Chapter 1: Mission accomplished
Dr. Mitch Korrigan leaned back in his high back leather chair. The blue glow of the surrounding diagnostics screens cast a pale light on his square face. The lab was silent, save for the soft hum of the bio infusers lined up on the counter. Months of meticulous work has led him to this very moment. A moment where his loss of face in the civil medical community, a moment where his rise in military contracting and a moment where science and his paranoia finally culminated.
He reached for the closest violet vial labeled “Neo-Crisper Omega” recently programmed feat of genetic engineering, the inscribed program only deemed to be used on hulking bio weapons. The protein and stem cell slurry would be capable of rewriting his genome with precision. Each infusion of the slurry brought him closer to his goal: a body that could defy the oppressive grasp of the Federation, a body that could heal and adapt beyond natural limits. A body he could feel secure in. A body that would be self sustaining even in the worst of situations. A body where he wouldn’t have to fear the encroaching drums of war.
Mitch knew the risks. The lab’s digital records were meticulous, and the AI monitors relentless. But the vision of a free and secure existence, unshackled from company & government control, was worth every risk. He tapped the command on the holo-interface, initiating the final sequence of genetic manipulation he had planned. As the system whirred to life, he couldn’t help but think back on all the stress of the past few months as he made these weekly night visits to the lab. On those days making sure he was the last one off of work. Securing an exit, leaving a way in without security triggering later in the night.
What he didn’t know was that the anomalies in his lab’s digital fingerprint had already been flagged. It seemed even with the cameras shut down and the door security bypassed, the lab equipment itself generated meticulous records beyond what Mitch with his clearance could see or overwrite.
His muscles spasmed violently a few minutes later. It was going to be a painful night for the doctor, as this final round of treatments would complete the integration of the biohybrid graphene nanotube musculature. This advanced system, powered directly by ATP, required the synthesis of countless classified documents and cutting-edge research to perfect. One document stood out the most; the holy grail that gave Mitch the confidence to go through with this boneheaded plan. ‘Graphene Demons: The Carbon Supremacy Initiative’ was a highly classified military document which outlined the highest performance genetic modifications to be used on planetary special forces teams. The fusion of organic enzymes and graphene technology promised unparalleled strength and efficiency, but the integration process was anything but gentle.
With stumbling motions the doctor made his way out of the lab after cleaning up. A herculean task as his fingers & legs kept spasming violently every few minutes as his very muscle cells were slaughtered. His modified regenerative immune system worked overtime to begin graphene construction. His entire body felt sore & swollen at the same time. The next weeks were bound to be in a haze of strong painkillers, chewing on graphite chunks and tens of thousands of calories needed to succeed in reconstruction.
“Mission accomplished” he muttered before making his way out of the lab through the backdoor, he took the maglift back to his apartment in the nearby city of Palihen, away from the military base.
The Doctor received a plethora of questioning looks from late night passersbys in the city as he stumbled his way to his apartment’s lobby. He reached two gray steel elevators at the back of the nice establishment. He mentally pressed his floor with his neural interface hat. It was a pain to wear during the day but not having any invasive brain implants was well worth the daily annoyance.
Taking off the electrode ridden baseball hat, he collapsed in bed. The doctor struggled to fall asleep with the pain racking his body. Even his improved regeneration and fistfull of pain medications did not provide enough comfort to let him drift away just yet.
All he could think was, what if he wasn’t through enough with his digital cleaning? What if someone noticed him on city street cams walking back at night? What if there were lower level records in the lab equipment beyond the surface records left in the gene editing software…
As all these doubts raced through his mind, one stood above the rest, it worked so far? if they suspected anything they would have dragged me into court by now… But in the back of his mind, The doctor knew, knew that his boss or base security could be waiting to hit him with a cumulative report of all his wrong doings once he finished incriminating himself.
Soon a long enough lull in spasms let his exhausted mind finally slip away into darkness.
The next day going into work the doctor found himself being told he has an impromptu meeting with the chief medical officer in thirty minutes. Mitch, swore internally like a pirate.
Fucking cunt under a grime covered hover rail, I’m going to die for this.
If they have actual concrete digital records of all changes, i’m fucked.
If they know I've been experimenting on myself with lab equipment, I'm fired and most likely sued for breach of contract.
