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"Okay, what do you have?" Schaffer asked.
"Well, the mansion is a three story survivalist wet dream. There are logs for the deliveries: Food, cans, water filtration system, gasoline, gasoline engines, solar power panels...see, that's what that reflective bit there is, your idiots identified them as mirrors..." He went on, painting a picture of a house that wasn't just prepped: It was obsessive.
"Who lives there, Burt Gummerson?" Celia asked.
Julia and Schaffer looked confused. Spencer lifted a hand, and she slapped her paw against his. The high five sounded weird, as he had scales and she had pads.
"Still, I think we could extrapolate from this that the bastard knew what was going to happen...or at the very least, was pretty sure that when he started screwing around with alien bio-weapons that somethingmighthappen," Julia said, her voice dry.
Schaffer nodded.
"Well, how are we planning to get in?" Spencer asked.
"I can get in in a heartbeat," Celia cracked her knuckles – the noise muffled by her fur. "Hell, it'll be easier now that I can jump my own body length at least three times over, can see in the dark, and move like a freaking stealth bomber."
"Sending you in alone? With a freaking paramilitary corporation handling the security? Like hell!" Spencer spun his chair to face Celia, his hands going to her hips.
"The zone is hot," Julia said, her whiskers tilting down in a frown – making her rather expressive. "If we send in marines or special forces or SWAT, they'll all be infected before the operation is done."
"Well, d-don't we have infected marines?" Spencer asked. "Someone to back Celia up?"
Scaffher sighed. "It's been years since I've been on a battlefield. But I will say this for this damn virus, it fixed my knees..." He stood. "I can back her up, at the very least. There's only one other marine known to be infected, but he's still going through the initial transformation. If we're going to secure the sample and haveanychance at fixing this, it has to be us."
"This...this is insane! People in the military signed up to go into situations like this!" Spencer said, his voice growing higher pitched. His tongue flicked out between every other word, a sign of his agitation. "I know, it sucks, but the virus won't kill them!"
"It'll be another few vectors," Julia said. "When controlling an outbreak, you need to minimize the vectors..."
"Fantastic. This is just...fucking..." Spencer slid his hands from his nose to his forehead to the back of his head, the thin spines that spread from the top of his head flattening for a moment before springing back up once his hand had passed. "Fine. I'll do what I can to run hackery poo against the PMC dipshits. But you two-" He pointed at Schaffer and Celia. "You two need to be careful."
"Don't givemeorders, mister," Schaffer said.
"I'malwayscareful..." Celia said, scowling.
Spencer didn't look entirely convinced.
###
The plane switched from one flight mode to another, the engines softening to a dull whisper rather than the roaring whine they had before. The wings whirred, softly, and the entire thing hovered, high above the island. The sun had set, and the pilot's voice piped through to the back.
"Radar sweeps are regular, but nothing has pinged off us. Drop in five."
Celia adjusted her vest, frowning as she tried to get it to lay right against her fur. Schaffer, being considerably shorter furred, seemed to have less trouble with the vest and backpack. He also had less trouble with his gun – a rifle that was slung over one shoulder and strapped in tight, the butt occasionally flicked against by his tail.
"S-So, uh, remember, stick by me," Celia said.
"You don't need to give me advice, Miss," Schaffer said. "I served in Vietnam, the first Iraq War, and a few other operations you are definitely not qualified to hear about. I've managed some and been on the ground for others..."
"Yeah, I know, but I've ripped off more private islands than you, so there," Celia said, sighing. "A-And...I'm scared."
Schaffer paused, his large, black hands holding a ceramic plate to slide into his combat vest. He slipped the plate in, strapping it down tightly, then turned to face her. His eyes were large, soulful, and a deep blue.
"Don't tell anyone else...but so am I."
Celia nodded.
The light turned from red to green and the pilot's voice, urgent and quick, spoke: "Jump, now!"
The back of the plane opened and the two leaped from the back. Celia had actually gone sky-diving more often than she had expected, when she had started her career as a thief and corporate spy. There were quite a few corporate secrets hidden at the tops of rather tall buildings, and a lot of valuable things were owned by stupid people with too much money – the kind of people who assumed bigger was better and taller was the new bigger. She had jumped from planes onto skyscrapers and from skyscrapers to cars, using circular and bladed parachutes.
