Story: The Perfect Evolution

[GearRyu]

This story features transformations: beautification and growth are part of it, but do not quite encapsulate the transformations that occur; the title explains everything you need to know going into the story.

“The Perfect Evolution” is the longest story I have written, and actually one of my earliest. I originally published this story sometime before 2009, but this is its first release on this site.

The story is set in the world of “Airpatrol”, a web comic written and illustrated by Wolfman-Al (Link: www.airpatrolonline.net/html/i…. You do not need to be familiar with "Airpatrol" to understand this story.

"Airpatrol" takes place in the near future, approximately 60 years from now. Several races of human-animal hybrids were created for a war that never happened, and then released into the general populace in sufficient numbers that integration was necessary.

This fanfic is a self-contained story about a character of my own creation, Julia “Cranberry” Pawis, and it occurs chronologically previous to the events of the plot of Airpatrol. You can expect to see some references to places or characters you are familiar with in the setting, along with at least one character pulled directly from the setting itself, but the plot, the main character and most of the supporting cast are my own creations. Wolfman-Al was nice enough to be the editor of my story and his comments have been invaluable in making this story as well-constructed as it is.

You will notice, by the way, that many of the characters portrayed in this story have last names that are obviously puns. This isn’t my normal writing style, but the setting strongly supports it, so I decided to not deviate. Deviating would be a little like playing a game of D&D where the party consists of Alladria the Elf, Gorrim the Dwarf, Tzimmil the Tiefling, and Berny Smith the Tiefling.

One more thing… I’m sure that many of you are going to be eager to see the transformations that happen in this story. There is plenty of it. You just have to actually read the story to see it happening. I like to think of the story standing on its own merits, and the transformation being another aspect of what makes the story strong, instead of a gimmick to get you to read the story and give a quick thumbs up.

For those of you who want to see more of my work, I recommend checking out my DeviantArt and FurAffinity pages.

And now, the story itself.

...

Prologue
“I’m going slightly mad…” ~Freddy Mercury
From the Journal of Dr. Noh
I continue my research.
They wanted to hold me back, to hold the project back, and I knew they would not permit me to pursue my specialized branch of the research. In their hasty declarations, they have doomed their great experiment to drown in obscurity… how can they not see the futility of it all as everything stands? I will save them and they will thank me one day for my munificence …

I’ll never forget how I realized that I was the only one with any real vision for this project.

My experimentations had come under note. I had been perfecting an artificial aggressor, intended to increase combat efficacy. I was going to surprise them; it was a side-project, meant to hasten the inevitable conclusion; victory.

Then they stepped in. They… inspected my notes, and told me it was too dangerous. Inhumane, they called it. Inhumane, as though the creatures being incubated were human… God knows what they are. They are better than human. They are the ultimate survivors; imperfect ultimate survivors, and that imperfection is what I wanted to erase, even back then.

I told them as much. They said I was mad. I told them the real madness was in leaving the project like it was. It’s impossible to justify doing anything less than your best and I’d sacrifice again everything that I ultimately did if it meant accomplishing more. They would have none of it. They confiscated my notes (they were copies), and made me promise to focus on the task at hand. I lied and agreed.

I am certain Cassandra thought her ‘talk’ did some ‘good’. If her willing laxity had any positive, it’s that it made learning her password and switching security IDs with her all the easier. Within the week, I took the future into my own hands. I copied their notes, borrowed a few of the subjects, and took my leave.

I had to. If they weren’t going to let me help them, they needed me to help them all the more. I had to be the bigger man. I, yes, I, was the one who should have been in charge from the beginning. It was my destiny, but somehow they took it from me and knew I’d never get it back if I didn’t do this. Maybe they would’ve killed me. God knows I saw that look in Cassandra’s eye. Scheming, she was, stealing from my own notes and taking credit… all the more reason to take what was rightfully mine and experiment where I didn’t need to fear someone taking my experiments away from me.

I left Siberia and traveled to India, where I was received with open arms and treated quite well. I had previously received an offer and work grant to move my studies there… I had rejected it a few years ago when the hybrid experiment was first proposed. This time, I promised them something bigger, something better. All I asked for was privacy (and a higher offer than a false figure I created). I provided a few tantalizing secrets, received my grant, and began my work. This was not betrayal. The information I provided them with was chickenfeed compared to what I was really working on, though they gobbled it up. I worked in nearly autonomous secrecy, accompanied by a few occasional lab assistants (whose disappearances will remain a mystery for the police). Under the pretenses of anti-bacterial warfare development, I continued my true experiments.

The Mureo family is brilliant, I must say that for them. I experienced consternation at how simple their notes were, considering the complexity of the process. I spent weeks reading for comprehension, months filling in the blanks and years improving on what I learned. For the life of me, I still cannot understand why they did not take the experiment to its natural conclusion. How could they take my contributions to science and do so little? It was obvious to me only near the end that I could have done better merely by starting from scratch, but they knew how to lie and make it seem like they had more than they did in their notes.

My initial experiments garnered limited success. Almost all of the initial subjects I had liberated from the Siberian military base expired, despite my best intentions. I concluded this should be expected. At the time, my research was still tainted by the flawed brilliance and lies of the Mureo. The second batch of subjects, I had determined, would be free of such imperfections.

The subjects displayed improved mental capacity and adaptability far beyond anything that even I had predicted. It was a disheartening day when their cellular structures broke down suddenly. I was working on a tight budget, you see, and failure at this stage meant the third time had to be a success.

And so I praise God that I was indeed successful. My final experiment was a success. She was… beautiful, the culmination of my dreams. A keen intellect, even in infancy, remarkable physical development and perfect adaptability. She passed tests which the first and even second batch had failed outright. I nearly wept every time I recorded her success. By this time, I had no more assistants. It was just me and her.

I began to… dote upon the subject. She reminded me of the very few years I had with my own child before… well, no, it wasn’t about my child, no, it was more important. The subject was not human, nor could she ever be; she was, like all of her race, more than human and, to me, she would be perfect… and when the world mourned the long-term failure of her cousins, they would see her, and love her, and they too would see her as perfect.


Sadly, this will be the last night I see her face for a long time. With the war at an end, my research has come under question, and it is only a matter of days, or weeks, (dare I hope, months?), before it is known what I have done here. I cannot allow that to happen. If I am found out, I will be killed and she… I cannot write what abuse my most perfect of sciences will suffer. No, I am leaving this place to go elsewhere and it is too dangerous for her to accompany me.

It pains me to know she will mingle with her inferior cousins, but she will be safest amongst their anonymous numbers. As for myself, I will destroy most of my notes and disassemble the machinery. I will travel light, and alone, my research in my head and in a single briefcase. If they should ever find me, and my genius may be hard to disguise forever, they shall find only a single man, with little to account for himself; no record of his success. If that day comes, with any luck, I’ll strike another bargain and life will continue as it once did. And if I die, well, that’s life… and I will rest easy knowing I have still created something perfect.

Yes, you will be safe… I will not lose track of you… Perhaps one day we shall even be reunited… the only important thing is that you remain safe…

Chapter 1
“I finish up my coffee
It’s time to catch the train”
~ “Toms Diner”, Suzanne Vega
Coffee Stop

Cranberry rarely did anything exciting. Perhaps a 24 hour credit load at Mega Frankfurt Universität kept her too busy to do anything except go to class, study, and daydream about actually having a life. She had almost no friends that she saw out of class except Lola, a rather bubbly and persistent fellow cheetah-sphinx. They had met at the prey center, started chatting, and became close friends.

Cranberry got along well with Lola. The latter was determined to drag the former away from her studies. Admittedly, Cranberry enjoyed being around someone who did all the exciting things she could only fantasize about. Detective work? Cranberry’s own life, caught in the tedium of lectures and research, seemed doomed to utter boredom by compare.

Today, one of Cranberry’s classes had been cancelled and Lola was on lunch break. They were going to have coffee together.

Cranberry left her last class, donned her maroon fedora (with slits for her ears) and surplus army jacket and dashed from campus to the nearby coffee shop. The walk would take a normal human 15 minutes. She would make it in three if things were hectic. She held her fedora down against her head as she ran, her dyed-cranberry hair whipping in the wind tunnel generated by her dash. Tocatta & Fugue in D Minor was playing in her ears at minimum volume; to her, it sounded like full blast.

**
About two minutes later, they were sitting in the coffee shop, Cranberry with three empty large cups on her side of the table and Lola keeping up.

“So, Cran,” Lola said, “how’s it feel to be free?”

“Off class? A little relaxing… good thing, too, I could use the occasional break. I really should be using this time to study, though. I have three papers due by the end of the week.”

“Yikes!” Lola’s tail stiffened in surprise.

“And a presentation to give. And four tests. Yay me. The work is easy, but draining. Still, anything to get through universität in two years.”

“I know what you mean,” said Lola, with a grin. “I can hardly wait to get through my officer training at P.S. 13. Still, I guess I’m lucky, because there is the occasional cool break. Just the other day, we were chasing this burglar, an- mouse!”

With sparking speed, Lola reached down and snatched a scurrying mouse off the floor, dropped it in her mouth, and swallowed it. “-d you should’ve seen the look on his face when I leapt over him, poked him in the forehead, and told him ‘stop in the name of the law’.”

Cranberry smirked. “To each her own. You will never see ME hunting down burglars. Too risky.”

“I bet. Hey,” Lola tilted her coffee cup back all the way, then popped the lid off. “Darn! It’s empty already?” She licked along the inner edge and looked disappointed. Then she grinned. “I guess I’ll just have to get another one.”

“I concur and second the motion” added Cranberry, setting her empty cup down.

**
“Look, lady, I’m not tryin’ to insult ya or anythin’, I’m just sayin’, maybe you oughtta take some more time between cups. I mean, Jesus, this is like your fifth! ”

“Darn it, I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough!” Lola’s fist met with the counter, leaving a faint impression. She looked a bit grumpy, to say the least.

“Look, all I was just sayin’ was…”

“Two coffees – large – now!”

“Ha-hem…” coughed Cranberry, rolling her eyes a bit.

“Oh, right,” Lola nodded, then smiled toothily, “make it four. And step on it. And do you have a size bigger than large?”

“Lady, please, why the trouble? I just run the counter…”

“Oh, please, call me Lola. And that’s Cranberry.”

“Hallo,” said Cranberry, raising a hand in greeting.

The clerk grabbed a couple large cups and sighed with a defeated expression on his face. Cranberry and Lola took the opportunity to down a few freebie sugar packets and chat.

“Say, Lola,” said Cranberry, with a tinge of interest, “why did you become interested in law enforcement?”

“Oh, isn’t it obvious? To protect and serve,” Lola replied, a small smile of pride on her face, “to keep our streets clean and make the world a brighter place! How about you? Why a full-time student?”

“Hm? Me? Well…” Vivid recollections of being teased as a kid entered her mind. “I have always wanted to do something with my life, but I never knew what. I guess I am just a bookworm by nature. All I heard growing up was how brilliant, how clever, how smart I am. I decided to put people’s claims to the test. I am graduating in the upcoming semester. Twenty-four credit hours per semester. It is more time-consuming than challenging. After I graduate with my triple major, I will pursue biology, journalism, or psychology. Still undecided.”

Lola had listened to Cranberry with incredulity, wide eyes, and a slack expression on her face.

“… Lola? Earth to Lola.” Frown. “Do NOT make me dump your coffee on your head.”

“Ah!” Lola snapped out of her moment. “Right, right!” She smiled in embarrassment. “Say, what about your other friends? What do they think?”

“Ah…” Cranberry paused and lightly knit her teeth together. “I really do not talk much about myself around others. In fact, I have never been close to anyone. I have never even met my parents … I would especially like to meet my father.”

“Why’s that?” Lola leaned in and smiled. Her back curved and her hips rose slightly into the air.

“Well…” Cranberry danced a sugar packet between her fingers as she reflected. She seemed lost in thought for a second before drawing back down to reality. “I have never met him. However, I must have a father because he occasionally sends me letters. So far, I have not been able to trace where he is writing from or discern why he never comes to visit. The card has no fingerprint traces or signature…” She grimaced, clearly frustrated by the failure.

**
“Here you are, ladies,” said the clerk, with a heavy sigh as he clapped two coffee cups down on the counter. Then two more. “Four… large… coffees. Enjoy ‘em.” He walked away grumbling, while a tall, hideous man in a beige coat walked in from the far end of the coffee shop, grumbling and patting something hidden under the coat.

“Thank you very much,” replied Cranberry and Lola in unison. Their sharp teeth, perfect for swallowing prey and scaring mild-mannered dentists, glistened in the sunlight caught by the shop’s window pane.

They grabbed the coffees, then turned and began drinking as they headed back over to their table.

“Does he ever send gifts?” Lola asked.

“Huh?”

“Gifts. Does your dad ever send you any presents?”

“Well, no, but he’s recommended a few books to read now and then.” Cranberry shrugged. “Always something neat. Last year, he suggested a book on Applied Disassociative Criminology Theory. Good read.”

**
“You! Yeah, you! What’s dis?” The tall, hideous man held up a small coffee cup. He shook it in the clerk’s face.

The clerk sighed and grumbled as he pulled down a sports magazine from in front of his face. “Coffee?” He rolled his eyes and began elevating the magazine again.

“Hey, don’t ignore me, dammit!” A meaty hand grabbed the newspaper and shoved it down as his other slammed the coffee cup on the counter. Its contents spilled out and began dripping onto the floor. “Three times! Ya screwed it up three times dis week.”

“And you want-“

“I wanna know how yer gonna make up fer it!”

“I’m not really in charge. Uh, want another cup of cof-“

“I don’t want any more of yer goddamn coffee!” The man shoved his right hand into his coat, gripped and withdrew a heavy pistol. He pointed it at the clerk’s head. “I’ll give ya the count to three fer a better solution, pal! I ain’t payin’ another euro fer dis overpriced crap! I order one simple drink and you manage to screw it up – every – single - time!”

“Please, please, don’t kill me. I don’t make minimum wage just to die! Can’t you just pistol whip me or somethin’?”

“I paid for these bullets, dammit, don’t tell me what I can or can’t do with ‘em!” He pulled back the hammer. “We wouldn’t even be here if you’d get my order right, dam-“ Bap.