If they know exactly what i’ve injected myself with… a plethora of bioweapon grade treatments as part of those records, decent chance i’m fucking dead. They’ll tell me I'm going off to prison then I’ll find my food spiked with cyanide before I ever reach any steel bars. Though, they better have something stronger than cyanide since in the laundry list of modifications was a broad spectrum toxic substance metabolites. But, I'm sure there’s something horrific it doesn’t cover and if they have detailed records they’ll know what’ll still kill me… I'm sure I cleared all of the records in the lab equipment software so it can’t be more than detailed usage logging? Right? Unless all records are duplicated out of lab servers? Fucking hell, I woun’t know till I go in? Do I make a run for it? Also they’ll know something is wrong right when they weigh me or take a flash picture. I weigh nearly four hundred and fifty pounds in a lean muscular six and a half foot frame & I have a tapetum lucidum embedded in my eyes now for night time seeing…
I’m still having nightmares about the ridiculous levels of graphite I was taking after the multi layerd graphene nanotube skeleton modification. A whole kilogram of graphite chunks every night. Oh the painful black shits were legendary. If i had tried such a stunt before a plethora of gi tract & liver enhancements i’d have long ago killed myself. And… This time is going to be so much worse, the minimum is six kilograms of graphite chunks if I want this done within the next month.
Rick, Mitch’s boss snapped his fingers irritated in front of the doctor’s eyes, “Earth to Dr. Korrigan, You have a meeting to get to later. At least get some charts done before you head out. We’re drowning in paperwork as usual, I can’t have you spacing out!”
Dr. Korrigan went over to his desk, the floating mental displays shuttering awake as his neural interface cap connected to the workstation. He pulled up the log of charts for outpatients, it was a boring part of the job since the vast majority of the time AI review was enough to recommend any treatment. Human overview was needed for legal reasons.
Mitch did not even read the majority of the charts just approving all of the AI recommendations, too busy plotting a possible escape.
Too late to call in sick. If I were to leave now and they actually have dirt on me I wouldn’t be able to leave the city via public transport. Additionally, I’m much too sore and still prone to tremors to take my hoverbike. There’s also document scans on all main roads out of the local state. Even if I were to escape I’d have to leave my family, & friends behind, much less dealing with another charge for escaping prosecution when I eventually get caught… If they have everything, the worst they can hit me for is unauthorized use of classified procedures, breach of contract & maybe illegal human experimentation. So that comes out to a maximum of fifteen years? I hope I didn’t miss anything. The federation law books are extensive.
He stood up to get to that dreaded meeting. You know what? Fuck it, it’s not like anyone really ages these days, as long as I don’t mysteriously die in prision this shouldn’t be too horrible. Just thinking of all of the holliday’s i’m going to miss brings pain to my heart. If I do get tossed into the slammer I'll definitely be single afterwards since there’s no way my sweetheart Lyla is gonna wait that long. For the love of god, I hope I don't get offed in the next 15 years.
I just hope Dad won’t do anything stupid to bail me out early. If my fuckup somehow ruins his chance to finally become a Fusion-Walker, there’ll be hell to pay. He’s been working for nearly a century now as a droid pilot on the front lines to finally become a fusion powered super soldier. For his family of course. Not that I believe him.
The sterile halls of the medical facility blurred by as Mitch ruminated over dozens of different situations as he walked into the CMO’s office.
It was a dark wood furnished room. A stern looking white haired man sat behind a large mahogany table. He looked from away from what Mitch assumed was an invisible floating display and waved Mitch over.
“Dr. Korrigan! Make your way over here, and take a seat.” The Chief Medical Officer beckoned, his voice demanding.
Mitch complied, walking his way over to the chair opposite to the man’s desk. Mitch tried to keep his best poker face. The random spasms from last night’s treatment made it really difficult to accomplish.
"Dr. Korrigan," the CMO began, his tone somber, "I'm sure you're aware of the gravity of the situation we find ourselves in."
Oh you’ve got to be shitting me, how do I even respond to that? Mitch’s mind worked overtime.
“I’m not sure what you mean? I’ve not been informed what this meeting is about?” Mitch countered hoping for the best.
“It has come to my attention over the past dozen weeks that you have been making unauthorized after hours lab visits. None of which have been reported officially.” The man said, in a factual tone.
Mitch decided to not say anything, and just let the man put down all of his cards.
