babyfur Splice, Spliced Baby (Mature) (Chapter Three)

[Baby Jemma]

Hey-lo, and welcome to another new story of mine (no, I have no shame in the use of this title). This is a dark spin on a babyfur story with real-world elements (with an evil member of Big Pharma being the Big Bad), so please pay attention to the content warnings on the tags.

About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it.

So, with all of that said, do enjoy~

-

 

Chapter One: Jealousy, Rage, and a Gilded Cage

 

-

 

 

Archer Dove was furious. That…bitch had broken the heart of the wrong man!

 

Charmaine Dryden, a.k.a., the bitch who broke his heart. A top FBI special agent along with him (with him holding seniority as a senior special agent), beautiful platinum-blonde hair in a bun, sky-blue eyes, a towering 6’5” without heels (he was still taller at 6’7”), huge hips, ass, and tits to match her size. He had asked her out. “Married to my job,” she said. “Not interested in dating,” she said. “I would like to remain friends only,” she said.

 

Bullshit! No woman could resist his charm! Every single one of them fell for him the moment they saw him. But he didn’t want them. He wanted her. And she dismissed him. Rejected him. Publicly humiliated him.

 

He was strong, masculine, handsome, a talented shot, amazing in the sheets, everything a woman could want! Why did she reject his advances? Was she threatened by him? Of course, in her twisted little mind, a supposed “independent woman” would be threatened by a strong man. The horror of having a man tell her what to do! Unlike that fucking cuck friend of hers, Veil. She probably fucking pegged him and took it up the ass from the higher-ups, probably a bit of both at the same time.

 

Dove smirked through his anger. Speaking of pegs, he had a plan to destroy her foolish pride and knock her down a peg or two. He’d have her no matter what, one way or another. Humiliate her a bit, have her fail miserably at her assignment, get her fired. And he’d be there to save the day for her, and she’d respect his authority.

 

All he had to do was get a fall guy, and Shadrach Veil fit perfectly, the nerdy little nobody, stuck playing his stupid D&D games on his computer on FBI business, while the real men fought on the front lines with their guns drawn. He hated everything about that fucking geek, from his oversized horn-rimmed glasses covering his mud-brown eyes and baggy clothes two sizes too big for a weaselly 5’3” frame (probably why he was a fucking cuckold), to his nasally voice and twice-broken nose, all the way to his long (to the length of feminine) brown hair and messy brown beard that could probably hide a bird’s nest in it.

 

Yeah, he had absolutely no issues with throwing the blame on Veil with his plan. The computer expert had his…sordid little past that should’ve disqualified him from the FBI, anyway. Dove tried to get him fired once before, but failed. He would say publicly it wasn’t personal between them, but privately? It most certainly was.

 

It had been simple to get Veil’s computer password; as a supervisory special agent in the FBI, Dove had that power and oversight. It had been done in such a way that nobody would even remember he asked. From there, it was simple to hack into the nerd’s computer while he was away on his hour-long self-defense classes that the FBI all but demanded he get after he had his ass saved by Charmaine for the third consecutive time in the field (what a pussy, having to get saved by a woman!), see where Charmaine was going, where she had gone undercover…and burn her.

 

Dove smirked, his green eyes showing cruelty at his little game. Charmaine wanted to fuck with Big Pharma, the biggest pharmaceutical company out there: MVF, based in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Technically, the name was Belgian: Mensheid Voorop Farma, standing for “Humanity First Pharma”, but “MVF” simply rolled off the tongue easier for most Americans. It was worth multi-billions, which, to him, at least, was more money than anyone could ever know what to do with. They made new treatments for cancer, stem cell research, shit that got grants up the ass.

 

She had gone undercover as a scientist, apparently had a big enough brain for it, and had somehow managed to worm her way into the middle rankings (probably by sleeping with someone). Why she did it didn’t concern him an iota and what they “supposedly” did concerned him even less; let the rest of the FBI deal with the embarrassment of trying to deal with the fallout from her and “Veil”.

 

It had been a simple matter from there to call them - from Veil’s phone, of course; it had been no easy feat to steal it and have him think he lost it. The security guard, some woman with a Dutch name and South African dialect - he didn’t particularly recall or care - was quite intrigued by his description of Charmaine’s false identity down to its entirety. She got him talking to her boss, the CEO of the company, the founder, a shockingly young Belgian man by the name of Augustijn Van der Aart.

