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"There is grandeur in this view of life, with its several powers, having been originally breathed into a few forms or into one; and that, whilst this planet has gone cycling on according to the fixed law of gravity, from so simple a beginning endless forms most beautiful and most wonderful have been, and are being, E V O L V E D."- Charles Robert Darwin (1809-1882)From the 1859 book On the Origin of SpeciesA LETTER FROM VICTOR"In this modern age, it sometimes seems that we have lost our capacity to be amazed. Science has made the miraculous commonplace in this world and we have become smug in our dominion over nature itself. But I am well aware that there are also among you the morbidly curious, who have been attracted by the more provocative and, let's not mince words, lurid aspects of this case. Well, you will not be disappointed. For this is, I must warn you, a strange and bizarre story. But it is a story that must be told. So now prepare your minds for a new scale of experience. And remember, everything you are about to read in this book is absolutely true. Thank you for your attention and have fun reading."From Dr. Victor FredersenBurgess CollegeChamberlain, MECHAPTER IAt the prologue to a new decade, there had been rumors about animals with human personalities and characteristics. Examples include the exhibition of human intelligence and facial expressions, the ability to speak, walk on two legs and wear clothing. However, no one knows how this phenomena is established, nor how is it possible. Ever since, a lot of theories were proposed: a top-secret experiment our Government was working on, a discovery for a new disease, and even thoughts of strange new species. None of these theories could be farther from the truth. If it did happen a long time ago, it's a possibility that it may happen again. Thank God it's just a question of when. In the city of New York, Vincent Phelps, in his late forties, usually sits on his chair, arms tightly around his breast, his face to the sky. His brow is furrowed with indecision as something in his mind becomes real. It aids his air of stiff and steely determination. His story begins on a day not so different from any other. It was a foggy and hazy November where his story takes place. He supposed it could have happened anytime to any retired detective. He realize most of his days were smothered in routine; safe, predictable routine that felt so

much like a life. In consequence, he disposed to reserve all sentiments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to him. After boasting this way of his endurance, he came to the admission that it has a limit. He wanted no more disruptive excursions with favored glances into the human heart. He lived his life, one day at a time. Of course, a good portion of those days are uneventful, after he was resigned from the New York Police Department Detective Bureau after his wife sadly passed away, long ago. Detective Simon Byron, age 45, bright and youthful, rings the doorbell, causing Vincent Phelps to be snapped out of his trance and into the grounded reality he lived in. He opens the front door and squints as a flood of sunlight floats over the threshold. However, Vincent Phelps is not pleased to see him. "Good afternoon, Mr. Phelps." Detective Byron greeted. "Good afternoon, detective." Vincent Phelps greeted back. Inside Vincent's living room, they sit in silence. Detective Byron looks at him who is looking out the window. "Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovahs." Vincent Phelps had said. "What was that?" Detective Byron asked, confused. "From the second part of 'Howl'," Vincent Phelps answered. "Carl Solomon," Detective Byron said. "I know who wrote it already." "Anyway, I ask if you can temporarily join for an investigation in Central Park. One girl of nine said that a gorilla spoke to her while she visits the exhibit at the zoo. That really concerns me, don't you?" "Is it about the rumors?" Vincent Phelps asked, unsmiling. He knew about those rumors. Not to mention that he's the only one who knows about this phenomena for the past four years. "Yes, Mr. Phelps," Detective Byron said. "You might as well call me out. I don't want to hear anymore, Detective Byron.

There's too many from new species to top-secret experiments even the Soviets won't dare to try." "Mr. Phelps!" the detective cried. "There are unexplained rumors about animals of all species having the ability to speak each other. Some species are standing on two legs instead of all fours. They're about the size of human beings like us. Like something out of a monster movie. What is this world coming to? At least answer me truthfully." "With all due respect, Detective Byron," Vincent Phelps said. "I'm exceedingly confident in the capabilities of these rumors." Detective Byron's shoulders visibly sag, he lets out a long frustrated breath. "Sometimes this phenomena can be spectacularly surreal," Detective Byron said. "I would never suggest that this would take long to find out about it. So many theories! So many stories! It has to end sooner or later." "Then, they would continue to tell more stories and make more theories." Vincent Phelps scorned. "If you want me to help the others investigating, I'm pretty sure you forgot one thing." "You no longer work here." "I no longer work here. Now, why did you ask me?" Detective Byron shakes his head and sighs. Vincent Phelps turns momentarily soft. "You know retiring is the right thing for me to do. As for the investigation at the zoo, you realize that they would never know. Do they?" The door gets knocked. "Would you mind answering the door, Detective Byron?" Vincent Phelps said. Detective Byron immediately answers it. Standing in front of him was a young man of his early thirties. His black hair was well groomed and nicely attired in a suit. "I'm looking for Vincent Phelps," the man said, politely. He speaks in a light tone. "Is he here?" "Yes," Detective Byron

said. "He's in the living room. Why?" No answer as the man escorts himself inside. In the living room, the man finally answers Detective Byron, "I'm having a private conversation with Vincent Phelps. You must not be here." "What?" the detective asked, confused. The man said to Vincent Phelps, "Tell this man to leave us." Vincent Phelps said to the detective, "Detective Byron, you must leave. In fact, head up to my bedroom upstairs. There's some wine. Help yourself. But don't drink too much." Without asking why he shouldn't be here, Detective Byron heads upstairs. "Now that he's gone," the man said. "it's now safe to take this off." Very slowly, the man raised his hands to his face and unhook something behind his ears, and then... then he caught hold of his cheeks and lifted his face clean away! The whole of that face came away in his hands! It was a mask! Behind that mask is the head of a cat, the same size as a human's. Covering his skin was gray fur and his eyes are blue and catlike, yet he still speaks the same. "It's starting to get hot in here." the cat said. Vincent Phelps asked, extremely nervous. "How's it going?" After a long pause, the cat said, "Some minor difficulties on airport personnel, despite a seven hour flight from London to here." "Why exactly are you here? Usually there is a problem when one of you wild animals makes a visit."  "The answer has anything to do with you." the cat said. "The scientist wants you to visit his residence. He doesn't want to be patient for your decision." "Why would he want me? If

this visit has anything to do with his obsessed fantasies..." The cat then hissed. "LISTEN TO ME!! He doesn't want to be patient for your decision! What you're asking me will eventually be answered when you arrive here at his home." "I can assure you..." "Do not interrupt!!! Do not speak lightly of the inventor's visions..." "I understand." "One small detail, Vincent Phelps..." (I don't understand. But I have to listen just once.) "He has planned his greatest achievement." the cat said. "But I don't spoil any more details. You'll figure them all out when the time is right. I did not say this." The cat puts his face-mask on over his feline face of his. It was astonishing how that mask transformed him. All of a sudden he became once again a rather completely normal individual, like all humanity. "I was never here." "Understood." Vincent Phelps watched as the man leaves his home. He wears a very perplexed, worried look on his face. Vincent Phelps calls Detective Byron here from upstairs. "What does he say?" he said. "He wants me to go on a business trip in Britain." But of course, that wasn't true. "I'm off tomorrow." Vincent Phelps said. "I need to take the time off from Manhattan." "How long?" "I don't know. He didn't say." Vincent Phelps answered while lying. "I'll be staying at some hotel that's somewhat fair to me." "But what about your

son?" "Brad?" Vincent Phelps scoffed. "I'll take him with me. He graduated recently from high school." Detective Byron bids Vincent Phelps farewell. (Why would he want me? I don't understand. But I have to listen just once.) Right now, Vincent Phelps has business to attend to with his only son. His only son, Brad Phelps, is a good looking boy who has an air of confidence just shy of cockiness with brown hair and matching eyes, just like his own father. He wasn't surprised with his father when he came into the room. (Thank God. He didn't hear our conversation.) "Would you mind packing your things, son?" Vincent Phelps asked his son. "Why, father?" Brad asked. "Where are we going?" "How does London sound?" "London?" Brad asked. "I like to go there." Vincent Phelps smirked at his son. "Gosh! That's what I was thinking! Well, thank goodness for that! I was positive that when we get there, and when we find a hotel to stay, we might go sightseeing. We might go to see buildings like Big Ben, Trafalgar Square, maybe we might take a ride on the Tube." Brad returned the smirk. "I'd loved to." (Good.) "It's settled." Vincent Phelps said. "Tonight, make sure you get some rest. We'll leave first thing." That night, while Brad is sleeping, Vincent Phelps is still awake, face covered with doubtfulness. Ever since he retired, he'd seen almost all of New York. From people crossing the streets, to the neon lights shining in Times Square, to the family watching Lucy on a 12-inch black-and-white television, to the cars passing with lights

reflecting on the pavement.  For Vincent Phelps, would New York be any more different as time passes on? A house might as well cost $22,000 with an average income of $4,500. If that doesn't be any more different, a Ford might as well cost $1,800 while everyone spends thirty cents on each gallon of gasoline. For milk, it would cost a dollar. For a postage stamp, it would cost a dime. For food and drinks like bread, cabbages, eggs and coffee, they could spend as short as two dollars. For the life of Vincent Phelps, he sure does live it very well. (He has planned his greatest achievement. But I don't spoil any more details. You'll figure them all out when the time is right.) Vincent Phelps has something to worry about, due to the recent conversation. At Idlewild Airport, on board a plane bound to London the next day, Vincent Phelps is hot and bothered trying to wrestle a bulging carpet bag into an overhead locker. His son already sat on the window seat. A blonde-haired flight attendant said, "Can I help you?" Vincent Phelps said that he's fine, perfectly capable. Of course, the flight attendant tries to help anyway. Glaring at the people around Vincent Phelps, he said. "They've used all the space." "I'll take it," the flight attendant said. "I can put it up here." "I don't want it up there. I want it here, in the corresponding holding area for my assigned seat." "The flight's closing in just a few moments, sir. I'll have to take it." Vincent Phelps narrows his eyes at the attendant. (I dare you, woman!) Then, a red-haired woman, with an infant, stands up and said to the flight attendant. "You can put my bag up front instead." The flight attendant smiles thankfully and replaces the woman's bag with Vincent's. "And will the child be a nuisance, ma'am?" Vincent Phelps asked. "It's a seven-hour flight from here to London." "I don't think so." Vincent Phelps gives her a watery smile and takes the seat next to the window, he looks out at the tarmac as he remembers. (He has planned his greatest achievement. But I don't spoil any more details. You'll figure them all out when the time is right.) He takes a deep breath and tucks his feet tidily together. He folds his hands neatly into his lap and looks out the window. A floating thought from Vincent Phelps emerge from his brain. (I hope we crash.) It might as well, Vincent Phelps would thought. But if it did happen, then we wouldn't have our little story, now would we?CHAPTER IIFor the past four years, Vincent Phelps became an assistant to a scientist who desires to play God by transforming humans into human-like animals to achieve fame and revolutionize science. Back then, it's very unlikely to turn people into animals, because most DNA errors that occur during fertilization result in an unfeasible fetus that is spontaneously aborted. Of course, the scientist, who was named Sinclair, had figured it out the right way to attempt such an impossible feat. There exist a mansion in Britain that was isolated from civilization. Many said that it never existed at all. However, to Vincent Phelps, it did exist such a mansion that was located in the Moorlands, only to be hidden by a white, nearly quiet fog. It was a mammoth mansion with pale yellow walls, a slate roof, copper gutters, mahogany doors and windows. Over 50,000 square feet has covered the area. In addition to the mansion, a guest house, two cabana homes on the poolside, a barn with living quarters, an outdoor riding ring for

horses, a fabulous indoor round pen with tons of storage that was unused. Inside had 15 bedrooms and 19 bathrooms, dining hall, fine draperies, antique light fixtures, marble, limestone, and maple floors. It was protected with a large fort that surrounded the twenty-seven acres of land. Wrought iron gates is the way to access into the mansion. But they remained locked, so no one dares to intrude. But in question, why was this mansion forgotten, as if it never existed? It was said that a billionaire named Harold McComb, who originated from Britain had designed the mansion, later built in 1858 and completed in 1861, with the help of the masons and carpenters. Of course, there was no record of when McComb died, nor of how he died. The death of McComb is how his house got abandoned, though. However, for some unknown reason, after sixty-two years of isolation and deterioration, the mansion is restored to its originality. To Vincent Phelps, it was because of one man who saw the mansion that was abandoned and he took great care of it after thirty-three years of living here. This man who took care of it was called Sinclair. Few knew him when he's strolling around London. Only Vincent Phelps knew him very well. He took a flight to Croyton Airport. After exiting, he used his own money to buy a car so he can drive to his destination after he and his son rent a room at some cheap hotel. Only he knows where the mansion is. He drove his car toward his destination on a hidden dirt path that leads to the mansion. The iron gates were opened for him. After he parked his car, before him, there were three doors. He went to the center door, he knocked. He waited, then knocked again. A voice asked, as if the house were speaking in its sleep: "Who is there?" "Vincent Phelps," said the man. The door opened for him. He entered, his shoes on the marble floor. The door closed. His eyes met the double curved staircases, with

limestone steps; a large gold chandelier suspended on a domed ceiling. For four years of his life, Vincent Phelps knew the house well. On the right, he walked through the dining room and into the lounge. He sat down on one of the sofas. He drew in the air of the room, lingeringly, but deeply, as though seeking in it the trace of another breath... His nonchalant hand threw his hat by his side. Slowly, in sudden and mournful weariness, he let his eyes wander through the room. Minutes had past before a red squirrel with blonde hair dressed in a brown waistcoat and a black top hat greets him. He was a butler, carrying a silver tray with a bottle of wine and two wineglasses. One for him and one for Sinclair. "Care for some wine, before I fetch him, Vincent Phelps?" the squirrel butler asked Vincent. "It's Austrian Red." "Yes, please." Vincent Phelps said. The butler filled a glass and handed it over to Vincent Phelps before heading out to fetch Sinclair from his study. Vincent Phelps remained sitting at the lounge for a long time, without moving. It's almost like he was in his house back in New York. He had closed his eyes. With incomparable impotence he breathed in the odor of hyacinths, which teemed to fill the motionless air of this room. Opening his eyes, he saw an oil portrait of a beautiful woman hanging above the fireplace. His eyes sank to the words which were inscribed onto the portrait, roughly, as though chiseled with both blessings and curses.WILLABorn to be my happiness, a blessing to all men.Now an angel ascended to Heaven. Yes, she died. But Vincent Phelps knew only too well that she did not die from a broken heart. She died because she was supposed to, wondering that her feet left no bloody traces behind on the way. Turns out that she died before she left Sinclair to Vincent Phelps. She died years after she gave birth to their only son. When he first met Sinclair in 1949, after Willa

died, he found that one dense, wild half of his hair over the wonderful brow turns snow-white, and in the eyes under this brow the smoldering of a hatred which was very closely related to madness. For four years, Vincent Phelps helped Sinclair with his project. Yes, in this great love, in this great hatred, the poor, dead Willa had remained alive and well to Sinclair and only Sinclair... "You must wait a little while," said the voice which sounded as though the house were talking in its sleep. "Listen, Sinclair," said Vincent Phelps. "You know that I treat your little affairs with patience, and that I come to you when I want anything of you, and that you are the only man who can say that of himself. For four years of my life, I worked with your research for this project of yours. But you will never get me to join in with you when you desire to play God. You know, too, that I have no time to waste." "I told you that you would have to wait a little while," explained the voice, seeming to grow more distant. "I shall wait no longer. I must go." "I heard that already, Vincent Phelps!" Sinclair heard it already. A soft, far-off voice laughed. Vincent Phelps had stopped still. A quiver ran down his back, running along the hanging arms to the clenched fists. "You should have your skull smashed in to a wall," said Vincent Phelps, very softly. "You should have your skull smashed in to a wall...that is, if it did not contain so valuable a brain..." "You can do no more to me than you have done," said the far-off voice. Vincent Phelps was silent. "Which do you think," continued the voice, "to be less painful: the skull smashed into a wall, or the heart torn out of the body?" Vincent Phelps was silent. "Are your wits frozen, that you don't answer, like any retired detective in New York, Vincent Phelps?" "A God like yours should be able to forget," said the man. The soft, far-off voice laughed. "Forget? I have twice in my life forgotten something...Once I heard that's scientifically impossible to turn humans into animals for reasons unknown; that cost me my arm. Also that makes my hair turn white on one half of it. Secondly that Willa was a woman and you a man; that cost me my heart. The third time, I am afraid, it will cost me my head. I shall never again forget anything, Vincent Phelps." Vincent Phelps was silent as do the far-off voice. He got up from the sofa as the voice walks into the lounge. The voice was a broad, muscular man with pale skin, dark circles under his yellow eyes, and thick black eyebrows. And yet, the left half of his neatly-combed black hair is still white and wild.  He wears a dark gray suit, gray vest with a couple vertical buttons on its right side, a pink and purple striped cravat, white gloves and cuffs (with a gold cufflink on each side), black low-heeled shoes, a cape consisting of both a black front and red back with a gold brooch attached to it. He was carrying a gold cane. He had a fake hand which moves like a normal one attached to his right side. The sleeves of the suit and the gloves cover it. Suddenly he felt, in front of him, a certain coldness approached him. Involuntarily he held his breath. Behind Sinclair was a female gray-furred poodle with dark purple locks. She was in a maid uniform with dark gray stockings and black high-heeled shoes, armed with just a pink feather duster. Vincent Phelps stared at the maid which stood in front of him with her indigo eyes meeting his that widens. (He did it. That crazy bastard did it. He found a way to attempt such an impossible feat like turning a human into a human-like animal. Unfortunately, I first saw the squirrel butler, but nothing is as defining as this pooch. So lovely.) "Be courteous, my maid," said Sinclair. "Greet Vincent Phelps, a retired detective from the West." The maid did a soft curtsy. She began to speak; she said in a fruity tone: "Hello, Vincent Phelps." Vincent had no choice but to speak to the maid. "Hello." (Well, hello beautiful.) "Good, my maid! Lovely maid!" said Sinclair, voice full of praise and pride. Sinclair turned his face towards him, his glorious eyes glowing as watch fires glow when the wind lashes them with its cold lash. "How did you do that?" He asked Sinclair. "Making something that's fiction into reality?" "Simple, Vincent Phelps." Sinclair said, his voice in triumphant. "I play God. While playing God, there can be no understanding. There never was. Shall I explain to you how I play God? It will be sacrilege. But I owe it to you in this uncertain collaboration four years in the making." "That's a sin, Sinclair," said Vincent Phelps. "What you did is raping the natural world!" Sinclair looked at him. He laughed. The noiseless laughter drew back his mouth to his ears. "As long as authorities won't find out about this, Vincent Phelps. It is a miracle of evolution! It will soon change the course of history in scientific breakthroughs when the time is right!" "If that is so," said Vincent Phelps, with a certain dryness in his voice, which had become quite hoarse, "then lead me to it, Sinclair..." Sinclair burst out into laughter which was like the laughter of a drunken man. As he walks left through the lounge and onto a long corridor. Vincent followed. The maid didn't. Onto passing doors at the corridor, he opened a door which leads to a room, next to the kitchen on the first door. The room is a large library with

shelves filled with countless books. At the edge of the room, Sinclair stopped. Vincent Phelps stopped. In front of him, he opens a door which resembles a bookshelf which camouflages, revealing a tall narrow opening. "Incredible, isn't it?" Sinclair exclaimed. Vincent Phelps said nothing. "A secret passageway." Vincent Phelps and Sinclair walked inside. And Sinclair closed the door. The passageway they're in is empty, except for a spiral staircase that descends downward. Sinclair approached the stairs as he called out to Vincent Phelps. "Come!" Vincent Phelps followed and he and Sinclair went down. It took three minutes to reach the bottom. In front of them, there was a tunnel that leads to an entrance. They went through the tunnel only to end up in a high-roofed, windowless chamber. Inside the chamber was a bank of controls and gauges and in the center of the room, an elevated track leads to the mouth of an enormous metallic head. It opens and a chair is catapulted forward on the rails. It looks like a restraint chair used in prisons. Vincent looked in amazement. "This is the room I use to play God, Vincent Phelps," Sinclair announced. "I call it the animal transformation lab!" On the right side of the control panel, there was a red dial pointing upward. Surrounding the dial were words: "ANIMAL" on the left, "ANTHRO" on the top, "HUMAN" on the right. The dial was on "ANTHRO." On the left side of the control panel, there are at least countless red rectangular buttons. However, on each button, the name of the species on it in big white letters are varied. "Evolution is a process of change, Vincent Phelps," Sinclair said. "Natural

selection is Darwin's most famous theory; stating that evolutionary change comes through the production of change in each generation and differential survival of individuals with different combinations of these changeable characters. Individuals with characteristics which gain their probability of survival will have more opportunities to create and their offspring will also benefit from the heritable, beneficial character. So over time these variants will spread through the population." Vincent Phelps, who was watching him, bent forward. He wanted to say something, to ask a question. But before he could open his lips Sinclair threw up his head and met Vincent's glance with so green a fire in his eyes that Vincent Phelps remained dumb. "However, it will soon be a thing of the past. If only the animal kingdom can learn how to walk on their own two feet." "How could it be a thing of the past, Sinclair?" asked Vincent Phelps. "That's what concerns me. There does not seem to be a soul in this world to be pawns of your machine." Sinclair's laughter cuts him off. "Your poor scholars!" cried the laughter. "What a task you have set them, Vincent Phelps. To play God, all I could do is to follow simple instructions." "What are they?" asked Vincent Phelps, through the laughter. "First, I turn a dial on the right side of the control panel." answered Sinclair. "If I set it to 'ANTHRO', the pawn will still be human, with the additions of animalistic features. However, if I set it to 'ANIMAL', the pawn will no longer be human. It will be fully animal." Vincent Phelps reflected. Sinclair did not take his gaze from him. "Do you, by any chance, use the machine to turn animals back to humans?" "Just because there are three options around the dials doesn't mean I would if I set it to 'HUMAN', Vincent Phelps," he said softly, and with an impulsive melancholy. "Continue," said Vincent Phelps. "Secondly, after I set the dial, I walk over to the left side." Sinclair instructed. "This is how the

rectangular buttons come into play. I press one-and only one-button and an industrial voice will be heard on the speaker on the far left." "And if you press more than one?" Vincent Phelps asked. "Trust me on saying this, Vincent Phelps, that's one image you cannot describe." "Continue," said Vincent Phelps. "Thirdly, after I press one button, that's when I flip the switch on the right next to the dial. I flip the switch and the chair hurtles back into the gaping maw of this machine." He points at the maw of the enormous head." The mouth will close. The machine will hum with electronic impulses. The head will then start to vibrate. When it stops, the mouth will open and the chair will shoot back out." Vincent Phelps hesitated a moment. "Now, will you follow me, so we can leave?" Sinclair asked. All the way, Vincent Phelps followed the genius. Pretty soon, they're back at the lounge. "Fine." said Vincent Phelps, with a sharp expression of irritation. "I won't let the authorities know everything about this." "How can I possibly have the privilege to trust you, Vincent Phelps?" Sinclair murmured. "What promise would you keep if the breaking of it seemed expedient to you?" "Don't talk rubbish, Sinclair," said Vincent Phelps. "To keep you interested, I shall bring my son here." Sinclair's face deepened to serenity. "Of course you would, Vincent Phelps." Vincent Phelps was silent. His left eyebrow rose, while his eyes narrowed. He fixed his gaze upon Sinclair, who had not taken his eyes from him. "What if he knows anything about this on what you're already appointing?" "I'll make sure he's in good hands," answered Sinclair.

