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A Fierce Therapy, A TG Horror Story by Kathy Core [not to be reproduced in print or on a pay site] 'Fierce' as he was known to his friends couldn't take another minute of nicotine withdrawal, feeling as if somebody was perpetually screwing bolts into his head. He couldn't stop his teeth from clenching, nor control his fragile temper. He was losing control, plain and simple, and now matter whatLucy, his girlfriend, said - he couldn't take months of this torment. "Besides," he decided, "who's going to know?" Like all smokers, he'd reserved a special packet for just such an occasion - a packet that even Lucy didn't know about. It existed officially to prove how strong his own willpower was - there was a packet of smokes that he was refusing to touch. Unofficially though, it was his get-out clause, his back door should something terrible happen. Lucy was not only his girlfriend, but also the owner of the home he was now dwelling in, and the sole wage earner. This, it was worth noting, left Fierce with only one real responsibility - give up his suicidal habit. "Easier said than done," he muttered, keenly ripping off the plastic wrappings from the cigarettes with a slight hand tremor. To attempt to cover his tracks he was going to indulge himself outdoors - hopefully Lucy wouldn't be able to tell if the house didn't smell of smoke. To his dismay, the winter storm hadn't abated even slightly since it began days earlier. The perpetual snow continued to fall until it now collected in drifts and carpeted the ground as far as the eye could see. It hadn't snowed in over thirty years. He hoped that the snow would continue, so that it would hide his footprints. His hands, once only slightly shaking, were now turning red with the piercing chill. He shivered, finding it difficult to operate the lighter. His thoughts turned to Lucy. "It's bad enough that you don't have a job without stinking up my home as well!" she had said, sternly. Fierce groaned as he shoved the cigarette into his mouth. How much more could he take of Lucy's unreasonable demands? "What a gyp," he thought. Of course, he was clearly already taking full advantage of her. He didn't quite know what a highly professional scientist would want with a bum like him. "Maybe I'm her bit-of-rough," he thought. "Well, she's going to have to learn what rough really is." He knew he was onto a good thing - free board, free food - and free sex. Lucy was the best thing that had ever happened to him. As the nicotine flooded his system, spreading a soothing, relaxing message he felt the first pangs of guilt. He had lasted two hours without smoking this time. Two. In the clear moments after the symptoms of withdrawal faded away he realized just how much trouble he was going to be in. "Dammit! Why am I going around acting like some kind of kid?" He thought, angry with himself for being made to feel so bad over something he couldn't control. "If she wants me to stop smoking, she's going to have to make me." He quickly rushed back indoors, pleased to get out of the snow and warmed equally by the house and the rush of nicotine around his body. * She returned home punctually at exactly 6:30pm, shaking off the snow that had collected on her jacket as she had traveled from her automobile to the front door. She greeted Fierce in the usual fashion: a steamy kiss, right on the lips. She couldn't actually taste anything but mint and coffee, but Fierce's reluctance betrayed his betrayal. "You've been smoking," she announced, matter-of-factly. He groaned, deciding immediately not to attempt to lie to her about it. "You don't understand," Fierce protested. "It's impossible." Lucy shook her head in dismay. Again, Fierce felt like a disobedient brat. "It's not impossible. Don't exaggerate." "I'm not making this up, Lucy. Seriously! I just don't have the willpower." Lucy raised an eyebrow at him, a gesture well practiced amongst fellow scientists and doctors. "Hmm... well, suppose I can provide you with a nicotine replacement? It'd stop you feeling any withdrawal. Would that help?" "Help? That would be fantastic!" he said, honestly. "Why didn't you say something before?" "It's an experimental drug, Fierce. We are fairly certain there could be... er... side effects," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "Oh! This is the 'thing' you've been working on, then?" he asked. His guess was correct - the drug was the product of years of research, hard labor, integrating the cutting edge of thinking in the fields of biochemical compounds and gene therapy. BioSync Labs employed Lucy as a senior project coordinator, imposing her genius and creativity to the research and development program. The deadline to provide a stable compound was approaching; the window of opportunity before the competitors stole a march narrowing. Human testing had to begin, and begin immediately. Approved or not, secret testing saved the company millions: only the most promising drugs were submitted to the costly procedures the government demanded. Lucy raised her palms. "One of the many 'things' I work on," she said, dismissing his question. "But drug or not, Fierce: You give up smoking, and you give up now." "Tomorrow.. please?" he said, desperate. "Tomorrow. No more of that disgusting habit, okay? I don't ask much - I don't expect you to quit writing just to get a day job. I can more than afford to support us both with cash to spare." Fierce stared at his shoes, humbled. He hadn't touched his manuscript today.In fact, he hadn't written a single word since he moved in with Lucy. Probably, he thought, now that he wasn't going to starve the pressure to get the book finished and receive the first royalty check had all but died out. He had, he realized, already 'made it'. A beautiful home, bags of disposable