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Chapter One: Natasha
“And he said: Behold, it is one people, and all have one tongue: and they have begun to do this, neither will they leave off from their designs, till they accomplish them in deed. Come ye, therefore, let us go down, and there confound their tongue, that they may not understand one another's speech.”
Genesis 11:6-7, KJV

My name is Jack Theremin. I earned my Ph.D. in genetics in 2028. I had no idea how that would change my life.

I am now known as the Morphist. Not just a morphist, with a lower-case “m,” but The Morphist. The first, the originator, the best of them all. The story would be told many different ways, so I’ll start from where I think it’s most prevalent.

I hopped onto the Human Genome Project about as soon as I could. I made whatever thoughts came to me, for the most part, so I won’t bore you with the overly long anecdotes that would involve long pages of code. I’ll, instead, tell you that we were into quantum processing decidedly early by most projections- the year 2030. That led to some more discoveries.

We cannot come anywhere close to cracking the code of life. The full DNA of the simplest of single-celled organisms would take a book hundreds of pages long to put into language only a trained geneticist can even begin to understand, and the strands of DNA that carry that information are microscopic. But a computer, endowed with processing that makes an electron function as a fully working transistor, can do this easily. We started making a new brand of computers- ones made on a totally different system, different even at the binary level. We had what we called Dual-Nodes, which were two nodes were read as one, so they could send four signals- 00, 01, 10, and 11. With four signals, we could translate into A, C, G, and T- adenosine, cytosine, guanine, and thymine.

They cracked the codes for us. The Dual-Node Computer (or DNC for short) used molecular processing to make two nodes form into one. This meant half the normal processing power, which meant, to get them on the average computer power, we had to get them to be pretty massive compared to what was on the market. DNC’s weren’t available or useful for the public, because they were designed to run only a few programs- primarily, our own Amino acidic one.

Around 2032 we got into very minor matter-to-energy conversion. That’s when we began to make strands of DNA. We couldn’t make living things (and we still can’t) but we could make DNA. And ultimately we learned how to change the DNA in cells.

That’s when things started going haywire, and the Morph-plague began.

The Morph-plague started around 2034, when a DNC was stolen. The things weighed a ton, so obviously everyone was surprised. But when we started realizing what was going on, things started to get ugly. A couple months later, the news had something totally different to talk about. Ebola Zaire strands were stolen from USAMRIID. People didn’t connect it with the DNC theft- not the first attempt, but the first successful one- but they did later.

For those of you that don’t know, a virus basically replaces your DNA with its. Some do that very, very fast. Ebola Zaire is one of them. If you lived long enough, you would –quite literally- become the Ebola virus. It’s like the bite of a werewolf, except this one bites particularly hard.

And so, a few months go on, no word from anyone. No message from crazy Islamic terrorists. No cries of Jihad. A few half-hearted accusations flung here and there in the UN, Congress, White House, et cetera, but nothing came of them.

Then, all hell broke loose.

The thief began to replace the DNA in the Ebola with whatever he felt like. People started to look different. People born perfectly normal contracted hermaphroditic symptoms, sometimes totally changing gender altogether in a matter of a week and a half. Their skin tone and bone structure changed. They weren’t like those surgical gender reassignments that still look masculine, or vice versa- anyone seeing them for the first time would say they were a pure natural woman or man. Some found their clones later. Their DNA was an exact match.

That’s how this guy stayed under the radar, we guessed. No use fingerprinting, no use using DNA, no use measuring shoe size or any type of investigation. It was a different person every time. He was a Chimera.

Then something comes up on the internet- DNC schematics. First few are shut down easy by FBI, NSA, all those guys, but soon they go into more complicated places. Communist China, African warlord nations, Israel, you get the drift. People started playing with things they weren’t supposed to be playing with. And they didn’t stop at people either.

And after a while…the modified Ebola virus started acting like its parent.

It became airborne. Ebola can go across a sterilized room in five seconds. An Ebola infected person walking across the street dooms everyone else walking on it.

People became other people. Some became animals. Some got caught halfway, and people debated whether they could still function in society or not. Their brains changed too, and partly, that was why I was sent to study a very peculiar case in Illinois.

My story might as well begin there. It began when I received a phone call on January 12th, 2049.


