REDEMPTION
By
Enigmafur
The name’s Keith Thompson. Well, at least formerly so—a lot of things changed after the Operation Shining Tempest incident, and my name wasn’t the only one.
I was a member of a special operations unit in the Interstellar Marine Corps. The military had been fully privatized after the Great Revolution of 2051, and had become a sort of mercenary army. This meant that we had no longer had loyalties to any ideal or country, instead we just worked for whoever was the highest bidder.
A few years before I had enlisted in the Corps, the entire scientific community of Earth was abuzz about a wormhole that had just opened up in our solar system, and they sent in a high-tech probe to see if it led anywhere. It did, and somehow the probe survived to send back amazing photos of another solar system. But what thrilled them the most was that there was a planet in there that had intelligent life residing on it. Promptly, the planet was named Morpheus after the Greek god of dreams. A lot of people planned extravagant ways to make first contact with them, but none of them were ever carried out.
The dominant corporation of the time, Neocorp, however, had a different agenda. They sent in special droids and probes to get a closer look at the planet’s population. What they found out was another shocker for the guys in labcoats: Apparently, the population was a familiar but diverse mix of species that were once thought to be Earth-exclusive, (wolves, cats, bears, et cetera) only with one major difference: They also looked like us, too. They seemed partially animal and partially human, maybe leaning a bit more to the "human" side. Someone eventually dubbed them as "furries," but despite this name and their nearly cartoony appearance, a lot of us were suspicious of them.
While the biologists pulled their hair out trying to figure out how such a race could exist, Neocorp decided to not give a shit about the mystery and worked out their own plan, which included hiring us.
I was still quite new to the Marines at the time, and I was overjoyed when I realized that our platoon would be going into space as part of our very first assignment. No one else was informed about the mission, and we were instructed to refrain from any mention of our upcoming journey to anyone who wasn’t authorized. Looking back, I guess that I should have realized that something was wrong at that point, but I was only 18 years old. Nothing could have gotten me to question our trip to the stars.
So, on May 21st, 2149, we departed from Earth, headed for the wormhole in a Neocorp shuttle, the Argo. I noticed that our equipment seemed a bit bizarre: We were each issued a Vector CR900 autocarbine, each unit’s magazine fully loaded with tranquilizer rounds. We were also given a Bofors MK.V Antimatter Projector, a special gun infamous for its ability to instantly disintegrate targets without leaving any trace. Our battle armor suits and guns were all fitted with cloaking plates.
Clearly, Neocorp had stealth in mind for the mission. And they weren’t interested in giving the furries warm hugs and greeting cards, either.
Eventually, when we were only a few thousand kilometers from the wormhole, our sergeant stood up to fill us in on the details of the assignment.
Neocorp wanted us to raid a certain science facility on Morpheus that they had been watching for years. Evidently, they had some stuff that Neocorp wanted to get their hands on, and fast. The plan was for us to drop in from a height of about 7,000 feet and raid the facility in search of a prototype "electron manipulation drive." (Hey, I don’t have a clue, either.) We were to avoid causing any Morphesian casualties unless it was absolutely necessary, in which case we were informed to use the antimatter projectors.
The mission went surprisingly well, even though many of us felt guilty about making first contact with an alien race by effectively plundering them. We struck so fast, the furries never knew that they were under attack—until it was far too late. Still, the encounter did do one thing for us, which was that we truly started our transformation from naive, idealistic young men and women into hardened soldiers.
The Neocorp execs were very pleased with the success of the mission, but not entirely satisfied: They sent us on more and more assignments, all to steal Morphesian technology. It went on like that until 2151, when we were temporarily deployed on Earth to suppress some uprisings against Neocorp. Then, 3 months later, we were sent out to Morpheus yet again. But this time, I knew that something was different: The execs were more excited than ever, constantly claiming that the furries had "discovered the secret to immortality." As it turned out, the "secret to immortality" was a biologically engineered virus that they had created, the basic concept being that it would travel through a patient’s body, restructuring its cellular composition until their cells were all rejuvenated. It didn’t take a genius to know that Neocorp didn’t just see a potential cure for death in that virus; they saw profit, and one helluva big one.
That was why they offered us an unusually large payment if we were to
bring back several viruses for them to put into mass production. We had
become experts at "stealing candy from the baby," as we had come to call it,
and we all assured ourselves that the mission would be a piece of cake. Yet,
I had a strange feeling on the way to Morpheus
that something would be different about the mission, codenamed Operation
Shining Tempest.
"Nah, I’m just nervous, that’s all," I reassured myself as our dropship finished entering Morpheus’ atmosphere. I looked around at my fellow marines.
Sergeant Gray chewed thoughtfully on a cheap cigar (as usual) while he cleaned out the firing mechanism of a Vector carbine. Murphy, a small, timid-looking youth chatted with Bridge, a rather unremarkable marine whom had established a casual friendship with him. PFC Sanchez, a woman with more machismo than most men, was calmly examining her antimatter projector. She was something of a tomboy, but no one ever dared to make fun of her for that, at least after an incident when she flung a sarcastic private across a room with only one hand. Two others, Corporal Hall and Private Bradley sat silently, awaiting the moment of truth.
A few minutes passed by before an alarm went off. "Drop zone will be in range in T-minus 90 seconds," A computer voice announced. "All personnel, prepare for deployment."
I quickly got to my feet and strapped on my armor and electronics. Then I picked up my weapons and lined up on the left side of the room, right by the jump door.
"T-minus 20 seconds.” Murphy was the last marine to finish donning his equipment; he always took extra time adjusting the battle armor for his size. He filed into his proper line just as the computer began counting down, "10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…Deploy now."
"Happy landings, dirtbags," Sergeant Gray called out as we began jumping out of the doors. "Don’t get yourselves pancaked."
I suppressed an urge to shudder at the thought as I leaped out of the dropship.
After free-falling for a few moments, we pulled the ripcords on our parachutes and glided down to the ground, where we immediately detached and carefully hid the parachutes. As stealthy and efficient as ninjas, we activated our cloaking plates and armed our weaponry. We also turned on our infrared goggles, so we’d be able to see each other’s heat signatures.
In the distance, we could see our target destination, the medical research facility Neocorp had been going nuts about. It was a massive dome-like structure with a ring of small towers surrounding it. I was perplexed as to how we would be able to find the virus in such an enormous building, but I also knew that we were Interstellar Marines. We had never failed, and this mission would be no exception.
It took us a few minutes to reach the building, and it was extremely nerve-racking to see Morphesians passing us by from only about 3 feet away, blissfully ignorant of our presence, thanks to our cloaking technology. We were certain to not rely too heavily on it, though, and took advantage of every possible nook, cranny, and shadow in case something malfunctioned.
We crept through the door, and I barely avoided gasping when I saw the facility’s interior. Another slightly smaller dome rested in the center of the building, and numerous catwalks and bridges connected from it to the outer shell of the structure. There were thousands of furries walking on our level and the catwalks, and I imagined that there were probably even thousands more inside of the smaller dome.
Our corporal decided to investigate the smaller dome area first. He silently motioned for us to follow him, and we did as we were ordered.
