Memory download: Back at Team 12 labs; final cellular reaction test of 8933.
Things are so much more efficient since they stopped just killing most defectives and started giving them to us to play with first. I think this one has been through a few tests already; he looks a bit traumatized, but physically, he's fine. They put him in the chamber and seal the door. I insert a tube of heavily diluted 8933 into the release system, and within seconds, the stuff is gone, dispersed into the chamber. It evaporates quickly when exposed to air, just like I designed it to do. I check the monitor; video is recording. I'll want to review this carefully later, when we get the vital reading records synced with it.
He's nervous, I can tell. His eyes are shifting around a lot, and he stares at me for long spaces of time. I must be a terrifying last sight, lit from below by the glow of the control panel, the doomed subject's image reflected in my greenish-black eyes but partially obscured by that leftward-drooping streak of purple hair that runs down the center of my head. That makes me smile, and then I realize that by smiling I'm showing my fangs, which can't be comforting. Oh, how I love my job.
He's changing now. His eyes are turning dark green; he must be having trouble getting enough air. He's screaming, pounding on the window. It's soundproof, though. I watch his antennae carefully. They should be the first thing to go. I'm right. Their black outer casing is already bubbling and burning off, and they're starting to bleed. Within seconds, the gas has eaten them down to their cartilage cores. The skin on his eyes has ruptured now too; I can see the machinery of Elite vision implants poking out though the melting, bloody mass of tissue. A member of our proudest fighting force, reduced to screaming on the floor of a containment chamber -- well, not screaming anymore. He's convulsing, stiffening, his body almost ripping itself apart with its own enhanced strength. Most of his exposed skin is gone now, too. I can see muscle and bone poking out at his joints, blood oozing from millions of ruptured vessels as he writhes uncontrollably.
And now it's over. He's gone limp, his body unable to function any longer. We pump the gas out of the chamber into a compression cylinder, and one of the techs takes it to another part of the lab for analysis and neutralization. We wait five minutes after all-clear before opening the chamber, just to make sure he's really dead and all the gas is really gone. Three techs, wearing full protective gear, lift the body into a cart. One of our pathologists will dissect it, make out a report, and upload the data from the sensors we implanted to monitor his vital signs. We also have a programmer who will compare the data from the subject's PAK to an image of it created before the test. We're hoping HLD will be able to corrupt PAK data through alteration of biological processes.
It's my job now to analyze the chemical content of what we call "the mess", or whatever remains after the body has been removed. I pull on my gloves and a pair of boot covers, tuck my tail into my belt (why don't I just cut the thing off?), and carefully step halfway into the chamber. No one ever puts both feet in a test chamber except the subjects. I take a few samples, including a chunk of flesh-coated metal that was probably part of some implant, and drop them in containers for analysis.
Entry: Test results
We have finished Horrible Liquid Doom. 8933 had all our desired results, as it should after four years of alteration. Its effects:
1. Corrodes tissue rapidly, producing a quick and extremely painful death in Type 1 life forms
2. Causes powerful, random nerve firing resulting in corruption of PAK data in Irkens
3. Residue is not corrosive
4. Gases produced by reaction are toxic to Type 1 and 2 life forms but easily filtered out with a modification of standard Irken ventilation systems
5. One normal chem-weapons cartridge contains enough quick-evaporation HLD to kill up to 300 average-size Irkens, or 500 Vortians, or (full comparison listing in the report file)
So if we ever run into a problem with a shipful of renegades, all it'll take is a concentrated vial of this stuff to eliminate the problem permanently. And we can still strip their vessel for parts. We could even take out a planet with HLD if we were going to replace its atmosphere anyway. Or if we wanted anyone who went there to die. That might be interesting . . .
"Above once-solid cities, death still resonates." - Jyro.Xhan
Entry: Maes says the Massive is en route. He advised me to get the blood off my boots. It's my own, left over from when I did BioPak, but the Tallest won't be able to tell that. New music isn't in yet. All the places I attached the BioPak are aching. Means it's healing in. The processor updates worked, so my thought processes are the same with or without PAK. Memories from when I don't have it on don't get put into its drives unless I upload them through a transfer client. No more deleting records of my personal projects every inspection cycle; I'll just take my PAK off while I work on them and move this journal file to a storage drive no one will find. I have to be careful not to let my guard down and let anyone see me without the PAK, though.
"You're ready for the implant, a big improvement over natural sight." - Under Midnight