27 Hours After
#2 of 27 Minutes After
27 hours after containment breach, a crash and a rumble echoed across the river. The old drawbridge shuddered and swayed under the cooling winds of the night, reluctantly dragging its immense central platform down one more time. Alan and the last few survivors had managed to hole up here long enough to make a plan. And Alan was it.
He was alone in the pickup, now. The tiger wrung slowly at the steering wheel. In the rearview, Josie stood watching with a soft, fretful expression. That bear, Dreck, stood with a paw on her shoulder, and Alan looked away. That kid, the skunk, was off to the side, looking about as out of it as always. Just the four of them left. That's why he'd agreed, really. Three was few enough.
The lights on the bridge below picked out patches of the horde. Savage creatures, once his friends and neighbors, now swollen with muscle and overwhelmed with primal lust. They had lapsed into a violent orgy when their prey fell beyond reach. They were only noticing the drawbridge's descent slowly.
Alan flicked on the radio and searched a bit. He was going to need some noise. Some of the channels were dead, but he could still pick up a few. A screech resolved into the beginning lashes of a vicious metal tour de force. He turned the volume as far as it would go, and his eardrums throbbed as the vocalist harmonized and swore.
Heads poked over the edge of the platform. Golden eyes swung his ways, slitted and flashing in the headlights. He slammed into the gas, and metal angels heralded his launch into the seething masses. Skulls cracked and bodies broke under his bumper, tires rolling over muscle-bound limbs as that hunk of metal he called a truck tore through the horde to meet solid road. Only one tire made contact-- the rest anchored on crushed flesh. He tore out all the same, plastering yowling beasts to his hood as the guitars revved.
Plowing through the creatures, Alan was thankful for every entirely unnecessary ounce of horsepower the beast of a truck could muster. It was Dreck's-- football, guns, and overly powerful automotives seemed to be his answer to life. When people started turning into sex zombies, he bet the bastard couldn't have been happier. How Josie could like such a hulk of a man was beyond him. Not that he knew much about what she liked in a guy, he supposed.
He was swerving to avoid the creatures, now-- not so much to keep from hitting them, but to not hit any dead on. Flinging a creature off the corner bumper was easy, but it was hard to shake off one that got nice and planted on the hood. He took the first turn as fast as he dared, managing to swing off a battered, oversized dingo that had been clawing weakly at his windshield. Electric banshees flayed their own vocal cords as he picked up speed, weaving down the road with the ass of the truck swinging to smash up just about anything he'd missed. Just don't look in the rearview, he told himself.
It wasn't like he'd known anything about what she liked, really. She'd just worked at the same place as him, and he thought she was cute. He'd told himself at night that this was his chance to get with women again, that he had lots to offer a woman. He'd psyched himself up, and imagined how things could go so well, if he just got up the courage to ask her out. And he'd never fucking thought to ask if she had a boyfriend.
A pouncing wolf promptly caromed off his roof with a yelp as the heavy riffs seared the path to hell. Alan stared at the road ahead, pumping the gas pedal against the floor as his snarls were lost in the shrieks of animals both natural and electronic. Another turn, and he made the mistake of glancing out the window.
A solid, seething tide of frothing creatures, all claws and teeth and disproportionate cocks, was rolling down the street after him. With the turn, the tide crashed into the building on the corner, and it crumpled-- windows blew out, chunks of concrete were sent flying, and the creatures clambered over the walls trying to get ahead of the pack. Street signs snapped out of the ground and disappeared under the stampede, and a tree trembled, bark peeling from its sides and its branches bowing or breaking under the weight of lunging creatures. He had to drag his eyes away from the pure savagery, the oncoming flood of lust and violence. He was passing the prison.
That was the plan: draw the beasts away, clear a path to the prison. Without a thousand sex-crazed monsters on their heels, they should be able to close the place up, clean out whatever's inside, and have food and supplies to stay alive and safe for weeks, at least. They just needed a decoy. And that's where his little gift came in.
