Synthetic Evolution

Synthetic Evolution

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This story is based off the Machina Hazard setting and art by the artist Omega-Processor.

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Chapter 1

Abigail let out a huff as the minor discomfort passed, after Dana relinquished control of their shared body. And then huffed again as she felt the wave of weariness and lactic muscle ache hit her. Dana had been working extra hard this time, and it showed in the marks on the punching bag, scuffed where the wraps around her fists and feet had scraped the synthetic cloth cover.

She sighed, and did the ponytail on her head up into a bun, the chestnut hair glistening from sweat from her scalp. This upcoming fight must have been quite important to Dana - or she was just venting some frustrations - but they'd all agreed long ago to keep to a schedule, and happily so.

Now Abigail had study to do, before it was Sasha's time. She tried not to think about Sasha's time, or she'd find herself far too distracted.

She shook her head and made her way out of the basement area of the apartment complex she lived in, the other tenants and the landlord agreeing to a small gym space being set up in there, as long as everyone got to use it. Dana had no issues with that, she frequently had the run of the place, and no one could keep up with her.

Abigail wasn't quite so athletically minded, though she didn't object to the results, even if she found the periods of fatigue annoying from time to time. But her toned build did mean few were willing to pick a fight with her, and Sasha found it most beneficial. And the general health she enjoyed was a good bonus.

Better than some could attest...

Her stomach lurched a little as the elevator took her up to her floor, the speed of the station's lifts still not something she'd gotten used to, as much as everyone else said she would.

She meandered through the grey and blue halls of the 23^rd floor until she came to unit 207. Her apartment. She swiped her keycard through the reader and the door beeped quietly, and with a soft clack, it unlocked.

Inside was rather spartan, only a few decorative items scattered here and there, including a handful of fake ferns. She looked ahead, out the window above the kitchen area, and saw the other towers of the complex her apartment was part of. And beyond them, and all the structures that reached up from the 'ground' of Ypres Station, was the enormous and thrice-reinforced transparent dome that covered the city. And beyond, the stagnant eye of Jupiter. Ever abuzz with violence, but even in orbit, it seemed so placid.

She sighed and moved to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water and drinking it, hoping it'd help her fatigue and soothe her aches, drinking the whole thing in a single go. With a sigh, she tossed it into the recycling chute, the empty bottle whisked away to the station's recycling centre.

Then, she made herself a cup of instant coffee, the crushed freeze-dried, hydroponically grown coffee beans the best pick-me-up she could ask for. With a steamy metal mug in hand, she went to her study, also overlooking the city below. Unlike the main living area and her bedroom for that matter, her study was a scene of orderly chaos; books and files and electronic datapads piled up on shelves and the computer desk, with old food packets yet to make it to recycling filling up the trash can next to the computer desk. Coffee stains marked the tops of every flat surface around waist and hip level, and all around the walls were pinned pictures depicting dozens and dozens of different insect species.

Many, alas, extinct, most kept alive on conservation stations, and similar facilities on terrestrial planets and moons. The nuclear war on Earth had not been kind to the one complex ecosystem humanity had ever known.

Nevertheless, the budding entomologist was always fascinated by the evolutionary crock-pot that was the world of arthropods. So many different niches and so many bizarre specialisations and adaptations to thrive in those niches.

She turned on her computer, snapping to life in an instant, opening up to where she was before, pages upon pages of archived data made available to her by the university she was studying at.

She was thankful for the opportunity... ever since Saturn Night, there had not been a huge offering of courses for study in her area of interest, no matter how important she felt it was to research and preserve the knowledge on life, even as seemingly insignificant as insects... though only in stature, not their importance to life on Earth before the Nuclear War.

Too many courses seemed to be part of the 'Pipeline', as some people were calling it... engineering, physics, chemistry, programming, quantum mechanics, all valuable and vital fields of study, but it was obvious to many that more than a few of these courses had a way of leading to the Military in some fashion, though it was considered poor tact to mention it.

It was, unfortunately, no surprise; after Saturn was lost, the idea that humanity was in crisis was more than just widespread, it was fact.

