[Entry #47 – Date: Unknown, because I don't care enough to check]
You know, when I was a kid, I thought diaries were for angsty teenagers who couldn't confess to their crushes or for bored suburban moms who needed to vent about wine nights gone wrong. Turns out? A diary is just free therapy, and therapy costs money. So here I am, writing this down because my head is too full of questions and too light on answers. Also, because who the hell else am I going to tell that I injected myself with one hundred different samples of shady DNA?
Yeah. A hundred. Triple digits. I counted, because the little labels on the vials were helpfully numbered like some demented Pokémon collection. "Gotta inject 'em all," right? If this kills me, at least I'll die knowing I didn't half-ass it.
---
Let me rewind a little. There's this organization. I think they called themselves S.P.E.A.R. Or maybe it was SPEAR, like the weapon? Doesn't matter. Acronyms are always stupid. Nobody ever remembers what they stand for, and when they do, it's usually dumber than expected. Strategic Something Something. Yeah, whatever. Point is, they're shady. I can smell shady from a mile away, and these guys reek of it like Axe body spray on a high schooler.
They pretended to be "international peacekeepers." Please. Rich guys like me know better. Whenever a group says "peace," they usually mean "guns," and whenever they say "protecting humanity," they usually mean "controlling it." I don't need to know their full resume. Hell, I barely remember their acronym. S.P.E.A.R., HYDRA, A.I.M.—alphabet soup of assholes. They can all choke on their acronyms for all I care.
So when I somehow got my hands on a hundred little vials of "DNA samples," what did I do? Sell them? Hide them? Hand them off to some superhero with a moral compass? No. I did what any rational, bored rich man with a death wish would do. I tested them on myself.
And you know what? Most of them sucked.
---
Sample #1 through #20: Mostly junk.
I injected #1, waited, felt my skin itch, and thought, "Ah, here comes the superpowers." Nothing. Just nausea and an urge to vomit out my spleen. #2 was no better. By #5, I realized half these vials were probably just saline or expired genetic soup.
By #12, I was starting to hallucinate colors that don't exist. That sounds fun until you realize your brain can't actually process them, so it's like having a migraine in 4K Ultra HD.
#18 was the first "success." My skin turned gelatinous. Like, full-on Jell-O consistency. I looked in the mirror, and boom—every organ was on display like I'd been turned into some middle school biology class project. And not only did it look gross, but I was also extremely flammable. I'm talking "light a match near me and I'd be the human torch's ugly cousin" flammable.
I call that one the "Glob experience." I think the poor bastard that DNA came from was literally named Glob or Blob or something like that. Yeah, thanks but no thanks. I purged that out of my system immediately. Pro tip: if you ever become transparent and flammable, detox like your life depends on it. Because it does.
---
Sample #21 through #40: The "Weird Cousins" batch.
#23 gave me a tail. Not a cool, lizardy tail. Not a prehensile monkey tail. Just… a long, hairy rat tail. It smelled bad. I shaved it off, burned it, and vomited twice.
#27 made my teeth glow in the dark. Useless, unless I want to audition as a living nightlight.
#31 gave me feathers. For about six hours, I had a chest covered in greasy pigeon feathers. Did I fly? No. Did I look majestic? Also no. I looked like a diseased bird that failed to migrate.
#34 made me bark like a dog whenever I sneezed. Do not ask me how. It was horrifying.
#39 was interesting. My hands emitted sparks whenever I rubbed them together. Not lightning. Not electricity I could control. Just static shock, cranked up to an obnoxious level. Imagine walking around and electrocuting yourself every five minutes. I couldn't even touch my phone without frying it. I lasted one day before flushing it out.
---
Sample #41 through #60: The "Almost Useful but Not Quite" crowd.
#44 increased my lung capacity. I could hold my breath for like ten minutes. Impressive, but not exactly superhero-tier. Unless someone's holding me underwater, it's just a party trick.
#47 hardened my bones. Now this one was cool. I felt sturdier, like a walking Kevlar vest. Still, it was only a fraction. A fraction of a fraction. Enough that if someone smacked me with a baseball bat, it would hurt less. But if someone with claws—let's say, a certain Canadian with anger issues—slashed at me? Yeah, I'd still bleed like everyone else. This is where I realized that the 1% claim is probably a fat lie. They said, "Each DNA sample will grant you 1% of the donor's abilities." Bullshit. If that's true, then these donors must have been the weirdest bunch of losers alive.
#53 gave me webbed toes. Why? Just why.
#56 gave me minor healing. Papercuts closed in seconds. I tested it with a kitchen knife, and yeah, the wound closed fast. Not Wolverine-fast, but faster than average. Still, unless I planned to paper myself to death, not that useful.
#59 made me smell like cinnamon. Permanently. Which was fine for a day, until I realized bugs love cinnamon. I was swarmed by ants, mosquitoes, and one very determined raccoon. Out it went.
---
Sample #61 through #80: The "Nightmare Fuel" category.
#63 made my eyes all black, like a demon in a horror movie. I scared myself in the mirror. Zero powers, just creepy aesthetics.
#65 gave me extra fingers. Eight per hand. Try typing with that. I couldn't even hold a pen.
#70 fused my tongue to the roof of my mouth for six hours. Don't ask me how I survived.
#74 made me excrete slime constantly. Think of a slug on steroids. My shoes were ruined.
#77 gave me "acidic spit." Sounds cool, right? Until you realize the acid was barely strong enough to etch glass. Also, it burned my tongue every time I tried to use it. I spent hours gargling milk.
---
Sample #81 through #100: The "Almost Winners."
Now here's where things got a little better. Out of this batch, I found four decent samples. Four out of a hundred. Four percent. Which, ironically, is better than their promised 1%. Go figure.
#85 gave me enhanced reflexes. Not Spider-Man levels, but enough to dodge a thrown beer bottle without trying.
#88 improved my metabolism. I could eat like a pig and still feel energized. Downside? Constant hunger. I devoured three pizzas in one sitting.
#93 hardened my skin slightly. Combined with #47's bone-hardening, I'm basically discount body armor now. A bullet might still pierce me, but at least it'd hurt less.
#100—oh, sweet #100. That one boosted my senses. Everything sharper. Colors brighter, sounds clearer, smells overwhelming. I had to lock myself in a dark room for hours to adjust. Once I did, though, it felt incredible. Like seeing the world in HD for the first time.
So yeah. Out of one hundred, only four are worth keeping. Fifteen were weird enough to write down, and the rest? Garbage.
---
I know what you're thinking. "Garrett, why not sell them? Why not destroy them?" Simple answer: because I'm stubborn, reckless, and maybe a little suicidal. Besides, I'm rich enough to know when something shady is going on, and this screams shady. HYDRA probably has their fingers in this mess. I wouldn't be surprised if half these DNAs were from failed experiments or unlucky mutants they scooped up.
But here's the kicker: I don't care. I'm not a hero. I'm not a villain. I'm just a guy with too much time, too much money, and too much curiosity. If testing this crap on myself keeps me from rotting in boredom, then so be it.
Will I die young? Probably. Will I regret it? Not yet.
End of entry.
A/N: okay ill stop mass uploading... for now.