Library Challenge - April "Multitheme" (look within)

[Uniskorne]

Why was I running?

Ok, maybe not your first question. Your first question is probably, "Who are you?" or, if you're more observant, "Why're you wearing fluffy dragon slippers?"

Let me tell you why...

I didn't kill them good enough. That's the only answer I can come up with at this point. If I would've killed them good enough, nothing that leaked from the nuclear silo would have had any affect on the bodies. However, I didn't kill them good enough, and they came back for me.

And, why not? I'm the Executioner. My job is to kill people. Publically. Most times, I /like/ my job. I throw a switch, buzz-buzz, and I can be home in time for the Game. Good retirement package, too.

Until last night.

We'd just put down the last remaining member of the Dragons gang--big mofo who'd admitted to happilly strangling the Knitpickers Club treasurer to death with her own half-finished Christmas sweater--and I was feeling pretty good about myself. The world was a little safer. Ten of the worst men Hell could belch out were gone. I was ready to go home, shower, shave, slip on my favorite team's mascot slippers (the fluffy cartoon dragon ones), and yell at the TV until the adrenaline wore off or the beer kicked in, whichever came first. As I walked to my car, I couldn't help feeling like some friggin' knight-in-shining-armor, slaying Dragons. Not some overweight, ex-high school quarterback with thinning hair and a string of failed marriages behind him. A goddam hero.

I'd just put my keys in the lock of the door when I smelled it. A chemical smell. It was town knowledge that there were two old nuclear silos around the penitentary from back during the Cold War. Rumors said they still had the missiles in them. Government cutbacks or paranoia had stopped them from being emptied, but the doors and hatches had been welded shut. Half-ass is good enough for some people. It's good enough for me. Some hokey environmentalist hippy bastard came around a few times and said the missiles were leaking into the water table or something. Said we needed to open that place up and get them out. Well, fortunately, the folk of my town are smart and realized that, if you opened them things up, you'd let all the nuclear out and ran that hippy fearmonger out on a rail.

But, on some nights--like tonight--when the wind was just right, you could almost convince yourself you smelled something chemical.

But, that was stupid. Right?

Now, the smell of rotten flesh? You can't mistake that for nothing.

But, the jail was near a major highway, and roadkill ain't unusual. Deer and possums trying to race across get clocked by eighteen wheelers all the time. So, I shrugged off the smell, got in my car, and headed home, thinking nothing of it.

I'd showered, shaved, and gotten all comfy in my boxers, undershirt, robe, and--most importantly of all--my fuzzy team mascot slippers when I discovered that I was down to my last beer. Now, a man can have one beer and, maybe, enjoy himself. But, I was wanting to celebrate a good night by getting happilly buzzed--maybe even drunk--and rooting for my favorite team on TiVo. What I /didn't/ want to do was drive ten miles to my 'local' big chain grocery store for beer because nothing else is open at this time of the morning. But, it was looking like that was going to be the deal.

I threw on a pair of jogging pants, a t-shirt, and pulled a baseball cap over my wet hair, debated pulling on shoes. To hell with it. I was just going to be in and out--no need to get fancy. The drive took me past the jail. Part of me wished I had remembered the beer while leaving work, seeing as how the jail is only five miles from the store, but, hey, that's life, right?

Funny figure of speech. 'That's life'. Things can imitate life and not be alive. Like robots or cartoons.

Or zombies.

I know, I know. Zombies. They only exist in movies. You know this. /I/ know this, but I also know that the store was swarming with them when I pulled into the parking lot. At first, I thought it was some late-night release for some stupid game or something like they do, and it had gotten out of hand. I was even pissed when some dude slammed into my passenger side window, shattering it. He was still for a moment before he looked up at me. The man was a mess. Really a mess, and that's when sheer animal instinct kicked in. Something about sheer animal instinct most don't know? It ain't too smart. I jumped out of my car so fast, my hat flew off my head. Oh, well, someone just got a free cap.

People were screaming and running all around me. The zombies had caught a few and were doing just what the movies say they do, which was enough for me. My car was not an option. The first zombie was crawling out from the driver's seat, blocking my path. Others were getting the message that I was standing still and were starting to shuffle my way. I saw only one option...

Run.

Two miles down the road, my adrenaline ran out, but, even huffing and puffing like a beached whale, I wasn't going to stop. The jail was just three miles away. If I could make it there, I'd be safe behind thick stone and metal. Just three more miles.

Somehow, I made it. Congradulated myself on not being /totally/ run-down. Even jokingly convinced myself that I might join the Warden's team next year versus the inmates. Yeah. I could do that. Right.

Then, I smelled it again. Rotten meat. Corrected myself. Half-cooked rotten meat. Part of me knew what it was before they came around the corner of the jail. Something in me almost felt that this was supposed to happen. Murderers get executed. Sometimes. Kill enough people and you do. By me. But, what about the Executioners? Do we have a blood debt to be paid for all the lives we take?

At the moment, my thought was 'Hell, no'.

But, I couldn't move. Even when they came around the corner and the parking lot lights shown down on their rotting faces, I couldn't move. I knew those faces. I was the last thing they had ever seen before the black hood went down over their heads. Ten of the worst men Hell could belch out were shambling towards me, wanting to eat me. I'm not so proud a man to admit that I pissed myself at that moment because feeling that warm river pooling in my fuzzy team mascot slippers (Go St. George Dragons!) was what spurred me to motion.

