IMMORTAL

By Gunslinger

Tattered remnants of his clothing flapping in the cool night air, Brendan  Prescott lurched and staggered through the woods in a poor imitation of a dead run.

Despite his head-long flight at the fastest speed he could manage in the torn ruins of his Italian leather loafers, his breathing wasn't particularly labored, nor his muscles straining with the effort. When his shoulder slammed into yet another tree unseen in the post-midnight darkness, he stopped neither out of fatigue nor from the pain of impact. Instead, turning to look back in the direction from where he fled, he leaned against the tree and fought to make his whirling brain catch up with where his nearly tireless body had brought him.

In the distance, the blue-and-red strobe of emergency lights competed against the lurid flickering glare of a richly-red, gasoline-fed fire. Unseen in the darkness, a thick cloud of smoke also rose from the flickering flames, marking a spot about half a mile away.

The spot where, running from the police, Brendan had lost control of his high-performance BMW coupe and had flown off the side of the road.

There was more than enough distance between the crash site and him, Brendan realized, that he didn't need to dash almost mindlessly through the woods. After all, it wasn't as if the police would be close behind him. No - the police swarming around the burning wreckage of his car would be waiting for the fire to die down so that they could recover his corpse - for, after all, there was no possible way any human being could have survived that crash.

Which was quite true, Brendan thought to himself with a smirking grin, as he turned away from the distant lights and began picking his way through the forest.

After all, he wasn't merely human any longer...

As he carefully picked his way through the forest, survivor of an 'fatal' car crash, the smile slowly slid from Brendan's face as he considered the situation in which he found himself thanks to his 'superhuman' status.

A self-made multi-millionaire, Brendan  Prescott had made his fortune through buying out the debts of companies in trouble - then, when the debts couldn't be repaid, using the law to allow him to force the company to transfer assets to him with the nominal value of the debts, but that he'd subsequently turn around and sell at twice or three times what that nominal value was supposed to have been.

It had earned him a fortune - and, a little less than a month ago, it had earned him immortality.

The company had been called Genetex, and he'd seen nothing special in it as he'd employed his usual tactics... until the chief researcher, desperate to save his company, had offered Brendan something more valuable that money - a retrovirus that the company was developing that increased the body's ability to heal.

Hardly an expert in the field, Brendan hadn't understood the technical details the scientist had given him - but the end result was quite easy to understand.

Other than complete and immediate decapitation, the serum made a human being the next best thing to immortal. Not only did it 'turn off' the genes responsible for aging, but it allowed the body to heal almost instantaneously, so that injuries that would have been fatal before were now 'merely' a nuisance.

When the car had slammed into the trees at better than a hundred miles per hour and all-but-exploded, he'd been burned, crushed and mutilated... but the serum had long since radically decreased his pain receptors, so all he'd felt was a dull throbbing ache as he'd laboriously pulled himself, still smoldering, from the wreckage. A minute later, long before the following police cars had arrived in his speeding car's wake, he'd been up and moving through the woods. A few minutes later, he'd been all-but-healed. His skin, newly re-grown, was as soft as the proverbial baby's bottom, and he was completely hairless until the burned hair could grow back at a massively increased rate, but other than that he thought himself to be almost completely healed... though it was hard to be sure, since he felt...

It was hard to finish that sentence. He certainly wasn't in any pain, and he didn't feel 'bad' or even 'weird'. There was just something subtly different about how he felt as he made his careful way through the woods - but it wasn't that not-quite-definable difference that had wiped the smile off his face.

It was the thought that the same serum that had allowed him to survive the wreck was directly responsible for causing it.

When the researched had proposed the serum in exchange for cancellation of the debt, Brendan had been understandably doubtful of the claims made. In fact, he'd only reluctantly agreed to the '30-day trial' the researcher had proposed - Brendan would take the serum and, if after thirty days, didn't think it was worth it, could come back for the 'antidote' and go on with his normal routine of stripping the company for assets.

Within days of taking the serum - or retrovirus, or whatever the researcher had called it - Brendan had known he wouldn't be going back for the antidote.

Almost immediately, he'd found his stamina and muscle tone improving. Though his lean body grew no more muscular, his overall fitness rapidly improved. Indeed, with relatively little effort, he could have packed on pounds of muscle, since the serum allowed for any exercise to have a greatly enhanced effect - but he'd never cared to have a 'body-builder' physique, and the fact that within a week of taking the serum he had the stamina and overall health of an Olympic-class athlete was good enough for him.

He'd also kept track of the way the serum had decreased his body's ability to feel pain - and, at the same time, a matching increase in sensitivity to pleasure. When you coupled that with the increased size and potency of his 'equipment', it had brought sexual experiences to a whole new height for him - and with an equally increased sex-drive, it was a height he was eagerly driven to reach as often as possible.

