Just a short little thing I wrote after being partially inspired by this:http://www.furaffinity.net/view/10101289/
You guys think I should continue?
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Russia- The land of snow, Soviets, and (sometimes) suffering. And now, the home of insanity.
Scientists here decided to come up with a concoction, that, if injected, could merge every single cell in a persons body with the DNA of another creature, with stable results. Why? Simply, they had no laws against it. America, Canada, and the U.K. had laws against it, and the Asians sure as hell weren’t going to do anything of the sort- so the Russians did it. They tried it during the Cold War with some monkeys anyhow- didn’t work, of course. But now, some scientists developed it to work with any species, but for one use only; body modification, not much different than a tattoo, really. It’s quite expensive right now- costs as much as a new car for a simple modification like a tail or something- but its already the rage in Moscow. I was here from America to learn more, and steal their secrets. I was a corporate spy, hired by the corporate giant Xavier Biotech- an American arms dealer, really- to find what secrets I needed to find and give them to Xavier Biotech, all so that they could make money by selling the formula in other countries.
In Russia, the Smit Gena Kompanii created the formula. It’s pretty obvious what that name means. Anyhow, they were paying me enough to do whatever’s required- 4.5 million, to be exact, plus expenses and one percent of their sales of the formula. It’s worth whatever’s needed. Problem is, the formula for the gen-izmeneniya liquid was held in some of the thickest bunkers in Russia, a good 300 feet down, in Moscow’s largest old war shelter. One couldn’t just bypass a dozen five foot thick bulkheads, one needed firepower. My biggest weapon was a sniper rifle that could be dismantled to fit in a violin case, and it wasn’t that high of a caliber. The military sure as hell isn’t going to give me a few hundred pounds of explosives, so I had one place to go, and that was to the local mobsters.
I flipped open my old flip-phone and called a man which had connection to the underground arms trade; His name was Artyom. Well, if you could call him a man. The arms trade only recently started carrying some of the Gene-altering Formula; the GAF for sort.
‘Hey, Artyom. How are you?’ I asked as I halted in traffic. I was driving down a highway, but it was packed. The snow didn’t help either. Thankfully, Russians are good with the snow. The copious amount of tourists weren’t though. I saw a few cold looking Americans and British people on the side of the road, trying to get their busted rent-a-cars started.
‘Ah, good, comrade. Still trying to get used to this new body I was able to purchase. How far are you from Moscow, Dmitri?’ He asked me. I checked my GPS.
‘My GPS says another twenty minutes, but with this damned traffic, it’s going to take a considerably longer amount of time.’ I responded.
'It happens, my friend.’ There was a loud crash from his end.
'Artyom! You alright?!’ I shouted.
'Fine, Dmitri. I just broke a vase with this new tail of mine. Yebat!’ He cursed. ‘I’ll await your arrival at the safe house. Best of luck with the traffic, comrade.’ Artyom said.
‘You too- with the, er, tail.’ I said. He laughed and then disconnected. Funny person. Will the friendship last, though?
Its funny how something like this can divide the people so drastically. I used to live here, back when I was young; I knew that the Russian people would and could be quite dramatic about things.
I decided to turn my pickup truck down an early exit ramp, partially because there was a large wreck up ahead and getting to Artyom through that would be impossible. The ramp led down a road that was mounded with snow on either end and had a slight covering of snow anyways.
I tuned in a news radio station, seeing as I had nothing else to listen too.
‘...The snow will be piling up for the next several days, creating at least two feet. More at 9. But for now, what’s on everyone’s mind; the creation of the GAF.
'Thanks, Denis.’ A different voice said. ‘Moscow has become a heat of riots and fighting due to its creation, and there’s already been three killed and several dozen injured. People are saying that it’s a sin against the human form to take the GAF, or things like that. Others are saying it may come in use during times of disaster or catastrophe. I’m not sure, but I’m tempted to agree with them. The speed of a jaguar or the strength of an oxen would come in handy most days. But what’s got us really concerned are these riots.