And she'd heard rumours of Machina probing attacks at the outermost orbits of the Jupiter sphere.

She tried to put that out of her mind, shuddering with no small amount of dread.

"Focus on the bugs," Abigail said to herself, as she began looking over an article on Cactoblastis cactorum, a moth introduced to several old-Earth nations in order to control rampant cactus outbreaks, becoming pest themselves in some areas, and managing to integrate suitably to their host land in others.

As she took notes, a pop-up window opened, quite against her will; a news broadcast.

Ever since Saturn Night, news had both become more tightly controlled, and more unavoidable. The Government was balancing keeping people calm with keeping them informed, though naturally even Abigail was sceptical about how much the government was actually 'informing'.

Dana outright called half of it lies. She never did particularly like authority, but she kept her opinions to herself most of the time, for Abigail's and Sasha's sake.

Sasha preferred not to worry about it. She had her own business.

The blonde, pony-tailed newscaster began to speak.

"Both REPAIR and UOF have released statements announcing they have successfully repelled an incursion by a Machina raiding force in the vicinity of Callisto, emphasising that casualties were fortunately light."

The broadcast showed a scene of a space battle - albeit, one no doubt quite heavily doctored - from the various cameras mounted to the ships and fighters engaging small, brightly coloured specks in the black, or shining brightly among the constellation of tracers, beams and plumes through a thermal camera and other assorted sensors.

Naturally, it didn't show too much detail of the adversary; the Machina. A lot of information was kept under wraps about them, that Dana was sure of and Abigail begrudgingly agreed. What they did know is they were a race of nanomachine-based robots formed from the corruption of humans, and they were steadily trying to push into the Jupiter orbit. Even without Machina present, their 'M2' nanomachines presented an extreme hazard to human health and infrastructure, corrupting everything to its core if not contained.

Machina weren't particularly picky, killing anyone they couldn't corrupt easily.

What REPAIR and the UOF never mentioned, of course, was that Machina, for reasons unknown, all seemed to assume the shape of curvaceous, robotic women. That much Abigail did know through the Jovian System's extant OSINT network, something she occasionally looked at. Dana browsed it frequently, despite attempts by the authorities to crack down on it over security concerns.

She shook her head and tried to ignore the broadcast, and continued her study. A moth was more interesting than the looming threat right on her figurative doorstep...

Abigail sighed as she saved her work for the night. The news had rather dampened her mood and her motivation had suffered as a result. She had only gotten half-way through a virtual dissection before her alarm rang to ensure she had dinner. If it weren't for her alarms, she could easily lose herself in her study, and neither Dana nor Sasha liked having their time cut in, and the same was true for Abigail if they started taking too long. They all respected the schedule.

And it was soon Sasha's turn, and Abigail made sure she gave Sasha every minute, since she was the one who had the least amount of time, though she only asked for so much.

Dinner was quick and simple, a frozen meal of rice and fried "chicken". She didn't really have the time to make proper meals, nor could she easily afford to buy the ingredients, even with Sasha's work, between rent and tuition fees, the supplemental income she received to support her education leaving a bit to be desired. But mostly, intermittent supply shortages resulted in a degree of rationing, so the food they were entitled to by law wasn't always good quality.

At least it was nutritious. That much Abigail was confident of, thanks to Dana's fastidious diet.

Sasha was just thankful to work on a full stomach. Speaking of which, it was almost time. Abigail finished her food and rinsed the plate down, and then made a coffee, another energy injection, for what it was worth.

Then, she went to her bedroom, and sat down on the bed.

"Alright... have fun, I guess?" Abigail remarked, a red hue forming on her face.

A cloud of discomfort fell on her mind, and then it passed.

Sasha rose from the bed and stretched. She didn't waste any time, heading to the bathroom and showering, lathering up her body in a nice, pricey soapy wash that left her smelling of mint.

After that, she left Abigail's hair tie on the kitchen sink, Sasha much preferring to leave her hair long, hanging down to her shoulders.

She looked at herself in the mirror; such an unassuming, if pretty, face, soft blue eyes belying Sasha's profession.

