FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Breeder Chapter One To Sleep No More Author's Note: Regarding the flashback sequence towards the end - originally, it was going to be an accident, and a lot shorter. However, I felt Jasmine needed some motivation to be a heroine, and the best motivator as far as I'm concerned is to have been a victim first. Then, there was going to be a scene where she was chosen to be this great defender and champion and blah, blah, blah... but I decided to leave the who, why, and how a mystery for a bit longer - mostly so that I could sort some of it out. I think the who and why have changed completely now, after having written this part. This story has been bouncing around in my head for a while now, and I've been fleshing out the society involved for long enough that I thought I was finally ready to start actually telling the story. And I do mean 'start.' I intend to work this one through to a conclusion, unlike Erotic Friction, which I'm sorry to say I'm putting on hiatus for a while. I wanted to do something with a litte more substance to it - and I don't mean just bodily fluids, or I'd've kept on with Mashara and hir lot. Those of you who have been reading Erotic Friction, don't worry, Mashara's story isn't done yet. But after reading Dracon's ShadowDancer stories, I wanted to do something a bit more heroic, and a bit less pure-yiff. However, as evidenced by this chapter, believe me when I say this one's still going to be sweaty. * * *

There are a number of things that can be said both for and against waking up the way I did that day. Waking up to a body and mind that are not your own can be traumatic, to say the least. And in addition to those changes, my new body had its own ideas about how to react to the situation. I awoke in a spacious suite, designed and furnished with comfort in mind, but utterly devoid of any personality. There were no little homey touches, not even so much as a motel-room painting on the walls. It gave the room a distinctly un-lived-in feel, and my first thought upon seeing it was that I was in some kind of hospital. I looked around for a moment, frightened and confused. What had happened? I racked my brains for some kind of clue. The last thing I'd remembered was getting on the cross-town express, heading home from work. Had there been a wreck? I didn't think so. I took another look around. Though rather spartan in decor, the room looked more like an apartment than a hospital room. There was some movement on the other side of a half-open door by the spacious bed. I walked carefully, feeling unsteady on my feet as I made my way around to the door. As I started to peer around the door, I saw it: the monster. I got a glimpse of orange fur, and fangs, and golden eyes, and the creature snarled, and I leapt backwards, shielding myself with my arms in preparation for the inevitable attack. When it didn't come, I opened my eyes, and found my field of vision obscured by two thick, orange-and-black furred forearms. My own. I began to shake, examining these alien limbs that had somehow become my own. This wasn't right. I didn't have fur, I wasn't an animal. And yet, somehow, it seemed strange that I would think otherwise. When the reality of the situation - surreal as it was - began to sink in, I spent a moment examining myself. My arms were nearly twice as thick as they had been, and not an ounce of that seemed to be fat. My fingers were a little bit shorter, almost like the toes on a cat's paws, but still dextrous enough that I could use them as fingers. My bust seemed a little larger, but that seemed to fit with my overall... enhancement, I decided was the word I was looking for. The gown I was wearing was no hospital gown - it was simple, but far too elegant for that utilitarian purpose. Steeling myself, I swallowed and drifted back towards the door I'd leapt away from, to confront what I ws becoming increasingly certain had been my own reflection. That's when I noticed, or finally became aware of what I'd known the whole time - my feet hadn't been touching the floor since I'd leapt back. I panicked again, and in a heartbeat I was curled in a fetal position in a corner of the ceiling. A part of me found it amusing. As a reaction to an uncontrollable fear of this alien ability to levitate or whatever it was, I'd used it to flee. So I curled up there, on the ceiling, whimpering and shivering, and waited for something even more alien to happen to me. This had to be a dream, I told myself. But it couldn't be. No dream ever felt like this. When I flew in dreams, it was always a wonderful, liberating feeling, not terrifying. Where was I, what was I, what had been done to me? The questions rattled through my brain one after another, repeating and cycling and spiraling until the first terror of the alien situation began to fade and I calmed myself. "Okay, Jasmine," I told myself. "You're doing this, you can stop. Just... go down to the floor." I uncurled slowly, and lowered my feet - they looked like paws, I realized. Large, white-furred