I ran. Five miles blurred by. My heart pounded against my ribs, threatening to explode, and I swore off junk food and swore to exercize more a million times. My jogging pants chafed and the slippers threatened to fly off my feet but, somehow (maybe it was the piss mixed with dirt), they stayed on, rubbing blisters but staying on. Right when I thought I'd stop running, a zombie would shuffle out from a house or an alley or the bushes. There was nowhere to run. They were coming for me. The Dragons. Not my favorite team but a group of zombie mofos.

So, why was I running? Because I didn't kill them good enough. Who am I? I'm the Executioner. I publically execute people. It was my job. Why am I wearing fluffy dragon slippers? 'Cause they were my favorite team's mascot. Why am I telling you all this? I felt I needed to tell someone before it was too late. What was that sound? Well, friend, that was the sound of your windows being bashed in. Probably by ten of the worst men Hell ever belched out.

And they're coming for me.

[johnlewismcleod]

Atop the gallows scaffold at High Hold keep Overblade Sir Rathalan Whitesword stands tall in polished Helmite full plate as he gazes upon the prisoner beside the hooded executioner. Although her figure is that of a comely young woman, her short cropped hair is disheveled and her face battered and discoloured. An orderly assembled legion company stands at attention, all eyes upon the Overblade in stark contrast to the unruly throng of commoners milling about, pressing forward and jostling for optimal position to see justice rendered.

The young women seems quite small and frail in her over-sized and un-tailored dungeon smock. Many in the crowd jeer up at her, and she seems to grow even more diminutive with head hung low and eyes downcast beneath the scorn of the crowd. But when the Overblade at last breaks the silence, his helm under his arm and his voice clear above the din, the cacophony of the crowd is quickly subdued by the authority of his tone:

"Fista of the Zhentarim, you are found responsible for the cowardly murder of legion guardsmen Waltrip Blunt and Hashan Gramble as well as the irregular legion scout Itishi Sumitsa. These crimes were committed beneath your direction by the enemies of our Confederacy and in collusion with the orcen horde that even now opposes order and peace in our Marches. You also are found responsible for the practice of black necromantic magics, the abomination of the dead and the creation of zombies and unnatural golems."

Sir Rathalan pauses a moment, gazing upon the frail figure sternly, then continues..."Raise you head and look upon the good people you have wronged and proclaim your wickedness and regret for your villainy."

Fista does not look up, but with a motion from Sir Rathalan the executioner grasps her by the hair and pulls her head erect so that the assembled can now see the swollen eyes and split lips. Sir Rathalan continues..."Let none say that we who stand in vigilant defense of our great Confederacy are without mercy. You are allowed this opportunity to beg forgiveness of those you have trespassed against."

Sir Rathalan motions and the executioner slips the noose about the slender neck and draws it taught enough to hold Fista erect and looking out at the crowd. She seems about to speak when a shrill shout is heard from the back of the crowd..."They are dead! Ware the keep!...They are dead!"

The throng parts to abide the staggering passage of a lone runner from the west. A young man staggers through, in the undergarments of a legion soldier but without the chain shirt and his breeches splattered with mud from a long trek. Upon his feet are the remnants of what appear to be house slippers. As he approaches the gallows, Sir Rathalan frowns down at him, "Your uniform is in unacceptable disrepair, soldier. To who's command are you attached?"

"They're dead, sir!"...the soldiers eyes wide and staring in alarm..."All of them! Beware and prepare!"

"Soldier!", Sir Rathalan booms, "Becalm yourself and order your thoughts. Who's command are you attached to and what message bring you here?"

"The Rivermoot encampment, sir"...the soldier stammers, leaning against the gallows steps..."Sergeant Wilson's encampment"

"Does Sergeant Wilson commonly dispatch messengers without the compliment of their chain and boots, Soldier?"...Sir Rathalan looks down at the soldiers feet with a frown..."What manner of footwear is that?"

"I wasn't dispatched, sir...I..I...I came on my own accord. These are me wife's slippers, sir. My boots were in for mending and I couldn't wait. I knew Sir Severen would wish to know of the calamity that has come upon us, sir."

"And what calamity is that, soldier?"

"It's the elven heroes, sir"...the shrill tone of panic creeping back into his voice..."The scouts Maeredhel, Elrien, and Laniara...and the dwarf as well! The orcs got 'em...they're all dead!"

A murmur of shock sweeps across the crowd, even the legion formation is broken as soldiers turn to one another in whispered conversation at the news. Sir Rathalan frowns, motions the soldier to silence, then turns to the executioner. A slow smile creeps across Fista's face as she looks up at Sir Rathalan.

With a stern nod to the executioner the trap is dropped and with a snap of rope and bone Fista is dead.

But no typical cries of exuberance greet the event. Instead only a hushed murmur as a vale of shadow creeps across the throng.

Sir Rathalan looks up to see a huge winged figure high above the keep looping in a lazy arc across the orb of the sun. It is a dragon. He watches it expressionlessly for a moment until, with a flip of its massive wings it recedes from view toward the mountains.

Sir Rathalan looks out on the assembled again, and with steady tone of measured authority speaks once more..."And so end all who plot and take up arms against Our Lady's Marches"

[CloudDancing]

A+

[Swift]

I am glad to see I am not going to be the only person who turns whimsical ideas into a story far from whimsical

[loulabelle]

Aw, but whimsy is fun! (I liked my frat boy wyrmlings! ;-D)

This is for you Swift:

I remember once, a film from the twentieth century which compared life to a box of chocolates. The quote goes something along the lines of- “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get”. I also remember a line from a nineteenth century novel, engraved on a game of backgammon, “As in life, so in a game of hazard, skill will make something of the worst of throws”. I believe, out of the two, that this is the quote I would choose.