income and a glamorous, intelligent girlfriend. He had already had one book published; a tedious thriller set in the world of Los Angeles gangsters. It had sold fairly well, but his publishers were growing impatient with the lack of a second. "I know," he said. "I'll try, I promise. If the drugs work the way you say, It should be easy." "Just you see you do. I can't stand smokers. Smoking makes you impotent, you know?" she said, obviously looking at his the small bulge in his jeans. Self-consciously he crossed his legs as she smirked jokingly. "I'm going to take a shower and freshen up," she said. "You coming?" "Where to?" "To heaven, baby. To heaven." Fierce grinned wildly. "God, I love her," he thought. He felt his allegedly smoking-impaired member throb excitedly. "I really love that bitch." ** "Here," she said tossing him a packet. Fierce rubbed his eyes and squinted. He'd never been known for his ability to cope with the mornings. "Whaa...?" he groaned, sitting up in the bed. Lucy was already dressed, showered and active. The aroma of coffee and pancakes filled the house, adding a bit of warmth to the blizzard that continued to rage outside. "I wonder how much longer that storm can last?" Lucy asked wistfully. "Fierce, put that patch on your chest. It's the therapy we discussed." He wasn't in much of a mood to discuss drugs other than his own favorite - nicotine. The craving, the hunger, consumed him this morning as it had every morning for most of his adult life. All he wanted to do was rush outside and get that first smoke out of the way. Then, he thought, he'd try the stupid patch. "Put it on now. It's very quick acting," she reassured him. He looked up doubtfully. In his head, there was nothing that was going to distract from his urge to smoke. He grunted, unable to iterate any coherent words. He had a vodka hangover that for the first few seconds of consciousness he incorrectly believed he'd miraculously escaped. Impatient, she peeled the wrapper and fixed the glossy, circular patch to his chest. Fierce continued to protest half-heartedly, but gave no real fight. She kissed him lightly on the forehead. "Well, I've got to go to work. I'm giving myself plenty of time - that storm looks pretty nasty," she said, knowing he wasn't listening. "Go back to sleep, lover." Fierce grunted a response, and fell back exhausted into his cushion grateful for a postponement of the inevitable trauma of getting out of bed with a nauseating hangover and the onslaught of withdrawal. ** Obviously he awoke a little later, both confused and sore. He had no concept of the time, or even what day it was. The house seemed eerily quiet except for the constant rushing of wind outside. He was shocked to see that the blinds of the bedroom were open, but he couldn't see the familiar landscape of trees and hills that he'd grown accustomed to over the week. He rubbed his eyes, certain that sleep was somehow restricting his sight. He climbed out of bed and went over to the window, realizing that the blankness was result of the incessant blizzard. He briefly worried about the safety of his girlfriend before thinking about how exactly he was going to be able to go anywhere without an automobile or, at the very least, snow gear. He continued to be entranced by the slow, elegant flakes that filled the air. He paused for a moment, noticing that something wasn't quite right. Sure, he had a hangover - but the craving for a cigarette was completely absent. His jaw was relaxed; his head and nerves were calm. The more he studied himself, the more relaxed and serene he felt: almost euphoric. "Damn," he said aloud, "This patch really works!" He couldn't deny the effect - he felt as if he would never need another cigarette for as long as he lived. He was impressed, simple as that. He considered his next move. He didn't feel like writing, and smoking was out of the question, so a mug of coffee appeared to be in order. He moved downstairs wearing only his shorts. No matter what, he thought, this was going to be a great day. It got to the point where he was openly giggling at nothing. It was like the pot he'd smoked as a teenager - it was the same kind of gentle, fuzzy high. In a way, this fact sobered him a little - no way, he realized, would these patches pass any kind of testing program - sure, they had medical value but he could see millions of people wearing these patches permanently, abusing them, not caring about any long term effects. He filled the kettle, and spooned a little instant coffee into a mug. He hated instant, but had neither the time nor energy to wait for the percolator to do its work. The kettle boiled, the water poured, the mug filled. He took himself into the living room to watch a little television. He watched six hours straight, only breaking when a blustered and windswept Lucy returned home from work covered in a thick layer of snow. "That blizzard is snowing us in!" she informed him. "How was your day?" Fierce looked up at Lucy dreamily, only vaguely acknowledging she had returned. "Hey," he said. "You're back." "You noticed, huh? I assume you haven't been smoking today?" she said, pecking him on the cheek as she removed her coat, handbag and finally shoes. She sat next to him on the sofa. "Why are you watching the Fashion Channel, Fierce?" "What?" he replied. He hadn't noticed. He'd simply flicked through the channels until he had found something that filled the screen with color. "Oh, I don't know. Seemed interesting at the time." "I'm sure it's fascinating. Don't let me stop you," she said, enjoying his embarrassment. "Written any more on your book?" "Hmm... Well, I kinda made a little rewrite of the first chapter," he lied. "I'm not too happy with it." To Lucy, Fierce seemed a little inebriated. This, she noted, was consistent with the one of the main side effects of the compound used in the patches. The other 'side-effect' was that it appeared to completely remove all traces of nicotine withdrawal. "How do you feel, Lover?" she asked him, studying. "You want an honest answer?" he asked, grinning. She nodded. "I've felt... well, aroused... all day." Fierce continued to grin. "What, ALL day?" "Yeah... I don't know what's gotten into me. Maybe it's like you said - smoking makes you impotent, so now I've given up my sex-drive has come back. I never knew I'd lost it, to tell you the truth." "Hmm... well, I guess we'd better make the most of it while it lasts then?" "Rockin' good idea, Baby." Fierce gently climbed off the sofa, tapping his foot and head to an imaginary beat. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so content. "Ooo, Fierce!" Lucy squealed, giggling as he unbuttoned her blouse. ** The next morning Lucy didn't let Fierce get away with simply staying in bed - the storm has continued, relentlessly leaving layer upon layer of crisp, clean whiteness as far as the eye could see. "I think you'd better come to the lab with me today, just in case I get stuck in the snow on the way," she said, reluctantly faking the helpless female persona - she had never been terribly good at it, but in Fierce's intoxicated condition the effect was pleasing. He groaned, unwilling to leave the cozy confines of the duvet but eventually emerged to help Lucy in any way he could. To him, the woman was a miracle worker, and already felt he didn't want to do anything to upset his source for the wonderful patches. The nagging doubts he'd had the previous morning were gone, replaced by a complete acceptance of the strange euphoria inducing aphrodisiac. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he protested, hurriedly putting on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. "Shit... I don't have any snow clothes!" "Hmm... here. Wear this." She tossed him a sweater. There was nothing overly feminine about it, but that didn't stop Fierce from hesitating. "No thanks." "What are you talking about! It's freezing out there!" "I'll be okay." "The hell you will! What's the matter?" "It's... I can't wear that... it's yours." "So... what? I've got some weird skin disease or something?" "No, it's not that... I just don't want to wear a woman's sweater, that's all." "You're joking right? I though you were better than that, Fierce. Since when were you ever into being macho?" Fierce mumbled something incomprehensible under his breath, unable to argue further. "Don't be such a baby... just put on the sweater. Jeez, Fierce." Under sufferance he agreed, acknowledging the deep cold outside. "Well, at least it doesn't look obviously like a female sweater," he said. Lucy frowned at him, puzzled at his statement of the obvious. Eventually, after coffee and pancakes, they set out into the storm and headed for the lab. ** The motors of the windscreen wipers echoed around the inside of the car, a hypnotic clicking and whirring. Visibility was at an absolute minimum, raising Lucy into a mild state of panic. Snowflakes dancing under the beam from the headlamps, and the diffuse glow of street lighting offering only the slightest of clues for navigation. "I'd better call in to work," she said, defeated. "Dial it for me, would you?" Fierce agreed, pulling out her cellular phone from her handbag. He punched the little buttons until he found an entry marked 'The Lab' and dialed it, passing it back to Lucy. "Hello? Hi, this is Dr. Hariett. Could you put me though to the administrator, please? Yes, that's Doctor Lucy Hariett... Yes, I am a doctor, honey. Can you just put me through, okay? Thank you so much." Lucy looked over to Fierce and raised her eyes to the roof of the car. She was renowned for her aversion to both phones and her company switchboard, especially the enthusiastic new recruits who didn't recognize her voice. "Hi, John? Yeah, it's me Lucy. Listen, I'm stuck out in the snow... I don't think I'm going to be able to get to A-Site so I'm going to C instead. Absolutely - nothing changes in the schedule." There was a short pause. "Okay, John. Understood. Thanks!" She passed the phone back to Fierce who hung up and replaced it in her handbag. "What was that all about?" Fierce asked, pretending to be interested. "There's another facility that's a little closer to here. Not as well equipped, but it's fully networked to the main lab so I can get and send all the data I want." "Great," Fierce commented, not really understanding. They continued to struggle through the blizzard for another hour, until at long last they arrived. As they got out of the car, Fierce looked to see the tire tracks already disappearing - filled by the constant layering of thick, heavy snow. "Damn, it's cold!" he yelled, feeling extraordinary discomfort as flakes went down the back of his neck and stung his face. Lucy didn't delay and literally ran to the entrance, swipe card in hand. Fierce followed keenly. Once inside, Fierce immediately noticed the low-fi appearance of it - there was no desk clerk, security or at first glance any other sign of human activity. It looked cheaply decorated, with simple white paint adorning the walls, and mismatching functional furniture. It couldn't have contrasted more with the slick, over-designed environment at the main lab. At least, compared to the pictures he'd seen in the brochure Lucy had shown to him. "What a dump," he moaned. Lucy looked at him, disapprovingly. "This is C-Site. Mainly it's used to archive and store paper based data. I kind of like it - it's homely." "Hmm..." Fierce grumbled, his brain shutting off at the first mention of 'data'. He moved out the lobby, deeper into the complex in search of some place he could get some food, or maybe even watch a little television. His body still buzzed with the