Their face was pallid, but that was nothing special, most people who lived on stations tended to be on the paler side. Looking down at her naked body, she couldn't help but trace the shallow but defined abs that Dana had so furiously worked for, running a hand over her biceps and tensing them.

"Try not to work yourself to the bone," Sasha remarked quietly about Dana. "I need this body to provide for us."

Indeed, she was the only one who had a job, save for Sasha who occasionally volunteered at local community centres, which provided payment in a small amount of credits or foodstuffs, but nothing to live off, and Dana rarely got a chance to fight for prize money, especially since, as much as she wished otherwise, Abigail and Sasha both implored her not to take too many risks.

But it was okay... Sasha rather enjoyed her job, and it paid well, thinking on the night ahead as she applied a luxurious red gloss to her lips and gave her eyes some shadow and liner.

She left the bathroom naked, rather confident of herself, and returned to the bedroom. There, she opened the cupboard, and fished out the dark glossy dress she wore every job, appropriate enough to wear in public, but still quite eye-catching... and the faux leather corset and skirt she wore beneath it, along with the dark lingerie for if she really wanted to show off.

She donned her clothes and slipped on some dark stockings, faux-leather gloves that went half-way up her arms, and stiletto heels, before finally grabbing a dark faux leather bag from the bottom of the cupboard.

A quick check showed all was accounted for; all her 'toys' for a good time.

She nodded and slung it over her bag, and quickly left, locking the electronic door behind her.

The trip was short, the automated transport system perfect for her occupation as she arrived at her destination; it was an unassuming building, little more than a dark box, more so than the buildings around it, the only clue to its nature being a purple and red light above the tinted front door.

She stepped out, and went instead to a side entrance, and fished into her bag for her ID; the door opened with a chime, and she stepped inside; the interior was considerably more luxurious, and appropriately moody, albeit with a minimalist flair... and a number of enticing, sensual decorations, particularly of half naked men and women lying on beds and posing provocatively.

And this was the staff entrance.

She was met by her boss, Madame Clarissa.

"Ah, Sasha, on time as always," the mature but sensual woman spoke, her red dress hugging her still enviable curves. "You already have a client waiting for you. I think he's that UOF big shot we were talking about. Guess even a big bad general needs to 'relinquish command' now and then."

"I think he's a colonel," Sasha answered, but offered a smirk. "Either way, he's not in charge here."

Clarissa laughed.

"He'd be in the wrong place if he thought he was. Go get ready, and make sure to leave a good impression~"

Clarissa winked and then made her way to the front foyer, to wait for other clients, whilst Sasha took herself to a small room to get ready. The others must have been busy.

She checked the time, and then nodded to herself.

"I'll leave a good impression alright~" she said to herself. Some last minute prep, and she made her way through the narrow corridors to the lift, going up to the 'penthouse' suite. The door opened, and she stepped into a large, luxurious bedroom with a window overlooking the city and Jupiter beyond.

There a man stood, in a black dress but standing with legs apart and his hands together behind his back, an obvious military man.

He turned, his salt-and-pepper hair and slightly wrinkled features, and darkened brown eyes indicative of a stressful lifestyle.

Colonel Markham Fischer, likely glad the windows were one-way tinted, obscuring the room from the outside.

"Ah, good evening, Miss Sasha," he greeted with a friendly tone.

Sasha said nothing. Instead, she raised a brow, and quietly walked over to him; he stood almost a head taller than her, but she felt no intimidation.

He was one of her clients. That meant she was the one to instil command.

"What was that?" she asked with a sweet but dangerous tone, smiling softly.

He looked at her puzzled.

"Uh... have I caused offense?" he ventured, but before he could say anything more, Sasha reached up and clasped him gently but domineeringly by the chin.

"Get on your knees," she said.

The man blinked. But he obeyed. He knew what he was getting into, discussions were already thoroughly taken. But it seemed he still needed a bit of... correction.

Now kneeling before her, he looked up, his features softening as his submissiveness started to shine through.

She allowed herself a slight smirk.