'Indeed they do, Ivan. A large group of about three hundred has been rioting outside the front of the Smit Gena Kompanii for about two days now, after they started marketing the GAF. they won’t allow anyone out, and its been heard that the company may end up calling in the military to clear them a path so that their workers can go back home. These days, Denis...’
I went around a corner and down a suburban street, passing several old homes.
‘One large factor in these riots is the fact that they’re similar to racist actions during the World War Two era and similar times, showing that most people just can’t seem to cope with the species differences. So would it be called Specism?’
‘Likely. And to our listeners; treat the Altered nicely- they’re as much people as any human, and should have some respect. Especially the ones with claws. This is Ivan and Denis on MMAN Radio.’ The radio article ended just as I parked at the safe-house. It was the burnt out wreck of an old house that burnt out several years ago, but under it was an entrance to the Moscow underground. I got out and locked my car and walked into what used to be the basement- under a few barrels and some fake floorboards was a large trap door. I opened it up and closed what cover I could as I entered.
Inside, the tunnel was lit by a few bare bulbs, and no one could be seen. I walked down the corridor for about one hundred yards until I came to a solid-looking brick wall. It was a door.
I looked around for a discolored brick that Artyom mentioned was the door switch. I eventually found a yellow brick that stood out from the other red ones, and pushed it. The seemingly solid brick wall slid up, opening to a large, bunker-like room.
The room was at least two thousand feet square and full of people from all around the world, and they were all dealing things. Illegal things. The first person I bumped into was obviously a Heroin addict due to the fact that he was smoking the shit. This safe-house was the main commerce central of the black market, and it seemed that nearly anything could be bought here. An African man was even selling a couple of air-to-air missiles in the back of the room.
I pushed forward through the crowds, looking for the entrance to the residential rooms. Anyone who lived down here didn’t exist officially, perfect for someone to blow up bulkhead. And one of these people was Artyom.
I passed some scantly-clad woman that was trying to sell me something. She looked normal until saw the large, furry tail swishing behind her. Her eyes were golden as well- an Altered. This one seemed to deal in the prostitution trade.
I managed to get into the residential sector after a considerable amount of shoving. It was a good deal more empty in here, apart from a drunkard passed out against a wall. I walked to the room 5-B and knocked on the door.
'Artyom?’ Its me, Dmitri.’ I said.
'Come in, Dmitri!’ He replied through the thin wooden door. I walked in to his dirty apartment.
It was made of only three rooms- the living room, the kitchen, and a bedroom. The kitchen was a few feet above the living room, and accessed by a few steps. The bedroom branched off from the living room, and the toilet was in a small cubicle in the corner of the bedroom. The furnishings were simple- a TV with dish-powered network, an old couch, and a few tables. The bedroom, as far as I could tell, was not much more than a single bed and another table. Artyom was in the kitchen, making something.
'Tea, comrade?’ He asked. I couldn’t see him because the refrigerator was in the way.
'Yes please, two sugars.’ I replied, siting down on his couch. He walked out, carrying the plate with the tea. As I said, he wasn’t human. He had somehow gathered enough cash for the full transformation formula which turned the person taking it into a humanoid version of said animal. He had chosen a red fox, for some reason. He was wearing a T-shirt, but no pants.
'Wait, where are your pants?’ I asked. Thankfully, nothing showed.
'Do you realize how hard it is to get a tailor to make a tailhole for your pants?’ He asked.
'Ah...’ I responded. I took the cup and sipped it. It was very hot, but good.
'So, Dmitri, what is your take on the whole thing?’ Artyom asked.
'I try to remain neutral. I have friends in the states, and they have no access to the GAF. Of course, you’re one of my good friends as well, so I can’t really be against it either, now can I?’ I responded.
'You have a point. It is sad; if I walk out of this place, it’s likely I may be mobbed. How can people hate us so much?’ Artyom asked.
