Eugenics

Commissioned by Anonymous

“You ready yet?”

“Not yet, hold on…now…what’s this doing here–that shouldn’t, I don’t think…”

James sighed–this was taking forever. Harry might be a nice guy, but he wasn’t exactly the brightest bulb in the room. He was better with the more routine maintenance, but Rick was out sick this week, and when you ended up working late, you took what you could get. At this point, the rest of the staff had pretty much cleared out of the building–James figured that the two of them were the last people left on the floor, if not entirely. He sighed, and looked around the laboratory. He was a genetics researcher investigating the causes and symptoms of aging, and in his thirties, he was just starting to feel some of the effects he’d spent his time studying. Harry, on the other hand, was quite a bit older than him, and had worked for the company longer than James had been alive. James kept wondering why the old guy didn’t just retire–hell, he probably had enough in his pension and 401(k) by now, but maybe the old guy just liked working.

“Al…alright, that should do it,” Harry said, closing the side of the centrifuge, “Let’s see if this thing works now,” and he hit the power button.

Hey, wait, shouldn’t we unload it first–” James said, but it was too late, the device was already spinning–and spinning, and dang, he’d never seen it go that fast before. Harry, equally worried, tried to power it down, but the device wouldn’t stop, or even slow, and before he could pull the plug, the vials in the device started flinging away from the machine, bursting against the walls but also against the two men, who did their best to cover their faces as vial after vial of experimental serums slammed into them and the walls around them. James wasn’t quite quick enough though, one of the vials slamming into his face, sending him reeling backward and crashing to the floor of the lab, stunned, a gash on his cheek, and the serum burning into his face, making him cry out in pain.

Harry, his glasses broken by a stray vial, managed to grope around and find the plug to the centrifuge, finally cutting off the power, and then he sat back, stunned, while James struggled up and over to the emergency shower station, pulling the handle down, the cold water drenching him in seconds, and he could feel the burning serum run down under his clothes, spreading the burning sensation all over before it finally subsided. “Harry,” James said, “Harry get over here and shower off, who knows what just got all over you–you need to shower off.”

“Oh don’t worry about me,” Harry said, “I feel fine.”

“Come on, just do it.”

In truth, Harry didn’t feel fine at all, but he honestly couldn’t see anything without his glasses and was afraid to move, less he mess something else up, but still, he pushed himself up and followed the sound of James’ voice over to the shower, who helped him under the water, and James stepped out away from the water, the burning gone, but he still felt…strange. Tired, and a little worn out, like he’d just gone for a run after being out of shape, but he just chalked it up to the aftereffects of his adrenaline rush. Harry rinsed himself off for a few minutes, and then stepped out from the shower, blinking a bit and trying to focus on his surroundings, but mostly wishing he had his glasses. However, looking over at James, he blinked a couple of times. He couldn’t be sure, given how blurry the image was, but he just didn’t look…well, right.

“James…are you…are you feeling alright? You don’t…I mean, I don’t know. I need to find my spare glasses…” he said, but James wasn’t feeling right at all. The feeling of strangeness had begun culminating in a sudden bout of nausea, and he sprinted from the room, dizzy and reeling, forcing his way into the bathroom where he vomited into the toilet. After a minute or two, his stomach seemed to settle back down, and he got up, walked over to the sink, and splashed some water on his face, before looking at himself to see if he had any bad cuts from where the vial had hit him, and gasped.

His face–it was his, and yet…his hair, and his goatee. His hairline had receded a bit back up his scalp, and he could see a smattering of grey hairs in and amongst the young brown, and almost as he watched, he could see it turning greyer. Wrinkles were deepening on his forehead and around his eyes, and he looked more like he was in his late fifties than in his thirties. He was feeling sick again, his body weak, and looking down, he realized why. His still sopping wet clothes were clinging to his body, but from the way they were hanging, it looked like he was losing muscle mass, his arms and legs thinning up, leaving him with a substantial gut around his middle, and leaving him feeling even weaker than before. He vomited again into the sink, the room spinning around and he fell to the floor, exhausted.