 

From his voice, Van der Aart sounded like he was in his early forties. To be that young and rich…well, at least he wasn’t more handsome than Dove was. The CEO sounded very interested in his proof, seemed to believe him, but Dove refused payment. “Too easy to trace,” the FBI agent said. And the only payment he wanted was Charmaine getting what she deserved.

 

And now, all that remained…was to wait.

 

-

 

Augustijn Van der Aart was not surprised to hear the news from the man named “Veil”; just the person he expected the news to be about.

 

The founder of MVF had long since known that there was a mole somewhere fairly high in his organization; such was the case when one was into the things he was. He had not expected it to be the woman known as Catherine Darden. She was fairly high in sciences, and she had earned every bit of it. From everything he heard about her, this woman (whom he now knew to be Charmaine Dryden) seemed to be an ideal candidate to be promoted to the mid-levels: smart as a whip with a personality to match, an ideal aptitude for company work, driven - all things Van der Aart admired in a woman.

 

However, he had no tolerance for moles (to him, they were not really much different than rats), no tolerance for the FBI being in his business - and thankfully, this FBI agent’s selfishness and pettiness (he could tell even from the phone that the man had probably been rejected by her, and to be honest, he could certainly see why; Veil seemed extraordinarily toxic.) gave him a perfect opportunity for his latest test run.

 

Apparently, he had covered Dryden’s tracks from the FBI well. Nobody in the Bureau knew where she had gone specifically, just that she was deep undercover. He had looked up her familial records: both parents had died when she was young, an orphan without any siblings, not even a spouse. Perfect for his line of…specimens. Nobody to miss her, nobody who would give a shit if she disappeared.

 

He had called up his chief security officer, Margaretha Roijakkers, and his head scientist, Deborah Leblanc, to his office to discuss the matter discreetly.

 

His chief security officer was a white South African woman born in an upper-class family, a driven woman with a vicious cruel streak that unnerved even him…but she was undoubtedly, unquestionably loyal to him after he saved her from a very long imprisonment for mass murder and crimes against humanity in her home country, and for allowing her sadism to be unchecked and hidden from the law.

 

His head scientist, a Belgian like himself, had made all of his dreams possible. She was driven, ambitious, and at the same time, cared less about the subjects than one would an ant they had stepped on. All the “volunteers” were mere statistics, mere stepping stones to her rise, and yet she was also loyal to him for giving her a job after science groups had spat on her…and because he indulged her perverted fantasies about her work - so long as she kept it to her work.

 

He discussed things with both women, neither interrupting until he had finished discussing the situation.

 

Then Roijakkers brushed a loose strand of short blonde hair out of eyes as blue as sapphires, yet dead like the many Black men she had murdered and buried. “So, how do you want to play this?” she asked. “I’ve looked at her file; she’s very quick with a gun and knife, and if we tip her off, we’re finished.”

 

“Well, you stated it succinctly, Margarethe,” Van der Aart said, steepling his long fingers, his green eyes never leaving the desk of papers, his bald head gleaming in the light. “We can’t let her leave here, and we can’t tip her off. Deborah, is there room for another subject?”

 

Leblanc’s blue eyes lit up like a Christmas tree as she panted excitedly, her long blonde hair tickling her heaving chest. Roijakkers, for her part, looked annoyed at her colleague. “I could easily use another test subject!” the scientist said, her glasses askew.

 

“And if the FBI finds out?” Roijakkers asked. “Then we’ve ruined our entire operation.”

 

“The FBI doesn’t know she’s here at the moment,” he said calmly. “I expect Veil to turn on us again; if he’s turned on the FBI, he’ll turn on anyone. His cooperation is simple: to him, he wants her, and he thinks he can have her no matter what she thinks about him. But if we simply kill her or fire her, we risk having everything crumble. Making her disappear and paying off or blackmailing Veil? Definitely the best option - and our science works perfectly in that regard.”

 

“I could have the formula ready by today!” Leblanc said. “Ooh, do give me the order, Sir, and I’ll have her in chains, ready for her dosage, oh, yes, I will!”

 

“We’d have to keep her as a lab rat for the rest of her life, much like the others,” the South African said coldly, trying - and failing - to ignore her colleague all but orgasming out of ecstasy. “If she’s ever freed, she’ll talk, and people will listen.”