paws. Combined with the brief glimpse I'd gotten when I saw my reflection earlier, and the black-and-orange striped pattern of my forearms, that bit of information began to paint a picture of what I'd become. I was curious, to say the least. I think that helped me regain control enough to land on my new paws - it felt awkward, like standing on tip-toe, but also felt natural. That, I would later learn, was a conflict between my real memories and the implanted ones. In any case, I made my way back over to what I was sure was the bathroom to examine myself in the mirror. I got distracted when I crossed the threshold, however. Mostly because I was afraid of what I'd see, I'm sure. But the room itself provided a distraction - it wasn't a bathroom. It was, in fact, the most luxuriously equipped wardrobe I'd ever dared imagine. It was, much like the rest of the apartment, mostly bare - a few gowns matching the one I was wearing, identical in style, but in a range of sizes, and a chest-of-drawers beside the full-length mirror. The mirror. There was no helping it. I had to look, had to see what I'd been turned into - I had visions of deranged scientists performing mad experiments upon unwitting people kidnapped off of the city streets, turning them into monsters. I was totally unprepared for the reality. When I finally did look into the mirror, I was poleaxed. Stunned. Instead of a hideous monstrosity, some kind of patchwork blend of beast and human, which I'd expected, what I saw was beautiful, in a way. Primal, feral, yes, but in a way that was more regal than bestial. The... person... in the mirror was powerful, but sleek. Despite what should have been an incongruity, the feline head looked natural on that body. I'd been right about one thing - I looked, superficially, like some kind of tiger-person. An exceptionally well-put-together tiger-person, I might add. Not having any basis for comparison other than the furnishings of the rooms I'd seen so far, I couldn't really make an estimate as to height. I felt taller, though, and arbitrarily decided I was about six and a half feet tall. Later, I would learn that I was fairly accurate in that assessment. Given that height, my initial estimate of my weight was somewhere in the vicinity of two hundred thirty pounds. As I examined the sleek muscles of my body, I was forced to revise that estimate upwards, closer to two hundred eighty. My bust - I would end up examining it sooner or later - was large and firm. I guessed at about an F-cup, which made me giggle. I'd always wanted larger breasts. If they had to be furry, then so be it. It was fascinating watching them move. It was also odd - as firm as they were, I would have assumed I'd been wearing a bra. However, I definitely couldn't feel one. The only thing I felt was the sleek feel of the gown on my fur - I had a thought about how weird it was to think "my fur" but dismissed it. I grinned, and realized as I did so that my face was more expressive than any tiger I'd ever seen. I did, however, have the requisite fangs. Framing that feline face was a cascade of glossy black hair that reached down to the small of my back - in stark contrast to the dry, shoulder-length sandy blonde I was used to seeing in the mirror. The hair on this new me only added to the elegant, regal look of my reflection, and the ebon waves draped in front of my shoulders framed my breasts in a way that made them even more stunning. After a moment, I tore my fascinated gaze away from the mirror to examine the room. As I did so, I noticed I had a tail. It was long, thicker than a tiger's tail, but looked fitting on that body. I began examining the gowns in the wardrobe first. There was quite an array of sizes, and I realized with a start that the smallest was a size or two larger than what I was wearing, while the largest would fit someone about twice my height and a great deal more muscular. I was a little concerned - did I have roommates? Massive, powerful roommates that would object to my sudden presence? I examined the clothing more closely. None of it seemed to have been worn yet. I couldn't detect a scent on them other than the faintest whiff of whoever had hung them in the first place. It wasn't until later that I realized I'd been relying on scent a great deal. In any case, the clothing showed a trend - each gown was not only a bit longer than the one before it, it was designed for someone proportionately more muscular, and with a larger bosom. The largest was monstrously huge - I took a moment to picture the creature that would comfortably wear such a thing, and to say it was an imposing image would be an understatement. I shivered slightly in what I first thought was fear. As I moved from the gowns to the chest-of-drawers, however, and examined its contents, I began to realize otherwise. The drawers were full of... toys... of an adult nature. They varied in size from about the length of my palm and an inch thick to nearly the size of my thigh - that monster was in a drawer unto itself. Though in a variety of colors, they were