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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. |
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