Of about average height, with a lean and lithe body and casually-styled golden hair and electric-blue eyes most women found 'captivating', Brendan had never had trouble attracting the opposite sex - and where charm and good looks failed, there was always his wealth to fall back on. As it was, he'd always had as many sexual companions as he cared to... until the ability and drive had been vastly increased by the serum, and he found himself 'falling behind', becoming annoyed with the time 'wasted' on the chase when he could have been enjoying the rewards.

The obvious response was, of course, hookers. No foreplay necessary, and he could certainly afford as many a day as he wanted. By the end of week two, he'd fallen into a routine of calling in a discrete 'escort' and having her use a wide variety of skills and methods to bring him to two or three relatively rapid-fire orgasms - which earned him status as  a minor legend at the agency that sent the girls out, especially since he repeated this entire cycle three or four times a day.

Physically, he could have spent all day and most of each night doing nothing but getting fucked and sucked - but even with his enhanced sex-drive, he enjoyed the growing sexual 'need' between bouts, whereas constant, instant gratification of each sexual desire would have quickly jaded.

Everything had been going utterly fantastic... until today.

A business matter had come up that had required him to spend all day in a lawyer's office. Deprived of his usual sexual outlets, the sexual need had only continued to grow during what had seemed an interminably long day. It had been steadily harder to concentrate on the business at hand as both mind and body had cried out ever-more-strongly for sexual satisfaction.

The final straw in this particular situation had been the fact that the lawyer in question, though not up to his usual standards, especially in the endowment department, was nevertheless a fairly attractive woman...

Pausing among the trees, peering towards a light-source just over an intervening ridge, Brendan frowned as he put his finger on one of the 'oddities' about what he was feeling.

The lawyer's screams had brought the evening cleaning crew bursting through the door of the office, and he'd fled the scene of his attempted rape without having gained satisfaction. His run from the police had been performed in a haze of unsatisfied lust, his massive new manhood straining his pants and begging for release...

...and now he felt absolutely no desire at all, and the charred remains of his pants lay flat over his crotch.

"Guess there's nothing like a supposed-to-be-fatal crash to kill the mood..." Brendan chuckled weakly, the slightly puzzled frown remaining on as his face as he pushed his exquisitely-tuned body into an easy run up and over the ridge.

Below him, the height of the ridge giving it the look of a scale model, lay a truck stop. Haloed in lights strategically positioned about the expanse of blacktop, the large multi-service building was a 'super service center'. One of the newer industries dotting America's busiest highways, like the divided interstate this one serviced, the establishment not only boasted full fueling and repair facilities for cars, trucks and busses, but also housed four nation chain 'fast food' restaurants, a sit-down, eat-in diner, a coffee/gift shop, a convenience store, and a small motel featuring by-the-hour cubicles. Even in the wee early hours of morning, that wide pavement meadow was strewn with vehicles of nearly every description, though still somewhat shy of being half of what it could hold.

Feeling relief at the multitude of possibilities such a thing present, Brendan started down the broad sloped towards the well-lit service center...

...and five strides into the descent, suddenly doubled over with enough force that he pitched forward, tumbling wildly down the rest of the slope to the bottom.

It wasn't pain that had caused him to double over, any more than he felt the normal pain a 'unenhanced' human would have felt from the bruising, perhaps even bone-snapping tumble. No, what had caused it was something different.

 Hunger. Ravenous, overwhelming, feels-like-your-stomach-is-imploding hunger. It wasn't painful, but in it's own way it was nearly as incapacitating, as it felt as if his entire body was trying to collapse into an internal void that had opened up inside him.

Stunned, Brendan staggered back up onto his feet, staring across the wide expanse of lit blacktop at the building that housed enough food to feed an army... but would utterly refuse to serve him in his current condition.

His body was still rapidly healing itself, the cause of the gargantuan hunger as it burned up calories to regain it's full health. A quick touch told him that he had perhaps on inch of blond hair now crowning his scalp, and even thin eyebrows, though the rest of his body hair had yet to even begin growing. Another quick look revealed that his wallet and the contents within had escaped the brief fire he'd endured relatively unscathed - his credit cards were probably demagnetized, but there was nearly two thousand dollars in the bill-fold.

No, the problem wasn't physical or monetary - it was sartorial. His clothes, little more than charred rags, just wouldn't do.

In order to feed the ravening hunger that was growing stronger by the minute, he needed to find something else to wear.

Almost desperately, he began to circle the outer extremity of the lot, trying to remain inconspicuous while he searched for some way of replacing his clothing. The hunger, building at an incredible rate, was making hard to concentrate - and the fact that his sexual drive was beginning to re-emerge wasn't helping matters. He felt light-headed and slightly confused, mind flitting between his rising physical needs - one of which was both so close and so far from satisfaction that it seemed likely to drive him crazy. If he didn't find something else to wear, soon, he might find himself as helpless to stop himself from barging into one of the restaurants and ripping food from patrons hands as he'd been to keep himself from assaulting the lawyer.

