#hes got his head in the clouds a lot infected with the silly disease

[yikes-strikes-again]

rating: gen word count: 2271 tags: angst, hurt/comfort, light on the comfort part, canon compliant, the slaughter, the corruption, season 5 spoilers, episode: e163, spoilers for episode: e163, spooky eye powers             summary: Martin learns exactly what happens if Jon doesn't give his statements. Inspired by a line from episode 177. Takes place between episodes 163 and 164.

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Buried in the wreckage of the blasted wasteland, a typewriter began clicking rapidly.

With soles caked in mud, they crunched through what must have been leagues of the trenches - though, obviously, there was no way to tell. No way to tell how far they had traveled or how far they had yet to go. The Panopticon-Institute remained on the horizon, ever-distant and always looming.

The sounds of war were not far away. Once in a while, artillery fire would tear the silence apart, ripping through the walls of bunkers and causing a throbbing, painful ringing in the ears. Jon and Martin would hold onto each other for support, though often they would still fall into the wet and sloshing ground, caking their clothing in another layer of grime. But here, the danger was less immediate than it was miles ago. Slower, in wounds rather than weapons.

Countless soldiers nursed the bandaged stumps of lost limbs, ones either amputated or blown off. In the case of the former, the procedure rarely prevented infection from spreading through the victim’s veins with each beat of their heart, or cleanly excised the deepest strains of necrotized tissue. They knew this, of course. They knew that they would only get sicker, and the knowledge terrorized them even more than the certain death that lay not a meter above.

Clouds of flies thicker than pudding swarmed around the dead. Well, one hoped they were dead. It was hard to tell when everyone seemed to be on the verge of permanent collapse, either from mortal injury, illness, or an overdose of grief. It didn’t matter why - when someone laid down in this place, they never got up again.

It was calmer on this side of the trenches. Quieter. But in the quelling of the chaos, it gave Martin a chance to process how awful it all was, and that was worse.

He looked at Jon. If he had to guess, he’d say that Jon was faring worse than Martin was. There was a hard set to his shoulders, and he spoke little save to warn Martin of danger or obstacles. When he did speak, his voice was terse and irritable. Martin rarely got a glimpse of his eyes, but when he did, he saw that Jon’s pupils were erratic and searching.

Both of them had been quiet for days, weeks perhaps, ever since Jon had ranted like a madman in that bunker, surrounded by all those catatonic people. Martin didn’t understand  why  he had to do that, why he was compelled to speak of all the awful things that were already upon them, only that something bad would happen if he didn’t. He had made it clear that Jon would find no audience for his ramblings in Martin, and Jon had accommodated that thus far.

Martin stopped at the turn of the trench, finding a more gentle slope of the wall to rest his shoulder upon, though the soil was damp and rancid-smelling. He didn't feel fatigue, but his shoes were not meant for hiking, and they were uncomfortable. He was soaked to the bone, filthy, and freezing cold, and he really wanted to know when he could stop being that way.

Jon stopped so suddenly that his boots skidded on the mud and he had to sway to keep his balance.

“What is it now, Martin?”

There was no resignation to his voice, no apathy or even frustration, unlike before. Just pure, stifled anger, and the cryptic storm brewing from behind his eyes.

Martin looked at him pleadingly. “Can’t you tell me anything about how long we’ve still got to walk? At least until we get out of… this place.”

Jon sighed the sigh of a parent who had been asked “Are we there yet?” by their impatient child one too many times. “Like I said the first two thousand times, time and space  do not exist in the way they once did. When the world was whole and there existed minds who knew not of terror.” He cringed almost imperceptibly, and scrubbed at his temples with his palms. “As much as I hate to hear the phrase myself, we will get there when we  get  there.”

It felt silly to complain about someone’s bad attitude when they were in a literal hellscape, but Martin didn’t like the way he’d started speaking through gritted teeth. He wanted respite from this particular nightmare, yes, but he also wanted to know why Jon was so angry.

