Zygote Batman

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A burned out child advocate descends into madness and decides to get politicians pregnant in a deranged scheme of revenge for slights against her sex.

Submitted: March 10, 2013

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Submitted: March 10, 2013




Zygote Batman

Tracy Mullington was a burned out child advocate lesbian.  When a little girl held her hand at the foster home and asked if they could go home together because she had been the best mommy ever, Tracy cracked and broke deep in her heart.  It had only been a few meetings talking about sexual abuse, but apparently the little girl was not accustomed to endless patience and gentleness.

Tracy had passed her bar, had a good (though brief) three year history as a practicing lawyer. But she couldn’t do it anymore.  No interest in law, no interest in money.  She wanted to be a permanent in-between-year post-baccalaureate bohemian with a futon and shared internet.

However, regression offered Tracy no healing.  Her girlfriend, professional and busy, drifted away because Tracy was proving to be a depressed piece of human waste during her “sabbatical.”

That’s because Tracy was, like most people, healed by active healing through positive action, not running away to festering and despair.  However, Tracy was aggressive and righteously angry at those who hurt the vulnerable.  For her, positive action involved “taking someone out,” or “putting that bastard behind bars.”  Her psyche became desperate to go back to what she did best, taking out bullies and criminals who harmed the vulnerable.  Her despair, manifested as Wheaties and old milk in the mini fridge in her down-sized apartment to make her savings last longer, gave way to burning, flaming anger at the 11 o’clock news each night.  One Friday, four months into her “sabbatical,” she found a news story she could latch onto.

Tracy’s state, according to the evening news, had passed a law banning 12 week and further abortions.  As a far end of the Kinsey scale lesbian,  abortion was an abstract idea to her.  She would never need one most likely.  She didn’t want her own kids, she had burned out her mama bear instincts on other people’s societally disposable children.  However, there was an inherent unfairness to the law. It was made by old white men for women.  Old white men, who like her, didn’t really know.  But she could know, it could happen to her.  It could never happen to the old men.  Like a spirited three year old who does not get ice cream on the way home as promised, she was rageful.

And so she raged at the box of Wheaties and wiped out the mini fridge.  In days following she tried to redirect her building anger by re-potting her single, pale spider plant.  She fruitlessly planned re-opening her practice and ending her “sabbatical.” She even visited an open house for a new apartment.

But it didn’t satisfy, it all made her want to return to the futon of despair.  Soon, the next half gallon of milk went bad and the fruit loops that  represented her Technicolor self-deceiving optimism went soft with the bag left open.  But the anger fed on itself, a growing ouroboros of instability.

She began having napping dreams, half-awake futon fantasies.  She imagined being a rapist and somehow buggering the old lawmakers and laughing as they carried her infants to term.  She woke up with a screwed up feeling that resolved into more righteous anger.

The obsession that helped her focus on law and four or five abused and abandoned kids at a time went inside-out and built her revenge fantasy.  Her girlfriend stopped calling entirely and used social manipulation to gain favor and move away her circle of friends.  No one gave a rat’s dimpled anus about her, and because all her clients had been children she didn’t even get Christmas cards from former clients.

The revenge plan gained structure.  The structure was built with scaffolds of internet searches.  She downloaded a completely anonymous browser and learned how to access the Deep Web, the internet that wasn’t on Google.  She paid, anonymously, for a college student’s school I.D. and began searching through scientific articles on their university library’s system.

She fed her revenge fantasy with comic books about vengeance. Batman was her key figure.

In the months that followed she paid out of pocket, and used a fake name at a fertility clinic.  She got her eggs harvested, blowing much of her savings.  She got a sperm donor (via frozen samples, not an actual man.) She found that one can buy all kinds of medical equipment on grey and black markets of the Deep Web.

