Doomsday Man
Copyright© 2026 by SZENSEI
Episode 1: PRIMAL SCREAM
Science Fiction Sex Story: Episode 1: PRIMAL SCREAM - Welcome to the Jungle, Baby! Chances are you're going to die. The world has gone to total shit. Evolution gone wild has altered the world's population in a myriad of ways due to DNA. Some normal, some psychotic cannibals, others mutants with insane power sets. Then there are the Humanimals, a combination of both species. Intelligent in most cases. This is a survival of the fittest. Meet Hector Horatio Hostile. Boy scout Badass! His turf New York City. Let the good times roll.
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa High Fantasy Science Fiction
“New York, New York! Start spreading the news and wear your vagabond shoes. At least that was how Sinatra felt. I bet he wouldn’t step outside in today’s world. Oh, the city never sleeps, he had that part right. It’s lively out here today. The people love the sunshine. After a maddening winter and torrential spring, it’s good to feel the heat of summer. That is just about the only thing worth living for nowadays.
“It’s been close to five years now. Hard to imagine how well humanity has thrived considering the hell it’s had to adapt to. Before then the world was normal. Teeming with bill collectors and stockbrokers, bike couriers and dog walkers, now it’s the other way around. I’ll get to that in a bit. That was before the greatest mistake mankind ever made. Upsetting the balance of God. Well, presuming God!
“Archaeologists down in the Yucatan unearthed a frigging spaceship if you can believe that. It was lying there dormant since life began. Somehow, they figured out the ship was more a machine that was encouraging life to evolve at a gradual pace. The wrong person touched one simple button and a tiny wave of energy escalated into a nightmarish typhoon. Suddenly, the entire damned world was engulfed in evolution gone mad. Darwin’s theory would have changed to AW FUCK! Auk fuck to the birds.
“Who knew that God was a few dead aliens on a starship? Undoubtedly scientists determining the course of creation. Word is that one of the aliens is still alive. Suspended animation if to be believed. Trust me when I say anything is possible. They say the Central American government is holding him captive and attempting to fix our mistake. Communication of course is next to nothing. Who the hell speaks Alienese?
“That energy wave altered the whole planet right down to the nutrients in the soil. Plant life has matured and, in some areas, even became sentient. Chlorophyll is blood to a plant, so, why not. Who knew that talking to our plants would one day lead to them talking back. Now that’s what I call a greenhouse gas. You have to laugh and watch Little Shop of Horrors, that Ghostbuster guy’s a hoot. Old movies are my downtime jam. I’ll fill you in more on me after my diary entry here for those who one day might find it.
“Some of the world’s inhabitants have remained unchanged. The CDC determined that blood type was the beneficial factor in keeping things as it was, at least in Homo Sapiens. TypO’s they call them. Anyone with a Type O Negative blood type stayed characteristic to what God had in mind. At least, I like to think so. We really don’t have a clue.
“Of course, I’m not a Type O. I’m an APOZ. A Positive, means I evolved physically. Mutated in ways the CDC can’t even explain. You see, each blood type has a different effect on the system.
“BNEG’s or B Negatives are psychotic mindless zombies that thrive on killing to survive. Right out of a Romero film, Night of the Living, style. They’re not dead just making everyone in their way dead. They run in riot packs. Cannibal’s all the way.
“BPOZ or B Positives are literally animals. Whatever bird, mammal, fish, or reptilian genetic code that was near them at the time of the wave, determined their breed. Humanimals is the best way to describe them, Island of Dr. Moreau shit, but that term was copyrighted. If you were near a raccoon, you now wore the bandit’s mask. In most of the BPOZ nation the animalistic side has taken over. They move about the world as scavengers or carnivores. Depending on the mammal.
“Some of those bastards retained their human intellect and cashed in, making a New World Mafia if you will. Gangs emerged. Doing their best to claim the world as theirs. We humans, well almost humans too, do our best to survive and pray we find a way to remedy our affliction. Trouble is, some of us like the results. Guys like me.
“See, I’m what they call a perfect specimen. My blood type conceived the notion to make itself better. My cell structure blossomed into pure muscle that never tires when exerted. Estimates say I’m as strong as ten men rolled up into one body. This includes reflexes and bone density. My brain has the capacity to adapt to what it sees. Essentially a photographic mind with a response that brings along the body. Ultimate soldier they say. I fight the good fight. Soldier of my own free will.
