Battle of Genre Round One : Sci-Fi
devi Versus GuardianTempest
Click me for the BoG R1 Main Thread for additional info!
Welcome to a Round One Battle Thread for the BoG Tournament! Be mindful now, as your votes are the determining factor to who takes the win!
For a few reminders though:
Spoiler for REMINDERS:
Show
Votals
Simple. 5 points per vote.
Comment and Critique
CnC is important for a writer to flourish and grow in his craft. Giving some will benefit the writer and you as well! A point will be given to you and tallied overall at the end of the tournament [this is a separate tally]. If your CnC proves to be substantial [ergo something that helps the writer improve rather than just saying its good or my favorite part is this] an additional point is awarded.
Now without further ado here are the works of our would-be Masters of Genre!
Unfortunately, Chromium and Veir were unable to pass theirs on time. If they pass their work, it will be placed on a separate thread for CnC. For now, I've pitted GuardianTempest with devi.
devi - A Beginning for Humans
Spoiler for A beginning for humans:
Show
You know the worst gift you can get when you’ve been gone from your home-planet for many years? Can you guess? A watch, that only works on your home-planet. Completely useless, considering that I’m not going back home for god knows how long. Bet they did this just to spite me, they’re enjoying home while I’m off working off world.
I mean I didn’t have much of a choice in the first place, earth nowadays has become a place only for the super rich or the super poor, my family has managed to find a cozy place somewhere in the middle, but they live in fear that they’re job might not be enough to keep them afloat. Oh my bad, did I say “they’re job”? I meant to say my job; they sent me to this space station so I could work as a SCO just so they can cozily float on the rivers of Earth.
Bah, no use complaining, I willingly volunteered when my parents asked me to, of course I didn’t have much choice considering I was the only one able to work. Mother was pregnant, and the law doesn’t let pregnant people work for some stupid reason. Father had a diseased leg, what the disease was he never told me, suspicious right?
So here I am, stuck in my stall. Naturally, it’s not much of stall; it’s got three walls, no roof, and a bench that is up to my chest. Do I have a chair? No. People with stall duty aren’t given chairs because the higher ups don’t think that it’s worth the money, of course their excuse is that it makes officers lazy. Assholes, am I right?
“Urm exerce me miste?” I hear a slimy voice say, must be an alien, the universal translator can translate words, but that doesn’t always means it works with shit like grammar
Job calls I suppose. I probably shouldn’t get distracted by the watch, don’t want to get fired. I turn around, snapping myself back to reality and taking my elbow from my bench. I’m reminded of how weird aliens here are. Before me I got this weird humanoid octopus, and that’s an understatement. Imagine a bald pink human, but shorter, and with tentacles dangling from the jaw and who’s shining because of that it’s body is covered in slime. That’s basically it.
“Oh sorry, how can I help ma’am?” I hope to hell that is a ma’am, otherwise I won’t hear the end of it from my anti-racism-sexism and whatnot colleges.
“I lik te fiel ah misign preosn.” She replies, her tentacles dangling as her head moves with what she says. Her voice sounds… slobbery somehow, yeash. Guess it was a she, dodged an inevitable bullet there. She seems to be wearing some sort of metal clothing, like armor if you will. I think she’s one of those trade guild people, what was their name again? I know it started with Mae, can’t remember the rest
“Okay, please sign this form then” I can’t imagine how I sound to her right now, since my speech is translated to her language. I take out the file for missing person and put it down on the bench in front of her. She grabs a pen from the pen-can, with her tentacle hand, by the edge of bench and starts writing. Her hand is weird to say the least, imagine a glove for the winter, one of those that has all fingers attached instead of free, and now imagine it pink and with octopus suckers.
Holy shit she writes slow, it’s gone 20 points now, I’m hoping I’m going be able to read what she says, since the paper is covered in slime. Ugh, I hate dealing with octopus races.
She hands me the paper with her right… tentacle-arm. I hesitantly take it, and boy did I wish I had gloves. The slime was sticky, feeling much like some weird organic paste, and it slowly dripped onto my hand as I pulled it closer to read it.
“Peas finds hems!” I look up to reply to her, but she’s already gone. Leaving behind only slime footsteps, which are immediately cleaned by a janitor drone, quickly whooshing by, leaving only the sounds of whirring. Or if you are annoyed by nicknames, Droned Intensive Cleaning Killer. I’d make a sexual euphemism, but I don’t want to ruin the perfectness of the name.