 

Van der Aart smiled. It was not the warm, well-meaning smile that most were accustomed to seeing at work; the malice behind it was as deadly as a pit viper, unnerving even the psychopathic sadist that was his chief of security.

 

“Then we see to it that she’s never able to talk again.”

 

-

 

Charmaine Dryden was preparing for another day at work undercover at MVF.

 

The science team was nice for the most part (even if Dr. Leblanc was absolutely creepy as hell), work was fun and she was able to do it easily. Even the vast majority of security she saw was easygoing, even if the things the FBI had on the head of security painted her as the Devil in heels.

 

She stretched her arms out, as sharply dressed as a scientist could be: lab coat, a white blouse, black slacks, and casual flats. Normally not her style (she wouldn’t be caught dead in a skirt, dress, or heels; that just wasn’t her), but that was okay. She was just eager to get the day started, especially with what she had seen yesterday after digging through MVF’s security camera files (with a huge amount of thanks to Shadrach for teaching her basic computer hacking skills).

 

Many odd specimens, both human and animal. Small, probably children or around that age. It was very limited information, and she needed more info, needed to know what, exactly, she was dealing with, but what she did know was that the FBI - and Dove, in particular, much as she was extremely annoyed at his constant flirtation towards her - was right to send her on this mission: whatever MVF was doing couldn’t be good for humanity, as much as they proclaimed the origin of their own name to be.

 

Then a voice blared on the intercom, obviously one of Van der Aart’s secretaries.

 

“Can I request Miss Darden to the CEO’s office in terms of a promotion?” the pleasant feminine voice said. “Again, Miss Darden to the office of the CEO for a promotion.”

 

The scientists crowded around Charmaine excitedly, some of them giving her fistbumps, others shaking her hand, and still others clapping her on the back, and for a moment, she truly regretted having to burn these men and women. Perhaps when this was all over, she’d try to convince the FBI to give them jobs somewhere - at least, those who were innocent of any crimes.

 

She walked over to the elevator, feeling naked without a gun or knife on her. MVF had stringent policies about weapons, and even better detectors that could pick up the smallest trace of a weapon.

 

If I need to, I can just get a weapon from a security guard? But they have no reason to suspect me, right? Nobody knows I’m FBI…right?

 

Charmaine knew that it was a possibility that someone had caught her snooping around. A small possibility, but not too small to fully ignore; after all, mob families had given out promotions to lull targets into complacency before killing them.

 

Just stick to the act. You are Catherine Darden, a normal scientist getting a promotion. Stick to the act, and you’ll be fine.

 

She was used to acting; this was far from the first undercover mission she had undertaken. She was in the drama club in high school, and this wasn’t much different; all she had to do was get into character - and it was easy getting into character for this Michigan girl, born in Detroit’s tough streets (Fiskhorn, if one wanted to be specific), orphaned at a young age, doing everything to survive in the various foster homes.

 

That was where Charmaine met Shadrach Veil. They had become inseparable, like siblings, even though they looked completely different and had different interests. They had both worked hard to become the people they were because nobody expected anything from them…and when she had been selected to the FBI (mainly because she was an expert sharpshooter in college marksmanship, but also because of her abilities as someone who could go into any role needed), she had insisted that they hire him as well, despite…his history.

 

Charmaine was lost in thoughts as the elevator stopped at the top floor, the office of Augustijn Van der Aart. She opened the door nervously, seeing the man himself greet her with a warm smile.

 

Then she felt the prick of something behind her neck and immediately collapsed, her muscles no longer supporting her, a whirlwind of nonsensical thoughts forming a cacophony in her brain before everything went completely black.

 

-

 

Hope y'all enjoyed~

[Baby Jemma]

Well, it turns out that I'm managing to update my three babyfur stories, including this one, this time! A bit ironic, but I can live with that. As a warning, sexual themes (nudity of an adult) are in this chapter, so viewership will be advised before they continue. But here's the second chapter of this Splice, Spliced Baby:

 

-

 

Chapter Two: Rats, Moles, and a Heartbroken Soul.

 

-

 

Charmaine slowly woke up to a giant pounding in her head, her discorded thoughts scrambled from the visit to…what was it again…?

 

“Ah, I see you’re awake, Miss Darden, or should I say, Charmaine Dryden?” Augustijn Van der Aart’s voice came through the room.