“I also have additional records of extensive equipment use during these escapades of yours. And additionally, during all of these outings there are entry records to a plethora of bio-military procedures at the same time as your entrances. As well, it’s been quite difficult for your co-workers to not notice the physical changes you’ve been having. While we cannot say for sure these changes came from your ventures into the lab or you’ve gone on a civil grade genetic editing procedure splurge recently. But given the lack of civilian gene editing medical records found. It makes for a very unfavorable look for you Dr. Korrigan.” The man said, surprisingly laying out the information he has on Mitch.
Mitch opened his mouth to respond, but the CMO raised a hand to stop him.
“I’m not done. Given the apparent illegal use of military medical procedures, holding of bioweapon modifications without license & unauthorized access to classified material. I have no choice but to terminate your contract with immediate effect. Furthermore, given the severity of the actions stated, we will be pursuing legal action against you. Finally your benefits are considered null and void. I hate to do this Doctor Korrigan but you have left me no choice.”
This white haired whoreson! At least I'm not getting detained on the spot. I’ll be able to get my proceedings in order and hopefully get some hours in this new body of mine. I don’t imagine Lyla is going to take this news well. I guess that’s the least of my worries. That relationship is now just as null and void as my employment benefits. I might as well sell everything I've got and buy up some federation capital system stock. Maybe I’ll come out on top if I do that, full set of enhancements, and a retirement fund once I get out after the feds pay for my prison room and board. Mitch thought hopefully as he stood up to leave, he knew better than to say anything in this situation. It was better just to get up and leave. He was no longer employed anyways, no reason to save face.
Wait… just ‘holding of bioweapon modifications without license’. I swear I read that there was a higher category of possession for graphene mods specifically. If you had the juice to power graphene musculature one would have the power to flatten a skyscraper by themselves.
As soon as Mitch gathered his belongings and left the base premises, his civilian data plan turned on. Mitch frantically looked up the ‘holding bio weapon modifications without license’ code. He quickly found his answer, he was slightly less fucked than expected. What he read before was the local region code of the capital system, not the federal laws. Thankfully Mitch wouldn’t be executed on the spot.
Stupid ass brain skimming law articles. At least it turned out as a positive. Gotta look at the bright side here. Actually, let's look at the dark side instead…
After digging through a dozen form posts, Mitch found the punishments for said felony… The lightest of which was a hundred year prison sentence, the worst of which was being indoctrinated into the federation army to join the front lines for a century. Well, a century if you live that long.
Wait, Hold on! Hold the fuck on! No this can’t be happening!..
Mitch took a deep breath.
No, it’ll be all worth it, just think, I'll be a rich man when I get out! My track record as a doctor, surely I'll be tossed into the prison for the next hundred years and not have to suffer the front lines. Anything but the front lines, my father’s stories. I would not be able to live in them.
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Mitch mentally prepared for a horrible conversation with his father. Mitch contacted his dad two days into his recovery over a holocall.
“Mitch you’ve not called in so long! What made you decide to call me? If it’s about your Mom again…” Ronan, Mitch’s father began.
“No, Dad. Not this time…” Mitch sighed, paused, and looked up at his dad’s floating face a dozen feet in front of him.
“Come on Mitch, Spit it out. I swear I won’t tear you a new one.” Ronan said softly.
Mitch winced, remembering the verbal beating he got from his father when he informed him of his leaving of civilian therapy into military contracting.
Oh boy! This is gonna be fun.
Stolen story; please report.
“Dad… Well… I… Might have made a massive mistake. You know how I got into medical military contracting due to my fascination with bioweapon gene therapy. The therapies I have been performing here in Palhien are a century ahead of anything the civilian athletes I’ve treated had access to….”
“Mitch I know, I know, You love your new position. Seeing all the new bleeding edge gene tech. Don’t get me wrong, I'm happy for you, but can you get to the point?”
“Well Dad, starting a few months ago… I started making nightly visits to the lab outside of working hours… And brewed some bleeding edge tech for myself…” Mitch said with a wince as his father’s eyes bore directly through his skull.
“Mitch… You didn’t! Why?.. If you’re telling me someone must’ve caught you…” Ronan paused and took a deep breath. Then continued.
“Son… When is your trial? Better yet, has someone bugged you? Have a lawyer in place? Did anyone follow you home?” Ronan asked another dozen questions after that.