I didn’t pick this. What poor dice life had given me. I graduated from the New University of Oxford. Or rather, the Nu University of Oxford. Do you see what I did there? Right, N-U, short for nuclear. I was one of many who jumped upon the option of the scholarship offered by Nu Dawn. N-U, see the connection? It’s also short for nuclear. I graduated with a first, with honours and then when the fine print of my contract finally became apparent to me, I went into my new job at Nu Dawn.

The company was awash with graduates like me. I thought my first class degree would let me stand out, get me a nice job with the prospect of rising through the company… benefits, promotions and the like. But my achievements were swallowed in a sea of excellence and I felt a lot less special. I’m a janitor, well I was, but I’ll get to that. I swept the floor in the research labs, where the scientists ignored me most of the time, like I was wallpaper, like I was stupid. There was one, she smiled to me, said thank you when I emptied her rubbish bin everyday. But one thank you is not enough in an otherwise silent world.

Unfortunately for them, as they turned their eyes down and away from me, I turned my eyes up. I’m not stupid, I knew what they were doing and I watched and learned. For years. I suppose things could have been worse. I had some kind of job. As Nu Dawn grew and expanded, there were other graduates who probably should have read their fine print a little more closely. The ones who went into the laboratories, but never came out.

It’s hard to say what finally tipped me over. We had a company picnic, all employees invited, right down to me. There was going to be a band and food and awards. I won’t lie and say I wasn’t excited. I was excited. I thought it would be some kind of recognition for what I had given to them over the years and I knew I deserved it. There were awards all right, cash for the scientists for their “thrilling new discoveries” (ha! Little did they know that things were going to get considerably more thrilling), raises for many of the staff. And then came the janitorial staff, we marched on stage to a smattering of applause, all smiles and thumping hearts that we would finally get small rewards for our services. You want to know what we got? I’m wearing it. A red baseball cap with the company logo embroidered on the front and the words “I’m nuked to be a part of the Nu Dawn family!” on the back. Okay, it was the free hat. That’s what really did it. I smiled as they took our picture and imagined the death and destruction that would be soon forthcoming upon these people who mocked me so.

The next day, I came into work as I did every day. I smiled, I was cordial. I even wore my new hat. Everyone ignored me so when I swept my way into the nuclear research silo and up to the control panel, I was paid no more attention than usual. I had seen what had happened to those grads who came in to the labs and never left and after careful calculation and meticulous preparation, I was certain of what would happen to me too. As cliched as it is to say, it was almost too easy. Or rather, no almost about it. It was easy. I adjusted the right wheels and swept away, head down, the shambling invisible janitor.

I think it took two hours before Nu Dawn went into lockdown. They kept it low key, a polite tannoy warning reassuring us. A few locked doors to make it harder to get to the cafeteria. But they couldn’t downplay the explosion and mushroom cloud. Let me backtrack for clarity. Those grads who went into the labs, human experiments, but you figured that out already. One of three things happened to them. They died. They… changed. Or they evolved. I knew I would evolve and I was right. I have a first class degree from Nu Oxford Uni, of course I was right. When I came to, I could already feel it happening. My shoulders were tender and I began to mentally prepare myself for the wings that would burst through my skin like something from a horror film. My skin was already tougher and the lines that crisscrossed on the back of my hand were becoming more defined. If I looked in a mirror my eyes would be changing too, becoming lizardlike and slitted. The explosion had happened while I was cleaning the toilets, someone had died doing the business, I could smell it with my heightened sense of smell.

I left my mop and bucket and ventured out into the plant. My legs were still in the process of reversing my knee joints to bend backwards, like an ostrich and I fell a few times. The pain between my shoulders was worsening, but then I found it. The recruitment office. The office of the man who had hired me to this worthless job in the first place. I pushed the door open and it shattered from my glorious new strength. He was unlucky, he hadn’t died in the blast, but he was changing, in the other manner. I would not give him the satisfaction. He had a plantwide intercom on his desk and I turned it on. I wanted the entire plant to hear what would happen next.

I didn’t drag it out. I’m not completely heartless. But I did hurt him, a lot. His screams echoed across the plant, what was left of it. A public humiliation for the man who publicly humiliated me. At some point he died and I tore his head from his shoulders with my claws just to be sure he was dead. From his office I could see down to the foyer. People who had miraculously survived the explosion were running around frantic, some were scientists I was pleased to note. Sprinting and slipping in those ridiculous booties they wore. Those were never made for running and especially not through pools of blood, excrement and liquid radioactive waste. It was chaos pure and simple. I could see others like me, evolving into higher forms, screaming as claws sprouted from their fingertips and wings tore through their backs. The lesser forms crawled through filth, glassy eyed and essentially dead. I had seen the test results and knew they weren’t technically dead, just lethargic with vital signs well below normal. The research staff nicknamed them zombies, but secretly I called them ghouls. What I called my kind, well I’m sure you can imagine.

That day changed the world as we know it. My wings exploded forth in a spray of blood and screams and fire burned in my belly, drowning out my sounds in gout of liquid flame. The ghouls were immolated by myself and my new brothers and sisters and we feasted on the remains of the dead. Outside the plant we fended off the rushed army attack easily, their weapons only strengthened us and the nuclear strike? Really? What did they think had caused our transformation in the first place? As we took to the skies, I even spotted the girl from the laboratory who had smiled at me, thanked me. She had run a good ten miles in those booties, falling and slipping as she did. Her hands were bloody and her face streaked with ash and tears. The blood sent me into a frenzy but I let her go. My new family were not so gentle hearted and pounced upon her as prey.

And this is where the story ends in a new beginning.