"It is Mistress Sasha. Do you understand?"

He nodded slowly.

"Yes... Mistress Sasha," was his answer.

She smiled, reaching down to tilt his chin up a bit.

"Good boy~ Do not forget it, servant~"

"I won't, Mistress Sasha," he answered with a softer voice.

She slipped her thumb gently into his mouth, making him groan.

"I didn't give you permission to speak," she chastised, before grinning and releasing his head. She stepped back... and in a practised fashion, she slipped off her dress, revealing the leather garments beneath, and a riding crop she'd secreted away in her dress. She made a show of disrobing, and of producing the "disciplinary implement" - not that she'd ever used it full force on a client - tapping it on her other palm, before reaching down and using its tip pressed underneath his chin to tilt his head up.

"You will be obedient, won't you~?" she said with a smirk.

"Y-Yes, Mistress Sasha."

She bit her lower lip and gently slid the riding crop up Fischer's cheek.

"Good boy~"

Dana groaned as she rose from the bed, stretching and feeling her muscles pop, grumbling a little as she found the hair tie she and Abigail shared, doing her hair up into a pony tail like she preferred.

She wiped her fingertips over the corner of her mouth and grumbled a little, finding some lingering gloss Sasha failed to wash off after they clocked out last night.

She flexed her other hand, noting a slight ache in it... either from whipping or jacking off cock. Dana didn't really care which it was, it wasn't her business.

She sighed and stomped her way into the kitchen area, quickly making herself a breakfast of coffee, and a bunch of high-energy nutrition bars; a ration food designed scientifically to provide a large amount of long-lasting energy and covering every nutritional need to keep any colonist healthy.

Even with artificial flavourings, it was bland as hell. But it was absolutely perfect for Dana. Quick, and genuinely nutritious for her needs.

She was succinct with her breakfast, having a quick shower and changing her clothes to some tight fitting synthetic track pants, running shoes, and a synthetic sweat shirt.

She wiped down her face, and after grabbing a small waist bag with her stuff and ID, she left the apartment.

She didn't take any transportation, instead breaking out into a jog. It would be a good warm up.

As she made her way down a busy street between towering buildings with glowing billboards, the great eye of Jupiter staring down at the station through the glass dome, Dana spied a mobile recruitment stall for the UOF, and she groaned.

"Don't these assholes ever stop?" she grumbled. Every time - and any time, they never seemed to 'sleep' - it seemed like they were in a different place trying to cajole and convince people to sign up, the recruiters always quite assertive when trying to catch someone's attention. The two Marines that always seemed to stand guard with these stalls - vans that unfolded into a small booth - with guns across their chests certainly ensured people didn't get too rowdy if they ever voiced their displeasure.

And Dana had things that'd probably get her arrested if she said them openly. And she was ever tempted to do so, with the amount of times they tried to recruit her, and the others as well, though she was the one that got it the most owing to her expressing her fitness more readily. Even showing them the card that barred them from military service due to their multiple personalities didn't always get recruiters to stop immediately, trying to push the issue just that little bit more.

So Dana had opted for a simpler approach.

As she neared, the short-haired recruiter's eyes spied her, and he moved several steps in her direction.

"Good morning, citizen. Do you have any time to discuss--"

"Not interested," she said curtly, jogging past and ignoring all further attempts to talk to her.

As she left the recruitment stall behind, she let out a sigh; she couldn't completely fault them. The Machina threat was serious and humanity likely needed every soldier it could get.

At times, Dana actually entertained the hypothetical idea of signing up. The idea of fighting for humanity did have a small appeal. She'd never do it, of course; the idea of getting deep into something like the military and getting caught up in the government and authoritarian bullshit outright repulsed her. Besides, someone like her wasn't 'psychologically fit', and neither Abigail nor Sasha had that fighting spirit... or even the nerves to stand in a fight. It just wasn't them. And she'd never do that to them.

Still, at times, Dana chafed with that; she rarely got to go all out. Rarely got to fight for the real prizes, having to satisfy herself with chump change payouts against lower skilled fools thinking themselves hot shit.