Something flicked him roughly in the side of the head, dazing him for a second. The brute turned around to look at the table Lola and Cranberry were sitting at. Cranberry was waving her hand at the man in a lazy fashion, an amused smile crossing her face. Lola was already standing and looked pissed. The clerk took this opportunity to duck behind the counter.

“Who threw that?” the man said, pointing the gun at Lola and Cranberry. “Was it you?” He pointed the pistol at Cranberry. One of Cranberry’s coffees was missing and she was whistling to herself. She sat back and finished her coffee while Lola jumped into her ‘you are under arrest’ speech.

“Like hell I’m under arrest!” He turned and aimed the gun at Lola.”What’re you gonna d-”

Cranberry quickly crumpled another empty cup into an impossibly small ball and flicked it. With a slight ‘whoop’ sound, the ball slid down the barrel of the gun, effectively jamming it at its base.

“What the hell?” The gunman shook his gun, trying to get it out.

“Oh, do not bother.” Cranberry tried a small smirk. “It is not going to fire.” Lola stood up and walked toward the man. He dropped the gun and turned to run but Lola dashed forward, caught him by his collar and hoisted him up.

“He-hey, lemme down, eh? C-come on, you guys know I was just kidding! Ha-ha, everybody! Ha-ha!” Sweat began to pour down the man’s face.

“Sorry, no way,” said Lola in a serious tone. “You have threatened a man at gun point, attempted to endanger the lives of everyone in this establishment, and interrupted our coffee break! Now you ARE going to jail to think about what you have done!”

“If- if your crazy friend hadn’t jammed the gun, I’d’a gotten away with it.”

Cranberry walked over, picked up the gun and examined it. “Oh, it is not jammed,” she said, as if idly curious, while examining the barrel.

“What?!” shouted the man, going bug-eyed while Lola cuffed him.

Cranberry raised her eyes from the gun barrel to the man. She smiled toothily. “I just said that to mess with you. See, the bullets would have fired regardless. Not that it matters. We would have dodged anyway.”

“Then why’d you do it?!” the thug spat, as Lola dragged him outside, kicking and screaming.

“Oh, I hate hurting people and figured you were stupid enough to fall for it. Guess I was right, huh?” she grinned smugly.

**
Arresting the fool cost Lola the rest of her lunch break. Cranberry stayed around to keep her company. After all was said and done, Lola filed the report and let Cranberry return to class. Cranberry dropped by a different coffee shop, had something sweet to drink, and took a few more minutes to relax before returning to campus. Only four more classes to go today. Just another ordinary day in Mega Frankfurt for Julia “Cranberry” Pawis.


Chapter 2
“The color of your skin don't matter to me
As long as we can live in harmony

Why can't we be friends?
Why can't we be friends?
Why can't we be friends?
Why can't we be friends?”
~ “Why Can’t We Be Friends,” War

We’re Friends, Right?


“Class dismissed,” declared Professor Fromm.

The 40 students slowly rose then filed out of the night class; amongst them was Cranberry, and her human friend, Lukas. She and Lukas had met during the beginning of the semester. Before Cranberry met Lola, Lukas was the closest thing she had to a friend. Their relationship had always been entirely platonic. They only saw each other in class. Still, at times, Cranberry wondered if there could be more...

She was a tad shy about suggesting anything.

Dr. Fromm’s class was the last class of Cranberry’s long Thursday night. Most people were exhausted by this time. Even other hybrids. She thrived enough to stay and ask questions. Tonight, she planned to have a few words with the professor, whose brain tended to ache after the second or third Cranberry question.

**

“Oh, hey, that’s all right, Cran” said Lukas with a small smile. “Look, I have to run, anyway. Got a few things to take care of, you know? Next week, same time?”

Cranberry nodded. “Next week, same time. But do your reading this time.” She smirked. “I dislike having to cover your butt.”

“Eh.” Lukas just shrugged and smiled. “Toodles.” He turned and walked off, smiling. As he did so, he reached for something in his pants and held it in front of himself.

**
“Question answered, Miss Pawis?” Dr. Fromm tugged his tie a bit and adjusted his glasses. He looked across the hall at the clock on the wall.

“Yes, sir,” replied Cranberry. “Thank you for your time.” Her tail swished back and forth as she turned to leave.

“Yeah, thank God. Welp, drinking time again.” Dr. Fromm plucked a bottle of something strong out from behind his desk, filled a shot glass, and took a swig.

**
“Cran!” A panicked shout.

Cranberry turned quickly in the direction of the noise. Far out in the distance, her keen eyesight discerned Lukas being accosted by a couple of thugs. It seemed they had already scuffed him up a bit and bruised his eye. Lukas was struggling to throw them off. He was looking in her direction. One of the thugs grabbed him by his hair and yanked him around a corner, behind a building.

“Cran! HELP!” shouted Lukas. And before she knew what was happening, Cranberry was already dashing down the street, and around the corner, where she saw an open manhole. No time to call the police, she told herself. A little nervous, she dropped down into the waiting chamber.

**
She smelled him before she heard him before she saw him. Her hands dug into the thug’s right arm and, with a heavy heave-ho, she flipped him over, knocking him onto his back with a heavy wind-taking thud. The thug groaned in the flicker fire darkness.

“What did you do to Lukas?” she shouted to him, attempting intimidation. The effect was mitigated by her pleasant voice but enhanced by her physical prowess. Cranberry’s eyes were adjusting to the minimal light the lamps on the street above let down into the sewers. She could see several humans standing in the dim light; a gang? Something heavy slid over the manhole above.

“’ey, boss,” said one of the men. “She fell for it! I don’t believe it! Wan’us to cap ‘er right now?”

“No, no,” said a familiar voice. Cranberry’s heart was thudding softly in her chest. She was tensed, prepared to fight, to save Lukas, when the speaking figure flicked a lighter and lit a cigarette he was holding to his lips. In the soft glow of the cigarette light, she pinpointed Lukas’ features. The young man had an expression of controlled determination on his face.

“Lukas?” Cranberry asked, incredulous. “Lukas, what happened? I saw those thugs drag you down here, but-“

“Jesus, hold it,” said Lukas, pulling the cigarette from his lips and releasing a small luminescent puff of smoke. “First off, I want to thank Big T and The Mike for helping me pull that little charade. Good job.” Lukas clapped his hands. Cranberry frowned.

“Lukas…” Cranberry backed up against the sewer escape ladder leading back to the surface. She did not want to fight, not this many, not down here, not at all. She knew she would die, or have to kill somebody, because when trapped in a sewer with nothing but mice and angry thugs, your bad day is just getting started.

Lukas raised his left hand in the universal gesture for ‘stop’. “Oh, don’t bother trying to escape, Cran. I had a couple of my boys slide something up there so heavy that three of you couldn’t lift it.”

“Lukas,” shouted Cranberry, trying again to sound intimidating, “this is NOT funny! I want out of here, now!” She bared her fangs.

“Funny girl,” said Lukas, grinning. “Isn’t she, boys?” Laughter. As a spent piece of cigarette dropped to the floor, Lukas made a few minute hand gestures. The thugs, half shadow and half matter in this darkness, armed with knives, bats, guns approached. As they did, the illuminated Lukas spoke.

“See, Cran, I’ve never liked you. You’re a hybrid, a freak of nature. You shouldn’t be here. You don’t belong, see? Your kind,” he said, his tone becoming increasingly menacing, “they’re too fast, too strong… and in your case, too smart. You think that just because you’re genetically engineered, you’re perfect!”

“What?! No! Lukas, this is cra-”

“Shut up! I’ve had enough of these lies! Government propaganda; ‘The Hybrid is your friend’, all that bullshit! Was a hybrid my father’s friend when he lost his job because the government figured a genetic freak could do it better?! Do they help by being better than us, domineering, slowly taking over our society? You’re a cancer, every one of you! And you’re no friend of mine!” He clenched his teeth heavily onto the cigarette.

“Lukas,” Cranberry pleaded, even as she extended her claws, preparing to fight (“oh god, I do not want to fight, please god, do not make me fight, I do not want to die, oh god”), “come on. Let us talk about this… please. This is crazy.”

“What’s that…” Lukas began, as if interested. He smiled and spoke as if talking to a child. “Crazy? Cran, this whole world’s crazy. I’m just setting things right.” Lukas plucked the cigarette from his lips. The embers glowed a mystic orange against the shadows. “Night vision goggles on, boys. Do her up just like the last four.” He flicked the orange stick into the running sewage. It expired instantly, and in the crowding darkness, a horde of shadowy figures descended on Cranberry.


**
When faced with fight vs. flight, those in heavy doubt of their victory will often choose the latter option. Some wise strategists know when to leave a single escape route open (however impossible escape actually is) to make a confused opponent fight less vigorously than he would if his only option was to fight. When cornered, a coward becomes a challenge.

Cranberry had, to this night, never raised a paw in self-defense. The event at the coffee shop was her most exciting physical activity outside of the hunting grounds. Like all sphinx, she possessed a natural physiology that made her superior to human beings, at least physically. For example, the thugs required night vision goggles, whereas Cranberry’s eyes were naturally attuned to the darkness. Cranberry tossed herself against the first lumbering body she saw. Sharp claws knifed through clothing and into flesh. The thug screamed and brought his elbow down against her head, buffeting her with a lucky blow and knocking her off guard for a second. Cranberry danced back through the darkness, slightly dazed, as poorly aimed pistols sent bullets whizzing through the darkness. They missed and embedded themselves in the eroding sewer walls.

Passing seconds were making Cranberry careless. She pounced at one of the men moving into one of the shadows. Her momentum stalled as a heavy object thudded against her arching back. Her target tackled Cranberry, attempting to pin the struggling girl to the ground. Her powerful muscles quickly tensed, then tugged, shifting rapidly enough to keep herself loose and claw at him. Sharp, lancing pain filled the space between two ribs and breathing suddenly became difficult. Something was stuck there for a split-second. When it came out, the pain became worse. Heavy pains of all kinds built up in the darkness around Cranberry; a giggling, chortling mass of fleshy shadows drowned out her growls of fear and fury. In the background, she picked up the sound of Lukas’ faint, humorous laughter.

**
Cranberry screamed and (black bloody) drowned (hurts…) out (need to escape…) - She did not want (heart beat, beating heart, ka-thud, ka-thud, will burst) to die here, not in the darkness… she would do anything to escape (break free, claws). The battering (so easy to give in) continued (pain is gone!). She tried to lunge (heave) outward, and was dragged (weight…) back in. She tried (growl…) to spring outward with all her fury, but (pressure, suffocating) was dragged back in. She wanted to live… (oh god, it hurts, noise is loud) she WOULD (red, so much red, want more red, paint the sewer red) live! SHE – WOULD – LIVE! (bleed them white and you can make everything go away…).

**
Cranberry’s right hand snaked out, grabbed a baseball bat and tore it from the victimizer’s hand. It cracked slightly as she squeezed upon the wood. Her powerful arm swelled with strength and swung it around in a wide arc, buffeting the invading shadows to the tune of heavy cracks. Strong legs broke free of the shadows and thrust through the thick. Screams echoed down the sewer passages as the sensation of knives darting ripped through the dark forms. Choking. Dripping. A powerful figure with eyes like hellfire lurched in the darkness. Muscular, sharp-toothed, long-clawed, predatory. Small objects flew toward it and passed by harmlessly.

Something akin to twisted laughter rose along the sewer walls in the dirt and heat. One of the thugs hunched forward and doubled-up and spilled his vitals upon the ground. A powerful, long back leg swung upward and caught another – he gasped but could not speak because of the newly displaced vocal chords dangling from a set of claws. The leg swung about, lifting both carcasses before dropping them once more. One swung into another of their companions, whom was knocked into the sewage water.

Shouting in the darkness. Spent bullets fell to the ground in tune to a garbled beat. Guns primed, triggers pulled, their firing rate constant repeat. The snails crawled by, perchance to die, while they saw another feat.

The creature turned toward the bullets as it passed by them, laughed, and snatched one from the air. It flicked it at one of the frightened shades and was delighted by the strange noise his throat made when the bullet embedded itself within his Adam’s Apple. The two other gunners kept firing, shouting obscenities, and screaming for someone to kill the bitch.

Their screams to nothing came.

**
Lukas excused himself from the hopeless slaughterfest during those few seconds. He was walking first, trying not to attract attention. In the distance, he heard a plea for mercy become an echoing shriek accompanying a demonic cheetah’s growl.

Fuck it. Run. Just needed to make it to the nearest unsecured manhole. Get out of here before the freak finished slaughtering everyone else and realized he was missing. He ran.

And then he heard the growling again, but it was no longer in the passage he had left behind. It was behind him, far away in the darkness, its echoes traveling forward.

Heat began to flood his muscles as he pushed them harder, hoping to escape. Perspiration formed on his brow.

The growling darkness loomed closer, breaking the silence again. Lukas’ back arched as he felt malicious eyes boring down upon him. His eardrums pulsed with the beat of blood and the clickity-clank of bloody claws scraping against the ancient sewer mortar.

Faster! His lungs felt like they could explode! His feet hardly touched the ground! The world distorted and the darkness pulsed with an iris of white and grey! Incredulous laughter rose as he looked ahead.

A ladder leading to freedom!

He did not hear himself laugh. He did not hear himself say, “Oh, thank God! Jesus Christ! I’m free! I’m out of here! YOU WON’T CATCH ME NOW, YOU FREAK!” He practically tossed himself at the sewer escape, leaping into the air and grabbing onto the bars for dear life. No more growling.

He gasped, and he looked back into the darkness. NO more searing red eyes. Oh, thank God. NO more red eyes. She must have gotten tired, and given u-

Lukas screamed as he looked up the sewer escape. A pair of gleaming red eyes stared down at him. Something growled.

**
As Cranberry flung herself into her orange artificial leather arm chair, she attempted to recall what happened earlier that night… when did she last see Lukas? As he… left class, right? How did she get home? Lukas left class… she left class… she must have walked home… Cranberry could not recall walking home.

She dug her claws unto the artificial leather of her chair’s upholstery. The more she tried to recall, the more rage built within her. It ached so. Cranberry had to take a deep breath and calm herself down. She could not recall ever feeling so angry.

