But first, Anya needed to enter the room, and unfortunately there were two concentric folds of skin that blocked her way through the door. To draw a simple curve on two concentric circles, that was all it would take to get inside, but the task may as well have been to shoot eighty-six interlocking spirals and spirals of fleshy buttons with an underpowered pistol lacking even the most basic of user comforts (e.g., sights or an autoreloader) for all the difference it made to her now. It didn’t help the blasted thing was six inches to a side! Whoever made the military hardware needed a lesson in how to make things that don’t go boom, or perhaps they should have a bomb planted up their ass during construction and told something like “The design passes when you can unlock it 1st try. If you fail more than twice, your rectum is going to detonate.” Or maybe that was too harsh. It’s not like the meth capsules that deteriorated their users’ dexterity were standard issue to the one group stationed here. (they were)

So with no other option open to her, Anya waited. And waited. And waited for what felt like an eternity before Raethor arrived to see her shifting her weight and twitching in place so forcefully the ground had cracked.

“Lieutenant, I see you’ve become a crackhead.”

“Crackfoot Anya reporting for duty, Commander Raethor!”

Though Raethor’s expression softened momentarily to a near-smile, it quickly returned to stoicism as he nodded to the skinlock that Peter quickly opened with smooth, perfectly curved lines inside each other with the practiced roboticism you’d expect of a gay man, though he himself was not. Raethor, meanwhile, ordered Anya to begin her report with all the grim clarity of tone and purpose you’d expect of a commander in a besieged position.

Meanwhile, his V-shaped leotard had to be chafing something awful for how far it was up his ass, which greatly distracted Anya. Why her superior had to still be wearing that here and now was… known. He always wore that. But it didn’t make his choice of outfit any less out of place, nor did the fact his muscles continued to boil like he was on stage in a thong and spray-tan for a bodybuilding show help the situation at all. But she gave the report anyway, because that was the only way forward and his rather peculiar aesthetic was, though a continuous drain on her attention, at least something to take her mind off the situation.

“Our situation is grim. Commander David Einrich II was decapitated by the enemy, leaving you in sole command, and I was unable to engage them in combat. I deeply regret this failure.”

They had been training outside without weapons. It wasn’t her fault.

“The enemy appears to be a contorted mass of bodies smashed together haphazardly. Their numbers are unknown. Their capabilities are unknown. Their intelligence is unknown—”

“Enough.” Raethor interrupted. “What do we know?”

Chris, Luther, and Yuna made their way into the room whose white interlocking metallic membranes had unwrapped. Inside the long hall of a room were two control panels to the long sides— barstools situated with belts to strap the user down and a large square column of instruments for others to plug in. The instruments themselves were simple— some nerve endings and a few veins— but their importance could not be overstated. This was one of the primary comms centers outside of Central— whose strategic purpose was unclear given that it could be substituted in a moment of crisis without second thought. And though the squirrely mass of veins and arteries and nerves and sinew that squirmed wetly along the walls were also found all throughout the base as scattered and distributed control points that could be easily cut off if compromised and yet secure the entire base if held, these were special, as most other stations contained only one station and only one nerve attachment. Block 46 was special because there were two posts, and more than one connection to each. This would distribute the load and reduce cognitive strain on the user, while also replenishing their energy and plugging them in more deeply to the base’s command structure.

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Anya continued speaking as Chris and Yuna split left and right with Luther following behind to help strap them in.

“We know that they’re stronger together and that their primary objective is likely to be collecting more flesh. We also know that they can assimilate new bodies, and that Commander Einrich was assimilated. This implies they have no special structure or preparation given to their new flesh. And further that as there were at least a few dozen bodies in the creature I encountered, it is also likely that civilians are part of the structure, which if true would rule out combat augmentation’s involvement.”

“Mmmhm.” Raethor mused.

Peter rubbed his chin whose short stubble parted ways despite being only just long enough to be capable of doing so. “That’s not quite true. There are rumors of a similar story from the Third Tribulation War. I guess this must be classified, but given our situation…”

“Proceed.” Raethor stated bluntly.

“Before I transferred here I was part of the research group developing the necrosis bomb. The exact mechanism isn’t important, but to put it bluntly its theory of operation didn’t match up with the reality of its use. We started out using it on waste cuts of meat. You know, beef tenderloin and hog jowl. That kind of stuff. It sizzled and corrupted it, burning it away, and then we progressed to rats and other small rodents. But before we could finish the testing process by taking care of some non recyclable garbage, the weapon had to be deployed on live targets.”

He paused, contemplatively, staring off into space for a second or two.

“They burned away just like the scraps, but didn’t turn to ash. It seemed that, like the rats, they were sublimated directly to a gaseous state. Unlike the rats, however, there were other living targets not affected by the blast in the immediate vicinity. Some, naturally, decided to investigate and inhaled the gas made up of their fallen comrades. It didn’t end well for them. I’m told their screams were louder than the bombs falling around them for the handful of minutes in which they met their fate.”

“I could go on, but suffice it to say their organs dissolved from the inside.”

“I only have hearsay for this next part, as none of our observers were there to confirm the story and we weren’t able to make any definitive conclusions from the bodies, but it’s said that though their abdomens caved in and their organs ran out in a liquified state from the rectum, their muscles continued to move and their brains continued to operate enough for their rotten tongues to speak had they not fallen out. I’m told that at least one was able to communicate before it was put down, saying something along the lines of “God help you. God help us all.””

“Naturally, the necrosis bomb was banned in the aftermath of its use and our unit was disbanded after the… unintended side effects of our creation came to light.”

“Now, Anya, did you say the bodies you saw did or didn’t still have their organs? This is important.”

“I… I don’t know. I didn’t get a good look at them and it wasn’t clear from the writhing mass of flesh what was or wasn’t there. I saw tongues and eyes and teeth; tendons, exposed muscle and blood… So much blood. But organs? I can’t say for sure. What do you mean by “organs” anyway?”

“Enough of that.” Raethor concluded. “Peter, if this is the work of a necrosis bomb—”

“It’s not.” Peter answered with cold certainty.

“Then a modified version. What countermeasures can be taken against these… zombies?” Raethor wasn’t precisely sure of the term to use.

“They aren’t dead, so I’m not sure if the term—”

“Whatever they are. It doesn’t matter.” Raethor really didn’t care what term Peter wanted to use.

“The necrites wouldn’t be capable of what’s been described, but if we assume the work was modified I would think, well, Commander sir, that we’re FUBAR. There’s no central nervous system— no one vein we can cut. Anya said they’re constantly bleeding so it’s unlikely we can put enough holes in them to make a difference, and given that it’s a bunch of bodies haphazardly stapled together there’s no one head we can shoot to destroy its intelligence. Even if there is a heart— and I do want to stress if— I’m not sure what it’s doing. Whatever this thing is, it’s not an extension of our work and likely can’t be killed by conventional means.”

“Then why bring it up at all?”

“Because our unit had ethical concerns.”

“So what you’re saying is the work continued under another name.”

Peter’s silence confirmed the ask.