Meanwhile, Harry had grown worried and didn’t like waiting by himself in the laboratory, worrying that something might be seriously wrong with James, from what he’d thought he’d seen, and from the way James had rushed off. Slowly, he made his way out of the lab and down the hall, guiding himself more by memory than by sight, and towards the bathrooms, opened the door and called out, “James? James, are you alright?”

“Help, I’m…I’m…” he heard a voice call out from the floor, and he could see a figure crumpled over on the blurry tile.

“James? James, are you alright?” Harry said, stumbling over and getting down next to the blurry figure.

“Harry, call the hospital, I don’t…something’s wrong with me…I don’t…I’m older…”

Harry didn’t really know what James was talking about, but even worse, if he couldn’t see, he wasn’t even sure he could use a phone. He found James’ hand and gave it a squeeze, hoping to give the man some comfort, and wished he didn’t have this horrible eyesight–and then…well, he could…feel it. Feel something, racing through James and him, and he could almost see a code ripping through him, between them, and then, his sight–it slowly came into focus, and Harry blinked a couple of times, wondering if it was a miracle, and then when he looked down and actually saw what had happened to James, he gasped.

He was still aging on the floor, his hair now even whiter, though it hadn’t receded very far, and he was exhausted and weak from the rapid change. “Harry…Harry, is that you? I can’t…I can’t see, why is everything so…so blurry?” James asked, squinting his eyes and bringing out more wrinkles.

It couldn’t be…but, then how else could he explain it? Harry had somehow managed to switch their genetic code–giving James his horrible eyesight, and Harry taking his 20/20 vision as his own. Shaking a bit, Harry reached out and laid his hand down on James’ once more…and just concentrated. Sure enough, it was all laid out before him, he could sense everything. All of his own genetic deficiencies, and they were just calling out to him, telling Harry to cast them aside, and replace them with James’ far superior genetic material. Telling Harry to make himself perfect, to make James the inferior one, but he yanked his hand back. It was tempting–oh so tempting, but he had to call for help, he had to get them both help…right?

Then again, Harry didn’t really need help–he was fine. Hell, he was better than fine, he felt great. Besides, if he went to the hospital, if he reported the accident, they’d probably just lock him away–hell, lock them both away–and do all sorts of experiments on them. He didn’t want to be a lab rat–no way…and he couldn’t just leave James here, right? No, of course not, he had to make sure he was safe too…or at least, that’s what Harry was telling himself. He could still feel the power calling out to him, tempting him, and when he helped James up, he was careful not to touch his skin. Still, he’d make sure they were both safe. He helped the researcher down the stairs, out of the building and into his truck, and drove them both to his small apartment, where they could figure out what they were going to do about this.

***

James woke slowly, and feeling like he had been run down by a truck, refrained from moving for as long as he could, even though he was certain that moving was probably the right thing to be doing. He prayed it had been a dream, and yet, from the way he was feeling, he could tell that it hadn’t been. He felt old. He felt how he’d always imagined waking up old must feel–sore joints, aching back, just a tired body more prone to inertia than anything else. Bed, though. Who’s bed? A hospital bed? He opened his eyes, and to his surprise he, quite simply, couldn’t see. Having had perfect vision all of his life, being confronted by something as simple as blurry vision was, well, terrifying, and a good enough excuse to not move, in his opinion, but he didn’t…it didn’t look like he was in a hospital…and that concerned him enough to sit up and try and look around.

“H–Hello?’ he called out, “Is anyone there?” he said, feeling a bit silly for doing so, but, well, someone had to have brought him here. Could it have been…Harry? Why would he have taken him anywhere other than a hospital, though? He rubbed his eyes and blinked a bit, but he still couldn’t see anything, and he was afraid to stand up without knowing what he might find or run into. He heard someone coming, though–so at least he wasn’t alone.

“James? Are you awake?” Harry said, “how are you feeling?”

“Harry? Why in the hell didn’t you take me to a hospital?”

Harry was quiet. He’d already rehearsed this conversation in his head, but he hadn’t expected that to be the opening remark. “Well…it’s…complicated.”

“No it’s not. There was an accident–I’m fucking old. I need to go to a hospital so they can figure out what happened, and who knows what might have happened to you!”

“But I feel fine.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Who knows what sort of delayed effects there might be. Come on, we have to go to the hospital…do you, I mean, I can’t, well, see very well now. Do you have anything that might help? Some glasses? You wear, glasses, right?”