Why does it have killer at the end? That’s because of that the drone is literally made of convicted murderers, sounds grotesque right? You wouldn’t think it was if you only saw it, it looks like a big green square with a large red lidless robot eye.
The body part is inside the drone itself; the fleshy bit is what keep it all together. Since any other material to keep it together costs money, the company that makes the drones, “borrow” the left over bodies of convicts in graveyards. Humans have been fighting against it for god knows how long, but they can’t do anything against the Scrappers. One reason being that any judge and jury are very pragmatic, since there’s a huge benefit to selling these drones and to cleaning the space station. Second being that the Scrapper Congregation owns this station, so they can do what they want.
It’s such a weird galactic law I find, I mean I’ve been out in space for many years but it’s still so foreign to me. The intergalactic council, for whatever reasons, meaning that any race could do whatever the heck they want with their space stations, created the Species Station law. As long as it doesn’t break one rule, murder is not to be allowed on any station. I guess you can be happy that they aren’t okay with outright murder, I suppose.
Oh Jesus, I’ve completely lost track of time, I gotta read this paper and report to the Mother before I’m late. Him and me are already on a very thin line of cooperation, I’d rather not make it worse than it already is.
Seems like a classic case, a missing teen that never came home from education camp, glad the translator kicks in quickly so I can understand what it says. I’m guessing the octopus lady was the mother, since the picture on the paper looks related to her. All aliens looks pretty much identical, with some differences of course, though I bet they think the same for humans. One difference I can spot between the mother and son is their eye color, she has red eyes and he has green eyes, another being that his tentacles seem a bit shorter to hers.
Luckily enough for me, she left a plastic bag of his slime (take how that sounds as you wish), so we can easily identify him when we’re investigating. Seems his sch- I mean education camp, is the one in hub 43. From what I’ve heard, it is a pretty bad school with disgruntled students, oh boy.
I would have continued my current thought if it wasn’t for the violent knocking I suddenly heard, I quickly looked up from the paper, only to see the Mother himself. What a “nice” surprise.
“Oh hi sir, what a pleasure to see you here.” I quickly react, being slightly terrified by how he’s staring right into my eyes with his metal eyes. Oh, did I mention? My boss is a Scrapper; Scrappers are a robotic race that looks like large round metal fluff-balls (If fluff-balls had creepy spikes protruding from their backs, and the metal looked rusted beyond repair), around half the size of a human. They have this strange ability to make just about anything from scraps, hence the name, which is why they are usually seen as scavengers in most stations, other than their own ones naturally.
“Spere teh plasanties, homan.” Well, if I couldn’t tell that he was being serious before, I can now. It seems so strange that he’s so serious, he’s usually very laid back and relaxed, when compared to other Scrappers anyway. He’s grumpy by human standards though. “I hag sumehing to ell yo, is a mesge freem une of teh higer urps.”
“Why didn’t they just sent it to my WCO?” I ask, slightly confused to the reason for the current situations. What could the higher ups ever want from me? This feels awfully conspicuous.
“WCO too public said they, is for your earyes oly.” I assume that’s what he said, kinda hard to hear through the sounds of the mechanical whirring from his body as his makeshift mouth moves with what his words. This is becoming weirder and weirder by the second; I feel a bit nervous inside, which in turn causes my leg to start bouncing up and down.
I guess he noticed this and grunted, reaching inside his robotic body, and taking out a black box like object. I would assume it’s a recording box, not many people use those nowadays. I would joke about him being a hippy or something, but I’m too scared to do that right now.
He doesn’t continue the conversation, he just quickly waddles away from the stall, and I keep staring at him until he turns the corner. I quickly push myself over my bench and start to walk back home, slimy paper and recording box in hand. Since this box was so important, the privacy of my home might be the best to listen to it.
I open the door to my room with my keycard; it silently slides open and closes as I go through. I place the slimy paper in my freezer, so its becomes more solid than jelly of course, and sit down on my sofa. It’s a nice sofa, despite it being so cheap, the rustic color really fits in with the room, since pretty much every building on this station looks like it has never been taken care of.
I place the recording box on my lap, I would have pressed play, if it wasn’t for that I was so stuck I thought. Why? What is it they want with me? It was a terrifying feeling; you know that feeling you get before you present something to a huge amount of people? Imagine it being like that.
