The headquarters of Life Screens looked a lot like the headquarters of a James Bond villain. Or at least what I think a villain’s lair would look like. Seriously, the only thing they’re missing is a hollowed out volcano. By the time we walk up the front door, there’s quite a crowd waiting.
Now, before we even get to this part, I need to clear something up. My wife didn’t take the news quite as well as me. Actually that’s a lie. I’d just kind of ignored the shock, agreed to the private jet that would take us across the country and helped myself to the minibar. It was Kate who was trying to work out what it all meant.
Speciation. When mommy and daddy have a kid that isn’t like mommy and daddy. The birth of a new species. One of the easiest tests for speciation? They’re sterile. Can’t make babies. Horse, good. Donkey, good. Mule, nope. No baby asses for you. At least it was an answer.
We roll up to the entrance and the Chief Medical Officer rushes me inside and before we’re even sitting down in the biggest meeting room I’ve ever seen, men in purple gloves are shoving swabs in my mouth and drawing blood from my arms. If a hospital treated patients like this, people would go back to tying teeth to door handles.
After my body is released back into my own care, we start talking. Life Sciences Inc is a subsidiary of Geneva Biosciences Plc. Which is probably one of the biggest pharma companies in the world. I’m looking dumb and my wife is just nodding. Mr CEO has a market cap of twelve billion bucks and I wait for the chips to be on offer before getting them on the weekly shop.
Sixteen minutes and forty three seconds later, the CMO has a report up on his tablet and is admonishing his staff for taking so long. I can’t cook a pizza in that time, but they’ve taken apart my DNA and pulled out every bit of information they can.
The results are the same. I’m 99.3% human. That sounds pretty good to me, until it’s explained (using little words) that by the same metric I’m 80% slug. Not so good.
“And the remaining genetic material?” CMO Dumont asks.
The lab tech looks at me, as if I’m gonna answer, before taking a deep breath.
“Combinatorial regression shows three matches. Carcharodon subspecies, Crocodylinae and something we haven’t been able to pin down. Most likely an arachnid.”
Now, I love shark week. What red-blooded man doesn’t? So I recognise Carcharodon, even if I couldn’t spell it. I’m a great white baby! Kate looks at me as I whoop in delight at this revelation.
“So he’s a match.”
Tech guy looks at me, nods and backs away.
“Mr Gale. Thank you for coming today. Under eminent domain we are hereby seizing illegally obtained property. Namely, you.”
Take a second to think that one through, because it took me a lot longer.
“I don’t get it. I’m not land. You can’t ‘seize’ me.”
Dumont nods for two guys who have been lounging around to grab me and that’s when I realise this is all getting serious. Kate backs away, but doesn’t fight back.
“Ms Gale, your co-operation has been noted. We hope the compensation you’ve received will assuage any fears you may have.”
Three years of marriage. Almost a decade since I took her to prom and she walks out on me for a fucking cheque. I’m fighting now, kicking and bucking but Big Bob and Muscle Mike aren’t letting go.
“Mr Gale, your genetic blueprint contains proprietary information developed by my organisation nearly thirty years ago. I can’t have you walking around, potentially giving my competitors an advantage in evolutionary warfare. I’m sorry, but we’re reclaiming our property.”
“It’s my DNA man.” I’m fighting like a bat out of hell. “You can’t just take it back.”
CMO shakes his head sorrowfully.
“I know. Luckily genetic material breaks down under extreme heat.”
Oh hell no.
Prompt originally posted by SecretTherapod on reddit and received 108 upvotes.