The smaller dome was not hollow, like its larger counterpart. Instead, it contained a large network of halls and laboratories, and one of them surely contained the immortality virus. Suddenly, the corporal started stalking one unfortunate zebra who seemed to be a scientist. I seriously wondered about what the corporal had in mind, but nonetheless, I didn’t intervene.
I got my answer once we reached a fairly deserted corridor. Corporal Hall suddenly grabbed the zebra by his elongated neck and pressed him against the wall before he even had time to cry out. I knew that my duty, at that moment, was to ensure that no one saw what was going on. The other marines realized that as well, and we all trained our rifles on every possible entrance into the corridor.
The corporal hissed something in a different language, which our automatic translation computers interpreted as, "Where’s the virus?!"
The zebra stuttered, understandably horrified by the fact that he was being held up by an invisible phantom. "I-I…I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re developing hundreds of viruses."
The corporal growled. "Don’t play dumb! The virus that can regenerate organisms, where is it?!"
"Uhh..do you want me to lead you to it?"
"Yes. And no tricks—we’re armed, and we won’t be pleased if you try to do something stupid. Understand?"
"Y-yes…sir."
He finally released the zebra, and he clumsily fell to the floor. He quickly got up though, and tried to look as calm as possible as he lead us through a series of halls and elevators. He wasn’t a particularly good actor; other Morphesians were constantly stopping him and asking him if something was wrong.
Somehow, though, after about 5 minutes of this dizzying pattern of walking, turning, and waiting, we had reached what apparently was the lab we had been looking for. But two rhinoceros guards were posted at the door, and I noticed something about them that made my stomach churn.
They were wearing infrared goggles.
They reacted almost simultaneously and surprisingly calmly: They both quickly shouldered some strange large-bore weapons. We reacted as well and aimed our carbines.
Time seemed to stand still as the zebra comprehended what was happening and dodged out of the way just before the exchange.
"Weapons free!" The corporal grunted.
The rhinoceroses had the first strike. The one standing to the left fired his weapon, and the projectile found its mark. Murphy was struck by it, and we were surprised to see that it entangled him completely in some kind of net. For reasons unknown, they wanted us alive.
We returned fire. I scored a hit on the first rhinoceroses’ left shoulder, and he went down instantly from the tranq dart. The other guard, however, managed to evade our fire and let loose another net-projectile. This time the net struck two marines, Sanchez and Corporal Hall. The two were knocked off their feet by the impact of the projectile and trussed up in a jumbled tangle of wire and cables.
There were now only three marines left, including myself. Bridge fired a single shot into the guard, bringing the bizarre non-lethal firefight to an end. But just before he completely lost consciousness, the rhino punched in a single button on a device that resembled a mobile phone. Immediately, an alarm echoed through the hallways.
Things were beginning to look ugly.
"You go get the viruses. I’ll try to free the others," commanded Bridge. "Private Bradley," he said, glancing at the other soldier. "Watch for more guards while I try to do this."
I ran up to the door, opened it, and came into the lab, careful about my surroundings. I looked around the room, and my eyes rested on a refrigeration unit in the corner. I could tell that it was important; it was surrounded by security cameras, and it had a keypad-lock attached to its lid.
"Damn," I thought. Some of the other squad members had been given plasma torches for cutting locks like the one that confronted me, but no one had equipped me with one. I decided to go quickly go back to the other marines and get one, but I froze when I looked out the window into the hall. The marines had been surrounded by guards and stripped of their weapons and their cloaking plates. My heart raced as I frantically searched around the room for something of use. In my frenzy, though, I bumped solidly into a desk, and my cloaking plates deactivated from the impact.
"Aaah! Please…don’t kill me," a translated, but still puny-sounding voice begged.
I looked around for the source of the voice, and saw a scrawny red fox wearing large round glasses, apparently another scientist.
I had an idea.
"Perhaps I won’t, if you do two things: first, tell me what’s in that container." I demanded, and my voice was translated to his language.
"It’s our new rejuvenation virus…please, just don’t hurt me! I mean you no harm."
"Good. Now, unlock the container."
He hesitated, but got up and typed in the code on the keypad. Sure enough, and with a pneumatic hiss, the lid came off of the refrigeration unit. A small rack of vials filled with clear fluid slowly rose out of the container.
"Thank you, I’ll just take those." I said, reaching out for the vials.
The fox swatted my hand away from them. I was just about to vaporize him, but he explained just in time.
"You can’t just take the vials like that! They have to continue to be refrigerated, otherwise the viruses will die. Here, I’ll quickly get the device we use for transporting them."
I had my antimatter projector trained on him while he retrieved a thermos-like object.
"Here, put them in this insulated container, and gently."
I snatched the object out of his paws. "I’ll do this myself."
I carefully put 6 vials in futuristic thermos, and sealed its lid on tightly. The fox hastily closed the larger container, which still had plenty of samples left.
The fox looked at me pleadingly. "Please…can you let me go, now?"
Suddenly an unfamiliar voice called out; "Human! We know that you’re in there. Drop your weapons and come out with your hands up."
"No," I said flatly to the fox, hoisting my antimatter gun to his head level and attaching the virus container to my belt.
I seized the fox, and dragged him with me to the door.
I kicked the door open, revealing a frightfully large amount of guards. The other marines weren’t in sight.
"What did you do with the others!?" I asked angrily.
"They have been detained. But we can assure you that they will be treated fairly and-…"
"Release them, goddammit!" I shouted. "Or I’ll kill this scientist!"
There was a brief, grim pause as their negotiator stared at me. "Very well. Do you have any other demands?"
"Allow me to leave this facility without any disturbances. I want everyone within a 2-mile radius of this place cleared out, and absolutely everyone! This entire facility has got to be cleared out within 30 minutes. Then, within at least 3 hours, I demand that you bring my squad mates to the facility, all unharmed."
"But…" The negotiator tried to interject.
"I gave you my demands. If you want this guy to live, follow them!"
The negotiator reluctantly picked up a radio and relayed my demands to higher authorities. The negotiator discussed the situation with them for about 3 minutes, then finally shut the radio down.
Sighing, he said, "Alright, then, human. They’ve agreed to your demands."
He turned to the other guards. "You heard him. We’ve got to pull out, ASAP."
I sighed with relief as soon as they were out of sight. Grabbing the fox again by his collar, I dragged the distressed vulpine down the hallway. He was nearly in tears from confusion and fear, but I resisted any pangs of sympathy for him. My mission was my mission, and if someone’s feelings got hurt in the process, that was their own damn problem.
I surveyed a nearby room, hoping that it would be suitable to fortify and hole up in. As I peered in, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the fox had his eyes fixed on something.
"What the hell is it?" I grunted.
"This," a deep voice behind me answered. Before I even had time to turn around, I received a heavy blow to the back of my head that knocked me out on the spot.
I came around to find myself seated in a sterile white room. My head was still throbbing from the strike, so I gritted my teeth and banished the pain from my mind while I assessed my surroundings. What I took note of first was the fact that my battle armor and visor had been stripped away from me, leaving me with just my fatigues.
