This story follows the short descriptive tales of the Blob, a fictional alien character, based in a post war-time, 1960's-esque civilisation. Miranda, a buxom girl of big heart and even bigger breasts, and her friend, Jane, a small and stout beauty of dark hair and hypnotisingly striking features, find discarded barrels of alien fluid. Overcome by the mind controlling power of the alien essence, the two girls mate, being assimilated into the first of a new race of slave women designed for only two purposes until their demise; to spread the precious will sapping fluid to every other human they can find, and give birth to humanoid aliens bred with the genetic ability to survive in Earth's climate.
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PART 4
(Inter)Course of Action
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Let us temporarily step away from our story to ask the question; why did the two girls find the alien, the Blob, the creature that so foolishly tried to mindlessly overrun and destroy entire cites before, but capable of intelligent, tactically exploitive action, gathered up neatly into barrels for them to stumble across years later, after most of the city had been destroyed in the initial battle trying to contain the vicious monster the first time? What about a barrel had kept at bay a creature that could swallow, and transform into energy, entire cars at a time, if not small buildings?
The answer to that is simplistic in nature. It is a double edged sword, a tactical retreat of sorts. Faced with an empty town and heavily damaged, the creature was unable to, realistically, return to its home world or launch a further offensive against even smaller towns to recoup its strength. It had very few options and was dying fast, leaving trails of its life blood, the crystalline fluid capable of so much and yet so very precious to their kind, behind its every movement and it was drying up fast.
These creatures don't see blood the same way humans do. For a human, if they cut themselves, they bleed, and a certain amount of their blood is used to heal that wound. While the same is true for the species from which this blob came from, it is the way blood functions for humans that differs. The human body is centred around blood flow, moving necessary nutrients between different parts of the body and carrying waste away from them. This blood, when used to heal, is slightly drained, then restored over time. Without sustenance, this blood cannot be made, or made properly, and imperfections occur. For the aliens, this blood regenerates on command, more or less. However, only a finite amount can be stored at any time, and only a finite amount can be created per period of time. Losing too much doesn't disable or impede the creature; as long as there is a single drop of essence inside it, it will function at capacity and be capable of creating more. The real concern comes in to play when too much is being lost to regenerate. This, is the creature's death call.
Having already lost ninety percent of its stores, and mortally wounded, it would become this very death call for our lone Earth attacker. So, logic dictated something had to be done to even the odds. Shedding itself into smaller parts, each with their own tiny share of the vital essence, the creature left itself on the street, in containers and on safe ledges -- insurance. With a little luck, one of these would survive the regeneration and would return to functioning size, able to continue the task at hand. If not, they would dry up and provide small nourishment for when the main creature reawakened. Quickly finding the best containers available, the creature split itself apart and filled them, enwrapping the essence inside cocoon like pads of energy, the creature's living form. Given the best growth circumstances for regeneration, it might just recuperate fast enough to live.
But as I mentioned, this isn't the only reason for splitting into barrels. For human kind is a resilient one, almost as resilient as the species from which this lone alien hailed. They would survive the ensuing decades, and should one stumble across his resting grounds, he wanted to be absolutely sure he would be ready to take them when they did. The trails of his fluids, the stores of his body mass, and the unsuspecting barrels ever so slightly coated with glimmering, glowing fluid.
Irresistible.
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Jane awoke where she had fallen asleep, on a toilet inside the upstairs bathrooms outside the surgeries. Her legs spreadeagled, her back hunched, she had sat herself down and shut down, as simple as that. Now she woke, ran a quick check of herself and stood up. With resounding pops that would have made even a muscular man wince, her neck and back snapped a chorus of joint bubbles from deep within them as she strengthened her entire body, taut and tall. Her proud breasts stood firm out from her chest, ballooning her uniform before her as she arched her back. Inside her brain, simple commands scrolled across her hypnotised mind's eye like irresistible, beautiful waterfalls, never ending and never skipping a beat.
