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When Steampunk Lizards Attack.

When Steampunk Lizards Attack.

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Set in a steampunk version of London in around about the 1930s, Fitz’s world has been taken over by a process known as “gene-splicing”.

585 readers have visited When Steampunk Lizards Attack. since MissDred created it.

Introduction

Set in a steampunk version of London in around about the 1930s, Fitz’s world has been taken over by a process known as “gene-splicing”. What originally started as a government initiative to create the perfect soldier (men with claws, with legs like cheetahs, tough skin, ability to go for days without water, extra strength and so on) has filtered down to the public as a way to be fashionable. The process of gene-splicing is simply explained but much harder to achieve – simply, it involves taking animal cells and mixing them with a subject/customer’s human cells, thus creating women with cat ears, tails and whiskers, or men who howl at the moon and are covered in hair with the ability to tear you limb from limb. The royal family have also embraced this fashion trend, all of them being enhanced to have dragon scales (from that of a komodo dragon), they are the only people in the British Empire who are allowed these and anyone else is executed on charge of treason.

It can also go the other way, and it is equally fashionable to have a gorilla with simple human intelligence as your bodyguard or any number of exotic animals that are spliced with a modicum of intelligence to make them docile. The very poor have been known to sell their cells to provide these services, which leaves them partially brain damaged – known as the “Halfs”.

However, only the really rich can afford to have this done at licensed clinics, and many people have taken to having the process done in seedy establishments off back-alleys for a fraction of the price. This has a higher risk of side-effects where the animal cells can completely dominate the human cells or animals develop an advanced human intelligence. In both cases, it is possible for the subject’s/customer’s cells to reject the foreign cells, leading to brain damage, comas, insanity and even death.

As a result of this, there has been a surge of “anti-splicing” groups. These groups are divided, with some running for animal-rights and others to preserve the “pure human”. Both have extremist groups who attack clinics, free caged animals, and there have even been recent cases of genetically enhanced humans (known as “anthros”) being found murdered in clear displays of protest. This has led to a further divide between Humans and anthros, with many hate crimes taking place between the two.

London is woefully unprotected by the police who are, by law, not allowed to undergo genetic enhancement, which leaves them as no match against the anthros. Many of them are now subject to bribery and corruption, and turn a blind eye to the fact that London is divided between three gangs who run the city. These are known as the Felines (named because, well... all of their members carry feline characteristics, though typically those of the big cats and no one would attempt to scratch any of them behind the ear...), the Lupes (wolf characteristics and the most vicious of all the groups, very territorial) and the Übermensch (this group is of foreign origins, mostly German, and are the most suspected of being the perpetrators behind the majority of the hate crimes permeating the city. They have no specific characteristics and are considered more of a way of life/a belief – that they are superior to Humans).


There are no set characters but here are some suggestions if you need ideas:

- Leader of any of the anti-splicing groups
- Fitz's friend or work partner
- Powerful members of any of the London gangs
- Potential clients for Fitz's detective agency
- Helpful passerbys

Toggle Rules

Why do my rules keep disappearing. ;___; Not that I really have any beyond these:

1. Be literate.
2. Some stuff about it being 1930s and steampunk.

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The sight of a gorilla sitting on one’s chest would have been enough to make anyone question why they got out of bed that morning, but for Fitz McMillan it meant that today had just gone from bad to worse. He closed his eyes with a groan, letting his head bump softly against the ground. This prompted a sharp pain between his eyes, though, of course, with the gorilla potentially doing irreparable damage to how his internal organs were arranged, Fitz managed not to pay it much heed.
A shadow fell over him, just visible through the darkness of his eyelids. “Ah, awake at last, Mr McMillan.”

An order was barked and Fitz inhaled sharply as the air came rushing back into his starving lungs. The inhalation quickly turned into an unhealthy sounding cough, even to Fitz’s medically untrained ear, blood spattering on the already blood-slick floor as he turned his head to the side.