"I'll just say that they're just people, costuming as animals." "How long?" "I could possibly say until next year. Of course, you wouldn't even lie to your own son, would you? Come back with the boy in the first of December and do not be late." "I shall come back." He nodded and turned to go. Almost on cue, the French poodle maid returned. "Be courteous, my beautiful Sonia," said Sinclair. "Open the doors for Vincent Phelps." The maid, now named Sonia, escorts Vincent Phelps out. High on the balcony of the facade, a handsome fox dressed in an Edwardian-style navy velvet suit was looking at Vincent Phelps through his silver spyglass. Somehow Vincent Phelps didn't notice him nor met him. As he watched Vincent Phelps leave, a set of few sentences from him sprang unceasingly from the invisible: (It is by will alone I set myself in motion. Inside me is the blood of the vulpes which thoughts acquire speed, speed acquire instinct, instinct becomes a warning. It is by will alone I set myself in motion.) Once inside, when Vincent Phelps is out of sight, from the second floor balcony, at the light-filled Great Hall that joins the East and West Parlors, he could see that a weekly inspection on Sinclair's fake hand had already started. Sinclair's house doctor, a lion, pricks each one of Sinclair's fingers. Sinclair wriggles his fingers, makes a fist, and relaxes it. No flaws are found. His hand is still functional. The doctor thinks that Sinclair is beautiful. How the prosthetics on Sinclair call out to him. How Sinclair's health is lovingly adored for all eternity. After the inspection, the fox decides to approach Sinclair at the Great Hall. Then his voice said with a dry gentleness: "You should have met Vincent Phelps, Sebastian, when you had the chance, instead of looking through your spyglass. Is he not a magnificent man that I, Dr. Vladimir Sinclair, have ever met?" "Assuredly, master," said Sebastian the fox. His voice came out tenor with a sweet, musical quality. "I couldn't agree more, master! Charming to the last." "This project is important to me, darling Sebastian." Sinclair said. "I want to start this reveal to the public with a bang. Could anyone picture it? The animal transformation lab! Truly unique. A superb phenomena in these unique times in this modern age. That old famous theory of evolution will be a thing of the past... and the very last thing I want is for the folks who don't know would understand. Not to mention that this project can prove there is a tomorrow for unlimited possibilities." "What about his son when he gets here on December?" Sebastian said. "You suddenly start to notice, didn't you, my darling? It's okay if you do, Sebastian. As long as he doesn't find out, we'll be alright." Sinclair laughed. "Vincent Phelps will see reality change in front of him. He should know this when I encompass him and his son, too."CHAPTER IIIUnknown to the assistant, Sinclair's actions had been set into motion, without any warning whatsoever. Even if the project has not been revealed to the public, there must  not be any flaws (either fatal or non-fatal) before the concept of turning humans into animals became existed in reality instead of it already existed in fiction. All in all, it might as well be a very arguable risk someone had to take. And that someone had to be Sinclair and no one else like him. For the rest of November, Vincent Phelps and his son went to see the sights and fascinations of London. When December nearly came, his father made an announcement to his son. "Would you mind getting dressed?" "Are we going out again?" Brad asked. "It's starting to get cold with all this snow falling." "Yes, but we're not going to visit London once again." Brad was stunned. "I beg your pardon?" he said after a minute. "Please, sit next to me," his father said. "Please, do it for me." Brad sat. And yet, he was completely speechless. "Weeks ago, I visit a mansion belong to a fine man named Vladimir Sinclair," Vincent Phelps continued. "First of all, you've been cordially invited to stay at his mansion for the next year." Brad felt as though the bottom of his stomach had dropped away, surprised. "W-what? Do you want me to live in that mansion? A whole year?" (You wouldn't even lie to your own son, would you?) "Of course, my boy. You'll be interested." Vincent Phelps sounded tired. "After breakfast, you must go and pack one suitcase. I'll drive you there to the household." Brad could not believe his ears. "One suitcase for a whole year?" "You'll be needing a few outfits, and maybe a book or two. I know that you're going to have a real good time." And yet, Brad didn't know what to say about it. The sky was covered with clouds as snow falls to the ground and the air was very cold. Brad, firmly strapped into the back of the car, glared out the window. And yet, he was often concerned about the stay. Closing his eyes, he pressed his forehead against the window and allowed the steady, dull, rhythmic hum of the car engine to lull him into a state of drowsiness. In the boot of the car was Brad's suitcase. Packed in a hurry, it contained five shirts and pants, one winter jacket and enough socks, and underwear for a week. A small bag containing toiletries, a comb and a toothbrush with a tube of Chlorodent toothpaste had also been packed. Three books was his only sources of entertainment. While adjusting into watching television back in New York, his son had the high intention of reading many other books besides watching television like all the others. (Might as well be living like a peasant

when he gets there.) At Sinclair's mansion, there was a discussion about the future. In the basement, on a huge table are several miniature tract houses, a surrealistic suburban neighborhood. The streets were covered with die-cast vehicles and figures made of plastic, but they weren't human. They were humanoid animals. These tiny animal people illustrate daily life: On the front lawn of a pale-green house was a cat dressed as a milkman standing at the front walkway, holding onto a milk crate; on the sidewalk was a young tiger dressed as a newspaper boy on a bicycle; the children standing around the Ice Cream Truck, a polar bear dressed as an ice cream man handing out a Popsicle; an eagle dressed as a mailman standing at a mailbox, delivering mail; a pedestrian is walking a humanoid Yorkshire terrier across the street with a leash around his neck; a group of pretty women hanging the laundry; up the street, a group of kids are on their bicycles while a fox driver waves cheerily at them from behind the wheel of his die-cast Buick; on a porch, a Rough Collie mother serves peanut butter cookies to her canine family. Sonia, Sebastian, and the butler all stared at the diorama and the man admires the little people. A chuckle had sounded over the neighborhood. "They would say that we're at the dawn of a new age, my servants, the next chapter of evolution waiting to be written on paper next to the predecessor. Grant, that it is my beautiful right hand, that writes it." "You've really outdone yourself." the butler beamed brightly. "Truly." Sinclair stopped at a lovely tract house with pink walls, his hands touching the roof. "I invite all three of you to observe," the man said. "Observe closely, Sebastian, and especially you, too, Sonia, my darling." He carefully detaches the roof and put it on the backyard. He beheld his servants a family of four, all foxes, who is seated on the couch, watching their television set. "One of these days, when the time is right, it will all be too real. The future of humanity will fit in with the predecessors who don't want to adapt. It'd be a fool to

not convert, with results like these. That was my vision, and it still is after four years. But I would be crucified if the press got wind of this. Vigilantes would search me out and murder me to 'protect' their children. No, it is not yet time. Advance work must be done. The public has to be educated first and when they are, the market will be there for any preference of alteration. But, I digress." A smile touched Sebastian's lips. "And to think, master: You expect me to believe this incredible plan of yours to play God? Perhaps you've had too much wine. How poignant of you." "That's a nonsensical statement," the man rumbled. "By the way, I don't believe transforming persons into animals is illegal, like Vincent Phelps had told me. Still, I like to keep a low profile. Sometimes I consider it a moral and an ethical obligation to engage my subjects, like all six of you, before hand and discuss the most extraordinary experience they will ever undergo in their lives: changing into a different species, a totally human-like, animal species." "Did you call all three of us in here, so you can enhance your high expectations with criticism?" Sebastian said. "I know all of my servants, including you, Sebastian. I wish only for humanity to understand the project's high expectations, once they meet. Such a sycophant you're becoming, my darling. Admit it with pride, at least." "If this project of yours didn't meet it's own high expectations, what would happen?" his butler said. "They might as well remain humans, eating their TV dinners, while watching a new episode of Ozzie and Harriet on ABC. Who the hell would want to see that?" (He does have a point.) "Now, Vincent Phelps will be arriving soon with his son." the man said. "I want all of you to try your best to control yourselves as much as humanly possible. Do you understand the words I've said to all of you?" (No promises, I bet.) "Should you be doing your duties, my darling Sonia?" the man rumbled hypnotically. "I'll start

right now," Sonia said as she left the basement. "As for the rest of you," the man said. "show the Phelps boy some comfort and great hospitality once in a while, when he arrives at our home. Speaking of which, Sebastian, would you mind calling Max and let him know?" "That rat?" Sebastian scoffed. "The one who's silent? As you wish, master." Of course, something tells Sebastian and the butler it won't be as difficult as it will ever be. The car had stopped outside the house of Sinclair. The house to Brad was remarkably large. It was huge in comparison to his house back in New York. Vincent Phelps went to the center door with his son and knocked. The door opened. Both of the Phelps entered, their shoes on the marble floor. The door closed. In front of the second floor balcony was Sinclair. And oh, how clever he looked! How quick and sharp and full of life! He called out, "Welcome, son of Vincent Phelps! Welcome to the mansion!" His voice was high and fluttery. "What is your name?" "Brad Phelps." "What a pleasure this is, Brad! Dear me, this is going to be such an exciting year for you! I can see we're both going to enjoy your stay. Can you please head to the lounge on the left? I need to talk to your father." After Brad hesitantly heads to the lounge, Vincent Phelps said to Sinclair, "He's now yours until next year. But what about the lab?" "I'm pretty sure he won't find the secret compartment in the library." Sinclair said. "What about the animals?" Vincent Phelps asked in uncertainty. "He won't find out, will he?" Sinclair said. "I'll just lie to him that they're just normal people, costuming as animals. It would get practically surreal soon after." "I understand." Vincent Phelps has said. "Shall I fetch his suitcase from the boot, before I go, Vladimir?" "No, thank you," said Sinclair politely. "My butler can carry it inside." Sinclair's squirrel butler opened the boot, pulled Brad's suitcase and closed it. "I'll see you next year." Vincent Phelps said as he left outside. "Give my son my farewells." Howl! Howl! Cry out! Cry out! (There can be no understanding from playing God.) In the lounge, Brad was sitting on one of the sofas. Sinclair enters and walks over to him. "Where is my father?" Sinclair said. "He had told me to say farewell for you." "I understand." "By now, you're clearly determined that this wasn't just an ordinary mansion I'm living in. In fact, this mansion is a bizarre one!" Sinclair grinned ecstatically. "While you're roaming around, you'll find my five servants dressed in animal costumes! Doesn't that excite you? It is just such an honor, you know, it leaves you speechless!" "I guess," Brad said. "I would like to introduce you to something. I'll be right back. Sit tight and make yourself, dear Brad." However, after Sinclair leaves the lounge, his maid Sonia enters, doing her usual dusting. Brad reacted by just staring at her mostly due to the animal costume she wore. Eventually, her attention turns to Brad who is sitting on a sofa. When she first saw Brad, her voice became sweet. Sonia grinned with a flirty look on her face. "What's a handsome guy like you doing in here?" said Sonia sweetly. "I'm waiting for Sinclair," answered Brad. "He wants something to introduce to me." Sonia walked up to him and pulled Brad out from the sofa in her arms for a big hug, holding him in her arms. He blushed as he saw her maid outfit and from the affection shown to him. "To be precise," Brad said. "I've never met a person just as beautiful as you, since my own mother. She's always beautiful." She hummed at this and took a few steps closer to him. "You can start by telling me your name," She said in a low, husky voice that somehow dripped with seduction in it. "I would very much like to know your name." "Brad Phelps. And what is yours?" She smiled when she heard his name before she introduced herself. "My name is Sonia. It's nice to meet you, Brad." Sonia suddenly started planting a lot of big kisses to Brad's face, kissing his face everywhere. Her lips are soft, she even had rose red lipstick on her lips. Brad was blushing all over his face with a grin as he was showered with kisses from Sonia. "Stop it, Sonia." laughed Brad. "What are you doing?" "You're so cute." said Sonia. "I see that you're working with Sinclair. I'm guessing that you're his maid." Sonia planted a huge kiss to Brad's lips and both of them held the kiss and felt total bliss. Sonia's world was full of cute bliss and adoration about Brad while his world was in a world of confusion and for some reason, pure blissful heaven. They had their eyes closed for a bit until they pulled their lips away and opened their eyes. "I got a little playful." said Sonia snapping back to reality. Brad just grinned with blushing cheeks. "You sure are friendly." said Brad. "That's because you're so handsome." said Sonia as she began to rub and scratch behind Brad's ears. Brad moaned as his ears were being scratched and rubbed, he felt so relaxed and Sinclair's maid was feeling lulled into relaxation with a relaxed face and a smile. "Such a lucky guy to meet me." said Sonia. "Yes I am." said Brad. Brad felt lazily relaxed as Sinclair came back. "I see that you met my maid, Brad." Sinclair said. "She's very friendly." Brad said. "I'm glad to hear it," said Sinclair. "However, that's not the right person I would like you to meet." "What do you mean, sir?" "The right person is with me." As if on cue, a girl about Brad's age is behind him. However, she's human like Brad. She had brunette hair that goes down to her neck. She wore Catholic school-styled uniform with long sleeves and black eyeglasses. "In a few moments, Max will show you to your room. Come, Sonia." Sinclair said. Both Sinclair and Sonia leave the lounge, now obsessed with Brad. "We must leave these people. Maybe a big, juicy steak might do the trick. I'm sure that you..." "How come you don't wear an animal costume like all the others?" Brad asked. "Because Sinclair said that it's not necessary for me." the girl said. "I'm Christina Dupree.  Who are you?" "Brad Phelps." "Christina. That's a nice name you got there." Brad said. "Thank you." "Are you with Sinclair like Sonia? If you are, it would be rather rare." "He adopted me." Christina said in a soft tone. "What happened to your parents?" Brad asked. "Our house is caught on fire in Bristol." Her eyes filled with tears. "My parents are killed in that fire, when I was a child. I grew up in the Muller Homes in Ashley Down." Brad asked. "Why do you look at me with such sad eyes? I felt sorry for the loss of your parents. My mother, Willa, died when I was young. Ever since, my father has to resign from his career as detective to take care of me after she died." "I'm very sorry for your loss." Christina said. The girl's face was as a crystal, filled with snow. She made a movement as if for flight. But her knees would not obey her. Reeds which stand in troubled water do not tremble more than her shoulders trembled. She hesitantly leaves the lounge. A slim, tall, living humanoid rat with brown fur enters the lounge. He was wearing a black tuxedo with black pants with a matching bow tie and shiny matching shoes. Brad reacted in shock due to the costume he wore. "Say, are you Max?" Brad said. But the rat said nothing and crossed his arms. He points at one of the spiral staircases and leaves the lounge. Brad has no choice but to follow him. They went all the way up to the staircase and head left to the east wing. The rat opens the door and both he and Brad head toward a corridor with doors on both sides. The rat stops and points at one of the doors. "Was that my room?" Brad asked. To answer it, the rat opened the door. It was a room with a checkered carpet of red and black. The furniture consists of fancy architecture. A hanging chandelier, a

large bed, large portraits hanging on the wall. The rat closed the door behind him. Brad doesn't even know who he is. But he's somehow silent. Brad could see that his suitcase is on the bed. Until next year, Brad realized that he's about to have a bizarre and eccentric time inside Sinclair's mansion. However, he didn't know about the transformation lab. Howl! Howl! Cry out! Cry out! (There can be no understanding from playing God.)CHAPTER IVUp to this point, Sinclair's maid may be attracted to Brad, even after she first met him. However, he doesn't realize what was happening until later. She might as well be motivated through pure desire. Already, she may be suffering from both libido, sexual attraction, and lust. Sexual drives and desires are absent in the early part of a dog's life, blaze during puberty and early adulthood, and lessen as age progresses, taking its toll. Even though Sonia has dog DNA in her, not only will she slowly age like a human instead of aging through dog years, she might as well muster up the true essences of desire and passion for she alone is subject to the double-edged sword effect of emotions, desires, and the ultimate bond between body, soul, and mind, even to this day. Wednesday has arrived. Sinclair, Christina, Brad, the rat and Sonia are having dinner at the dining room. The butler enters with a food trolley. On the trolley are wineglasses, a bottle of wine, and a turkey. The butler pours out the wine and gives it to Sinclair. He repeats the process, but the rat and Sonia both receive a wineglass of water from him. Ever since, Brad said to the butler, "Can I have some water as well?" "How about wine?" the butler asked. "I don't drink. I'm 19." The butler said, "The legal age is 18 in London." "Sorry. But no." "Very well," the butler said as he reluctantly gives Brad a wineglass of water. "But why did you bring Sonia water instead of wine?" "Dogs that drink too much alcohol, including wine, can experience symptoms ranging from vomiting to brain damage and even death. No matter how much they beg, alcoholic beverages should be forbidden to them. Strictly forbidden." "I see." (Way to answer that logical question about dogs and alcohol. You deserve a reward.) He heads over to Christina. "No thank you." Christina said. "In truth, I think the both of you had bad taste. I swear to you, from my lips to God's ear." the butler sneered with a remark before leaving. Sinclair raised a glass, "A toast to absolute friends." The rat and Sonia raised their glass. However, Sonia is the only animal to speak. "To absolute friends." Sinclair now proceeds to tear the turkey apart from the legs. Everyone is quiet throughout. Sinclair gives a piece to Brad. "You know," Sinclair said as Brad eats it. "I've been living in this mansion for thirty-three years." "When is the mansion built?" Brad asked. "Construction began nearly a century ago. It's completed three years later before the start of the Civil War. The only thing was that it was abandoned after it's creator died." "How does the creator die?" Brad asked. "No one knows." Sinclair answered. "Probably old age, but no one knows if this man existed." On to another subject. "Have you heard of Charles Darwin?" Sinclair asked. "I've heard of him." Brad said. "I've been learning about him in my middle school. He's best known for his evolution theory." "Of course he was." Sinclair said. "His fame and popularity led to his name being associated with ideas and movements which at times had only an indirect relation to his writings, and sometimes went directly against his express comments. For example, the theory of biological evolution is developed by Charles Darwin and others, stating that all species of organisms arise and develop through the natural selection of small, inherited variations that increase the individual's ability to compete, survive, and reproduce." "How do you know so much about this?" Brad asked in amazement. "Simple," Sinclair said. "I had books about him in my library on the right." "You have a library?" Brad asked, his eyes beaming like searchlights. "It's located on the corridor at the right side of the mansion. However, I won't lead you to it tonight." "I understand." Brad said as he finished his dinner. "Because there are some things happening tonight that might possibly persuade you. You wouldn't understand. Consider yourself enlightened until tomorrow." After dinner is finished, Brad makes his way back to his room. However, tonight, he won't be alone. After all, there's business to attend to in here. Howl! Howl! Cry out! Cry out! (There can be no understanding from playing God.) Brad was relaxing in his bed looking out the window in his pajamas. Snow falls, making the night beautiful and atmospheric. Himself reminds him of Christmastime with his mother back in New York, while his mother, Willa, was still alive, before she passed away. The sound of a door brought to his attention. In

front of the door stood Sinclair's maid Sonia. But why is she here, you would ask? "Everything okay in here, Brad?" The maid asked with a knowing smile. "You look like you're having trouble sleeping." Brad cleared his throat, thinking that it made him look more composed. "I'm fine, really." Sonia's smile grew as she noticed that he was. "Why are you here exactly? I don't understand." But Sonia just stood there, grinning seductively, unknown to Brad. "I always did love handsome men." (Handsome men? What does she mean by that?) "Every time dogs like me try to convince me to date them, I somehow refused, because of how ruttish I look in this outfit." said Sonia with a giggle. "Some wants me to seduce them. Maybe into submission." "What exactly are you saying?" The maid heads inside, closed the door and locks it. That somehow caused Brad to ask this question: "Why did you lock the door? What do you think you're doing?" Brad can possibly tell that something is amiss. "You think that's a big deal to you? Because it isn't for me. Anyway, why I came in and locked the door is because I'm going to seduce you into submission, by sharing my whole body with you in heated pleasure." said Sonia with a seductive tone in her voice. "Perhaps a bit longer, don't you agree?" "Pleasure?" Brad asked. "Are you nuts?" "I'm pretty sure Sinclair won't find out about this." said Sonia giggling. "I know him since he hired me to become his maid. So try to pay attention." Now Brad had no idea or realization what she was doing. All he knew was that he was in one hell of a trance. Sonia grinned seductively as she took off her uniform. All Brad

could do was stare. Stare at the curvaceous poodle that was heading towards him in amazement. She was now in her hottest lacy black bra with matching panties. Brad had no idea of how outrageously stunning she was. Her body had all the right curves and was proportioned perfectly well with her modestly sized bosom and her firm rear. Her legs were long and toned with a good amount of slenderness on them. Her tail with a fluffy end followed the same motion of her hypnotically swaying hips. Her fur underneath her undergarments was matted against her body, showing every single inch and luscious curve, leaving the son of Vincent Phelps speechless. She began to climb onto the bed, swaying her wide hips all the while. Her eyes lidded halfway the closer she got while she kept a constant gaze on Brad. "Would you mind letting me take off your pajamas for you, Brad?" Her seductive cadence weakening his resistance as she licked her lips sensuously. Brad just said nothing as she helps herself in taking off his pajamas, leaving him in his underwear, for now. He could feel something throb underneath with need as his eyes took in her gorgeous body with a hungering glint. From her long legs that looked to go on forever to her flat, toned stomach and then to her breasts. All of which looked like they needed some much needed attention. She saw it and slowly remove his underwear. "Would you mind unhooking me, Brad?" Brad said nothing as he was looking at his erection. "Fine," Sonia frowned, but then smiled. "I'll do it for you." She unclips her bra and takes off her panties. After that, she was fully naked. Like a humanoid dog. And that feels much better. "Enjoying yourself so far?" Another seductive smile made its way across Sonia's muzzle as she looked at Brad, lowering her voice to a husky tone before she spoke to him, while she used her hands and arms to wrap around Brad's body and she held him very closely in her embrace. "Try not to worry, I'll be careful." Sonia placed her hands on Brad's

chest and lightly pushed him to lay down on his back with Brad's hardness standing up in the air, she positions it inside her already wet orifice. Both of them moaned as they were connected to each other's body. Sonia used her hands and arms to wrap around Brad's body and she held him very closely in her embrace. The son of Vincent Phelps cried out as she starts to eagerly ride and thrust his hardness up and down, her hips ramming his pelvis many times. More power. These forceful aggressions alone filled his body with fiery passion he hadn't felt before. They felt their bodies grow warm and the tension was slowly building up. The both of them moaned in pleasured tone as they looked at each other with expressions of pleasure. Minutes have passed as the pain decreased and the pleasure increased. Brad gasped as he felt it pushing inside her. Sonia wanted to do this since the moment she met him, unfortunately. As soon as she was in heat, that makes their activity better for the both of them, making it much hotter and stronger and the climaxes last longer. She moaned her seductively aroused and husky moans which was making Brad felt insane as her walls were squeezing and tightening on his hardness. "I should have used my feather duster to do the job for me." moaned Sonia seductively. "You and your sense of humor." moaned Brad softly with an innocent gasp. She moaned happily. "Admit it, Brad. You have no clue how absolutely amazing this feels!" In truth, Brad really has no clue how absolutely amazing this feels. Despite their species, their bond of their new love had to be unbreakable. For Sonia, making love like this was incredible for her body but for Brad, it was much more intense for him than it was for Sonia. The heat and tension was much more hotter and stronger for his body than it was for Sonia since he was younger than her. The sound of Sonia's moans was making him crazy with unimaginable arousal, her sexy voice was like an aphrodisiac for him and it was music to his ears. He may be a virgin, unfortunately he won't be for long. Everything was increasing, the body heat got hotter and the tension gets stronger, making them both feel wetter inside as they start to sweat a little, moaning and gasping louder with pleasure in their voices. Brad cried out and gasped as he tightly gripped Sonia's gloveless hands, crying out her name

