experienced it. On the third floor of the hospital building, I was pacing the floor of the examination room waiting for the med tech to start the deactivation procedures. The tech had just entered his password on the med-comp and was preparing injections when the General Alarm sounded and screams of unholy terror rippled through the air. We both raced to the window and witnessed this mass of deformed, formally human bodies storm through the front gate of base. Lumps of all shapes and extra limbs in bizarre places were the easiest descriptions, but the faces were no longer quite human. There was a stench in the air; I remember kicking a rotton carcass of a cow while out on manuvers in Nevada and that smell came to mind as the rabble scrambled over and through the gate The guards went down firing their weapons but the poor bastards never had a chance. The tech looked at me with a look of sheer terror on his face. I grabbed his shoulders as if to pull him away from the window and then grabbed his head and jerked it viciously until I heard the satisfying crackle of his neck breaking. I threw his body out the window, confirmed for the Pentagon computer that my deactivation was complete and ran. I never trusted those fuckers in the first place: just how in the hell do you 'deactivate' biological enhancements without destroying the body? Detouring by the barracks I grabbed my M-22, my knives, my revolver, and as many clips as I could carry. Anything that got in my way got mowed down until I made it to a old humvee careening towards the side gate with soldiers sent to flank the attackers. When we got close to the mob, the good soldiers went on the attack; I turned tail and went the other way. The mortars were starting to fall, so other than leaving the military a day early, I felt no guilt or remorse. Fear, however, became my new friend and companion. The nature of biologics is that it is a precise science; we are dealing with mere molecules that combine into genes. If the scientist is less than precise, well, that was the nasty part The Change. The Bio War was, as far I can understand, the twisted mindfuckers who were precise but created nightmares because they could and mindfucked twisters who were not precise and lost control of their nightmares. The rest of us, all fifty billion of us, were caught in the middle. Because the science had progressed beyond injections of virus carriers into digestables by water and food meant that no person or government could possibly watch all possible vectors of infection. The fear, which may have already been more than rumor, was that someone had advanced to airborne vectors. Somehow, someone had infected an entire suburb of Oakland and sent the victims careening into a military base. I made my way south towards L.A. for no other reason than it was warmer than San Fran. Civilization was slowly starting to subtly disintigrate around me as the days went by and fear began to take hold. There were a lot of people with guns who simply waved on passing strangers like me as long as we gave them a wide berth. L.A. was still relatively calm. The National Guard didn't give a damn about car registration or a dismantled rifle in the trunk; they were only interested in the chemical sniffer attached to a wand they waved over me and the car. Military bio obviously past the sensors. I wandered the streets until I found the poor working class neighborhoods, areas in which one could easily disappear. The steets were busy and people were acting as if all were normal. I parked my "borrowed" Toyota among the apartment complexes of an anonymous street. I closed the car door and stood in the street trying to make up my mind which direction to walk when this horrible tortured dog sound came from a concrete walkway across the street. A moment later this bloated six legged, nasty-toothed creature shot out of the palm fronds and took a bead on me. Pure reflex, I went into position, whipped out the revolver and put two, then three, and finally four shots in the thing, which finally dropped to the ground only a few feet in front of my boots. I kicked it over with my foot and saw the dog collar with the tags on it. This had been someone's pet; it had a rabies shot and the name "Sunshine." Fucking bio was here too. Checking my sight lines, I noticed that the street had emptied, even the windows were blank. The Change was here and they knew it. With a shrug I continued across the street and up the steps into the complex. Gun at the ready, the first floor was clear; the second floor had a door with the bottom torn out of it. I peered in and saw a young man with his guts spilling out of his ripped belly, but he was still alive. He was a goner. I knelt down by his head and he looked me in the eye. "My sisters!" he gasped. I left him and made for the door behind me, gun still in hand. On the bed were two teenagers completely untouched and they appeared asleep; I shook them hard but I was unable to awaken them. Otherwise the room and the bathroom were empty. Walking back to the main room I glanced at the kitchenette and saw it was a biologics labs, cheap, hackneyed, and obviously dangerous. The ramped up senses in my nose separated out over twenty different chemcial compounds before I lost count. The man was dead. The cheesy tin nameplate on his desk said "Alex Worthington." The notebooks piled next to the computer were labeled "Sunshine","Tara and Marissa" and "Alex." Well, that answered a couple of questions. Flipping through the second book, I read how the sick bastard experimented on his sisters, plying them with