Bah, I won’t get anywhere if I just keep thinking, I press the record button slowly, because of dramatic effect. I was always told I was bit of an actor, so it comes naturally to me. The box starts to vibrate as gears start to grind inside.
“Hello Human” The voice sounds metallic, so it must be a Scrapper that’s talking, the strange thing being however that he speaks surprisingly clear. There aren’t many other robotic races on this station. Of course, I’m annoyed at how NO ONE EVER SAYS MY DAMN NAME. I mean come on, I sometimes make an effort to say other alien’s names because I want to be respectful. Why can’t they do the same for me?
“We are contacting you right now, because the station is in grave danger.” Who’d have thought? “As you probably already know, gangs have been taking control of many sectors and hubs and our police force have been unsuccessful in doing so.”
“So I’m assuming you guys want me to do something about it? The hell am I suppos-“
“So we contacted you, we need someone who’s not one of us to help us fight against the current crime wave.” I don’t know why I expected it to answer me; it is a recording box after all.
“Now listen very closely now, you will have received a piece of paper from on of our associates from the Maephelos Traders Guild, he will have disguised it in a missing persons report.” Wait what? I quickly jump out of the sofa and run towards my freezer, pealing it open. I grab the now frozen paper and head towards my sofa, concentrating on the paper and what the message says.
“He told us to tell you to read the first letter in each row, but we have one warning for you before this recording ends. Do not come to the office and try to tell any higher ups about this.” Higher ups? I don’t understand, isn’t this guy a Higher up? He better start to answer questions before this ends.
“Thank you, the Human Republic is relying on you, John.” So wh- wait a minute, did he just say my name? This stuff is just getting weirder and weirder. I mean, crazy things happen on this station at times, like this one time some robotic guy tried to rob me with a burrito. No I’m serious, he thought the burrito was a human handgun. Well, he was unpleasantly surprised when I took a bite out of his “gun” and took out my cuffs with my right hand and my TRD in my left. He knew he was sorta kinda actually screwed so he didn’t resist.
Okay, since the recorder guy thanked me so nicely, I’ll do as he says. Lesse see here, hopefully I’ll be able to properly make out the words, but conveniently, the handwriting isn’t wacky and such. H…U…B…F…O…U…R. Okay, Hub four is pretty close, hopefully the paper specifies the sector too while its at it. S…E…C…T…O…R…S…E…V…E…N…T…E…E…N. Ask and you shall receive I suppose. But wait, there’s more! P…O…R…T…T…W…O. Oh boy, better get there now.
It’s only now when I’m trying to get a ride to Hub four that I realize that I have no clue about what I’m supposed to do when I get there. Nine cogs on that “I’ll find out when I’ll get there.” This is starting to sound more and more like a stereotypical and cheesy person becomes a hero story, and I’m in it.
I snap out of my thoughts at the sound of a hover window opening, to see a hover rider right in front of me, I crouch so I can see inside. Oh boy, it’s a Scrapper as a driver, he’s probably going to attempt to milk me of any of my cogs, and probably a bit more than I have.
“Were te ser?” It asks to me merrily, I assume it has a smile, I can’t quite tell however.
“Are you able to take me to hub four, sector seventeen, port two my good friend?” God I hope he just says yes, some of these drivers are so picky with who they drive, excuses like “Don’t know way”, the assholes just want to get as much cogs as possible. Of course you can’t blame them, they’re just trying to make sure they have enough cogs to get through the day. Gear cleaners are progressively getting more expensive. Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.
“Sere I take yo, hup in.” It answers me enthusiastically, opening the door closes to me with the press of a button by the steering holes. Sound funny, it is pretty funny. The driver just sticks their hands into two glowing holes and it allows him/her/it/other to move and turn the car. I’m told it’s fairly easy, though I have never felt compelled to try to learn how to use it.
I sit down on the seat, the door slides closed as I put my last leg in. The seat is surprisingly comfy; most tend to be hard like a rock, and as spiky as one too. Guess this guy understands that just because his race doesn’t care for nice seats, doesn’t mean everyone else doesn’t too. I think I already like him.
The engine starts to vroom softly, in contrast to the loud sounds of the outside of the hover. Of course, that sound disappears as the window slides shut, and before I could say “Let’s go”, the hover enters Hub travel speed.
