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.