Last night, one of these creatures had trapped him in the office and raped him. It was a damn miracle he was alive, but what amazed everyone else was that he was still a normal, reasoning being. Just a drop of their seed was enough to trigger the transformation: immense growth in every way, a massive cock regardless of sex, and a bottomless well of maddening, primal lust. The whole town had been consumed as far as they could tell. But he'd been caught, and he went unchanged. So, they figured, he had the best chances of surviving on a suicide mission like this.
Alan let a deep breath go as he pumped on the gas. He flicked on the windshield wipers when the blood got thick, but that only made it worse. The beasts were clinging to his truck now, claws seizing into the sides, some climbing into the back. His roof crumpled under the massive weight of a beast. He glanced up as valkyries of techno crucified themselves on jagged riffs. He could scrape some of them off on cars as he passed, but the ones on top weren't coming off no matter how he swerved. The shocks shrieked as he got heavier and heavier. He couldn't see much, but he swerved the truck to swing into an alley. The tide of beasts washed over the back end and nearly crushed the truck against the corner of one building, but he managed to drag on through, speeding down the alley around forty. His windshield shattered, and he flung up an arm.
When he dared to peek over his glass-studded limb, a reptile was snarling and lashing out at him-- and a broad stone wall heaved triumphantly into the foreground right behind it. Wide eyes, and a hanging lip. The tires screeched and the truck spun, the tiger hauling on the wheel paw over paw, and the truck smashed in sideways like a sledgehammer. Alan fell out of his door and rolled to his feet already running, teeth tight.
He was in a little dead space between buildings where businesses dumped garbage. Two alleys let out-- a narrow walkway he could only just spot around the corner of the near wall, and the driveway he'd come down. Beasts poured into the enclosure, hopping the dumpsters, and he was off like a shot for the corner of that narrow alley.
In the space of a heartbeat, he recognized that oldest, most helpless nightmare: fleeing an absolute evil, a nameless terror, while knowing in your heart that you haven't a chance to escape. That agony of stretched time, when your mind soars in desire for life itself, yet your body is confined by the cursed laws of physics to only move so quickly-- to crawl through space sluggishly before your eyes as the reaper draws closer and closer. His eyes were nailed to that gray slab of concrete that concealed his tiny sliver of hope-- the possibility that, in so narrow a space, they might be slowed enough that he could get out of arm's reach, perhaps find some clever way to survive. He could hear the rasps and howls and growls of a hundred slavering lust demons, he could sense the heat of their bodies and the pound of their feet in the ground, he could feel them growing infinitely close, but he had to try with everything he was for that sliver of hope.
His arm, swinging back in his running motion, was seized in a clawed grip. A surge of terror and sorrow burst into sudden, piercing fury, and he yowled out, whipping about in midstep to claw at his assailant. The hand loosened, a dragon clutching its face, and he practically flew. He grabbed the corner-- part in victory, part to assure himself it existed, part to steady himself as his body exploded with effort in the pure adrenaline rush of abject terror. The alley was probably four feet wide, and beyond, the street and-- a police car, the driver's door hanging open. One more seed of hope, firmly planted in the fertile soil of his success. His feet launched him forward with an earnest conviction, tears in his eyes.
Claws appeared on either side of his vision. Something soft nestled to either side of his head-- and the pavement heaved up with a vengeance. Arms closed around him, and he might have been thankful he wasn't smashing his brains across the concrete if he wasn't wishing for death. Stone slammed to his chest and knees and arms, and flesh to his back. In an instant, he was sure he'd be crushed under the weight, as it seemed to double and triple.