I would have talked about the trip more, if I hadn’t fallen asleep. I got extremely tired for some reason, must have been the extreme time zone changing. The driver was reasonable, I paid him 20 cogs for the trip and I exited the hover, god I wish I had more taxis like this.
Aaah, feels nice to stand again, just need to stretch out my bac- aaah, that’s the stuff. I swear that it feels better the more your back cracks. I open up my slightly tired eyes only for me to have a surprise. There was literally a big mech guy right up in my face, I couldn’t help but fall to the ground in reply to this sudden appearance. What’s creepier is that I didn’t hear it approach, it must be very light on its feet, which is strange considering how it’s like twice my size.
“Are you the SCO named John?” It asks me robotically, staring deep into my eyes with three blue shining eyes, centered on a ruby head. It doesn’t look like a security mech, it doesn’t have any visible weapons and the like.
It’s painted with a very pale white all over its bumpy body, the ruby head is in the middle of a large chest like thing, where the stomach for a human would be. While it’s arms are attached to what can only be assumed to be shoulders at the top of the chest, the arms reach down to a bit lower than the head, the hands having four pincers with the palm being the color of a slimy black. Like that slime they would use in old movies to show horror and stuff. The legs are at the bottom of the chest, being surprisingly stubby in proportion to the rest of the body, them being about half my size.
“Depends who’s asking, who are you?” I reply, attempting to sound cool, and at least keep my cool. This thing is intimidating as heck, it remains completely unmoving, with the exception of the blue eyes blinking randomly and unsynced.
“Are you the SCO named John?” It asks again, it’s expression completely unchanged, guess it’s scripted to only ask that question, must be a mech drone then. Better move this conversation forward I suppose.
“Yes I am.” I shake a bit, while a sweat drops slowly moves down from my forehead down my cheek. I really don’t want to mess with this thing, doesn’t matter if it isn’t a combat class mech, it’s still very scary to just look at, the pale color making it look like a ghost.
“Come with me if you want to live.”
Tell me, what would you do if a pale robot told you to come with you, with no info on who or what or why, or anything like that to explain the situation. You probably would walk away wouldn’t you? Unless you’re some adventurer guy, then you’d probably happily follow. While I was hardly pleased at the idea of following this thing to wherever, I knew that if I wanted to understand the mystery of what’s been happening to me, I have to do some investigating. So this is at least somewhat of a start to the case.
We went on for a good 40 points or so, we went through open bustling streets, through dark alleyways, industry districts, and (dare I say) rave robot pole dance clubs. I was seriously starting to think that this was just some elaborate prank made by my colleagues. I was just about to tap the mech on its back, when I noticed a very strange logo on the spine of it. It was a logo for a well-known mech producing human company, why I didn’t notice that until now, I’ll never know. I swear, those pole dancers didn’t distract me at all, I promise.
We then entered a oil pub, a Scrapper waiter politely opening the door for us, and guided us to a room behind the kitchen. We kept walking through a dimly lit hall, stopping at a blue door with a white eagle sign on it. This must be some hardcore prank. The mech gently opened the door with its talon hand, gripping it tightly; you’d think the door would break. It looks like a metal door, usually people only use those for rooms they find especially important, and this does not bode well for me does it.
The robot then positions itself to make the door accessible to me, and it uses its free hand to make the gesture that I should enter. As much I am tempted, my patience is stretched thing by now. I start to turn around.
“Go in the room, John.” The robot tells me, the voice was much more human now, and I could tell that it was completely tired of any shit I was trying to do. I immediately stopped turning in surprise and started to walk nervously to the darkened room. As I passed the robot, it followed me with its eyes, staring at me what can only be assumed to be anger. The second my whole body was through the door, the robot shut the door.
I instantly turned around and tried to open the door, what I assumed was the door, since the room was near in complete darkness. Nope, it’s completely jammed, I’m not getting through there, I gotta try though. The darkness started the shroud the last of my sight, and then I was completely blind in the dark Just as I was about to kick the door down, a light turned on behind me.
My eyes slowly adjusted to the new light as I turned to face the origin of it. I couldn’t quite see, but I approached the origin. I started to make out basic shapes, what looked like a bunch of people and something square.
