3G: the Glowing Green Goo

"Boss Pimp?" Zax asked.

"Too long. Pick one." The hoofed giant grunted without breaking his stride.

"Am I your apprentice?"

No answer.

He thought it was a fair question. When the faction leader had proposed to pair their activation attempts with explanations of his principles, method and thought process, the prisoner had expected a few words before, during and/or after many romps. He had not expected a complete syllabus, worthy of a formal education, with in-depth lessons in anatomy, physiology, psychology, and many social sciences. Much less to be required to witness practical applications or "study cases", or given homework. If Pimp wasn't so busy with the management part of his position, it would basically be a fulltime job. As was, Zax still had to slow down on his other projects.

Credit where credit was due, he was learning a great deal in a short time. Only his nanites let him keep up. Even a blind man would see it; the investment in time and effort was more than one would give to merely "increase understanding in order to lower the cost of activation". Same for a hobby or a pet project. On the other hand, there were too many holes for potentially training his replacement. In management and logistics, for the obvious parts.

Hence the question, on the way to their next study case, after the day's theoretical lesson. He would have never guessed chocking could have so much implications and variables. The lessons didn't happen every day, but the study cases were more and more common. And advanced.

Today, his own proposition would be applied. Pimp approved it enough to apply it.

Why does it feel so… Rewarding? Comforting? Reassuring?

Zax wasn't sure what he felt exactly. He was basically desensitised from the intimacy he used to associate with those activities, but writing a program for how actual people would actually spend the night was a different beast. As was voyeurism. Soft as this one might be; the not-so-hypothetical client merely wanted his next activation to include a stamina enhancement.

Teacher and student stayed in the next-door room, watching from hidden means, to see the execution, guide it if required, and observe the result. Migo was with them, and while not part of the process he was surprisingly interested in the happenings. Scientifically.

"I'd have never guessed how important subtle environmental factors could be. Colours and sounds? Maybe. Smells? Available space? Air flow? Not in my dreams. For copulation and activation, too. Crazy how they synergise." Zax rambled when they were done. "Do they work on a subconscious level?"

It could explain certain mutants getting the opposite of what they wanted and worked for, but still ending up happier with the results.

Would hypnosis work similarly?

The client hadn't activated, but he got his units' worth and the lesson had proven instructive.

"One improves individual survivability, the other is species survivability. There might be more overlap than we know." The teacher proposed.

"Possibly. Mutations are not hereditary though?"

"Not part of the overlap." Pimp shrugged.

When they were done with the day's study, Pimp had Hip accompany Zax and Migo back to the lab. The travel was oppressively silent, but uneventful. Zax didn't complain; he had been given a lot to ponder about.

How does it all relate to meridians?

He wouldn't find out today.

When he arrived back at the lab, something else stole all his attention.

A few days ago, despite strong hesitations, he had started experimenting with moving meridians on his lab mice. It was their main role, after all, and he couldn't let his breakthrough unexplored. He had made two groups: with a standard infusion of nanites, with no nanites at all. Same living conditions as the control group. He did the same changes in pairs, one per group. Constant monitoring of their bodies.

The first difference was immediately obvious: even without related program, nanites made it easier to see and grab the target's meridians. The changes were more precise, although not easier to apply.

There had been no immediate effect. Expected, but still disappointing.

Today, one pair had died, and another was losing their fur. The rest cuddled them for warmth.

Cause of death: heart attack. The organ's shape was subtly wrong, leading to out of synch beats and loose valves. Recordings indicated the mice had been progressively more lethargic, until they had fallen asleep with the others, forever. The changes were light, probably just starting and interrupted by death.

Definitely not trying on a person!

The balding mice had been "reconfigured" in the morning and were already showing visible, but superficial changes. Interesting detail: he had only changed superficial meridians in their front left paws. The balding was more pronounced in this area, and had started there before spreading. Examining their meridians again, his local change had followed a branch deeper in their body, until a… a knot? a node? A place where many branches like the one his changes had followed spread out. From there, the change had spread to similar branches, then their nodes, and so on. The other, larger branches connecting the nodes, and the rest of the body, had been spared.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Larger wasn't the right term. Their size wasn't different. Something else was. An ineffable quality he could perceive but not explain. He hadn't noticed before, but now he knew what to look for; there were different types of meridians. Like a hierarchy, but not quite. Not only.

Examining the rest of the body, and other mice, he spotted more of those nodes, more levels, more types. He spent the rest of his evening taking stock and categorising them.

A pair of mice who had died in the meantime. He put them in cold storage. He hadn't thought it would ever be useful, but Pimp's supplier had insisted it was part of the package. He would study them in the morning.

For now, meditation time.

Migo was improving. He would join them before long, at most.

Something had changed in the girls. For a while now, he could tell they had a specific goal in mind. They were driven. They made every effort to hide it from him, to not think about it during their communion, but it only made the thought more obvious. They were getting better at it, but he could tell whatever they were doing, it was for him. Because of him? In his name?

It worried him. He shared their animus, but what more could they do?

