The World Is Mine For The Taking

I carefully positioned the device on Shredica's head, ensuring that the electrodes made precise contact with her scalp. The device's intricate network of wires and sensors began to hum softly as it powered up. I initiated the sequence, watching as the device's display lit up with complex patterns of shifting lights and data streams.

The device, a high-tech amalgamation of neuro-stimulation and memory modulation technology, was designed to interface directly with the brain's neural pathways. Its primary function was to alter memory encoding and retrieval processes. The settings were calibrated to access and modify the regions of the brain responsible for memory formation and cognitive functions.

I adjusted the parameters on the control panel, setting it to overwrite Shredica's memories with the specific data I had prepared. The system was programmed to penetrate the hippocampus and prefrontal cortex, areas critical for memory and decision-making.

As the device activated, a low-frequency pulse began to permeate her brain, intended to facilitate the insertion of the new memories while erasing existing ones.

The device emitted a soft, rhythmic pulse, its frequency carefully tuned to avoid any detrimental effects. The data streams were processed in real-time, with the device mapping Shredica's neural activity and ensuring the memories were integrated seamlessly. I monitored the progress through a series of holographic displays, checking for any anomalies or irregularities in the data.

"RAaaaaaaaaaaAAAaAaaaaaaaaaaaaggghhhhhhhhHhHhhhhhhhhhh!!!"

Without warning, Shredica's scream erupted, a guttural cry that seemed to tear through the very fabric of reality. The sound was raw and visceral, an anguished howl that filled the room. Her veins, sickly purple, bulged and throbbed grotesquely beneath her skin, pulsing with a dark, unnatural energy.

"GRaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaHhHhhhhhhhhhh!"

As Shredica's scream echoed through the room, the device continued its relentless operation, sending pulses of data directly into her brain. The information was meticulously encoded into electromagnetic signals, designed to interface with the synaptic connections in her cerebral cortex.

The device worked by gradually rewriting her memories, threading new neural pathways that would overwrite her previous identity.

Her brain, now receiving a flood of artificial stimuli, was being bombarded with carefully crafted memories, each one designed to reinforce the new identity I needed her to adopt. The process wasn't just about altering her thoughts; it was about restructuring her very essence, molding her cognitive functions to align with the persona I was implanting.

Shredica's eyes fluttered as the device forced her brain into a hyper-receptive state, making it easier for the information to be absorbed. Her pupils dilated unnaturally, a sign that the neural synapses were firing at an accelerated rate.

The machine's algorithms monitored her brain activity in real-time, ensuring that each memory was seamlessly integrated without triggering a cognitive dissonance that could lead to mental collapse.

Her breathing grew ragged, and her body convulsed as the implanted memories began to take hold. The device's sensors detected the minute changes in her neural chemistry, adjusting the flow of information to prevent overload. It was a delicate balance—too much data, and her brain would reject it; too little, and the process would fail.

The hypnotic state induced by the machine allowed the information to bypass her conscious defenses, embedding itself deep within her subconscious. As each memory was implanted, her brainwaves shifted, reflecting the growing influence of the new identity.

The feedback loop between the device and her brain ensured that any resistance was swiftly crushed, reinforcing the hypnotic suggestion that these new memories were real. The brain's plasticity—its natural ability to adapt and reorganize—was being ruthlessly exploited to forge a new version of Shredica, one that might just be able to pass as human.

After that, Shredica slumped, her body going limp like a puppet with its strings cut.

I had no idea if it worked, and no clue if this was even a good idea. All I could do was pray that it would go as planned.

***

Minerva's POV Find exclusive content at m.v.l.e.mpyr

The authorities arrived at the lab, clad in hazmat suits and armed with electric batons. These batons, designed to subdue zombies, were originally meant for the Slayers but were now in use by the authorities as well.

"Ma'am Minerva Fischer, we're here to take you, your daughter, and the accused infected," one of them announced. "Since there's no definitive proof yet of whether she's infected or not, all three of you will be cuffed. This is standard procedure, especially given your extended contact with the suspected infected."