“Who are you people?” I shout, I didn’t exactly understand what was going on, I had just been just shut in a pitch-black room with no light, brought by a white-faced mech who wasn’t exactly warm and welcoming to him. My eyes finally adjusted to the new light and I could see clearly now. There were three people in front of me. It was two humans, and an octopus person. All of them were standing right next to each other.
One of the humans had black hair, looked about 26 years old, was white in skin, and wearing a black suit with a dark red tie. His face seemed a bit stubby and rough; he looked more like a rugby player than a guy who would willingly wear a suit. The second human had short blond hair, with curls at the end of each hairpiece. He was black in skin; he looked much older and wiser than the other fellow. He also looked very tired, and very very bored. Unlike the other guy, this guy was sporting a grey suit with a tie that was split in half with the left being purple and the right being yellow. Weird taste of clothes, but I’ve seen weirder.
But that was when I recognized the squid person, it was the woman earlier today who filed that missing persons paper to me. I think anyway, she has red eyes… yeah now I’m not so sure.
“Hello John, welcome to your Job interview.” The grey suited man says, his voice a bit raspy and shaky, a strangely jolly grin revealing itself on his face.
“What do you mean job interview?” I ask, more confused by this situation by the second. There’s so much stuff happening that I’m not even sure if this is real, am I dreaming? Since I have no clue, I pinch myself to check. It hurts, and I’m not waking up.
“Oh this isn’t a dream, John.” The black suited man announces to me, his voice is very deep and masculine. Dude sounds incredibly tough, and he’s very observant, since I’m guessing he saw me pinch myself.
“Please John, I know this seems very bizarre to you, but we need you to calm down and listen to what we have to say. Humanity, at it’s current state, needs you now more than ever.”
“Wha? Please explain first before you start to ramble”! I shout, this is getting on my nerves now, I feel my choler rising up to my head, and my fist closes tightly
“I suer you eard ahboot teh urreent tentsiones btwen Hooman n my pople.” It was the octopus lady that answered me this time. Wait, I recognize the voice. Now I can “rest easy” knowing that that lady is the lady I met earlier today.
“Then why the subtlety and such, miss?”
“Teh –unknown- yo cellin miss?” She answers angrily. Well, this is awkward.
“Wait, I thought you were a she? Why didn’t you correct me before!” I shout in retaliation
“Ah did et becous ah wes twayin nut the drew tention teh meh, idijit.” Well shit, I suppose it makes sense, judging by how mysterious this whole situation is.
“That’s about enough you two, we need to get to business now.” The black suited man interjects, before I could shoot a reply, looking very serious and angry at the both of us. He looked as if he was to say something more but then the other guy waved his hand.
“Now John, we need you for one reason and it’s a very good reason, you have such experience with dealing with other aliens.” The man says, incredibly calm, in contrast to his associates
“Dude, I’m a station control officer! The heck are you talking about?” This is just getting more confusing now. He hasn’t even told me about the job.
”Stop interrupting me and I might tell you.” He responds coldly, he just became so much more terrifying, feeling more akin to a devil dealer than a business man.
“We want you to become the Alien International Diplomat Speaker for the human race.”
How was your day, John? Oh it was fine, I was told to become the AIDS of the human republic, regular day y’know. Holy crap, this is so stupidly weird that I think I might be high grease. I think the situation has gone past the idea of it being a prank.
“I’m assuming at this point that I have no choice but to say yes?” I ask, remaining perfectly calm, despite the stupid amount of excitement inside me, being the AIDS for a faction basically means you’re the spearhead for any diplomatic business, a position of great honor and power.
“Well aren’t you surprisingly calm.” The black suited man points out, quite literally, he is just pointing at me with his right hand.
“I think I’ve gone past the point of visual excitement” I retort quickly.
“Of course you have a choice John, but if you don’t, then humanity might become illegitimate race in the intergalactic council, we’ll have no rights and we’ll be abused, and you wouldn’t want that.” The older man continues what he says, with a strangely sadistic smirk on his face. He knows that he’s got me in a corner, I don’t have much of a choice.
“Well then, I accept, I’m ready to take this responsibility. I’ll help however I can.” God, I feel so might, like this is some sort of introduction for me to “hero hood” and whatnot.
“E new tet yo weld acept, I, en behorf ef mah pepel, tenk u fer dong dis.” The octopus “guy” is surprisingly thankful, that makes me wonder, what does he have to achieve from this. I was right about to ask, when the more brutish man started to take heavy steps towards me.