“Dad, stop. No one has bugged me and this is an encrypted call. The court proceeding is in five weeks.” Mitch responded a bit exasperated.
“Mitch, I’ll see when the soonest I can take leave… Then me, you and your sister will organize a nice long family get together. It’ll be nice to see you in person, it's been so long. But Mitch, hope isn’t over yet. If you can get a good lawyer, and put together a good defense, I'm sure you’ll come out of this okay. Trust me son. You’ll get through this.” Ronan said somberly
“I’ll send you a contact of mine who is a lawyer that deals with these sorts of situations. He’ll want to know the whole story and I will too once I see you in person. But I have to go, my lunch just ended. Remember Mitch you’ll come out of this stronger.”
Ha! Stronger alright. Mitch thought as his right leg spasmed and dented the hardwood below his graphene heel.
“Thanks dad, I’m surprised. You actually meant it.”
“Mean what?”
“Not to tear me a new one”
“Ha! Calling you a slobbering dumbass in this situation isn’t going to change the facts. I just need you to be strong since no decision of yours is gonna make this easy.”
“Yeah, I’ll try.”
“No Mitch you won’t try, you will, See you soon”
“See you”
Ronan’s floating face faded away quickly as the call ended.
The next couple weeks passed in a blur, his studden vacation was filled with an unhealthy number of hours in a full dive vr pod playing Eldoria, a stupidly immersive full dive vr game. His extreme virtual fighting addiction and his horrific muscular pains prevented the doctor from doing anything the first two weeks. Which resulted in the two hundred hours of playtime during his physical recovery. Higher if you counted the personalized ai system playing in his stead while he was asleep or away. After using virtual combat, drugs and gambling to get his mind off of his galactic grade fuckup and his painful body during recovery, Mitch broke it off on good terms with Lyla after a goodbye screw. He sold off his hoverbike and old house off planet back from when he worked in civil gene therapy in the Polaris star system. He ate well, spent time with old friends, and helped organize an extended family meeting along with his father. He saw no reason but to prepare for the worst.
Throughout the weeks the doctor could not help but itch to try out his new musculature. All of the skeletal and muscular system changes finally worked in a well oiled tandem. Even now he still struggled with his own strength and weight. There were many instances of glass jars being shattered, door knobs getting warped, tile floors cracking, automotive door handles being ripped off and old light switches getting mangled.
When Mitch’s social battery was exhausted he would spend his time exercising trying to find the limits of his new body. To say the least, he struggled to find the hard facts of his new frame. The normal gym gear available just wasn’t enough even with all the free weights he could fit on an olympic bar. It seemed his chances of maxing out an engineered body on mundane gym gear were quite small. It was like trying to bog down an industrial grade hydraulic press with styrofoam. He was getting extremely odd looks during high intensity sets. Both due to the high weight, and the microscopic speedy graphene heat exchangers on his skin that quickly wicked away the copious amounts of waste heat into an annoyingly visible aura around his sweating form.
The temptation to stretch his legs every night was too alluring especially with the potential prison sentence and front lines hanging over his head. Mitch every night would make his way to the abandoned part of Palihen. A section of the city abandoned due to a nuclear equipped terrorist attack gone explosively wrong. On these visits he would test his limits, crushing concrete, leaping eighty foot gaps, and sprinting at top speed. The first few nights were filled with painful tumbles down tens of stories. After the first nerve wracking gravity experience and surviving no worse for wear the doctor attempted increasingly more demanding courses through the decrepit skyscrapers. At a certain point the most exhausting part of these trips was eating enough food to feel satiated. Over thirty thousand calories a day and he still didn’t feel satisfied. Those days only occurred when pushing his strength near the limits. What truly scared him was that, He could only hope he could sustain himself on whatever scrap sized meals he may get in prison. Just moving around the carbon dense frame in daily life still took more calories than he was comfortable with. Then adding the daily concrete jungle trips and the doctor was stuffing his face more frequently than he had ever done before.
The doctor was thankful he focused so heavily on a robust engineered GI tract for a foundation of his changes. He just wished he managed to get access to a stasis body modification chamber in the depths of the military base. The true holy grails of genetic weaponry needed said chambers to be completed successfully… The most well known example is organic deuterium fusion inside cells. Having said modification is when a weapon becomes a true strategic asset, a Fusion-Walker. Sadly, the doctor did not have the chance since said chambers were heavily monitored and reserved years if not decades ahead of time.