Then his luck kicked in - he came across a rusty old Ford station wagon, whose owner was either moving 'on the cheap', or was a gypsy. Not only was the cargo area filled with boxes and belongings, but the roof-rack was piled high and covered with a rope-bedecked tarp... and, partially protruding from the back corner of said tarp was some clothing.

Quickly, Brendan grabbed some articles, praying that the owner would assume they'd fallen or been blown out somewhere on the road. Clutching his ill-gotten gains, he back-peddled to a shadowed spot under some trees lining the parking lot, and quickly started to get changed...

"What the fuck...?!" Brenda gasped, staring in shock down at his crotch.

It was completely flat.

There was no evidence of injury, which meant that the rapid healing was working away - but there was also no indication of his manhood.

"Oh - must not have gotten that far yet..." He muttered, remembering the brief 'sensation' on impact that, in retrospect, seemed to signal castration. Well, that would explain why he hadn't been horny during his run through the woods... and the fact that he was now fighting arousal as well as ravenous hunger must indicate that his body was rebuilding his sexual organs again, even if there was as yet no visual sign of it... right?

The thing of it was - as dismaying as it was to look down at his crotch and see nothing, even that couldn't override the incredible hunger that was taking over more and more of his attention. Pushing the whole thing aside as being momentarily irrelevant, he quickly finished dressing and stuffed his cash into the pockets of his 'new' jeans.

He was dressed, and that was good - but even as he hurried across the parking lot towards one of the fast-food chains, some part of him not swallowed up by his monstrous hunger was annoyed at the fit of the clothing. At first, he'd thought he'd been incredibly lucky, because the clothing seemed roughly his size, at least in terms of the lengths of pant legs and shirt sleeves... yet the man who owned this clothing originally must have had a very strange build, for the clothing didn't fit at all the way Brendan had expected.

As annoyingly tight as the clothing was in some places, it was loose in others... but the single largest annoyance was the boots, and not because they 'fit weird' - they were, quite simply, too small. At least, with diminished pain receptors, they didn't hurt... but he'd had to fight to get his feet into them, and the result was that he was forced to take shorter, more hesitant strides than he was used to. Worse, they were cowboy boots. Never having worn cowboy boots before - or, for that matter, held a pair or seen a pair close up - Brendan hadn't realized the stacked heel was so tall. It had to be at least two inches in height, and that would probably have annoyed him enough to take them off an put his damaged loafers back on - if for the fact that he was so starving hungry that the thought of turning around and going back to where he'd left his own ruined clothes was unthinkable.

Tottering atop the blocky heels of the too-tight boots, Brendan made his way into the fast-foot restaurant.

A small part of his mind suggested he go into the bathroom and get a better look at himself in a mirror, so he'd know what other people were seeing when they looked at him - but at this point, that small part of his mind was very small indeed. Just as when his lust had overridden his intelligence at the lawyer's office, now his hunger ruled his body, and he had to fight to keep from simply pushing to the head of the short line.

When his turn came, blissfully quick, he ordered five whole super-sized combo meals. If anybody was looking at him strange for any reason, he didn't notice - no more than he noticed how strangely soft and high-pitched his own voice sounded as he ordered. All he could think about was food, a craving made only all the worse by the smells that filled the fast-food place. He overpaid for the food and refused to wait for change, which was sure to garner him some strange looks indeed, but not the sort of thing that would cause anybody to get upset - though he retained just enough intellect under his hunger to take the food 'to go'. Ordering five meals might not have been all that strange, as he could have been buying for a family - but sitting down and eating five meals would have been noticed and remarked upon, and his survival instinct was just barely strong enough to allow him to avoid that. Instead, he took the paper bags full of food and scampered out into the night, heading for the closest 'dark corner' behind the buildings where, agreeable, he found a couple of picnic tables set out. Seating himself in the dark, he began to pull food from the paper sacks and gorge himself, not particularly caring about what he was eating as he chewed and swallowed as fast as he could. His nails - growing, like his hair, and the incredible rate the serum/retrovirus allowed - were long enough that they slowed him down some, but no enough that he was willing to pause and bite them down to a shorter length. Besides, while in 'hyper healing' mode, they'd only grow back as quickly as they'd already grown.

Finally, Brendan scarfed down the last bite of hamburger, chasing it down with the last gulp of cola. With his body using the food/fuel almost as fast as he packed it in, he wasn't 'full' - in fact, he was still somewhat hungry - but no longer ravenous. In fact, he was feeling that strange, almost dreamy sort of glow that came after assuage most of his bodies mot important needs, leaving him feeling pleasantly thick-witted and 'dozy'.