But doing it with a tail trailing behind her was an entirely new experience. Her cat-eyes saw the world in brighter, sharper hues than she had ever seen before. It wasn't night vision – there was no color distortion. It was just sharper, clearer, brighter.
She shifted her shoulder to the side, and her tail just became another part of the fall. Tiny adjustments here, there...
Her chute opened, hard, and she jerked her legs around, aiming them at the ground. The soft pads of her feet hit sand, skidded, sent up a shower of sand into the air, and then she cut the cord with a single, sharp claw. The parachute crumpled up against a nearby tree. She looked around, and saw Schaffer landing to her right, just as effectively. His hooves and his strong, horse legs bent hard with the movement, and he stood, grumbling under his breath.
"Now I remember why my knees were shot..."
"All right, my radio hack shows that there is a patrol boat coming around the bend of the island in...oh, ten seconds," Spencer's voice spoke in her ear. It was the normal, professional sound that he used while she was robbing a joint. Celia nodded, grabbing her chute and dragging it behind the treeline of the beach. Schaffer joined her, and the expected patrol boat zoomed by: A sleek, well made motorboat with what looked like a huge ass machine gun strapped to the back, manned by...by...
"Was that a bear?" Schaffer whispered.
"Holy shit, that was a fucking bear," Celia whispered back.
"The island is definitely hot," Julia said, her tones holding a distinct hint of 'I told you so' in it.
Together, the two on the ground turned and headed into the forest. Celia moved fast and quiet, a pistol drawn and in her hands – she had shot at a few people in her work, but she really preferred to let the General do the talking. As they moved along, she sniffed the air curiously. Her nose tingled and she licked her lips.
"I smell something good..."
"There is a pretty big infrared splotch in the middle of the base. I thought it was a generator, but on closer sweeps, it is too...irregular..." Spencer murmured.
They came to the fence as he spoke. Celia glanced along it and saw guard towers, but there were no search lights. It seemed that the place was on low alert. She frowned, noting the barbed wire at the top of the fence. She listened for the faint hum of electrified wire, but didn't hear it. To be sure, she drew a small pocket knife from her belt and underhanded it at the fence. The metal baled – blackened by paint – touched the wires and no sparks flashed out.
"All right, I'll handle the wire, you go over once it is safe," Celia whispered.
Schaffer nodded, though she noted that he moved out to where he could cover her.
Celia tensed her knees, her throat drying as she looked up the fence. Before her infection, this would have been the work of some wire cutters and ten minutes. But they didn't have the time – not if they wanted to do this fast. And so, she focused...and then jumped. Her legs, coiled like springs, sent her hurtling up into the air, further than she imagined possible. Celia barely managed to keep from crying out as her belly cleared the barbed wire by almost three inches – a twelve foot leap, or she was a kitten – and then she was falling along the other side. Her paws hit the ground and she rolled to her feet, lithe and graceful. Standing, she brushed herself off, then grinned. "Yes!"
"Now findmea way over..." Schaffer hissed.
"Oh, I will!" Celia said, but as she turned back to the fence, Schaffer held out his hand.
"Ce-"
Celia felt the hand closing around her muzzle, unable to react before she felt something hard and cold press into her spine. Schaffer melted back into the woods as a voice purred – low, dangerous, feral – in her ear.
"Look what we got here..." It whispered. "A convert."
###
"You let them take her!?" Spencer roared into the mic. Schaffer, his face set in a long frown,
reached up and thought about removing the microphone from his ear – which was rather sensitive – as Spencer continued to speak. "You idiot! You said you would be careful!? How could you not notice them? Get her back! Right now!"
Schaffer sighed, muttering under his breath: "I am too old for this shit."
"I heard that!" Spencer snapped.
"I will get her back...they might have seen me, though..." Spencer paused, then slapped his hand against his forehead. It had been so long, and his body had changed so much, he had forgotten that he didn't have to rely on hiseyes. He had been so enamored with the enhanced night vision that Celia had gotten – and with his own, improved, twenty twenty vision – that he had forgotten the night vision headset he hadjumpeddown with. Stupid. Stupid!
He slipped the set on, and in the grainy green that replaced the darkness, he saw that there were two man patrols slipping along the inside of the fence. They looked like predators, to a man: Jackals, hyenas, panthers.
