[ WP ] The year is 2170 . The air is no longer safe to breathe , courtesy of hundreds of genetically engineered CRISPR viruses all capable of altering human DNA within seconds . A cult of clean air worshippers decides to venture out into the open and remove all their masks at once

[ [ I would like to thank everyone who has shown such a keen interest in this story. The story is now being compiled onto /r/ZigZagStories and I would encourage everyone to stop by and shove feedback in my face so that the story can improve and continue. I look forward to providing a deeply dark, fully harrowing tale from multiple perspectives! 
 
 Thank you all again, WP! And thanks /u/tdotkrayz for the awesome prompt. You made my head to to real dark places: D ] ] 
 
 
 They called themselves the Church of Nitrogen Values in the Latter Day Free Radicals. Most of the followers simply referred to themselves as the Free Rads. Like the rest of the civilized human race, they lived among the subterranean hives, venturing into the surface for daily work or long distance missions to other subterranean hives. They would espouse to the magnificent values of getting far enough away from the population centers and taking in deep lung fulls of ancient earth air. 
 
 Everyone thought them a pack of cultist liars. The alterations to mammillian life on the surface were uniquely horrific. Fur would fall off or grow from soft mucus membranes like the mouth. Horns would protrude from within their mouths and curl round jaws like saber tooth fangs gone cork screw. Eyes would rupture like cysts, lings would sieze and fill with fluid, bowels would rush out in any way they could find. 
 
 And that was only when lab rats were occasionally released on the surface. 
 
 But the Free Rads gained many followers. Strange, skewed young people who desperately wished for a surface life like their great grandparents had locked them all away from. As the Church expanded, calls among the elders to oust this little charade of needless trouble grew into a frenzied chorus. 
 
 And then it was decided. The Hive Council agreed that if he wise men of the Free Radicals could prove a maskless, non-recycled air part of the surface existed, they would be allowed to continue preaching their frivolous nonsense. 
 
 There was some hesitation, but on the insistence of many of the younger followers, the eldest of the Free Radicals went to the surface with some of the young-rads to wander off from the old, derelict city centers and remove their masks. Senior members of the security task forces accompanied them to the ancient looking forests, long overgrown from nearly two centuries of nature running free. 
 
 After two days travel the time had come. The Free Rads circled around their leader and, as agreed, took off their masks at the same time. The security members observed with recording devices rolling. Little red circles blipped occasionally in the corner of their visual ports as they watched what happened next. 
 
 The group stumbled about for a moment. Each of the twenty or so young-rads did something slightly different. All of them looked to be on anguish. Hands went to faces and throats, gagging and drool emitted from each of them. The eldest, the leader of the Free Rads held firm, nostrils flaring with breath after breath. In the recordings the voices of the security members come in quite clearly. 
 
 `` God_damn_.'' And `` _Jesus Christ_.'' Are said frequently. 
 
 One of them boys falls to his knees and his hands drop to his sides. His shoulders rattle with spasms and froth pours from his mouth as his head cranes back in a horrible angle. His eyes budge and a moment latter his spine can be heard snapping under the effort of his own back muscles constricting. Another young rad flops to their side and shakes against the ground like a fresh fish from the sea on the deck of a boat. Their wild and frenzied motions knock into another who tumbles and the pair seem locked in a jumbled mass of chaotic limbs. Gurgles and groans fill the recording for a moment until only four figures are left standing in the circle. They tick occasionally, sometimes they wrench in strange directions, but they remain standing around the eldest Free Rad. He continues breathing deeply, unphazed and unchanged. 
 
 His old face turns locks deeply green eyes with the nearest recording security member. He points at the bewildered cameraman and the four remaining Free Rads shriek in unison, leaping into the image. In seconds his mask is ripped off with a wide portion of his face, starting at the lower jaw. The mutilation is quick but not precise. Blood wells up around the body and the remaining security officer turns to run. 
 
 The eldest stands directly in his path as he turns. The last image is the eldest Free Rad reaching foreword and pulling the respirator mask off of the last security officer. All the while his old voice mutters, `` Be cleansed of your old body and rejoice in the new...'' 
 
 That was two months ago, when the recordings were sent to us. The surface is a far more dangerous place and the security teams are constantly on the alert for attacks on the air-recycling plants. The Free Rads wo n't stop until everyone has joined their family. The rest of us cower underground, carrying our masks at all times, terrified of which of our fellow neighbors might the the ones _turned_.