Part One: Alteration

It stalked quietly, a small raccoon darting between trees as it watched its target. In suburbia, the feasts were rich in what was left, next to the strange, wider than tall trees that the big ones lived in.

She smelled the shining cans of waste- and smelled not waste, but a feast.

She was away from the nest, but she was yet to find a mate. Yet to start a family. Every day she called- but she was away from others. There were no males to find her. So she had only one goal- feeding.

The small suns set in the big one’s tree, a sign they were sleeping. Good.

The raccoon carefully stalked out of her hiding spot in the forest, and, more limber than most of her species, dove into the trash can without making too much noise. They had left the lid up.

Immediately she set her nose and teeth at work, until her belly was full. But then the dilemma came- no way out from her steel prison. Though she was smart enough to know what would happen next, she had no choice- she set all her weight on one end, sending it crashing onto the ground.

She ran, luckily escaping the calls from the ones who lived inside.

She could not have been aware of what had already begun. Within ten days, she would be changed utterly.

--

I wasn’t exactly a revolutionary geneticist- more like a lucky one. I wasn’t a scientist with a passion, I was a hack with a degree in whatever looked coolest. I planned to retire early to a nice yacht in France, and with the kind of salary that came with a Ph.D, that wasn’t far off.

The phone rang. I answered it. There was a cultured, female voice on the other end.

“Dr. Theremin?”

“The one and only.”

“You’ve been requested by Dr. Nathan Jackson. He wants to invite prominent doctors to a summit.”

I chuckled. I got good marks on my dissertation. It didn’t make me prominent. I didn’t plan to revolutionize anything. I just wanted to play God and get payed for it. Coincidentally, I did a good job of it too.

“Where is it?”

“Illinois.”

“What’s it on?”

“The Morph-virus. There’s been some developments, but the Doctor’s specific orders are not to disclose anything until the summit begins.”

Morph-virus. When I was trying to get my Ph.D, I worked in the lab the original DNC was stolen from. Maybe that’s why? Whatever the case, I accepted. Probably another case of whether someone could hold an Olympic record in men’s high jump if he had the Morph-virus turning him into a woman when he made it.

“Sounds great,” I said. “Any exact locations?”

“You’ll be picked up by air. Thank you for your acceptance, Doctor Theremin.” She hung up before I could ask any more questions.

I had a fishy feeling. This wasn’t about high jump records if they were taking me by air. Nevertheless, a summit was a summit. Getting your name in the credits would be good for work. Who knows, I might make some smart comment, get in the papers, get an award. That’d be nice.

I smiled. I thought nothing could go wrong.

Naturally, something did.

--

The next few days of the racoon’s life were pain. Her bones reset. She refused to move. She would’ve died were she not cared for by the family that she stole from. Or rather, a girl.

She didn’t know better, but she heard the yelping, crying raccoon in the garage. She fed it, watered it, named it Natasha.

Natasha changed almost daily. Her muzzle shortened, and her nose began to take on a similar shade as her skin color. Her teeth dullened, but not by much. Her thumbs moved, gained joints. The pain was unbearable, and lasted for very long. Her chest became less barrel shaped and more flat. Her fur became sparse, her skin became smooth.

Natasha also knew she was growing much, much bigger. She had doubled, almost tripled in height, and soon she looked very much like the big ones. She still remained part of herself though. She was barely four foot three- her ears and mammaries remained that of a regular raccoon. The girl gave her some clothes from her mother’s wardrobe. Natasha accepted them placidly. The pain began to dull, and Natasha began to move.

She was wobbly on two feet at first- even her existent and growing tail didn’t help that much. But she grew better, and soon she could move faster. She came out only at night though, still afraid the other big ones would not be so hospitable.

She detected new things with her eyes- strange things. She couldn’t describe them. They were like twinkles of light. She would later learn they were colors.

She began to detest the food the girl gave her though. Each day, though it was the same, it grew more and more repulsive. Finally she couldn’t stand the taste. Even the feasts in the steel cans seemed disgusting. Raw meat lost its flavor. Natasha shook her head. What was happening to her? Couldn’t she eat anything?

She looked at herself in the mirror. Not quite like the big ones. She still had the tail of a raccoon- the stripes from her fur migrated to her skin. Her claws were still sharp- and she was still very short, only a few heads taller than the child that nursed her. She grew strange, black, silky fur on the top of her head- the child called it hair. It was straight, and came down about a foot.

