MVA out Grown Genes

Author Notes: Here is the second chapter! I hope you like it. It took me quite a while to get the mindset of it right, and I'm still not too sure about the flow, but whatever. Tell me what you think, and above all else… ENJOY!

Disclaimer: I own nothing, save for the voices in my head… Or do they own me…?

Chapter 2- Caution: Mad Scientist at Work

This… was going to be a delicate operation.

All his analyses pointed in that direction. Yes, in theoryif he stimulated the human strand of DNA in just precisely the right way, the cockroach like features should be replaced with his own human ones. However, it would have to be in just the most absolute correct manner to the nth mille-decimal, or the possibilities for failure would be simply astronomical.

After a meticulous evaluation he had narrowed down the varying possibilities: there was a 50% chance that there would be no change, 45% chance that all would go exactly as planned, 4% chance that he would become even more like a cockroach by actually weakening the human strand instead of strengthening it, a 0.98% chance that he would die by some kind of mechanical failure or chemical imbalance, and a 0.02% chance that … something else will happen.

It bothered him, that 0.02%. His last self-experiment had had that very same unknown factor, only if his memory was correct it had actually been a 16% chance, but the possibility of all going correctly had been a 79.9% chance; the thought that something could go wrong that he could not plan for had been near laughable…

Actually he had laughed, loudly too… Bothersome habit.

Someone would think that it would be the 0.98% chance of death that he would be more concerned with, but for some reason it did not, at least, not as much as that blasted 0.02%. It weighed heavy on his mind as he went about his work, gathering his needed supplies for his project, plagued his thoughts at night. He had managed to work his calculations to minimize the 'unknown' factors, but there was just no way to get rid of it completely.

Sitting at his desk late one night under the solitary glow of the ever present red bulb, he finally confronted himself about this problem of his. For the past three days he had agonized and worked, reworked, and then reworked some more the same blasted formulas, almost obsessively trying to rid himself of that horrible unknown. Had he been working so hard to remove the possibility of death, he would have paid it no mind, but it was just an unknown, and as a scientist there was always going to be an unknown factor in theories.

"Alright Roach," He said to himself. Glaring at the papers that were littering his desk he rubbed his eyes tiredly, "Why have you got your coat all in a bunch over something as ridiculous as an 'unknown factor' of all things? It can't be helped, and it can't be removed, so why are you stressing so much?"

Heaving a defeated sigh, he let his cockroach like head fall into his hands. He knew why. It was because it had happened before. It was why he was like this in the first place, that damnable unknown. The worst thing that can happen to a scientist during a self-tested experiment is to have something happen that they are not prepared for; or at least that's the way it was for him during his oh so fateful self-tested experiment. Perhaps he was a bit traumatized. Ha! Of course he was traumatized; he had the head of a cockroach for heaven's sake!

"So what are you going to do about it?" He spoke, continuing his self monolog. "Are you going to go through with the experiment, and risk the chance that the unmentionable might possibly happen again? Or are you going to stay as you are, and live a lonely life forever as a roach?"

That was the crux of the matter after all. To do or not to do, that was the question. Raising his head, he steeled his resolve. He would do it.

Really it wasn't even a question in his mind. He had spent years on research and experimentation, and now when he finally had had a breakthrough and he could actually start doing something, he was not going to back down simply because he was scared of another accident. He would proceed with the experiment.

Shuffling his papers of formulas and equations, he piled them into a neat stack and had gone to bed. He would start building in the morning.

It had been with renewed vigor that he had set about his task. It was such a relief to finally start building things, and now with the newly established freedom Monger was allowing him to have access to the better garbage. The uptight general wouldn't let him get his hands on any real science equipment, he had learned better than to do that last time, but still it was much better stuff than those silly Lego's he had had to use before. He had been like a child let loose in a candy store when they had first brought the pile of junk in. Link had laughed at his reaction, but he had brushed it off, scoffing that only the truly genius mind would understand his excitement… he had then proceeded to squeak like a school girl over the sight of a pair of slightly damaged slippers, and thus ruining whatever image he had managed to establish.

But still, the quality of the tools he had to work with now could not be denied. And he would need every last bit if he was going to pull this off successfully.

Humming merrily he got to work with the welder, melding together the bits of scrap metal that would come to be the transform chamber. Sparks flying as he worked with the delicate wiring and tubes, he was the happiest he had been in a long time. An old microwave, a treasure among treasures, was dissembled and combined with an old transistor radio; the combined wave-radiation at the correct frequency would prove to be vital in stimulating the DNA contained within him.

