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Adomm - Making the Most of It

John breathed. And breathed again. And continued to do so. Each one getting faster than the last.

He scratched his scalp through his short, dark brown hair and squirmed in his seat. Only five minutes to go, but time was flowing sporadically. He checked his bleached black suit for the thousandth time, but at this point he felt he no longer had time to fix any wrinkles that mysteriously continued to appear. When he checked his watch, the seconds dragged on, but the moment he blinked, a whole minute passed.

He went over how he would handle it in his head several times over. He answered very specific questions in his mind in ways that made him feel exceptional. That was what they wanted, he felt. Exceptional. He had to convince them he was that.

Otherwise they would reject him, and what would he tell his counsellor? What would he tell his father? What would he-

"AHEM."

His small hazel eyes darted up toward the door, where an older gentleman had stuck his large square jaw through.

"We are ready for you." he grunted with a slight cough.

He flinched. There were still two whole minutes left! This wasn't right!

"Alright, thanks." he automatically said. He picked up his small briefcase, containing the resume he had no part in writing up, and followed the grey-haired man inside.

It was the longest half-hour of his life. None of his mentally prepared questions were asked. He didn't even know this many other questions existed. Maybe he shouldn't have answered "yes" to the previous crimes question, because the mood in the room intensified and the air grew thick and muggy. He was sweating oceans where he sat.

After a while, he started dozing off, barely able to comprehend what the guy was mumbling about. His energy only surged momentarily when he heard the word "probationary period". He knew that word. That meant he had the job!

"Oh, thank you, sir!" he said, extending his hand out before the man finished talking. Fortunately for him, it was dismissed as a show of enthusiasm and he was told to report in tomorrow at 9:00PM.

He did. He had to, after all. If this didn't work out... oh man, he didn't want to think about it.

Ever since elementary school his life has fallen apart. Three girlfriends that only lasted about 2 weeks, premature drinking, and he was a smoker for half his high-school year until some very vigorous counselling got him to stop with a confiscated fake ID and a straight-jacket. In between, he was under the very convincing argument that his life and everything else sucked.

He stole for the thrill. He talked back to his parents with shouts and harsh words. He snapped and punched people when they were even the slightest bit annoying. He even spent three months in jail despite still being a minor, which caused him to fail grade 11.

The school wouldn't take him back until he showed good behaviour with a year of community service, and that's what this was. A job to prove he could be redeemed. That he could turn his life around and make himself an asset to society, not a liability.

And... well #%$@, he wanted that. Jail sucked, and if he didn't clean up his act, he would end up spending years there. Might as well be dead. And for a while he considered it, but then therapy slammed a big iron hammer on that notion. No, he was going to live, and he was going to do something with his life.

He arrived at the large metal-framed warehouse at 8:00PM and waited outside, once again pacing and playing out somewhat improbable scenarios in his mind. This was the meeting place for his first day on the job, he was told through phone call and email.

However, once again, the door opened far before he was expecting it, and both he and the hefty adult that stepped through the doorframe were startled at each others presence.

"Oh hey, you're pretty early." said a gruff voice.

John stared in silence. The guy that suddenly appeared in the doorway was larger than him in many ways.

"Yer John, right?" he asked, crossing his arms. Wouldn't be the first time he had to deal with a loiterer otherwise.

"Uh, yeah! Yeah, I am!" John replied, straightening his collar, then remembered he didn't have a tie on this time. He was told to just wear something casual and simple. A white shirt and a dark grey pair of sweat pants was his definition of casual and simple.

"Sure you are." the guy said, but if it really wasn't John and was lying to get out of trouble, he was in for a bad time anyways, "Name's Dave. Let's get inside, right?"

The hazel-haired man pulled his rough cap back a bit and looked him up and down. He smirked to himself, and ushered his new recruit inside. John inched in, hoping not to get his white t-shirt stained from the employee's grey overalls. Dave, momentarily surprised that he actually did go inside, decided it actually was John and escorted him through the large room.

The room smelled like methanol. There were metal shelves everywhere, carrying things as small as individual utensils and knives to things as large as whole wooden nailed boxed on palettes to be loaded by the small thin forklift parked in the corner.

"Alright, guess I'd better get you started." he said, closing the door behind him and checking the lock.

He outlined a long extensive list of responsibilities regarding the warehouse.

John thought that he would be some sort of night-time doctor's assistant at first, helping to administer shots and checking patients temperature. But what he failed to hear from his interviewer was that he was starting at the absolute lowest position. A stocker. For the Red Cross, yes, but it was still a job he probably could've just gotten at the local Nums-A-Lot for half the hassle and no half-hour interrogation.

Dave showed him different sections of the warehouse, storing large bins and

"Now, listen." Dave said, "I gotta be back at headquarters for a few hours, so I'm gonna leave you here. Just do what I told you; gather together two hundred bundles of the kits I showed you how to assemble and get them all wrapped up and sealed in bags. Can you do that?"

"Yes sir." John said, only half-confident he could actually get that many together.

"Look, just do what you can, alright? Ain't the end of the world if you can't get all 200 done, but each one will make our lives much easier. I'll be back at 6:00 to get you signed out and the place locked up. And if you finish early, don't leave on your own. Just wait here for me, maybe go around and familiarize yourself a bit more. Alright?"

"Yes sir." John repeated.

Of course, Dave didn't actually leave for the headquarters. That would imply he had some status in the company. Nobody did. There were the higher-ups running the place, but everyone else was either a paid worker or volunteer set to do specific, simple menial tasks. He walked out of the warehouse, stepped over to the side, and got out his fully charged phone, his bag of salmon sandwiches, and a pack of smokes, all set for tonight.

He had gone through so many interns, and quite a large number of them, if they didn't last a few weeks, stole from the place within the first few days. They did get a lot of good donations to help support the Red Cross, but they could've gone to much better use than end up in an alleyway, contributing to actually putting people in the hospital.

So he devised his own little trust test. This was the only unlocked door of the building. If the door opened even a minute before six, the kid was fired. If he found any of their equipment on his person, an arrest would be involved. The bonus was that he didn't have to do any work that night.

He secretly hoped the new new kid would try a snatch and run. One more catch, and he might even be promoted to security duty. That would bump him up to a paycheck that extended beyond the simple necessities to survive.

But as the hours dragged on, and the moon finished its arc through the sky, he frowned. Was everything even alright in there? He checked his clock on his nearly depleted phone. 4:45AM. ... eh, good enough. He stood up from his spot on the loading bay ledge and pushed open the door.

The place seemed just as he left it, minus a few misplaced boxes. And there was John, doubled over a large, awkward cardboard box, out of breath.

"Hey, sport. How's it coming?" he called.

John jumped and gulped. Sweat ran down his neck.

"Sorry, sir, I almost got it." he said, panicking and squeezing large sections of his stained white shirt.

Dave held up his hands, forgetting they were covered in cigarette ash.

"Woah woah, calm down, John." he said, "Take it easy, kid. Just take a deep breath, and let's see how you did."

How he did was phenomenally. Walking into the small office, he peered into the two large Tupperware bins in the middle of the floor, which was nearly overflowing with bundles of tools. The wrapping was loose and awkward, and the contents were askew and disorderly, but that didn't matter when he finished counting the hundred, seventy-eight individually wrapped packs of tools. Not a single one wrong or missing.

"I ran out of dental mirrors." John apologized, lingering in the doorway, "I was just trying to get the ones in the back. I didn't know how to use the lift, though, so... I tried... very carefully..."

Dave couldn't hide the smile. He patted John on the back. This was the sweat and the out of breath apology from a legitimate worker. There was a really good chance this kid was a keeper. And about time, too; someone would have to replace him once he became head of Red Cross Security.

"W-what?" he gasped, "I- I didn't get them all done."

"To be honest, I wasn't expecting you to get so many done." Dave said, looking proudly down at the bins with his hands on his hips (rubbing away the ash), "You've just done what should've been a two-person job by yourself, on your first day. That's pretty freakin' amazing, kid!"

John was frozen on the spot.

"You know what, John?" he said, "I got the rest. You take the rest of the night off and rest up, and we'll pretend you worked the full night. Sound cool?"

The young eighteen-year-old was breathless.

"It-" stammered John, "Y-yeah. Yes! I mean- yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"

As he stepped out into the cool night air, he breathed a breath so full of wonder that he nearly passed out. It felt absolutely incredible! He did a great job! When was the last time anyone ever praised him like that?

Yeah! He could do this! He would get cleaned up proper, and come back again early tomorrow (well, maybe not so early), and he would keep at it. He could do this! He really could turn his life around! He just had to make sure he didn't screw anything-

No, don't think like that. He wasn't going to screw up. He's got this. This was an easy job. Lots of lifting, sure, but it was just going to get easier as he kept at it. Maybe he'll go to the community gym and jog or lift weights. That'd make this much easier!

He wasn't going to screw up. He wasn't going to screw up...

________________

"YOU BIG, #$%^ING SCREW-UP!"

She bellowed the words as loudly as she could, as viciously as possible. Every last drop of her volcanic red emotion was poured into every syllable. Her mouth was mere centimetres from John's ear, and a resonant echo throbbed through the air like a ravaging heartbeat. Such a blatant, unadulterated insult was not the first in the series, and by far it wasn't going to be the last. Every one of them she meant, and every one of them was going to pour out of her mouth like a vast river of molten acid, and rumble through the deepest fissures the world had to offer.

Pity he still couldn't hear her, being in the material realm and all.

She shook out her short, unkempt hair, and her large, triangular ears flopped around on either side of her head. She jabbed the brown-haired human with her stubby pointed nose, only to have it materialize through his flesh. Her large, glowing yellow eyes squinted, though still able to see through her thin, transparent eyelids. And below her slender, fur-covered neck was... absolutely nothing but the faint trails of ethereal light. She was the floating, disembodied ghost head of an alley tabby.

And she did not like it one bit.

This was the new place that the human frequented. She couldn't catch up to him in his car as he drove around, so she simply waited here, knowing full well he would return after several days of consecutive arrivals. Sometimes she had to wait a few days, but he would always come. And when he was there, he was all hers, and she went at it.

She screamed again. And again. She had long since run out of insults and was now cycling almost rhythmically on personal favourites. A red-nose #$-face. A dung-filled $%-^&$!-$%^. A $%^&#ing#$%-%^&amp##$^^!@$%&# brain. Her favourite, naturally, being the 98-word string of terms that I will not repeat because I might break my censor and I don't wanna have to shell out $5 for another.

She blasted out yet another great slew of words. Then she paused a moment to think of some new ones. Maybe one she had never used before. A combination of two or three, perhaps, mashed together into one?

"WHAT are you DOING?!"

That wasn't her voice. She took a moment's glance toward the small white ghost floating toward her, a spiky-fingered hand pressed tightly against its large tattooed forehead. Strands of black beads trailed under its large shoulder-blades that tapered into black and white points as it glided through the air the speed of a human's brisk walk.

She turned away. Just another wisp. Her attention went back to John, and forgetting about creating a new insult, she just unloaded another slew of nasty words that erupted from her mouth before she could even top herself. Good, that saved a step; she could scream without even thinking about it now.

She screamed. She shouted.

She... didn't.

She tried screaming again, but no noise came out. Her tiny floating head barely vibrated this time. He stretched her mouth as far open as it would go... but it didn't open. It didn't move. In fact, it felt very strange. As though it wasn't there anymore.

"So noisy." the spirit shook her head with the air of relief, tossing away a small spiral of dim green strings from her independently floating right hand. It arced in the air, then suddenly zoomed right at her, shooting right into her eyes and vanishing harmlessly inside. They were a part of her! She tried shouting again, but still nothing!

Anger and rage turned into shock and panic. What the #$^! did this thing DO to her?!

"Oi! Oi!" she shouted. Well, not actually shouted. When spirits had mouths, they could use them as they saw fit, but their main method of communication was through mind projection. Universally understood unlike her previous yowling, although not as loud and, therefore, not nearly as long-ranged.

Not to mentioned she had to salvage four souls just to get her mouth back and in working order. It took years to achieve that, and this thing just took it away in mere seconds!

"What did you do to me?!" she bellowed at the strange spirit, "Gimme my mouth back, you #$%^!"

"I silenced you." the white and black spirit replied, "You were being far too noisy. Half the realm could hear you."

"This wasn't anything to do with you!" she argued, "This is between me and that human! #%^$ off!"

Her pointed fingers clenched and vibrated, but then relaxed just as quickly.

"You do know it can't hear you no matter how loud you yell?" it asked in a low, matter-of-fact voice.

"No #%^&, you witch." she growled, her large pointed ears flattening back, "What am I supposed to do? I can't exactly slash its dumb-"

The spirit suddenly burst closer, showing there was a distinct size different. She was also small, about the size of a medicine ball, but not nearly as small as the tiny feline wisp, who was only the size of a softball.