"We took the liberty of relieving you of your armor and equipment," someone said. I jumped noticeably in surprise and looked over at the speaker.
It was a humanoid stallion sitting a few feet away from me. Evidently an employee of the lab complex, judging by his uniform.
"How can I understand you? I don’t even have my translator with me," I said, astonished.
The stallion gestured over at a familiar-looking box attached to the wall. "We modified it to have a longer range. That way, we can have relatively normal conversations without you needing to carry it around. I must say that your botched mission has provided us with a wealth of information on your kind. When we hacked into that translator, we were amazed to find a full database of your language in one small package."
"Look, I don’t give a shit if you’ve found The Great Linguistics Jackpot. All I want to know is what you intend to do with me," I cut in.
The horse looked unimpressed. "I personally find myself highly intrigued by that exact same question. We now have a live specimen of the fabled species that has terrorized our scientists for years now, making random raids and stealing priceless technologies. I tried to convince the authorities to turn the rest of your…squad over to us for further study." Irritation crept into his voice as he continued. "But, alas, they refused. They said that they will keep them captive while further decisions are made. Fortunately for the scientific community, they are unaware of the fact that you’ve been detained at this very facility. You see, we have so much to learn about your kind, both anatomically and culturally," he said with a strange wry grin that sent a chill down my spine. "So very, very, much."
I tried to conceal my fear by scoffing. "What’re you going to do—have me take a reflex test? Give me a shot? Give me a break, you bastard. You can’t scare me."
He continued holding his unnerving grin. "No, no. Intimidation isn’t our goal. We’re pragmatists, not thugs," he said.
A few stone-faced orderlies paced into the room carrying a syringe.
"You have a weird way of trying to emphasize your point," I said curtly as they approached me. I tried to resist, but I was quickly overpowered and injected. As whatever ungodly drug they had put in there seeped through my veins, I felt the energy drain out of me. In seconds, I was fast asleep on the floor.
When I woke up again, I felt more disoriented than ever. It was probably
either the after effects of the sedative, or the fact that I appeared to be
blindfolded. Even worse, it also seemed that I was strapped down.
“What…the….hell…happened?” I said
weakly. I was answered by the familiar voice of the creepy stallion.
“We kept you unconscious for a few weeks so we could examine
you. Well, not completely unconscious; we allowed you to go into heavily
drugged but awake state at times so that we could ask you all the questions
we wanted. Chances are, though, that you don’t even remember when we did
so,” he paused, looking genuinely satisfied. “I should thank you, though.
You gave us all the information we wanted from you in an amazingly short
period of time, Private Thompson. Powerful things, anesthetics of today
are.”
I felt sick and violated. I
had given my captors everything they wanted without even really knowing it.
There had never been any chance for resistance or escape. Even worse, I was
no longer of any use to them. They now had no reason to keep me alive!
“We also put you under a
special subliminal suggestion therapy so that we wouldn’t need to rely on
that translator any longer. Your brain now automatically interprets what you
hear as your own native language. Even more impressive, you’re actually
speaking our language now—and you don’t even realize it!”
A small part of me was
astonished at how advanced some of technologies of the
Morphesians were, to completely switch my default language without me
even noticing it. But the larger part of me was concerned with something a
bit more important, namely surviving. I desperately tried to get away, even
if I couldn’t see where I was.
For the first time, I heard
him laugh. “It strikes me as just so very droll to see you like that.
Tied to a chair, blindfolded, under maximum
surveillance, yet still trying to escape. I can’t decide if that’s
the sign of a tireless soldier or a desperate idiot. Anyway, I must get to
the point now, Private Thompson. I’d like you to know that you are about to
become the first person to test our latest innovation, Redemption.”
“What the hell is that?”
He was beginning to get
irritated again. “’Redemption’ is what makes me proud to be the
administrator of this laboratory. It’s also what you attempted to steal.”
I instantly realized what he was
talking about. “The rejuvenation virus?”
“Precisely.
You see, we hoped to market it upon its release to the general populace as
the ultimate replenishment for anyone who found themselves tormented by the
ravaging forces of old age, provided that they could afford it.
Unfortunately, we had no subjects to test it out on….up until now, of
course.
Cold dread built up in me. “You’d
really have nothing to gain by using me as a guinea pig for the virus, you
know.”
“Why would that be?”
“I’m a human! My physiology is
literally worlds apart from your kind’s!”
“Ah, but you fail to realize
that our research on your species has revealed that we’re much more alike
than you may think we are. Besides, if you die as a result of this
experiment, no one will investigate your death,” he said bluntly. “Speaking
of which, the strain of Redemption you will be given has been modified to
kill its host within 48 hours. If you survive the effects of the virus, you
will die shortly after.”
Seconds later, I heard a door
opening to admit a few sets of heavy footsteps. “Ah, yes. The assistants
have arrived.
“Enjoy
yourself,” the horse called as he exited the room. “I’ll be watching
the results on closed circuit television.”
I threw all the energy I had
into trying to break free of my bonds. Yet, once again my efforts proved to
be completely fruitless as the ropes held me in place just as firmly in
place. Dammit, I didn’t want it to end like
this! If I was going to die, I wanted to go down in a firefight, not from
some experiment!
But fate would not hear my
pleas. I felt the sterile, frigid tip of a syringe plunge into my arm and
inject its contents.
Ever had vertigo before? Or
spun around rapidly in circles and abruptly stopped? Because that’s the
exact sensation I had once I had been injected. Even though I couldn’t even
see my surroundings, I had the strange sensation of everything spinning.
Soon, the dizzying chaos faded away, replaced by oppressive tranquility. The
tranquility became nothingness, and the nothingness became…
Light?
That was the first coherent
thought to cross my mind after the injection. If I was dead, how could I see
light? And furthermore, why did it seem so brilliant? Was this the next
world; the afterlife? Or was it possible that I was still alive?
Life seemed like such a
foreign concept in this netherworld of light and darkness. The events of the
past seemed distant and vague, like fields shrouded in morning mist.
Meanwhile, the source of the
light seemed to both be spreading to point of dominating my field of vision
and losing its brilliance. I was beginning to make out shapes in the light,
and it would only be a matter of time now before I could finally see what
was ahead of me. I was unsure as to whether I should be eager or
apprehensive about regaining my sight. Where would I find myself?
The mysterious shape that lay
before me turned out to be a plaster ceiling. “How anticlimactic,” I
thought. Yet, something seemed wrong. I couldn’t quite put a finger on it,
but something just didn’t feel right.
I sat up and yawned. Immediately, I realized that my voice
seemed dramatically higher than what I remembered it as being. Panicking, I
looked over myself. The first thing that caught my attention was the fact
that I seemed to be much smaller and covered with red fur, with the
exception of a white patch on my stomach.
“What the hell is this?” I thought as
I examined my former hands. They were now much more similar to paws.
I could feel some sort of a presence underneath me. I looked
around and saw that it was none other than a fluffy red tail with a white
tip. Then it dawned on me: I was now a fox! A goddam
full-blown Morphesian!
“Congratulations, Private Thompson.”