nonstop, even crying out. "Don't stop, Sonia!" "O-oh!" Sonia panted. "Oh yes, Brad! Let me screw you harder! Harder!" He looked up to see her drooling, her breasts bouncing rhythmically. She leaned forward and pound him, really pound him. Both of them kept their faces and eyes locked on each other. Already, the pleasure in them became stronger and kinkier, running through their bodies and minds like crazy. She mouths an expletive every so often, especially when he now reached her cervix. "I can tell your climax is coming. Admit it, Brad. You can feel it building, didn't you? Give it to me, give it to me good and hard." moaned Sonia seductively. Brad just gasped at the tightness and was now breathing rather heavily, feeling that he was going to explode very soon. Sensing this, she thrust her hips as hard as she could, their bodies were on fire with massive body heat and high levels of tension and pressure. They moaned very loud as they finally had their climaxes take full control over their minds and bodies. They gasped and gave out their last cries of pleasure. It all happened suddenly. Brad pumped once, twice, three times; her back arched with each pump, and their moment had ended. It flowed like a warm river and they were fully satisfied. Sonia collapsed on the bed beside Brad and looked into his eyes. He then received a big and wet kiss from Sonia as her soft lips were planted to his. Sonia kissed him passionately and they moaned into the kiss, without warning, she slipped in her tongue in his mouth, kissing him with tongue as well.  This was their first kiss together. They pulled their lips away as they felt the need to breathe fresh air. The two giggled and grinned with excitement. Howl! Howl! Cry out! Cry out! (There can be no understanding from playing God.) They took a few minutes to rest and catch their breath before speaking. "Since we do this for fun, I could have you as my boyfriend. What you say?" asked Sonia huskily. "I accept." moaned Brad lazily. "Can we snuggle for a while?" "Of course." said Sonia playfully. They planted a kiss to each others lips as they hugged and snuggled each other's bodies closely. Sonia rubbed Brad's back and the back of his head slowly in a relaxingly movement and Brad was holding and hugging her closely to his body too. "I love you." said Brad. "I love you too." said Sonia. The unlikely couple snuggled and hugged for a long time. This was also a night they'll never forget because every time Sonia was in heat. However, for the entire time, Sinclair was hearing their sexual activity from outside. So does the rat, his bodyguard. Sinclair was pretty much interested. However, Max is the opposite. During Brad and Sonia's night of heated pleasure, Max is about to knock on the door. But Sinclair stopped him. Sinclair whispered to him. "You know that this wasn't necessary to interrupt their time." After the pleasure was over, Sinclair remained puzzled until tomorrow. Until tomorrow. Brad awoke with a groan and a strange sensation in his lower body. It was not a bad feeling; rather it made him feel extremely pleasured, as if he wasn't already because of last night with Sonia. His lower body felt as if it were being caressed by a smooth, soft silk that warmed him with a feather-light touch. He blinked his eyes in order to wake himself up a bit more and slowly raised his head to see what it was exactly that was giving him this enjoyable feeling. All he saw was a bed sheet with a large lump that shouldn't have been there. He quickly snatched it and pulled it away, revealing that it was Sonia as the culprit behind the bliss. His breath hitched when he saw her muzzle covering his erection in an attempt of covering every single inch of his length. An attempt that was very successful. Sonia's eyes looked up to see that he was awake but said nothing as she smirked before going back to her motions. But Brad pushes the dog off of him and gets out of bed. He was still naked. He had no idea in the first place. "Good morning, son of Vincent Phelps," she said with a low and seductive tone. "I hope you don't mind me waking you. You looked a little uncomfortable. So I thought I'd comfort you." A sensual smirk formed from her lips. But Brad frowned. "Are you crazy?" Sonia was actually surprised. "Am I crazy?" She asked in feign surprise. "You're lucky I'm generous, Brad. Admit it. Really wasn't expecting to wake up like that this morning." "But I thought you'd gotten enough after everything we did last night." Brad said. Sonia lifted her head to make her indigo eyes meet his brown before she giggled. "There's no way that I can get enough of this wonderful thing we're experiencing, Brad." She sat on the bed next to Brad. "Besides, I wanted to see what it was like being with someone who is like me, even if we aren't of the same species." "So you've had experience before?" Brad asked to which she nodded. "I do now." Her voice was low and seductive as she bats her eyelashes at him. "I understand," Brad said. "I don't think any less of you or the other five for wanting to satisfy your urges. Besides, I'm definitely not complaining at how experienced you are." She smiled softly before pecking him on his lips. "You know, Brad, most men would think that I was the easy type and would spread my legs for any man, no matter how horny. You're a really handsome person, son of Vincent Phelps. Your mother should be very proud of giving birth to you. And it was good." Now Brad looked grim because of the mentioning of his poor mother. "You're insatiable on so many levels. I swear to

you. My mother is dead, a long time ago. The past belongs to the past, Sonia. Not the present." "Come to think of it, I never would have guessed, to be completely honest with you. Consider yourself enlightened, then." Sonia began to head out the guest room toward the bathroom. She stopped at the doorway, looking at Brad over her shoulder. "I'll be in the shower if you need me, Brad," Her voice then lowered into a sultry tone. "You're welcome to join me if you want. I could use some... help washing my back." She giggled as she stepped in and closed the door behind her. Brad looked down to see that he was hard again. He sighed as he also got up and headed out the room and toward the bathroom, planning on joining Sonia in the shower.  (I really need to learn some self-control from now on, while I continue visiting the mansion.) Brad entered. A few moments later, Sonia's moans could be heard from outside the bathroom. Two hours had passed. Brad walked back to his room with a tired sigh, completely drained from his time with Sonia in the shower. She was a sexually voracious poodle even though dressed in a maid uniform always armed with a pink feather duster, but he really didn't mind that because she was simply too beautiful and too attractive to resist, even though she works with Sinclair. And he enjoyed his time with her last night, but now... the toll of pleasing the seductive poodle was taking effect on him. And yet, if the writer of this book met Sonia instead of Brad, then he would've felt just the same.CHAPTER VLife is a wondrous adventure that lasts for as long as each individual life is there. For Brad and Sonia, their lives have been spent well. With an interspecies relationship comes many changes in mood, personality, desires and passions, a mix of emotionally, physically and intellectually driven scenarios, even of the most passionate of all. Of course, the passion of lustful heat from Sonia continues to remain indifferent, even to this day. Still, one must ask: Is there a heavy connection of soul, mind, and body? As of right now, no one knows for sure. Sinclair

takes Brad to the library. Brad was taken by complete surprise when he gets there. "I've never been to a library this big before!" Brad cried. "This library had a million books." Sinclair said. "However, I want to show you a very special book."                                                                                                                                                 "What is it?" Brad asked, feeling interested. Sinclair shows Brad a large book with a green cover. The side reads "ON THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES." Sinclair announced. "It's the first edition of Darwin's "Origin of Species" published in 1859. I had this book back in the Great War and became fascinated with it." Sinclair continued as he gave Brad the book. "Now, I want you to be fascinated like me." "Why thanks." Brad said. "I'll go read it in my room." "Good," Sinclair said. "Coincidentally, I'll be having a conversation with my maid. Speaking of which, before you go, I need to tell you something about my maid. I've seen that you're smitten with her, when you first met her." Brad smiled thinly. "Come to think of it, I might as well be a lucky guy for meeting her in the first place." he drawled. "Yes," Sinclair countered. "At least, that didn't concern me so much. Just to let you know, sir. I'm glad that you're on time. I'd be devastated if you're now. Do you at least sleep well last night?" It was only then that Brad remembered Sonia having sex with him, seducing him into utter submission. (Oh, dear. You have no idea.) "Well, good. Just to let you know." He smiled stiffly. By the time

Brad enters his room on the east wing, Sinclair is having a conversation with Sonia about how long will Brad find out that his servants are not in animal costumes but servants turned into real animals with his transformation machine at the Great Hall. "What are we going to do if Brad finds out about our ruse?" Sonia said intently. "If he finds out, my glorious maid," Sinclair said, disinterestedly. "I'll bring him to some deep lake and bury him." "But what would Vincent Phelps say about his son dead?" "Vincent Phelps will follow his son." Sinclair declared. "You know something?" Sonia said. "If he ever finds out, it would be a downright shame." "Shame, you say?" "Yes," Sonia said. "It would go to waste." "Continue, my maid." "Brad's such a lucky guy Vincent Phelps has." Sonia said. "His features can't be traced." "Brad's trustworthy, isn't he?" "All Brad needs is a kick, without a trace." Sonia announced, smiling. "Think of it as thrift, as a gift, if you get my drift!" "What do I need to make it up to Vincent's son, my maid?" "Just a lot of space." Sonia answered, wagging her tail in agreement. "With your transformation machine, he won't notice it. He won't find the passageway in the library." Suddenly, a tremor of excitement bursts inside Sinclair. "My Sonia! My Sonia! What a charming notion that is loftily practical and yet suitable as always! How I've lived without you after all these four years, I'll never know!" Sinclair announced. "How delectable! Also undetectable! How lush! How queer!" "What is it, Sinclair?" "The history of the world, my

sweet Sonia!" Sinclair announced boldly. "With this transformation machine, I'll sweep those who believe in the theory of evolution right off their heels! Off their toes!" Sonia said in excitement. "That's a great idea! I'll root for you!" Sinclair puts his fake hand around her shoulder with a smile. "These are desperate times in this modern age, my beautiful Sonia, and desperate measures are called for! By the way, can I ask you a question?" "Of course." "Well, you know, I'm planning on using my machine to turn Christina into a golden retriever." Sinclair said. "What do you mean?" Sonia asked. "Well, a golden retriever is a dog, right?" "Yes." "And a poodle is a dog like you, right?" "I guess." Sonia looks confused. "Both are dogs." "Okay." "Are they related?" Sonia grows hot and slaps Sinclair in the cheek. He used his fake hand to cover his cheek. "Why did you do that? That really hurts!" Sinclair said. "It's because of the question you ask me!" Sonia stood frozen. "What question did I ask you?" "Is a golden retriever and a poodle related!" Sonia exploded. "That's what you said!" "What's wrong with it?" "That's discrimination!" Sonia yelled. "Well, I apologize for you. All I did is ask you a

simple question." "It's a touchy subject for me!" Sonia cried. "Not all species of dogs are related." However, Sinclair grinned at this and asked her. "But can they go to heaven? That's what I'm thinking." Sonia's face turned red. Although she smiled ruefully. "That's beside the point!" "What do you mean?" Sinclair blushed. "You're racist!" "I am?" Sinclair turns white to match one half of his hair. "Is it a bad thing?" "Yes, it's bad to resist. Animals don't make temptations to hate or discriminate." Sinclair asked. "Am I off the hook?" "What risk did you take?" Sonia asked. "I don't know," Sinclair answered, puzzled. "I think it's from a book." "Whether they tell ethnic jokes that are based on race, I'm always authentic to face them!" "You know what?" Sinclair grinned. "I think you make me a changed person, my beautiful Sonia. Of course that doesn't change my black-and-white hair to just black hair." "Why thanks." Sonia said, shyly. "I must have did my best, did I?" Sinclair said with a smile. "Of course! However, stereotypical folks have a ton of judgments, like who to hire or who to buy a newspaper from." "What about them?" Sonia asked. Sinclair answered. "Just little judgments like thinking that Mexicans should learn to speak English!" Both burst into peals of laughter. "I think there's a lot to learn, Sinclair." Sonia said, through laughter. "What could I learn, my dear?" Sinclair declared. "Ethnic jokes people make are uncouth." Sonia said. "Think about the young ones when they hear it." Sinclair scoffs. "Why would I think about them? They'll laugh because they're actually based on truth." She cried, "That's beside the point!" "The young ones cannot spare a dime because of the hate crimes they disappoint." "You should just relax. Don't take them as personal attacks." "Why deploy them? The Whites enjoy them!" "That's beside the point, Sinclair!" Sonia cried. "Every person was fair." "Would I lie for being a rabbi? If everyone turns out well, relax, my dear maid!" Sonia sighs. "Fine, Sinclair. Just make sure no one gets hurt by verbal abuse." "I like it when you say that." Sinclair beamed demurely. "Why don't you stop me, if you've heard this joke already?" "Okay." Sonia said. Sinclair clears his throat and began. "There's a plane going to crash into a mountain and there's only one parachute. And the three passengers are a rabbi, a priest..." "AND A NIGGER!!' A voice shouted out. Sinclair and Sonia turned around and saw Sebastian. Instantly, they frown at him. "What exactly are you doing, master?" the fox asked. "This is none of your business!" Sinclair shouted. "Get the hell out and look outside with your glass!" "I've heard of this joke already." Sinclair's expression changes. "You do?" "Sure I do," Sebastian said as he walks over to them. "But I forgot the rest!" That cause both Sinclair and Sonia to roar with laughter. "What's all the fuss?" the butler arrives. "Something about niggers and rabbis, I think." Sebastian said. (Racism!) "How about you, butler? I bet you tell Polack jokes, right?" Sinclair asked. "You've a bloody cheek! Why would I do that?" the butler said. "Is that discrimination or something?" "It is to them!" Sinclair laughed. "But not to us! What about Chinese?" "There's no one to please." the butler said. "You think so, butler?" Sebastian asked. "That's the way you want it? They would go down on their knees. How about the rabbis?" "That look's pretty dark, too dark to realize. After all, they're accompanied with Jewish people." "That's the way you want? There's no need to flaunt." "What about the dogs?" Sinclair asked. "Dear Sinclair, don't be daunt!" Sonia said. "Dogs aren't related to tell it and notice how fine to resist. That's always racist!" Sinclair roars into a laughing frenzy again, raising his arms up to the sky. "Christ, I felt so alive!" "I've heard of him." the butler said excitedly. "Who?" Sonia asked. "Jesus Christ. He's a Negro." "No, he isn't." Sonia cried. "He's white." "That's a lie! I'm pretty sure he's black." "No, Jesus was white!" However, Sebastian interrupts them. "You're both wrong. Both of you!" "Who is he then? Who is he then?" Sonia asked. "Yeah." the butler said. "Tell us." "He's Jewish!" Sebastian screams in laughter, now dancing. However, both animals are confused. (Jesus might as well be a rabbi.) Eventually, the fox realized it and stopped laughing. "Why the both of you are not laughing?" Sinclair said, "I guess that's too far, my darling." "Why?" Sonia said, "He's a Jew. He's better than you." The butler said, "I suggest I would tell some good jokes to entertain some blokes anew." "See, butler?" Sebastian said. "You know what he said: it is to them but not to us." Sonia said, "I would might suggest, since ethnic jokes are judgmental, I prefer oriental, do you?" "I haven't got a clue," the butler said. "Well, you never know if it's out of the blue!" "Do you tell jokes about Latinos?" "Of course not, dearest Sonia." the butler answered. "It might be offensive to you." "How about Asian or Malaysian?" Sinclair said. "I think I

might do that." the butler said. "Sad, but true." Suddenly, Sinclair roared in delight. "AND I HEAR SONIA AND BRAD FUCKING EACH OTHER!!!" However, after he said that, he hears a startled gasp. Of course, that gasp came from Sonia. Sinclair froze for what he has heard. Sonia stood paralyzed. Her mouth hangs open in an expression of shocked repulsion. That means he knows about her and Brad's night of pleasure. Sinclair's lips mumble, looking for the right words. But alas, they don't exist. Pretty soon, a growl emerge from her muzzle. Finally, Sonia became enraged by this revelation and charges at Sinclair. "I'LL KILL YOU!!!" Sonia screamed, pulsating with rage. However, the butler storms in front of her and blocks her, preventing her vengeance. "Calm down!" the butler cried. "That's the master! Don't kill him!" "YOU WANT ME TO KILL YOU TOO?!" A roar from Sonia echoes the resting area. "I'D BE HONORED!!" The butler immediately lets go of her. Sonia's burning eyes gaze down on Sinclair. "Tell Vincent Phelps NOTHING!!" Sonia said, her voice sounding dark. She immediately storms off, leaving Sinclair unnerved. "I just don't know what went wrong." the butler said, eyes brimmed with tears. "That's okay," Sinclair said. "I shouldn't have said that in the first place." "Why don't I just calm her down and tell her to take the rest of the day off?" the butler asked. "You do that, and you end up being torn to ribbons, you bugger." Sinclair said, grimly. "I never knew that her rage sounds so...animal-like. Is that normal?" "What's her problem, then?"

Sebastian asked the butler. "A boy got a piece of arse from a poochie, giving her a poke with the old pork sword, hasn't he? Who would've thought that could happen? I bet the sight of them alone gives me a stiffy, huh?" (Sebastian, remind me later to kick your arse.) Howl! Howl! Cry out! Cry out! (There can be no understanding from playing God.) Before the butler could answer, Brad descends down the staircase and spots the butler, Sebastian and Sinclair. "What's all that about?" Brad said. "I hear yelling and screaming from downstairs." Sinclair said, sheepishly. "How the hell should I know? Are you supposed to be reading?" "Where's Sonia?" Brad said. But they said nothing. That caused Brad to worry and begins searching for her, calling out her name repeatedly. The butler runs after him, but is stopped by Sinclair. "Let him go." Eventually, Brad finds Sonia outside the backyard, quietly watering from her eyes. Brad did his very best to comfort the crying pooch. "Don't talk to me ever again, Brad!" Sonia said. "Why, Sonia?" Brad asked, confusedly. "Sinclair finds out about our night of pleasure!" Sonia sobbed. "Forget about what I mean to you! There are some things you just DO NOT DO!" Brad lets her sadness wash over him. "I almost killed my master!" Sonia cried. "I'm afraid of myself, son of Vincent Phelps. I had no idea that my animal instincts drive me to tear through flesh and bone! Now leave me! I beg of you!" However, it takes a moments for

words to emerge. Finally Brad said to her, "You're really not wearing an animal costume?" "Yes, I admit it! I'm not a human being like you, Brad! I'm really a wild animal!" Sonia confessed freely. "I am a dog!" A shocked expression paints Brad's face. Also, he can't believe that an anthropomorphic poodle like Sonia had sex with him last night. However, Brad hugs the crying Sonia. "Why didn't you tell me?" Sonia sobbed. "Because I don't want you to know about this phenomena originated at Sinclair's mansion!" "Don't worry." Brad said. "Sinclair's secret will be safe with me." "You will?" Sonia asked. "Yes. You'll trust me." Brad nodded and continues embracing her. Pretty soon, Sonia came back to Sinclair an hour later. She finds him at the resting area, staring into space. She walks over to him and said, "Brad knows now." "Is he going to tell?" Sinclair asked, incompatibly. "He promised that he won't tell." Sonia said. Sinclair turned to Sonia and said. "I never knew that you love the son of Vincent Phelps. I promise I won't tell him, okay?" Sonia nodded. Only moments before, Sinclair proclaimed. "That's all in the past, my dear maid! Let bygones be bygones! Pretty soon, after we celebrate Christmas and a happy new year, let the miracle of evolution commence, my pet!" Sinclair always went from one extreme to another. There's nothing in between. "We won't discriminate them," Sinclair said triumphantly. "Because we'll soon be living in harmony, achieving fame and revolutionize science for the greater good!" (Still, there can be no understanding from playing God.)CHAPTER VIThe new year has begun, and Sinclair decides to put the project on hiatus for the time being. Even geniuses have something else to do. Meanwhile, Brad and Sonia started getting together. Innocently enough, between two different species, they get more than what they bargained for. Why no one saw that coming made no difference. In all honesty, it should stay that way. It is now six months into the new year. Sinclair and his servants are attending this year's Ascot Gold Cup in Berkshire, including Brad and Christina. The ladies and gentlemen attending the races, dressed elegantly in this year's Ascot fashion, are waiting for the start of the opening race. Once it starts, they raise their field glasses, looking out at the track. The sound of the approaching horses grows into a thunder as they storm past the spectators. The spectators lower their field glasses again.  After the opening race, Vincent Phelps arrived, looking completely out of place in his dark chocolate-colored suit. He sees Sinclair with Brad and Christina. "Sinclair," Vincent Phelps said. Sinclair turned around to face him, "What a disagreeable surprise, Vincent Phelps. I haven't seen you since last December. More accurately, I haven't seen you in six months." Brad turned around to face him, "Hello, father." "Why is my son here?" Vincent Phelps asked calmly. "Why is he in Ascot?" "He wants to enjoy himself, right? Hell, I even need to get out more. Also to be completely honest, you're not even dressed for Ascot, Vincent Phelps." Sinclair grinned. "But frankly, I digress." Brad said to his father, "Allow me to introduce my other friend, father." (A friend?! Why is your friend a human like you?!) "Her name is

Christina Dupree," Brad introduced Christina to his father. "She's an orphan." Sinclair finished for Brad, "and I adopt her like my own, Vincent Phelps." The butler approached Sinclair. As a human, he seemed to blend in with his crazed dark brown rooster-like hair. Vincent Phelps could tell that his face is human like the other attenders at the race. (Thank God Brad didn't find out about the animals.) "Master, I have something to tell you." the human butler said. "Tell away," Sinclair exclaimed. The butler whispered to his ear, "Your maid's being pinned; some of the clothes they bought her didn't quite fit her canine body to hide her features, except her face-mask. I told Max we should have taken her with us, along with Sebastian." Shortly after, another spectator, a nerdy, spectacled, buck-toothed man in his late thirties approached, holding a card. "Excuse me," he said. "Mind if I sit here?" "As you wish," Sinclair said, before turning to his butler. "And are they coming?" "Of course. I saw them." Sinclair squeals with delight, seeing Max and Sebastian arriving with Sonia, who is dressed spectacularly. He motions for them to come over. As a human, Sonia looked as radiant as ever with her pale blonde curls. Her blood-red lipstick made her smile even more irresistible in Brad's eyes. No one knows that she had a certain sex appeal as she was disguised as a human like the rest of Sinclair's servants. Unfortunately, she wore that appeal wonderfully well. As a human, Sebastian's hair was a bit shaggy and hung down to just below his ears. Maybe that blends in with his slyness. Max, however was a different story. This man has pasty white skin with sunken, menacing eyes and cheekbones. His face might as well look like a skeleton with a skeleton-like quality to it. All in all, four of Sinclair's

servants looked almost human. Almost. Human faces and hands...the rest of their furry bodies dressed in this year's Ascot fashion like all the other spectators at the Racecourse. They walk towards Sinclair, but Sonia appears slightly nervous, despite the fact that her face-mask is starting to sweat. Max reassures her and she relaxes. They join them in the box. Sonia sits next to the nerdy man and Brad, while Max and Sebastian sat next to her. "Remain courteous, my Sonia." Sinclair said. "You're just in time for tea." The man said to Sonia, "Why, you look so beautiful this afternoon." "Why, you're so sweet. But not so sweet as Brad." Sonia smiled as Sinclair nods to himself, satisfied with her elocution. "Oh, is he now?" the man said, before turning to Brad. "She thinks you're sweet." (That's good enough to hear.) "Why is your maid with my son and this man?" "I have a name, you know," he said. "And I'm spending my summer vacation here in England. After that, then I'm back to lecturing biology in Burgess." "Isn't that a well-known college in Chamberlain?" "Correct, sir." "What's your name?" "Victor Fredersen, sir." "My name is Vincent Phelps," Brad's father introduced, before pointing at Sinclair. "And this man with the black-and-white hair is Dr. Vladimir Sinclair." "You do realize that she couldn't help herself, Vincent Phelps." Sinclair said. "Between my Sonia and your Brad, they're close friends." Sebastian said to Sonia, "The first race was very exciting, I'm so sorry that you missed it." "At least I'll be in

time for the next one." Sonia smiled sweetly. "Good for you, miss." Victor said. Sinclair moves on to Vincent Phelps. "I want to speak with you alone." After they head out, they talk. "I've decided that I'll sweep evolution right off its heels." "How?" Vincent Phelps said. "The transformation machine!" Sinclair said. Vincent Phelps turn white after hearing this. "You can't be serious!" Vincent Phelps said in shock. "The secret is out!" "Not exactly, Vincent Phelps." Sinclair said. "Your son already knows, but he won't tell anyone. After all, what's nothing to trust? Your Brad or my Sonia, who may I remind you have to be courteous?" "My son!" Vincent Phelps wailed. "How could he?!" Sinclair is about to say something else, but can't due to Sonia's warning about not letting Vincent Phelps know the night of heated pleasure with his son. "My maid told him." Sinclair said grimly. Vincent Phelps looks like he's going to say something, then doesn't. He knows that his words won't come out of the floodgates of his voice. As Sinclair and Vincent Phelps leave, Victor can now discuss on something different: the relationship between Brad and Sonia. "How come you two know each other?" Victor asked. But Sonia snapped. "Now what kind of question is that?" "There's no reason to snap, just a question." Victor fumes. "Hasn't it suddenly turned chilly? I do hope we won't have any unseasonable cold spells." Sonia now wants to know about Victor, let alone Brad, "How

long have you been lecturing students about biology?" "About two years," he said. "Do you actually want to know about me?" Sonia teased. "Do you think I look attractive?" (One more outburst like that and everyone will think you're a pervert.) "You got it all wrong!" Victor stammered. "I think you're beautiful just the way you are with your blonde hair and your red lips!" "Well, consider that a mercy, anyhow. Also, consider yourself enlightened." At some point, Victor felt completely flushed, even embarrassed. (I can't believe it! That maid of his is somewhat reasonable than I am! I must admit. Against all better judgment, I think she was better off without me spectating the next race.) "I am trying very hard to understand why you insist on trying to ruin it for the both of us, but, whatever the reason, I am not going to let you ruin my life, not to mention your son. I won't let you expend them. Think of your son, Vincent Phelps." Vincent Phelps said. "We will talk about this later. We have a race to witness." After all, he's somewhat responsible for Sinclair's overactive imagery of playing god. "I'm so glad you're back," Victor said as both Vincent Phelps and Sinclair return to their box. "I should be leaving. I have a bet on number seven. Camelot is his name. I gave it to your maid." "And I think she'll enjoy the race ever so much more, whoever you are." Sinclair grinned. "How much is that poochie in the window, huh, Vincent Phelps?" (The one with the waggly tail or the other wearing that sexy maid uniform? If that is the other, I do hope that poochie's for sale.) "I can see your Brad and my Sonia will get along just fine. Come along, my courteous. You too, Vincent Phelps. The race is about to