"First..." the spirit said, her voice calm but her aura entirely otherwise, "You will call me Adomm and Adomm only, or I seal your eyes as well."

The gravity of the situation finally started to weigh down on the ghostly cat. That wasn't at all an empty threat. This being had actually removed her mouth entirely, and without her eyes...

"Fine. Fine. Adomm." she muttered, "I'm... I'm sorry. I won't yell as loud anymore. So can I have my mouth back now?"

The cat gazed into Adomm's unfaltering diamond-shaped eyes. Adomm didn't move. It was like she was frozen in the air.

"What is your vendetta with this human..." she asked, "That requires you to make such a bothersome racket?"

She wanted to know? She really wanted to know?

"The #$^%-face KILLED me, that's what." the cat bellowed, but couldn't at all match its original volume, "There I was, minding my own business, and the jerk just ran up and KICKED me! I slammed into a brick wall and... well, I thought I was OK to run off, but then the PAIN... ohhh... my ribs were broken and I was getting all cold... and it #$^&#ing HURT... GAH!"

She looked to the spirit. A hint of sympathy? A raised eyebrow? ... nothing?! Seriously?!?

"The human killed you." she said in summary.

Wow, thought the cat, so inconsiderate...

"I'm thankful I didn't last the night. Losing my body meant the pain was gone with it. ...but that big dumb #$^%!"

"You want to haunt it and get revenge." Adomm summarized again, "By screaming your guts out to it and achieving absolutely nothing in return other than a headache for everyone around you."

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" it asked.

Adomm's eyes closed. Her tail arced up behind her a few inches. She was making an internal decision.

"How long ago was this?" she asked, tilting her floating head a bit, making it look like she actually had an invisible neck.

"#$^@, I dunno. Years, at least." the cat mumbled, "I think I've been dead longer than I've been alive."

"I'm assuming your body no longer exists, then." Adomm surmised, stroking her chin in thought.

It was the cat's turn to approach. Getting in one more dirty look at the human as he hauled a tupperware bin around the corner, she hovered over to where the spirit hovered.

"I don't- ... well... no, probably not," it shook its ears around, "But what does that have to do with anything?"

Adomm looked toward where the human vanished around the corner. They could still hear his footsteps in the thick silence that plagued the realm when cat spirits weren't screaming their heads off.

"If I return your mouth and help you exact some revenge," Adomm offered, "Would you promise to keep it down from here on out?"

A rebuttal flashed through the cat's mind, but it was cut short as it finally digested the actual words it has originally thought it heard.

"Like... real revenge?" the cat asked.

Adomm briefly explained her service. She was a form-weaver; an artisan of manipulating matter. While she usually kept to herself and her hobby, a part of it was the collection of various templates so she could experiment and apply them to potential canvases. Of course this didn't make much sense to the cat, so she summarized by saying she could manipulate the human's body parts; add things, remove things, convert things, or turn it altogether into something that wasn't a human.

The cat understood that, and its eyes widened more and more with each and every syllable.

"Yes! YES! YESSS! DO THAT! DO THAT! PLEASE!"

It rushed right up to Adomm and bowed its head so low it passed halfway through the ground below.

"I promise, if you help me, I will leave this human alone and never scream again."

Adomm endured suddenly personality swings into gracious humility so much she wondered if it would start to get annoying if it wasn't so gratifying.

"Then I will hold you to it." Adomm smiled, "Do you know what you want?"

The wisp leapt back up and started zipping back and forth. Ideas poured from its mouth, only to get replaced with another.

"Remove his arms. No! Merge his legs into one! No, give him four legs! Wait..."

Adomm turned away and started picking at a dim grey set of strings she pulled from the large black gemstone on her chest. The cat didn't notice this for several minutes as it continued to bellow out ideas as though hoping the human would contribute.

"A tail! Give him a- no, give him whiskers, as long as-..."

Its eyes suddenly rounded and it froze on the spot.

"Change him into a cat!" it said through its mind, slowly and flawlessly.

Adomm peered at it from behind her large pointed shoulder-blade, "Have you decided?"

"Yes." the floating head nodded, returning to her to-be redeemer, "Yes! It's perfect! Turn him into a cat! Make him see what it's like. Pit HIM against the humans. See how he likes the abuse when it's done to HIM!"

"Easy enough." Adomm smiled, lowering her template and secretly looking forward to a full canvas work, "A light-grey tabby like you were, then?"

"Yeah!" the cat nodded- no, shook its head, and turned back to where the human was starting to return from around the corner.

"No! Wait, no! Too small! He needs to be big! Can't hide. Can't escape the humans."

It turned to Adomm again. In that instant, she was back at her template.

"What's the biggest cat you've got?" it asked excitedly.

"Asiatic Lion," Adomm said, "But I could just make a really big-"

"Yeah! Whatever that is! Do that! Do that!" the spirit said, "And make him, like, bright white! So he can't hide in the darkness! He WILL be found by the humans!"

Adomm blinked.

"What if there's snow inside?" she asked.

The wisp squeezed its large round eyes shut.

"... alright, alright, white AND black." it revised, "Perfect! It's so perfect! Ooh, this is gonna be sweeeeeet!"

Adomm looked at the human, who had taken to whistling as it loaded a small basket of metal bits into a larger basket of more metal bits. Then she looked at the wisp.

"Look at me." she said, her aura darkening once again.

The cat suddenly found it impossible to look away from her large, half-opened eyes. Something within them glittered violently.

One more step. Confirmation. Too often she has clients change their mind halfway through. She wasn't going to tolerate that anymore.

"Are you certain?" she asked, glaring at her new client, "This is what you want?"

The wisp looked her dead-seriously in the eyes.

"Yes." it said, long and loud, "Yes, yes, and #$%^ing YES. I'd tell you to read my lips, but you took 'em from me."

Adomm relaxed with relief. That was it. The hard part was over.

Now, came the fun part.

_________________

MAN, this was a lot harder than he thought it would be.

His first day seemed like eons ago, despite it only being roughly a month. The compliment he had gotten lingered in his mind for about a week to inspire him to work hard, but nothing else really came out of it. Dave didn't just hand out compliments on a whim. Only when he buckled down and worked his keister off did he have even remotely a chance of a smile in that guy.

John was called into headquarters now and then, but since the first day they usually worked together. Amazing how much more work they could get done together. Tonight was one of those nights, though.

He knew the warehouse quite well now. Making the packs of medical instruments was still his main task, but this branched off into other things. Mostly organizational and inventory-taking jobs, though. Simple stuff. Difficult stuff.

Still, it wasn't a perfect place to work. Far from it; it was quite dusty. There were corners and sections that had not been touched in a while. Especially if he had to go and dig in for a spare box in the back.

He sighed as he looked at the empty cardboard box he had just finished unloading. Darn it. Wait, was there even a box in the back? If not, then work was officially over. He would have every justification to relax and take a break. He grabbed his flashlight from his work belt, flicked it on, knelt down onto his knees, shone it into the corner under the shelves, and-

... #$^&. Yeah, there's one. And he had to get it.

He looked contemplatively toward the office where he knew the face-masks were stored, decided it was a waste of effort, and took a deep breath. Holding it in, he got onto his hands and knees and squirmed his way under the shelf.

Cobwebs nipped at the sides of his face and he shook his head, grunting to keep his breath in. Dust was getting kicked up everywhere around him. He had to get that box out fast. Hopefully it wasn't too heavy.

Luck wasn't on his side, though. He pressed his hand on the side, but it didn't budge. He grunted again, running desperately out of breathing time. No, this wasn't going to work. He pushed himself back out, as quickly and desperately as he could. He slid backwards on his knees, protected by his thin dark sweat pants, and once he saw the ground illuminated by light once more, rose up and backed quickly away from the cloud of dust.

He gasped for air and batted at the cobwebs on the sides of his neck. Man, they were THICK down there! Maybe he should just grab a broom and go to town underneath the shelves. No, he wasn't getting that box without a face-mask.

He brushed at the cobwebs again. They just weren't going away. How big were those spiders, anyways? They may have an infestation problem. Man, what would happen if word got out that the storehouses of Red Cross weren't as sanitized as they thought? Maybe he could emerge a hero if he cleaned the place up really well.

No no, he thought. Just get the box. Mention it to Dave, wait for his command. He wasn't going to screw up. He took a deep breath in through his nose-

"HA-CHOO!"

Both hands darted up to his mouth and he coughed for several agonizing seconds. The dust cloud had emerged from under the shelves thanks to his shirt, which was more grey than it was white now. Figured every time he wore white it would get caked with dust.

*BAAM!*

It was like an electric shock surged through his skin. A loud bang of metal echoed throughout the storeroom. He spun around in alarm, looking behind him. Was someone there? Or no, did something fall over? Shoot, was it fragile?

He breathed again. Quickly. His mouth pressed closed. His nostrils flaring. Air seeped in with a set of low huffs. Very low. He didn't recognize the sound of his own breathing there. It was way lower in tone than normal. Was it the acoustics of the warehouse or something?

His hands darted back up to the back of his neck. The cobwebs were still there. There were- there were much more than he thought. They were thick. Rough. And... not even sticky. He squeezed his fingers together and pulled them forth, but his hands remained clean save for the stains of dust.

The $^%#, he thought to himself? Were these... were these actually real cobwebs-

*BAAM!*

Another slam on the shelves behind him, and John spun around even more quickly. Nothing had fallen, but this time he caught a glimpse of something. Something large and dark that rocketed back around him. A bird? Or a bat? No, too hairy to be either of them. Then what- a rodent?!

He spun around the other way. There it was again, but it sped off behind him once more. This time he caught a flash of white. Something black with a white head... or neck. A long neck...

Did they have an ostrich in the storehouse?

A pain to the side of his head distracted him from turning around a third time. His hand was subconsciously pulling at the stands on the side of his neck, trying to get them off, but the neck skin was being pulled with them. They were seriously stuck to him, and yet weren't sticking at all to his hand. He rubbed vigorously at them, but all that did was summon up more dust right in his-

*HUH-PHHFO!*

Dang it, another coughing fit! He threw his hand onto his mouth. He had to get away from the-

*BOOOF!*

His head reared back with the sudden burst of unpleasant feeling erupting toward his skull. His hand met his nose a lot sooner than it was expecting, resulting in a forceful bopping. It wasn't where it originally was anymore. It was now almost half a foot in front of his face.

And it wasn't pointed anymore. How hard did he hit it?! Did he somehow squish it into the flat, rough texture he was feel-

Alarm bells started going off in John's head. Something was very wrong here! The cobwebs were around his nose, too, but they were very long and wiry. Almost like they were-

*BAAM!*

Again! What the$^# was DOING that! He twisted around once more and saw the flash of black hair vanish from his field of view. And then, after a moment's pause, it returned. And that's when he caught on the identity of the mysterious shelf-banger.

It was a creature's tail! As thick as an elevator cable with bright white fur and a large tuft of dark grey hair on the end big enough to mop the floor with. It was swishing around behind him, knocking into nearby shelves and nearly knocking a large box onto the floor.

Not thinking anymore, he rushed to the box and straightened it again. The creature behind him seemed to let him do this, for it stopped moving around behind him. It didn't seem an immediate threat.

John breathed. And breathed. And breathed again. Each breath increasing in speed as his last.

Upon stopping the box from falling and causing damage, a wave of relief flooded his body, and he had relaxed. No sooner did he do that did his brain start thinking rationally again, and everything that had happened in the last three minutes started coming back in a sequential order.

First and foremost; what was going on with his nose? He pressed both hands to it. It was still way too far in front of his face, so he felt back, trying to figure out why that was. It wasn't his nose that was too far forward; it was the face around it. It was jutting forward in a round cone surrounded by thick, short-

No. These weren't cobwebs. Not at all. This was...

The long wiry ones alongside his nose were the first suspect. An entire foot and a half long, he grabbed a handful of them and bent them up in front of his eyes for a better look. They shone a bright reflective black, flickering brightly in the bright, florescent light above like fishing line. They were hairs!

... no. They were whiskers!

Whiskers. Just that word triggered a whole lot of things in his mind as he felt around his nose again. Whiskers. Animal whiskers. Animal hair.

Animal fur!

His hands batted all around his face. The fur was everywhere! On his cheeks! On his forehead! On his temples! On his-

... wait, where were his ears?

A thick blanket of fur met him on either side of his head, and he couldn't find his ears underneath. Where did they go?! What happened to-

Then he found them. Up on the top of his head. Large and round, covered in yet more fur.

His hands shook. His throat tensed. His breathing became sporadic. He pulled at the strange ears atop his head. He felt a dull pain where they joined to his head. It wasn't on the skin like he anticipated, it was inside his head. They were ears that weren't human! They were animal ears! Animal fur!