Life is but a game of hazard and when some of us throw ones on our dice, we end up with Yahtzees.

(I realise this makes me an overachiever.... oops)
And if anyone's curious, the second quote is from a book called Moonfleet by J Meade Faulkner

[loulabelle]

Uniskorne... JLM...



And I would support any sports team called the St George Dragons in a heartbeat! <3

[Swift]

Loved it Lou! Might get a start on mine tonight.

[CloudDancing]

(I make terrible typos so I unusually end up editing much of these posts in post. So two days from now it might read a little better. )


“Well this body has always been so huge and clunky. I didn’t get the privilege of having the best genetics and I have been suffering with my lot in life for fifty years now.”

Melissa gestured her hand down her tall, thick body. She was born built like a man and to make it worse was born with a syndrome that made her gain weight uncontrollably. She blamed the environment; too many PCBS and her mother was anorexic when she was pregnant, and maybe because she had chicken pox at 13 because her family was too poor for vaccinations. She had survived. Despite making less because she was ugly or being treated like she was stupid because she was different she had scrimped and saved the credit. And most of all she had done it while being passed over despite her talents and skills in academia.

The salesman nodded a bit to emphatically and cooed indulgently, “Well we have many new bodies, that are living cells and partially robotic you could try. II am a great example. It is a very amazing experience to be encapsulated and the process has changed many fates than just mine. Every wanted to swim in the crystal blue waters of the South Pacific? Or perhaps hike to the base camp and further at K-2? Or even travel in space?”

She bit her lip, to her a caricatured lip, carefully made up in lipstain and gloss. “I always wanted too, but my body is too weak. I get airsick, seasick, boatsick, and carsick. Plus any fluctuation of temperature and I get heat stroke from my condition. So this all sounds wonderful. What will it cost?”

His eyes flitted from her uncomfortably “Now the encapsulation of your brain tissues and neurons is a flat fee to start. Even with your old body you will see the benefits of increased stamina, the stabilization of memory loss, and the welcome ability to upgrade your memories and skills at anytime. After that you can choose any body you like for the nominal price of the hardware.”

She nodded with a sigh, staring down at the loose folded skin flaps from her weight loss she could not afford to have removed, down below her waist where it was tightly contained in her firm control bodysuit. She reasoned with herself that this was simply cheaper. Like this there would never be a child. Like this no one would ever see the good underneath. She shook her head which was drooping over in defeat, straightened her spine, and stroked the electronic catalog pages.

Droning on, the salesman continued his pitch,“You will get a good good trade in for your current body if you decide to trade it in. It will be recycled and used to help people who need skin grafts and even to grow skin and make entire new suits. Imagine all the people you will be helping!” he exclaimed, passing over the catalog of body forms to her hand.

“And I could be anything?” she pointed to a elaborate anamorphic gold dragon with a sinuous tail.

The young salesman nodded eagerly, “Of course, once your neural net is encapsulated it can be installed into any number of forms. Some of our clients have a full stables of bodies to choose from. That dragon really flies on its own accord. However, there is just a restriction it only can be flown in certain natural reserves and only at a low low altitude due one of the first riders who thought it would be amusing to scare school children and airplane traffic. The DRA-900 is a beauty in action and form. And it's even waterproof for underwater travel.”

Mel stroked back a loose curl of her red wig. The loss of most of her hair had been the most troubling to her as the illness ravaged her body, as her eyes fluttered longingly at the intricate dragon suit and vibrant living scales.

“Well, I would have to start with just one,” she blushed uncomfortably thinking of the pathetic balance of her bank account then took out her credit chip. “Now when can I make any appointment to do this?”

“Which one do you want for your base body?”

Mel she flipped the pages on the screen backward, then pointed to one body, tapping it. “This one, I want this one.

“And that comes with a free hat and tote bag!” He smiled encouragingly though his eyes showed pity, as she swiped her card through the reader. The salesmen produced both from behind the counter; the baseball style cap flashing the company logo in fine LED paints and the tote bag bursting with various free gifts.

“You won't regret this!”

**

“Here we have today's subject, 53 year old female, recovering from morbid obesity and the body masculinized due to untreated endocrine disorder. Despite the fact this female has an IQ of 165 claims was never able to be successful in her field due to discrimination. Field of expertise was music, theater, and vocal performance. Occupation: Kindergarten teacher.” The surgeon read off the information dryly to the operating theater, the lights glinting off his expertly trimmed salt-and pepper hair and nicely tanned complexion.

The soft hiss of the anesthesia vents filled the chamber as Melissa was laid out on the ergonomic operating table sedated under a angelic white blanket. The hammock-like scoop of the table was slotted down the back allowing for easy access to the spine.

“Naturally she has opted for encapsulation as mere plastic surgery cannot cure this degree of this degradation to a human female body and archaic bariatric surgery has proven to do more damage to the human body than help. Fortunately she worked and saved to afford our level of medical intervention and after this procedure will go on to live a much happier and healthier life due to her improved appearance.”

Without a blink, he motioned to the attendants and stripped her gown off, baring the pale, pasty white flesh of the woman. Her skin folds layout like freshly plucked chicken skin, denoting her hard work in loosing the weight. Her small breasts pressed down flat into her body, pale peach nipples stretched translucent. The heavy pendulous sway of the adipose tissue covered her sex modestly over strong legs, muscled from carrying that oddly bulky stomach around.

The attendants grimaced and frowned while the doctor started to smirk paternally. “You see THIS is why we are in business to remove blemishes like this from our communities. No one should have to look at this. And no one should have to live like this.” He prodded a fleshy fold of velvet soft skin with a pair of tongs for effect then pointed to her face.

