The Doctor returns, a unique visit to the mall, and a kingdom gets a new monarch. Hit the "play" button and join Bobbie Cabot, TGSparadox, Trismegistus Shandy, Lenal, MrSimple, and Hikaro on their collective journeys.

"So what are these?" Ted asked his boss for the summer, the Assistant Curator for Archaic Media. He was an undergraduate doing an internship in archaeology at the Swift Museum of Technology, and this was his first day on the job.

"Mixtapes," said the curator. "Notice the handwritten labels? And a search of the music database reveals no song or album of these names, which probably means that the names of the compilations were made up by the compiler. This set of tapes was donated to the museum a few months ago by someone who found them in their grandmother's house after she died. They didn't donate a working tape deck along with them, but we have a couple, fortunately. Probably the grandmother hadn't listened to them since her last working tape deck died, decades ago more than likely, so you and I will be the first to hear them in who knows how long."

"Is it still going to sound like anything coherent after all this time?" Ted asked. "Magnetic media don't last all that well, do they?"

"We'll have to do a lot of restoration work," the curator said, "but with the new techniques, we can recover a close approximation of what these tapes sounded like. And who knows, we may find a song or comedy sketch or something that doesn't survive anywhere else. First, though, let's listen to the raw sound, unedited..."

He selected one of the tapes, labeled "Blew Melodiously the Zootibar," carefully inserted it into the ancient but well-maintained tape deck, and pressed PLAY.

Table of Contents

Succession
by Trismegistus Shandy

Swappr: The Break-Up
by Lenal

Fearleader
by MrSimple

Forgotten: Zero's Return
by TGSparadox

Is This the Real Life, Is This Just Fantasy
by Hikaro

There's a Cat in My TARDIS!
by Bobbie Cabot

Afterword

~~Succession~~

by Trismegistus Shandy

* * *

When I was conceived, my mother was the Royal Mistress. The king grew tired of her when her pregnancy started showing, so he pensioned her off as Retired Royal Mistress and named her Countess of Tersh. When I was two, she married my stepfather, Krinars. They had other children in the years following, and though my stepfather may have favored his children by my mother, he was a good father to me, too.

As I grew up, I knew I was different from other boys, and not just because I was the king's bastard. I was pierced with envy when I saw my little sisters wearing their new dresses, or learning to draw and play music. My mother tells me that even before my younger siblings were born, I once asked her if I could have a dress like the little girl I had seen at court. She laughed it off at the time, but she remembered it later.

Once a year, on my father's birthday, we went to court and paid our respects to him. I don't remember a time when I didn't know that I was the king's son, but not like his other sons -- not in line to inherit. As I got older, I realized that we got most of our financial support from my mother's pension as Retired Royal Mistress. My stepfather's income was spent mostly on his son and daughters, while my mother's pension paid for her personal expenses and mine, as well as some family expenses like our horses and carriages.

So when, just after I turned ten, I gathered courage to tell my mother I wanted to be a girl, she sighed and said, "Yes, I thought so. But we'll have to ask your father for permission."

She wrote to him asking for a private audience, and enclosed a simple, heartfelt letter from me as well. Our summons to court came a few weeks later. Mother and I set out alone, with just a couple of servants; my stepfather and half-siblings did not come with us.

We met the king in his private audience chamber the evening after our arrival in the capital. "So, Traimir, you want to be a girl. Why is that?"

"It feels strange when people treat me like a boy, Sire. I want to be a mother and artist when I grow up."

"Not a general, or an adviser to whichever of your brothers inherits the throne?"

"No, Sire." I was afraid he was disappointed in me, but the prospect of growing up to be a man, of fighting or commanding others to fight, was even more terrifying than his displeasure.

"What name would you like to be called by if you were a girl?"

I'd thought about that a lot. "Sirisha, like Mother."

He seemed vastly amused by that. "Well... Sirisha... you being a girl suits me very well. I will issue a royal decree that everyone is to call you Sirisha the Younger and treat you as a girl. And I will tell the mages of the Royal Academy to see what they can do about making you a real girl. How does that sound?"

"It sounds wonderful, Sire!"

And it was. For the next eight years.

* * *

As I grew older and learned more history, I realized why my father had been so eager to comply with my wish to be a girl. It simplified the succession. Bastard sons were normally not supposed to inherit, but they had done so twice in the kingdom's history, and both times had involved a civil war. There had also been two other rebellions and civil wars when bastard sons tried to claim the throne over their unpopular legitimate brother. By declaring myself a girl, I had eliminated the slight chance that, as a boy older than some of the king's legitimate sons and closer to the direct line of succession than his nephews and cousins, I might someday dispute the succession. Women simply did not inherit noble titles in Preshar, much less the throne.

Three years later, a plague swept through the kingdom from east to west, and left two of my legitimate brothers dead, along with several of my cousins. By this time, the king's mages had discovered a way to slowly change me into a real girl, and had cast the first of seven spells that would gradually and completely change me. For three years, I had been wearing elegant dresses and learning to draw and paint and sing with my sisters, not learning military strategy and swordsmanship with my little brother, and by this time my younger siblings were used to me being a girl. Little Nashra could not remember when I was a boy.

Each year on my birthday, a mage from the Royal Academy came to our home and cast the next spell in the series that would make me a woman. By the time I turned eighteen and the sixth spell was cast, there was very little left of the boy I once was.

Mother and Krinars had begun to consider my marriage, tentatively planned to take place sometime after my nineteenth birthday and the fruition of my complete womanhood. They hosted parties to which all the eligible young men of the district were invited, along with a decent number of young women for them to dance with when they weren't dancing with me. And we attended all the parties hosted by other noble families.

We were at one of these parties when the news reached us from the capital: anarchists had blown up the palace, killing my father, my legitimate brothers, my uncles, and most of my surviving cousins, along with hundreds of other people. It was that very night, just after we returned from the party (which broke up immediately on reception of the terrible news), that several nobles, including the king's surviving councilors, visited our house. They had gotten mages to teleport them, it was such an emergency.

"Sire," they said, "we need you to take the throne."

"Don't call me that," I said, blushing. "I'm a woman. I can't inherit the throne."

"Consider your surviving male cousins," said the eldest of them. "Peishar is an imbecile, being cared for at his father's estate by his mother and aunt. Shrusai is a heretic, living in exile. Your bastard brothers are much too young, and would need a regency for years to come. If we pass over them, we get into the descendants of your grandfather or great-grandfather's bastards, or even more distant legitimate kin among whom the order of succession is not clear, because of the destruction of records during the war with Kasrekar. But the mages who teleported us here tell us that the change is not complete or permanent yet -- that you are, in fact, still a man where it counts --"

"Hush!" I said, turning red with anger and shame. "I tell you, I am a woman, and I will be treated as such. If you will break the laws of the kingdom to make a bastard king, you can break them a little more and make me queen."

They looked at one another. "Sire," said one of them, and I interrupted again:

"Say 'Madam', if you wish me to attend to what you say."

"Madam, then. The people will not stand for a queen. The mages tell us that if the seventh spell is not cast at the appointed time, the changes made so far will reverse themselves."

I was terrified. I'd known that, and we had always been careful to arrange for the casting of the next spell promptly on my birthday, hosting the mages the night before my birthday to be sure they were on time. But I'd never felt a serious threat to my transformation before. I kept a lid on my terror and didn't show it, however.

"If you force me to become a man, I will abdicate. If the people -- by which you really mean the nobles -- will not have a queen, they can have an imbecile or a heretic for a king. Other kingdoms have queens from time to time, and you cannot claim that their queens are any worse rulers than their kings."

"That is not how we do things in Preshar," said the eldest councilor.

"No," said one of the others, "but... perhaps we could? Lady Sirisha was born a boy, and even if we allow her to become a woman permanently, we could argue that her birth sex is what matters for the succession."

The others considered that.

"Well, we won't have an undisputed succession no matter what we do," said another. "Simply the fact that her father decreed her a girl, and that she lived as a girl and woman for so many years, would seem to impair his legitimacy in some people's eyes even if he became a man again. They might argue that the late king's decree disqualifies her, even if the transformation is undone."

"So we have to argue based on her birth sex in any case. Why not ignore her current sex entirely, then?"

So we compromised. I completed the series of spells on my birthday a few weeks later, after Shrusai's army was defeated at the border, and was crowned as the first female King of Preshar the following day.

* * *

Trismegistus Shandy is the author of about fifty transgender stories, available on Smashwords, Amazon, BigCloset, Shifti, TGStorytime, Fictionmania, and DeviantArt. They’re currently working on a novella to be included in their next short fiction collection.

* * *

~~Swappr: The Break-Up~~
by Lenal

* * *

I stood outside the gym with my gym bag in hand and sighed. It had been a really long day at work, and the last thing I wanted to do was spend the next two hours moving from one piece of equipment to another while attractive people judged me with their eyes.

But someone brought cheesecake to the office, and like I said, it had been a really long day. Three slices long, to be exact. And I was pretty sure there'd be some leftover cheesecake in the lounge tomorrow.

My spirit is weak, and my flesh is all too willing.

Unfortunately no part of me was willing to hit the treadmill, and I'd already listened to the latest episode of my favorite true crime podcast on the subway to work this morning. So, as was becoming a bit of a bad habit lately, I pulled out my phone and opened up Swappr.

Swappr is a kind of bartering app. You post the work you need done, and other people respond. You can pay in money or by doing a task for them in exchange. Agree on basic ground rules and a time limit, and then the app swaps your bodies for the duration. It was scary the first few times—there's plenty of ways that lending your body to a stranger could go wrong—but the system's pretty good about weeding out bad seeds, and it was fun to experience other people's lives for a little bit at a time.

As I've learned from three out of every five times I've gone to the gym since I downloaded the app, it's usually pretty easy to find someone willing to exercise for me—fitness nuts, athletes with injuries, a couple of pregnant women, not to mention the guys who will run on an elliptical for hours if it means getting to spend five minutes in the women's locker room.

I got a hit right away—someone in category four. I'm always a little wary about swapping with dudes, but he was offering to pay me for the experience, and not just a couple of bucks, either. Like, a sizable chunk of next month's rent. And he only wanted one task done in return: break up with his girlfriend for him.

Okay, so he was a jerk, but then, anyone who's eager to hit the gym on a perfectly good Thursday night has to be a jerk, right? And after I broke the bad news to his girl, I'd have the next couple of hours to lounge around while the jerk worked off all my cheesecake calories. Plus, I'd be saving this poor woman from dating the kind of jerk who would outsource a breakup. It was win-win-win.

I set the timer for three hours, figuring that would give the guy enough time to get a nice warm-up, workout, cool-down, shower, and maybe a little quality time with my lady bits. The way I figure it, sex burns about 70 calories, and an hour on the elliptical burns like 500, so he’s doing more for me than most of the guys who get to feel me up. Sounds like a bargain to me.

