Dr. Gregoire sat in one of the many underground laboratories still desperately working to find a cure for the after effects of the plague. He had been wracking his brains trying to come up with something, anything, that explained the immunity to the virus by the select few who didnt die or shrink. So far he came up with nothing. All the statistics showed were pretty basic information: The old and the young were the most sesceptable to the virus. Individuals between the ages of 15 and 33 were most likely to survive/be immune in general. Blah blah blah, it all meant nothing if he couldnt find out why!
But still, Gregoire had no regrets. He created this monster to fight the soviets. True, it never saw use against them, it did work and he was proud of the job he did. Not everyone can say they created the perfect killing machine. The only regret Gregoire had, if this can count as a regret, is that people are so clumbsy.
Currently he was mulling over a string of unintelligible data charts showing no distinction or clear pattern, when the air-tight doors his office sat behind swung open.
This is a restricted area, Gregoire said without looking up. If you want to schedule an appointment, talk to the front des--
Save it, Doctor, a strong southern voice said. Gregoire looked up and saw a familiar face. The only man in the White House who was immune to the virus, accompanied by two members of the secret service.
Mr. Vice President--
President, now.
Sorry, Mr. President, sir. How are you? Its good to see you again.
I wish I could say the same, Gregoire.
Im sorry, what? Gregoires arthritis began acting up again. He started massaging his hands, both to dampen the pain, and out of nervous habit. He had a pretty good idea what was to come.
Leave us, the President said to the secret service. They turned and left. Gregoire, from the reports Ive received and unearthed, I now know that it was you who was head of the Super-Flu project. It was you who contributed most to it, and--
Wait, wait, wait
wait just a damn minute here, Gregoire shouted, standing up. Youre not suggesting what I think youre suggesting, are you?!
Im sorry, but someone must shoulder the blame. Dr. Gregoire, you are going to be the scapegoat of the country. If they dont blame you, theyll blame me, and that will be disastrous. What little is left of our once proud nation will launch into civil war--perhaps many. Well be torn apart, and our enemies will have us by the balls.
What enemies, theyve all been infected too!
China is already restructuring itself. So is Japan--but Japans gone Red too. Russia looks like its becoming the USSR again--the nations that broke away want to rejoin. Theyre lost, they dont know what to do. Everyones getting their shit together except us, and thats because they know it was their own government that fucked up. Im sorry, but something must be done to put the peoples faith back in the government. You are going to be blamed, and theyll know the government is doing everything in its power to have you punished for your crimes against humanity.
And why the fuck are you telling me this, you pompous ass!
Because I like you, Gregoire. I know it isnt your fault--it isnt anybodies. We were at war, we made things that never shouldve seen the face of the earth, said the President. He turned around and began pacing. Im telling you this so you can flee the country--get out of here before they demand that we lynch you. Nobody else knows what I know, and they wont for a few more weeks at least; Ill see to that. But I want you to run. Your name will go down in the mud, Gregoire, but you will be the salvation of the Americas.
So
thats it then? Im officially the most hated man in US History? Gregoires eyes glanced around the room. He was not going to accept this. No. There must be some other way
Im sorry it has to be this way, ok. Dont think this decision didnt come without much debate. I just--AUGH!
The President fell down in a heap, skull shattered, blood spilling profusely over the floor. Gregoire stood there panting, bloody shovel in hand. He opened the doors and sliced the shovel through the air like a sword, cutting the first secret service agent in the jugular. He fell down, hands clasped around his throat as he bled to death rapidly.
Gregoire let out a primal scream of rage, charging for the other agent with his shovel raised in the air. The large man pulled out a magnum and fired a round. Gregoire blocked it with the shovel. The shovel was sent back, and no longer in a striking position. Gregoire simply kicked the guard, knocking him to the ground. Screaming another primal shout, he brought the shovel down on the mans face over and over again, smashing it into a thousand pieces.
Gregoire, now as bloody as the shovel and the floor, tossed down his weapon and looked around. No witnesses. The security cameras went offline days ago. Nobody else knew the location of this base. He made his way to the exit. While leaving, he swiped his access card and punched in the codes to send the base into lockdown mode. Gregoire was the only one to leave that base ever again. 32 souls were sentenced to a slow death of starvation. Gregoire left, making his way to the new center of civilization: Washington DC.
Giantess World