start." They make their way down to the fence where the other spectators have gathered. Everyone stands silent, waiting for the horses' approach. Sonia looks out at the tracks, becoming more excited as the horses near. However, as the horses race past, Sonia barks loud and is about to chase the horses, but Max stops her. Everyone gasps in shock; Sinclair covers his mouth, suppressing a laugh and Vincent Phelps quietly lowers his hat. (There can be no understanding from playing God.) At the end of the day, Vincent Phelps and his son, Sinclair and his bodyguard, butler, maid and Christina, are leaving with the crowd who are making for their cars. Sinclair's vehicle was an old stylish limousine. It was painted black-and-white to match the owner's hair. Obviously. "You're not serious, Sinclair." Vincent Phelps said, grimly. "You don't expect to show the world about all this, would you?" "Only when the time is right, Vincent Phelps, which would be later." Sinclair said. "Don't you think the world's not ready? Please let me know." Vincent Phelps burned. "If you cannot see how impossible this whole project is then you must be absolutely cockeyed about it. As of now, the credit you give me for the machine you made and this whole project is yours." Sinclair gasped. What a shock! "Why would you give your credit to me? After four years of working with me, is that all I needed to hear? Because I do wish you would regret it soon after, Vincent Phelps. It's the most fascinating venture we've ever undertaken since the meaning of life and dreaming of being the first man to set foot on another planet. With this project, I promise you, that it'll rip the veils off the eyes of nature and science... and write my name in the pantheon of scientists. And don't forget, your Brad is mine and the year is not up yet. Try not to forget." That caused Vincent Phelps to be dejected as he climbs in his vehicle and leaves. Later in Sinclair's mansion, in the Great Hall, Sonia is sitting on the sofa, dejected and disappointed for

her actions. The butler just pats her on the shoulder sympathetically and sits down beside her. Outside, Brad and Christina are walking in the front formal gardens. Of course, Brad would stop to admire the flowers. "I suppose it's all over town." Christina had said. "What is?" Brad asked. "That incident at Ascot. I heard that Zarathustra won the Gold Cup instead of Camelot. That what Sonia really wanted when that man with the buckteeth gave his bet to her." "As a matter of fact, I do feel bad about her." Brad decides. "Know something? I'll make it up to her! Yeah! I'll go back inside and talk to her!" Sebastian suddenly appears between them with antagonism. "Fat chance! Do yourself a favor and don't! I don't think your friend doesn't want to see anyone ever again." "But why? I just want to talk to her." "You love her?" Sebastian snickered. "What did you expect her to do, let you sniff her butt?" Brad was disgusted and enraged. "You're sick!" But Sebastian cackled with antagonism as he left, completely satisfied. Christina interferes with Brad. "Let's just sit for a moment." They ended up sitting on the steps together. "Don't listen to that fox," Christina said. "He always sly sometimes! I know that you'll ever once again see Sonia. In the meantime, tonight, I'll be in the library." At the backyard, Sonia is swimming the length of the pool underwater. As she surfaces at the shallow end, Brad is waiting for her. She just sighed and asked. "What do you want, Brad?" "I thought you might want to talk things out." Brad was kneeling down and touching her. "I was worried about you." "You don't know what it's like to see me as some sort of animal, doing what animals normally do." Sonia exits the pool, shaking off the water from her fur. "See what I did here? Dogs do that!" (That makes sense because she has dog DNA.) With a scoff, she walks off. But Brad follows her. "Maybe it wasn't so bad." Sonia just scoffs seeing Brad's doubtful expression. "If you think that wasn't so bad, try seeing me again in seven years. How's that for saying 'Maybe it wasn't so bad?'" (Boy, those dog years are rough, huh?) "I just want to know more about you," Brad had said. "How did you became this? This animal? That's what fascinates me since you told me that you're not really a human in an animal costume." Sonia sighs. "Do you want to know, Brad?" (Would you mind leaving? You smell like wet dog!) "More than anything." "I'm usually at my bedroom at the west wing." Sonia said. "But even though you want to know me, you hardly know Sinclair who is responsible in the first place. If you want to know him, you wouldn't believe it. Frankly, I would've done the same. I'll see you tomorrow." Sonia makes her way toward the Great Hall with a towel. Brad was delighted and smiles to himself. Christina had no idea what time it is, when she wake up this late at the dimly-lit library. (I've never seen an orphan sleep so much.) Holding an electric torch, she decides to put back a book where she got it. By the time she makes it to the edge of the room, Christina

stopped. The torch flashes at a door which resembles a bookshelf. The passageway to the animal transformation lab. With curiosity getting the best of her, she opens the passageway door with her free hand, seeing the narrow opening in front of her. But suddenly there came a cool drought of air which made the hair at her neck quiver, and a hand of snow ran down her back. There came an agonized sigh--a sigh which would not come to an end... The girl stood still. The bright torch which she held in her hand let its gleam play tremblingly about her feet. "Brad...?" Now her voice, too, was only a whisper. No answer. But, behind her, in the depths of the passage she would have to pass through, a gentle, gliding slink became perceptible: feet in soft shoes on carpet... That was...yes, that was strange. Nobody, apart from her, ever came this way. Nobody could be here. And, if somebody were here, then it was no friend... Certainly nobody whom she wanted to meet. Should she let him by--yes. She hesitated on going inside. She did not breathe, immovable. Now the agonized, heavy breathing, heavier still, and nearer...cold breath on her neck....Then--Nothing more. Silence. And waiting. And watching--keeping on the look-out... "Brad!" she thought. She bit the name tightly between her jaws, yet heard the scream with which her heart screamed it. She was suddenly grabbed by the hands! The hands of Sinclair! They did not greet each other; neither greeted the other. She did not stir, the torch still on her hand. Sinclair speaks in a low voice: "I see that you found the

passageway, Christina." "I do not know..." Sinclair smiled sleepily. Christina's hoarse voice continued: "...I hope you had the heart to believe me on saying so." Sinclair looked at Christina, still smiling, fondling her hair. "You are quite right," said he courteously. "Where are my manners? But tell me, do you know what's down there?" "What?" She swallowed hard. "What's down there?" Sinclair pressed his eyelids together, as though he wished to sleep. "Curious little beastie, are you? I had my eye on you from the start." A shiver ran down her back and she was suddenly grasped by his hands. The torch dropped in the process. "What are you doing?" Christina cried. "Let me go!" "Too bad Brad's not around to protect you!" Sinclair smiled sleepily. She tried to resist but to no avail. "You're going nowhere. I knew from the first time I laid eyes on you, since I adopt your arse. Soon, I'll teach you how to play fetch! Fetch! Fetch!" Then it was as though she were extinguished, and she plunged into nothing. Howl! Howl! Cry out! Cry out! (There's always silence.) (There's always silence.)CHAPTER VIISo far, no one denies about an interspecies romance. Honestly, it should stay that way. At least, an unlikely couple now get more than what they bargained for. She had called him. Brad walked excitedly toward the west wing in one of the master bedrooms where Sonia was waiting for him. She sounded excited and Brad could say he felt the same way. Brad even thought about her. He couldn't wait to see her, he just couldn't and luckily, he wouldn't have to, which means spending time with his canine friend all day. Brad can only wonder if life could be any better. He made it to the master bedroom and knock on the door. Opening the door stood Sonia. Upon seeing Brad she smiled. He couldn't think of anything but her great beauty.  Sonia was wearing a white blouse, a belt, a light purple dress, and red high heeled shoes. She wore her lipstick, which made her smile more irresistible, and he could smell some wonderful perfume on her. (Thank God it didn't smell like a wet dog.) "I'm glad you're here, son of Vincent Phelps." She said in a very soothing voice. "Just like I told you." "Me too." Brad said, dumbly.  Brad couldn't take his eyes off her. Sonia giggled and looked deep into his eyes.  "Would you mind coming in, Brad?" She asked teasingly. Brad snapped back to a normal state of mind, and then, thinking if he stared at her he would look like the biggest idiot ever, took his eyes off her and looked down before looking up again. She ushers him inside. Inside, the master bedroom was furnished with a wide quilted bed, pieces of ornate furniture, statues, frescoes, mirrors, vases and wall paintings. Brad has never seen a room like this before. You could say that the bedroom is nothing like his guest room. "You like what you see?" she said softly in a calm and happy tone. "I never seen a room like this before." Brad replied. "Come on over to the bed," Sonia said. "I must

tell you something." Following her instructions, Brad sits on her bed. Sonia followed. "What is it that you want to tell me?" "You know I have been meaning to go back to my old self." Sonia began. "Your old self?" Brad asked. "You know how much animals are like with Sinclair and all. There's only six of them. Six of his servants. Six lives changed the moment they walk right in, Brad. When you think of us, you think of what we say since we're animals: 'Bark!' goes the fox. 'Hiss!' goes the cat. 'Squeak!' goes the rat. 'Uh-uh!' goes the rabbit. 'Courteous!' goes the dog. And 'British!' goes the squirrel." Sonia said. "And you have to know all about them. In the end, we had it coming, and we only had Sinclair to blame. If you don't know Sinclair, you won't believe it. And frankly, we would have done the same. It's foolish to think otherwise." (Bark! Hiss! Squeak! Uh-uh, Courteous, British!) "Some people would be sly as a fox." Sonia said. "If you do met these people, I bet you met Sebastian. Sebastian was once one of those sly Londoners who always like to talk." (No. Not talk. Bark.) "Somehow, he stumbled up to Sinclair's mansion and he and Sinclair have an affair, drinking, laughing and talking." (No! Not talkin'! BARKIN'!) "So, after the affair's over, Sinclair would say, 'I pretty much like you being sly as a fox.' And he meant it. Unfortunately, the bugger passed out and wake up sly as a fox, because that's how he actually became." (Sebastian had it coming, and he

only had Sinclair to blame. If you don't know Sinclair, you won't believe it. And frankly, he would have done the same.) "Two years ago," Sonia said. "Sinclair just met a man from Kensington. And he told Sinclair that he wasn't married and they elope right then and there." (What? Did they just fuck each other?) "After that, Sinclair invite him to his home, fix him a drink, and make dinner. Eventually he told Sinclair that he like cats. Sinclair roars a mightiest roar, 'YOU LIKE CATS? SO DO I! NO WONDER WHY WE HAVE SO MUCH IN COMMON.' He told Sinclair that his favorite type of cat is a Russian Blue, because they're intelligent." (And they hiss!) "So Sinclair fixed him his drink again. You know, he had no clue how he passed out. But you can tell he has one life to live, and eight more." (He had it coming, and he only had Sinclair to blame. If you don't know Sinclair, you won't believe it. And frankly, he would have done the same.) "I'm guess you're wondering to know about the rat who showed you your room for the year." Sonia had said. "He was once an American former Pinkerton's detective and a former cop. Max is his name. Unfortunately, he was hired by Sinclair when he met him as his personal man servant. You may see him around. Unfortunately, he didn't talk much that often." (A man servant who squeaks.) "So, Sinclair turned him into a rat, because of his cunning personality. Need I say more?" (If you don't know Sinclair, you won't believe it. And frankly, Max would have done the same.) "Months ago," Sonia said, "Sinclair had met a homeless urchin of five going on six. He doesn't know his name, but he can tell that he was an immigrant from France. He was excited when Sinclair take him to his home. Unfortunately, it takes a turn when he was ordered to do the hard work of Sinclair. The condition he's in is terrible. He made a bad decision when he attempts to escape." "What happened to him?" Brad

said. "He let him go out from his misery." (Uh-uh! He killed me!) (Unfortunately, he doesn't know his own strength.) "I was once a human when Sinclair hired me to become his maid." Sonia confessed to the son of Vincent Phelps. "I once had a real face instead of a muzzle. I once had skin instead of fur. I still have my blonde hair after the transformation, but he decided to dye my hair dark purple. I usually got used to it." (The only aspect for a maid to do, besides cleaning, is to be courteous. Don't you know that? Well, now you do?) "Like the cat, I like animals, but gray poodles are what I desire the most." "Even as a maid?" Brad asked. "I think the reason why Sinclair turned you into a poodle is because you've liked poodles, right?" (Obvious, isn't it, Brad? I'm just glad you won't be here when I gave birth to your firstborn child after nine months!) "I had it coming all along." Sonia confessed with ecstasy. "I'm at the wrong place, but at the right time. Well I've enjoyed it. So how's that wrong?" (They had it coming all along. They're at the wrong place, but at the right time. Well they've enjoyed it. So how's that wrong?) "A year ago, Sinclair hired a dashing man to be his butler." (You can tell that the man is British.) "Eventually, Sinclair liked him for the butler's squirrely personality. You don't have to know his name, but you have to know that he became a squirrel." (Oh, yes! He is!) (Oh, yes! He is!) "How does he do that exactly?" Brad asked. A sly grin formed on her face, "His transformation machine." "Transformation machine?" Brad asked, confused. "Sinclair had a machine who turns people into animals." "Like you, Sonia," Brad realized. "Of course," Sonia said. She leans back comfortably, beginning to imagine a wonderful, domestic future. "I've always had this dream of being human once more. To be precise, son of Vincent Phelps, being human again is the live I would covet. Wouldn't that be smashing?" "Of course! I do!" Brad cried. "Please tell me! What will you do if you're human again?" "The first thing I would do is to go on a great ship that will take me across the ocean toward New York City." Sonia declared. "I could enjoy Coney Island, riding on the Ferris wheel all day long and dine in one of New York's most enjoyable nightclubs." The maid sighed happily. "It would be absolutely intoxicating! Wouldn't you ever agree, son of Vincent Phelps?" Brad sighed, looking at his feet, before back at Sonia. "I don't think I can ever really say no to your dream, Sonia. I was hoping if I want to join you." Sonia blushed, the bottom of her eyes begging to well up with tears of joy. "Brad..." she whispered. Brad had no idea what was happening to her now. But he saw her leaning towards him. And before he knew it, he was once again lost in a world of absolute bliss, as their lips became connected. Unfortunately, they have to stop. They both need to breathe. "I need to show you something." Sonia points at a small turntable with a vinyl record inside. "There's a turntable. Shall we dance?"  "Of course, Sonia." Brad said. "What

are we going to dance to? Perry Como? Dean Martin?" Brad could see that Sonia was smirking seductively as she leaned closer, her face less than an inch away from his. "You're going to enjoy this, Brad," Her tone was once again husky and filled with lust. She went over the turntable and turns it on. To Brad's surprise, slow, sexy jazz music started playing. Brad and Sonia embrace and start to dance slowly, grinding on each other for a few moments, before she pushes him down into a chair so that he can sit and watch as she does a hot and slow strip for him. She pulls out her feather duster and goes down on the handle, deep as though she were having oral sex. As she comes up, her tongue rolls all around the duster's handle and gives it some little flicking licks. Brad is getting very excited, but he controls himself so that he can watch her show. Sonia removes her bra and hangs it over Brad's head. He looks longingly at her breasts. Finally, Sonia dances close to Brad and he grabs her and embraces her in a passionate kiss. She pushed him onto the bed, before joining, and they let sexual lust do the rest. Darkness. That was all that poor Christina could see as he slowly focused back into reality. (There's always silence.) When Christina regained consciousness, she found herself, strapped to a restraint chair, naked. That can only mean one thing: she's in the lab. Sinclair was standing in front of the control panel, watching her menacingly. The girl sat dumb, looking over and beyond him. He laughed gloomily. "You dare try to contact the authorities!" he said, "I'm pretty sure that case was abandoned long ago!" The girl sat like a statue, immovable. "What do you know of my maid?" continued the man. "Before the new year, Brad and my maid share heated pleasure with one another. The world is very large and the earth is very fair. Out over the beautiful earth he will forget you, Christina." The girl sat like a statue, immovable. The man looked at the girl. His lonely eyes were starved and parched as the desert which does not know the dew. In a hoarse voice he went on: "Where do you get your confidence from? Do you believe that you are Brad's first love? I see that you have met my maid, Christina. However, she's now dead to me for there are some things she just do not do. You have only one advantage over my maid: You can leave when Brad wants you; the same way my maid wants to leave. When the son of Vincent's seed was laid deep inside her, that means my preparations will be all for nothing. However, I have other plans. My maid sleeps with Vincent Phelps' son and I hope you will sleep with him as her species." "Never!" said Christina. "Never! Never!" And the painless tears of a great, true love fell upon the beauty of her smile. Sinclair got up. He stood still before the girl. He looked at her and went towards the control panel. "You're making this harder to yourself, don't you?" He sets the red dial to "ANIMAL" and pressed a rectangular button. The industrial voice called out from the speaker: "Golden Retriever."  Sinclair flips the switch and the chair hurtles back to the gaping maw of the machine. Christina was screaming. However, the mouth closed, blocking her screaming for help. The machine begins to hum and the head starts to vibrate. As the head vibrates, Sinclair begins to chant. "Dear friends, I surely must agree. It's almost interesting to see Than some girl whose very fine Gets turned into a canine. The girl begins to feel strange. Her cells will be rearranged. Sitting on a restraint chair, On her skin grows golden hair. Her eyes frozen wide with fear. Silence escaped to interfere, As her hands change with just cause To just a pair of canine paws. Her vision will turn black and white, Her whole world gray from the sight. Low grumbles and whines came out, There's no need to shout. She won't allow herself to talk, Four paws she'll be forced to walk. Her worries will soon fly south As saliva drips from her mouth. Ears are heavy upon her head, Flopping lightly I should dread. And the last thing I would add to her Is a fluffy tail of golden fur." (There can be no understanding from playing God!) (There's always silence.) The mouth opens and the chair shoots back out. Christina is no longer her normal self nor she was a human. She became a golden retriever. She tried to speak, but it came out in a series of barks and whimpers. (Barks and whimpers.) (Whimpers and barks.) CHAPTER VIIIThe

irony was that such relationship between two different species shouldn't last this long, no matter how much they share their love to one another. No, this was beyond that. In the master bedroom, Brad and Sonia were half-exposed in each other's arms after heated pleasure took over the both of them, alone in a vacuum of melodious heartbeats and deep breaths. "I have to tell you something," Brad said. "What?" Sonia cooed. "I've always thought you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Animal or not." Her eyes gleam, "Really?" "Since the first time I met you." Sonia purred. "That really makes me feel good." Brad and the maid stared at each other for a few moments before Brad said, "I think I like you as a poodle. I don't care if you're a wild animal." Sonia blushed. "Oh, I feel quite the same way." "Hear me out." Brad said. "You know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. I would make sure my father would understand. I'll treat you nicely." Sonia said, concerned. "I can't be like this for the rest of my days. Haven't we had enough of this foolish chatter?" Brad said nothing. "Say, why don't you hang out with Christina, since that both of you are humans?" That caused Brad to be snapped out of his trance. (Barks and whimpers.) (Whimpers and barks.) (There's always silence.) Brad fully dressed himself and heads out the master bedroom and into the second floor

balcony. He can only find Sinclair, along with a golden retriever that was on a black leash. "Sinclair?" His dark eyes locked on Brad's, smiling from ear to ear. "Christina has been called away. I took her to an orphanage so she can be adopted by a trusted family." However, there's no truth from these words. "Why?" "She didn't say." Sinclair lied. "There must be some mistake!" Brad cried. The dog looked up at Brad, as if it recognized him. The bark immediately barks, getting his attention. "Sinclair, where did you get that dog?" Brad asked. The transformation machine inventor lied, "This cutie? I've bought it at a pet store in London. I haven't give it a name though." In reaction, the dog bit Sinclair on the leg. Brad became shocked. "What's with him?" "A her, exactly." Sinclair winced as he jerks her maw off of his leg, whimpering in response. "What's with her?" Brad repeated. "I'm pretty sure there's nothing to worry about," Sinclair said. "She'll bond with me. Mark my words." However, Brad was still concerned about Christina and her unmentioned absence. Sonia exited from the master bedroom and toward the second floor balcony, in response to the barking. "All this barking, I call it offensive." (I call it discrimination. That's what it is.) "What happened?" Sonia asked. Upon seeing the golden retriever, Sonia became confounded. Her face turns beetroot red and storms back to the master bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Forgetting about Christina, Brad is now concerned about Sonia. "Sonia!" Brad called out. He makes it to the door. He tries opening it, but it was locked. "Sonia, can you please open the door?" Brad said. He can hear her voice from inside: "I shall not!" He was taken aback by it. "Sonia, why?" "That DOG!" The voice howled. "Sinclair's golden retriever? Is that why you're upset?" Sonia opens the door in a flash, that Brad had no time to react. Instead, he stared at her, aghast and afraid. "What do YOU think?!" Sonia hissed. Never before, Brad hasn't be scolded by a French maid before, not to mention an anthropomorphic one. Immediately, fresh tears came pouring out. "I th-thought you loved me!" Cold eyes locked on Brad. The words "Not anymore," spilled out of her mouth, striking him like a metal spike to the heart, before slamming the door in front of his face. The butler, who was eavesdropping felt sorry for Brad, almost instantly. "Don't feel despair, Brad Phelps," Sinclair said in a grim tone that can sink ships. "I do not want to see the tears pouring down the whites of your

eyes." Brad fell on his knees. He stretched out his arms. His head fell forward into his hands. He burst into tears, into despairing sobs. Max slowly came to Brad. Brad made no response. Max slowly escorts Brad back to his room, while Sinclair escorts the golden retriever to the east wing, before stopping to a third door to the left. Sinclair shoves the dog inside, whose whimpers bring music to his ears. "Do you really think that's a good idea?" Sinclair mocked to the dog. "Bite me in the leg? I didn't cry out!" Sinclair is talking to the dog like it was an actual person. Stroking the ears, he said: "You want me to be an antagonist for you? Well, now I am." The dog is silent. "I really did try, Christina." The dog is silent. "Do you realize that Brad didn't recognize you?" The dog is silent. "I want to tell you something: you can go ahead and try to persuade him, because you're not going anywhere!" The dog is silent. "And now, I'll start on a new strategy: turning everyone in Britain into animals." Sinclair paused and rephrased his last words. "Quite possibly become my pets for the rest of their days inside my mansion." The only response the dog gave out was whimpering more. "You know something? I hope there must be some miracle that can turn you back to your old self again." Sinclair smiled and laughed before saying, "Literal bitch!" As Sinclair slammed the door, he was met by Sebastian. "Such a pity, you've heard me, my dear Sebastian." Sinclair said. "However, I'm actually aware of your presence." "I'll say," the fox said, and he smiled. "Serves him right, that square. I'll tell you. Been cruisin' for a bloody bruisin' since he came here." "What makes you say that?" "May I remind you of your maid's affair with the boy? You could possibly imagine them screaming Bloody Mary like there's no tomorrow! You know there are some things your maid don't do in the first place." "I'll keep that in mind. Personally, dear Sebastian. What can't be done has been done." "What's stopping you?" "The next time you talk smack to me, you're better off getting shot in the face, Sebastian." (He wasn't talkin'! He was barkin'! That's what he did! That's what sly Londoners did!) Sebastian knows that Sinclair has other plans now. Loud barks can be heard from inside the room. Sinclair massaged his temples. "What's in there, Sinclair?" "A golden retriever." Sinclair moaned. "Would you mind silencing her? She's better off sent to obedience school." "I'll keep that in mind." Sebastian grinned as he went inside to reason with the dog. Sinclair has a headache thanks to the dog Christina. That is not good. That is bad. Sebastian would thought of many unspeakable tortures with her. It is perhaps that she would be put to sleep. That is not good. That, too, is bad. Sebastian would suggest the dog should not get in Sinclair's way, if the dog knew what's good. He knows what the dog's thinking. Sinclair won't get away with this for what he did to her. But he already did, Christina. He already did. After leaving the room, Sebastian can see the butler with Max sulking at the Great Hall from the balcony. "What are you moping about now?" Sebastian asked. "I felt sorry for Brad." the butler said sadly. "He really likes Sonia, since he first met her." "I'm sure that square will get over it." The butler was shocked. Sebastian doesn't even care about Brad's sorrows. "How about I smash you in the face?" the butler shouted. "Do you want that?!" Sebastian cackled. "You should control yourself, pal. That wasn't entirely human, now was it? Remember Sonia? She was lucky." A dangerous smile formed his muzzle. "You might be next." (How dare you say that to me?!) But the sly fox was gone. It was official then, he truly hated that fox. Still, the butler looked up at Max, "Do you think he meant those things?" Max just crossed his arms. May be hated that fox, too. But he hates him with a strong passion.CHAPTER IXDesire leads to obsession. Obsession leads to madness. So far, there's no denying it. It might as well happen today. "Ma-AX! MA-AX!" Sinclair shrieked, very excited. Sinclair is dancing wildly, inside his lab on Thursday. He sees Max enter, but continues to chew the scenery all around him. "And now, I'll start my new strategy, my Max: turning everyone in Britain into animals!" Sinclair laughs while he approaches Max and begins lovingly caressing his cheeks. "Every night, I want you to squeeze the humanity out of them. But you must be careful to pick and choose the right people who are unrecognized by many." Max just nods, understands. "Sedate them into utter submission and bring them back to me! You must not show the slightest pity or mercy... as only you can. Mark me, beautiful Max." Sinclair gave the keys to Max. Max just nods, understands. "Take my car, it's full on gas." Sinclair then released him. Max just nods, understands. "Go.... Remember, show no mercy!" Max had left, but not before Sonia enters the lab. There, Sinclair saw a vision of her that he never expect from her courteous maid. She replaced her maid uniform with a blue sleeveless showgirl dress (that both resembles a skintight swimsuit and shows her back and breast cleavage) with aqua tail feathers, court shoes, and black opera gloves. Her legs are lined with fishnet stockings held with garter belts. She still has her dark purple locks, but now she has indigo eyeshadow and lips that are red as blood. As Sinclair turns to her lovingly, the erotic, lustful thoughts flow out of him. (And as for you, my courteous maid, how you look seductive alluring enough to encourage me into submission. Lovely Sonia. What a lady. What a lovely lady-- GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!) The thoughts suddenly stopped. All Sinclair see was nothing and realized that he's all alone with his machine. Sonia's actions will later set into motion. Now, you are asking a simple question: How does he turn the population into animals? Simple. Sinclair's bodyguard has to be careful to pick and choose the right