The hazmat team moved in, securing my wrists behind my back with the cuffs. Jessica offered no resistance and allowed them to cuff her without a fuss. Shredica shot a fierce glare at the hazmat team, who tensed at her intense stare. Though they were wary of her intense stare, they eventually managed to cuff her as well, seeing that she made no attempt to resist.

They led us to the car that would transport us to the hearing, chaining our cuffs to the vehicle to limit our mobility.

"I don't think this is really necessary," I protested.

"Sorry, but we're taking precautions," one of the hazmat-clad officers replied.

Finally, we arrived at the courthouse, where the hearing would decide if Shredica was indeed infected. Jessica, who had dark circles under her eyes, seemed to have been working hard on something, so I wasn't too worried. My concern wasn't entirely gone, but I had to trust in whatever she had done. Shredica, unusually subdued, was glaring at everyone instead of her usual growling.

"Are you sure she won't try to bite us?" one of the hazmat personnel whispered.

"She can't reach us, so we're probably safe. Probably."

They remained cautious, their nerves evident.

We exited the vehicle and made our way into the courthouse. The moment we stepped inside, a wave of eyes turned to stare at us, the buzz of murmured conversations filling the room.

"Is that the infected?"

"Looks like it."

"Her hair is so purple. There's no way she isn't infected."

"The Fischers really are a threat to humanity. First, that incident in the lab where they turned normal humans into superhuman soldiers, and now they're bringing an infected onto Hope Island? This is absurd."

Everyone here was high-class. Even in this apocalyptic world, society maintained its hierarchy. There were clear distinctions between the high, middle, and low classes. Eventually, the three of us were led to our seats, surrounded by authorities clad in hazmat suits.

They were keeping us in because they were terrified we might be infected, and Shredica could wreak havoc. If the infection spread on this island, it would definitely mean the end of humanity.

On the other side sat the mayor and his son, Evan—the same bastard who tried to violate my daughter. I glared at him with all the fury I could muster, wanting nothing more than to smash his skull in with my metallic arm. But acting on that impulse would only make things worse, leaving me seething and conflicted.

The room fell silent as the judge, a stern-looking woman with graying hair pulled back into a tight bun, banged her gavel. Her voice echoed through the courtroom, cutting through the tension like a knife.

"This hearing will now come to order," she announced, her tone leaving no room for nonsense. "We are here today to determine the status of the accused infected. The decision we reach will impact not just those present, but the entire population of Hope Island."

She glanced over her glasses at us, her gaze lingering on Shredica before shifting to the mayor and his smirking son. "The prosecution may present its case."

The mayor's attorney stood, adjusting his suit with an air of superiority. "Your Honor, the evidence against the suspected infected is overwhelming. Her appearance and behavior all point to the undeniable conclusion that she is, in fact, infected. Allowing her to remain on this island poses a significant risk to everyone here."

He directed his gaze at Shredica.

"While she appears incredibly docile now, it is crucial to remember that she, or rather 'it' now, attacked Mr. Evan Wright. Although Mr. Wright managed to escape, the mental trauma inflicted on him demands that 'it' be executed. Not only for that but also for being an infected."

The mayor's attorney continued, his voice dripping with contempt, "The incident with Mr. Wright is a clear indication of the danger 'it' poses. We cannot afford to be complacent, especially when the safety of everyone on this island is at stake. The nature of these creatures is unpredictable, and we must act decisively."

The judge nodded thoughtfully. "Does the defense have anything to say in response to these accusations?"

I stood up. "Your Honor, Mr. Evan Wright tried to violate my daughter, Jessica, and Shredica intervened to defend her. That's a clear case of self-defense, isn't it? It doesn't mean Shredica is a Demon Zombie. I believe Mr.

Wright is making a fuss because he didn't get what he wanted."

The attorney sneered. "That's a lie, as far as I'm concerned. If it wasn't a Demon Zombie, then how do you explain its ability to fight off Mr. Wright? He's trained in self-defense from military school and has mastered both defensive and offensive techniques. You know this because you, too, learned these skills in military school.

Shouldn't a so-called 'normal' person be unable to hold their own against someone with such advanced training if they weren't an infected with enhanced strength?"

"That's only natural," I said, then turned to the judge. "Because Shredica is a superhuman soldier."

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