Animal t-

His whole body tensed as another mystery suddenly took on a whole new meaning. The mysterious shelf-banging monster behind him? How was it always behind him?

His mind screamed for his hands to not do it, but his hands decided it was their sworn duty to do it. The creature stayed behind him, just too far to reach the tip. But if his guess was right, and the base of its tail was-

His hands met thick, strong fur and flesh where they expected the soft fabric of his sweatpants, which had been torn clean through behind him. He grasped it with one hand, barely able to touch his thumb and index finger around it, and slid it up, pulling it around him and in front of his body. The fur ran along his fingers, and a strange tingling was shooting up his spine.

And suddenly there it was. The white and black assailant that was responsible for making him jump three times and nearly destroy valuable equipment. Large. Powerful. Animal.

His.

How had he not screamed? How had he not suddenly panicked and fell apart? How had he not even fainted?

"This- this isn't-" he stammered in a rapid whisper, "This isn't real. This is- this is in my head. I- I overworked. I'm not... I'm not..."

But his hands weren't doing him any favours. They were out of his control now, feeling around his furry face, sliding their thumbs up and down his tail and causing his nerves to fire up in ways he never thought he'd feel in his life. It was wrong! It was all so wrong!

"No! This isn't happening!" he repeated to himself, "This is a dream! This is a- ow! Ow! OW!"

It started as a slight pressure, but now he was really starting to feel it. His feet were cramping up inside his shoes, as though they were compressing like a vice-grip. He released his tail and grabbed onto a nearby shelf, trying to kick off his runners. The first one went off with a great amount of force, and the second-

"AAAAH!"

The second would have to hold on a bit longer. His sock was always torn through by a set of great big claws from a large, round, four-digit foot, covered in gleaming white fur. A jolt of pain shot up his other leg, and he... hesitated. This foot, would it- OW! No, screw it! He lifted his other foot and, using the claw on his free foot, tore out the back of his shoe.

It popped off like a champagne cork, hanging in the air for a second before clattering to the floor two shelves away. His other foot had shredded its sock clean and bore the same round four digits as his first.

His feet! His face! His tail! This wasn't- he had to-

He had to get outta here!

He released the shelf and took a step before suddenly losing balance. His new feet weren't cooperating at all! He found himself falling forward and, his mind suddenly prioritizing the shelf contents over his own safety, he threw himself out into the middle of the floor, away from any of the equipment. He rolled in the air and landed right on his rear. Right on his-

"YOOOOOW!"

The pain that shot up his spine brought his mind back to the harsh reality he was in right now. Never in his life was he thinking so clearly than that moment. This wasn't a dream. This was where he was. Everything he saw around him; the shelves, the boxes, the office in the back, the large round florescent lights shining above; all in perfect detail. This was as real as it could possibly get.

And if that wasn't enough...

He looked at his hands. The fall caused a strong tingling sensation in his hands. Almost as though each of his fingers had suddenly gone numb at the same time. He wanted to see fingers. Thin, fleshy fingers, pale and covered in sticky sweat-filled dust. Hands that he could fit into a glove. Twirl a pencil. Grasp a rock off the beach and toss it into the nearby river.

He saw paw pads, thick and black leathery bulges, with small round pointed claws sticking out from the chaotic mess of fur covering the four large, round fingers that made up his new, thumbless paws.

And then he saw nothing but blackness.

__________________

The floating cat head danced hypnotically in the air around the unconscious lion, lying on its back on the dusty concrete floor with its arms, legs, and tail all spread out in different directions.

"Yesss! YESSSS! Perfect! Perfect!" it was hissing in delight. Upon completing her work, Adomm had returned its mouth to it.

"What did I say now?" she asked, making sure the client would hold her end of the bargain.

"Yes, yes." the cat spun around, a great big smile plastered over its ethereal face, "You will not hear my shouts anymore. I am through with shouting. I shall even take a vow of silence if I must! Ooh, this is marvellous!"

Adomm closed her eyes and nodded slightly. The cat continued to sneer at the lion just underneath it.

"Yes... yes..." she droned, each word getting quieter and quieter, "Yes... ... yes... ..."

She blinked. She looked around. She rose into the air.

Then she started hovering off toward the skylight above.

"You do not want to see how this plays out?" Adomm called after it.

"Eh, I don't care anymore." it muttered aloud, phasing through the window and vanishing into the dark cyan sky of the ethereal realm. Adomm stared, more annoyed than when it was screaming.

But she shook her head and that was all she thought of it. This is why she didn't do anyone any favours.

Now it was just Adomm alone with her latest work, holding its knotted template in one hand. And what a nice piece of work it was. After it fell unconscious from a mind overload, Adomm finished up the internal stuff. Shifting bones around so it could walk properly on all fours, adjusting its stomach so it could digest meat better, modifying the inner ears and nose so they would function as expected on a lion. Complicated finishing touches, like adding lens flare to a painting.

Still, the cat did pull something a bit interesting out of this charity request. Sure, she could've just tried to copy its original form, template or not, but to request an almost unrelated creature, not originally from this part of the world, with a custom color scheme... not many of her clients gave her that extra bit of challenge. Just the spur of creativity was enough to warrant she not needing a template in return.

In fact, maybe she could get a little extra creative too on her own.

She couldn't see its eyes under the eyelids, but she knew the threads all too well. A few twists here, and some squished bumps there, and... perfect. Solid yellow eyeballs with jet black pupils. That is different. Maybe even a little crazy.

She smiled to herself as she released the newly knotted threads and allowed them to dart back into their host body. Then, she floated off, left the canvas where it lay, and vanished through the wood-framed metal wall. Her latest work will wake up in a minute. She no longer had any interest in watching it come to terms with its new form.

She had seen it all ten times over.

__________________

He woke to a throbbing headache.

The soft humming of the lights above and the gentle whir of the large air conditioner near the door gave the silence a bit of personality around him.

What had happened? Did he pass out? Was it overwork? Or dehydration? It was really warm in there. Maybe the air conditioner broke? He would have to go check that out. Right when his head stopped throbbing.

His shirt collar was getting really tight. Without even really thinking, he wedged a claw in and ripped it apart, grateful once again for unrestricted breathing. His throat relaxed and he took in that sweet, though slightly dusty-

... wait, did he just-

He threw his hand above his face, but it wasn't his hand that appeared in front of him. It was the paw! The paw from his dream! His other hand? No, it was another paw! He jerked up his leg. A paw there too!

His mind suddenly blown, he dropped his head back. Thankfully a thick mane full of hair prevented any concussive damage.

He's an animal! Somehow, he had changed into an animal!

... or was he? No, this was all too surreal. Maybe this was... a prank? Maybe Dave came back, saw him unconscious, and stuck him in some kind of mascot suit! Yeah, yeah that had to be it! That was-

Whew! What a relief. Just a harmless, maybe ridiculously over-the-top prank. He was wearing the Red Cross mascot outfit. ... wait, did they even have a mascot? Well, they must have. And Dave even went the extra mile and forced his shirt and pants on overtop for added effect. Man, that guy really did go all-out.

"Ha ha." he said aloud, his voice echoing in the large warehouse, "Very funny, Dave. I know you're-"

He grunted and coughed. Ugh, what was wrong with his voice? It was rasp and low-pitched. Too much dust. His throat felt really rough. He needed water. A lot of it.

He grunted and sat himself up. His back felt sore, complimenting his throbbing headache. He pushed his paw pads onto the ground, getting an impressive amount of friction. Enough to ladder his way to an upright sit from lying down.

He looked down at himself. His clothes were a mess. Tearing the collar off his shirt was mere superficial damage compared to what they had gone through. The pressure of the fur underneath tore the sleeves half off on either end, held together by thin white threads struggling to hold on. Same with the quad sections of his pants, which bore long thin patches of white hair poking through.

The zipper must be on his back. He tried to push his arm behind him, but he couldn't reach it. Couldn't even feel it behind him. No, it wasn't there. Not at all.

Thinking he was in a suit solved all the mysteries for the moment, bringing him out of a state of immediate panic. However, it only served to calm him down a bit and realize that this theory had a lot of holes in it. As he continued to examine himself, doubts began forming in his mind.

His inability to find which of his four fingers had his fifth finger by trying to spread them apart. The fact he was able to wiggle each of his larger toes, including the outer ones. The feeling that pulling his fur actually caused a pinching feeling over his skin underneath. Even poking his own paw pads with his claws shot a real, definite surge of pain that really shouldn't have been possible.

The tail was the final nail in the coffin, lying out just to his right side. He didn't have to imagine it. It felt like his spine had long since melted like hot caramel and solidified into a long strand of long, thin muscle. He tensed it, and it reacted exactly as he expected. It flopped up from the ground and fell back down with a thud, kicking up a parting trench of dust on either side.

He pulled the backs of his hands with the other. Not a glove. He kicked at the heels of his feet. Not a shoe. He tugged at his ears and mane. Not a prop. His. His actual body.

He breathed. And breathed again. Each breath slowed down a bit.

OK. Something really weird happened to him. There had to be an explanation. Would Dave know what happened? Who knows? What he did know was that he needed Dave. If anything, just to come over and confirm that he wasn't going absolutely crazy.

He had Dave's phone number in case he needed to contact him. He had only done so twice in the weeks he had worked there, but they were always to ask the location of something. The phone was in the office. OK, he just had to... um...

He leaned forward and tried to get his foot flat on the ground. It was long, like a long flipper, and not nearly as flexible at the ankle as his original foot. Getting it just flat on the ground was nearly impossible without almost fully straightening his leg.

How far was the stairs to the office? Could he just... crawl? He rolled over onto his stomach and propped himself up, his thick legs sprawl-eagled behind him and his tail wriggling around like it was doing all the work. He tried to get onto his knee, but his foot was getting in the way. Could he just- no, he was an animal now. He had no choice!

He lifted his rear up and planted his toes onto the ground behind him. It was... awkward, but working. He just usually used his knees to crawl. Bending his whole leg from the hip like he was doing the splits... this was...

... %^&#.

Moving one limb at a time, he hobbled and stumbled across the concrete floor down the metal stairs. He slipped a few times, lost coordination with his legs a few more times, and once fell into the side of a shelf. Fortunately, it was nearly empty and nothing fell, and after recovering, went forth with an adrenaline rush and a much better pace.

Finally, after what had to have been half an hour, he was pulling himself up the stairs. One paw was clasping around the handrail and hoisting himself up the stairs, kicking away at them with his rear legs. Once he was upon the catwalk, he collapsed to the ground from exhaustion and dragged himself into the brightly lit, open-doored office.

Dangit, when did the table get so tall? He grabbed the edge and hoisted himself halfway up, pushing down with one paw to keep himself upright while the other fumbled around with the receiver. Even just trying to grip it was nearly impossible.

His large yellow eyes wandered to the half-filled bins, and he internally freaked out for a moment. How the #$^& was he supposed to WORK like this? Wait, how was he even going to get home? If somebody saw him on the street-...

He redoubled his effort, batting at the receiver until it was just under his elongated chin. Close enough. He needed Dave real bad now. With a shaking claw, he reached to the light grey phone and slowly, delicately, pressed the numbers one by one.

Three ring-tones later, he was greeted by a voice he found himself absolutely ecstatic to hear.

"Yo, it's Dave." the gruff voice on the other end mumbled.

"Dave." John exhaled, "Hey. It's me."

There was a short pause. John's mind was still pretty fried from earlier, and he couldn't think of what to say now that he had dialled. He didn't do that thing he usually did where he played out several ridiculous scenarios in his head this time. ... not that it would've helped much here.

"It's who?" Dave asked.

"It's John." John said, "From the warehouse."

Another pause.

"John?" he asked, "You alright? What happened to your voice?"

"It's-" John started, then listened to his own words. Yeah, that wasn't dust in his throat; his voice was a lot deeper now, "It's... kinda hard to explain."

"Drink some water, kid." Dave advised, "And for gosh sakes, those face-masks are there for a reason! Use them!"

John absent-mindedly looked toward the sink in the office, then shook his head, trying to get his thoughts back on track.

"No, no, that's not it." he said, "Dave! I... it's... look, can you come over?"

"I'm ju-... I'm still at headquarters, kid." Dave said, "This an emergency. You hurt yourself?"

"I..." John stammered, "...no, I don't- I think... look, it's a long story."

"Shorten it." Dave instructed.

John slipped onto his elbow. He dragged his belly onto the table, struggling with keeping his padded feet on the ground.

"OK, OK." John replied, hoping Dave didn't hear all that, "So, we were out of 500ml beakers, and I found another box under the shelves, so I went to get it. But I didn't wear a face-mask and the box wouldn't move... I must've inhaled some dust or something, but after I got out of there I passed out, and when I woke up-"

"Woah, woah, wait a sec, kid." Dave interrupted, "You passed out?"