intoxication and mild arousal of the patches, and so he wanted nothing more than to relax in some quite quarter - the journey and the snow combined to be surprisingly distressing to him. Lucy pointed him in the direction of a simple kitchen/recreational area equipped with all the essentials: A TV, a microwave oven and a small grill. The icebox was filled with milk, eggs, cheese and other, richer, delicacies and another cupboard was filled with pasta, rice, sauces and other non-perishables. "Hey, you've got a freezer!" Fierce exclaimed to himself, excited by the array of TV dinners and frozen pizzas stored inside. Meanwhile, Lucy had gone into the communications suite to establish some kind of dialog with the main lab. She joined Fierce in the staff room with a disheartened expression. "It appears we're going to be stuck here for a few days at the very least. The roads are completely blocked, and the authorities are advising people to stay camped where they are." Fierce strained his brain, trying to understand the words. "So, we're stuck here, then?" "As far as I can tell, lover. It hasn't snowed like this for over thirty years... I guess snow defense wasn't in the budget." Budget. There was a word guaranteed to send Fierce to sleep. "Well," he said, "At least we got lots of food stocked." "Really? Oh, that's a relief." She knew about the food, but she didn't want Fierce to know for fear that he grow suspicious. Then suddenly, Fierce jumped up with a terrified expression. He didn't say anything, and Lucy could see he was struggling to calm himself before he spoke. "What about the patches? I can't give up smoking without them! I'll go crazy cooped up in here without cigarettes!" Fierce wasn't handling the prospect of removal of his new drug of choice. "Don't worry about that... trust me, I wouldn't have bothered coming to C-Site if I didn't have any here. I'd have nothing to do." She smiled. Fierce relaxed, falling quickly back into his hazy stupor watching television. Lucy informed him that she was going to get some work done, and left him. She returned a little later with a small bag. "Fierce, because you're on the compound it would be useful if I could do a few tests on you, if that's okay?" "Sure," he agreed hoping she wouldn't distract from the program he was watching on TV. "Show me the patch, will you?" He groaned and pulled his shirt open to reveal the glossy flesh colored object. Without hesitating, she used her nail to loosen one corner and ripped it off in one quick wrist movement. "Hey! What are you doing?" he yelled indignantly. Lucy backed off, but she knew his body was probably almost completely saturated with the compound so his newfound inner peace would last a little while longer. "Sorry, Fierce. I need to know what the comedown is like - how long it lasts, what the symptoms are - that sort of thing. You understand?" "I will be getting the patches back though, right?" "Certainly, Lover. This first though. It's important. Let me take a blood sample, okay?" ** She moved downstairs into one of the subterranean laboratories. She swiped her pass in the slot, and the metal door gently slip open with a rush of air. Her presence automatically triggered the various panels, screens and read-outs to spring to life. She sat at the console, and established a feed between herself and the main lab across the City. "Hi Lucy." The voice came from a small face on the computer screen. The sound was highly compressed, the video no better. "Have you begun the next phase of testing?" "Hi John. Yes, I removed the subdermial film at ten fifteen. I'm beginning to monitor his reactions." "We know that the compound is addictive... I guess know we'll find out just how addictive, eh?" "Yes. Hmm... It appears he is already showing signs of restlessness and irritation." "Already? Could it be psychosomatic?" "Not sure... the subject can't be made aware of the fact we're testing him like this. Not yet, anyway. It could be due to the suppressed nicotine addiction resurfacing, in all likelihood." "Well, good work Dr. Hariett. Keep us up to date. Goodbye." The miniature video wiped itself from the computer monitor. Her attentions turned to the closed circuit video display of the seemingly innocent staff room. There were three displays - one a bird's eye view, another a wide angle view from above the door, and another thermo-sensitive display showing body heat. She watched him for hours, unflinching. She recorded every significant detail, as she saw fit. After five hours, it was obvious the Fierce's body temperature had dropped and that he was gripped in a devastating fever that was causing his whole body to spasm, and fall into cramps. It was obvious he couldn't even stand. She continued to watch, horrified - but voyeuristically and morbidly hypnotized by his downward fall. Eventually, she couldn't take any more - Fierce was suffering terribly. She hurriedly inserted a key into a locker, removing a handful of the patches. She wanted to relieve him from the withdrawal that had proven far more severe than their worst case scenario had predicted. The compound, she decided, would no-doubt ever get FDA approval. She looked at the patches, dismayed. They were the wrong patches. "I can't give him these!" she said aloud. She recognized the serial number - sure, they contained the same addictive carrier compound the induced feelings of euphoria and sexual stimulation, but the patches she held in her hand had another more powerful substance attached - more significantly, they represented the first working example of a viable gene therapy. She looked again at the monitors, witnessing the excruciating agony that Fierce was in. She didn't have the authority, or the strength to make that decision. One the screens, Fierce had completely collapsed, unconscious. This development sent a chill