all fairly realistically shaped, down to a small opening at the tip. I shivered again, and felt a tightness between my thighs I honestly hadn't expected to feel ever again. I was getting horny. I thought back to the gowns, and I realized that the thought of someone so large and powerfully built as it would take to wear that gown, with as bounteous a bosom as it suggested, was turning me on. That took me by surprise. I wasn't a lesbian. I mean, sure, I'd experimented in college - mostly to turn my boyfriend on - but girls didn't do it for me. Why was I fantasizing about one now? I shook my head, trying to clear the image of thick, impossibly powerful muscles, rippling under orange and black fur. It wasn't working. I turned my attention back to the drawer, trying to lose myself in the mystery rather than lose control of myself. That's when I discovered the items in the bottom drawer, which were very, very odd indeed. Apart from size and color, they were nearly identical. Some kind of ovoid cushion with a nozzle on one side and an indentation on the other. I poked at the device, examining it from different directions in consternation. What the hell was it? I'm ashamed to say that when the bedroom door opened and a cheerful voice called out from the hallway, it startled a sound from me somewhere between a squeal and a roar. I dropped the... whatever it was... and ducked back into the back of the wardrobe, steeling myself to get the drop on my abductors and escape. Where to, I'd had no idea. While I hid, the meaning of the cheery voice's words filtered through my fight-or-flight instincts. What my visitor had said was this: "Good morning, gold-eyes! Time for your treatment." After a pause, there was a startled sound from the main room, something like a dog's surprised yip. I listened to the person stride rapidly across the room to - I judged based on the sound - the head of my bed. There was an electronic chirp. "Control." From the slightly-tinny sound, I judged the voice to be coming from an intercom. "Yes," the formerly cheerful, feminine voice replied, "Tygiri-Mother is not in her bed. Please scan and advise." "Initial scans show she's in the wardrobe," the masculine voice over the intercom replied. "Heartrate up to one-fifty. She's alone, but she seems to be scared. Find out what's bothering her and report." "Thank you, Control." I squeezed back into the corner of the wardrobe. This was not at all what I'd expected. Though businesslike, the voice identified as "Control" had seemed concerned for my well-being - not just physical, but mental. The other voice sounded somewhere between concerned and scared. Perhaps because she was afraid of the powerful creature they'd made me into? I know I would have been terrified - in fact, I had been earlier. I thought I was ready for her when she came into the room. I slowly pushed away from the wall, ready to act far more imposing and terrifying than I really felt, play into the animal-like nature of my appearance. That plan went south the moment I saw my "captor." She, too, was a sort of hybrid of animal and human. Unlike myself, she looked like a fox, not a tiger. She saw me standing there and her eyes widened. She immediately dropped to her knees, prostrating herself before me, and I went from frightened and determined to completely flabbergasted. "Forgive me for surprising you, Mother," she said. "I had not expected you to awaken during this cycle." I stood there, working my jaw, but no words would come out. After a moment of silence, the fox-woman looked up at me. "Are you well, Mother?" She stood slowly, and I realized that even standing up, she was a good foot or more shorter than I was. She was slender, quite attractive, and, I realized belatedly, nude. I tried to speak again, drowned in culture shock, and merely alternated between nodding, shaking my head, and shrugging. She laughed. It was a musical laugh, and her manner suggested she was not laughing at me, but at the situation. "It is all a bit much, isn't it? Why don't you come out to the bed and let me take a look at you, Mother?" I blinked and followed her out of the wardrobe, finally finding my voice. "Why do you keep calling me that?" She blinked, and looked at me, suddenly seeming very concerned. "Because it is your proper title," she replied. "You should already know all this." As she sat me on the bed, she reached past me to tap a small, recessed button above the chrome headboard I hadn't noticed before. "Control," she said into the equally well-concealed speaker beside it, "Tygiri-Mother is showing signs of a bad imprint. Can you schedule a diagnostic?" "Immediately," the voice replied. "Negative," she said, shaking her head. I wondered if there was a camera as well, to convey the non-verbal gesture. "She's about to undergo a hormone surge, I'm here for the therapy. I will let you know when the Mother is available." "Control" chuckled throatily. "Have fun, you two," he said, and a faint click signalled the connection being cut. "Hormone surge?" I looked at the fox-woman curiously. "Is that