Harry  didn’t say anything for a moment, before answering, “Yeah…yeah, I have glasses…hold on.”

He picked up his spare set from the top of the dresser and handed them to James, who put them on, and the entire world came into relieving focus. “Dang, what are the chances,” James said, “that I’d need to same prescription as you.”

“Ha, yeah…the chances…”

James started to sense that there was something else going on here, and some other reason Harry hadn’t taken him to the hospital. He also remembered that his vision had been fine after he’d changed in the lab…but had only gone blurry later, when Harry had come into the bathroom to find him. Looking over, he saw that Harry wasn’t wearing his glasses at all–did…what was going on? “Funny,” James said, “That you aren’t wearing glasses, now.”

Harry said nothing.

“And funny that your old glasses seem perfect for my eyes now.”

Still, silence.

“What happened, Harry. Something obviously happened to you, something you don’t want a doctor to see, or you wouldn’t have brought me here. What is it–just tell me, maybe I can help.”

“I don’t need help–I said, I’m fine.”

“Why do I have your eyes, Harry? What the fuck is going on?” James said, a bit agitated, and a little scared.

Harry paced a bit, not saying anything for a moment, before saying, “Look, I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t even know what I was doing, and I couldn’t stop myself when it happened. I don’t even know if I can do it again, but in the bathroom…in the bathroom when you collapsed, I touched your hand, and when I thought about my eyes, and how I wanted to see better, because my glasses had broken, I…I somehow…switched them, or switched our genetics, or something…I don’t know really, that’s the best I can describe it.”

James didn’t say anything immediately, just thought about what Harry had said. His first reaction, that what he’d said was impossible, was pretty much refuted soundly by the evidence at hand. He could remember his sight being fine, up until Harry had touched him. Now, Harry’s glasses worked perfectly for him…and Harry didn’t need them. But swapping genetic code? How did that even make sense? What sort of serum could have done something like that? “Look…Harry, I know you’re probably scared, but if we don’t go to a hospital–”

“If I go to a hospital, they’ll never let me go.”

“You don’t know that, look, we need to know what happened to us, alright? I need to know what happened to me. At least take me, I need help, Harry, I mean, look at me.”

Harry looked, and he saw James, older, and yet, the power in him, the genetic knowledge he’d glimpsed when he’d touched James before…he saw something else. Yes, James was old, his hair was greying, he had a bit of a sagging gut, and yet, even with all of that, he was still…genetically superior. It was difficult to parse it any other way in his head–James was simply better than him, better equipped it most every genetic way, and this voice, a voice growing louder, was telling Harry to take it as his own. Even at what, his now late fifties, and James still had a nearly full head of hair–how fair was that? Harry had started balding in his mid-twenties, and he’d never stopped resenting it. Still, James was right. He needed help, but could he trust him not to say anything about his new power? Harry had no interest in being locked up in some government facility, in being some test subject, and he firmly believed that’s what would happen to him.

“Please, Harry–please.”

It was the right thing to do. It really was, and Harry couldn’t keep telling himself it wasn’t. “Al–Alright. I’ll take you, but you don’t say a word about me to them–nothing–understand?”

“Sure…of course. Thank you,” James said, and swung his legs off the side of the bed, tried to stand, and immediately wobbled and started to fall over. Instinctively, Harry reached out and caught him, and the moment their skin touched, he felt it again. He’d been careful not to let their skin touch since the accident, but the rush of it, the knowledge pouring into him overwhelmed his better judgement, the voice, the selfish voice latching onto his bald resentment, twisting and adjusting their genetics in the moment it took James to wrench away from Harry’s grasp. James felt it too, though not as clearly as Harry did, and where the maintenance man felt a rush of power and authority, James simply felt violated, and it didn’t help when he noticed a cascade of hairs fall down his face, as his hair rapidly thinned out. He ran his hand over his head, knocking off even more hair, feeling his scalp with only a bare horseshoe left, and he looked over at Harry, who had run over to a mirror on the wall, watching his own hair grow back in, thick and full.

“Fuck, I haven’t–damn, that looks good,” Harry said, grinning at his reflection.