"Damn it," Schaffer whispered. He turned and ran back towards the parachutes.
###
When Celia woke, her ear piece was gone. As was her bullet proof vest.
And all of her clothes.
She put her hands over her breasts, her paws concealing herself as well as they would have before she had fur – that is to say, not at all – and looked around the room she woke in. It took her a little bit to realize it was an out-door amphitheater. It was thick with the spicy, aromatic scent of cooked meat...not just any meat, but the most succulent, glorious ham that she had ever smelled before. It was like a pork roast and bacon and ham and porkchops, all of them marinated in the finest spices and glazes and honeys.
And under that...
The musky scent of male lust.
"Ahh, you're awake..." A voice purred behind her. Celia craned her head around and saw that a pure, white form was behind her. It was a lion male, pure white in his fur and coloration, with a proud mane that flowed around his head like no hair style she had ever seen before in her life. He was nude and casual about it, his member flopped against one thigh – large, even soft – and his balls resting on the stone that he sat along. Beside him were two women, both cheetahs, their spots making them look quite sleek and predatory. Their breasts – nude – pressed to the side of his chest and to one of his thighs, as one lay on her belly beside him, her face near his member, her eyes shimmering with lustful worshipfulness.
It looked like something out of a decadent Roman pageant, one full of sin and barbarism, and...and...and Celia wasn't sure if she was terrified or aroused. The lion exuded such grace and lethality that it was hard to not feel that mixture, looking at him.
"W-Who the...wait..." Celia pushed herself up, then away from him, growling. "You're Mr. Freeman, aren't you!?"
"That I am," he said, amused. "Though...you may call me by my true name...Sageclaw..."
Celia blinked. "W...What?"
"Ah, I see you are confused. The hunger does that..." He snapped his fingers, claws clicking. "Blackfur, bring us the first course."
Darkness moved behind him – a pure, jet black panther – bowing like a majordomo. They hurried off, and Celia watched, her eyes wide. Horror started to fill her as the servants – no...the slaves – started to emerge. They walked with the shuffling gait of those chained around the ankles, fettered and made unable to escape – well, unable to escape very fast. But what they carried made her ears flatten back against her head and a sudden, intense hissing sound escape her mouth.
They carried platters. Large, human sized platters, resting on furred shoulders – shoulders of walking fusions of human and monkey, human and boar, human and spotted cow. And on the platters were slabs of red raw meat.
Large...slabs of meat...
"T-That isn't..." Celia whispered.
"Oh, don't worry," 'Sageclaw' said, his voice an amused purr. "They were just cattle-slaves."
Celia vomited. Fortunately, she aimed it so that it landed in Sageclaw's lap.
###
Schaffer had to admit: Being young once more was almost worth the strangeness of walking with hooves and a tail. The best thing was that his throwing arm – once the marked pride of his college days, and life-saving aide under no less than three grenade attacks – had returned with full force. He could heave a whole parachute – which was heavier than it looked – up and over the fence, tamping down the barbed wire, all without feeling the twinge or ache or pain of his old muscles complaining and wheezing at him.
Then, it was just a matter of scrambling up and over the fence. His hooves made this harder than he was used to, unable to work his toes into the holes of the fence, but he braced his legs, using their strength and the rough texture of his hooves to catch and push himself up, his arms pressing against the parachute – feeling the faint barbs of the barbed wire, pressing through the parachute, their tearing edges blunted and distorted by the fabric.
Finally, he swung his legs up and over, then carefully let himself down – uncomfortably reminded of all the old western movies he had seen, growing up. When horses broke their legs, humans got shotguns out and shot them in the head. He shook his head, frowning, trying to put all of that out of his mind. He did not stay near the parachute, but instead hurried away, moving as softly as he could, his midnight black coat helping to cloak him in the darkness. He got behind some bushes, then looked out, listening intently.
"I don't see any thermal signatures heading for you," Spencer said.
Schaffer didn't respond. Instead, he started to move forward, hooves thumping softly along the grass. He advanced towards the compound's center, his nose flaring as he scented flames and smoke and a strange musky smell that made his back tingle and his legs tighten. Part of him wanted to run – run where it was safe.
Oddly, that wasn't anewfeeling. He'd felt it every time he had lead troops in battle.
And right now, the complete lack of support and the fact he was completely outnumbered only added to the feeling.