peptide strings in their food and then injections. He toyed with their brains, creating different states of consciousness and compliance to his commands. He recorded every detail and I read what he did to his sisters, things a brother should never do. Maybe Sunshine was just protecting the girls after all, good doggy. Tara was eighteen and Marissa was fourteen. The sisters responded to verbal commands if preceded and followed by key words in sequence. I woke them up to a low functioning level and sent them to the bathroom to clean up. I found black garbage bags in the kitchen and took one out to the street to give Sunshine a modest burial in the dumpster on the side of the building. I wrapped Alex in a sheet and put him in the same dumpster so they wouldn't be lonely, a small stab at justice in my book. I stopped at the locked shed in back and found two large scraps of plywood and banged them in place over the hole in the door. The place was secure and the evidence, if anyone still cared, was erased. Then I sat down and read the rest of the notebooks; and afterward, I read some the files on the computer. This dude had loaded half of a science library onto the molecular drive. I learned that Alex was a genius, real and manufactured. Alex was fascinated with the human brain, well, he had been. He figured out how to increase his IQ by increasing dendrite density and speeding up the chemical receptors between them. His fatal mistake was that he went too fast, he took too big a leap and slowly drove himself insane. Alex knew that he was going insane, that he was losing control of himself, his urges, his mores, and all sense of balance. In the end Sunshine did him a favor, good doggy. I brought out the girls and ran through the sequences bringing them back to full consciousness but also inserting complete acceptance of me. They took Alex's death with tears, but I wasn't sure if they were tears of saddness or relief. In any case, I was their new lord and master and that made them happy because I told them it would. Nonetheless, there was something missing behind their eyes that I have a hard time describing. They both reminded me of someone who was only half-listening to a conversation, someone who was not simply all there. Outwardly they seemed normal and responded to questions and conversations, but underneath . . . . A shower was in order. I told the girls to wash my clothes in the sink and hang them up to dry while I bathed. When I came out in a towel, Tara was waiting for me. She went down on her knees and fished out my flaccid member from the folds of the towel. I immediately pushed her away, the diary of Alex Worthington flashing foremost in my thoughts. My moral code may be screwed up; killing others was okay, but raping innocent women and girls was not. I instantly regretted my rash act. Tara's face crashed into tears and she went bawling into the bedroom. Alex had tampered with her, and Marissa, tweaking them to demonstrate their love by giving their bodies to him. That could not be undone because Alex didn't tell me how to do it, if it was even possible. He screwed with their brains. I could destroy Tara or nurture her. If I ignored her, I was already destroying her, painfully. The decision was made for me. I marched into the bedroom and pulled the towel from my waist while beckoning the crying woman to approach. She sank down to her knees in front of me and took my cock in her mouth. Quickly she brought me to erection and with complete concentration began to seduce my passion. With skill that I had never thought existed, she tickled and teased, toyed and tousled, until my hips were pumping out of control. With an audible groan, I released my pent-up seed down her throat. Tara responded as if she was receiving a gift from the gods, lapping up every last drop and drip. She wrapped her arms around my waist and rested her head against my hip and would not let go. I waited. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a small movement and turned to spy Marissa watching us. My heart quailed. Tara was an adult, that I could rationalize, but Marissa was a child. No. I dug a clean pair of boxers from my pack and after dressing, I took Marissa by the hand into the outer room. I made her hold my feet while I did situps, sit on my back while I did pushups, and stand as a target while I went through my martial art forms gently touching her with my feet and hands. It would have to do and so it seemed to work because she smiled at the attention. My morning workout became our daily routine. Tara would not accept any routine. She was constantly trying to crawl into my pants. Sure, one of my fantasies had been a woman who was at my beck and call, and was always available sexually, but the reality was just a series of aggravations. I couldn't look up from my reading without Tara pawing at me. Don't get me wrong, she had the easy beauty of a model, the long legs and slim waist below, with a handful of tits and long auburn hair above. She was nothing less than an accomplished gymnist in the bed and she could make me howl at the moon and whimper under the sheets all in the same hour. Mouth, pussy, ass - it didn't matter to her as long as I gave her my cock. Thanks to the military, I had an erection that could withstand a nuclear blast before melting down, which Tara treated as a minor miracle. After the first few bouts of sex olympics, I desperately ran to reread the notebooks hoping to find some overlooked clue of how to ramp down her appetite. I though basic training was hard, but Tara would have wiped out half of my company.