Splice Away. part 1-Prologue.
I would like to state right now that this story will have absolutely no sexual content. It will be completely clean. But a word of warning: I have a chronic swearing problem that probably shows in my writing, so I would like to apologize in advance for that.
...
Doctor Ryan Maxfield stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Light had started to creep in and lightly illuminated the dully painted walls of the small room.
The he was not sure how long he had been awake. But he assumed it had been over a half an hour. He breathed in deep and breathed out again. He turned his head slowly to get a glimpse of the digital clock that sat on his night stand. The number 4:46 glowed at him. He stared at it for another 14 minutes until it was exactly five o'clock.
The doctor sighed. Getting out of bed each morning was the hardest part of his day. First he had to convince himself that his Job was important enough to get out of bed for (no small task) and then he had to convince himself that he wasn't going to get any more sleep no matter how hard he tried.
Even though he was a psychiatrist himself, Doctor Ryan Maxfield, couldn't even diagnose the cause of his stubbornness when it came to getting out of bed. He always knew exactly what would happen that day, and he was always right. Nothing overly bad ever happened to Ryan Maxfield, and he usually went to bed each night, at least, tolerating the world around him. But Murphy's Law was always there in the back of his head, grinding away.
The first time he tried to stand, he just fell backwards back onto the bed, the second time he tired, he managed to stand for a few seconds before he tripped and fell onto his muzzle. Grunting in pain, he slowly picked himself up.
He sleepily hobbled over to the light switch by the door. He was not ready for the sudden and painful burst of light, and was momentarily blinded, while in this state, he once again tripped over his own feet, and fell backwards onto his tail. The quick burst of pain made a howl erupt from his throat.
"mornings." he said to himself as he rubbed his eyes.
Ryan shook his head when he observed the shed fur that covered his bed sheets. It was late autumn and his winter coat was coming in. He didn't have his own washing machine, so his cleaning bill always shot through the roof this time of year.
He found his way into the bathroom. After he entered the bathroom, he turned to the mirror and took a good long look at his reflection. He put his hands on the edge of the sink and leaned in closer to the mirror.
"Doctor Ryan Maxfield." He said to himself. "You know exactly what is going to happen today. Don't you?" he said in his ruff smokers voice. "Are you going to have some damn adventure? No. your going to get dressed, go to work, and watch as everybody around you make twice as much money as you do while you work twice as hard as any of them." He sighed. "And then you're going to steal it all away from them in poker tonight!" Ryan smiled, witch was quite a sight to behold with that enormous wolf face.
After going through his morning routine he made his way back to his small bedroom and looked through his wardrobe at the assorted pairs of blue jeans and t-shirts. He eventually decided on a white t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans that seemed to be less dirty than the rest.
The small rental house had only four rooms, a bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a living space. The bedroom and the bathroom were on the second floor, they were separated by a hall way that dumped out at stair case that connected the top and bottom floors, it emptied out in the living space which was by far the biggest room in the house.
A crucial design flaw with the house was that there were no lights in hallway and no lights over the stairs. This made Ryan's mornings even more difficult.
Traversing the stairs in his dark house almost killed him three times on the way down. Upon reaching the bottom he sat down on his back step, trying to decide weather or not go back up and try and get some more sleep. Before he could make a decision he heard a knock on his front door. The knocking came again and his ears perked up as he listened to it. He wondered silently who would be knocking on his door at this hour.
He stood, and made his way slowly to his front door. Murphy's Law always there, grinding away.
He unlocked the bolt on his door and opened it. At first he didn't see anything; he was just looking out at the street in front of his house. Then he looked down and saw a little human man in a black suit. The little man carried a small book and a donation cup, Ryan knew what was coming.
"Excuse me sir, but could I have a moment of your time to talk about the Great Creator?" the little Man looked up and got a better look at Ryan, and look of shock spread across his face.
"Well, hurry it up." Ryan said.
"Um... uh... I am sorry sir but the Church does not support the life decisions you have made. Sorry to disturb you, I will be on my way now."
The little man turned around and was about to walk away, but Ryan grabbed his shoulder and swung him back around.
"Wait, wait, wait. What choices? I would very much like to know about these unholy 'decisions' I have made!"
The little man brushed Ryan's hand off his shoulder.
"The church does not do dealings with your kind." The little man turned around and stomped away.
Ryan was revolted, the missionaries always came around this time of year, and they were always pretty awkward, but he had never seen that before.
"Don't try the house next door! The whole neighborhood is para!" Ryan yelled after him.
He slammed the door and walked back into his house.
"Racist fuck!"