She tried harder. Lukas left class. She left class. She wanted to tear the flesh from his face. She wanted to claw him to death. She- Cranberry gripped her head! The headache stopped building as soon as she stopped trying to recall. That is right. She had coffee with Lola earlier today. She went to class. The lecture was interesting and she stayed afterward to talk to the professor a bit. Then she walked home. She was very distracted, since she spent the walk thinking of her papers due on Friday. That is right.

Cranberry stifled an unbecoming giggle, wondering why she was so frustrated over this. She lolled her tongue in her mouth. Strange taste as her tongue went along her teeth. Oh, right, must have been something she ate along the way. She picked up a sandwich along the way home, but the taste was not quite right. That is right.

That is right.

Chapter 3
“And you may ask yourself, ‘Well, how did I get here?’
…
And you may ask yourself
Am I right? … Am I wrong?
And you may tell yourself,
My God! What have I done?”
~”Once in a Lifetime,” Talking Heads

Better than Ever

When Cranberry awoke the next day, the previous evening had all but faded from memory. She stretched in the chair, wondering why she had fallen asleep in it… naked.

She stood up and swished her tail back and forth. She felt good. Exceedingly so. What time was it? … who cared? She didn’t care? … Breakfast! That would clear her head… She sat at her breakfast table and poured herself some milk. She proceeded to saturate it with part of a box of sugar and ate the glucose-heavenly substance. Then she stood up and went to get dressed.

This was when she consciously noticed things were odd. First, every shirt she tried on was snug. Getting the shirt over her head was easy. Over her shoulders, arms and chest, material size became a problem. She panicked a tad when she heard the stitching give as she tried pulling the third one on. The problem persisted with her other garments. She had to dismiss the idea that her clothes had shrunk. She normally liked most of her outer garments just a little bit baggy… she pawed around for her signature fedora and army jacket, but they were missing. She bit her lower lip in nervousness, drawing a bit of blood, but the wound healed seconds later.

She walked to her bathroom and looked into the mirror.

Cranberry’s reflection stood a few centimeters taller than Cranberry remembered herself and her petite frame now seemed voluptuously toned. Perhaps her tail and legs were slightly longer, her breasts a little bigger, and her ears somewhat perkier. Her muscles felt larger, which explained some of it. She was not certain how, but she was different and it frightened her; plus, her hair had grown several centimeters, allowing the blonde roots of her dyed-cranberry hair to show visibly.

“My hair,” she grumbled and tugged at it. “Argh. I just had this dyed again three weeks ago! Freaking…! I cannot go to class like this,” she growled, and slammed one of her paws into the glass pane of her mirror, shattering it to a score of pieces.

“Woah, calm down…” she told herself.

“Calm down. You can handle this. Pressure never gets to you…” Cranberry took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Then she closed her eyes, took a resolute step forward, promptly stepped on a broken shard of glass, and kicked the sink pipes hard.

**
By the time the janitor had fixed the leak, Cranberry’s day was just getting started. She had missed enough class trying to keep the bathroom from flooding and destroying the dorm room she called home, plus factoring in that she had somehow slept past noon… AND she now needed a new wardrobe, hair cut and dye, and to find her fedora and jacket, ESPECIALLY the fedora. It was her favorite…

She forced herself, with some difficulty, into jeans and a shirt she wore two days ago and an old pair of running shoes. It was about as comfortable as being shrinkwrapped and looked about as modest. Grown just a little… she told herself. Some perfectly reasonable explanation for it and nobody in class would notice. Nobody in a class of 20 people who saw her, the only sphinx they probably ever associated with, every day. With a heavy sigh, Cranberry picked up her books and headed to class. She pretended she didn’t hear a very slight snap in one of her jeans’ stitches along the lower leg. Nobody would notice…

**
People were staring. If she thought it was just because she was a sphinx, she could have dealt with it. But it had everything to do with the little changes she had been experiencing. Under their collective gaze, she felt the pressure to respond in some way. So she did. The split-second her ultra-sensitive hearing picked up the first tick of the ending bell, or the first syllable of “class dismissed”, she was out the door no more than three seconds later. She zoomed from classroom to classroom at top-notch speed, doing almost everything except bounce off the walls.

A little part of her wanted to do just that. Show off. Why should she care what they thought? But she resisted the impulse. That had been a problem today. Her impulses had been subdued for the past some-20 years, but today they would not shut the hell up. Her patience had dissolved into a firm grip on a heavily greased rope. And the increasing snugness of her clothing was only making it worse. After her second class, she itched at her shirt and heard it tear against the swell of her left breast. She kept her arm down over it for most of the rest of the day.

**
The day drifted into afternoon. The sun hovered on the horizon, refusing to wink out on the spectacle. The stress of class, stares, the memory lapse, body changing and missing clothing finally got to her, and she left in the middle of class to go to the prey hunting center. She had to unwind. She nearly knocked some guy’s head off in one of the classes. That was bad. That was not g- TURKEY!

A flurry of yellow and white leapt forward and seized the turkey by its neck, broke it, and held it aloft.

The speaker phone came on. “Congratulations, Ms. Pawis. You have bagged your fifth turkey. One hundred euros will be transferred from your account.”

Cranberry dropped the turkey. One-hundred? Five turkeys? She looked at her feet and scanned the area. There were the remains of four turkeys sitting in the area. Oh God. She had lost control. A heavy sigh on her lips, she picked up the last turkey and headed out the door back into the rear lounge area of the prey hunting center. Just then, the speaker phone came back on.

“A-mazing! Five turkeys in less than a minute. A new record. Ms. Pawis is our Hunter of the Month!” Cranberry went home, quickly. Her clothes were torn up and she felt it most prominently on her curves. Everywhere else, it was still tight, as the clothing clung to supple muscles that hid beneath her smooth fur, but which flexed with hidden strength. Clothes shopping tomorrow. She could forget class for right now. Get her hair dyed. Have some cereal. Get some sleep. … At least Winter Break was next week.

Chapter 4
“Gummed up, brain dead and can’t decide
You can’t pray enough, you can’t hide
You can be cool or you can cry
Do it wrong
Not at all
Or do it right”
~Kanno Yoko, “Ask DNA”

Shop if you Gotta
When Cranberry awoke the next morning, she threw aside the plain green comforter and hopped out of bed. She opened the door to her bathroom and looked in the mirror. An expression of equal mirth and discomfort crossed her face as she saw what had become of her. She knew now she was going to regret not finding time to go to the clothing store yesterday. Then again, she might as well have waited, a pessimistic voice opined. Or go naked, she grimaced. Her chest and hips had certainly swelled. It was hard to tell, though, because she had gained at least another five centimeters. Whatever frustrations this might’ve caused, she noticed something which balanced it all out – for now. Her hair had miraculously dyed itself back to the roots as a cranberry shade. She might have actually felt relieved, even happy with the rest of the changes, if they didn’t make her stand out more than she already did. At least Winter Break had begun. Maybe she would see a doctor about the changes. At the moment, though, she just was much more eager to take a shower and then find some clothes that fit!

**
A little bit later that morning, Cranberry was being stared at again for the same reason as last time, only a bit more obviously.

When she had searched her closet, Cranberry took more time to look over her selection than she did the last time. After trying numerous fittings, she found a red sweater, kept the jeans from yesterday, and grabbed a rain coat. The sweater stopped about her midriff and clung nicely to the swell of her breasts. Her jeans fit easily over her waist and slid down to the swell of her hips, where the split in her jeans from yesterday just widened from the increased stress. That is why she put on the raincoat. It came down to her knees and it pinched her around the waist when she buttoned it. At least it covered the rips and her midriff… even if it didn’t do jack for her chest.

As she pushed through the crowd of people at the mall, Cranberry pretended that nobody was staring at her. She kept her eyes locked on either directories or store signs, never meeting the eyes of another person, whose eyes were probably on her chest, which she was trying to cover with her hands, which was a magnificent flop of an affair. It took a little self-control to not raise her voice and shout or slam somebody, or just barrel through the crowd to get to her destinations as soon as possible. Instead, she let herself get squished by the press of the crowd.

Rows of clothing stores lined every avenue of the mall and none of them worked. Cranberry glanced into a window shop, looking upon elegant dresses of green, black and lavender. Far too fancy. Down on her left, she saw trendy shirts and designer jeans; they’d probably conform to her curves, emphasize her butt, draw attention to her figure. Everything she didn’t want. There was a store on one end for people who spent plenty of time outdoors. A nice dream… not now. Lingerie? No! She didn’t even have time to date! Clothing for exceptionally tall or curvy? No, no… not her, not at all… didn’t a single store in the entire mall sell something decent?!

**
Cranberry’s crusade for decency continued for a few stores more. She finally settled on a large warehouse style place called Cristof’s. She was confronted with dozens of rows of odd-matched jeans, shorts, pants, dresses, shirts, sweaters, coats, shoes, sandals, slippers, hats, scarves, mittens, socks, and choices that she didn’t think had categorizing terms yet. However, amongst the countless rows of new and used clothes, she hoped to find something, ANYTHING, that looked better than the raincoat-sweater ensemble. With a little good fortune, maybe even a new fedora and army jacket.

**
After searching for what felt like hours, Cranberry managed to put together enough clothes to make a new wardrobe. She managed to find a replacement for her missing favorites, but it didn’t feel quite the same. Like losing a family heirloom and buying a replica. This would just have to do.

As she moved toward the checkout counter to pay, something caught her ear. She was about to step out of line when she realized she could suddenly hear it clearly, much more clearly than she should have. She listened to it even as she paid for her bundle of clothing.

“… -the sewers. Yesterday, sewage maintenance staff found a corpse in the waterways. Local police were contacted and an investigation was conducted. According to early police reports, there were signs of some sort of struggle occurring recently in the sewers near Megafrankfurt University. Police say clues indicate some sort of possible gang warfare violence broke out. Similar acts of violence have been conducted in the area previously. No other bodies or leads have been discovered and the supposed gang member remains unidentified…”

Cranberry pushed open the door leading into the janitor sideroom where the news was playing. She locked eyes with an underground scene, a sewer, looking very familiar.

“The water supply has since been declared safe pursuant to an investigation conducted by the city. No further developments are to be expected, but citizens are warned to stay out of the sewers. A task that this reporter thinks most people won’t have any trouble following.”

**
“I need to really, really take a vacation,” Cranberry told herself, fidgeting out of her old jeans.

A moment ago, Cranberry recalled the sewer event for the first time, triggered by the announcement. She slipped into the changing room, needing something to distract her mind from flipping out over the realization THAT SHE KILLED PEOPLE! Slam! She left a dent in one of the changing room walls.

“Is everything okay in there?” A monitoring clerk’s voice called out from somewhere nearby.

“Everything is fine,” Cranberry called back in mousy voice. But everything wasn’t fine. Sure, it was self-defense. She couldn’t be faulted for that. They pulled weapons on her. She couldn’t just stand there. And beside, the police weren’t going to look into it any further. It didn’t change the fact that she KILLED people. And she wasn’t in control. She’d never lost control before. But that night… the most hectic parts still returned only as vivid illusions on the rim of consciousness. What she needed wasn’t a doctor, she told herself. What she needed was to take a break, get out of town while Winter Break was going on. Maybe she had been a little too cooped up after all this time. Stress got to people, right? Well, that was fine, then… and as for her growing problem, well, it would stop or it wouldn’t. At worst, she’d just have to see a doctor eventually (later, she told herself, much later).

At that moment, she received a call. Who? … Oh, Lola.

“Lola? Hi, how is it going?” Cranberry pulled a pair of gaudy striped socks over her large feet. A little snug.

“It’s going great! Say, you’re on Winter Break, right? What’cha got planned? Anything special? C’mon, tell me!”

Shoes. These were big. Too big. She could not wear these shoes by any means. Her feet would just pop right out of them as soon as she took a couple steps. But, no, they fit her large paws perfectly, oh joy…

“Well, I am planning on going out of town. Just, you know, wherever the wind takes me. I know, I do not leave the city often, but I think I need a little change of pace. A chance to stretch my legs…” She stretched them… why were they so long? She knew they had always been long, but this was… okay, these were toned. Very toned, and they curved well with her hips, which were wider than they had any right being, which made eyes go down and up, up and down, d-

“Oh, awesome! Man, I wish I could come but crime never sleeps! Well, that and my work schedule. Darn it. I want to go! Oh, but, hey, if you don’t have a place you’re really dead set on going, why not go up to the mountains? I hear they’re beautiful this time of year. You could probably get some exercise, do some running, do some hunting. It’d be fun!”

“Sounds like it… I think I will do just that. Thank you, Lola.” Cranberry grabbed the army jacket and pulled it over her shoulders. She didn’t feel so naked any more. Just… taking up too much space.

“No problem. Well, I better get back to work! Duty calls!”

**
Upon returning home, Cranberry immediately began packing things. She wasn’t in a terribly great hurry, but she did want to leave the first thing next morning. Now that she had a new set of clothing (and a practically empty account, yay), Cranberry felt a little more at ease. It was while she was packing her toothbrush that she heard a knock at the door.

Who could it be? She wasn’t expecting anybody. Cranberry left her suitcase and padded over to the door. She looked through the peephole and saw a man outside dressed in a delivery man’s uniform. He was carrying a package under his right arm.

“Hello, yes, can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah, I have a package for…” The man examined a label on the package. “Miss Julia Pawis.”

“Oh, yes, that is me. I was not expecting anything. Who is it from?” Her curiosity was piqued.

“It doesn’t say. Um, I have other deliveries. Are you going to sign for it or not?” He glanced back at his truck, which he had left idling.

“Yes, yes.” She opened the door, quickly signed for the package, and snatched it from the man. She caught his eye as he was staring, of course, at her che- slammed the door in his face. She locked it and turned to examine it. Heavy… not that heavy… then again, she felt stronger. What could be inside? She smiled to herself. Perhaps something good on a bad day. She sniffed the package for a scent. Nothing remarkable. In fact, no return address either. Her heart began to beat faster. She could think of only one person who would send her an untraceable package.