a side-effect of whatever you did to me?" Her ears lay back against her skull and her eyes widened. "Did to you?! Mother, no! We have done nothing to you. You are still developing. You are mostly complete, and were not scheduled to awaken until you had fully developed." She closed her eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of her muzzle in an all-too human gesture. "Do not worry, Mother. None here would dare harm you. Even if that were untrue, we simply do not have the means to do so." I blinked. This was getting stranger by the moment. "What's going on here?" I was sure I wouldn't understand the answers, but any information was better than nothing. The fox-woman bowed deeply to me. "I shall endeavor to answer, Mother. However, you do have a hormone surge approaching, and may find it difficult to think during the event. Please disrobe, and I will return with the collector." Something in her tone, the combination of deferential and businesslike, had me obeying before I realized it. Any questions about that, however, were brushed aside by my newest discovery. I had, with no idea how I hadn't noticed it before, a penis. Not just a penis, but a raging erection of pornographic proportions. My brain derailed, and I sat there, robe balled up in one fist, staring at the crimson monstrosity arching up from between my thighs. I hadn't noticed the fox returning at first. She smiled at me. "Eager for your therapy, I see," she chuckled, and came over to the bed with the strange cushion-like object I'd found earlier. That, I guessed, was the collector she'd been talking about before. She moved to the foot of the bed, touched another concealed panel, and brought out a hose, which fitted the nozzel on the device. As I looked back and forth between the device and my new... appendage... I finally realized what the thing was. "It's a pocket pussy," I muttered, then let out a nervous laugh. "The collector," the fox said in reply, "serves three purposes. One, it will provide stimulation for some much-needed release during your hormone surge - or any time you need it, Mother. Two, it will keep your surge-enhanced production from messing your fur, clothing, or bed. Three, it will, as its name implies, collect that product for use in the clinic." She moved towards me. "Please lie back, Mother. I promise that this will not hurt. In point of fact, it will feel very, very good, and you should find that you are calmer and able to think more clearly afterwards." She moved towards my member, which tensed and bobbed with anticipation, and I looked over at her. It was getting very hard to think. My vision was blurry, my body felt like it was on fire. It didn't hurt, but it was incredibly uncomfortable. The only thing I was sure of was that to end this discomfort, I absolutely, positively had to have sex. It wasn't horniness. I was, I realized, in heat. My speech was slurred, but I had a question. "Why... you naked?" My fists gripped the bedsheets tightly as I restrained the urge to... I realized I wanted tackle the lithe fox and drive myself into her, sate my need. At the time, it just seemed natural. Later, I would be horrified. Now that I was aware of it, I could feel my penis tensing in the warm air of the room, swelling until the skin was so tight it added immeasurably to my discomfort. "To easier serve our Mothers," she replied, almost ritualistically. "Most do not use the collectors. We use them mostly for the weak or bed-ridden, or for those who must harvest of themselves more often than a servant can be available for." "Not... weak," I growled. Was I really trying to get this creature into bed with me? Apparently so, because I continued. "Don' want... machine." Had she been this attractive when I first saw her? This frail little thing that I wanted to bury myself in? I honestly couldn't say. She let go of the collector, and the hose wound back into the foot of the bed, taking the impersonal device away. The look on her face was rapturous - she looked like someone who had been shown the promised land, then been handed the deed. She scrambled into the bed with me and positioned herself over the tip of my shaft. It didn't matter that I lacked any kind of experience with sex from this side of the equation. Her deft movements and skill spoke not only of eagerness and experience, but of training. She was also tight, hot, and wet - tight, I assumed only because of a difference in scale. I was overwhelmed - while not technically a virgin, in this regard I very much was - and felt a kind of pressure from within as my shaft tensed and swelled. I knew then that I was already cumming in her. I roared, claws tearing into the sheets, and after a moment, relaxed. "Sorry," I slurred. "Didn' mean to be over so fast." She laughed, and poked her belly. I noticed a slight bulge to her stomach that hadn't been there before, like a pot-belly. "What, this little bit? Mother, you donated three times this much yesterday. No, this is just a warm up. I expect you have two or three more like that before the main event." To