“On behalf of the Human Republic and of Humanity, we thank you John, let us hope you bring us to a new age for mankind.” He extends his open hand towards me.
“So what should I do first sir?” I reply, extending my hand to meet his. We shake hands, his hands are strong, rough, but surprisingly gentle. I was expecting him to crush my hand with all his strength.
“We’ll show you, sir.” He turns my hand around, showing off my clock. Why my clock? What’s it got to do with this? I was about to ask, but then he started to take the glass casing off on the clock. A strong blue light erupted from it, as I got used to the brightness, I saw it was a person in a hologram.
“Hello John, by the time you see this, I’m betting that my friends will have told you about this job. If your seeing this hologram, it means that you’ve accepted the job and are ready to help us. On behalf of the Human Republic, I, the leader of the Foreign Affairs Talkers, welcome you. I will be your teacher when you come to earth.”
I would say this was the start of a great journey but… ah fuck it; it’s the start of a great journey.
GuardianTempest - Mizatoire: the Rebirth
Spoiler for Mizatoire: the Rebirth:
Show
The door creaks open and a male scientist quietly walks into the room. He looks somewhat slim yet broad-shouldered, with a clean-shaved face and short brown hair. In his arms is a small folder filled with ramblings and jargon he won't rather read. He glances around the room and notes how busy this individual has been for the past three days. Diagrams, pictures and drawings of various kinds litter the walls while the multiple whiteboards and bulletin boards are filled to the brim with notes and ideas. Lastly, he turns his vision onto the only other person in the room, typing endlessly on the keyboard while taking occasional moments to write on one of the many papers scattered on the desk.
"Professor Mizatoire," the scientist asks in a tone wishing not to disturb, "May I have a word with you?"
The fingers halts from pressing another key, the chittering on the keyboard stopping as the person attached to it stands up to reveal herself. He can immediately tell she hasn't been sleeping, perhaps for at least three days. Her long, brown frazzled hair is a dead giveaway along with her eyebags.
"Heyy, what's up?" she greets with a weary smile, "I haven't had visitors in a while. You're the guy from Everglade, right?"
The scientist simply tosses the folder onto the desk, he never really cared much for its contents past the first five pages.
"This combination of various requests make almost no sense whatsoever." He couldn't help but add, "And to think I was dragged here from more important matters. Why are you wasting everyone's time and resources on impulses like these?"
She stares blankly for a few moments before his inquiry registers in her mind.
"Well, someone has to explore the crazy stuff to see what can be done. Alternatively, I just want to, no harm in that especially since everyone's getting something out of it. Anyways, is the main resource node ready?"
The scientist glares at her for referring it as simply a 'resource node'.
"You need to brush up on your vocabulary, because acquiring this 'resource node' was a costly affair. But yes, it's there for all I know."
To his surprise, Prof. Mizatoire suddenly attempts to stand right from her seat but slams her thighs on the desk's edge with a loud knock. All the papers and trinkets on it bounce for a bit while she tumbles backwards, tossing several sheets of paper into the air. As she slowly recovers from the slip, the scientist catches some of those sheets and picks up more to closely examine them.
"Strange..." he softly mutters.
Research findings on creating artificial hybrids through advanced surgical procedures. A case study about drawing power from someone who innately generates magical energy. A newspaper article about a dragon sighting in Hungary. Old personal musings in shoddy handwriting, complete with childish scribbles.
He sets down the papers and notices that Prof. Mizatoire is already absent, having already left while he was looking at her notes.
"What does she really want?"
--
Today is the big day, at least for her.
A large gathering of various intellectuals is taking place in a massive, recently-leased warehouse in Almodovar. An equally-large fleet of various parked vehicles litter the surrounding block, ranging from humble sedans to stark-white trucks. The event causes such a disturbance that the local mayor has to declare a localized State of Emergency just to give these people some breathing room and hopefully minimize any damages they might inflict if things go horribly awry.
Inside the warehouse, medical supplies and equipment of all shapes and sizes litter the main floor. At the center of it all is the most advanced portable operating theater in the world. It's a giant tomb-like cube where gravity neutralizers lift the patient into the air while robotic arms and tendrils operate with a repertoire of surgical implements, all monitored and handled by trained professionals with AI assistance inside the array of angular pods surrounding it.