About tem miles away, in the busy downtown of the city, Anthony Ray was standing in the Anderson Business Complex. On the 34th floor to be precise, where the office of the Magnusson Telegram News Source was housed.
Anthony was standing in line to see Andrew Magnusson, the owner and manager of the Magnusson Telegram. The line was long, as it usually was at this hour. Anthony looked around the line to see some company bottom feeder standing over Magnusson, who was sitting at his desk, with her hands on her hips. Anthony couldn't here what she was saying, but he could bet by the look on Magnusson's face that he didn't want to here what the little bottom feeder was saying.
Anthony chuckled, he had been here for two years and had seen this routine many times. The bottom feeder was probably complaining about the long hours or the low pay.
When the Magnusson decided he had heard enough of the bottom feeder's rant, he pulled a hand grenade out from one of his cabinets and placed it on his desk. The man was a veteran; the hand grenade had been a souvenir of the war. Another "souvenir" was Magnusson's disfigured nose, which he claimed had been damaged by a grenade like the one on his desk. After the hand grenade came out, the conversation usually ended pretty quickly. It had a way of making people not want to be around Magnusson, no matter how mad they were.
Anthony watched this process repeat it self five times with all the people that were standing in line in front of him, before it was finally his turn.
"Ah, Anthony! I am glad to see some one that isn't here just to bitch! What do you need?" Magnusson was a rather burly man with a thick mustache, not exactly the kind to person you expect to see managing a newspaper, but no body ever commented on it.
"Good to see you today sir. I came over to talk about that promotion you said you might have for me." Anthony felt that a little kiss-ass at the right moment could never do him any harm.
"Oh, that's right! You want to be a columnist don't you?" As Magnusson smiled, his disfigured nose curled slightly to the left.
"Right on the money sir." Anthony said, trying not to stare. People that stared usually got fired.
"Ha-ha. Well, listen kiddo. You're what, 25 right? A little young for this kind of promotion." He said as his grotesques smile faded. "And I am worried that promoting you without a clear reason to do so might show favoritism."
Anthony was a shocked speechless, he had been working so hard for so long for this promotion now it was torn up in his face. He resisted the impulse to damage his boss's nose even further.
"But, I have found a way around it." Magnusson continued. "If you right a front page worthy article, and show the whole company that you are ready for this promotion you will have it! Your own column, a raise, and I won't have quiet as many people bitching all over my desk in the morning."
The good news pulled Anthony out of his state of shock, and he was able to find words. But his mind was still skeptical.
"A front page worthy article? You have any suggestions sir?" Anthony said with a hint of annoyance in his voice. Magnusson didn't notice.
"Got just the thing for you, I was walking down the street the other day and you know what I saw? A goddamn Para-human! The guy looked exactly like a cat, a fucking cat! And it gave me this idea. I posted a little survey on our website to see just how much the general population knew about these people, turns out most people don't know jack-shit. So I want you to write an article on them.
"Para-humans, sir?"
"You know, those weirdoes that get there genes spliced up with animals for god knows what reason." Anthony found Magnusson's emphasis on this sentence to be kind of weird, but didn't comment.
"I've heard of them but I have never even seen one sir, they keep to them selves over there in the south-east suburbs, and I don't know anything about them, how the hell am I supposed to write an article on them?" Anthony said, obnoxiously.
"Well, I suggest you start by finding out more about them." Magnusson said, ignoring Anthony's rude tone.
Anthony was getting even more annoyed now.
"Well, how do you suggest I find out more about them?'"
"Look, just go to that neighborhood where they live down in the south east suburbs, find one that has enough grey matter between his furry ears to formulate answers to 'yes' and 'no' questions, and do that whole reporter-interview-thing."
Fuck you. Anthony thought.
At six o'clock sharp, Ryan walked out the front door of his small rental house and was assaulted by the cold autumn breeze that made him shiver and blew the fallen leaves in his face. He looked out across the his lawn to the street and saw the piles of leaves that lay in the street next to the curb, although it was late in the year, the city sweepers had not yet come by to clean up the streets.
He lifted his nose a little higher and was assaulted by the sweet and warm smell of apple pie that one of his neighbors was probably baking, it warned him nicely and he stood there for a few more seconds just taking it in. He couldn't imagine how dull it would be to be full human, with all there handicapped senses.
Ryan stuffed his hands down his pants pockets and made his way down his little concrete path to the sidewalk.
Ryan looked at his shoes while he walked. Weeds and grass were abundant, growing from the many cracks in the dilapidated sidewalk. He wondered why the city never seemed to have time to fix up this neighborhood. It was a silly question, he knew exactly why the city never 'had time' to fix up this neighbor hood.
