CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: NATURAL SELECTION

Dr. Derwent didn't much like communicating with the outside world, but he made exception for certain subjects of interest. He kept his radio on certain frequencies he knew that the bandit tribes of London used, but only ever listened, never transmitted. These tribes had intrigued him for the longest time, especially because of their leader, the serial killer Piers. There was some quality he couldn't quite place about the man that drew him inextricably. For a funny little engineer, he had certainly scared most people enough to have a good chunk of London to himself.He was able to triangulate the location of his broadcasts, by no small effort, to the prison, Wormwood Scrubs. Transmissions implied it was heavily fortified, meaning he had a solid grasp on one of the most strategic points in West London. Rail access and a route to Central towards White City. Resources to scrounge from Harlesden, as well as Acton. Remarkable, for someone who got a kick from feeding people into industrial-grade machinery.But it was his tout recent transmissions that had interested him the most. "Listen, you gun-toting twits, this is your leader speaking. If any one of you finds themselves in the company of the following men, you'll get something pretty from me, bringing them in dead or alive. Find me Richard or Clark Maxwell, Steve Johns, or Sergeant Zach Collins, and you won't regret it. Those nasty pieces of work crippled me, your beloved boss. Oh—and another bounty, because I'm in that foul of a mood. Find Arthur Langdon. You'll know him when you see him. That's all from me today, bloody sods. Keep your wits about you till then, and wish me a speedy recovery."Blunt, and to the point, and very crude. Despite the fellow's injuries, Piere seemed to still be very much Piere. Dervent had waye of making that change, however. He could bend and break Piers, turn his into whatever he pleased. He had to put the new strains he had been working on to the test- like the one that was partially derived from mould. It used the natural antibiotic to ward off bacteria that would otherwise cause decay in a subject's body. Or one he had used on himself.It promotes cell mitosis at an increased rate. This leads to regeneration and thickening of muscle tissue, above all else. Perfect for adapting to one's environment.So many options, so little time- for Piers, that was. He had a sneaking feeling the bandit "Medic" didn't even wash their surgical tools before using them. For Derwent, he had decades. Centuries, hypothetically. According to optimized, theoretical calculations—provided to him by his lovely colleague Dr. Johns. What had told Agent Johns wasn't necessarily a lie. He just left out the part where Dr. Johns never actually left his bunker. And replaced it with something that wouldn't invoke an intense emotional response on the agent's part.The good doctor had seen what horrors awaited him—bandits, blood, and other sorts of pain. So he went to Derwent for help. He didn't want anything in exchange, only come medical attention and a place to stay. He was told of what the bandits had done to him. The third-degree burns said it all. Derwent couldn't deny Johns that—especially not after the stories he heard about Piers. The term "Boiled man" was brought up a couple of times in one of Piers' transmissions, often in relation to Dr. Johns.A month into his stay, Dr. Johns was fixed.Upon commencing the surgery and viral exposure, Derwent knew Johns's body was too burnt to be of use. Fortunately, he had come Alco. scraps, from when Mr. Langdon was still in the business of pandering to the government. So Johns had his eyes replaced by trifocal optical units. As much as he preferred the natural over the technological, he did quite like the look. Structural implants were part of exoskeletons used by Langdon's machinery; he decided to use them. Stainless steel provided the doctor's body with rigidity and strength. Parts of it running in conjunction with the skeleton. Others poking outside the skin at unnatural angles.What Derwent couldn't fix was the doctor's mouth- riddled with broken teeth and burns; he was surprised Johns could even speak. So he set about installing an artificial voice box in there, nestled inside the throat. Of course, there were cons to the viral exposure and such. Dr. Johns couldn't reproduce. But after what the bandits did to him, Derwent wouldn't be surprised if he didn't want to.Ah, right. The bandits. They had just presented to him the happiest of coincidences, hadn't they? After, were the men who visited him just days earlier - they had already crippled Piers. Was he surprised?He supposed not. Something told him they were on the warpath. It was the glassy-eyed look on Agent Johns after taking that log. And, Richard's eagerness to shoot him in the thigh as soon as he neared the agent. Had he been "alive," Derwent would have bled out minutes after that.But he was better, above that ungainly business. He had converged man with machine, tricking the body into thinking it was dead but still resuming brain activity—he was above biology itself. And it seemed to him everyone had forgotten it. So why not remind everyone, by giving Piers a taste of what it was like in his shoes, infecting him with his personal strain? What a grand idea, what a grand, grand idea. Down the corridor, he heard a familiar voice."Greetings - this is entry number 19 of my research log, courtesy of me, Dr. Anthony Johns. Today, I'm going to be talking about matter. Or, something utterly identical to it, at least theoretically. of being, yet also completely opposite. Antimatter, the supreme antithesis.You see, antimatter itself does not exist in theory - it is very much real - but perhaps the single hardest substance in the universe to procure and secure. If it touches the air, walls, bottom, or anything in the container, it will vaporize everything in a half-mile radius if it has opposing charges to its container. This is because when antimatter touches conventional matter, roughly five grams can rival the nuclear fission bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. When they unite, the energy released is phenomenal - making it the most powerful explosive known to man. But that's not to say we should use it only as a bomb - that's horrible. We could, hypothetically, use that high energy output as an alternative energy source, such as how we did with nuclear power. That's what people forget about science - it's for the good of mankind, always and forever. Ever since Neanderthal man banged those rocks together, all the discoveries and inventions should have been done to benefit the human race."The crackle of static, then the tape cut off.In a dark corridor of the bunker, three green lenses blared at Derwent. He had a sneaky hunch that the tape's parting message was aimed at him.He shook the idea off—no, that could not be right. He was spearheading human evolution—sooner or later, humans or infected will settle down and create a new, better civilisation. Darwin would have been proud; he was sure."What are you planning now?" A voice, devoid of any inflection or tone, echoed down the hallway. "I know that look when I see it. I heard the broadcast. Don't go to London. Graham, it won't be good for you."Oh, what a clever man, Derwent thought, not for the first time. He knows me too well. "Doctor, don't worry your little head about it. It's just an excursion, is all. A research trip, even.""No, you'll be compromising the integrity of this experiment if you actively observe and interact with the subjects; don't do it." Dr. Johns' new voice was breathless. His words sounded like a jumbled string of characters, not a sentence."You worry too much. It's not like anyone's going to be getting hurt."The silence said it all."Well, getting hurt much. If it makes you happy, I'll take some precautions to make sure I don't get hurt.""It's not you I'm worried about.""You can't seriously be worried about the bandits, can you?""You know I'm not. It's Steve. He doesn't need a bounty on his head.""No one needs a bounty on their head, per se, but I do understand your issue. Sentimental, are we?""Yes. Take care, Graham."Those trifocals slowly dinned and dined, in time with the doctor's footsteps. Soon, Derwent was once again left alone in silence. Just as he liked it.Now remained the copious task of packing. He didn't need much—the bandits were a fine source of food, and he didn't have to worry about weaponry. Maybe, just maybe a knife, better safe than sorry, no?