through her spine, but attempting to remain professional she collected her medical bag and raced to attend to him. ** "Fierce! Honey!" she yelled, quickly measuring for a pulse. His breathing was shallow, his pulse slow and weak. Decisively, she administered an injection of adrenaline: It had only the mildest effect. He stirred, eyes wild with his mouth covered in spittle. He groaned, clearly in great pain. He tried to talk, but found himself stuttering. "I'm so sorry, Lover! Listen, I want to put you back on the patches, but I haven't got the same ones that you were on!" Fierce moaned loudly, desperate. "I do have something that will help though... it's the same substance but these patches have irreversible physical side effects... I can't give them to you without your consent." Fierce nodded, and with great difficulty managed to form the words 'anything... help me' "Okay... let me see if I can get you to the main lab before I do anything else... just try to rest, okay?" She ran back to the underground lab, and made a connection to her superior. "How's it going, Lucy?" he said - John was a fat, bald man with a mustache that grew untamed under his nose. "Bad, John. Bad. The patient is suffering immensely. He even fell into unconsciousness.. here, check this out." She punched a few buttons and her collected data was sent down the cable. John at the other end briefly scanned it before giving his opinion. "I see. Well, under normal circumstances I'd insist he be brought into the main lab for further tests. However, the storm has completely blocked all roads." John scratched his chin, deciding what to do next. "Okay. You should resume the therapy. Give him the compound - we've already broken enough rules and regulations as it is. Get him conscious and we'll try and send some kind of rescue party." "John, I don't have any pure 10368," she said, giving the official serial number of the drug. "Only 225 variants." "Ah, this complicates things." "I have patient consent." "You do? You explained to him what the 225 series does then, have you?" "I stops us from killing a patient, John. He just wants the pain to stop." "Hmm..." John paused again, deliberating. "Well, I don't believe he's in any terminal danger, but I couldn't say with any degree of certainty without proper tests. I suggest you administer the 225 then, and hope the storm clears up before any physical changes take place." "Thanks, John. Get here soon, okay? You know how powerful the 225 series is." "I do, I do. Goodbye, Lucy. And good luck." He signed off and Lucy sighed. She clutched a patch in her hand hoping that she'd made a mistake with the serial number. Two-two-five-three-seven -There was no possibility of error. She knew the compound well - it made history, but had only ever been tested on patients in irreversible comas, vegetables. I could, in the matter of days, turn the patient into an almost exact replica of Miss Melissa Jones, the person who was paid nearly one hundred thousand dollars to allow them to use her perfect body and face as a blueprint for transformations. The technology behind it was a mystery to her, and to all but the most senior executives at BioSync. She was only bound with the responsibility of packaging, delivering, and marketing it. There were wild rumors of the compound having extra-terrestrial origins, something she herself denied and disputed on the grounds of common sense, but her own instincts told her that what it could do was impossible - even a complete DNA replacement would not work over days, and would in fact most likely kill patients as the cells produced with the new sequence would be rejected by the old, causing massive failure and collapse. Somehow, however unimaginable it was, the compound could do it. It was a plastic surgeons dream, and most likely the secret to eternal life. The possibilities were endless, the applications diverse and lucrative. She knew that the powers that be would prevent such a therapy ever becoming public - the fear of over-population, the moral outrage - the end of so many pharmaceutical companies. However, BioSync had successfully synthesized it. Maybe they stole the technology; maybe they invented it from scratch. Either way, they'd found that the chemical compound they needed to deliver the miracle drug to the human body, the carrier, was both pleasurable and highly addictive. They had been experimenting with less powerful versions for use in more normal fields, like nicotine replacement therapy. However, even the very latest versions have proven tragically far too powerful. Fierce was suffering the effects of that underestimation. Now, perversely, he was going to have to use the full body reconstruction therapy to placate his addition to the seemingly innocent carrier drug. ** She stuck the patch on his chest and looked at her watch. It was four fifteen in the afternoon. It would be a half an hour before the carrier chemical brought Fierce out of his fever, half an hour later the restructuring would begin. In a way, she realized the importance of the hugely addictive carrier: Once the process began, it could not be interrupted: Imagine two completely different systems existing in the same organic system, competing with each other, perceiving each other as an invading body. They'd reject each other, causing massive and spontaneous failure and ultimately death. This was an ethical nightmare, her hand forced by the accursed storm that trapped them in, and help out; Her own impatience to test the new formula for the carrier chemical; the abundance of the 225 series drug and not the 103. She kissed him on the forehead, reassuring him. She hoped in vain that Fierce would be able to forgive her. She couldn't bear the thought of watching him in the same room, so she left once again for the underground lab. ** She looked at the