If I had fusion power, I wouldn’t be limited to pitiful small bursts of fifteen times the human standard. The graphene demon spec calls for fission or fusion power, sadly the best I have is god damn sugar. Mitch could only dream of the two hundred and sixty thousand times increase in strength the full demon spec outlined.
On the last night of practice, Below, Mitch spotted a scraggly man demanding the wallet of a doe eyed tourist. The tourist made the brain rotted mistake of entering the abandoned area by themselves. Much less being dressed in expensive tropical themed wear and blue tinted sun-glasses.
How did that dumbass even end up here? None of the new digital maps even have these roads mapped. Do I help him? Given the billion layer thick graphene dermal graph mod, I have nothing to fear from arms fire… The holy grail document mentioned graphene demons taking artillery shells center mass no worse for wear… I mean even if I accidentally kill him, I’m probably going to prison already, right? What’s a few more years for a little bit of fun? Wait… Let's make sure to not kill him, I would rather that info to not make its way back to any law enforcement. Mitch thought, trying to justify his actions as he leapt from his twentieth story perch of a nearby gutted scraper.
He landed with a sharp crack, the nearest inches of concrete below his carbon heels cracked into a small debris spray as he fell into a low crouch. The landing kicked up enough loose dust for him to lose sight of the duo in the alley. Said stunts would have long ago given him brain damage even with his carbon skull if he didn’t have graphene laced hydrogel to protect his brain from shocks and drastically improved elasticity of his gray matter protein structure. Mitch refused to die to something so benign as brain damage. The sims he ran in the lab has his lethality acceleration threshold at three hundred G for a three second period. There were some more exotic treatments to make any chance of acceleration causing brain damage impossible but they required a stasis chamber. Complete brain restructuring outside of a stasis chamber never works.
As the dust settled, Mitch saw the dark outline of the scraggly man now pointing a handgun in his general direction.
“Stay back! I’m fucking armed, reach for anything and you’ll have two extra holes!” The man said in a gruff voice, slightly panicked.
“Wooooaaaahhh! No one needs to get hurt here. I’m sure our tropical friend is just a tad bit lost. Able to cut him some slack?” Mitch responded, raising his hands in mock surrender with a coy smile on his face.
The tropical shirted man opened his mouth to speak but before he could the gun in the scraggly man’s grasp swiveled back into his direction.
“I don’t want to fucking hear it!” The mugger then gestured to his head saying, “Hurry up and send over ten thousand creds before I blow your brains out! I know you’re fucking good for it! There’s no way anyone wearing capital system brands isn’t packing! You have ten seconds!” The mugger said spittle flying from his lips.
Mitch decided this was probably the best opportunity he was going to get. Tensing his legs as forcefully as possible, his four hundred pound frame of dense modified muscle launched its way down the alley. Powerful thumps reverberated through the alleyway as his booted feet pounded concrete.
By the time the mugger managed to spin around a second later, Mitch had managed to cross sixty of the seventy feet between him and his target.
“Fuck” Mitch muttered, as a series of four deafening pops echoed throughout the alleyway as the mugger went for the kill.
The first shot went wide as Mitch jerked violently to the right, but the last three hit Mitch center mass with audible meaty thumps. The hollow points flattened on his skin. The bullets each penetrated through a millimeter of flesh then dispersed their energy broadly into his dermal graphene layers, graphene rib cage acting as rigid support.
With a manic smile half due to adrenaline and other half excited to try out his new form on something living, Mitch reached the mugger before he could get any more shots off.
Mitch charged into the mugger going nearly forty five miles an hour, dragging the man’s face and chest forcefully across the jagged and rusted steel wall of the alleyway for a dozen feet.
The wall was soon covered in a red smear as the rough surface ate away at the man’s skin. “Agah! I’ll fucking kill you!” The man screamed violently as he mag dumped into Mitch’s abdomen to little effect.
Mitch smiled at the mugger, he was very used to getting his hands dirty from his favorite pastime of playing Eldoria.
I don’t want to kill him, the chances of his death being logged to the cloud by a cheap brain chip is too high. Assault & battery seems a lot more palatable, I doubt he’ll even report it with the gun involved n’ all… I do have a meetup scheduled with Rick and friends though at Loungebarz in an hour, so lets make this quick. Mitch thought darkly.