emphasize her point, she began grinding her hips on me, rolling her pelvis around in circles and I felt that pressure building again, even moreso. After a few moments, I came again, harder and longer than the previous time. This time, I saw her belly swell as I came, bulging a few inches into a taut, round pot belly. I couldn't be bothered asking about that, though, as I could feel myself building to a third, even larger climax, and the fox-woman yipped ecstatically, driving herself up and down my new, sensitive shaft. The third climax was even more potent than the first two put together. The fox-woman let out a scream - whether in pleasure or pain, I couldn't tell, and her belly distended further, a round, firm, basket-ball sized gut. She let out a gasp and looked at me, eyes wide. "I am glad you insisted on this way," she moaned. "I can serve you properly, and the collector would have been overwhelmed and ruptured." She placed her hands on my breasts, which were surprisingly sensitive, and I moaned. "Your surge is coming," she said reverently. "Forgive my impertinence, Mother, but I have wanted to feel this since I first saw you undergo a surge." I had no idea what she was talking about, but it felt so good - I felt good, even above and beyond the incredible sex. I thrust into her, feeling a monstrous climax building that would, I knew, dwarf the other three put together. "Here it comes," we moaned simultaneously, and I let out a triumphant roar as I felt myself let loose a tremendous climax into her. It was incredible, and just as I thought it couldn't get better, everything changed. I felt her getting tighter around my shaft, and she writhed and let out a moan, which coaxed me along, enhancing my already potent climax. Her hands pressed against my breasts, kneading them, massaging a smaller and smaller area around my nipples as I came into her, and came, and came. My eyes had closed, I realized. I wasn't sure how long I lay there, gasping and panting, but I was certainly able to think a lot more clearly. I was muzzy-headed with afterglow, but not nearly so confused as I had been before we'd started... I gasped. Had I just fucked a complete stranger? Not just a stranger, but some kind of alien fox-person? I think I tried to panic, but the afterglow was intense and all I managed was a weak sort of shuddering gasp. I opened my eyes and tried to look at the fox straddling me. Her head should have been resting on my bust, but all I could see was my own cleavage. I propped myself up slightly and what I saw was overwhelming. There, still straddling me, was the fox, but she appeared monstrously gravid. She had a blissful, almost doped-up expression, and was cradling her massive gut in both arms. She also, I realized, would barely come up to my ribcage, let alone my bustline. Something, again, was wrong. "What," I muttered, but couldn't really finish the sentence. "Hormone surge," the fox said, slurring her speech slightly. "Nearly your last, I think." She opened her eyes and looked me over. "Oh, definitely. You're progressing much more quickly now." She shifted, grunting, then giggled. "Mother, can you please help me off of you? I do not think I can move much, now." I gently put my hands under her arms - apart from the distended abdomen, she seemed so much smaller than I remembered - and braced myself for a remarkable amount of weight. Instead, however, I found I could lift her as easily as a feather pillow. I gently set her on the bed beside me. "Are you all right?" She smiled and patted my hand - it was no illusion, either everything but her gut had shrunk, or I was significantly larger than before. "Mother, I thank you for your concern, but I am so far beyond all right, they will need to invent a new word to describe it. Something along the lines of fantacstatic, I should think." She giggled. "I must apologize again," she said. "I should be serving your needs, but I find I require more assistance. Please, if you would, Mother, go to the wardrobe and bring me one of the large collection wands?" Lightheaded though I was, I was able to stand up and head into the wardrobe. If the collector had been a pocket pussy, then by extension, the collection wands must have been the dildoes I'd seen earlier. I opened the drawer that had contained the largest. It had been almost as big as my thigh before, but now it seemed a good size for me to actually use. I felt a strange tightness in my loins, and I realized I was getting an erection. Insatiably curious, I gently coaxed my shaft to full erection, and was stunned to discover my own endowment was now larger than the device I held. I shook my head, remembering the fox-lady in my bed, and brought the wand to her. By the time she realized I was there and began talking me through attaching it to the collection hose, I had already done that, and was trying to figure out how to turn it on. "How do I activate the suction?" I asked. "Simply insert it," she said. "It has sensors just beneath the pseudo-skin that will activate whatever features are needed." Gently, I slid