7th Cycle/131st Hour/112 Hybrid-Era
Interview of Doctor Kalter Desbin, former CyGen Combat Adrenal Technician:
It wasn’t enough for my work to simply get the job done, it needed to be perfect. The extraordinary exceeding all expectations on every front imaginable. I had far transcended my would be peers, I was no longer a simple scientist or chemist. I was an alchemist, a master of my craft, a true artist dedicated to the mind and spirit of applied chemistry pouring my heart into each brew reveling in the beautiful unification of biochemistry and zymology for the most potent and awe-inspiring concoctions this dismal frozen rock would ever see. That being said, when I was approached by members of the rebel faction, simply calling themselves the Pure Folk at the time, I jumped at the chance to finally see my fermenting masterpiece reach its true potential. Perhaps they would appreciate my thoroughness.
Initially they showed reluctance. Understandable, I suppose. There weren’t many who could set aside their conscious to achieve their goals, but after I explained to them that my methods were not only necessary but the most efficient way to produce the results they were looking for in turning the tide of the war in their favor without risking countless losses due to inferior numbers, limited technology, and lack of a trump card like CyGen’s super soldiers or the mysticism of the allied hybrid forces. Eventually they came around to my way of thinking. That same element that allowed their enemies such great feats of cybernetics, the control over alter planar forces unseen, would see the Pure Folk known as manipulators of life itself. The common Abanin Crystals would yet again be the answer.
Of course there were other prospects, other hopefuls , but I effortlessly swept the floor with them as they presented barbaric bombs and doubtful devices and shameful serums capable of winning little more than small scale battles. I was offering the power to wipe out entire sectors with a single well placed canister with little to no risk to Pure Folk forces. My ingenious masterpiece, rightfully nicknamed the Shimmering Plague, was to be an airborne mutagen deployed vai quick release gas canister – at the behest of my clients. For unmatched ease of dispersal I had synthesized an amber resin, weightless and clingy like pollen, not to be easily contained nor expelled. When released, it resembled a thick orange cloud of shimmering dust and carried the scent of tar. Initially it was only effective if inhaled but I wasn’t going to settle with that.
Two cycles passed before I was ready for a proper field test. I told them to provide me with a control group. They decided to use a handful of Abanancie’s overabundant supply of downtrodden and overlooked. I considered it rather fitting since it had been those same sad souls which first lead me to the effects of tiny shards of Abanin Crystals when introduced to living tissue. Now they would have the pleasure of being involved in something greater than slumming and scrounging for their next bump. They would become the first of a new beginning, the first of my marvelous creations. I delighted in the anticipation, watching as the Pure Folk pushed the subjects into a sealed cavern. One way in, no way out.
One canister in. I could only fantasize the hollow cylindrical echo rolling across the untreated cavern floor. The silence of each victim’s breath catching in their throats. And then slowly, irrefutably, the groans of agony. Weakness. A rise in temperature. Pain in the extremities, then the core, then the head. The groan would escalate to a cry, most were for help but some, the ones bordering on ascendancy, they cried for release. To kill. And so they were reborn my wild mutants.