 

“What…?” Charmaine groaned, trying to focus her eyes on where she was, not truly seeing the room. “My name’s ‘Catherine Darden’, sir, I-”

 

“Don’t lie to us!” The feminine voice of Margaretha Roijakkers was harsh, cruel, recognizable in an instant. “We have your file.”

 

“The file I gave you for my resume?” Her eyes were struggling to see; it was as if she had gone completely blind.

 

“YOUR FBI FILE, YOU STUPID BITCH! WE KNOW YOU’RE FBI!”

 

“How could I work for the FBI?” Stick to the act, stick to the act. “I’m just a biomedical researcher. Why would the FBI want me? Where am I?”

 

“Your new home.” Another feminine voice, this one excited and ready to squeal like a giddy schoolgirl: obviously Leblanc’s. “Oooh, we’ve had a lot of trouble deciding what to do with you-”

 

“Please, I don’t want to lose my job!” Charmaine pleaded like her life depended on it, which…it may very well did. “Did I do something wrong? I promise I can fix it, I’ll try my best to fix it-”

 

“SHUT UP!” Roijakkers again. “We know you’re lying!”

 

“Please, I want to help you, I really do, but I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t know why you’re calling this ‘my new home’, I live in Grand Rapids, I’ve been a Michigan girl my whole life-”

 

“Please, we’ve had enough of this charade.” Van der Aart’s tone was bored.

 

“Sir, please, I don’t want to be fired. I can do better, I promise-”

 

“You are a mole from the FBI, Miss Dryden. You are not leaving this facility, not now, not ever.”

 

“Sir, I don’t know anyone by that name, I don’t know anyone from the FBI, I want to go home, I want to see my cat and dog, I-”

 

A jolt of electricity lanced through her from something around her neck and despite it not registering too much on the torture scale, she allowed herself to scream and sob.

 

“Why are you doing this?” she bawled. “I just wanted to work for this company! I wanted to make a difference here…”

 

“You are making a difference.” The ecstatic voice of Leblanc spoke. “You will be a part of our lovely experiments, our newest product.”

 

“What experiments? We’re testing a new kind of medicine? Is it for human trials? Am I volunteering?”

 

“You know what?” the harsh voice of Roijakkers said. “Fuck this, we’re talking.”

 

Charmaine tried to squint through the blackness around her eyes, but the most she could tell was that she was without her clothes, laying on something flat and cold, her hands, feet, and head strapped to it so that she couldn’t move.

 

Secretly, she was terrified. She knew she had been burned…but whom? There weren’t many people who knew where she was.

 

“Please, I just want to go home,” she whimpered, tears pouring from her blind eyes as she knew that she wasn’t going home any time soon, that she was completely at the mercy of Van der Aart…and she didn’t even know what he wanted.

 

-

 

“She’s either the greatest goddamned actress I’ve ever seen, or she’s telling the truth,” Margaretha Roijakkers said bluntly.

 

Augustijn Van der Aart stared at the tall, busty woman in the science room, naked on the medical table. God, she was attractive; he could see why Veil wanted her. A pity that the latest drug would make her…not.

 

“I even got the naked mole rat DNA ready…” Deborah Leblanc said with a soft pout, as she twirled a vial of crimson liquid. “Ugliest ass animal on the planet, and I want to use it…”

 

“No. We do this my way, Deborah, not yours.” Van der Aart’s tone was enough to cow the scientist into silence. “Margaretha, have you any tells?”

 

The chief of security’s cold eyes were contemplative. “Pretty hard when her eyes are blind like that and her hands are strapped to the table…but she’s not repeating words, she’s not hyperventilating, she’s got the same speech patterns we’ve seen her have, she’s not showing any tells that liars normally have. If she’s lying, she’s really fucking good at it.”

 

Van der Aart scratched his bald head. “We have either a mole or a rat. The experiment doesn’t stop, not for anything, but no, that is not the DNA I want you to use, Deborah.”

 

“Why not?”

 

The billionaire gave them a grim smile that scared both women. “I don’t do ‘ugly’. If we’re making the serum for the first massive age-deceleration and transformation, I don’t want an ugly thing as my marketing tool.”

 

“She’s more dangerous alive than dead,” Roijakkers protested. “People will know who she is!”