monitors and saw Fierce emerge fatigued from the withdrawal symptoms. He appeared to look around, confused - more than likely wondering where Lucy had gone. Her thoughts turned to the implications of what she had done to him. Fierce would most certainly seek the help of the authorities, and BioSync would face a lifetime of legal and moral attention that would probably prevent it from trading altogether. She even had to question her own motives: Why had she allowed a human guinea pig to live with her? Was the amount of money saved by testing drugs secretly worth the pain caused to Fierce? She cursed her own lack of patience and greed. If the police got involved, she would probably face incarceration. She'd deserve it, she admitted. "Time to explain," she thought. Her conscience weighed heavily. ** "Man... what happened Lucy?" Fierce asked, without any trace of malice or anger. "It's the patches, Lover. They are a little bit stronger than we would have wished," she said, head hung. "We'll work something out, okay? In the meantime I've given you some patches with the same drug in them. Unfortunately, there's a pretty serious side effect to them." She almost smiled out of personal embarrassment, not really knowing how to break the news to him. "Oh?" he asked, still quite mellow. "Hmm... I don't really know how to say this." She paused for a few seconds. "Fierce, the patch you're wearing now is going to make some pretty major changes to your body. Nothing we can't fix later on," she said, lying through her teeth. "But, because we're trapped in here we don't have any choice. All we can do is hope help arrives within the next few hours." Fierce tried to make sense of what she was saying: He couldn't understand half of what she was talking about. His memory of the withdrawal was almost non-existent - to him, he believed he'd simply passed out at some point and was now awake and back to normal. "Physical changes?" "Yes. If help doesn't come in the next few hours." "What... er, kind of changes?" he said, growing worried. "I'm not going to fall to bits or anything? I'm not going to grow an extra eye?" "No, no, nothing like that. In fact, in many respects your body will improve unimaginably." "Cool!" he said, smiling. "No, not cool, Fierce. Yes, you'll have a perfect body. Unfortunately, it will be the perfect female body." "Female?" Fierce frowned. Lucy rolled her eyes, fearing any in depth inquisition. "Female, yes. But don't worry - we'll change you back, I promise. How do you feel about that?" Fierce blanked, not responding. "Fierce?" No response. He stared at his shoes, eyebrows furrowed. "Please, say something Lover..." she begged. Fierce shrugged his shoulders. "You can fix it, right? It's not forever?" "Sure, as soon as we get out of here we'll imprint your old DNA into the therapy and change you back. And besides, if the storm clears up for a bit, it may not happen at all." "How long have I got?" he asked, more for the sake of conversation. "Three, maybe four days at the most before the process is complete." "I need a cigarette." Lucy looked astounded. "But you're not addicted anymore!" "I never said I was." ** It was hard to tell, without windows, whether it had grown dark outside. Looking at her watch, Lucy could see that the time was around eleven PM. If it was dark, she decided, and further attempts at rescue were going to be delayed until tomorrow at the very earliest. She hoped that the raging onslaught of snow would end soon. She turned to Fierce who was happily watching television, slumped in an altogether unhealthy position. "We'd better hit the sack, Fierce." "After this." He grumbled, unwilling to move. The program seemed appropriately vacuous for his current frame of mind. "Well, just fall asleep in your chair when you're ready, then." Fierce nodded wordlessly. It was almost impossible to tell how he was reacting to his impending transformation; she suspected that he'd forgotten about it, or been unable in his intoxicated state to acknowledge the seriousness of it. "I'm going to sleep in my lab. If you need me, just holler." Again, no response from Fierce. She huffed to herself, but tried to remember that it was she who had inflicted this state on him. "Bye, then," she said, indignantly. ** Lucy woke to a repetitive high-pitched beeping. Disorientated, she believed she was at home and that the beeping was her alarm. Not so: As the haze of sleep cleared she began conscious of the computers, racks and little flashing lights that meant she could only be in her lab. The beeping, she realized, was the intruder alert. Excited, she dressed hurriedly and to the lobby: There was a good possibility that the intrusion was the rescue party. The thought of a real intruder, an unwelcome visitor never crossed her mind. In the end, neither theory transpired to be correct: On arrival, she saw that the alarm had been triggered because the weight of snow and ice pressing against the door had cracked the glass. Indeed, whether it was due to the ferocity of the blizzard, or the direction the wind was blowing, the depth of the snow blocking the doorway was greater than the height of the door itself. This meant that, quite literally, they were snowed under. She looked at he watch and saw it was four in the morning. She decided to check up on Fierce, to make sure he was sleeping okay. As she approached the staff room that he had claimed as his own, she could see that although the main light was switched off, the room was still being illuminated by the flickering effervescence of the television. "Fierce?" She spoke quietly, not wishing to wake the figure still slumped back-breakingly horizontal in the chair. "Are you still up?" came the reply, Fierce turning round to look at her. "Fierce, it's four in the morning. What are you doing still awake?" "I don't know," he said. "I