She also noticed her mannerisms changed. When pleased, the sides of her mouth would draw upwards. When agitated, they would gravitate to the ground. The child called them smiling and frowning. They were the first words Natasha learned. The concept of words was strange to her, but she began to understand that the big ones used them to motion this or that, to denote this or that. She was aware of its intense complications, and she could only take in small pieces. But soon, she became more affluent.

“Natasha smiles,” she would say when she was pleased. “Natasha frowns,” she would say when angry, or sad.

Natasha smiles, Natasha frowns. She would have to learn more of these words. She resolved to. But after a week, something strange happened.

A very big one- not the child, who Natasha was bigger than- came into the garage, holding a long stick.

“Where’s the raccoon?” the big one asked sternly. Raccoon. The child had called Natasha that from time to time.

“Over there, daddy,” the child said in a crying voice, pointing to Natasha’s normal hiding place.

“I can’t believe you did that. Raccoons can be rabid, Christie!”

“I’m sorry, daddy,” she said, and there was a wail.

And then the big one closed in, still not seeing Natasha. She was too big to go through his legs or under things he couldn’t. She rose, trembling, wearing a loose fitting shirt.

“Natasha frowns,” She said in a whining voice. The big one looked at her in astonishment.

“Natasha frowns!” And the big one ran away.

The girl –Christie- looked at her father in astonishment, then turned back to Natasha.

“You have to leave, Natasha! He’s gonna come back and hurt you! Run away!”

Natasha felt hot tears on her eyes. She must have been seen on the night outings. She knew enough about families to know Christie would be punished. How much, Natasha did not know. Nor did she know what rabid meant. She knew very little of the language, but she learned fast.

She was a strange creature, and calls were made through the neighborhood. She hid well for her new size, but she could not escape the fate that awaited her. She was ultimately thrown, howling, into a cage, and driven away to the same summit Dr. Jack Theremin would be attending.

Good setup. Is there any more written?

Wow, this would seem actually like a pretty good novel to pick up and read. Well written. Hope you add more.

*Applause*

Excelent writing, and setup for what I anticipate to be an extended series.

I'm seriously thinking about bringing this back up. Currently, here's what I have written already.

Part Two: Decision

The helicopter was loud, even with the sound canceling headset. Ionly looked out on occasion, but he was at his location quickly.

The summit was held at a large mansion. Marble, gold lining, bronze doorknobs and wood polished who-knew-how-many times. Everything screamed decadence with a false front of eloquence.

I came to the door, was answered by someone in a very flashy tuxedo. I had brought my best clothes- admittedly not very good. My suit was expensive, but far from a blazer, with any of the shining buttons that the men around me had. Under it was a simple, blue, button-down polo shirt. The doorman spoke quickly as he led me through a winding series of stairs and hallways.

I noticed the open guest book, and saw the title “Rev.” That confused me. What was a reverend doing on a genetic summit?

My question was broken by a statement from the doorstop.

“Mr. Theremin, your room is this way. Supper will be in an hour, and then Doctor Jackson will be making his opening statement.”

I didn’t pay much attention, and blankly accepted the key. I walked into the room, interested.

It was first class. The bed had a goose down mattress and one of those shower-curtain things around it. The pillows were piled up generously. There was a large flat-screen television and a remote with some DVD controls on it. I looked through Disney and found most of his favorite movies missing- The Lion King, Aristocats, Bambi. Gone. I knew why.

Animal DNA causing mental retardation, disabling people. Some of the guys who got Animalized Morph (which was becoming very common, as the animal strands moved faste) took personal offense to anything with anthropomorphic animals, so they started revolting against anything with them, and they had a surprising amount of success- specifically in child entertainment and education industries. Their successes meant destroying classics, though- Disney’s especially. Mickey Mouse was the first to go. Disney opted Snow White as their new mascot character. Then came Winnie the Pooh. Barnes and Noble stopped showing pictures of the teddy bear in their stores. Talking animals in general became taboo in the entertainment industry- It was kind of like explosions after 9/11.

They still existed- but only in the occasional place. Even Aesop’s Fables had become hard to find.

I sighed and put the remote back. I wondered if I would ever find those shows again.

An hour passed as I paced the room, looked out my window. Supper was on a long, massive table. They had Chateaubrión and fried potatoes, with a side of green beans. It was pretty decent.