He was at a loss for a while as to what to use to actually stimulate the genes to grow however. Monger, despite the relaxed regulation of his garbage use, still wouldn't let him get his hands on any chemicals. Not even baking soda and vinegar, not after that one incident. And without the use of such chemicals he would have to rely on just the wave radiation frequency, but that would double the 'unknown factor' to a point that he was not comfortable with… He needed chemicals.

"Uranium, Plutonium," he rambled in his thoughts, going through the list of chemicals he was not to use, that would have been so very useful, "Beryllium, Bicarbonate, Iodine, Oxide… wait, Bicarbonate… Bob!"

Sudden inspiration struck, sending his whirling thoughts off on a tangent. Bob was technically a living combination of altered genetics and chemicals, and although that could raise the debate about what exactly the definition for living is, it could not be debated that he was not a quite animated fellow. Albeit a bit dim, being brainless and all, but certainly capable of feelings and emotions which he proved by carting around that Jell-O of his…

Speaking of which, she was starting to get a little moldy again. It had taken them quite a while to figure out a solution to the Jell-O problem, Bob loved her to death and couldn't bear to be parted from her and would be devastated if she were to 'die'. So Susan had come up with the marvelous idea that Jell-O would get homesick, every month or so, and would require to be allowed to 'go home', where Susan's mother would make a new Jell-O and send it back on the newly cleaned plate. They were now on Jell-O XXV, and Bob was none the wiser and always overjoyed to have his beloved Jelly back…

Still it was astounding to study the changes that would occur to the Jell-O over the time of a month. The little green glob would start getting dingy after about a week, and by the end of the month would be covered in unsightly splotches of mold and more than likely covered in bacteria…!

Bacteria! That was the solution to his chemical problem. Bacteria have one of the most phenomenal growth rates known to man. A mere second and a cultures population can multiply exponentially into thousands, millions, and even billions. If he could somehow, duplicate the growth factor of bacteria and apply it to his own genes… Why, it would be merely moments before he would be back to his human state.

All this took nearly a second of thought before he was up and running in search of Bob and his girlfriend, and under the pretence of a simple checkup, managed to get a sample of the bacteria which he would preserve in a culture until he would have need of it. He was halfway there.

His great machine towered in his chamber, a hodge-podge of car parts, bike parts and other such mechanical contraptions, thrown together like an intricate 'Frankenstein'. It was beautiful and horrifying at the same time, and he could never quite help the slightly maniacal laughter that bubbled up from within him as he gazed at it.

It seemed to echo his previous experiment in form and appearance. It made sense to him that the machines would be similar. One that made him what he was now, another to change him back, both the same yet created different. Rather Zen he thought, when he considered it. But Zen or not, he was nearing completion, and soon he would no longer see the face of a bug before him, but the face of a man.

Oh, he would still be a monster, he was sure of that. The cockroach genes were too tenacious to get rid of completely, as he well knew. He would still have a craving for slippers and the ability to survive even a nuclear holocaust if all his calculations were correct. He would more than likely still be able to scale walls even. He just did not wish to look like an insect anymore. It was vanity, through and through, but one that he could not deny himself. He simply wanted to be able to look into the mirror and see his own face, a face that no one would run screaming from. A human face…

It had hurt him, that first time he had cause a crowed to flee in terror, a dampening to his self-esteem. He may seem the confident type, but that was merely because most of the time he was too lost in his own scheming mind to pay attention to what others think and whatnot. He hadn't been an unpopular fellow during his life, and most certainly not a shrinking violet when it came to the ladies, but neither had he been the staunch socialite. But the absolute shock of his change, that he was no longer a man who could make women swoon, but rather faint from fear had done quite a number on him…

But now was not the time to reminisce about the past. Now was the time for careful testing and examination. He would not submit himself to his own device until he was absolutely positive that all would go as planned. He would not gamble on chance like he had all those years before. He had faced the consequences once and did not like the look of them. No this time, he would not fail; instead he would correct the flaw to his greatest achievement, and be a monster only in name and no longer appearance.

Authors Notes: Tada! Ok, it didn't have as much dialog in it as I had hoped, but it's still there. There will be some honest to goodness dialog in the next chapter, as well as the other characters. I know this has been mostly Dr. Cockroach centric, and I meant it to be, but not exclusively. Next chapter: Friendly Concern for Your Resident Scientist coming to you soon!