Dr. Milenevich, who also had the initials T.M., fertilized the embryos and froze them for Tracy.  Apparently, at least one fertility clinic will just accept that a lesbian partner who is never seen wants to have fertilized eggs implanted in her at a future date – and so, Tracy built up an unusually large supply of frozen embryos by paying cash.  She was careful to wear fashion glasses to hide her face each appointment, and wore pumps with lifts to change her height, and she used a practiced fake voice, and dyed her hair, and put on make up to make her nose look narrow and her cheekbones higher.  And then, demanded one day, with a small liquid nitrogen tank in the back of her car, that the embryos, her property, be handed over without question.  The nurse practitioner balked, but Dr. Milenevich came into the room wide eyed and honored the request after adding a few lines to, and having Tracy sign, a consent form they used when transferring frozen embryos to a new facility.  Tracy signed it “Marjory Tillimook” and put the aliquots with the embryos into liquid nitrogen in her car before they thawed.

Tracy’s revenge plan centered around legal precedents and the scientific process of embryo implantation. She looked up hormone implants, injections, and paid a Taiwanese fertility clinic a lot of anonymous money for hours of informative Skype sessions, further reducing her now meager savings.  She bought a few more items on the Deep Web, finding out that female fertility hormones were actually quite popular for male body builders to illicitly add bulk.  Inspired, she stole a large barbell from a yard sale.

And so, a broken child advocate with an obsession for revenge, Tracy smeared mud on the license plates of her Most Popular Car in America beige Toyota Camry, hid her figure in bulky sweat clothes, layers of shirts, a ski mask, and used four different online maps programs with her anonymous internet browser to find the best routes to the Internet White Pages addresses to the top 10 pro-life politicians in her state according to a cross-indexing of several prominent anti-abortion publications.  Her endless energy was a run on sentence of hypomanic action.

In one night she struck six of the top 10.  She snuck in to houses with their windows open to relieve summer heat, or their back door unlocked, or the door to the garage unlocked, or cellar doors with rusted locks that hung open with a bit of pressure.

Following the protocols she learned from Taiwan, she thawed and prepped the embryos. Each aliquot had three in it.  She sucked them into a very long needle, holstered the needle, and trespassed.  She was delighted to not actually have broken and entered thanks to the open windows and doors.  She walked straight up to the master bedroom of each house and placed the barbell across her sleeping victims, pinning them into their soft beds.  As they woke and put up a fight she was fast with the duct tape.  When they were properly cocooned and their wrists and ankles tied (with more duct tape) to the bed posts, she cleaned the skin of the man’s abdomen with a surgical prep pad and did something akin to a punch liver biopsy.  Unlike a biopsy, she was injecting slowly as she pulled the needle out, instead of trying to punch out a tissue sample.  She then made little cuts all over the man with a disposable scalpel.  After each cut she poked at the tiny cut violently, and glued it closed with purple colored medical super glue.  In one of the cuts, among all the decoy slices, she forced in a plastic hormone implant in the scalp or among the pubic hair, somewhere visually hard to examine and not particularly sensitive.

She drove her Camry home, cleaned up, and went to a morning appointment at the local children’s hospital to pretend to follow up with a caseworker.  She hadn’t been there for six months, but everyone still recognized her and waved her in.  She dumped the medical supplies in a biohazard bin while there and left, apologizing that her date book must have been wrong.

She waited a week, then two.  And no one found her.  The attacks were all over the news, the “paper cut bandit” who stabbed six men with a needle and then covered them in little cuts.  Each cut had been carefully glued shut afterward.  According to the same news channel that originally lit her ire, the men should seek anti-viral treatments as a precaution in case this was an infection with AIDS.  The pundit who suggested that the papercut bandit was spreading HIV caused a massive misdirection and the men’s tender nipples would ultimately be overlooked as probable side effects from the anti-viral cocktails they were prescribed.

She waited six weeks while the televised news media completely moved on and the victim’s tiny cuts healed, and they all tested negative for various diseases according to subsequent newspaper articles.

At week 10, when one victim’s doctor’s had found a female hormone implant in his scalp, which brought the story back to the papers, she prepped her injunction and the lawsuit she would subsequently file.  Without being able to know for sure if the embryos implanted, she made a gambit.  On week 12 after the attack she transformed back into a lawyer and filed an injunction to prevent an illegal abortion in the six men.  The court threw it out, and she publicly protested that she had been anonymously informed that the men were likely pregnant but the court was going to let those babied be murdered, illegally! This caused a subsequent media uproar, and each of those men was hurriedly ultrasound scanned as her victims feared in horror, that there could be truth to the T.V. news, and demanded their fears be mollified.