“Not only that, but my DNA can somehow mimic animal characteristics without even being near them. Now that’s the fun part. Try wearing fish gills and having your lungs reroute to breathe underwater. Fun but ruins my dashing good looks until I no longer need to be a freaking fish stick out of water. There’s so much more to tell you. But for now, let’s just get through the introductions.
“My name is Hector Horatio Hostile. Don’t ask, my mom was an English Lit Professor, my dad an Archaeologist at New York State University. Both of them were wrestling fans back in the day. Said they got the idea for my name from some powerhouse called Triple H. Why the hell not! I’m a survivor. So far!”
Queens, New York. Mostly Kings though!
Day fires waned along the street corners from the final embers of burning barrels that warmed the homeless against the chill of night. Flickers mostly, the remains of sifting ash. The beasts skulked in the shadows of tenements, and car shelters. Pretty much wherever they might call home. Barricades noting territorial traits blocked off streets making it nearly impassible. That is unless you’re prepared for it. Hector Hostile always came prepared. In this case he guided his favorite mode of transport.
RAMROD was a massive monster truck of chrome titanium steel modified for all terrains. The colossal tires alone were solid steel coated with rubber that were virtually void of ever going flat. The glass was shatterproof unless it were hit with a rocket launcher. It’s fuel injectors were based on recycled nuclear waste and well contained to avoid radioactive exposure. Needless to say running out of gas was impossible.
His transport was specifically built for survival. Even food and shelter were accessed in the extended cab should something cripple it. The trucks bed had a retractable canopy topper to house either himself or any retrievals of TypO’s in the field fighting to reach safety. Salvaging humanity was the top priority. At least that’s what President Harvey Cadbury dictated, being part Rabbit was not much of a vote of confidence.
Pulling over to park, Hector from inside his cab surveyed the area by more than mere eyesight. Radar and heat signature scanners probed the surrounding block. The radar was honed to embrace TypO cell structures. A tracking device for the normal. Today’s mission led him to Queen’s in search of a radio transmission from an old Catholic Church. A ham radio at that. Someone was making a distress call to the outside world.
In Queens the ratio of breeds were more animal driven than human, humans taking survival risks primarily. We won’t get into the Mutate pop, those fuckers are as unpredictable as Hades. Missionaries at best trying to bring God back into the equation were the targets. Not many knew of the existence of the safehouse Hector had helped establish in the Bronx, one of multiple safehouses with labs and provisions throughout the city and the world. Only that they wanted to live. Hopes remained a dream. Heaven on Earth!
“Tres H to Fort Apache. I’ve located the transmission source. St. Malachi Church. I’m getting ready to leave Ramrod. I’ll keep in touch.”
Before he departed Hector Hostile tied back his long red hair into a ponytail and grinned at himself in the rearview mirror. The handsome devil was getting ready to go to Church. Time to repent!
Readying himself he attached a forearm gauntlet to his left arm then a headband that contained a lowered microphone over his jawline for communication. Once prepped he opened his truck door and climbed down to the ruptured asphalt street. Door closed he was contacted by a voice returned from his dispatch.
“Copy that, Hector. Be careful out there, Love.” Hector frowned at the feminine voice; the woman was not his favorite ally. “I’m good, Morgana. Just maintain radio silence until spoken to. Never know who’s listening.”
“Good luck, Handsome.” Her only response led Hector to kneel down and tie his left boot while scanning the Church from top to bottom. Staring at the steps leading up he discovered quite a mess.
“Fecal matter everywhere. Gotta love it.”
A bandana used to mask the scent really didn’t help. Unsheathing a .44 Magnum handgun from beneath his left armpit holster he stood erect at a full 6 foot, 4 inches in height. Taking his steps cautiously he moved forward up the concrete staircase.
At the top, he cautiously opened the front door to the church and peered inside before daring to enter into the outer lobby. “Not smart leaving it unlocked!” Leaving the door ajar he journeyed deeper into the cathedral. It was beautiful inside even with shattered stained-glass windows. The remaining shards of glass offered a brilliant array of color as the sun’s rays filtered in.