He shook his head, creeping up to the edge of the main building, finding that it was nothing but a stucco wall, curving gently around the flames that licked in the center – the smoke visible in the darkness thanks to the bits of ash and embers floating up in the smoky pillar. He started to move along the wall, his rifle held up and aimed forward, ears twitching as he listened.
Schaffer came to the edge of the wall, where Spencer had said there was an entrance to the inner courtyard.
But before he could step around it, something closed around his rifle, then jerked it from his hands. For a moment, Schaffer looked at his empty hands, eyes wide, then looked at the rifle – a dark shape in the night, hanging there as if held up by invisible strings. The rifle crumpled, plastic and metal crunching loudly, then dropped to the ground. Schaffer kicked, as hard as he could at the invisible man who had grabbed his gun, but his hoof plunged into open air.The hell!?
An arm closed around his neck, and the buzzing zap of a stun-gun pressed to his side.
Damn it...
###
Celia coughed, rubbing at her muzzle with the back of one furred hand, while Sageclaw's two nude slaves cleaned him with napkins. It would have almost been funny, if the situation hadn't been so sick, and if Sageclaw hadn't responded with laughter.
"Oh, that is normal! It is normal until you understand your new body, the body we have been gifted with..." He said, casually, sighing as the platters were set before them, the slaves backing away as fast as they could – they looked as terrified of Celia as they did of Sageclaw. "You see, when I discovered what the virus could do, I realized that the essential nature of humanity was to be restored. Humanity...is an animal. We have always been animals. Our furless skin and our clawless hands, that distracted from the purity, the pride, ofbeingan animal. But do you know what truly sealed our blindness, what cast us adrift, what left our modern world so...bereft of spiritual fulfillment?"
Your being absolutely bugfuck?Celia thought, then cut the words off before she said them. Instead, she just shook her head mutely.
"The fact that we let ourselves be blinded by the calls for diversity and equality. Such noble sentiments, but what evils they have caused." He sighed, his voice thick with tragedy. "A man born, say, with down syndrome. He is not equal to me: I am strong, I am fit, I am wise, I am eloquent. Why, that man is unable to even tie his own shoes...what sense is there in treating him equally, in expecting equal skill from him?" His snort spoke volumes.
Okay, bugfuck and an ableist dick,Celia thought.Wait, maybe I shouldn't be mentally thinking of him as...you know what? I'll ask someone with mental health issues later for the proper nomenclature.
She panicking. Thinking in circles.
"And what is the great nobility in diversity? It only means we bring ourselves down, we attach ourselves to the weak and ignorant. By accepting diversity, the nation I once was a part of accepted lunatics who believed the world was only six thousand years old, and idiots who thought vaccinations caused autism. Whatexactlydid we gain from that? No. Diversity and equality are the great lies..."
Sageclaw reached out with a paw. His claws snicked free, and he casually tore a hunk of flesh from some of the raw meat – meat that had once been a thinking, breathing person – and took it to his mouth. He opened his muzzle, dropped the meat in, and then chewed, swallowed, sighed.
"...of the twenty first century," he finished with a kindly smile. "Surely you can see that you are no longerequalto this woman..."
He stood, walking towards the cow. She was one of the stranger mixes that Celia had seen so far: She was roughly six feet tall, with broad, muscular shoulders, and looked strong enough to participate in a lifting competition. Her skin was a pale white, with a pattern of curved black spots, which spread across her belly. She had no udders, like a normal cow, but instead had the largest pair of breasts Celia had seen on a woman who didn't have implants or a serious disorder (eating or thyroid). She among the slaves looked the least...cowed...oh god, that was terrible, you're going to hell Celia...
"This woman has no claws. No night vision, no leaping abilities. Why, her only abilities are her brute strength and her not inconsiderable milk reserves..." Sageclaw chuckled.
The cow trembled and Celia was sure she heard her whisper: "I have a P.H.D in applied nanotech, you son of a bitch."
Sageclaw heard as well. He sprang forward, leaping from the side of the amphitheater, landing before the cow. His hand lashed out – backhanding her – and the cow woman fell to the ground, five parallel slashes across her white cheek, red spreading across them. She clutched at her face, gasping, while Celia stood, her mouth open to speak – but the two nude slaves beside her grabbed her arms, forcing her back down.
