So, without telling anybody, I shipped down to Northern Nicaragua as a volunteer with the Red Cross.
At first I was treating injured untransformed and Wave-transformed civilians.
Then I treated injured soldiers that had come in contact with "Victims".
These were all civilians and soldiers who hadn't become the unfortunate targets of the "Victims"' drives.
And then they transferred me to a "Victim" treatment facility.
I put my only transformations - my 2 sets of arms, to full use in the section of it I was designated to.
It was chaotic, deafeningly loud, horrifying, and entirely miserable there every day.
And I don't know how or why, but I loved it.
Soothing distraught, tired, and hysterical sexual abominations all day in this place filled with screaming, moaning, and crying, draped in a hot protective suit and cloak that could never come off as I treated them always payed off in the end.
I was, like everyone else there helping, giving them a sense of reassurance as I came to their aid.
I could see it in their eyes as I gave them food and drink and helped them eat it, helped them walk, gave them their medicine pills, kissed them goodnight, and even hugged them as they shook, sobbing.
It was an ever-so-little lift in the corners of their eyes if they had any, no matter what emotion they were previously feeling or how many they had.
I would at least have been scared if the WTEA supply flow of medicines and essentials to the place had been any less constant, or if I couldn't speak Spanish.
But even so. it would be worth it.
These poor little children, two girls and a boy, couldn't have been older than 10, had been fused together and warped and twisted into the cruel and sexual form of a spider. I don't want to go in depth about it - I don't want to remember, but I always caressed their back if they were crying and hugged them goodbye.
I helped them to wash themselves off - all eight penis-tipped legs, all 26 breasts, and . . . everything else.
I don't get how they were able to smile at me sometimes and say hello when I bumped into them, so carefree.
They're still in my head now, with every other horrifyingly twisted individual I saw and treated.
There was a woman, devoid of limbs, who had tuned into a jiggling, sentient pile of hundreds of breasts of varying sizes. Some had more than one nipple, while others had vaginas, penises, anuses, eyes, noses, mouths, tongues, or ears where the nipples should have been. She looked horrifying.
But her voice was so soft and calm when she wasn't angry, crying, or moaning. She talked with me in Spanish the few times I had treated her. She had just been married when The Rogue had struck her home, fusing her husband with his car and turning her into a helpless sphere of breastflesh.
Though she had no hope of satisfying her ever-growing torturous need, her body shape had made her easy to rescue.
She wished to see her husband again, even as she was afraid to see him, and of him to see her, but I never did see a car made of flesh at the facility. Not that it would be a very welcome sight, but I have been left wondering for the past year if she, in her miserable new body, was able to be granted just that one wish, to see him, once again.
The Rogue had fused three teenage girls by their arms, leaving them stuck in a triangular position. They couldn't walk, sit, sleep, or do anything properly without assistance - but not just because of that.
For one girl, he removed her mouth and ears, leaving her only with her eyes and nose.
For another, her removed her mouth and eyes, leaving her only with her ears and nose.
For the third, he removed her ears and eyes, leaving her only with her mouth and nose.
Only one can see, and only one can hear, and only one can speak.
And so only one can read, only one can listen, and only one can talk, but without the ability to communicate with each other.
I don't know how they are going to live anymore.
I encountered a woman molded into a shape of a horse.
It was as if she was lying down on her back.
Her legs were twisted and curved into hooved front legs, while her arms were horrifically distended and fattened into hooved hind legs.
The woman's stomach had dropped backwards and had bloated and muscularized to form something akin to a horse's belly, while her spine had elongated and hardened from the "tailbone" at the woman's throat to, curving proudly and having sprouted a thicker mane of pubic hair than what covered the rest of her body, to the large horse penis at her groin that formed the base of the neck of this "horse".
Her buttocks had converted into pectoral muscles, as her original anus and vagina had vanished, proudly holding the great penis that, connected by a muscular sinew to the pectoral muscles in the mockery of a horse's neck, stood, throbbing with need and dripping with thick pre-ejaculate all day.
Two horse-like ears and eyes mounted on the penis were the two reminders that the woman was not control of her body, but that the horse penis was, innocently and freely galloping it around the facility grounds daily, spitting pre-cum, contaminating water as it drank, and sucking up liquid food through its urethra, believing that it was truly a horse.
Albeit one that couldn't neigh.
The woman's head was sandwiched, facing the right-way up, between the buttocks of the horse. Her hair had morphed into a messy black tail for the brown human flesh-toned horse, which often covered her face - something I imagine she wished for.
Her mouth was replaced by the anus of the horse. Puckered and open, its edges were as rosy pink as human lips would be.
I had to clean up its dung once.
It had relieved itself using the large vagina planted between what used to be the woman's old collarbones, and . . . the anus.
I moved in to clean it up - but it wasn't done yet.
A log of shit forced its way down her throat and out of her puckered anus mouth.
I vomited after that and ran.
I made myself come back after I got a drink and gave the woman and the "horse" a wash. I had to clean the shit off of her face - it was clear she'd cried so much that she was practically out of tears.
That tired, suicidal look in her eyes . . .
I had never hated The Rogue so much.
He had left her nose right where it naturally would be. Right above the anus.
All in all, it was horrifying.
But no matter what I saw,
Or what I felt,
I knew that every person there, no matter how disgusting or monstrous they looked, or what acts they had done while enthralled by their need for relief, were the victims of a depraved man, cursed to live the rest of their lives in hated bodies.
And are all human.
It was something Luis already knew by heart.