“Can’t you control that or something?” James said, “What in the hell is wrong with you?”

Harry didn’t know what was wrong with him…or even if it was wrong. It felt so good, how could it be wrong? And he could feel everything else of James’ code that he wanted, and all he had to do was reach out and touch him. He shook his head, resisting. That wasn’t right, it wasn’t right, no matter how it felt, no matter what the voice said. “I’m–I’m sorry. I just, it’s hard to resist, I guess. It’s hard to explain.”

“Well can you at least give me my hair back?” James asked, “You know, and my eyes? I’d like to not need glasses again.”

“No,” Harry said, without thinking about it.

“No?” James said, “No? What the hell? Those are my eyes, fucker–and my hair!”

“Well they’re mine now, so fuck that!” Harry snapped back, “I’ve had fucking glasses all my goddamn life, and I went bald at thirty, and fuck no, I’m not going to go back to what I was, fuck that,” Harry grinned at his reflection, and then stared at James by the bed. The voice was telling him to take more, to make himself perfect, to take and take and take, and then…and then sow. Yeah, he needed to fuck, he needed to fuck women, he needed to make children, and spread his own superior genetics into the world, or at least, what would be his superior genetics, once he was done with James…”No, no, I’m sorry–you’re right,” Harry said, “I’m being…selfish, here, I can put this right, just let me, here.” Harry came over to where James was wobbling, and reluctantly James allowed him to lay his hands on him, and that same rush, that same violation swept through him…but it was different–he could tell that Harry wasn’t fixing this–he was taking more, changing more. He tried to wrench away, but Harry gripped him tighter, leering now, eyes wide and mad with the rush of power, and he pushed James back onto the bed, holding him down. “Fuck that, and fuck you–I’m not going to be a piece of genetic waste anymore–you are! I’m going to be perfect!”

It took all of his strength, all of his will to put his feet against Harry’s chest and kick him, off, finally breaking their physical contact, and James started panting, his throat closing up on him. Asthma? He’d never been an asthmatic before, but gasping for breath, he figured that was just one of many new things he might have to live with. Looking down, he saw chest hair start filling in across his chest and gut, climbing up onto his shoulders and back down his back. His metabolism slowed to a crawl, his body converting more and more energy to fat, his gut bulging out, even as his chest expanded into a set of moobs, his face developing a second chin. He looked up at where Harry had been pushed back against the wall, and watched as the older man’s frame started melting away his fat and building muscle right before his eyes, his body buff but not overly muscular–mostly just–healthy. Then, Harry grinned and unzipped the fly of his pants, pushed down his underwear, and hauled out a thick, seven inch cock already drooling precum–a dick James readily recognized as his own. Gulping, and still not able to breathe very well, he reached down to his crotch, already humiliated, and felt his now shriveled tool, barely two inches long, and he could tell, instinctively, that at best it could reach half mast. “You–you took my cock?” James asked.

“Of course–the women are gonna love this thing when I ram it up their cunts,” Harry said, flexing his new muscular frame, “See, because this is where we’re different James, see, I saw in you, I saw your biggest flaw–you’re a fucking faggot.”

“But–”

“Don’t try to deny it, I can see all of your fucking flaws, you fucking worthless piece of shit,” Harry spat, “See, I’m genetically superior–no, soon, I’ll be perfect, and women will be begging me to fuck them, and seed them and oh the fucking children I’ll have–they’ll be amazing. But you, you’re fucking worthless, so why in the hell shouldn’t you just be a storehouse for all the failed genetic mishaps of the human race?”

“Harry, listen to yourself, this is fucking crazy, and you know it.”

“No, what’s crazy–what’s crazy, is that someone like you should have been given these genetics, when you don’t even give a flying fuck about passing them on–that’s fucked up. That’s against nature, right there. Well, I’m putting it right. I’ll breed all the children you should have had, because you were too weak to do it.”

He was mad–Harry had gone completely mad, and James looked around for something, anything he could use to, knock him out or fight him off–something so he could call the police and tell them what had happened–what Harry was capable of, but Harry saw what he was doing, and laughed.

“You can’t fucking beat me,” Harry said, “I’m better than you in every way–well, almost every way. You see, you do still have that nice mind of yours, but I don’t think genetic trash like you even needs much in the way of brains, right? How about I take those for my kids, too?”