Moving down the center aisle toward the pulpit he monitored the tracking signals fluttering light along his arm gauntlet. It covered the spectrum of even a Geiger counter should it be needed. Each step taken the light flickered faster, not from radiation, but from motion.
Reaching the dais, he noted the light stop cold. He was literally right on top of them. Narrowing his eyes he surveyed the floor in thought. “Baptismal chamber. Nice hiding spot.” Stomping his boot on the floor as if in Morse code he listened for fearful activity.
“I’m a friend. My people heard your call for help. Come on out. You’re safe with me. The coast is clear for the moment but that might not last forever.”
Long moments of mistrust ticked away until a lock was opened from within and a door built into the floor rose an inch. Stepping back Hector gave them space enough for whoever was inside to get a better look at him. He chose to crouch and wave with a smile as a peace offering. Catching a glimpse of him the door opened further to reveal a beautiful set of steel blue eyes.
“Pardon the pun, but do you make a bad habit of flirting with those soul stealers?”
A nun glared up cautiously, prepared to drop the door back down in a heartbeat of distress. His flirtations did not assist belief in her human savior. If not for God in her heart guiding her, she might have locked herself back in. Knowing his flirt was badly timed Hector smiled at her youthful face warmly to distill her distrust.
“Hello, Sister. I’m the cavalry. My name is Hector. How many of you are there?” He knew already, but hoped conversation might calm her nerves.
She swallowed hoarsely from dehydration then found the energy to cough up a strained reply. “Only two of us. Father Timmons and I.” The door opened totally, tilting back to be held by hinges as she crawled up to embrace Hector’s withheld open right hand. Hector noted white follicles of hair all over her black robe. “Who’s shedding?” He brushed her off getting a tad too close to her breasts.
“That would be, Father Timmons.”
Hector withdrew his palm and peered down into the baptismal pool to find a curled up old Priest. A BPOZ by the look of it. One who had been merged with a common house cat. “Here Kitty, Kitty.” Hector couldn’t help himself as the nun scowled.
“Please be more respectful.”
Hector nodded knowing she was right, his humor almost always offensive. “Sorry! Come on out, Father. Let’s get you two to safety before any scavengers come calling.”
With a shrill hiss the Priest rose up and literally jumped out of his hiding spot to lurch forward and stand on all fours. Hector squinted at the priest’s feline nature as the nun knelt to calm her mentor. “He is a friend. Remain calm.”
She looked back up at Hector almost tearfully, praying he truly was a friend. “It has been so long hiding out here. We had nearly given up hope. All of our provisions have been depleted. I recently managed to piece together an old radio and had hoped that God would send someone to find us.” Hector nodded with his hands at his sides expressing swagger as much as ego.
“God works in mysterious ways, Sister...?
“Sister Mary Valentine.” She smiled vaguely. Her savior was suave and charming in a rugged kind of way.
Hector mused at her name. “Gotta love that. Well, that makes me your lucky Be Mine Day Heartbreaker! Relax, I’ll chill on the Cupidity!”
She blushed when a shrill crackling noise coming from the walls haunted them. Hector put a hand up to be silent, his .44 Magnum poised for action. He scoped out defining cracks in the walls of the church that almost appeared as if breathing.
“We need to go.” He whispered with a finger to his lips. “Follow me.”
She helped the father move forward in his nervous stature, his back arching upwards at the enigmatic sounds around them. Coaxing the priest to follow her as she stepped ahead with Hector, she reacted with a whisper of her own. “What is causing the walls to do that?”
Hector reached the lobby threshold and turned. “Termites! Safe bet there’s half your congregation, hiding out behind the scenes. Luckily, they’re not carnivorous.”
Suddenly, the ceiling above the lobby turbulently collapsed between they and the front door. As the rubble dust cleared a blackened beast stood in their way shaking off the falls shock to his system. Its head rose up with deadly black eyes and whiskers that whipped about at its overactive sinus cavity. It had smelled dinner. As it swiftly turned to face a gun in its face its eyes bulged.
“You dirty rat.” Hector mimicked James Cagney! Little known fact Hector loved the classics. Ask his diary entries.