“Strap the patient and spread out the limbs for insertion please.” With a lurching click the attendants strapped her arms and and legs down. Then one went to a display and the operating bench split out, jiggling the naked body into an “X” baring every crevice and fold for the eye to see.

“Inserting neural relays”

A long thin arm pushed up from the floor and fanned out with prehensile cables, each sporting a spring-loaded foot long flexible needle. As the students watched, the undulating probes suddenly snapped to attention and with snake-like speed inserted themselves into Melissa's spine.

Her body jumped a foot on the table. The doctor snuffed a bit angrily as if the body was being naughty and shook his head at the attendants. “Its just a nervous reaction, don't touch her.”

“Should we at least cover..the...”

“No, it's just meat now. We ignore the cow. Now, we are about to encapsulate the neural net and the brain stem with our patented serum. The system automates the process as you see here but it is up to us to monitor the client and make sure the body retains lividity for the maximum amount of time.”

The body twitched as another prehensile tentacle probe curled up and attached itself to the back Melissa's brain-stem. Five smaller metal tendrils pressed out from there and curled around her softly pouched face, threading through her pale patchy hair, and clutching her skull tight, like a fragile pearl in a gem setting.

“With the next command command the body will separate from the the neural network and become encapsulated within our serum and injected support system.” He pressed down on his tablet watching with a morbid fascinated smile. “And now we have ignition.”

The power fluctuated. The theater lights flashed on and off a few times as the body jumped again straining against the straps, rising up, as it fought back, seemingly aware of its coming demise. Melissa's poor body flopped down to the table thrashing violently, then slower, and slower, till it merely twitched with the pulse of the attached robotic probes.

Some of the audience had markedly left the room. “Ahem. Just a small power fluctuation. No need to worry. As you can see the body is now clinically dead, a vegetative vessel ready for re-purposing. The brain and neural net are now encapsulated and regulated by bio-reactive nanotechnology. As you observe the probes will now remove and decant her newly encapsulated brain and prepare it for the insertion vessel. And she didn’t feel a thing!”

The attendants cleaned up as the doctor smugly smiled and closed off the theater. All around the operating floor small 'bots cleaned up the thin spatters of blood, puddles of clear piss, and moved up to the operating table and cleaned the body with smooth rubber tongues. The probes suckled and lurched as encapsulated nerves were drawn out from the body, coiled, and then gently deposited with the brain into an ovoid containment unit.

**

Incredible pain screamed through Melissa's mind but she could not move. Sickly flames flickered and burned over her brain, trickling down her spine.

They said I wouldn’t feel a thing..they said I wouldn’t feel...

The sudden hot shame of voiding herself. A screaming pain erupted over her chest as she felt her heart stop. And then for spiraling eternity, she felt her body die, cell by cell, organ by organ, shutting her out and shutting off. Finally in a horrible jolt of agony she passed into the merciful black.

Eyes opened. The mask over her mouth was pulled off and hands were busily pulling and tugging at side of her head. Eyes flickered. Awareness trembled into her hands, her fingers tingling, her legs twitching expecting to be sore, but not sore or stiff.

A voice trickled through the sand blocking her ears. A simple vibration of air currents and sound waves on a finely tuned drum translated to thought and thought to understanding.

“She won't be online and calibrated for another three hours and I need a smoke, I’ll be right back. Just watch her from the security feed all-right?”

The grumbling attendant, slunk out of the bare, white-tiled, room, down a long curved corridor, and toward the door marked “Fire Exit.”

She flexed. Loud beeping from the console. Blinking again. Vision cleared. A white ceiling. Tiles. Like a hospital.

Must..sit..up.

She sat up straight, abruptly even. Eyes rolling she looked down to her belly and with some calculating horror realized someone had left her panels open.

Her. Panels. Open.

The thought percolated around in her head for a moment as she flicked her hands, smaller delicate hands, up and smoothed the bio-reactive panels shut. A smile, exaggerated and loose, jumped across Melissa's face, and she pressed her fingers, marveling at the softness of the newly grown skin, and touched her new face.

Touch touch, prod prod.

Her hands traced a delicate chin, still strong, down to an elegant neck, swan like even, to smooth unfreckled shoulders, down to fulsome breasts of good weight and sway appropriate to one of this form. And down to her narrow waist, shapely thighs, and tiny feet.

She giggled in glee finally, rubbing her hands over her baby-smooth head and closing another panel in the process.

“And I am still bald as an egg. I did not expect that,” her voice cracked, softer, more modulated. A voice fresh like clear stream water.

Plop!

She was on her feet, naked, hands everywhere, on body, on wall, bending over, peering up, and peering down. She toddled out the door blushingly naked a foot shorter 150 pounds lighter.

“My clothes? Anyone? Nurse? Doctor?”

The hallway was strangely undecorated and very spartan as it curved to a fire exit and one door to the right marked “CONTAINMENT AREA: CLEAN ROOM: ALL MUST WEAR SUITS. NO CONTAMINANTS”

Melissa looked to the wall and took a clean suit with a shrug. She slipped on the large suit which proved to be rather too large with a hoarse giggle and then slipped on clean suit booties over her small bare feet. She put on her mask and turned the handle. A brief blow out of air and she stepped into the room.

Someone walked by her and bumped into her. An older lady in a blue hospital gown, square visor over her eyes, and a blue-green squid-like apparatus with a LED screen panel on the left side attached to the back of her neck wobbled by. Twenty people or so wandered the converted cafeteria with images flashing on the inside of their visor. The squids-hats pulsed and flexed and like the walking dead, a body would go from standing completely still to moving.

