Chapter 3: Choices
#3 of This is War
Wow! Three chapters in one week! I must be inspired!
All characters within are mine. Use of them are prohibited unless you ask nicely. 
This chapter contains violence and bad language. If they aren't your scene, you may want to run now. All else, enjoy!!
This is War
Chapter 3: Choices
When I woke up I was lying in a clean smelling bed in a sparsely furnished room. I sat up, my attention focused on the door and escape.
A voice from beside me stopped me cold, "Alan Cross, twenty-nine. Blood Type O-Negative. Five feet, six inches and 220 pounds." I turned towards the voice, the owner being a diminutive white rat in a doctor's smock holding a clipboard in his paw. "Tell me, Alan Cross, do you have any allergies? Any disabilities or infirmities? Any medical prosthetics?"
"Lactose intolerant. No and no," I intoned without thinking. "Wait a minute! What the hell am I doing here? Where is here? And what's with all the medical questions?" I tried sitting up and getting out of bed but a firm arm to my chest prevented me; whatever else he was, this doctor was no pushover.
"Good. Thank you," he spoke without inflection. "As for your questions, I'll have General Baxter brief you. General!"
The door opened and heavy footfalls came towards me. There was a creak as whoever it was settled his weight on the headboard of my bed. The rat gave a quick salute and scurried out. Dreading the action, but pulled nonetheless, I turned towards him.
"Hello again, human," the doberman spoke, holding a paw up to silence my questions. "Before you go on your torrent of questions, I'm going to tell you a few things. First off, your story checks out; Tanya even confirms it herself. I don't like it very much, but there's little I can do about it for now."
"Secondly, you're here because I thought there might be some use for you. That and someone up top pleaded on your behalf; that alone gives you a stay of execution. If it were my choice you'd be dead in a gutter somewhere, rather than our sanctuary. Regardless of my personal feelings, you're here, even if I can't tell you where here is currently; if you do as well as some hope then you'll be fully briefed on everything. Suffice to say, this is a safe haven from which there is no escape."
"And as for all the medical questions, you have a choice before you. There are very few humans living here, all of which are required to bathe daily in musk to prevent unnecessary violence."
"Most furs here barely tolerate humans, some downright hate them on sight and would love nothing better than to kill one. The scent-marking would be for your own protection, but even that is not perfect and wouldn't hide your appearance."
"Your choice is simple: live on here as a scent-marked human, die, or you could choose trans-speciation." When all he received was a perplexed stare, he explained, "Trans-speciation means that you'd be turned into a fur like us."
About to protest, he held up a paw and growled, "That's all I'm going to say. If you have any further questions, go ahead and talk to Dr. Thompson; just push the 'call' button beside you. Think about what I've said tonight and I'll see you in the morning."
I waited until nightfall to make my move, figuring security would be more lax at night. Without questioning it, I put last night's clothing on, slowly opened the door and peeked out. The hallway outside was deserted, not even a snoozing guard keeping watch. Not believing my luck, I made my way outside, trying to find my bearings through the pouring rain. It was no use; these were entirely unfamiliar streets. So much for that hope, I thought.
Wandering for hours got me nowhere and, when a vehicle came too close I ducked into a nearby alleyway. I never saw my assailants, but I felt the crack as something hard crashed into my back. I was sent sprawling onto the ground, on my arms and knees, when it came again, crashing into my side. I heard something snap and hoped it wasn't a rib. It didn't matter as several more savage whacks connected with my back and neck.
"Fucking human!" one of them spat, the slimy loogey sliding down my neck and kicked me, claws scratching deeply into my sides. The kick flipped me on my side and I managed to get a glimpse of fur before his leg pounded into my chest, goring me. Hot blood steamed out and it became hard to breath. I clutched at my wound, crying out wordlessly. Before another kick landed, I moved my head and bit, hard. He shook his leg, but I wouldn't let go; not even when another blow landed on my head. I could taste blood on my tongue; despite the pain, I couldn't help laughing soundlessly.
"Fuck! Shit!" The one I was biting, I assumed, screamed. "Get him offa me!"
"I'm trying!" Paws tried to pry me off. "Fuck! He's not lettin' go!" Closed fists to the back of my head hurt, but I wasn't about to let go for anything.
With a frenzied scream, a flurry of blows landed to the back of my head again. I gasped out, and he was quick to get out of range. I received a few more, weaker kicks, but by then I was too far gone to feel it. I think I heard his buddy say that he needed a hospital, but everything was hazy by that point.
All I know is that several minutes passed in writhing agony as I was curled into as small a ball as I could, when a soft voice penetrated the fog of pain, "Don't worry. Help's on the way."
I yelped in pain or fear when he placed a paw on my shoulder, my battered body cringing at the touch. He was persistent though; by the time an ambulance arrived, I was merely shaking. People arrived and gently eased me onto a stretcher. Something was injected into me; I felt a familiar cooling sensation and drifted along, not bothering to fight it this time.
When I awoke, pain was I knew. Every breath I took felt sharp and hollow; I couldn't get enough air! Hyperventilating, I clawed at my throat only to be blocked by something plastic. A voice cut through my panic, "Easy there. You're on a respirator. Both of your lungs were severely damaged during your attack. Nod if you can understand me." I nodded, then felt a paw pull my eyelids up, one after the other, and a bright light shined in each eye. It took a few blinks but the room soon swam back into focus.
"Good." My eyes roamed around the room until they caught sight of my doctor, who sighed. "I'm afraid your prognosis is not good. As you can tell, both of your lungs are heavily damaged." He flipped open his clipboard and read. "What you can't is that you have three broken ribs, one of which is jutting into a lung. That is not the worst of your injuries however."
He sighed again, rubbing the bridge of his muzzle. "During your attack, one of your assailants
damaged your spine. We're not sure to what extent you'll be impaired, but there is the possibility that you'll never be able to walk again."
"At this point the only advice for you I have is to go through trans-speciation. If you survive the process, you'd have full control of all of your body's normal functions. The only other choice is life on a respirator enduring constant pain. I'm required to give you this choice now, but as a doctor I would rather we wait until you are more..."
My shaking head stopped him mid-sentence. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed hold of the plastic face-mask and said only one word before I couldn't breath any more, "Now!" Even as the word left my mouth I was racked by coughing fits, my body spasming as my lungs tried to pull in air.
"Fine," he said after a moment. "If we're going to do this, now's as good a time as any. Nurse!" He snapped his fingers and from the corner of my eye I saw a panda enter the room. "Please bring a stretcher in; we're doing it tonight."