Martin didn’t get the sense that it would do any good to ask him, though.

He sighed. “It’s been so long.  What if we never get there? Just wandering in circles in a never-ending trench.”

“Well, Martin, we  will never get there if we keep stopping to burrow a nightmare and ceaseless frenzy.”

He paused to consider that. He figured he’d heard wrong - his hearing was still a bit muted from the gunfire. “What?”

“I said, we’ll never get there if gangrene blisters or sanguine bagpipes.”

“What?  What the hell does that mean?”

Jon made an irritated noise, then spoke slowly as if talking to someone who was very stupid. “Agony bore a bloody sickle for crushing the sleepless.”

Martin stared at him, and narrowed his eyes, gripped by a dawning horror that had nothing to do with the disease and death that surrounded him. “Jon, you’re not making any sense.”

Some of the anger faded from Jon’s expression. Then, suddenly, he clutched at his head with both hands as if in pain. His eyes widened, focusing briefly on Martin before returning to the million things that only he could see.

“Sever,” he said pointedly. And, as if spurred on by something, he continued, both voice and body shaking with intensity. “Limbs metallic see bloated warhead and vicious gas spitting cauterize through. Spleen pale cannon warhead bile where tetanus sinews. And gore and ring and soldier visceral from bodies brother teeth for rancid crimson darkness.” He spoke with such terrible certainty, as if he fully expected Martin to comprehend the meaning of every word.

The corners of Martin’s mouth became taut, but since smiling requires the pretense of happiness, he did not smile. “Listen, Jon, I know we’re both under a lot of stress, but this is a really bad way to try and lighten the mood, okay? It’s not funny. You’re scaring me.” He drew a sharp and shaking breath and released it in a hollow imitation of laughter. “What’s the matter with you, anyway? Are you just taking something out on m—”

“Chaotic laughter and screeching god.” Jon’s eyes were on him, but they weren’t looking at him. They were wild, desperate. Something awful was happening to him, something that caused him to forget how to stand, that ceaselessly filled his mind with secondhand terrors, that stole his voice and gave it to the neverending flood of words that rose like bile from his throat. “Iron hands, jettison liver, with heroic terror bullets and mottled rage buzzing, burning and lungs gone. Necrotized gurney which hell hath nuclear rot aching, whose shivering eye orders and despairs, immobile river filth screaming for prison and tear—”

“Jon, stop!” Martin pushed off the wall and stumbled over to where Jon had slipped onto the filthy earth. He shook him. “Snap out of it!”

“— off running, smoke and cloth the bacteria acrid, with hungry singing comrade forever hidden. Writhing from crater, sobbing but the fever moans flaking to clinging, melting daggers. Helpless pathway churning through exploding infinity—”

Martin was nearing his wits’ end. He dragged Jon, who went limp, into a nearby dugout, so tiny that sunlight still shone across most of its floor. He tried to block out the onslaught of babbled nonsense that somehow evoked a thousand nightmarish images as clear as day, but Jon’s voice had taken on that quality that made it impossible not to listen. He continued to shake him with repetitive, mechanical regularity, but as the words bore into his brain Martin’s movements grew weak and yielding.

Jon lay on Martin’s lap, staring far beyond the dirt ceiling. “Gorging jaws of metal death surround your blood-borne reach towards distant jargon, but surreal enemy adrenaline has harrowed pathological exaltations. Barbed manslaughter. Feeding warfare. Stinging trigger…”

His eyes fell to him for a split second. “Martin,” he said, and Martin remembered to breathe. But the moment was gone as quick as it had come, and Jon was launched into another disjointed tirade.