 

“That’s why you’re going to, ah, ‘condition’ her into following our every command, to forget her past, her name, everything about her. And if the serum is proven to work, but she is still uncooperative, and we find another subject, you have my utmost permission to liquidate her and recover our assets.”

 

The South Africa woman’s frown reversed itself into a sadistic grin. “That, I can do.”

 

“What do you want her to be?” Leblanc asked curiously.

 

“She gets to decide her fate. Either she’s a mole or a rat, and I have absolutely no tolerance for either. Get, hmm…” Van der Aart laughed heartily. “Serum C. Lanigera. She’ll be adorable, at least!”

 

Leblanc cackled like a rabid hyena. “That she will.”

 

“What the hell kind of serum is that?” Roijakkers asked, having zero idea of animal taxonomy unless she could torture it.

 

“Her choice, if she continues lying,” Leblanc giggled.

 

“Let’s get her talking then,” Van der Aart said, his smile as deadly as Socrates’ hemlock drink.

 

-

 

Charmaine lay on the table, futilely trying to wriggle out of her bonds when the voice of Van der Aart came back in.

 

“Well, Miss Dryden, are you a mole or a rat?”

 

The question confused the hell out of her; even her non-acting side was confused. “My last name is Darden.”

 

“Call yourself what you want. Are you a mole or a rat?”

 

Why are you repeating that question?

 

“I’m an employee! I don’t know what the hell you mean!”

 

“Last chance to come clean. Are you a mole? Or are you a rat?”

 

Charmaine took a deep, angry breath. “I’m not either! I work for you! I’ve always worked for you and your company! Now let me go!”

 

“I’m afraid you’re in no position to do so, you little rat. You had your chance to come clean, Charmaine. Veil tattled on your sorry ass, you know him?”

 

She froze, then started to shake, tears pouring from her useless eyes. “No, he’d never,” she whispered to herself. “He’d never…he wouldn’t…”

 

“His name is Shadrach Veil, computer expert for the FBI. He loved you, you know. His personal phone number, 202 - 666 - 8081, ring any bells? I can describe his voice, you want that?”

 

Charmaine wailed in sorrow, deep heaving sobs escaping her chest as she screamed her heart out. Surprisingly, there was no anger within her…just the bitter taste of betrayal from the closest person to her heart and soul that she had ever allowed, as she let out a heartbroken scream. She screamed and screamed before another electric shock around her neck - stronger than the last one - stopped her screaming, reducing her to silent weeping.

 

“God, you’re a beautiful woman, you could’ve had him,” Van der Aart said in a friendly tone, as if he was talking about getting drinks. “If you had him, you probably wouldn’t be in this situation. It really is a shame, you know. But his loss, our gain.”

 

The FBI agent heard a door opening, heard three pairs of shoes enter the room, but still couldn’t see.

 

“Well, you’re allowed to be Miss Katie Darden if you want,” Van der Aart said, his voice close to her, as he brushed her loose long hair from the back, squeezed both of her breasts, then drew his finger down to her navel, and then lower to her vaginal area. “You’re allowed to be a rat. If you want to be a rat so badly, we’ll make you one. There is no shame in it, Katie.”

 

“MY NAME IS CHARMAINE DRYDEN, FBI SPECIAL AGENT, AND I AM GOING TO FUCKING END YOU, YOU SICK BASTARD!” she roared, thrashing against her restraints.

 

The man - thankfully - drew his finger away, and booped her on the nose. “Well, a fighter,” Van der Aart cooed. “You won’t be much of a fighter when you wake up. Don’t worry, little Katie, it’ll be okay. It’s okay to be scared of the big, scary world with its big scary people. You will be safe and loved, forever.”

 

Then Charmaine felt a prick on her arm that immediately set her blood and bones on fire with agonizing pain, worse pain than anything she had ever felt in her short, miserable life, as she screamed herself to the sweet release of what she prayed was death, but secretly knew…was going to be a living nightmare.

 

-

 

Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter~

[Baby Jemma]

Well, I have the third chapter, ready to roll! Here it is:

 

-

 

Chapter Three: Leopards, Phones, and a Dire Tone

 

-

 

Shadrach Veil - the real one - was trying to call Charmaine, his closest friend…well, ever, on his new phone, when he saw the notice on his high-powered laptop’s email.

