duyanuhi

While Stephanie worked on the relatively simple task of producing a second batch of blue pills, Pao and I worked on the one problem that still remained: perfecting the orange formula, the one that had transformed me. I shuddered just remembering it. It had felt like my body was rejecting itself, pain and nausea wracking my body, barely able to breathe, my heart almost exploding. It wasn't enough to recreate it. I needed to test it and see just how safe it was. The plan had been to administer it to a group of lab mice and see just what effect it had on them over the course of a week. Things went off-track though when every single male lab mouse that was given the formula died. Around half died from a heart attack within the first hour. The rest suffered from immediate organ failure and didn't last much longer. "It's no good. The process essentially sets the body to rebuild itself. It's like trying to demolish and rebuild a skyscraper in a single day. Perhaps if we slowed the process down?" Dr. Pao observed. "You think I haven't tried that? Slowing the process down gives the viral agent enough time to locate the XY chromosome. It works, but only if the subject doesn't mind losing their manhood," I answered. "A-ah. Of course, sir." Pao fidgeted, blushed. The less respect I showed her, the more timid and aroused she became, "Then maybe your hypothesis was right, and the process is—" A high-pitched beep interrupted her, signalling that the blood analysis she'd thought to give me h