She was clutching the package to her chest like a trophy as she walked across the carpet to her bedroom. She dropped the package on the bed, moved her suitcase to the side, and leaned over it. Cranberry extended her claws and quickly ripped the package asunder. Then she reached in, claws retracted, and pulled out her prize.

The sleek polish of a beautiful cherry wood box rested on the bed. Its elegant simplicity invited contact, investigation and discovery. Such a mysterious prize called for a gentle touch, which Cranberry could provide. Her tail swung back and forth, whapping against the artificial orange leather of her chair. Cranberry lifted the box, turned it and spotted a telltale latch.

The sphinx’ tail wrapped around her narrow waist and squeezed in eager anticipation. “How beautiful,” she thought to herself as she unhooked the latch. The oiled hinges slid apart, which allowed the box to open, unveiling the mirrored surfaces of the holojector. Cranberry saw her reflection. The reflection reminded her of the inexplicable changes she had already been through. Instead of admiring her reflection, Cranberry placed the holojector on the coffee table in front of her and waited for the device to boot up.

A metallic cobalt blue pyramid appeared on the space between two of the mirrors, floating in the ether; a band of text slowly revolved around it clockwise, reading “Prometheus Holotech”. High quality retail. The pyramid expanded, becoming a field of blue. Now there was a message written in yellow block letters, suspended in air, beneath which were two words, one in green, the other in red. The message read, “View Your Hologram now?” The green word was “Yes”, the red word was “No”.
She pressed her choice, then sat back. The words melded together and mutated into black cursive text reading “Enjoy”, then “Now Loading…”

A few seconds later, the “Now Loading…” vanished along with the blue field, and the figure of a man replaced it.

He looked familiar. His image was frozen in time, as though awaiting a command. The young sphinx’ eyes scrolled over every texture, even reaching out to touch the image, though her finger passed straight through it.

The man in the hologram was not young. Nor was he old. He was middle-aged, though late middle-aged at that. Age had not stooped his thin figure, but it had certainly sapped the vitality from his limbs. He wore a spotless frayed white lab coat, blue jeans, and white dress shoes. The thin man was not especially tall or short, but of average height. His hair was short and salt-and-pepper gray. His face was crossed with a small smile and his eyes were a gleeful green. The figure stood there, his hands in his lab coat pockets.

“…” Memories flashed through Cranberry’s mind. That face. Again and again. “… Father…” she said, with awe-inspired certainty that surprised herself.

As if on cue, the figure gesticulated and began to move, as though freed from stasis. His first words were, “My dear Julia, I knew you would recognize me.” His voice was smooth and even, with a hint of pleasure behind it. “Yes, I am your creator… my name is Dr. Felix Noh.” A long uncomfortable pause. “Well, there it is.” He seemed at a loss for a moment as to how continue.

This was getting a little weird. Was the stress of college getting to her mind and causing her to hallucinate? How she hoped that was not the case or, if it were, that the hallucination would continue.

“I prepared this hologram without knowing when it would reach you, so you’ll have to pardon me for not congratulating whatever success I am certain you are experiencing with your impressive intellect. Yes, most impressive. Have you ever wondered about your own brilliance? It, along with your current state, is the result of the greatest experiment in bio-engineering ever undertaken. An experiment of which I am the sole author.” His smile broadened. “I imagine you are overjoyed with the transformation you have begun to undergo.”

Overjoyed?! This “change” had ruined her entire week, her entire wardrobe, perhaps her entire life.

“I can’t predict the exact nature of the transformation, but I can at least tell you how it works. The responses are entirely to your environs and mentality. That is to say, your transformation shall compensate for anything which you might lack.”

Like perhaps the need to fit into her old clothes, or the need to get the incessant howl of her instincts to quiet.


“Just wonderful. If I am still alive to see what has been wrought, I hope to someday meet you in person. With your gift, you will exceed all your cousins. Make me proud, my greatest experiment; my daughter.”

“Proud?” she pulled back her bangs. “Doing what? I did not ask for this!”

The hologram of her father said, “Hologram – End – End.” The hologram vanished, replaced by the words, “Replay? Quit?”

Cranberry sat and pondered. She sighed, and pressed…

**
Cranberry had already watched the hologram play through twice now. She was on her third viewing, scrutinizing every word, when she noticed something interesting…

“-you are overjoyed-“

Cranberry’s eyes widened. “Hologram – Pause!”

She studied her father’s figure. What was on that lapel under the corner of his collar?

“Zoom.” She said, and with that, a grid of hexagons fell comfortably over every contour of the figures on the hologram. She pressed a claw against a hexagon covering the exposed portion of the lapel. And again. And again. Until she could clearly make out the design. She studied it for a moment. Was it upside down?

“Flip.” Rotation markers appeared on the edges of the hologram. She flipped the image over and stared intently. The design looked like some sort of golden spoked wheel, but she could not distinguish it for certain.

She would remember it, though. And perhaps one day discover where it came from. Find her father. Get the answers. Was he anything like she had hoped? She wasn’t sure any longer… but if he was influencing her life, she had to know more about him. With a sigh, Cranberry closed the box and tried a browser search for “Felix No” and a number of other variations, including the proper spelling, all without results. The man didn’t exist. Well, she would have to think on this one. And she’d have time. Tomorrow, suitcase in hand, she was going to take a very long walk.


Chapter 5
“All my life I’ve been over the top
I don’t know what I’m doing,
All I know is I don’t wanna stop
All fired up, I’m gonna go till I drop
You’re either in or in the way, don’t make me,
I don’t wanna stop”
~Ozzy Osbourne, “I Don’t Wanna Stop”

Excelsior Overload
The quiet forest air was doing Cranberry some good. Sure, she had awoke this morning to find that her bed was a little bit too small for her. It had been a tad discomforting to put on one of the shirts and jeans that she bought yesterday and find that they fit right. Right for a normal person of the size they were intended for, many centimeters taller and curvier than Cranberry had been just three days ago. Yesterday, they were baggy. Tomorrow, well… she would pack her raincoat. So, she had showered, brushed her teeth, gotten dressed, leaned over to look into the mirror, grabbed her suitcase (which also contained the hologram beside her other belongings), and walked out of her dorm into the wide world; a place where there were no door frames that you had to duck slightly under for fear of cracking your skull or, more likely, busting, along with the nearest object not fused to the ground.

About an hour had passed since she first left the borders of Megafrankfurt. She left at a running pace. Ahead, she saw the mountains that Lola described yesterday. They looked relaxing enough. She had put on another burst of speed, astounding herself at the rate which she continued to speed up. There seemed to be no limit to it, and she indulged herself, losing track of time as she listened to Pachbell’s Canon thrumming in her ears. When she reached the forest at the base of the mountains, she slowed down to enjoy a walk. She felt more relaxed now, away from the chaotic closeness of the city. She even turned off her music and listened to her environs. Birds chirped and trees rustled in a cool morning breeze. Somewhere on the nearest road, cars were shooting off into the distance. Aside from the strange humming that she heard coming from somewhere far off, she felt comfortable. And the humming was certainly continuing to get closer.

The hum was not animal or natural and was disconcertingly monotonous. It became louder by the second and its discord was increasingly unsettling. The hum broke into a rumble that roared and shook the treetops with its approach. Cranberry’s teeth chattered in her head as she ducked for cover. Whatever was coming wasn’t anything she knew. She wanted to see what it was. Not a car, she figured, peeking over the top of a protruding boulder; they could not fit very well through the trees. Yet, it was too loud to be anything short of something powerful, she concluded as her eyeballs danced in their sockets. Whatever it was, it was still getting closer. She could even see it now, despite the obfuscating shadows; a gleaming silver-red speck surrounded by infinitesimal objects, leaves probably, which resembled nothing more than some form of motorcycle. It glided through the air, low to the ground, and resolved itself quickly to Cranberry from a distance, though at its present rate, even normal eyes would have picked it out soon. The rising sunlight glinted off its crimson paint and smeared the vehicle with a ghostly glaze. And just like that, in the twinkling of an instant, Cranberry felt herself knocked off her feet. Her head snapped upward to see the awesome sight of the craft hovering beside her.

Silver-base paint; red overlay; sleek design, could probably navigate a crowded street; narrow, but a little long; anti-grav (obviously), but with piping suggesting something far more than casual use; thing looked beat and scratched, even scorched, with nothing suggesting regular wear-and-tear; big enough to seat one person, whomever was in the driver’s seat wearing the black jumpsuit and helmet, laughing. The machine was loud, too, too loud, intentionally maybe. Maybe the driver would just pass by. Cranberry just wanted to be alone. Where was a heavy rock when you needed one? Maybe she could lift the boulder…

The driver spoke through a speaker port. “You’re on my mountain. Race me or get off.” Female. Tense. Serious.

Crap. Cranberry peeked out over the boulder. “And I want to risk breaking my neck or seeing you crash because…?” She looked a little less than optimistic, but she was feeling that funny red feeling in the back of her head again. The boulder-tossing suddenly didn’t feel like such a bad idea.

“You win, spend the night at my place. Nice, you’ll like it. You lose or refuse, I’ll ram you right off the mountain.” Pleasant but dead serious. The craft kept humming. Had to make a decision right now. Possible reward versus threat of bodily harm. Easy choice, sort the details out later.

“Okay…” Cranberry slid out from behind the boulder. “Only because you insist…” Maybe it was time to see what she was really capable of. Cranberry gripped the suitcase handle, leaving an indent. The wind rushed past them. An engine flared and footpads kicked dirt from the forest duff. They surpassed the gale.

And so they raced.

**

The defining characteristic of the cheetah sphinx is its base land speed. The average untrained cheetah sphinx is more than capable of outstripping anything short of a human Olympic runner, even at short distances. Their incredible speed and considerable endurance enable them to keep pace with, or surpass, some modern cars. When consumed by rage, it is believed that such speeds are increased tremendously, but practically speaking, this has proved untestable since there has never been a known case where a sphinx has been capable of maintaining the benefits of rage and sanity simultaneously.

The modern car is both fairly fast and safe. Some older models produce an unpleasant white noise. It is possible to soup-up a vehicle or remove the noise inhibitor. However, the former is limited to subsonic speeds in commercial vehicles and anything at Mach 1 or above is heavily restricted in private business and government use. Removing noise inhibitors, particularly on souped-up machines, is illegal in many cities, since the resulting noise can be very loud and, when speed passes a certain threshold, unbearably so.

They were defying nature and law when they broke the sound barrier.

**

Cranberry felt exhilarated. She skirted past boulders and kicked off against trees as the wind whipped at her body, tugged at her clothes, rattled against the suitcase. Something tore – maybe the wind did it. She felt frigid cold to the muscle, penetrated by searing knives of the hottest frost. Treeline-piercing sunlight twinkled and danced to the tune of the forest oblivion; the world was a fire and shadow. The glint of metal to her right periscoped into her field of vision and shrieked with the fading boom of a techno-orchestra and the hissing laughter of the engines. Trees shattered in its wake and the ground trembled beneath its shadow. The race faded into hypnotic darkness in the blind absence of sound and the numbing surgical knives of the atmosphere.

Then…

… the darkness exploded into dust and ruin and the sound of the world slung back and caught up with her.


Chapter 6
“I was only having fun
Wasn’t hurting anyone
And we all enjoyed the weekend for a change…
You may be right
I may be crazy
But it just may be a lunatic you’re lookin’ for”
-Billy Joel, “You May be Right”

Rags and Riches
Somewhere within the dilapidated mansion’s passages, a shattering noise dully rang out upon aged tile. The faces of the mansion, weathered by time’s passing, had long since fallen into disrepair. Bits of wire and pipeline hung out between splintering warped pieces of wood. Roof tiling had been crushed or removed, or had grown over with so much vinery as to be lost in the tangling veinous confusion. One more hole in the wall would hardly deserve more than a passing comment of curious interest – the look a passerby gives to a pile of stones that may have once been a statue or to a heap of junky parts that may have been a vehicle.

The smoke had practically settled by the time they regained consciousness. They were sweating as they came to, the dull throbbing heat of an engine still chugging away pounding on their bodies. Somewhere off to the side, a suitcase was flung open, its contents mercifully undamaged. Together, the two dazed figures pulled themselves free of the wreckage in silence as they tried to recall just what happened.

As Cranberry pulled herself together, she recalled the last moment of the race. The other woman had been shouting something… pointing ahead(?), distracting her. There was the mansion wall. Did she swing into the motorcycle or did the motorcycle swing into her? Wait, was the driver alive? Yes, Cranberry saw her rising from the debris, seemingly unfazed. Incredible. Cranberry turned to notice her suitcase… still there. Everything seemed to be in order. She brushed off her jacket, adjusted her fedora (thank God it somehow stayed on) and tugged at the collar of her shirt, which ripped as she vented it. Cranberry suppressed a snarl of frustration as she examined her clothing. Her running shoes had peeled apart, exposing her large footpads; her jeans had broken the seams in several places; her shirt likewise. It was more than that her chest or her hips might have swollen (if they did…). Looking down at the ground, looking at a tree, she realized that she cared more for the obvious fact that she had just suddenly grown several centimeters again. She felt vigorous, too. The run hadn’t worn her out a bit. Beneath the fur, she was rippling with hidden strength. It felt wonderful and a little scary. And frustrating. Her claws dug into the shirt, threatening to tear it asunder, and beginning to rip it, when-

“Well, that was fun!” The strange woman removed her helmet and laughed. Cranberry slipped her arms behind her back and gripped the wrist of the hand that had been busy. Her shirt tore a little more and her breasts bounced. She took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. “You’re the first person to keep up with me in, heh, I don’t remember how long. Well, thank God for expensive safety devices. Anyway, the point is we’re both still alive, mm?” The woman was athletically toned, but not bulky. If anything, she was a little skinny and short, at least from Cranberry’s perspective.

The woman’s fair-skinned face wore a smile of good cheer supporting at least a modicum of haughtiness. Her golden-blonde hair was a wild mess; frazzled and falling across her shoulders. She looked a little tired but her blue eyes gleamed with a fervent spark of energy. As she assessed the damage to the motorcycle and the mansion, she brushed her hands through her hair. Then she slipped her arms behind her head and interlaced her fingers. “Not bad…” She grinned. She sounded a bit rough, but her voice was educated. “Not bad at all… a little bit of destruction is pretty artistic if you ask me. Well,” she turned sharply and faced Cranberry. “I didn’t think you’d really be able to even keep up with me, but a deal’s a deal. Welcome to my home sweet home. Come inside. I’ll show you around the place. You’ll love it.” She started to walk through the wreckage.

