Post-Modern Promethus

Leaning against the hood of his Oldsmobile Rickter checks his watch. Quarter to ten, he still has five minutes. In an effort to calm his nerves he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his silver cigarette case, popping it open to take one out. Holding it tight between his lips he lights it with a zippo lighter bearing a faded logo for the U.S Marine Corps.

He takes a deep breath, exhaling the smoke with a slight groan. Whatever it is Davidson has planned for him it better be fucking spectacular. The kid's been a constant nuisance ever since he showed up at the university. But then Rictor knew all too well of his little eccentricities long before taking him in as an understudy. For as out there as Davidson may be, the little weirdo has a real gift in biochemistry. Not just in understanding the material either, but in practice.

By now he's seen his apprentice pull off things never before thought possible. Shit that, even though he possesses all the data and notes, Rickter himself can't grasp. He's a prodigy, no doubt about it, and so long as Rickter sticks by him, he'll be en route to reap acclaim alongside him. It'll just take time. Time and patience.

Through the smoke of his Cigarette he gazes up at the farm house bathed in moonlight from atop a hill a quarter mile away. Surrounded by overgrown fields of overgrown wheat grass it casts an ominous shadow. However Rickter lacks the ability to catch onto such nuances, having lost any inclination to things not blunt and practical long ago. So he starts walking down the narrow gravel road, mumbling a curse or two under his breath.

During his short trek Rickter's eyes focus on the farmhouse, its decrepit features becoming clearer with each step. He bought the place from the county not too long ago, not an easy purchase either seeing as it was condemned for years. But all it took was a little monetary convincing to get them to look it over. Despite all but falling apart at the seams the old homestead is the perfect place to house Davidson. A mind such as his needs freedom and privacy to explore, to grow.

Peering above the front porch the second story window glows with a faint, neon blue. Rickter pauses, taking faint guesses as to what it may be only for it to flash a brilliant fuchsia before dying out. The following silence pierces through his thick exterior, sending a chill down his spine. At last it registers that what is transpiring may be most unwholesome. However he now stands not three yards from the hill and the front door, though obscured by the shadow of the patio cover, is opening. It's far too late to turn back, if ever it indeed seemed like an option.

As he trudges up the hill Rickter resumes focus on his malcontent mood. Despite the spooky aura of this whole affair or any possible breakthrough in science lay in wait it is simply too damn late for a man his age to be walking uphill and he stomps his way to the house well intending to give Davidson a piece of his mind.

Reaching the peak the house comes into better view, as does the lithe figure at the doorway. Ever eager to reunite with his teacher, the young apprentice darts across the porch and into the moonlight.

"Profezah," Davidson shouts in his signature foreign-accented rasp, "Oh it iz so good to zee you! I'm zo, zo, glad you came! Yes! Zo very very glad, da!"

"Yeah, yeah, it's great. Fan fucking tastic." Ricktor grumbles, tucking his hands in the pockets of his corduroy jacket.

Standing before him Davidson looks like utter hell. Despite still beaming with his odd, pale almost feminine glow of youth he is covered from the toe of his combat boots to the top of his wild auburn hair in a veritable menagerie of stains ranging from dirt, to ash to some unknown green substance.

Lacing his fingers together Davidson tilts his head with a Cheshire grin and wide emerald eyes, "I do apologize for zummoning you zo late but you zee, profezah,"

"The stars were right," Rickter groans, cutting him off, "like you always say".

"Oh good, very good," Davidson squeaks, "you are catching on! But enough of zat, time is of ze essence and I would not want to waste it with zuch mundane conversation."

Rolling his eyes Rickter follows him inside. The way Davidson speaks always irritated him. Despite coming from Ukraine, or at last claiming to have done so, his accent sounds more like a schizophrenic mess of Russian, German, and an on-again-off-again lisp. Though his raspy, squeaky voice doesn't help make it any more bearable.

He enters the house to find it at least somewhat refurbished. In the very least a new rug has been introduced on the bending wooden floor and beside the doorway a rough green couch now rests before a rounded coffee table bearing a small, battery operated television displaying the faint outlines of The Waltons. The mere fact that Davidson attempted to make the place livable is impressive enough.

A slam of the door behind him causes Rickter to jolt; he turns to see a towering man clad in tight fitting woodsman clothes without so much as an inch of skin showing. His eyes freeze in shock at the man's crude mask, like the helmet of a knight but made of wood and screws covering his head.