Besides, it’s not like I wasn’t going to do the same to him.

I tapped my passcode, hit accept, and felt the weird tingling, falling sensation, until I hit bottom. I opened my eyes and looked around to see the inside walls of a bathroom stall. Nice, fairly clean, but the lack of that little tampon trash box marked it as a men's room. The tingling left my limbs quickly, and I looked down at my loaned body. His dark arms were all muscle, as were his legs. The polo shirt and cargo shorts left something to be desired in the fashion department, but a guy with this much muscle tone was bound to do wonders for my workout.

I stood up and unbuttoned the shorts, then pulled them down, followed by the black briefs—never swapped with a guy who wears briefs before. His dick was uncut, another first for me, and his balls were…I mean, they were balls, what can you say? He kept his pubes pretty closely trimmed; guys say it makes things look bigger, but one thing I’ve noticed about being in a few dudes’ bodies is that everyone’s junk looks smaller when you’re not seeing it at eye level. Still, I wouldn’t be disappointed to have this package in my face sometime.

Frankly, I was more impressed by his abs. He even had that v-shaped crease pointing down toward his fun zone. This jerk was hot as fuck.

I pulled up my shorts and checked the task notes on the hot jerk’s phone. His name was Trevor, and his unsuspecting girlfriend was Chloe Saha. From the pic he included, she was pretty, mid-twenties, with big brown eyes, black hair, and a complexion to die for. She reminded me of my college roommate Riya. I closed the app and left the stall, sliding my phone into one of my many pockets so I could wash my hands and get a better look at my (temporary) self.

I'm convinced that cargo shorts were invented just to taunt women. "Hey, you know all those cute pants and dresses in your closet that have no pockets or tiny pockets or—worst of all—fake pockets? Take a look at these man-shorts: they're nothing but pockets!" And they don't even have the decency to look good.

Trevor, on the other hand...damn. I looked him over in the mirror, and if I'd had my usual equipment, I might've felt that warm little flutter down below, even despite the doofy golf outfit. I dried off and ran a hand through his coarse, curly black hair, then rubbed at his closely-trimmed beard. I'd been in a couple of guys with beards before, but I don't know that I'll ever get used to the way it feels to have hair on my face. Part of me is fascinated, and part just wants to break out my tweezers and make a waxing appointment.

I figured I'd kept Chloe waiting long enough, so I left the men's room. The door slammed loudly against the wall, drawing the attention of a few nearby diners. I could tell from looking at the door that it was pretty heavy-duty, but it was nothing to Trevor’s muscles. Being in his body already felt like I’d been transformed into some kind of stone giant. I was huge, strong, and firm. Nothing about this body jiggled or swayed or bounced when I moved. I had the sinking feeling that getting back into my skin after this would be kind of like wrapping myself in pillows and Jell-O.

The restaurant was fairly nice; not "you need a foreign language minor to read the menu" nice, but definitely a fancy date destination, which made Trevor's fashion choices even more egregious. I found Chloe pretty quickly; she was swirling her wine and staring into it with an expression of severe boredom on her face. She did her best attempt to fake perking up once she saw me heading back.

"Hey," I said, settling into the chair across from her.

"They brought the check," she said, gesturing to the black leather folder.

"Oh, I'll get it," I said, reaching for it. Chloe eyed me with a degree of suspicion. Trevor would have to approve the purchase, thanks to Swappr's common-sense safety precautions, but given how much he was paying me to take this date, I didn’t expect him to fight the charge. It seemed like I should probably just pull the Band-Aid off quickly. "So, there's a reason I took you out tonight," I said.

"Other than it being our anniversary?" Chloe asked.

Seriously, dude? Abs aside, my opinion of Trevor just kept plummeting. If I had any doubts about doing this before, they were gone now. I cleared my throat. "Yeah, I don't think we should see each other anymore. It's not you, it's me. All me. One million percent me. I'm a complete and utter jackass, and you deserve way better."

Chloe looked shocked for a moment, but then her eyes narrowed. "Oh, my god," she said. "You're not him, are you?"

I hesitated, but Trevor hadn't really done anything to earn my protection. "No?" I said, shrugging his broad shoulders.

"This is just so typical!" Chloe tossed her napkin in frustration. "That man is allergic to even slightly uncomfortable conversations.”

"Sorry," I said. "I just wanted someone to hit the gym for me. I shouldn't have enabled him."

"It's not your fault," Chloe said, slumping a little. “It’s definitely not the first time he’s decided to work out rather than spending time with me. Oh, I’ve offered to go to the gym with him, but it’s all ‘nah, babe, when I’m at the gym, I’m in the zone, no distractions, just the man versus the machines.’”

“Ugh. Look, I hate to say it, but it sure sounds like you’re better off without him.”

Chloe sighed. "Yeah, I guess I am. He’s not all bad, but I kept hoping I could fix the bad parts, and they just kept getting worse,” She downed her wine glass. “You know, this isn’t the first time he’s done this? He swapped out of my birthday party to watch a college football game.”

“Seriously? And you didn’t just dump him right then?”

“I know, I know,” she grabbed the wine bottle and tried to pour, but not much came out. “But when he swapped back I was a little drunk and a lot horny, and, well…look at him.” She blushed. “God, I’m sorry, I’m not usually that open with strangers. What’s your name?”

“Andrea Collins,” I said, offering my hand across the table. She shook it. “And there’s no need to apologize. I’d probably still be with my last shitty boyfriend if he had arms like these.” I flexed for emphasis.

“Yeah, they’re real nice,” Chloe said wistfully. “Andrea, huh? Well, Trevor should count himself lucky he got into your pants tonight, because he’s certainly not getting into mine.”

“With the way I’ve been eating lately, I feel lucky if I can get into my pants,” I said. We both laughed at that, and Chloe flagged down a waiter for more wine. We talked for an hour, sharing horror stories about exes. Eventually the conversation wound down, and we decided to call it a night.

“Let me get you a cab,” I offered.

“No, no, my apartment is just a couple of blocks away, and I’m nowhere near falling-down-drunk yet,” Chloe replied.

“Then let me walk you home,” I said. “Come on, it’ll be nice to walk through a city without having to keep one hand on my pepper spray. I’ve got two more hours of male privilege and I plan to use it.”

“Well, if you insist,” Chloe said, offering her arm. I took it in the most gentlemanly manner I could manage and led her out onto the sidewalk. We walked past restaurants and bars and crowds of people milling about, and it was nice not having to look over my shoulder or hold my keys between my fingers. A cool breeze swept over us, and Chloe shivered. I put an arm around her, marveling at how big and strong I felt next to her.

We came to her building all too quickly. “Hey, thanks again. This was easily the best break-up date I’ve ever had.”

“I’m glad I could make it enjoyable,” I said with a smile.

She started toward the door, then stopped. “You know, I just realized that you probably don’t have anywhere to go for awhile. Unless Trevor told you where his place is.”

I hadn’t really thought of that. “No, he didn’t. I could probably look it up.”

“Why don’t you come up to my place? I’m about to dig into a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, and ice cream loves company.”

“You’re sure it won’t be weird?” I asked, rubbing the back of my neck.

“No,” Chloe said. “But you’ll get some free calories and I’ll get to add a little revenge fat to that perfect body, so I’m willing to deal with the weirdness.”

I followed her upstairs. We sat on the sofa with two spoons and a tub of Chocolate Therapy between us and talked and ate and giggled together. At one point, she casually rested a hand on my thigh, and I quickly learned that not every part of Trevor was quite so eager to break up. I tried to ignore the strange stirring sensation in my shorts and reached for another spoonful of the good stuff. I dug in a little too hard and launched a glob of swirly chocolate right into Chloe’s face.

“Oh my god,” I said, clumsily rubbing at the sticky mess with my hand. “I’m just not used to—“

That’s when she kissed me. I froze for a second, but then I kissed back. Chloe broke away.

“Shit! Sorry! I kind of forgot,” she said, blushing. “We were having a good time and I went and made it super awk—“

This time, I kissed her, and then we were off.

Look, I’m as straight as the next straight girl, but, well, Trevor’s pretty clearly straight too, and what can I say? The spirit was weak, and the flesh was not so much willing as insistent.

Aw, who am I kidding? The spirit was pretty willing too. I mean, I’ve been in a few guys’ bodies at this point, I’ve jerked off a couple of times just to see what it felt like, but being alone in a bathroom with a bottle of hand lotion is a lot different from being pulled toward a bedroom by a hot woman and a whole lot of free-roaming testosterone.

Even so, no matter whose body I might be borrowing, I’m still a lady, and my mama always said that a lady doesn’t fuck and tell.

And fuck we sure did. I felt like some kind of sex prodigy. Years of focused practice had made me an expert on all things vaginal and clitoral, and the masculine hormones flooding my brain gave me a new appreciation for all those parts. As for the bits I was borrowing, well, I’d had my fair share of experience working one of those from the other end, and it’s not exactly rocket science.

Though there are some superficial similarities.

Afterward, we stretched out in her bed, and I enjoyed feeling her lying against my chest, tracing her finger between my fabulous pecs and around my flawless abs.

“So, is it always like that?” Chloe asked idly.

“Like what?”

“You know…actually good? Like you have some fucking clue what you’re doing down there?”

I laughed. “Beats me. It’s my first time. As a man, anyway.”

“Huh, I don’t think I’ve ever taken anyone’s V-card before,” she laughed. “God, imagine what you’d be like with practice.”

“I mean, I have tons of practice,” I said. “I have a nightstand drawer full of practice equipment. I’ve been practicing since I discovered the shower head in sixth grade.”

Chloe snorted. “Maybe I should just date girls. Or girls swapped into guys’ bodies.”

“I’m sure there’s a guy-in-a-guy’s-body out there who can work your pussy just fine,” I said. “You just have to respect yourself enough not to stick with an asshole once you know he’s an asshole. Even if he’s a hot asshole.”

“A really hot asshole,” Chloe sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

“Happens to the best of us,” I reassured. That’s when Swappr chirped from Trevor’s cargo shorts, on the floor halfway across the room. “Shit, that’s the ten-minute alert.” I got out of bed and scrambled for Trevor’s awful clothes.

“Just like a man, bust a nut then run,” Chloe leaned forward in bed, watching me with a wistful expression. “God, I’m going to miss that ass.”

“Maybe I can get Trevor to be my personal trainer, do some Swappr booty calls,” I said with a smirk, pulling up the cargo shorts. I took out Trevor’s phone and marked the “Break-Up” task as completed. “But I think you’re better off getting out there and finding a decent guy, not a girlfriend-with-benefits.”

“You’re right,” Chloe said. “But it was really fun hanging out with you, even before the orgasms. We should stay in touch.”