There was no mistaking that
voice. I whirled around and looked up at a door (Why was it so high?) to see
the same horse stallion peering in through a small glass window.
“You managed to survive the
Redemption virus. Unfortunately, you also transformed into a female fox kit
of approximately 18 months of age. You’re in excellent health, however.”
To say that I was stunned by his
words would be the understatement of the century.
Sensing my confusion, he went
on. “Most likely, this odd combination of changes was a consequence of the
fact that the viruses were switched. Had things gone according to plan, you
would have retained your humanity, but you also would have perished by now.
Instead, someone evidently intending to preserve your life exchanged the
original virus that had been tailored for your genetic structure with a
prototype variant that designed for red fox vixens of 20 years. As a result,
your body was restructured to the shape it is in now. It left me in quite a
dilemma.”
“Yeah, poor you,”
I thought bitterly. “You didn’t almost get killed and wind up in
a body with a different race, age, and gender.”
“I had thought to dispose of
you while the transformation was setting in, but I’ve since decided that
you, having undergone such a remarkably unprecedented change from the
Redemption virus, have become too interesting to destroy—for now, at least.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have matters much more important to tend to than
to make conversation with children,” he said in his typical cold tone. With
that, he was gone.
Now, at this point most people in my situation what have either had a panic
attack and lapsed into a state of shock or fainted. But I, however, did
neither. Instead, I succumbed to a strong urge to curl up into a ball on the
floor and whimper. God, my transformation was starting to affect my brain!
"No!" my training
instincts screamed at me. "Don’t sit around and
whine like some fuckin’
recruit! You’re still a Marine! Find a way out of this hellish place!”
But no matter how hard I looked for a way out or planned for
escape, I kept coming across the unavoidable truth: I was trapped. Not only
in this sterile white purgatory, but also in a body so vastly different from
the one recognizable as Private Keith Thompson’s that reality seemed like it
had turned inside out. I wanted to believe that it was all a dream, but even
dreams weren’t this ethereal.
Was this how it was going to
end? Being spared from one horrible death only to meet another?
Beyond the door’s window, I
could see that the lights in the hallway were being shut off. It must have
been closing time.
I never had been much of a
religious person, but I found myself pleading with God to just end this
humiliation now and let me die with dignity. Suddenly, I heard a clicking
noise from the door’s locking mechanism. I froze, feeling a mix of fear and
resignation. Who-or what-was behind that door? Surely, fate couldn’t hold
anything worse than what I’d already encountered.
The door swung open to reveal
the same fox I had held hostage! He had some beige bundle tucked under his
left arm and an expression of controlled determination on his face.
"Come with me if you want to live," he whispered fiercely.
Without bothering to wait for my reply, he reached over and scooped me up
with his free arm. In one quick motion, he closed the door on that damnable
room and threw the bundle over the two of us. Instantly, I recognized the
blanket as the M842 Emergency Stealth Covering. It had the same adaptive
camouflage properties as our cloaking battle armor, except it was meant to
quickly shelter one or two people from sight. But how did he know what it
was? And furthermore, how did he get it? And why the hell was he rescuing
me?
"We’ll have to make our way
through to the facility’s main entrance: They leave it open for employees
working overtime, but they lock down every other exit as a security measure.
We won’t be able to use this thing to sneak past them, though," he said.
"Ever since they caught your squad, they learned to equip the guards with
infrared goggles."
"What will we do, then?" I
asked, trying my best to ignore my new lisp and high pitched voice that was
about as befitting a Marine as a unicycle makes a good combat vehicle.
"You’ll see," he said. I knew from
the start that I probably would not enjoy it.
We occasionally passed some
scientists in the hallways, but none of them noticed the slight distortion
we made in the shadows. After a quarter hour of this, we came by a very
official looking polished wooden door.
"The
administrator’s office.
He seems to spend more and more time in there every day," he remarked in a
very low whisper.
We heard someone talking from
inside his office. Although it was very muffled,
something just didn’t seem right about that voice. I’d need to listen more
closely to be sure.
"Wait," I said. "Stop
hewe."
"Is there something wrong?" The fox
whispered back.
"Yeah.
We’ll need those gwasses," I said, waving my
dark-furred paw at a table with some sort of a water cooler and glasses
resting on it.
It took a second for the fox to get
my drift. But then he tiptoed (or tippawed) over
to the glasses and took hold of them. Wrapping the camo
blanket more tightly over us, he gently placed the lips of the glasses up to
the hinge side of the door. It was a crude method, but it would do for the
moment. We both put our ears to the glasses and listened intently.
"…Of course, when we realized
that they had been captured, it became clear to us that there was no use in
espionage and theft to acquire new technology. We wish to offer our most
sincere apologies for any damage or trauma caused by the raids. We also wish
to assure you that the Marines do not represent our species, and hence, what
you wish to do with any captives is your choice.
Anyway, we at
Neocorp hope that we can compensate by making an
offer to trade some of the prototypes of our latest defense technology for a
simple price: 5 intact and healthy samples of the rejuvenation virus…"
It was then when I realized that
there’s no limit to how strange life can get.
It all seemed so
absurd. To think that I had been a proud and combat-ready Marine loyally
working for Neocorp only a relatively short time
ago…
Regardless, though, the
situation was getting more and more desperate. It was obvious now that
Neocorp, the company that had led and supported
us for years, wasn’t going to try to extract the captive Marines, or even
send reinforcements. As if that wasn’t enough, the fact that they were now
bargaining with the monstrous crooks that were in charge of the labs was
just plain sickening. It wasn’t fair. It was a mean thing to do.
I shook my head, trying to
clear it of the strange juvenile thoughts and emotions. I didn’t know which
I found more terrifying: the fact that I had been regressed into a very
young fox girl, or fact that my mind was getting into character. I had to
find some sort of antidote soon.
I could hear footsteps now.
Footsteps that were approaching the door.
"Time to go," the fox said quietly as
we crept off and turned a corner. I could hear the door open a few yards
away, and the sound of the footsteps grew louder and faded as the source of
the sound became farther away.
Up ahead, I could see where the
hallway exited out into the main atrium. We weren’t far now.
“This is where we’ll have to
use some other methods of stealth,” he said as he carried me over to a
nearby door. At first I thought it was a way around the security at the
entrance, but when the door was opened, I realized that it was a public
bathroom. What the hell did he have in mind?
He deactivated the stealth
covering, rolled it into a bundle, and tucked it under his left arm. He then
reached under his lab coat to pull out what looked like a plastic-coated
white rectangle.
“What’s that?” I asked, getting more
and more puzzled.
“It’s a diaper,” he said plainly
while he unfolded it. “Think of it as a disguise.”
“If you’re
gonna try to put dat
on me, you’ll be thinking of it as a make-shift bandage,” I said, trying to
sound as threatening as I could with a voice that sounded like a castrated
chipmunk’s.
He rolled his eyes. “Look,
you’re in no position to make threats. I rescued you, and now I’m risking my
job—and possibly my life—to get you out of this place. I could easily just
walk away right now and allow you to be recaptured. I’m not asking you to
make use of it, nor even wear it for more than just this one time. But I
sure as hell am not going to attract any more attention than necessary by
carrying a completely naked fox kit through the main security checkpoint.”