"Y-yeah."

"Like, on the CONCRETE?! You alright?! You're not bleedin', are you?"

John ran one paw around the back of his mane, digging in and pressing a stubby finger at his skull. Didn't know why; there was no way he could feel for blood with the great forest of black hair on him. But when he pulled it back and confirmed it was still a solid, slightly dirty white sheen without...

"No, I- I think I'm alright." John honestly replied, "Just, my head hurts a bit, but that's not-"

"Head hurts where?" Dave demanded.

John rubbed the sore spot just under his large round ear.

"Just... in the back..."

"How much? Like, is it a strong, throbbing pain?"

He closed his large, feral eyes and pressed a bit to check. It hurt, but only as much as a bruise did. The idea that he got a concussion when he fainted worried him for a moment, but with all this fur to cushion the blow, maybe it wasn't that bad.

"It's- yeah, like that, but... it's not so bad now. It was really bad when I woke up, but it's not that-"

"OK, listen. Sit down somewhere. Get some water down if you can, and add a pinch of salt. Just... stay there, and stay awake. I'll head over as soon as I can."

John contemplated just leaving it at that. Thinking he was in a medical emergency would get Dave over sooner. But...

"That- that's actually not the reason I called you." he admitted slowly.

"What? Then what?" Dave asked, "You didn't break something super-important, didja?"

"I- no! I didn't! I swear, nothing broke-..."

John paused, distracted. His tail was swishing back and forth, tapping the side of the tupperware bin behind him. He tensed it and forced it straight behind him, getting it to stop. What kind of damage did it cause earlier?

"Well, not that I know of, anyways." he compromised, "I don't know what happened after I passed out."

"Alright. Forget about it. Just focus on resting, alright? I'll be there in... uh, 10 minutes. Can you hold out until then?"

John's whiskers wobbled.

"Yeah. Sure." he said.

"See you soon." Dave said, "Take it easy."

There was a click. John exhaled, and his tail started up again. Several bats with the paw got the phone receiver hung back up, and with a great hoist, he flung himself off the table and back down onto all fours. His head started throbbing again, but it was no longer as pressing as the issue that now presented itself to him.

If Dave entered the warehouse and saw him, a great wild beast, he'd freak out. How the heck was he going to explain this all to Dave without him seeing him?

He looked around the office. There was a broom. He had ten minutes. Forgetting any hopes of redeeming the use of his hands, he clamped his sharp canine teeth around the handle and hauled it out of the office with him.

_____________

He leaned against the building and looked up toward the windows. Man, this was the worst! He told the kid he'd be there in ten minutes, but when he was literally five seconds away from the door, he felt like he was betraying his coworker no matter what he did. If he rushed in right away, it would be obvious he was never really at headquarters, and if he waited the promised 10 minutes, that was 10 minutes he should've been providing basic medical attention, or at least requesting it.

The hands on his watch moved ever so slowly. As each tick echoed in his ear, he thought about the kid. Another cough. Another head-lull. What if he was dozing off? What if he passed out again? What if he wasn't so lucky? Urrrgh!

Seven minutes. Alright, screw it, that's enough. If it's questioned, he'll say he got lucky with green lights. He whipped out his cigarette, twisted his key into the lock, and pressed the door open.

"John?" he called, "I'm here! Where are you?"

There was no reply. Dave made a beeline to the office. He trudged up the stairs two at a time and stuck his head in. Nobody there. He turned away, pausing for a moment to admire the good work John did with the tool bundles in the bins, and looked out over the rows of shelves around him.

"John? Where are you?"

To his right, he heard the smallest of voices.

"I'm here, Dave."

Dave wasn't expecting that. He almost slid down the railing and jogged over to the right corner of the room. The sound came, not from in front of the shelves, but from behind. From somewhere...

The large bundle of cardboard boxes under the shelves and the small red broom lying in the middle of the floor next to a large, ravaged pile of dust clued him in. John was hiding underneath.

He knelt down and peered underneath, squinting into the darkness.

"John?" he asked, "That you?"

"Y-yeah..."

"The $^&@ you doing under there?" he asked, "Everything alright?"

"... no."

Dave looked toward the door for a moment. It was closed and automatically locked from the outside, as it had to be keyed from the inside to properly unlock. This wasn't a prank, was it?

"You'd better not be playing games with me here, John." Dave said, "I thought you knew better than to screw around here, kid!"

"I'll come out!" John replied quickly, "No, no, I'll come out. But before I do... I-..."

He coughed. His hasty cleanup wasn't nearly satisfactory, but he wouldn't have to endure it very long. He hoped.

"Please... PLEASE please please promise me you won't freak out?" he asked, his voice a low whimper.

Dave's mouth opened, but no sound came out. He opened his hands and shook his head.

"The #$^@ you talking about?" he asked.

"Something..." John said, slowly, "... VERY weird... happened to me."

"What, your skin turn blue?" Dave asked, "Dude, I can tell you what would cause that."

"Weirder. MUCH weirder."

He bit his lip. OK. Thinking logically, there was no way John would do something so dynamic unless something really bad (or humiliating) really did happen to him. Over the course of his probation, he had been a really good worker. No signs of lingering insanity or potential instability as far as he could tell, and he prided himself on being pretty darn good at reading people.

No, there was no mistaking or faking that tone of voice. Something was really spooking the kid.

"Are you alright, John?" he asked again.

"Just please tell me you won't freak out?" John asked again.

Dave took a deep breath.

"I won't." he said, "Trust me. Gimme your worst."

A long pause followed. Dave couldn't even imagine what could possibly have been freaking John out. What's the worst it could be? Did he stick his hand into a bucket of needles and get impaled by a bunch? They were all clean here; this was a warehouse, not a disposal. Did he inhale so much dust he actually coughed up a lung? No, that's just ridiculous.

"Alright." John announced, "I'm... I'm coming out, sir. Please, don't- don't freak out."

"I'm not going to freak out, John." Dave said, "Now come on out of there, and let me get a good look at-"

John had already started emerging. The two shining yellow eyes reflecting light got Dave to stop speaking. The combination of white and black mass as it flowed out from behind the boxes got him to stop blinking. The long, sleek shape as it crawled out into the light got him to stop breathing. The gleaming fur of the large feline beast as it slowly crawled out of the shadow on all fours, stepping slowly and quietly as though trodding on glass...

*BAM*

Dave had backed into the shelves behind him. His hand grasped one of the shafts on the side. He wasn't ready for that.

"WHAT the $^ ing #$y #$?!" he gasped, his eyes rounder than a full moon.

"It's me!" the lion meekly said, pressing one paw to his chest, "It's John! I swear! Please, Dave!"

OK. He wasn't expecting a nearly full-sized lion to be in the warehouse. He really wasn't expecting a lion to be able to speak. And he really REALLY wasn't expecting it to be claiming to be his coworker whom he had just seen as a perfectly ordinary human only a few hours ago.

Dave broke away from the shelf and hurried toward the door, and John's ears drooped in fear. Then he stopped and paced back, clutching his head with his hands, trying to comprehend this utterly bizarre situation he had been presented with.

He walked back up to John, who could do naught but stand there. He threw his hands forward at him.

"... WHAT?!?" he bellowed.

"I don't know either!" John empathized, his eyes widening just as much, "It just... it just... happened to me! For no reason!"

"You're a #$^&ing LION?!" Dave bellowed again.

John's eyes widened even more and he backed away a bit.

"Wait, THAT'S what I am?!" John asked. In all the confusion, he never did get to see a reflection of himself.

"YOU'RE A #$^&ING LION!" Dave repeated.

"I KNOW!" John cried, his great jaw stretched open, exposing dozens of razor-sharp fangs and a large bumpy tongue, "How do I fix this?!"

Dave paced back and forth again. An idea finally hit him, but he was having serious doubts.

"You're not just wearing a fur suit, are you?" he asked.

John's eyes relaxed and he glared at Dave, deadly serious.

"Dave, if you can find and undo the zipper," he challenged, "I will buy you morning dinners for a whole freaking month!"

Dave, not knowing what else to do, accepted that challenge. This was the only explanation. It had to be. He approached. Slowly. John didn't move.

He ran his hand down the lion's back, pressing his fingers through the thick fur, feeling around. Something metal. Something bumpy. Buttons? Velcro? ... anything? He pushed his hand against the fur, hoping to see underneath.

"Ung... ug..." John grunted, gritting his teeth but making no effort to stop it.

Dave stared. That was affecting him? ... no way! He was just-

With his other hand, he slowly, without John seeing, pinched his fingers on a single strand of hair on the side of his rear left leg and yanked it out.

"AAOW!" John yelped, jumping forward in shock. Dave leapt back in response. The two of them slammed, chest-first and butt-first respectively, crashed to the ground.

"You're actually a $^#%ing LION!" Dave gasped.

"Ow, Dave!" John whined, "That really hurt, man! Don't do that again!"

Dave found himself lost for words, "That's actually your- it on yo- you are-"

He clutched his head. He scrambled to his feet.

"I need a smoke." he announced, "Right now. Just a min."

He turned and rushed to the door. John clambered onto his own feet.

"Dave, wait!" he cried, "Please! Don't leave me!"

"I'm just going outside a minute." he called behind him, "I'll be right back. I swear!"

"Dave!"

The metal bar creaked as it unlatched the door from the frame, and Dave was out and through in a manner of seconds. John watched, stunned for a moment, and then ran off toward the door himself.

He still wasn't nearly a master at four-legged movement, but the last several minutes of practice got him over the hump of falling down every three steps. He made it to the door in record time and pressed it open with his forehead.

Then, eyes widening, he backed off and let it close. No! What if... what if someone else was there? He'd cause a mass panic! They're get the police involved! Or hunters! #$^&, what did they even DO to lions in the city?

"D-Dave?" he called out meekly, "... Dave??"

He stared at the door. No, he had to chance it. He pressed his forehead to the metal bar once again, but only propped it just a bit, peering out through the inch-wide crack.

"Dave?" he hissed loudly, "Dave! You there?"

And to his surprise and great relief, he got a response.

"I just need a moment, John." Dave hissed back. He was leaning on the side of the building, his mouth covered in white smoke, and staring up into the sky.

Relieved, and suddenly taking in an intense blast of smoke which his nose magnified several times, he heaved himself away from the door, collapsing back onto the concrete in a heap.

Several minutes later the door opened once more, and Dave re-entered, adjusting his stained overalls. He looked down at John, still lying on his belly on the floor. He was no longer looking at him in shock, but in bewilderment. He said nothing. Just looked him up and down.

"Dave?" John asked, "What do we do?"

Dave sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Gonna be honest, John." he admitted, "I don't know what the #$%! to do in a situation like this."

"I mean, who do we even call?" he asked, "Is this some kind of radioactive situation? Wait, what if you are contagious, and it- oh God! I touched you with my bare hands..."

John backed down guiltily. He never thought of that! Ooh, forget himself; he really hoped he didn't just ruin Dave's life.

Suddenly Dave was giving himself an intense pat-down. He was rubbing his fingers through his hair, slapping himself in the face, sticking his hands under his shirt and feeling around. His hand on his stubble-filled chin, Dave glanced at his four-legged counterpart.

"It's not- I'm not turning into-?" he stammered.

John, wide-eyed, quickly shook his head. He couldn't let Dave freak out again. The scent of cigarette was exceptionally strong with him, and if he started getting stressed again, he might go out for yet another.

Dave looked both sides of his hands, nodded assuringly to himself, and brought himself to relax.

John, relieved that his mentor was in control again, found his back starting to ache, so he let his rear plant itself onto the floor and allowed his hind legs to spread out on either side. He was now in an upright sitting position. What if the circus could see them now? ... no, don't even think of that. Living the rest of his life in a cage, surrounded by onlookers; yeah, that was still jail in his book.

"OK. OK. Alright, let's assess this situation." Dave said, finally managing to will himself to become professional again, "Aside from your... well, change, you're not otherwise hurt or anything, right?"

"Bit of a headache," John said, "And I'm... actually really hungry, now that I think of it."

"But no open wounds?" Dave asked, "Cancerous growths? Anything that feels even remotely off?"

John looked back at his tail, which was lazily minding its own business behind him. He also held up a paw as though to offer a low high-five.

Dave sighed again, "But otherwise you're fine. No lapses in memory? Trouble thinking? You still remember your whole life preceding all this?"

John's ears fell and his jaw curved down, "I... kinda wish I couldn't, actually..."

The technical stuff out of the way, Dave pressed on.

"Do... do you remember exactly what you did that might've... caused this?" he tried, "Something out of the ordinary?"

