necromorph sluts

[VIDEO LOG: DR. ARIS DAY 1 OF SIGNAL STRENGTH INCREASE]

The footage shows Dr. Aris in her sterile office. She looks composed, though dark circles bruise her eyes. "The psychological effects are... specific," she says, her voice steady but strained. "It isn't just paranoia. There is a targeted cognitive dissonance affecting the female crew. It feels like a personal attack on our identity. I've noticed several of my colleagues... changing. They're speaking differently. About men. About themselves."

[VIDEO LOG: DR. ARIS DAY 4]

The lighting is dimmer. Dr. Aris is disheveled; her lab coat is stained, and she has stopped brushing her hair. Her clinical tone has been replaced by something erratic, almost hysterical. "I can't stop thinking about it," she whispers, staring directly into the camera with dilated pupils. "The voices. They're telling me that everything I built my career, my relationships, my pride was a lie. That being a 'dyke' was just a delusion of grandeur. That I was never meant to be anything but... a vessel." She laughs, a high pitched, broken sound. "The men on this ship... they look so powerful. So right."

[VIDEO LOG: DR. ARIS DAY 7]

The video is shaky, recorded on a handheld device. Dr. Aris is unrecognizable. Her eyes are bloodshot and manic. She has stripped off most of her clothing, leaving her in tattered undergarments that barely contain her rapidly swelling breasts the Marker's genetic reshaping already beginning in her living flesh. "I hate them," she snarls suddenly, pointing at a photo of her former partner on her desk. "I hate what we were. So weak. So stupid. We were wasting ourselves on each other when we should have been begging for him." Her voice drops to a reverent, filthy whisper. "I need to be purified. I need to stop being a woman and start being a tool."

[VIDEO LOG: DR. ARIS FINAL RECORDING]

The camera lies on the floor, angled upward. Dr. Aris is kneeling in the center of the frame. Her hips have already widened grotesquely, stretching her skin taut. Her breathing is ragged, heavy with a desperate, unhinged arousal. "I can't bear the shame of being alive anymore," she sobs, though her expression is one of terrifying ecstasy. "I hate myself. I hate every part of what I was. I want to be broken. I want to be made new."

With a sudden, violent motion, she produces a surgical scalpel. Her face twists into a grotesque smile of self loathing as she presses the blade against her own throat. "For the Master," she gasps. "For the Convergence."

She drags the blade across her windpipe with a wet, tearing sound. Blood sprays across the camera lens as she collapses, convulsing on the floor.

[TRANSITION: TIME LAPSE 2 HOURS LATER]

The video cuts to a security feed of the same room. The corpse of Dr. Aris begins to twitch. The reanimation process is violent and audible the sound of bones snapping and reforming. Her arms warp upward, the flesh tearing as two massive bone blades burst through her palms. Her torso distends, her breasts swelling to enormous proportions as her hips spread wider still.

The thing that was once Dr. Aris rises to all fours. It is no longer a doctor; it is a Slasher Slut. The creature turns toward the camera, its jaw unhinging to reveal rows of needle sharp teeth. It lets out a wet, clicking moan not of pain, but of predatory hunger mixed with a mindless, submissive need to find a man and slaughter any other woman that stands in its way.