Prologue
August 24th - Seattle, Washington… “Reports today of infection numbers sky rocketing, with no sign of slowing…. NATO’s disbanding… The UN’s failure to…. People are beginning to ask, is there an end to the curse flu pandemic…? Buzzing voices, garbled, frantic, and muffled by static filled the air as ears flicked. “Thank you for seeing me today, professor…. Now, I must ask, is there anything you can say to calm everyone’s nerves…?” Another voice sounded, distorted as the first, as if from some disembodied conversation. A shallow breath filled the stuffy nostrils of a fanged muzzle while paws twitched under the cover of a loose blanket. Eyelids fluttered as consciousness stirred, muscular limbs shifting to allow a fuzzy tail to uncoil. The sound of rain dancing on a window mixed with the din of thunder, screaming and gunfire. “The numbers are off the charts…. What started weeks ago as nothing more than an early flu season…We’re all being told different stories. We have to deal with all the possibilities…” announced a calm voice. “Conventual methods are failing… Reports from around the world confirm…” “But many would say… Even after the controversial evacuation and subsequent bombing of Chicago…” responded another voice, as if in some kind of interview. “That there must be something…” “The curse flu is like nothing humanity has ever faced… We must face facts regarding martial law… What we’re seeing is unprecedented, whether they want me to tell you or not, the transition of one species into another…” The voice cut off, allowing static to fill the air for a second. “Reports that the Manhattan quarantine line has been breached.” The buzzing din momentarily overwhelmed the disembodied voice once again. “Entire eastern seaboard is… Already reports of cases south of the continental divide… The so-called chupacabra in Mexico…” Yet another voice, that of a woman added. “Around the globe… With no OMCD breakthroughs… Many people are starting to ask… Is this all worth it?” An emerald-green eye flared open, the alien creature’s head shot up as if on a spring, a sharp gasp escaping her throat. The OMCD, Operation Farmhouse… Curse flu…. The thoughts spun through her mind in a blur before she slumped forward. I have to… Everything in her mind dissolved as she saw herself. Dark fur, paws, claws, and a tail, partially draped under a loose blanket. She looked like a strange concoction of a fuzzy lizard mixed with a tiger; her body was unrecognisable. Trembling more than a barn in a tornado, she lifted a quivering forepaw, peering at the thing as if it were a grotesque deformity sprouting from her mutilated shoulder. The pain she swore she should feel at being so twisted was absent, pressing it to her chest she found slack clothes clinging to her bedraggled breast and downy mane. I fell asleep, I… Her body heaved as she convulsed, rolling off the squat sofa she lay upon. Bile rose in her throat, as if fluid filled her lungs and sure enough, strands of sticky goo spluttered between her new fangs as she retched. I couldn’t have I… her arched back and lean shoulders rose, she hunched over, staring at one forepaw, talons wrinkling against the carpet as the foreign limb clenched. I’m still thinking… It… I’m still me! She looked over herself, shrugging off the tattered remains of her human clothes as the boxy television beside her bed continued to blabber old interviews and news reports. With little care for her nakedness, she studied from her sleek, predatory shoulders all the way down to her tufted tail. Lifting a forepaw to her tall ears, then to her muzzle, finding sharp fangs and a soft nose. Then, as if reflexively, her ears drooped as she recalled. “Father!?” Her head shot up, lips working in weird ways as she did her best to talk around her alien tongue. “D–dad!?” Difficult as it was to speak with an extended mouth, taking a step forward was a whole other story, her legs buckled, and she fell flat on her face. Blinking dust from her eyes, she glanced up to see the desk before her, overlooked by a rain-marred window. Beyond the glass it was cold and grey, frantic shouting and the crack of gunfire mixed with the boom of thunder and distant chanting. Gritting what she quickly realized were her new and sharp teeth, she pulled herself up, striking out at the desktop with one forepaw. Her own strength caught her off guard as her claws cut furrows in the wood. With a huff that sounded all too much like a primal growl, she struggled to lift her jittering body, her talons pressing deeper into the furniture as they gripped. Peering onto the desktop, she found stacks of notes, old video tapes and recordings. It was like a time capsule of an era twenty years gone, all her father ever really trusted, all she ever knew. Her eyes fixed on a camcorder, beside which was an old cassette player. “Many would disagree. Riots against the OMCD’s latest efforts have covered the country… Many are asking if loved ones are safe?” Stuttered the TV, as the creature reached out a forepaw for the camcorder, trembling limbs and rapid breathing stealing her already clumsy grip. “We must do what is necessary… No matter…” The TV ceased playing as the lights above flickered, and an explosion shook the world outside. She stared out of the misty window to see a truck ram into a black barricade constructed between the hospital’s two main buildings. All the while a vast crowd of panicked people beat at the steel barrier, like a sea of grasping hands. There were flashes of silver among them, things that could almost look like some kind of oversized snow leopard if she didn’t know better. Yet she did know, she knew exactly what had happened. One glance back at her twisted body, and her face contorted as she held back tears. That was until there was a loud, wood splintering bang. Her head snapped round as if on a swivel, her quivering eyes fixing upon a door opposite the desk, next to the room’s exit. A sign marking it as the bathroom came loose with another bang and she jumped to all fours like a timid kitten. Her legs didn’t work how they used to; it was as if she’d never walked more than an inch in her life. But her mind was still there, her instincts, she knew what she had to do, as if there were things buried deep inside her new, animalistic brain. She took a step forward. “Dad?” she asked quietly, dropping her head to one side as her ears reflexively perked. The attack on the door fell silent as she edged closer, pressing one forepaw to the frail wood as she peered at the latch. If only I had fingers… She inspected her claws, serrated and bear-like, with a gnarled edge and sharp point. What am I saying, I shouldn’t even have claws!? She pressed a forepaw to the latch, doing her best to coax it into turning. That was when a clatter outside caught her attention, she froze, glancing back to the window. There was a rattle of gunfire somewhere beyond the walls. A sudden whimper involuntarily left her mouth as she ducked, before there was a hiss of static, and a click.