“Wait, hold on a minute…” Cranberry tried to hold her with her gaze, but the crazy woman kept walking. Cranberry ran over to her suitcase, rapidly put up all of her clothes, and started following the woman again. “Your home? Who are you?”

At that question, the other girl turned her head to look at Cranberry and slowed her pace. “My name’s Sandra. The Speed Freak.” She was grinning. “You might have heard about me on the news…”

“On the news?” Cranberry tried to recall. She was a little out of touch with reality sometimes. After studying for the entire day, she usually went home and crashed. She had taken a course on Current Events a couple semesters ago, but that didn’t really cover entertainment, which is what she figured this probably was about. “I am sorry, no. Are you involved in competitions?” If she did, Cranberry thought, she probably did not make much. This entire place looked horrible. Did the woman seriously live here? She should probably leave but her curiosity was piqued and, beside the fact she realized she was probably strong and fast enough to take the woman out if need be, Cranberry didn’t have a good excuse.

“Ah… sort of. I guess you could say I’m, heh, an internationally famous professional world traveler… okay, that’s a mouthful. I like to travel. China, the Americas, European Union, Africa – I’ve seen it all. But Germany will always be my home sweet home. Now, lemme show you around. S’cuse the mess. I usually don’t do much with this part of the place.”

Now that she was inside, Cranberry saw that the mansion seemed purposely organized toward chaos. There was no illumination, save for what sunlight poured through the bayview windows. Vermin were afoot, scurrying through the place as if they owned it. Cranberry could hear them, even if she didn’t see any around here. There were tables and chairs set up in one of the rooms she passed along the hallway they were walking down. They looked like antiques and were, in fact, covered in dust tarps. Many of the things here were in likewise condition. The most peculiar thing was that not all the antiques matched. There were urns from China, paintings from Europe, a number of tribal statues. It seemed as if some collector had thought to store all her goods here and then simply forgot about them.

“So, you’re a sphinx, huh? Hm… you know, you look kind of peculiar. You’re a cheetah sphinx, right?”

“… Yes…” Cranberry hated it when people brought this up. She hated being dissected like something out of a text book.

“Aren’t you a ‘little’ tall though? I mean… really, y’know? Not that I’m complaining. You look amazing. In better shape than me, I bet.” She laughed. They turned a corner, past a part where the hallway had collapsed.

“Yes, that is right. I am a little bit different from most of my kind,” Cranberry admitted with a bit of frustration. “I do not like to dwell on it…” She kicked aside a broken crystalline glass that had somehow wandered into the hallway.

“Oh, yes, I understand completely.” Sandra stopped at what appeared to be a dead end. “Anyway, you really were impressive. You’re cool with staying the night, right? I don’t often get to sit and chat with someone, heh.” She leaned against the back wall.

“I suppose so,” Cranberry acknowledged. “I am on Winter Break from my studies. I have nothing else planned.”

“Wonderful!” Sandra pressed against the back panel of the wall and pressed her index finger against some hidden cranny. There was a little click and the door slid away from one of the adjacent walls and slipped into the other, revealing a hidden passageway with a set of wooden stairs leading down. It looked a little cramped to Cranberry. “Hey, you’re going to be able to fit all right?”

“Yes,” which was a bit of a lie. She would be bending her head, tilting her shoulders. “I will not have a problem. But what is down there? I do not visit too many mansions with sliding panel doors, strange furniture, and world-renowned hosts…” She tried a little laugh. Well, her humor was pathetic, so maybe the transformation was over. And maybe she’d magically develop a new set of clothes.

**
Downstairs, the mansion was remarkably different. The air was sterile and the place was well-illuminated by recessed lighting. The flooring was dark red marble tiles and the paneling was a deep cherry wood. They had descended several meters underground and the ceiling here was remarkably vaulted. There were several doors leading off left and right and a single one directly in front of them. Most of the doors were wooden like the paneling, but the one at the far end was a double-set metallic door. Against the wall to the right of it, there was a code key panel. Cranberry could hear something behind the door humming. A generator?

“So, yeah, heh, this is my real home,” Sandra explained. “It’s kind of small, which is why I keep most of my souvenirs upstairs.”

“You mean to tell me you actually traveled worldwide to gather those objects? Pardon my saying, but you must have some good fortune.”

“Well, sorta.” Sandra’s voice assumed a slightly frustrated tone. “My bike doesn’t require much to keep it running and it takes a lot to actually damage it, so I can take it across the world. You should see it on ocean travel. Hey, are you fast enough to run on water?”

“I never thought about it before.” Cranberry considered. After all she had seen, the answer seemed obvious, incredible as it sounded even to her. “Yes, I could.”

“Neat. We’ll race across the Atlantic sometime then. It’s a done deal. Anyway, I win prizes in international competitions, sell some of the things I pick up in one place to some other place, run errands for people, that sort of thing.”

Cranberry was examining the room while Sandra was contemplating the doors. Cranberry asked, “And this place?”

Sandra opened one of the doors, revealing a red-carpeted room with similar paneling to the main hallway. Recessed lighting flickered on, revealing a bed, bookshelf, armoire, and another door (bathroom?). “Well, my ancestors built it and I lived in it with my parents when I was a kid. Heh. We kind of fell on bad times and had to move out to Megafrankfurt for a while…” She gestured for Cranberry to step into the room and examine it.

She did so. “But this place down here. It is so different from the rest of the mansion. Was it added later?”

Hesitation. “My brother got a well-paying job in the city. When he made enough money, he paid to have this bunker restored. It was built in a war a long time ago. It’s actually really nice. Has a study and a large work area where I can tool with my bike. Couldn’t ask for anything more convenient.”

Cranberry examined the bookshelf. Mostly books on mechanical engineering, cybernetics, history. “And your brother. Does he live here too?”

“There’s a bathroom through the door on the back wall,” Sandra replied, ignoring the question. “Feel free to look around. I’ve gotta go check the generator and water reservoir. I’ll come by to check on you. Then I’ll have to see about getting my bike.”

Cranberry heard Sandra’s feet quickly retreating. “I will…” Cranberry turned to look. “… help.” Was it something about her brother? Why did she use the past tense? Dead? … Maybe it was best to leave Sandra alone for the moment. Cranberry decided she would examine the bathroom, then unpack her suitcase.

**
The rest of the day proceeded at a leisurely pace. Cranberry got comfortable in her new surroundings. The ceiling in the bedroom was lower than the vaulted ceiling of the atrium, the doorways were almost inexcusably cramped, and the bed was relatively tiny compared to her height, but she couldn’t complain that much. She couldn’t blame her growing problem on anybody but herself (and maybe her father; she still thought it made too little sense and had every intention to keep reviewing that hologram until it really did). At least she had a place to stay the night and was spending it was an agreeable host who didn’t seem to take any offense to her strange appearance; who seemed to have a trouble or two of her own. Together, they later moved Sandra’s bike through a hidden hatch near the mansion (Sandra mostly directed, having found Cranberry possessed an incredible amount of sheer body strength, far more than her appearance suggested, even accounting for her height and race), which led down into a spacious workshop. The shop was metal-plated and filled with many expensive machines, all of them seemingly in pristine condition, and most of them designed for something obviously more grandiose than maintaining a single vehicle, no matter how wondrous it was. Thankfully, on that regard, the bike had actually sustained little damage. They spent some time working on it, Sandra teaching Cranberry a little about maintenance, and Cranberry proving a quick study; a sponge for knowledge. If she hadn’t noticed the symbol etched on the wall, Cranberry may have been able to sleep well that night.


Chapter 7
“Wake up, it’s time
Open your eyes
You got to let her know”
~Priestess, “Talk to Her”

To Talk of Secrets
For the umpteenth time, Cranberry was reviewing the hologram her father had sent her. She sat on her bed, hunched over, knees and elbows pressed into the mattress, and her long tail lashing back and forth. Sometimes she stopped the hologram to review something, trying to discern meaning from a turn of phrase, a small smile, a little shift. Searching up and around the corners out of hope for some missing clue to come into play. If only she could figure out what that symbol meant. Dared she ask Sandra? She had seen it earlier, but she hadn’t said anything about it for fear of… what? Getting kicked out? Losing her new friend? Getting into something deeper than she wanted to? Or maybe she was afraid to really know what was going on… Cranberry squinted, though it was unnecessary, and rolled her eyes over the little symbol.

The symbol she had seen on the wall was a spoked golden wheel. A space separated the wheel from another symbol set within it, an eyeball with a golden flame instead of an iris. The flame had been painted some iridescent coloration, which made it seem to practically glow. The entire symbol had been defaced (by Sandra?). There were dings and splashes of oil on it, but it had still stood upon the wall, watching over the entire factory.

There was a knock at the door. “Come in!” Cranberry called out. The door opened and Sandra entered. She was dressed in casual clothes now; a pair of black jeans and a simple green shirt. She just stood at the door for a moment, drumming her fingernails along the frame and looking askance.

“Cranberry, I know you didn’t ask about it, but that symbol you saw in the workshop… do you think you might’ve seen it before?” She seemed a little upset.

“I think I have… what does it mean? It – It might be important for – it is important for me to know. I am sorry. I have already intruded on your home, and I know I should not be asking about such thing-“

“No,” Sandra raised a hand to stop Cranberry from continuing. “It’s okay. I’ll… well, I’ll talk to you about it in the morning, okay? I think I’ll have to tell you a little more about me…” her tone became increasingly serious, “and maybe I should learn a little more about you. Do you think that’s something you’ll really want?”

“… Not really, no, but I do not think I can avoid it.”

“Neither can I.” Sandra began to close the door. “See you tomorrow. Sleep well.” Sandra closed the door and Cranberry fell asleep to the sound of a generator humming.


Chapter 8
“I met a girl who sang the blues
And I asked her for some happy news
But she just smiled and turned away”
~”American Pie,” Don McLean

Broken Minds
The next morning, Cranberry and Sandra had breakfast together in a comfortably quaint living room chamber. The food was adequate, but it wasn’t astounding by any means. Sandra had kept a number of meals freeze-dried and otherwise preserved here and explained she had only recently gotten back from one of her many excursions. She seemed especially cheerful this morning. Cranberry, however, was feeling rather uncomfortable.

Even while “asleep”, her mind had been busily at work. It had been analyzing the motorcycle, checking for any discernable inadequacies, while also considering alternative ways of outpacing it. She mentally rechecked the route they had run across yesterday morning and planned a better path. She recalled her studies over the year and began extrapolating new courses to take, or alternative methods to achieving her educational goals. And she had thought about her father again. She did not so much dream of meeting him; she dreamed of what she would actually say to him. How would he respond to this or that question? Cranberry’s entire night was a single glorified nightmare and she was happy to wake up.

She decided to wear the clothes she wore to bed last night. Laziness, no. She had taken a shower and chosen these clothes for a rather practical reason. Upon waking up, they were snug. It was either this or sleeping naked and TRYING to put these clothes on. She imagined the additional friction and sudden stretching would have resulted in far more tearing than this method had. As it stood, the shirt and jeans she wore had indeed busted a seam or two here and there, and her padded feet were forced to go barefoot (she had foolishly thought to bring only one pair of shoes; or rather, she would have, but she did NOT have the money for it). Cranberry imagined that these clothes would become increasingly uncomfortable over the day if she continued growing. By now, she felt freakishly tall. She had exceeded the bounded height of any known member of her race or the humans (if it need be said). Somehow, though, through a combination of curves and subtle relative alterations to her limbs, she retained good proportions. In truth, she simply seemed to be an impressively tall creature, whose height was natural to its existence. Although she was still a cheetah sphinx, it would have been unfair to compare her to any of her cousins of any of the sub-races. By now, she simply was whatever she was, and was all the better for it. Or so the objective analysis went.

Cranberry gripped the hologram box in her left hand as she walked through the forest alongside Sandra. It weighed nothing to her now; it was not heavy; not when she could single-handedly move a several hundred pound piece of machinery with a good heave. And not get exhausted. So the two of them walked.

“So, first, before I tell you about myself, I gotta know, Cranberry, why are you taller than you were yesterday?” Sandra tried to muster good cheer into her voice. She succeeded, underlaying it with seriousness.

“That is a little hard to explain. I do not think I fully understand it myself. I am a little different from most of my kind. My body has been undergoing some small changes…”

“Small changes?”

“… Well, I might be understating it a little bit, but my point is that I am changing. It is only recent, but… well, you know how hybrids might be considered modified humans?” Cranberry hated speaking of herself or any of her kind like that. But it couldn’t be avoided. Invariably, she knew she would always be compared to them; she and all like her. “I am a modified hybrid. I am growing because… I do not have a choice.” What is that wasn’t true? What if she could stop it? “I do not know if it will stop.”

“Really? It sounds awesome… if that’s the reason you’re able to pick up my cycle almost single-handed and keep up with my bike, I’m jealous. Heh.”

“It is not that!” Cranberry snapped, clenching her teeth into a slight snarl and squeezing her palms. Sandra stepped away. Cranberry relaxed. “I hate this! I stand out. I cannot fit into my normal clothing. I cannot AFFORD new clothes. I am too tall to fit comfortably in most places. I feel,” she searched for the right word, “angry!”

Sandra kicked aside a small oblong stone. It rolled into a nearby stream with a soft plop.

“Sorry. I should not get so angry, but that is part of the problem. I cannot help myself and I cannot help but wonder if my father is to blame. A man I never met. A man who sends me occasional letters and now this.” She held aloft the box for Sandra to see. “I do not care what benefit I derive from height or strength. What do all of these things matter if they cannot make me happy? I never asked for people to pay attention to my appearance and I never wanted to be physically competitive. I would trade it back for answers and some peace.” The forest echoed with the resounding tear her jeans suddenly developed along the thighs. Cranberry closed her eyes and slammed a fist against a tree trunk. The tree bent and dislodged a fall of leaves. Birds flew from their roosts.