If the hands of his watch spun as reliably as they once had, Martin might have found that he sat crouched in that dugout for exactly six hours and thirty-four minutes, keeping Jon’s back out of the mud. But, for what it was worth, it felt like years. Jon continued his nonsensical ranting, scarcely stopping to breathe, and from the way he desperately spat the words one got the feeling that he wished he didn’t have to. His voice rose and fell at random, reaching sudden and unpredictable climaxes of raving and shouting before settling back into a listless murmur. Trying to ignore him was an exercise in futility. Every few words a new, terrible image would implant itself into Martin’s mind, and then another, and another, together weaving a tapestry of terror from the thread of Jon’s omnipotent train of thought. He couldn’t stop listening, and Jon couldn’t stop talking, so whenever Martin’s thoughts weren’t drowned out by the bile of the Beholding they were filled with despair.

Would this never end? Were they doomed to rot in this place, their minds slowly unraveled by the power of the Eye filtered only by Jon’s droning voice? Would they never move again, like all the rest in this awful place, locked in a stony embrace like some warped parody of The  Pietà?

Martin couldn’t know. But in between terrors, it was all he could imagine as tears ran down his face.

It was a small mercy that this particular fear of Martin’s wasn't due to come about just yet. The first clue was that the flood of words had slowed to a trickle. The second was that when Jon paused for breath, it was deeper and less hurried than before. His voice had lost its former vigor, and it was all Martin could hope that he had finally started to exhaust himself.

“... never respite from wretched hope… singe a coagulated daylight swarm… justice not for careening wails… farewell… slaughter,” he paused, panting. “Finished” was too hopeful a word, and his voice carried no note of finality.

But there was a blessed silence. Martin expected it to end at any moment, but it stretched on as the seconds passed. There were distant cries of war, and the sound of Jon trying to make up for the breath he’d lost, but it all faded into nothing in the presence of the euphoric silence.

Several minutes passed this way, and it was only then that Martin dared to speak with the expectation that he’d get a response.

“Jon,” he began, finally daring to make eye contact - his otherworldly gaze had been far too intense to meet, before - and found that Jon was seeing him again. “What… happened?”

He blinked at Martin. There was another silence, shorter and more deliberate than the last, but less comfortable. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I think… I just…” He grabbed his temples with both hands and winced, and Martin pulled them both out of the light.

A moment’s migraine, and Jon collected himself. “There’s just… so much. Fear. Everywhere we go, from everyone in the world. I see it all. I  feel  it all.” Martin listened passively, despair replaced by a deep frustration. He knew this, and Jon knew how he felt about being his… receptacle for it all. But he didn’t interrupt.

“We have been through a domain of The Slaughter, and are now passing into one of The Corruption. I’ve been… accumulating more and more of The Slaughter’s fear all this time, and now that we’re leaving it… I suppose it wanted me to let it out. Now or never.” He paused. “And... I  have  to let it out, willingly, or else…”

“This happens.”

Jon sighed. “Apparently.”

Martin considered this, wondering if Jon could see the tear tracks that had left clean paths down his otherwise dirty face.

“Why didn’t you just give a statement? You know…  before  it was forced out of you?”

Jon looked at his hands for a long time. Then, in a small, guilty voice, he said, “I was trying to keep it inside.”

“Keep it inside?  Why?  ”

“I thought…” He covered his mouth in the gesture of one whose face burned with shame. “I thought I could control it, if I just willed it hard enough. These trenches… too long. Too narrow. There was nowhere for you to go. I didn’t want to stop, and I didn’t want to leave you.”

Martin stopped, and he softened. “Jon.” He sighed through his nose, and placed his hand on the back of Jon’s head. Then he brought him up into an embrace. “This was worse.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he murmured into Martin’s neck.

“... I’m just glad you’re okay.”

They stayed like that for an undefinable amount of time, relishing the only avenue of comfort available to them anymore. Then, with Jon clinging to Martin for support, they climbed to their feet, and set out under the sky again, which had at some point shifted from violent red to a sickly yellow. A new understanding dawned on them both, mostly Martin, who resolved to allow Jon his space when he needed to… vent.

He only wished the knowledge hadn’t had to come from personal experience.