In no hurry to resume the situation, which was on hold for as long as he could manage to keep his eyes closed (it was delusional but he probably had a concussion of unknown severity so he didn’t question his logic), Fitz spat out the blood which still lingered in his mouth. Bloody ribbons of saliva hung from his lips, and he leisurely, gingerly, raised an arm to wipe his mouth on his jacket cuff. Somewhere beside his head, a foot tapped with impatience and he could hear the gorilla snuffling some way off.

Finally, unable to delay the inevitable any longer, he opened his eyes, feigning a look of surprise as he gazed up at his companion, green eyes somehow maintaining their customary twinkle of not taking anything too seriously. “Goodness, Williams! Have you been standing there long? Terribly sorry, I must have nodded right off. Glad to see the wife is doing well,” he said pleasantly, trying his hardest to keep the pain from leaking into his voice. He dropped his voice to a whisper, casting a surreptitious look at the gorilla, “Though, between you and me, she could do with taking a bath.”

Williams sneered down at him, lip curling up to reveal unnaturally large teeth. “It’s Wolf now.”

Fitz paused to run his tongue along his gum, silently thankful that all his teeth seemed to be correct and present; and the natural size. You could never be too careful when you passed out in a back alley in London. “You know, it’s funny. You would have thought that one of the Lupes would have thought of that name already, wouldn’t you?”

His benign smile was met with a snarled, “It’s not a name. It’s a title.”

“Oh, I see. So, what does that make you, then? Their maid?”

For a second, Fitz was almost fearful that Williams was going to do something really serious to him, like kill him, but at the last second something seemed to change in his demeanour. “I couldn’t expect you to understand. You’re just a human,” Williams spat. It was meant as every bit of an insult as Williams made it. In an age where it was fashionable to have gorillas spliced with human intelligence as bodyguards, to sport whiskers and tails and sharp teeth, Fitz had even seen several more extreme cases of unicorn horns, a horse’s body, and tentacles (the less said about that the better), Fitz really was something of an abomination. Which was just how he liked it. He’d heard the rumours (diligently kept out of the press, of course) of gorillas kidnapping young girls in New York, and lizard creatures going crazy and terrorising Japan, and he’d, quite frankly, rather not take the risk.

Williams snapped another order to the gorilla, which started to lumber over to the pair of them. Fitz eyed it warily, his ribs still protesting from his last meeting. However, the gorilla continued around him to stand next to Williams. “Next time we catch you snooping around on our territory, we won’t be so pleasant. The Lupes are watching you, McMillan.”

Well, they could join the club.


The day had started, as they often do, with Fitz being slapped by a woman. Only, this time, he felt that it was rather undeserved. “Ow. What was that for?” he protested, clutching a tender cheek with his hand.

“You’re no different to all the rest of them! You don’t give a damn about how many animals are hurt, do you?”
“Now, now, that’s not fair. I never said...”

Dammit, why were women so attractive when they were mad at him...

She didn’t pause to listen to any of his excuses, instead spinning on a heel and flouncing out the door. The guy at the table opposite gave him a sympathetic look and Fitz nodded politely, pressing his fingertips tentatively against his cheek before running his hand through his hair with a sigh. He really hadn’t actually said anything about wanting to join her protest. Why did they always assume that because he chose not to have his genes spliced with an animal that he was actually interested in animal rights?


In hindsight, that really had been the highlight of his day. Following that, he’d been called many malicious and unfair names by the woman’s friends, nearly been run over, threatened by the Übermensch, kicked out of his apartment, and he’d realised that it had been exactly two weeks since his last case. Not counting finding an obscene number of lost cats (the Felines were about one of the only gangs in the city that actually liked him). He was fairly sure that Mrs. Herman was just making excuses to come back and see him now; he would have shuddered but he was pretty certain that he had at least three broken bones. The ground was cold and wet beneath him and a streetlamp flickered despondently against the low hanging smog, what a charming place to die...

Oh, dammit, no way was he going to die here. Fitz slowly heaved himself upright and took a deep breath, slowly assessing just how much damage had been done. He definitely needed a drink.

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Character Portrait: Fitz McMillan

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Character Portrait: Fitz McMillan
Fitz McMillan

A private detective with an eye for the ladies but generally a heart of gold.

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