Sighing, I said, “Fine. But as soon
as we’re out of sight, I’m not wearing it anymowe.”
“As long as everything goes
according to plan,” he said. Once again, his wording made me feel slightly
puzzled.
Wasting no time, the scientist
slid the accursed diaper under my backside, pulled the front between my
legs, and threaded my newly acquired tail through an elastic opening. After
taping it up tightly, he was finally finished.
Picking me up again, he
carried me out of the bathroom and back into the atrium. With each step he
took, the diaper painfully reminded me of its presence with a crinkling of
the plastic cover and the oddly familiar sensation of my rear pressing into
the thick padding. I vowed that as soon as this entire incident was over,
I’d head over to a bar and drink hard liquor until I fell into a coma.
Assuming I ever got old enough again to buy alcohol, that was.
We walked over to the security
checkpoint by the main entrance.
“Hey, Todd,” a fat chinchilla guard
said to the fox. “Who’s the kid?”
“She’s my cousin
Alma’s daughter,” Todd said quickly. I winced at the pronoun she. “
“Alright,
then.”
The oblivious rent-a-cop said, his curiosity satisfied.
“Sorry, I guess I’ve just been feeling a bit edgy as of late.”
“No problem. It’s been the
same way for all of us,” Todd remarked as he pushed the door open and exited
the building.
The ensuing blast of cold
evening air made me shiver noticeably. Even with a coat of fur, I could feel
the chill penetrating me to the bone. The sky overhead, by contrast, was
very picturesque; the twin moons of Morpheus
loomed overhead in their luminous beauty among the vast sea of stars
untouched by artificial light pollution.
Before that moment, I had been
in a state of denial about my predicament. But something about the
combination of the sobering feeling of gazing into the night sky and the
freezing air caused a horrible revelation to come crashing down: I would
never be the same again.
Tears were beginning to brim
in my eyes. Sensing my discomfort, Todd held me tighter. Eventually, I could
feel some of the cold being warded off by his body heat.
“Uh oh,” Todd said, glancing down at
my waist.
“What is it now?” I thought
irritably.
"Uhh…Well,
this is an interesting new development."
Puzzled, I looked down at myself. To
my horror, I could see a growing damp spot in the lower crotch of my diaper!
"I’ll get that taken care of once we
get back to my apartment," Todd said nonchalantly as we made our way over to
his car. "Fortunately for you, I have some ‘spares.’"
I had reached the deepest
circle of Hell. Against my own will I burst out crying, a shrill babyish
wail that only made me feel worse to hear.
Todd buckled me into a small
safety seat (Geez, he really did have all this
planned out) and gently scratched me between my pointed ears. The sensation
it produced had a strange, but relaxing effect on me. Within seconds, my
crying had been reduced to whimpering.
"Shhh,
it’s all right," Todd whispered in that special tone of voice adults use to
soothe children. "We’re safe now."
For a few moments, I didn’t
care about the loss of my status. I only felt a very strong trust for Todd
and a feeling of contentment. Almost as if my
personality had been temporarily altered to fit my body.
The feeling gradually subsided
within a few minutes, but I felt much calmer than I had before. Nonetheless,
I still found myself staring sorrowfully out at the night sky through the
car window as we drove along.
Home felt so far away.
The tenement Todd lived in
looked livable, but by no means impressive. It was a run-down old building
with a lawn that looked like it had given up the ghost years ago.
But when I saw it, I realized that
something was definitely strange about Morpheus.
A populace of creatures that looked like bipedal
versions of Earth-dwelling animals? A level of
technology often comparable to ours? And now the
same mediocre living conditions? It was like I had been
transported to some parallel universe.
I squirmed impatiently in the
car seat as we pulled into the dusty parking lot. The clammy feeling of the
wet diaper was so irritating, I was practically
looking forward to getting it changed.
"Looking forward to that? I’m
really getting desperate," I thought sullenly.
Although I feared that that
we’d encounter a few furs curious about me, the interior of the apartment
building seemed almost deserted. If it hadn’t been for the muffled sounds of
conversation and appliances emanating from some of the apartments, I would
thought it had been abandoned. After going down a few hallways and up three
flights of stairs, we finally arrived at Todd’s apartment.
"It’s nothing impressive, but it’s
livable," Todd said as he unlocked the door. "They don’t pay that much at
Hill Industries."
The first view I got of the
apartment certainly vindicated his statement. I’m no interior decorator, but
I can assure you that the two small and cramped rooms with peeling paint and
faded tiling weren’t exactly palatial. Nonetheless, it was better than
some of the places I had slept in during my career in the IMC.
Todd carried me over to his bedroom,
where he had set up a card table and a plastic mat as an improvised changing
table.
"All right, then. Let’s get this
operation underway," Todd grinned as he laid me down on the table and pulled
out a package of disposable diapers, along with other supplies.
I couldn’t help but giggle as he
tickled the white fur on my belly. "General anesthetic administered."
He untapped my wet diaper, disposed
of it, and produced a wipe from a nearby plastic tub. "Applying
sterilant," he said as he cleaned off my loins
with the wipe. I didn’t dare to look down and assess my new female
“equipment,” so to speak.
Yeesh.
After sprinkling my diaper area a few
liberal shakes of baby powder, he pulled out a fresh diaper from the
package, slid it under my rump, and taped it up.
He set me down on the floor. "You
should be proud of yourself, miss. You’ve just undergone a successful diaper
transplant," he said with a smirk.
I didn’t realize it at first, but a
special bond between us had already begun to form on that night.
When I look back upon that moment now, I believe that my subconscious mind
was already beginning to view Todd as a father figure.
But I was focused on something
other than my thought process at the time. I was in the blissful world of a
child again; no concern over the unresolved issues of the past. Perhaps this
is what so many people seek when they dream of restoring lost youth.
“I have to admit, I never thought
you’d make such a cute cub,” Todd said, playfully poking my vulpine nose.
“And I nevew
fought I’d see da day when a civilian would call
a jarhead ‘cute.’”
Todd laughed and scooped me up.
“Here, have a look at yourself,” he said as he
carried me over to a full-length mirror.
I don’t think I ever had as
great a shock since a Marxist nutjob tried to
garrote me in the anti-Neocorp uprising. To say
that I looked “different” would be the understatement of the year—there was
nothing remotely familiar about my reflection whatsoever. I swished my tail
around, irrationally hoping that the innocent-looking baby fox girl in the
mirror wouldn’t mimic my actions. When it did, I started crying once again.
The horrible sense I had before of humiliation and loss was returning.
While I bawled uncontrollably,
Todd cradled me and rocked me back and forth gently. While that classic
position helped, it still took me a few minutes for my crying to slow to an
occasional sniffle.
“Oh, I’m so sorry about that--I
should have waited until I knew you were ready,” Todd said apologetically.
“It’s alwight,”
I said.
“Say, how about some dinner? I’m sure
you haven’t eaten for a while.”