just don't feel like sleeping." "You really should try to get some sleep. You don't look too good." He mumbled something, not really having the energy to communicate. She decided to go back and finish her dream. ** Fierce didn't sleep at all that night. He couldn't stop watching the constant feed of images on the television screen. He knew he had no idea what he was looking at - plot, characters, people - they all blurred into nothing more than a swirl of colors and a noise that sounded like static. He could tell Lucy was in the room with him, but she'd taken on a kind of dream like quality. On rarely could he understand the words she was saying to him, and it was made worse by the growing number of hallucinations he was suffering from, or at least he hoped they were. "Lucy, I'm hallucinating." "Oh?" To Fierce, her voice echoed around the room. "My arms... they don't look right." Lucy clamped her hand to her mouth, not from shock, but to suppress a sob. She couldn't face him, couldn't deal with his transformation. Rather than explain, she retreated from the staff room and hid. Fierce was shocked at her sudden disappearance, and equally confused. He looked again at his arms - they had lost their sharp, angular bony structure and the hair seemed almost invisible. His veins and arteries that were normally so prominent had seemingly vanished. In short, his arms looked female. He tried to focus his thoughts: He was aware that he and Lucy had discussed something to do with this before, but he couldn't remember the details, even the outline. Nothing else, as far as he could tell, seemed to be wrong. Curious, he rolled up his pants to look at his shins - it was exactly the same. Gone were the rough, defined contours of his masculine legs, replaced instead by smooth, soft limbs that could only be described as innately feminine. "Wow," he thought. "These patches are better than acid." Fierce, still convinced he was hallucinating, returned to the television screen to continue vegetating. ** The uplink to the main lab died around the end of the second day, as did all communications. Lucy had found boredom has replaced any other more appropriate emotions. Fierce had proven to be unable to communicate, a typical junkie in that respect, so she spent the day monitoring his progress from her lab. She sighed, half-heartedly eating a tasteless sandwich. Her appetite has all but disappeared. Regardless of Fierce's impending fate, they were both trapped in the building with no signs of support or help. She couldn't help but wonder why they had failed to reach them: Surely, she though, no matter how bad the snow, it wouldn't take more than a day to rescue them - especially, she considered, if you know the exact location of the people in need. In her last communication with the main lab, she had detected a certain level of deceit from John, a deliberate evasiveness with regard to the rescue party. If this was true, it did not bode well for Fierce. BioSync, it seemed, was more interested in testing the 225 series on a living, breathing human being. "Damn them to hell!" And then, without ceremony or warning, the lights went out. The lights, the monitors, and the array of seemingly random LED lights scattered around the monitoring suite. She froze, completely motionless for minutes waiting for the lights to be restored. Without windows the darkness had turned pitch, and she was reluctant to move for fear of injury. Eventually she realized that the power wasn't going to be restored soon. It was gone, simple as that. All powers of sight gone, she tried to avoid panic as she carefully stood and felt her way to the door. She fumbled for the thumbprint door-lock release, finding it. Nothing happened. The locking mechanism relied completely on electricity, of which there was none. Lucy felt waves of adrenaline sweep her body and her situation revealed its true nature. She was completely trapped in absolute darkness, without food, heating or water. Her thoughts turned almost instantly to hysteria - she threw back her head and screamed. "FIERCE!" ** Fierce didn't realize the power had failed - he thought the blackness was part of the television show. When the show didn't change, his eyes wandered around the room in search of visual stimulation. He couldn't see anything - at all. "Lucy?" No response. "Lucy, I think I've gone blind," he said, matter-of-factly. He wasn't panicking, not believing for a second that it permanent. In a moment of clarity, he remembered his cigarette lighter that he pulled from his pocket and using his thumb ignited a spark that lit the flame. "Lucy, I think the power is out. I'm not blind." He stared into the flame until it made the metal of the lighter too hot to hold, causing him to drop it to the floor. Then, all he was left with was the imprint of the flame's glow on the back of his retina. In the image, like a rapidly fading photograph, he noticed something incongruous - something that that couldn't be right. He fumbled around on the floor, trying to find the lighter. His fingers eventually made contact and tentatively grabbed it by the still cool plastic of the body. Hesitantly, fearful of burns he flicked it, once again causing the room to be lit be the eerie glow of the small flame. Immediately, he looked down at his chest and saw two breast-shaped bulges under his jumper. All too quickly the lighter became too hot to hold and he dropped it again, mostly out of shock. ** The lighting and heating finally came back online with a splutter. Lucy, in a state of dehydration and shock slowed stirred as a small measure of warmth filtered through to her. The light was blinding, so she squinted. It was a struggle to move, but she had to get out of the small lab, in the event that the power went off again. She had no concept of the time that had passed. She