“I’d like that,” I said through the polo shirt. Chloe slipped off the bed and walked out the door, glancing behind to make sure I was checking out the way her naked ass swayed as she walked. I definitely was, and I could feel little Trevor stir against the briefs. Jesus, was this how men felt all the time?

She came back with her phone and tossed it to me, and I nearly didn’t catch it because I was staring at her breasts. Get it together, Andrea.

“Give me your number, and I’ll let you get out of here before you turn into a pumpkin,” she said. I entered my contact info and started toward the door. She stopped me and pulled me into a tight hug. I couldn’t resist kissing her again, and she slipped a hand up the leg of my shorts. “My boy’s gonna swap back into the worst case of blue balls he’s ever had.”

“You’re devious,” I laughed. “Text me soon, and stop by if you’re ever in my neighborhood.”

“Oh, I will,” Chloe said, walking me to the hallway. “And next time, I think I’ll return the favor.” She blew me a kiss and shut her door, and I booked it down the stairs to the street below.

Trevor’s phone chirped again, and I tapped the “Return” button. As the tingling spread across my body, I smiled. I guess I got my workout in after all.

* * *

Lenal is an avid reader of TG stories and has finally sat down to finish a few, available at TG Storytime and Fictionmania. Lenal subsists almost entirely on validation, so feel free to feed the starving writer.

* * *

~~Fearleader~~

By MrSimple

* * *

Chem-teach Russel yelled out, "Get'yer asses ready! Ten minutes or lose the credit!"

"Fuckfuckfuck, why didn't he say we had to participate?" I was more than frustrated, beyond panicking, and further from ready than anyone else here. Still in my school uniform, I’d wanted only to make sure that the props and lights were set for tonight. Instead, I learned at the last minute that we had to be here for the class Haunted School event.

"Dude, chill. Just put something on real quick and your creds are in the bag." Wayne, ever relaxed, leaned back on one of the lamps. It was not screwed down or anything, so it fell, and him with it. "Ouch! Damn, uh...mind giving me a hand, Shane?"

"Yeahyeah." Reaching down, I grabbed the hand he threw up at me. Immediately, I let him go when I saw the strobe lamp’s broken neck.

"Hey!"

"You broke—Never mind. If the bulb’s still good, we can set it up on a shelf. It's powerful enough for the whole room." Turning towards the door, I saw that the hall was clear. "Go set that on the closet shelf. Don't close the door! I'll be back after I find something to put on."

"Really? You gonna go to the store with what, nine minutes left?"

"Maybe eight, but no. I'm sure I'll find something in the closed-off section."

"The construction site?"

"De-construction site, but yeah. There may be nothing but garbage in there, but it might be garbage I could throw on."

"Go for it."

A class project with only two participants. That was how well Mr. Russel, our homeroom-slash-chemistry teacher, communicated with us. I wasn’t too sure how he’d react to everyone bitching at him tomorrow, but I wasn’t going to take the chance that he’d fail us all.

Getting my mind off of that, I ran down the halls, down the spiraling steps, hitting the ground floor and racing for the other end of the school. It took three minutes. I had maybe a minute to find something and change.

I burst through the unhinged doors, clipping my head on one of the bars holding the door shut and bruising my shoulder. I didn't care. My grades were more important than minor injuries.

"Okay, thirty seconds. Wherewherewhere?" Inside the wreckage, I could see the old rooms, nothing more than cubical husks. There were a few desks, twisted and snapped in different directions from the wrecking crew. Other rooms had stationary desks for the teachers, but all that was left of them were the bolted-down legs.

Nearly every closet was absolutely destroyed. I crossed my fingers, praying that there would be a hoodie or something left behind. I could use this dust and debris to look like a zombie, or at least someone in really bad shape. I could finish it off with some of the red paint back in the classroom.

But I didn’t intend to ruin my own clothes for that shit.

After a minute, I still hadn’t found a thing. I was about to call it quits and head back, maybe ask Wayne to switch clothes with me, like he'd care. Besides, I felt he owed me something using my family’s cozy indoor pool almost every day.

Something flashy caught my eye in a pulverized closet. Kneeling down, I uncovered it.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." Holding it up, I could make out what I’d found: a cheerleader outfit. It had our school’s name and mascot, but the colors were wrong: Brown and red instead of blue and yellow. There were a pair of pom-poms, too!

I didn't have time to complain. I got undressed in record time, then whipped the costume around to make sure there were no bugs or fiberglass on it, and put it on.

"Holy shit, this is tight! Come on..." I tried, but the damn jersey wouldn’t go around my ribs and waist. I finally managed to get it down when I sucked in my stomach. Wiggling my hips, I got the pleated skirt to fit around my bare thighs. I nearly broke the zipper yanking the zipper up, but the whole thing fit. Barely. "Time to rock 'n' roll!" I threw my shoes on and high-tailed it back.

I was late. I could already hear the doors opening and the muffled voices of the guests coming in. If anyone saw me leaving the closed-off section, I could get into serious trouble for messing with stuff back there or, like, secret drug deals, I dunno! That was what went through my mind.

I had to think quickly. "Well, they came for a scare." Sucking in, puffing out my chest, and clapping my pom-poms, I ran out. Screaming!

Everyone was startled to see me charging at them. They actually backed off and clustered in the front doors, preventing anyone else from coming in. I ran around the corner and raced up the spiral staircase. I raced to my room and collapsed in a huff.

"Whow! Uh, hi?" Wayne looked just as startled as the neighbors. I grinned and waved a pom-pom at him.

"Hey. Found something." Okay, this could give me some time to catch my breath. Then what? Do I start screaming again? No, they already got that from the front door, and I didn't like repeating the same trick twice.

"Wait, Shane? That you?" I nodded. He looked me over, then shook his head. "Dude, that is some wicked costume. Where the Hell did you get all of that and the time to put it on?"

I waved him off, gesturing that I still needed to recover my breath.

"Okay, I get'cha. That was quick work." He was laughing as he pointed to the light on the closet shelf. "That good?" I nodded, gulping, finally relaxing a little.

"Yeah." I looked around to make sure that there wasn't going to be anything obstructing the flashes. If something caught, its shadow would ruin the effect.

Another minute had gone by, and we could hear the sound of voices echoing up the staircase. Beneath us, we heard other classes initiating their own chorus of scares. It would be our turn soon enough. I wondered what the rest of our hall had in store.

Lifting my ass off the floor, I peeked out the classroom door. Some people came into our hall; doors popped open and students burst forth for a jump-scare.

"Okay, that's ruled out." Had to think of something. I scanned the room for something that would work. Paint! Nearly forgot about that. "Wayne, grab me the paint!"

"...Dude, your voice sounds funny."

"We don't have time for this. They're outside! Come on, just throw it—FUCK!" Wayne threw it alright. All over me and onto the door and floor. It was pooling, a red mess on my hair and face, running down my front to puddle beneath me. I had to use the door handle to get up in fear of slipping.

When I did get up, my eyes widened and my shoulders sagged at the sight of my regular clothes, splattered with the red paint. I reached down to pick them up, but decided against it. Instead, I glared at Wayne, shaking my head. He gave me this sheepish smile and shrugged. That just pissed me off more.

"Turn the fucking lights on." I had something in mind now. If I was going to be a painted-red cheerleader, I might as well add a little flair. Besides, I could work out the anger by dancing it off. Maybe I could do something with Thriller.

The strobe light’s first flash blinded me for a second. I turned to face the door, then stepped towards it without recollecting the little slip-hazard on the floor. My foot slid forward and kicked the bottom of the door, just as I reached for the handle to open it. The door creaked open with my weight pulling on the hinges.

Keeping still, I worried that I might have ruined our first scare. There were hemispherical mirrors in the hall; I glanced to see what the grown-ups were up to. My accident had caused some people to look for the source of the creepy noise, and they apparently noticed the red pool seeping out from the classroom.

"Lucky," I whispered.

Watching the mirror, I waited for those people to get closer. The strobes of light found their rhythm behind me, flashing faster and stronger. They threw strange shadows onto the wall. That gave me the best idea yet.

Maneuvering in front of the light, I stood still for only a second before stretching out my arms. The pom-poms in my hands looked almost like severed heads, held by their hairy scalps. I started dancing like a cheerleader at a football game. Taking a pose, I whirled one pom-pom over my head. I kinda regretted that as some of the paint began to shake and shower down on me.

I threw my arms out, flicking paint off the pom-poms. Unfortunately, the guests were a little too eager to see what was going on. Flecks of red hit them, causing them to back off and look at one another.

"Oh shit!" Now I was in trouble. I knew they would complain about the paint getting on them. All I could do was keep up the act and hope I got a good grade to balance out whatever punishment I had coming.

I twirled around, keeping my back to them, hiding my face. I heard the folks walk in...

The first person slipped on the floor, and I heard someone curse as they shuffled around. It sounded chaotic behind me. I knew the strobe-lights were flashing them blind, which could help me, but it was probably just pissing them off. I didn't like jump scares, but I needed to improvise something, and fast.

When they reached me, I felt a hand touch my shoulder for a moment. They pulled away, saying: "Eww, wha–blood?" Oh, that was really good! In that moment of confusion, I jumped and faced them with a big beaming smile. That was when the disgusting paint ran down my lips into my mouth. I almost cringed, but seeing their wide-eyed, speechless response, I started laughing instead.

They actually ran, slipped, and scrambled out of the door. I couldn't believe it! "We did it!" Then I spit out the paint.

"Oh, fuck!” Wayne said. “Okay, Shane, we have our number. Keep this up and we'll score big time!"

I ran to the sink and rinsed out my mouth. "Do you think they’ll let the paint slide?"

"Who the fuck cares ma—ma'am." Glaring at him over my shoulder, I flipped him the bird before going back to shut the door. We turned the light off and readied for the next wave.

* * *

After a few hours, we finally heard the bell signal the end of the night. I collapsed on the floor, tired as fuck, my head pounding. Wayne flipped on the light switch. Despite my eyes adjusting to the strobe-lights, the overhead ones still made me flinch. I blinked to adapt, then looked around at the splattered paint.

"We need to clean this up." I gestured for Wayne to grab a rag from the sink. I restrained myself from rubbing my irritated eyes, in fear of getting paint in them. It took me a moment to realize Wayne hadn't moved.

Looking up, I saw the odd expression on his face.

"What?"

"Shane?"

"Yeah?"

"Okay, just checking." He turned on the faucet to dampen the rag. I got up to wash this sticky paint from my hands. True, they’d probably get stained again when I washed the floor, door, and walls, but I just needed to feel clean, if only for now.

Scooting next to Wayne, I put my hands under the faucet to rinse off the paint. I managed to clear them up well enough before applying the first couple squirts of soap. Again, I noted that Wayne was watching me, up close this time. In fact, he was inspecting my hands.