I brightened at this. Come to think
of it, the last meal I remembered having was some unidentifiable meat on
crackers before I got on the dropship. “That’d
be great.”
He brought me to the pint-sized
kitchen and placed me in a scratched high chair.
“Now, I don’t know what you eat on
your planet, but I hope this isn’t too unfamiliar,” he said as he pulled a
bottle of some mushy beige substance from a cabinet.
I cringed. “Baby
food?”
“That it is.
Your teeth haven’t developed enough for normal food, so you’ll have to make
do with this stuff,” he said as he spooned the sludge into a blue plastic
bowl.
Knowing that there was no
other way out of the situation, I decided to at least have a try. I might as
well attempt to get used to it, seeing as how I had no idea how long I’d be
in this form. It was thanks to this mindset that I was also able to tolerate
him tying a disposable bib around my neck.
He set the bowl and a small spoon on
the tray in front of me. “Eat up.”
The first challenge was to
manage to grasp the spoon. To say the least, this was a difficult
undertaking. My hands were now paws, and I seemed to have lost a good deal
of my motor skills. After a considerable expenditure of effort, I clumsily
picked up the utensil.
Steeling myself for what I was
sure to be the worst-tasting food I’d ever encounter, I sampled a blob. To
my surprise, it wasn’t that bad. It was as bland as hell, but not offensive.
Perhaps countless nights of “lasagna” MRE’s tend
to lower your standards.
“Want something to wash it down?” he asked. That sounded great, except…not
to get all supernatural or anything, but something in the back of my head
was telling me to get the hell out of Dodge. Naturally, I told the thing in
the back of my head to go screw itself. If it had been there when I needed
it, (like right before I got taken prisoner by a psychopathic equine) I
wouldn’t have wound up in this mess.
Still, something
was beginning to seem weird about Todd, who was presently filling up a glass
with tap water. It was pretty easy to see that he was getting nervous about
something. And the way he awkwardly leaned over the glass as if he was
concealing something he was putting in it turned the feeling I’d had earlier
into a full-blown mental alarm.
Almost
reflexively, I began to struggle in the high chair, desperate to get out.
Alas, the damn safety strap was too tight and strong. Todd approached me
with the glass looking both desperate and sorrowful; the look of man forced
to commit a cruel deed at gunpoint.
He sounded once again like he was
back near the end of my stint as a hostage-taker in the research facility.
“I’m so sorry,
Keith...I had to do this. I promise I won’t let them hurt you,” he begged as
he tried to stick the glass up to my muzzle. I barely registered some
details of what he said, such as “I won’t let them hurt you” and the fact
that he knew my name. All that I knew at that moment was that he’d
apparently poisoned the water, and was subsequently trying to kill me. I
replied by giving him my first ever fox growl and trying to turn my head
away from him with my mouth shut tightly.
It was a losing battle from the beginning, but we jarheads
never turn away from unfavorable odds. Bravado?
Nah, its part of a little something called semper
fidelis. Always faithful.
At least, it used to be that way when we fought for the good
ol’
“This is really
it,” I thought resignedly as the sounds around me grew muted and dull. “Semper
fi, Mac…” The last thing I remember hearing
was Todd’s voice, babbling about how it was okay, and that I wouldn’t be
harmed.
“He’s waking up.”
Indeed, I was. The face
peering over me was oddly familiar, a lot like Sanchez’s. God, how many
times had I been knocked out now? If things kept up like this, all the
anesthetics companies over the globe would want me to be their spokesman.
Spokesfox.
Spokeskit.
Ah, never mind.
“Speaking of which,” I thought, “Am
I human again?” It was possible; Sanchez had said “he.” I glanced at my
body, and to my disappointment I found that I was still a little fox girl.
Damn. And worse still, I seemed to be wearing some tacky little dress-like
garment. Imagine a cross between a hospital gown and a laminated bath towel
and you’ll get the basic idea. Without any further consideration, I got up
and tore the horrid thing off. It was no surprise that the only thing I had
on underneath was a simple white disposable diaper with paw-print
decorations on the tapes. As much as I detested it, I had to admit it was
better than that idiotic toga-thing.
Sanchez’s voice
jerked me back into reality. “You all right, Thompson?”
A quick inspection of my surroundings led to me almost
jumping through the ceiling in panic. It was almost identical to the creepy
sterile torture chambers of the lab administrator; all white and
featureless, with the exception of a heavy reinforced door on one wall and
what was presumably a two-way mirror on the other. And it certainly didn’t
help when I realized who the other occupants were: Corporal Hall, PFC
Sanchez,
Needless to say, the situation seemed to be FUBAR.
”Where am I? What’s going on?” I
asked weakly. There was a pregnant pause as everyone continued staring at me
disbelievingly, as if I were some bizarre alien creature.
Which wasn’t really far from the truth. I didn’t
blame them; after all, it isn’t every day your
squadmate ends up two feet tall and losing their toilet training.
Sanchez was just
about to say something when I heard the heavy door open. Whirling around, I
saw a grim-faced Todd accompanied by a heavily armed black panther. I could
almost feel the others tensing up in apprehension.
“I’m authorized
to tell you if you’d like,” he said. His voice was repeated in English to
the rest of the squad with another one of those salvaged translators. This
puzzled me; Morphesian and English sounded
exactly the same to me. The same went for speaking. I used this ability to
convey a frank sentiment to Todd.
“I’d
wike it if you’d go fu-…”
“Let him speak,
Thompson,” Corporal Hall ordered.
Todd took a deep
breath. As violated as I felt about his apparent betrayal, I knew he had
taken my anger personally. “First off, you’re not at Hill Industries again.
This is actually a government-owned detention center.”
“Lucky me,” I
thought. “At least now I’ll be imprisoned with the support of
Morphesian tax dollars.”
“I
‘ll explain further: After you were
captured by that security guard, Hill Industries faked reports that you had
escaped. But the government was smart enough to not swallow that story.
Knowing that I was the one who knew the most about you, they hired me to
work as an undercover operative to investigate your ‘disappearance.’ It took
me quite some time to find where you were being held, let alone getting
security clearance. And even when I did locate you, there wasn’t much I
could do: Calling in an extraction team would have only resulted in a high
likelihood of you being executed.”
At least they
wanted me to live. I wasn’t exactly sure if that was a good thing, though.
“So, when they started preparing you for the testing of the
Redemption virus, I took advantage of my security clearance to switch the
intended vial with…well, the vial that resulted in you becoming what you are
now.” So he was the one responsible for this! I was torn between rage and
grudging gratefulness. On one hand, he’d saved my life. On the other, he’d
basically robbed me of one my most important possessions: my body!
“I guess we can start calling you Kelly, now, huh?” Murphy
offered feebly. The silence and sour looks he received caused him to
practically melt into the floor. Poor kid; it seemed like he’d be in the
Social Oblivion for quite some time.
I ignored him and asked the million-dollar question to Todd.
“But can’t I be turned back?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t say for certain at this point,” he
said softly. Ah, yes. The public relations jargon for “probably not.”
Something flexed in my mind, and then broke.