people who are unrecognized by many. To do this, he has to fire sedatives at them, using a breath-powered blowgun, without being detected by the authorities. After they became unconscious, he would haul them into Sinclair's black-and-white limousine. After he gets home with the unconscious person, he'll carry it to the library and into the transformation machine, since the way was down a spiral staircase. Sinclair does the rest. While Brad wallows in pity, Sinclair turns the unsuspected pawns into animals. On Thursday, he turned a gentleman into a lion. On Friday, he turned a banker into a sheep. On Saturday, he turned a retired general into a penguin. On Sunday, he turned a priest into a badger. On Monday, the first of July, he turned a dashing young male university student into a mouse, only to end up in the gaping maw of Sinclair's messenger. (They had it coming, and they only had Sinclair to blame. If you don't know Sinclair, you won't believe it. And frankly, they would have done the same.) The list goes on as each night of day is introduced. The following month in New York on a Friday, Vincent Phelps had come to regret his decision. Earlier, he is comforted by his memories. Memories of his poor wife while she was still alive and before she tragically died. He was opening an old photo album he found on a shelf. And begins to leaf through the pages looking at the photos. The pictures bring back fond memories. But one photo upsets him. It is a picture of her wife, with a baby boy in her arms. He recognizes that baby. As if hearing voices, he could hear her voice in the picture. "He's beautiful, isn't he?" That voice. How he missed hearing that.  A male voice in his mind answered. "Are you kidding? He's perfect." It was the voice of Vincent Phelps. "You know, we still have to name him." "You want to name him now? Okay, I was thinking either Sean, Michael, Cameron, or Christian." "I like Brad." The male voice is silent. This name seemed random. "Alright, I guess we can name him that." To be honest, when the baby was born, his father had his heart set on either Sean or Michael. But he wasn't going to start an argument with his wife now. This moment was too perfect. Soon, they decided to name the son, Brad. Vincent Phelps was starting a new chapter in his life, and he was sure it was going to be a good one. He will live happily ever after with his lovely wife by his side and his child growing up to be a strong young boy, his little Brad. Life couldn't get any better than this. That is, until the poor death of his wife, which he had to resign his job to take care of his only son. He now becomes sad and closes the album. During Brad's stay at Sinclair's mansion, it as if he lost his only son. Detective Byron once again visits his home. But like the previous visit, Vincent Phelps didn't even seem to care. He's already in his favorite armchair. "Mr. Phelps?" Detective Byron had called. He looked at him with eyes in which gleamed the strength of a heavenly legion. "Can't you tell I'm busy?" Vincent Phelps had said. "I'm concerned about you when you came back after a long time." Detective Byron suddenly notices Brad not here. "Where is Brad?" "I left him." "When will you get him?" "After four months." "Four months?" Detective Byron was concerned. "Would you please tell me what's going on?" Vincent Phelps can't take it anymore. He wants to betray Sinclair. "Five years ago, I've met this man who has a desire of playing God." "Playing God?" asked Detective Byron. "Like Frankenstein?" (You do realize that there can be no understanding from playing God.) "You ever heard of Charles Darwin?" Vincent Phelps had asked. "I do." "He's responsible for the evolution theory. But it'll be a thing of the past soon after. For five years, I've became his assistant, help him research at his home. For his transformation machine." "Transformation machine? Do you tell me that this man made this machine that--" Vincent Phelps finishes for Detective Byron. "--turn people into animals. I guess now you know how this phenomena established, Detective." "I knew it." Detective Byron had said. "I knew you heard of the rumors from our earlier visit." "Who else, Detective? I'll leave first thing to get my son." Vincent had said. (before I lost him just like I lost my wife!) "Now, you must leave." "Not before I know that man's name." "His name is Dr. Vladimir Sinclair, had a household in Britain." Vincent Phelps had said. "I have a photograph of him." Vincent Phelps showed the detective the photograph, taken two years ago. "Was the scientist's hair black-and-white from birth?" Detective Byron asked. "Of course not, Detective." Vincent Phelps answered. "His hair was normally black. However, during his middle age, he's suffering from poliosis when I first meet him. It only happened on one half of his hair." Another subject. "I have to give you something." Vincent Phelps went up to his room and came back with a manila envelope, the word "CONFIDENTIAL" stamped on it. He gives it to Detective Byron. "Inside has photographs that has something to do with this project Sinclair has made. I've kept it hidden so Brad won't find it. Mark me. Under any circumstance, you must not tell anyone or they'll think you're crazy! And God hates a liar!" (I thought Sinclair was God!) "I will, Mr. Phelps." Like their earlier visit, they part ways once again. Once his shift is over, Detective Byron had opened the envelope at his home. He was completely baffled as he looked at not only photographs, but sketches, sketches of humans with animalistic features. And there is so much here inside the envelope that the writer can't describe. (No wonder why Brad doesn't look inside it!) At least at the end, the writer will describe the last two photographs: the Sinclair household and of course, Sinclair's maid. (Is she-- IS SHE WEARING A SHOWGIRL OUTFIT?!) No, just her typical maid uniform, pink feather duster in hand. Never before in his career had he seen (this filth) these images that defy human imagination, mostly that sketch of Sonia. He would just betray Vincent Phelps and let anyone know about this project. But Detective Byron was a man of his word. (Under any circumstance, you must not tell anyone or they'll think you're crazy! And God hates a liar!) Tomorrow night has arrived. The butler came to Brad unnoticed with a tray

of shortbread on a plate and a glass of water with ice. The butler always come to Brad when he's in this state. "I'm not hungry," Brad said, with expressionless mien. The butler didn't believe him, nor it didn't matter, calling it pointless. "I've talked to Sonia about telling me what happened. Every time, she somehow refused a few times before telling me. But she told me that she's fine. It's already been a month. She had other plans." Yesterday, she did have other plans. Concerning about Sonia, the butler enters her master bedroom. "Am I troubling you, miss?" the butler feebly said. "Not at all," Sonia had said. "Please, come in. I won't bite." (yet) The butler walks up to Sonia who is sitting at her desk designing herself an outfit on paper that's somewhat erotic. It was a woman, wearing a sleeveless showgirl dress with aqua tail feathers, court shoes, and black opera gloves. Lined on her legs are fishnet stockings held with garter belts. "Do you like this, butler?" Sonia said sweetly. "It's about time I try on something different rather than this maid uniform. What do you think why there's a bag of stuff next to my desk?" Of course, the seductiveness of her has already been set in motion. (Why are you wearing that? You're already attractive enough already. As much as tempted.) (Who said?) Such redemption it will be as Sonia admired the sketch. Such curves she would fill well. Wouldn't the butler agree? The butler won't agree. "Are you planning on going out, miss? If you do, you can't leave without your face-mask. That's the rule in going out in public." "I heard that there's a dance at the famous Renaldi Ballroom called 'Springtime in Paris.' I was wondering that I should attend the dance in London." "You can't be serious, are you?" the butler asked. "What if you're discovered?" "What kind of sycophant are you, butler?" Sonia had asked. "I think you do have a point, ma'am. But what kind of sycophant do you want me to be?" Of course, Sonia ignores the question. "Butler, I'm imagining myself, seducing them who dares to attend, including the famous Johnny Lupin and the Diamond Dogs." "Johnny Lupin?!" the butler perks up. "The Johnny Lupin?!" "And his Diamond Dogs." Sonia then acts likes an announcer. "It doesn't matter if you win or lose! It's what you do with your dancing shoes!" The butler joins Sonia. "For all you cool cats enjoying the show!" They shout in unison, "THROW YOUR MITTENS AROUND YOUR KITTENS, AND AWAY WE GO! HEEEEEEERE'S JOHNNY!!!" They laugh for a few minutes before the butler said, smiling widely. "I hope you have a great time tonight! Make your dress!" "I will, butler!" Sonia said. "When they see me wearing this dress, it would be like some sonofabitch who is barking up the wrong tree." Sonia starts to laugh at her joke as the butler left. (Barking up the wrong tree? What does she mean by that? By tomorrow, it's going to be one helluva night.) "I can understand that," said Vincent Phelps' son. "Do you want me to call your father?" He hesitated and was silent, looking at Brad. "I heard that he's back in New York." "You

must not," said Brad, looking straight ahead. He spoke into space... "Do you realize how distraught I am about Sonia for the past month?" "No." "I thought she loved me." Tears begin to stream down. "I don't want to see your tears," the butler said, wiping the tears off of Brad's face. "Believe me, it's too hard for me to handle." "What does Sonia said to you?" asked Brad. "The reason why she didn't love you anymore is because it has something to do with Christina." Brad now cried: "Sinclair told me that she was sent to an orphanage!" "That's a lie, Brad!" the butler scolded. Brad's wasted hands twisted themselves together upon his damp hair. "That was a lie that Sinclair has told you." The butler lowered his head; he said nothing. Brad let his intertwined hands sink. However, Brad noticed the sweat of the butler's fur. "What happened?" Brad said. "Why are you so sweaty?" For the butler, seeing Brad stood up and remained standing is an opportunity to tell Brad about Sonia that he somehow witness last night.CHAPTER XAfter ending the relationship of Brad and Sonia, too long has she find herself longing for a limit. Hot and bothered, she sets off toward the outside world to fulfill her lustful desires. Eventually, her plans of seduction will be set into motion. Will she ever succeed? Don't expect to wait for the answer of said question. Before we go into the butler's point of view on what happened, now is the time to  pay attention to what's going on at the Renaldi Ballroom in London, named after boastful film producer and millionaire

Bryan Renaldi. It was originally a movie theater in 1924, before Renaldi bought it in late 1936, after his visit at Montreal. After he heard news about an incident at Montreal on September 11, 1947, Renaldi was baffled and did not press the point. It was hard to say just how the writer knew, but he guessed it wasn't greatly different from the effort he had while writing from time to time. Wasn't that how it was popularly expressed? Anyway, inside the Renaldi Ballroom is a diacritic mix of neo-classical, Art Deco and oriental motifs set within an exotic and voluptuous decorative scheme. From the off-street entrance steps a small foyer is reached featuring a raked floor and Art Deco-style marquetry paneling. The main motif is a geometric composition of intersecting curves in a shape with broad metameric top, tapering center and curved base. The design is emphasized through the use of dark wood inlay and a diamond shape in the center is picked out in glass or mirror.  The foyer leads immediately into the ballroom, a large auditorium with a shallow barrel-vaulted ceiling, complete with raised viewing dais, stage, proscenium, fixed banquettes and a sprung maple dance floor. The decorative scheme is flamboyant, the effect created through red velor padded walls with gilt picture-frame style panels and decorated pillars, scallop-shaped lights, a red velor framework, French chandeliers and Chinese lanterns. That was good. That was very good. Either side are two bars, running the length of the hall. The right hand bar features booths and tables with leather upholstery arranged similar to a railway-carriage. The bar at the end of the room has a tiled front of interlaced patterns. Lighting is provided by exotic saucer-shaped lamps decorated with a mixture of Georgian and oriental patterns. The paneling motif established in the foyer is continued on various doors, to the ladies powder room and the gentleman's cloakroom for example. An event in the Ballroom called "Springtime In Paris" is already well underway. On stage is the famous rock-and-roll band, Johnny Lupin and the Diamond Dogs. Johnny himself plays rhythm guitar and sings; there's also a drummer, piano player, sax, clarinet and bass fiddle. They're playing "Rock Around the Clock." The floor has a paper-mache Eiffel Tower in the center; men in fashionable suits with turned-back cuffs

and velvet collars and women in swing skirts dance around it.Just like a high school dance at the time, there is a busy refreshment table, and wallflowers on the sidelines. A photographer snaps an occasional flash picture for posterity, or just for the hell of it. And on the sidelines, bopping out of time to the music of Johnny Lupin, is a quite nervous Victor Fredersen, holding a plastic cup of punch in his hand. Emerging from the doors was Sonia in her court shoes, crimson blouse with pink button attaching the ends, and navy skirt, carrying a pink leather purse. Even for a dog, she couldn't show off. (Yet.) As for the people in the ballroom, they just stared, believing she was someone in a really detailed poodle costume, before going back on what they're doing. But she was real, feeling particularly alluring in all the right places. (These people didn't even know I was really an animal. But try not to worry. I'll let them know. Isn't that the man I met at Ascot Racecourse? It is! I hope he'd recognized me. Wait. He didn't. I was wearing my face-mask when I first met him. Anyway, now is the time for me to make my move on him.) She strut towards Victor, smiles seductively. Her voice instantly become sweet and sexy, "Hi..." Victor turned around and looked at her, only to nearly drop his cup, spilling some punch on the floor. He had no idea who she is. Luckily a distraction came in the form of a spill on the floor. "Would you please excuse me?" Victor had said. "I have to find some napkins, so I can clean it up myself." But Sonia put her arms around him, pressing her whole body up against his and flattening her breasts against his chest. "Let me embrace you, cutie." She said to him sensually before she slowly trailed her arms up to his shoulders and crossed them behind his neck. Victor's breath had hitched as soon as he felt her soft breasts touched him and he could practically feel the blood pouring

from his head straight down to the other one. He somehow felt this sudden, increasing lust for the poodle that he had never felt before. It made him want to take her into his arms and make love to her for the rest of the night. However, his logical side kicked in before he did something that he shouldn't any longer. "Has anyone ever told you that you're awfully cute?" Sonia had purred. "Not once in my whole life. Now will you please let me go? You're making me uncomfortable." (You're making his willy harder.) Sonia lets him go, the warmness that he felt from her body leaving him when she did. Never before was he embarrassed when some in the ballroom saw him with this woman in an animal costume. "Please forgive me," Victor said with a flushed smile. "Would you mind leaving me to meet someone else? Something that wasn't in a costume?" Sonia looked at him with her mouth agape in shock. (Bastard!) She had never met a man resist her seductive abilities so easily. Whenever she had to relieve any sexual stress that came from long periods of not being with a man at the mansion, she would rather be with Brad once again. And if that happens, it would be tedious, which left her even more frustrated than before. It had always been so easy for her to seduce them, though. All it would take for a human man to fall for her was the husky, seductive tone she was using on Victor right now. However, Victor was able to not only brush that off but her body pressing up against him as well. She was actually rather impressed with him for doing it. It made her want him all the more than Brad. She regained her composure and decided to offer him another way. "Then at least let me dance with you for once," She said. "It would be the least I could do." Victor rubbed the back of his neck as he thought about it. He didn't really see the harm in dancing with someone in an animal costume. He could always forget anyway.

"Well, I guess that would be fine," She made a wide, bright smile at this. The number ended and another started. She snuggled even closer to him, singing softly to the music: "Take me in your arms and never let me go. Whisper to me softly while the moon is low. Hold me close and tell me what I wanna know. Say it to me gently, let the sweet talk flow. Come a little closer, make love to me." (Seriously? Do you really want to fuck him like you fuck Brad?) (You're making his willy harder.) "I like you," she whispered, and Victor thought that her scent was like lilies (or wet dog.) "I think the best thing is to come along to the dressing room. I have to put my makeup on. Would you mind coming with me? I do need some help." The dressing room they're in is like any typical dressing room. Sonia was sitting down, opening her purse, spilling her makeup. "Be careful, miss." Victor had said. "You're making a mess." (You're making his willy harder.) "Which color eyeshadow would suit me tonight? Sky blue or hot pink." "I'm not a professional, but I think sky blue." As she is applying makeup on her, Victor asked her, "Why are you putting makeup on your costume?" "I'm sorry, what was that?" "I'm asking you a simple question. Why are you putting makeup on your costume?" (Is he kidding?) "Because I feel like it. Does it bother you?" Victor shook his head, no. As she

finished powdering her face, Sonia said, "Do you think I look attractive this evening?" "I think." "Are you sure? See for yourself." "How?" "By touching me." (You're making his willy harder.) Already, Victor was blushing and speechless. "What? Am I embarrassing you?" Victor can see that he has no other alternative. He slowly reach out for her as Sonia said. "Feel my face. What do you think?" He did, commenting. "Your costume head is realistically accurate." "Now, my waist and hips. What do you think?" Blushing harder, (like his willy) he did, commenting. "Judging from your age- How old are you?" "Forty-seven," she said. "Six in dog years." (You and your sense of humor, bitch!) "What do you think of them?" "You had aged well, miss. Your hips still held that hourglass together in all the right places." (He shouldn't be here. He should be bopping out of time to Johhny Lupin and the Diamond Dogs.) "Now, lastly, touch my breasts." She smiled pompously. There was a brief delay as Victor's brain processed Sonia's words before his face inevitably turns red. He displayed a "What the fuck?" expression and violently shook his head. "Forget it! I'm not doing it. You're already

attractive just the way you are. Do you really think I'm some kind of pervert with a weird fetish of women in animal costumes?" "Don't give me that crap. Just touch my breasts and tell me what do you think." "Can't you just do it yourself? There's no way I'm doing it for you." Sonia's eyes glared fearlessly and smirked. "Here's how this is gonna go down. So try to pay attention!" Sonia grabbed Victor's hand and placed it underneath her blouse. By the time his hand came in contact with her breast, he immediately froze. "What do you think?" Sonia had said, batting her eyelashes. It's official. His innocence taken clean away by a humanoid pooch. (Did I mention his willy is harder thanks to her?) "Well, I expected them to be as large as a handful." After letting go, Victor declared. "You are, without doubt, the most attractive woman I've ever met in my life." (What? Is he planning to fuck her?!) Right there, Sonia noticed the attention she attracts from him, which makes her smile. She loved how sexy she is with her perky chest and delicious figure. "You like how my breasts feel?" She asked in the same low, husky tone she had used on him when she met him at the ballroom. "I'm very proud of them. If you'd like, I'll show them to you onstage." Victor began to feel an increasing lust for the poodle. He began to breathe a little hard as he looked at her indigo eyes. They glinted with seduction in them and he was soon lost in them. Of course, he wouldn't have it any other way. Let's face it, he's not going to take any other's word for it. "Got a name, miss?" "Sonia," She showed no surprise so far. "Sonia, huh?" "Of course." "I haven't heard of that name before. Let me think." After a moment. "Weren't you the same Sonia who... is somewhat reasonable than I am..." (You never would have guessed in a thousand years, handsome.) Sonia softly nods. "When I was about to leave the Racecourse, I hear you... barking like..." But he couldn't finish. He couldn't say it. Sonia's face remained blankly attractive. "You heard me barking, don't you?" Victor sighs. "Yes. I heard you." "You have know idea who I am, Mr. Fredersen," Sonia said mildly. "The people in this building have know idea who I am, Mr. Fredersen. I should know." "Who are you, then, Sonia?" "You'll find out when the time is right." His head was swirling. "Wait till the people in Burgess hear about this." "They would, Mr. Fredersen," Sonia said. "They'll be far from surprised, if I may be so bold, sir." "What should I do for you, miss?" Victor asked. "I have a requested performance to this band whose volunteering. Did you know that?" "Do you?" Sonia nodded. "What's it about?" "Sex," She said to him in a low, husky and seductive cadence, while batting her eyelashes. "Perhaps more than that." (Don't even try. You take away his innocence. Is that punishment enough?) "I understand, miss." "Starting today, in front of all these strangers, no longer will I remain courteous and let my inner animal be released, if you don't mind me saying so." She offered Victor a bland, meaningless smile. "This man, Sinclair, he didn't know better at first. At Ascot, you can tell that I was his maid, because he wants me to remain courteous. I wish Sinclair would be here, because I would show him. But instead, for the sake of human nature, I would show you. It's okay if you don't know. In fact, I'll walk you through it." The sound of her seductive voice and the shape of her attractive figure made Victor feeling something get hard in his pants. However, he felt embarrassed from the sexual arousal. And frankly, the writer of this book would have felt the same as Victor. At the time of the "Springtime in Paris" dance at the Renaldi Ballroom, it was 8:30 P.M.CHAPTER XIA powerful seduction has risen over Saturday night and Sonia is currently in a very strong feeling of lust. A lust so strong, she couldn't even resist, strong enough for her to seduce. At least the butler wasn't the only person in the Renaldi Ballroom to notice as he begins his tale to Brad. My story began with me going to the master bedroom (the butler began to Brad). I gently pushed open the door, peering inside it cautiously as I strode into the room, curious as to her absence. Once I was fully inside the dark room, I slowly closed the door as silently as I could. I glanced around for a moment before saying in a hushed whisper, "Sonia..!"  When my call aroused no response, I began to inch forward farther into the room. She must have left for the dance. My eyes darted about the room as I look around, analyzing every little thing I pass. I eventually came to a stop and looked down at a small chair that's facing the bed. That's when I notice it. A large poster advertises the "Springtime In Paris Dance" on Saturday, August 3 at 8. That was today. I was an hour early. On top is her face-mask. A terrible gut feeling from me

follow soon after. (Bugger me! She's going to expose the project! How could I possibly be blind?!) I wear my face-mask and rush out the door to Sinclair's black-and-white limousine. Lucky for me, it was full on gas. Sinclair would stuff me if he ever finds out that I stole his car, but my objective in locating Sonia is far too important for the moment. I arrive at the Renaldi Ballroom fifteen minutes later. Already, I was introduced to the faceless strangers who attend the dance. I was becoming aware of them as they must have been aware of me from the very start. Music. Laughter. Drunkenness. Hysteria. I hear the sounds of some band performing on the stage, hysteric. Yes, it's the famous Johnny Lupin and the Diamond Dogs. "Flip... flop... and fly... I don't care if I die! Don't ever leave me, and don't ever say good-bye!" I had once again see ordinary life outside the mansion. And that was me wearing a face-mask to blend in. And beyond the bars, a low murmur of conversation drifted and swirled like lazy cigarette smoke. More sophisticated, more private. I head to the barroom area and I was immediately introduced to the bartender. I don't know his name, but he was genuinely pleased like the others. "Good evening." the bartender said, genuinely pleased to himself. I hooked my leg over a stool between a man in a sharp blue suit and a bleary-eyed woman in a little black dress. "What will it be?" "Something that calms me down." "Martini?" "That would do." He took his wallet out and laid a pound note carefully on the bar. As the bartender made his drink, the butler looked over his shoulder. Every booth was occupied. Some of the occupants would leave and join for a dance in couples, to the general amusement of

all. A faint unease came over me; nevertheless I pick the glass up and swirled it, watching the olive at the bottom bob slightly in the drink's chilly depths. Who am I kidding? What was I doing in a bar with a drink in my hand? "Enjoy your drink," the bartender said softly. "It isn't a matter that concerns you. Not at this point." I raised it to my lips, and hesitated. I became aware that all conversation had stopped. I looked back over my shoulder. They were all looking at me expectantly, silently. The woman beside me was looking at me closely, as if trying to focus. Her dress had slipped off one shoulder and looking down I could see a loosely puckered nipple capping one sagging breast. On his other hand, the man in the sharp blue suit had drank from his flask he had inside his jacket pocket. On my glass is raw gin. I looked into it, and looking was like drowning. I brought the drink to my mouth and downed it in three long gulps, the gin highballing down his throat like a moving van in a tunnel, exploding in my stomach, rebounding up to my brain in one leap where it seized hold of me with a final convulsing fit of the shakes. When that passed off, all's well. I push the empty glass toward the bartender. Not before the performance from the band has ended. I couldn't help myself, Brad. I had to be succumbed to this atmospheric ballroom and the flamboyant dance. I now pay attention to the stage. What I saw astounds me into submission. (Did you see Sonia?) Not yet. But very soon. On that stage, I saw Victor Fredersen in front of all these people. We've seen him before, do we, Brad? We've seen him at Ascot. (Victor Fredersen? Why is he here?) Pay attention, Brad. For your sake, pay attention! I hear Victor Fredersen, the biology professor, howling out in a pulpit-voice: "Howl! Howl! Cry out! Cry

