Fallen Angels (part one)
Fallen angels: Part one
A bleak future in which 'furries' and humans coexist: but not peacefully.
With genetics and weaponry the top industries, neither culture rests easily.
Whether the results of artificial evolution, creatures from another dimension, or some other origin, the beings resemble anthropomorphic animals of every imaginable species (known as furries, anthros, freaks, monstrosities, or simply subhuman) are viewed as lesser creatures by the human majority.
Research has allowed humans to combine their humanity with a more bestial side, and become furries themselves, subjecting themselves to the same treatment as the 'natural' furries.
There are exceptions to the rule, furries who get along with humans, and vice versa. Also both furries and humans willing to wage small scale war on each other. The conflict continues behind the mutual distrust and fear.
Genesis Corp., a leading company in genetics has its own plans to bring 'peace' and order to the dangerous world through any means necessary.
However, an 'answer' runs loose ahead of schedule, and with it, a third side to the existing conflict. With their plans askew, Genesis resorts to a desperate measure to keep things under control.
Bardiel awoke, as if from a deep sleep. His eyes drifted open, vision hazy, he waited for it to clear, until he realized he was floating in a great fluid, inside a glass cylinder, in a large room filled with similar - albeit empty - tubes. He also felt the mask across his short muzzle, and in the process of attempting to rip it off, the numbness in his limbs, despite the natural (and unnatural) strength they normally held. He let out a low growl as he tried to figure out what he was doing here.
An ambush, human soldiers armed with heavy tranquilizers, falling to what felt like liters of sedatives, and here, still loaded with tranquilizers. How long since then? The tiger furry didn't know, but he had some creative tortures in mind for his captors, generally involving those cheap guns used in ways not normally intended. A wave of nausea passed through Bardiel, and retching into the mask, he blacked out, as if vomiting his consciousness through his mouth.
The next time he awoke, he was still naked, but laying on his back in a sterile, white room. An attempt to leap to his feet resulted only in a clumsy sideways tumble, leading to an undignified landing on his chest. Growling, he slowly pushed himself up with his arms, his strength slowly returning as the effect of the tranquilizers wore off.
Eventually standing tall and proud, he surveyed his current prison: a mirrored panel on one wall (he briefly admired his reflection), a door which looked more like a heavy airlock, and of course, the white tiles on the floor, walls, and ceiling. The room was a good four cubic meters, and smelled of nothing, except for wet fur.
Putting on a fierce expression by exposing his teeth in a silent snarl, he padded to the glass, and with an extended claw, produced a screech of protest from the pane, but leaving no mark at all.
Contemplating a much more drastic action, Bardiel flinched at a sudden whine of feedback. Unseen speakers blared into artificial life. First he listened for lack of anything better, but soon, he was listening out of interest.
The Mercenary guild is a collection of warriors, soldiers, and general thugs for hire by absolutely anyone. Formed to complement the existing police force with a slightly more reliable means of keeping the peace, for a price, the Guild had received a burst in business as a result of the current skirmishes between furries and humans. Its members consist of both furries and humans, both keeping a level of kinship generally unheard of.
A potential of a new threat will call upon their unity more than ever, so long as the pay is good.
"Hey, Rufus!" the leather clad fox turned to face the voice. His short blonde hair (bordering on white) swept dramatically across his orange furred face, as he squinted through dark tinted sunglasses to observe an equally orange griffin anthro sprinting towards him, one feathered arm waving madly. For the sake of manners, Rufus waited.
The griffin was wearing a black, full body flight-suit, zippered open at the back to allow his wings; he stopped a few feet away from Rufus, leaning forward as he caught his breath.
"Wingman, what is it?" The red fox inquired, suppressing a grin as he used the griffin's least favourite nickname. "It's, Callisto." He replied between breaths, irritation showing in his voice. "Anyway, a bunch of us are going out tonight. Interested in coming?" he finally asked, his breath returning as he spoke.
"I'll pass, sorry. I'm a little busy tonight." Rufus replied, though in truth he simply wasn't in the mood.
"Aww, maybe next time then." Callisto whined, somewhat disappointed. "Catch you later then!" He managed before taking off again, running off to the left of Rufus.
Stifling a grimace, the fox resumed his initial path.
It's not that Rufus was anti-social; he just liked making his time out with a bit more moderation than most. Also, his work was much more relevant than some random party; some secret menace was apparently harassing the general populace, furry and human alike. It was causing enough trouble to keep business rolling in, but not dangerous enough to be completely confirmed. Consequently, the result was a good number of commissioned hunts, investigations, and guard duties.
