THANK YOU FOR LOVING ME

Alistair tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword as his stomach fluttered in anticipation. It’d been years since he’d seen her. Years since he’d been able to stare her in the eye and tell her how he truly felt.

Ever since Cullen had informed him of their recent capture, Alistair had spent hours throughout the night roaming the hallways, thinking of which words to pick, what tone, how everything would look when she finally saw him again. Sentinel armor, of course. It’d seemed only fitting since she was the one who’d given it to him. The sword had been harder to track down—everyone wanted the blade that had slain the Archdemon, but Leliana had taken care of the mess well: bodies hidden, pockets filled, no strings to him.

“Your Highness,” Cullen said with a bow as he entered the Great Hall. He tugged on the chains in his hand and a woman staggered forward into the light. Her clothes were frayed and stained. She walked with a slight limp despite the great effort she took to keep her back straight and jaw set. Halfway to the throne, Cullen placed a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to her knees before the King she’d helped create.

“Hero of Ferelden,” Alistair spat out the title with as much venom as he could manage. “You are here to answer for your crimes, some of which include: the annulment of Kinloch Hold, the destruction and burning of Redcliffe Village, the slaughtering of elves of the Brecilian Forest, the corruption of the Urn of Sacred Ashes, the enslavement of golems, the debauchery and murder for Dwarven allies, making Loghain a Grey Warden only to force him to sacrifice himself soon after. Even for you, I thought that one was particularly cold. Colder even than what you did to me. Though I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised after what you happened with Wynne. Did you enjoy holding her body in your arms?” Alistair sneered at the guilt she dared to show. Guilt, remorse: as if that made up for any of the things she’d done, the messes she’d made, the lives she’d ruined.

“But most heinous of all, Warden,” Alistair continued, “is your deluded belief that you could turn around and pretend as those none of that mattered. That you dared to think that you could escape your actions and start anew.”

He stood from the throne, enjoying the hiss of metal on stone as he let the tip of his sword drag across the floor. “Ferelden didn’t get a new start. Redcliffe didn’t get a new start. I didn’t get a new start! After all you did to this kingdom, to me, you thought you could just walk away?”

In 1953 a certain laboratory on an undisclosed location developed a serum that could genetically modify humans, giving them enhanced speed, agility, strength, and brainpower.

Scientists found a way to modify the serum such that it could only activate itself in the presence of a Y chromosome, thus isolating the effects to men, mostly because of female discrimination at the time.

The serum was a success, and sales skyrocketed just a few weeks after its release.

What the developers did not anticipate, though, was the human body’s incapacity to handle the serum. The mental and physical over-exhaustion triggered a mental decay which starts out slow, but speeds up exponentially within a few months after usage of the serum. The brains of the users are left with only the most basic survival reflexes, transforming the users into strong, fast, agile, emotionless human shells, devouring any mobile life form in their path.

Bites from the affected individuals could place copies of the rogue serum into the bodies of the bitten, giving them the symptoms. Shortly after, the serum evolved into a sort of genetic virus, causing mental decay in just days. No one was safe. No one…

…except the women.

JBJ 1982