Project Mortality
Malich took his thirteenth shot of whiskey, or maybe it was his fifteenth? Hard to tell, considering he'd already down an entire bottle of some kinda vodka. His tollorance for the drink had grown, he barely felt drunk now. The stuff felt diluted, tampered with and he wasn't sure why that would be.
'Yea you do. Gemini wants you sober when the two of you speak.'
Yea, great, wonderful.
That day wouldn't come till tomorrow and the ashen executive had yet to find an excuse as to the reason for their being harbored in his research facility. An excuse that didn't involve answering questions he'd have difficulty proving one way or another.
He'd sent down a couple of letters, personally, to the scientists. Mainly Elsa and her team to begin side project into finding methods at detecting the insects when in changeling form and as parasites. A way that didn't involve them being sniffed out by dogs.
Little progress had been made in the way of understanding their method of communication. The drones and queen had been stimulated often enough, but no matter what, their was no distinguishable frequencies to be found.
However, through one scientists idea, a dog was brought in to see if the frequency wasn't in some kind of transmission, but sound. When stimulated, the dog would perk up, listening intently. When the drones or queen had eased, so too would the canine. What was odd and spat in the face of all scientific understanding was that all of the subjects, the hearing dog included, were in rooms that had no business transfering sound between them.
All the scientists found this discovery absolutely baffling, but if the changelings communicated in sound-waves, than it was at least a start in the right direction, unorthodox as it may be.
Elsa, cleaver little psycho that she was, suggested that scientific technology alone might not be able to tap into the frequency and that they should try archno transmission receivers as another method to intercept messages being sent between the two. Psy dismissed the idea as preposterous, that, since there was no source of magic, it would be impossible to pick up any magical signatures.
The dark grey unicorn also said the same about the changelings communicating through sound waves, so Malich OKed the archno-tech scanners. He didn't know much about all of that scientific or magical mumbo jumbo, but that's why he paid ponies who did.
This worked out two fold, one in determining how to communicate with the drones directly, and another as an excuse to use for his father. The Zeborican's would be very happy to share some of their more... unique resources with the Triple M. Corporation if the entity had developed a way to protect the zebra from the insectoids that didn't involve resurrecting dead comrades.
At least the Personal Protection Services were already taking off. The wealthier citizens had already put in orders for the mercenaries, mostly for traveling purposes, but a few of the lower class had pooled resources for the private security for trade routs. It wasn't bringing in the revenue he'd wanted, but it was an artificial risk with a real demand. The undead had long since disappeared, but "sightings" of them had been reported throughout the north western vallies of North New Equine. Reported the Triple M. controlled media, of course.
Regardless, that left a new problem, the swarm he needed.
Malich was very much against the prospect of infecting Federalists with the changeling parasite. He'd brought up the idea to Psy and Elsa, to see if they could help him in determining any reasonable actions to gain more subjects.
Elsa suggested a perspective he wasn't keen on, but was a bit more open to. Prisoners.
Murderers, rapists, those whom had sexual contact with younglings... Criminals of the worst sort were proposed as candidates for his experimentation programs.
Psy, on the other hoof, suggested bringing in more infected zebra. While the prisoners convicted of their crimes would hold less sympathy, the Zeboricans were already infected with the parasites and would die anyways. They'd just be using their lives to his ends instead of dying out in the middle of the ocean.
The only problem with the unicorn's proposition was the Tal'derime could legitimately become more active. Bringing in less than fifty changelings had set them on an undead crusade against the entire state of North New Equine, how badly would they respond if there was hundreds or thousands?
'You might not need any hosts.'
What?
'Consider it: They've been shown to survive environments that didn't directly constitute a living body, so long as their nutritional and environmental needs were met. Perhaps they can be farmed from the drones or queen some how in alternative containment cells...
That was true, though, unlike the drones and queen, whom fed off of fear, the parasite's food supply was shown to specifically be blood. At least from observation. Emotional sustenance was a completely foreign concept in the realms of science and magic. How an emotion, how a feeling, was able to sustain these bugs was just as confounding as their communication. Most any and every other race of beings in the world had to exchange tangible nourishment in order to produce energy.
