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Surrogate [Grungeknuckle & MiseryChord]

LooseTimber

Super-Earth
Joined
Dec 6, 2013
Twelve years had passed since mankind had lost it's dominance on this world. Twelve years since it had fallen under the shadow of the dead. Cities, full of people, were but distant, fading memories. There were children who knew no other world than this, where humanity eked a meager existence, living in constant vigilance, looking over it's shoulder, ever fearful of the oncoming horde. To have a moment to oneself, a brief breath to relax, was a rare luxury, especially for those out on their own.

There were some places where people were still able to live as people, where life had some semblance of normalcy. Fort Craigson was one such safe haven. A military fort, expanded and modified to house survivors, had become a small town in it's own right. It had running water, solar power, medicine, basic lab, and a massive hydroponics farm. Though the military, or what was left of it, still oversaw everything, for the most part the citizens had general autonomy. They could have jobs, run shops, and learn trades, though most tended to be either gardeners, or join the military hunting missions.

Fort Craigson also had a weapon against the zombie blight, something designed specifically to help humanity hold on. The last great miracle of science, birthed at the twilight of civilization. Project B10WA982. On file, they were called Dead Hunters. The everyday folk just called them Z-Dogs. Self-aware bio-weapons, animal-plant hybrids that could cut a line right through a zombie horde, smart enough to hunt and kill, not enough to fear pain or death. They couldn't be turned, they couldn't harm the living.
Such creatures couldn't reproduce on their own, though. A failsafe, placed by the scientists that created them, to keep their final creations from getting out of control, and becoming a brand new horde. Though the Z-Dogs could produce the seed and eggs on their own, they had no means of gestating their young, of bringing them to term. For that, they required a surrogate womb. The first generation were born from test tubes. All others had to be delivered by human hosts.

It was a messy, uncomfortable experience, but someone had to do it. In Fort Craigson, it was called "Breeder Duty." Sometimes female soldiers were assigned to it. Sometimes ordinary citizens volunteered, and given incentives of extra food tokens. More often than not, criminals within the fort itself were used, as either a means of becoming useful members of society, or a means of shortening their sentence. There was always a short supply, and high demand, for breeders.

Maybe when the practice first started, it was considered shocking, to see a woman being ravaged by something the size of a mountain lion, filling her to the brim with it's seed. Nowadays, though... well, it had become more commonplace. There was no television, no radio, no internet. You could only read the same book or play checkers so many times before you were ready to blow your brains out. So what else was there for entertainment?
They even had a special place set aside for the breeding to take place. Called simply the Breeding Pen, though some of the more crass in town called it the Sploogepit, it was set up almost like a mini arena. A lowered platform, floor of smooth concrete, with metal grating along the edge, for easy cleanup. People would gather around, leaning on the railing, and watch as abomination and woman had their way with one another. An even larger crowd would gather if it was a group, or a "Brutus" class.
Watching someone have their time in the pit was not at all strange.
Being the one in the pit, and especially for the first time, was a different story. All those eyes, watching you, judging you, lingering on your naked form.
And that's before the breeding would even begin...
 
If you had asked the woman twelve years ago, a simple thirteen year old, where she would be, she certainly would not have guessed this. Her lithe body was on full display as she awaited her turn in the "Breeding Pen", her first time with the beasts.

Quinn Parker bounced on her feet nervously, her body jiggling slightly. She looked over to her fellow officer, her body round and gravid with last weeks breeding. "Does it hurt?" She asked softly, not afraid of anything. The military had crushed any fears the young woman once had. Anya shook her head, her short hair slinging about. "No. They are gentle. It actually feels....well...amazing."

Quinn watched as her hands ran over the large belly she had, motherly affection shining in her eyes. A sort of sick feeling washed over the soldier, her guts churning with anxiety. She dreaded that the day her name would appear on the roster to be a breeder, it coming sooner than she had hoped. Her body was in prime condition for mothering these creatures.

Pulling back her auburn locks, she secured them with an elastic, keeping them out of her suntanned face and icy blue eyes. "I don't know if I'm ready for this...."
 
Dr. Rodger Asis marched into the small medical room that served as both a birthing station, and a place for the assigned "breeders" to prepare. He was a short man of Filipino herritage, mid-thirties, though he looked much younger when clean-shaven. Over his military fatigues he wore a long silicone-rubber smock, and knee-high galoshes that squeaked as he walked. He had a thin, minimal fat figure, the kind one gets while on their feet all day, constantly moving. Unlike most of the other soldiers, he did not have a crew cut, having his moderate-length hair pulled back into a stubby ponytail.

"Private Chervo, how are we doing today? Rugrats are kicking, I assume?" he said, almost cheerfully, coming up next to Anya, as she lay on the medical bed, resting on her back. She'd be coming to term today, if not in the in the next 20 minutes or so. Briefly Dr. Asis glanced over his shoulder at Quinn, "I'll be with you in a moment, private, er..." He glanced at his clipboard, "Parker. Just got to check on Anya here." With a reputably good beside manner, Dr. Asis would have made an excellent family doctor in the old world order. As it was, he was the head of the breeding program, which put him somewhere between the base's zoo keeper, and their gynecologist.
"I know this is your first time in the program, so... well, some of our participants like to, er... warm themselves up, so to speak, before going in. You needn't worry about lubrication, the hunters will take care of that, but some women find it helps set the mood, for themselves that it. Just... just a suggestion."
He proceeded to inspect Anya, listening to her engorged stomach, running his hands over it, checking up on the development.
 
Anya smiled brightly to the doctor, rubbing her stomach as if for emphasis. "We're doing fine Dr. Asus. They are still for the time being. Not nearly as rambunctious as usual." She lay there patiently as he examined her, anxious to hear his news. Meanwhile, behind him, Quinn had went red. His suggestion had embarrassed her. What he was suggesting...well it was something she only did in private! Deciding it was best however, she moved to a nearby table and climbed onto it, laying back and spreading her legs.

Long, nible fingers moved over her hairless lips, spreading them and teasing the sensitive flesh. She let out a tiny moan as she brushed over the tiny pearl of her clit, her nipples pebbling up and starting to ache.
 
"Please, just call me Rodger, Anya," he said, not looking up. After listening and feeling for a moment, the doctor looked at Anya's stomach, quizzical, chewing his lip. Almost in response to Quinn's tiny moan from across the room, he called over his shoulder, "Just a few more minutes, Ms. Parker, thank you. Anya," he returned his attention to the woman in front of him, "if you'll humor me, I'd like to run an ultrasound, won't take a minute."

Indeed, it didn't. Since she was already undressed, applying the gel to her stomach was easy enough, and soon enough he was running the small, ball-headed wand over her stomach, looking between Anya and the image on the screen. Dr Rodger seemed to be carefully deliberating something, the expression on his face not exactly worried, but just concerned. After a moment he set the wand aside, and took Anya's hand.
"Anya," the doctor started cautiously, "firstly, I want you to know, everything is alright. The baby looks healthy, however, there may be some minor complication with the delivery."
He turned the screen to let the young soldier see. Indeed, the image on the screen showed a healthy pre-birth Hunter. However, there was only one of them. But on the other hand, it looked to be nearly twice the size of a normal Hunter pup.
"It looks like we have a Brutus on our hands."

Brutus Hunters. Champions among their kind, towering at over their brethren, rare and beautiful gems of biology. An intersection of providence and genetics, they where what the Dead Hunters should have been, if the original scientists had only known that they could have reached that far.
The problem was, unlike the usual hunters, which were born in pairs, the Brutus were born one at a time.
 
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