Sandra dodged a falling empty bird nest. She walked with Cranberry in silence for a moment while the cheetah sphinx cooled off. At last, she asked, “Can see what’s in the box?”

“Yes. I insist.”

**
After watching the recording, they were reviewing it. Sandra, at first, did not have anything to add about it. Then Cranberry pointed out the insignia.

“That. See that? I saw that on the wall in your workshop. What is it? You must know something.”

“Cranberry…” Sandra looked away. “I do, but… are you sure you really want to know? Yeah, maybe I know something…” she looked back up at Cranberry, “but if I tell you, I’m scared of what might happen to you. To anybody in your shoes. If I tell you what I know, you have to promise me you’ll tell me what you’re going to do. I can see it in your eyes. You’re going to do something…” And Sandra’s eyes. She wanted to do something, didn’t she…

“Please… you said you wanted to talk about it. Sandra, I am begging you here. Please tell me what you know…”

And Sandra did.

**
“My brother, Thomas,” she began, and paused. Sandra stopped in her tracks and looked at the sky. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she heard the wind pass. Then she sighed gently and continued, “was a genius with machines. I’m no match for him, never could be, and it always seemed like he was destined for something greater than…” her voice quavered, “what happened to him.”

They continued walking for a moment. Cranberry’s tail swayed back and forth, first slow, then fast, and slow again, in undulating rhythm.

“My brother was always sickly and it became worse as he got older. I think he lied to them at Prometheus Corp about his health. Otherwise, he-“ Sandra bit her lower lip and kicked a small stone to the side. “He was qualified mentally, but physically, he was exhausting himself. But, well, he was passionate about his work and he didn’t want to give it up. I should have intervened, but, well, the money was good, and we only had each other. It was a foolish dream, but he hoped to make enough money to let us both live very comfortably. Still, it couldn’t last… but he insisted on it. That’s when, working, he was approached by them. The Scorching Eye. They’re the elite researchers at Prometheus Corp and their symbol is the one you saw in my workshop and the one I saw on your hologram.”

Was it a chill that Cranberry felt?

“Dr. Lämmle was the one who made the actual offer and I’ll never forgive him for what he did to my brother. He gave him a job working in the Scorching Eye’s mechanical engineering division. In exchange, he wanted to,” she slammed a fist against a tree. Higher up, a bird twittered and flew away. The wind picked up, “to experiment on him, to ‘fix’ him, and my brother-“ her nails nearly splintered away against the tree, “-accepted.”

Sandra leaned against a tree and looked down at the floor. She had stopped looking at, speaking directly to, Cranberry. Cranberry, for her part, remained silent. She wanted to tell Sandra to stop the story, but she could not. So she watched Sandra and how she began to cry – and this would be the price Cranberry paid for the information she craved.

“He experimented on my brother. He- he ‘fixed’ him, right, hah, the way a kid fixes a broken clock. In his laboratory, he saved my brother’s body, and in the process, he destroyed his mind. H-heh. It started with headaches and nightmares and it became rantings and delusions soon thereafter. Until- until the day, he- the last day I saw him-“ Sandra trembled and grabbed at her left sleeve. She pulled it up. The skin there was marred by an ugly purplish-red scar, crossing over near the joint of the elbow. Beneath the sleeve, there was the start of another one. “He did this.” She inched the sleeve back down. “He’d turned paranoid, psychotic. Just – picked up this jagged hunk of metal he’d been working on and…” She stopped for a few seconds, just trembling. “He… I’m not sure he really snapped out of it. He just turned and left and I locked the doors. I haven’t seen him since.” Her tears slowly came to a halt. And she finally looked at Cranberry. “And you might be to blame for part of it.”

“What? Me? Sandra… I- I am sorry about your brother, but I never met hi-“

“Dr. Noh assisted Dr. Lämmle with the experiments. If you’re his daughter, you’re the closest person to the two people I’d sell my soul to get my hands on.”

“He-“ Cranberry’s eyes widened. “My father- he- what?!” Her tail stood stiff. “Sandra, you-“ are joking, she wanted to say. But there was no way to finish that thought. Could her own father be that horrifying? Visions of the hologram’s disturbingly gleeful tone reverberated through her head. And was she truly there to bear the burden of her father’s sins? And those of a man she had never met?

“He did, Cranberry. Your father was as much a part of what happened to my brother as Dr. Lämmle was. And he didn’t deviate from their plan a whit. How many others do you suppose they did the same thing to, dissecting them, maybe even without the half-truths they told my brother? Maybe even you. Do you even know why you exist? Are you really somebody’s child? Or are you just another experiment that got too large for the test tube?”

Hot tears crossed Cranberry’s cheeks. An experiment? How dare- she felt the red enclosing on her again, her heart pounding faster, head swimming. Sandra was staring at her like a statue, only she wasn’t staring; she simply seemed to be moving ever- so- slowly. So- Cranberry quickly dropped to her knees and drove her hands into the earth. She closed her eyes, felt her body tremble, and her clothing shred; seams down the back, along the thighs, everywhere. The red, the red… calm…

**
“I’m sorry…” the apology sounded half-hearted but there was honesty underneath it. “That was mean of me to say. I, uh,” the tone shifted to embarrassment, “made you grow again, didn’t I?”

Cranberry’s head felt clearer. Had she gotten herself under control or was the apology to thank? She needed to remain calm now, especially now… so she refused to examine her own naked form and evaluate the change. She groaned, “It is not your fault,” though perhaps it was, “it is my own. I will need some new clothes, if that is no bother.”

Sandra tried to puzzle this one out. The trees were still taller than Cranberry, so there was not the fear of accidentally poking her head out above the treeline. On the other hand, where could she find clothes to fit Cranberry? “We’ll have to think of something…” She looked over Cranberry’s body. If it had been a tight fit to get through regular doors before, it would be seemingly impossible now. Sandra could not imagine a twist that wouldn’t result in bumping her shoulders or her large bust against the door frame. And one look at those supple long arms suggested she might accidentally just shatter such a frame, if Cranberry didn’t care to just punch holes through walls at this point. The extremely long cranberry-shaded hair, curvy hips and very large breasts seemed like some generous afterthought, like it was unallowable that the growing cheetah-sphinx should be able to harbor any hope of avoiding attention.

“Let’s go back inside,” Sandra suggested. “We’ll think along the way and, well…”

She didn’t finish her sentence, but Cranberry knew what she meant. They had a discussion to finish. And more than ever now, Cranberry needed to know the truth behind her existence.

Chapter 9
“I keep hearing you’re concerned about my happiness
But all that thought you’re giving me is conscience, I guess”
~Statler Brothers, “Flowers on the Wall”

The Road She Treads
“I’m sorry, but, well, I don’t think I have anything that is going to fit you. You’re like five meters tall… Can’t you, well, shrink?”

“Shrink.” Cranberry looked slightly amused. She was sitting, cross-legged, on the cold and dirty metallic floor of Sandra’s shop. It was preferred against standing and bumping against everything. Her long legs, amazingly, did not feel cramped, but she knew that if she kicked out, she might crumple a generator with a single powerful stroke. “It had not occurred to me that I may be able to control this…”

“Well, it can’t hurt to try, right? I mean, why not? If it works, maybe you can fit back into your old clothes.”

Cranberry looked down – at the swell of her breasts. Sigh. Could not hurt to try. She hoped. But how to go about it? Cranberry closed her eyes and “wished” she was small again. And nothing happened. So she tried to just relax and think pleasant thoughts. Her stroll through the forest. Times she spent with Lola. Luk- that sonofabit- no, calm down… calm down… already tore him apart… oh god, this was not working! Cranberry’s thoughts drifted toward what she wanted to do: go to Prometheus Corp, find her father…. Get in the building first, practically impossible at her height… and Cranberry let out an agonized yelp! She trembled and held herself, clutching hard at herself, as though she were to suddenly break free of her skin otherwise. A flood of nausea washed across her brain, and a sensation like a strong electric current running through her entire body followed concurrently.

“Cranberry!”

**
When she woke up, Cranberry’s eyes focused on the ceiling. She was on her back.

“Oh, thank God, you’re awake. I thought you had a seizure. Whew. Uh, nice job, by the way…”

Cranberry sat upright slowly. She looked at herself and smiled. “It worked.” She had indeed managed to become smaller. She was not back to her original height or build, but she was no longer in danger of banging her head on the ceiling. She was perhaps 280 centimeters tall, a bit under half the height she had just been at. She was still curvy (even more so, but she pretended not to notice; at least there was an outside chance on finding an extant cup size ((okay, not really)) for her breasts again) and felt strong enough to spin Sandra’s motorcycle around on one finger (even if her body’s generous toning mostly disguised such superb musculature), but she was smaller, and that’s all that mattered! That and a strange pressure she began to feel welling up throughout her body. She ignored that for a moment. More importantly, “How long was I out for?”

“Just a couple minutes, thank God. Heh. You really had me worried when you began screaming. Guess I spoke too soon about the pain… but, well, you’re back to normal,” a hint of uncertainty, “and can fit into some regular clothes again. And that’s what’s important, right?”

“Right!” Cranberry felt delighted. She breathed a sigh of relief and her chest suddenly started swelling. Her eyes widened and she reflexively concentrated: think of what she was planning to do. Pain, bad… ouch… the swelling stopped. Did Sandra notice? No, okay, good… no, wait, bad, this meant she had to concentrate or she would just go back to her previous size (or even bigger)? What about when she went to sleep?

When Cranberry did not continue speaking, Sandra glanced back across her shoulder. “Okay, so, now that you can fit into some clothes, maybe you want to put some on? I mean, freedom all the way, heh, but I’d rather not talk about something serious with you, um, undressed.”

“Er, right.” Cranberry stood up and reflexively stooped. Then she straightened to her full height, smiled, and walked back to the guest room. Her size shuddered and she gained five centimeters, but kept quiet so Sandra did not hear her when she accidentally banged her head against the door frame.

**
When Cranberry left the room, she was feeling relieved. Her clothing was now loose! The sleeves billowed and the neckline gave a swooping curve of her cleavage, while her jeans rested against the width of her hips and rear. Her shoes also felt a tad tight. So, “loose” was a bit of a misnomer – at least she could wear these things (though she still desired to do something about the curves; was this acceptable?). She was clutching her suitcase of clothing in her right hand.

Sandra smiled. “You look better… By the way, I notice you kept your curves. Good choice. Really, if you can be comfortable with yourself, that is what ultimately matters most, don’t you think? Or, to put it another way, you’ll knock ‘em dead, I’m sure. Heh. Oh, s’cuse me, this isn’t what we should be talking about…” Her smile began to fade. “So, tell me, Cranberry, knowing what I told you about your father, do you still want to meet him?”

“I must. I cannot rest knowing he is this close and…” Her tail lashed back and forth. Did she look good this way? Perhaps… “You are right. I do not know what I am, not really… I want to, I need to know, to know why I exist. I am going to return to the city and confront my father.”

“Prometheus Corp doesn’t release its researchers’ names to the public, or even other organizations.” Sandra had hopped onto a workbench and crossed her legs. Her knee-high boots rubbed against each other. “And you won’t know their schedules. You’re going to have to show up at the front desk and ask to see your father by name. You’ll get their attention. They’ll want to see you. Not your father, maybe, but the company for sure. You’re probably going to be asked some uncomfortable questions if you do that. You might not get to see him at all. Things might go bad for you. Or worse, maybe you’ll see him and you won’t like what happens to you. Are you sure you can go through all that?”

“Sandra, if I back out now, I may never do it at all. Beside, I… need to know if this – if what has happened to my body is permanent and going to continue…”

“But you managed to shrink-“

“I cannot keep it like this permanently. I am forced to concentrate or lose control of it… right now, the thought of going through with this is the only thing keeping me from bursting out of my clothing like last time.”

“I think I understand…” Sandra drummed her fingers on a wrench and cast a glance at the mocking symbol of the Scorching Eye. “Cranberry, I don’t know what you’re going to do when you finally get there, and God knows I believe you will, but I want you to get the truth out of them. Why they… they’ve done these things. I don’t know if you’ll do what I’d do, and it’s not fair for me to ask this, but don’t let everything be all right for them.” She looked at Cranberry’s face, and saw a question forming. “No, I won’t go with you.”

Cranberry looked a tad disappointed.

“Trust me, I’d love nothing more than to go up there and take those guys down and out. But I can’t. I can travel the world, utterly free, but I can’t get myself inside that building. I’ve tried it before. I was lucky to just get kicked out. And since then, well, I have a reputation that would get me into trouble if someone wanted to make a fuss about it. I’m afraid you’re going to have to solo this one. Sorry.”

“No,” Cranberry itched at her jeans. “It might have been selfish of me to think of it. You are right. This is something I need to look into myself. I am going to get the answers, I promise you that, and I will not let them stop me at the door.” She walked up to Sandra, towering over her even at this reduced height. “Thank you, Sandra. I appreciate everything you have done for me. And for,” she wrapped Sandra up into a hug, lifting the relatively tiny woman from the ground with a little yelp of surprise, “understanding.” She blinked. “Oh, my apologies.” She set Sandra back down.

Sandra was checking to make sure all of her ribs were still there. “Understanding, huh? The only thing” She smiled, curious.

“Yes… And one way or the other, I am going to soon understand myself.” She smiled again and took her leave.

Chapter 10
“I see the bad moon rising
I see trouble on the way”
~Creedence Clearwater Revival, “Bad Moon Rising”

Preview
On the mornings that Boris Schlauterhousen is called in by the security office for work, he gets up early, turns on his television and plays a movie. When he arrives at work, he meets up with Bruno, who would have also been called in. Bruno would have spent his morning jogging around the compound, whether or not he had work that day. The jog sweat is still on his body and he wears it like clothing until late night when he finally showers. Bruno says it is a turn on for the ladies and Boris has become accustomed to the scent. Together, Boris and Bruno walk into the security compound, where they are required to display their identification, press their thumbs into the DNA scanner and make idle conversation with Michael, the guard who mans the gate.