The man squirmed on the rough, now red slimy wall pinned by Mitch’s left hand. The doctor raised a right fist and drove it directly into the man’s sternum at a quarter max force.
The man gasped as the right fist connected. With a sickening series of cracks, the man’s rib cage splintered then a second later he coughed up a series of vermilion drops of blood.
With a sigh and a quick spiteful stomp on the man’s right pinkie toe, Mitch turned just in time to see the tropical shirted man finish sprinting out of the alleyway.
I sure hope that guy wasn’t recording this shit.
Mitch glanced over to the incapacitated, squirming mugger, His ribs are mangled… Maybe I should drag him to a hospital? No, fuck him. I got a social to catch. Mitch thought before wiping clean the superficial wounds with his torn apart shirt.
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The next morning Mitch, a little hung over, was unsurprised to see an email for a court proceeding. It was for a plethora of accusations from the feds & local Palihen city government. He already got a lawyer in place weeks ago and was hoping for the best.
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A series of heated court proceedings followed. They went smoother than expected, his father’s attorney did a great job making his case. A case of a successful son of a military man, scared by the encroaching war, further stressed by the stories passed on by his father as a droid platoon pilot. And how the doctor was looking for a form of security in these uneven times. How a great man like Mitch did not deserve a dog’s death or to be fodder at the front lines, but deserved a new chance at life after he served his time.
Ultimately, Mitch found himself staring out of an enclosed jail cell. It was a hard fought legal process finding him guilty. The clear digital records & genetic testing played a large role.
At least I managed to avoid the front lines, no horrors of chitin, skin and steel for me to fight.
Mitch was being sent off to a maximum security prison outsystem. He’d be transported over a warp pad through the local spatial nexus orbiting the planet.
A hundred years. A hundred fucking years. I’m gonna go insane. Father said he’ll come to visit and so did my sister Nora. It’ll have to be enough.
I just need to be strong.
Mitch shook his head, no point to wallow in pity, he just needed to accept it.
Moving his thoughts onto the smaller things in life. Mitch always hated warp pads. For one, they caused horrific nausea every time he used one. It was always as if his very soul was being jostled in the most nauseating way possible. And second, he did not have a single clue as to how they worked, and not for lack of trying. The concepts of spatial manipulation with simulated exotic matter just seemed to elude him.
The local station deputy sheriff walked into the courthouse holding cells area.
“Get your ass up, transport is ready! I hope you’ve gotten all of your proceedings in order. Cross system communication in Achird is very difficult. I do not envy your situation, I hear horrible things about the Achird prison complex.” The man said with a somber smile before pulling out nanotube laced zip ties to secure Mitch’s hands with. Then, walking him out of the courthouse into a hovercar police transport outside the courthouse.
The automotive blurred past many newly developing suburbs & settlements on colonized fringes of the planet. They were fast approaching a gray colored vertical line bisecting the horizon. The two space elevators planetside were the cheapest form of transport to low earth orbit. The elevator chamber was massive, easily a hundred feet each direction. The duo was joined by various different faces most dejected, all of which had matching zip ties around their wrists.
This was worth it. This was worth it. This was worth it. The doctor repeated as a mantra. The planet's surface fell away outside of the chamber. The sheer engineered power and vitality the doctor felt coursing through him was what gave the mantra weight in his mind.
The most worrisome thing of this entire situation is that I'm going to be set to Achird, a glorified mining star system filled with max security prisons known to work inmates to the bone. So much for a cushy experience behind bars… The real reason I'm worried isn’t the manual labor but that the system is reserved for the cybernetically and biologically enhanced in-mates. It is considered the most dangerous place in this star cluster. There is at least one case a year of a war veteran super inmate snapping and going on a rampage. You’d think they’d at least strip the cyberware off the inmates but the production increase of not doing so is too large. The rampages continue to be a regular occurrence. I really doubt my broad set of enhancements could keep me safe from a rampaging tech goliath more nano-steel than man… It’s ironic that my quest for security through improving my body is going to lead me to feeling less secure as a whole for the next hundred years.
The ride up took around two hours, it was a relatively slow process. The piece of massive freight machinery was working overtime as it was rush hour. Many well off folk took transport off the planet for work or vacation all the time. The energy demand was immense but nothing a few dedicated fusion power plants couldn’t fix.