out!" So far, the people have no idea what he's talking about. (And frankly, the writer would have felt the same.) "I know this is crazy," Victor had said. "But you won't regret it. Not for all the time in the world." We have seen him at Ascot Racecourse. But his voice was like a knife. The voice peeled bare my spine. "Recently, I've met this girl in a dog costume." (Sonia?) Sonia. I had no idea Victor is feeling a mixture of pride and anticipation. (Wait! Did he say "girl in a dog costume?" There could still be a chance. Hope.) "And she gave me this request for the band performing this, titled 'Sonia's Song'." He handed the music sheets to the leader of Johnny Lupin and the Diamond Dogs. He has no idea what's going on, but he seem to have no objections. "Tonight, on this stage, let her howl! For her main purpose is to entertain yourselves with her shapely body. Her voluptuous and irresistible body! Behold her! I say to you: Behold her! She is the woman who is to appear before you. No delay shall be occurred. An oath turns to temptation before her. Let her dance! Once again, you won't regret it. Gaze into the face of seduction!" This is it, Brad. She's here. Even before the band begins to play, she's here. Do you understand what is happening, Brad? Let me describe you the temptation of temptations. The beginning and the end. I saw her, in her crimson blouse and navy skirt. To be honest, I think she's pretty, wearing that. (You can tell that he's sexually aroused like the professor.) As the band plays, and when she start to move, we were all completely off-guard. She begins to strut onstage as her dog ears sway stiffly with

it. Every eye is focused on her, including mine. The professor looks as though he's fallen in love. Victor felt a strange sensation taking over his body. He wasn't sure if he liked it. He managed to maintain control over himself. (Can't you tell his willy is hard?) These men around me are about to discover seduction is far from only a desire with its own rules. They're going to have to learn them fast. Rule number one, try not to get hard in your pants. "Starting today," Sonia sings. "Darwin's theory gave birth to a good girl. Starting today, you're all wondering what lies in store. 'I am very pleased to meet you,' said the girl who's ready to deceit you. I will remain courteous no more!" (Wait. Did she just say, "She'll no longer remain courteous?" What would Sinclair say if he's here instead of me?) I wasn't paying attention to Sonia putting on black gloves and removes her blouse, revealing what appears to be a blue, sleeveless skintight swimsuit that shows a generous amount of cleavage. (Enjoying this so far, Mr. Fredersen? I told you that I was very proud of my breasts. Sure, they're slightly larger, but that's what makes them attractive and I'm proud of them. In fact, just strutting onstage would cause a great sensation within them as they pressed against my outfit. And I'm going to show you why I am.) (You can tell that he's enjoying himself, so far.) "Starting today, every rule of science will be broken Starting today, every meow turns into a roar! I feel all my instincts evolving, As well as the people who are involving. I will remain courteous no more!" Somehow, Victor joins in, albeit singing slightly off-key. "Tonight, she'll seduce you into submission! Those who like it will face total ambition! Starting today, she'll remain courteous no more!" What happen next shook me to the core, as much as everyone. She just ripped off her skirt, revealing a feather boa around her waist and her fishnet stockings held with garter belts on her legs. (Her instincts have evolved, all right.) She must have had lust-filled thoughts while performing on stage, as you should see, Brad. "Starting today, the inhumane will end up on the food chain (She'll seduce you into submission!) Without all this, let me ask you, 'What are they for?' (Those who like it will face total ambition!) Now that my inner beauty is appearing, So does the privilege of volunteering I will remain courteous no more!" What happens next is her dance. My heart seemed to stop as her hips are popping back and forth, which seemed to mesmerize the multitude around her, including the professor (and the writer of this book.) Some of the onlookers were already laying their offerings on the stage, as if giving sacrifices to a goddess. She was swishing her hips around and teasing the multitude with the look of her perfect posterior, the outfit she's wearing clung her curves nicely. All of a sudden, she looked at...ME. Such lustful eyes they stare at my very own. She put both of her legs onto the stage in a perfect split. She winked at me and fondles her chest toward

me seductively. My heart just exploded in arousal (so does my willy.) She pulled herself back up and started to dance again. Everything happens so fast; she was spinning, twirling, lifting one leg up high while parading herself around the multitude. She was agile, supple, toned and flexible. After a few minutes of more erotic dancing, she turned her back to the crowd, bending forward to stick her rump out and wiggling it hypnotically before the lucky ones staring at her. She kept it just out of reach by turning around, taunting them, because they might try to reach out for a feel. The audience seemed to go nuts, several more tips being tossed on stage. I watched her dance for a moment longer, my eyes moving up and down her body from thighs to neck and back again...  studying every curve of her hips and waist as she swung them. Do you think this is all too much, Brad? According to Sonia, she could not stop. She can't be stopped. You might as well imagine all this as you felt something hard in your pants. Her hands worked their way over her thighs, then up her waists and over the curves of her cleavage before rubbing over her neck in slow circles. I watch her lie down on the stage, lifting her legs up in the air. She then trace a finger down between her breasts, then along her flat stomach, and then further down until she was running her finger along her crotch area. Even Victor Fredersen started to feel a bit aroused as I hear the poodle moaning from her erotic touch, before she got back on her feet again. Everyone fails to see how wet her crotch was getting, after being pressed into her dress for quite a time. She's too good, Brad. Like everyone else who dares to witness her erotic dance, she successfully caught me and everyone under her spell. No human can ever resist as fantasies overran her already hungry and lustful mind. They will never even take anyone's word for it, if that happens now. At the ballroom and in this room, darling Brad, I was within and without, simultaneously lost and alone in this tempted carousel of seduction that is Sonia the French poodle. And now, I think you understand what I've felt during that dance, but that's not the end of the story, I'm afraid. There's so much to tell. Oh, so much! (They had it coming, when she has them under her spell. When she seduce them, she will reduce them into submission as they should tell. At the end of her dance, they had it coming, and they only had Sinclair to blame. But since they don't know Sinclair, they won't believe it. And frankly, if you dare to read the words of this book from the writer, YOU would have done the same! This is what happens if Sinclair dares to play God! Thanks to him, her lustful seduction is now YOURS!!) At the Sinclair household, the butler was silent in Brad's room. He took his hat from his head and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Do they like it?" said Brad, with cold lips. (By the look of their sexual arousal, I think they do.) "Yes, Brad, they liked it." "What happens next?" Brad had said. The butler lowers his head and covers his eyes in shame. "It's over." "Do you really like me?" Sonia the seductive poodle had said. (By the look of their sexual arousal, I think they do.) "Since you all think that I'm just a girl in a sexy dog costume, how about I let someone unmask me?" (That's what I was afraid of.) "Victor, would you do me a favor?" "What is it, miss?" (Are you going to touch her breasts again?) "Take off my mask." Victor just stood. "Please, Mr. Fredersen." Sonia had shouted. "We don't have all night." Victor

slowly hesitated. He comes near her and attempts to take it off, but it doesn't seem to work. "Let me tell you, miss. If this is a mask, it's a pretty darn good one." (Good one? You have no idea!) Everyone watches, including myself, as Victor was pulling Sonia's face (the butler continue with his story to Brad). After a few attempts, he soon realizes that it's not a mask, much to his shock as he stepped back a few feet. He gasped along with the rest of the crowd. The revelation is overwhelming. "That's no mask," said one person. "It's her face," said another. "She's really a canine on two legs!" I was shocked like the crowd. Not about Sonia, but the project became exposed as you can possibly imagine, Brad. The crowd of people gazed at Sonia. "Is this true, Sonia?" Victor was shocked. "Are you really a dog?!" Sonia's grin grew impossibly wider. "If I was really a dog, would I do THIS?!" She began to grow feral and emits bright, angry bark at the professor, horrifying him and stepping back further. The crowd was more horrified than him. (And frankly, the butler would have done the same.) There she goes again, Brad. "You do have a point, miss!" Victor was defensive. "Do I? This was all because of Dr. Vladimir Sinclair!" "I know that man!" Victor said. "Someone named Vincent Phelps introduced me to him at Ascot! He must have transformed you into that creature, using some sort of machine!" "Pretty smart. For a biology professor." (Wait until the

staff back in Burgess hear about this when my vacation is over!) I became overcome with sadness after that revelation. I hid my face in shame, but I realize I had move issues. Sonia stood before the audience, trying to calm them down. "See what Mr. Fredersen said? Sinclair transformed me into what I am with his transformation machine, to seduce all of you into submission!" (Those who like it will face total ambition!) "Tonight, I have come to you, out of concern for you and your families. For it has come to our attention that there is a madman in our midst." The crowd chattered in confusion. "A madman who desires to transform them into animals, like I am! But unlike me, they would no longer be human!" The crowd looked concerned with the others chattering with worry. "If we let him, then every night, he'll transform all of you into animals and keep you as his pets for his obsessive purposes, even your children, and even the ones you're related to! If we let him, he'll sure squeeze the humanity out of you completely!" The crowd chattered with more worry. "So now the question is...will you let him wander free? Will you stand by and let them ruin your way of life?" "NO!" shouted one of the spectators. "We won't let him!" "We have to do something!" cried another. "Before it's too late!" Even familiar ones such as the man in the sharp blue suit and woman in the black dress with her saggy titties won't allow it to happen! "Then, follow me!" Sonia retaliates. "Now is the time to take some action! Then you shall hunt him down and send him back to where he came with this message: that those who dares to play God should YIFF IN HELL!" The crowd cheered in agreement, each shouting wildly. "Only I know where he lives!" I shouted out, sobbing with rage and pain: "Do not listen to her!" The multitude turned around and all eyes stared at me. I stretched out my hand and pointed to her. I yell out: "You shouldn't be listening to her!!" The heads of the multitude stared at me, a stranger among them. I point squarely at her, feeling betrayed against her. "THIS! HAS GOT! TO STOP!!" I screamed at her. "YOU ARE NOT! A HUMAN! BEING!! YOU! ARE A WILD! ANIMAL!!" Through a strained throat, I had to finish. "YOU! ARE! ...a dog." The eyes of the multitude began to glare dangerously at first, before understanding what I meant. "And I hope these people won't be listening to you anymore! YOU CANINE SLUT!" Betraying her is one thing, calling her a slut is another. Sonia stood bolt upright in the neck of the multitude. She began to totter. It seemed as though she would fall. But she didn't. She held herself upright. She swayed slightly, but she held herself upright. She may be right about me as everyone looked at me with some concern. She knelt down at me, a single tear streaming down her face, his face twisted with a strange mix of anger, confusion and sadness. "Yes, you were right."  the poodle closed her eyes and lowers her head. After a few moments of thought, she opened them, her face turned to face me once again. Her eyes held as much hatred as she could muster. They were cold, hard and determined. The courteous Sonia is now gone. She stood up and faced me menacingly. It is clear that she'll remain courteous no more. She yelled with more fury. "If I'm not human, then you weren't either!" She stretched out her arm and pointed at me, calling in a voice which sounded like glass: "SOMEONE TAKE OFF HIS MASK!!" (SONIA, HOW COULD YOU--!?) The multitude shouted. The multitude hurled itself around. The multitude made to lay hold of me. I do not resist. I stood pressed against the wall. One of the men decided to rip off my face-mask. No matter what I do, I can only stare at the dog with a gaze in which belief was to be read. A voice roared: "Faggot in disguise--!!" An arm shot up, a hand flashed out toward my face... The mask came off. I shrieked and ran. Far away from the ballroom. Little did I expect, it was my fault who led them here. "Those in the ballroom devolve into a lynch mob, stakes, guns, the whole works. And led by Sonia, no less. Even the police was involved, when they think it was a riot. They're coming to kill him for his desire! Try and reason with him as best as you can, Brad! They don't give a shit! THEY WANTED HIM DEAD!!" (Earlier, only one man wanted him dead, who tried to kill him and failed. Can you guess who he is?) (And now they're coming. What happens next will seal Sinclair's fate. When they find him, they're going to kill him! There's no stopping it, for it's already too late!) Brad laid his forehead in his hands. He bent double, as in the throes of an agony, which otherwise God does not permit to visit mankind. "I don't want to listen to that story anymore, butler." Brad has heard enough for he was right. After the mob left Renaldi Ballroom, the entire room was empty, except for the biology professor from Burgess in Chamberlain. Johnny Lupin and his band already left, heading for the airport. Victor was awestruck into

submission, mesmerized by the turn of events he had saw tonight, before leaving too. "You want to know about Christina?" asked the butler, bending forward. "No!" "Sinclair used his machine to turn her into a dog," said the butler, and behind these words lurked betrayal, crouched to spring. "His transformation machine. Do you at least understand what I'm explaining? Will you at least point out the obvious, son of Vincent Phelps? Dare try to search your feelings from within. You know it to be true." The butler was silent for a long time. Brad, too, was silent. The eyes of the squirrel butler and Brad met. "There is no justice in this world! Admit it, Brad! Uttermost justice..." said the butler. "From weakness to hatred. From hatred to death. I must take you to Christina! Let me take you to Christina! I beg you!" Brad got up, despair in his eyes, "If that's what you really want, butler, and not anything else, then I now had to agree. Lead me to her! I must know now!" He follows the butler. The butler leads Brad next door. They both head inside. Brad saw a golden retriever on the bed, sleeping. The butler held out his arms to the dog and said, "Brad, may I present to you... Christina." Christina wakes up and looks sadly at Brad. "The victim of Sinclair's transformation machine." the butler said. Brad looked at Christina like it was hard to believe. He pointed to Christina and asked. "This golden retriever?" "Yes, Brad." replied the butler. The butler noticed that Brad looks unsettled by the news he gave to him. "Now I will leave you alone," the

butler slowly made his way over to the exit to let Brad have his privacy. Brad is now left alone with Christina. But still, it was a shock to him as he continued staring at her. "What has he done to you?" But as usual, Christina only whimpers in response. (Barks and whimpers.)CHAPTER XIIIt is clear that Vincent Phelps blinded himself to the decision of letting his son wander around Sinclair's mansion. Would it not be more likely to suggest his son had lived his welcome long enough? Or is it possible the father deliberately sacrificed himself that his son might find a better life? All in all, his patience is now starting to expire now. Vincent Phelps woke up early to make it to the 7:15 flight from Idlewild Airport to Croyton Airport in London. It would be dark when he arrives at his destination. He used his own money to buy a car and drive toward a dirt path and towards the mansion. To his surprise, the mansion's gates are opened for him. It was 8:20 P.M, during the Springtime of Paris dance. (The gates are opened when they're supposed to be closed. Did Sinclair know I was going to be taking Brad early?) Vincent Phelps has entered the center door. Up on the second floor balcony was Sinclair's bodyguard Max. He seems a different man now. He smiles warmly at Vincent Phelps. However, he was practically unsure. "I've been expecting you, Vincent Phelps." Max said this for the first time. "If you're looking for Sinclair, he's busy." "It's not him, I'm after, sir." Vincent Phelps had said. "Where's my son?" Again the warm smile. "Would you mind coming with me to the library? He might be here." (If that would make me reunite with my son, I had to listen to him.) Max leads Vincent Phelps to the dimly-lit library. And yet, he is still desperate to be reunited with his son. He is wary, this is all very strange. "You're here to pick up your son, you say?" (How does he know that?) (Rodent intuition. Every rat can do it.) "Sit down, lad, sit down." Vincent Phelps sits, uncomfortable, as Max pours two snifters of water. "It's uneasy for me to know what I should do." Then... The slender form of Sinclair's maid in her seduction outfit appears from the shadows. No introduction is made. Vincent Phelps glances to her, uneasy. (A hallucination? Maybe.) Max hands him a snifter of water. "Thank you." "A God like Sinclair must know the ways of the world, yes? Must be practiced in the ways of the world. Would I explain to you?" "I just want my son. At least notify him." "Later," Max had said. "He'll wait for you." Max moves to consider some beautiful book, bound in the richest black leather. He gives it to the detective. With curiosity, he dared to open it. Inside are sketches, sketches of anthropomorphic animals. "Oh, yes. Such practices that Sinclair expects to happen. The pandas of China, the foxes of Britain, the lions and lionesses of Africa, the arctic wolves of the Territory of Alaska, you name it, Vincent Phelps. It's all right here... Countless drawings of them. They sometimes often do things, vile to describe." (In other words, pornography.) Vincent Phelps is speechless. But Max just smiles at him amiably. "No emotion felt in each picture but lust." The writer of this book will try his best to describe some of the pages in the book. The first page shows two nude female rats laying in each other's embrace, their legs entwined, gazing into the other's eyes. The second shows a burly workhorse enjoying some playtime with a compliant farm goat. The third shows a muscular Clydesdale apparently eager to ride a dainty Arabian. The fourth shows an affectionate hound dog who has finally snagged himself a cute fox. The fifth shows a naughty raccoon taking advantage of a stray kitten, (We can be so devious when we want to be!) a sixth shows a wet mouse in heels, a seventh shows a calico cat, a fox and a dog gettin' it on, and an eighth show dogs doing their own style. (What kind of filth is this am I seeing?!) (I call it pornography art.) With frightening suddenness, he stood up and now began ripping the pages out of the book in handfuls and leaving them on the floor. Max just stood still and Vincent Phelps kept going. There seemed little doubt that Max felt nothing at all. He won't even do anything. (How dare he, I seem to be saying with each rip of a page, how dare he drew this filth? No wonder he's a sick man when I help him with his goddamn project! How dare he?) With that he dropped the now empty covers of the book onto the floor. (No. How dare you destroy his book? Do you have any idea how long it takes to draw all these?) "My patience has officially expired, Max." "What's stopping you, Vincent Phelps?" Max had no idea that Vincent Phelps grabbed him by the collar "I WANT MY SON!!" Vincent Phelps was shouting. "You, Vincent Phelps, don't scare me." "What exactly do you mean by that?" "Why did you destroy that book?" Max asked. "You do realize that's art you're destroying." he said as he glared at Vincent Phelps. Vincent's anger distinguished as his mouth opened slightly agape and his heart beat sped up in fear. "I know. How will you react if your son and his maid got FUCKED!!" Max snarled, pushing him squarely in the chest, letting go of his collar. The pushed hits his back on the bookshelf and collapsed to the floor. "What did you--" "Now you will learn what happens if Sinclair continues to plays God!" "Then, how dare you show me this filth in that book?!" Vincent Phelps said barely above a whisper. "BULLSHIT!" Max yelled as he picked up the ripped pages and throw him into Vincent's face. "THAT WASN'T FILTH YOU'RE SEEING! IT WAS ART! IT'S SOMETHING SINCLAIR EVEN DARE TO MAKE IT REAL!!" Max stormed over and grabbed Vincent Phelps by the collar of his shirt and lifted him to his face. "Let me say this again, Vincent Phelps! You do not scare me! Try me! I will scare YOU with just a twitch of my tail!" (He didn't talk much that often.) Vincent Phelps gasped and whimpered under the rat's furious face. Max cleared his throat and sat the detective back on his feet. "Other than that, I was

just asking you a simple question and nothing else." Max had said. "How will you react if their love for both your son and his maid went too much?" "What exactly do you mean by that?" "She seduced your son into submission, Vincent Phelps. Don't believe me? Well, of course you don't. Even as a detective who is retired, you don't know shit." Vincent Phelps was speechless. He saw the sketches of the book. He knows what he's talking about. But he doesn't believe it. "Your son is fine in his room, Vincent Phelps." Max said. "So tonight, it's just the two of us, and I'll be showing you completely different. Why don't you follow me to the theater? It's at the hall on the left." (More pornography art, I believe.) Max leads Vincent Phelps here. There was a door that leads down to the theater on the wall. The 25-seat movie theater Vincent Phelps saw is fantastically beautiful and comfortable, but for Max, that's just the tip of the iceberg. Right now, the screen is blank. "On my hand, a .45 Caliber revolver," he said. "On my finger is a trigger. Inside, a full metal jacket. Ah-ah! Don't pull away or do anything stupid. I'm serious, Vincent Phelps." Vincent Phelps tried to swallow in a dry throat. He could not take his attention from the rat with a revolver in his hand as he spoke. "You should know about this model." he said. "At least, I kill only animals." Pride overcame Vincent's fear. "You dare suggest a retired detective is an animal from New York?" he demanded. "Let us say I suggest you may be human," he said. "I warn you not to try jerking away from your seat, didn't I? Even though my finger might be on the trigger or not, I can still shoot you. And if I do so, you die, before you escape me. This is the only rule you have to follow. Remain in your seat and live. Rise up and die." The muzzle

of the gun touched his temple and he stilled the involuntary urge to leap away. "Good," he said. "The presentation will begin shortly." Max bent close, lowered his voice almost to a whisper. "You will see art on that screen. Art. But! Rise up from the seat and my finger will pull the trigger. The blank screen you're seeing will be the last thing you will ever see. Do you understand me? I just wanted to let you know. I just wanted to let you know. As long as you do as I say, you'll live to see another day." Vincent Phelps took a deep breath to still his trembling.  "What am I going to see on that screen?" (Pornography.) "Art." Max gives a big wave to the projectionist and the film begins. Vincent Phelps felt sick already by watching it. "You're now seeing the guest room. Isn't that your son, looking out the window as the beautiful winter snow fell? And now you're seeing Sonia entering, a seductive grin on her face. Why she closed the door and locked it. You have to admit, she looks pretty attractive in that French maid outfit. Don't you agree? What's this? Oh-h-h. It seems that she's taking off that sexy uniform. Now she's in her underwear. Can you see it? Good. Very good. You see? Like I said before: as long as you do as I say, you'll live to see another day. Now keep watching. You can see that she's now going to seduce your son, if that is your son." Vincent Phelps pressed his lips tightly together. (How could this be art?) The rat bodyguard said. "Okay. Now she's moving in on him. One hell of a trance. She's now taking off his clothes. Now, your son's naked, if that is your son. And now, she strips herself and climbed onto the bed, wrapping that hot, naked body of hers around his. She promised she'll be careful as she positions her orifice and let it swallow your son's manhood, if that is your son. They were crying out, Vincent Phelps. Her body begins moving. It all happened slowly:

thrust upon thrust upon thrust...upon thrust. Pushing deep inside her." (Why are you doing this?) (To determine if you would allow this. Be silent.) "Turn it off," he whispered. "Silence!" (The finger is still on the trigger.) Sweat stood out on his forehead. Every fiber cried out to withdraw him from his seat. The revolver. Without turning his head, he tried to move his eyes to see that terrible metal muzzle aimed at his skull. He sensed that he was breathing in gasps, tried to slow his breaths and couldn't. Instead, he closed his eyes shut. He couldn't watch the screen anymore. "I understand. It's okay if you can't watch any longer." Max had said. "But would you shut your ears as well? Because you can still hear them. You can still hear the sounds they make. New rule, Vincent Phelps. Cover your ears and we both know what's going to happen. Dare try it." (No!) "Good. You can still hear their breaths gasping and your son crying out her name nonstop, even crying out, 'Don't stop, Sonia. Don't stop.'" Vincent Phelps felt himself trembling, felt sweat bathing his body. "I know they felt the heat and tension get stronger and hotter. I can tell their climax is coming." (Coming or cumming?) "And now, you can hear them moan very loudly as they finally had their climaxes take full control over their minds and bodies. Can you hear them, Vincent Phelps?! Can you hear the sound they're making?! Oh-h-h! Now they're crying out in pleasure that was so intense for their bodies. Their bodies burning a lot from all of the sensations that burned inside them! Oh-h-h! Now, all they could do in their own sexual lust was moan and howl--!!" (MAKE