"Lawrence," Davidson shouts, scurrying over and facing the strange man, "You nearly gave our guest a heart attack! What did I say about creeping up on people like zhat, hm?"

Lawrence stands still, not speaking but breathing heavy, his gloved hands balled into tight fists.

"Lawrence," Rickter snaps at Davidson, "who the fuck is Lawrence and why the hell is he here?"

Putting a forefinger to his chin Davidson giggles, "Ze previouth tenant. You failed to inform me ze house waz already occupied. Naughty naughty Dr.Rickter."

"It, uh," Rickter glances back at Lawrence, "wasn't supposed to be."

"Dear Lawrence here waz very thuprised to zee me. Oh you should have been zere, what a mess zat was," Davidon giggles, leaning his chest to Lawrence's side.

Reaching up with one of his long arms Davidson caresses the cheek of Lawrence's wooden mask saying with a playful whisper, "But we verked it out. Now he wouldn't hurt a fly. Well, unless I told him too."

"Wait a second," Rickter says, stepping back in horror, "you aren't paying this guy with the university's money are you?"

Lawrence and Davidson share a short glance before the latter shoots Rickter a puzzled expression, "Uh, no."

Regaining his composure Davidson heads to the staircase, urging Rickter to follow. He does, though not without talking a second glance back at Lawrence. Content at the sight of the strange man walking away he returns his attention to Davidson. His hips sway with each step, the filthy tail of his lab coat waving too and from like the dress of some exotic cocktail waitress. It repulses Rickter to see such a brilliant mind act this way. Men of science don't talk gibberish and act like showgirls in heat. They are supposed to carry themselves with dignity and poise, such as himself.

Stepping onto the second floor Davidson turns around, hands on his hips, "You know zomething, doctah, I'm very happy you are here to zee zis."

"Well," Rickter says, straightening his jacket as he takes the last step, "somebody has to be around to make this credible."

Davidson snickers, "You're a beautiful man, Rickter."

"Uhm, thank you," Rickter says, visibly uncomfortable.

"Your jawline iz most exquisite, your body firm and tight, your eyes shimmering blue and wise. Age came well to vu, Doctah. Zuch youthful prowess mixed with maturity. I often wonder juzt how it ith you've avoided marriage zo far," Davidson muses, leading Rickter down the hall all the while walking backwards.

"I'm a busy man, Davidson. I don't have time for women," Rickter grunts.

Davidson raises an eyebrow, "Men?"

"What? No," Rickter snaps, "not at all, under no circumstances!"

"Hahaha! Zo defenzive, does ze thought of a man trouble you zis muth?" Davidson snickers, stopping before a door.

"I'm...not a homosexual, that's it. I have no interest in men," Rickter shrugs, embarrassed by his earlier, unprofessional response.

Leaning against the door Davidson spreads open his arms, head lowered and eyes wide, "Tell me, Profezah, if not man or woman interest you, vut about somezing elth? Zomeone out of the binary?"

Rickter pauses, his eyes averted as his index finger rests on his stubble-coated chin, "I'm not sure. I suppose I never thought of it," with a shrug he finishes, '' I suppose it would depend."

"Zat is vhy I like you, Profezah, you keep an open mind. Much better zan zose soviet pigz," Davidson says as he turns back to open the door.

For Rickter's part he keeps quiet. Although Davidson's question does spark his natural curiosity he does his best to ignore it. The younger scientist tends to pose weird little inquiries like that from time to time, just another one of his many, irritating quirks. Once this is over maybe Rickter will have him see a therapist like he's been planning.

Quick to close the door behind them Davidson motions to a lawn chair beside the window, "Please, take a theat."

Much as anticipated the place is utter insanity. The walls are plastered in pictures of human anatomy, both hand drawn and very much real pinned up beside documents written in languages ranging from Russian to Mandarin. From what little he can understand they seem to be mixtures of biochemistry, religion, and very outdated theories bordering on old world superstition. However all that pales in comparison to the spectacle that lay at the other side of the room.

Rickter's mind cannot make sense of it from sight alone though he understands enough to recognize it as a sort of machine. Glass bulbs containing fluids of deep blues and viscus yellows connected by tubes in a fantastic maze. Alongside them are formidable things of plastic and steel, gears and wires, these crude machines resemble gutted computers infused with abstract motors. This physical manifestation of absurdity leads to a suspended bed, an eight foot oblong box suspended on steel rods and cloaked in a thick, black blanket.