Dammit,
I couldn’t take a second of this anymore! I stomped toward him on my two
pudgy legs, tail swishing furiously. Even though I was a third his height,
he flinched.
“Enough with da
bullshit,” I screamed at him. “I want to be mysewf
again! I want to be Keith again!” I burst into an almost unintelligible
stream of childish obscenities, sobbing all the while. It was almost funny,
in retrospect; I must have looked almost exactly like a young child throwing
a tantrum. I beat my fists against his knees, I cried, I did almost
everything except hold my breath until my face turned purple. All the while
I knew that it was just a matter before someone restrained me. But I didn’t
expect that the person would be Sanchez.
She silently slid her hands onto my shoulders and pulled me
back from Todd. Having nothing more to say, he and the guard left the room.
Fury was replaced by sorrow and
shame. I knew that Todd had done all he could, but I didn’t want to admit
it. As I keeled over weeping, Sanchez laid her hand on my shoulder, this
time in reassurance.
“Don’t sweat it, muchacho. You’re
still the same Marine I know.” I looked up at her with interest. Sanchez
rarely ever expressed such feelings, and she only called her close buddies “muchachos.”
She turned to the rest of the squad. “And as long as we’re all Marines, we
won’t go down with a fight. Anyone else share that opinion?”
Sure, no one with an IQ of over 75
ever contradicted Sanchez. But the resounding ooh-rah the squad replied with
seemed like the most sincere one I’d heard in years.
As moving as
Sanchez’s boost to the squad’s morale was, there was a big problem: What the
hell were we supposed to do next? Fortify a position in a corner of the
room? Call in an air strike on the two-way mirror? Recon
the metal door? Sit on our asses and hope that something happened
before we starved to death?
I sighed and sat
in a corner while Sanchez’s rallying continued, the thick diaper serving as
a cushion between my rear and the hard tiled floor. I thought of our assets.
Let’s see…combat fatigues, no visible inherent danger, and everyone except
me in normal shape. Liabilities? No weapons, no
supplies, no backup, no communications, and one squad member a female
fox-toddler. Things weren’t looking so good. And the increasing pressure I
felt in my lower abdomen didn’t feel too good, either. Almost like…Oh, shit.
My digestive tract apparently took
that last one as a command, because its next action was to empty the
previous night’s meal into my pants.
Ironically, it
was what happened next that was the most unexpected: I laughed. It might
sound insane at first, but after I’d finished the act that bears do in the
woods, I was struck by a thought as completely incongruous as an elephant in
a grain elevator. I remembered how when Private Bradley described anything
he found remotely unusual, he’d assume a goofy accent and call it “crahzy
sheit.” Then I thought about all of the events
of the past few weeks, and how suitable his assessment was for it. In fact,
I realized that life itself was crahzy
sheit. Hell, the whole goddamn universe was
crahzy sheit. So why
was I taking crahzy sheit
so seriously?
And so there I
was, sitting in a dirty diaper and laughing like a kid at a theme park. It
didn’t matter to me when the other Marines utterly failed to grasp the humor
of my situation, and their flabbergasted looks made me laugh even harder.
Finally, Bradley took it upon himself to ask what was going on.
“Crahzy
sheit,” I answered, and despite my higher voice
and lisp, it was a pretty f--king good imitation of him. There was a flash
of blank incomprehension, and then he too was chuckling. Pretty soon,
everyone else was laughing in some way or another. I would have liked to see
the expressions on the furries behind the
two-way mirror. They must have thought that the stress had finally gotten to
us. But we’d won another big victory for morale, laughing like the bunch of
crazy fools that we were.
After the
laughter died down, I noticed the terrible smell coming from my uh, soiled
garment. I don’t care if you were told otherwise; sitting in your own waste
is not a pleasant feeling. The mood shifted from pure humor to
acknowledgement of the inevitable next step. It was the task that almost all
parents with very young children have to repeat thousands of times.
Murphy finally
found courage to speak up again. “Hey, who in here is good at babysitting
operations?” As bad a joke it was, it was a step up from his usual inept
comments. As the squad stared at him in amazement for his achievement, the
door opened again, admitting an embarrassed-looking Todd.
“I am,” he
offered. Like the
He carried me through the doorway and
into a dimly lit room. In there, along with a few surprised looking guards,
was a utilitarian rectangular table with a package of diapers and changing
supplies resting on top of it.
I still felt
embarrassed about exploding on Todd, so I offered him a weak smile and a
weak statement. “Just wike old times, huh?” I
said.
He nodded as he
laid me on the changing table. “I guess I’m going to get pretty good at
this.”
I stared up at the ceiling
contemplatively while he undid the tapes and lifted my legs into the air.
“Is there any chance we have of getting out of dis
place?” I asked. He paused while he cleaned me off, and I saw him throwing a
glance at the guards. “Well, as matter of fact, the Council of High Priests
has held a secret committee over this matter after they dissolved Hill
Industries,” he explained as he cleaned me off. High priests and control
over industries. Theocratic socialism. I filed
that fact away for later.
“They took great
interest in your case. They said that while the others would continue to be
incarcerated for interrogation, they considered the possibility of special
treatment program for you.”
Special treatment program?
I wanted to know what that meant, but there was still another detail that
burned at my conscience.
“But what about
the twansmission we heard from the
administwator’s room? Did you tell anyone about
dat?”
He shook his
head sadly, ears drooping slightly. “I told the Council about it, yes, but
all they said was that they would ‘investigate further.’”
“Different
planet, same bureaucracy,” I mentally sighed as the diaper was taped
together.
“Care for a
shirt?” Todd asked as he held up a small green t-shirt. Not my favorite
thing, but it reminded me of my standard Marine green undershirt. So I
willingly put it on. In times where success can’t be reached, you really
begin to appreciate the small victories.
I was carried back out of the room by Todd and set on the floor. I looked over at the squad; as expected, they looked as bored as hell. I decided to strike up a conversation with Sanchez. I noticed that while I was gone, several cots had folded out of the walls.
“So, Sanchez,” I said. “How’d you guys wind up hewe, anyway?”
The ensuing conversation must have lasted an hour, with Marines interjecting and adding to the detail of the story. As it turned out, everyone had been shipped off secretly to a kind of Morphesian equivalent to a hearing. As expected, they only gave their name, rank, and serial number. And also as expected, the furries got pissed. But for some reason, they didn’t try to torture them into submission. All they did was just fume and keep transferring them to different locations. Perhaps they were trying to bore us to death.
My transformation, however, was something they had only learned about very recently, and they were understandably having a lot of trouble accepting it. Still, the fact that Sanchez was talking to me instead of passing me off as a hallucination was a good sign.
They also hadn’t been let in on the reality that Neocorp had abandoned us. So I decided to break it to them.
The reactions were basically as follows;
“Bastards,” said Corporal Hall.
“Corporate scum,” said PFC Sanchez.
“Assholes,” said
“Well, that’d explain why they never lifted a finger to rescue us,” said Private Murphy.
“Shit happens,” said Private Bradley, shrugging.
It was no coincidence that Bradley was the one who got to be on sentry duty when we hit the bunks.
