Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings belong to Warren Ellis, Darick Robertson and Vertigo; I am using them without permission but mean no harm and am making no profit. The plot, however belongs to me. Any and all feedback, flames or comments are welcomed at celendra@globalfrequency.org. Redistribution of this tale for profit is illegal. Please do not archive this story without contacting me first to obtain my permission. Note: Continuity wise, this takes place right after Transmetropolitan #7 (Channon's boyfriend joins a foglet community) and inspires Transmetropolitan #7 and 8 (Revival Mary's story and Spider visits reservations). This is just a random SJ 'I Hate It Here' column that answers bloodyink's May Challenge. End of Days By Celendra I Hate It Here I can see dead people. I just wish they'd fuck off. When I tell Tico, a foglet, that he just laughs and says that if I don't like him as a ghost, to give him a shape. "Any shape," he challenges me. "How about human?" He calls me a rat-faced pig fucker. So I tell him that if he can turn himself into one of those, I have a editor who'd be very interested in him. It did get me thinking, though. Come on, children. I know you've had a thought, once or twice. It probably had something to do with a meal or a fuck, but stay with me. How about human? More specifically, what about human genetics? Our form is old fashioned; pure human stock, in appearance and genetic typing, is harder and harder to find. No, I'm not one of those G-Reader carrying, racist fucks. Stop that hue and cry before it starts; I'm not in the fucking mood. When I look down from my new apartment, onto the City below, I can see dead people. And transients. Werewolf-hybrids making Mexican-doormat-cancers. And people who slip off their skin for a weekend or a vacation - or a lifetime. People beginning the addiction to mechanics. People with plugs and barcodes for nipples and penii that play CDs and one hundred million innovations on the basic form of 'human'. Except for the original. The only people without traits, bought and paid for, have mutations that warp them worse than any paid-for changes. Our world has become a place, for better or for worse, where 'normal' humans cannot and do not thrive. They hang on, waiting to die. As their genetic strain disappears from the next generation, so do they. They dry up and are fucking blown away. Away to Revival homes and reservations. Away from the intense 'tomorrow' of the City. It has been the defining characteristic of humans to always strive for tomorrow. If any of you dogfuckers has the attention span to remember it, that's what humans have always looked for, throughout history - tomorrow. Better stronger faster. Drugs, cars, people, buildings, entertainment, technology. Better stronger faster. Always. Until now. Now, here, in this City, we've gone one step beyond tomorrow, and I doubt the ability of the human race in its original form to take that final step. And, at bottom of all of your survivalist little souls, you doubt it too. That's why you're shedding your more human traits. Shedding them for the modification of the day. For humans, there is no day after tomorrow. _________________________________________ GLOBAL FREQUENCY: A serial by Warren Ellis http://www.globalfrequency.org * http://www.warrenellis.com are you on the global frequency? GlobalFrequency.org e-mail is hosted by www.CBRMail.com.