In a concerted flow pods would shift toward a stainless steel unit of what seemed to be soft serve ice cream machines. On the other side of the room was additional units of spotless stainless steel commodes. Again the bodies were activated, marched over to the commode, sat down, as probe apparatus snaked around, presumably evacuating their orifices of waste. Infantile grunts of satisfaction dribbled from the area. There was no privacy. Just zombie-like patients wandering around the room, limbs exercising like puppets.

A net extended from the high ceiling right next to Melissa and wrapped around a body near her. Cocooned it looped upward and drew the body horizontal and up. Her vision tracked up and with a sharp in drawn breath, she found most of the ceiling was made up of clients so wrapped and contained lifted and lowered by the automated system.

Melissa craned her neck up with just a tinge of rage welling up inside her gut, making the muscles there flex for the first time. She walked through the mindless floor crowd and over to the feeding machines, leaned over, to examine the machine. Immediately a probe snaked out and thrust into her throat gagging her, as she felt a hot stream of nutriment fill her stomach as she struggled pushing back with both hands. With a wet pop, she slid backward, the probe spewing food substance over her and the floor before it disengaged.

Melissa jumped back awkwardly sputtering for air and wiped at her clothes. Everyone was staring at her. Every single one. And there in the middle, her own poor, deflated body, frozen and staring in her direction. The visors flashed red and a voice came over the intercom. “We have a patient that has been activated before calibration is complete. Please restrain and wait for further instructions.”

Burbles and moans from the mindless patients around her. “RESTRAIN” They raised their arms in jerky electronic shocks and turned toward her. And Melissa slipped forward in her flimsy surgical booties. Shoving with that new found strength she pushed into the crowd converging on her and made for the door. Turning her head, she looked back to her body, as it lifted its long flabby arms toward her with a desperate mindless moan and then sprang out the door.

Turning she looked down at the handle and snapped it right off. She blinked at her hand, the small delicate hand of a dancer, the hands she had ordered. Still there was no time. All rational thought aside, she shifted her gaze to the fire door. It opened in front of her.

A cigarette lay smoking on the floor as the door was pulled out of the opposite hand. The attendant stood open-mouthed blocking her path.

“You can't be here. Shit. Look lady, go back into the calibration room, I’ll give you a sedative, and you will wake up back in the recovery center in no time at all. Trust me. You were a red-head right? Bloody idiots always forget to ask people that, just thing they can tell by looking at the outside. You red-heads need more anesthesia. No big deal. C'mon miss. C'mon back to the room.”

The young man moved toward her with open hands. His eyes darted to the broken handle of the containment room and he paled.

“No. I don't want to go back. Why is my body still alive? Am I even me? Or am I just a copy? What have you done to my body?” her words tumbled out in a softly modified version of her voice. She choked and stammered. At the sound of her voice, a spiral of light shot across her retinas and was clouded by the image of a loading bar. She rubbed her eyes frantically and moved toward him.

“It's just a body. We are keeping it in good shape 'till it can be put to use. I know seeing it is a shock. You aren’t supposed to see it. I'll just take you back to the room and give you some nice seds and we can forget all about it.”

Her brow furrowed and she gave the attendant a little push out of her personal space. He slid back six feet. “Look your thresholds aren't even set. You are going to kill someone or wreck your new body. Follow me back to the room, I’ll get ya fixed up.”

“Out of my way!” she growled.

She yanked off the hood from her clean suit and pushed out the fire door, just stopping herself on an iron rail from pitching over the edge and into the abyss that spiraled below her. A huge vertical tunnel led downward into the shadows. Above her 20 stories above was a thin sickle moon framed in a circle against a velvety blue-black sky.

Suddenly images of news relays popped up on the inside of her retinas. She was in a re-purposed nuclear silo. She was in the Nevada desert. She could run up those stairs in 15 minutes if she started now. And what lay ahead was 10 miles of bad road then via the GPS nestled in her new body. And beyond that Las Vegas.

So she ran.

[loulabelle]

CD

These are great stories and this is a shameless bump for more!!

New challenge coming in a couple of weeks (my writing group meeting is moved because I am the Absolute Dictator of the group and have a Script Frenzy commitment the same night)

[Swift]

And I would support any sports team called the St George Dragons in a heartbeat! <3

*cough* They already exist.

Right, it took awhile and the idea changed a few times but here is mine. It piggybacks off Loulabelles second story, so maybe read that first.




The ‘accident’ at the Nu Dawn Nuclear Research facility had shocked the world and ensured that, briefly, human kind was demoted from their position of dominance over planet earth. The dragons fury went unabated for months. Many cities were destroyed and many more people were killed until the beasts were sated and retreated to the deep forest. The armies of the world stood helpless, with no weapons that could penetrate the scaly hides of the scourge that had been unleashed.

For years, the beasts slept or idled, leaving their dens only to feed, usually on those foolish enough to try and log their forest homes. In those years, they presided over the largest forest expansion since man first created the axe. The Amazon Rainforest was returned to its pre-historic glory, swallowing whole villages as the people retreated to the safety of ever growing capitals.

Genetic research, despite being the catalyst for the changing of the world, continued unabated. Not all of the test subjects who survived the experiments managed to transform. For one reason or another that remained undiscovered, only a fraction achieved full transformation. For many, they found themselves trapped between one form and the next, hideous testament to mans need to play god. Unbeknown to governments around the world, these failed creations were not put down but kept alive, studied and researched, their secrets wholly discovered.