Something lurking in the ruins ripped the page off the typewriter, and its keys never made a noise again.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #fanfiction #horror #angst #h/c #tma season 5 spoilers #yikes original tag #yikes tma tag

[hyper-writes]

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon - Race for the Cure: Chapter 6

Hey guys! Just the little reminder to please consider commenting/reviewing this chapter/story if you wouldn’t mind. It’s a great motivator for me!

“C’mon you two, you’re holding us up!” Swellow cawed as she circled back around to the group, having flown ahead to determine the best path for the group to take.

“C-Can’t we rest for a sec? Oooghhh, my stomach’s killing me…” Nuyt whined, his head low as he uttered a half-hearted belch. Kro didn’t look much better themself, they almost looked even more green in the face now.

“Well then maybe you shouldn’t have scarfed down yer dinner last night.” She replied, landing at the front of the pack with a huff. “We’re on a schedule, so pick up your feet and let’s get going.”

“Swellow, it is much better to use positive reinforcement with children.” Doc suggested from his spot on Manetric’s back, a smile on his long snout at the certainty of his statement.

“Alright, be my guest.” Swellow responded, flying up to a nearby tree where she then perched herself. “My wings need a preening anyway.” She then proceeded to run her beak along her flight feathers.

“Yes, well…” Doc muttered, sighing heavily before he turned his attention towards Manectric. “You can rest too, it’d be best if I was on their level after all.”

Manectric gave a stout nod, easing down into the grass with a content purr. Doc hopped off his companion’s back and scurried over to the kids. “How we doing back here? You said your stomachs were hurting you?”

Kro flopped onto their side with a pained moan, holding their belly as Nuyt spoke up. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up..!”

Doc cringed anxiously before laughing it off timidly, “Oh, don’t be silly. I know just the thing for tummy aches.” He glanced around the immediate area before sighing heavily. “Swellow?” She grunted gruffly in response, not looking up from her work for a moment.

“Do you know if we have any heal seeds?” Doc asked, catching Manectric looking over to him before nosing through their bag.

“Shouldn’t you be asking Mani?” She grumbled, and lo and behold the blue pokemon uttered a bark to Doc.

“Oh, excellent! May I see them?” Doc scampered over to the other, though once he was there he noticed that there was only one seed. “Oh dear...is there a way we could cut this in half?”

Manectric moved Doc’s paws so he would be holding either side of the seed; then they rested their fangs over it, pausing for a moment before bringing their maw down around the seed. The heal seed split in half and Doc only flinched a little. “Perfect! Good thinking Manectric!”

But just as the sandile was hurrying over to the duo, he noticed that Nuyt was looking over to the bushes on his left. The pup’s expression was unreadable, but his fin was trembling ever so slightly. “Are you okay son?”

Nuyt jumped a bit, turning his attention to Doc before whispering. “What is that?”

“H-Huh? What’s wha--?” Doc was unable to finish when a blinding light caused him to wince, “What the--!?”

“S-Sorry! My gem does that sometime--” Nuyt looked over as he heard a low growl, finding that it was Kro who was making the noise. They were hunched down and their vines prepped beside their tense body. “Kro, what’s wron--?”

His answer came not from his companion, but from a black figure that launched itself at them. His eyes widened as a memory flashed in his mind; this was just how Gigalith had died.

Though he and Doc were swiftly yanked out of the monster’s path by familiar vines. Kro slid them both back behind them, freezing as the raptor-like creature hissed at them. The massive leaf on its head trembling as those vacant red irises stared them down.

“KRO RUN!” Nuyt screamed as the creature once again leapt, this time aiming for the frozen bulbasaur.

However, the figure never made it. For Manectric was right on it, running at incredible speed before slamming into the monster. Then, the figure burst into flames. But the worst thing, was its scream.

It sounded like a million voices crying out at once, each of them more bloodcurdling and anguished than the last.

Manectric pushed the flailing body away from the group, and in an instant Swellow dove for it. Braking midair before rapidly flapping her wings, the gust of wind from this move put out the fire. Leaving nothing but...bones?