the device into her. It was difficult, as tight as she was, not to injure her in the process. I think I was gentle. She let out a shuddering gasp, and I nearly yanked it out of her. "Are you all right?" She laughed, but it was a weak, out-of-breath sound. "You activated the stimulators before you put it in," she moaned. I blinked. "I don't feel any vibration," I said, and she chuckled. "Nothing so crude as that, Mother." She looked at me over her gut. "Please," she moaned, "put it in further. I cannot serve you if I cannot move, and I won't be able to answer your questions with that thing buzzing inside me." She gasped. "Unless all your questions can be answered with the word 'yes,' at any... oh, my... any rate." I slid the pseudo-phallus deeper into her, and felt a humming come from it as soon as it was in far enough. The tube attached was opaque, but I saw it tense with the beginning of the suction, and I could feel heat radiating from it as it drew my cum out of her. Her belly slowly began to receed, and she bucked her hips against the "wand" as she caressed that round bulge lovingly. Enjoying her pleasure, I began to play the wand around inside her, finding that different angles triggered different reactions from her, all seemingly pleasureable, as I drove the fake shaft in and out of her. Despite the highly erotic show, my own phallus had retreated into a kind of pocket above my pussy - a sheath, I believe it's called - and I realized it was almost invisble in the thick ruff of fur there. Interesting, but hardly to the point. After a few minutes of entertainment - for me, at any rate - the humming from the dildo-like collection wand stopped. I waited a bit longer, however, until I was sure by the fevered pitch of her moans that she had climaxed at least twice more, before pulling it out. "Better?" She simply lay there, panting for a moment. "Mother," she moaned as she sat up, "this is not right. I should be pleasuring you, not the other way around." I frowned. "Please stop calling me that," I said. "Call me Jasmine." Something about my name sounded odd when I said it out loud. She struggled with the name for a moment. "Jah... Jah-zhmin." She smiled. "It is a beautiful name," she said, "it suits you. Strength of the Sun." I blinked. "What? It's the name of a flower, nothing to do with strength. Jah-zhmin." I blinked again. That was what she had said, not 'Jasmine,' my name. "Jah... Jazz-zhmin." I frowned. "That's not right. Why can't I say my name right?" The fox sighed. "I believe I can answer that," she said. "I was not sure before, but now I am. First, as you have given me the gift of your name, etiquette requires that I present myself formally." I laughed. "What do they say? 'It's been the equivalent of a formal introduction?'" She frowned. "Please, Mother Jah-zhmin, this is serious." She slid out of the bed and prostrated herself before me. "Greetings, Mother Jah-zhmin," she intoned, "this humble servant is Olorium, Flower-of-the-Night." She stayed in that position for a few moments, until I realized she was waiting. "Rise, Olorium," I said, trying not to giggle. As she did so, and relaxed - apparently that was the extent of the ritual, so I decided to comment on her name. "Interesting coincidence," I said. "The flower I am named for blooms at night." I frowned and tried to say 'jasmine' again. "Jah-zhmin. Why can't I say it?" "Shape of the mouth," Olorium said simply. "I venture to guess you are not what you once were, yes?" I nodded. "What am I? What did you do to me?" I wanted to panic, but I was still feeling overly-calm due to the afterglow of our earlier... mating, I guess would be the best term. She looked at the floor. "Nothing," she said, "I promise. However, it happens sometimes, when a Mother is grown quickly, such as you were, that instead of developing hir own personality, shi awakens with the memories of another." She looked up at me, soberly. "I am afraid you - the you that you remember - are dead." I blinked. "What?" I wasn't sure what she was saying - was it impossible to turn me back? No, that didn't match the rest of her statement. "What do you mean, dead?" "Please," she said, "indulge me. Before awakening here, what is the last thing you remember?" I frowned. I had been trying to piece that together when I first woke up. I remembered being certain that something important had happened, and that I'd missed it somehow. "I was on the bus home from work, wasn't I?" The word 'bus' came out oddly, the 'S' drawn out into a hiss. "No... I was at the bussss ssstop." I remembered a man, an argument. What were we arguing about? Who was he? "There was yelling. Was I yelling? No... I was... I was crying, and scared. The busss was late. I wanted the busss to get there, if the busss got there I wouldn't be scared. What was I scared of? The yelling? No..." Then it hit me. "The gun. He had a gun. A man with a gun, and he wanted something. What was it? Money? No, no, I offered him money." I remembered his words, they came out of my mouth in a harsh, gutteral tone, almost his voice