Ryan suddenly felt a presence next to him. He looked up to find a human walking alongside him, staring at him, jaw open. Ryan stopped and stared back for a minute, before extending his hand and pushing up on the bottom of the humans jaw, closing its mouth. The human recoiled slightly.
"What do you think this is, the Zoo? Fuck off!" Ryan ordered.
"What do you think this is, the Zoo? Fuck off!" It said.
Anthony didn't take notice. He was dumbstruck by the creature that stood before him. It walked like a human, wore clothes like human, it even insulted like a human. But it had the head of a fucking wolf! It even had a tail. Genetics can really fuck you up! Anthony thought.
He studied it more closely, it was tall, real tall, and had very wide shoulders, it was the kind of build that Anthony would have expected to see in one of those fighting shows that were popular on TV.
It started to walk away. Anthony snapped out of it and ran after strange being.
"Excuse me, sir! Wait up!"
"Didn't I just say I'm not in the mood for any of your racist bull shit?"
Anthony was baffled by the response, the creature was very defensive and kind of rude, Anthony could kind of see why nobody cared to take notice of these beings.
"Racist Bull...? Oh no, no it's like that sir. I'm a reporter with the Magnusson Telegram..."
"Never heard of it." The creature cut him off.
"I don't blame you" Anthony whispered under his breath. "But anyway, I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions."
"Why?" it asked, obviously annoyed.
"uh... well, I am doing this article on Para-humans, and my editor just told me to come down here and find one."
"Your editor sounds like an ass."
"Couldn't agree more. But I never even seen one of you before and really know nothing, could I please just ask some questions, maybe you could point me in the right direction?" Anthony said as he walked beside it.
The wolf-man stopped dead in his tracks. Anthony thought he was about to tell to Fuck off again, but he just pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. He removed one from the case and placed it between its lips at the front of its long mouth. It offered one to Anthony but Anthony shook his head. The wolf man lit his cigarette and took a long drag, when he exhaled, the long steams of smoke exited through his nostrils and the sides of his long mouth.
"May I ask why you are writing this article?"
"Well, a lot of people don't know a lot about this neighbor hood." Anthony said. "I am writing this article to inform people of you and how you live down here."
The wolf-man closed his eyes and shook his head, like he knew he was going to regret this.
"You have three blocks." It said, and started walking.
"What?" Anthony said, fallowing next to it.
"Three blocks until we get to where I work, you have until we arrive for your little interview." It said.
Anthony was relieved; he was worried he would have to spend hours looking around for a willing candidate for his interview.
"Ok then. Let's start with some basic info on you. Um... Name?" Anthony filliped the switch on his tape recorder.
"Doctor Ryan Maxfield, at your service." He said, and took a small sarcastic bow.
Wow, a doctor! I've really struck gold here! Anthony thought.
"Age?"
"Thirty-five."
"Umm... Species?" Anthony said.
"Canis Lupus." The Doctor said. Anthony gave him a blank stare.
"Grey wolf." The Doctor said after he noticed that Anthony had no idea what 'canis lupus' meant.
"Gender?" Anthony said. After he said it, he instantly regretted it. The Doctor gave him a look that really made Anthony feel like a retard.
"Is it really that hard, or are you just having a special moment?"
"Is it really that hard, or are you just having a special moment?" Ryan really started to wonder just what level of intelligence he was dealing with. The doctor had seen some pretty stupid people before, but this kid was slowly making his way to first place on the list.
"Sorry Sir, it's early." The reporter kid said. Ryan could definitely reason with that.
"Tell me about it." Ryan said.
Ryan took a good look at the kid for the first time. He looked like he was still in his early twenties. He wore glasses and was kind of scrawny. Ryan could see him as the poor nerdy kid that always got the short end of the stick when it came to trash-canning people in high school, the one that all the football jocks picked on. Ryan could identify with that. But at the same time, the kid had his shoulders back and his head high.
"So... uh." The kid stumbled.
"I would pick up the pace if were you." Ryan suggested.
"Sorry Sir. But my editor really left me nothing. He just told me to come out here and find out more about you people."
"Us people?" Ryan said.
"No offence intended, Sir."
"None taken." Ryan said. "So you're writing an article on Para-humans?"
"Yeah, that's the general idea. I don't suppose you could give me some blinding insights into this whole thing works could you?" The kid said.
"Well, that depends." Ryan exhaled another large puff of smoke. "I do work at the SpliceGen clinic, so I suppose I could answer some of your questions."
"Well that depends. I do work at the SpliceGen clinic, so I suppose I could answer some of your questions."