It didn't seem to be with any sort of protective instinct that those arms had wrapped around him-- the creature (a wolverine, if he had to guess) seemed focused on keeping her catch to herself as dozens of beasts filled the alley on either side, some clambering up the walls and perching on the roofs overhead. A cacophony of panting snarls and roars beat down on him, loudest of all the beast clutching to him, her deafening cry ringing in his ears and sending vibrations through the massive breasts crushing him to the pavement. She spared an arm to swipe at the others, and his attempt to slide free was quashed under the sheer weight of her-- and likely those bearing atop her. Besides, when he looked up, all he saw was flexing feet and low hanging, snarling muzzles. Nowhere to run.
And there was her dick. From the moment she'd landed atop him, it had been grinding against his backside and half his leg. It throbbed steadily against him, quite tangibly even through his jeans, and her every shift dragged it against him, smearing about the damp blotch where her pre was soaking into his pants. The presence of that beast --no smaller than the rod that has been used on him last night-- was inescapable, burned into his mind from the moment of contact. It was just a few seconds he laid on the ground, buried under her, but that tool loomed over his consciousness as dread stretched those few breaths into ages.
This was to be no simple claiming, however. After several tense moments of exchanging snarls, one of the others finally tried to wrestle past the wolverine, and she responded savagely, twisting around with claws and teeth. While she was distracted, however, a bear, truly terrifying in stature, managed to steal Alan out from under her. Powerful paws crushed his arms as they abruptly hauled him across the pavement and up, and the tiger couldn't help but cry out-- his fearful voice practically an effeminate falsetto in comparison to the rumbling bass that surrounded him.
The wolverine's head whipped around, and she lunged in an instant. Blood sprayed the walls, and for a moment Alan was in shock, sure he'd just been eviscerated as his body wrenched under him. But the strange weightless sensation was only a brief moment of freefall as the bear went limp, the greater part of his neck missing. Somewhat familiar arms wrapped around him, and the wolverine unleashed an exultant snarl, red speckles flying from her bared teeth. The others stilled slightly, their growls dying to a low rumble. And finally, she turned those glimmering, feral eyes on him.
The back of his pants tore out. In an instant, the fabric was simply rent asunder to halfway down his thigh. He shivered, realizing how closely those claws had grazed his hide, but the reaction cut off in a grunt as cold stone slammed to his face. He was sprawled out on the alley floor again, and he barely got his paws out in front of him before the heat of a hungry body shoved against his back. The others watched on as the wolverine mounted her bitch, and Alan could only squeeze out a rasp, wide-eyed, as that monstrous cock started stabbing at his ass, fumbling to find something to penetrate and practically punching a fresh hole in his hide in the process.
Alan couldn't help but tense up, his last encounter burning in his mind. He wasn't sure if the beasts had some quality that helped flesh stretch, or if he'd simply been incredibly lucky he hadn't ruptured, but they didn't give a damn about what should or shouldn't fit inside a living being. Just the thought of going through that again made him seize up, that hidden pucker flexing tight as he ground his teeth and shook his head. The sudden jerk of a swollen, throbbing cockhead punching into his ass, consequently, drove him into a blessedly profound state of shock.
That ass was surely the tightest thing the wolverine had ever had the pleasure of mounting. Of course, her memory only went back a few hours, so there were only a few worn, well-used holes among her packmates to compare to, but she understood perfectly now why this tiny creature had seemed so... desirable. With a thick growl of relish, she squeezed in a dozen inches of hot flesh, pushing a few wet gurgles from the stunned tiger. The pure ecstasy painted on her face, her tongue hanging out and her eyes softening just a moment as her head fell back, was enough to drive the others into an incensed and lustful frenzy. The little ones were almost impossible to find anymore, and treasured above all other things. Many of the others had never had one, and the jealousy and hunger was palpable. Perhaps worse was the hunger among those who had already had the pleasure-- they knew just how exquisite it was. The air was thickening with the musk of lust, shafts hanging heavy between each pair of legs, twitching and crawling skyward. That spark was crackling through the air, the promise of another orgy building. With a single sliver of golden flesh at the very core-- which she'd claimed the privelege of stuffing first.