Prof. Mizatoire, dressed in a white hospital gown, stands before the cube and sees her reflection on the shiny white surface, one last look at her physical appearance. Once this is all over, she will become something more.
The surface opens up like train doors, revealing a bed on the chamber's floor while the fancy robotic arms and tendrils rest in their casing. She steps into the chamber after a solemn nod and lies down on the provided bed, falling asleep immediately after continuous work. Light from various indicators and instruments around her glow into existence as the gravity neutralizers kick in. Her resting body slowly levitates from the bed and the robotic arms and tendrils spring into life and begins disassembling the body with delicate precision. Outside, the scientist from earlier watches her vital signs and monitors equipment performance with a mug of coffee in his hand.
He turns towards one of the idle personnel and asks, "So far so good I guess, how is she going to incorporate biomass from the dragon over there?"
In the corner of the main warehouse floor, a fuchsia dragon is contained in a temporal stasis field. The stasis field makes it very vague to discern its status. Maybe it's dead the entire time or only on arrival, frozen in time to avoid deterioration. Maybe it's still alive and frozen in time to avoid inhumane suffering. It is definitely smaller than others of its kind, more like a drake or even a whelp but it is loaded with magical energy to the point that a faint mist is emanating from it. How she got the resources for the experiment is a mystery for the ages.
Four men in hazmat suits are carrying a large, sterile container towards the cube. One of them turns to the scientist and tells him that he should stop looking if he is squeamish. He points to the corner where the dragon in stasis is located, the area now obscured by giant curtains. The scientist nods and walks away to take a break.
The entire operation is a great ordeal, every variable must be accounted for just so that the professor's outlandish wishes are realized. To make sure of that, he returns back to the cube after refilling his mug and getting some biscuits to eat. As the hours drag by, the exhausted personnel situated in the operating pods swaps with replacements so they too can rest.
Truth be told, this is neither the longest surgical operation nor the hypothesis with the weirdest premise he has heard of, respectively that goes to the alien behemoth's orgran transplant and the weaponization of cute little girls and their memetic effects.
--
A few days have passed since the operation started. The scientist wakes up to find that everyone around him is packing up. Apparently, in his exhausted slumber he has missed a few critical moments and the point where the operation is declared successful, after which the patient is delivered to the local hospital to recover in the ICU.
A taxi ride and a few flights of stairs later, he finds the room she is residing in. The robot security guard lets him in after a quick flash of his credentials. Inside, he finds her lying peacefully on the bed, completely cocooned by the blankets, and no one else. Earlier, he has a text message to bring a mirror, which is exactly what he pulls out from out of his pocket.
"Hey, uh, I have the mirror you wanted. Did something go wrong?" he asks with concern to her current state.
From the layer of blankets, a hand extends to greet his offering. While it still looks human, apart from the long nails, the way it's opened up looks like it's ready to grip something with no remorse. He sheepishly hands over the mirror and the hand, to his surprise, softly handles it. Suddenly she springs into life, rising up and unfurling her blanket to reveal herself like a reborn phoenix.
"Surprise! How do I look?"
Her long, brown hair has become even longer and is now in a shade of bright pink. Her red eyes faintly glow and has slits for irises while her mouth exhibits more pronounced canines. A sharp-ended tail delicately wiggles into view and a pair of horns jut out from her head. Admittedly, she is actually quite beautiful in her new state.
A moment passes, Prof. Mizatoire holds back her breathing out of pain. Her body is still adjusting to the myriad of modifications applied to it. After briefly stabilizing, she starts admiring herself through the mirror.
"I have to admit, you look pretty good." the scientist compliments while reaching for a styrofoam cup.
"Thank you," the professor replies, "Here, let me help."
She reaches for a thermos placed on a table right next to her bed and pours some hot chocolate into the cup.
"All in all," he begins concluding, "Casualties were reported in obtaining that dragon, several personnel have been critically exhausted, severely pissed off the dragon enthusiasts, burned a hole right through your pockets, and set some surprising new records in the advanced medical community; all for the sake of your rather...unique form of vanity."
He takes a sip before adding, "Tell me, Prof. Mizatoire, was all of that worth it?"
"Yup!" she replies with an enthusiastic smile and a glint in her eye, "Now it's time to move on to Phase Two!"
"WHAT!?" he blurts out, nearly spilling the contents in his cup, "You just went through the most harrowing surgery in your life and that was just the first step!?"
This is never a good sign with her.