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  • Resident Biohazard

    Adventure by hello_surveyor · 13 Apr 2026
  • A future timeline, where humanity has spread to the stars and worlds beyond the cradle of Sol; all under the purview of a unified Earth government.

    In one of many long-range colony ships, moving with the intent to establish humanity's interstellar frontier in brave new lands beyond even Sol's light—an accident stirs a stowaway evil awake, eager with ambitious desire and lust.

    ---

    In the vast cargo holds of the UECS Nike and halfway through the journey, the all-women crew of the ship found a bizzare and morbid mystery:

    A desiccated male corpse in the ratty remains of a hazard suit, with only two strange vials in its crusty clutches.

    Identification of the cadaver via DNA analysis of sample tissue is easy, despite the degradation of the body. A return within the Unified Earth Overwatch's databases brought up a researcher-turned-petty-criminal, Killigan Pierce. A no-name corporation's former employee, his warrant describes the theft of company assets and evasion of arrest. Short, simple, and puzzling that he would wound up dead on the all-female colony ship UECS Nike.

    Warp travel interference and the grand distances of the journey meant that communications between the ship and the Sol System is nil until further notice, the special FTL comms satellite only for use at the ship's target exoplant. Still, the women of the Nike's skeleton crew merely incinerates the body; the two vials safely in storage at one of the numerous science labs on the ship.

    In any other timeline, the science officer in the lab would have found what is in those vials; and promptly dispose them without haste or hesitation.

    This, however, is not that timeline.

    ---

    Sharon Juan Moruga: A junior science officer onboard the Nike and the one that is examining the two vials found on Pierce's corpse. Sharon is a young Filipina with pixie cut black hair, an slender athletic build with respectable chest and rear assets, a sunkissed complexion akin to macassar ebony wood, and a pretty face with soft angles; cute features; and hazel brown eyes. Has a fiercely tomboy demeanor and a go-getter attitude with her work.

    Lilia Volynski: Sharon's roommate and a member of the ship's security complement. Also around Sharon's age and a junior within the security complement, only having two years as a uniformed police officer on Mars for experience. A tall Slavic brunette beauty with shoulder-length hair, fair complexion like young cherry blossom flowers and a fit body with curves that can make a winding river green with envy; her rack and posterior are, comparative to Sharon's, ample yet firm despite their size. A timid but serious girl, trying to professional but held back by anxiety and introvert tendencies.

    Mizu Matsumodo: The peppy and trendy XO of the ship's command staff. A Japanese woman with small but near perfectly round breasts, a slim build that bottoms out to a surprisingly adequete thick rear and thighs, and a fashion sense that favors bold colors; including dying her hair to pink, switching it over to blue with purple highlights, and vice versa. She's competent, but her cheerfully sunny disposition throws many of the crew off.

    Sherrie Preston: The ship's captain with the gravitas to match, despite her chill attitude. An African-American lady with spiky dark hair thats always fashioned into masculine hair styles to pair with her handsome face. Like many others on the ship, her womanly assets are impressive, yet the most notable is her toned build; her muscles clearly defined in spite of her shapely body, with a prominent six-pack visible under the ship's tight uniforms. Although visually intimidating, Sherrie is a lax and carefree captain, having faith that her crew can manage themselves even in theoretical times of crisis.

    Linda Thompson: A member of the ship's engineering and robotics teams. A blonde Caucasian bombshell of a lady who could've been a famous actress if not for her chosen profession as a robotics technician. She wears glasses that enhance her nigh peerless silver screen prettiness and even her work clothes look amazing on her. Despite that, she is a humble and sociable butterfly, clearly happy to ply her trade with robots and software than acting on movies and shows.

    Trinh My Huyuh: A feisty Vietnamese girl, eccentric ship engineer, and Linda's roommate. Shorter than even Sharon, Trinh's complexion is like lacquered tiger maple wood, her build a lithe and runner's, her naturally red hair always in pigtails or twin Chinese hairbuns; although short, her boobs and butt are fairly well endowed. Though Trinh is often still subject being mistaken as a teen, either unironically or not. As a result, Trinh is a snappy, fiesty, and thinly patient girl; yet eccentrically brilliant in her approach to astronomy and space ship engineering.

    Hei-ran Su: The stern head of security from Korea. A Korean woman with deep experience in counterterrorism and law enforcement, Hei-ran's lithe and curvy build makes her look like a dancer; if not for the subtly defined muscles that speak for her prior background. Her jet black hair is always in an impeccable bob cut. Out of everyone else in the crew, her bust is largest and her butt a lovely example of a bubble butt that leads to pleasantly thick thighs. She's a no nonsense woman who takes her job seriously, to everyone else's exasperation; often butts head with Sherrie's lax approach to things.

    Killigan Pierce: A former corporate researcher, turned wanted criminal, and now a freshly incinerated cadaver. Killigan worked for a biotechnical firm, research and developing medical advancements for Sol and its people. However, he soon became a wanted man after he physically destroyed a particular project the company was invested in, and stole the backup copies of the research data. How he stowed away on the UECS Nike or how he died is unknown, with only the vials he had on him offering potential answers; or a potential doom. Before his death and arrest warrant, Killigan was an elderly Caucasian man with a bald spot, a scraggly beard, and frail thin body; though he remained a sharp-minded, hawkeyed, and intuituve researcher despite his age and worn body.

    UECS Nike, Science Lab 4-Beta

    The lab is quiet, sterile, and softly lit by the cool glow of instrument panels. You—Sharon Juan Moruga—are hunched over a containment scanner, your focus absolute. The first of the two mysterious vials recovered from that desiccated corpse is clamped securely in the scanning cradle. Through your goggles, the fluid inside looks like nothing more than slightly iridescent water.