Perhaps she was distracted with slowly working herself in and out of that hole, loving the way the flesh rolled and gripped and chafed around her thickness, but she only noticed her new competition when the tiger managed a muffled cry of protest. An alligator had worked up the nerve to step forward-- not to challenge her claim, but only to take an unused hole. She snarled at him as he hefted his prodigious masculinity, trying to wedge it into the struggling feline's mouth, and he only churred, bowing his head a hint in deference without slowing. She supposed she didn't need that end anyway-- she had everything she needed shoved snugly to her crotch.
That gator finally managed to shoehorn his cockhead into the tiger's mouth with an exultant growl. The feline's jaw had popped under the strain, and two rows of pathetic little teeth scraped at the thick hide of that monster, but the gator didn't mind. One firm shove, and the tiger's neck bloated obscenely around that log of reptile flesh. Being a male, of course, the gator was endowed on an entirely higher scale-- in his case, he was about half again as big as the average female, though some were easily twice as large. As such, he didn't bother taking his time in planting himself nice and deep in his new fuckhole, eager to use that hot little mouth properly. A few more forbidding crackles and pops erupted from the tiger's torso as the swell of that thick-skinned head disappeared down the bottom of that snug little neck, and the rapid, vain beating of that little heart tickled the side of his cockhead quite pleasantly. A drag and a stroke, and his balls slapped heavily to the underside of the tiger's muzzle, promptly tensing and firing the first of many fist-sized wads of seed into the tiger's gut.
The tiger's ass was already slicking with cream-- the wolverine snarled out in ecstasy as she pumped her pleasure into that tight hole, throbbing cruelly fat against his insides with each pulse. It was only the beginning, of course-- the balls slapping to the tiger's thighs were practically lead weights, overladen with pent up seed even after she'd spent herself just half an hour prior. She'd be cumming for hours this time, if she had her way-- and pity anyone that tried to get in her way. Her ass rose, and she slammed down, nailing the tiger's frail body to the pavement and half-jerking him off the gator's rod. With all her seed for lube, she was working into a nice frenzy of ruts, drilling his insides with wad after wad till it spilled down his thighs and balls to pool on the ground with every draw.
Slighted by the shift, the gator rumbled and set down on his knees. He took hold of the tiger's head in both clawed hands, dwarfing the boney fuckhole the tiger liked to refer to as his skull. Using that wad of bone and muscle, he held his hot little hole in place as he pounded in to the hilt again, a satisfying gurgle announcing the warping of the tiger's throat and inner depths around that mammoth reptile dick. With a nice, stationary hole he was able to start humping properly, two massively muscled, thick-scaled hips swinging powerfully to pump the full girth of the beast in and out of that abused throat at obscene speeds.
By this point, the tiger's eyes were glazed, staring in a frozen expression of shock at the gator's belly as his mouth took a more and more cylindrical shape, his soft tissues bending around that throbbing girth. Juices slopped up his throat, the thick, bitter seed washing into his mouth and spilling in sticky strings from either side or dragging with the shaft to scrape off on his lower lip, pushing thick gobs to drag down the gator's heavy sack and finally fling this way and that-- some landing on the beasts behind the gator, some splattering on the tiger's tortured belly. Every thrust the wolverine shoved up his ass pushed a heavy swell out his front-- or it did until the swell of his organs bloating with seed gradually obscured the outline of her cock, leaving only the thick jiggles of his insides sloshing around the massive rod, his belly rolling back and forth as he hung by the gator's grip.
The rest of the horde had completely fallen into orgiastic wrestling by this point-- there was plenty of jealousy, but the little ones never lasted long. They always either fell apart or turned into a big one, so it was just as well to find the nearest hole and mount it. There were few complaints when one found himself mounted in turn, of course-- it was common to shove down someone smaller and rut into their ass, only to find someone dragging one's head over onto their rod while one's ass was promptly stuffed. The walls rumbled and creaked as snarling beasts were pinned against them and pounded, and seed overflowing from every stuffed muzzle, ass, and cunt was pooling everywhere-- in such a tight space, it was only a matter of time before it carpeted the ground completely.