"Davidson," Rickter says, standing by the window, his face white and voice low, "what the hell is this?"

Striding over to his lunatic device on tip-toes Davdison approaches a dangling switchboard, "To explain it vould take far, far too long. But to thumarize, vut you zee here iz nozing more zan ve whole of centuries of research. Se entirety of myself and all those who came before me, at last given to physical reality."

His voice echoes with exuberance, a tone akin to an evangelical preacher. Despite the insanity of it all Rickter stays quiet, part out of his own curiosity, and part in awe at Davidson's theatrical speech. As he listens however, the sense of dread within him builds, doubly so as Davidson's nonsensical accent slips away.

"Professor! You are the luckiest man alive, I'll have you know," Davidosn booms, flipping the first switch to which the finagled machines scream to life, "I myself cannot have such a divine position, for it is tainted by my knowledge. But you, in your ignorance, possess the ability to appreciate the magnitude of my divine apparatus."

With all the finesses of an artist painting on a canvas Davidson flips another switch. A thin vein of black smoke pours from the mechanics, pouring across the floor as sparks fly along inconceivable bulk. Dancing his fingers across the board he clicks another, filling the room with a brilliant electric blue. Fluids run down to the cloaked table in an almost elegant dance with flashes of electricity.

Throwing his head back Davidson lays a forearm over his hairline, "Ahhh," his legs crossed, he stands on his tiptoes like a ballerina, "The miracle of birth."

Keeping in line with his dancer pose Davidson pirouettes his way over to the table. Leaning over it he grabs onto the blanket, a wicked grin pointed to Rickter.

"I knew from the moment we met you'd be perfect for this, professor," He says, "Despite your stubbornness you always respected my research, my...experiments. It's only fitting that you be the first person to participate in them."

Stepping back in shock Rickter bumps into the chair behind him, catching himself a mere second before he can fall, "Participate? What the hell are you going on about?"

Giggling like a schizophrenic schoolgirl Davidson grabs onto the blanket, pulling it away as he shouts, "Behold!"

There on the table, connected to tubes and wires lay a mass of what appears to be Caucasian human skin. Bruises and stitches adorn the lump as some anomalous form within writhes and bends, pushing against the walls like a creature trapped in a plastic bag.

"Jesus," Rickter groans, "Jesus Christ, Davidson. What the fuck did you do?"

Running his hand gently along the flesh Davidson coos, "Any schmuck can stitch some dead bodies together and call it life these days but to create life from nothing, to truly start from scratch, that is a task worthy of my intellect. Of the aspirations of those who came before me."

Rickter stands frozen in shock, his muscles tight with unyielding anxiety. He knew it was going to be weird, Davidson never kept the necromantic leanings of his experiments a secret but this, this is just a bit too much for him to stomach.

"Ah, it's time," Davidson squeaks, caressing the writhing mass.

Standing back slides beside the table, his arms outstretched like a magician presenting his latest display of mind blowing trickery.

"Behold, Professor," Davidson shouts,"the first breath of life created purely by thand of mankind!"

Ripples of pressure pushing up within the flesh cocoon drag up from the sides, all meeting in the center. All movement outside the center ceases as it rises, the stitching splitting open, weeping blood down the seams. Computers screech behind it, lights flashing and strobing, smoke billowing from the machine as it emits a noise comparable to a long scream of agony. For birth, as it is said, is always painful.

Flesh bursts forth at either side as a crimson soaked figure comes to light. The skin slips down it in a single, prolonged motion. They tumble off the table and onto the floor, splattering in a gory mess. The machine groans, its lights flicking to a dim glow and screams dying out, leaving the room a low-lit, smog drenched swamp of human arrogance.

As the smoke clears Rickter stares down the figure standing on the table. It appears human, at least in silhouette. Tall and strong yet sender and curved, a fit androgynous thing half obscured by the blood in which it is drenched. Long dark hair flows down from its head, almost running down its entire body to its feet. An arm creeps from one side, a second underneath it following as it moves the hair away from its face.

Massive, ovular eyes peek out as the wet locks are brushed away. Two sets of bright green irises complete with dilated pupils dart around, independent of each over as the creature sniffs the air with its sharp nose. It's thick, bowed lips open to show pointed teeth as it's chest heaves with breath.