The chamber gradually came to a stop, with the loud humming of the electromagnetic rails propelling the group upwards slowly dwindling in volume. Then when halted, a series of hissing gas exchanges between the elevator chamber and now connecting airlocks occurred noisily. The inner airlock door opened slowly revealing a green light beaming through the thin fog within.
The leading sheriff yelled out to the accompanying officers to herd us prisoners into the airlock.
The group was then separated into smaller groups of a dozen each then put into massive transport pods to be flung from low earth orbit to the nexus by a spinning space tether. A mainstay in long lasting space infrastructure.
The pod was relatively small for a rocket since it only had enough fuel for reaching the nearby tether and docking. Mitch reached the destination in a few hours time, the massive chrome and white plastic monstrosity of a space station that was the system nexus engulfed the shuttle’s windows as it approached closer.
The hallways were extremely busy. People of all shapes and sizes were walking the halls, aesthetic genetic editing and mundane cybernetic implants were affordable and widely available. So while being escorted through the halls Mitch saw everything from the average joe to seven foot tall bodybuilders with pointed ears and red eyes. The age of designer babies had long ago morphed into the ‘modify to your whims and extent of your wallet’ motto.
Mitch looked at himself in the glossy reflection of the polished space station walls as they passed by, seeing a currently well groomed, six and a half foot tall dark brown haired white twenty year old with matching eyes. I wonder how that’ll change over the next few years. I hope my anti-aging treatments can last a hundred years.
The group quickly reached warp pad chamber thirteen, it was a small warehouse sized room with a single entryway in or out of thick steel airlocks.
“Listen here fishies! Ya’ll ain’t going to the same place, I want Mitch Korrigan & Richard Killihan up here first! You both are being sent off to Achird, Illgar yard! The rest of you stay put!”
With a hefty sigh, Mitch made his way forwards through the group, standing in front of the deputy.
The deputy surprisingly put a hand on Mitch’s right shoulder saying, “Son, hang in there, that system is brimming with chrome monsters. If you’ve got a good head on ya, you’ll have a good chance of getting out a bit early on good behavior. Now get your ass onto that pad, we don’t have all day!” Then lightly shoved him forward into the airlock to follow behind the hulking nine foot goliath that was Richard Killihan.
Mitch found himself being directed over the speaker system to stand in the exact center of the pad back to back to Richard.
“Fishies, you move out of the center mid warp, no promises you’ll make it out the other side in one piece!” The deputy announced over the loudspeakers, seemingly standing beside the pad technician.
“Initiating warp process to checkpoint Achird, Illgar. Stand still!” The high pitched technician said over the speakers.
The very space around the duo started to warp and buckle violently, It looked as if the walls of the chamber were crawling up to the ceiling and the floor was falling away into the abyss. Then with a building purple flash the nauseating experience was reaching a crescendo.
But before Mitch ever saw the other side, the hulking bloke Richard, spun around and kicked him straight in the back full force. Richard’s cybernetic integrated form was easily able to launch Mitch into the mind melting surroundings.
The worst feeling of nausea came over Mitch, who quickly projectile vomited. The acidic yellowish green fluid seemed to curve confusingly after exiting his mouth splashing him across the neck as if the way forward was actually curved towards him now. All he heard before blacking out over his loud retching was a gloating line from Richard, “The colonel sends his regards, he hates brainiac twinks like you who think they deserve combat mods. Thanks for the payday once I get out of here.”
Colonel Sandiers, of course. I always gave him a hard time when coming into the lab for a checkup. The man was not the smartest tool in the shed.
Who knows how long later, Mitch groggily floated back to consciousness. Although…, Am I dead? I must be. What other situation would I see a light at the end of a tunnel?
Wait hold on, did I just get killed by the base colonel sending an inmate hitman? I just had to jinx it didn’t I? Brainiac twink huh? I was the same size pre enhancements, I guess Richard just sees everyone below his height as fuckable. He’ll fit right into prison. I wonder if his modified height is compensating for something? Fingers crossed he gets his head bashed in before he can escape.
I hope the afterlife is better than prison. I didn’t do too many heinous things in my lifetime, although I cannot say the same about my time in Eldoria.
A confused eternity later, the light slowly started growing, before engulfing the doctor’s vision whole in an exponential expansion.