#I opened the disney save yesterday after almost* 5 months

[natolesims]

Reaper's Rewards | Week 1

Yoru moved to Willow Creek and failed at making friends. At least she hasn't burnt down her kitchen and is starting a small garden of flowers. She also met the... man (?) she's obsessed with.

[sending-the-message]

In The City Of Meatbot-Powered Killers (part 5) by molotok_c_518

(WARNING: Contains cannibalism, full-frontal female nudity, and one wicked buzz!!! YEOOWWW!!! This ain't /r/aww, and I ain't writing Disney, bitches, 'cause THAT'S HOW THE FUCK I ROLL!!!)

Part 4

I hear a helicopter coming in from the north.

It's going to do the same thing today as the one yesterday did.

It's a big old cargo chopper, with the double rotors and the loud-ass engine that draws bot-ridden from all over campus.

It will hover over the quad like a loud-as-fuck metal hummingbird, and when enough of the poor bastards are underneath it, BAM! POW! it will drop a bunch of boxes of meat on the starving.

I'm not falling for it... so NYAH NYAH NYAH!!!

...oh, and I am definitely infested. It's not the bad ones... I think... it's the ones I made to counter the bad ones.

I am CURED of the meatbot infestation I got from punching the girl on the roof, can ya give me HALLELUJAH!!!

At some point, I will come down off of this adrenaline rush, but for now, I'm just feeling alive as fuck.

AS FUCK, I tell you!!!

Now... I'm about to tell you something, and there's no way to say it without sounding like a pervert, but I swear my intentions are pure:

I have a naked woman tied to a lab table, and I'm doing experiments on her.

PHEW, I'm glad I got that off my chest. FUCK YEAH!!!

...okay, I swear, that's the last time I do that.

deep cleansing breath

From the beginning, because I feel like I've skipped over some things, and this is about getting it all out there, right?

After I looked at my bloodied knuckles, I had a moment of panic. I looked at the split skin, and thought, "Nope. I'm okay. There's no way I got any bots off of her."

Then the bleeding stopped. I watched the skin slowly knit itself together.

Oh. Shit.

I ran for the lab where I had the stock of antidote bots, and pulled a hypo of them. 50 ccs? 75? It was a lot, and I jammed them straight into my arm without checking if the bolus had air bubbles or not.

For the next hour, I paced like an expectant father in a hospital waiting room in a 1950s movie.

I tried some video games, but a half hour into Dying Light I realized it was a bit too close to home and stopped.

I paced some more.

I looked at the stash of movies we had on hand. After realizing that we had way too many zombie movies on hand (Return of the Living Dead: Necropolis? Just... why?), I started pacing again.

It freaked me right out when I felt a crawling sensation behind my eyes, and started screaming and rocking on the floor. "I'm screwed, I'm screwed, I'm completely fucked!!!"

I wasn't, though.

When I stopped feeling it, I opened my eyes and...

...and...

...oh, wow.

I had been slowly losing my vision over the past few years. Not "I'm going blind" losing it, but the kind you get when you hit 40 and lose your close vision, then things beyond arm's length get a bit blurry.

I knew my bots had "won," so to speak, because I was back to 20/20... better, I'd say.

I let out the kind of rebel yell that would make Billy Idol proud.

I also realized, for the very first time, what I had made, and it scared the living shit out of me.

I always prided myself on being the "grounded one" of our dysfunctional little team. This is a tool for the common good... it will saved lives... it will change the world for the better. I never saw past the healing properties of bots. I only saw an end to dying of brain tumors, and cancer.

I even called the oncologist who had treated my sister, and had her in as a consultant. She worked with us for a month, and cried frequently at how much of a godsend this would be.

Oncology is a hard specialty. Every patient is a war, and every remission a minor victory. Victories are precious... because they are so infrequent.

Every defeat eats a tiny bit of your soul. After several years... well, your soul is pretty moth-eaten.

About a year after she left, she died. Heart failure. Toll paid.

I cried. I'm human, after all.

I'm also dangerously naïve.

In that moment of perfect eyesight and perfect foresight, I saw that I had created power.

With this, you could reshape society: You could lobotomize your opposition and use them as slave labor; you could create unkillable super-soldiers without a conscience; you could decide who lives and dies.

It's like the potential for Huxley and Orwell and Bradbury and Levin and every other fucked-up dystopian world was right here all along, and I was too blind to realize it.

You could own the fucking WORLD with the power of these things.

I could really play God.

As my first (and only) act of Godhood, I would save the woman on the stairwell.

As I predicted, the huge 'copter (I think it was a Chinook), hovered over the small knot of bot-ridden in a mutual cannibalistic orgy in the quad, waited for a few minutes for a herd of them to come running, and dropped more boxes of meat on the bodies below.

I know what they're doing. They're conditioning the infested to respond the the 'copter's visits. They will do this two, maybe three more times.

On their last visit, they will spray them with napalm and light them up.

I don't have much more time.

The day after I put the good bots in me to kill the bad bots, I mixed up some food: dried fruit, dried ice cream, water, and enough ketamine to down a blue whale.

I looked out the small window of the second floor window.

No sign of the woman.

I ran to the other end of the building, ran down the stairs on that side, ran back to the other end of the building, and looked out the window of that door.

She lay on the floor of the stairwell, screaming. It was hard to hear through the thick institutional walls and doors of the lab building, but on top of it, the screaming was loud and distinctive.

I ran back the way I came and snatched up the mix I was going to feed her.

I picked what I did because it had very little protein, lots of fats and sugars, and a lot of calcium so the bots inside of her already would have something to knit her legs up.

Oh... and the ketamine was to knock her the fuck out.

I opened the door to the stairwell.

"Hello?"

The screaming stopped.

I carefully walked down the stairs. "I have food. If you don't hurt me, I can give this to you."

Very faintly...

"Okay."

I calmly walked down the to the last landing before the bottom.

She was laying at the foot of the stairs, looking very hurt and somewhat frightened. She had torn out huge chunks of her hair and eaten them; it gave her the look of someone starting chemotherapy. Her wide, pale eyes looked at me with eagerness and... hunger.

Of course, hunger.

I held out the large bowl with the food mixture, and she grasped it calmly, somehow realizing it would spill if she just grabbed it.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She sat back, and I saw her legs: they had snapped at the femurs, and part of the left one was still jutting out of the skin.

She chugged it down like a frat boy in a beer-guzzling contest.

I sat on a step and watched the bones start to straighten and knit under the skin, and watched her eyes (green... pale green, like fine jade) flutter... blink... flutter... close.

Breathing became even, and a bit shallow. She went limp.

I carefully walked over to her, felt her pulse, noted that she was not lying in ambush... then I picked her up, and carried her upstairs.

I figured I had about 10 minutes to get her tied up before she awoke, and I was determined to not waste a second of it.

She weighed almost as much as a feather, and I didn't even break a sweat getting her into a lab and tying her down.

I draped a sheet over her. Gave her back some of her dignity, I hoped.

She stayed knocked out for about two hours. In that time, I shot her full of wide-spectrum antibiotics.

When she woke, I gave her almost a gallon of water, to rehydrate her. It was laced with some more ketamine. Then I dosed her with more antibiotics.

Twelve hours later, I hit her with my good bots.

I watch the helicopter fly off to the north, and with it goes time.

I don't know how much more time I have to save her. I am going to use every second of it, though, before I untie her and get the hell out of here.

And right after I untie her, I'm lighting it all up like the Fourth of July.