"No!" he said, shrugging and almost losing balance, "Nothing! I swear I didn't do anything differently than I usually do!"

"Then, do you at least know what you were last doing as a human, and what you were doing when that happened?"

"I... argh, I barely remember..." John growled to himself, pressing a large white paw to his temple John held his silence. He understood that the mind sometimes wiped its short-term stuff preceding a fainting spell.

"I think I was... over there." the white and black lion jerked his head to the northeastern corner of the warehouse, just to the right of the office.

"Alright, alright..." Dave nodded, looking over at the area, "But what... where you... doing..."

Glancing up at the ceiling, Dave suddenly had a eureka moment.

"The cameras!" he near-shouted, "Security footage! Let's take a look at that! Maybe we can find something that tells us what happened."

"Yeah, alright! Let's go!" John said, excitement building up inside him. The intense relief that filled him that progress towards his cure was being made caused him to push himself up onto his hind legs.

He stumbled, swinging his forepaws around. It felt like he was standing on a short pair of stilts. He stumbled toward a shelf, desperate for something to stabilize him.

"Woah woah woah!"

He never made it to the shelf. Dave practically flew in between and grabbed him around the waist. Without the great mane of hair, he was still sizeably larger than John. The transformation didn't at all change that trait of his.

"Don't lean on the shelves like that, alright?" he advised, "You'll make 'em fall over."

"Yeah. Sorry..." John apologized, his feet sliding around under him. He grabbed at Dave's shoulders, and he responded with a yelp.

"Ow ow OW! Claws, kid!" he said, gritting his teeth, "Watch the claws!"

John gasped, transferring his weight into one arm while he brought the other arm in front. The claws were there, black and shiny, sticking out almost from underneath the pads on his palms.

"S-sorry, sir." he apologized, staring stupid at the four-inch long daggers stuck on his fingers, "How- what do I-..."

Dave shook his head, still trying to comprehend the conversation he was having.

"Um... cats can retract them, I think?" he asked, "I dunno, I don't watch Natureality Network."

John shook his paw out. Nothing. He pressed the backs of his claws to his chin, trying to push them down. Didn't work either. ... then how did...

His paws. Hands. What if, instead of the nails, they were actually the top sections of his fingers? If he curled them in... no, that made them longer. Backwards, perhaps? Like he was double-jointed?

With a sudden "shhip", they retreated into his fingers and vanished from view entirely. Woah! He did the same to his other hand. And his feet. Wow, that was... that was actually kinda cool.

"I did it!" he inhaled, flexing his declawed fingers as though for the first time in his life.

"Ah good! Good job, kid." Dave nodded, pulling John's arm around his back and hoisting him up. John's feet dangled for a moment before getting a good solid footing on the concrete below.

"Here, I gotcha. One step at a time, now." Dave said, right away keying into the fact that John wanted to at least be able to walk on two feet again as soon as possible, "Lean on me if ya need to."

John needed to.

____________

Dave left John on the catwalk while he went inside the office and fiddled with the small laptop on the small table in the corner of the room. John had a larger priority in mind; using the catwalk hand-railings to figure out how to keep his balance.

He gave up entirely on trying to flatten his foot and instead focused on balancing on his toes. It was a challenge indeed; every step made him feel like he could be blown over by a leaf. The railings helped keep him steady, but he was practically learning how to ice skate all over again back in elementary school.

... man, he did so well back then, too. A bright, promising future. When did it all go so wrong?

He heard Dave swear a few times in amazement. Then laugh a couple. Then a groan. Finally he heard footsteps and an unnecessarily audible desire for yet another cigarette. Man, Dave had a problem, he thought.

He was just barely able to take two steps without holding onto anything when Dave called him in. Using his newfound skill, he hobbled inside, bracing himself on the door-frame, and slowly working his way over to where Dave was crouched over the small TV screen. Most of the security footage was replayed and reviewed in a separate building; this one was here mainly to show the system was still in working order.

"Yo, John. Come check this #$^! out." Dave said, ushering him over with an arm. There weren't many surfaces for John to lean on, so he swallowed his pride and settled on all fours, crawling over to his coworker's side.

It was tough to see on the small screen, but he saw the layout of the corner he was in just a few hours ago when everything started going wrong. He saw shadows moving for a moment, and then a small figure emerged from around the shelves. It was him. Clueless. Carefree. Human.

He watched himself browse the shelves. Look at the upper ones before kneeling down and peering under the lowest shelf into the dusty underside. He saw himself pump his fist in disappointment. He then stood up, looked toward the office, pondering getting a face-mask, then decided to risk holding his breath. He squatted down, peered under, and prepared to get onto his knees.

There was no audio, but the jerking motion of his pants suddenly splitting open and revealing a great long white ropey strand made them both flinch. John stared in shock. He had the tail before he had even started holding his breath! Seriously?!

"How the #$^! did you not notice that?!" Dave asked.

John could only shake his head, his mane shaking about like a teardrop shaped mould of gelatin, and pulled the guilty limb out in front of him. Even now he had to remind himself he did have a tail. Just like how he had to remind himself he had fur, or fangs, or... even arms. Huh. Since when was he actually properly conscious of his own body?

He watched himself crawl and disappear under the shelves, the tip of his tail still visible and flicking about. Then it drew out again, and he emerged backwards in a hurry, coughing and shaking himself out. His hair had grown substantially in the several seconds he was in the shadow, stretching down his neck and spread out beyond his ears. From behind, his head was just a big black blob.

"It's funny," Dave said, "You seem to notice the hair on your face, but you think it's just an itch or something."

"I... thought it was some kind of mutant spiderweb for a bit." John sheepishly admitted, scratching at the side of his face.

"Ooh, watch, watch." Dave interrupted, pointing, "Here's where you hit the shelf."

He had backed just close enough for his tail, swinging joyously on its own, to slam the large black tuft into the side of a cardboard box. He jumped and spun around, looking for the noise, but of course his tail went right behind him, staying hidden from view. As he spun around, his nose was gradually hidden by a large black splotch, like somebody was censoring it.

"Heh heh, like watching a dog, right?" Dave laughed. John bowed his head, humiliated.

As he watched, his memory started coming back. He banged the shelf behind him with his tail quite a few times before discovering what it was. He saw his ears emerge almost with a pop from his mane, which fully grew out just before the second shelf strike. His face stretched forward as he was looking around frantically for the source of the noise. From there, it was him panicking, jumping away from the shelves, and watching helplessly as the rest of his body morphed almost in front of his eyes, and then...

He clutched his head. Sank to his knees. Then fell sideways onto the ground, rolling onto his back, and lying still. The screen was a good enough quality to tell if he had seizures or not, but it might have been the case.

"You wake up, like, 7 minutes later." Dave concluded, deciding they probably don't need to see any more.

"Yeah, I remember from then on." John nodded.

He sigh, stared up at the ceiling, and groaned to himself. A small part of him was still hanging onto the notion, the hope, that this really was all just a big elaborate prank, and by checking the security footage, he could figure out how the kid had smuggled in the lion suit and gotten it on. But there it was. Bit by bit, human becoming lion in front of his eyes. Could it have all been an elaborate act with the camera in mind? He knew he could probably see it in much better quality on a different monitor, and perhaps at a different angle, but he didn't doubt it would just show the same thing.

"Well, here's the problem." Dave said, standing, "It doesn't look like you actually did anything just before this happened, so it must've been... I dunno, earlier tonight? At home? Did you eat anything that tasted funny before coming here?"

John shook his head. He had cereal. From a box that he was downing the entire week. Nothing special about the milk or banana, either; they came from a source he had already consumed at least the day before. No weird markings, colourings, or bruisings to note. He would've thrown it out otherwise. Call him 'picky', sure, but he preferred the term 'cautious'.

"Was... OK, bit of a stretch here, but did you handle anything radioactive?" Dave tried again.

Another silent head shake after pondering the past. John didn't see anything that glowed or felt prickly. Unless somebody on the bus snuck him a needle or something, which he highly highly doubted because there was only three people on the bus and they never got close to one another. Not to mention; who just goes around with needles turning people into lions?

"A laser, then?" Dave said, more to himself than to John, "Maybe someone shot it through a window?"

But even Dave shook his head on that one. Unless they were on the roof which, he did not mention to John, there was only one ladder and it was situated where he was, no way would anyone have dared to do that. There weren't just cameras on the inside, but on the perimeter too. Red Cross used to have a really bad time with thieves.

"I'm sorry, sir," John mumbled, nervously playing with his fingers, "But I don't know anything that could've happened."

Dave humphed, disappointed and a bit annoyed. Surely something like this would have an obvious cause. Something so monumentally strange didn't just happen at random. Did it?

"Well... maybe, just maybe," Dave said, crossing his arms, "It's temporary. Maybe after a good night's sleep, it'll wear off?"

Suddenly John went very pale. ... which was hard to tell, what with the white fur and all.

"Sleep?" he breathed, "Dave, how will I get home?! Would I even be allowed on the bus?"

Dave matched his emotion perfectly.

"Man, forget the bus," he said, "You'd be lucky to walk 3 steps out of the perimeter without someone calling animal control on you."

"Even- even if I can walk on two legs?" he asked.

Dave almost answered that question. But then he had a better idea.

"You can crash with me." he offered, "I've got a car, and I live alone in an... ooh, right. An apartment..."

They pondered a moment. Three heartbeats later...

"Wait! Remember when I first saw you, I thought you were wearing a suit?" Dave said, tapping his knuckles with his palm.

"Y... yeah?" John said, not quite all there at the moment. He would've agreed that he thought the same otherwise.

"Well, why not pretend that you are in a suit?" he suggested.

He fixed his glare on John.

"Wide eyes, big goofy smile. No blinking. Can you do that?" he asked.

John forced his face into the request. Holding it like that was a challenge in itself like walking now was.

"OK, that's a bit creepy," Dave reared back a bit, "But that'll work! You just gotta work on your walk."

John nodded, "I think I'm starting to get the hang of it."

Dave stood up and flipped open his phone, "Alright. What time is it? 3:45. OK. You keep working on your walk and your... um, happy face... and I'll try to finish up here. Alright?"

John looked at his fur-infested arm once again. To think he was so worried about getting his act cleaned up. Now he was struggling to pass off as a human.

It was the longest two hours of his life, but at the same time, they were perhaps his most productive. He managed to figure out how to walk properly. So much so that he surprised Dave by hauling a couple boxes for him so he could finish with the packaging. His lack of malleable fingers presented a challenge that, after some very careful trial and error, was solved through using his rough leathery paw pads with pressure and friction.

Just being able to walk around on two feet again felt a bit liberating. Like he was solving this situation one step at a time. In fact, Dave had refused his help, fearful that he would've broken something, but he did it anyways to surprise him. There was a bit of a talking to, but it ended with a smile and a request for another box. It was nice.

He was making the most of it.

Six o'clock crept up, and a loud curse from Dave alerted John to it.

"Alright, we're done here, kid." he said, looking a bit disappointedly at his half-finished package; six more and he would've made it, "We gotta get you outta here before the place gets crowded."

Words more true have never been more spoken. Dave went out the door first, checked that the coast was clear, and beckoned John over.

"How's your smile?" he asked.

John forced a smile, pressing his mouth closed. He could feel the points of his fangs jabbing into his lips. Dave flinched quite noticeably.

"That'll... do, I guess." he said, one eye larger than the other.

Perhaps it was luck, perhaps it was fate, or perhaps it was the decree by a higher power, but before they knew it, they were walking through the hallways of Dave's apartment, trying to get to his place as quickly as possible. Nobody saw them clock out, nobody saw them leave, nobody saw them get into Dave's car, John managed to keep himself low in the back seat. Even the lobby was nearly barren, save for-

"Woah, nice outfit!"

Couple of neighbours. Unavoidable. John was already half-smiling for distance-gazers, but when he heard them speak out from behind, he pushed his jaws to their limits and widened his eyes. He also pressed his tail flat onto the ground, which doubled as insurance that it didn't move around as much. He prayed that this wouldn't take more than 20 seconds.

"Yeah, thanks. Homemade." Dave said with a quick wave, "Can't stay to chat. Long night, gals. Y'all take care."

"Invite us over and show us sometime." they waved on. John relaxed his face in relief. Did he taste blood. Ooh, he hoped he didn't.

Once they were inside Dave's apartment, he slid down against the door and plopped down on his rear. He subconsciously checked and triple-checked that the doorknob was locked. That was absolutely terrifying!

"I can't live like this!" John cried out, both paws in front of his face, "There's gotta be a way to change me back!"

"I'll look it up," Dave said, disappearing into the kitchen, "But we don't have much to go off of."

Dave returned with a plate of improvised sandwiches, but he found John slumped against the door, his head bowed down and sideways. Did he faint? Wait, was he- no, he was just asleep. Poor kid. ... kid lion.