If the wolverine were a critical thinker, she might have realized how strange it was that the tiger wasn't transforming-- she'd seen plenty others of the small ones get caught, fucked, and promptly swell into fresh packmates: still worth clusterfucking till they got loose, but not nearly as enticing. But this one remained tiny and tight. She didn't even have the presence of mind to be thankful for her luck-- she only rutted her delicious mount with the full wrath of her lusts, her seed soaking into the fur on her shins as it poured from his overstuffed ass.
It was the white's arrival that finally gave her pause. The white wolverine had been there from the start-- the two shared a scent, and they loved to fuck each other. The dark wolverine had forgotten her for a time, but the white crept up behind her and churred in her ear, grinding needily at her back with breasts and dick alike. The dark wolverine hesitated-- it took the full capacity of her lust-swamped mind to find a solution.
A paw on the tiger's shoulder, the wolverine jerked her fucktoy away from the panting alligator, leaving him snarling as a few thick gouts of seed erupted from his suddenly extracted masculinity. The wolverine had little concern for him-- she pulled the tiger upright and turned around to present him to her scentsister, legs spread. The white took only a moment to grasp her meaning-- it had been seen, on occasion, but there were usually plenty of holes to be found among the horde, so it was rare. The white was eager, however.
Drawing close, the white ground her hungry, throbbing length alongside the dark's, the tip drooling against that beaten ass as it searched out its target. Alan chose the worst time to be roused, the shift in position getting his blood flowing healthily and clearing his head enough for him to start coughing and blinking firmly. His voice sounded strange-- warped, as his throat was. As such, he was more or less conscious the moment the white wolverine found the tight-gripping lip of his anal ring, jammed her tip in against her scentsister's rod, and burrowed inside with one triumphant push. A ragged, choked cry burst from the tiger, his body jerking and shooting random muscles off in some attempt at a fight when he was already so very, very lost. His tailhole stretched brutally, the two prodigious rods intertwined tightly in his bowels as the white's slid smoothly in till her balls pressed snug to the dark's. Amidst the jerks of the tiger's body, his own cock abruptly shot off, arcing a pitiful display of seed into the air, perhaps the result of every nerve in his body overloading, if nothing else. The kind of scale the tiger's ass had been stretched to would have defied his fully reasoning mind's full abilities-- as it was, he simply laid against the dark's massive bosom, mouth hanging open (perhaps partly because it was stuck in the position) as his brain seared under constant overstimulation.
When the dark wolverine was satisfied her scentsister had her place, she looked back to the fuming alligator. The solution was obvious to them, really-- unlike double stuffing a hole, every beast was used to getting into odd positions to claim what they could. With a low snarl, the alligator hefted himself up and climbed over them, propping himself easily between the two walls. Suspended over them, he flipped the dazed tiger's head up and sheathed his full girth in that tight neck once more, sliding to the hilt exultantly. The other two were already working in and out of the tiger's ass, and shoved the little creature quite pleasantly to mash against his crotch over and over.
Juices spilled in thick, sticky wads from the tiger's ass now-- as soon as the white had been firmly rooted, her balls had given a tight flex against their darker counterparts, and a fresh flavor of seed flooded the tiger's insides alongside the constant outpour of the dark's. Together, the two pumped meat and seed into that hole in alternation, one pair of hips swinging back as the other swung in, both shafts throbbing fat against one another in this most intimate embrace. Between the two, there was plenty of room for excess juices to slop free, coating the spare few inches of thick flesh trailing down to each creature's crotch and rolling in fat gobs off their balls. Between the two wolverines and the drooling gator, the tiger's digestive tract was soaked through with seed, every inch of his intestines flooded and struggling to digest this endless outpouring of protein. His very blood was inundated with the essence of the beasts.