IT STOP!!! PLEASE MAKE IT FUCKING STOP!!!!) "FINE!!!" Max screamed out the word and the screen went blank again. (I had no idea you were horrified by this. And frankly, I would have done the same, if I was you. Such emotion withdrawn.) He leaned back, withdrawing the revolver. "Rise from that seat and look at me, father of your son." Vincent Phelps fought down an aching shiver. He knows that if he opened his eyes, they'll still be fucking. "Do it!" he snapped. Vincent Phelps got up and looked at Max in the face. He paid no attention to the screen. "Bestiality," he said. "What you're either seeing or hearing is bestiality, Vincent Phelps. Have you ever heard of it before?" "I've heard of it, all right." "Sexual activity between two different species." (How is bestiality art? Is it suppose to be art?!) Vincent Phelps faced Max, holding anger in check. "Why would she do that to my son?" "She didn't know it at first," Max sniffed. "So it wasn't her fault that she went and did it in the first place. Yet, she's older than your son. And she's twenty-eight years older than your son is, Vincent Phelps." Vincent Phelps could feel nothing inside, because of Max. If only he couldn't bring his son to Sinclair's mansion. He should be the man of the house in New York, instead of roaming around the mansion. More importantly, if that happens, Brad wouldn't have met Sonia in the first place. "A crime against nature this was." Max said. "I'm pretty sure your folks back in New York would find how abhorrent this was. It's just as sick to watch them fuck as it is to watch ordinary people do it. Faggotry is what it's called and it's from someone who despise animals acting like your own kind. He also thinks that this concept

is a sexual attraction to them. You might be one of those who despise animals acting like your own kind. Some are driven by pure moral values and species patriotism, saying that what they have done to the human species, or what they have given animals from the human species, is horribly insulting and they should be ashamed of themselves as human beings. Some are driven by church beliefs about this concept being horrible blasphemy against all creatures that God created. 'And if a man lie with a beast, he shall surely be put to death: and ye shall slay the beast.' Leviticus 20:15 would say. They hate that scientists like Sinclair are fusing animals together and destroying the way they are meant to be. As one might expect, it might as well attract a large amount of controversy. Clearly, the sexual aspect of it draws much attention, especially when the more outer fetishes are taken into consideration. Indeed, there are controversies within the subject as to what limits. Within, there was a backlash against the more outer aspects. Other accusations, such as bestiality, have been leveled, due to the sexualizaton of animals. Frankly, Sinclair would've learn that when he found out about your son with Sonia. But no. He dared to play God." Vincent Phelps remained silent. Over and over and over within his floating awareness was what he saw on the screen and what Max said to him. Bestiality. It all made sense now. Why didn't he think of this before? Why was he blind? "You dare bring your son into a world Sinclair created and he end up seduced into submission by it. Would you ever allow that, Vincent Phelps?" the rat asked. "He's not old enough," Vincent Phelps said. "Just the basic fact," Max had said. "You know it's over and done with." Vincent Phelps remained silent. "Forgive me for showing you what's on the screen, Vincent Phelps." Max said. "I wanted you to learn something. Nothing more." "And what can I learn from you, Max?" "You can learn this, Vincent Phelps. That you shouldn't blame Sonia for seducing your son into sexual activity." Max said. "Which do you want to blame? I'll tell you. Blame Sinclair, because he made her like this!" (Vincent

Phelps had it coming, and he only had Sinclair to blame. If you don't know Sinclair, you won't believe it. And frankly, he would have done the same.) "Why would I do that?" "Do you want to talk to Sonia?" Max asked. "If you do, you're too late. She's already gone off to the Ballroom. Don't expect much." Later in the future, those who are in the Renaldi Ballroom during the "Springtime in Paris" dance devolve into a lynch mob, thanks to Sonia. They all depart for Sinclair's mansion with stakes and guns. Even the police was involved, when they think it was a riot. In front of the multitude and the police, the poodle was dancing and singing. She sang with her canine mouth of retaliation! "We've passed sentence upon Sinclair! We must condemn this madman to death! The madman must die--to hell with him! Yiff!--Yiff!--Yiff in hell, Sinclair--!" "What should I do?" Vincent Phelps stared up at Max, seeing madness in the rat's eyes, the perspiration along brow and chin. "Even though their affair is over, it's not too late." Max said. "You can put a stop to this. So this is what's about to happen, Vincent Phelps." He shows Vincent Phelps the same revolver Max nearly used to nearly killed him. "I'll give you this revolver, so you can assassinate him with it. When you see Sinclair, you must remember the gun. The gun, Vincent Phelps. You must remember the gun." The rat leaned closer and closer until his face dominated Vincent's narrowing vision. Vincent Phelps tried to look at the revolver in the rat's hand. He felt like there was an urge to murder. "This is very important, Vincent Phelps. For the sake of your son, you must remember this gun." Vincent's mouth moved without sound, then: "Refuse." "Ah-h, no! You mustn't refuse. Because, in return for this small service, I'm doing a thing for you. It will save

your son and free him from this world Sinclair created. No other can do it. Without Sinclair, this world no longer exist. Six bullets in the chamber means six chances of killing him. Don't waste any but one. Only one bullet will do. Shoot him in the head, he'll instantly die. Shoot him in the heart, he'll die within a minute from blood loss. Shoot him in the abdomen, he'll die within fifteen." "For Brad," Max said. "Goodbye, Vincent Phelps. And remember the gun." Cool remoteness spread upward from the gun in Vincent Phelps' hands. He'd know what he have to do. "Remember the gun!" Max hissed. "The gun! Do not hesitate! Just remember the gun!"CHAPTER XIIISuch activity tend to be shaped by animal welfare concerns, moral views, and cultural beliefs. In many cultures, humans are viewed as different from other animals and having sex with animals is seen as defilement. The practice of humans having sex with animals sometimes involves animal cruelty or animal abuse. However, not all sexual activity with animals involves cruelty. From what Vincent Phelps can tell, the project might as well be accompanied with bestiality. How sick it was to even discuss it. (Brad must not see me. I have to pay attention and try to kill Sinclair. He must be anywhere in this house.) Vincent Phelps has left the theater and into the Great Hall with Max's revolver in his hand. It will be like a game of hide-and-seek. Even though he knew the mansion well, it's easy to forget. He wasn't in the kitchen with the columns, trim, doors and beautiful Siematic cabinets are of cherry, the lounge or any of the fifteen (minus Brad's room) The room he hadn't search was the east parlor. The area has nothing but sofas, chairs and one table. Like a burglar, with Max's revolver, Vincent Phelps slowly progress his footwork into the area. As he passes several feet inside, he catches sight of a portrait hanging on the wall. He stops and frowns. He hasn't seen that during one of his visits, years ago. A tall, brown, anthropomorphic female mouse with a flesh-colored underbelly and face with blonde hair, lavender eyeshadow, and green eyes in a beach setting. She was wearing her cerulean bikini that clung her large breasts and slightly wide hips perfectly. She must have looked at Vincent Phelps with her bedroom

eyes, grinning seductively. He wonders if that mouse is more attractive than Sonia...when a noise surprises him. (What was that?) A silhouette at the end of the parlor, stumbling around, arms bound behind his back. (At the end of the parlor. It's him. I can sense him. I definitely know it's him.) Vincent Phelps was hiding at the side of the couch, the gun is still in his hand. The silhouette didn't see him. (Six bullets in the chamber means six chances of killing him. Don't waste any but one. Only one bullet will do. Shoot him in the head, he'll instantly die. Shoot him in the heart, he'll die within a minute from blood loss. Shoot him in the abdomen, he'll die within fifteen.) (Now remember the gun! The gun! Do not hesitate! Just remember the gun!) He remembered it. He know what he must do. As soon as the figure frees his wrists, Vincent Phelps cocks his gun. The figure must have heard that and proceeds to step closer, but Vincent Phelps points the gun at the figure from the sofa and fires. It sounded like thunder. The figure collapsed onto the ground. After a sigh of relief, he moves out from the sofa and looks at the corpse. He shot someone in the head. However, as he analyzed it, he noticed that the figure turns out to be the handsome fox in the navy velvet suit. His eyes remain open as blood flows from a hole in his forehead. Vincent Phelps cursed silently, realizing that he only waste one bullet. (Six bullets in the chamber means six chances. Don't waste any but one. Only one bullet will do.) Another sound surprises him. A door heard at the end of the parlor was opened from the hall. Vincent Phelps immediately hides in a tall door-shaped opening on the front wall of the parlor. As footsteps draw nearer, Vincent Phelps realized that he doesn't have the gun. He must have dropped it on the floor next to Sebastian. He tries to retrieve it, but Sinclair has already arrived. He cries out in horror

as he saw Sebastian's corpse. But when he see the gun, he knows that something is amiss. But for now, he thinks that Sebastian has committed suicide. (I never liked him anyway. Even though he was one of those sly Londoners who always like to talk.) (Not talk! Bark!) Sinclair walks out of the parlor, as Vincent Phelps came out of hiding. However, he realized that the revolver wasn't here. Sinclair must have taken it with him. Vincent Phelps cursed silently. But now, he knows that Sinclair must have went back to his study. Earlier, Sonia was still inside the mansion, readying herself in her master bedroom. As she placed her face-mask and poster advertising the "Springtime in Paris" dance at the Renaldi Ballroom, she leaves, only to find Sebastian outside her door. Before he notices, she knocks him unconscious. She tied her hands and cover his mouth with duct tape and traps him in Sinclair's study. But the door almost closed, making an opportunity to escape. Inside the study, sitting on the desk, Sinclair pours himself a drink and puts the revolver on his desk. Vincent Phelps quietly opens the door and creeps inside, unheard. The door slowly closes. Sinclair was leaning on his chair. He gets to the desk and leans forward to touch something metallic. The gun. He slowly tries to grab it, but Sinclair notices the door was ajar and gets up. He goes to the door, wondering what happened, then closes it before sitting down. As he walks past his desk, Vincent Phelps was now underneath it. Sinclair was leaning on his chair again. Vincent Phelps tries to grab the gun, but just as he does, Sinclair leans forward, causing one of the legs to press down on Vincent's hand. Sinclair finishes his drink, as Vincent Phelps covers his mouth with his free hand, while closing his mouth tight to stop himself from making a noise and risk being discovered. Sinclair gets up and out of his desk. Vincent Phelps rescues his hand and tries again. But the gun was gone from the desk. Sinclair must have taken it with him. Vincent Phelps hears the door closed. He knows that he's gone. (Dammit! I blew it! Now I have to break my promise and go to Brad myself!) Vincent Phelps exits Sinclair's study. It was 8:30 P.M. He heads up the staircase and is about to knock on Brad's door. But Sinclair spots him in the nick of time. "I didn't know that you came here, Vincent Phelps." Sinclair had said. "You show up just in time." Vincent Phelps stops and looks at Sinclair. "Why?" Vincent Phelps had asked. Sinclair shows Max's revolver to Vincent Phelps. "This bugger must have killed himself, Sebastian." Vincent Phelps proceed to play along. "Are you worried?" "No," Sinclair laughed. "I never liked him anyway." (Well, you're not alone, then.) "Why did you hire him, then?" "You really shouldn't mumble, Vincent Phelps." Sinclair said. "Because I can't understand a word you're saying for the most part." (Why bother, you sick fuck!) "Why exactly are you here, Vincent Phelps?" Sinclair asked. "Returning to settle our affairs for this project?" "All I want is my son and we'll be on our way." "Do you now?" Sinclair was very curious. "So early?" "I'm afraid so." Vincent Phelps declared. "I think he enjoyed his visit." "Very well." Sinclair just said. "But first, would you please follow me to my study." There was a bright little gleam in Sinclair's eyes and smiled as Vincent Phelps follows him to his study. Vincent Phelps has been in this study before. "I do enjoy your voice of reason, Vincent Phelps." Sinclair smirked. "Why are we

here, Sinclair?" Vincent Phelps had said. "Can you at least send Max to notify my son that I'm here to pick him up?" "You're worrying about your little pup, aren't you? More like a mutt, if you ask me. Nothing personal." (She's going to seduce your son, if that is your son.) Vincent Phelps suddenly remembers. Vincent Phelps suddenly remembers that during the presentation. "Before I do that, I want you to learn something about me." Sinclair had said. "What is it?" Sinclair had said. "You can tell that I have the advantage to be recognized while others don't, starting with my transformation machine." (They were crying out. Her body begins moving. It all happened slowly: thrust upon thrust upon thrust...upon thrust. Pushing deep inside her.) You can tell that Vincent Phelps' patience is running out every time he remembers from that presentation with Max. "Mark me, Vincent Phelps." Sinclair smirked again. "From the morning of the world, I have existed and I shall exist until the last star falls from the night. And even though my name is still Dr. Vladimir Sinclair, I am all men as I am no man and therefore I am a God among all that is evolutionary. Wouldn't you agree, Vincent Phelps?" (There is no other gods but the one true God.) (There can be no understanding from playing God.) (You can still hear their breaths gasping and your son crying out her name nonstop, even crying out, "Don't stop, Sonia! Don't stop!") "I have no time for this, Sinclair." Vincent Phelps has said. "I must get to my son immediately." "Well, fine." Sinclair scoffed. "Don't listen then," (I know they felt the heat and tension get stronger and

hotter. I can tell their climax is coming.) (Mind you, you're not giving enough time for them to elope.) Without a word of warning, like a thunderbolt, Vincent Phelps seized the gun. Sinclair was now frozen. "Do you have any idea what you're doing, Vincent Phelps?!" (No!) "I don't care what your dog did!" Vincent Phelps was shouting. "I want my son and I want him now!" "How did you know that, Vincent Phelps?!" Sinclair's expression hardened. "Your rat told me that MY SON and YOUR MAID FUCKED, VLADIMIR SINCLAIR!" Vincent Phelps snarled. Sinclair clenched his teeth. "How dare she?! How dare my maid have sex with your Brad! SHE SHOULD BE PUNISHED FOR THIS?!" But Vincent Phelps knows that Sinclair tries to be innocent. It doesn't work! (You can hear them moan very loudly as they finally had their climaxes take full control over their minds and bodies. Can you hear them, Vincent Phelps?! Can you hear them?! They're now crying out in pleasure that was so intense for their bodies, Their bodies burning a lot from all of the sensations that burned inside them! All they could do in their own sexual lust was moan and howl--!!) Vincent Phelps, in a last resort to finally kill Sinclair after remembering, cocks the gun and pulls the trigger. After that comes a click. Vincent's expression suddenly changes. (How could this be?) He fired again and again. But every time, he hears the same click. (Maybe something's wrong with the gun.) Vincent Phelps cracks open the cylinder and a shocked fear has been confirmed. Six empty chambers. As a dangerous smile formed on Sinclair's face, he seized back the revolver and snaps it in two, much to Vincent's horror. From his pocket, Sinclair brings out five bullets and shows them to a dejected Vincent Phelps. "I guess that is what happens when you retire, Vincent Phelps." A picture of pure glee and happiness on his face. "You forget things, like the weight in the hand of a gun that's loaded and one that's not. You could forget about killing me, Vincent Phelps. You just made a grave error." "So what if I did?" Vincent Phelps shouted. "Does it matter to you anyway?" "You shouldn't have thought of that before you give your credit to me. Perhaps I would demonstrate when I transform Britain into animals! Animals who don't talk at all, starting with your son!!" A howl escaped Vincent's lips. He lunges at Sinclair. But he shoved Vincent Phelps back. Sinclair slams Vincent Phelps into the wall and collapses to the floor. Sinclair realizes that Vincent Phelps must have had his skull smashed into a wall. Painful. But Vincent Phelps refused to die. (Still alive?) The instant Vincent Phelps gets himself up on his feet, Sinclair swings his fake hand and slams him from behind brutally, then in the kidneys. Vincent's knees buckle as Sinclair slams him across the back of the neck. Vincent Phelps fell hard. Sinclair then uses one dainty foot to roll the detective over. Vincent Phelps gazes up at him, panting for breath, in agony. "I'm done spending any more time with you, because I've got more important things to do." Sinclair sneered as he presses his shoe into Vincent's chest, grinding it hard. "Your Brad is mine, Vincent Phelps. Pretty soon, I'll make sure he's going straight to the lab. Hope you get used to it." With that, Sinclair leaves Vincent Phelps, but not without ripping off a door handle on one side, before closing the door behind him, ripping off the other. Vincent Phelps slowly pulls himself to his knees, doubled over, coughing up blood. He gets his breath, wiping blood from his face, now realizing that he's trapped in Sinclair's study. (Sinclair won't get away with this! This monster won't get away with this!) Sinclair's fun is short lived, according to the writer, when the butler arrived at the front door. "My butler!" Sinclair shouted. "Where have you been? And where is your face-mask?!" The butler is babbling incoherently. "They're coming, Sinclair! Please forgive me!" "Why should I forgive you? Who's coming?" "A mob, master!" the butler shouted. "The project is revealed." "How could this be?!" Sinclair was shocked, yet furious. "Did you tell them?! You better tell me truthfully, butler, or I'll be calling the taxidermist on your arse!" "No, master!" the butler cried. "It was her! It was Sonia! She seduced them without her face-mask, revealed herself in front of all these people at the Renaldi Ballroom, exposed your scheme about turning Britain into animals! She turned them into a mob bound for you and she's leading them here! She'll no longer be courteous to you!" Sinclair was shocked to hear the news. And yet, he realized that Sonia wasn't here. But now she's coming, along with the mob and the police. They all had the same faces. Wild faces, with eyes like fire-brands. While they all sang the same song--song without melody, but an oath--a storm vow: "We've passed sentence upon Sinclair!" "We must condemn this madman to death!" "The madman must die--to hell with him!" "Yiff!--Yiff!--Yiff in hell, Sinclair--!" Sonia danced along before the streaming, bawling multitude. She led the multitude on. She led the tramping multitude forward. She said: "Come...! Come...! Come...! I will lead you...I will dance the dance of seduction before you...I will dance the dance of the retaliation before you...!" "Kill--kill--kill--!" yelled the crowd. They acted without plan, and yet following a law. Retaliation was the name of the law; they obeyed it. "Should I tell Brad?" the butler asked. He did not see Sinclair's face, showing rage. He thought this was the last straw. Family or not, no one betrays him, even Sonia. "No," Sinclair said. "He mustn't know." The butler understands, but decided to tell him anyway, soon after. As the butler enters Brad's room, Sinclair spotted his beautiful Max at the Great Hall. "Ma-AX! MA-AX!" Max looked up at him as Sinclair makes it down the stairs to approach him. (Why isn't he still alive?) "If you want to talk to me, this is hardly the time or place for that, pretty Max. I've just found out that Sonia has betrayed me!" Sinclair shouted. "Now she has an army heading for my mansion! She'll no longer be courteous?! She's going to wish she EVER do that! We can talk about this later, if later even occurs!" "You know there's no stopping it!" Max shouted. "Once it's started, it's impossible to stop. Can't you just admit it for once?" (He didn't talk much that often.) "I'm done talking to you." Sinclair said. "Don't tell me you're one of them." A soothing voice sang to Sinclair. "Oh, Sinny!" Sinclair looks up at the second floor balcony and saw Sonia in that showgirl outfit. "You!" Sinclair roared. And yet, Sinclair might be seeing her in his vision. Sinclair fails to notice Max groping a bottle from the neck that was on the table. The bottle came down squarely on Sinclair's head, the glass shattering violently inside the straw. The base of it was thick and heavy, and it made a sound against his skull like a medicine ball dropped on a hardwood floor. He rocked back on his heels, his eyes rolling up in their sockets. The pressure on his throat loosened, then gave way entirely. He put his hands out, as if to steady himself, and then crashed over on his back. Max almost fell himself as he saw Sinclair lying full-length, the shattered bottle beside him. He looked like a felled giant. More accurately, a felled giant with black-and-white hair. However, the rat was stunned. (Could he be?) The rat knelt down and put his ear on Sinclair's chest. In a few moments, Max frowned, but later a smirk of satisfaction formed on his face. (At least, you're still breathing, you sonofabitch. Until then, lie there if you wish. I'll let fate step in and seal your fate. Such a great enjoyment. Also, a... great disappointment.) He thought there was one thing to take care of first. Vincent Phelps is supposed to kill Sinclair, following Max's orders, but failed. And yet, Vincent Phelps is still trapped in Sinclair's study.CHAPTER XIVFor every scientist gone mad, for the sake of humanity, a mob is bound to arrive. For Sinclair, a lifelong obsession of his has gone out of control. For those in the ballroom, they're no longer safe until he's dead, for they believe that he'll wreak havoc on Britain if they let him wander free. Now is the time to take some action. And let's not forget Sonia who's leading the way. Sinclair awoke, but he looks like he was dead when Max knocked him out. How long was he out made no difference. He got

up on his feet, which was difficult. It was still night and Sinclair is now fighting to contain his fear when the mob arrives, because his butler was suspended by a noose underneath the balcony. His eyes are closed and his body is still. (Two suicides in one night. Oh, well. Nobody gives a shit about them, I guess.) As Sinclair is calming himself, he spots Vincent Phelps, his Brad, and the dog Christina, led by Max. Beautiful Max. This time, he wasn't hallucinating. "Oh, my God!" Brad screamed as he spots the butler. "Don't stop!" Vincent Phelps said. "Keep going!" Sinclair just stood there. Everything is falling apart in front of him, and it was all thanks to Sonia. His former courteous Sonia. He now has the expression of a man gone quite mad. And yet one half of his hair that's snow-white fits well like a glove. Earlier, Max frees Vincent Phelps by chopping down the door to Sinclair's study with an axe from the shed. But Vincent Phelps was in somber due to his failed assassination. "I've failed." Vincent Phelps said. "I've killed Sebastian at the parlor." "Dare not to try again, Vincent Phelps." Max had said. "Let the mob deal with it personally." (A mob? I didn't know there was a mob. Why didn't you tell me before you order me to kill him.) "You have to go to your son," Max had said. "I already took care of Sinclair. He's unconscious." After they exit, Vincent Phelps noticed the body of the butler suspended by a noose. He was horrified after he realized otherwise. "The butler!" "He's dead." Max had said. "Why?" "Seduction." "From Sonia?" Vincent Phelps asked. "Don't worry about him or Sonia. What's important is your son. Get your son and leave this place. I'll be waiting." Vincent Phelps went up the stairs, calling out. "BRAAAD--!!" Vincent Phelps' son knew quite well that his father could hear him, for he, the son, was in the room where Christina slept. He hears his father through the door. "FATHER--! IN HERE--!" And he heard the voice of his father as he locates the right door and pushed it open: "Yes!-Here I am!" They were now re-united. Brad tried to embrace him, but his father stops his son. "There's no time," Vincent Phelps said. "We've got to get out of here! This place will be swarming with an angry mob." Brad halted his father and said. "Wait, I want to show you something." He directed them over to the bed, but the dog retreated. "Now I know this may sound a little strange, but I'd like you to meet... Christina." (I thought you introduced me to her already at Ascot. Remember that?) Vincent Phelps stood there. After a few seconds, Brad looked under the bed and said, "Christina. Come on." A little coaxing from Brad brought her out, and his father was greeted with the sight of her. They both stood in shock to see a golden retriever instead of an actual person. (That's Christina?) "Well," Brad explained, "at least she was human until Sinclair turned her into this." Brad stroke Christina's fur. "See? No one's going to hurt you." (Come on, Brad. You'll be talking to a raccoon in Central Park next.) A thought occurred to Vincent Phelps as he said, "Who told you that?" "The butler." Vincent Phelps was reminded about the body hanging on the balcony. "You mean you don't know? Where's Sinclair?" "Max knocked him out." Vincent Phelps said. "Now he's waiting for us. Come on." Brad and his father left the room with Christina. Max had came back inside from the balcony. "I saw them from the balcony, using Sebastian's spyglass," Max said. "The mob?" "Yes. Now, you must leave." (You saw them coming, now here they are with blood to shed. They'll march toward the mansion. They'll let death reign on Sinclair. Hatred will consume them until that man is DEAD!) (And frankly, for those who are involved in hating the concept of animals acting like humans for all aspects having to do with sexuality, these people would have done the same.) And this brings us back to where this chapter began, starting with Sinclair gaining consciousness. Vincent Phelps, his son, Christina, and Max are now outside in front of the entrance. They all hear the angry howls of the mob, those familiar howls of the mob, which sang their song--the song of their deadly hatred of the madman: "We've passed sentence upon Sinclair!" "We must condemn this madman to death!" "Keep quiet, Vincent Phelps." Max has ordered him. "Just go to them, Vincent Phelps. I'll be right behind you." Vincent Phelps hesitated and continues walking with his son and Christina As they do, once again...they

hear the mob howled: "The madman must die--to hell with him!" "Yiff!--Yiff!--Yiff in hell, Sinclair!" The mob march up toward the mansion. Already, Brad was frightened from the sight. They're armed with stakes and guns and knives and clubs. The police are armed with their clubs and guns. Sonia, the head of the mob, spotted Brad with his father and orders the mob, "There's Brad and his father. It's Sinclair you want now." "Why are you doing this, Sonia?" "Haven't you noticed a thing, Brad?" asked Sonia. "I mean, it's silly, really... all this talk of killing that madman, Sinclair. Well, we don't need to go into the details. The point is, why I'm doing this is that I'm doing it for you and I still love you." At some point, the multitude felt confused about it. "Do you mean it, Sonia?" Brad realized. "For what Sinclair did to Christina?" His father, too, was surprised, remained watching what was happening. "Of course, Brad." Sonia nodded. "For what Sinclair did to Christina?" "Who's Christina?" one of the multitude whispered to another. "And if you still love me, Brad, then I suggest you stand and watch." On cue, one of the multitude shot a bullet in the air through the barrel of a shotgun, somehow scaring Brad, not to mention worry. Brad knows that Sonia will enjoy it. Every last second of it. Every last second of killing Sinclair. (There is a second chance! I won't blow it this time!) "Sonia," Vincent Phelps said to her. "Let me kill

him." (Dare not to try again, Vincent Phelps.) (I don't care! I have to end this!) Sonia smiles darkly. "Do what you want, father of Brad." Then she gave her multitude the order, "Tear the profane palace down. Kill on sight, but don't kill Max. He's a rat. He knows what I was doing. For your children." Vincent Phelps ordered his son. "Brad, stay here at the entrance with Max, so you won't get hurt." The charge started off slow and horrible. Impersonal behind their faces of hatred, they ready themselves for an attack with Sonia taking the lead. Vincent Phelps and his son blend in with the mob. When they approach the entrance, they're greeted by the doctor, a lion. "I'm back!" Sonia said a little too cheerfully before brutally shooting him with a shotgun. While some of the mob takes the dead body to be skinned, they quickly swarmed the house. But Sinclair is nowhere to be seen. "Come with me, Vincent Phelps!" Sonia shouted. "I know where he's going!" "Let me come with you!" Max shouted. "Wait outside!" Vincent Phelps said to his son as he follows Max and Sonia. Brad follows them unnoticed. Meanwhile, while the mob is crowded inside, one of them killed the messenger and is skinned alive. A few dragged it out, with blood smeared on the floor. A few rip apart the oil paintings from the frame. Vincent Phelps, Max and Sonia rushed to the door that leads to the library. Vincent Phelps volunteered to open the door. "You're mine now." But all Vincent Phelps got was a big punch to the face by Sinclair. Vincent Phelps was sent back before falling to the floor. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOU, VINCENT PHELPS!!" roared

