Non Canon (Because now I know where the Canon of Jetfic ends.....) But - just me sort of playing around with some freaky shit because I wanted to try my hand at it. Original idea was a part of the above....
---
"He hit the start button and just ran in before the door closed!" Teela's words ran out her mouth. "I can't stop it."
Kamalla shrank back into the shadows at the back of the room, hiding her mouth. The Americans looked at each other, then at Jet for some sort of inkling of what was to happen.
She stared at the Senator standing in the chamber, looking for a moment like he'd forgotten what he'd just done. The machine thumped, pumps revving up in a high, cold whine. Pressure built. The scent of burnt tabacco filled the air.
The Senator stood, facing them. The expression on Jet's face told him everything he needed to know. He pushed at the door, hoping it would open. The lock refused. He tried again. His eyes widened, looking for a moment like a frog realising the pot he'd leapt into was rapidly coming to the boil.
A dozen metallic nozzles embedded in the back wall of the machine began to spray, dousing him across his back with a thin, milky liquid. The senator recoiled with a yelp, as if he'd been splashed with hot water. The threads of his clothes blackened and thinned.
Bare skin blanched and tightened as if scalded. A grimace twisted across his face, a groan of pain rising through his throat. He bit his lip fighting against the urge to scream. He thought he could bear it. He'd had worse.
A puddle of the hazy fluid formed at his feet, steaming where it burned at his shoes. He hopped in place as the first drops nipped at his feet. It took only a moment more for the agony to become more than he could bear.
"Turn it off!" he shrieked. "For the love of God, turn it off!"
He thumped against the door, drawing thick smears of grease across its surface. The remnants of his clothes sloughed off in shreds, the buckle of his belt clunking into floor at his feet. Bare flesh blistered, split and tore open. Clumps of grey hair slid down his scalp as skin and flesh and fat melted into an oozing pink slime, pooling at his ankles as a human stew.
Dodge stepped forward, reaching for the door.
"If we open that door he's dead," said Jet.
This clearly wasn't a new experience for her.
"If he breaks the door...."
"Unlikely," said Teela, at the machine's control. "I was twice his size."
"For God's sake!" he pleaded, thumping repeatedly on the plexiglass."For God's sake! Get me out!"
He dropped to his knees, submerging himself to his waist in a stock formed from his own flesh and voided bowels. He thrashed against the door of the machine until fingers sheared from hands, and hands sheared from arms. Thick streaks of biomass curtained the plexiglass. The stumps of his arms thrashed one last time against the walls of the chamber before they twisted free under their own weight, bone and muscle separating like well-cooked meat. His body slumped. The remnants of his face pressed into the glass.
Those still watching witnessed a sightless, skinless skull shrieking as it was dragged down into the broth of biomass at the bottom of the tank by the weight of meat beneath it.
His screams finally ended when his intestines burst from the cavity of his body, dragging his viscera into the bubbling mass that surrounded him. It didn't stop him from trying. The broth roiled and bubbled, stewing the remnants into a thick human gruel for another minute, before finally stilling as the last few glimmers of unwanted consciousness left what remained of the Senator's mind.
Silence fell.
"Is he dead?" asked Dodge, tentatively. The commander had gone white. He took a step forward, his shoe splashing into something.
At some point unnoticed, the representative from California had left, leaving behind only a stain on the floor where she'd thrown up.
"Deconstruction complete," said Teela. He hair stood on end. "Pattern....Buffer is coherent."
"Is he dead?"
"No." said Jet.
A single pump started with a pulsing hearbeat, deep inside the machine, draining the broth through the mesh floor. What had been the Senator gurgled through corrugated lines into a set of holding tanks above the machine.
After barely a minute, only a scattering of copper change, a belt-buckle, a pair of glasses and a few plastic credit cards remained.
The machine hosed itself clean.
A metal carriage dropped from the ceiling, riding on a pair of rails built into the walls of the chamber. A head which had once been part of an inkjet printer shuttled back and forth, sweeping across the bones suspended in the machine's cradle. A snake of corrugated feedlines followed it, pulsing to the heartbeat of a pump deep inside the machine.
Spinerrettes knitted raw biomass into new tight sinew, twitching muscle, tingling nerves, pale flesh and tanned hair.
It took five minutes for the machine to finish its cycle.
Where the Senator had once been, a shivering, shorthaired catgirl now stood with its eyes closed, ears and whiskers twitching as its mind dreamed to itself inside its new home
"Is he alive?" Dodge asled
"They'll take him to the sensory room to sleep and wake up," said Jet, taking a slow breath. "We'll know when he wakes up what's left."
Dodge looked at the tabby catgirl still standing at the machine's controls.
"Why in God's name did he get in that machine anyway?"
"Kamalla had been talking to him," said Teela. "He just ran in," she said again
All eyes in the room turned on Kammalla. Kammallas shrank into the corner.
"I told him about how I went into the machine four years ago," she said, her voice crawling from her lips. "I had cancer. It was terminal. It was the only guaranteed cure."
Dodge bit his lip. "I knew he was sick," he said, shaking his head. "Damn."
The newborn catgirl that had been the Senator Cronenberg from Colorado slept, for the time being oblivious to the horrors its birth had inflicted on those who'd born witness to it.
---
"Hey. Huey. You were right. It worked. We've just won a seat in Colorado."
"You mean..."
"Yeah. He even thought it was his idea."