pressed her thumb against the panel, waiting for the reassuring 'click' of the locks begin removed. She wasn't disappointed - the think metal door swung open effortlessly, and she staggered out, coughing. She cried out for Fierce, but her voice seemed cracked and broken, unable to raise the volume above a whisper. Struggling, still feeling desperately ill, she climbed upstairs to find him. She didn't: what she found instead were the Emergency Services who'd finally arrived. On spotting her, they immediately placed her on a stretcher. She tried to stop them, insisting she wanted Fierce. "Lady, how many people are hear? We heard there were only two." A burly Fire Fighter turned Snow Rescuer towered above her. "Yeah, me and Fierce. Is he okay?" "Fierce is a man?" "Yes," she said, not remembering the drugs. "So, who's the woman we found carrying the fake ID?" "Fake ID?" "Yeah, you see it a lot in our profession. Men carrying women's ID. Women carrying Men's. Looks like your boyfriend is a male-impersonator. You should sue her for fraud." He laughed aloud, insensitively, believing her a lesbian. Other than dressing as a man, the female had made no effort to disguise her womanhood. How could the good doctor fail to notice breasts? "I want to see Fierce, damn you!" But Lucy didn't have the strength to protest, and was wheeling into an ambulance before being taken to hospital. ** Eleven men and a woman gathered around the board room table at BioSync. The room was smoky, the atmosphere tense. "If this man goes public no-one will believe him. As far as we know, there's no known test that could prove he's anything other than a chromosomal female." A deep, male voice. "Except for our own data that proves otherwise," a female voice: Dr. Lucy Hariett's. "Be that as it may, the compound works and we cannot afford to destroy it." "Then, it seems to me, we're going to face prison for what we've done to the patient." There was a chorus of mumbles and muttering around the table. Finally, at the head of the table the chief executive made a decision. "In light of the fact that we clearly will not be able to get FDA approval for this compound regardless, and the severity of the consequences should the patient's story be corroborated I believe we should end the project, destroy the data and dispose of the chemicals." "But..." an indignant voice. "No buts... we shall keep the master formula for the compound in my own personal archives, but nothing else must remain. Effective immediately, the 225 series is no longer a going concern for BioSync." There were groans around the table, the faceless executives unable to argue with the sanity of the infallible logic. ** "Fierce," she said, unable to look into his eyes. She hadn't seen him for months, and was quite surprised to see his pretty face sporting a fake mustache and beard. His breasts had clearly been bound tightly in an attempt to hide them, and he's obviously been spending a lot of time at a gym. The last time she had seen him in person he had been nothing but the perfect woman, as the patches intended him to be. Unfortunately, Fierce had wanted nothing of it, finding himself unable to adapt to a life as a woman, unwilling to change the habits, mannerisms, and lifestyles he'd led in the past. Now, after the dust had settled and BioSync had firmly secured their positions to defend against any repercussions, Lucy had bumped into him during her usual shopping rounds. "Lucy. Hey." A deep depression had consumed Fierce in the months following his transformation, partially from the slow, painful withdrawal from the patches but mostly from being thrust into a body in which he couldn't cope. "I've been diagnosed as having Gender Identity Disorder, non specific," he said, "so they won't help me turn back into a man. They think I'm mentally unstable because I keep insisting I really was male, not just believing I was born in the wrong body. They're assuming its stress related because of the incident at the lab." "I'm so sorry." She had nothing but compassion for him. How could she have known that the measures she had taken to possibly save his life would leave him permanently female? She couldn't have known that BioSync would end the project, making it impossible to change him back. This meant Fierce had become completely gender displaced, and had gone to some lengths to acquire testosterone injections and surgery to help make the return journey the hard way. The injections were easy, the surgery however was not easily obtained. "Have you written any more on your book?" Fierce frowned, unable to remember even the basic plot of it. "No," came the terse reply. There was a stony silence between them, a symbol gulf that couldn't be passed. "Well, I've got shopping to do. Good luck, Fierce. Okay?" "Sure. Nice to see you." It sounded forced. "Bye," she said, disappointed and frustrated that he wouldn't talk to her openly. It was hard to remember that he wasn't really a woman. He was a man in a woman's body, and the combination was disturbingly uncomfortable. He appeared cold and disinterested; something she was unlikely to have noticed if he still had his male form. It worried her to think that her expectations of his character had changed, along with his form. It made her realize there were more than just physical differences between the genders, a concept frightening to a woman in a male dominated profession. On a personal level, sensing the distance between the two former lovers, she could feel a lump growing in her throat. "Yeah, Bye," he replied, emotionless. He turned immediately and stormed off in the opposite direction. When she was sure that Fierce was long out of sight she broke into tears, weeping for the two broken lives. The End (If you made it this far, I'd love to know what you think... seriously, good and bad is welcome. :)