The man next to me, long-bearded and a bit rotund, noticed me and seemed pleasantly surprised. “You must be Jack Theremin!” He said.

“The one and only,” I said.

“I’ve read your dissertation. It’s amazing! I used it to teach my class- ah, excuse my manners. I am Professor John Paul Cole. It’s a pleasure.”

“A pleasure to you too,” I said politely.

“Have you heard anything about what Dr. Jackson is speaking on?”

“Not a thing.”

“The suspense is causing quite a buzz. But he’s respected enough he can call about anyone.”

I didn’t need to hear that- just about anyone in the geneticist loop had heard of Nathan Jackson. Along with Computer programmer Matthew Dain, he had designed the first DNA-writer programs for the DNC.

After a while, plates were collected, conversation died down. Doctor Jackson was visible on a large, pulpit-like stand.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending this semi-emergency summit. I’m sure you’re all wondering what’s going on.”

A soft murmur of agreements.

“We are all aware of the effects of the Ebola Zaire-Beta strand, A.K.A. The Morph Virus. We are also aware of its effects when animal DNA is transfused into a human.”

There was a penetrating quiet. Some of the doctors had family members that had happened to.

“Well, now there has been a new phenomenon. Apparently, the situation has reversed. An animal –specifically, an American raccoon- has been infused with the DNA of a human being.”

There was a sudden noise that the doctor stopped with a swift raising of his hand. There was a long, dramatic silence before he spoke again.

“We are here to see if this being, once an animal, can be classified as a human being.”

Someone came up, slapping the table. His accent was Israeli. “That’s not going to happen, Doctor!” He said fervently.

Suddenly people were getting up and mad at no one in particular. I stayed comfortably seated, until someone shouted at me for, presumably, not shouting at someone else. Doctor Jackson got the crowd together after a little effort and microphone power.

“This is obviously going to be a touchy issue, and there will be heated opinions on both sides. Let us consider what we will.”

That’s why he had a reverend, I thought. This is a moral issue as much as a genetic one.

“The case is this particular creature,” he said, and a picture appeared. A half-human, raccoon girl. A measuring wall behind her showed she was barely above 4’3”. Her ears were still those of a raccoon, but her face was almost as human as I could think something could be. Her fingers had fine black claws as nails. She had six mammaries, like a raccoon, with two prominent ones and four others, flat, showing she was not nursing or pregnant. Patches of fur around her body, specifically around her limbs and buttocks. She had a large, puffed up tail that fell naturally to her ankle.

She didn’t look quite like the human to animal morphs. There was something in her eyes. They were a human’s eyes- but they were filled with curiosity, wide and seemingly in a perpetual state of astonishment. Most pictures of the human-to-animal pictures had a melancholy feeling, even the scientific ones. I never liked looking at those for long. Other pictures came, showing the inside of her mouth, with a full set of sharp, carnivorous teeth, and the undersides of her feet, which were black and padded like a raccoon’s. Her toenails were made of the sharp black stuff of her fingernails.

“We’ve christened this find ‘Natasha-’ or rather she did. That was her first word to us. ‘Natasha.’ We took it to be her name. She has also made other statements in broken English. ‘Natasha hungry, Natasha frowns, Natasha smiles.’ She also mentions a Christie. Supposedly the girl who found her.”

Professor Cole raised his hand; Doctor Jackson gestured and gave Cole the floor.

“Perhaps we should try sending the girl -eh, Natasha- through a rudimentary educational course, and see how she responds.”

“A plausible idea, Professor. Thus far we’ve done very little. We want to have plenty of opinions before decisions are made.”

The reverend came next. “I think we can mostly agree that there is more to humanity than DNA. Has Natasha shown any moral conviction?”

“Natasha hasn’t had the chance to make many moral decisions. We’ve been keeping her in a containment room. She’s well fed and gets her exercise, but she hasn’t had much social interaction, from what we can tell.”

There were many other questions, of possible tests to be done. I looked at the cycling pictures, specifically close-ups of her face. Every time it showed, it seemed to have more of the surreal, nymph-like beauty I saw hints of before. Finally, I began to see people moving out of their chairs.

I waited a while before rising. Before I made my decision, I would want to meet Natasha.

Part Three: Natasha

I was, technically, only supposed to draw blood. I was disappointed Natasha would be unconscious for that.