Davidson crosses his arms, standing proud and speaking in that god-forsaken pseudo-accent of his again, "Amazing, no?"

His attention fixed on the creature's four arms as they shift about the air in curious confusion Rickter mumbles, "Davidson, what the hell is that?"

Raising his arms, Davidson booms the first words of another glorious speech,"Ze newest form of life,"

"Oh shut it," Rickter shouts back, "just fucking say it! No grandiose, vague monologues, just say it simply for once! I mean christ on the cross look at this thing"

The creature tilts its head, eyes darting to and fro. The hawk-like talons that make up its feet tapping along in rhythm.

"Zat is ve..uh, first form of life made by human hands," Davidson repeats, caught off guard.

Crossing his arms Rickter raises his brow, "Yes, and?"

"And, vell, I made it to be ze apex of life on ze earth" Davidson chirps back.

It points its head to Davidson, all three of its c-cup breasts jiggling as it bends over to get a closer look.

"The apex of life, huh? No shit" Ricker sighs as he pulls out a cigarette and takes a seat.

Outreaching a long, muscular arm the creature gently touches Davidson's hair, an excited, pigeon like coo coming from its mouth.

"But of courth zat is not all, Profestha," Davidson says, tucking his arms behind his back and walking towards Rickter, "I've been able to personally modify every azpect of ze creature's biology. Vut you zee before you iz a fully grown adult speziment, and zey are in heat".

Exhaling smoke Rickter places a hand on Davidson's shoulder, "Boy, you're unhinged but I knew I was right to take you under my wing. I mean sure, I have no idea what to do with," he pauses, "wait, what? In heat?"

"Yup! Thirty zecounds of life and zey are ready to dance," Davidson says though a suggestive grin.

Rickter looks over at the creature. Sure enough, between their legs is a raging, thick, eight-inch erection standing above a dripping wet pussy. The sight is enough to cause a twitch reaction of his own member, his face growing red. They are a strange beast for sure, but he can't deny that they sport an attractive build, made all the more exotic by their strange physiology.

Shaking his head, Rickter takes the cigarette from his mouth and glares down at Davidson, "Davidson, why on earth did you make it horny?"

"Because, my dear Rickter, you have zat be zis entire time. I vant to...repay you," Davidson replies, leaning an arm on Ricker's shoulders, "besides, it'll let me know if humanz and zis new creature are compantable."

"Davidson," Rickter says, an expression of cold sincerity on his face, "I respect you and I respect your work. What you have created is astounding by any measure however although I appreciate your sentiment I am not sticking my dick in that thing. Besides, I think it has an eye for you."

Puzzled, Davidson turns to see the creature staring at him. A forked tongue drags across their black lips as one iris pauses, fixated on him. The other drifts closer, merging into the first into one massive, hungry eye. Their three, perky breasts heave under heavy breath as they trace their shaft with three long fingertips.

Davidson's expression of confusion turns into a manic grin as he faces the creature, his accent once more dropping, "Yes! Yes of course it is only natural! I designed you after the vision of my very own soul! Our bond is closer than any two beings could ever possibly possess!"

Rolling his eyes Rickter leans back in his chair and lights up another cigarette. The world's biggest breakthrough in scientific history and Davidson is all geared and ready to lance it within three minutes of existence. All things considered Rickter reckons he shouldn't be surprised. Happy to not be involved, he sits content to watch the freakshow.

"So beautiful," Davidson shouts in glee, his hands tearing away at his robe to reveal a modest gray shirt which too is discarded, "My creation, my wonderful, perfect, astounding abomination! It is my honor to give myself to you, my greatest accomplishment!"

Kicking off his shoes Davidson pulls away his pants. Now clad in nothing more than purple and green banded, blood-flecked knee-socks he prances over to the creature. Rickter crosses his legs at the sight, he's surprised by the maniac's form. His body is thin but healthy, strong even, like a dancer. As he prances across the room, his firm, rounded ass bounces, bringing Rickter to question his previous statements regarding not being attracted to men.

Stopping mere inches away from the creature Davidson speaks once more, "Now, my wonderful creation, together we shall," but he is silenced by a mouthful of cock.

Without warning two of the creature's hands grab Davidson's hair, their back straightening as they push their stiff prick further into his mouth. The scientist's legs quiver, his eyes watering under the burden of sucking down eight inches of throbbing, drooling cock. At an instant his own member stands on end, a much less impressive six inches of smooth flesh springing up between his legs.