'Exactly how people hate other races. It’s human nature; the fear of the unknown. It’s happened ever since the human race developed two different races. Hopefully it won’t stay this bad forever.’ I replied.
'Aye.’ Artyom said. 'So, down to business. You’re asking for high-powered, portable explosives that could take down the bulkheads of the SGK. They’re expensive and we don’t have them here. You have two options. One: wait for some to come in, and that could take ages. The other one would mean raiding a different, opposing safe-house.’ He said. 'Can you fight?’
'Artyom, can I be honest with you?’ I asked.
'Of course, Comrade.’
'I’ve been hired by an American firm to steal that formula. They’re paying me 4.5 million American dollars. You help me properly, I’ll pay you one of those millions.’ I said. His fox face suddenly looked very astounded.
'What, really? Are you sure?’ He asked. I nodded. 'Thank you, Comrade. I can try to stop such racism against the Altered like myself with that money. So, which one are we going to do?’
'Try to steal the explosives, obviously. I can hold my own in a firefight. But can you?’ I asked.
'Of course, Dmitri. I’ve been in quite a few. Come on, follow.’ He said, putting away the finished tea. We exited the little living space and continued down the corridor towards a small door in the back.
'So, Dmitri, have you ever though of Alteration?’ He asked.
'Right now, not really. I’ve heard that receiving the formula when you’re badly injured can heal your body like that-’ I snapped my fingers. 'So, if I was badly injured and on the brink of death, I would take it, no questions asked.’
'But what species would it be?’ Artyom said.
'I never thought of it. Would probably be some sort of large bird; perhaps an owl of some sort. Probably that.’ I said. I pulled an owl’s tail feather from my coat. 'I found this feather after a serious, life-threatening job. I was running from several corporate goons, bleeding from a gunshot wound in the arm. I had gotten rid of all of them but one, and the last one had his sights aimed on me. I thought that was the end. There was no way I could have survived his shotgun. By a stroke of luck, an owl of all thinks smacked into his head, knocking him down and causing him to drop his shotgun. The owl left me the feather.’ I said as we walked up the stairs past the door. We exited out a locked door in the side of an alleyway, in the commercial sector.
'So, if you were badly injured, that’s what would be used?’ Artyom said.
'Without question. Why did you choose a fox of all things?’ I asked as we stepped into his car- a rather expensive yellow sports car. I noticed it had heavily tinted windows.
'Heh, the tinting of my windows came with the augmentation- I guess it was needed. Anyhow, Did you ever complete that mission?’ He asked.
'Yeah, quite easily. The fact that most of their guards couldn’t follow me made it very easy. Now answer my previous question, Artyom.’ I said.
'Right. I’ve always enjoyed foxes, but one day, before all of the black market business, a fox much akin to the same species came up to my doorstep, bleeding from a gunshot wound to the hip. Someone had been hunting it, and it had walked to my door. I was able to nurse it back to health, and let it go free. I’ve always had a connection to this type of fox after that.’ He said. 'Honestly, your story’s better.’ He finished. I laughed.
'I guess it is.’ I replied.
CRACK!
'Holy shit! What the hell was that?!’ I shouted. The front windshield had a big crack in it now.
'Someone throwing rocks, I think. The asses do that.’ Artyom answered.
'What? Why?’ I asked.
'It’s because I’m Altered.’ He replied.
'Fuck that, you deserve more respect than getting rocks thrown at you! Turn the car around, I want to confront that bastard.’ Artyom spun the car around and actually drove the car onto the sidewalk, kicking up snow. The guy that was throwing rocks was on the side of the road, another large stone in his hand. I jumped out.
'Hey, you fucker! Stop throwing rocks at us!’ I shouted at him.
'Freak-lover!’ He shouted back. He threw the other rock at me, which I actually caught.
'People like you just can’t accept change...’ I said.