Boris and Bruno enjoy their work for Prometheus Corp’s security division. In the industry, there are always spies and others who take an unhealthy interest in one of the world’s largest corporations. People like Boris and Bruno get called in to handle problems like that when they occasionally come up. It doesn’t happen very often, but they love their work as much as life itself. When they have business, that is, debriefing reluctant guests, Boris unlocks the door that leads into the interrogation room and he enters the room first. This is because Boris likes to have the first look at the guy being interrogated and he likes the small look of relief on the person’s face when he sees the interrogator is a short, bald, stout, early middle-aged man wearing expensive sun glasses and an expensive suit. Boris likes it more when, after he grunts and adjusts his gold signet ring, he says to Bruno, “Come, our guest is already here,” and Bruno, standing 230 centimeters and barely fitting his broad shoulders in the doorway, steps into the room, turns around and hooks his large fingers around the door handle, then closes it as he leans over.

Most guests have a priceless look on their faces as they watch Bruno stand to his full height and see his shaven head almost touch the claustrophobic 250 centimeter high ceiling. Boris always smiles politely at this point. He pulls back his chair with a slight scratchy noise of metal feet against tiled floor and pulls himself up into the chair. The chair readjusts for his height, making him relatively eye level with the guest. By now, Bruno is standing behind the guest, casting a long shadow over him. Bruno is very quiet and does not talk. Boris begins with idle conversation.

“How are you?” he usually begins, or, sometimes, with a favorable comment on his guest’s attire. Boris once admired a guest who wore a signet ring similar to his own. The conversation is mostly one-sided. The guests are usually too nervous to say much. It is just as well because Boris begins asking questions.

It is Boris’ job to ask questions – many questions, as many questions as Boris needs to ask to get as many answers as he needs. He does not write anything down. A device in the room records everything that can be seen and heard. The device is very obvious, erected on the ceiling – a large black orb with an expensive set of cameras inside. It records everything that occurs in the interrogation room. The people entering the people leaving, the people speaking, and all in very clear, precise picture with beautiful sound. The interrogation room’s camera is a testament to the wonders of Prometheus’ technological laboratories.

Boris always gets answers. Sometimes, he does not like the answer he gets. He is very nice, though. He politely insists that his guest change his tone, or use different words, or answer in a different manner, or sometimes, to just speak (some guests are rude and refuse to say anything at all). Inevitably, almost all of them speak. They speak because they can hear Bruno’s breathing growing louder behind them, and some can even feel the hot breath of his nostrils on the back of their necks.

Some guests are incredibly rude, which is why Bruno is there. Bruno is also very polite. He has a lot of patience and does not speak, and when Bruno grabs somebody’s head and forcefully slams the fellow, nose-first, into the polished steel table, he tries not to exert more force than is necessary to get his point across. Most of the incredibly rude people are slow learners, and sometimes, Bruno has discovered, they need more than one lesson to learn to be polite. In twelve years, Bruno has left only a couple indentations on the steel table. These indentations are clearly obvious to most guests, which is why many of them are more polite than they would normally be. And in all Bruno’s time, there have been very few guests who were truly incorrigible. The camera does record what happened to them and it is sometimes played back.

The discussion carries on until the guest has given all the answers Boris desires or the guest has passed out. Whether or not they have had guests in the morning, Boris and Bruno take a break to have lunch. Any morning guest morning guests are usually shuttled out by security guards and escorted somewhere else. Where else is the concern of neither Boris or Bruno. They are both hungry.

Boris likes a ham sandwich with deviled eggs. Bruno prefers chicken with spinach dip and celery. They have a meal together and shoot the bull, or read the newspaper, or watch some television in the cafeteria. Sometimes, Boris’ mother calls during lunchtime to see how he is doing. Sometimes, Bruno’s girlfriend calls to chat. Usually, they both take their time, but sometimes, they have to work a guest in early. And it is rude to keep your guest waiting. Boris and Bruno clear up their meals and, if they have any more special business that day, head into the interrogation room for the afternoon interrogations.

The crankier guests always show up in the afternoons. They take more convincing, and by half way through, Boris is usually unamused. When Boris becomes bored, Boris drums his fingers on the table, takes long pauses, and in the case of foreigners, purposely strains his thick, German accent to the point of near indecipherability. Bruno gets creative with the afternoon guests, too. He was very bored with one guest until he began to crack the guest’s skull with his bare hands (the conversation, as Bruno recalls it, immediately became more interesting).

At the end of the day, Boris goes home. He grills up or microwaves some dinner and turns on the television. He eats, watches TV, and goes to bed with a smile on his face.

And the next morning, maybe he gets up to do it all again.


Chapter 11
“Too bad, but it’s the life you lead
You’re so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need
Though you can see when you’re wrong, you know
You can’t always see when you’re right. You’re right.”
~Billy Joel, “Vienna”

The World to You
Cranberry was faster than the wind, a fact she had amply demonstrated during her race against Sandra. Had it been only days ago? Arriving at the city border took her only a couple minutes. She had wanted to be there, so her body made it possible. Immediately, she dropped to her knees and hissed, feeling the now-familiar electrical ting scouring her body. She willed herself to not grow… and she grew only a single centimeter. Her clothing tightened. She would have perspired, but the mental strain refused to become so psychosomatic. She had to keep control. She could not lose it yet. Just a little longer… Cranberry stood up and walked into Mega Frankfurt, swinging her suitcase. Prometheus Corp. Not far.

**
“Welcome to Prometheus Corp. How may I help you?” asked a middle-aged woman in a blue suit, sitting behind a curved desk. She was smiling and seemingly calm, but her hands trembled a little bit at Cranberry’s intimidating height. Cranberry, for her part, was trying to resist the urge to simply tear through the building, calling out for her father and cutting down anyone who stood in the way. Security guards in the large entrance room were eying her with more than idle interest. Their guns were holstered, but their hands were not terribly far from them.

Cranberry looked up at the symbol emblazoned on the wall behind the receptionist. Would she find another one further within?

“Hello, yes,” replied Cranberry, using her sweetest, most eloquent and polite tone. Even as she spoke, she could swear to herself that she never sounded so… enchanting. “My name is Julia Pawis. I have an appointment with Dr. Noh and Dr. Lämmle. They are expecting me.”

“Oh, certainly,” replied the receptionist. She felt more at ease despite herself. Glancing around, even the security guards did. “Just give me a moment to look it up…” The receptionist began typing. After a moment, she frowned. “Are you sure you have the right names, Miss Pawis?”

“Oh, yes,” Cranberry could not resist a small smirk. Something was up. It was working. “They work in the Scorched Eye division. Research. They really are expecting me.”

More typing.

“One moment, please…” The receptionist pressed another button. More typing. A pause. More typing. She looked up at Cranberry again. “Miss Pawis, you’ll be seen shortly. Please follow your escort through that door over there.” One of the security guards approached Cranberry. He tried to put on an air of authority, but beside Cranberry, he looked absurdly weak. He was at least 80 centimeters shorter than her. Cranberry just smiled.

“Okay, then, let us be off.”

**
The most frustrating part about the waiting was not the excitement, but the building pressure within herself. It was like holding one’s breath to the point of panic, but without the ability to suffocate or breathe again. Or like trying to hold something closed, when it tried to spring back out. She already lost herself once in the peculiar room she was now inside of. As she contemplated the indentations on the long metal table before her, she curled her toes inside her socks and rubbed them together; the fabric was stretching really thin there; and at her bust now too. In fact, everything else was also at least just a tad tighter. She could fix this, a voice said; just let go, go wild right now, get really big and scary and show them all whose boss. Yeah, that’s right, tear ‘em up and-

Click.

Cranberry suddenly realized she had been rising from her seat. She dropped back into it and wiggled her hips in an attempt to get comfortable. The metal was not meant to bend at the arms, but it did for her shape. Better that than just tearing the arms off.

A smallish middle-aged man dressed in a nice suit and carrying a manila envelope entered the room. His smile showed his yellow-stained teeth. He grabbed a chair opposite Cranberry and heaved his somewhat considerable weight into it with a little grunt. He nodded at Cranberry, still smiling, and then turned toward the door. “Okay, come in. Our guest has arrived,” he called out.

The doorway was immediately filled by a hulking figure. His head was shaven, his shoulders were broad, and he was not smiling at all. He turned and closed the door, wrapping his thick fingers about the knob and pulling it shut. It clicked. He stood to his full height, his head nearly touching the ceiling, and walked past the smaller man, and beyond Cranberry, where he then moved to stand behind her. Large feet squared off on the tile and a set of large nostrils breathed in and out.

Were they trying to intimidate her? She should have felt scared, but instead, Cranberry felt a little excited.

“Frau Pawis,” said the little middle-aged man in a voice with an exceptionally deep and guttural German accent, “I am Boris. This man standing behind you, his name is Bruno. He is my friend. And I think you will want to be my friend, too. Very wise of you if you do. Wiser than alternatives.” He chuckled.

“Excuse me, but I am not here to see either of you gentlemen.” Cranberry’s tail twitched and curled around the supports for the back of her chair. “I think there has been a mistake…” She could not help but be amused by this. The alternative would have been anger, which she daren’t contemplate.

“Oh, no, no mistake, Frau Pawis. You are quite right. You are here to see, ah,” Boris opened up the manila envelope and put a stubby finger to a sheet of paper with what Cranberry could smell to be fresh-typed ink on it, “A Dr. Noh and a Dr. Lämmle. These are two very busy people, Frau Pawis. Two very important people as well. Tell me, why do you want to see them?”

“It really is not your business, now is it?” Cranberry leaned forward, smirking slightly. Bruno’s thick hand grabbed at her shoulder. She suddenly growled and the man’s hand hesitated.

“Please… sit back,” Boris quickly interjected. He had noticed the sudden sense of fear in his comrade’s expression. Probably better to not get violent with this one immediately. “Sorry, it is policy, Frau Pawis… we are with security and, as I said, you wish to see important men. We are simply here to make sure you do not harbor any harmful intentions…”

As the hand moved away, Cranberry reclined in her chair. She felt another growth spurt coming on and fell silent for a moment, trying to withstand it, but feeling it slowly take effect anyway. She just had to make it through this…

“Now, tell me, why do you want to see them, Frau Pawis?”

“If you must know,” she eyed a black orb that clung to the ceiling like a bloated growth. She spied cameras inside of it. “I am here about one of their experiments which I am involved with.” Her tail squeezed the supports of the back of her chair and actually bent them.

“That is so?” Boris flipped over the first sheet, then a second. He began looking down a list of names that Cranberry did not recognize, but immediately committed to memory. “That is strange, very strange, you see, because, Frau Pawis, neither of the doctors’ admittance sheets shows any record of a Julia Pawis. Yes. You are a student, yes? Perhaps you should be minding your own studies, yes? Perhaps you should not have begun looking into Prometheus Corp personnel?”

“I am here to see them and I am not going to leave until I do.” Her tone became decisive and her eyes narrowed at the man. His heart skipped a beat and he began to sweat.

“No,” he replied, growing a bit angry, “Instead, I think, you will be so nice as to tell us how you really know their names.” Boris looked over Cranberry’s shoulder, up at Bruno. A heavy hand clamped onto Cranberry’s shoulder. It did not yet squeeze.

“Please take your hand off my shoulder.” She was starting to see the red again. “Now.”

“Frau Pawis-“

The hand squeezed. Cranberry’s eyes widened and she grabbed the hand, breaking the bones inside it. Bruno yowled in pain, slammed his left hand forward to push her head to the table, and felt his left arm get dislocated at the shoulder as Cranberry grabbed the man, who weighed a great deal, and slung him over her shoulder, onto the table. The metal legs gave way, the table screeched and pounded, echoing throughout the small room, as it collapsed beneath the force. Boris stood up and began backing away toward the door, but Cranberry locked eyes with him and he felt paralyzed on the spot. “Where – are – they?” she demanded. The little man pissed himself. Bruno groaned, dizzied, the wind knocked out of his lungs. “Th-they- they are-“

“There won’t be any need for that,” came a pleasant voice. The door was opening. A man stepped in. “I am Dr. Lämmle. Welcome to Prometheus Corp, Miss Pawis.” He smiled. “We’ve been expecting you.”

**
Dr. Lämmle was not the sinister-looking demon that Cranberry had expected. He was young, perhaps in his late 30’s at oldest, too young for the scientist she had expected. His skin was unduly pale from lack of sun and his hair was a shoulder-length black. He wore black slacks with a blue button-up shirt, cleanly pressed, and a white lab coat, which was most remarkable because it seemed to have customized power shoulders built into it. Even more peculiar was the man’s scent: he smelled of soaps and anti-bacterials.

Cranberry watched the doctor pull a set of marbles out of his right pocket. He began to roll them around in his hand.

“You are Dr. Lämmle? Then you must know where Dr. Noh is.” Cranberry crossed her arms beneath her bust. She felt a strain and her shirt rip in the back. She was beginning to grow again! Her jeans felt exceedingly tight. She had to hold on just a moment longer. “I want to see him, now.”

“Yes… Dr. Noh told me about you… He and I are close associates… would you please follow me? I don’t want to talk in this filthy room.” He looked at Boris. “Mister Schlauterhousen, thank you for interviewing our guest, but that will be all. She is my guest. Please make a note of it and, mm, clean up this place, would you? Germs everywhere…” He reflexively clutched the marbles, turned, and led Cranberry out of the room.

**
“Tell me how you found us,” Dr. Lämmle asked as they walked toward the research center. “Tell me, why are you here?” He sounded a tad impatient.

“I know who you are and I know what you and Dr. Noh do. I need you to answer my questions.”

“Questions? Hah…” Dr. Lämmle pushed open the doors into the research center, turned around and smiled at Cranberry. “Questions, wonderful, everybody has questions. And you, Miss Pawis, think you deserve them? You think mighty highly of yourself.” He had a manic grin on his face, ear to ear, white teeth glimmering. “Tell me, what do you want to know? I could use a little laugh.”

“I do not think you can answer my questions. I will thank you to take me to Dr. Noh.”

“Really,” he sounded sad, “I can’t help you at all?”

“Frankly, you disgust me. And so does he, from what little I know of him, but I still need to talk to him.”