"Hey, what's up?" His eyes met mine. He looked over my face for another second, then he just kept on looking at me. Like, really looking at me from head to toe. He gave me a nod, as if he’d come to some conclusion, but I hadn't a clue. "Wayne? You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Hey, just hang back and get cleaned up. I'll take care of the mess. Okay?" That surprised me. He was usually more laid back.

"You sure?"

"Of course. You were the one prancing around for hours. I just flipped the light switch." That was very fucking true. I nodded and accepted the offer by soaping up my arms.

"Hey, use the shower," Wayne said.

"What?" I nearly laughed. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the safety shower. It was designed to be pulled, so a student or teacher covered in chemicals could quickly strip and wash them off. I really didn't feel like taking a cold shower, but noticing how these clean arms felt compared to my sticky red body, I could probably tolerate it.

"Don't worry, I'll lock the door so nobody comes barging in. Besides, I don't want someone slamming the door in my face while I clean up that puddle you made."

Glaring back at him, I said: "You’re the one who threw it at me."

"You told me to!"

"I didn't mean for you to literally throw it!"

"What, you wanted me to toss the can at you?"

"No, I meant for you to bring it over!"

"Why didn't you just say that?" He threw his hands in the air and turned around to clean that puddle with a soaked rag. His shoulders drooped; he looked back at me and said, "Sorry."

I shrugged. "It's cool. It added a special effect to the whole event." I headed for the shower and yanked on the trigger. Brown and rusty, the water spurted out a few times before coming out more clear. I waited until it was pure before getting under it.

I pulled the zippers down, expecting to feel relief from the constriction. Not really. I guess the outfit had stretched out to fit better. With a shrug, I took hold of the band around the skirt and pulled it off. I easily removed the jersey, too.

Breathing out a little laugh, I threw the outfit into the shower drain so it could rinse off while I did. First, I leaned over and poked my head under the stream to get the paint out of my hair. I shivered when the cold water flushed down my bare back. I gritted my teeth; there was no way to get accustomed to it, so I’d have to bear it all at once.

Stepping forward and straightening up to stand tall under the shower, I muttered a curse and allowed my whole body to get the freezing treatment. I scrubbed at my hair and the back of my neck before I opened my eyes again.

Wayne was staring wide-eyed at me.

"What?" I asked, spitting water off of my lips.

"...Nothing," he said, shaking his head. He looked me up and down, then turned his bright red face away to work on the equally red floor.

Now I felt a little self-conscious about being in my underwear to shower. This felt very different from showering after a dip in the pool. It was like he...was he checking me out? As if tonight didn’t give me enough of a migraine.

Keeping my eyes on him, I ran my hands over one shoulder, then the other, getting the last traces of the paint off. As I did that, my hands brushed down each arm, but I also felt my chest get in the way. That caused me to glance down and stare at myself.

No amount of cold water could compare to the chill I felt at seeing a pair of breasts.

I began to inspect myself and saw my figure had slimmed in an odd way. Well, it would be an odd way for a guy, but perfect for a girl. It became obvious why the cheerleader outfit slipped off more easily than when I put it on.

I ran a palm over the subtle firmness of my flat stomach before reaching down around my hips. They were more flared than before. Maybe it was because my waist had tapered to my pelvis? Running my hand around, I felt a more pert tush than I recalled.

Now, I wasn't a thick-set guy before, but I wasn't anywhere near this trim. I now definitely had an athletic build. Specifically, a cheerleader's attractive figure for the fans to appreciate. It took a moment before something in my head clicked.

At that thought, my hand shot down into my underwear to feel around. I stood up on my toes and fell back against the slick wall, not caring about the cold water any longer. What should have been in my drawers wasn't. It wasn't there! I felt around the coarse hair, but something else was there, and I didn't have any appreciation for it.

My chest seized up like I was choking. My breathing became tougher, shorter, almost down to a gasp. I removed my trembling hand and stood still. I hugged myself, trying to calm down and stop shaking. I don't know how, but a very big something had gone wrong tonight. And my greatest worry had been getting a bad grade or splashing paint on somebody.

"Wa-Wayne?" He looked back up at me. For a moment, he didn't do anything. I kept shaking, not sure what to do or how I should respond to anything. Then his expression changed and he scrambled to stand and run towards me, nearly face-planting in the process. If I’d been okay, I'd probably laugh at him. I was not okay!

He didn't say anything. Taking one more look at me, he hesitated for only a second before holding his palms out, as if to show he didn't mean any harm. After shutting off the water, he carefully pulled me away from the wall, then drew me into his arms and held me. He hugged me, keeping me steady, even though I felt my whole body shake like a leaf in the wind.

I don't think he knew what was going on either, but his earlier interactions with me made a little more sense now. Keeping his cool, like he always did. That thought made me smile. In fact, I felt a little better, soothed, as he stroked my back. Swallowing a gulp of air and closing my eyes, I relaxed in his arms.

"Sorry," I heard him say.

"For what?"

"I didn't know you'd freak out like that. I figured Shane...uh, you, I guess, were playing a prank."

Thinking it over, I guess it would look that way. Running out on him and coming back looking like this would be highly suspicious.

Gently, I returned his hug. "I...I'm—"

"Shane, yeah, I know. With the light on, I can tell. You look like you could be your sister, but I know you don't have any. Unless you’re his cousin?" I smacked the back of his head to clear that thought out. "Ouch! Okay, definitely Shane."

"Awrrrright! Who's dah asswipes that threw paint on the guests!?" We both went rigid in each other's arms when we heard Mr. Russel yelling down the hall. Wayne yanked me off to the side and down onto the floor. Reaching up over our heads, he flipped the light off and shushed me.

We sat still, waiting in the dark, as Mr. Russel went around asking questions. I peeked through the door window to spy on him via the mirrors in the hall. He wasn’t stopping at every classroom door. It was like he was only selecting classes with a chick participating.

He completely skipped our classroom.

I didn't realize I’d been holding my breath until after I gasped. Apparently Wayne had too. We both tried to keep quiet while nervously laughing.

We celebrated a little too soon. The door to our classroom rattled as Russel jiggled the locked handle. He knocked a few times and tried the door again, and I watched through the mirror as he turned to probably ask the class across the hall about us. Again, we held our breath.

After a minute of talking, Russel left the door alone to head off somewhere else. Our gasp was much louder this time, and my forehead sunk onto Wayne's shoulder. This was all a bit too much for me. I was exhausted from tonight's event, stressed by the trouble I was in, wet and cold, and feeling trapped and out of breath. I’d probably had a panic attack. I needed a break. And Tylenol.

I felt Wayne's hand come up behind my drenched hair and smoothly rub the back of my head; my headache melted away. Closing my eyes again, I simply let him continue massaging my head. I appreciated it. His touch drove away the pain and stress besieging me.

"Shane? Let me give you my shirt." I opened my eyes and nodded before pulling off of him enough to allow the space he needed.

In the dark, I watched him unbutton the front of his shirt. It had never occurred to me how in shape he was, especially for someone who took it so damn easy during gym. It amazed me. Like he didn't feel like putting any effort into anything physical. It kinda made me jealous. I guess it wasn't that he lacked motivation, but rather that he didn't have to apply himself to meet the requirements. Maybe visiting my family’s pool almost every day had something to do with that?

Still, I watched the faint shine of the hall light glistening on his smooth chest. He’d probably gotten wet from hugging me. Looking down, I saw how prominent his abs were. They didn't have that body-builder appearance, but I could see them tighten when he curled back against the wall, then vanish when he straightened up to loosen the shirt from his invitingly-warm torso.

When he finished unbuttoning, I reached a hand out to the sleeve of his shirt—just to hold it. I didn't intend to grab his arm. Nor did I mean to pull him closer to me. In that moment, I should have said something, apologized and let him finish getting his shirt off, but I froze. My thoughts were still stuck trying to sort out what trouble I was in, what I’d become, and how much colder and more uncomfortable I felt when he stopped holding me.

In the next moment, he wrapped his arms back around me and embraced me more actively. I felt better. I’d intended to lay my forehead down on his shoulder to rest. I felt his arms lift me, and I moved with his effort to straddle his lap.

I asked myself what I thought we were doing. Each time I tried to answer, I felt less comfortable. When he held me, without my thoughts getting in the way, the soothing warmth and grace of his half-bared body brought the comfort back. After this troublesome night, I really wanted what he was offering me. I relaxed in his arms and leaned on him.

I wasn’t really sure how long we held each other like this, but I knew something changed when I shifted over his lap. I felt him below me. It was one thing to feel comforted by him, another to have any kind of attraction... I didn't! It was obvious he found me attractive now. As for me? I wasn't feeling any kind of attraction to him. I mean, he's a guy and I certainly had been a guy. I’d had no choice in what had happened to me. Why would I choose to further this girly problem by feeling something for him?

I lifted my head from his shoulder, but paused as I brushed along his jaw and cheek. His hand went over the back of my head again, and that soothing touch took away the stress of my thoughts. Instead, without trying to concentrate on it, I breathed him in and sat still. Then I inhaled more deeply when his raised hips pressed a hard length along me.

All I could manage was to pull a little further back from his face. What stopped me this time was his lips pressing against mine. If I had felt warm in his arms before, now I felt hot. There was a fuzzy feeling at first, but it melted away with my yielding lips. He pressed, an assault of his tongue against my mouth, and for some strange reason I opened the gate for his entry. By reflex, I held onto him much more tightly than I ever had done to anyone before. I crushed myself against him.

I’d known Wayne for so long, I didn’t even remember how we’d first met! It was like we had always been together. Now we were more attached than we had ever been. We’d never thought of something like this. Then again, I couldn’t think of anything other than what he had managed to give me: A resolve against this overwhelming night. With him, I felt free from any burdens.

We went with the flow of the darkness. Whatever we had done in that classroom stayed in that room, and it wasn't until morning that we made our escape. Of course, I did wear his shirt, and we sneaked back to his home. It would take until later in the day for us to figure out what to do about my current condition, but for the moment, I enjoyed dreaming and snuggling under the covers with him.

* * *

Quoted: “MrSimple writes while other people are sleeping and writes when other people are writing.” More stories by MrSimple can be found on TGStorytime. Thanks for reading! :D
Special thanks to Trismegistus Shandy and Lenal for the amount of time and effort teaching me to become a better writer. :)

* * *

* * *

~~Forgotten: Zero’s Return~~
by TGSparadox

* * *

Today was supposed to be my day off, but instead of enjoying a nice day relaxing, alway from the office and everybody I hated, I was called in to speak with a recently admitted patient at Walter Reed. Upon walking into the hospital, I was swarmed by two high ranking Federal agents, three high ranking Agency officers, five military doctors and three high ranking military officers, “Dr. Robert Sykes, Head Medical Officer of the Agency’s Superhuman Medical Division?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Born August 24th, 1930. Command code 5578960,” I said as I put my doctor’s coat on. I was quick to roll those numbers off, as I didn’t want to get stuck in the identity confirmation mess. It often bored me to death. Also, because I noticed that there was no one other than these thirteen people on this floor, it meant that they had quarantined the floor. This allowed me to say whatever I wanted without the worry of a security breach.