exactly. "Get in the alley, you damn zhkank." Oh, God, no. I didn't want to remember, wanted to stop, but the memory kept playing through, determined to reach the inevitable, horrible end. Terrified, I'd gone into the alley. He licked his lips. Nervous. I felt a predatory reaction that I hadn't experienced when this had actually happened. My new body wouldn't have let me submit to him, even with his gun. He was so much smaller than I was now, but he'd been huge, absolutely terrifying. Man. Gun. Power. Fear. I wanted to run screaming, but I knew that wouldn't get me away from the memory. He began to fumble with his zipper. "Zhtrip," he commanded. Why were the words coming out so funny? Oh, I was trying to say them aloud. How much was I narrating to Olorium? I couldn't see her, I couldn't tell if she understood or if I had gone catatonic, or maybe she'd been a dream - maybe I'd been so desperate to escape this nightmare that I'd conjured up a fantasy of being this huge, powerful beast so I could save myself from the inevitable. I felt a tiny, slender hand on mine - Olorium. She was real. This had happened, was not happening, was in the past. I whimpered, didn't want to strip, didn't want to get raped and killed and left in the grey slush in the alley. "Dammit, whore, I ssssaid zhtrip!" He jabbed me with the gun. I screamed. I grabbed his arm, drove my knee into his crotch. There was a burning sensation. I got slapped in the stomach. Then I heard a sound like a cap going off, only much, much louder. The burning got worse. It was agony. I was crying. Something wasn't right. My legs weren't working. I fell back into the filthy, half-melted snow. Where was I? Why did I hurt so much? The man. His shadow looming over me. He was coughing and grunting. "You... fuggin'... WHORE!" He lashed out at me. my face was on fire, no, couldn't be on fire - it was wet and hot... blood. He'd hit me, pistol-whipped me. Fuck. "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, oh God, I'm gonna die..." "It is all right, Jah-zhmin," an unfamiliar, soothing voice said. Unfamiliar? No, that was Olorium. I'd forgotten about Olorium, so lost in the memory I couldn't remember what hadn't happened yet from its perspective. "It is a memory. It will end soon." It didn't, though. Not yet. He hit me again, and I cried, and his eyes went wide. I could almost hear his thoughts. No, I could hear his thoughts: Shit! Shit, fucking bitch won't fucking shut up! Shut up! Shut up! He looked around in a panic. Fuck! It wasn't supposed to happen like this! Fucking bitch, shut UP! Fuck! In a panic, he pointed the gun at my face. Time stopped. I know he fired, but all I could see was the gun pointed at me, like a movie, when you're watching it on a DVD and the renderer locks up, where the soundtrack continued, but the picture stays frozen. "Shit! Shit! Fucking bitch! Look what you made me do! Look what you made me do!" I was dead, I knew it. How could I still hear him? If I was dead, and this new body was a reincarnation or something, why was I still able to hear him? I wanted to ask Olorium, but she wasn't here. There was just him and the gun, and his voice echoing through the alley. I could tell he'd moved, but the image hadn't changed. "You haven't died yet," Olorium's voice told me. "If I am hearing you right, he shot you in the brain, hurt you badly... but it takes time to die even when it looks instant." The image juttered, started moving again. Except the angle had changed, and there was a kind of strobe look to things. He staggered away from the alley, clutching his head. Everything was blue and grey, and not just because it was a winter evening. He left after-images as he blundered into a wall, crying. There were others around now. The bus had been and gone, but that didn't concern me anymore. I followed him, drifting overhead to get a better view. The police were here now. They had their guns out, were trying to talk him into putting the gun down. He was hysterical. He'd never killed anyone before. He didn't know why he'd attacked me. He was crying. Dammit, why was he crying? He'd killed me, he didn't have the right to cry about it. I swooped in on him. "Who the fuck," I snarled, "do you think you are? You fucking shot me! You don't get to cry about it, I'm the one you fucking killed!" Was I dead now? Yes, yes, I realized. I was dead, but the memory continued. Like that movie where the man made the machine to record memories, and hooked himself up to it right before he died... It kept going. Was I in hell? No. No, I was a ghost, I was sure of it. He'd heard me yelling at him, was looking around for me. He was about to die as well. He was going to join me in death. