Author's note: A short campy Halloween romp. Don't take it too seriously. Contains scenes of dubiously consensual sex.
All human characters are over the age of 18.
~~~~
Etta shivered and pulled the thin blanket up to her neck before jolting awake. The huge room had stone walls and no windows—a basement from the looks of it, and judging from the musty smell.
She sat up, clutching the blanket to her battered naked body, shielding her eyes from the glare of the long rows of buzzing fluorescent fixtures on the ceiling. Two rows of black-topped lab benches held a myriad of expensive scientific equipment.
Well, at least I know I'm in the right place,
she thought.
Getting to her feet, Etta braced a hand against the rough stone wall. Every muscle ached from strain and between her legs she was tender and stretched. The worn futon mattress she had been laying on was bare except for the thin grey blanket. She wrapped it around her naked body, clutching it close.
The heavy door at the top of the stairs was locked. She banged and yelled but when it was clear no one was coming, she went back down to explore the lab.
A fluorescence microscope, PCR machines, an electroporator... everything a modern genetics lab should have sat on the tables or along the walls. In a far corner hulked a large steel cylinder, humming and gurgling and connected to a control unit by tubes and wires. It looked like a bioreactor, but with many components Etta didn't understand.
When she found a rack of white lab coats, she traded the old blanket for one. It one went to mid-thigh but at least the long sleeves covered her bruised arms.
Etta ran her hands over her arms, feeling the bruises and strained muscles. Not surprising, she thought, after what he had done to her. What she had
let him
do to her.
~~~~
It had taken three years to locate the old mansion, nestled in the woods far from any town. Combing through financial records, land titles and, finally, hiring two shady private investigators she identified it as the likely hiding place of Dr. Francesca Annstein, PhD.
Henrietta Clerval had been Fran's research assistant at the university for five years, and, she thought, her devoted friend. Fran certainly needed one: her abrasive personality and manic focus on her research universally pissed off family, faculty and staff.
People only put up with her because Fran was undeniably brilliant—her advances in using stem cells and viral vectors for gene therapy had led to many promising new treatments for multiple genetic and neurological disorders, and some cancers.
For anyone else, developing their research into therapies that had reached clinical trial phases, seeing them positively affect previously untreatable conditions would have been deeply satisfying. But not for Fran Annstein.
"I could make
millions
, Etta," she had said one evening over drinks. Fran rarely drank, but Etta dragged her to a nearby bar once every few months. They both needed it to vent their frustrations. After a couple mojitos, brusque and icy Fran became almost human.
"Your research has helped millions, Fran. Isn't that better than being rich?"
"Why not help
and
be rich?" Fran had said. "You deserve your share too, Etta. Instead, the university licenses our work to big pharma and I get nothing. And we have to go through years of these plodding clinical trials. You saw those cowardly fuckheads on the ethics review board turned down my latest proposal, right?"
Etta shook her head. "Because you're asking to work on human bioengineering. To edit out genetic diseases before conception and increase intelligence and physical strength while you're at it. That's eugenics."
"Eugenics is selective breeding, Etta. Like with dogs. Error-prone and slow. With CRISPR and viral vectors we finally have the means to make better people with precision."
"Make better people, Fran? I saw a movie about that once. It led to a two-class society or something."
Fran nodded. "Yeah, there's lots of science fiction scare stories about it. But think of it! Why treat what we can prevent? We can make people without inherited diseases. Increased intelligence. Stronger bodies. Resilience to cancer and infections!"
"How about," Etta had said after a sip of her drink, "men with an innate desire to clean house and make their women come."
"And want to do laundry," Fran added.
"Share their feelings," said Etta.
"Ask for directions."
"And... and have a big dick!" Etta said with a laugh.
"But not too big," Fran said, laughing along with her friend. "Wait, wait... I'd better write all these down for my next grant application. Those ethics board fuckheads will have to approve this one!"
Six months later, Fran's multi-millionaire uncle died, leaving her everything. She resigned her university position and vanished, taking her research methodologies and data with her. The university tried to sue—after all, the data belonged to them—but Fran had done a brilliant job of covering her tracks.
Etta feared the worst: unchecked by an ethics board and the need to beg for grant money, there was nothing Fran would not do. She pictured Fran ensconced in some foreign research facility with an unlimited budget and little to no oversight. But no—Fran was a loner. More than likely, she would use her new money to set up her own lab somewhere out of sight.
While the research she had taken belonged to the university, any new developments would be hers. And they would be worth billions.
Brilliant or not, every researcher needed a lab assistant. Etta set about finding her friend by every means possible.
~~~~
Etta wasn't certain the Victorian gothic mansion belonged to Fran, but as she parked by the front steps, she thought it suited Fran perfectly. The steep-pitched roof, elaborate wooden tracery under every gable and turret bulging from the right side was as complex and overwrought as her friend's personality. The isolation deep in the forest mimicked Fran's own isolation from humanity.
The front door had been unlocked and the moment she stepped inside the long dark hallway, she felt a presence behind her. Turning, she saw a man close and lock the door. A tall, muscular and very naked man.