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Striding from the cubicle, the door clanging hollowly on the wooden frame as she swung it from her path, she turned robotically and appraised herself in the mirror. Frozen, her eyes surveyed her entire form by every millimetre. Then, the robotic stance dropping like a sheet from her body, she relaxed and leaned in, one hand on the sink, as she lightly brushed her hair and face, worked sleep from her eyes and picked and washed her teeth. Standing, she perked her breasts and ensured they were firm and appropriately prepared for maximum sex appeal. She straightened her blouse around her waist and raised the hem, twisting her panties aside and roughly inserting a single finger into first one, then the other of her entrances, knuckle deep. Her tension was excellent and her moisture levels were at peak, while her softness was improving greatly. Should she need it, she had managed to generate the slightest of her Master's essence vaginally and was storing it inside her sealed uterus for later use controlling her subjects, and she was fairly certain she could generate it anally and orally should the need arise.
Strolling from the bathroom, she opened the ladies' door and beheld the empty corridor. White and bright, it was lit, but it was still too early for the main throng of medical staff to begin their work. At the far end of the impossibly long hallway, a single trolley with a solitary attendant moped unhurriedly towards her.
Her Master otherwise occupied with his tasks, Jane had been properly programmed with all the necessary instructions, commands and safety precautions she would need to be self-sufficient in her tasks. Stephen, Miranda's first acquisition into their ranks, had not met his Master yet, and so was only partially under his complete will. He would submit readily, but he would lack depth of independence until his Master had entered him completely.
Jane wandered the halls of the hospital mindlessly, observing the rituals of the early morning staff. She would have to be smart about her attack and not engage a victim until she had properly concluded their threat level. The more information she could provide her Master, who had no other knowledge bar what had been inside Jane and Miranda's brains to call from, the better. Mapping the hospital would assist him greatly, despite his fleeting eyes and ears appearing all about the hospital as people slowly consumed the infected water supply and temporarily gave their will unintentionally over to the control of her Master.
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It would take Jane much of the morning to act on her leads. Hours passed as she relentlessly strode down hallways and through rooms, observing and investigating. The day staff arrived and the hospital busied significantly, surgery began and the rush of life and death passed all around her. Still she strode, walking every floor in the building twice over before midday, restless and without need for pause.
The clocks on the walls, synchronised to the microsecond, would hit exactly 12:04 before she turned back into the very same hallway she had begun her mission in at five that morning and saw her definitive target. Diminutive and jittery, it was a high ranking doctor named August Centiago. Centiago was an expert on human anatomy and the leading authority in the building on female reproductive organs and female-male sex cycles, a gynaecologist, gastroenterologist and Urologist. The only place the man didn't stutter and shake like an elderly Parkinson's sufferer was in theatre, where a calmness that succeeded his personality descended upon him.
It was his unruly nature outside of the operating room, and his knowledge, that would be most beneficial to Jane's Master. If he was to eventually inseminate the women here he would need to know how, and with what, to inseminate them with. He would also greatly benefit from the efficiency better transferral of the essence would provide them, something he was certain -- from the way the girls had automatically, primitively defaulted to copulation as he had, adopted, them, sexual intercourse seemed to be an effective tool for passing fluids and for injecting his seed, and as such seemed to be the best course of action.
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Jane did not notice that her mental command had changed slightly, nor did she care. It was not her brain and was not her order to question. It was placed there for a reason and it was hers to follow it to the letter, or to the death. Whichever was necessary.
Striding purposefully towards the doctor and preparing her words, and her voice, she locked her eyes upon the small man. He was talking animatedly to a taller, thin girl with a shock of violently curly red hair and perky curves. He was attempting to explain the reasons women should not engage in unprotected intercourse, oblivious to the fact that she had asked him -- quietly, trying to be discrete -- for advice with infections. It was going far, far above his head that the women inside the hospital had no control over whether or not they had sex with unknown men and simply had to enjoy it, as it was going to happen anyway. He was making a fuss, talking too loud, and embarrassing her. Even though she knew the other girls here all had to do the same unspoken acts that she had to, she was young and shy, and still childishly believed there would be a nice, respecting man who would take her away and love her for her and not for her vagina.
Centiago was babbling about stupid young girls and rather upsetting her.
Jane was fifty feet away and was just starting to hear the small man's tiny voice from down the hall. He was in the part of the speech that mentioned hygiene, and was making an action with his hands that, to even the casual passer-by would seem to be depicting a small, shaking fist penetrating a tight entrance to his clenched fist, which, then, would shatter as those fingers clenched in the fist, now inside whatever orifice this was supposed to be, pierced it all around and shattered it into a million pieces. One could imagine many different scenarios to accompany this, somewhat depictive image.
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Jane was close now, less than forty feet.
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