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A Man
It's
not an uncommon thing, to figure that zombies could never... Work. At least not
without some kind of horrible contrivance at their beginning or their end, or
just mysteriously 'immune' people and a disease that is insanely infectious.
Some
people - a lot of people, actually - reckon vampires would be a more solid
choice. Probably, though if they existed in any significant numbers they'd
either have control of their population pretty heavily, or be under the control
of some organisation. Actually, the latter might work.
But
this isn't about either of those creatures reaching apocalyptic numbers. Nor
werewolves, or anything else anyone had ever seen. Nothing magical, nothing
supernatural. Just the creation (creations?) of one man.
I'll
step back here for a moment and talk about the man. You know how some people
are really clever, really brilliant, and make great strides? Compare that to
the super-geniuses in stories - two types; the guy for whom science is nothing,
who makes greater advances (and somehow never fucks up or has trouble
developing new technology) very quickly; and the guy who understands his fellow
man so well he can conduct them like an orchestra.
Well,
somebody was born with an intelligence so far beyond that of everyone else that
he could do both. I'm not talking baby genius, learnt to play violin by age two
here - that happens. And not comic book 'found time to learn thirty languages
before three'. No, this guy just
understood. Whatever you told him. However poorly you explained it. He really,
really got it.
By
about thirteen, he'd put it all together. All the sciences that interested him.
All the people around him, and exactly how they ticked. His first foray into
manipulation shifted him from 'beloved son of two loving parents' to 'beloved
ward of his very, very rich uncle'. With tragically dead parents.
He
gave up on people, though. There were too many. Despite his intelligence,
without the information - something he'd have to gather - he couldn't predict
someone's entire life. Small things, sure; the tricks you can do if you know
what you're doing. Though he knew well enough that scuff marks on a shoe could
have a hundred meanings, and the best way to know was to ask.
So
with manipulating people put aside, he turned to genetics. Mostly, genetics is
learning what genes do what - we can't really tell until we see, isolate it.
After he learnt everything in our blood, he knew what would happen by
changing genes. He could search the genome for how a protein came about,
because he could guess the code that would create it. Combined with advanced
software algorithms he developed himself, he quickly mastered writing life
itself.
He
kept his experiments secret, of course. All on a computer, and to look at it
seemed like some kind of madness. The few people he subjected to retroviral
experiments - using materials snuck from his 'day job' - didn't even notice his
actions. The effects, too, were minor - hair colour change, slight increase in
nail growth, nothing severe.
Then,
at the age of thirty-two, he turned himself into a god. Not really, of course -
certainly not in any spiritual sense. He made himself into an optimised human being.
Titanium alloy skin, blood and body that needed sparse replenishment, amazing
agility and endurance... All to the utmost possible levels. Immortality? Almost
an afterthought.
This
creation of 'human 2.0' as it was widely called (though not by him) was big
news. But it was what he did next that was ... bad.
The
experiments started a couple of years after he revealed himself to the world,
when he got bored with showing off. Thousands of people had decided it
worthwhile to follow him blindly, in hope that they too would receive the form
he possessed. But; why would such a being share, if they were not generous
enough to share immediately? What could possibly be offered to someone who
could take whatever they wanted anyway? A direct nuclear strike would be needed
to destroy him, yet any shelter and he would survive, radiation sickness free.
At
first the experiments were minor. A few people were given wings, strange
bodies. Then someone noticed that his followers were really, really fanatical.
Within possibility, sure, but every last one of them was. You were in, and then
you were in. Forever. The conspiracy theory was that he was controlling
them with some kind of strange genetic modification.
The
conspiracy was right. Shortly after that was proven, the shit hit the fan. The
virus - scientific name never established - appeared all over the world,
turning people into 'servants'. Varying kinds with varying uses; some even
peaceful. With all dedicated, utterly and absolutely, to him.
For
a litle while, it was a war; but it quickly became a slaughter. Armies broken,
for the most part enslaved into service. Wide area dispersal over cities,
countries. Everyone who was susceptible to his retrovirus was converted. That
it was only eighty-five percent of the population is perhaps the only positive
aspect.
Those
who resisted the virus were rounded up by the servants - their former
neighbours, friends, family - and kept under lock and key while he devised a
means of converting them, too. He had some limited success; but he found out
that he would need a new virus to succeed - something that would take even him
significant time.
Then,
as was fairly inevitable, he died. Some brave souls caught the arrogant 'god'
unprepared, and shot him to death. He could take a shell from a tank, true; but
not a few hundred armour piercing bullets capable of going through quite
amazing amounts of steel. They took the pieces of him away and - hopefully -
destroyed him utterly.
Without
their master, the servants... Became chaotic. At first, they made motions
towards continuing his mission; but none had his brilliance. The alliances
between the different breeds, different regions, cracked and then shattered. In
the chaos, the remaining humans broke free and fought. In some places they won,
and in others, they lost.
The
world now is shattered. Most of humanity and the servants are dead, and the
rest live in chaos. Few bastions of civilisation exist, and quite a few of
those that do are not of human civilisation. Across the world, the servants
grieve and hope for the return of their dead god; bickering and hating one
another for hoarding resources necessary to survival. Whatever plan their god
had to provide for them became ashes when he did.
So,
that is the world. Our world. Destroyed by the first human being to be
impossibly brilliant - at least, the first one with access to technology that
let him make his dreams a reality. Maybe there were others, back throughout
history. Impossibly great leaders who rose from nothing, whose empires only
fell when they did. Yet, I suspect that someone like him would have managed to
conquer the world; or perhaps served as a diplomat, moving the pieces so that
each country would fall.
My
musings aside; this is how things stand. I don't know who killed him. I hope he
shall never return. The servants are everywhere, and humanity weak. You must
fight for them. You must aid them. You must save them.
You
were once a servant of an arrogant 'god'; but now you are a servant of
humanity. Or, at least, I hope you are.
Cut
the test. Let's see what they do.