“Confirmed. Welcome, Doctor. Sorry about calling you in on your day off,” one of the military officers, who appeared to be Navy, apologized to me.

“First day off in three years. So, given that I have the honor of being approached by thirteen individuals at once, and seeing how the floor has been emptied, I assume we have a world-ending superhuman medical crisis on our hands.”

One of the doctors, Dr. Silas, a good friend of mine, gave me a folder. “We have a patient that was flown in from Kuwait last night. Now, as of last night, all of us were briefed on the situation that the patient was in before the event occured. Once me and my team analyzed everything, my team, the people present here, and the President agreed to contact you.

Oh, this isn’t good. I glanced down at the folder. On the cover was a military code name: Operation Wolf Howl. Below it was the classification: Top Secret. I actually chuckled, “Okay, I see where this going. You screwed up again on a top secret mission to whatever with a superhuman from Genesis and you need me to fix it again.”

All thirteen present gave me quite the look. However, it was Dr. Silas who spoke for all of them, “We wish that it was that simple.” She then motioned for me to look through the paperwork.

Alright, well, might as well, “So, who am I dealing with today?” I scanned the file. The patient’s name was Eric Houston, born in April of 1947. He was a lieutenant with Navy SEAL Team Four, and he was married with three kids. I took a glance that the picture. He was a rather large built guy. He completely fit the stereotypical look of a Navy SEAL. However, the most important piece of information here was the Level classification. Level 0. He wasn’t a superhuman, “Okay, so, interesting guy. Well deserving, highly decorated. Now, seeing I’ve been summoned here, and given the area of my work, I assume that I’m not here because this guy caught the flu. Mind telling me what’s going on?”

One of the military officers, whose name tag read Jarvis, and whose insignia indicated that he was a Rear Admiral, spoke up. “I’ve received permission from the President to inform you of some details involving Operation Wolf Howl. Long story short, we thought that the American arms dealer Josie Kung was shipping American-made weapons into Iran via Iraq. Not sure why, but since it wasn’t a superhuman matter, the CIA took to handling it. Unfortunately, four operatives went missing, so in the spring of 1982 we opted to send Lieutenant Houston and two other SEALs into Iraq undercover to both figure out what happened and find the missing operatives, and to shut down the weapons sales. All was going well for two years, until yesterday. What happened we don’t know for sure. Houston and his team entered a structure near the front lines. After two hours, Genesis responded to a distress signal, and went in and extracted Houston. His two teammates were both missing, but we were able to get Houston back to Kuwait, then on a plane to here.”

I listened, but nothing so far other than Genesis coming to the rescue yet again sounded like something that would involve me and my division within the Agency. Operatives going missing was rare, but not unheard of. “Okay, so I take it he was attacked by a Disease Manipulator?” I took a stab at what possibly could be plaguing this patient.

Dr. Silas shook her head. “Unfortunately, no.”

“Then what?”

“See for yourself.” I was immediately lead by Dr. Silas, who I guessed by this point to be the head of the medical mystery solving operation, at least until I showed up on the day that I should be taking off. Anyway, I followed her, and everybody else followed me. The hospital had an holding area on this specific floor that had a one way mirror connected to an observation room to allow doctors to observe certain patients away from the prying eyes of a police station. However, when I reached the room with the mirror, what I saw on side of the mirror room was not what I was expecting. What I was expecting was a clean cut, six foot eight Navy SEAL. Not this. “As you can tell, Lieutenant Eric Houston had a nasty run in with a…” Dr. Silas started to fill me in on the situation truly at hand, but I had already figured it out. It was quite obvious.

“A Genetic Manipulator.” I finished as I stared at the girl that seemed to be Eric Houston. From his file, Eric Houston was thirty-seven years old. This girl barely looked twenty. Heck, most people would confuse her for a teenager. The mighty six foot eight SEAL barely stood over five feet. The person that sat, curled in the corner, was small. Small enough that a weak gust of wind could knock her over. “Son of a bitch. I thought they were all dead. I thought Hitler managed to wipe them all out.”

“Yeah, but it seems that a few managed to survive the genocide,” Dr. Silas replied.

Genetic Manipulators were the more powerful form of Disease Manipulators. While Disease Manipulators could change the structure of diseases due to their ability to bond with it and control it, there was virtually no limit to what a Genetic Manipulator could do. All species on the planet could be affected by a such a superhuman.

However, even if this was caused by a Genetic Manipulator, the fact that this girl was now Eric Houston meant that something was very wrong. “Are you sure that this is Lieutenant Eric Houston? Are you 100% sure?”

Dr. Silas turned her eyes away from me, and towards the girl that was huddled in the corner of the room. “I wish it wasn’t, but I’ve had four medical superhumans check. It’s Eric Houston.”

“This is impossible. Even for the most powerful level 4 manipulator, it took nearly six months to effect the human genome to such a degree as to produce a sex change,” Manipulating diseases, curing small genetic problems was one thing, but to completely hack into the very structure of mankind was something completely else. “Something on this scale, the reduction of size, mass, and biological material, it’s practically science fiction. A transformation like this, in that amount of time, is impossible both biologically and physically. The victim would be killed by organ failure alone, and even if they survived, the traumatic brain injury from the loss of mass would’ve killed them or at best…” I quickly looked over to Dr. Silas, but she quickly caught on to what I was going to ask her because she shook her head. “So, Eric Houston survived a such a transformation with no lasting physical injuries that could result in death.”

“We understand, Doctor Sykes. This is unprecedented,” Jarvis added.

“I know.” Unfortunately, I knew all too well. This world was filled with superhumans that possessed a wide variety of powers. This meant that nothing ever really came as a surprise, until now. “This type of power, is it possible that it’s them?” I asked everybody.

They all looked at each other. Clearly, it had crossed their minds. “We’re not sure. We can’t rule out anything yet. But Eric hasn’t said much since she got here, and until she tells us what happened, well, we aren’t ruling anything out yet. That is why we called you here, both for your experience, and for your ability,” Dr. Silas revealed. I noted that Dr. Silas used female pronouns, and by this point, it seemed appropriate.

“Alright then. I’ll see what I can do.” I grabbed my clipboard so I could take notes, and mentally began to charge my ability. It was a weak level 2, but I could emit a field that calmed the areas of the brain responsible for panic and fear. It should allow for an easy conversation. From what I understood, despite such a radical transformation in such a short period of time, Eric’s brain was free of any damage.

However, upon entering the room, Eric looked up at me, and I realized that despite my ability, it might be much more difficult to get her to open up about what happened. Such a transformation might have proved too traumatic for her to recount what happened. “Who… who are you?” she asked, her voice revealing just how scared she was.

“Lieutenant Eric Houston, my name is Doctor Robert Sykes, Head Medical Officer of the Agency’s Superhuman Medical Division. I’m here to talk to you about the events that recently transpired.” For some reason, Congress dictated that my rank within the Agency deserved salutes by most military enlisted and most commissioned officers. Personally, I hated it, as did most everybody else who held a high rank within the Agency, but everytime I brought up, no matter who my patient was, or who was around me, they saluted. Eric did no such thing. She just remained in her corner, teary-eyed, staring right back at me. Personally, I was relieved, but at the same time, a bit concerned.

“Why?” she finally asked.

“Why not? Let's start by having you sit this chair. I’m very certain it is far more comfortable then that corner.” I needed to get this rolling. So far, the mystery was deeping, and I needed to know more, and really, everybody involved in this needed to know more and fast. Fortunately, Eric looked at me a bit more, then stood up, wiping alway any tears remaining, and took a seat across from me. “Alright. Good start. Now, Lieutenant…”

“I’m not a lieutenant,” Eric muttered.

“Hmm?”

“I’m not a lieutenant anymore. I’m not a SEAL, I’m a father to my kids, I’m nothing anymore.” She started sobbing again. Clearly, this was traumatic for her, and why wouldn’t it be. She looked eighteen, not the man that was a father and part of a family that she loved. There was very little chance that she could go back to them. And women weren’t allowed in the Navy SEALs, not even transsexuals. Horrible policy in my opinion, and while the Agency didn’t care which gender you were, Congress and, unfortunately, the rest of the armed forces, did. Unless we could figure out a way to change her back, granting Eric access back into the SEALs would draw too much unwanted attention. The life Eric had had was over.

“Okay, calm down… er... Eric. Let’s not get overworked here. The best thing we can do is figure out what happened and then maybe we can work on fixing this.” Eric seemed to calm down a bit after that. While I was unsure that she would be ready to talk, I had to talk about the change. “Now, from the little I read from your file, and the report on Operation Wolf Howl, you were tracking missing operatives, as well as a weapons dealer, Josie Kung. Do you know if she was responsible for the missing operatives due to her involvement in the weapons sales?” I knew that I needed to start somewhere to work my way into the questions revolving around her transformation. Talking about the mission that sent her and her team into Iraq in the first place was a good place to start.

“No.”

“Hmm?”

Eric seemed to struggle with getting her words out. “It wasn’t Josie Kung. She wasn’t behind any of it.”

Okay, wow. My ability was working better than imagine. Moments into this conversation and Eric was already revealing that for two years, everybody had been chasing the wrong person. While it was possible that Eric could be lying, I knew that within her heart, she still considered herself a Navy SEAL. “Then who was it then?”

Eric started to freeze up. Clearly this was a case of PTSD, and depending on how traumatic the transformation was, it might prove severe. However, Eric seemed to gather herself minutes later. “The same person who took my life away and captured my team. He called himself Zero.”

Now, it was my turn to freak out. “Zero?” How could it be Zero? In a few moments, anger, rage, whatever, had risen up. The fact that there was any kind of genetic manipulation was clear evidence that Zero was still alive and I was blind and an idiot for not seeing that. But as quickly as it emerged, I realized that I was only a few moments away from completely scaring Eric into a shell from which she would never emerge. She had already cowered away in fear. “I’m sorry.” I collected myself; there were two questions that I needed answered. First, “Now, I know who Zero is, and I also noted that you said that Zero had captured your fellow SEALs. Is that correct?”

Eric seemed to settle, but the fear never fully seemed to leave her face. “Yes.”

“And did the same thing that happened to you happen to them?”

Eric lowered her head, a tear slipping through. “Yes,” she quietly muttered.

Well, that answered that question. But the next question was how. I knew that Zero was level 4 Genetic Manipulator, but even he couldn’t produce this result in a two-hour time frame. While I knew that he had done experiments involving gender manipulation, he had limits as well. “Eric, how did he transform you?” I asked. I kinda cringed at that. But knowing that it was Zero who had done it, I need to know how he managed to pull off such a transformation. Out of the team that had been sent to destroy Zero, I was the only survivor. No one in the world knew Zero like I did.