This is what led the dragons to give up their new bodies and re-integrate into human society. Finding that many could re-take their human form, they slipped seamlessly into the homes and businesses worldwide out of fear they would be hunted down and neutralized. Few people could tell humans and dragons apart and those that could rarely lived long enough to make the differences known, disappearing without trace. Unconnected surveys had shown that the number of children with green eyes was increasing, though nobody made the connection.

It was not until some one hundred years after the Nu Dawn accident that dragons became an accepted part of the western world after they reached the pinnacle of society. In 2115, Elanor Suah, a well-respected female senator from Alaska, held a press release broadcast around the world, outing herself as an original dragon blood survivor from the Nu Dawn facility. Later that year, she joined the race for the Democratic Party presidential nomination. In early 2116, she won the battle to fight the incumbent Republican President. At the end of 2116, America hailed its first dragon blood president, heralding a new era for human-dragon relations.

However this period of goodwill was to be all too brief. After four controversial years as president, Elanor Suah was defeated by a wave of negativity fueled by a broad coalition of human first groups that had poured funding into the Republican party, which held onto the presidency for a remarkable 20 years. Laws were passed which restricted dragons in every way, from which jobs they could hold to where they could live. Transformation was banned with those guilty subjected to public execution. As was feared, weapons were painstakingly developed by molecular engineers, targeting the exact receptors that allowed their transformation, along with their much more dangerous breath, neutralizing their abilities to attack with fire. Elanor Suah retreated to the depths of the Tongass national forest after her loss, forever renouncing her position in human society along with her human form.

The Nu Dawn facility was re-opened in 2132 after extensive cleanup and rebuilding. It was transformed from a research facility to a prison specifically designed to house dragon inmates. It was here that Elanor Suah found herself in 2135, charged with illegal transformation and the murders of 37 tourists who foolishly wandered into her lair.

----------

“So, do you think you can do it?”

Elanor Suah looked across the table at her companion, a young man of no more than 15 years, though of course, all the inmates were dragons. Like all the others, his green eyes sparkled and only a long gaze could reveal the depth behind them.

“If I can reach the security room that controls the transformation suppression field, I have little doubt.”

“How do you suppose you are going to manage that? The security room is right at the top of the silo.”

“I have one of the guards in my pocket and another is rather infatuated with my body” she replied with a grin. “I can get most of the way up thanks to them, the last few levels I will simply have to be careful.”

“How will we know if you succeeded?” he inquired.

“At 11pm tonight, try and transform. If I was successful, you should have little issue breaking out and flying out of the silo.”

The young man nodded his head and stood up. “I best be getting back, I do not fancy another beating from the guard for being late from lunch. What I wouldn’t give to make him my lunch.”

“One day, perhaps.” Elanor smiled at him as he turned away and walked across the empty meal room. As he approached the door, a guarded handed him a gaudy purple baseball cap, which he promptly placed sideways on his head. “Wyrmlings” she mumbled, “no respect for elders or fashion.”

As the door closed behind the young man, the guard slowly approached Elanor. She looked up at him with her sparkling eyes and smiled. “Is it time to go for me as well?” she murmured softly.

“The cameras are turned off” he replied quietly, his fingers already loosening his belt.

“You know what I need” she said, her eyes running down to his lap. He paused and reached into his shirt pocket, producing a small keycard. “Is that what I hope it is?”

“Yes, the access card to the secure levels.”

Elanor grinned and leaned over the table, loosening her prison shirt. “I suppose I am not going anywhere then.

----------

“Lights out!”

The prison guards’ voice echoed down the quiet hall as the lights flicked off. Elanor briefly wondered why it was even announced. She remembered seeing it in a movie once before she had started university about prison life. She smiled at the memory, going over what she remembered of the film. Like Andy Dufresne, she too would escape against all the odds, though her plan was less elaborate and required far less time and effort.

She looked at her watch which read 21:30. Soon, she thought. Soon her man would come and open her cell to escort her to the maintenance tunnels that stretched outside the silo itself. Unfortunately the trip would be a long one: ten miles, maybe twelve. She had only been through the tunnels twice so far when the prison had been on lock down and she had thankfully not been missed. Nobody suspected any of the guards would be-friend the inmates and with the recently installed magnetized floor, they did not even bother to patrol the cells. One press of a button and every prisoner was rendered immobile thanks to specially designed boots that also restricted the movement speed when not active. Nobody expected a prisoner to leave the main floors, so nobody bothered to extend the magnetized flooring to the maintenance tunnels.

A few minutes later her cell door opened.

“Hurry up, ma’am” the guard whispered, “there is not much time.” Elanor got up off what passed for a bed and hurried as best she could to the door and slipped past the guard. It was only a short walk but it seemed to take far longer than it should have, at least in Elanors mind. As they reached a craftily hidden maintenance door, the guard paused and looked at her.

“Good luck ma’am.” Eleanor’s eyes narrowed at the guard for a few moments. There was a curious look in his eyes that she could not quite make out. In the absence of anything else, she simply had to ignore it.

Not more than five minutes after she had entered the maintenance tunnels, the prison alarms sounded and the Nu Dawn facility was put into full lockdown. Somewhere behind her, she heard multiple doors open and the telltale clicking of ammunition cartridges being put into guns. She cursed to herself and then at the guard who was supposed to be in her pocket. As she looked back, she could see shadows coming closer and voices calling out orders. She cursed one final time at the inadequate shoes given to each prisoner and then started to run.

The tunnels twisted and turned for no apparent reason. Numerous doors appeared almost from nowhere along the narrow path but she knew she could not use them. Stepping out into an unknown part of the prison when you are the source of a lockdown is never a good idea. All she knew is she had to run up. The secure floors were at the very top of the silo and that is where freedom for all her kin now lay.