Rufus had taken his fair share of these duties, though he'd never seen anything more dangerous than the usual fanatical furry or human, they paid well enough, and kept coming up: Money in the guild, money in his pocket.
Rufus reached his quarters without further incident, but felt a draft after closing his door. He seldom left his window open, and he definitely knew he hadn't this time. He soon spotted the reason, in the form of a large yellow and black striped creature in a long coat, perched on his desk with a vicious grin. Bardiel had returned.
"Just the fox I've been looking for, I had to do a bit of climbing to find you! Aren't we lucky your windows aren't very secure? Anyway, we've got a job to do." The massive feline purred to a surprised Rufus. "I know you don't exactly like what I've become, but I'm sure we can put that aside."
"You're a genetically modified extremist freak; you go against practically everything I stand for!" Rufus barked, with his teeth exposed in a snarl.
"I never understood how you could like those pink skinned things. Well, funnily enough I'm doing a little work for some of them myself. I could use a partner in this." Bardiel replied calmly, savoring the fox's surprise at his news.
"You, working for humans?"
"It's kind of complicated, and let's just say it serves my agenda too." The tiger replied, vaulting down from the desk, and striding towards the still open window.
"Believe me Rufus; things will go smoother if you work with me. Just look for Genesis." He said with a cryptic wink, followed by a sudden leap through the window.
Running to catch a glimpse of Bardiel landing, Rufus merely saw a flash of orange in the darkness below.
Something was in motion, and Rufus' ex mentor was somehow involved, and now Rufus himself was caught up too. 'Genesis? Oh shit.' He thought, if the Genesis Corporation was involved, it was going to get messy.
Genesis' chimera project involved the alteration of developing fetuses of both humans, and furries (Quite literally, test tube babies, born of nothing more intimate than machine assisted fusion of sperm and egg, supplied by a limitless bank) into something quite different. Destined from their artificial conception to be monstrous biological weapons, a finished chimera is a twisted, aberrant version of its base species, with unnatural cunning and cruelty. While seldom left with most of their natural minds, some units will attempt to betray their nature, and kill their handlers to be their own. These failures have yet to succeed once. Recently, an increased amount of rebellious tendencies, followed by a sudden lull hints at something more than a strange trend. It was only a matter of time before something went horribly wrong.
The rifle's muzzle protruded over the edge of the building, swiveling left and right as it sought its target. The feathered hand steadying the weapon finally rested, an avian eye glaring through the scope, its prey locked onto. The sniper rifle barked out a single report as the slug left its sheath of metal, to sink into a new sheath of flesh.
The monster jerked once, and slumped over with a grunt as its brains followed the bullet, spraying across the pavement. The ibis 'feathery' behind the gun chirped, as she confirmed her kill through the scope, keeping safe behind her cover. Her curved, elongated beak was unable to show emotion, her dark eyes frowning in distaste of the beast.
She was Helen Thompson, better known as Hel. Short straight black hair, a lithe, bony body covered with a specially tailored light blue suit. An Ibis anthro employed by Genesis as an agent: A moderator/overseer at best, hit men, assassins and soldiers at worst.
Genesis was an equal opportunity employer, providing a professional and well paying environment for anyone, regardless of sex or species, with the right skills. Helen had these skills, in administration/management, as well as a sharp eye with a sniper rifle, and a quick hand with a short blade. Devoting herself to the task, Hel had climbed up the Genesis ranks, her sights set even higher.
However, like all capable Agents, Hel was engaged in eliminating the loose chimera specimens. She didn't like it, but an excellent performance could further her goals of power, besides, these mindless beasts with their brute strength were easy pickings when taken at range.
Shouldering the long gun, Hel moved on.
The chimera project's goal was to create an efficient, obedient weapon, in the form of an army of monsters, directed by a single intelligence under the control of Genesis. This intelligence would be in the form of a messiah chimera, a monster channeling the commands of its masters to the more simple chimeras. The messiah chimera would have a greater sense of self, as well a more cunning and calculating mind. While breeding such a beast was mostly up to chance, it would have to be monitored, and controlled from birth to bind it's loyalty to Genesis. There had been several failed attempts; the messiah had been discovered too late, and opted to attempt fighting back. These samples were destroyed, useless for their intended purpose.
For all the controls and alteration to the chimeras, mutation would occur, and the messiah chimera would be born by mistake. It would also be more powerful than expected.
Genesis learned from its mistakes, but it would have to clean this one up first.