Sinclair. Seeing Sinclair harm his father, Brad got angry. "HEY, NO ONE DOES THAT TO MY FATHER!" Once Vincent Phelps saw his son about to fight Sinclair, he shouted, "Don't!" But it was too late. Brad was no match for Sinclair as he grabbed Vincent's son. "Let me go!" "If you harm my son, I'll kill you!" Vincent Phelps snarled. "That's what I'll be doing, Vincent Phelps, transforming him into a dog and all. I'll meet you in the playground after school," Sinclair said jokingly, before turning to Sonia. "And as for you, I'll deal with you later. Right now, I have a little unfinished business!" He turns to Vincent Phelps again. "And when I'm through with your Brad, Vincent Phelps, he'll wish he'd be playing dead!" Sinclair drags Brad inside and slams the door, locking it before ripping off the door handle. Vincent Phelps just pounds the door in both anger and sadness, from the thought of losing his son like his wife Willa. If his son remained outside, none of this would have happened. (God dammit, Brad! Why didn't you wait outside like I told you!) (See what you did? I told you to not try again. You should have let the mob deal with it personally. But judging from your son's selfless actions, you can see that he has no choice, Vincent Phelps. He wants to make sure you're safe, because he loves you, no matter how risky his sacrifice became.) "Move back, Vincent Phelps!" Max shouted.  Vincent Phelps got out of the way, immediately. Max raised one foot and brought it down hard against the door to the right of the knob. The door gave immediately. "Now, retrieve your son! Kill the monster!" Max said. "Hurry! HURRY!!"CHAPTER

XVThis chapter might as well be the story's darkest hour. It's already dark when the mob arrived. For Vincent Phelps, for harming and threatening his son, now Sinclair will have to pay the price. In fact, he'll be forfeiting his obsession...and his life. Brad was already strapped to the restraint chair at the lab, while Sinclair was standing in front of the control panel, watching him. "You're gonna pay for this, Sinclair!" Brad shouted. "You won't get away with this!" Sinclair came over to Brad and whacks him in the back of the head. "Don't even try me, boy!" Sinclair said. "You might as well make the best of it when I turn you into the same species I turn poor Christina into." He went back to the control panel and sets the red dial to "ANIMAL". "Soon, you'll lose your humanity, son of Vincent Phelps and Vladimir Sinclair will make sure of that!" He pressed a rectangular button and an industrial voice called out from the speaker: "Golden Retriever." Sinclair heads toward the switch. "Do you have anything to say before the sentence is carried out?" "GO TO HELL!!" screamed Brad in rage. "Close enough." Sinclair said as he move his hand toward the switch. Before Sinclair could pull it, a voice shout to him. "SINCLAIR!!" He turned to see Vincent Phelps with a gun, dare pointing it at Sinclair. "Father!" Brad cried. Sinclair looked down, his amused face changing into something to appear more menacing. "You never learn, didn't you Vincent Phelps?" Sinclair said in a low voice, while Vincent Phelps is walking closer to him, toward the control panel. "Dare try to shoot me if you can, Vincent Phelps. You know my fake hand is on the switch. And you'll soon lose your son, just like poor Willa." And yet, they both fail to notice Sonia went in and is closing in on Sinclair, armed with an ax before he could flip the switch. "LIKE YOUR HAND!" In one quick motion, she slam the ax down on Sinclair's hand while denting the machine and heads for Brad, dropping the ax. Sinclair screamed in pain and holding his non-functional hand. He looked at Sonia, now freeing Brad's bonds. In rage, Sinclair shoved Vincent Phelps to the ground, dropping the gun. Sinclair picked up the ax with his free hand and swings it at the lower part of her back, using the pick-shaped pointed poll. She screamed terribly before she collapses, still breathing. "SONIA!" Brad screamed. "YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE DONE THAT, YOU BITCH!!" Sinclair yelled. He rose the ax, preparing to strike her, but Vincent Phelps picked up the gun and shot him in the hip. Sinclair cries out, dropping the ax. Vincent Phelps shouted, "Brad! Get out of here!" "What about Sonia?!" "Take her!" Brad carries the wounded maid toward the exit and up the spiral staircase. "I feel dizzy," groaned Sonia. "Just keep going. Don't stop." Looking at Vincent Phelps, Sinclair knew that this was the final straw. With an evil glint in his eye, Sinclair picked up the ax with his one hand. "You die now." His eyes filled with rage as he charged toward Vincent Phelps, swinging at him. But Vincent Phelps dodged and attacks him, enraged, trying to beat Sinclair with force alone. Sinclair, however, was much to strong for the detective, and with a mighty shove, sent him

slammed into the control panel. "You don't know what it's like to lose everything, Vincent Phelps!" Sinclair snarled. "I've spent years to make this into reality! Now that it's destroyed, instead of turning your son into a dog, how about I just kill him, before I kill you myself?! I just wanted you to know that before you die." Vincent Phelps looked defiantly at him. "No wonder why there's was a mob inside your mansion. They want you dead for playing God." As Sinclair raised his ax to strike, Vincent Phelps dodged. The ax head lodged itself into the control panel. Sparks fly from the impact. Sinclair gasped as he realized that. His scream of frustration echoed inside the lab as Vincent Phelps leaves to follow his son. "Here, let me take her, Brad." For the rest of the short journey, Vincent Phelps carried Sonia. At the top, Vincent Phelps lets her sit with her back on the concrete wall as blood slowly flows. Brad stood next to her. "Sonia. Stay with me now." There was a deep wound on the lower part of her back. "I'm sorry, Brad." Sonia said. "Sometimes, I have to risk my life to save yours." "Don't talk now, Sonia." Brad said. "You'll get through this." Vincent Phelps can hear Sinclair's screams from down the staircase. "THIS ISN'T THE END OF IT, VINCENT PHELPS!" Sinclair roared. "EVEN THOUGH THE MOB IS OUT TO KILL ME, EVEN THOUGH MY MACHINE IS DESTROYED, I WILL ESCAPE! THE NEXT TIME WE'LL MEET AGAIN, MY FACE ALONE IS GONNA TEAR YOUR WORLD APART FROM THE INSIDE! I'LL FIND A WAY! I'LL KILL YOUR SON! I'LL KILL YOU! YOU'RE DEAD! YOU HEAR ME? DEAD!!" (What if it's true? What if Sinclair finds a way?) Max entered the

room, wearing a backpack and carrying a glass bottle in his hand. Fixed securely around the mouth was a cloth rag. Vincent's eyes widen as he recognized it. Without saying anything, Max points at the passageway. "We gotta move." Vincent Phelps said as he helps Sonia up. "Hang on." Brad said to Sonia as he follows his father out of the passageway. After they're far away, without saying anything, Max sets the rag ablaze with a cigarette lighter, before throwing it at the entrance frame. The bottle shatters and the frame bursts into flames, burning the books around it. "We have to move!" Vincent Phelps shouted, as they leave the library. "NOW!" In the passageway, Max pulls out another bottle from the backpack and heads down. At the Great Hall, one of the multitude was pouring gasoline at everything, including the dead butler. Why the butler wasn't skinned is because they want the corpse to burn to a crisp. "Why are you doing this?" "I DON'T CARE HOW BEAUTIFUL THE HOUSE IS!" it roared. "IT BELONGS TO THE DEVIL NOW! IF YOU DON'T WANT TO DIE A HOT MAGNIFICENT DEATH, GET OUT!!!" Vincent Phelps and his son rush out to the entrance, carrying Sonia. At the lab, Sinclair was sulking at the control panel when Max enters from the tunnel. Seeing Max, Sinclair thinks he had a change of heart in helping him. But Max has other plans. "I see that you have a change of heart, beautiful Max." Sinclair said in glee. "You think I was bluffing when I threaten him?" Max just nods. "Well, it won't be a bluff any longer, Max." Sinclair said. "As soon as I'll escape, I'll show him." (And I'll make sure it won't happen.) "Funny, the experience a legacy would do... especially when it's created by a God like I." continued Sinclair. (You wanna see God? I'll show you God.) Max pulls out his cigarette lighter. "What are you doing?" Sinclair yelled, the superior smirk quick changing to the look of fear in an instant, as Max sets the cloth ablaze and targets the control panel. "Stop! NO!" Sinclair screamed as Max throws the bottle. Sinclair dodges just as the bottle smashed the control panel, exploding it into a ball of fire. "No," gasped Sinclair. Then, a howl: "NOOOOOOOOOO!" Max pulls out another bottle. Sinclair howled. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! OH GOD!" (You wanna see God?! I'LL SHOW YOU GOD!) He throws the bottle at the gaping maw of the machine and exploded. It now looks as if the machine screams in agony. Max rushes out of the burning lab. As Sinclair screams in rage, he's about to charge toward him, but Max throws at another bottle at the tunnel, engulfing it in flames, blocking his exit. Sinclair was slobbering with fear. He could not lose now. It must not happen. He has to find an escape route through a secret door and then escape death. "Mustn't happen!" he cried. "Oh no, mustn't happen!" He stumbled across the floor at the burning lab. The flames continue to burn and grow, like a monster. On the wall stood a secret door. "There's a chance!" the madman cried. He laid his one hand on the door knob, unmindful of the torturing heat and smoke from the fire. With a triumphant

scream, the door swung wide open. He saw a dark tunnel meeting Sinclair. "I WIN!" he cried. He capered obscenely in the flames, waving his hands over his head. "NOT TOO LATE! I WIN! NOT TOO LATE! NOT TOO LATE! NOT-" Words turned into a shriek of triumph, and the shriek was swallowed in a shattering roar as the machine became engulfed in fire. Vincent Phelps and his son burst out through the front doors with a wounded Sonia in their hands. The dog Christina follows them. Some of the interior is doused with gasoline and the multitude set it ablaze before leaving. Once they're far away, he turned around so he could watch it die. The mansion's windows shattered. A fusillade of infernos ripped the place. The chandelier hanging from the dome of the grand foyer, a two-hundred-pound crystal bomb, fell with a splintering crash. The elegant staircases gave way and the balcony collapsed. The bedrooms are instantly engulfed. The carpets and drapes became food for the flames. Some of the mansion's six chimneys collapsed. "No! Mustn't! Mustn't! MUSTN'T!" The voice of Sinclair shrieked; it shrieked but now it was voiceless and it was only screaming panic and doom and damnation in its own ear, dissolving, losing thought and will, the webbing falling apart, searching, not finding, going out, going out to, fleeing, going out to emptiness, blankness, crumbling. It's over. (Sinclair had it coming! That's what he gets for playing God! fate has found him, and it destroyed him. And your damned project is heavily flawed.) (Sinclair had it coming! And now the madman burns in hell, we're finally safe now! It's now accomplished. And we don't give him a last farewell!) (YIFF IN HELL, FURFAG!!!)CHAPTER XVIFor the first time in the life of Vincent Phelps, he was free; free from Dr. Vladimir Sinclair. But what if it's true? What if Sinclair finds a way and starts over? As of now, no one

knows for sure. But what will happen now? From what you're about to read, you would not believe. Vincent Phelps set Sonia down at the brick path as the mansion burns. Of course, Brad leans down next to her. Her entire outfit is stained with blood. Sonia's having trouble breathing. "I can't feel anything." Brad picks up her hand and grips it tight. "You feel that?" "A little..." "I'll take over from here. Lay on your stomach, Sonia." Vincent Phelps had said. Sonia turns over and he slightly rips her outfit... and sees her wound. He removed his jacket and pressed it on the wound, causing her to moan. "You're losing blood, but Sinclair didn't hit the vitals or the spinal column." Max approaches the group, having survived the fire. Seeing Max, Vincent Phelps approached the rat. "Is he dead?" Max just nods and Vincent Phelps was relieved. Max can see Brad with Sonia. He could often tell that she won't last any longer. Sonia weakly turns over so she can see Brad. Frightened, trying not to panic, Brad strokes her face. "Hell of a night, isn't it, Brad?" Sonia chuckles weakly. "Boy, I'll say. Even though the transformation machine is destroyed, that means your chance of being human is gone. Well, to be honest, I think I like you as a dog." Sonia's head rolls back. Brad just stares at her for a moment. "Sonia? Sonia?" His voice catches in his throat as he realizes. "Oh, no..." Praying silently, he checks his pulse. Thank God she still has one. Thank God. He then took a breath, and asked solemnly to Max, after seeing him, "What happened to her?" The rat said, "Unconscious." (Thank God.) "But she won't come with you," Max said. "Neither would I." "What exactly do you mean she won't come with us?" Face stoic, Max said to Vincent Phelps. "I must go back to that mansion with her. We must not be seen again. Forgive me, Vincent Phelps." The moment those words were said by Max, it made sense to Brad. The two remaining animals. Sonia and Max. Are they going to burn themselves? No... No, this can't be right... All of a sudden, white noise seemed to erupt everywhere as Brad stared at Max, and his stomach gave a panicky lurch. No, he couldn't have heard what he thought he just heard. This had to be some big mistake. Maybe Max was delusional (if that was even possible). Yeah, that had to be it! He couldn't actually be serious about killing themselves, could they? Unfortunately, the look on the rat's and his father's face begged to differ. Suddenly, Brad wanted to throw up. He's serious. "No... No..." Max looked grimly at Brad. "I'm sorry." "No! No, let her come with me! It'll be okay!" Vainly, he grabbed the unconscious Sonia, fingers digging into the outfit. He wasn't going to let her go anywhere but with him. Max gave Brad another grim-faced look. "She has to come with me!" he said quietly. "No! Please, let me keep her!" "I'm sorry." He bent down and picked up Sonia's body out of Brad's grasp. Seeing as his first attempt at salvation had failed, Brad tried another tactic. "No, wait! Wait, what if I keep her a secret? What if I tell them that she's dressed in a dog costume?! Please, I promise I wouldn't tell! I promise!" Again, the same "I'm sorry," and again, the same "Please!" For a moment, the rat and his father was speechless; Max simply stared back at the mansion, still an inferno. As he stared, Brad approached him, once again attempted to reason with him. "You can't do this!" he said to him, his words heavily laced with despair. He only blinked. "I had to." NO! Brad couldn't take it anymore, before looking at the building; in desperation, he threw himself at Max, and tried to pull Sonia away from him. "I won't let you." he snarled hoarsely. "I won't let you! I WON'T LET YOU!" He slowly looked up at Max. As he did, tears slowly began to run down his face.  (Why did this have to happen? Sinclair was dead! The house is in ruins! Why did this have to happen?!) (He must be serious about keeping Sonia as a pet. My son truly loved her. But Max was right. Max had to be right. It had to be done.) Silently, the rat looks down at Christina. "That golden retriever is the only animal you should keep," he told him in a gentle, sad voice, "because that's what poor Christina became. You'd take care of him, if he's your dog. Do you?" Through blurry eyes, Brad stared at the poodle. Then, he gave her one last kiss on the lips, before burying his face into his father's torso, wrapped his arms around him in a tight, desperate hug. For a moment, Max, slightly startled by Brad's actions, stood frozen on his feet, silent as he listened to the poor son cry. "Hold me, son." Vincent Phelps had

whispered to him. Max nods and resumed his slow walk toward the mansion, the slow walk to his and her own death. He looked back at Vincent Phelps and his son and softly bid them "Goodbye," all too aware of the tears running down the face of Vincent's son, and all too aware of the somber, gloomy look on the father's face. As the multitude cheers in victory that Sinclair has died, they somehow ignore Max and Sonia as they head inside, before disappearing into the flames. Much of the roof and some of the facade caved in soon after. (You know it's coming, the great demise of man's best friend. Sinclair is dead now. He's yiffing in hell. But for Max and Sonia, it is the end.) The tears that had been falling down Brad's face now seemed to fall faster and harder, and his chest lurched up and down as he struggled to breathe. He knows that Sonia was gone. She was never coming back. Vincent Phelps, seeing Brad utterly grief-stricken and sobbing, said to him. "Let's go home, Brad." At the end of August, the Phelps bought a wooden dog carrier for the golden retriever Christina. At the hotel, they started to pack, before leaving Britain on a plane bound for New York.EPILOGUEOnce an old life ends and withers away, a new life blooms and begins. September began back in New York. Brad and Vincent Phelps kept Christina as their pet. That's what poor Max had wanted. One time, Brad decides to take a walk with Christina to Central Park to get away from it all for a while. Brad can see that the park is very green. People are casually dressed, having fun. Cycling, reading, children feeding ducks bits of bread at the Ramble and Lake. Brad arrives at a bench and sat down, along with Christina. Looking back now, she was reminiscent of Sonia, when he first met her before Christina. He now became a new man from what he was not so long ago. Changed, given another chance by a sheer series of fortunate events that transpired from

somewhere he couldn't even speculate. If he dare to look back, he can honestly be very lucky that it all worked out. Though he was saddened by the death of Sonia at Sinclair's mansion, he's still happy for the time he had with her during his visit. All in all, nothing much happened, but what's talking in Britain is the incident with Sinclair. Sure, people went to work as they always do, laughed, complained, watching BBC, made love. But they know now, thanks to Sonia. That doesn't help the case with Detective Byron, however, as he visits Vincent Phelps once again. In his hand, the manila envelope Vincent Phelps had given him. Somehow his usual tone is replaced by a generous warmth, anxious enough to make Vincent Phelps feel comfortable. "These images you gave me about the project turned out to be a cauldron of the most unimaginable mysteries yet. Aside from the outrage heard from Britain, this project can still be possible." He was pleased. "They'll be discussing it for years, even if our government in Washington starts to get involved, thus calling the Department of Unexplained Phenomena to head to Britain. If they start questioning you, you must answer immediately. Nobody would blame you if you weren't involved. You could just put an end to it and walk away." "It's risky, Detective." Vincent Phelps had said. "It's now destroyed. It mustn't be repeated, under any circumstance. It served no purpose but to blemish the project's reputation. However, who would believe it? And as for this unexplained phenomena department, I'm pretty sure they won't know the difference. Would they?" (Who would believe it?) "I understand, Mr. Phelps." Detective Byron said. "To be honest, perhaps it's for the best. For the good of humanity?" As long as humanity still have its existence, the world hasn't changed a thing. Vincent Phelps seems at peace in this moment. But even though Sinclair finds a way if he escape, Vincent Phelps would rather be prepared and see what happens. Ahead. The Phelps family felt relieved to know that a new chapter is waiting to be written. They still have a lot of life ahead of them, and they plan to make the best of it. "You could say that,

Detective." He smiled. The following ending of this book is written by Victor Fredersen in his point of view: As I type these words on my typewriter back in Burgess, I look back at that Springtime in Paris dance event at the famed Renaldi Ballroom in London. I still can't get over that humanoid poodle named Sonia, who seduced me and those who attend the dance into submission. I'm obsessed by the thought that I'm a very lucky professor to attend that dance. I'd even thank God for this. But with a price. I guess it all happened so fast, I would thought to myself. Something in my mind tells me that it should remain that way. Not that these people on campus would believe me anyway. To be exact, I felt a tad aroused at the thought of her. I was not used to having any arousing or sexual feelings for anyone who is female yet. But those luscious curves...and her attractive breasts. All in all, not only was I the luckiest professor on campus, I knew for sure that I was definitely the happiest. But now, she's gone, as if she disappeared without a trace. Not even a plantigrade paw print. It's strange when I recall the time when I first saw her at the ballroom, with that expression of pure lust and desire, under the dusk of that day. Of course, what happened is a seduction of the innocent, due to that controversial dance at the Renaldi Ballroom. Looking back, it made me feel hot inside. I..I can't be this much of a pervert, right? Unfortunately, my nature got the best of me though, as I started to see the image of her in my head back home. I soon imagined that voluptuous poodle in my bed with him. She was sitting on my lap and had a lusty grin on her face. Also she was totally nude. Like an animal should. However, I cleared my mind right away, because I know that I'll be writing. I can't tell you anymore details. Can't you see the state I'm in? I'm pretty sure you realized that while I wrote this. Am I still sane as well as human? Is my name still Victor Fredersen who's responsible in writing it or some author who collaborated in writing it? Are dogs actually attracted sexually to men, unlike Sonia, whose human body has the head and tail of a gray French poodle? Will I ever be recovered from this whole ordeal? I think these questions may be difficult than answering them myself. After August 3rd, after leaving the Renaldi Ballroom, I went to my car to find that mansion. Eventually, I find smoke on the horizon. I follow it through a hidden dirt path. I was in such amazement when I caught my first sight on the hidden mansion in the Moorlands. I got out my car and walk towards the steps, where I met the words written on the top step:YIFF IN HELL, FURFAG! And on the burnt wall, a notion of one final joke:SINCLAIR BURNS DOWN THERE!! There's a down arrow pointing to the ground. Of course, I never write those words when I come here. I may hardly know Sinclair, but I thought he must have been a madman all along. As my first glimpse on what was once a mansion inside, the cracked marble floor was covered in pieces of limestone and broken marble pillars that hold up the second floor balcony; parts of a blackened skeleton that is a mix between a human and a squirrel. For some reason, I know that person. He was the person I met during the Renaldi Ballroom. Guess he got what he deserved, as well as the man who created him. Upon my arrival back in Chamberlain, I didn't lose my capacity to be amazed. Science remained the miraculous commonplace since the beginning. The morbidly curious in the form of a group of professors, teachers, distinguished alumni, and students worry when I worry as no details remain spared. So I had to explain. If it's about my summer vacation, I had to explain everything. All in all, so much is ill-defined. Upon psychological therapy, I think I've got a pretty good handle on most of the things in my life. I know that there are certain ideas where I'm having problems, I admit that, but I'm working on them and things can change. To prove it, there was a general persuasion that through everything we've witness may be ripped straight out of fiction, like something either Jules Verne or H. G. Wells would write about. Now we see further. Dim and wonderful is the existing vision I have conjured up in my mind of humans transforming into animals for the sake of scientific curiosity and to revolutionize science as we know it.

To this concept, and nothing else, is the future ordained perhaps. I know that the phenomena about humans into animals occurred. It was not an isolated one. For those who are reading these words, you do not put it in a box; you do not dismiss it as a hoax. If we are not vigilant, it will happen again. In all likelihood, it already is happening again, rendering it continual from one generation to the next. There is another Sinclair, somewhere, playing God and turning people into animals. With all due respect, those who read these words, you're not going to take anyone's word for it. You might as well get used to it, as little as I do. And today may be your day to meet a humanoid dog like Sonia who will later on gain a lustful desire for you with your innocence and seduce you completely into utter submission. As of today, no one knows if it happens to me again. But if it doesn't, sometimes, under any circumstance, I wish it would all go to the dogs.THE END