CPL JASON BONE

   U.S. MARINE CORP

   ISRAEL GEM TESTING FACILITY

   GEM BARRACKS

   ON A TUESDAY

How long has it been since I've seen my face, my old face. I knew what I was doing when I signed the forms, I knew what they were asking me to do, and I was fine with it, hell even happy about it... Till the protests and riots started. Some of the other GenMod soldiers like me are gonna buy a ranch when we get home, just a huge ranch where no one will lock their doors and cover their children's eyes when we walk down the street to get a big mac from McDonalds. The whole reason we're here is because people protest the right to genetically modify yourself, because they don't agree with the form we are now. They don't care that soldiers can regrow fingers and toes, ears and noses, they only hate them too so they don't look racist when they protest us. Hell, some have been killed as soon as they step off the plane. Men who survived whatever the world had to throw at them dying the moment their foot, hoof, paw or claw land on American soil.

Internal monologue aside, Jason looked like your average GEM tester, marine BDUs, tan coat, brown hair and hazel eyes, his wings were sky blue on the bottom and desert tan on the top, a form of automimicry that matches his ColourShift wing suit, a natural set of knuckle dusters made of karatene, hooves with small ledge like protrusions for extra stability and sticking into small cracks in walls, a poison resistance boast, extra stomach bacterial for the digesting horse feed and grass. Basically, he was a walking experiment for anything the military might want for their soldiers.

"Hey, Jason! come on lets go, stop your bitching about how your face is still ugly as sin. They got some new Mods for us to test." Hey, I like my muzzle just the way it is. Looking away from the mirror, Jason made his way outside to confront the fat hippo responsible for ruining a good day with just his presence.                                                                                                                                    

"Ok Jason, this one we'll be testing is a wonderful idea brought to you by the boys at the D.O.D. Its called Flak Flank, basically turning your hide and coat into fire resistant and concussion absorbing materials, the only down side is it doesn't stack with your kevlar karatin mod, so try not getting into any firefights with this one on, are you ready?"  The gender neutral tone speaking over the 2 way nanos in Jason's ear ignored telling Jason the explanation of how, instead going straight to the now test this new trick part of the experiment. Admittedly, most of the Mods are rather... Oversold. Kevlar karatene was a bust for any non-Scalies, but the extra feeling of safety that comes from have a literal "bulletproof hide" is a welcomed feeling.

The rush of adrenaline coursing though his veins as he stepped up to a small white X on the floor, a few feet away someone was smoking a cigarette while wearing a full body heat resistant suit made of shiny aluminum like material. In his other hand from his cigarette was a small, 1 gallon tank flamethrower.

"Let's burn his horse down!"  Jason replied with enthusiasm. For some reason, Jason was one of "those" people who liked puns. How or why is best left unanswered.

5 minutes later, Jason walked over to the next part of the experiment, being shot in the flank with a beanbag. The flame retardant test revealed that not only did the mod take hold but worked better then the scientists thought, only second degree burns covered the flesh under his coat.

2 minutes, and a few new bruises later, Jason limped out of the labs and headed to the armory. Sure, he tested a dangerous mod. Sure, he basically had one of his arms engulfed in flames for 5 minutes straight. Sure, getting shot with a beanbag hurt, but Jason didn't care. The mods he had in his library were always in danger of being outdated by the newest members of the strange bunch of people who, like Jason, wanted something more. Something they felt was missing from themselves.

Having wings was a pretty cool thing, except now and then he forgets them and rolls over in his sleep, or walk though a door without folding them up, or when he's laying on his back looking at Playboy and gets what can only be called a wing boner.

The fuck... Birds don't deal with this shit, why should he? Fine. Okay, so where was I? The armoury, right.

After grabbing his combat kit from the armoury, Jason started walking to the barracks to get ready for another pointless patrol though a city that hates him. Dropping the bag on the ground and pulling out the weapons, armour, wingsuit, and tactical equipment, Jason started organizing the gear, guns and equipment on the left, armour and wingsuit on the right. Checking the firearms first, followed by the various grenades, tools, explosions and medkit. Checking though his helmet's and goggles functions and smiling when everything turned out to be functioning, he proceeded to run a quick check on his second set of combat clothing. Looking for any holes in his wingsuit before finding a small dent in the steel plate of the armoured wing pockets, Jason pulled out his can of machine nanites and sprayed some on the dent. Satisfied that the armour would hold up, Jason shook the can and decided to pick up more before his patrol starts. Looking though his med kit, Jason found everything was up to snuff and decided to get started.

Its gonna be a long day, maybe I can find something interesting at the market, if the civies don't overcharge me or refuse to even sell to me.

Boring, boring, boring, bor-Hello. What have we here and whatnot. Walking up to the stall, Jason saw many trinkets and toys that remind him of video games. Looking around, Jason noticed something,

"How much?" He asks the Merchant behind the stall, pointing at a cane with Obama on it, only the former president had an expression that could only be called walleyed. Knowing his favorite uncle would definitely get a kick outta it, Jason decides to buy it for a fair price.

"Ah, good eye my friend, the Obamacane can be yours for a mere 50 dollars." He replies. Now Jason isn't a fool, something like this looks like a cheap prop used in an infomercial.

"40."

"45."

"43."

"Deal, enjoy your purchase, my friend." Picking it up and giving it a twill, Jason replies.

"Its not for me, its for a friend back stateside... Wha?" Where there was a stall with many wonders is now an empty space. Weird, this country makes no sense. Without noticing the light show going on under his hooves, Jason puts the cane in his duffle bag, being a part of an experimental unit had it's perks.  Jason turns to leave, and immediately falls on his muzzle.

Lemon Hearts was having a pretty nice day, Cranky and Matilda were gonna get married soon, she was at least 2 blocks away from the bugbear, and she even had this funny cane. Suddenly, a deep bass sound with the lighter sound of a cello came out of nowhere. Dropping her gag gift that she was gonna give to the happy to be soon married couple, she was hit by an UMO, (Unidentified Musical Object) and was sent flying. What she didn't see was the prone figure that popped out of a rainbow that appeared seconds after the cane was ran over by the Bass Boaster. Sadly, the moron was awake when he arrived.