---
"He hit the start button and just ran in before the door closed!" Teela's words ran out her mouth. "I can't stop it."
Kamalla shrank back into the shadows at the back of the room, hiding her mouth. The Americans looked at each other, then at Jet for some sort of inkling of what was to happen.
She stared at the Senator standing in the chamber, looking for a moment like he'd forgotten what he'd just done. The machine thumped, pumps revving up in a high, cold whine. Pressure built. The scent of burnt tabacco filled the air.
The Senator stood, facing them. The expression on Jet's face told him everything he needed to know. He pushed at the door, hoping it would open. The lock refused. He tried again. His eyes widened, looking for a moment like a frog realising the pot he'd leapt into was rapidly coming to the boil.
A dozen metallic nozzles embedded in the back wall of the machine began to spray, dousing him across his back with a thin, milky liquid. The senator recoiled with a yelp, as if he'd been splashed with hot water. The threads of his clothes blackened and thinned.
Bare skin blanched and tightened as if scalded. A grimace twisted across his face, a groan of pain rising through his throat. He bit his lip fighting against the urge to scream. He thought he could bear it. He'd had worse.
A puddle of the hazy fluid formed at his feet, steaming where it burned at his shoes. He hopped in place as the first drops nipped at his feet. It took only a moment more for the agony to become more than he could bear.
"Turn it off!" he shrieked. "For the love of God, turn it off!"
He thumped against the door, drawing thick smears of grease across its surface. The remnants of his clothes sloughed off in shreds, the buckle of his belt clunking into floor at his feet. Bare flesh blistered, split and tore open. Clumps of grey hair slid down his scalp as skin and flesh and fat melted into an oozing pink slime, pooling at his ankles as a human stew.
Dodge stepped forward, reaching for the door.
"If we open that door he's dead," said Jet.
This clearly wasn't a new experience for her.
"If he breaks the door...."
"Unlikely," said Teela, at the machine's control. "I was twice his size."
"For God's sake!" he pleaded, thumping repeatedly on the plexiglass."For God's sake! Get me out!"
He dropped to his knees, submerging himself to his waist in a stock formed from his own flesh and voided bowels. He thrashed against the door of the machine until fingers sheared from hands, and hands sheared from arms. Thick streaks of biomass curtained the plexiglass. The stumps of his arms thrashed one last time against the walls of the chamber before they twisted free under their own weight, bone and muscle separating like well-cooked meat. His body slumped. The remnants of his face pressed into the glass.
Those still watching witnessed a sightless, skinless skull shrieking as it was dragged down into the broth of biomass at the bottom of the tank by the weight of meat beneath it.
His screams finally ended when his intestines burst from the cavity of his body, dragging his viscera into the bubbling mass that surrounded him. It didn't stop him from trying. The broth roiled and bubbled, stewing the remnants into a thick human gruel for another minute, before finally stilling as the last few glimmers of unwanted consciousness left what remained of the Senator's mind.
Silence fell.
"Is he dead?" asked Dodge, tentatively. The commander had gone white. He took a step forward, his shoe splashing into something.
At some point unnoticed, the representative from California had left, leaving behind only a stain on the floor where she'd thrown up.
"Deconstruction complete," said Teela. He hair stood on end. "Pattern....Buffer is coherent."
"Is he dead?"
"No." said Jet.
A single pump started with a pulsing hearbeat, deep inside the machine, draining the broth through the mesh floor. What had been the Senator gurgled through corrugated lines into a set of holding tanks above the machine.
After barely a minute, only a scattering of copper change, a belt-buckle, a pair of glasses and a few plastic credit cards remained.
The machine hosed itself clean.
A metal carriage dropped from the ceiling, riding on a pair of rails built into the walls of the chamber. A head which had once been part of an inkjet printer shuttled back and forth, sweeping across the bones suspended in the machine's cradle. A snake of corrugated feedlines followed it, pulsing to the heartbeat of a pump deep inside the machine.
Spinerrettes knitted raw biomass into new tight sinew, twitching muscle, tingling nerves, pale flesh and tanned hair.
It took five minutes for the machine to finish its cycle.
Where the Senator had once been, a shivering, shorthaired catgirl now stood with its eyes closed, ears and whiskers twitching as its mind dreamed to itself inside its new home
"Is he alive?" Dodge asled
"They'll take him to the sensory room to sleep and wake up," said Jet, taking a slow breath. "We'll know when he wakes up what's left."
Dodge looked at the tabby catgirl still standing at the machine's controls.
"Why in God's name did he get in that machine anyway?"
"Kamalla had been talking to him," said Teela. "He just ran in," she said again
All eyes in the room turned on Kammalla. Kammallas shrank into the corner.
"I told him about how I went into the machine four years ago," she said, her voice crawling from her lips. "I had cancer. It was terminal. It was the only guaranteed cure."
Dodge bit his lip. "I knew he was sick," he said, shaking his head. "Damn."
The newborn catgirl that had been the Senator Cronenberg from Colorado slept, for the time being oblivious to the horrors its birth had inflicted on those who'd born witness to it.
---
"Hey. Huey. You were right. It worked. We've just won a seat in Colorado."
"You mean..."
"Yeah. He even thought it was his idea."
I love the smell of rotaries in the morning. You know one time, I got to work early, before the rush hour. I walked through the empty carpark, I didn't see one bloody Prius or Golf. And that smell, you know that gasoline smell, the whole carpark, smelled like.... ....speed.
One day they're going to ban them.