When the wolverines finally spent the full burden of their sacks, a truly rare occasion among the creatures, they let the tiger fall to the ground in a heap, his belly swollen with the appearance of overwhelming pregnancy even as thick wads of seed poured from his gaping ass. Air rolled drearily through his mouth hole, stirring the seed half-soaked into his flesh and pushing fresh droplets over his lips as his body struggled to process oxygen. Of course, he only had a moment to lie in his stupor before another knot of the beasts dissolved and surrounded him, plucking up the discarded fucktoy to jam onto their aching rods. There was no shortage of needs for a creature so small and deliciously fuckable, even if he was finally starting to loosen up. Even as the others finally wandered off, hoping perhaps to find fresh meat elsewhere, a dozen or so loitered in the alley, lured by the prospect of the little one, if only to share a hole or grind across his distended belly, across any stretch of hide they could get a dick on. Heat and fur and scales and sweat and a constant fountaining of thick, roiling seed rolled over the battered, abused body of the tiger as he slowly departed the world as he knew it, one boiling surge of cum at a time.
As night fell at the prison, the survivors gathered in the warden's room. Things hadn't been quite as they'd expected when they'd arrived. For one thing, the cells were still full. The prison had been breached, and the guards were all gone, but they'd left the cells sealed. As such, the prisoners had been left to starve, cooped up against the back of their cells as the beasts snarled and jammed their dicks through the bars, trying to get at the tasty morsels behind the tempered steel. After a day of no success, the beasts had eventually wandered off for the most part-- it had taken a lot of careful gunwork, but Dreck had managed to clear the halls after they'd sealed the main gate.
Now, things were quieter, but not by much. The prisoners were crying to be let out or fed, and Josie didn't know what to do. The skunk still didn't say a thing, and Dreck was just looking out over the halls through the window, frowning. The bear would have to decide. Josie just didn't know what to think anymore. There was food, but it wouldn't last long if they kept the prisoners, and if they let them go, there was no telling what hundreds of convicts would do with nobody to keep them in line-- even if they all just left in an orderly fashion, they'd just be a string of fresh bait leading the horde to their gate. Dreck's face was hard.
Josie couldn't bear to think about it anymore. She sat back on the bed, ears flopped down her back. The black rabbit already had something else to think about, and it wasn't much better. It had been a long time since they'd seen Alan. She'd kept hoping he'd come back-- they had all the camera feeds on the TV's in one corner, and she kept looking up, hoping they might see the truck rolling up, or even just the tiger, running and flailing his arms. They knew how to work the gates and everything, they could probably get him in and lock up again pretty quickly. If he just... came back.
Staring at the feed, she sat back against the wall, sighing softly to herself. They'd lost a lot of people along the way-- all it took was a few fluids, and these creatures flung a lot of them about. Just for being a little stupid, or having a little bad luck, she'd seen so many people get transformed into monsters, or die violently halfway through the process. But he'd gone willingly. Alan knew it was a terrible plan, that he would be caught, and alone, he wouldn't stand a chance. All he had was... she swallowed. "Why... why do you think he didn't change, when they got him?"
A long moment of silence answered her, the bear hardly glancing away from the window a moment. Surprisingly, the skunk spoke: "pure luck, probably." His voice was soft, but he spoke frankly, with an air of knowledge. "He might have some particular genetic kink that makes him immune, or he might have managed to develop an antibody." He smiled bitterly, slouched in the creaky chair at the desk. "Hell, he might have been the key to developing some kind of cure."
Finally, the bear turned around, eyes narrow. "So now we're talking, huh?" His head hung slightly to one side as he approached the skunk. "And what do you know about cures?" He loomed over the younger male, thought the skunk showed little sign of apprehension. "What's your deal, anyway?"