For two of the six men, their fears were not mollified.  They had first trimester ectopic pregnancies.

HIPPA guaranteed the men’s medical privacy from the public, but their physicians, nurses, ultrasound technicians, and wives, talked an awful lot.  It only took two days after her gambit for the story to break that two of the victims were indeed pregnant.  She re-filed her injunction.  This time, it went through.

Tracy’s injunction and lawsuit argued that because the men were not mothers, as the law referred to females, they did not get the protection of life saving abortion.  There had been no sex, so it was not rape or incest.  The personhood of their fetuses trumped their health.  Tracy spoke of the consequences to the judges let these legal persons die due to legal loopholes.

The media circus to follow outshined the O.J. Simpson trial, the Clinton impeachment, and the multi-millennia academic study of the trial of Socrates.

Her mental break fed on the Schadenfreude.  She was able to get the men under house arrest so they couldn’t leave the state to murder the legal persons inside them until the lawsuit was complete.  She got a couple pro bono lawyers to join her and form a legal team.  One from the ACLU, and one from Planned Parenthood.  Their purpose was to force the judge to strike down the law or else these men would die.  But not without heavy handed theatrics, because her insanity seemed contagious in the face of what should have been a biologically impossible situation.

In a twisted performance of public outrage, feminists came in doves and demanded that the pro-life laws be upheld for these men.  They used irony as a weapon and chanted for fetus freedom and that if the men hemorrhaged from their livers, well maybe the fetuses could be saved.  The men had unending horror of GETITOUTGETITOUTGETITOUT and one ended up in the hospital when he hit himself in the stomach with the back of a dining room chair and tore his unborn baby’s placenta from his liver.  Tracy immediately pursued that he be tried for manslaughter or perhaps first degree murder.

The college students and in-between year post-baccalaureates came in drove to soak up the irony and chant with the feminists.  The New York Post published “when men get pregnant they want abortions” even though it was three states away.  The protester’s signs in front of the court house, which were occasionally mingled with one stating “Free Tibet,” provided a back drop for reporters and pundits worldwide.  The BBC and Al Jazeera (the better quality Arabic one, not the English one) sent reporters in person, as did the Taipei Times and numerous other news media groups from around the world.

The extra irony was not lost on Tracy that as a child advocate she had doomed all the embryos and the two fetuses to death, but she had gone completely bat shit and that sort of thing no longer made an emotional impression.  Plus, she was not totally convinced that fetuses were legal people.  And she was batshit.

By the time the remaining pregnant man was in the second trimester, he was forced into bedrest at the hospital and being given female hormones to sustain the pregnancy because the placenta tearing from his liver would likely kill him.  A portion of the placenta had also attached to his bowel.  The doctors advised immediate termination before the placenta became too large to remove safely.  They stockpiled his blood in anticipation of major bleeding.  They also complained of potential cancers he might develop due to the hormone regime.

The first man, who had killed his fetus and nearly bled to death inside his body cavity, was facing murder charges thanks to Tracy and her crack legal team. Unless that was, the state congress took action and changed the law, or a judge ruled the current abortion laws unconstitutional.

The same day as Tracy’s legal team’s televised news proclamations about repealing the abortion law, Tracy received an unsolicited boon.  The hactivist group Anonymous, or someone using their name, falsely claimed responsibility for the attacks and threatened to impregnate every male member of that state senate in a major online press release if the right to choose wasn’t returned to the state’s women immediately.

The state congress held an emergency session.

The law was repealed, the remaining pregnant man had his abortion and liver surgery, the pope remained silent on the issue, and Tracy ended up becoming a successful, ruthless, and permanently batshit corporate lawyer for Monsato, a company with vested interests in winning unusual biologically-based court cases.

The End.

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