It seemed like for every foot of dirt Anthony shoveled, he hit four feet of gold. This guy was Para-human doctor that actually worked at a splice clinic. He should know every thing there was to know about how the splicing worked.
"So, could you tell me the procedure for a splice operation?" Anthony said enthusiastically.
"No." No other comments just a flat 'no.' Anthony's enthusiasm wavered but held its ground.
"Umm, ok. Could you tell me exactly how splicing works?" Anthony asked.
"At the genetic level?" the doctor asked.
"Yeah, that would be good."
"No." The doctor repeated.
"What about the training you have to go through to learn how to splice people?
"Nope, know nothing about that."
Anthony was getting annoyed. "Well god damn it! You're the fucking doctor; shouldn't you know all of this shit?"
The doctor looked at Anthony and raised an eyebrow. "You're on thin ice kid. And no, I don't know any of 'this shit' I'm not a geno-surgeon, I'm just a psychiatrist."
Anthony's jaw went slack, all of his riches turned out to be fools gold all too late. What the hell was he supposed to learn from a psychiatrist? Anthony pinched the skin between his eyes. Then it hit him.
"Could you possibly give me some insight as to why people do this to themselves?" Anthony said.
"Yeah sure, I could. But a little smart-ass like you isn't worthy of my knowledge." The doctor said with more than a hint of pompous in his voice.
"Ok, ok, I'm sorry. I have no excuse." Anthony said, dully.
"That's better. So you want to know why people splice themselves up?"
"Yeah."
"Well there are a lot of reasons, and I am not gonna lie, most the costumers we get at the clinic are young couples that want to spice up there private lives. But a common misconception is that we are all just fetish-weirdoes."
"That kind of sucks. I would hate to have to walk around with every body around me thinking I was a pervert." Anthony realized he was rambling like an idiot and quickly got himself under control. "So, uh, any other reasons?"
"Yeah, some people are just unsatisfied with who they are, pretty much the same reasons anybody gets piercing, or tattoos, splicing is just taking it up a notch." The doctor flicked the butt of his cigarette onto the boulevard beside them.
Anthony thought about that. One time he had asked somebody who had a tattoo why he had gotten it. he had said he had gotten it because it made him an individual, and because it looked cool as hell.
"Any thing else?" Anthony pushed.
"Yeah, when you were a young kid and you were to damn stupid to know about the laws of nature, did you ever want to be an animal when you grew up?"
Anthony was kind of taken aback by the question. He hadn't thought about that in years. All those long nights alone with nothing but him and his imagination. At first it brought back good memories, but frown quickly covered his face when he thought about it some more.
"Yeah." Anthony said. "From ages, like, three to six, I had this obsession with being a big cat of some kind. Then when I was seven my dad shot it out of the air after I wanted to wear the same cheetah costume for Halloween 4 years in a row." Anthony hung his head. "I missed Halloween entirely that year, spent the whole night crying in my room."
Then Anthony came to realization that he had just said all of this in front of a complete stranger. His head snapped around to see the expression on the doctor's face. The doctor was just starring out into space.
"I'm, uh, sorry." Anthony began. "I kind of lost track of what..."
"No, no, it's fine. I can identify." The Doctor said. "And don't apologize so much, its starting to get on my nerves."
Anthony was relieved, but skeptical. It was very possible that the doctor was thinking to himself about what a weirdo Anthony was, and was just saying otherwise to be nice.
Anthony decided to just go on with the interview.
"So, as you were saying?" Anthony said.
"Yeah, anyway, that childish want to be an animal, some people just never lose that."
"Huh." Was Anthony's lame response. "Why did you do it?" he asked.
"Well, this is where we part." The doctor said, brushing off Anthony's question.
Anthony looked up to see the big SpliceGen sign, propped next to the driveway that led into the parking lot of the clinic. He remembered the commercials now, with that big smiling man in his business suit, Splice away your problems with SpliceGen! A new life is only a phone call away! Every time that commercial came on, Anthony wanted to punch the TV.
"So, did you get everything you needed for your article?" the doctor asked.
"Not quite. I still need to get some information on just how this splicing thing works."
The doctor put his hand on his chin and seemed to be thinking about something, then he spoke:
"Yeah, well. Why don't you come on in. I don't think that our resident geno-surgeon has any clients today, I bet he could fill you in anything you want to know."
A broad smile burst across Anthony's face.
"Music to my ears." He said.
"I doubt that fat bastard is going to do anything but sit in his office and eat donuts all day, so you shouldn't be interrupting him, unless he does something in that there that none of us know about." The doctor said as he chuckled to him self.
"Good." Anthony said as he fallowed the doctor into the clinic.
...
I hoped you liked the first part. Reviews are appreciated.