Kro stared at the remains in horror, visions of Gogoat flashing before them before they began to cry. Though no one seemed to notice, Manectric and Swellow were too busy examining the bones. “Hmm, looks like a Grovyle. Weird, all of them went to that one village right? Something about getting back ‘to their roots,’ or some other nonsense.”

Though, Nuyt did finally notice their tears and he nuzzled under their chin gently. He couldn’t help the shocked glare he gave Swellow and Manectric, “You killed them!”

“Geez, you’re welcome…” Swellow growled, this is when Doc stepped in.

“I know it is scary, children. But in his condition, it was only humane to put him down.” He started, flicking his tail which signaled Swellow to fly up and do a quick once around of the surrounding forest. “He was infected. Horribly ill with no known cure. He was suffering.”

“B-But…” Nuyt glanced back to his friend, seeing them weakly wiping the tears from their eyes. They looked towards the pile of bones, then back to Nuyt. “I-I...u-understand..?”

“It’s alright, son. Here,” Doc held out the split heal seed to the both of them. “This will hold you over until we get over the mountain.”

Nuyt sat on his bum, taking both halves in his fore-paws before holding one out to Kro. They both ate their respective piece at the same time, feeling a warmth build up in their chests that broke apart the lump of anxiety that had nested there.

Just then Swellow swept in over them, “All clear!” She called down.

“Come, let’s keep moving.” Doc said deciding to stay on the ground with Kro and Nuyt while Swellow led the way.

“And that was just one procedure!” Doc grinned while all five of them laid around a small fire; it had taken a lot of work to clean all of the snow off the cliff on the mountain, but it was worth it for a secure night’s rest.

“Eh, don’t believe him kids. He’s known for his short tales.” Swellow commented with a smirk, finishing off her apple as Nuyt tilted his head towards her.

“Don’t you mean ‘tall tales?’” He asked, to which he got silence before Swellow and Manectric burst out laughing.

“Oh, very mature you two.” Doc sighed while Nuyt looked between the three adults with a confused expression.

Though once the chortles died down, Nuyt broke the silence once more. “I got a story.”

“Oh, this’ll be good.” Swellow quipped, chuckling when Manectric lightly punched her on her wing.

“Alright, one more story. Then it’s time for bed.” Doc smiled, curling his tail off to his side and shifting his hind legs so that they too were beside him.

“Okay! It’s a really good one.” Nuyt said confidently, he didn’t notice it but Kro opened their eye to look up at him. Only now were they the slightest bit interested in what was going on around them.

“So a long time ago, there were these things called humans--”

“Oh arceus, not this shi--” Swellow started, but she was quieted by Manectric’s paw on her beak.

“Go on, Nuyt. I am very interested in this already.” Doc encouraged gently, shooting his comrade a glare when Nuyt wasn’t looking.

“Um, where was I…? Oh, right!” Nuyt patted his paw onto the stone below before continuing, “So humans were these weird creatures, with flat faces and they like didn’t know how to talk. And they had no moves, but fought all the time!”

“Pfft, what animals…” Swellow muttered, which Doc and Manectric nodded in agreement.

“They were all split up too, not like us. They had different homes that kept to themselves mostly, it was really weird. Like they’d trade and stuff but no tribes liked the others?” Nuyt continued, obviously he was getting off track so Doc prompted him gently. “Anyway, the planet was getting really sick from all the death and gunk in the air. So these big lizard things--”

“Sceptiles?” Doc corrected uncertainty.

“No, like they were kind of like Salamences but more like a snake too? But yeah, these creatures united together and brought balance back to the planet. And everything was getting better, the humans slowly disappeared and the first pokemon started to arrive.”

“Uh, huh. Very interesting, now can we go to bed?” Swellow yawned, though Nuyt shook his head quickly.

