MicroHorror

Julius had a strong mind, and so wasn’t going to have the personality change when he got his serum injections. The army would increase his stamina and muscle mass and eyesight through genetics, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let the “slight cognitive syzygy” affect him. As Julius got used to his new strength, he began picking up traits that weren’t his. He had newborn cravings for pistachio ice cream and abstract sculpture. So did everyone else. The cafeteria perpetually served pistachio ice cream for dessert, and gorgeous welded monoliths were mounted on pedestals between the barracks. As his body changed, it began resembling everyone else: exactly 234 pounds of pure muscle. His platoon members had names, but their personalities were so interchangeable he only knew names when he was staring at their nametags. He was different, though. He didn’t wave his independence around, but he was still his same old self. It was a good thing, too, since he could tell this crew was tough but might be a flock of sheep. They needed a leader. Not just someone to point out the enemy, but someone willing to put his life on the line for the platoon’s safety. He stayed stoically silent about this until they were flown to battle. It was a trench fight, with a 300-yard no man’s land to cross. The machine guns would get 50% of his platoon if they all sprinted toward the enemy at top speed, and 100% if they hesitated at all. He would set the example, and help to save platoon lives. He ran like hell out of the trench. Everyone else was supposed to follow, he figured, but everyone else decided to set the same example at the same time, charging out with him.