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Chapter One
Sylas
“What the fuck? Sylas!” Grizz wrinkles his nose as I enter our barracks.
The other splicers echo his disgust at my smell.
“What the fuck did you roll in?” Foxy-looking boomer is no-nonsense, just pure outraged disgust. Though he asked the question, I’m certain by his tone he has no desire to know the answer.
“I can’t help it. You guys try being flooded by mating hormones,” I toss over my shoulder as I hurry to one of the community bathrooms. I’m not sure they heard me. I was too busy running through the lounge to avoid more mocking scorn.
As I soap, rinse, and soap again, I reflect on what brought me to this place in my life.
I was created in a science lab, bred to be a supersoldier. God knows what they were thinking when they threw human and animal DNA into my test tube. I don’t understand the intention behind using elk DNA to create a killing machine.
For the most part, my nature is calm and compliant. Although I wasn’t the aggressive soldier they tried to breed, I was helpful enough in other ways that they didn’t terminate me during the decades they kept all of us in cells.
Three years ago, the United States Army rescued us from the evil science experiment run amok. Instead of setting us free, they housed us underground in Area 51, where we were socialized and educated. There, for the first time, I met all the other splicers—that’s what we call ourselves. I’d met many during training and missions prior to our rescue, but mostly we were locked in small cages and seldom allowed to talk, especially to each other.
When the army taught me about things other than warfare and fighting, it was like a rebirth. I loved being able to laugh and joke with my new friends. I discovered the Internet, learned how to draw, drive, play the guitar, and a thousand other things that regular humans take for granted. Best of all, I began to nurture my sense of self, to discover who I am as opposed to who I was bred to be.
Because of our backgrounds and that we were created to fight and kill, the army was cautious about introducing us to females. In fact, it was only a few months ago that we were brought from Area 51 to this enormous parcel of land in rural Texas. They deemed it the ultimate step in our journey to assimilating into society.
During all those years in cages, as well as when we were underground in Area 51, no women were allowed near us. When we arrived here, twenty lucky males were chosen to move to the other side of the property and integrate with twenty civilian women who were handpicked to socialize with us. Those males are learning trades with the women as their mentors.
I was not one of the lucky ones. I, along with seventy-nine others, am on the south side of the property in a large, comfortable living quarters. We call it the Reject Barracks. To this day, I haven’t met a woman. Which isn’t to say I haven’t smelled one.
I read on the Internet that an elk’s sense of smell is up to a thousand times more acute than that of a human. It said this is one way the species avoids danger. I don’t know about keeping me safe. All it seems to be doing is driving me crazy.
I’ve been through periods of rut before. It’s happened every fall since I was in my teens. They were brief and just made me a bit hornier than usual.
This year is certainly different. Although this property is 60,000 acres, I can smell those twenty females as if they were in the same room as me. I don’t know their names, but I know their identities.
I’ve quantified them and imagined each one by their scent: the sweetest one, the one that smells like baking bread, the one who carries the scent of old books, and others. Being able to tell all twenty of them apart, I’ve created pictures of them in my mind.
Their fragrances swirl and mingle and assault my senses. This must be the reason my rut struck me with such ferocity this year.
Now that I’m clean, I efficiently work my cock to stem the rising tide of my arousal. I’ve had an almost constant hard-on for days and although I ease myself three or four times a day, the urges return almost as fast as my spend circles the drain.
Though I’ve managed to contain the compulsion to bugle, it has been building, as though it’s a living thing in the back of my throat. And today, I couldn’t stifle the urge to piss all over myself.
The Internet says bull elks use it as an attractant for elk cows. I hope not. Having an elk cow come crashing through the woods we’re surrounded by would be more awkward than the guys’ catcalls in the lounge.
Honestly, I don’t know why I’m showering. The urge to piss on myself is building. It’s so overwhelming, I’ll probably do it again the moment I’m dressed. I’m going to have to switch to Plan B.
Chapter Two
Sylas
“Hey, bro,” Corporal Lopez calls into the bathroom from the hallway while I’m rinsing for the third time. “It’s a good thing Colonel Slater built that Quonset hut in the southeast corner of the property. Do you think it’s time?”
We may be the “rejects” of the bunch, but we’re all pretty well socialized. The soldiers watching us are more friends than guards. Lopez must have had the same idea as me. Plan B. I can leave the Reject Barracks and isolate myself until this shitty urge to rut passes. I’m not fit for company—human or otherwise.
“Yeah. Give me a minute.”
“I’ll grab you some food. Want one of the guys to pack some of your clothes?”
Would it shock him if I told him I’m so deep in my animal mind I’d rather run naked through the property than wear clothes?