'Those mongrels are a sin against the human body!’ He shouted at me.
'And they’re hurting you how? Come on, face it! What’s so wrong with the Altered?’ I asked.
'They’ll kill all of us pure-bloods!’ The ass replied.
'Ugh, really?’ I groaned. I pulled out an old pistol of mine- a silenced, 8-shot revolver and aimed it at the guy. 'Some of the Altered has friends in high places; actually some are in high places. This was meant to just be the next tattoo or ear piercing, not this shit. Now walk away, fool.’ I said. He trembled and then ran away. I got back into the car.
'Are you sure pointing a gun at him was a good idea?’ Artyom asked.
'Hopefully.’ I said. We kept on driving.
‘I wonder how some people can be so cruel...’ I mention.
‘Human nature, Comrade. Sometimes, I don’t know how they can’t be cruel.’ Artyom explained.
‘They fear the unknown...’

We parked at the top of a hill overlooking a forest. Both Artyom and I were out, with sniper rifles. He pointed down towards an opening in the the pine forest which had nothing but a single cabin and a solitary hauler truck.
‘That’s the rival gang’s safe-house. They deal mostly in drugs, booze, and the like, but they do sell the occasional expensive weapon. And they have a supplier which supplies them with a crate of C4 every few days; I think that’s his truck. We wait long enough, we can kill the supplier, run down there, and steal the truck. Hopefully it’s still loaded.’ Artyom said.
‘What about the car?’ I asked, nodding to his expensive and now dirty sports-car.
'I’ll drive it and meet up with you at our safe-house, but I’ll help you steal the truck.’ Artyom responded.
'Alright. Let’s hope it works.’ I said. I took a shotgun from the back of Artyom’s car and started quietly running down the hill, Artyom behind me. He was a good deal quieter.
We stopped near a broken down wall to see the someone walking out to the truck. We quickly ducked down, but he started running. We were already spotted!
'Get the truck, I’ll stop some of them!’ Artyom shouted.
'Right!’ I said. I leapt into the driver’s seat of the truck, but didn’t notice the fact that there was someone else inside. I just barely avoided death- the bullet from his small pistol grazed my chest. I gave him a shotgun shell, which broke the door behind him and flung him out. I started up the truck and started driving it out of the field. It was accelerating too slowly...
A gangster was running alongside, carrying a large automatic rifle. Several bullets riddled the chassis and one shattered the windshield. He tried leaping onto the truck, but I shot him down before he could. I could hear gunfire behind me- Artyom was giving them a fight. I adjusted the side-view mirror to see him running back up the hill, firing behind him. I could also see a dozen mobsters jumping on motorcycles that can easily outpace the truck.
I jumped the curb and screeched onto the road, burning rubber at only about 80. Thankfully, the highway wasn’t far.
Gunfire cracked the air as the motorcycles sped after me. I started up an exit ramp, occasionally firing back a shotgun blast. I heard bullets slam into my truck, causing loud echos in the back.
My speed was well over the usual speed for the exit ramps, and I gained a bit of air when I hit the top. I landed with a slam, causing the things in the back to rattle about.
I heard an explosion behind me. One of the motorcycle riders shot out a civilian’s tires! The car flipped in the air and skidded across the ground.
One of the motorcyclists sped up next to me and tried to shoot me. Several of the shots slammed against the door, but one pierced it and my leg. Damn it, that hurt! I slammed the offender off the road.
I could hear Artyom’s sports car and its massive, loud engine approaching, and with a chorus of gunfire coming with it.
Suddenly, I head a loud blast. The.. tires...
Everything was a blur; a blur of colors, a blur of noise.
I suddenly found myself on the cold concrete, my blood everywhere and most of my bones broken. The truck slid sideways down the road for a short distance before exploding. I couldn’t get up. I couldn’t breathe... Is this death...?
The last thing I saw was Artyom about to pick my ragged body up.
'...Time for that owl to save your life again...’