“He used something he wore around his neck,” Eric replied. Okay, so maybe Eric was ready to talk about it. That, or she realized by my reaction that Zero was very bad news, and he was. The worst kind of news.

“Do you know what it was?” I inquired.

Eric shook her head. “Maybe a medallion?”

Hmm… a medallion, not what I was expecting. I was certain that it must have been a serum, a group, or even a machine. A medallion was not among the list of things in this world that could amplify someone power to such degree. “So what happened?”

“It all happened so quick. We entered the building undetected, or so we thought. Immediately after entered, we were captured in a moment. It was nothing for them, all of our training, useless. We were stripped of our gear, and brought before Zero. He looked so mad, so insane, as he stared down at us. Then he said, ‘Gentlemen, I am in need of volunteers, so I’m glad you accepted my invite for dinner.’ After that, he placed his hand on me, and grabbed the medallion… with… the… oth--” Eric just broke down after that, collapsing on the floor. This was too much for her, and my ability couldn’t overcome the PTSD, but I could paint a clear picture of happened. Zero must’ve used the medallion to amplify his own power to such a degree that he could transform Eric into what was lying on the ground sobbing now. But how could a medallion have such an effect on someone?

One of the doctors that had accompanied Dr. Silas came into the room to give Eric a shot to calm her down. Clearly I was getting nothing more from her. A bit disheartened, I joined everybody back in the other room. They all looked at me strangely. It was understandable that what Eric said was not what they were expecting. Rather, they looked like they had just got done seeing the cheesiest science fiction movie ever. Problem was, it seemed to have really happened. “What do you all make of this?” one of the military officers finally asked. But no one seemed to have an answer.

Sigh “That medallion. It is possible,” Now that I had all eyes on me, I debated on whether to continue. But, if all options to deal with this and the return of Zero were to be explored, everything needed to be said. “It is possible that the medallion is one of their artifacts. Missing
for thousands of years, only to turn up now. However, it’s barely even a guess.”

“Well, it sounds like a powerful artifact, and it needs to found, but what about this Zero guy? It’s obvious that he’s a powerful superhuman, and firmly aligned against us and Genesis, but I know for certain that no one has ever heard of this guy,” Jarvis said.

Dr. Silas nodded in agreement. “Yeah, your reaction does indicate you know who Zero is.”

I did. I knew exactly who he was and what he did, but these people didn’t need to know. The world didn’t need to know. Not yet. “A memory.” I got myself together to leave before any of these people could ask me any more questions relating to who Zero was. “It seems that you still have two missing SEALs who have suffered the same fate as Eric. I would highly recommend you find them. Only then can this mystery be solved. As for Eric herself, have her transferred to the facility down in Alexandria. There, I will oversee her recovery, as well as making sure there are no side effects to her experience.” After that was said, I left to sort out some major questions. Why was Zero back, how was he still alive, what was that medallion he was using, why did he turn Eric into a girl, and where were the others? There were a lot of questions surrounding Zero’s return, and I knew I wouldn’t like the answers.

* * *
TGSparadox is the author of a few other stories, all available on TGStorytime under the pen name of Paradox and BigCloset under the pen name of TGSparadox.

* * *

~~Is This the Real Life, Is This Just Fantasy…~~

by Hikaro

* * *

You wander into what looks to be a large, decaying greenhouse. Broken glass lies at your feet, and the plants have all long since died.

I carefully avoid the glass, stepping close to it but not quite close enough to risk being hurt. The dead plants around me all look like they might have been pretty if I'd seen them alive. Instead, they're wilted things, and I really have no concept of what they might have looked like so long ago.

I sigh. "This place looks fan-tucking-fastic." I look at the other side of the greenhouse. "Is there something over there?" I ask.

You see something that looks like a dead human being on the other side of the room, hanging from something that actually looks like a living plant.

"What the hell?" I exclaim. I make my way through the greenhouse, still avoiding that broken glass. I'm not wearing shoes, and the smallest piece could be a bigger problem than I want to deal with. "What is that?" I ask as I get closer to the plant.

You see the dead human and realize it's the one you saw a week ago.

"That guy... Wait, no, that's, hold on a second."

What?

* * *

I looked across the table at Trevor. "You said the guy I met a week ago got on a ship and left the surface. How would he have gotten back here and murdered by a plant?"

Trevor glared at me over his DM border. "If you'd let me continue, I'd explain it."

I shook my head. "No, no, remember, he couldn't breathe in this area, because of all the spores."

Kayla giggled. "He's right."

"Do you see his helmet on, Chris? He's pretty obviously dead!"

"Yeah, but why would he be here anyway?" I asked.

"I just said I'm gonna explain it!"

Kayla whistled. "Boys, please, calm down."

I slumped in my chair. She was right, of course. "Fine, explain it."

He cleared his throat.

* * *

You see the guy you met a week ago; he's so very clearly dead and he looks like he died in pure pain. The plant is clearly absorbing him.

I gulp, then reach toward the plant. My fur is standing on end, which probably makes me look like some sort of weird puffball.

The plant reacts to you, tries to lash out.

I pull my hand away, yelping in response. I have no idea what this thing was, but the idea that it wants to eat me doesn't exactly sit well with me. Of course, I don't know that it wants to eat me, but that seems the likely prospect.

I reach into my bag and pull out my laser knife. I slowly put the blade to the plant and hear it sizzling and crackling. I need to pull the guy out of there, see what killed him. I assume it was the plant, but I couldn't actually be sure until I investigate it.

Your knife overheats.

The knife grows hotter in my hands. It doesn't take me long to drop it on the floor of the greenhouse, breaking some of the larger pieces of fallen glass. A few tiny slivers of glass hit my bare feet, and I wince in pain. "Sonuva..." I sigh. "Okay, what absurdly stupid thing could I do now?" I ask myself.

"You could always talk to it."

I spin around and see... And see... And. See?!

Oh, yeah, sorry. You see Kayla's character.

I see a man about my age, but not human. He's clearly some kind of cat-like creature, though standing only on hind legs. He's almost obnoxiously tall, at least a good head and a half taller than I am, and his clothes suggest he's a hunter of some kind. He's wearing boots, unlike stupid-ass me.

* * *

"What the hell is your guy, again?" I asked her.

She sighed. "He's a Felung, one of the cat races that populate the southern hemisphere."

I nodded. "Right, right."

Trevor asked, "Can we stop metagaming?"

"Yeah, yeah, fine."

***

The man moves close to me and sniffs me. "Um, what are you doing?" I ask.

"You're not from around here," he says; "your scent is so very different."

I blush, almost subconsciously. "Uh, yeah, I'm from the northern hemisphere."

He takes my hand. "But you're not a Felung?"

I shake my head, then pull my hand away from his. "No, I'm a..."

You're an Ocelore.

"An Ocelore; our species is native to the north."

"And are all of you this..." He kneels down, his toothy grin right in my face. "...Pretty?"

I gulp again. "I would say I'm more cute than pretty, but I guess somebody else could be the judge of that..."

I don't feel secure around this guy at all. I kneel down and pick up my laser knife, but find it broken too badly. I instead slip it back into my bag. I stand back up to find him still right in my face. "So, girl, what are you here for?"

I gulp again. "I'm looking for someone. Someone who hurt my family."

"And where are they?"

"If I knew, I wouldn't be looking."

He pats me on the shoulder. "You're a funny one." He walks past me and pushes the human's body into the plant further. "You'll want to leave soon. This mantrap plant doesn't like beings that try to hurt it, and doesn't much like to listen to me when I ask it to stop."

* * *

"Hold on a second," I said, "why is the plant yours?"

Kayla shrugged. "I dunno. It was on my character sheet. 'Owns a mantrap plant'. Ask Doug, he wrote these up."

I should have remembered that. Doug had planned on GM'ing this session, and refused to let us write up our own character sheets. Also, why he'd settled on me playing the girl was a question I would have loved getting an answer for, but Doug was fucking weird. Trevor was supposed to be playing Kayla's character, but when Doug didn't show up, Trevor had to GM.

"Where the hell is he?"

Trevor shrugged. "I dunno, he said he was gonna be here." He yawned. I was suddenly just as tired as he looked, and that was weird to say the least. "Say, you guys wanna pick this up tomorrow?"

Kayla yawned as well. "Yeah, that's fine. My folks are outta town for the weekend, so we can do this at my place tomorrow."

I asked, "Isn't your brother gonna be pissed at you asking two guys over to your house for D&D?"

She rolled her eyes. "I don't give a shit. He has girls over all the time, and he's usually porking them. You guys are my friends, and it's gonna stay that way, so he has no reason to bitch."

Finally, I yawned. "Good. If we're all decided, I'm gonna head home and get some shut-eye."

"Me, too," Trevor said.

"Me, three," announced Kayla.

* * *

I awoke to the sounds of birds chirping frantically, wind racking the house and what sounded like my stomach on overdrive demanding food. From the sounds of things, that thunderstorm we were promised a few days ago was finally hitting us. Yay, I guess. Good thing I was only two blocks away from Kayla's house, otherwise heading over there might have been a pain in the ass.

I sat up and yawned, then proceeded to rub the sleep out of my eyes. I was still tired, almost obnoxiously so. It was like a night of rest had given me no rest at all. Whatever, I just needed to wake myself up somehow, that was all. After that, I'd head to Kayla's house and hang out with her until Trevor decided to wake up.

If possible, I'd work up the courage to ask her out. It might not work out, seeing as she seemed to view me more as a friend than a potential boyfriend, but the worst that could happen was we'd have a few awkward moments and then go back to being friends. Hopefully. Okay, maybe the worst that could happen would be us not talking to each other for years to come, but I felt our friendship was stronger than that.

I stood up and felt somewhat strange. My center of gravity felt a little off, and I swore I was carrying around a little extra weight, though altogether I felt lighter. I was confused, but I was also still tired and probably not completely in control of myself yet, so hopefully everything would make sense when I woke up.

I stumbled my way into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. I splashed the coldest water I could on my face and was quite relieved I didn't numb myself doing so. I immediately felt better, too, so I'd clearly had the right idea when I walked into the bathroom while half asleep and feeling weird about myself.

Then I looked at my reflection and screamed.

I was looking at an orange furred cat-like creature, with wide yellow eyes and a hint of an overbite. My face was rounder, softer looking, and definitely less human than it should have been. My ears were sticking out of the top of my head, poking through my hair. Not my fur, my hair. I still had a full head of hair. Wavy blonde stuff that looked nothing like my old hair, but hair nonetheless.