"What is that?" Josie was scooting across the bed, clambering to her feet. Her eyes were glued to the TV, and when the bear reluctantly turned to glance at her, he followed her gaze. The camera set on the main gate had showed plenty of the creatures milling about on and off, some loping about following a hint of a scent perhaps, some simply ambling about aimlessly, looking for something, anything to mount. At first, the figure shuffling along the camera's field of vision had seemed the same as any of the others-- but it was much smaller. Alone, it dragged itself along quite slowly, slouched and draped in the shreds of clothing. The three of them stared as it finally stopped square in front of the gate. After a long moment, with what seemed a tremendous effort, it dragged its head up-- a tiger.
"Alan!"
The switch through, and the alarms sounded as the gate opened. Josie led the way in a flurry of movement, down the stairs to meet him at the gate and bring him up. The tiger was barely holding himself up-- his hide was torn in places, missing clumps of fur all over, and he was almost completely coated in a mixture of dried blood and seed. His clothing was an array of scraps hanging around him, and they found him a blanket that probably would never be used again. Soon, he was laid out on the bed in the warren's office, the dark rabbit crying softly in relief as she sat at his side. He'd hardly even seemed conscious at the gate, and he promptly fell asleep as soon as the bed met his back. The other two watched for a time, and Dreck finally pulled the skunk out to have a talk elsewhere.
Silence fell in the warden's room-- the door sealed well, and Josie wiped her face clean, composing herself a little. The next time she looked down, she jumped a little despite herself-- the tiger's eyes were open. "A-Alan?" She murmured softly. "Are you..." She stopped before she asked a dumb question. "We've got a medical station now, we can fix you up and get you washed up when you feel like you're ready to move." He was silent. "Do you have anything broken, or anything?"
A moment, and he smiled crookedly. His mouth still didn't function very well. The tiger sat up slowly.
"Easy, Alan, you shouldn't--"
"I'm fine." His eyes were hooded and calm, flicking to the rabbit's without quite meeting them. "Just a little banged up." He looked up. "Where are we?"
"The prison." She glanced around, taking hold of his paw. "It's all thanks to you. The plan worked, thanks to your... risking yourself. And now we're all safe." More or less.
He smiled again, giving her paw a surprisingly firm squeeze. He pushed aside the blanket and climbed to his feet, ignoring her worried little protests. "And the others?" He looked out the window, taking in the cells full of impatient prisoners, and stepped to the door.
"I'm not sure. Dreck took that quiet boy to go talk somewhere, I think--" the door clicked, a heavy lock sliding into place. "Alan?"
"It's amazing..." The tiger turned, his eyes dark, yet glinting with something strange.
Josie rose to her feet slowly. "...What is?"
He stepped closer, his eyelids flickering like he had a tic. "I can hear them... I can hear." He was smiling vaguely. The rabbit was backing up now, shaking slightly, eyes not quite able to tear from his. "All the hunger... all the lust... all the need. The real beast, inside us all. I can hear its cry, and it is... beautiful." His voice swelled with passion and choked to a whisper from one moment to the next. The desk bumped up against the rabbit's back. "They couldn't change me... but they could make me see... how beautiful..." His knees pressed to hers, his arm looping around the silently terrified rabbit, "how... exquisite... lust can truly be. We all deny ourselves... for nothing." He stole a rough kiss from the rabbit's lips, smothering her weak protests. With the break, he growled slowly, "come, Josie... join us in releasing the beast." He grinned, and threw the switch behind her.
Alarms rang out, and on the screen, there was a sudden swarm. Dozens, hundreds of beasts were flooding into the opening gate. Another flick, and more alarms rose. The heavy clunk of prison doors sliding open managed to penetrate even this room's sealing. The halls were filling with fresh meat. Josie stared wide-eyed over the smiling tiger's shoulder, lips parted silently in shock. She swallowed, and tried to speak-- but her mouth felt odd. There had been a strange taste on her tongue when the tiger kissed him, she realized-- bitter. She felt... strange. Hungry.
"Yes... you hear it. You hear the coming of the beast." The tiger grinned as he began to pull her clothes off. Choking on a strange sound, Josie found her own paws moving-- not to stop him tearing at her clothes, but to tear at his.