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Marina Delgado's Journal
The Milk Run
Downtime
A Quick Jab
This month post-contract has been both weird and kind of awesome. Ever since that close call off the Valparaiso coast, things have been different, and I’m talking more than just a lucky escape. Whatever saved me did more than just keep me alive—it flipped a switch. The little lights on my skin are becoming part of the daily view, a strange perk of surviving the deep.
Been diving into this new journey, literally, spending time in the water like never before. It feels like the ocean's literally in my blood, and I can sense a certain something growing—an edge, a bond, maybe even a bit of power. My eyes seem sharper, their watery hue catching more than they'd been ever able to see before.
So, this month? About digging into what's happening to me, testing boundaries gently without drawing too much attention. There's a heap of mystery to unravel, but honestly, what better adventure could I ask for? The ocean’s still calling, and right now, I feel like my journey with it is just gearing up. Onward and upward, or should I say, seaward.
Adventures in babysitting
Downtime
Wasp Factory
Talent called. Again. Same team: Cain (apparently that's the name of the guy I've been calling Number 1) - nice lad, polite and buffed as usual. Delmond (formerly known as Number 2 in my head)? Still saltier than the Dead Sea. Chip on his shoulder's so big it's practically a third teammate.
Flew to Ohio. Destination: some obscenely opulent manor that'd make a nouveau riche oil baron blush. If tackiness were a crime, the owners would be serving life. Contract? Babysit Jessica, a 16-year-old. Thin as a bird, bit entitled, but decent kid. Guess obscene wealth doesn't buy parenting skills - or taste, for that matter. Got our briefing in a kitchen bigger than my lighthouse. We were to take her to her basketball game, ice cream after. Home by 12:05. Simple, right? Ha.
Job went tits up lightning fast. Arena lights out -> Kid vanished, the entire thing took maybe 5 minutes. Fantastic. Searched everywhere. Found squat, except a lead to some rave club. Joy.
I was suspecting kid had abducted herself to escape her overbearing parents, but no. We arrived to find Goon Central in a rave club, packed to high heaven. Diplomatic approach to enter and find the VIP failed spectacularly. Plan B: guns blazing. Not ideal, but when in Rome... well. We had barely crossed the door when Delmond lost every single one of his marbles, mowing down civilians like weeds. Cain and I dodged death in the bullet hell. Some first American nightclub experience.
We somehow extracted the VIP and left the club under fire, police horns in the distance. Made it home by a hair, reeking of gunpowder, blood, and regret. Contract "successful." Sure, if you ignore the body count. Feels like a loss to me.
Note to self: Better earplugs. Delmond's gunfire's still ringing in my ears. Maybe time for a career change. More marine biology, less bloodshed. At least sharks are predictable.
Gen-Wyld: Beyond Natural
On March 14, 2018, a little-known company named Gen-Wyld announced FDA approval for a groundbreaking procedure to enhance a patient’s primary and secondary sexual characteristics using gene therapy. The company was an overnight success.
Shortly thereafter, they introduced a suite of gene-altering body modification procedures that allowed patients to make dramatic aesthetic changes to their bodies by gene-splicing “non-human” anatomy. Those daring (and wealthy) enough can now add cuttlefish pigmentation to their skin, sport a pair of fox ears, and even add a functional tail. While rare, these so-called “modders” draw plenty of hate from conservative communities.
Thanks to their revolutionary procedures, Gen-Wyld is now a household name. Norman Carlson, Gen-Wyld’s chief evangelist, recently announced the company is in the trial phase for a groundbreaking treatment for diabetes.
Yet despite their success, a shroud of secrecy surrounds Gen-Wyld. Their no-patent policy obscures the secrets of their procedures from the public eye. Financial experts claim that Gen-Wyld is run less like a traditional business and more like an NGO with some specific, unknown objective.
Some claim that they will not stop until humanity has been reduced to monstrous slaves and that Gen-Wyld’s board of directors will install themselves as inhuman overlords of the new world order.
However, until the true secrets behind Gen-Wyld are discovered, the genetic biotech firm will continue to grow, develop, and progress its grand designs.