He browsed his computer for a bit, willing himself away from the sports network to actually make do on his word to research John's predicament. Amidst the mass of erotica fan-fiction and graphical images, it turned out there were a few instances of people getting turned into animals here and there around the world. He took interest in those particular stories, but nothing in them mentioned cause and effect, though.

It was as though it just... happened entirely at random. And poor John was another unlucky victim.

Eventually he found himself barely able to keep his eyes open. He downed the food, had one more smoke in the bathroom, and passed out on the couch. He covered all the windows so the sunlight wouldn't get in anyways.

And thus, the day passed by without them.

_____________________

It was dark. The air smelled of cigarette smoke. Was this still a dream? He dreamt of a lot of weird things that be could barely remember or comprehend. Wasn't to say he was still dreaming.

He was warm. Really warm. He didn't have any blankets or anything, and he was on the ground, but he was still... covered in...

... still a lion. Dangit, he was really hoping that was all a big long tangent of his dreams. He was hoping that the entire night never happened, but he never knew any of his previous dreams to be so long or terrifying. Or memorable.

He stood up. Events of yesterday came back to him, as did his practice of standing on elongated feet and large quad toes with a large, long tail behind him for improvised counterbalance. He was a bit stiff, and he braced himself on the wall, remembering by instinct now to keep his claws retracted.

"Mornin', fuzzball."

He jumped. Dave was already awake and dressed, watching something flashy on his laptop with a headset on.

"Can you never call me that again, sir?" John stretched his back, pushing clenched paws up to the ceiling.

"I can make no promises." he grinned. He was no longer staring at John like he was an abomination. Instead, there was a strange sort of excitement in his voice. It was... actually sort of scary.

"Wh-... what time is it?" he rubbed his eyes with the backs of his knuckles.

"Two-fifteen in the afternoon." Dave replied, "Surprised you slept that long. I was gonna suggest you sleep on the couch, but..."

John stretched his neck. His back was still sore from yesterday, and the floor didn't help much. Still, he found he didn't mind it. He didn't wake up at all in the middle of the morning.

"Where's the bathroom?" John asked, peering down the hall.

"First door to the left." Dave replied, "Just please don't make a mess."

John sighed, "I can't make any promises either."

An entirely different story happened once he set foot inside the small, brightly lit room with a powerful scent of cigarette smoke and air freshener, multiplied several times thanks to his new nose. However, this is a story for a different time and a very very different demographic of audience than desired. To summarize, an full hour and a half was spent inside, a shower became absolutely mandatory at one point, and bleach was involved. No further details. At the end of it all, the bathroom had never been cleaner since it was first built.

"Did- did you find a way to cure me, sir?" John asked hopefully, emerging from the chlorine-scented room and slowly tiptoeing over, fur still dripping soapy water.

"I didn't." Dave said, scratching his head, "But by the looks of things, you aren't the only one. Some girl in Nebraska got turned into an otter. They're doing a lot of research into that and showing the findings on this site, so we can follow along."

John squinted his large yellow eyes as he read the article. Yup, the situation appeared almost identical to his. OK, so there was progress being made. But how long until a solution?

"Um... should I..." he spoke as he looked through the article, "Should I also go there and get treatment?"

Dave burst out laughing.

"Oh GOD no!" he said, "That would just be the worst! Being kept in a hospital room, camera crews all over you, being asked a zillion questions... I wouldn't want that for you, kid. Nah, I think ya should lay low on this one."

"But... what do I do, then?" John asked, holding out his paws, "I don't think I can work like this very well."

"Yeah, see, I thought about that too." Dave smiled, not dropping his enthusiasm a bit, "And I came up with this great idea. I mean, really great idea. I think you're gonna like it."

John had an idea where this was headed, and wished it wasn't the case, and that the great idea was a custom pair of gloves or something.

"You... can become a mascot!" he beamed, "Like, actually! The actual mascot for the Red Cross!"

John froze, his jaw hanging open and his ears drooping on either side.

"M-mascot?" he cried, "I- I- no! I can't do that, sir! I'm- I-"

"Come on, kid! It's perfect for ya!" he said, "Don't gotta do anything except stand around, just being... well, you. Maybe dance for a couple kids, smile for some photos, easy stuff. Betcha you'd get paid good, too."

John stared in disbelief. He scratched at his arm again, trying once again to see if it would come off. No luck. He was stuck like this.

"Do- do I gotta go whole days without blinking?" John asked, fearful that he would have to extend his 30 seconds of difficult fur-suit imitation to entire days at a time.

Dave laughed again.

"Nah, kid." he chuckled, scrolling to another website, "Here, take a look at this I found."

It was a site of custom fur-suits. Dave had opened to the spacs of a very expensive model. One complete with-

"Eye-blinking mechanisms." Dave circled with the trackpad pointer, "Just randomly causes the eyes to blink. Jaw-lever for manually opening and closing the mouth. Short stilts for the feet. They've even got these tail motors that makes it wag. All controlled by a remote."

John subconsciously patted the area around his nose. They really had this sort of thing? Somebody really wanted to be in his shoes right now.

"Dude, just say that you have been working on this suit for several years." he said, "You got all these gadgets and stuff and you've been practicing with it for ages. It's been your passion project for a long time that you've just been itching to find a use for, and here it is! Nobody'll ever know!"

John was speechless.

"How's that sound?" Dave asked, "You become the Red Cross mascot, advertisin' and entertainin'. Maybe get a bunch of posters made with you in 'em. Lets you work, no questions asked, an' you don't even have to talk because mascots usually don't say nothin'. People start recognizin' you on the street, so you can go out and not even worry about it because you're always on the job."

As scary as a prospect to admit, it was a good idea, and the only currently viable idea that they had.

"You... really think I can do that?" the white and black furred lion asked, his fore-paws clasped together.

"Sure!" Dave looked him in the eyes, "Yer a smart kid. Young. Flexible. Ain't gonna be a problem."

He got up and looked John up and down.

"Alright. First off..." he said, "We gotta make you mascot material."

John stepped back. He had the walk down, and with practice, maybe the smile. Was that all he needed, though?

"Um, don't think of me as weird, but..." Dave's mouth curled down, "We kinda have to get you out of your clothes there."

John's eyes widened and he looked down. He was still wearing his white shirt and grey sweatpants, soaked from the shower and stained with dust and ripped in many places. He slid his claws under his shirt and pulled up, but it barely moved, and a rough tugging pressure went up his spine.

"Ah. They're... really stuck on me." John said, cringing as he fought with the shirt.

Dave held up a finger, disappeared into the kitchen, and emerged with a pair of large, well-worn scissors.

"Sorry, John," he apologized, "But sacrifices need to be made."

John sombrely looked down at his beloved t-shirt. These were the clothes he wore when he first started the job. They were lightweight, easy to move around in, and reliable. He couldn't just sacrifice them; they had done so much for him. But maybe, if he shaved down his fur, and cut off his mane instead, he could salvage them. Perhaps one day, even wear them once again.

... just kidding. He got them for $8 at the thrift store. Claws and scissors cooperated until the fabric was pulled clean off his body.

Dave stepped back and looked him up and down again in the cool florescent light coming from the three bulbs scattered across the ceiling. He was mainly concerned about one key area, but the fur was easily thick enough to warrant it a non-issue.

"Yeah..." he said, circling around John and stepping over his tail, "Yeah, this'll work."

John raised his arms on either side. He felt like he was modelling.

"Oh, but we need the business logo." Dave suddenly said, dashing around the couch, "Hold on."

He practically dove into a closet and shirts of various different colors flew out. Eventually, he emerged with a bright white band with a red mark on it. A thick red cross.

"This was a headband I used to wear for work." Dave said, holding it up, "Not anymore, though. Working in a dusty warehouse, the last thing you need is more clothes to wash. Let's see if it..."

But the mane proved too thick, and Dave was unable to get the strip of white cloth around his head.

"OK, then. Better idea."

It went around John's right bicep instead. He adjusted it so the cross clearly stood out among the mass of white.

"Eh, work in progress, but it'll do for now." Dave shrugged, "Take a look."

John re-entered the bathroom and stared into the mirror. He had seen himself during his previous adventure, but this was the first time he was giving himself a real, proper look.

His mane was large, rounded at the top around his white half-moon shaped ears and tapered down to a point under his wide chin. His square fang-filled jaw jutted out with his round black bean-shaped nose. His eyes, bright yellow with beady black pupils, stared straight back at him. Nowhere on his face even came close to saying "hello, my name is John". He no longer recognized himself at all.

His body was also that of a lion's. Large round shoulders meant for crawling on all fours rather than standing upright, but he defied that expectation quite well. He stared at, and somewhat even admired, his arms, which were a bit more muscular now. Strong and powerful. Considering what he was now, it wasn't as surprising as one would've thought. A lot of that shock was already pulled away by his paws; powerful as well, but as he had learned the night before, very bad at gripping things. What was the point of being strong if he couldn't lift well?

Turning his right side in, he saw the repurposed headband went quite well with his fur; only a couple shades brighter and stretching down almost to his elbow. The large red cross was very distinguishable and made him look... actually quite like a real, proper mascot. Such a small addition, and yet so effective.

He forced his jaw into a smile. Woah. He saw why Dave had flinched; it looked like he was eying himself for dinner or something. Like he was cackling with glee, his fangs and molars shining brought against the- OK, let's never make that face again.

With the mirror as a guide, he adjusted it. Maybe not as forced... or maybe just not even a smile. Keeping his mouth closed in a neutral position seemed way more effective, and it didn't hurt nearly as much.

... yeah. He could do this. Maybe he could actually do this!

Emerging from the bathroom, Dave told him to get to the middle of the room so he could take some pictures to send to his boss. This way he'd get a response faster. So John stood, holding his ground as best as he could, and put his face as neutral as possible thanks to the mirror's feedback.

"Do I need to pose or anything?" he asked meekly as the camera flashed around him.

"Nah, just be chill." Dave laughed, "You're not auditioning for a movie here, kid. Keep the mouth shut, though."

A few more clicks, Dave tapped some stuff on his phone, and set it on the table.

"And now we chill." he said proudly.

Easier said than done. They spent several uncomfortable minutes in silence, unsure of what to say to one another. Dave pondered asking John questions about his new body, but decided against it. Instead, he flipped on the TV, handed John the remote, and told him to go nuts. John held the remote between two paws like one would hold a pencil without any writing experience whatsoever, stared at it for a moment, and then gave up on it. Fortunately, he didn't mind the channel it was already on.

To make himself busy, and because he figured his coworker didn't have much to eat the whole day aside from his home-brought midnight lunch, Dave disappeared into the kitchen once again and emerged several minute later with a pot of super-simple spaghetti.

Of course, then came the question about whether or not John's digestive system allowed him to eat this sort of thing. The last thing they wanted was a trip to the hospital... or vet? Where would they take him? Better not chance it after all.

Dave started to mention this just after noticing John had already forked a large helping into his mouth and swallowed.

"I couldn't help it", he said, "I was hungry and it smelled so good!"

Dave flinched, looked once again at the article stating that lions could only eat red meat, then decided he didn't have to believe everything on the internet. Plus, John was a special case. For all he knew, the insides weren't touched at all and the carbohydrates were exactly what he needed right now. Only time will tell.

Worst case, John gets sick and dies. Explaining away a large dead white-furred lion in the middle of the states would really really suck, but at least he probably wouldn't be called a murderer. Animal abuser, maybe... no, don't even think about it. John will be fine. Worst case, he throws up. And he already knows where the bleach is.

Once he decided to allow it and not say anything, John had already finished. Maybe he just didn't care anymore.

"Was kinda hard to chew." he said, tapping his premolars with a claw.

The television robbed them of an hour of their life before they finally heard a loud buzzing coming from the table. Dave leapt up and dashed to the table while John stood up and turned the volume down, finally figuring out he could use the back of his claws for pressing buttons.

Dave grasped his favourite piece of technology and looked at the illuminating screen.

"Yup, that's the boss." he said, "Just let me handle this, alright?"

John nodded and collapsed back onto the couch, his tail dangling up and over the armrest. He didn't really want to talk to anyone now. Dave took the phone and disappeared into his bedroom.

He waited. Seconds passed. Than minutes. Each one that ticked by, he grew more and more frightened. What-ifs began popping up in his head. What if the boss didn't like this idea? What if he was expected to come to work tonight or he got fired? What if they had to explain the real situation and he would have to spend the rest of his life in a facility surrounded by media and taking a thousand needles a day, and-

He flipped the TV off and crept over to the room John vanished into. He pressed his large ear to the door to listen in.

"Yes, I know, sir." he heard Dave say, "But he's really enthusiastic about it..."