 

It was a deposit to his computer, but the bank account wasn’t his. And…five-million dollars paid in legal increments? Probably a hoax, but still, he hadn’t done anything worth this. 

 

Some asshole used my computer. MY COMPUTER. Probably Dove, the fucking prick, I wouldn’t put it past him.

 

Shadrach knew that Dove hated him, and the feeling was very much mutual. The guy made his life at J. Edgar Hoover (or at least the offshoot building to FBI headquarters in Richmond, Virginia that they both were stationed in) fucking miserable, denying promotions, nixing raises, trying pretty much everything he could to make him quit.

 

But he wouldn’t. Because Mainey was there.

 

Charmaine Dryden - Mainey - was the only reason why he kept going some days. He was an orphan with no family, no true friends aside from her (a long story that delved far too personally for him to share with anyone), no real social life. She was his constant, his confidant, his life, and even if she only wanted to be close as friends, it didn’t matter a bit to him: just having her in his life, even as a friend, made it worth living.

 

Hell, she was the one who got him the job in the first place, who put in a good word for him. She was as smart as he was, her past as checkered as his, even if nobody knew but the two of them. His was more noticeable, being a former gray-hat hacker for…less than reputable monsters who could barely be called human beings, but he knew that she had as well…

 

Shadrach clicked on the notice, making sure to up the firewalls beforehand, just in case. The people responsible all but shocked him out of his seat, as his sharp mind worked out what happened in an instant.

 

MVF…that was where…that was where Charmaine was stationed! She’s been burned, and I’ve been framed for it! Fuck…was it Dove? Mainey’s in danger! I have to help her.

 

A voice echoed behind the hacker, startling him. “You’re going to have to come with us.”

 

Three security guards, Dove included. The bastard wasn’t smiling, none of them were, but Shadrach knew that Dove was screaming with joy on the inside.

 

“Charmaine’s been burned by someone, and I’ve been framed,” he said instantly.

 

“Yeah, you got framed when you have payments to a private bank account on your computer,” Dove said with a cruel sneer that told Shadrach that he did it all - putting Charmaine in danger by burning her, framing him, everything. “You’re under arrest, Veil.”

 

“Go fuck yourself, Dove!” the hacker snarled. “This isn’t my fucking bank account. I’ve never seen it in my life.”

 

“A likely story.” That same fucking sneer on the higher-up’s smug face.

 

“Still, I see you’ve been busy because you wanted her, she turned you down because you’re a toxic piece of shit, and your Jupiter-sized ego couldn’t handle it!” Shadrach snapped.

 

Dove’s sneer faded into an ugly snarl. “God, I hope I have five minutes in the same room as you, traitor.”

 

“You put Mainey in danger! My best friend is in danger because of you!”

 

“He’s delusional,” Dove said with a shake of his head, as the two security guards laughed. “Might want to get restraints on him.”

 

Shadrach immediately knew that arguing was pointless; he wasn’t going to be believed over Dove. But he wasn’t going to go with them quietly; hell, he wasn’t going to go with them period.

 

He clicked a hot dial button on his custom phone. He wasn’t sure if the FBI had updated their security for this building, if they hadn’t seen the temporary worm in their system. His worm, just in case, something he hadn’t even told Mainey about, not with Dove hovering over her. His phone was linked to the laptop, and therefore, the private building itself, and he needed both to work.

 

It worked: the fire alarm blared out, sprinklers spraying, shocking the three enough, just enough. Shadrach grabbed his laptop, and when one of the guards tried to grab at him, he kicked him in the kneecap, causing a scream of pain as the guard was dropped.

 

Cheap? Maybe. But legal means clearly weren’t going to work here.

 

“What the FUCK?! HE’S A FUCKING CUCKOLD PUSSY, GET HIM, YOU IDIOT!” Dove roared at the remaining security guard, who tried to tackle him. Shadrach dodged at the last possible second and pressed another button on his phone, killing the lights, as the security guard crashed into the table headfirst, knocking himself unconscious.

 

Dove tried to grapple him in the dark, knocking the phone away and succeeded in grabbing his hands. Shadrach retaliated by kicking him in the balls thrice - one of the techniques Mainey taught him…to an extent. One time to loosen the grip and stop him in his tracks. The second time to make sure he wouldn’t get up. And the third time because this son of a bitch put Mainey in danger.