Changelings did not.
Neither magic nor science offered machines or spells capable of measuring "fear nutritional output".
The scientists had produced enough of it, apparently, to keep both Imperatrix and her new found drones alive.
He made a mental note to ask how each of the scientists were feeling in terms of their over all well being. If they were feeling 'drained' or tired and what not. Maybe the changelings didn't really feed on the emotion of fear itself, but the energy of those whom felt afraid around them?
The door to his office knocked thrice and Malich ushered the intruder in.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Malich." Radclif said, walking in with a note. "But this came in for you."
Malich took the note and dismissed his assistant.
The envelope said nothing other than his name. He opened it and looked down in confusion as he read, at least until he got to the second paragraph. At which point, he read with a growing grin.
Dear Mr. Vice-President.
I am pleased to announce that Project Mortality is operating well ahead of our projections.
The Alicorn DNA you've procured for experimentation has been a monumental asset in our research into what makes immortals immortal. The genetic make up is unlike anything we've ever seen, even compared to the centaur DNA of Spar Hawk.
We have yet to hear back from you about the proto type field test you'd written about a few months ago. I don't know what you were planning to test it on, but we'd very much like to hear back about the results.
We regret to inform you that we have yet to find a way to do lasting damage the home grown tissue cells we'd duplicated, as you've asked, but we have found a way to incapacitate them. I'll spare you the medical terminologies, since you detest them so much, but all in all it comes down to corruption of the cells rather than physical or magical damage. Corruption from a solution my staff has developed from a mix between dark magic, the root: Death's Grip, grounded dragon scales, and a peculiar little virus we've come to call: "Devil's Seed".
The gown cells, Immortal Cells, up to which point showed no reaction aside from defensive rejections against all stimuli, shied away from our solution. Separate, each of these ingredients was repelled, but together, they infected the Immortal Cells and held them in place. Frozen in a frozen black infection for a duration of three days for the current dose. It is believed that upping the dose will prolong the effect, but we'll need to regrow more Immortal Cells to confirm this theory.
Which, I'm sorry to say, will take quite some time. The Southern Bio-Research center has undergone some rather... messy setbacks. Laboratories 22-48 are inaccessible... actually the entirety of sub levels seventeen and down are a death trap. The virus that infected the Immortal Cells got air born, mutations occurred, peers begged for death... it was a bad few days.
As I've said, messy business. But on the upside, we've made a great stride to your ultimate goal. I do look forward to the Better World you have planned.
Regards,
Doctor Stein.P.S.
I'll need more staff... brave ones.
Malich smiled to himself and bonked himself on the forehead.
Of course, Project Mortality how could he have forgotten about that? Of course he'd write back about the proto-types lack of field use, that crazy pony he'd given Discord to in Equestria never ended up using it, but the DNA from Luna! She was immortal like Tapio and the other centaur!
If he could incapacitate her, he could easily incapacitate them!
That was one of the major hiccups in his plan for the Better World, those inbred's interference. They were Life Worshipers, nature fanatics with no love for capitalism or technology. Yet their numbers were limited, they didn't have to struggle for resources and peace like the other races did. They'd lived long lives with great wisdom to govern them into peace. Ponies and the like did not, constantly struggling to have their own ideals pressed upon others, believing they had the right because that's what they wanted.
In essence, the centaur enabled these constant clashes by stopping them from reaching their ultimate conclusion, and now, Malich was slowly gaining the power to fight back.
He felt anticipation and glee shoot up his back as he re-read the first part of the letter. If he remembered right, there was only a few floors below the 17th, so the facility shouldn't suffer too much from the losses, but whatever projects were taking place on the remaining levels could be rearranged.
He was slowly gaining the power he needed to bring his world to fruition.
The ashen pony smiled and leaned back in his chair.
He was slowly gaining the power to bring about a state of true Anarchy.