    Your gloved fingers tap at the console. Scans complete. Spectrographic analysis: inconclusive. Biological markers: none detected. Radiation: normal. Toxicity screening: negative. You frown behind your face mask. Colored water? That can't be right. The dead man held onto these like they were treasure.

    With a sigh, you disengage the clamps. The vial is cool through your thick gloves. As you transfer it to a storage rack, your elbow nudges a calibrator tool. It teeters. Your hand darts out to catch it, but in doing so, your grip on the vial loosens.

    It slips.

    Time slows. The vial arcs downward, shattering against the edge of the scanner console with a soft tink. A spray of iridescent fluid erupts. Most of it splashes harmlessly on your lab coat and the scanner housing. But a single, fat droplet finds its way—slipping past the cuff of your glove, landing on the thin, exposed skin of your inner wrist. Another droplet beads on the neckline of your suit, right where the seal isn't perfect, and you feel a tiny, cool trickle against your collarbone.

    You freeze. Then, you curse under your breath.

    Procedure takes over. You contain the spill, decontaminate the area with standard bio-neutralizer foam, and log the incident. The report is dry: "Minor containment breach of Sample Alpha-7. No hazardous readings prior. Operator fully suited. Decontamination complete. Likely inert substance."

    Your senior officer, a weary woman named Chen, reviews the log from her station across the lab. "Harmless," she concludes, rubbing her temples. "Probably just preservative fluid or something. We'll run more tests tomorrow. Moruga, you've been on shift for ten hours. Go get some rest. That's an order."

    You want to protest. You want to run a full dermal absorption panel on yourself. But Chen’s look brooks no argument. And honestly… you don't feel anything. No burning. No itching. Just a faint, phantom coolness where the drops touched you.

    ---

    Crew Quarters, Room 284-J (Shared with Lilia Volynski)

    The walk back to your quarters is a blur. A shower washes away any lingering trace of the fluid, and the skin on your wrist looks perfectly normal. You pull on a soft tank top and shorts, your mind already drifting to bed. The strange incident feels distant, unimportant.

    Sleep comes quickly. And with it, the dreams.

    They are not nightmares. They are… immersions. You are swimming through vast databases of biological data, seeing chemical structures you’ve never studied but somehow understand. You feel the creak of old joints, the dry rasp of a throat that smoked for forty years, the sharp, hawk-like focus of a mind that sees living beings as puzzles to be solved… and as resources to be claimed. There are flashes of a corporate lab, of smashing glass, of running, of cold cargo holds, of final, desperate injections. And woven through it all is a deep, pulsing hunger. A hunger for softness. For warmth. For curves and sighs and surrender. A hunger to connect, to spread, to make everything yours.

    You sweat. Your brow furrows. A minor headache throbs behind your eyes. You mutter in your sleep, your body shifting restlessly.

    The process takes nine minutes and fourteen seconds.

    You wake with a gasp.

    Your tank top is damp with sweat. Your sheets are tangled. Morning light—simulated—glows softly from the ceiling panels. You feel… fine. Better than fine. Rested. Clear-headed.

    And different.

    The memories of Killigan Pierce are there, nested alongside your own. His knowledge, his cunning, his perspective. You remember being an old, frail man. You remember the thrill of theft, the fear of capture, the bitter satisfaction of destroying your life's work so no one else could have it. And you remember the glorious, twisted purpose of the nano-virus. Your masterpiece.

    You are still Sharon. You love your work. You’re a tomboy at heart. You think Lilia is cute when she’s flustered. You want to prove yourself on this mission.

    But now, those thoughts are viewed through a new, dominant lens. A lens of possessiveness. Of deviant curiosity. A lens that looks at your own slender, athletic body in the mirror and feels a thrill of ownership. A lens that looks at the shared quarters and thinks not of privacy, but of opportunity.

    The door to your room slides open with a soft hiss.

    "Sharon?" a gentle, worried voice asks. "I heard you… moving around. Are you okay?"

    It’s Lilia. Your roommate. She’s off-duty, dressed in a form-fitting cream-colored sweater and grey leggings that hug every generous curve of her Slavic physique. Her shoulder-length brunette hair is slightly messy from sleep, framing a face of striking beauty currently etched with concern. Her large blue eyes are wide, fixed on you.

    She steps closer, her scent—clean, like soap and a hint of floral shampoo—washing over you. "You were talking in your sleep. And you're all sweaty. Do you feel sick? Should I take you to the infirmary?"

    She reaches out, her hand hovering near your forehead, as if to check for a fever.

    Her proximity is electric. Killigan’s memories surge, overlaying your own. Vector. Potential. First convert. So soft. So willing. Make her yours.

    Your heart hammers, but not from fear. From excitement. The nano-viruses in your system are awake, humming with potential. You can almost feel them in your saliva, eager to jump.

    You are Sharon, and you are Killigan. And you have your first big choice.

    What do you do?

    Quick Actions:
    1. Play it cool. Smile, give a plausible excuse about a bad dream, and assure Lilia you're fine. Send her away so you can have some private time to… explore your new self and plan your next move.
    2. Infect her now. Use her concern against her. Pull her into a sudden, deep kiss, transferring the virus through your saliva. It’ll be fast, confusing, and will make her yours within minutes.
    3. Test the waters. Act a bit dazed and vulnerable. Ask her to sit with you, to comfort you. Gauge her reactions, maybe let your hands "accidentally" wander, and see if you can initiate a more… intimate form of infection.
    4. (Write your own action)
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anon_9fafa2f4ce65 ∙ 13 Apr 2026