I envied the Reverend and Professor. They would spend time with her when she was conscious. Thinking. I wouldn’t know how that was, what it meant.

And, what’s more, I wouldn’t be able to look into her eyes. I needed to see if there was…humanness behind them. Humanness is difficult to describe. Moral conviction- pride- ambition- in short, a soul. But we can detect it the second we look into someone’s eyes. Or maybe only I can.

I was outside the opaque door now. It only said “Room 807.”

The aide, who had been leading the way, looked at his clipboard, flipped through a few loose papers. “Room 807…that’s the one, doctor.” He then got out a fistful of keys. There must have been near 100- probably for all the 800 rooms. He found one brassy key, and we were in.

And there she was. Laying on the bed, gas mask on her face, eyes closed. Still things keeping me from seeing her fully, but nevertheless, that was my first look at her in the flesh. I figured trying to touch her would be too creepy.

Could she laugh? Could she sing? Those thoughts sparked a question.

“How old is she?”

“About two years.”

She was already pubescent, too. A person would find that hard to cope with. Would Natasha? Raccoons, animals, they matured faster. They were self-sufficient at ages where we’re still considered infants.

“Doctor Theremin?” The aide snapped me out of my philosophy.

“Right,” I said. I looked at the needle. Empty, ready to be used. I found a good vein on her upper leg, since her forearms and feet were still fur-covered.

I drew the blood until the needle was full, closed up the wound with a bandage. I looked at Natasha again.

Still sleeping. Eyes still closed, face still emotionless. Her skin had a strange feel.

I left, with a strange feeling.

I still hadn’t met her. I had to talk with her, if she could talk. Or would. I had to see her eyes, if she had eyes to see. I had to hear her sing, if she had a song.

I resolved that.

When they were all arriving my paranoia senses were going off the scale.

"There's a LOT of experts here in one place, who's to say somone won't try to off them all with another modified strain of the virus?"

PS: This rocks. Keep writing! For the love of all that is good in the world, keep writing it!

It's Back! Plot speeds up, things start happening.

You thought I'd forgotten all about y'all, didn't ya?

Part Four: Agendas

“Natasha?” The professor asked calmly.

The room had every inkling of a basic preschool room. Natasha was walked in on handcuffs. She did not struggle.

Surprisingly pacific for an animal, Cole thought. “Will you sit down?” He asked.

She looked at him, puzzled. The Professor sat in his seat and motioned to the lonely desk in the center of the room. “Would you like to?” He asked in the same, friendly tone and fixed smile.

Natasha was unskilled in human nature. She did not know whether to trust or not to trust. But she was already smart enough to know she did not have a choice.

After a while, just before the silence reached a maddening level-

“Do you know what is behind me, Natasha?”

The professor stepped back to show a large triangular symbol, with no bottom, but with a line through it. It reminded Natasha of the big one’s treetops.

“This is an ‘A.’”

--

The dark quiet of the private quarters separated the agent from the others, from the potential enemies and friends.

If the experts would not accept this one as their sister, he knew what to do. It was his duty to uphold all Morphs, all potential Chimeras.

Assuming the servant’s DNA was a matter of first knocking him out and stealing his garbs, and then running the DNA through his portable DNC.

He laughed. The Public Market was just now getting down to standard PC sizes with these things. The Chimera’s technology had sprouted ever since they started trade with Anti-American organizations- Everyone from remnant Al-Qaeda to Chinese officers to secretly Neo-Nazi corporations.

They all had different reasons for wanting America out of the picture. Some for religious reasons- some for ethical- some for business.

Personally, the Chimera had all of them. There was a rumor that the Chimera knew everything because he had been everything. He had been a bird- a mouse- every possible ethnicity and both genders- he had even been a bisex.

None had seen the Chimera, or if they had, they would never know. Thus there were many imposters- but they had all died at the hands of the true Chimera.

When the Chimera spoke, he spoke with fervor, no matter which voice he used. When he was a wolf, his howl put to shame the howls of every wolf in history. When he was a bird, his song was more beautiful than any made by bird or man.

It was said everyone would know the Chimera when they saw him, if they just looked into their hearts. The Chimera was captain. The Chimera was King.

And, to some –including the agent himself- the Chimera was a god.

He looked at the camera feed he had hacked with his portable DNC. He watched for a long time, until finally-

She was there.