Harry charged towards him, and James crawled back across the bed, trying to keep out of the reach of Harry’s hands, but lost his balance and fell off the other side, smacking his head on the nightstand as he fell, his glasses askew, and he tried to recover from the fall and get away, but he was having such a hard time putting his thoughts together in any way that made the least bit of sense. He must have hit his head a bit harder than he’d thought, or that’s what he thought at first, until he recognized the blurry form of Harry lying across the bed, his hand wrapped around his ankle, feeling the natural folds and creases of his brain start to soften as he lost his natural curiosity and cleverness–but other traits as well. His assertive personality, his independent thinking, all gone, absorbed by Harry and replaced with a natural desire to please and agree with others–after all, he wasn’t smart enough to form thoughts on his own anymore, and he certainly didn’t dare trust his own judgement.

“You alright Jim?” Harry said, letting go of the older man’s ankle, watching him adjust his glasses and blink dully up at him, “That was a bit of a fall you had there.”

“It–it was?” he said, “And…and isn’t my name…James?”

“No, you don’t go by James, you go by Jim. James doesn’t sound like the name a dimwitted old impotent faggot would use, now does it? Especially not one who can barely land a job as a janitor.”

“You–you don’t have to be so–so mean about it…” Jim said, sitting up and rubbing his head where he’d hit it on the night stand. He’d been trying to get away from Harry…hadn’t he? But why? His head felt so thick, like swimming through foam, threatening to solidify forever if he stopped struggling through it. Harry climbed after him and stood in front of Jim on the ground, and he felt understandably intimidated. While only a bit younger than he was–his firm, muscular body, his confidence and intellect, not to mention his thick cock, all served to intimidate Jim even further…and even turn him on a bit. His eyes were locked on Harry’s cock now, and he licked his lips. He could…smell him. Harry’s musk, so forceful and commanding–a real man, and…a little familiar. He was smelling himself, in a way, augmented by Harry, yes, but the familiarity of it was strange, like coming home after a long time.

“Aww, I’m sorry faggot–I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. How about I let you suck me off–would that make you feel better?” Harry said, pushing the tip of his cock against Jim’s lips, and he couldn’t resist, parting his lips and letting Harry take control, ramming the cock down his throat as far as it could go, hanging onto his head with his big hands, and Jim held his own up, looking at his short, clumsy fingers. They weren’t his, or they hadn’t been his—had they? He seemed to remember…something else, but his head, it was hardening, clinging to the simplest story and just accepting it as truth–it was easier than trying to understand how he could have been a young genetics researcher, and in the course of twenty-four hours, have been reduced to this old, weak, genetically inferior faggot. It was easier to focus on the cock being rammed down his throat. He ran his hands over his body, the sensation of body hair under his fingers strange and unnerving, the taut belly down to his measly cock, barely erect even though he’d never felt so turned on before. However, before he could suck Harry over the edge, the big man pulled his cock out and stepped back.

“Come on Harry–can’t I have your load?”

“Hell no–I can’t waste my seed on a faggot’s throat–I have babies to make. Still, thanks for the warm up. Now, I need to go out for a bit–I won’t be back tonight, I don’t think–too much fucking to do. Still, we need something to keep you occupied in the meanwhile–can’t have a faggot like you getting into any trouble, right? Get up.” Jim did as Harry ordered, and followed him out into the living room where an old computer sat whirrling away. “Here’s what you’re going to do. Go ahead and order yourself some pizza or something for dinner, and then you’re going to sit here and find pictures of men who are genetic superiors–it shouldn’t be hard, since you’re such a failure–and I want you to jack off, fantasizing about how you want to serve them, and worship them, and think about serving me, and worshiping me the most, got it?”

Jim nodded, and he didn’t notice Harry get dressed and head out for a bar–he was already absorbed in his porn search, one smattering of old cum already shot across his thigh as he fantasized about a thick body builder ramming his massive cock up his loose asshole. His head had fully hardened now, accepting this reality as truth. He was just an old faggot now, a genetic failure whose sole purpose was to serve those better than he was–but especially Harry. He owed Harry everything, and he would serve him for the rest of his life.