“Of course, right this way… right this way…”

**
They were standing in what could have been an auditorium. The doorway they passed through led into a small open-topped hallway that resolved into a large circular room framed by walls and fencing that rose somewhat higher than Cranberry’s head. Above this retaining wall were rows of seats encircling the entire chamber, rising higher and receding further back, with staircases splitting them apart. There are doors at the top level, leading into some other part of the facility. Hologram devices were seat up around the room, which would project whatever was occurring in the large central area. As for that area itself, it was currently empty, but Cranberry could imagine people giving lectures or demonstrations to a large audience here. When nobody was speaking, the air was oppressively thick with the noise of particles passing against each other. When somebody spoke, it took a moment for the echoes to die.

Her height stuttered up. There would be no way of removing her clothes now without literally tearing them off, so tightly did they cling to the contours of her body. The pressure; the size of the room; she could not keep herself contained. The back of her shirt unstitched itself and the seat of her jeans ripped open. Even this sound echoed.

“Tell me what we are doing in this room. If you try anything, I swear I will-“

Dr. Lämmle pulled forth a small remote control from his left pocket. He was still rolling those marbles in his right hand and Cranberry realized they were making a pleasant humming noise that carried throughout the room. “Oh, yes, your father, allow me to do the introductions…” Dr. Lämmle giggled in a strange way and stepped back toward the center of the room, looping about once, and aiming the device upward. He pressed a button and, immediately, Dr. Noh was standing there before them, a figure from on high, a withered angel dressed in white. He was no older than the image that Cranberry had seen on the personalized hologram she had with her. He looked exactly the same, indeed.

“What is this?” She demanded. Cranberry stepped back and Dr. Lämmle just chuckled.

“Why, this is Dr. Noh. I’m sure you recognize him, Miss Pawis… didn’t you receive a hologram just like this?”

“Yes, I- I-“ Her eyes narrowed and she looked at him. The hologram just sat there, Dr. Noh’s arms crossed over his belly, his head down. “How do you know about that hologram? Were you- you sent it?!”

Dr. Lämmle began rolling the marbles more quickly. The hum became a little louder. He pointed the remote at Cranberry. “Bingo. You really are intelligent, aren’t you? I suppose I should give hybrids a little more credit, mm? Yes, I took over the tracking duties for your ‘father’ some time ago. Hah!” The hologram began to come alive, the head moving upward. Before it spoke, Dr. Lämmle waved a hand, “May I introduce Dr. Noh!”

The hologram spoke to Cranberry. “My dear, sweet Julia…” It grinned at her. “You have come at last. I knew I would see you one day.”

“You are a hologram,” she narrowed her eyes. “Where is my real father?” She glanced at Dr. Lämmle accusingly.

“Please, please, listen to his words,” said the very-real doctor.

“Yes, Julia, it is I, your father. My body may be gone, but my mind lives on. Thanks to the wonders of science, I was able to exchange my brain for this mechanical wonder. You could consider it an experimental AI system. And behold, do I not thrive on in this form? A hologram, an eternal projected body that I could not have possessed had Dr. Lämmle not assisted me… it is only because of his help that I live like this, Julia… you should thank him for bringing us together.”

“You-“ She stammered. “You – you have waited for me all this time, father?” Why did her stomach churn? Something about all this was very wrong. And in the background, the hum of the marbles rubbing against each other became a bit louder.

“Yes, indeed. I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of the fine woman you have grown up to be. Very studious, very smart, and now… so very strong. You are fulfilling your purpose most admirably,” the hologram said with glee.

“I do not want to be like this.” Cranberry clasped her shirt. Even as she did so, it tore down the back and across the bust. “I want to be normal, like everybody else.” Her tail slapped against her jeans, and where it touched, they split. “And if you have not figured it out, this is not normal. I do not want to be an experiment.”

The hologram and the flesh doctor looked at each other for a moment. Then Dr. Lämmle said, “Julia… I can call you Julia, right?” Cranberry growled. “Sorry, Miss Pawis, but you are anything but normal. Why can’t you simply accept your good fortune? You’re better than any of your race… you are perfection.”

“He speaks the truth, Julia,” the hologram added. “I would not change you for the world. As far as I see it, you are perfect as you now are… in all my years, could I have imagined the ultimate weapon could become so powerful? Yes, I think I could… Julia, think of what a wonderful future lies ahead of you. You can show the world your father wasn’t insane. You can have a new life, a better life, here. Think of it, think of the science!”

“But I-“ It was getting a little hard to think. “Tell me…” She rubbed her head. Did her legs just rip free from her pants? She shook her head. Yes. Was this stress? “Tell me… why did you do this to me? Do you even really care for me? I thought… I thought I might be different… that I might be special…”

“But you are special, my dear…” Dr. Noh walked toward Cranberry. His feet, phantom as they were, did not make any noise on the ground. “Very special. You are unlike any else of your kind. You are beautiful in a way that none could have comprehended. Think of it, my dear. Look around you. What do you see? Your cousins, the rest of your kind, they have no purpose in this world. They are weak weapons, and they now live like common humans. They do nothing but add to a bloated populace…”

“A germ-laden, disease-spreading populace,” Dr. Lämmle added. He flicked one of the little metal marbles over the other two.

“But not you! You don’t have to be like them!” Dr. Noh clenched his right hand into a fist. “You can be different, my daughter. You can be perfect, you must be perfect! Thrive…”

“Disease-free…”

“… and share your wonder with the world. Here, in this research center, you can be so much more than anything you could have dreamed of. Give your body and mind to the greater good, my dear… imagine what we could do if we simply studied you, harvested some parts of you… imagine hundreds, thousands of sisters… imagine better bodies for the world…”

“You are- you are crazy…” She felt a swoon coming on. Could not focus.

“Crazy? No… never call me crazy… that is what they always called me, back when I was working on you. I, my daughter, I was the one who had the right answer all along! When those fools were making simple hybrids, I knew to make something better! You are that something better, Julia! You are! Listen to my voice, Julia… obey your father… obey me…”

“Yes…” Cranberry felt herself saying. Her heart was pounding faster. “Listen…” Something… listen…? Listen… the marbles! That weird noise! She turned her eyes toward them. Dr. Lämmle was standing there, smiling at her, cooing and encouraging her just as her father was. Together, their voices, the marbles; some kind of hypnosis? “No!” She reached out, a single large hand grabbing Dr. Lämmle. He yelled and dropped the marbles to the floor as the behemoth-sized Cranberry picked him up. The humming stopped. The hologram began pleading.

“Julia! Don’t kill him!” The hologram disappeared and reappeared in mid-air, before Cranberry’s hulking figure, at eye level. It sounded desperate.

“Father…” Cranberry turned and looked at the hologram. Tears welled in her eyes. “Is this what you are really like? Is this what you really want from me? You only care about me serving one purpose? Some weapon? Some harvest machine?” She squeezed Dr. Lämmle. He cried out in agony, but he was still alive. It caught her attention. “And you… you are insane. You tried to – to hypnotize me.”

“We just want to help you!” Dr. Lämmle insisted.

“Help me?! Help me like you helped my friend’s brother? Do you remember a man named Thomas? A man you drove insane! How could you be so sick? How does it feel to be powerless for once? Now tell me, tell me the truth! All of it! How do I stop this growing? And what are you really doing here?” She glared at the hologram. “Tell me or I swear to God I’ll crush him.” It was a desperate gambit. Could she bring herself to do it? She was scared she could. And what then? Knowing that she consciously committed an evil act, would she lose herself to the red haze? Her head suddenly bumped the ceiling. Growing, and losing control fast.

“Fine then!” the hologram shouted. “Just put him down.”

Cranberry lightly tossed Dr. Lämmle across the room. His body slammed against a wall and he fell to the ground, the wind knocked from his lungs. She looked back at the hologram and it began to explain.

“As I explained, you were originally designed to be a weapon. Against my government’s wishes, I modified you from the original designs for the sphinx hybrid. You were meant to be capable of sustaining your rage and adapting your body to any situation. Unfortunately, science is a work in progress. I did not have time to test your capabilities and, even if I had discovered this unexpected side-effect, I hadn’t the funds or resources to abort and do it again, even if I had harvested from you. I was already under pursuit for my admittedly illegal activities. Pah, illegal… as if the search for truth could know laws. Well, so this is what became of you, Julia. You grow, and you clearly become stronger and lovelier as you do so. Dr. Lämmle suggested, and could tell you himself if you hadn’t knocked the wind from him, that it is psychosomatic in a fashion. You are this way because you want to be this way… although, I admit, I doubt you wanted to be around this size.”

“You mean I can reverse it then?” A look of calm crossed her face.

“But you’d need some sort of strong justification…”

“How does he figure into all of this?” She pointed at the fallen doctor.

“Dr. Lämmle is… my son; my biological child. In a sense, then, he is your half-brother. When Prometheus Corp found me and rescued me from being harried by the government, we were reunited and began working on projects together. To make the world better, of course.”

“I do not believe I am hearing this.” Cranberry loomed toward the hologram. She was a little hunched forward now. “Is that what this is all about? You have a twisted family, ‘father’…”

“Twisted?! Why, how dare you…” the hologram sputtered, like it itself would grow, but it remained the same. “You are a purposeless creation, Julia, an experiment that is failing! Look at yourself! You don’t know what to do… Can you really turn your back on me?! Where will you go? Who can understand you like we can?! Disagree though you may like, there are no alternatives, Julia! We – are – your – family!”

Cranberry shivered and clenched her teeth. Lola. Sandra. “No,” she said at last, her eyes still shut. “You are not! You are NOT my family! Neither of you are!”

Dr. Lämmle was on the ground, crawling toward the marbles. He huffed and grunted, wheezing as he felt his cracked ribs sting him.

“I want nothing to do with either of you! I may not have a true father, and you,” she looked down at Dr. Lämmle, bringing down a large hand to crush the marbles, “are NOT my brother!” Something seemed wrong suddenly. “I have friends, and they are better family than either of you could be. And this body will not be a weapon. I will use it as I see fit! I want both of you out of my lives, now and forever!”

Dr. Lämmle screamed.

“… what the hell is wrong with you?” Cranberry looked down at the man. He was beginning to gurgle in pain and stagger in a daze.

The hologram replied, “Not quite dying… but the hypno-marbles are an experiment. They’re connected to his brain. You crushed several of them, causing feedback. I imagine he is suffering a minor stroke or heart attack right now. Fascinating, really, the mind…”

“Is that so?” Cranberry gathered up the rest of the marbles. Something was still wrong. What was it? She held them in one paw, then grabbed Dr. Lämmle and scooped him up into the other. “Then maybe you should tell me where you conduct your business in these offices…”

“Don’t tell her! She’ll ruin everything! She’s gone mad!”

“Damn you, old man! It’s failed! Your goddamn plan failed,” Dr. Lämmle shouted and then yowled in pain. “Fine, I’ll show you!”

**
That is when it hit Cranberry. She could shrink. The pressure, the stress, that she had been feeling, had disappeared… when? When she denied her father and half-brother? When she admitted how she felt about her friends? … Cranberry closed her eyes and a wave of calm and relaxation fell over her. The ceiling drew away, the walls receded, and a moment later, she was only a couple heads above eye level with Dr. Lämmle; and still curvy as hell. She was still holding the man. There was no way he could just break her grip.

“Wow…” She looked herself over. Then she grinned at the doctor toothily. “It looks like I fixed my problem, mm?” She was psyched. She actually just fixed her condition! But she needed to focus. She grabbed the doctor by the shoulder and, ignoring the silent hologram, led him out.

**
Dr. Lämmle whimpered all the while that he downloaded the data from his computer database and gave it to Cranberry, including several important and incriminating agreements and video files. He begged her, pleaded with her, in the name of all that is science, that she not do these things. And Cranberry told him how she could smell the blood and tissue in his chambers, even see the faint maroon stains of his more recent victims, and she crushed several of his devices for good measure. The hypno-marbles, these she took. As for her false father, she found the records of his hiring amongst Dr. Lämmle’s possessions. It seemed that, a hologram being unable to manipulate things with any ease, he had divested most of his property to Dr. Lämmle. And as Cranberry prepared to leave, the hypno-marbles in hand, Dr. Lämmle called once more out to her.

“What are you going to do?!” he shouted vehemently. “What will you do with your life?! JULIA PAWIS!”

Cranberry looked over her shoulder and smiled at him.


Epilogue
“I’mma do the things
That I wanna do
I ain’t got a thing
To prove to you
I’ll eat my candy
With the pork and beans
Excuse my manners
If I make a scene
I ain’t gonna wear
The clothes that you like
I’m fine and dandy
With the me inside
One look in the mirror
And I’m tickled pink
I don’t give a hoot
About what you think”
~Weezer, “Pork and Beans”

“So, journalism, huh?” Lola was dancing a couple of sugar cubes over her knuckles. She flicked them and they popped into her mouth. “Finally settling on that? Good to know. I think you’ll do well.”

“Mm-hmm.” Cranberry was sitting across from Lola at the coffee shop. For today, she was dressed in a green shirt and blue jeans, with her accustomed fedora and army jacket accessorizing as usual. She was stirring her 15th sugar cube into her coffee.

“I’d still like to know how you got all that information from Prometheus Corp. I mean, hehe, it’s checking out, and they’re actually starting up an investigation. I’ve heard they’re tracing a number of missing people back to this Dr. Lämmle guy. But how’d you get it?”

“I have got my sources… it was not easy, but I got what I needed…” Cranberry picked up her coffee and leaned back in her seat. She was still tall, but she kept herself at a manageable height. She was still curvy, but she could actually find things to fit her measurements. She was pretty and she was strong. Very strong, but it was not obvious just by looking at her that she could flip a truck on whim. She did not mind standing out. She actually enjoyed the attention and the puzzled looks of her peers. She could not quit her eccentric streak, nor did she want to. If somebody was really interested in her, she figured they would appreciate her unusual sensibilities. And if they didn’t, well, she had more important things to worry about than what they thought.

“You look good, by the way,” Lola commented. “Is your transformation another little secret?” She leaned forward with a toothy smile.

“Maybe it is,” Cranberry reflected. Sandra had been delighted to know what Cranberry had done. Cranberry herself had been able to resume her studies and was going to be taking a Journalism internship soon. She finally had some peace over her past and, well, a good body to boot. “And in a way, it might have been the best little secret of my life…”

And so continued another day in the increasingly unusual life of Julia “Cranberry” Pawis.

The End