My sleep was plagued by strange dreams. In the last one remember I was back in boot camp, lining up for the daily inspection. I looked at myself and, much to my horror, found that I was still a Morphesian. Blushing furiously, I looked back up, hoping that the drill instructor somehow wouldn’t notice. But when he finally came by, instead of the usual expected deluge of frank comments about my intelligence, my parents, and my sexual orientation, the drill instructor leaned down next to my ear and whispered, “Once a Marine, always a Marine.” While I pondered this odd lapse of aggression in the instructor, gunfire broke out!
I sat bolt upright from my dream in terror to see a figure in battle armor opening up on Bridge’s bunk. Bradley was on floor, groaning, and Murphy sat stock still, like a deer in the headlights. Then for a few seconds, I did something I had always hoped not to do in a combat situation: Nothing. I was frozen in panic, unable to accept the murderous new visitor. I was frozen until I started hearing the screams.
For once, the feeling in the back of my brain was helpful, if a bit prone to stating the obvious. “Go! GO, damn you!” it yelled. I evaluated the situation again. The combatant apparently didn’t see me, and he didn’t have any support with him in the room. I guess he figured he was shooting fish in a barrel.
Getting out of bed and jumping to the ground, I rushed at the back of his legs, the feeling reverting to its old PITA self again and telling me that this was stupid, and it wouldn’t work. But what did I have to lose? I slammed like a linebacker into the man’s hamstrings, my claws extended. As diminutive as my stature was, it was enough to cause his legs to buckle.
The move had its intended effect. He was forced into a kneeling position, and his weapon slipped out of his hands and clattered onto the ground.
“What the…?” He cried out.
“Murphy,” I squeaked frantically as I kicked the carbine with all my might towards him. “Get the gun!”
The kid proved himself to be a better Marine than I thought. He sprung out and grabbed the rifle while the thug recovered. The stranger tried to draw his sidearm, but to no avail. Murphy expressed his disapproval with a point-blank burst of 6.58mm bullets, and then another to solidify his point.
With a horrible gurgle, the stranger toppled over, his chest heavy with lead. But just when we thought it was over, even more gunfire erupted, and this time it came from the two-way mirror. Bullets whizzed by, and one impacted Murphy in the shoulder.
But Murphy was far from finished. He expended the rest of the gun’s magazine in a sweeping hail of suppressive fire at the mirror, convincing the bastards behind it to stay low.
Meanwhile, Sanchez got up and picked up the thug’s pistol as Murphy reloaded. “Everyone! Get behind cover!” She shouted. I had no time to argue; I hid behind the protection of my cot, worried more about the status of the squad than anything else. Murphy and Sanchez crouched low and slowly crept towards the open doorway. They leaned around it, and after a pause disappeared behind the corner.
There was high staccato of assault carbine fire and pistol rounds, followed by return fire. The exchange repeated several times, and then fell silent. The silence continued for a few minutes until I heard a blessed phrase from Sanchez: “Area clear!” Taking a deep breath of relief, I almost reflexively checked my diaper. It was no surprise to me that I’d wet myself in the course of the firefight. Given the circumstances, I wouldn’t have been surprised if some of the others had done so, too.
Our first priority was to check the med status of the squad. Bridge was in pretty bad shape, Bradley had been struck in his upper bicep, and Murphy was the proud owner of his first bullet wound in the shoulder. Despite this, he limped hurriedly around the dark room behind the mirror, rummaging for medical supplies. As the wounded were desperately tended for, I inspected the corpse of one the gunmen.
My stomach dropped a few miles when I saw the familiar star-and-eagle symbol of the Interstellar Marine Corps.
It didn't matter whether we'd betrayed the Corps or the Corps had betrayed us. Either possibility made me feel like the lowest piece of filth in the galaxy.
It seemed as if it was all going according to plan. We were to locate the anti-Neocorp rebels’ camp, radio in the coordinates, and the M3A1 Vengeance multirole armored fighting vehicles would shell them out of existence.
But something had gone wrong, and now it was hell on earth. Shells exploded all around us. Being purposefully bombarded by enemy tanks is one thing, but being accidentally bombarded by your own side's is another entirely. I pressed into the dry soil more closely, praying that the explosions would stop.
“Tango two, check your fire!” Corporal Hall screamed into the radio. I felt deep pangs of both disgust and pity for the crew in the distant M3A1. They would soon find out about how their incompetence had almost cost the lives of fellow marines. And that alone was a punishment in itself.
I vowed that no matter what, I would never find myself in their situation.
I once again had the maddening feeling that fate was screwing everyone over and having a hell of a time all the while. Crahzy sheit or not, it was beginning to piss me off.
It certainly didn't help that Bridge was in critical condition a few feet away from me. I scurried over to his side with the squad desperately trying to treat his wounds, but there was nothing I could offer to help except to stand there and offer him whatever encouragement I could come up with. Which wasn't much.
Two minutes later, Bridge was gone. There were no noble last words, no peaceful coming to terms with death. I'd encountered death countless times, but it did nothing to soften the impact of it all. We were all so stunned by his sudden, violent loss that we hardly noticed or cared when what reminded me of a Morphesian equivalent of the old SWAT teams came bursting in.
“Drop your weapons now!” an anonymous muffled voice hollered from behind one of the guards' facemasks.
Murphy resignedly threw his firearm on the ground, with Sanchez following suit.
“They just ran in here and started shooting up the goddam place,” Murphy said weakly. “We fought back.”
Sanchez shot a dirty look at him for his ill-considered and fairly less-than-honest-sounding testimony.
For some reason, though, the burly guards didn’t use it as an excuse to pummel us into the ground. An armored figure from the group, canine in shape, approached us while we were bound in some kind of magnetic wrist bindings by the sentry team. Needless to say, an exception was made for me.
“We know that you evidently acted in self defense,” said the apparent squad leader. “But it seems that the other members of your force who destroyed Hill Industries didn’t.”
“Wait a minute—other members of the Interstellar Marines?” Murphy questioned.
The leader nodded. “Not surprising for men who tried to assassinate their comrades.”
I cringed as the squad finally spotted the IMC patches on the fallen would-be assassins.
“What the hell is this?” Bradley gasped.
“Seems like someone was making a last ditch attempt to get the Redemption viruses,” the leader observed. “But this recent assassination attempt is an interesting development.”
“’Interesting development?’ Our fellow Marines tried to fucking kill us!” Murphy said. “And with Bridge over there, they succeeded!”
The leader wasn’t too sympathetic. “I base my statements on a recent transmission received by our government from your planet Earth. The ‘Neocorp’ headquarters, to be more exact.” He produced a small black spherical device and squeezed it. A voice we knew too well emitted from it.
“…After we fired the executive Evan Bergmann, who was the man chiefly responsible for the regrettable ‘Bergmann Raids,’ he was immediately hired by the recently formed rival corporation Gigadyne. He quickly persuaded the Gigadyne corporate leaders to continue the destructive clandestine activities on Morpheus, and the Interstellar Marines were subsequently bought up by Gigadyne and used again for technological espionage.