The lesion on my forehead is getting more and more pronounced. It looks more like an organ. It feels more like an organ, it is producing discharge which is most definitely not the cebum and pus one expects to find in a wound. I don't know what is happening to me.
All I know is the I love Chronos.
Oh my god I love him. And he loves me. I can feel it in vomaronasal organ, so can the new ones. At least the females.
I am so beautiful, of that you can be sure.
It was once my goal, but now this is my weapon, my bait. To grow our cause, a cause I still do not understand.
Chronos says its about freeing humanity from its shackles, its small-mindedness, its present weakness.
He looks so deeply at me. I can feel him scanning my skin for fluctuations on the pores, for the tension fluctuations of my muscles, for my facial expressions. He sees every twitch, every secret. My own powers of hyper-awareness give me the same ability, though I have miles to go before I can do this on the same level as Chronos.
I still don't know his first name.
He says Chronos is the only name he needs because he is one with time itself.
Chronos also ate his children, of which I am the first. Yet as I look at his skin, his muscles flex in an unconscious tide, his face made a perfect statue by awareness, and I can taste his desire. His delicious desire.
I lick beneath my lip to feel this strange evolutionary relic so awakened in me. So awakened in all the women who have come to us.
Chronos does not just desire me. He worships me. I can feel it in his movements, I can feel it in the way he watches me.
At first we recruited the way he recruited me. We put the posters up, I learned that he was getting funding from feeding his trash to the pharmaceutical companies. Pheizer, Merc, they all paid for what Chronos did not see fit to use as solvent.
It was always about the injections. The RNA nanobots, little molecules chemically programed to create subtle connections between neurons, secret gradients of neurotransmitters on the membranes, allowing the body to achieve a holistic perception of self awareness, a 6th sense of self that became stronger with conscious practice and focus. BDNF helped as well, the little machines, love to grow new dendrites, new neurons even. I don't fully understand the effect. I don't think Chronos does either.
When I ask him about it, he paraphrases Nietzsche, "We must build our house on the steep face of Mt. Vesuvious."
The nanobots have a weakness though, they only work on the obese. Chronos thinks that self loathing does something to the body in its affects on physiological gradients, something so hollistic, so emergent, even with his astronomical powers of perceptive calculation he can not unlock it.
So we recruit the fat. Roller derby players and fans were a steady influx for the army Chronos would build. And it is definitely an army he is after.
We do not tolerate insolence, disobediance or weakness.
First they come to us. A room full of useless, sweaty, life wasters. Gorged on their own emotional shortcomings. Just as we were. Perfect conditions for the drug to work its magic.
We tried in on the beautiful. Chronos and I killed them for their failure. They would simply be rejected by the drug, as if they lacked some component, some substance floating in their nervous systems. We made love still covered in their blood, musing about the nice effect that its thermal conductivity had on our embrace. He loved me. He loved me like Prometheus loved fire. And I love him, like a nun loves Christ.
At first they are confused. Overwhelmed by the initial intoxication by the nanobots.
But inside of each of them there is a great tweak on the chemical equilibrium of their bodies. Each of them carries an indestructible flame of rage. No matter how strong, the RNA nanobots thrive in it. It allows them to milk more BDNF, something to do with with the amygdale. Two lovely little brain structures, the almonds of terror and rage. This is what we think seperates the fat ones from the thin, they have suffered more, stronger output of the amygdale. Their milk is the stuff of memory, and memory is the stuff of new neurons. The cornucopia our nanobots require. The nanobots somehow enhance the molecules, make them more efficient, and receptive. We are still studying how this is done.
They grow stronger. Sometimes they are terrified. Then they realize that they can become beautiful at will. That they can accomplish all of the potential of the human body with no other cause other than will. They jump to the walls and perform acrobatics. They demonstrate feats of strength and endurance. Marveling like children at an amusement park. And one by one, they begin to show the very same lesion as I do.
Right on the forehead.
More of an organ than a lesion, the soldiers with their newly trained awareness report the same. It is an organ of some kind, not a wound. We can all feel it.
When they resist, or are slow in their advancement they are punished by me. It is no easy task mind you, it is humanity at all apex. Even the weak among us are stronger than the strongest people.
With a brutal beating. Combination of roller derby and growing up punk rock makes me a dangerous bitch. My hyper awareness is far more advanced than theirs. And Chronos is far more advanced than mine. In fact I am quite sure that Chronos is advancing beyond a human threshold of other kinds, I fear as physics is not my strong suit.
But there is so much love, that I can only trust him in this mission.
I tell him my fears, that this could destabilize us, make us have side effects. I even question if our violence is not an obvious sign of some kind of psychiatric side effect.
He laughs.
"Humanity at its finest must be a race of warriors my love, in some ways it must appear backwards, primordial... this is to appeal to the deepest human instincts. As we achieve perfection, triage must occur, and in triage we must become stronger."
Such perfect logic. As to the prospect of side effects he merely says, "There is no turning back now."
The mission is simple, we build our tribe and we begin to apply our hyper powered brains to restructuring and governing humanity. The final revolution, one made of a biochemical philsophers stone. The ultimate coup 'et tat, against the tyranny of the genome. We were moving in steps that were beyond history.
I couldn't deny it.
Humanity would have to be seized and remade in our image. No matter what the cost.
So the work must continue, new recruits, and training.
Chronos is doing the scam less and less, he doesn't do the speaking any more. He leaves us to it. Its easy, as the nanobots empower our nervous systems we attain a mental superiority equal to our physical. The brain is after all part of the body. We become charismatic, charming, persuasive, as our neurons sharpen themselves on the drug.
Chronos has begun this strange practice. He sits in a room full of clocks and watches. Of all kinds. He buys them, he steals them, he kills for them. Hour glasses, grandfather clocks, rolexes, dollar store watches, sun dials, all chronometers. At first I think its some sort of vanity, or marketing campaign based on his name, but then the lesion, i mean the organ, began to react.
When Chronos is around the clocks, he stares at them some times, and when I have been around him doing this, the organ feels like its swelling, or twitching, and I experience some new intoxication. One I don't fully understand. Chronos is doing something with the clocks, something inside himself, and i can feel it. Or rather see it. Its actually very difficult to describe.