Of all the ridiculous things, they put her in clothes. Loose-fitting T-shirt and baggy jeans. The agent scoffed. They made her look ridiculous.

Out of one camera, into another. They led her into what looked to be human quarters.

At least they had done something right.

--

“She’s to be kept under heavily armed guard,” Nathan said to the security captain. “Don’t let anybody in, and keep the doors locked.”

The Captain nodded and turned around to two men, told them to go to the armory lockers. The mansion wasn’t just a pricey getaway for a millionaire- it was a pricey getaway for a millionaire with very large skeletons in his closet. Thus there was privately owned security team of twenty men- practically each one had some kind of military award. In a secret compartment in his basement, Nathan Jackson carried twenty full sets of SWAT armor and weaponry- M4 Carbines, .45 caliber pistols, silencers, grenades, Kabar knives, and Grey Steel armor suits- a Kevlar capable of stopping armor piercing bullets shot from an AK-47 at point blank range.

And under his private desk, he carried a specialized .44 Magnum fitted with pointed, tritium-titanium rounds that tore straight through that armor, the man inside it, and through the back. Eighteen speed-load fitted rounds sat along with it- enough to kill all of his security squad. Each round cost almost a hundred thousand dollars. He was paranoid even to the point of arming himself against his own assets.

And he was especially paranoid now. There were people all over the world who would want to know about this- and he knew he couldn’t do anything about that.

There was more to the summit than a complicated question. More to it than getting the answer.

If she wasn’t considered human, they could be mass produced, made to do heavy lifting work, put into sweat shops.

So it was on Doctor Nathan Jackson’s personal agenda to make sure no one cared for her being human.

The intercom came on. “She’s secured, sir.”

“Turn off the cameras. The room was soundproofed, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

From under his desk, Doctor Jackson pulled out his cane. The interesting thing was, Doctor Jackson didn’t have a limp. He unscrewed the top to show two metal prongs.

He pushed a hidden button, and they sparked with electric light.

“Excellent, Captain. I’m coming down.”

--

I was still oblivious as to what was happening at that point. I thought this was a fair summit, by good doctors.

I had no idea Natasha was being tortured into insanity. So when she came out, blabbering and snarling, I thought the question was settled.

I was sad, to be sure, but it seemed like the truth had been out, that she really was an animal, wouldn’t be anything different.

The next test she had with Professor Cole, they had to restrain her. Didn’t matter much. She managed to pick the locks. Note that. She didn’t just break them, or chew them off. She picked them, with a hairpin she had recovered from her quarters. And then she tried to kill the good Professor. Security stopped the matter by beating her into unconsciousness.

After that, she was kept in a cage. The review was in three days, and the cage was under heavy guard. Presumably for our own safety. But somehow, I didn’t think it took a dozen and a half fully armed guards to keep one little girl from getting out. I also noticed that they had never used their guns on her, only batons..

When it was night, I decided to find out for myself what was going on. I tried to get an internet connection, call in a few favors.

No WiFi service. I tried my air card. Surely someone had service here.

Nothing. But that didn’t make any sense, we weren’t five miles from the nearest city. Surely there was some company that still had a network here…?

Only one explanation. It was blocked.

I slowly realized what was going on, and it was a nasty kick in the gut. He couldn’t kill us without making a scene. We were top-end doctors, we weren’t going to just disappear. But he wasn’t guarding us from Natasha

He was guarding Natasha from us.

I heard something outside my door, a gargling. I heard a sound of something hitting the floor and being dragged.

I looked through what I had brought. No weapons, of course, except a nice, sharp pen. Wouldn’t do much, but it was better than nothing.

Thought you were never going to post more, giving us yet another good story that didn't make it.
Seen too many of those on these forums.

Love the story, keep it up.

Chapter Five: Night Outings

The Agent drew the blood from his fallen victim. He had only one interest- the cage. In one day, everything had changed. They had moved her from her quarters, and he knew why. He saw everything.

Why hadn't he acted then? The guard was just as heavy as it was now. But no...he needed to make sure she hated what he needed her to become. Hated herself, so she would always be ready to change to something new, to accept the way of the Chimera.

That, and it took a while to hack the cameras. They were showing repeating feed as of now.

He drew a sample of DNA from the fallen guard. His accelerated Morph-Virus was painful, but quick. He tried to make as little noise as possible as countless little bones moved, big ones grew, some reshaping entirely. Within seconds, however, he was his new form. The kevlar and weapons soon became his own.