The tunnels slowly climbed ever up, snaking a long, twisting path around the outside of the nuclear silo. Despite her significantly enhanced senses, even Eleanor, one of the first of her kind, started to lose her sense of direction. By the time she neared the secure levels, she was utterly lost. The tunnels looked nothing like they had in her scouting missions, her legs were heavy and the special boots seemed to drag her down with every step. Finally she spotted a door requiring keycard access.

Tiredly flicking the card out from the hidden pocket in her prison uniform, she swiped it through the reader and held her breath. It seemed like an eternity before the response came. A little green light lit up and she heard the locks automatically disengage. With some effort, she pushed the door open, only to be met by the extended barrels of three high powered rifles.

“Bitch should have stayed in her cage” she heard one of the guards say. Before she could react, she felt something heavy strike the back of her head and all went dark.

----------

When she came to, Eleanor found herself outside, the sun blinding her eyes and the wind whipping through her now disheveled hair. Looking around she could see a crowd of people, cameras and large monitors. Presently the sound of amplified voices came to her ear.

“…has had a long history and today, a little more will be made. This facility birthed these beasts and today, it will earn its trust back with the American people by killing them.”

The crowd roared which made Eleanor miss the sound of heavy boots on metal approach her. Only when her shoulders were firmly grasped did she realize fully what was happening. Looking down, she could see the blast doors open and the fall that awaited her.

“These beasts do not deserve our pity, they do not deserve kindness. This one killed thirty seven people. Tore them limb from limb!” the amplified voice continued, “she did them the greatest dishonor of all so today, we return the favor.”

With that, the guards pushed her over the threshold. The fall was short, two hundred meters at most, but was long enough to let the indignity sink in. She tried in vain to force herself into her natural form but it was to no avail. As she hit the floor of the silo, she lived just long enough to feel every bone in her body shatter.

----------

“Open your eyes, it is time to wake up mistress.”

Eleanor groaned as the soft voice rang in her ears and echoed all around her. It was only a whisper but felt like a piercing scream. Lifting her head up, she opened her eyes and looked around. She was in a cave somewhere. It seemed dark, though it seemed to matter little to her eyes. Then she got the first true shock since the accident at Nu Dawn. She looked down and saw a wyrmling, barely ten years old if her eyes were right, sitting in front of her…claws?

She turned her head back and looked over herself. A long neck ran down to a broad, scaled body while wings that may have ones been majestic sat folded against her back. A huge tail trailed beyond, moving slowly back and forth. The last thing she noticed was not one that could be seen; she had no heartbeat. Try as she might, all her focus could not find the gentle beating that she had been used to.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, mistress.” The voice interrupted her inspection, bringing her attention back to the small green wyrmling. “Or should I say, unlife for you.”

“What is going on?” she responded, her voice louder than she anticipated. The wyrmling recoiled from its force and its eyes filled with concern.

“Forgive me mistress” it screeched, “I was only trying to help you.”

“What have you done to me? I was killed in that wretched body, how did I come to be here?” Her voice softened a little. She had not meant to scare the young wyrm, she had simply forgotten the power of her own voice.

“Your attempt inspired us mistress! A few months after your attempted escape, some of us succeeded.” Eleanor looked curiously at the wyrmling, catching his eyes and holding them for a long moment, recognition slowly coming to her face.

“The boy with the stupid cap” she murmured softly.

“Brandon Alenksi, molecular engineer and biochemist at your service mistress. I was imprisoned for my work on bringing dead tissue back to life” he stated proudly.

“Is that…”

“Yes mistress, I will fill you in on the details later, but suffice to say I was successful with my research. It turns out not all of the failed experiments from your former employer were killed in the explosion.”

“The ghouls, you mean?” She looked at him closely. He could not have been old enough to have been at the facility that day.

“I prefer the term zombies, mistress.” He gave her a look that a jaded teacher may give a child who should know better. “They simply did not seem to die and I unlocked the secret to their life, which I have now given to you. Do not be concerned if you feel a bit of flesh fall off now and then, unfortunately I have not been able to stop the process of decomposition. Rest assured, though, modern weapons will be quite unable to harm you.”

“How do you mean?” she asked curiously.

“Well you are still dead, mistress. Your heart does not work and blood does not pump through your veins. Short of cutting off your head, you are quite immortal, though you may end up being nothing more than a skeleton once your skin decomposes far enough.”

“Really?” She grinned down at him, flashing her dull, rotted teeth as she ran her tongue over them.

“Y-y-yes mistress” he stammered, suddenly fearful. Her visage was more horrifying than he had anticipated. “I am still researching how to s-s-solve the decomposition issue if you…”

“No need, little one” she said as she cut him off. “You have done well. I presume you have brought me to my old domain?”

“Yes mistress, Tongass national forest. In Alaska.”

“Good” she purred almost like a cat. “Then my own constituents will be the first to taste my wrath.”

“What would you like me to do mistress? I…I find it hard to…hunt…on my own.”

“Find more of our fallen brothers and sisters. Give them the same gift you gave to me. As for food, do not worry. There are millions of people within a days flight. I will save some for you.”

Eleanor pushed herself up, finding her body lighter than she remembered, and stretched her wings. The ground still shook under her footsteps as she walked to the entrance of the cave. With a leap she flew into the air, finding her wings just as effective as they used to be, despite the rotting flesh that fell away each time she beat them.

Nu Dawn would be a minor footnote in the pages of history compared to what she had in mind.

[Heero]

For Lou:

http://xkcd.com/1065/