I noticed the shirt I'd gone to sleep in looked really baggy on me. At the same time, it was kind of tight in exactly one area. That area was pushed out in such a way that I knew exactly what I was looking at. My newfound boobs weren't exactly huge (I was maybe a cup size larger than Kayla, who was actually harrassed by the rich bitches at school for being flat-chested), but their weight was so new to me that they felt bigger than they really were.

I wasn't even going to think about what I knew was hidden away in my now ill-fitting underwear, nor did I want to remove said underwear, though I needed something that fit better.

I looked down at the rest of me and saw that the orange fur that covered my face was all over the rest of me, too, just as I expected it to be. I looked kinda stupid standing there in clothes that didn't fit right, covered in orange fur, with a tail hanging behind me.

It took me a few minutes of staring the in the mirror to realize I knew exactly who I was. I'd somehow become my D&D character. I didn't know how, I didn't know why, I really didn't actually care, I just wanted a way to change back before someone saw me.

I needed to call Trevor or Kayla, see if something like this had happened to them or if I was the only victim of whatever the hell this was. I ran back into my bedroom and nearly tripped on my shorts sliding down my legs. Thankfully, I managed to fall onto my bed, which was softer than the floor. I pulled off my shorts and then reached for my phone.

Hey, are you OK? read a text from Kayla. Clearly, she'd woken up first.

No, not really. I'm my RP character now, I texted her.

Oh, shit, I'm coming over right now.

I almost didn't want her to see me like this, but at the same time, I needed to know what had happened to her, too. I tapped my contacts and found Trevor, next. I tried sending him a text asking if everythng was okay, but it failed to send for some reason.

As I waited for Kayla, a million thoughts crossed my mind. Why had this happened? Who did it? How did they do it? The closest thing to an answer I could come across was Doug, as he’d been the one to write up the character sheets, but he couldn’t do something like this, could he?

Could he?

I didn’t know, and the whole idea sounded absurd, but no more so than being covered in orange fur and being the opposite gender. He probably wouldn’t even be my first suspicion if he had been at the session yesterday.

And he was supposed to GM.

Had Doug somehow gained magic powers and was using them to live out his crazy homebrew campaigns in real life? Or was I just going crazy and trying to force an answer where none existed?

I really didn’t know.

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang. I quickly pulled my shorts back on and held them up as best I could. I took the stairs carefully, as I felt off-balance the whole time, but I made it to the door before the sixth ring. I braced myself to see Kayla's D&D character in front of me when I opened the door--

--But I didn't. Kayla stood there, exactly as she always looked, her book bag slung over her shoulder. "Holy shit, you really are."

I pulled her into the house. "Okay, but why aren't you?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. I had this weird dream about this happening, though. You turned into your character, I was normal me, and then I woke up just before Trevor showed up."

My eyes widened. "You don't think... You don't think Trevor is your character, do you?"

The doorbell rang again, and the two of us turned to look at the door. I heard myself gulp. "I wonder if that's him..." I said, my voice tiny.

* * *

Hikaro is in the room with you right now. Just turn around.

* * *

~~Doctor Who?
#3 – There’s a Cat In My TARDIS!~~

by Bobbie Cabot

* * *

The Doctor has disappeared, but he left his newest apprentice in 21st century Earth to help the humans while he was away – this was Dr. Quinn Valentine.

This is the story of one of Quinn’s early adventures as the Doctor’s pinch-hitter. And she even comes with her own sonic screwdriver, her own companion (best friend Mary Elizabeth “Binky” Kristensen), and even her own TARDIS, except Quinn’s TARDIS looks like a red London phone booth instead of a blue 50’s police call box.

(This is a follow-on story to the previous Mixed Tape stories entitled “Doctor Who?” and “Doctor Who? #2 – Bigger On The Inside.”)

* * *

Quinn had heard of UNIT, of course, both from her own research and from stories of the doctor. She was of two minds regarding UNIT. Clearly, UNIT, or the Unified Intelligence Taskforce, had played a major part in the Earth’s survival against several alien invasions in the past, and as the doctor told her, it would do so again in the future, but it had also precipitated several near-apocalyptic disasters, and it was largely because of UNIT (and a clandestine organization called Torchwood) that the ill-prepared human race was now a potential target of several belligerent races in the galaxy.

So when she got the latest “mix tape” cassette from the doctor instructing her to contact UNIT, she didn’t know whether or not she should.

Currently, her TARDIS was drifting in space, floating somewhere between the orbits of Jupiter and Saturn, safely away from people as she tried to figure out how to fix it: at the moment, her TARDIS was unable to travel through time, except linearly and moment-to-moment, just like all regular things in the regular universe. If she didn’t get this licked, maybe she should just change the name of her TARDIS to DIS or something…

“Oi,” her companion, Elizabeth “Binky” Kristensen, said, trying to get her attention, “co, what will we do? Call UNIT?”

Quinn played the cassette tape over and over, trying to understand what the doctor wanted her to do. But, as usual, the doctor was being unclear. She was left none the wiser about what the right decision was.

“Oh, what the hell!” she said, and impulsively threw a lever forward. The TARDIS then started making that characteristic groaning that meant it was moving through space-time, or, in this case, just space.

A few moments later, the red TARDIS rematerialized in a big, airplane hangar-sized space in Cardiff, which was the British headquarters of the Unified Intelligence Taskforce, or “UNIT,” presently under the command of the so-called Osgood Twins, Petronella and Bonnie Osgood.

Quinn and Binky opened the TARDIS door and stepped out, and soldiers in US Marine-type uniforms immediately surrounded them.

“Doctor?” a bespectacled girl with a long knitted tartan scarf and white lab coat asked. “Is that you? Thank God! How did you know we needed your help?”

“Well,” Quinn answered, “I’m a doctor. But if you meant THE doctor, I’m sorry to disappoint.” She extended her hand. “Hi! I’m Quinn Valentine, astrophysicist, nuclear physicist, medical doctor, biochemist, history buff, amateur philologist and Spice Girls fan from the University of Cambridge, at your service.” She gestured to her companion. “This is Elizabeth Kristensen, doctoral candidate at the University of Cambridge. And you are?”

“I’m Dr. Osgood,” she said. “I run UNIT.” She shook Quinn’s hand.

“Ohmigod!” Quinn enthused. “You’re THE Osgood!” She moved closer. “Tell me, are you the human or the Zygon Osgood?” she whispered.

Osgood laughed. “What do you think?”

“I’m sorry, the doctor never told me. Anyway, how can we help you?”

“Well, I was actually hoping to talk with the doctor?”

“The doctor is currently unavailable,” Binky responded. “We’ve been assigned as his temporary substitute while he’s away.”

“While ‘she’s’ away,” Quinn corrected. “Anyway, what seems to be the trouble?”

“Wait! What do you mean ‘temporary substitute!’ What do you mean ‘assigned!’”

So Quinn and Binky went through how they, together, came to be the doctor’s “substitute.” (note to reader: for more information, please refer to the story “Doctor Who?” in “Through the Fire and the Flames - A TG Mixed Tape.”)

“So you’re telling me…” Osgood said, “that you’re…”

“Yes,” Quinn replied.

“And that is a new TARDIS?” She pointed at Quinn’s TARDIS, which looked just like a regular red telephone booth – the kind you see in London all the time.

“Yes,” Quinn replied again. “Well, it’s sort of new…”

“And you made it into another phone booth?”

“It wasn’t up to me. If it were up to me, I’d have preferred it to look like a nice Porsche or something. And the doctor’s TARDIS wasn’t a phone booth – it was a police call box.”

“Dammit!”

“Well… well… now that you know, how can Binky and I be of service to UNIT?”

“And why Binky?”

Quinn shrugged. “That’s just what I call Elizabeth. To irritate her.” She giggled. “And it’s working.”

Osgood shrugged, as if saying it wasn’t any of her business. “It’s just this, Dr. Valentine – for the past few months, people have been disappearing from the London metropolitan area. Police and local authorities have not been able to find out what’s been happening, and have not been able to track down the missing people.”

“So why are you in Cardiff?”

“And, from what we know of UNIT,” Binky continued, “that does not sound like something you folks would get involved with. It sounds more like a matter for Scotland Yard.”

“Normally, yes,” Osgood said, “but not when the missing people are several thousand already, and some of those missing people are Earth Zygons. This is just on this edge of a national disaster for Great Britain.”

Quinn and Binky looked at each other.

“Any clues?” Quinn asked.

“Well, we managed to retrieve these.” Osgood gestured, and a uniformed UNIT soldier came over pushing a cart. On top of the cart were several chrome devices that had the faint look of mechanical chrome rats.

“Quinn,” Binky asked, “are those, what do you call them, cybermats?”

“Yes, they are, Ms Kristensen,” Osgood replied for Quinn. “Don’t worry, these particular ones are deactivated. Or dead if you prefer.”

Quinn pointed her sonic screwdriver at them, and nodded. “Yep, they’re dead.”

Osgood explained that several of these cybermats were found near locations where several hundred people had disappeared. Other than that, they had found a kind of greenish-gray, viscous residue. Osgood held up a small vial containing a little of the residue.

Quinn whipped out her sonic screwdriver again and ran it over the vial. “Hmmm,” she went.

“We haven’t found out what it is,” Osgood said, “except that it’s a unique combination of amino acids, long protein chains and what curiously looks like a kind of long-chain liquid polymer.”

“Long chain liquid polymer?” Binky asked.

“She’s saying it’s a kind of liquid plastic,” Quinn explained. She looked at Osgood. “Like, maybe from the Autons?”

Osgood shook her head. “No, not the Autons.”

“May I?” Quinn gestured at the vial.

Osgood handed it over, and Quinn retreated back into the TARDIS. After a few minutes, she came back out with a computer printout that she handed over to Osgood. She had also taken the opportunity to change outfits. She now looked like some kind of marine commando, that is, if marine commandos wore tight miniskirts, high-heeled boots, fishnet stockings and bolero jackets in place of flack jackets. Prominent on her jacket was the nametag, JR DOCTOR, and she had UNIT’s official patches on her shoulders and on her beret, except hers were the defunct 70’s logo that said “United Nations Intelligence Taskforce.” She also had on insignia that showed her to be a brigadier-general in the British army.

Osgood looked at Quinn with a raised eyebrow but didn’t make a comment.

“Just ignore her,” Binky said. “It’s part of her regeneration.”

Osgood read through the printout. “It seems that residue we got is similar to the residue from the Lazarus Experiment back in 2007.”

“What’s that?” Binky asked.

“It was an experiment that the famous geneticist Dr. Richard Lazarus did in the early 2000’s, the objective of which was to extend human life by changing a person’s DNA. A high-tech equivalent to the fountain of youth.”

“Oh?” she said. “Did it work?”

“Sadly, no. It seems his process changes the human DNA so fundamentally that the person is turned into a literal monster. A murderous monster, at that.”

“Well, maybe we can ask him about it?”