And he would go through all the hells to get to it.

He "patrolled" calmly, making his way to the new room, if one could call it that. A solid steel door, inside, an iron room, and in that, a metal cage. She was guarded in both layers.

They really didn't want anyone trying to escape with her.

The Agent was surprised to see silencers on the equipment, but they were there, and made his job easier. The two front guards were quickly dispatched. He searched them both for the key card.

He found one.

--

I saw the fully armed guard leave the closet. I wondered how wrong I was about our expendibility.

Then something weird happened. As the guard walked around the corner, I, quietly as I could, opened the closet.

I almost screamed. I had seen dead bodies before- but nothing like that.

It was the same man that had just walked out the door! I barely caught his face, but it was enough. This one, however, was in his undies, with a bullet in his head.

I stalked out of the closet, still trying to be aware of my surroundings- that wasn't the only guard in the house. Once I knew the coast was clear, I followed the doppleganger through the halls.

I kept a safe distance, until I saw two more guards standing. I wanted to warn them, but it was pure fear that kept me from saying anything. Who was to say I wasn't going to get shot myself?

He killed them, only the slightest coughs coming from his silenced weapon.

He took a keycard. I realized something then-

It was the door to the room where Natasha was being kept.

--

The Agent opened the door and disposed of any resistance. Natasha only barely stirred, but at the sight of a human, she jumped to the back of the cage and shrieked.

This wasn't good. She couldn't be making noise. Quickly, The Agent shut the door.

--

The shriek wasn't any good for me either. I knew this didn't look good. I dashed through the halls, desperately trying to return to my room before any unwelcome visitors.

No good. I ran face first into one of the security force members.

I'm pretty good at lying, but I'm not sure it mattered at this point. I said I was just going to the john when I heard a shriek, and then-

And then I got my clock cleaned by a spark baton. After he hit me, the lights were out for a long while.

And when they came back on, I sure as hell wished they hadn't.

why must you make us suffer!!! add more \(>.<)/
its a damn good story, finish it!

Alright, here's the deal. I hope you post again so you'll read this. I haven't finished reading yet, I read faster if I have a hard copy because then I can edit as I go with a pen instead of trying to keep up with everythign in my head.

YOU HAVE PROMISE, I don't say that often be impressed.

Your story needs to be polished though. Gammatic, spelling, and tense errors, as well as some first person, second person issues (as long as you don't switch 'persons' inside a single paragraph, there's no rule against it, and it acctually reminded me of the Sunlight Dialouges by John Gardner -I'm complementing you to much, I must stop ^_^- )

Also do some research. I assume you've read the Hot Zone, or Lab 251, and if you haven't, then do, that will give you more insight on the Ebola virus and genetics. This is the internet, I don't know how old you are, or what your back ground is so I risk commiting hubris by making these suggestions, if I've insulted you in anyway... eh... Also look into some mythologies, you're missusing the term Chimera I believe. I mean the original Greek mythologies, by the way.

After all that, get a number of people to proof it a few times and you'll be ready to fly. This is good enough that I'd proof it myself, but I can't stand editing on a computer. Keep working at it.

I've actually read the Hot Zone before, never read Lab 251 though. Actually, Hot Zone kind of inspired this, considering I learned that a virus basically changes your DNA with its own. So I thought- What if you could replace the DNA the virus gives with another thing's? of course there's alot of holes, more than likely. SF is definately hard to make perfect, and explaining everything to the point where there wouldn't be any holes would make this read more like an instruction manual than an actual novellette.

Anyways, I'm kind of off and on with this story, but I'm adding stuff as we speak. Dunno when I'll be able to post another chapter, but I will try to make it ASAP.

It's novella acctually...

I didn't mean explain everything to the point of making it an instruction manual. Just become more familiar with the material your talking about, the information you learn will come out in the story without you acctually thinking about, and the story itself will benefit from it.

Novelette is slightly smaller than a novella, bigger than a short story. And I have made the effort to keep this within the realm of things I'm generally familiar with.

Wow..You're one hell of a writer!
I read through it so fast like it was Harry Potter!
It's such an interesing story and well written, I feel bad for Natasha, a fictional character!
I can't wait to read more!
Write on!! \../ :twisted: