Jack Wednesday
Mar 5th, 2008, 10:16:37 PM
"How are you feeling, Sir?"
"Just another day..."
"You can sit up now... Your body is still regulating but it seems that you've come through with quite a success with the recent serum. And we projected this one to have an immunity rejection rate of 84%..."
Wednesday tuned him out as he rubbed his arm where the red marks were from the IVs and guages. He barely felt it, and not because his body was numb to the pain either. Jack knew he'd look back at it later and wouldn't even be able to see it in a matter of hours. The way the docs had explained it, they were inserting variants of the X-gene in the form of a virus that attached itself to his original DNA and refitted it. In other words, mutagen was a virus to the average human as far as they were applying it to them. And Jack had seen the adverse side effects too.
Good men, even now, were in their solitary cells, isolated from the world and isolated from the rest of mankind on so many violated levels. Jack cared about his men enough to pity the lost souls but he understood that with change and revolution, there would be sacrifice. It was a tragedy that men, the most valuable asset to his utilitarian mindset, were what had to be sacrificed. The X-gene and the serums, what they called mutagen, had quite varying effects depending on the serum and when there was a rejection, whether it was systemic or immune, the results were rarely ever pretty, at least the short term ones. The dormant rejections, happening well after the procedure, tended to occur in high stress situations. A man would just go down in the middle of an intense training mission, coughing up blood. One guy had fallen over, smoke, like smoke from a fire, coming from his ears, mouth, and nose. His eyes had suddenly accomplished something similar to converting light to energy but the beam of energy had been refracted back into his own skull and fried his brain.
At times, Jack was worried that his body might turn on him like theirs' had. But the doctors seemed confident that his body would adapt to even the most doomed mutagens without fail. That still left him with little comfort but really, given the benefits, Wednesday was not complaining. His reflexes were so fast sometimes it seemed like time slowed down. His eyesight had never been better, and he felt like he could run miles without breaking a sweat. He wasn't sure if it had made him smarter, Jack didn't like to think that was possible out of pride. But in spite of that, things just seemed to click, and he could remember long series of numbers days, even weeks later.
"I need a cigarette."
He said it abruptly and abruptly interrupted the babbling doctor who stuttered and shook his head as Jack stood from the operating table.
"Sir, may I recommend..."
"No, you may not."
"B-b-b-but you've just... And you need to keep your system pure..."
"Doctor, relax. I could die tomorrow, get hit by a car, or even one of these scary mutants could come crawling out of the sewers and make all of our minds implode with a fart for all I care. I want a cigarette."
"Uh... Yes, Sir."
=======
Jack didn't even shiver as the wind gusted about him. He huddled over the lighter, craning his neck downwards so the cigarette could dip into the tip of the flame. He slipped the bic lighter into his pocket with one hand and took a long draw from his cigarette.
"Pff... pogues..."
Wednesday, shirtless and in his levi jeans, loafers and no socks, jammed his hands in his pockets as he stared up at the starless sky. It was only starless because of man, man and his infernal machines. Whether man or mutant, they always seemed to take away from the greatness of something. He supposed he should have been more sensitive to the cold but it really didn't bother him. Jack wondered if it was a mind over matter thing. Had his mind transcended over that simple bother? Or did he really just want that cigarette bad enough that he'd let such a small thing dwindle in comparison? Oh the complex things in life.
"Just another day..."
"You can sit up now... Your body is still regulating but it seems that you've come through with quite a success with the recent serum. And we projected this one to have an immunity rejection rate of 84%..."
Wednesday tuned him out as he rubbed his arm where the red marks were from the IVs and guages. He barely felt it, and not because his body was numb to the pain either. Jack knew he'd look back at it later and wouldn't even be able to see it in a matter of hours. The way the docs had explained it, they were inserting variants of the X-gene in the form of a virus that attached itself to his original DNA and refitted it. In other words, mutagen was a virus to the average human as far as they were applying it to them. And Jack had seen the adverse side effects too.
Good men, even now, were in their solitary cells, isolated from the world and isolated from the rest of mankind on so many violated levels. Jack cared about his men enough to pity the lost souls but he understood that with change and revolution, there would be sacrifice. It was a tragedy that men, the most valuable asset to his utilitarian mindset, were what had to be sacrificed. The X-gene and the serums, what they called mutagen, had quite varying effects depending on the serum and when there was a rejection, whether it was systemic or immune, the results were rarely ever pretty, at least the short term ones. The dormant rejections, happening well after the procedure, tended to occur in high stress situations. A man would just go down in the middle of an intense training mission, coughing up blood. One guy had fallen over, smoke, like smoke from a fire, coming from his ears, mouth, and nose. His eyes had suddenly accomplished something similar to converting light to energy but the beam of energy had been refracted back into his own skull and fried his brain.
At times, Jack was worried that his body might turn on him like theirs' had. But the doctors seemed confident that his body would adapt to even the most doomed mutagens without fail. That still left him with little comfort but really, given the benefits, Wednesday was not complaining. His reflexes were so fast sometimes it seemed like time slowed down. His eyesight had never been better, and he felt like he could run miles without breaking a sweat. He wasn't sure if it had made him smarter, Jack didn't like to think that was possible out of pride. But in spite of that, things just seemed to click, and he could remember long series of numbers days, even weeks later.
"I need a cigarette."
He said it abruptly and abruptly interrupted the babbling doctor who stuttered and shook his head as Jack stood from the operating table.
"Sir, may I recommend..."
"No, you may not."
"B-b-b-but you've just... And you need to keep your system pure..."
"Doctor, relax. I could die tomorrow, get hit by a car, or even one of these scary mutants could come crawling out of the sewers and make all of our minds implode with a fart for all I care. I want a cigarette."
"Uh... Yes, Sir."
=======
Jack didn't even shiver as the wind gusted about him. He huddled over the lighter, craning his neck downwards so the cigarette could dip into the tip of the flame. He slipped the bic lighter into his pocket with one hand and took a long draw from his cigarette.
"Pff... pogues..."
Wednesday, shirtless and in his levi jeans, loafers and no socks, jammed his hands in his pockets as he stared up at the starless sky. It was only starless because of man, man and his infernal machines. Whether man or mutant, they always seemed to take away from the greatness of something. He supposed he should have been more sensitive to the cold but it really didn't bother him. Jack wondered if it was a mind over matter thing. Had his mind transcended over that simple bother? Or did he really just want that cigarette bad enough that he'd let such a small thing dwindle in comparison? Oh the complex things in life.