Special Thanks to my Editor who made this readable: Gravinaux
Ch. 01: The Beginning
Peter pulled into the near empty parking lot at work. He was one of the people who arrive at work earlier than most. The asphalt was damp from dew or from a light rain the night before. The large modern building before him had a surreal appearance like a presence. It looked as though it was an entity all it's own. The morning twilight added to the color of the otherwise plain steel and white walls. He looked back at the chain link fence with spring barbed wire above it. Feeling contained and somewhat safe at the same time. Work had been most enjoyable the last few months. He and his colleagues achieved a worldwide break through. They had won so many awards the last week, he was still suffering from the anxiety of the presentations and Press talks. Peter worked with a new concept of organic nanomachines, microscopic organisms based on virus principles. The organic machines programmed with DNA were such a revelation that the world as we know it was about to change. Neither the world nor his colleagues knew just how far he has gotten with the technology.
Peter held several Ph.D.s, his first two before the age of 19. He was a typical highly intelligent introvert. He gazed into the retinal scanner to open the first door among many in the complex. The robotic guards greeted him as if they really cared. He had several at home; a few with external flesh as real as one could get and a few of the advanced Artificial Intelligence (AI) robots of female likeness as well, all his programming. All the publicity and the new fame he gained recently left him in a bad mood. If only the world would leave him to his work, he thinks. He realized this morning that his time has come.
He walks through a maze of hallways with many steel doors. Electromagnetic and physical barriers hide numerous labs. Few of them known to him, known to anyone except those who work within them. It's all a need-to-know system. Some people he's known for years have shared not a word about what they do, only what they know, weather, public advances, etc... He comes to the front of his lab, he opens it with a combination of voice recognition, retinal scanner and a DNA extractor lock. A tiny needle pricks his thumb, extracting blood. The DNA is then read and matched. The door opens. He walks past experiments, test tubes, isolation tanks, bags, vials and microscopes. Many insects fill the isolators, hordes of mosquitoes and similar bugs, that appear life-like, but in truth were manufactured.
He enters his office and turns on his computer with the same type of DNA lock used to enter the lab. The screen flashes with light, screens and screens of text scroll. Then it all goes blank. He begins speaking instructions in a whisper to the computer. It beeps and a few text displays acknowledge his commands. He's writing several software programs. Well into the night he works. His co-workers come and go totally ignoring him; they know better when he's in such a state. It is after midnight before his complex programs are complete. He presses a few buttons for the first time and the lab spins into action with a whirl of activity. Large robotic arms flash with inhuman speed through the chemicals, equipment and mechanical insects.
Peter takes out his personal PDA against all security measures and work ethics. He connects it to his work computer. After the software transfer he shuts down his terminal then goes into the lab and opens one of the tanks containing the new artificial mosquitoes. They fly out, unnaturally, and secure themselves in the Peter's hair, hidden. Several fly out into the vent system. He seals up his office and leaves the building. When he enters his car he speaks commands to the mosquitoes in the building though his PDA. With a sinister smile on his face and a glazed look in his eye, he leaves the parking lot. It's Friday and he has a weekend of fun ahead of himself.
Monday's headlines will read. "CNN Reports: A top secret defense contractors' facility has been contaminated with what may be either a chemical, a radiological or a biological contaminant. Due to the nature of the work and clearance levels of the information few details were released. What we do know is that multiple companies held offices/laboratories there. Fortunately no one other than those that had contact with the building were affected by this contaminant. Military sources and the FBI are working together. A possible terrorist attack hasn't been ruled out. President Macaulay Culkin said the area is under martial-law and will be decontaminated by any means required. Over 500 people work there."
Very early Saturday morning Peter enters his high rise apartment downtown, several miles from the facility. He's done well for himself, he has a penthouse apartment several thousand square feet in size. There are Many workbenches in the apartment with chemical and robotic equipment overly organized on them. He goes to his computer desk, next to which are rack mounted systems with several main units, something not typically found in a residence. Three rows of systems cover a portion of the wall. The adjacent wall appears to be surprisingly blank. He presses a few keys and suddenly the apparently blank wall gains a unnatural depth. In the right upper corner of the screen/wall text flashes quickly by. He stands in the center of the huge screen twice his height and three times that in length. A picture of blacks and deep purples and dark blues shimmer unnaturally in a landscape of a rocky waterfall.
"Come forth my nymph," Peter says. Inside the realistic depths of the screen, the deep, near black waterfall splashes down into a stream diminishing into his floor. From within it a bulb appears to form from the water. Rising slowly, the transparent water starts taking shape as the head of a woman. Hair forms from the previously unshaped mass. Eyes sink into the now head shaped form, nose and large full voluptuous lips appear completing the rather attractive head. Slightly wavy hair, not fully solid flows down below. The form solidifies just below the top of nicely proportional breasts ceasing at the cleavage. The hair covering the otherwise bare shoulders.
"Good morning Peter, you've worked late today." A sultry voice comes forth from the lips. The voice rings with a near musical tone speaking in perfect pitch and harmony. Soft orchestra music plays, barely audible through the room.