“I’m not done yet! It gets really good!” He insisted, to which Doc once again shushed Swellow and prompted the mudkip to finish. “Ok, so everything was going great. But then the leader lizard got in a fight, they died in that very battle. After that the ancient pokemon built a statue to honor their savior.”

Swellow scoffed at the choice of words, what a joke. Like some creature could have saved all pokemon, but the glares from her fellow adults kept her from interrupting any further.

“Many years went on, until one pokemon predicted that a terrible dark age would cloud the planet. All pokemon would fall victim to a horrible plague, and the only way they’d survive it is if that great creature returned to bring balance back once more.” Nuyt said the last part with stars in his eyes, Kro smiled up to their friend before uttering a soft chuff.

“Huh, that’s a great story, Nuyt.” Doc praised the shiny pokemon, earning a proud grin from the pup. “But, now we should all be getting to bed.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Night Doc, Manectric, Swellow.” Nuyt said, nuzzling up to Kro’s side and sighing contently when the bulbasaur rested their paw over his side. “Night Kro.”

Kro purred gently, the two of them falling asleep within minutes of closing their eyes. Swellow watched them for that time and five extra before turning towards Doc. “What a load of garbage, as if pokemon need help from some freak.”

“Swellow, I think Nuyt is just projecting. He wants to believe that something is out there that can stop this disease,” Doc retorted. “He’s young, let him and Kro believe. This is a terrible time to grow up, these little things make all the difference.”

Swellow paused for a moment before resting her head on her back, “Yeah whatever you say, Doc…” And with that, they too fell asleep. Comforted by the gentle crackle of the fire.

#pmd #pmd fanfiction #pokemon mystery dungeon #PMD: RFtC #pokemon mystery dungeon fanfiction

[zefurrwrites-blog]

Commission - Outbreak

Virus epidemics are such BULL crap huh? http://www.furaffinity.net/view/24932831/