John leaned against the door and listened in. Even with his sensitive ears, he could barely hear the guy on the other end from behind the large wooden barricade, but it was a voice he recognized from a while ago. The grey-haired man who had interviewed him.

"Red Cross really needs a mascot, sir." he said, "Help relate to people. Make us more of a recognizable presence. And you should see the quality of his suit; it's phenomenal... ... yes, I've read it... ... I know, I- ... come on, sir, just give it a chance. I think it'll-... uh huh... ... alright, got it. We'll be there. Bye."

He clicked the phone, whipped open the door, and faced John, who didn't manage to get himself back in time. Of course, it didn't matter if he was listening or not.

"We're meeting him at five." he said, his jacket in hand, "Bring your A-game."

___________________

Dave pressed the brake, and the car slowed into the large, employee parking lot. They were there.

John was lying on his side in the back seat, trying to keep himself pressed as low as possible. Dave turned and looked at him.

"Not much point in hiding anymore." he said, "Like it or not, kid, we're doing this."

"I'm really scared, sir." the trembling lion admitted.

"Just... just chill, alright?" Dave said, "Just walk with me, don't speak, don't look at anyone, don't even worry about it. You're the Red Cross mascot. You've got the armband. People will figure it out."

It took an entire inspiration speech before John willed himself to sit up in the seat. There were a lot of people around. None of them immediately paying them any heed. Dave left the vehicle, circled around to the back, and opened the left rear door.

"Alright, here's what we'll do." Dave said through the open door, shielding the outside with his body, "I'll come pretend to help you out of the car. Pretend you can't really see that well inside your suit, so you need me to guide you. Just keep your eyes on me, and watch the tail. Then, once we're in and at the boss's office, we stick to how we rehearsed. Got it."

John breathed. And breathed. And breathed again. Each one slower than the last.

"Yeah. Alright." he said. Suddenly he felt like he was back several weeks ago, sitting with his father as he told him to go in there, turn in his resume, and apply for an open position. He figured this should be easier now that he had gone through with it once. It really wasn't.

"When in doubt," Dave gave a final piece of advice, "Just do a dance. Perform. Be silly."

One more deep breath, and Dave hoisted John up, out of the car, and onto his hind legs.

It felt like he was plunged into a giant pressure cooker. He could feel the gazes of the surrounding people suddenly latch onto him. Each one staring. Judging.

"Look at me, kid." Dave hissed.

John did, gasping through his nose. Look at Dave. Look at Dave.

It was like a great holy aura surrounded Dave, shielding him from the outside forces. People approached, ogling and asking question after question about John's get-up. Dave improvised in the spot, coming up with weird terms and stories that he hoped would satisfy. Sometimes somebody would directly ask John a question, to which he would reply with an over-the-top shrug or nod. Just like they had practiced not half an hour ago.

As they headed into the large building and up the escalator, John found himself being given a whole new persona. Of an autistic shut-in who devoted all of his spare time in making the best fur suit he could and hoping to somehow use it to help the world. The story of the facility getting a new mascot spread quickly thanks to social media, and after reaching the top floor, they had almost an entire cohort walking with them.

"What fur did you use? Is that horse fur? Can I touch?"

"Woah, how did you make it blink? Is that be a remote?"

"Ooh, is the tail motorized?"

"Can you move the jaw? Does it open?"

Dave's answers started branching into turning John into a genius mechanic, learning a lot of the things he did online and special-ordering different parts from money he saved up. He answered yes to everything, including the jaw moving question.

"But it's not quite done yet." Dave added, "He's still trying to figure out how to hook it up to his own mouth. Once he does, though, it'll be so lifelike you'd think he's a real lion."

They couldn't wait. Much congratulations later, they dispersed, and it returned to the random onlooker with the decency of maintaining safe distance.

Dave turned to John. He had a wide smile on his slightly wizened face that years of smoking chiseled.

"They really like you, kid." he said, "I don't think there's any way this won't work."

John's lower lip curled, but he caught it immediately and fixed it before anyone noticed.

And there they stood. And then sat. The secretary eyed them, but having had plenty of advance notice, didn't say anything extra other than a friendly compliment. They sat and waited for the boss to be ready. Ten minutes. But, knowing his luck, he would be ready far before they-

"Page them in, Kelly." he heard a loud speakerphone emit.

"Yes, sir." the secretary said, and wordlessly gestured them in through the door.

John wandered in, hanging onto Dave and letting him be the guiding force. He was once again coming up with potential situations and questions in his head. What if the boss asks him to take the suit off? What if the boss doesn't like it and kicks him out? What if the boss decides to fire him, deeming this made-up hobby to be something that his workers should never do? ... yeah, the last one sounded a bit over-the-top. The worst that'll happen is that he gets sent back to work.

... and, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. He figured out the remote control. Maybe with a bit of... OK, a lot of practice, he could-

"And this is John?"

He looked up. The grey-haired man was on his feet and pacing back and forth, looking him up and down. He wanted to answer, but felt like his jaw was glued shut. Which, in this situation, was good.

"Yes, sir." Dave replied, "I believe you made his acquaintance just a few weeks ago?"

"Yes, I remember." the boss nodded, then he extended a hand.

"Might I?" he asked. The hand was flat with fingers pointing up toward the ceiling. It wasn't a request for a handshake. Nevertheless, John quickly nodded, not daring to refuse the boss's request.

He felt the man's strong, confident hand brush through his fur both the right and the wrong ways, and fought with every mortal fibre of his being not to react.

"Huh. You were right, Dave." the boss replied, "It's very well made. It's nice to see you've got this kind of drive and commitment to your work, John."

John nodded.

"Can you speak in that?" the boss asked.

"Uh, not really, sir." Dave spoke for him, "He's... been working on a jaw mechanism that's clamped to his mouth so he can move the costume's jaw when he talks, but it broke on the car ride over. He's keeping his mouth closed so it doesn't get worse."

The boss crossed his arms.

"Well, that's not very convenient." he frowned, "Can you at least take the head off so you can answer my questions?"

John quickly shook his head, stopped, paused, and looked over at Dave.

"He's... he's, uh, he can't. His mouth is full of... jaw stuff." Dave improvised, "And... we... need a special tool to get the head off that... I, uh, left back at my place, and we just found out after we got here and didn't have time to go get."

"He told me about everything and asked me to answer for him in case something like this would happen. Don't worry about it, sir."

John nodded, keeping his mouth as flat as possible. The boss looked at John with slightly disbelieving eyes, but decided to dismiss it. He didn't know much about these suits. Maybe getting the head off really was a hassle or it really needed a special tool. How was he to know about these things?

He sat down at his stained black desk and invited the two of them to sit in the conveniently placed chairs surrounding said desk.

"So." he said, looking at Dave, "Let me get this straight. After working for a few weeks, you discovered John's passion project, and you want to make it into the mascot for the Red Cross. Correct?"

John looked at Dave. That really was the story he presented to the boss.

"Yes, sir." he replied simply.

"Why a lion?" he asked, "If that's what you actually are."

"Uh, yes sir." Dave said, "Lions are his favourite animal."

"Right." the boss agreed, "But why should a lion represent us? How can a lion represent us?"

"Leadership, sir." Dave replied, ready for this kind of question, "The general public usually sees them as being leaders in their packs. Or, whatever it's called. You ever see that one kid's circus cartoon where it's the lion and the elephant that are constantly trying to escape? And-"

"Yes, yes." the suited individual said, "I have kids, I know what you're talking about."

He exhaled again.

"Alright, I'm going to be up front with you." he said, "To be honest, we don't really have the budget to hire a full-time mascot. It wouldn't just be the presence of a character, we would have to revise the whole demographic design behind our company, and that is not something we can, or really, NEED to do at this point."

That wasn't what John wanted to hear. He stared in fear and panic, but was quickly elbowed back to focus by Dave when their boss wasn't looking.

"... now, that being said..." the boss added, sighing again and closing his eyes, "I don't know if you guys believe in fate or not, and I really don't wanna believe you set this all up, because if you did I would have to give you both raises to stop, but..."

His employees looked at each other. The blinking mechanism on the mascot suit decided at random to trigger several times in a row.

"Well, today was the day my daughter stole my phone because I had taken hers away for bad grades," he said, "And, when you sent the photos, she got excited and reported it to the school paper thinking that it was an already-made decision."

He turned his computer screen to show them. There were the pictures that Dave took of John... under a news article titled "RED CROSS GETS NEW MASCOT - THE SNEAK PEAK".

"As it stands, my hands are sort of tied. If I refused you, she would be deemed a liar by her whole school and I would never hear the end of it from her."

Dave was smiling broadly. Excitement welled up inside him, but John still had to keep his emotions in control. Don't smile. Don't smile! It was getting really difficult...

"So. John." he turned and looked the lion in the eyes. ... strange, the way they shined like plastic, it didn't look like he could see through them. Was that actually where his eyes were?

"I know you are still on your probationary period, but I am hearing good things about you." the boss said, locking his gaze onto the eyes anyways, "You are a good hard worker, you haven't been getting into trouble, and I am flattered that out of all the companies in town, you chose to commit yourself to this one. Regarding your record, perhaps you are just misunderstood. I don't know nor do I care."

John listened intently, did not speak, but gradually nodded with each sentence.

"However, I do not want to lose you working in the warehouses." he continued, "It is very difficult to find a good hard worker that last more than a month."

"So, to compromise," the man concluded, clasping his fingers together over the scattered sheets of paper atop his table, "Would you be willing to sell us your suit?"

John's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. Suddenly realizing this, he quickly leapt to his feet clasped both paws in front and hummed in panic. Even Dave suddenly stood as though he just got cheated out of a bargain. His tail got under his feet and he stamped it down with one foot to keep it from whacking Dave in the face.

"Mmph! Mmph!" John hummed at Dave, pointing at his covered mouth.

"Shoot, kid, did the jaw mech-uh, thing break?" Dave asked.

John nodded frantically, his mane shaking up and down. Dave turned to their boss, who was also on his feet, startled by the sudden turn of events his proposal caused.

"S-sir, could we please have, uh, ten minutes to fix the suit and discuss this?" Dave asked.

The suited man's eyes bounced between the two; the guy pressing both palms on his desk and the kid in the fur-suit trying to keep the jaw from falling off.

"OK, you're right, it was a bit of a stretch." he said, "I don't know how long it took you to make the suit or the level of effort you put into it. Goodness knows it's something you made for you and you alone. But please, I insist you talk about it and take all the time you need, OK?"

"Do you need until tomorrow?" he asked, "Next week?"

"Uh, just give us ten- no, maybe 15 minutes please." said Dave, "I'll discuss it with John."

Their boss nodded and gestured them out so he could continue working as they chatted about what to do. Dave grabbed John and dragged him along, leaving the office and ducking into the nearby restroom, where he made a quick sprint to the handicap stall. He pushed John in and entered himself, closing and locking the door.

John released his mouth and gasped.

"SELL this?!" he cried, grabbing his tail and yanking it in front of him, "I would absolutely LOVE to sell this! Get rid of it and even get a few bucks for it!"

"We're not skinning you for a few extra bucks, kid." Dave said, "Naturally we're gonna need to decline and still get you to take the job. We just gotta figure out how. That's why I pulled us in here."

"But what do we do, then?" John threw up his paws, "What do we say?"

"Just calm down, kid, and let's think on this a bit." Dave pressed his own hands on top of Johns and lowered them.

John released his tail and started pacing impatiently. He never really was known for his patience. This sort of thing just happened to him when he felt he was on a slim timer.

"He wants me to keep working the warehouse." John summarized, "I don't think I can do that very well like this. And night-shift of not, sooner or later they're gonna be asking why I always wear this no matter where I go! Right, sir?"

"Yeah, yeah..." Dave nodded, squeezing his forehead between two fingers, wracking his brain for a solution. Or rather, a way to present a solution. John continued pacing, his tail banging on the stall door, causing him to grab it again and press it against his hairy chest.

"OK. Look, I read some of your history." Dave finally said after a tense minute, "Including the part where you need to work so many hours before they let you back in school. Does- do you actually need money? Like, are you hard-pressed for cash right now?"

"Well, my dad..." John started, "My dad said he'd prefer if I'd find a paying job. Help pay the rent and groceries and all, but really, it's just a nice-to-have at this point. He's prefer I just get back to school by any means necessary."

Dave exhaled slowly.

"Alright," he mused, "So, perhaps, you can offer to volunteer your work for a while, and when you get settled in and publicly accepted, then you can renegotiate."

John whimpered a bit. A volunteer job. Working effectively for free. Not ideal, but he didn't have much choice.

"It's either that or tell the boss what really happened to you and hope he can see your situation as I do." Dave crossed his arms, "And God knows what can of worms that's gonna open."