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. He'd scared me back in the alley, but my spirit was so much stronger than him. I had already accepted my death, and he was still struggling with it, let alone his own, which bore down on him inevitably. "Why did you do it?" I asked him. He looked around for my voice. "WHY WON'T YOU SHUT UP?!" he screamed, and started pointing his gun wildly around him. I heard the cops panic. "Oh, shit," one said, and they all tensed, ready to do what needed to be done - even if they didn't want to. "Why did you kill me?!" I shouted at him, not realizing I'd placed myself between him and the cops. He saw me then, and he screamed, and pointed the gun at me. I wasn't afraid, though. His gun couldn't hurt me anymore. But the police, I had forgotten the police. He seemed to be pointing his gun at them, and one of them barked an order. "Shit, take him!" The cap sound repeated itself, from all around, and he collapsed, except he was still standing there. Oh, wow, I was seeing his spirit. He died even faster than I did. He saw me, dropped the gun - it atomized before it touched the ground, breaking into black wisps of vapor - it wasn't real anymore. The real gun was in his body's hand, not the him still standing there. Not his spirit. He looked at me and he cried and he said "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. Why do I fuck everything up? I didn't mean it!" What I did next startled me. I touched him. He was cold, and trembling. He flinched when my fingers touched his cheek. "It's okay," I said. "It's over." And then it ended. I was back in the room, with Olorium, trembling, crying, my face buried in her lap. She was stroking my hair, murmurring soothing nonsense sounds at me. "It is over, Mother Jah-zhmin," she said. "It is past." It took me some time to recover. "How did I end up here?" "We don't know," she replied honestly. "It only happens rarely, and when it does, it means change." "Change?" I sniffled, trying to stifle my tears. The thought of a huge, powerful creature reduced to tears should have been ridiculous, but it wasn't. "What kind of change? Good, bad, other?" She shrugged. "Large change, which is always good and bad. Always before it has been more good than bad. However," she said, "in your case, Mother Jah-zhmin, I think substantial change. More than ever before." I blinked away my tears and looked at her, more confused than ever. "Substantial?" I tried a joke. "I hope that's not a crack at my size." It fell flat even on my ears. She smiled indulgently. "No. You are different from others of your kind," she explained patiently. "You have abilities, special ones. You were developed to breed those abilities in your offspring. Your genetics are carefully balanced so that only one or two abilities will breed true per child. You, however, have a great deal of them." I remembered what happened when I first saw my reflection. "I can fly," I said in awe. She nodded. "And I think you need never fear a weapon again. Before today's hormone surge, we were unable to obtain a blood sample without using a laser to open a vein. Even then, the wound would close before we'd collected more than a few drops. I suspect, now, even that will fail to harm you." I laughed weakly. "Are you saying I'm some kind of ssssuperhero?" My mouth struggled over the word. She blinked. "Please," she said. "In some cases, I can infer the meaning of the words you use, but in this case I cannot even guess. Have you not yet realized why you cannot say some words as easily as before your... change?" I frowned, shaking my head after a moment. "What language do you hear?" she asked. "What?" I said, "it's just Inn-klizh." I blinked. No, as soon as I'd mangled the name of the language, it became clear it wasn't what was being spoken. The only English I'd spoken since arriving, I realized, was when I was re-living my death. "How...?" I trailed off. "...do you know a language you did not grow up speaking?" Olorium finished for me. "It is an implanted memory. It differs from your true memories in that it does not have any emotional impact - it is simply part of your training regimen." She sighed. "A training regimen," she said after a moment, "that has, I fear, been completely wrecked. You will have to learn on your own. The language holds, and some of the lessons in etiquette and customs, but those latter, as well as history and sciences, are buried beneath your true memories." "You know," I said, "in all the books I've read, it's the other way around - false memories used to cover real ones. So what am I supposed to do?" "For now, you should rest. You have had an exceptionally trying day, what with dying, undergoing a hormone surge, binding your first servant while undergoing that same hormone surge, and reliving your death. As to the memories, if you should have a strange impulse you do not understand, I urge you to obey it - it is likely to be your etiquette and customs training trying to assert itself. History and sciences will sort themselves out in the old-fashioned way. Lessons." I wanted to groan, but first of all I would need to know these things if I was going to survive in this new world. Secondly, it seemed I was in the body of a genetically engineered, super-powered tigress. I really wanted to know how that was possible. Third, I had the distinct feeling that lessons would mean more time with Olorium, and I really liked her a lot.