His rival could only wail in pain and tears, and it felt so satisfying. But there were witnesses all around the place, and security would come soon.

 

Shadrach felt around for his phone and quickly gathered it and his laptop in his backpack, prepared for a life on the run, just in case. He had no intention of spending time in a cell. Not then, not now, not ever.

 

He brought up the cameras on his phone, his backpack heavy on his back, hoping the worm was still intact. It was, but there were a lot of FBI agents converging on his location. He immediately killed the elevators that a group were on, running towards the stairs, trusting in his phone’s flashlight and map to guide him. Then he saw the camera on the stairwell. They were close.

 

His mind worked overdrive, and he could only see one quick option.

 

Thank God I’m only ten feet above the ground.

 

He grabbed Dove’s sidearm, firing at the window, hearing screams of panic as it shattered, before he dropped the sidearm, ran at the window, and broke it with his full body weight, taking a leap and hoping that not too many bones would be broken.

 

He misjudged the height a bit.

 

It wasn’t ten feet.

 

It was fifteen.

 

He barely had time to contemplate his own stupidity before everything went black with agonizing pain.

 

-

 

She saw everything from the safety of her sniper nest, saw the limp form lying facedown on the grass.

 

The thick spotted fur on her was ruffled in the wind, her body attuned to her surroundings as the odd girl/Amur leopard hybrid growled to herself, fangs bared, “Idiot. Should’ve just allowed himself to get captured. I could’ve saved his arse then. I could’ve…”

 

No, she remembered. No, she couldn’t have saved him. In another life, she could, but not this one. She wasn’t strong enough to break into an FBI building. Her muscles and female parts were strange to her, her vital organs and body smaller, hell; she’d get carded for drinks even back home - and that wasn’t even mentioning the fact that she was now part-leopard!

 

She was…how old? Age was…complicated after what MVF did to her. She was definitely an adult in mind somewhat, but her body…she felt more like a tween…or was it even younger? And her gender? Hah! Even if she was her original age, no way the SAS would readmit her now because of it! Hell, why would they admit her with…this body?

 

Fooking MVF. Fooking Van der Aart and his cronies. Was bad enough that they ruined so many lives already, hers included, but they just had to cause more death and destruction here.

 

The stolen radio scanner was picking up chatter and she listened to it.

 

“Suspect jumped out the window. Still alive. I repeat, still alive.”

 

Then a male voice that immediately creeped her out. The one who actually burned the female FBI agent she was trying desperately to contact. “He’s responsible for burning Agent Dryden. I want him in custody. Guards everywhere.”

 

“Which hospital?” a male paramedic asked.

 

“What makes you think I care? He doesn’t get treatment until he confesses to his crime.”

 

“But he needs medical help-”

 

“He’ll get it - after we ‘interrogate’ his sorry ass.”

 

“No, I refuse. This goes against everything I believe in.”

 

An actual paramedic who cares about The Hippocratic Oath! Color me shocked.

 

“How about I run you in for obstruction of justice?”

 

“You’re going to ‘run in’ the son of the VP for doing the right thing? How about you fuck off, Mr. Bigshot, and let me do my fucking job?”

 

“I don’t believe you. Son of the Vice President? You’re under arrest for obstruc-”

 

Another paramedic, a woman, stepped in. “Hey, asshole, he is Vice President Coffey’s son. This man needs medical attention, and you’re fucking with medical personnel in a medical emergency. So kindly fuck off!”

 

She could’ve almost cheered, hearing Dove get his ass verbally handed to him.

 

The FBI agent continued to argue. “You really think that-”

 

The girl knew that the toxic piece of shit wouldn’t give up that easily; she assumed that there would be a lot of guards posted at whatever hospital Veil was going to.

 

But that, she could handle. Getting his backpack - which almost certainly contained the guy’s computer and phone, the actual targets - was something she could handle as well.

 

She disassembled her rifle in record time, putting all of the components in a rucksack of her own before moving down the stairs as fast as she could. Time was of the essence, and she couldn’t afford to waste even a single millisecond, as she put on a skull balaclava to cover her head.

 

She got outside and ran, making sure her long hooded jacket, full-length gloves, loose sweats, and boots covered her small frame, her tail purposely tucked in her sweats and left boot. She had to have her body covered, even though it was summer; better to question why her entire body was covered in clothes that weren’t supposed to be worn in the summer than to show her true form.

