The year is 20X6. It is a time of global conflict and catastrophe brought on by invaders from beyond the stars. Some nations have surrendered and now serve an intergalactic master. Some have fallen in defense of their freedoms. Some still hold the horde at bay by way of weapons and vehicles once thought possible solely in the realm of fiction. It is in one of these nations that we find our hero, a private who has been selected for a very special program.
Boston Sbarge was as common a soldier as they came. He had a modest tan, stood at a respectable good 5'10", and weighed a decent 180 pounds. While no musclebound goon, his muscles had some good definition, and he was fit enough to pass all standard fitness tests with the rest of his squadron. His chestnut hair was kept in a short, crisp buzzcut, and the only thing that stood out on his boxy face was a nose that was bumpy and crooked from a botched DIY attempt at repairing a break. While no genius, he had graduated from university just a few years prior and had a knack for machinery. In short, a good soldier, but never the sort they wrote ballads about or paraded through town.
That was all about to change. After passing a series of tests, both on and off the field, Boston was selected to take place in what was known as the Kingdom Initiative. He, along with several other candidates, would be genetically modified into super-soldiers based on animals, granting them abilities such as the speed of a cheetah or the proportional strength of an ant. In Boston's case, he was selected for 'Big Bull', which would--in theory--greatly increase his muscle mass and height, making him a natural juggernaut on the battlefield. It was a prospect that fascinated him and left him excited, even if the process leading up to it was less than pleasant.
"How are we holding up, Boston?" asked Dr. Jolene Offstein as she stuck another needle in him--the fifth so far, with more yet to come.
"Wishing we were done," Boston grumbled, tired from all the prep work he had undergone that day. He was strapped onto what looked like a tanning bed, covered from head to toe in some kind of gel, and had several needles inserted at various points in his body.
"No one ever said that genetic modification was easy," joked Dr. Offstein's assistant, Santanna Martinez.
At least the eye candy was nice. Dr. Offstein was a mature woman closer to 50 than 40, but time had been kind to her and left her with only a few hints of age, with nary a gray hair in her ruby locks or wrinkle in her ebony skin. She had a pleasantly full figure that she showed off, intentionally or not, with snug clothes that hugged every inch of her body. By contrast, Santanna was around Boston's age and half his weight, with her only curves being a tight rump that the soldier was at eye-level with. Her pale complexion and jagged hair felt more at place in a mosh pit than a laboratory, but her credentials spoke for themselves.
They were both well-regarded in the military’s R&D division, if not in the scientific community as a whole, but their fame did not matter to Boston. What did matter was that this went off without a hitch, so that he might better serve his country. He could already imagine himself towering over his foes, plowing through hordes like a human juggernaut and tearing apart anything in his path. Oh, the stories they would tell of him—Big Bull Boston.
Finally, the preparations were complete, leaving Boston feeling like a human pin cushion. Dr. Offstein patted the side of the container and smiled down at her latest test subject. “All right, Boston, we’re going to start pumping in the anesthetic now. Next time we see you, you’ll be a whole new man.”
“See you on the other side, Doc,” Boston replied before giving a small wave with his fingers to Santanna. “I’ll be sure to give you all a good review on the way back to camp.”
Santanna giggled, “Save it for when we’re done, maybe.”
With that, the lid of the container lowered and sealed Boston inside. A fine mist filtered in through the walls, and before he even knew it, the soon-to-be super soldier was out like a light. This was good, because it meant missing beakers coming out of the walls of the container to connect with the needles to form massive syringes. Each one was filled with a rosy liquid, which was soon emptied into the sleeping recruit.
From their spot beside the container, Dr. Offstein and Santanna observed a display that showed the formula being pumped into Boston. What was once a fantastical concept was quite routine and mundane in practice, as multiple injections were required at different intervals; speeding up the process would only kill the patient. They needed to take this slow and steady, ensuring that the formula sank into every nook and cranny of Boston’s body, if they wanted this to succeed. There was so much riding on this—from their personal careers to the future of the nation—that they could not afford a single mistake.
Unfortunately, there was a fatal flaw neither was aware of. This one slight miscalculation completely altered the properties of the formula that now coursed through Boston’s veins and melded with his DNA. The question of how badly it affected him was up to fate, but one thing was certain—Boston was going to be a different kind of cow than the bull he was promised.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author