----

“It has been several years since the Form Unraveling Retrovirus has surfaced. Officials would like to remind the public the dangers of contact with the infected as the disease spreads very easily. Those who are infected experience drastic alterations to their DNA structure. The United States has seen a significant divide between the healthy and unhealthy persons. Since the formation of the New United States three years ago, the government has split the country into factions attempting to contain the spread of disease. Their efforts have stopped mass outbreak but citizens worry about the unstable future of their country and world.” The television set was turned off and a young man about 20 years of age got up from the loveseat and stretched his 6’3 frame. Green eyes stared down at his friend Fernando in the chair across from him. “What they don’t tell you is that this disease makes you queer” “What are you on about Ricky?” Fernando asked swiping away on his phone. Ricky walked in the kitchen of their apartment and reached in the cupboard. “Remember Marcus? Big dude, meathead, bangs a different girl every day of the week?” “What about him?” Fernando asked looking over his shoulder. “Lexi told me she heard HE got infected with the F.U.R virus and totally became a fruit” Ricky said grabbing chips. “And here I thought this thing turned you into some animal hybrid thing” Fernando laugh. “Yeah, really funny smartass. But now he’s the one getting fucked like a chick. We’re outta chips by the way.” Ricky said letting out a loud belch. Fernando sighed and rolled his eyes. “You’re such a pig, Ricky.” “Whatever you say Mr. Perfect” Ricky said grabbing his jacket. “I’m going for a run.” “This late at night?” “No one around, cool breeze, quiet, it’s perfect” he said and was out the door. --- It was nearly two in the morning and his roommate hadn’t returned yet. Normally Fernando would’ve have cared but security around the district had me tightened ever since the sighting of some infected last week. He grabbed his own coat and keys and went out the apartment door down a floor and out the building. He went to the nearby park he knows his roommate frequently visited but didn’t see him anywhere. Fernando ended up checking all of Ricky’s usual hangouts to no avail. The man wasn’t answering his phone either which was also unusual. “He loves to hear himself talk” Fernando snorted amused at the thought. Distracted by his web browsing, Fernando didn’t see the figures approaching him until it was too late. They gagged and restrained him, the action making him drop his phone in the struggle. Muffled, he tried yelling for help until a sickly sweet scent clouded his senses and he fell unconscious. --- When Fernando woke it was still dark out. Or at least that’s what he thought with the blindfold on. He tugged the wrist bounds behind his back only to find them restrained. The same with his feet. He was still gagged and resting on something that smelled sweaty and familiar. There was movement off to his right and a flash of light before it dimmed again. He heard laughing from several individuals before there was brief silence again. “Let’s see how you humans like the ridicule” the unknown voice said to his groggy mind before the sickly sweet scent returned along with a bitter salty taste. Then Fernando fell unconscious again. When Fernando woke again he could see again, although with how dark it was there wasn’t much to see. He was also no longer gagged or restrained either. Still resting on the same something from before, he got up sighting and saw it to be Ricky, still in his workout clothes. They were deserted in some back alley. “Okay, so we were kidnapped and taken somewhere and…left?” he wondered aloud. Ricky stirred back in consciousness groaning. “How much did I drink last night?” he said sitting up rubbing his head. “You weren’t drunk. Pretty sure we were drugged and kidnapped. Where the hell we are, I don’t freaking know.” Fernando said irritably getting up from the cold ground. Ricky followed suit stumbling slightly. The two walked out the alley wary of their unfamiliar surroundings. Fernando saw a figure that made him stop cold in his tracks making Ricky bump into him. Ricky was about to protest when Fernando dragged him back around the corner to a different alley covering his mouth. When he saw the coast was clear he removed his hand “What the HELL was that for?” Ricky whisper loudly. “Whoever took us dropped us off in an infected city” Fernando said worriedly. Ricky’s face dropped and he slumped down the brick wall. “What the hell are we gonna do!?” Fernando asked. “How should I know? You’re the idea guy!” Ricky shot back. Fernando started pacing in the alleyway. A thought occurred to him and he checked his body for any signs of infection. “Nothing” he thought relieved. “Okay wherever we are seems to have a lot of alleys and it’s dark out, so as long we stay quiet and unseen, we can try getting out of here.” Ricky nodded. The two went on to traverse the back alleys of the unknown, infected city. Hiding out, they saw varying humanoid hybrids no doubt victims of infection. Some of them even openly engaging in perverse, sexual actions. “I don’t wanna end up like that, man” Ricky whined running his hands through his much thinner hair. “Shut up and we won’t” Fernando whispered back harshly adjusting his pants. Whoever had kidnapped them definitely didn’t want them escaping. Navigating was hard when you couldn’t risk asking for directions. Neither boy had their phones either losing them after being kidnapped. “Man I’m starving” Fernando thought dryly. They’d been walking for hours now and night was nearly over. The sound of plastic wrapping caught his attention and he turned around seeing his friend stuffing his face. “Ricky!” the boy said in a harsh whisper. “What the