"Let's please not do that, sir?" John begged, scratching his ear.

"Alright. So just... gimme a moment to think." Dave said, "About how to present this."

An uncomfortable silence followed. Dave leaned against the stall wall, muttering to himself. John stared at his own tail, trying once again to pull it off for a moment. Just having an extra limb like this was really strange. Especially when he didn't have complete control over it. It was like something else in his body taking over sometimes. Or just an unconscious reaction, like how he would turn and look when somebody called his name.

Could he actually control it? Make it go left and right, curl it, maybe keep it stock still without thinking? Now that he was focused on it, he actually felt it coming out his spine. A long length of muscles and nerves, segmented into many stiff joints. He tensed. Relaxed. Arced it behind him. All while still holding the tip so it wouldn't slam into the walls and get other peoples' attention. Yet another thing he was going to have to practice if he was going to be able to incorporate himself into society again...

"OK, I think I'm good." Dave finally said, reaching for the stall latch, "You ready to go back in, John?"

"Uh, before we go back in..." John asked nervously.

"Yes, John?"

"Um... he sounds like he... really wants me to talk." he mentioned, "Otherwise he's probably not going to want to see me again until I take the, um, suit... off..."

Dave looked at John's mouth. Such a crazy array of pointed molars and canines.

"Fair point. Can you talk with your mouth closed?" Dave asked.

"I... can barely talk with it open." John said disappointedly, stroking his long chin with his free paw. His voice was already much deeper and more raspy as it used to be.

"Um... cover it then? Like, put your hands in front."

John did, letting go of his tail again and putting both paws in front.

"How's this look?" he asked, speaking through his furry, leathery mitts.

It was Dave's turn to pace.

"Aw geez, kid, I dunno." he said, "I mean, it looks alright. A bit rude, yeah, but it... well, if it works..."

He threw his hands down. Better not dig too much into it. He already had a speech mentally prepared.

"Look, just... do it if you need to, but keep letting me do the talking. You just... well, just focus on not breaking face, alright?"

John whimpered and nodded. Dave clicked the lock, and it was back into the frying pan.

They knocked. The door was open. They were invited in. They returned to their seats.

"Have you made a decision?" the boss asked.

Dave was ready. He launched into what he had mentally rehearsed. That John has a very personal attachment to the suit. That he was the only one who knew the inner workings and perform maintenance should it fail. That he had practiced inside the suit and operating said mechanisms to the point of perfection. That he would be willing to work for free so he could get his image in and solidified, and everything would just fall into place on their own. They did benefit from a lot of volunteer work, after all.

"But how are you at acting?" the boss asked, "Mascots don't just stand around. They interact with people. Put on shows. Cheer up children. Last I checked you did not get along with your old classmates very well."

John closed his eyes. Then opened them quickly. He put both paws to his mouth and made like he was pressing.

"I can change, sir." he said, "I can learn."

"He is... very adaptable." Dave agreed.

The grey-haired man frowned at the grey-maned lion.

"Are you alright?" he asked, "You sound a bit-"

"Fine. Fine." John replied, somewhat muffling his own voice because he was tensing his paws too much, "Just got a little choked from the, uh... thing in here. I'll be fine."

The boss tilted his head, "That sounds like a bit of a hazard to me. What would happen if you were entertaining-"

"I can fix it!" John quickly added, "Just a loose screw. Promise it won't happen again."

"Like I said, sir," Dave had his back, "He wasn't quite done the jaw yet, but it should be ready really soon. This really was a very circumstantial inconvenience."

"Wait, you've been helping him build it?" the boss asked, turning to the older employee.

"He, uh, showed me the process." Dave admitted. It wasn't a lie; he just didn't want to go into details.

The boss breathed. And breathed again.

"Alright..." he finally spoke again, having left his employees on the edge of their seats, "I still don't think that our company really NEEDS a new mascot... and just as well, I would really want to keep you in the warehouse on the night shift..."

And breathed again.

"But, perhaps we could still benefit from this." he finally nodded, "Would make our image a bit more child-friendly, and a lot of our patients are young kids. Kids who need that little bit of fun in an otherwise bleak situation. A big smiling face to assure them that everything will be alright."

He looked at John, who was, in a mild mental panic, flashing back to his practice in the mirror. Did he really truly look like he was smiling with the neutral face? Should be adjust it just a bit? Was it alright?

"Dave, you can continue your work in the warehouse alone until we find a new helper?" he asked.

Dave shifted in his seat. He only just realized that little drawback to getting John his new job.

"Yes, sir." he said. He was doing this for the kid. It was a very weird situation.

The boss crossed his fingers together again. Quiet clicking sounds were heard.

"Alright, John." he agreed, "We'll give this a try. You'll still be on a probationary period, but we'll move you to a day-time shift. We will have you, um, perform without pay for the first couple months, and we will see how it affects the company. Should we benefit from your addition, you will receive a compensation bonus and a proper salary. Is that fair?"

John nodded, "Mm hmm". Glancing back, he saw his tail was sliding back and forth excitedly on the floor behind him. Fortunately, the boss couldn't see.

"Finish your shift tonight at the warehouse," he instructed, "Take tomorrow off to readjust your sleeping schedule, and then I want you here 8:00AM on Thursday. Can you do that?"

The duo looked at each other.

"Yes, sir." John said through his paws.

"Good. We will see you then." the boss nodded, "Dismissed."

They left. Dave no longer had to drag John. It was like he finally got to set down the giant boulder he had been carrying on his shoulders the whole time. Why were interviews so #$^%ing HARD?

He worked the night shift once more, taking the time to perfect his walk, improve his acting skill, and regain the ability to use his hands as implementation tools by helping with the packaging and hauling boxes.

They also planned out a car pooling schedule for the first few days. Because they worked in different points of the day, Dave didn't want to have to drive back and forth three times, but they figured that if John became famous enough, he could just take the bus and be recognized. Plus, eventually, John was going to have to tell his dad about all this.

And he did. It went as well as could be expected. There was a lot of swearing and eye-rubbing involved. John figured that there wasn't any way his dad would believe he had been working on the costume secretly in his room, so he had to come out with the truth, as more ridiculous and unbelievable as it was. Fortunately, the online article that Dave had found about the girl already in custody helped to prove that not only was this a real thing that happened, but that there were steps being taken to undo it.

Unlike Dave, however, his dad's first thought was to get him to that institute and get him changed back the way he was as soon as possible. John tried to explain to his father how he was going to use this new body to benefit other people, but his dad just wouldn't have any of it. He pleaded, tried his best to convince him. His dad barked at him, yelled at him to shut up, stood over him and said he had no idea what he was getting himself into. That he refused to listen to reason. That time and time again, he was nothing but a great disappointment.

That was the night he roared for the first time in his life. A lion's roar.

It rumbled the walls, shook the windows, and made something fall off the end-table behind him with a crash. His once mighty father, in an instant, suddenly reduced to backing away against the wall, fear exploding out his round, wide eyes and his mouth no longer able to close. John wanted to apologize for it; he did not mean to do it, but there was no way he could pass this chance up. Perhaps, for the first time in his life, he could get his father to listen to him.

John calmed down. In the ringing silence, he explained the whole situation. He told his father of the mascot job. That he was volunteering for the Red Cross. That he was going to make a name for himself enough that, should things not work out at the correction facility, he might not even need to get changed back. That this was a remarkable phenomenon, and it had happened for a reason, and with or without his father's support, he was going to make the most of it.

Half of that, he had suddenly realized himself, and he froze in surprise. Did he really believe that? Not too long ago he would've been happy to have done anything to get himself changed back, but now that he found a way to fit in again, to fit into a world unlike that he had been raised in...

Well, this was like a whole new beginning for him.

"I want to do this." John concluded, his bright yellow eyes wet and shining, "I want to change. I want to stop being a big disappointment, and this isn't something I can do unless I choose it for myself."

His father peeled himself off the living room wall. His eyes were shining just as brightly.

"It's just so weird, seeing you like this." he said.

John knew. He was still getting used to it himself.

___________________

That was 15 years ago.

His first day had gone phenomenally. He had "fixed" and "finished" his jaw, cleaned himself fresh, tied the headband tightly to his bicep, and headed into work. It wasn't long before his orientation instructor found him and taught him the basics.

"Wave, always have a lot of positive energy, and remember to listen to your clients." she instructed, "If they don't want you around, you leave them alone. Don't try to convince them otherwise."

"Wouldn't dream of it." John replied, and she marvelled at the impressive jaw lip-sync and eye emotion. It really was an incredibly-built suit.

Right away he was presented to a room full of hurt, sick children, and they absolutely adored him. They were all over him; climbing his fur, grabbing his legs, pulling his tail, yanking his mane... it took every bit of willpower he had to not cringe in pain or frustration.

But it wasn't until he was pulled to the ground on all fours did he suddenly have a revelation. That his "suit" actually had a fairly strong spinal support, and could lift a fair amount of weight.

Long story short, he was mountable and ridable. The discovery of this unique new service gave him the leverage needed to keep the kids in line.

"You might want to clean your suit after," the accompanying nurse advised, "They might be a bit contagious."

Twenty minutes in the staff shower, and he felt like a new lion again. Dripping wet, though; they didn't nearly have enough towers from him. He worked the next hour outside.

True to his word, he had gotten car rides with Dave for the first few days. Then his dad, seeing there actually was potential to him to do good, started giving him rides as well. Since then, he rarely ever saw Dave again save for the occasional coffee together.

It didn't take a month. Only two weeks into his position, and people were already calling him by name. Or rather, the nickname that they had given him.

"Digger".

Why Digger? Well, it was a bit humiliating. Quite often he did get a bit bored and unnerved with just standing around and being... himself for long periods of time in an empty lobby and the populous outdoors. Especially on rainy days. So he sometimes took the time to snoop around. Looked for patients who needed a moral boost. Wanted to do something to make him feel better about himself.

He poked his nose through one particular door on the third floor and a loud raspy voice called out.

"Whatcha diggin' for?"

It was a patient, sneering over at his snoopiness, causing both nurses to laugh. John figured he must've missed some context behind it, because the joke repeated several times through the rest of the day. They never really explained it to him.

So the name miraculously stuck. Digger the Lion. That was the name printed on the first couple of posters (what were the chances one of the nurses was a part-time graphic designer, anyways?) advertising him, inviting people to come in and become part of the family.

And now, fifteen years later, he was more than just the mascot. He really was the face of the company.

A bright smiling yellow-eyed lion with a thick band on his arm bearing the red cross, and often enough, an apron with the same insignia. Sometimes he would even wear a face-mask around his large square snout and a small cap over his ears, as though he was about to perform some kind of cartoon surgery.

He strode around on two or four feet like it was how he was born now, able to switch between the two methods of travel depending on the situation. Though mostly, four legs were used to carry heavy loads on his back. Like kids. His tail was also now fully under his command and even given practical use. It wasn't flexible enough to grip anything, but it was strong enough to push or pull things like carts.

Years of practice gave him proper dexterity in his paws so much so that he was even asked to give shots to stubborn kids who really wanted "the lion to do it". Bragging rights, you know? Lastly, he knew his mane inside and out enough to groom it properly and even give it the occasional style (the mohawk was a real bust, though; thank goodness it grew back out quickly).

Turned out he was still an omnivore, too. He never did get a stomach ache from the spaghetti Dave had served him that one night, and considering the fact he could still talk moderately well, they figured perhaps his insides weren't completely changed around.

He shared his secret of actually being a lion with a few of the staff whom he had trusted more. Eventually, after building up a good reputation, he even told the boss himself, who declared that it solved so many questions he had, while making a whole ton of new ones. He needed their help to defend him should he get too popular to cause the media to start poking around him. And they promised to keep it a secret. He was so well integrated into their image that it would be difficult to replace him if he was taken away.

They never did figure out how to change the otter girl back. Like John, she had accepted it too, and requested release. Naturally the media continued to follow her as she became a marine worker for an environmental preserve. John wondered if they would ever meet, but didn't think much would come out of it.

And that was it. Another day done, another job performed, another paycheck in the pocket of his new cargo pants (they were expensive at the Tall-N'-Wide emporium). With a smile, he looked up once more at the Red Cross building, which had been renovated just the year before thanks to many generous donations from his fans. One fan in particular stood out; someone he was really hoping to meet one day, donating a modest sum of money for... ideological reasons.

He did this. He helped the company benefit. He helped bring so many smiles to so many people. He helped to encourage growth and creation. His life of destruction and disobedience were barely even a memory anymore. And it felt good.

He breathed. And breathed. And breathed again. Each one as relaxed and blissful as the last.

Then he turned away, hopped into his own used light-grey Peugeot, pulled his tail in under his feet so the door wouldn't slam on it, and drove off into the night.