Author: Ninna Bautista
Prompt: Scientist Maine + Angel Experiment Alden
Prompter: bonnieradm
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Author's Note:
In the kindness of Ian, Katring, and Carling's hearts, they've allowed me to still be a part of AMACon2 and give you guys the first chapter of a new full fic I'm writing. And for that, my first heartfelt THANK YOU goes out to them. I won't go on about how much I love them anymore because they already know that I do--and whenever we do these cheesy things, it feels so foreign to us that we honestly don't know what to do with ourselves anymore.
My second Thank You goes to Roro and AMACon for giving me a sperm donor of an idea! Like all healthy sperm, this one has hypothetically swam miles to reach that area in my brain that is so relentless, it doesn't stop until I acknowledge it. In light of my metaphor, it's safe to say that I'm pregnant and the name of this baby is To The Clouds and it'll hopefully be born in the next two or three months.
And finally, to you, you, and you, THANK YOU, for always reading what I put out and for always being so supportive and great, and for pushing me to do and be more. I hope that this chapter catches your attention and that I see you when I give birth to my baby! I labyu all!
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" War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend."
- J.R.R Tolkien, The Two Towers
CHAPTER ONE
My Minnie Mouse alarm clock tells me that it's almost 3 in the morning and I conjured a couple of carefully thought out words to express my grievances over its tendency to remind me that: If you don't stop now, you'll only have 2 and a half hours of sleep left.
Well, jokes on you Minnie Mouse! I'm having 5 more minutes of sleep because I only really wake up after the 4th snooze alarm. And it's a Saturday tomorrow.
It answered back by beeping once when the gloves hit 12 and 3.
"ARGH!!" I hit my head on the pile of research papers and clinical trials on my desk, wishing that if I do it hard enough, the text would miraculously seep into my brain and I wouldn't have to worry about stuttering in front of my new boss on Monday.
I feel the weight of the country rest on top of my sleep deprived shoulders--an overly dramatic statement, sure, but it still bears some truth nonetheless.
Contrary to popular beliefs, there's a lot of timely and boring stuff that happens before a certain person or a group of people come together with guns blazing for the sole purpose of defending a country-- plan of attacks are conceived and discussed in detail, as are newly developed weapons and protocols to give our side a higher chance of winning.
This was explicitly and passionately expressed to us by our host, Mr. Amador, on my first day of orientation all those months ago. He continued his tirade that morning by saying that: we should not be offended when a field agent foregoes our names and calls us swots, because at the end of the day--
"The feet will not move forward, nor will the finger pull the trigger unless the brain tells them to! Never forget that!"
And so now here I am, a swot/brain, leafing through piles of academic paperwork at 3:30 in the morning, motivated by my boss' relentless string of 'What's next?" questions and my fleeting ambition that I get to do something substantial in my life, for the slightest chance that I might find something to support my hypothesis that: Under the right circumstances and inside a meticulously controlled environment, it is possible to genetically modify certain parts of Homo sapiens (humans) with the characteristics of a Haliaeetus albicilla (white-tailed eagle), and have them be effective in combat.