The partial sating of his appetite allowed him only to become more strongly aware of the previously lesser sexual urge thrumming through his body - as well as another urge, no less strong then the sexual one, but one he'd been unaware of because it had seemed part of his hunger.

It wasn't a completely unfamiliar feeling, as he'd felt a variation of it before, and it was quite close to feeling hungry - but it was, in fact, his body telling him he was hungry for something specific, something his body seemed to need that he hadn't gotten from the food he'd eaten. A missing vitamin, perhaps. Unfortunately, he was only aware that his body craved something, without knowing what it was - but, from his previous experiences with rapid healing, he knew he wouldn't have much trouble finding out. Once, during healing, his body had needed potassium... and when he'd walked past a bunch of bananas in the fruit bowl in his kitchen, the simple smell of the bananas had nearly driven him insane, and he'd scarfed down the entire bunch almost as mindlessly as the meal he'd just now finished.

Well - almost finished. Overwhelmed by his body's desperate need, such things as good eating manners had fallen by the wayside. Dreamily, he reached down with one slender, long-nailed finger and scooped a glob of mayonnaise from the canyon of his creamy cleavage, and with a soft moan of pleasure, slipped the long-nailed finger between his full, soft lips...

He fell off the bench.

No - jerking in reaction to the realization penetrating a dazed and dreamy mind, SHE fell off the picnic table bench.

"What...? How... Why...?" She stammered, struggling to fight through that heavy haze slowing and obscuring her mind. Like many things since taking the serum/retro-virus, it was a familiar effect that was greatly intensified - like the 'dozy' feeling after Thanksgiving dinner taken to it's extreme limit. It also had a somewhat muting effect on emotions - which meant that the confusion, fear and horror she felt wasn't as sharp-edged as it should have been, given the circumstances.

Her dazed mind, rather than focusing primarily on her body, instead decided to pick up on an 'irrelevant' issue - the clothing she was wearing.

The clothing which fit a lot better than it had before.

The clothing, she realized belatedly, that was women's clothing.

Jeans and a blue-and-white checked shirt, plus the cowboy boots. In the dark, driven with hunger, it was no wonder that she hadn't clued in on the fact that the clothing, unisex in general appearance, was women's clothing... but now her brain made the connection, simply because the clothing that had been so uncomfortable before was now uncomfortably comfortable on her newly feminine body.

"No..." She said, shaking her head and trying to clear her logy mind. "No, you're doing it wrong! You're supposed to be healing me back to a man... not a woman..."

Dimly, she realized that having been castrated in the crash must have somehow made her body 'think' it was supposed to be female, and that's how it was healing itself... but between the post-gorging doziness and the distracting sexual arousal and strange craving, it was hard fro her to get her brain working.

As it was, she was barely alert enough to realize she should go to the bathroom of a different restaurant then the one from which she'd bought the food, just in case somebody both recognized her and noticed how her body changed. With a slightly swaying step, she made her way towards the restaurant nearby, everything seeming to both happen in slow motion and yet seem strangely sharp and clear - at least, whatever she was focusing on seemed preternaturally 'real', while everything else was lost in a strange mental haze.

'There's more wrong her than I know...' she thought to herself. 'I've never felt this way before - something my body is doing is different. This 'healing'... it isn't right...'

Well, she'd never experienced such damage before, to so much of her body, at one time. She had nothing to compare her body's current situation to - all she knew was that the way her body had 'chosen' to rebuild all that damage wasn't what she expected, or wanted it to do.

Ignoring some strange looks cast her way, she made her way through the restaurant to the hallway leading to the bathrooms. She paused at the door to the men's room, to let a man just emerging to clear the way...

"Uh, miss...?" The man said, looking at her oddly. "This is the men's room."

For a few seconds that felt like ages, she simply stared at him, not comprehending - then she blushed as realization struck her. Not out of 'embarrassment', as the man obviously assumed - out of humiliation at the fact that she was now in a situation where the men's room was the wrong bathroom for her new gender.

Muttering something inane, she swiveled with a half-stagger, and pushed hesitantly through the door to the women's bathroom.

Thankfully, it was currently deserted - she didn't think she could bring herself to enter an occupied women's bathroom. Regardless of whatever her body might make people assume about her, she still thought and felt like a man, and so would have felt like a pervert - still felt like a pervert, as a matter, of fact, it was just that there was nobody around to see 'him' being a pervert.

Hesitantly, she approached the mirror...

...and only a quick grab-and-catch of the edge of the sink kept her from falling as a wave of dizzy faintness swept over her at the sight of her reflection.

A young woman gaped back at her....

To be continued...

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