fuck?! Where did you get that?” Ricky’s cheeks lit up in embarrassment before his swallowed his mouthful. “Promise not to be mad?” he asked. “I definitely do not promise. Ricky I swear to go-” “It was from the trash back there. It was hardly eaten. I just ate around it. Dude, I was sooo hungry.” Fernando groaned loudly rubbing thicker palms over his face. Ricky hiccupped which sounded suspiciously like a squeals “DON’T do that again. You’re literally asking to be infected duuOOOde” Fernando said clamping his hands over his mouth. “What the fuck was that?” Ricky asked. “I don’t fucking know!” Fernando shouted back. He didn’t know why he was suddenly so angry. Air even shot out of his much more enlarged nostrils. “Still haven’t figured it out boys? Or just don’t want to acknowledge the obvious?” a voice said from behind them making the two jump. Fernando recognized it as one of the voices when they were kidnapped. He wasn’t alone either. Their kidnapper stepped into the light revealing himself to be a raccoon looking hybrid. The other three behind him were a skunk, badger and possum, all dirty and barely clothed. A mixture of cut and uncut cocks hung from their animal sheaths. Some even dripping with tainted semen. The sight made the two boys drool a bit before getting ahold of themselves. “Ah, I see the infection worked quicker than expected?” the raccoon guy said taking in their slightly altered appearances. Fernando’s blood ran cold at the thing’s words. “What the hell are you queers talking about!?” Ricky growled. “When we kidnapped you, rather easily by the way, we gave you each some of our cum in your vulnerable states” he said smiling wickedly. Ricky eyes bulged before he bent over both in pain from his backside and also from unsuccessfully trying to vomit. Fernando got angry all over again and lunged for his kidnapper who easily side stepped him. He fell breaking his fall of bags of trash. “Now now, no need to lose your temper Fernando” “How the hell do you know my name!?” Fernando said getting up. “We’ve been watching you and your friend for a while now. You humans look down on us because of this virus. See us as second class citizens. Nothing much animals beneath your feet. Well guess what, now you will be too.” “You can’t do this to us! It’s illegal” Ricky groaned clutching his expanding stomach. Some parts of skin paled to a whitish color before settling on a soft pink. He no longer felt pain in his back as a spiny tail poked its way through his ruined jogging shorts. “Come now, you don’t actually think we care about legalities in District 87 do you?” raccoon guy said laughing. Fernando hung his head in defeat. If they were in District 87, then they really were screwed. That’s a whole state over. Rumors of how depraved the infected are here spread almost as quickly as the disease. “We’ll cleanse the earth of humanity until only use ‘infected’ remain. Then there won’t be any need for these silly divisions between human and animal.” Fernando clutched his head in pain as ivory horns poked their way through his forehead. He could feel the changes accelerated by the anger he felt towards the hybrids. A whip-like tail rapidly grew from his backside and his fingers fused into three. His nails hardened into a keratin-like substance and soon he had hoof hands. Ricky wasn’t doing much well off. His changes accelerated by the infected food he ate. His nose already formed into a snout. His hair was balding until just a tuff was left at the top. His hands also going through the same change as Fernando’s and the girth of his new weight tore the clothes he wore. Gone was the fit, athletic body he reveled over and in its place was a pudgy, fat pig’s body. Soon his changes were complete as his ears flopped over and he let out a squeal of panic. Raccoon guy laughed at the new victim. “Welcome to the family porkers!” He turned his attention back to Fernando who had gotten and lunged again this time catching him by surprise. Fernando had the guy pinned to the brick wall determined to put his horns to a much more grisly use. He didn’t get the chance though as raccoon guy’s friends tore him away and restrained him. “Hehe, you almost got me there. Figured the change would kill that fight you had left but apparently I was wrong” he said unzipping his pants and dropping them. Raccoon guy held his swollen cock in his paw and started jerking it. Fernando struggled to get free but even he couldn’t fight off three guys himself. Ricky was utterly useless having gave into his new instincts. He was stuffing his face with the remainder of his food from earlier. Raccoon guy’s face tightened up before he shot yellowed sperm all over Fernando’s growing muzzle. Some landed in his mouth and he involuntarily swallowed. That seemed to progress his remaining changes. Fur grew all over his body from his head to the tuft of his new appendage. His shoes ripped as his feet transformed into hooves. His horns grew out longer and his face pushed out further along with his nose. What Ricky loss in muscle, Fernando made up for in muscle as his arms and legs swelled with new tissue. The last change he went through was his own cock which darkened with splotches and swelled. It grew out wider and blunted into a flat tip at the top. His balls ballooned up as new, tainted splooge formed inside. Soon Fernando was just another animal like the others. Fernando stopped fighting then as his new mindset took over. The changes making him orgasm as well as he shot a copious load onto the alley ground. Lustful eyes stared up at the raccoon who returned the smile. Raccoon guy leaned in for a kiss which Fernando generously returned with his new, longer tongue. “Welcome home boys.” END

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#tf #transformation #tfstory #outbreak #bull #commission #zefurrwrites