At least they'll be safe in the dot.

Today, this reassurance stopped working.

Aran had mutated. Strongly.

They were elated, but still wouldn't share or even admit to their plan.

Analysing her automatically recorded map afterwards, Zax could tell her fur had risen to her shoulders and hips. It would already be a lot for a single activation, but it didn't end there. Her claws had changed too, but he couldn't tell how. Her feet arcs and toes had lengthened, but not flattened. His own changes mirrored those. She would have a better bounce and grasp, but she was still plantigrade. Better for free-running, among other things. Plus a significant general stat improvement; her elation about it seeped through the resonance. Even without body scan, Zax could see how this part reflected on her map. It was surprisingly obvious; a culling or redundant or irrelevant pathways.

Besides the advancement, it wasn't a common mutation either. She was still riding the edge between cat and fox. Her pride filtered through; she had done it on purpose. Following his recommendations.

She'll be called in the Circle anytime. SG would be accepted with her without issue. It was a tremendous improvement for their lives.

Zax couldn't help but worry.

Rebellion still burned in them. Whatever they had planned, it was barely starting.

Frustration and powerlessness were gnawing at him. He too was still angry at the Shelter's corruption. He too wanted to fix things. But he was stuck, and probably not even in the Shelter anymore.

Granted, he was productive. He was improving and helping others. He was actually accomplishing something. Even if he wasn't sure how much he could trust Pimp's clientele, he couldn't deny their community was holding itself.

It was a strange system. Every faction had its own rules, under a single person or a group. Different vibes and ways to enforce them. Anyone could form an independent group or try to, but they wouldn't be considered a real faction until they set in a territory and successfully defended it. Whatever it meant.

Smaller and newer groups tended to follow the law of the jungle, meaning they folded instantly against a stronger force and couldn't attack the larger ones. Larger and more established groups tended to be more organised, with actual rules and hierarchy to keep each other in check. Even larger ones even had dedicated rule keepers. Their own Enforcers, acting even against their own.

Pimp's faction happened to be one of the oldest and most established, although far from the largest or the strongest. Most tended to dissolve or separate when the head stopped acting, and any replacement usually meant so many changes in their rules it might as well be a new group. Pimp's faction was known for willingly transmitting leadership. Consent really was in their core values. Pimp had inherited it from his mentor, along with his name. It was more of a title, at this point.

Every faction and territory was its own small world, with the good and the bad. Clients, colleagues and even Hip had shared horror stories. Some from first-hand experience. Little regard for basic human rights, little access to basic human needs. No power energy, or so little it had to be rationed. Water, food and medicine actively restrained to force compliance.

It explains why my experience is so different from SG's.

The former dotter's current arrangements could have been a lot worse.

"How do we even have access to those?" Zax queried without thinking. It bothered him since his arrival, but he didn't expect an answer. "Drinkable water, I could understand. But how is there any food and energy here?"

"Through the efforts of many generations of Pimps." Surprise, an answer he obtained, and from Hip of all people. "The details are unclear, but the faction apparently started as smugglers. Then converted in transporters, then resting points, then whoring. And I'm definitely missing steps."

"That's quite the history."

"Probably a series of expansion in activities, then expulsion by or sales to newcomers." They shrugged. "We've learnt something, kept something from everything, maintained connections. Now we're transitioning towards activation coaching, I guess."

"Persistence by adaptability." The prisoner nodded. "I respect that. I know how hard it can be to follow changes in the market. Even with digital help, and I bet you didn't have any."

He truly had lucked out, both in place and in timing.

It did nothing to assuage his displeasure at the process or the reasons to be here.

His friends were still heading toward danger, and as revolutionary as his discoveries were, they wouldn't reach the Shelter or the dot. Even if they did, they wouldn't help Aran and SG or clean the Shelter. Or would they?

Should I push harder? Go faster?

Even with the means at his disposal, diving in his research like never before, Zax was holding back. Going slowly, carefully.

With all his work around meridians, his study over Resonance had stalled. If he could refine it for actual communication, he would at least be able to advise them. Maybe even…

Remotely rewrite their meridians? Not in his current state, of course, but in the future? Once he had more experience, some mastery?

He immediately pushed the idea away. Both meridians and nanotechnology could be dangerous. No matter how stonewalled he felt, he wouldn't endanger his friends for a "maybe".

But others? To protect them?

The question made him sick. He had never asked himself such a thing. He had never wanted to.

He already knew the answer.

He couldn't deny it. To protect his friends, he would absolutely wreck strangers.

He would hate it. He would hate himself.

He would do it anyways.

He will do it.

Technically, it was the exact purpose of his lab mice, and he was already using them. It wouldn't be the same as taking a risk and accidentally killing a few, but he would push through.

I can always get more.

He simply had to go further in what he was doing. Reduce their recovery time. Go for more dangerous experiments. Loose his criteria for an acceptable risk/reward rate. He could compensate with better living conditions.

Not like there's a law to protect them here.

It was working. He already hated himself for thinking such.