 

She still got stares as she ran, but nobody stopped her. There was one good thing about being part leopard: she had more stamina than she ever had as a human, and soon enough, she was at the place where the FBI agents were photographing the spot where the guy had jumped.

 

She hid in the alleyway close by the building, away from prying eyes. Her eyes were set on the man’s rucksack, which was being carried by another agent past her.

 

Perfect.

 

She grabbed the agent, a man who was taller than she was, kicking his legs in as she dragged him to the alleyway, as he struggled against her chokehold, the powerful leopard muscles making short work of him in spite of her age and gender as he fell into unconsciousness. She relieved him of the rucksack, putting the important contents - Veil’s laptop and phone were shockingly unscathed, probably because he landed facedown - in hers, replacing it with a normal store-bought (or rather, stolen) laptop and phone.

 

Her keen eyes saw the man being lifted on a stretcher, his left shoulder and hip brutally displaced along with his fingers and elbows on both arms. Her sharper ears overheard the paramedics saying, “VCU Medical Center,” and she knew her destination.

 

As much of a wildcard as this man, this “Shadrach Veil” was, as much as she couldn’t count on anyone…she needed him. She would get too much attention going to MVF, and they knew her too well. Veil, though…he was the key in the door.

 

Now to get the key.

 

She noticed the tall, muscular agent, Dove, limping, holding on to his…well, she supposed that Veil had kicked him in his private parts. Good.

 

“I want agents all over,” Dove bitterly ordered to the group of agents, ignoring her making her way towards the ambulance.

 

“Hey, what are you doing here?” the female paramedic asked, noticing the girl.

 

“I’m his sister!” she lied. Lying came naturally to the former SAS operative, and her hitched, “distraught” tone helped with that. “What happened?!”

 

“As far as we can tell, he…fell from the building’s second floor,” the male paramedic said gently, trying to censor what he thought actually happened. “I don’t know why there’s so many guards…”

 

She managed to get into the ambulance with the injured Veil when Dove finally noticed her and snapped, “Hey, get that little brat away from there!”

 

She let out a low growl, before the female paramedic shut him down again as she got in the driver’s seat, saying, “Family comes in the ambulance. If you have a problem with that, take it up with our superiors.”

 

“Fine, but I’m coming in with-”

 

“You don’t get to make that call,” the male paramedic interrupted with a glare. “Frankly, I don’t trust you not to try to murder the patient, given your astounding lack of compassion and startling sense of cruelty.”

 

“Fuck you!” Dove shouted. “Do you know who I am?”

 

“Am I supposed to know?” the male paramedic asked in a bored tone.

 

“I’m-”

 

“Nobody of consequence, now kindly shut the fuck up, and let us transport this patient to the hospital, now!” the male paramedic interrupted again, shutting the doors on the infuriated FBI agent as the ambulance drove away.

 

“Who are you, really?” the male paramedic said, his tone calm as he got the blood pressure cuff, oxygen mask, and those odd sticky things that went on an injured person’s chest on Veil. His muddy-brown eyes weren’t judging, but at the same time, not ready for bullshit as the slow beep of Veil’s heart rate echoed in the ambulance.

 

“His friend,” she admitted. “I’m homeless, and he’s been helping me…I don’t want him to be alone…”

 

“We’ll try our best, okay? What’s your name? How old are you?”

 

“Beileag Oglesbee, I’m eleven, twelve, ten, I don’t know!”

 

Beileag’s eyes were tearing up, real tears. She didn’t even know her own age after what MVF had done to her. Her old name, Bleddyn, was unusable, now that she was a girl. Her name, her job, her age, her gender identity, her chance at a normal life, all of that had been completely and wholly taken from her. All thanks to those fuckers wanting to play God.

 

“It’ll be okay. We’ll do our best for him, okay, Beileag? It’ll be okay.”

 

No, it won’t, she thought. Not until MVF is history. Not until Van der Aart is dead by my paws, hands, no, goddammit!

 

She buried her head in her...hands, as she sobbed unashamedly at how far away her entire identity was slipping away from her, and the male paramedic, thankfully, didn’t try to touch her, respected her space, was entirely focused on saving Veil’s life.

 

Then his pulse flatlined.

 

-

 

Hope y'all enjoy~