Osgood shrugged. “He’s dead.”

“Oh. Bugger…”

“So what’s next?”

“Can you give us all the information you have, Doctor Osgood?”

She nodded and walked them to her office. As she showed them all that UNIT had on the matter, alarms started blaring.

“Oi!” Binky exclaimed. “What’s that?”

Osgood looked at her screen. “It’s a relay from nearby Torchwood. Seems whatever is behind the missing people, it’s followed us here to Cardiff. We’re under attack.” She lifted a phone receiver on her desk and pressed a button. “Alert Doctor Kate Lethbridge-Stewart over in Geneva HQ,” she said into the phone. “Tell her we’re under attack, and that it’s a red level emergency.”

“Show me,” Quinn said after Osgood hung up. Osgood punched a few keys and the big screen on her wall showed a video of several half-humans -- different kinds of half-humans -- outside the gates of UNIT.

At their lead were what appeared to be half-human, half-hippo hybrids. Their immense strength and bulk allowed them to knock down walls and barriers. UNIT soldiers fired several non-lethal rounds into them, but the half-hippos just shook them off.

Flanking them were what looked like half-tigers, but, later, it would be found out that they were actually half-cheetahs. These fast half-cheetahs flanked the soldiers and, using baseball bats, beat them senseless. And right behind the hippos were what appeared to be half-gorillas and other kinds of mutants.

Quinn knew enough that this was like a classic military deployment. Their “tanks” in the front to punch through the opposition’s defenses, fast flankers to pick off outlying units, and the main infantry to follow the tanks.

She knew they were in trouble.

“Dr. Osgood,” Quinn said, “is your facility supplied with standard tear gas grenades and military respirators?”

“Respirators?” Binky said.

“Gas masks.”

“Ahhh.”

“Yes, we are,” Osgood replied.

“Distribute the respirators to all your people, and show me where your cleaning supplies are.”

Osgood gave some instructions and brought Quinn and Binky to a large storage area.

Quinn grabbed several plastic containers of bleach and other bottles. “Grab some of those bottles, Binky,” she said, “and come with me.”

They went to a large storage room full of military supplies. The tear gas grenades were just in front of Dr. Osgood.

“Do you have medical supplies, too, Dr. Osgood?”

“What do you need?”

“Lots and lots of disposable hypodermics and lots of electrical tape, and as many off-duty people you can find.”

She called over a soldier and gave some orders.

“Binky,” Quinn said, “I’m gonna show you what I need you to do, and I want you to take charge of these soldiers and get them to do the same thing, okay?”

Quinn used a hypodermic and stabbed a bottle of bleach, sucked out some of it with the hypodermic, and did the same thing with several other bottles. She shook the hypodermic, injected the liquid mixture into a specific spot on one of the tear gas grenades and covered the hole with electrical tape.

“Got it?” Quinn asked. Binky nodded and, as soon as the soldiers showed up, she taught them the same thing.

As for Quinn, she went with Osgood and watched how the enemy spread through the compound. Clearly, the mutants didn’t know the layout of the compound, judging by how randomly they went through it.

“Good for us,” Quinn said. “And they haven’t broken into any of the buildings yet.”

Osgood pointed to a few really weird-looking enemy soldiers. “What kind of half-humans are those?” Osgood asked.

“Well, those aren’t half-humans,” Quinn said. “Those are half-Zygons.”

“Oh…”

Quinn’s cellphone rang and she flipped it open.

“Yeah, Binky?” Quinn answered, and Binky said all the grenades were ready.

“Okay, split the grenades into ten lots, and get your guys to bring them to the ten major entrances of the compound. People will meet them and get ready.” She hung up.

“A flip-phone?” Osgood said, laughing. “Really?”

“Hey, don’t knock my flip-phone! My flip-phone has unlimited signal. You can call anyone you want regardless of where in the universe you are. Can your fancy smartphone call people from the edge of the universe?”

Osgood looked at Quinn, mouth hanging open. She mouthed the words, “Oh my god.”

In the meantime, there were no more active UNIT personnel outside the buildings. All that were remaining were the people inside.

Osgood made sure everyone had gas masks, and she had everyone wear them, and, at her signal, the soldiers with grenade launchers started firing the modified tear gas grenades.

Each one exploded within the ranks of the mutants, and the mutants started falling down asleep, even the half-Zygons.

A few mutants weren’t gassed and they started to run. Several of the UNIT soldiers gave chase and, in less than half an hour, all the mutants were knocked out.

“Okay,” Quinn said, “in a few minutes, the gas will break down and it’ll be safe to take off the masks. Now, those mutants should be asleep for at least twelve hours. That’ll give you time to bring them all in. Make sure each one of them is in handcuffs, not just on their wrists but around their ankles as well.”

“What about the big ones?”

“Well, you’re gonna have to use rebar or something – weld them around their wrists or ankles. That’ll hold them until I can reverse their mutations. Shouldn’t be difficult actually, but I need time. Can you do that?”

“I believe so.”

“Okay, make it happen. Binky and I will go after the one who started all of this.”

Quinn brought out her flip-phone again. “Binky, meet me at the TARDIS. We’re going after Mr. Big?”

“Mr. Big? Who’s Mr. Big?”

“You know… the head honcho? The big enchilada? It’s just an expression, okay?! Oh, just get to the TARDIS!”

In a few minutes, the TARDIS materialized in the middle of an abandoned candy factory.

“A bloody abandoned factory,” Binky said. “Talk about cliché!”

Quinn giggled. “But it’s an abandoned candy factory,” she said. “That has to count for something.”

Binky snorted.

Suddenly, the factory reverberated with the sound of machine gun fire.

“Bloody hell!” Binky swore as they dove for cover. The bad guy was standing on a catwalk thirty feet up in the air, giving him a clear view of everything.

“Now what?” Binky asked.

“You know my new sonic screwdriver?” Quinn said. “It’s special.”

“How special?”

“Mine works long distance. Watch this!” She pointed it at an overhead crane fifty feet away. She pressed a button and one of the crane’s locks opened. One of the large hooks swung down and the blunt part hit whoever was firing in the face.

“Bollocks!” the bad guy cried, and they heard his machine gun clatter to the ground thirty feet below.

“Ha!” he said. “Do you think that’s all I have?” He held up what looked like a kind of rifle.

“You know what this is? This is version two-point-oh of my formula! This one is not reversible! So if I catch you with this, then you’re mine! Forever!”

He started firing his rifle, which turned out to be a kind of high-tech dart gun. The difference was, it fired gas cartridge darts like a machine gun, forcing Quinn and Binky to duck down as little darts started peppering the walls around them. The little cartridges went “pfffft!” as they injected their tiny chemical payloads into the cement.

“Ouch!” Binky cried. “Quinn! I’m hit!”

“Don’t let yourself get hit a second time,” Quinn said. She raised her sonic again. “Now, let’s see if I can be lucky a second time…”

This time, she targeted the bad guy. When she pressed the button, all of the gas cartridges in the gun were triggered at the same time causing the rifle to explode. Quinn pointed her sonic down a bit and the man’s entire supply of darts in his backpack was triggered.

“Aaahhh!” he screamed a big puff of air puffed out the pack and several darts injected their contents into his back and he collapsed. Quinn and Binky ran and climbed up to the catwalk, with Binky limping a little bit.

Then they saw the bad guy changing, but instead of changing into a half-human, half-animal hybrid, it was like he was changing over and over, like his body couldn’t decide what it wanted to be.

“Good lord,” Binky said, “is that what’s going to happen to me?”

Several weeks later, after Quinn was able to synthesize a cure, all of the victims – over three thousand of them, including about three hundred Zygons, were cured.

After they were cured, however, none of them could remember what happened.

As for the bad guy, who turned out to be an old lab assistant of Dr. Lazarus, his body continued to morph endlessly, and whatever Quinn tried, she couldn’t stop it. Quinn explained that, because of the quantities injected into him, his morphing was put into overdrive. Unfortunately, however, if the continuous morphing didn’t end soon, the man would eventually die from something she called cellular fatigue. All they could do for the guy was pray that the thing would run its course soon, and that the guy would the ordeal.

As for Binky, because the chemical used was a newer and more powerful version, Quinn couldn’t completely cure her. But at least she was able to keep Binky’s mind intact, and was able to moderate the effects of the chemical. So, although Binky wasn’t completely normal, she looked really close. That is, if one could ignore the thick, luxurious fur-like hair, the cat ears and the tail. But, with the right haircut and the right clothes, Quinn was sure Binky could camouflage them.

“Well,” Quinn thought and smiled, “At least she’s still cute.”

Quinn threw the TARDIS’ main lever and they rematerialized in Cambridge University’s main quadrangle. After all, Quinn had classes to teach, and Binky had to finish her thesis.

As the two best friends walked back to campus, Quinn couldn’t help but think of what their next adventure would be. Also, she needed to know how the Cybermen were involved in this recent incident, but she had to leave that for later.

She threw her arm over Binky’s shoulder and Binky wrapped her tail around Quinn’s waist as they walked to the main hall.

“You know,” Binky said, “I really don’t appreciate you calling me ‘Binky’ all the time…”

Quinn laughed and laughed. “Finally!” she said. “I can’t believe you lasted this long!”

Watch out for the next instalment coming soon.

* * *

Roberta “Bobbie” Cabot is a transgender girl from DC. She transitioned in 2004, and has been living as a girl full time ever since. With a mom from Italy, a dad from Quebec, and a spouse from Kyoto, her writing (and her speech & accent) is less than perfect. However, she doesn't really speak Italian, French or Japanese, although she can puzzle them out a bit. She’s a fan of sci-fi, drama, love stories, romcoms and comedy/sitcoms. Her only “claim to fame” is her still-incomplete underground fan favorite, “Danny,” which was first posted in Crystal’s Storysite back in 2009 (“Danny” is also posted on Bigcloset Topshelf, Fictionmania and TG Storytime). She is, however, hard at work trying to complete it -- she has, in fact, already hit 300K words for this last instalment, and has high hopes to post this within the year. Her most recently posted stories are “Shepherd Moon,” “Autobots Revisited” and “Drew Nance, Girl Detective - Book 1: The Secret of the Old Clock.”

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~~Afterword~~

Special thanks to MrSimple and Lenal for their first-time submissions, and as always to the regular contributors who are still with us.

The title of this mixtape comes from the short story “Bethmoora” by Lord Dunsany:

In the little gardens at the desert's edge men beat the tambang and the tittibuk, and blew melodiously the zootibar.

Stories for the next tape are due by October 15. You are encouraged but not required to submit Halloween-themed stories; the only strict requirement is that the story have some TG element, and a somewhat less strict guideline is that the stories be under 2,500 words (4,000 at most).

Send stories to Hikaro at [email protected] or Trismegistus Shandy at [email protected]. Please include an about-the-author blurb.